#i figured out why i like to do stuff until late at night until i fall asleep lol it's because i don't wanna be left alone with my thoughts

[senseiwu]

Just saw a video where someone mentioned reading the curious incident of the dog in the night time, and they thought afterwards they may have autism too. When they brought it up to their mum, she was like "you knew??" cause apparently she'd done that thing people seem to do where they keep an autism diagnosis secret from their kids

It made me remember when my grandma gave me that book to read when we were all at her place for Christmas. She said something like "I think you'll really like it", which confused me cause I was more into fantasy stuff than mystery novels. I mean. I did really like it. But it's one of the things that makes me wonder... did my parents do that thing too...?

[sunniepoo]

your roommate never knew when to keep his hands off, even when you were asleep

cw: dubcon, somno, dark!jj

jj knew what he was doing was disgusting, he knew that it was pervy and creepy and gross and every name under the sun for just straight up wrong. it’s not that he didn’t feel bad but the pleasure and satisfaction he gained every night, jerking off into his hand with the image of you naked, with the pellets of water trickling down you wore greater than his conscious

when you’d moved in,a couple months ago, there was a silent reminder in his head to not scare you away or push any boundaries but he couldn’t help but have a slight inkling that you wanted him to prey, you wanted him to push and play to his limit. the way you would leave your panties laying out on the floor, it was like you wanted him to pick them up and fist them around his dick, inevitably cumming into them

or how you’d shower with the door open just enough so he could see the outline of your tits through the foggy shower door. he knew he sounded like a perv when ranting on about it to the brunette boy, hands flailing about, mumbling about how ‘she’s gotta be doing it on purpose…i mean - wh-why else” earning a questionable stare from john b who scoffs out about him being a full on classic creep

it was so so conflicting, he knew he shouldn’t - you were probably just being naive, your usual sweet mindset blurring the sultryness within your actions but he couldn’t help but use your actions as justification for what he was doing. you would’ve said something by now id it bothered you, right?

but it wasn’t always weird,there were quiet domestic moments aswell, like tonight.

the loud rumble of thunder was enough to make you squeal eliciting a soft laugh from the blonde in front of you, who continued to stuff food in his mouth “jayyy” the slight tease in your whine was impossible to miss as the word left your mouth “lets sleep together tonight” you ask, eyes opened wide and focused on him, leaving him to struggle to understand the meaning behind the question

“what” the blonde in front deadpans, ears in disbelief of what he’s hearing - mind already rushing to the stickiest of ickys

“just hate storms and m’gonna not be able to sleep” you respond and as the words fall from your mouth, his figure visibly relaxes as soon as he hears the nonchalance in your voice in your words - god he has to get his head out of the gutter!

“right-right…uhh yeah- i mean i don’t mind” he rambles, struggling to hide the rising pink in his cheek aswell as the rising boner in his pants. it was going to be so so so hard to behave well when you’d be right next to him, your pretty pussy just a couple inches away, how was he supposed to resist himself

“thanks jay’ make sure not to kick” you giggle before pressing a light kiss to the side of his cheek, continuing to walk off towards the bathroom. he couldn’t describe the feeling in his stomach as he watched you, excitement? guilt? shame? whatever it was, it had to be pushed down until the late night dawned upon the both of you - when he’ll find out how bad he can really be

the sight of you softly snoring in his bed, arms tucked beneath your head as you curled away from the wall, would have been cute if it wasn’t for the raging boner that poked through his boxers. you’d hit the sack quite early leaving jj and his twisted mind alone, jerking off in the shower of all the lewd fantasies stored in his head.

he wouldn’t. he couldn’t. that’s what the blonde repeated in his head as he rest beside you, keeping some distance between the two of you, trying to close his eyes and sleep - hoping his mind could clear before the morning. his large figure slowly relaxed, slowly drifting to sleep. and that’s when he felt it your leg carelessly shifting underneath the covers, grazing against his dick, making it jump.

he was convinced. you were doing it on purpose, you had to be. but when he saw your limp body, pressed against the bed, dead to the world around you, he couldn’t help but groan. what if you were truly so naive that all your actions were done out of pure thoughtlessness, he’d be disgusting- you’d probably never want to speak to him again

but it was getting impossibly hard to ignore your foot dancing around his already hard cock leading a soft groan from him. the call of your name from him falls on deaf ears as you continue to sleep, not aware of the turmoil you’re causing him. ‘god m’going to hell” he whispers to himself as he shifts closer, forehead hovering over yours

he wished he could blame it on something like he’d drunk to much or that he was high out of his mind, but he wasn’t - the only drug that consumed him was the presence of you, clouding his every thought and action. the long strand of blonde that kissed his forehead now grazed against yours as his fingers traced down the length of your body, dipping between your legs, rubbing against your clothed mound.

the heat between your legs was enough to warm him on the unseasonably cold night, thumb stroking against your clit causing you to shift. he panicked for a second, taking your stirring as a sign of you waking up but he was wrong. you were moving because you liked it - he watched as your mouth parted softly, a soft whimper filling the air as you continued to squirm beneath him

it didn’t take long before he slipped your panties off, throwing them to some corner of the room - careful not to wake you. he watched as you writhed at the feel of the cool air breezing against your bare pussy, fingers having a mind of their own as they pushed into you. god you were so tight, he could feel the ache in his pants as he continued to thrust his finger into you. he couldn’t help but watch your eyebrows raise, mouth opening to let out an inaudible moan “m’sorry so so sorry” he heaved out, before adding another finger, watching you hiss at the intrusion.

you were making a mess on his hand and between your legs with each thrust of his and all he could think was how good you were taking it, wondering what noises you’d be making if you were awake - would you grab at his wrist and make him slow down if he went too fast? would you reach down and rub your aching clit?would you whine at him to stop?

he felt a sudden urge, he wanted to kiss you. he wanted to feel your lips against his as he curled his fingers that were wedged deep inside you. he moved even closer, dipping his head down, pressing a sloppy kiss against your lips as he thrust his fingers harshly in you making you all putty in his arms

it was rough the way he pulled out, fingers resting against your thighs but he was desperate, his cock had been painfully poking against the fabric of his shorts waiting for some sort of stimulation. it was bad, it was so so bad but what was worse was that he stopped caring,it was a need to feel your gummy walls sucking you in, to watch your face contort into a mixture of pain and pleasure as he slams into you

you’d understand right? i mean you had to with the way you’d tortured him for so long, how you’d walk around wearing next to nothing or how you’d rub up against him. he remembers wanting nothing more than to bend you over the nearest surface and dick you down like the good little whore you were but how could he, you weren’t a whore - far from it actually, you were his sweet little angel that he wanted to corrupt, the little lamb that the big bad wolf wanted to bite into

he spent every minute trying to savour this moment, slowly pulling of his boxers throwing them next to your panties - making a mental note to take them later. he wished he could’ve been gentle and soft and sweet but he didn’t have it in him that night, he wanted you to feel the ache he’s been feeling.

the whine that left your mouth was loud as the blonde slammed into you, stilling with his movement - soaking in the feel of your velvety walls wrapped around him that left him wanting to paint your insides with his cum.shocked at your still state, deep sleeper he thought- who knows maybe he can have more fun

for a minute he stayed stilled feeling every pulse or clench of your little pussy, he was disgusting! but he didn’t care, what he cared about was how your face would look like when you cum? how you’d look like when you wake and see the pool of white between your legs? that was enough for him to begin drilling his cock into you, the once silent room being filled with his low groans and the sound of skin slapping

“so good f’me… huh?” he breathed out “wanna cum so-fuck so-deep inside you….fill you with all my babies” his pace didn’t falter as you’d tossed against him, body shocked by the harsh and sudden intrusion. his right hand travelled down from the side of your hips to your bright red clit, pinching it softly causing your brows to furrow

“sorry baby…. just needed to do that” he laughed out, head falling down to the dip in your neck, breathing against the skin “fuck-” the blonde could feel his high coming close, he fastens his face getting ready to empty himself inside of you “fuck fuck fuck m’coming” the blonde curses, eyes screwed tightly as he spurts out a fat load inside you, moaning with every slight movement. he watched as you spasmed around him, your own high being provoked by his - he couldn’t miss the way your back slightly arched, he’d bet you were in heaven right now - well atleast he was

following a few sloppy thrusts, he flops against your sleeping body, looking up to see your face, god you looked so innocent! you hadn’t even known the way he’d violated you yet and something in him ached for you to find out, for you to wake up to the feel of his morning wood, throbbing inside of you and feel the sticky pool of cum that formed beneath you. and he couldn’t help but thrust deeper inside of you, chin resting against your head - slowly feeling his eyes close, he’ll deal with the aftermath in the morning but for now he wanted to sleep wedged inside you, sweaty bodies pressed together

[thatonegayship]

I had to

Wait, does the cheating thing on the bond always works? bcs that would be kinda freaky for R!Dipper like imagine you get pinned down by someone in the corner of a br or smthng and then said person kissed you and proceeded to explode into red mist and you literally have no idea what happened.

Also, would the constellation mark be a "cursed" Mark over the years, like you would give birth to a baby and the doctor says "😟 I am so sorry ma'am,,, I'm afraid your baby has the Cipher Companion mark. ( could also be something equally as science-y like Ursa Major, Constellation Calamation, etc idk)" And you just burst into tears.

Would that mean that dipper would get into a special program(demon wrangling program or smthng, demonologist? Maybe)? Or would the parents hide it away hoping that Bill would never take their child away?

(Sorry this au is just very interesting to me,,,, I hope u get more motivation, keep writing author 💪)

These are all options! The fun part of reincarnation AU being left ambiguous is that technically any of them could happen.

[birdiewriteslit]

omg omg i would LOVVVEEE if like [reader] and luke were dating behind percy’s back cuz of how sassy he would be n stuff but after like a date or kiss from luke the reader would gush about it to either annabeth, grover, or clarisse and one of them tells percy by accident during a convo and then percy like goes up to reader and confronts the reader about it and like scolds the reader and give them a whole lecture about how luke isn’t the right guy then luke overhears and like joins in <333

i love this idea!!

luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

warnings: persassy (once again), fluff, mention of kissing, ignorance of the plot of the show for the sake of my happiness

nobody: me gaslighting myself into thinking i could fix luke:

You and your boyfriend had an agreement. Your relationship was private. It wasn’t necessarily a secret, but it was private.

This was a conclusion you came to before Percy arrived at camp, before you knew you had a brother. At first, you didn’t care much if he figured it out.

That was until you realized what a sassafras he was.

Percy was always sassing you about chores, about activities, and especially about camp boys.

You thought it was cute in the beginning, your little brother being protective over you, but then it became a real nuisance.

“Y/n, stay away from the Ares boys, I don’t like them.”

“Y/n, don’t date an Apollo guy, he’d write you some crappy poetry.”

“Y/n, for the love of gods, stay away from the Dionysus twins, I never want to have Mr. D as a relative.”

These were the types of things you would hear throughout the day as Percy got to know the other campers better.

You thought it better if you kept a low profile when you were around Luke, at least until Percy calmed down a little.

Most of the older campers knew about your relationship, but they were used to it and rarely talked about it.

“Having marriage problems?” Annabeth asked you one day during arts and crafts, where you were both about to give up on your ugly collaborative birdhouse.

“What? I’m not married,” you said, trying to fix a particularly garish looking bird.

She set her paintbrush down, officially proving she was over it. “Obviously. I mean Luke. I noticed you haven’t been around each other as much.”

You could tell she was a little worried. She wouldn’t be asking if she wasn’t. Annabeth had known you and Luke longer than any other campers, and she looked up to both of you. Plus, she always wanted to know about your experience with romance.

“It’s not what you think, Annabeth. We’re really fine,” you said. “In fact, just last night, he took me out on the dock.”

Your nightly meetups with Luke had always been a thing, but had become more frequent as of late.

“And?” Annabeth prompted.

“And, we hung out.” You were now furiously painting over the entire bird you failed to fix.

“You mean you made out,” she said, giving you a knowing look.

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t think you were interested in that part,” you said. “Now pick up that paintbrush, missy. I’m not doing this whole thing myself.”

Annabeth reluctantly dipped the brush in some blue paint, looking like she wanted more details about your date.

Private means private, you thought dismissively.

At campfire, you discovered that private didn’t mean private. You were sitting alone when Percy plopped down next to you. You frowned because you were saving that spot for Luke.

“Annabeth has just told me something very interesting,” he said, glaring at the spot where Luke stood, talking to one of his brothers.

“What would that be, Perce?” you said absentmindedly.

“Apparently Luke was macking on you last night.” He made a sound to imitate vomiting.

You grimaced. “Please never say that word again.”

“So? Is it true or not true?”

You sighed. No point in denying it now. “It’s true.”

Percy somehow managed to look even more disgusted. “Ew, why him?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, gee, I don’t know, maybe because I’ve known him for years, he’s kind, strong, and handsome. Wouldn’t you think that had something to do with it?”

“Oh, gods, forget I even asked,” Percy said, retching. “I just think you could do better. Look at all of these lovely candidates. Apollo guys are poets.”

“I thought that was too cringe for you.”

He ignored you and went on, “A Hephaestus guy could forge you some nice jewelry, and Athena guys are smart. You deserve a smart guy. Not Luke, no, he doesn’t have any good qualities like that.”

You noticed a figure approaching you over Percy’s shoulder, and you tried your best to hide the amused smile threatening to break across your face as Luke came to a stop behind him, waiting for the right moment to interrupt.

“All in all, Y/n, I think Luke’s a pretty bad guy for you. You should really reconsider.”

“Oh, I’m a bad guy, am I?” Luke finally spoke up, smirking as Percy slowly turned around to see him peering down at him.

“Not like a bad guy- just, you know, not right for my sister,” Percy said, his confidence leaving him.

“What makes me not right for her?” Luke asked, clearly loving the reaction he was getting.

“I- uh- you know,” Percy stammered.

“Oh, knock it off, Luke. Leave the poor kid alone,” you said, failing to hide your laughter.

“That sound is music to my ears,” Luke said seriously. Jeez, he was really laying it on thick.

Percy’s face returned to the look of disgust. “I’ll be leaving now,” he excused himself, hurrying off to where Grover and Annabeth were sitting on the other side of the fire. You could still see him glaring at Luke as he sat down next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You leaned into him, relishing in the combined warmth of the fire and his body heat. “What do you think? Am I getting sassed out tomorrow?” Luke asked, looking down at you.

“No, he looked pretty grossed out. I’m hoping he just avoids the topic altogether,” you said, trailing your fingers over the fabric of his shirt.

“We both know that’s not going to happen,” he concluded, smiling as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

[mystsee]

MESMERIZED ✦ KEEGAN P. RUSS

✦ about: keegan is mesmerized with you since he first met you ♡

✦ content: NSFW +18, virgin!reader, afab reader, blood, guns & death mentions, panic attacks, misogyny

✦ a.n: the boots i kinda imagined are the moonboots!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

in the sun-kissed landscapes of italy, you, with your captivating charm and surprising intelligence, was dealing with a meeting with very higher ups in the politic world, things were going so far so good.

that was until your boss, a figure whom you trusted very much, revealed to you the news. a deployment to russia as a military translator.

nervous feelings ran down your spine, not from the revelation of a new challenge, but from the anticipation of russia’s frigid embrace. most of the time, you were assigned to help translate in missions involving trafficking, drugs, dark stuff like that. and having to translate for the “bad guys” involved them being not so nice to you. mostly because they don’t like a woman all up on their dark buisness.

nevertheless, you knew you were going to be protected, and the military people have never treated you wrong.

you prepared your clothes, having to use a bigger backpack due to all the puffy jackets, scarfs, you know, all cold related things. which you do not protest! the colder the weather, the better you can dress.

right now you had a puffy black jacket, warm leggings with a thick skirt attached! it was 100x more comfortable because now your ass didn’t have to feel all the cold seats anymore. and of course your puffy boots, thick beige fur covering the boots. one thing about you is your feet were always cold, making you use like 3 layers of socks!

you arrived late night, making the cold even worse but you managed to cover the lower half of your face with your scarf, seriously the cold was so bad in here. as you disembarked from the helicopter, the biting russian cold embraced you, making you shiver involuntarily.

you were greeted warmly by your captain “nice to see you again over here” he smiled warmly “i’m glad too, really missed the artic” he laughed at that, how could he be out here with only a small jacekt?!

he noticed your shivering frame, you thought you were hiding it well, making him start leading you through the snow-covered landscape over to base.

upon entering, all eyes turned towards you – a mix of amazement and curiosity danced in the gaze of your new colleagues, you knew your boots were quite attention catching, probably why everyone kept staring at you.

to say you were pretty was little, it was obvious everyone in the room found you beautiful, but you didn’t pay it any mind, again thinking maybe your boots were standing out a bit too much, not the way your thighs looked so good with the skirt on top, but! they would need to get used to see your babies, they were your go-to in cold weather.

however, one pair of eyes stood out, belonging to keegan. he almost looked mesmerized with you. he watched you stride with an unyielding confidence, almost model like, the skirt making your hips move so so pretty, that it was making it hard for him to stop staring at you.

somehow your eyes found his, thanking the heavens you had your scarf covering your cheeks because you were blushing so hard rn, his gaze lingered, an admiring intensity in his eyes that you almost tripped.

only his eyes, a window to the unspoken thoughts within, were visible, making you curious. as his fellow soldier spoke, keegan’s attention remained freezed on you, his focus unyielding, and the words of his comrade fading into the background of his silent admiration.

the spell was broken as soon as the captain opened the door to his office, inviting you in to debrief the mission with you. you were going with keegan’s team to help them gather intel, they were trying to find a very big drug dealer, and you translating, would help them find him faster.

tomorrow morning would be your first mission with them, yet you still didn’t know who keegan was, making it intriguing whom you’d be working with.

captain showed you your room, it was a basic military room, a twin sized bed in the middle, small vanity to your left, a desk in the other size to the room, and a small window, last but not least, your own bathroom.

you pleaded your boss to give you your own bathroom, there was enough experiences a girl can have in a shared bathroom used by men.

you started investigating about who you were translating for tomorrow, loosing the track of time. by the time you finished it was 3 am, making you worry a little, you were leaving tomorrow at 6 am.

you were almost going to bed when your stomach rumbled, making you internally groan, you knew that if you didn’t sleep, insomnia would make its way to you.

rolling your eyes you went to the kitchen, you thought everyone was asleep rn, so you paid no mind yo your outfit, a small cropped sweatshirt, leggings and fluffy slippers.

you were about to eat your slice of bread with jam when a sudden voice made you drop it to the washer “can’t sleep?” “jesus fuck!” you swore you felt your heart stop for a second, you never saw anyone in here!

you turned around to see the same guy from before, keegan, who just stared at you, seated in a chair with a book in his hands, it almost looked like he was trying to contain his laugh.

“what’s wrong with you!” you said with a smile laughing, he probably saw your bread jump to the washer “me? nothing, was just asking” he said it so proud of himself “how do you even read with all the lights off?” by now you had turned to him, still by the counter “i wasn’t reading, i was drinking tea” “oh” you never saw the cup of tea beside the book silly you.

“just know you ruined my dinner” you said pouting “and you asked my what’s wrong with me” he said scoffing “oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t eat late at night” “no i do princess, just not a bread with jam at 3 in the morning” his nickname made you stop your breath for a second, deciding to pay no mind to it “but you do you princess” he was by your side now, putting his cup of tea in the washer, until you saw him freeze next to you, there was small light coming from outside, oh yea, you had no bra on.

he could see see your breasts, your nipples to be precise, under your sweatshirt, practically begging to be touched, your sweatshirt was so small it had ridden up just a tiny bit when you were making your dinner, making keegan see a small part of your under breast.

“princess” keegan suddenly moved closer to you, making you see his eyes better, revealing a captivating shade of blue, a mesmerizing hue that held a subtle warmth within its cool depths, caught your attention.

his gaze, unwavering in its intensity, sent a gentle warmth through you, leaving a blush on your cheeks again, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection forged in that shared moment.

“you still don’t know my name” which was true making you ask for it, when he said it, he saw the realization in your eyes “oh! i’m working with you in the next mission” you said a bit breathlessly “glad to have you with us” you could see the deep appreciation for you in his eyes.

keegan had heard about you, he knew of your well-regarded reputation as a translator, held a silent acknowledgment of the confidentiality that shrouded your professional endeavors.

in the subtle lines of his expression, you could see respect for the enigma that surrounded you, a recognition that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. “thank you” you said, he just nodded to you, he was so close to you now you could feel his chest, and his chest could feel your nipples. you just held your breath keeping eye contact with him “well, princess, you must get your sleep, i won’t keep you up” you were in a trance when he moved, snapping you out of it “goodnight keegan” you said in a small voice. keegan smiled behind his mask.

ever since then, a connection quietly unfolded between you and keegan. it initially started as him being a distant observer, he always kept his eyes on you everywhere you went, even more when you were speaking russian towards the males, you held such confidence with you he was deeply allured with you.

his presence evolved into a silent shield, a comforting assurance amidst the unfamiliarity of a foreign land. he may couldn’t understand russian, but he sure as hell could see the body language and the tones they were speaking to you.

everytime he could sense any sort of verbal assault at you, his steely gaze fixed upon the adversaries with an intensity that spoke volumes, as well as his hidden raised gun;), sensing the weight of his silent threat, they found themselves silenced. even though you had no idea he was threatening them behind you.

you always knew keegan had your back, and silently thanked him for it. as the time passed, you felt keegan more protective of you, and you more attentive of him, you two were almost all the time together.

there were moments, a shared smile in the midst of icy winds, or a wordless understanding in the chaos of a mission, that spoke louder than words. in these instances, his protective instinct manifested – a steady hand guiding you through the challenges, a silent assurance that you were not alone. metaphorically as well as physically.

his interactions evolved into a touch that carried a warmth beyond mere protection. his gestures, once purely professional, became tinged with an affectionate familiarity.

a guiding hand on the small of your back during a mission briefing or a reassuring touch on your shoulder in moments of uncertainty, each contact seemed to convey a connection that lingered beyond the realm of your relationship.

these touches carried a feeling of something more, a silent language of shared emotions between you and him. in the hushed moments when his hand lingered a second longer than necessary or the gentle squeeze that accompanied a reassuring smile.

in the dim glow of the base's common area, keegan’s touches continued to weave a tapestry of unspoken connection. a shared moment over a map had his fingers brushing against yours, the contact lingering for a heartbeat longer than required, it was practically normal for you to be blushing around him now.

during a particularly challenging mission, his arm found its way around your shoulders, a protective embrace in the face of caos. in that moment you just wanted to be beside him all the time, you felt safe around him.

there was also a time in which keegan was behind you, listening to what you would be doing, until he felt rather not okay with what you were supposed to do. he suddenly put his hand discreetly on your waist, and the other arm in front of your chest, his hand subtly telling “no”

“she’s with us, meaning we protect her, what you’re saying is risky for her, she won’t do it” you felt warmth on your chest. you have never experienced this, the other teams you had been were never this attentive with you. it was a weird emotion for you, you were used to always seek for yourself.

in the quiet of the nights, a shared gaze held more than words could express. keegan’s hand, a reassuring presence, sought yours across the table, fingers intertwining with yours, squeezing your fingers every now and then. he did that more times than you could count.

the line between friendship and something deeper became increasingly blurred, leaving both of you suspended in the uncharted territory of unspoken emotions.

the endearing term "princess" slipped from his lips almost all the time, a word you loved hearing from him even though you never tell him. it became a private language, whether in the midst of a mission or during quiet evenings, the endearment echoed, making you warm inside all the time.

keegan’s feelings had transcended the boundaries of friendship, evolving into a profound connection that bordered into almost being in love with you.

his gaze, once intense, now carried a softness that showed a deep admiration, a mesmerizing allure that held him captivated in your presence.

his eyes just seemed to follow you everywhere, absorbing every detail of you, every facet of your being, as if etching your essence into his soul.

the desire to be with you became a palpable force, an unspoken longing that lingered in the spaces between conversations. the way his fingers sought yours, the way he leaned in, just a fraction closer than necessary – each action seemed to fluster you more and more.

you too couldn’t deny it, you felt drawn to him, but even with the warmth of his company and shared moments, there was a bit of confusion.

your feelings were kind of mixed up, wanting to connect with him but also feeling unsure about it. it’s like a struggle between what your heart wants and what your head is thinking.

you just don’t know how to respond to him :(

figuring out your own feelings became a bit like wandering through a maze, with no clear destination.

being close to keegan made you feel good, but accepting his love brought its own set of uncertainties. you tried taking things one step at a time, trying to make sense of your own heart and the budding feelings between you two.

until you just couldn’t anymore

you were in a very heated meeting with keegan, as always, behind you, talking to a very dangerous person, in a very dangerous place, at any moment now something could happen, making you feel on edge all the time there. you felt keegan’s hand hold your shoulder softly, reminding you he is here with you.

in the middle of the conversation, you saw in less than a second the man’s eyes change, from angry, to weirdly happy, like he was going to be free from all this interrogation. you were confused, until you heard it.

bullets and bullets and more bullets echoed in the building, as well as some passing through the windows in the small office you were. in a second keegan had moved you, shielding you from any possible damage

you heard him speak to the captain, the captain said they were under attack, making difficult to get out of there. you were alone inside with keegan and the man, he was tied to the table though, so you weren’t worried he would escape.

keegan held you behind his back, opening the door and checking if it was safe to go out. he made a clear sign and went to the right side. you were shaking of fear, you could hear explosions all over the place, the shaking of the floor, bullets everywhere, it was crazy.

suddenly a man spawned out of nowhere pulling keegan and tried stabbing him.

the military gave you a gun before you left, you had basic military training, knew how to use a gun, yet never needed to. but seeing keegan almost being stabbed made you react on instinct, you pulled your gun in less than a second and shoot the bastard. keegan’s was free from the man’s arm and shot another bullet between his head.

you just stood there, the adrenaline was making it hard to process what just happened, but you could feel your body trembling with fear, you may have possibly just killed a man. you’ve never done that in your life.

keegan saw the fear in your eyes “princess, hey, i need you to focus on me” keegan’s grabbed your face, you stared at him, worry clear in your eyes “you saved me and you’re a fucking badass for that” keegan’s appreciation words dragged you out of the dark thoughts you were falling to.

you both heard footsteps approaching you, making keegan grab your hand, tight, and walked to the other direction, you moved faster than him, adrenaline was making you rushed now, until you were about to move to the other corner of the hallway and saw armed men looking for, you supposed, keegan and you.

you pushed keegan back, startling him for a second, until he could hear the voices. you had a door next to you, keegan opened it and dragged you both inside. it was small, very small, yet enough for hiding. keegan turned you so his back was to the door, always protecting you first.

you on the other hand, was shaking shitless again, you could understand what they were saying, they were here for you, obviously not happy at all that you knew about what they were doing.

keegan once again tried dragging you out of your starting panic attack, he said your name twice trying to get your attention. you looked at him, you were very much fucking scared.

“hey, you’re with me, i won’t let anything happen to you okay?” you felt one of keegan’s hand hold your head softly, the other went to your back. you then realized he was hugging you, you were so close to each other he didn’t even need to moved you closer. you moved your hands to hold his back too, resting your head on his shoulder.

in the middle of the chaotic circumstances, keegan emerged as your anchor, his presence became the grounding point that helped you survive this.

it was then when it hit you, the realization, the profound connection that resonated beyond words. attempting to utter his name, you found your voice stifled by anxiety, your very core trembling with fear.

keegan, ever perceptive, tightened his hold around you, a silent reassurance.

as the threat passed by your door, keeping your mouth shut became a necessity, not just for the mission at hand but also to guard the burgeoning emotions inside you.

after a few minutes, you could hear them muffled, meaning they were far. keegan opened the door, still holding you, and looked out, he saw that it was clear “let’s go princess”

the next few minutes was you and keegan trying to get out of here, it was almost like a maze, the explosions seemed to calm down as well as the bullets. but there was still people looking for you.

you were about to turn to your left when a hand grabbed you from your neck, choking you, you tried to scream, but the man was fast, he suddenly pushed you to the wall, punching you in the face, almost breaking your nose, but you moved just in time your face, hitting you in the cheek.

you suddenly remembered you had a gun, you pulled it out, raising it fast to the middle of his head and shot him quick.

it was ugly, scary, and it glued you to your spot, all his blood soaked you, yet his hold on you loosened, making the man fall to your shoulder, surely staining your coat.

you were so fucking scared you thanked the lord keegan grabbed the man and lunched him to the wall behind.

you were again almost in shock, but keegan was in front of you fast “come on baby, we need to leave this hell” keegan kept dragging you, your body fully trusting him, because you were going into shock now.

you saw light, and finally you were out, a few dead people scattered on the ground, not helping you at all.

it until you saw the familiar humvee you felt slight ease. everyone saw your state, blood soaking all your face, dripping all over your coat. quite a sight. keegan just shakes his head to his teammates, silently telling them that you needed space now.

the soldiers admired you, even cared for you after all this time, it was clear seeing you like this worried them, but they trusted keegan, and they know you trust keegan too.

keegan helped you up the humvee, sitting next to you, you felt him whispering beside you “you okay?” you just nodded taking a small ragged breath, wiping your nose. you felt disgusting, you could feel the man’s blood dripping down your nose, the need to shower was strong right now.

keegan just softly held your hand, squeezing it to help you ground yourself, but you just couldn’t, you were so bloody anxious right now you couldn’t stop moving your leg up and down.

keegan felt it, slightly worried about you, he knew you’ve never been in combat before, let alone kill someone. you felt his hand slowly let go of yours, and put it on top of your thigh, making you halt your movements.

he kept it there slightly above your knee, massaging a little, not daring to move his hand up higher.

the ride to base was just the captain talking to someone on the radio, other than that, it was silent.

as soon as you arrived to base, you hurried out of the humvee, and fast towards the barracks, feeling the weight of the mission on your shoulders. you desperately needed the shower.

keegan stayed by the humvee, not following you right away. he stood there, giving you room. he could understand the impact of what just happened, and knew letting you calm down first was a good idea.

the letting you calm down time meant maybe you would come out of your room later, but now, it was 11:45 pm, and keegan was more than worried about you now. he had no idea you were still in the shower, living the past event over and over in your head.

you just couldn’t erase the image from your brain, just seeing the man’s eyes go lifeless in front of you, it was such a crazy thing to look at, and you weren’t dealing with it very okay.

you felt dirty, even though you cleaned your body more than twice. you had lost the track of time, you were so inside your brain you forgot to eat something. your stomach begging for food now, making you feel nauseous.

you just put on a brown long sleeve sweatshirt with some random leggings. you knew it was last midnight now, making it easier for you, you didn’t want to see anyone right now.

keegan, on the verge of heading to your room, noticed you entering the kitchen. your eyes were red, and your nose was puffy – the signs of tears evident. the concern on his face deepened as he observed the aftermath of emotions that had washed over you. he paused, recognizing the fragility in your demeanor, reconsidering whether to approach and offer comfort in this vulnerable moment.

spotting keegan in the kitchen, you froze in place. your hair, still damp, added a chill to the atmosphere, and a subtle shiver ran through you. keegan stood there, his worry evident in his eyes. the unspoken concern made you feel a twinge of guilt for disappearing, realizing the impact it had on him.

feeling the wave of emotions crash over you once again, tears welled up, and sobs escaped despite your efforts. a whispered "i'm sorry" escaped your lips, muffled by your trembling hand pressed against your mouth. the vulnerability laid bare.

in an instant, keegan was by your side. dressed in a simple black sweatshirt and cargo pants, he became your anchor once again.

his chest against your trembling form, you held him tight, as if seeking solace in the warmth of his presence. his hands gently cradled your head and waist, offering a silent reassurance, “nothin’ to be sorry about princess” you could feel his deep voice rumble in his chest “it’s okay”

his hand now gently petting your hair as you clung to him. between sobs, you began to express the guilt weighing on your chest. "i feel so bad for leaving like that" you admitted, the words punctuated by shaky breaths.

the shock of your actions you did a while ago lingered, casting a shadow on your thoughts. the vulnerability in sharing your feelings with keegan felt both liberating and daunting. it was a bad habit of yours, disappear whenever you felt any emotion that wasn’t happiness. it was normal to you:( even if it’s been more than 12 hours since you last emerged from your room.

keegan’s voice, calm and reassuring, cut through the heaviness of the moment. "it's okay," he whispered, his hand still tenderly stroking your hair. "you're here now, and that's what matters."

a flicker of strength ignited within you, and you stood a little taller, you pressed a tender kiss on keegan’s cheek, your hand lingering on his face for a heartbeat. his eyes held an unspoken love, you could see it clearly now.

keegan’s question for the kiss hung in the air, a gentle curiosity evident in his gaze. you felt his mask close and his breaths deepen, you took a moment, meeting his intense eyes. "it’s a thank you," you said softly, "for always protecting me."

his response was a tightening of the embrace, bringing you even closer. his face, now near yours, held an intensity matched by the deep breaths he took. in a rough voice deep with emotion, he confessed, "you driving me fucking crazy." the admission hung in the air, your cheeks flushing furiously.

a playful challenge danced in your eyes as you maintained intense eye contact. "what if you show me how much I drive you crazy?" you suggested, your doe eyes locked onto his.

a groan escaped him as he dropped his head to your shoulder. laughter bubbled from you, but your breath hitched as keegan shifted, causing your sweatshirt to ride up slightly. the short length and absence of a bra made you almost flash him your right breast.

keegan could feel it, in fact, he could feel your nipples pressed on him since he hugged you, making his pants feel tighter.

you felt keegan’s hand move up, near your breast, starting to massage there, making you blush furiously “may i remind you were are still in public keegan” you didn’t want anyone walk in on keegan almost touching your breasts, in the middle of the kitchen.

startling you in a swift motion, he lifted you off the ground, his strong hold on your bum leaving you feeling both surprised and strangely like jelly inside, and before you could voice your concerns, he began walking towards your room.

you were silently screaming at him about the possibility of getting caught, but keegan just tightened his hold on you more like squeezing your booty, effectively silencing you.

the situation didn't seem to faze him as he navigated the corridors, your protests muted in the intensity of the moment. the world outside seemed to fade away as keegan carried you and opened your door, leaving behind a trail of laughter and a flutter of unspoken excitement.

you thought he was going to drop you now, but no! he just went to your bed, and dropped you, making you bounce and laugh at what he just did “such a romantic” keegan just held the back of your legs and dragged you near his cock.

that motion made your shirt roll up, now showing him your bare breasts. you widened your eyes a little, but keegan looked like he was more enamored by you now “what a fucking sight i have” he couldn't help but revel in the intimate view of you beneath him. your eyes, filled with affection, locked onto his, radiating a warmth that mirrored the depth of your connection.

the air thickened with tension, and keegan couldn't ignore the tightening in his pants, a physical response to the emotional intimacy and the allure of the moment. “look how you make me feel princess” you could feel it, near your cunt, his big cock, making a big tent in his pants.

you just couldn’t anymore, you rolled your hips up a little, the sensation almost made you cum on the spot, but keegan just made a noise of disapproval “nuh uh, let me have my time with my princess yeah?” you blushed even more when keegan took a hold of your hips, and slowly moved his hands up, dying to touch your breasts.

when his hands finally felt them, he was on cloud 9. they were so soft and moldeable in his hands he could feel precum leaking from his cock. keegan lowered himself close your breasts, rolled his mask up, and licked your nipple making you moan.

he started sucking on your nipple like a man starved, while the other hand groped your other breast, pinching your nipple and rolling it between his fingers. you were panting, his hands were god sent, as well as his mouth.

that’s when you felt the sudden urge to kiss him. and you couldn’t wait anymore. feeling the magnetic pull, you took charge, gently dragging his face upward to meet yours. in a bold move, your lips crashed against his, a collision of desire and longing.

a sound of contentment escaped keegan, emotions flowing between you like an electric current. the world outside the moment ceased to exist as the intensity of the kiss spoke volumes, an unspoken exchange of emotions and desires woven into the fabric of that stolen, passionate embrace.

keegan deepened the kiss even more, angling your head better, he was heaven sent. in the heat of the kiss, your hands, seemingly of their own accord, found their way to his mask. it became an unconscious exploration, a touch laden with curiosity. unexpectedly, keegan broke the kiss, startling you, and swiftly snatched away his mask.

in the soft glow of the small light, his face was revealed, and you found yourself enraptured by the sight of him.

"you’re so beautiful" the words slipped from your lips almost involuntarily. a deep resonance of satisfaction echoed in keegan’s chest, and without a moment's hesitation, he dragged you up. seated on his knees, you found yourself straddling him, his hands on your waist and bum, fondling with it making you whine, as your lips met again in a deep, intoxicating kiss, yet you felt needy.

involuntarily you moved your hips, grinding right on his cock, making him groan deeply “fuck baby, you’re going to make me cum” knowing he was as aroused as you made you feel even more needy, making you grind your hips even more.

keegan’s hand took a hold of your hips, making you stop your movements. you whined again, even surprising you, you’ve never met this side of you, so needy of someone.

keegan's touch on your face was soft, almost reverent. he spoke with a gentle intensity, "i want to worship you. let me." the request hung in the air, and you, captivated by the depth of his gaze, agreed with a simple nod.

with deliberate tenderness, keegan laid you back onto the bed, his hands moving to the fabric of your clothes. He began with your sweatshirt, each movement deliberate and unhurried, as if unraveling the layers of vulnerability and desire between you two. as he raised your sweatshirt up, his hands once again touched your breasts, making you moan lowly.

keegan just smirked, having removed your sweatshirt, he then proceeded to shed his own shirt. the unveiling of his toned body drew an involuntary blush to your cheeks. his eyes caught yours, and a playful smile graced his lips.

"like what you see?" he teased, the husky timbre of his voice adding a layer of seduction to the moment. the air hung heavy with anticipation as you met his gaze, your response a silent affirmation that echoed in the space between you two.

keegan, still holding your gaze with an intensity that spoke volumes, continued his deliberate exploration. his hands, deft and unhurried, moved to your leggings.

with tenderness, he peeled them away, revealing more of your vulnerability. the room seemed to pulse with shared desire as each layer of clothing fell away, creating an intimate tapestry of connection between you and Keegan.

you were only with your panties on now, and keegan with his grey boxers, not hiding anything, making you slightly anxious, he looked very big, and you’ve never done this before.

a sudden realization gripped you, and you couldn't help but say, "wait" keegan, on the verge of sliding your panties off, halted immediately, his expression shifting to one of concern.

nervously, you confessed, "i’ve never done this before." the vulnerability in your admission hung in the air, an unspoken plea for understanding and patience. the room, once charged with desire, now held a new layer of intimacy.

keegan, surprised by your revelation, felt a renewed sense of responsibility. he looked into your eyes, the desire tempered with understanding, and reassured you, "i’ll go slow. we’ll take it at your pace."

his words carried a gentle promise, a commitment to make you feel at ease in this intimate moment. keegan then slowly slide your panties off, your cunt now bare and displayed in front of him. keegan just stared at it for a second, absolutely beautiful he thought; all shiny with your slick, begging for some attention. and who was he to deny it.

one thing about keegan, he loved foreplay, and you, you liked it too, but he’s made you cum twice! fingers and tongue involved, you weren’t complaining, but you really wanted his cock now.

from where you were, you could see his boxer stained with precum, making you whine, you were past needy now “i need you keegan, please” keegan heard the whiny tone from you, making his cock even more hard.

“such a needy princess aren’t you” keegan swiftly removed his boxers down, his cock sprang free on his stomach. your mouth was watering just seeing it. it was big, veiny and thick.

you didn’t think it, you were on all 4s now, keegan was looking behind dropping his boxer when he felt your mouth on his cock, making him hiss loud as well as whined “fuck princess, what are you doing?” you could hear his voice strained, like he was containing himself.

you didn’t answer, it was your first time doing this, yet you felt confident when you swallowed almost his whole cock down your throat, making keegan’s hands grab your head, pushing you deeper, making his eyes roll back.

“who taught you this?” he was a panting mess now, you kept bobbing your head up and down, using your angelic hands to grab his balls, swollen with his cum, massaging them, making keegan go all over the edge.

he didn’t warn you, just grabbed your head dragging it all the way down, thrusting his big cock down your throat, moaning loud. you decided to look at him then, giving your best puppy eyes you could, making keegan mesmerized with you, you could see all his reactions from here, his stomach clenching, his mouth panting, and his eyes full of love.

“i’m gonna cum love” you felt keegan trying to move his cock out of your mouth, but you just grabbed his hips, pushed them to you, and moving your tongue around his veiny cock.

keegan cummed on the spot, thick white ropes of cum going all the way down your throat, you as the princess you are, swallowed it whole, keeping your hand on his balls, feeling them clench everytime he cummed.

you were sure keegan was about to pass out now, that was the hardest orgasm he’s ever felt.

his desire was evident in the intensity of his gaze, deciding to take charge. his hands gently grasped your head, lifting you slightly making you put your hands on his big muscular chest. a deep, intense kiss ensued, each meeting of your lips sending a shiver through your body.

keegan murmured a sweet praise, "you’re such a beautiful good girl aren’t you?" he was still in his post orgasmic state, making you laugh a little, but this man had a very strong stamina.

you could feel his cock hard again in between your stomach making you put your hand on top of his slit. he bucked his hips a little “come on now” he said with a strained voice “let me make you feel good” desire evident in his voice.

keegan laid you down on the bed, moving your thighs open, letting your cunt once open to him. keegan not waisting a second now, aligned his cock with your cunt, dragging it up and down your folds “stop teasing keegan” you said pouting.

it took you by surprise when you felt his tip in your entrance, making you stop your breath for a second, keegan was smirking now, how easy it was to shut your needy ass up.

“i’ll go slow yeah? you tell me if it too much princess” keegan started sliding his thick cock insided your virgin cunt, it felt weird, a slight burn everytime he slide deeper.

keegan on the other hand was in awe, he saw your cunt swallowing his cock inside, inch by inch, your puffy clit at view too. in a second keegan had his hand on your clit, slowly circling it, making you moan, allowing his cock to slide further.

once he bottomed, he stayed there, he was still on his knees, allowing him a beautiful view. you had your knees next to your breasts, his cock swallowed by your cunt, your face flushed.

he couldn’t wait anymore, keegan dropped his forearms next to your head, and started grinding his cock inside your cunt. you felt so full, and him grinding was almost hitting your womb, making you moan loudly. “keegan you’re so deep” you said frowning from pleasure, your nails were on his big muscular biceps, hanging on for dear life.

“does it feel good?” “very fucking good” you said moaning the last word, keegan had his head hidden on your neck, his pace now a bit faster, balls hitting your ass everytime he thrusted, the skin to skin slapping sound resonating all over your room, creating such an erotic scene.

keegan then raised his head and kissed you deeply, his hand holding your head softly, you could feel him even deeper now. he had you on a mating press, his chest squeezing your breasts making your nipples stand out even more “you feel so fucking good princess” “this cunt belongs to me yeah” “you’re all fucking mine”

keegan kept saying this small praises everytime he thrusted, but what made your orgasm come quick was when he said you were his. yes you were. you were his since you met him. he was there for you ever since then, always by his side, always his.

“y-yes i am” keegan’s intense gaze was on you now “i’m yours keegan, all yours” he hit a particular spot inside you that you saw stars, moaning loud “say that again princess” “i’m yours” keegan was about to cum just from hearing you say that.

“and you’re all mine” you kissed him hard when you said that. keegan never thought you were the possessive type, yet when he heard you say that, you could say he fell in love even deeper “you’re all fucking mine keegan” you started meeting his thrusts with your hips, your clit rubbing with his stomach making your orgasm come fast.

keegan could feel it, you were clenching stronger now, almost making him stop his movements “you cumming princess?” that goddamn nickname was going to be the death of you “i want to cum with you”

your needy voice made keegan tighten his hold on you, and thrust deeper, and slower. keegan grabbed your face and kissed you, his other hand rubbing your clit. making you cum hard.

keegan cummed in an instant too, feeling your cunt clenching around his cock too, your orgasm so hard you closed your eyes. he cummed inside you, sliding even further, letting all his cum coat your walls with him. only him.

he stayed there for a while, letting you come down from the high. you were breathing hard, his cock now softening inside you, yet you didn’t want him to come out yet.

you used your feet to hit him on the hips, making him slide a bit more “stay here for a while” keegan caught the message, you wanted to cuddle. with him still inside you.

you were a sucker for cuddles, and touch starved. so when keegan laid down, still inside you, and dragged you almost on top of him, you felt shivers down your spine.

as keegan’s arms enveloped you in a tender embrace, a warmth spread through you, reaching the neglected corners of your soul. the gentle cradle of his arms was a stark contrast to the void you hadn’t realized existed, a reminder of the absence of such intimate touch in your life.

his arms forming a protective cocoon around you, fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back. the rise and fall of his chest against your back mirrored the rhythm of shared breaths, creating a serene melody.

it wasn't just the physical closeness; it was the profound sense of being seen and held, a silent promise that in his arms, you were cherished and safe.

a few minutes had passed when you felt keegan sitting up, you as well on his lap, making you pout “don’t make that face” he said condescending “i need to clean you up yeah?”

keegan carried you all the way down your bathroom, again, still inside you, and seated you on the counter. he took a really long look to your breasts. such beautiful breasts just sitting there, making him want to hold them again.

“enjoying the view” you said in a proud tone, keegan just moved his eyes to your face and laid a small kiss to your cheek. you started feeling how keegan slid his now soft cock out your cunt, once it was all out, he just stayed there, looking at both your cunt and his cock “look at the mess you made love”

his cock was full of his cum, and yours, you felt all his cum slide out of your cunt, now on the counter, the sight making keegan’s cock start hardening again, and you saw that as well.

you just stared at him, beautiful doe eyes, and grabbed his cock. “can’t get tired of this cock huh?” you just smiled, stood up, and dragged him to the shower. that was the best shower sex you’ve ever had.

after the shower, keegan was behind you like a lost puppy, just wanting to be near you, touching your waist, squishing it, as well as your bum, all while you were doing your small skin care.

and on bed? keegan was even more cuddly than you! he said, scratch that, obliged you to be the little spoon. now you had his beautiful face right next to you, his hand drawing small circles in your waist, going near your breasts to tease you, your legs tangled beneath the sheets. you could get used to this.

“so, for how long have i driven you crazy?” keegan heard the cheekiness in your voice, you probably knew keegan was head over heels for you, acting all dumb to torture him, making keegan groan behind you “i’m going to keep it with for a while”

you laughed, putting your hands on top of the one that was on your waist, dragging it near your lips, planting a soft kiss there. when you kissed his hand, an unexpected tenderness surged within him, like a flood of warmth.

in response, he hid his face against your neck, as if to shield himself from the cascade of emotions, laying a few kisses here and there. you really could get used to this.

♡

AHHHHHH the end ;’[ i love fluff, was deciding if splitting this into chapters but i got carried away and made it a one shot jiji

hope u liked it!

[that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction]

I wanna write a really mundane magic reveal.

This has definitely been done before (please send fic recs) but I’m procrastinating and really want to write it.

Literally nothing is happening, Arthur is having a bath, Merlin is tidying up in his chambers one night and everything is basically fine.

Arthur asks Merlin how he manages to always get the bath water perfect and Merlin jokingly says “must be magic” while he’s distracted, Arthur stops and starts thinking about all the fallen tree branches, how his armour is perfect and even if Merlin is late, his food is always hot.

So Arthur realises Merlin is a sorcerer, but not a very good one if all he can do is boring stuff with chores. And if he’s not using magic to defeat all the bandits, it must be because he can’t defeat all the bandits. Not that he’s trying not to die or anything. In fact, the thought of killing Merlin, or of Merlin being punished for his magic, never even crosses his mind.

Arthur shrugs, because Merlin made the joke before, it was just his fault for not noticing it, also his father is still king, so it’s probably for the best that Merlin never said anything, and he tells Merlin to be careful about his magic and to only use it if he’s locked the door.

Merlin’s too shocked by the easy acceptance to panic, so he’s just like: “you’re cool with it?”

And Arthur, oblivious but in love, is just like “well, at least you’re good at something.” Because, sure, Merlin isn’t powerful, but he’s not about to piss off the guy who gives him perfect baths. Then he’s like, “maybe figure out how to lie so my father doesn’t find out about you though. We can figure out the ban once I’m king”

I’m picturing this to be in early/mid season two. Morgana never turns evil, Merlin helps her with her magic because I said so.

So Merlin and Arthur have a while for Arthur getting used to Merlin magically lighting fires, sharpening his sword, adding protection charms to his armour, heating his baths, removing stains from his clothes and even putting them back to being like new if they lost buttons or anything.

Then they go to find the dragonlord, Balinor survives also because I said so.

Merlin tells Arthur Balinor is his father in the inn before they meet him. Arthur is a little worried for Merlin, but ultimately happy for his friend.

Then Merlin uses magic infront of Balinor and Arthur after Merlin told Balinor that he’s his son. Balinor shoves Merlin behind him protectively and Arthur is confused, “why would anyone assume he’d hurt Merlin? It’s Merlin. If anything, he’s more useful as a servant and more honest as a friend since he found out about the magic.”

Balinor is floored by it, and starts treating Arthur a lot better. Arthur gets to ask about pre purge stuff, Balinor tells him a bit about his mother from when her parents visited his when they were kids, then about Ygraine visiting the dragons and how she, Balinor and others in court at the time were friends.

They take him to Ealdor after the dragon is defeated/banished and Arthur looks over at Merlin and realises “oh my god, you summoned the wind.”

And Merlin is like, “yeah? No big deal.”

So Arthur is left wondering why Merlin is downplaying what he thinks is the strongest bit of magic he’s ever done. He comes to the conclusion that Merlin is embarrassed that it was a fluke, he tries to reassure Merlin that he can always practice and learn to do stronger magic like that. Merlin is confused because the wind wasn’t strong magic?

Balinor realises what’s happening and decides he wants nothing to do with it so he stays quiet. (He’s already sensed a lot of power from Merlin, so he knows he’s strong.)

Anyway, they keep going to Ealdor. Merlin still hasn’t caught onto the fact that Arthur thinks he’s a weak sorcerer, Arthur hasn’t caught on to Merlin being strong and just thinks he’s a little bit embarrassed about not being that strong of a sorcerer.

Then they get to Ealdor, everything is great for about two days until it starts down-pouring. Enough rain to flood the village and everyone is worried because Cenred or Lot(?)(I don’t remember when Cenred dies in canon) isn’t going to do anything because he just doesn’t care so their fields will flood and they’ll starve and not be able to afford taxes.

Arthur tries to reassure Merlin that it’s okay, but Merlin just hums. He asks Arthur if they can still lie and say they were on a hunting trip if he does something about the rain, Arthur tells him he shouldn’t push himself or anything, but Merlin says he won’t and Arthur trusts him so it’s fine. Merlin then goes outside and casually stops the rain, clearing the clouds and moving the rainwater into the river.

Arthur is shook.

Then he’s got to realise that Merlin is powerful, but again he never lied about it so he can’t really get mad, so he decides it’s better to just be shocked and carry on as usual until he gets used to the idea that Merlin is stronger than he looks.

There’s also a little bit of a bi panic in there somewhere because Arthur definitely has a thing for competency. We all saw his crushes on Gwen, Merlin, Lancelot, Mithian if she wasn’t just the wrong person for him, I’m pretty sure Percival too. There’s definitely others I haven’t noticed or forgot about. You get the idea though.

He sees Merlin being good at Magic and is suddenly very confused by the feelings he’s too emotionally stunted to recognise. Even if it’s just small things, Merlin is good at something and ‘what the hell happened to the bumbling idiot who forgot to hand him his sword the first day? What? Huh?’

Then after he accepts Merlin is really good at magic, he decides: “great! He can train with me now! :D” and he drags Merlin out of Camelot to spar which is basically just Merlin teaching Arthur how to defend himself against magical attacks. Arthur thinks he’s helping Merlin to protect himself because ‘if all he can do is wind that’s hardly an offensive attack so he needs more help mastering that. And considering no one else knows, it’s my responsibility to make sure he’s safe if he ever needs it.’

Merlin is just glad to be accepted and that Arthur is willing to learn how to protect himself against the numerous magical attacks every week so he lets Arthur think whatever he wants about why they’re sparring.

But yeah, there’s minimal trauma, it’s not a big deal and they get the happily ever after they deserved.

[princessbrunette]

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

PLAYING DANGEROUS ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩ lana del rey — playing dangerous ♩

pairing: detective!johnb x reader.

cw: mentions of a murder, reader is a murderer, mentions of the law, slight age gap, abuse of power, sexual content.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day two.

nothing ever happens in this town.

nothing worth talking about anyway. only god knows why john b was stationed out here. what kind of detective work was there to do out in the sticks you might ask? jack all, that’s what. nothing but the occasional stolen tractor, and one time — oh, one time, somebody vandalised the town statue outside the city hall, leaving john b to figure out who did it. now that one was real exciting, he knows he’s not meant to — but he secretly loved the smart criminals. made his job just that bit more exciting. the vandal took out the security cameras facing the monument, and also had questionable motive for the graffiti. took john b the whole of two days to figure out who did it, and they didn’t even get an arrest. just a hefty fine. the criminals round here were boring as ever.

until you.

a murder, in his small town. it rocked everyone, as you can imagine. everyone knew everyone round here, which made things all that more interesting. a young man’s house had been burnt down, with him inside of it. john b had to commend you, you’d sent him out with a bang, not even bothering with a boring method of murder, more paperwork sure but god was it worth it. a real case, hell — he cracks this one and they might even move him up to the city. get him on some real jobs.

now not only were you apparently this young man’s scorned ex lover, the kid apparently being some kind of serial cheater — but john b had asked around, and apparently you hadn’t been careful enough to cover your tracks when purchasing large amounts of gasoline. to him, it was pretty obvious who’d done it— but there was procedures he had to take. things aren’t always as they seem, and john b couldn’t afford to jump the gun and ruin his chances at a promotion.

knock, knock, knock.

it’s late, he’s aware. 9PM isn’t the most appropriate time to show up at a perps door, but hell — with this case came a buttfuck load of paperwork that he hadn’t been doing before and it had taken up all his time. now it was time for some real action, his stomach stirs in excitement. shit, his cock almost hardens.

he starts observing you before you’ve even greet him. the sound of socked feet on wood. do you sound hesitant? frightened? confident and unknowing? is there an air of acceptance to your walk, knowing you commit the heinous crime? he pretends not to notice the jostling of curtains in the window at the front of the house as you undoubtedly take a peak. he figured that was fair, as it was so late — rocking comfortably back and forth on his feet with his hands behind his back.

you take another minute to answer, so he frowns, letting out a little whistle and going to knock again. “uh, are you—”

you swing open the door, big stepford smile on your face. here we go.

“officer?”

“detective.” the brunette flashes his badge, tight and polite smile as he peers into your hallway. “i’m sorry to drop by so late ma’am is this… this a good time?” he’s awkward, young in nature and not so much in stature, the lines in his forehead and around his eyes already telling you he’s a bit older. as you observe him right back, he clears his throat and fixes his tie.

“of course, detective.” you correct with a smile, a knowing one — like you were sharing a joke between friends. he’s unsettled by your energy.

“‘don’t mind if i come inside then do ya? kinda… chilly tonight.” he stuffs his hands in his pockets, pivoting his body round to glance at the blowing trees. your expression settles like you’d been waiting for him to ask, and you widen the door gap — exposing all of you. you stand in the littlest night gown, white silk against your skin and john b feels like letting out a comical gulp. he didn’t think you’d be beautiful. where do beautiful girls get off murdering people? beautiful girls could have whatever they want.

“my, i’m a little shy standing here in my nightgown.” you converse as he passes you, acknowledging that you did infact catch him looking. he says nothing, just smiles and huffs out an awkward chuckle from his nose as he respectfully dusts his boots off on your welcome mat before strolling inside. the house was dark, lit only by candles and you follow him to the living room.

“tea? coffee?” you offer and he lowers himself into an arm chair, patting the quilted arms a few times with his large flat hands. he wants to scoff, knowing better than to take a drink from a probable murderer.

“wh— oh no no, this uh. this shouldn’t take long.” he watches you just as carefully as you watch him, and you make the conscious decision not to sit. you stay standing infront of him, skin glowing in the low light. you were wearing so close to nothing it was distracting to a pent up, perpetually single man like john b. he feels like loosening his tie.

“very well then, detective. what seems to be the issue?”

“do you know anything about a fire, ma’am?” he sounds hesitant, eyes wide but only in the way where he’s stiff with observation, not wanting to miss a second of a tell you might give. there’s a pause of hesitation before you nod, crossing your arms over yourself. unfortunately the only note taken there was that the action pressed your tits together.

“yes. very tragic.”

“yeah, no for sure… not many fires in this town right? got down to a record break last year. only three fires and they were pretty small.” he converses, relaxing a little into the seat. you stay on your feet.

“was bound to happen at some point i suppose. men have a habit of being reckless, leaving things switched on and so on. probably fell asleep with a candle burning.” you sway, eyes flickering to your own candles like you were imagining the same fate for yourself.

“for sure, for sure…” john b nods slowly, taking a moment to look down at his lap as he thinks. where he looks back up, you’re staring.

“he was a uh, boyfriend of yours — if my intel is correct?”

“ex. ex boyfriend.” you correct, jaw tightened just a smidgen like you couldn’t help yourself. john b stares you down, infact he could swear his lips quirk upward just a tiny bit. he’d so got you.

he settles a little more, resting his elbow on the arm of the seat so he could prop up his chin, staring at you with a knowing look.

“mind telling me where you were on sunday evening?” shit.

he watches the shift of emotion on your face, the way it falls ever so slightly before immediately lifting again, like you had full faith on yourself. you smile, huffing out a breathy little giggle as you tilt your head to the side like a confused puppy.

as you speak, you slowly begin to slip the strap of your nightgown down the smooth skin of your shoulder. “gosh, i barely remember. i spend so much time here… all lonely… was probably… keeping myself company, if you catch my meaning, officer.”

“detective.” he rasps, eyes following the strap like the weakling he is. he clears his throat.

“apologies, detective.” you correct, before pulling down the other strap. “you mind if i slip into something a little more comfortable before we continue with this?” you shoot him the innocent doe eyes. he raised his eyebrows, and you drop the nightgown to your feet anyway, naked as the day you were born. “much better.”

john b chuckles, tilting his head to the side as he looks up at you. “this what we’re doing now?” he deadpans with that warm friendly smile that drew you closer.

you giggle, and this time it’s actually authentic, stepping closer until you brave straddling his lap. he winces like you’d placed hot iron on him.

“is it working?” you try your luck, and he’s distracted by the fat of your hips, his coarser hands sliding up them to grab at the meat of them, watching the way your folds part around his growing bulge through his black work pants.

“ugh, i don’t know.” he groans quietly. he knew there was another version of him somewhere, behind glass, watching this all go down. he’d pound on the glass, telling himself to stop, that he was throwing away everything all for some pussy — but the truth was, he was lonely too. this life didn’t leave much room for… socialising.

knowing you were close to breaking him, you roll your hips, letting out an exaggerated whimper as you watch his hands slide up to your tits. “m’sure i can change your mind somehow detective. you really don’t wanna put those tight handcuffs on me, i’m only a fragile girl.”

“fuuuucking shit.” he groans in despair, and you feel his hardness wedged up beneath you.

it’s not even five minutes later and you’ve got him inside of you, his pants around his ankles — a true testament to the way you’d caught him out, used his loneliness against him and it didn’t even take any convincing, he cracked pretty much immediately. shit, he loved his job — but maybe he didn’t wanna go big city cop after all.

your hips went from rolling to aggressive bouncing, your teeth grit, primal and forceful like you couldn’t help yourself. the sweet little mewls you let out after each bounce didn’t match the sheer force at which you were milking him. over the harsh plap plap plap sound — you lean forward to his ear.

“why you lettin’ me get away with it detective? s’it cos you like me? do you like me?” god you were insane, but the neediness in your voice filled a hole he’d craved. he’d always wanted one of those girlfriends, the type that cares too much, wanna know his every move. he knew it was wrong, hell — you’d killed someone. but something about it was getting him off just as much as it was you.

despite being older than you by quite a bit, his eyes held this puppy like quality to them, a youthful gaze he stares up at you with. “because you’re pretty. really pretty, and uh — you’re young.” wow, he was messed up. he’s not even sure why he said the last part, everything was just so twisted.

he was aware of how much he was screwing himself. but hey, john b had always been a sucker for doe eyes and pretty tits, so who could blame the man?

[luveline]

idk if this is interesting enough for a prompt, but stripper! reader (w/ either aaron or spencer, your choice :) ) where they get worried because they see her with large bruise on her side but really she just got it from a hard fall practicing a pole trick lol

ty for requesting! I thought it was more than interesting my love, 1.1k

cw past implied domestic/workplace violence

"Can I make a cup of tea or something?" 

Spencer lifts his chin before his gaze, hanging onto the line he's reading until he's finished somewhere manageable. Finally looking up, he says, "Sorry, what?" 

"Can I make some tea? Do you have anything like that? Or coffee?" you ask. 

He almost slips standing up. "I'll make you tea." 

"No, I can make it, you're reading. I just wanted to ask before I went rooting through your stuff." 

Spencer's smile is shiny, pretty, all manner of things. It says Don't be silly. "You don't have to ask, help yourself." He nudges you in your bad side. "Of course you can have tea. I'll make it." 

You wince at his contact but follow him into the kitchen without complaining. You're sick of your own narrative —yes, you're a stripper, yes, it's hard work, and you know these things but you're tired of having it be the constant identifier of your life. You really wish work stayed at work, but the half metre contusion spread up your ribs like a formidable stain won't go away. You want something warm to wash down a few painkillers and hopefully you'll fall asleep on his couch. Spencer doesn't make you go home when it gets late and you hate asking him if you can stay. Easier to knock out on his couch and have him throw a blanket over you. 

His mind must have drifted to the same place. "Did you wanna stay the night? It's getting kind of late." He opens the kitchen cabinet above the toaster oven for two mugs, and the cabinet below the sink for his stove top kettle. He peeks at you from over his shoulder when you fail to answer. "Or I can drive you home?" 

"I'll stay. Better chance of survival." 

He does that adorable nose-wrinkled frown. "I'm not a bad driver." 

"Do you have any of my cookies left?" 

You wouldn't usually ask, but you paid for them last time you came over, so you figure it's okay. 

"Sure, they're in the cabinet by the bread bin," he says, moving to the sink to fill the kettle with tap water. His face flicks between you and the task at hand. 

You open the cabinet above the bread bin, double doors creaking on their hinges. Your cookies are in a tupperware container on the very top shelf at the back. He'd probably tell you something about mould or weevils if you asked why they're up out of reach, but you're more focused on getting a sweet treat than anything. You'll ask later. You can listen to him talking until you fall asleep. 

"What is that?" 

"What's what?" you ask, though any further questioning is interrupted by your yelp, a cold hand touching your naked stomach as you set back down on your heels. 

"What happened?" Spencer asks, your shirt held by his pinky finger as his thumb moves over the bruise. It's like he's hoping it's make up to be rubbed away, and he's horrified when it stays undisturbed by his gentle touch. "Who did this? I swear, I'll–" 

"Your hands are cold," you interrupt, taking his hand in yours, peeling it off of your stomach. "And it's kind of tender, Spence." 

"What happened?" 

His tone leaves no room for jogging around. You're not reluctant to tell him for whatever reason he might assume… You and Spencer used to live very close to one another, and you'd see him at the local grocery store, a small place, without saying much. He'd smile at you. Occasionally say hi. Until one day your eye was swollen shut from the force of a cruel hand and he asked if there was anything he could do. So Spencer knows intimately how people have managed to hurt you, and he worries because it's his nature to worry. 

You'll have to tell him what happened, even if it's embarrassing, in order to wipe the concern off of his delicate features. He's angry and scared and sorry, and he has no reason to be any of those things. 

"I– okay, I wanted to practise this twist thing that Stassia showed me," you begin, meeting his eyes with bashful reproach, "you don't have to be so worried. I was practising, or trying to, but it gets cold in the private room and I was shivering and my hands were aching, so I thought I could put on my sweatpants and try again but, you know, you need the–" 

"Friction," he interrupts, looking down at your bruise with a rather ironic smile. "You fell off of the pole?" 

"Yes, and you don't have to sound so happy about it." 

"I'm not," he says, rubbing at the sore fat of your hip apologetically. "I'm glad it wasn't, you know, what I thought it was, but– I mean– how hard did you fall?" 

"I thought I broke my ribs." 

He laughs. It's as soft as his touch. "I bet you did…" 

"Any more touching and I'll think you want to tip me." 

Spencer laughs and winces simultaneously, dropping your shirt back into place and neatening the hem "Right, sorry." He steps back half a step before stepping forward again, his arms quick to wrap around you in a sweeping but brief hug. "Thanks for telling me." 

"Super sarcastic, Dr. Reid." 

He peels away from you to light the stove unsuccessfully. Your side is throbbing at being remembered, your head with embarrassment, and that cup of tea just isn't coming quick enough. The phantom of his fingerprints linger.

You follow Spencer to the stove and push your hip into his, pushing the stove top knob in with the sparker until it catches. 

"Don't make a joke about my hands." 

"I wasn't going to," he says earnestly. The back of his knuckles touch your elbow. "You could tell me the next time you do something like that. You should. I want to know if you have a bruise the size of a watermelon." 

"If I told you every time something was wrong with me we'd always be talking about what's wrong with me," you say, though you press your cheek to his shoulder appreciatively. 

"Good," he says simply. 

"Good," you repeat, surprised. 

You stay like that until the kettle whines, your cheek on his shoulder. Oddly, it's as though you've taken a weight off.

Spencer gives you the princess treatment for the rest of the night, as though helping him make dinner or washing the dishes will stop your bruise from healing. He even pops out to the store for a tube of arnica. It's, shamefully, one of the best days of your entire year, easily making the top ten, as most days with Spencer tend to do. 

[saint-ajax]

Wh0re Thoughts X Shades Of D.I.L.F

TW: 18+ | DARK THEMES | SOMNOPHILIA | DUB-CON | CONSENTED AGE DIFFERENCE | DADDY!KINK | P-LINK | PART I.

#SR1P1 | DAD!SIMON X BABYSITTER

“Say ‘bye’ to Daddy, baby!” You squeak in your baby voice as you carry his eight month old child, right hand on the baby’s back, and left to puppet his arm to wave at his dad. You smile adoringly while the child munch on his closed fist. You laugh contagiously at the sight, he was so adorable.

On the other hand, “Say 'bye’ to Daddy, baby!” Simon was fucked. He was damned in hell when he heard that word slip out of your mouth and liked it. It wasn’t just the word, it was the whole scene. Everything was perfect. Your smile, his baby’s giggles, the way you carry his child, it was a perfect scene. Him leaving for work, while you stay at home and take care of his child. A perfect fantasy. It was easier to imagine you as his wife when you’re doing the requirements for it.

You had no idea how many cold showers he took just to calm his deal whenever his eyes landed on you. When you greet him at the door with a big smile on your face as if he was the star in your life, when the water spills on your shirt and you’re so comfortable in his house–with him– that you take it off in front of him as you run upstairs to change.

But he couldn’t make a move. You were his babysitter. Although he’s a single dad– still. He was two times older than you are. He can’t fuck around with a twenty year old who takes care of his child. Yet sometimes the way you look at him, and touch him out of kindness makes him think that you’re giving him permission to split you in half in his bed where he lets you sleep whenever he’ll be late for work.

He runs towards you and his baby on the porch after putting his stuff in the car, leaning down to brush his thumbs on his baby’s chubby cheeks, and leaves a soft kiss on his head.

“ Be good, son. „

He says firmly to the innocent child. It made you laugh the way he spoke to his baby. “ I think it’s adorable that you talk to him like he’s a teen. It’s actually preferred to talk to babies that way, but I just can’t help a baby talking to this adorable one. „

You say out of baby fever as you snuggle your face with the baby that made him giggle more. He watched as you carelessly kissed his baby as if he’s yours, as if it’s your child, and it was a blissful sight if he wasn’t damned. He lifted his hand and held his baby’s soft cheeks that were near your face. His knuckles at the very front of your lips.

“ 'might arrive late tonight, 'want ya’ to sleep on my bed. 'lright? „ he speaks without looking you in the eye until he finishes. You nod innocently, agreeing with what he wants.

He stands closer in front of the two of you, squeezing his hands in between your chest and his baby, to hold his stomach while purposely lingering the back of his hands on your boobs, then pulling his baby to kiss the top of his head.

You gulp as you feel his touch on your full breasts through your sweater, letting him bid his goodbye to his child. Then making you flustered and shocked when he left a kiss on the top of your head.

“ Take care of my angels, „ he bids by murmur as he looks you in the eye, a hand not leaving the top of your head. “ give me a signal when I come home. Ya’ know what I’m talking about, angel. „

He says before finally leaving the two of you on the porch. And you did understand what he meant. That’s why you slept on his bed with just your underpants. No bra, no shirt, hair untied, no blanket, sleeping comfortably on his bed, one leg on top of a pillow.

Night finally comes and the father of the house arrives, after checking up on his son sleeping soundly on its cradle, he didn’t expect to see much in his room thinking you probably think it’s pathetic to sleep with a forty year old.

And your naked beautiful figure lying on his bed just made his dreams come true. He knew you’re asleep. He had memorized everything about you by now. As he unbutton his shirt, unfasten his belt, he strips with just his boxers on.

He went diving on the bed beside you, body heat exchanging as you lie skin to skin, hands massaging your exposed ass, rubbing his hands gently to appreciate your exposed skin, as inhaling the scent of your hair makes every nerve of his body calm down. He gently leaves kisses down your back, until his middle finger tugs aside your panties, for him to inhale your warm pussy.

He slides his finger in between your wet, slick, folds, rubbing your entrance up and down, dipping his finger inside to drench it in your slimy juices for him to lick and suck it off his finger. Then playing with your glossy clitoris, circling motion, rubbing its dimensions with the pad of his middle finger, then letting his tongue touch your wet slit to slide it up and flick it on your clit. It wasn’t enough, he also sucked the life out of your aching clit, and of course slurp your slimy folds dripping in arousal. It tastes so much better than he imagined.

He didn’t stop playing with your pussy until he had enough. He didn’t stop scraping your sopping walls with his tongue until you squirmed as you slept, moaning adorably, muttering incoherent words. “ mhmm… more, „ you murmur as he keeps on eating you gently. Taking his sweet time, not rushing, eating your pussy thoroughly.

PART II. | NEXT –>

MASTERLIST | A03

[nimnia]

𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

pairing ── kim minji x female reader

summary ── minji doesn't believe in soulmates, more than believing in fate until her red string around her pinky finger tugs her in to meet her soulmate.

contains ── angst, non idol au, high school au, emotional, crying, painful, painfully relatable minji, heartbroken reader, soulmates au, red strings/thread

taglist ── @flyingcigarettes

[masterlist]

── ── ꒰ 𓍼 ꒱ ── ──

the classroom was as it always was— a place where pens scratched on paper, muted conversations filled the air, and the sunlight filtered in through the clear windows. but for minji, it was a prison.

a prison, one whose walls were painted with the vibrant red of the string tied around her pinky finger. she stared at it blankly, her lips set in a thin line, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts she couldn't escape.

it had been a month since the string appeared. a month of sleepless nights of staring at the glowing thread and wondering who was on the other side. a month of bitterness gnawing at her heart.

her parents had once been soulmates, their fingers tied by the same ethereal string that mocked her now. and where had that gotten them?

divorced. broken. bitter.

soulmates weren't forever. love wasn't eternal. the idea of fate was nothing but a cruel joke.

minji clenched her jaw and flicked the string with her finger as if trying to snap it. obviously, it didn't snap. it simply quivered, swaying back into place like it was taunting her.

she wanted to hate whoever was on the other side of the string. they were a stranger, a faceless figure tied to her by some cosmic force she had no control over— and yet, she couldn't bring herself to hate them— not truly.

but she could resent them, and she did.

"minji, are you even listening?" a familiar voice cut through her jumbled thoughts.

she blinked, her head snapping up to meet her friend's annoyed gaze. "what?" she muttered annoyingly.

hanni sighed, "i was asking if you're coming to the cafe after school."

minji shook her head, exhaustion finally catching up to her. "i've got stuff to do." the excuse was as empty as she felt. right now, she doesn't want to deal with anyone in this sort of state. she doesn't feel like it.

"right..." hanni rolled her eyes but didn't press further.

minji was grateful for that— the last thing she wanted was to explain why she'd been zoning out more than usual lately.

as hanni turned away, minji's eyes wandered around until they suddenly landed on you.

you were seated a few rows ahead, your head bent over your notebook, your hair fell into your face, and you absentmindedly pushed it back behind your eyes, revealing a look of quiet concentration.

minji's gaze drifted lower— to your hand, where your pinky finger rested against the table. then, her breath caught in her throat when she saw it: the red string.

your red string, swaying softly against the table.

you must have felt her stare because you looked up. for a moment, your eyes met hers— it was like the world around her faded away, leaving only the soft warmth of your gaze.

as she stares at you more, you look... kind. nervous, but kind. and when your eyes flickered down to the strings connecting the two of you, minji's stomach twisted.

she tore her gaze away, her heart pounding in her chest and her cheeks warming in red. she hated this feeling— the way you made her feel vulnerable and exposed. the way her thoughts seemed to circle back to you no matter how hard she tried to focus on anything else.

she hated it.

she hated you.

— no. that wasn't true.

she hated herself for not being able to hate you.

─────

the day dragged on, and each seconds felt like an eternity.

minji avoided looking at you, but it was impossible to ignore the way her mind kept replaying that brief moment when your eyes had met. when the final bell rang, she practically bolted out of her seat, eager to escape the suffocating weight of her own thoughts.

"minji," your voice abruptly stopped her in her tracks.

she looked down to the floor, then she turned slowly, her expression carefully neutral. you were standing a few feet away, clutching the strap of your bag and looking at her with a mixture of determination and hesitation.

"can we talk?" you asked her, your voice soft but steady. "behind... the school?"

"i..." she wanted to refuse you, to walk away and pretend this wasn't happening. but the words caught in her throat, and before she knew it, she was nodding.

minji's heart sank. she didn't need to ask what this was about. she knew. how could she not? the string tied you both together like a cruel joke, and now, the punchline was here.

─────

the back of the school was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves in the breeze. the sun was low on the horizon, casting long shadows and painting the shy in hues of orange and pink.

minji leaned against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, her heart thumping rapidly as she watched you fidget nervously a few feet away.

you were quiet for a moment, clouded gaze fixed on the ground.

then you took a deep breath and looked up at her. minji felt herself flinching slightly. "i... i have been thinking about this for a while, minji." you began, your voice trembling slightly.

"about the red string."

minji's stomach churned. she stayed silent, her expression unreadable, one that she had to keep to hide the pain.

"i won't lie," you continued, your hands clutching the hem of your uniform shirt.

"i'm scared." her breath hitched, "the idea of having a soulmate... it's terrifying. what if it doesn't work out? what if it just... hurts in the end?" your breath trembles so much, and minji's chest tightened. she knew that fear all too well.

"but," you said, your voice slightly gaining strength. "i think it's worth trying, minji." you looked into her eyes, her heart pounding relentlessly.

"if this string means we're meant to be together, then i want to embrace it. i want to embrace you."

her breath hitched further, to the point she couldn't breathe. the sincerity in your voice, the hope in your eyes— it was all too much. her walls, the ones she had carefully built over years of bitterness and pain, began to crack.

because of you, one of her circle of friends and one she fears of having her fate intertwined with.

"no," she said abruptly, her voice was sharper than she intended.

...

you blinked, taken aback. "...what?"

minji pushed off the wall, her hands balled tightly into fists at her sides. "i don't want this," she said, her tone cold and distant. "i don't want you, y/n."

the words tasted bitter and painful on her tongue, but she forced herself to say them. she needed to— for her own sake. for yours.

"i don't believe in soulmates," she continued, her voice trembling with suppressed emotions. "i don't believe in forever. this..." her teary eyes glaring at her red string connecting to yours.

"...this red string is nothing but... a damned burden."

the silence that followed was deafening yet ear-piercing at the same time. she expected you to yell, to argue, to slap her, to cry out like a baby, to hate her. but you didn't.

instead, you smiled— a small, broken smile that made her chest ache so terribly, suffocating her with the sudden guilt.

"i... see," you whispered brokenly, tears brimming in your eyes, and lips barely holding onto your smile. "i'm sorry for burdening you with this, minji."

you turned to leave, but minji's knees buckled as a searing pain shot through her chest like an arrow. her eyes widened as she gasped, clutching at her heart as if it were being torn apart ruthlessly.

the red string quivered violently, and she realized with horror that the pain wasn't hers— but rather, it was yours.

through the haze of agony, through the blurry sight due to her tears, she saw you pause. you knew what happened to her, your shoulders shaking, but you didn't look back.

"...i won't bother you anymore," you said, your voice barely audible.

"but i won't give up on you just yet, minji."

and then you were gone.

minji remained on her knees long after the pain faded, her chest heaving as tears streamed down her face, pained gaze lingering on your previous spot where you once stood with such sincerity and pain.

she clutched at her heart, the excruciating ache refusing to subside, a raw large wound that she couldn't ignore with such indifference. the red string around her pinky trembled but didn't snap. didn't break.

it stayed intact, fragile yet unyielding— a cruel reminder of what she had just done.

"i won't regret this," she muttered shakily, her voice barely above a whisper. "i won't..." but the words rang hollow, and her tears betrayed her.

"i'm sorry," she whispered into the empty air, then louder and brokenly, "i'm sorry—! fuck..." the apology fell from her quivering lips again and again, like a mantra she couldn't stop.

her hands clenched into fists, drawing blood, trembling with the heavy weight of emotions she didn't want to feel.

when she finally forced herself to stand, her legs wobbled beneath her, and the journey home felt endless like a loop.

─────

once inside the quiet of her room, minji immediately collapsed onto her bed. the darkness wrapped around her like a suffocating, but it did nothing to quiet the storm of gnawing emotions raging in her chest.

she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to sleep, but the tears kept coming, unbidden and relentless. her eyes ache so much, just like her heart constantly breaking into pieces like a fragile glass.

pain gnawed at her chest, an ache so deep it felt as though her very soul was unraveling. she hated it. she hated the way she couldn't stop crying. the way her thoughts refused to stop replaying the look in your eyes. the sound of your trembling voice. the way you had walked away without looking back—

she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.vshe hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.

and yet... she didn't fight it. she let the tears fall, let the pain consume her— because she deserved it. all because of her fear of being left behind once loved so unconditionally.

hours passed, and minji found herself sitting up in bed, her exhausted gaze drawn to the faint glow of the red string in the darkness, as if it was slowly dying but trying to stay awake.

it quivered so softly, a fragile thing that seemed so easy to break yet remained unbroken.

"you..." she said breathlessly, "you really won't give up on me, will you?" she murmured so quietly, her voice hoarse and painful from crying her heart out.

the thought lingered, unwelcome yet persistent. and for the first time, minji felt a small flicker of something she didn't expect. it wasn't dread or bitterness. no... it was much softer, quieter— a tiny spark buried beneath the weight of her fear and regret.

maybe... just maybe, tomorrow wouldn't be so bad.

her tears slowed as she lay back down, staring at the ceiling. the red string still glowed faintly, a constant reminder that you were still there, connected to her.

and despite everything— a small, reluctant part of her was looking forward to seeing you again.

and maybe to find that yearning love she has been seeking so desperately.

── ── ꒰ end ꒱ ── ──

[shdysders]

last kiss

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: in which you and tara truly had your last kiss.

word count: 1.5k

author’s note: this song is fully based on last kiss by taylor swift. also sorry for bad update and shit writing, i’m currently not feeling motivated for it.

"I love you."

Those were the three words you had whispered into Tara's ear, with your soothing and mellifluous voice.

It had been late. 1:38 to be exact. You couldn't fall asleep, although you thought Tara was. Whispering in her ear and kissing her cheek, being completely unaware of the fact that she hadn't yet to doze off either.

She had tried her hardest not to let the huge smile spread across her face. You had whispered the words for just the two of you to know.

Later that night, Tara had opened her eyes, feeling the need to see your features once again before drifting off. You'd looked so tranquil, peaceful. Your face lit through the darkness like a radiant moon, casting a gentle glow all around.

You told Tara you loved her.

So why did you leave? Go away?

It was not until now Tara remembered the time when you had reunited with her after sixteen long weeks apart. The sixteen weeks of Tara's school semester, who had felt like an eternity.

She recalled the smell of the rain, the sound of the drops hitting the hood of her rain jacket, and the fresh downpour on the pavement.

You had stayed up the entire night, just to get to the airport just in time so Tara wouldn't have to wait when she landed. July ninth.

Tara had ran of the plane just to see you, sprinted towards you the second she saw your sneakers on the concrete floor of the arrival hall. She jumped onto you, embraced you in a bone crushing strength you didn't know she had.

She remembered the smell of your floral scented perfume in her nostrils, and the way she felt your heart jumping through the material of your hoodie. She could still feel your arms around her sometimes.

Now she didn't have anyone to sprint towards after she'd gotten off a plane.

The only way she could feel your smell now was when she wore your clothes, the garments that you had left at her house and then forgotten.

Tara put on your clothes almost every day, sitting on the floor of her room, letting the smell of the different fabrics bring her to a happier place; the memories with you.

She thought about how much she missed you all the time. Although she was unsure if you ever thought of her.

Tara felt unsure of everything. She didn't know if the split between the two of you was the cause of it, or if it was all of the betrayals from previous events. But she did know that the only thing she was certain of was that she didn't know how to be someone you missed.

She knew you didn't miss her, but that didn't stop her from trying to figure out how to get you to yearn for her. As much as she did for you.

Was the key to get a new partner? Or post stuff that showed she was happier than ever? What could possibly make you want her again?

Something else Tara thought about constantly, was your last kiss. The last kiss she never thought the two of you would have. She thought you would spent the rest of your life alongside one another.

She had never thought about her relationship with you ending nor taking a drastic turn, but when it did come across her mind one time, she'd never imagined that it would happen like this.

She never planned on kissing Chad.

It wasn't on purpose. Of course it wasn't.

She would never intentionally do something to hurt you. Never.

But she had done it anyway. She had tried to blame it on the alcohol that she had poured into her body minutes before, but she was very aware that wouldn't get her anywhere.

Because the truth was; Tara didn't have a reason behind it, not at all.

She had asked herself the question over and over again; why she had done it, knowing that was the first question you'd ask her when she told you. But she couldn't come up with a proper answer.

Tara had felt out of place for months. She had felt this longing for comfort and validation. She knew that if she talked to you about it and expressed how she felt, you would've erased that feeling. Oh how she wished she had went to you to begin with.

She didn't know why she didn't.

Tara knew she could trust you. She knew she could trust you like a lighthouse guiding her through stormy seas.

Yet her mind told her something was wrong. She was fighting a battle with herself at that point,

the internal battle being between what she knew was right and the temporary relief she sought.

She felt disgusted with herself for sleeping with Chad. They had known each other ever since birth, and she thought that might've ruined their friendship for all eternity, however that wasn't the relationship she was worried about ruining.

The relationship she was worried about destroying was with the person's name she had accidentally moaned out.

Your name.

It was always on her lips.

Even when she tried to enjoy herself with other men, all she could find herself thinking about was you.

You'd forever be the name on her lips, no matter how hard she tried.

As she looked back on your time together, she couldn't help but remember the swing of your step. The way you moved with such grace and confidence. Each stride carried a rhythm that seemed to match the beat of her heart.

You were the life of the party, always showing off, whether it was in beer pong or in dancing, you loved dancing. You would always pull Tara onto the dance floor just so she would join you, and she would roll her eyes for it.

Tara wasn't much for dancing, she'd never liked it and was never going to. But for you, she did dance. She danced like nobody was watching, and she never seemed to regret it, because it always made you beam with a smile.

She'd do anything to watch you smile. She'd do anything to be with you again.

Because she loved the way you greeted Sam with a gentle handshake whenever you joined them for dinner. She loved the way you walked with your hands in your pockets.

How you'd kiss her when she was in the middle of saying something. She'd always end up kissing back, and she never complained, yet she still called it rude interruptions, and there wasn't a day she didn't miss them.

She'd do anything to experience that again.

The only experiences with you she had now, was the ones she tried to relive with your clothes on her body. When she would sit on her floor, pressed into a corner of the four walled room, either sobbing or just thinking about you, and how she didn't know if you ever wasted a thought on her.

She was now watching your life in pictures as regularly as she used to watch you sleep.

You slept over at her house almost every night, and on every occasion Tara would lay in front of you for hours, just admiring your features and relaxed face. She never told you about it, but now she wished she did.

She could feel you starting to forget her, as often as she used to feel you breath. Whenever you embraced her as you slept, she made sure to keep count your breaths and the amount of seconds between them, like they were about to stop if she didn't count.

They never stopped. Luckily. But she stopped hearing them after she'd told you the truth. About what she had done with Chad. She never got to hug you again after that, or count your heartbeats.

Tara tried to keep up with your old mutual friends as often as she could, asking them how you were doing. She always received short answers, politely short answers.

She could tell they wanted nothing to do with her. Same as you wanted nothing to do with her, Chad or even Mindy.

You would occasionally greet Mindy in the corridors, never even bothering to look at Tara or Chad, which was understandable, but that didn't stop the jealousy from flooding through Tara's veins from the sight.

She hoped you were doing well. She hoped it was nice where you were. Wherever you were. Whoever you were with.

She hoped that some day, when the sun would shine and it'd be a beautiful day, that you'd be reminded of something about her, and that'd you wish you had stayed. For whatever reason.

She hoped that at some point, you'd think back to the last kiss you shared, that you would change your mind, and that you'd want to come back to her.

Just so everything could be the way it was. The way she ruined.

[cece693]

Olá, você está aberto a pedidos? Se sim, posso solicitar uma história de Ethan Landry (Scream VI) com um leitor masculino.

Poderia ter algo com Ethan Landry obcecado pelo leitor tipo Joe de you aí o leitor descobre e o Ethan sequestra ele igual o Joe faz com back

You Belong To Me (Ethan Landry x M! Reader)

Thanks for the request. As I've stated before, I haven't watched any of the new Scream movies, so some of the information might not be accurate. I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Ethan is obsessed with you. So when you manage to discover he's the masked killer, Ethan sees no other choice than to kidnap you.

You didn't consider Ethan Landry a friend. More like an acquaintance. He wasn’t the kind of guy to stand out in a crowd—shy, awkward, the kind of person who stayed at the edge of conversations, almost too easy to overlook. You’d barely exchanged a word with him beyond the occasional nod in class. To you, he was just another face in the sea of college students.

But to Ethan, you were everything.

It started as a creeping suspicion that something wasn’t right. The killings had started months ago—violent, gruesome, and seemingly random. Students whispered about the Ghostface killer, the terror gripping the campus. Some people thought the attacks were personal, while others believed it was all just chaos without purpose.

You didn’t give it much thought at first. That was until weird things started happening around you. Little things, things that felt off. Your stuff went missing—a hoodie here, a notebook there. You’d see someone out of the corner of your eye, just a shadow, but every time you turned around, no one was there. You’d get the feeling that someone was watching, even when you were alone.

And then you found the messages.

A dozen missed calls from an unknown number, voicemails that were just the sound of breathing. Texts that said strange things: “You’re so handsome when you think no one’s watching.” Another: “They don’t deserve you, but I do.” It made your skin crawl. You thought it was some kind of prank—until the bodies started piling up.

People you knew. A guy from your dorm. A girl you’d once gone on a date with. And it hit you—every person who’d been killed had some connection to you. Not close connections, but they were enough to put you on edge. Someone was targeting people around you. Someone was getting closer.

You started paying attention to the people in your life, trying to figure out who could be behind it. That’s when you noticed Ethan—awkward, clumsy Ethan—showing up a little too often. Sitting just a little too close in class. Staring just a little too long from across the cafeteria.

One night, unable to shake the gnawing feeling in your gut, you decided to follow him.

You never expected it to be so easy. Ethan had no idea you were tailing him, walking a few steps behind as he slipped into the old theater building. You ducked behind pillars and crept through hallways, your heart racing. Why would Ethan be here this late?

Then you saw him. Ethan, standing in the center of the empty backstage area, staring down at the iconic white mask in his hands—Ghostface. Your stomach dropped.

Ethan exhaled slowly, like holding the mask was some kind of religious experience. His fingers traced the edges reverently, like it was a piece of art he adored. “It was you…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. But it was loud enough.

Ethan’s head snapped toward you, his eyes widening in shock. For a moment, the mask slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor. “Y/N…” he whispered your name like a prayer. His surprise melted into something far more dangerous—excitement. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

You turned to run, but you didn’t get far. Ethan was fast—faster than you ever thought possible. He tackled you from behind, his arms wrapping around you in a vice grip. You hit the ground hard, the air forced from your lungs. “Shhh,” Ethan whispered in your ear, pressing you down. "Don't fight. You don’t understand. This is a good thing. It’s what’s meant to be.”

You struggled, clawing at the floor, but Ethan was relentless. He pressed something cold and sharp against your throat—a knife.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Y/N.” he whispered, his breath hot on your neck. “I don’t want to hurt you. I love you.” Those words froze you in place, every muscle in your body locking up. This wasn’t love. This was madness. Feeling blood trailing down the left side of your face, you felt Ethan's hand going to your head before darkness consumed you.

When you woke, your wrists were bound with rope, and the rough bite of duct tape was pressed over your mouth. The dim light above buzzed faintly, casting shadows across the basement. It reeked of dust, old wood, and something metallic—blood.

Ethan sat across from you on an old couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he was waiting for you to wake up. When your eyes met his, his face split into a smile—a wide, boyish grin, as if the two of you were old friends and stood up. “You’re awake!” he said brightly. “I was getting worried. You hit your head pretty hard.”

You tried to scream against the tape, thrashing against the ropes. “You're scared,” he said, almost as if he were hurt by it. He crouched down beside you, his eyes searching your face. “But you don’t have to be. I’d never hurt you, Y/N.” He reached out to touch your cheek, and you flinched, your skin recoiling from the feel of his hand. “Everything I’ve done…I did for us,” he whispered, his voice carrying a note of desperation. “Can’t you see that?”

You glared at him, fury rising despite the terror that coursed through you. The tape over your mouth prevented you from speaking, but your eyes screamed the truth—This isn’t love.

He seemed to sense your defiance because the calm in his expression cracked, and for a moment, you saw the darkness beneath the mask of his boyish charm. “You don’t believe me,” he said, almost accusingly, his eyes narrowing as if you were the one who had wronged him.

“You don’t understand,” Ethan hissed, beginning to pace. “Nobody understands.” His voice grew sharper, each word edged with frustration. “You’ve been surrounded by people who don’t even see you—people who don’t deserve you.” He stopped and smiled at you. “But I do. I see you, Y/N. I know who you really are.”

You shook your head, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill. You had to get through to him—had to find a way to reason with him, no matter how deranged he was. You made a muffled sound behind the tape, pleading with your eyes for him to remove it.

Ethan hesitated, his gaze flickering over your face. He approached cautiously, like someone might approach a wounded animal. “You’re not going to scream, are you?” he asked, tilting his head. When you didn’t move, he reached for the tape and slowly peeled it off, the adhesive burning as it pulled away from your skin.

You drew in a shuddering breath. “This isn’t love, Ethan,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “It’s obsession.”

He flinched as if you had struck him. “No…” His voice wavered, but the intensity in his eyes remained. “It’s not an obsession. I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you. You were different.” He spoke as though he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “I had to protect you. I had to make sure no one got in the way.”

“And what about all those people you killed?” you asked, your voice rising with desperation. “Were they just in the way?”

His expression hardened, his jaw clenching. “They weren’t important.” His tone was cold now, detached, as though he were speaking about objects instead of people. “Not like you.” He moved closer, his hand gripping your shoulder with an alarming intensity. “You’re special, Y/N. Don’t you see?”

“No, Ethan!” you snapped, your voice shaking. “I’m not special, and this isn’t some romantic story. You’re sick. You need help.”

The words seemed to hit him like a physical blow. His grip on your shoulder tightened painfully before he yanked his hand away, his face twisting with a mix of anger and hurt.

Ethan's eyes darted toward the clock, and his frown deepened, as if he was weighing his options or calculating something in his head. His gaze shifted back to you, and for a moment, there was an almost regretful look in his eyes—like he wished things could be different, as if he genuinely believed this was all for the best.

“Maybe you don’t understand now,” he said quietly, his voice softening into something that almost sounded like pity. “But you will…you’ll see.” He took a step closer, his hand reaching up to brush your hair out of your face. “I have some things I need to take care of,” he continued, his tone unsettlingly calm. “But I promise, I’ll be back soon.”

Before you could say another word, he grabbed the roll of duct tape from the table and ripped off a piece, pressing it back over your mouth, smoothing it down with the same gentle care as if he were tucking you in for bed. His gaze lingered on yours, dark eyes gleaming with devotion. Then, without warning, he tilted his head and leaned in—his lips brushing against the tape covering your mouth in a lingering kiss. It was soft and disturbingly intimate, like a lover’s farewell.

“There,” he whispered against the tape, his lips still inches from yours. “Perfect.” He pulled back slowly, savoring the moment as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I’ll be back soon, Y/N," Ethan promised, a twisted kind of love in his voice. "I’ll make sure no one comes between us ever again."

[happy74827]

hiii love your writing! recently obsessed w harvey specter fics! would you do a really sweet soft side harvey one? or maybe harvey gets jealous and they fight but it ends fluffy?

Valentine

[Harvey Specter x GN!Reader]

Synopsis: With Harvey by your side, even with all his quirks, you can’t help but love him.

WC: 765

Category: Mega Fluff

Since I already wrote an argument type of fic, I decided on making it just pure fluff and admiration. Did Laufey and my friend help me with inspiration? Yes, yes they did. Also, happy *extremely late* Valentine’s Day!

『••✎••』

He likes Jazz, but not the kind that everyone knows. He likes the soft stuff, the smooth stuff, the kind that slips into your brain and massages your neurons and makes you think about life. The soothing melodies and the sweet crooning of old-school vocalists are like a drug to him, something that he can't ever really get enough of. The music is so powerful to him that it's even been known to lull him to sleep a time or two.

It’s things like this, the little things you’ve learned over the years about Harvey, like his love for pot roast and how he only watches the Knicks when they’re guaranteed a win. He absolutely hates being handed things, always takes his steak medium rare, and has a special love for black licorice, which you will never understand. It all helps give him his personality his quirks, and you love him for all of them, even if you don't agree with all of his food choices.

Harvey isn’t vocal about his feelings, but that’s not a problem because you know him well enough to tell just how he feels. You know the difference between the smile that is just a smile and the one that reaches his eyes. You know the way that his face goes slack, and his gaze softens when he looks at you. When he’s chewing on a pen, a grin spreading slowly across his face, you know it's because of something you've said or done, and you can't help the swell of pride that accompanies it.

You also know when something is bothering him. There are little clues, but if you catch him rubbing his forehead, it means he's frustrated or stressed, and you can't help but be concerned for his health. When his brows are furrowed, a telltale sign of deep thought, you can't help but worry. It doesn't help that he has the tendency to internalize his worries, never wanting to burden others with his problems, a habit you're trying to get him out of.

The way his fingers dance over his desk, twirling the pen he's holding, means that he's nervous, and you can't help the urge to pull his hands into yours, hold them still, and tell him that everything will be alright.

There are certain things about Harvey that you will never understand, like why he prefers to stay late and work through the night than to go home early or why he insists on getting his suits tailored even though they look amazing on him straight off the rack. But what you do understand is him, the person.

It took time, and it was hard, but you managed to peel back the layers of Harvey Specter, one by one until you had him figured out. There's not a day that goes by that you're not grateful for the fact that you get to spend the rest of your life with him, and the feeling only grows with every day that passes.

You can't imagine spending the rest of your life with anyone else. Waking up in that sleepy daze to see his face next to yours and falling asleep at night wrapped in his arms is the most comfortable and the safest that you've ever felt. Every morning that you open your eyes and see him there, you can't help the smile that stretches your lips and the warmth that fills your chest. You can't help but feel blessed.

It's hard sometimes. You won't lie. There are days when you feel like you're fighting an uphill battle, but in the end, it's all worth it.

You can tell by the look in his eyes when you're lying next to him on the couch that he thinks you're worth the world, and his lips on yours make it feel like the fight is easier than it is.

He doesn’t say it much, but you know. You can feel it in the way he holds you, see it in the way he looks at you, hear it in his voice when he says your name, and you can even smell it on his skin when you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

It's there, in his touch, and that's more than enough for you. Suddenly, you understand what the old jazz greats meant when they sang about love because as long as Harvey is with you, the two of you can weather any storm.

He was your forever valentine, and as long as you're together, you can face the future without fear, and that's all the music you'll ever need.

[jezabelle9299]

Angel S.R x FEM! reader

Overture- You and Spencer have been dating for a couple of weeks, and he comes to your desk to walk you home for movie night.

Cws- Brief kissing, mentions of feeling unsafe/nervous to be alone

A/N- Day 5-- Very exciting stuff. And you can pry Spencer x receptionist reader out of my cold, dead, hands.

October Masterlist

 You started working in the FBI building about a month ago as a receptionist. It took all of 20 minutes for Penelope Garcia to set you up with Spencer. It started with you complementing her shoes, and ended with you going to visit her office on your lunch break when she told you she’d found your soulmate for you. 

About a week and several gentle reminders not to meddle from Emily later, Penelope finally got you two a date. Now 3 weeks later, you were officially dating, and it was already the best relationship you’ve ever had. You were taking it slow, slow was good. You both fell asleep on the couch after a movie at his house last night, and it was possible you’d never slept better, simply because of his presence. 

When you saw him coming up to your desk, it was past 7 o’clock. Well after you needed to be there, but between going to visit Spencer upstairs, and going to Penelope’s office on your lunch break, you’d seen quite a few things you wish you didn’t. And it kind of freaked you out about the idea of taking the train to your apartment at night. You were putting it off, which was only making it worse. 

“Hey, I figured you’d be gone already.” He had his bag over his shoulder, and his hands were alternating between fixing his hair, and tugging on the strap. 

“Then what brings you here?”

“I wanted to check. But since you are here, I can hang out until you’re ready to go? Maybe we could do another movie night at your place?” The idea of it made you much more ready to go home, and you immediately started packing up.

“That sounds nice.” You gave him a still sort of shy smile. Neither of you had fully gotten over your nerves about the new relationship yet. 

“What are you doing here so late anyway? Did you have a lot of work to catch up on?”

“No, I just like it here, I get a little freaked in my apartment sometimes.”

“Why?”

“I live alone, and since I just started here a few weeks ago I don’t really have a lot of money, so the neighborhood I live in is a little bit rough sometimes. I promise I’m being totally safe though.” You threw in that last part for Spencer’s benefit, he was already looking moderately horrified by your living situation. 

“You know you can always come to my apartment, right? Or if you don’t want to go out at night, I’ll come to yours. Even when I’m on cases, you can at least call me if it would make you feel better. I’ll even send Anderson to come check on you” 

“Ok, ok, thank you Spence, but I don’t think he wants to hold up that end of the deal. I really appreciate it though, you are just the sweetest boyfriend.” 

“You’re my angel. And I am kind of attached to you, I want you to be safe and happy.” He’d never called you a pet name before, you didn’t think that you’d enjoy it nearly as much as you did. Spencer just felt so formal when you met him, in his suit, reciting facts like he was reading out of a book, that now the casual nature with which he called you his angel just made you want to scream from the pent-up joy. 

“Angel? You’ve never called me that before. I like it.”

“I haven’t? I think it all the time.”

“You think about me?” 

“More than is strictly professional at least. I think about you constantly.”

“It’s a good thing we don’t have a strictly professional relationship then.” He pulled you into him by your waist, and you took the opportunity to give him a kiss right on his jawline. Which stopped him dead in his tracks so he could hold your face and kiss you properly, before continuing the walk to the train station. 

[exceptional-z]

zed necrodopolis x reader

this is an au where zombies were never allowed to go to human high school. so zed is aged up (though age is never mentioned so you can imagine whatever) but has never been on the other side of the barrier. i attempted not to use gendered language but i tend to write with fem!reader in mind.

also please ignore any inconsistent verb tenses. english is not my first language and verb tenses are literally the bane of my existence. + i wrote this in like an hour

your family didn’t have much money growing up, hence why you lived so close to the gate. real estate was cheap since no one wanted to live near the zombies. but it also meant you learnt how to save money in as many ways as you could.

seabrook was all about perfection. if a mattress was two years old, it was time to throw it out and buy a new one. if a bike had a single scratch, it was thrown into the dumpster. all of the old items deemed as ‘garbage’ were brought to a warehouse that was emptied around every two weeks. and this was your favourite place to be.

you sneak into the warehouse. it’s late at night and there’s never any security around. you’re immediately greeted with piles of furniture and clothing and trinkets that are too unique to fit into the seabrook aesthetic.

you start to rummage through with the plastic gloves you always wear just in case any bugs or mice decide that this is a perfect place to burrow. lost in thought, you don’t hear the creaky door open, but you do hear the sudden shout that erupted from behind you.

your heart nearly stops beating at the sudden noise and your head swivels around. the lighting isn’t great, and you can only make out the vague shape of the person blocking your only exit. he looks fairly lanky, and if you squint you could make out some of his features. he doesn’t look much older than you and he certainly doesn’t scream “imposing”. he’s taller than you, but maybe if you caught him off guard you could knock him out with one of the many heavy objects splayed around you.

“i was told no one ever came in here,” the boy says. fuck, his voice is attractive.

“they don’t. in the three years i’ve been doing this i’ve never run into anyone else.” you answer, obviously suspicious.

“i’m uh- i’m just looking for a gift for my little sister,” he explains, “it’s her birthday soon and she said she wanted a new bike but we can’t really afford it.”

you relax a little at his explanation, sharing that you’d gotten into the habit of coming here to rummage for things since your family also doesn’t have much money. “i could help you look if you’d like? and even if we can’t find a bike, there’s a ton of cool stuff you can find if you’re willing to dig.” you offer.

you can’t be sure, but you think he smiles as he answers. “i’ll take any help i can get. my friend eliza told me to try coming here to look, but honestly, i’m a bit overwhelmed.”

you talk and laugh together for what must be at least two hours. you don’t end up finding a bike, but you find an old cheerleader outfit that looks to be in perfect condition. you can’t imagine why anyone would throw it out unless it just didn’t fit anymore. the boy -who still doesn’t have a name- literally jumped up in joy when he saw you holding the skirt from the set, doing a little celebratory dance that should have been embarrassing but was somehow endearing. (that’s how you figured out his little sister was obsessed with cheer).

eventually you have to part ways; it’s getting into the early hours of the morning and you both need to be getting home. he’s halfway down the street when you realise you never shared names and you yell out, “wait!”

he stops and turns around, and you jog to catch up to him.

“what’s your name, stranger?” you ask, “just in case we run into each other again.”

he tells you his name is zed, and you tell him your name in return. for a few seconds the both of you just stand in the street, memorising each other’s faces until you look away, shaking off the thoughts of how attractive he is under the starlight.

(bonus: when zed gets home, all he can think about is you. he wonders if eliza would recognise your name, or if he would possibly run into you if he chose to go to school for once instead of always skipping. he wonders where you live in zombietown, since he doesn’t recognise you and is sure he would remember seeing someone as gorgeous are you. he spends the next few days wondering, and then is in for the shock of his life when he sees you through the fence that blocks off zombietown from seabrook and learns that you’re human.)

[cherry-titz]

Hi friends! @1800titz here. This is my contribution to the collaboration, and I’d like to start off by saying that I am so, so, so beyond excited to work with the immensely talented @cherryjuiceblues!! Thank you for working with me Soph :’)

We have loads of goodies planned, and we’d like to kick things off with Mr. Hitchhikerry. (Sidenote: he’s a little late to the party, this WAS supposed to be a spooky piece for Halloween but SHDJDJCJDJD don’t worry about it. Life got in the way a bit, but he’s finally HERE so WOOOO). A little idea based on this reddit post. This one has great big warnings. DARK HARRY. VERY DARK HARRY. With a piece like this, I want to really emphasize: this is purely for entertainment purposes, and there is 0 correlation intended to the real Harry Styles <3 just a spooky faceclaim.

With that disclaimer out of the way, here’s some content warnings: dom/sub themes, choking, (light) spanking, degradation (and praise!) ((some good ol’ LET’S PLAY SIMON SAYS)). THE WOOF WOOF is for humiliation purposes only <3 GREAT BIG WARNING FOR A DISTURBING CONFESSION OF INTENT TO HARM.

Also, I writhe in my seat as I write, wanting to put in lengthy context of prediscussion and safewords and aftercare and everything important I always talk about, BUT. You’ll see. He’s an …interesting character and I tried to keep hitchhikerry true to himself.

PLEASE DON’T HOOK UP WITH STRANGE MEN YOU PICK UP ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AT NIGHT. PLEASE DON’T PICK UP STRANGE MEN ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AT NIGHT. Enjoy ٩(◕‿◕)۶ (WC is 11K)

She doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

Not figuratively, not literally. 

Y/N was raised outside of the scope of the seventies, post-Bundy and his hitchhiking antics, and since the evolution of serial-killer lore, she’s never been fond of a stranger hopping into her passenger seat and then cutting her up into itsy-bitsy parts to hang around his back garden like string-lights, or something. An ear there, a palm with crooked fingers there. Morbid stuff. 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers, but she doesn’t think about that, hurtling down some back-country road, a poorly lit vale through a field of tall, boundless grass. It’s not the first thought budding behind her skull when she sees his silhouette through the shone of her pearly brights — a blip by the line of tall shrubbery — even a good distance away. And from her distance, he’s just a little blip in a cream, hoodless sweatshirt, feet planted into a bed of patchy grass. Her first sane thought, as she squints through her windshield, has to do with why someone would be out on this road, at this time of night, with no feasible form of transportation, and how. As her Honda nears and passes some fork off, a dirt bend of clearing into the winding field of nature, the man’s hitchhiking, signature thumb morphs into a wave of his arms, and his foot steps out, toying at the edge of the road. It doesn’t quite breach the threshold, but her speedometer decreases enough for her to catch baggy denim, distressed at the knees, and a slow wave of his arms, raised. He doesn’t launch at her car, forlorn, as she passes — thank Christ. But even then, his frame swishes by, out of sight, coated by darkness. She casts her gaze to the rear-view, and the image of him scrubbing over his face with an exasperated palm shrinks in size the further she gets. 

The young woman gets about a hundred feet before she nudges the break with her foot to a halt, sighing as the car settles with a subtle lurch. She makes another glance to the rear-view. Now, she can’t see him, not in the shroud of night, but she squeezes her eyes shut for a second, and then twists the wheel until the car curves. A tire slips off onto gravel and grass with the U-turn, but she steers herself back onto the road and drives into the same direction she’s just come from. 

He looks surprised to see her reverse, form pivoted toward the same headlights that’d just passed him with a crease over his brow bone. Y/N slows and breaks as she nears, absent-mindedly pressing a fingertip over the lock button on her door. TV Girl is still playing quietly from her car speakers when she cracks the window, stopped beside him across the road, and beckons with her chin raised just enough for her cadence to seep through the opening, “Do you need help?” 

“Yes, yeah, I—“ the man makes a quick glance towards the side of the road where vehicles would be incoming, a sharp turn of his chin, and then a step towards her parted window as Y/N twists over the volume toggle. “I just— my car broke down,” he raises an arm and points towards the dirt clearing that slips into the field, “I was coming this way, and my phone’s died—“ 

He pauses, shaking his head down at his converse, his voice a baritone croon with charming, foreign dialect, “I know this is so odd, and you probably don’t want a stranger in your car. But f’you could just order an uber or something, I could give you the cash for it?” the girl watches his ring-clad palm disappear into the front pocket of his denim hastily, only to retrieve a wallet, “—If that’s alright?” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

And still, her pupils rove over the charming stranger, trailing from his soft dark curls, swiping over his lashes as his head ducks, down the slope of his nose, to the cushiony pink of his lips. Irises graze down his neck and catch a white tee under the collar of his cream pull-over, and they brush down his denim, to his battered, white converse. The young woman watches his hand stretch out, cautiously, a wad of neatly folded cash cupped by pads of fingers with short, yellow-lacquered nails. 

“No, don’t— …I can give you a ride,” Y/N tells him, her tone soft as her gaze wanders over his frame. 

A downward shift plucks at the corner of his plush mouth and his jaw flexes, a hesitant look shaping over his features, “It’s— I couldn’t— s’like a thirty minute drive, and I don’t wanna take you out of the way…”  

His large hand is still stretched out toward her, and she admires the cross inked over the back of his hand, on the fleshy area between his thumb and forefinger. Her brows pinch together, and the window whirs as the glass partition sinks. The girl raises her hand and points back with her thumb. 

“Are you going in that direction?” 

Wordlessly, the attractive stranger nods — a single dip of his chin. 

“I’m going that way, too. I can give you a lift.” 

Another look of hesitancy flits over the curly-haired stranger’s face, a soft, dubious touch to his facial features. He purses his strawberry mouth. 

“If you’re sure.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. 

And still, she slips her hand over the unlock button, and the doors click to signal unshuttering as the man culls his wallet and stuffs the cash back in, sticking that back into his jeans. She watches him wind around her car, his gait trailing behind, and her eyes follow his side profile, bathed in the red of the brake lights, through the rear-view. The passenger door slips open. She rolls her window the rest of the way up. 

“Thank you,” the man tells her in his low baritone, raking fingers through his curls as he slides into the seat beside her and shuts the door. 

He smells heady and fresh — expensive. But it’s not overpowering, by any means. A blend of tantalizing notes; cologne blotted in increments that mesh well with his natural musk. The pleasant scent is the first thing she notices when he climbs into her vehicle. The second is the sculpt of his side profile — lengthy lashes over the crest of his cheekbones, his nose, a plush, pink mouth, a stray curl splayed over his forehead. He’s a little older than her, at least by a handful of years; there’s this innate, aged quality to him, and she can witness it in the shape of his features, in the soft dusting of stubble over his jawline. Y/N catches glimpses of his side profile discretely as the music track shifts, eyeing the bob of his Adam's apple as he cranes his neck back against the headrest. The screen over the center console reads 1:02 AM. 

“Long night?” 

It’s a shit attempt at small talk, but the young woman turns the wheel in her palms, hopeful that the man is interested in something more than an awkward silence, sparsely filled with the mellow keys of electronic-indie leaking from the speakers. She heard him expel a breath more than she sees it in her peripherals, and as the car embarks on another U-turn, he tells her, with laughter suffusing his cadence, “Yeah. Yeah, s’been a long night.”

She does make out that he pivots a bit towards her, and his tone is earnest when he says, “But it’d be a little longer without you, I think. Thank you, again. Feels like I can’t say it enough.” 

Her mouth quirks softly. The young woman keeps a haphazard left hand on the wheel, vision bouncing from the poorly illuminated road ahead and the phone in the cupholder. The LED display lights alive as she swipes her thumb over the lockscreen and toggles onto the maps app, cueing him by nudging the electronic in his direction. 

“Um. If you could just type in the directions— I’m sort of shit in these parts, to be honest.” 

She casts a brief gaze toward him and sees a soft divot pinch into his cheek as the corners of his mouth crook up. His fingertips, warm and rough — calloused — brush over the back of her hand with the handoff, and then his thumbs are working over the screen before an address and a winding blue line of directions with an eta of thirty-four minutes teems the screen. 

“Hi, by the way,” the man says in his honey-smooth cadence, “My name’s Harry.” 

“Hi,” Y/N grins, shooting a bashful glance into the attractive stranger — Harry’s — direction, before fixing her irises up ahead. “I’m Y/N.” 

“Y/N,” the man parrots — God. She could listen to him drone on about the most monotonous topics in that voice. He doesn’t. Instead, he uses that same timbre again to say, “S’a pretty name.” And she has to ignore the flurry of butterflies that swarm her innards at the entirely innocuous compliment and the heat that suffuses her cheeks. “Are you from around here?” 

“Ish. Sort of,” she slows at a curve through the field. Her brows pinch, “I mean, I’ve lived here for a bit now, but I moved from Oregon.” 

“Oregon? That’s sick. Any particular motive?” 

Y/N lifts a subtle shoulder, because there isn’t. She pauses before she answers. “Dunno. Just needed a change of scenery.” 

Harry twists the ring over his pinky and nods down at the motion, lips pursed with intrigue, “Adventurous.”

The young woman’s mouth crooks, because he’s, evidently, from the opposite hemisphere.  

“That’s admirable,” the man motions with his chin. 

Her mouth is still smiley when she rounds another curve, in the opposite direction, and mirrors his dialogue, “What about you? Any motive?” 

“My motive?” his inflection is cheeky and playful, “You don’t think I’m a native?” 

The girl makes a wry sound of amusement; an obvious inclination of disagreement. The handsome man grins, all raspberry-tinted lips and friendly teeth. “Just …visited, and never wanted to leave,” he declares with little expansion on the topic. Simple, short, sufficing. 

There’s a little moment of lull between them when she straightens the car out and the track slips into the chorus. 

Harry shifts in the passenger seat and asks, in that same deep timbre she could sink into and drown in, “Where are you headed from?” 

Where is she headed from? Y/N blinks at the road ahead, digits flexing over the steering wheel. Truth be told, it’s a late hour to be out and about, especially in this deserted neck of the woods. Every cozy little farmhouse in these plains, distant beyond the fields of grass, has lights off. No other car passes. 

“I was on a …date,” the young woman tells him. 

Harry nods and swivels in his seat to face her a bit. “Good date?” 

Y/N pauses, the fragments of the story rolling around behind her skull. And truth be told, …it wasn’t a very good date. But it wasn’t a date to begin with. In all honesty, she’s not about to tell this attractive stranger that she’d driven forty minutes for a routine hook-up with an old tinder match, only to be stood up outside his door. 

He was a character whose path happened to cross with hers for purely carnal purposes, and their flings were like rolls through seasons, rendezvous blotted into her timeline where either had a smidge to make room. She’s not going to talk about that. It’s piteous, basically. The young woman doesn’t risk side-eyeing him. This man seems like he’s well off in that department, and she doesn’t want to discuss her shit intimate life and the way that Cody decided, last minute, that he was more interested in going out for miller lites with his buddies than entertaining the idea of sleeping with her. 

He didn’t even have that impressive of dick game anyways — that’s the brutal candor. It wasn’t that he had this particular lack of satisfaction guarantee, but the sex was okay. It didn’t tick all the boxes or leave her fulfilled, not in the real sense, but it was sex, and it was decent. Maybe the most brutal part is the way she’d driven all the way to see him, even knowing that the sex wasn’t going to be top notch. 

Apparently, her silence stretches too long, and the pause gives away the answer she mulls tactics over hiding. 

“Bad date,” the girl hears from beside her — it’s in this thoughtful sort of way, like Harry’s slotting puzzle pieces together in the lull.   

Y/N shifts her fingers over the wheel, the sound of skin sliding over leather meshing with the starting notes of a Cage the Elephant track. Her thumb toggles over a button on the wheel. She skips it. 

“No,” the girl responds, eventually, but she doesn’t even sound fully convincing to her own ears. There’s this high note to her cadence, and she hears it in her own waver of honesty. She wants to cringe up, a little, at the sound. “Not …bad. Just. Well, you know. What about you?” 

For the first time since she’d gotten back onto the road, Y/N casts her gaze to him. A glimpse, a twist of her chin, enough to take in his side-profile for a smidge of a second, more in a way to incite switching the topic and pivoting the point of conversation than the inconspicuous stare she’d made appreciating his features. The corner of his plush mouth curves up, and he makes a little sound; a puff of air through his nostrils like he’s bridling mirth. 

“Was my date bad?” Harry says, in this playful sort of way. Like he’s teasing her. 

“No— your— whatever you—” 

Y/N huffs. She rolls her shoulders back against the seat, a heat teeming over her cheeks. Why was she so nervous? Why did he make her so nervous? Harry makes another sound of amusement, the cushion of his lips unsealing to display straight white teeth. 

“I was at a friend’s,” Harry expands, opting to stop drawing out the teasing, enough for Y/N’s shoulders (that’d grown rigid) to relax a little against the seat. “Was actually having a good night, believe it or not. And then, you know.” 

Unfortunately, she does know. He’s sitting in her car, after all. 

“Do you know what went wrong with it?” she ponders. 

“Well,” Harry the pads of his fingers over the door, and it takes every fiber in her not to sneak a glance at the motion, not to admire the yellow polish, washed with darkness, dim in the car, “the check engine light was on for a bit, to be honest. But— no,” the man pauses with a little simper, shooting her a glance, “Cars aren’t my specialty.” 

They talk about loads of things — she learns all about his friends and the sort of outing they’d had (game night it’d been, Uno, and he’d beckoned her opinion on a debate that’d arisen — whether a draw four could be stacked onto a draw two). That had spawned another conversation on card games —

(“Is it like Go Fish, then?” 

“No,” she snorts, “not at all.” 

“Not at all?” 

“There’s a board and it’s— more complicated.” 

“There’s a board,” Harry parrots, shifting with his elbow brace on the center console like an armrest, “And it’s just, like. Cards, like, in a deck of cards?” 

“You’ve never played cribbage?” Y/N repeats in disbelief.)

She learns about his job, and his cat, and his collection of vintage vinyls. He’s amiable, and he answers every question she directs his way with this smooth sort of charm. He’s easy to talk to, and the span of the drive cuts shorter and shorter through intriguing conversation. But she leads the way for the majority of the inquiries. 

It’s not until they’re at the halfway mark before he asks his own, rather than redirecting one of hers. 

“Can I ask you something?” Harry drums his fingertips over the plush of his mouth, and Y/N struggles to fix her eyes back onto the road once she’s spared him a glance. 

It takes her a second to hum out an agreement, too. 

“It was a bad date, wasn’t it?” 

The girl expels a breath and drums her fingers over the wheel, casting her gaze onto the screen of directions. 

“It wasn’t even a date,” she confesses, “he was like—“ she blinks, lashes fluttering as exasperation at the reminder leaks through, “A tinder hook up, and we didn’t even end up hooking up.” 

Before he can interject, Y/N tacks on, begrudged, “He wanted to hit the bars with his posse of Mag-con wannabes, instead.”

And then there’s this sort of pause that has Y/N thinking that maybe she’s overshared. The man with the sun-polished nails isn’t an old friend she’s having a gab with, catching up on the phone — he’s a stray man she’s plucked up off some deserted road, and if he judged her for her choices, it’d kind of be justified. Namely, the one where she’d driven out in the middle of the night for impromptu cock. 

And anyways, this all feels a bit surreal — the beginnings of a therapy session with a stranger who’d hopped into her sedan for a lift, filling the void of a psychologist in a great, big leather armchair.  

Except Harry sounds earnestly disbelieving when he says, “You’re kidding.” 

She purses her mouth and readjusts her fingers over the steering wheel. “He sort of …canceled when I was already at his door? Forgot to text me that the plans changed. That’s what he said.” 

“What a dickhead.” 

“Mm,” Y/N hums. 

“He’s a moron for passing up the opportunity,” Harry tells her. It’s not in an awkward way, or anything creepy, either. He’s got this air to him, she finds — an ability to make a comment like with effortless delivery of charm. He’s not even looking at her when he says it, only risking her a brief glance that she catches in her peripherals. She still side-eyes him from her seat in surprise, the edges of her mouth curling up bashfully. 

“M’serious,” Harry says, dimples pinching into place beside the upturned-curl of his plush mouth. 

And the thing is, Harry is so friendly. He’s kind, and interesting, and despite the way Y/N had assumed allowing for his presence in her car would be the world’s greatest chore, she’s pleased to be in his company. 

That’s why she lifts a wry shoulder and tells him, “The sex was bad anyways.” 

The man’s face pivots to face her, then. “Yeah?” he coaxes for expansion in his molasses-slow croon of a timbre. 

“It was just a little boring.”

“Boring?” 

“Not— maybe not boring. Just, you know. There was nothing…” Y/N drums digits over the steering wheel, “I don’t know.”

The man beside her clears his throat. 

“Was he a missionary in the dark type of bloke, then?” 

“Yes,” she responds, almost instantly. Because missionary in the dark is, perhaps, the best way to describe Cody’s sexual nature. Down to the T, practically. She can’t fathom how many times she’d lay there, hoping he’d switch up into something different, something where his hands weren’t resting shallowly on the bed sheets beside her shoulders, something where his face wasn’t tucked into the crook of her neck, his mouth biting back everything but soft hisses of air as his hips rocked at an mediocrely slow pace. 

Harry’s mouth quirks. 

“But not even that, it’s like. He wasn’t bad at foreplay, or anything. It wasn’t the best. But, you know. It was all sort of… plain.” 

The young woman pauses before she continues with an apathetic, one-shouldered shrug, “And there’s nothing wrong with plain. It gets the job done, and, you know. That’s what some people like.” 

There’s a shift in energy, from there. It’s subtle, but Y/N can feel it, and she wonders whether the morph is a one-sided experience. It happens with the honesty of the context, with the way she swears jade winds over her figure from beside, with the rasp of his voice beckoning something playful. 

“But that’s not what you like.” 

Y/N takes a second to answer. “No.” 

“What do you like?” 

Maybe that phrase is where it hits her. Where she recognizes that the subtle shift in energy is not one-sided. Not by any means.

Y/N risks a haphazard glance into his direction. 

“Not …that,” the girl laughs. It’s a nervous, giggly kind of sound, but it’s not because of him.  

It’s different now, she thinks. He’d been so timid at first — all bashful gazes through lashes glimmering under the beam of headlights, hesitancy shaping his features. Friendly dialogue — alluring, but curt in anything beyond friendly. This is different. This is blunt and forward. This is his eyes raking over her, this is his tongue swiping out over the plush of his pink mouth, this is his dimples peeking as the corners edge up.

“What do you like?” Harry asks again, a note of flirty, lighthearted amusement to his smooth cadence.  

Y/N sighs, the corners of her mouth tipping up. “I don’t know. Oh my God. Why are you interrogating me?”

Harry laughs. His brows rise, and he tips his chin down so the green sparkles at her. “You don’t know what you like?” 

“I don’t know,” she huffs, good natured. And then she gives. “Something… rough. Something exciting. I don’t know, pull my hair, make it hurt a little. Don’t… lay there in the dark and…” her speech morphs into giggles, “Groan into my ear about how tight I am while I’m laying there like a dead fish.”

Y/N doesn’t know how she ends up pulled over in some deserted parking lot. She doesn’t know how her headlights end up off, how the stranger’s hands sew into her hair, how his lips mesh softly with hers, hungrily. Well. She does know, but she doesn’t care about the details in between. Because he’s hot, and he tastes of mint, and the tips of his fingers press into her scalp and tug a little when they brush through, when he slips a palm over the nape of her neck through the work of his cushiony mouth. It’s thrilling, and it’s sexy, and it’s dangerous, she thinks, but that thought becomes clouded and pushed back to the dells of her mind. 

“Such a pretty little thing,” Harry murmurs when they disconnect, fingers splaying over her cheeks. Her heart hammers in her chest, and his irises trail after the motion of his thumb, bumpily dragging over the side of her lips, all the way to her cupid's bow. That same pad of his thumb pauses and tugs, drawing her bottom lip down to show the slightly parted seal of her teeth. 

And then he’s taking his thumb away and nudging the tips of his index and middle finger, coaxing, “Open your mouth, open your mouth.” 

The pads of his digits meet the tip of her tongue and prod in, brushing over her taste buds, until he’s tapping onto the center of the muscle and crooning, “Stick it out. Tongue out for me.” 

A little hum escapes her, plucking at her vocal chords when she complies, only for him to trace further with his fingertips and nudge until he strokes the back. He holds them there and makes a little motion with his chin and a soft tut when her irises stay pinned on him, glazing with a sheen of watery protest at the depth of the intrusion. 

“Ah— don’t you gag,” he tells her softly, every syllable of every word coated with these notes of dominance that almost seem …innate — like the headspace is a pair of shoes for him to slip into with ease. 

It’s filthy, it’s so filthy — this stranger’s fingers in her mouth, this man she’s never seen a day in her life, a complete, nameless stranger, not even an hour prior, prodding into the warm wetness behind her lips. And her, following his aimless direction, just to please him. She doesn’t gag through the way his fingers crook, her tongue twitching and her throat bobbing, her sight growing blurry with the coating of sheen. It’s worth it, immensely, when Harry hisses out a soft curse and groans softly, his brows pinched. 

It’s worth it when he takes his fingers away, and Y/N’s jaw is coated with her drool, when her tongue is still out, when Harry says, in this soft, strained voice, like it’s praise, “Christ, you’re a filthy thing.” 

She finds that this impromptu rendezvous sort of gives her whiplash. She’s parked in some empty parking lot with her lights off, and an alluring stranger’s just untucked his fingers from her mouth. Maybe someone would deem this a new low — having a shag with some hitchhiker she’s scooped off the side of a back-country road. But he’s eyeing her like she’s prey, and he rolls from one action like pages flitting and flipping in a book, and every detail keeps her on her toes. She can’t keep up. Y/N pants wetly, like she’s not sure whether to slip her tongue back into her strawberry mouth, because she’s not. 

Not until he swipes another thumb over the tip of the lax, twitching muscle and beckons, like he’s a little amused, “Aren’t you?” 

Slowly, her tongue retreats, and that’s when his hand slips and cups over her throat, and that’s—

Her pulse thunders like it’s straining to beat out from below her skin, and Harry adjusts his grip, that same, wet thumb drawing short, slow lines over the point like he wants to test the race of her heart, like he wants to know that the pattern has skyrocketed since his palm has made homage over her windpipe. The man hums, pupils trailing and lingering slowly. 

“Tell me—“ Y/N shifts in her seat, spine straightening out against the cushion, and something wracks down every individual knob when his blown gaze pins her the same way his palm pins over her neck, “Tell me you’re my filthy plaything.” 

The press of his hand isn’t harsh by any extent, not until she parts her lips to answer — that’s when he nudges a little firmer. A little harder. He cocks his head at her in this condescending way — like her stifled sound of surprise entertains him, like the subtle, almost unnoticeable jolt of her eyelids, widening, pleases him. Judging by the slight quirk at the edges of Harry’s plush mouth, it does. 

Her tummy coils with unanticipated desire. This feels almost scary. This feels like traipsing over a rope, like teetering over dangerous territory, and the sudden spike of adrenaline only has her thighs clenching together harder. Because this is sweet Harry, the friendly hitchhiker, in his cream sweater with his nice smile, and his charming dimples, and his loose, clean curls, with his warm palm cupped over her throat and the pad of his thumb digging into her pulse. He looks fucking hungry. 

“I’m—“ her statement’s muzzled by the press of his hand, an increase in only a slight increment. It’s enough to wrest a garbled sound from the back of her throat. He tips his head. 

“What’s that?” 

“I’m your…” she pauses when he presses harder, again, and this time’s enough to have her feeling lightheaded, her bleary eyes wandering over his face and every muscle of her face battling the light flutter of her lashes. She thinks a dimple peeks from his cheek. Harry lets up.

Y/N siphons breaths like her lungs have been deprived for ages, and not just partly for the timespan of a short fifteen seconds. Still, his palm is glued over the front of her neck — just there. His thumb strokes over her pulse gently. 

“I’m your …filthy plaything,” the young woman confesses in this pathetic little voice that’d have her ashamed in every other setting. But in this one, it doesn’t. 

Arousal creeps through every fiber of being, instead, crawling through her arteries and settling into her veins like a twisted, dark goo. It thrums through her and sinks through to the trench of her tummy, frothing as chills teem down her back. He’s got this glint in his eye, like a dance around a bonfire in the deep of the night — but it’s just a stray street light that casts its shone as a spotlight when he ducks forward a tad, just enough for it to. When he tips forward, his gaze growing half-lidded, lower and lower the closer he gets, it feels like he starts to siphon every breath from her own mouth as his cushiony lips ghost over her cupid’s bow. Even for the smidge of the second it takes for their mouths to mesh again, it feels like the movement is in ultra slow motion. 

The mold of their mouths together, this time, feels a lot less like she’s got her hands on the wheel — the first time had been almost testing, sweet — something soft that’d shifted into something headier, something firmer. This feels like something he guides, something he takes the clear lead in, from the pace of his hungry lips to the exploratory nudge of his tongue against the seam of her own mouth. Her fingers flex over the center console aimlessly, palm straying, and fingertips catching on a part of his cotton sweatshirt. They twist into the fabric softly when Harry’s tongue strokes over her own. A hand settles onto her thigh. It’s not her own.

“Get in the backseat,” he hums into her open mouth, squeezing over her flesh when she doesn’t immediately comply. He’s got this way of dulling her reflexes, crumbling the semblance of her mind to mush, and Y/N is convinced it has more to do with his touch than it has with the time of night, despite the way exhaustion wears at her tired muscles. “Get in the fuckin’ backseat.” 

When her arms strays and she reaches for the door handle, though, he squeezes at her thigh again, and hums out a displeased note of disagreement. “Not like that.” 

Bemused, Y/N shifts in her seat. A glint of something playful glows in the jade when Harry tells her, “You can find another way, can’t you, pet? Go on.” 

Y/N sits in confused silence for all of three seconds before the man sits back a tad and cocks his head, irises flashing towards the backseat with a playful, little grin quirking at his lips. Like he’s suggesting. 

It takes her longer than three seconds to clamber into the back from the driver’s seat, through the slot over the center console, but it satisfies Harry, evidently, judging by the way he palms over the globes of her backside through her stretchy mini-skirt. It’s not very graceful, and if she was less aroused she’d probably find it in her somewhere to be a bit embarrassed, but. She doesn’t. She wriggles over the cushion, instead, settling back. 

Harry has smarter ideas. He toggles the gear on the side of the passenger seat and sets the whole top of it back, like a makeshift day-bed, and scoots into the back of the sedan through the opening. And there’s not much leg room — not for the two of them, not with the whole back of the seat splayed — and there’s not much room for their heads, either, but they manage to squeeze back, and he’s gripping onto her shoulders and twisting her on his own whim before the young woman has a chance to shift around, herself. 

“Get—“ the way Harry manhandles her with a grip on her hips, (once he’s got her slumped, at least somewhat) — with ease, like he’s flipping a page in a book rather than rearranging her whole position in the cramped space of a sedan backseat — that lights something fiery in the pit of her belly. “Hands and knees, baby,” Harry tells her, grunting softly while her limbs scrabble over the pleather. He pulls her back into him, by the hips as she’s physically molded into it, parroting, quieter, “hands and knees.” 

“Itsy bitsy skirt… so easy to just—” Harry hums, this sort of mischief to his cadence — and it becomes blatantly obvious, the reason for it, when his digits creep under, from behind, and his colossal palms hitch it up, “Oops.” 

She’s wearing tights under it. They’re not the fleece-lined kind, despite the bite of chill in the air outside, but they are there, and Harry spans the pads of his fingers over the barrier like he doesn’t have plans to discard them the practical way. 

He doesn’t. The man stripes a fingertip down her core, from behind, over the fabric and the faint hue of cheeky purple that peeks through, and makes this devious sound of mirth when her whole body twitches. And then he draws the same fingertip back up, in the same line, and nudges a bit. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” Harry coos. The third, slow drag has her arching her hips back. “Hm? What am I gonna do?” He takes almost a thoughtful second, tongue peeking out to swipe out over the cushion of his pink bottom lip, before Harry splays his palms over her bum, “Pretty girl… pretty arse…”

And it’s so calm — he’s so calm, so casual, so nonchalant — Y/N doesn’t even sense it coming until he sighs, and then he’s digging the tips of his digits into the nylon, stretching it from her core, and just tearing. Casually. Nonchalantly. The sound of fabric ripping apart coaxes her jaw to slip open, and her pupils stick to the inside of the door, unblinking, as he just tears, and tears, and tears. 

And she’s not even upset, is the thing. She’s not irritated that this stranger’s just torn the crotch of her tights apart — she can’t be, not when he hums devilishly and strokes over her core, a layer closer. Maybe that’s pitiful. Maybe that’s sad, that she’s so fucking horny that she doesn’t care that her tights have been split open with no prior discourse on the topic, but this direction of impulse — the way she’s not even able to try and guess his next move, it kindles something hot and hungry. 

And if she ever has Cody to thank for anything, Y/N thinks maybe it’d be that he’d inspired her to shave and slip on a pair of decently attractive underthings. 

“These are pretty, too,” Harry tells her, thumbing at the crotch of the thong, just over one side. The young woman gives this dreamy little sigh and arches back up into him further. “What d’you want, sweetheart? Want me to give some attention …here—“

Her spine jolts when he nudges the pad of his index right up against her clit, lightly, over the purple fabric, “Maybe? Is that it? Eager girl.”

He draws a featherlight circle over it, and then another, and another until her thighs are trembling. The tip of his digit taps. She nudges back, and he takes it away altogether. An amused sound slips from his mouth.  

“Say please,” Harry demands. 

Y/N jumps as his fingertips trail to her inner thigh, crooking and tickling in the line they draw. 

“Please.” 

Again, he makes a disapproving tut, and Y/N rolls her cheek onto on a forearm, tucked over the seat. 

His eyebrows climb up his forehead, and his fingertips drift up and down the back of her thigh, drawing closer and closer where she needs him most with every lap. Each word is covered with notes of firm dominance. “Not like that. Like you mean it — like you’re pleading.”

Y/N mulls over the words, her heart thundering. 

“How d’you beg?” 

It takes a second for his words to sink in, but then when they do, she croons out, softer, more desperate, “Please.” 

There’s a soft sound of a breath being expelled, the seat crinkling quietly as, she assumes, Harry sits back on his haunches, head ducked. Like it’s not good enough. Her tongue traces out over her lips and she beckons, “Please, please,” each plea prompting a spiral of unfamiliar humiliation — glazed with arousal — to unfurl. 

“Please, please, please—“ each word emphasized with a rock back of her hips. And finally, he touches her. 

His palm cradles a cheek, and he doesn’t sound even slightly impressed. Instead, his voice comes out exasperated when he tells her, “That’s not convincing. You’re desperate. You want something — you need it, you’re pleading.”

“Please— please—“

“Louder,” he scoffs, “Beg. Beg.” 

“Please,” she tries, desperation creasing her voice strained on the syllable, and Harry drags fingertips, airy, across her inner thigh, from bottom to top. “Please, please, please—“

And finally, something clicks. Something slots together, at some point, when she ditches the inhibitions and her cadence starts to border on a delirious sort of desperation. Finally, something works. 

“That’s better,” Harry says softly, swiping his thumb over her clit, “Much better.” 

She doesn’t pick up on that, though, and she’s still begging, pleading, quietly. Quieter, quieter, quieter — the words growing more sparse the longer he spends time honing on her clit, the firmer his touch becomes. 

“Good girl,” Harry coos, his fingertips latching up under the hem at the crotch of her panties, before he tugs, “Good girl. You ask nicely, and I’ll give it to you. S’that easy.”  

He slips a thumb against her gushing entrance and drags it down, tracing careful shapes over the bud of nerves, before he tugs down on the hood and emphasizes on the new exposure by reigniting the touch with the thumb on his opposite hand. Two hand task — very dedicated. 

“S’this all for me?” the man teases, pinching her clit, lightly, between the pad of his thumb and the side of his index. He sounds a little self-satisfied when he declares, quietly, “I’m flattered.” 

Her lips part as a silent, breathy moan wrests from the back of her throat. It happens when the pad of his long middle digit prods at her entrance and nudges in. The thumb on his other hand sweeps, side to side, over where she’d most sensitive, and he stuffs into her further. And they are lengthy — his fingers. She’d seen them drumming over the center console, and smush over the raspberry tint of his lips, felt them coat her tongue, and felt them press against her throat. They can reach further than her own, crooking against her spongy walls, curling when he adds a second before straightening out and scissoring for the stretch. 

“Christ, you’re gushing,” Harry says, and as if on cue, the pornographic squelch of his fingers working crowds the cramped space, “Jesus— d’you hear that?” 

Y/N buries her face in her arms to muzzle the little sounds of bliss that he pries from her mouth. It’s not until he’s proper fucking into her with his digits, the pad of his thumb dragging tight, little circles over her clit, that those sounds escape her. And when they start, they pour in a flood. Because he works so expertly, so deftly — from the pace, to the angle, to the way he hones on her clit with his other hand, and the filthy dialogue he spews in his honey-smooth baritone. It’s everything, everything, and it prompts the coil in her belly to circle and squeeze, tighter, tighter — a telltale prior to its inevitable snap. She clenches over his fingers helplessly.

But then he just— stops. 

The nudge of his digits skirts to a stand-still within her, and his thumb stops drawing circles, and Y/N just squeezes over him like a silent plea. He makes this sound — this mirthy, deviously pleased hum, like her displeasure at his pause amuses him. It’s pure sadism. 

It’s not until she rocks her hips a bit, a shallow, desperate kind of back and forth, that the amusement seems to slip from his tone. 

“Don’t—“ Harry tuts sharply, taking his thumb off her clit altogether to grip at her hip harshly, “Stay still. Naughty, little minx.”

And she does. She stays still when his voice gets hard like that. There’s a bit of quiet between his snap and the subtle freeze-up of her rocking. Soft breaths sew through the lull, but then he talks again, his tone a little nicer. 

“We’re gonna play a little game, yeah?” 

That’s …intriguing. Y/N shifts over the cushion. His grasp over her hip has softened considerably, but there’s still this humiliating heat that swarms her face at the fact that the crotch of her panties is still tucked against her skin, that everything’s out in the open, that Harry’s practically ogling in lieu of touching her. 

“It’s a bit like Simon Says. Except, when you play Simon Says, you hesitate a little, right?”

The man’s thumb presses back to her clit, and she buries her face in her folded arms. 

“And I don’t want you to hesitate. I’ll tell you something to do, and—“ 

His fingers sink into her, and her shoulders grow tense from the bliss. Y/N muzzles her groan. 

“You’ll do it. Sounds easy enough?” 

It does. It’s easy enough instructions, and when Harry pats at the same hip he’d been clutching over and beckons, “Hands back here,” Y/N obliges easily enough. 

Her cheek presses to the cushion, cool against the warmth teeming beneath her skin, and she lets him manhandle and move her splayed fingers to his liking, arms stretched behind. 

“That’s good,” Harry croons in his low timbre, the warm, lewd praise of it drawing chills up the nape of her neck, “Now spread a bit for me.” 

Y/N does that, too. Her finger pads nudge and press into her flesh, coated with the tights, and her digits crook as the tips dig in to splay — to follow his direction, to please him. And it’s shameful, a pinch in her shoulders as her arms reach back, fingers twitchy, imprinting into her own backside with little divots as she opens herself up for him to do nothing. But his satisfied little hum sends an unfamiliar sense of accomplishment spiraling through her veins. The way his warm palm rests on and pets over the back of her thigh along with it feeds something new and starving. 

“Good girl. There you go. See? S’easy.” 

Y/N makes a little sound into the seat, and her fingers flex as Harry pumps his own digits, a steady rhythm of in and out, paired with a hum from him that sounds absolutely pornographic. 

“Such a good girl,” the man tells her, fingers crooking, but the praise isn’t enough to muffle the bemusement that wracks her when he says in this devious hush, “Let’s try another. Bark.” 

Bark. 

It takes a second for the command to register past the immediate threshold of the pleasure curling in her belly as he strokes at her spongy walls. And when it does click together, his word settling past the membrane of bliss, her initial thought is that she’s definitely misheard him. Because that’s …sort of a ludicrous request. The young woman sounds strewn between groggy and muzzled when she cranes her neck a bit over the cushion and beckons with a confused hum. 

“Bark,” Harry repeats, “like a dog.” Simple and nonchalant. 

Bark like a dog. She’s midway through creased brows, a strained raise of her head, and a baffled what, before the man stills his fingers and takes a grip over her wrist, sliding her hand away. 

And then he smacks her, hard, with his palm on one side, in the same place where her digits had dug in to spread herself open. 

It’s loud, and it stings, and it sends a shockwave through her nervous system, strong enough to have everything buzzing on alert as her forehead pastes to the seat and the parted gap of her mouth struggles to mute a gasp. Maybe the most surprising part is that the hurt feels good, that the sting morphs into something else as it fizzles and ebs, that the hammer of her heart spikes this famished, unfamiliar arousal coursing through her when he doesn’t even bother stroking over the bruised skin. It’s definitely hard enough to leave a ruddy mark under the tights, and Y/N blinks down at the faux leather, wordless and a little gobsmacked. 

And then Harry sighs in this way that’s so …disappointed. And the calmness of his inflection, grouped with the irony of the harsh hit… that has a chill climbing up her spine. 

“That’s not how you play the game, pet.”

He says it in this eerily nonchalant note of disdain, like he’s not just casually tattooed the shape of his hand onto her backside with a blow. Like he expected better. Like it’s a little mishap they’ll gloss over. She doesn’t even realize she’s still got a vice clamped over his fingers until he shifts the digits in her, coaxing her core to flutter around him. Harry sighs again. 

“Did you forget the rules, baby?” he asks, cadence soft and basked in condescension. The man strokes over the heated skin, the same spot where Y/N is sure a subtle welt has peaked to the surface below the thin veil of the sheer tights, “I tell you to do something and you do it, right?” 

Her knees are starting to ache a little, a soreness settling into the joints, but she doesn’t even mind it when his fingers pump again, slowly. 

“That’s how the game goes. Right? I need an answer.” 

She makes a soft sound. A little sound that’s not protest. A little sound that’s not outright agreement. It’s a whimper into a void, but everything about him and his touch lights something alive in her. And she wants more. She’s dizzy off of it when she manages out a breathless, “Yes.” It’s a short word that comes out in a breath, like she’d been holding the air in her lungs. 

Maybe that’s why she’s dizzy. 

“Are we on the same page? Let’s try again, then. Bark.” 

Y/N shifts over the seat. The hand he’d moved has splayed helplessly to her side, and the fingers curl and uncurl as the weight of the suggestion hits her. Because that’s— it’s humiliating. It’s demeaning, and it’s strange, and the fact that he demands it has the tips of a fire licking up at her insides. The young woman makes an uncharacteristically pathetic noise. 

Harry sighs. 

The split second of hesitation is enough, apparently, for another slap, just as hard, in the same spot. It has her rocking forward and clenching over his digits again. Harry’s quick to correct her posture with a hand on her hip, guiding her back in a way that lacks gentleness. 

“I said, bark.” 

This time his voice is harder. Meaner. Y/N gives. 

She gives because the tips of his fingers prod at this heavenly spot inside her, because her skin smarts in a way that has her practically drooling, because she’s dizzy, and hungry, and desperate. Her thighs are quivering when she gets out a half-hearted woof, her lips shaping over the word like the task is a chore to get out. 

“Better—“ another slap, aimed lower onto the back of her thigh, has her hips jutting and the straight line of her spine twisting up, “—but not what I’m looking for. Try again.” 

She doesn’t even aim to please, is the thing, when her yelp overlaps with another smack. But it morphs into something surprised and deliciously pained, and evidently, it’s enough, judging by the way his touch smooths over the stinging skin.

“Oh, baby,” Harry tells her, his fingers stroking like he’s smudging the pink-tinge of bruising, “That’s pathetic.” 

And it dawns on her then, that there’s no winning with this game. When he tuts and tells her, absolutely patronizingly, “So desperate for it, she’s barking like a stray.” 

It dawns on her that she doesn’t want to win. She doesn’t care, because his filthy dialogue, as demeaning as it is, just draws her wetter and closer. As if to highlight on it, Harry crooks his fingers and tacks on, “You’re leaking all over the seats, pet.” 

And she is, she’s sure. It’s a dirty game he plays, and she loves every part of it and more. It has her writhing when he draws circles over her clit, it has her aching for more when he guides her hand back to her backside with a squeeze and a wordless coax to keep spreading. 

“Gonna let me fuck you?” Harry pulls the digits out, dirtying what’s left of her tights and smearing sticky wetness over the back of her thigh, “Hm? Gonna let me—“ his belt clinks as he unbuckles it, and then comes the soft sound of a zipper, its teeth unlatching, “—fill you up?” 

“Glovebox,” Y/N mumbles, hips shifting back when he pets at her thigh. 

His pupils flit, sticking to the back of her head, before they jump back down to his handiwork. Harry’s tone sounds absent-minded and mirthy when he asks, “What’s that?” 

“There’s condoms in the glovebox,” she expands, a little louder than her prior murmur, bracing on her forearms to cast her gaze back at him over her shoulder. 

And he looks rugged in this boyish, youthful way, then, is the thing. The corner of his mouth jolts, lopsided, and a stray tendril has flopped over his forehead. His hands are on the undone buckle of his belt, and his fly’s down, and he sounds absolutely amused when he says, “Are there?” 

There are. 

“You’ve prepared for this, then, have you?” Harry sets a palm onto her hip, squeezing as a dimple pinches into his cheek, “Condoms in your glovebox …like a proper dirty whore?” 

Coyly, she blinks, cheek nuzzled to the seat, and she watches him stretch his arm out for the glovebox as he knees away. 

“I’m always prepared,” Y/N settles on, softly.

The glovebox slips open. There’s rummaging — his torso turns to face it entirely, and then he gleans a shining, golden little packet, tucked between the pads of his digits. The young woman wriggles her hips. There’s this glint of fiery …something. Something playful, something lewd, something hungry in the jade, when he clambers back over, steadying himself with a palm on her tailbone. It coaxes her spine into a pretty, sharper arch.

“You do this a lot, do you?” Harry teases, “Pick up strange men, let them fuck you?” 

She hums in agreement as the man takes the little gold square, snug between his teeth, fingers working quickly, pushing buttons through slots and tugging his cock out. 

“Maybe I do.” 

He tears at the wrapper with his teeth. She knows, because his next words come out a little muffled. 

“Is that right?” 

It’s not. It’s so out of the norm, so far from the usual, but Y/N would be a masochist to string out the arousal that’d built between her thighs in lieu of letting Harry span his palms over the globes of her ass in the backseat. Harry, with his cheeky smile and his sunshine, short-trimmed nails. Harry, with his denim-tethered bulge dragging over the back of her thigh and his filthy tongue shaping crude dialogue.  

She doesn’t see him as he tuts from behind, but she can picture it; his palm cupped over the base of his shaft as he rolls the condom over and then presses the tip against her teasingly. 

“Wanted to be fucked like a dirty whore, is that it?”

Her “yes” stretches and ebs and splinters into a whispery hiss when Harry nudges forward and stretches her out. And then he’s beckoning for her hands, one hand splayed over her hip and the opposite coaxing at her shoulder, tugging and jolting in gentle nudges, mouth shaping over firm, “Hands, hands, give me your hands — behind your back— that’s— just like that.” 

Barred from scratching at the seats with his firm, warm grip binding the joints hostage, Y/N presses her cheek to the cushion. She slumps into his willpower, gives into him, the smush of her face sweaty on the cushion, jolting with every rock forward. The young woman clenches over him helplessly. Soft sounds slip past her lips, pried out by the nudges of his hips, over and over, again and again. Her fingers stiffen and flex, and the arch in her spine shifts when the head of his cock bumps that delicious ridge so deep in her — and it’s like Harry senses it, the way her entire body grows taut like a string. He goes at that too, prodding, again and again, until a whine plucks at her vocal chords. Every shallow jolt of his hips sends waves of paralyzing bliss licking over her insides. Every nudge forward has her slumping more. And when he talks, Y/N barely registers it over the rush of blood in her own head. 

There’s been little things that fall from his mouth — soft curses and hisses as he slides in, hums and groans when he bottoms out, readjusting his grasp over her wrists. Words, though — now he’s saying words. They’re still in that gentle baritone, this sort of luring croon. 

“Come on, baby. Come on — got a stranger’s cock in your pretty, little pussy—“ Harry’s voice catches on a strained note as he pulls out—

…A sigh as he rocks back in, “—and …you’re not gonna struggle?” 

A warmth stems from his grasp, behind her back, and as if on reflex, her digits crook and flex. The danger of the words don’t even register. Because, yeah, he’s right. She’s got a stranger holding her restrained, rocking up against her, and all that peaks in her at the filthy dialogue is a bud of deranged arousal. She doesn’t shoulder forward though, doesn’t try to pull her hands apart, doesn’t sag forward, not even a little, too concerned that even a minute shift will alter the delicious intensity of the angle. 

“Not even a little bit?” Harry tuts, grinding forward, one more time, slow, and then he squeezes over her wrists hard and picks up in pace. Just until he settles into a hard tempo of short, deep thrusts, and her shoulders are aching from the way he pulls her arms back. 

His words blanket her with this patronizing sort of humiliation — the kind that has her spongy walls pulsing over his length and chills erupting from the nape of her neck to the creases between her shoulder blades. “You make it so easy.”

So easy for a stranger to fuck her — so easy, pulling over in some desolate parking lot. So easy, letting him wrap a palm over her throat and stick his fingers past her lips. So easy, following his every command for the reward of his hips pummeling against her own. 

And it’s easy to get close with the way he works into her, tip bumping into a spot that sends waves of pleasure coursing through every millimeter of her nervous system. The kind that has every muscle stiffening to stone until the wave ebs. It’s so easy to lurch higher and higher, closer and closer, when his touch digs into her joints, rendering her helpless to his crude affections. When strained grunts and sordid words fall from his mouth, when his other hand slips from her hip and knots into the hair, at the roots, on the back of her scalp, only smushing her cheek into the seat with more pressure. 

“Fuck,” Harry groans, the pace of his thrusts stuttering as he picks up the tempo into something merciless, his digits flexing into her hair and his body weight sagging onto her frame. 

Every time his balls slap against her clit, teasing where she wants that attention the most, she feels the spring draw tighter, lips smushed to and gaping against the seat. And then he readjusts his grip, lets one of her hands free while he keeps the other pinned, and he coaxes, “Touch your pretty clit, baby. Make yourself cum all over my cock.” 

Y/N makes it to the crest before he does. It’s her fingertips sloppily winding loose shapes over the bud of nerves, it’s his cock hammering down into her, it’s the pinch in her shoulder, and the way Harry’s grip grows harsher over the hand he still has pinned, the closer he gets himself. The way his digits are still flexed at the roots of her scalp, the way his moans and curses are garbled with pleasure with each pump. The way her helpless fluttering, when she tips over the peak, draws this long, sordid groan from him as he cranes his neck back. And then he slows, ducking his chin to watch below through slow thrusts. 

“Dirty girl, cumming all over a stranger’s cock,” Harry swipes with a thumb where the mesh, toying at the seam of her hole when he goes deeper, again, slow. 

And then his grip on her wrist gets hard again as his fingers flex, and he holds onto her hip and guides her in a steady-paced, back and forth bounce over cock. He chases his own releases, every motion rough, and full of control, and so brimmed with this unfamiliar hunger. She’s mush by the time his head tips back, and he gushes ribbon after ribbon into the condom. She’s mush when his grasp over her wrist grows lax, when he knees back clumsily on his knees, when he discards the condom, wrapping it into the confines of its wrapper, when he fixes her purple panties back over her crotch and strokes over the back of her thigh with an amused huff. 

“Alright?” Y/N vaguely hears Harry say from behind when she doesn’t instantly sit up, his voice bordering on amused. 

That’s. Yeah, Y/N thinks. She’s great. There’s still this rush of blood in her ears, and an ache in her joints that interweaves with the soreness of her muscles, but it’s all in such a good way. She makes a barely coherent hum of agreement and rolls her shoulder forward, planting her palms onto the seat to sit up and glance at the time over the display in the front of the car. It’s nearly three in the morning now, and it hits her then, that she’s so tired. She’s so tired, she feels like every piece of her energy had been strewn up and pulled tight on a rope, and now it’s all wasted away. 

Harry gets it. Or he seems to, at least. Sleep beckons her with a whispery croon and a soft touch. The corners of his mouth crook up, and he pats at her hip. 

“Hop up, pet. D’you want me to drive the rest of the way? S’just a little bit, now.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers. She doesn’t let strangers into her car in the middle of the night from some empty road, she doesn’t fuck them in the backseat, and she certainly doesn’t let strange men drive her car to some unfamiliar location, only lacking being undisclosed from its visible street name on the GPS. Y/N doesn’t do any of that. But she nods weakly and lets their roles flip. She’s mid-raising the back of the passenger seat by the time Harry jogs around to the driver’s seat and slips in. 

In the rear-view, her reflection greets with her unshed tears and bloodshot eyes, mascara smudged below. He turns to face her and strokes a hand down her thigh. He picks the same hand up and sets it onto the gear-shift. Switches to reverse. 

The first thing he says from the front of the car, strawberry mouth quirking as his eyes direct to the back-up camera, is, “I’m sorry about your tights. I hope that was alright.” 

When they pull up to the motel, Y/N doesn’t ask questions. There’s only been a span of, maybe, ten minutes passed between the parking lot and their final stop of the night before Harry pulls into a parking spot and shuts the car off. 

He tells her, “This is my stop.” 

Y/N doesn’t do hitchhikers, and exhaustion wracks at every sinew of muscle in her body. She half-expects him to wordlessly hop out of the car. He doesn’t. The man fixes her with a smile, and says, “Could I get your number, maybe?” 

It’s not an odd request by any means, but if she weren’t so tired, maybe she’d ask more questions. Her pupils would wend over the shoddy motel sign, and the shit cars parked beside them, and she’d wonder what the hell they were doing parked in front of some abandoned-looking motel. She’d ask why this was his stop, and not a home. Instead, she pulls a napkin from her glovebox and digs for a pen. She scribbles her digits and hands them off. In the brush of the cool air, from the night, when she clambers out to swap spots with him, she wraps her arms about herself. When she takes a seat into the driver’s side, she expects him to walk away. He doesn’t do that either. Instead, she rolls her window down when he beckons, and Harry leans onto the car and tells her, “Get home alright, yeah?” 

It’s a miracle when she hobbles up the steps of her apartment complex, when she pries open the front door and crashes into her sheets. The blankets envelop her like a warm hug, and she doesn’t even bother pulling off her tights. 

It’s a week before she gets a phone call. There’s no texts, and the morning after, when she’s greeted with radio-silence, she thinks that maybe she’d dreamt the whole thing. 

Her tights, ripped at the crotch, prove otherwise. 

She’s in bed, days later, when her screen lights up with a call. It’s an unfamiliar number, and curiosity peaks before she swipes over the answer toggle. 

“Hello?” 

A gap of silence, a breath, and a familiar, smooth baritone on the other end of the line. 

“Y/N.” 

There’s a little sound of the bedsheets stirring as she freezes up. He’s caught her off guard. A little laugh plucks at his vocal chords, tinny on the other end of the line, like he’s amused by the stretch of lull. Her lips part, the corners of her mouth inching up as she hears a sigh from him that seeps in all the way to her eardrum. But she doesn’t have time to contemplate what to say or how to say it, because he doesn’t let her get a word in before he’s talking again. 

And his next words are not a playful jest at her lack of response, or anything friendly, really. In fact, the confession, said so nonchalantly, causes chills to erupt down her arms. 

“I was going to kill you that night.” 

The chills aren’t the initial reaction. The initial reflex is the crook of her mouth to morph bemused, the pinch between her eyebrows, and this sullen feeling of dread that twists up in her stomach. A laugh bubbles in her chest, because, what the fuck? 

But then he keeps talking. 

“Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down,” the voice on the other end sighs, and it’s got this sort of …reminiscent quality to it. Like he’s tracing the steps of the night back to its starting point. Reliving it when he tells her, “It’s such a thrill, you know. Taking that from someone. So intimate.” 

The young woman doesn’t make any sounds, kind of appalled by the sick joke. Because it is sick, it’s disturbing, and it’s a twisted way, at the least, to strike up a conversation if he’s …looking to do what they did again. This isn’t the Harry she’d met on that night. This isn’t the same one who’d worn the cream sweatshirt, and talked all friendly with this smooth, wholesome charm — this wasn’t the man she’d let into her car, this wasn’t the man she’d let do all those filthy things to her, in the backseat of her sedan. This doesn’t feel like the same man at all, and she wishes she’d been aware of the sick sense of humor to his character before she’d let him …violate her. Y/N’s just about to budge in with a disgusted comment, tell him off for calling her so late at night to mess with her, but he beats her to the edge of the gap, yet again. 

Except this time, he sounds sort of frustrated, and the phrase comes out like a scolding, the tone of his cadence firm and irate. “Didn’t your mum ever tell you not to talk to strangers? …Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to trust strange men on the side of the road? S’just …bloody stupid.” 

He laughs. It’s this soft sort of chortle she’d been so charmed by that night — it’s identical, except then, it was this sweet sound full of wholesome mirth. Now, it feels cold. Odd and detached. Surreal.

“But you… you made it so easy,” Y/N listens to every word that comes through the line, hanging onto every syllable of the empty threat as dread churns her stomach. His words from that night crowd behind her skull. You make it so easy. “So friendly, so sweet. Just wanted to chat on and on. I was going to kill you, and you wanted to have a shag—” 

Harry tuts. Her heart hammers behind her ribcage, and she only realizes that her breathing has slowed and that her grip on the smartphone’s grown white-knuckled when it shakes against her cheek. She’d let him drive her car. She’d let him get into her car, she’d let him lure her into pit-stopping in a deserted parking lot, she’d locked the doors, and dimmed the lights, and let him open her up with his fingers and his cock. And then she’d let him drive her car, and take down her number. There’s a moment of mortifying silence.

Harry sounds deadly serious when he tells her, “Don’t you ever pick up another hitchhiker.”

The line goes dead. 

Y/N calls back. The number she reaches belongs to a payphone, unanswered.