#i know his little wiggle in the second one genuinely looks like i . like i just reversed the gif for a few frames

[sunni-stuff]

Part 4

Soap’s eyebrows lifted with a curious glint in his eye as he looked from you to Adira, a playful grin edging onto his face. He leaned in, never one to miss a chance at a bit of friendly prodding.

“So… you’re married?” he asked, his tone as light as his smirk.

You laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Haha! No, I’m not.” You gave Adira’s tiny hand a gentle squeeze, glancing down at her with a smile that softened every edge on your face. 

Soap tilted his head, pretending to be shocked. “A bonnie lass like yerself? Unmarried?” he teased, hand on his chest as though it were a crime.

“Guess I’m a rare breed,” you replied with a grin, chuckling as you shifted Adira’s hand in yours.

Soap’s face lit up at your response, as if he’d just been given the most interesting bit of news he’d heard all week. He shot Ghost a quick look, but Ghost was still watching Adira, his gaze softened with something unreadable.

Meanwhile, Gaz wasn't fascinated by Soap's ability to make anyone at ease, the man was a cassanova. Roach watched Adira with curiosity, as though piecing together a puzzle he hadn’t realized existed until now. Price stood off to the side, arms crossed, silently observing the whole scene.

“If you aren’t married, how’d you get this little one?” Soap pushed, grinning as he wiggled a playful finger in Adira’s direction.

Adira’s gaze snapped up from Ghost to the man with the funny hair, her little brow furrowing as she studied Soap with a mix of curiosity and caution. She leaned into your leg, clearly wary, but her attention stayed on the finger waving in front of her.

You chuckled, brushing a hand over Adira’s head to reassure her. “Long story,” you replied, smiling. “Let’s just say she was an unexpected blessing.”

Soap laughed softly, glancing at Ghost with a gleam in his eye. “Ah, aye, life’s full of surprises, eh?” 

Ghost, who had been studying Adira in silence, clenched his jaw, shifting uncomfortably as Soap’s words hit a little too close to home.

“I used to be really wild back in the day,” you admitted with a sheepish grin, a hint of nostalgia coloring your tone as you thought back to those not-so-distant years.

Soap wasn’t quite done yet, though. “Does the father know?” he threw a quick glance at Ghost, who had just risen from his crouched position. A new tension ran through Ghost’s frame, his stance rigid, as if the question had struck something he’d rather not confront.

You hesitated, a shadow crossing your expression before you shook your head. “No, he doesn’t… He, uh, probably has no idea.”

Ghost’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering from you to Adira, who was absorbed in her drink, unaware of the intensity surrounding her. His shoulders stiffened, and for a split second, he looked as though he wanted to speak—but whatever words he had caught in his throat, locked behind his silence.

"I see, well. I'm sorry if I took up your time, ma’am, you've been a nice chat," Soap said, his voice softening with a touch of politeness, his grin still present but more reserved now.

You nodded, giving Adira’s hand a gentle tug as you continued on your way, the soft crunch of snow beneath your boots the only sound accompanying your steps. The blue sky stretched above, peaceful, serene. As you walked, Adira turned her head, glancing back at Ghost one final time. She refused to let go of her cup, her small fingers gripping it tightly, but she lifted her other hand in a small, hesitant wave. "Bye-bye," she whispered, her voice soft but sweet.

Ghost’s gaze lingered, but he didn’t move. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of things churning behind those eyes. 

Price let out a heavy sigh, crossing his arms and facing Ghost. “So... what’s the plan?” he asked, his tone both blunt and expectant, clearly waiting for some kind of direction. The rest of the team stood in silence, watching the exchange unfold.

Ghost didn’t answer immediately. His gaze remained on you and Adira, watching you both disappear further down the street, the distance growing with each step. The soft crunch of snow under your boots was the only sound in the quiet winter air. He didn’t even notice Price's voice until the man spoke again, closer now, with a slight edge to his tone.

"Ghost, talk to me. What’s the plan here?”

Finally, Ghost shifted, his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched as he turned to face Price. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—something caught between anger, confusion, and a deep, gnawing regret.

"I don't know," he muttered, the words barely escaping his lips. "I wasn't expecting this. Hell, I didn't even know she existed." His voice was low, strained, but there was a quiet honesty to it, as if he was trying to process something that didn’t make sense.

Soap stepped closer, his expression serious for once. "What now, Ghost? We can help. But you need to tell us what's going on."

Ghost finally looked away, his attention drawn to the ground, his fingers twitching like he was trying to find something to hold onto. "I don't even know where to start," he admitted. "All I know is... I saw her. And it hit me like a fucking truck."

Roach, always one to stay in the background, spoke up. “Maybe it’s time to talk to her, yeah? Figure out where to go from here?”

Price’s eyes narrowed, his stern gaze shifting to Ghost, assessing him. “And what exactly do you want from us? You’re in this, whether you like it or not.”

Ghost let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know,” he repeated, voice hoarse. “But I can’t just let her slip away.”

A silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, as the weight of the situation settled in. Then, slowly, Ghost nodded. “I’ll figure it out. Just… not now. Not here.” His eyes flicked toward the street where you had disappeared, and something in his gaze softened, just for a moment, before the mask fell back into place.

Price gave a single nod. "Alright. But we stick together on this. You’re not doing it alone, Ghost."

The team stood together for a moment longer, the wind howling through the alley, before they slowly began to move, their steps trailing off into the winter evening. The silence that hung between them was thick with uncertainty. No one knew what came next, but they knew one thing for sure: whatever happened, they were in this together.

A month passed, the team giving Ghost the space he needed to process the whirlwind that had hit him. They all knew this was something he had to handle on his own terms, but that didn't mean the questions didn't linger. What did it mean for the future? What did he want? The answers were still unclear, even to Ghost himself.

But Soap, ever the persistent one, wasn’t content to let things sit in limbo. He knew Ghost, knew how his mind worked, and that sometimes the best way to breakthrough was to take small steps. And if that meant subtly nudging you into the picture, then so be it. He’d always been good at this—at slipping in the background, making things happen without anyone noticing.

So, Soap started to "accidentally" run nto you. At the park, when you were out with Adira, he'd make sure to be in the same place at the same time, offering a casual greeting. It always started simple, harmless, with a nod or a small comment about the weather. Then, of course, there was that coffee shop where you'd gone to get hot chocolate for Adira.

The first time he "bumped" into you there, it was nothing more than a quick exchange. A question about the drink, a comment on the cold weather, just the usual small talk. But Johnny's natural charm and ease made you relax, and made the conversation flow without much effort. Over time, those small moments grew. You'd smile when you'd see him, and he'd greet you with the same friendly energy, always leaving you feeling at ease. No pressure, just casual.

And slowly, ever so slowly, Johnny began to warm you up to the idea of him. It wasn't much at first—a smile here, a shared laugh there—but he knew what he was doing. He wasn't pushing, just letting the connection build at its own pace. The more you saw him, the more comfortable you felt. The more you talked, the more you found yourself enjoying the interactions, even if they were brief.

One evening, Johnny sat beside you on the park bench, casually leaning back as Adira bounced around in the snow, her laughter filling the crisp air. The sound was contagious, and for a moment, you let yourself relax, watching her with a soft smile.

"So, me and a couple friends are meeting up at Leslie's this weekend," Johnny said, his tone light but with a hint of something more. "Would you be interested?"

You snorted, expecting the usual joke or teasing, but when you glanced over at him, his expression was far more serious than you anticipated. For a moment, you considered dismissing it. After all, Leslie's? A pub? That was a far cry from the cozy routine you’d built for yourself with Adira. 

“Seriously?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think I fit the scene."

Johnny shrugged nonchalantly, the corner of his mouth lifting in that playful grin of his. “Please. It'll just be like old times.”

Your mind immediately wandered, trying to understand what he meant by that. What was it about old times that Johnny thought might appeal to you? You didn’t exactly have a wild past to cling to. Sure, you’d had your moments, but those felt long behind you now. 

Still, something about the invitation lingered. A night out... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. You hadn’t done anything for you in a while. And maybe, just maybe, it would be nice to let someone else take care of the night for once. No worrying about Adira, no responsibilities for a few hours. Just some fun, whatever that meant now.

You hesitated, looking down at Adira as she made another snow angel, oblivious to the conversation happening nearby. She’d be fine, right? And you could leave if things felt uncomfortable. 

“Alright,” you finally said, meeting Johnny’s gaze with a reluctant but genuine smile. "I'll join you. But only if it’s not as crazy as you’re making it sound." 

Johnny’s grin widened, and you could tell he was already mentally planning the evening, no doubt with some plan to ease you in without overwhelming you. He stood up, dusting off the snow on his pants as he glanced back at you.

“Deal. I’ll make sure it’s a night to remember.”

You just hoped he wasn’t overselling it.

The weekend seemed to arrive so fast, and here you were, standing outside your apartment, nervously adjusting your blue blouse and jeans. It wasn’t exactly the type of outfit you thought would fit a night out, but it was the best you could do. Most of your wardrobe these days consisted of comfortable clothes, ones that could be easily changed or wiped clean in case Adira had another of her toddler mishaps. Sexy or flirty clothes were a distant memory, tucked away in a drawer somewhere, gathering dust.

Adira stood in the doorway, clutching her little stuffed bear to her chest, eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. The sight hit you harder than you expected. You knelt down in front of her, your heart sinking at the sight of her teary eyes. “I’ll be back in a couple hours, I promise,” you said, your voice gentle but firm, reaching out to her with a reassuring smile.

Adira sniffled, her tiny hand coming up to rub her eyes, but she didn’t break her stare. You held out your pinky, the gesture as familiar as breathing. Slowly, she reached out, her small finger wrapping around yours with the same trust she always had. The connection was brief, but it felt like a promise, one that you hoped would calm her.

"I won't be out long," you said softly to the friend you’d left with her. "And you, be good for Auntie too." The last part was directed at Adira, though the words felt bittersweet on your tongue.

Adira nodded, but her face still held that sadness, that uncertainty of what the night would bring without you. 

Standing up, you ruffled her hair and offered a small, hopeful smile. “I’ll be back before you know it. Just a little fun for Mama, okay?”

Her small nod didn’t do much to ease the tightness in your chest, but you turned and gave her one last look before stepping outside. The cool evening air wrapped around you, a contrast to the warmth of the apartment behind you, but you pushed the feeling away. Tonight was for you, however strange that sounded. 

Locking the door behind you, you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach. This wasn’t just any night out. It was a night with Johnny, with his friends, with the possibility of reconnecting to parts of yourself you’d set aside for so long.

Arriving outside the establishment, the familiar hum of chatter and music filled the night air, but what caught your attention first was Johnny standing outside, leaning against the brick wall, checking his watch. The moment his eyes met yours, they lit up, his expression shifting from casual to something almost... eager. 

“Well, well, look at you,” he said with that trademark wink of his, his gaze raking over you with a genuine appreciation that made you feel suddenly self-conscious. “You clean up well.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. It was hard to resist the easy charm of Johnny.

“Let’s just hope I survive this night,” you muttered, though the words were more for yourself than him. You weren’t sure what to expect tonight, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that things might not go as smoothly as Johnny seemed to think.

Johnny chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. “I’m sure you will. Now, let’s get going before I change my mind.”

With that, you fell into step beside him, the weight of your hand at your side suddenly feeling strange in the cool night air. He led you toward the door, and as you entered the dimly lit space of the bar, your eyes scanned the room. 

It was bustling, a mix of regulars and newcomers, all seeking solace or company for the night. It smelled of beer, whiskey, and the faintest hint of fried food, a familiar and welcoming kind of atmosphere. But as soon as you stepped inside, your nerves shot back up again. You tried not to let the nerves show, but they were there, itching under your skin.

What you didn’t notice, as you made your way to the bar, was the group inside. Ghost, Price, Gaz, Roach—quietly observing, waiting for their chance to either speak to you or simply let you slip through their fingers once more. Ghost’s eyes tracked you the moment you stepped inside, and there was a hesitation in his gaze, something raw and almost pained that flickered in and out. 

For a moment, Ghost didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply watched you, aware that the moment he’d been dreading—he had finally stumbled into. Your gaze met his across the room, the flicker of recognition passing between you both. But that was it. You didn’t remember. You didn’t know him. You didn’t know what he was to you.

Approaching the bar, you saw that Johnny was already leaning in, chatting with the bartender, exchanging friendly banter. You barely heard the words, only caught up in the feeling that something was different. Something you couldn’t quite place. You glanced back at the table where those men sat. They weren’t talking, but their eyes were all trained on you, as if waiting for something to happen.

Your heart raced without explanation. Ghost’s eyes—those eyes—stayed locked on you. He didn’t know how to approach, how to change what had already seemingly been set in stone. What was he supposed to say? What was the plan now that you were here, so close? God, why the fuck did johnny do this.

Johnny leaned toward you again, a soft smile curling his lips. “You good, love?” he asked, his voice pulling you back to the present.

“Yeah,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. You forced a smile, trying to ignore the uneasy tension brewing in your chest. “Just... getting used to being out.”

Johnny winked again, oblivious to the chaos of emotions swirling within you. “It’s all good. Let’s have some fun tonight, yeah?”

Ghost’s fist clenched involuntarily under the table. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this distance, this silent acknowledgment of his role, or how long he could ignore what it meant to see you here now. 

“You’ll fit right in,” Johnny said, though there was a hint of something deeper behind his words. “Just a bunch of mates enjoying a drink, nothing crazy.” Johnny leads you over to the table, you expected to be met with… well you didn't quite know what.  

Price leaned back in his seat, cigar in hand, a soft smile on his weathered face as he regarded you with a raised brow. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

"Neither did I," you muttered under your breath, forcing a smile and doing your best to ignore the gnawing feeling that lingered when you looked at him. You hadn’t quite expected this part of the evening.

“I’m just here for a drink, nothing more,” you said, looking over at Johnny was getting comfortable in his chair.

“Well, pull up a seat, love,” Price said, motioning to the empty spot next to him. “We’re all friends here.”

You hesitated but made your way over, perching yourself on the seat next to him. The sound of the glass being slid toward you, the clink of ice against glass, broke through the chatter around you. Your nerves buzzed as you focused on the drink in front of you, trying to ignore the sudden realization of just how different this was from the quiet, routine life you had at home with Adira.

“Enjoy yourself,” Price said with an air of casual amusement, leaning back in his chair. “This is all new for you, isn’t it?”

You raised an eyebrow, not wanting to admit just how out of place you felt in the moment. Instead, you took a sip of your drink, the burn of whiskey warming you from the inside out.

You laugh lightly, a bit awkwardly, trying to shake off the nerves that gnawed at you. "Yeah, this all a bit... newish. I haven't been out like this in years honestly," you admit, taking a deep breath and glancing around the bar. The warmth of the space was a welcome contrast to the chill outside, but the sight of the men made you feel more like a fish out of water than ever.

Johnny claps you on the back with an easy grin, clearly trying to make you feel more comfortable. “These are my mates. Price, Kyle, Gary, and Simon," he introduces with a flourish, motioning to each man in turn. 

You give them all a polite smile, not quite sure what to make of them just yet. There was something about the way they carried themselves, all standing a little apart from the crowd, that made it clear they were more than just regulars at the pub. But you didn’t have time to focus too much on that right now. You were trying to just survive the night.

Price, who looked a bit older than the rest, nods at you, his gaze thoughtful, almost cautious. “Nice to meet you,” he says in a tone that is polite but distant, as though he’s waiting for something, some sign.

Kyle, as Johnny had called him—gives you a friendly nod, a playful glint in his eyes, but there's a strange sharpness to his look that you can’t quite place. “Pleasure," he says, offering you a tight smile.

Gary simply gives you a quick but sincere nod. His eyes linger on you just long enough for you to catch a flicker of interest before he looks away.

And then there’s Simon. His presence, as always, is quieter, more intense. He’s sitting in the middle, arms crossed, his gaze fixed directly on you. You can feel the weight of it, though. It’s impossible not to. There was something you couldn't place with him though you couldn’t see too well under the dim light.

You try to shake off the unease creeping up your spine. “Nice to meet you all," you reply, your voice warmer than you feel. 

Johnny, oblivious to the awkwardness in the air, slaps the bar and gives a nod. “Alright, drinks all around, yeah? Let’s get this party started!” he declares, pulling the group into the rhythm of the night.

As the revelry began your stomach churns slightly, a sense of unease still lingering despite the distraction. You knew something was off, something you couldn’t quite put into words. It wasn’t just the men—it was the way Simon’s gaze lingered on you, the way he looked at you as if he were waiting for something. It unsettled you, but you couldn’t figure out why.

Johnny, seemingly oblivious to your tension, slides a drink toward you. “First round’s on me," he grins, the clink of glass against the table snapping you back to the present. "Here’s to a good night.”.

You took a deep breath, swallowing down the nerves that still clung to you. This was supposed to be a night out, after all. A chance to shake off the past, to let loose just a little. You couldn’t let the weight of everything pull you under before you even tried. What would be the point if you didn’t at least try and enjoy yourself?

Shaking the tension from your shoulders, you took a sip of your drink, the burn of alcohol easing the knot in your stomach just slightly. The guys were chatting among themselves, Johnny’s laughter cutting through the low hum of the bar as he joked with Kyle. Price was listening intently, nodding along while Gary seemed content to let the others talk, his eyes occasionally flicking to you, though his gaze didn’t linger long.

And then there was Simon.

His presence loomed even when he wasn’t speaking, his broad frame leaning against the bar just slightly, face half hidden by the shadows. You caught his eyes for a split second, the intensity of his stare making your pulse hitch. You quickly looked away, focusing on your drink, your nerves creeping back up despite the effort to push them aside.

You could feel his gaze on you, though, like a weight pressing against your back. You tried not to let it show, tried not to acknowledge how his proximity seemed to pull at something inside you, but it was impossible to ignore. There was a pull, something in the air, but you couldn’t quite grasp it.

Sighing inwardly, you turned your attention back to the others. Just enjoy yourself, you remind yourself again. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of it.

Johnny clinked his glass against yours, a grin on his face. “Here’s to not letting the night pass us by,” he said with a wink, and you couldn’t help but smile back, lifting your glass.

“Cheers,” you said, the warmth of the alcohol giving you just the nudge you needed to ease into the evening. For now, you’d ignore the tight feeling in your chest. You’d enjoy yourself. 

But the eyes that lingered on you would remain, whether you were ready for them or not.

You pushed your chair back with more force than necessary, the scrape of it against the floor loud in the otherwise quiet bar. The conversation still echoed in your ears, but your focus had been on the man, Simon, for the past half hour. His silence had become suffocating, every glance he cast in your direction feeling like it held some hidden meaning. You couldn't quite place it, but something was off about him. His eyes, cold and intense, had followed you too much, made you second guess every word you’d said.

"Im... gonna go powder my nose," you muttered, more to fill the silence than anything else. You didn’t wait for a response, the words barely out of your mouth before you were already making your way across the room, past the low hum of idle chatter and the clink of glasses.

While you were in the bathroom, the entire team turned their attention towards Ghost, each of them sizing him up, starting with Soap.

"What is wrong with you?" Soap asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.

"What?" Simon blinked, genuinely confused.

"Mate, you've been gawking at her all night," Gaz added, raising an eyebrow, his voice teasing but laced with concern.

"Shit. Are you serious?" Simon muttered, running a hand through his hair, but his gaze didn't stray far from where you had just disappeared.

Roach, leaning back casually with his drink in hand, nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, it's like you’ve been stuck in a staring contest with her since she walked in."

Price, who had been watching quietly, shook his head with a resigned sigh. He snuffed out his cigar in the nearby ashtray, eyes narrowing as he met Simon's gaze. "If you scared her off, I doubt you’ll get another chance, lad."

Simon’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t realized how obvious it had been, but now that the team was calling him out on it, he felt the heat rise in his chest. He hadn’t meant to make you uncomfortable, but the pull to look at you, to remember what had sparked your connection all those years ago had been almost magnetic.

“Alright, alright,” Soap teased, leaning in, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Just don't burn a hole in her head.”

“Shut up,” Simon muttered, his mind racing, trying to figure out how to fix this without making things worse.

Price shared a look with the rest of the team, a silent understanding passing between them. While Soap might have been the one to set this whole thing in motion, it didn't mean the others didn't have contingencies in place. 

Soap got up first, stretching a bit. “Gonna make sure no one's tried to get in my car,” he said with a casual tone.

“I’ll come with you,” Gaz chimed in, already pushing himself up from his seat and following Soap toward the door.

A minute later, Roach also stood, excusing himself without a word, and then Price followed suit, his movements deliberate. “I’m gonna make sure they’re not up to anything,” he said with a knowing glance.

With everyone out of the immediate area, the bar suddenly felt quieter, and the tension in the air seemed to thicken. It took Ghost only a second for it all to click—he had been set up. Without thinking, he bolted from his seat, rushing outside just in time to catch the taillights of Soap's car disappearing down the street.

He cursed under his breath, but before he could make another move, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen. There, in simple words from Price: 

“Good luck.”

Ghost stood still for a moment, phone in hand, as the weight of the situation hit him. His heart thudded in his chest. This was it. There was no turning back now.

By the time you returned to the table, you felt a bit more at ease. The night out wasn’t all that bad… it was just that Johnny had some weird taste in friends. Well, mostly the tall one. You couldn’t help but notice how everyone seemed to have left, a pit forming in your stomach at the thought of being ditched.

You let out a quiet sigh, about to gather your things and head out when your phone lit up in your purse. Pulling it out, you saw a text from Johnny. 

"Emergency, looks like one of the beers wasn't that good, poor Kyle threw up."

You paused, reading the message again, a small smile tugging at your lips. Aww… nevermind. At least they hadn’t forgotten about you after all. 

"Hope he's okay." You replied quickly, grabbing the straps of your bag when suddenly a hand landed on top of yours.

You looked up, meeting the intense gaze of Simon. Seriously? You couldn’t help but think. They took everyone but this guy?

You forced a smile, trying to pull your hand away, but Simon’s grip was firm, not unkind. “Look, I had a decent time, but I have to go—”

“Just a minute,” he interrupted, his voice low, steady, almost pleading. There was something about the way he said it that made you pause, something different than the usual small talk.

"Fine." The word slipped out before you could process it, and you cursed yourself inwardly. Really? You just agreed to stay with the guy who hadn’t stopped staring since you met him. You sat back down, and he mirrored you, settling across the table. 

Silence stretched between you, his intense gaze unwavering. He didn’t so much as blink, and you couldn’t help but feel more unsettled by the second.

What the hell is his deal?

“Look, if you're just going to be a creep, I don't think I want to mee—"

“Do you remember Armed Forces Day?” His voice cut through your words, quiet but resolute.

Okay, this took all day, I wanted to give you all something long to read incase I disappear for finals (which I might)

Reblogs appreciated!!!

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[tojirights]

Ong your Alastor showing you off to Vox one was so😍😍🤤🤤

Can you make do an enemies to lovers? Like how maybe Alastor’s been possessive of you and he hates how much he likes you, and one day your dressed in something scandalous (maybe Angel helps pick it out) and Alastor can’t take it anymore. Much degradation on the side pleeeeeease🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

a/n: degradation is my specialty 🩷 requests open!

tags: 18+ smut nsfw, slight coercion, degradation, choking

words: 1k~

ever since alastor met you, he struggled to understand you. rather, he struggled to understand what you did to him. you wore down the walls he so carefully built and did it effortlessly and it drove him mad. your smile, your voice, the genuine care you showed for him and everyone in the hotel.

you took up his every thought and he hated it. he hated that he couldn't stay away either. he just couldn't trust anyone else to protect you. he wants you more than he'd ever admit, and while everyone told him that you felt something for him, he chose to ignore it. but when he sees what you've decided to wear tonight, he nearly has a heart attack.

"what on earth are you wearing?" alastor speaks, cocking a brow when he sees you walking out of the hotel with angel. you smile shyly, out of your element in the flashy and revealing outfit angel styled you in. "oh this? yeah, i know." you laugh, covering your chest with your arms. it does nothing but push your tits further together, threatening to bust out of the barely there top.

"its a little much, don't you think?" alastor's eye twitches as he tries to suppress his anger. how dare angel dress you like this! "you don't like it." you frown, looking down at your outfit. he sighs, rubbing his temple. "it's not that..." he speaks before shooting a look at angel that would have burnt him to a crisp if possible. "i uhh.. i'll let you two talk." angel quickly scurries away, blowing you a kiss as he does so.

alastor's blood was boiling at this point. "do you understand the attention wearing this would earn you? is that what you want?" he's tugging you into the shadows with him before you're brought to his broadcast tower. "alastor what is going on?" your frown deepens when he bumps into his desk.

his final straw is watching you bend down to pick up the papers that fell, your entire ass on display as your skirt falls forward. he's behind you in a flash, one hand pressing your face into the wood of his desk while the other pins your arm behind you. all you can do is gasp for air and wiggle under his grasp but its no use. "now deary, you must be doing this on purpose." he growls, trying his best not to be too rough but he's having a hard time holding back. "a-al don't-" "keep your mouth shut." his harsh words make you shudder. "if you so desire to dress like a whore, you'll be treated like a whore."

alastor releases your arm, causing your eyes to widen when you figure out what he's doing instead of holding you. his clawed finger tears straight through your panties in a single stroke, exposing your pussy to him. "w-wait alastor, it's not what you think." you gasp out, but he's already sliding a finger through your folds. "what's that? are you saying that your cunt isn't basically begging to be used right now , hm? that you don't want to be fucked over my desk right now? because that's what that outfit was telling me. and now your pussy is telling me the same thing, darling."

he's slowly pumping a finger in and out of your now soaking cunt, the sound of your wetness filling the otherwise quiet room. "you'd let me, wouldn't you?" the second finger has you moaning into his desk, and against your better judgement, you nod your head as much as you can while being held down. "yes, i-i wanted you to see me." your eyes sting with tears as embarrassment fills you. god yes, you wanted alastor to see you in such a skimpy outfit. but you didn't expect him to lose it on you like this.

and still, every harsh word has you dripping and approaching orgasm faster than you could have expected. "now there's a good girl." alastor coos, a sense of pride filling him, rather, filling his aching cock. he hopes to never forget the sight in front of him, the way your skirt still hangs around your hips, your panties torn in two just enough that he can see your pretty pink pussy peaking between the slit he ripped.

"all you had to do is be honest, you didn't have to have angel dress you like a little sex doll just to get my attention. you shouldn't dare dress like that for anyone but me, do you hear that, sweetheart? i don't want to have to leash you as well, but i have no issue doing so if you can't behave." he ends his sentence by finally pushing his cock passed your puffy lips.

your eyes roll into the back of your head, fire scorching through your body as alastor plows his cock in and out of you. "a-al fuck, too big." you whine, bracing your hands on the desk with every thrust. alastor snickers behind you, only pulling out to flip your body around. being able to look up at him only makes this worse. the sinister smile on his face, his hooded, dark eyes. his clawed hand wraps around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you gasp for air. "don't you worry your pretty little head about that, darling. you can take it." he grunts when you clench around him.

alastor's pulling out just in time to paint your thighs and stomach with thick ropes of his seed. you whimper as you feel it splashing on your skin, covering you and your clothes. you feel dirty and used, and my god do you want this to happen again. alastor catches his breath before planting a kiss to your forehead.

"are you going to cum already? with my hand around your throat?" he would laugh, but it's possibly the hottest he's ever seen you. your eyes glassed over with tears, you nod. "'m s-so close, al." you pant, barely making the words out before waves of pleasure crash into you and you're cumming hard on his cock. your vision goes black, choked moans escaping as alastor fucks your sensitive pussy.

"the next time i catch you wearing something like that, i won't hesitate to make an example out of you." his words lack the same bite from earlier, but you still shudder at his implications. he turns to grab something to clean you up with but stops dead in his tracks when you speak.

"y-yes sir..." you whisper.

[hhughes]

♡ 𝆬 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇

𝓹airing , quinn hughes x bsf!reader

quinn leads the canucks to round 2 of the playoffs and no one is happier than his best friend who is a life long canucks fan. . . (wc ; 1845 )

꒰ 𝓷ote , this is set during last years playoffs. it’s been in the drafts a while!!! as always I hope you enjoy <33 . . . ꒱

your heart jumps in your chest when you feel arms loop around your waist from behind, your mind distracted as you watch the sunrise out quinn’s floor to ceiling apartment windows. your erratic heartbeat calms when you recognize the cologne of your best friend. he tightens his arms around you, burying his head in the crook of your neck and you giggle as his beard scratches against your skin. you wiggle in his arms until you’re fully turned around, looping your arms around his neck and smiling up at him brightly. quinn feels this weird feeling in his stomach looking at you, as if every nerve cell under his skin starts buzzing when he lays eyes on you.

he was forever jealous of how much joy you had in the morning, not because he felt the need to erase his hatred for early mornings, but because he wanted to be the only reason for that expression on your face. he wanted all your smiles to be as a result and directed towards him. that’s how deep quinn’s affection went for you, that he harboured irrational jealousy towards the sun for making you happy. but he’s never been good at sharing his best friend’s attention and affections with anything or anyone else, even his brothers who were utterly obsessed with you when they met you in quinn’s first year on the team, who quinn has always been more than happy to share with. you were the one thing that quinn wanted all to himself.

“good morning sunshine,” you tease, running your hand through his hair and he responds with a simple groan against your neck.

“or should I say… good morning captain of a team who made it to the second round,” you state, pride obvious in your tone and quinn lifts his head to give you a dopey smile.

“there he is!” you tease and quinn squeezes your hip in response before reaching behind you to pick up your cup of coffee.

“um sure, just drink all my coffee, when the full pot is right there,” you say sarcastically and quinn takes another big sip, lips quirking up at your annoyed frown.

“what’s yours is mine. and what's mine is yours, clearly,” quinn says drily, tugging on the edge of his dress shirt that you were wearing and you pout slightly.

“I showered this morning, and it was warm, right from the drier,” you defend and quinn smiles softly, tugging you closer by the material and wrapping you in a bear hug. he just holds you for a few seconds and you smile thinking about the first time you heard the guys refer to quinn as “huggy bear”. your guy’s always loved a good hug.

“I have a team event coming up after the playoffs. like an end of the year banquet type of thing, will you go with me? I know you’ve been to like ten events with me this year and you’re probably sick of them by now so if you don’t want - ” quinn says but you interrupt before he can finish.

“I’d love to go with you. I never get tired of seeing captain quinn in action. I have fun, all I have to do is stand and try to look pretty while you woo people,” you say and quinn scoffs.

“you don’t have to try. you’re always the most beautiful girl in the room. and I don’t know how much wooing I can really do-”

“a lot. these people and this city adores you quinn. I don't think you realise just how much you mean to this organisation,” you say, and quinn feels a lump in his throat building a little as your words hit him. you grew up in Vancouver and you’ve been a diehard canucks fan since you were a kid, so quinn knew you weren’t just saying this because you were his friend and you wanted to make him feel better about himself. you genuinely believed it. and that unwavering faith you had in him meant more than he could ever put into words, so he doesn’t even try and instead just presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, hoping it’ll say everything he can’t seem to articulate.

–

you attend all home games in the second round, just like you did the first, you and ellen cheering until your voices go away all the way until the canucks get eliminated. you were once again amazed by quinn and the graceful way he handled the elimination, knowing it was about progress, not necessarily perfection and the canucks had made tremendous progress this past season with him leading them. of course it didn’t hurt that he had you reminding him of that the few days after the brutal loss, asking you to stay with him while he wraps things up for the end of the season, claiming it was so that the two of you could spend more time together before he heads to michigan for the summer.

it wasn’t unusual for you to stay at quinn’s place though, and you had done so many times over the course of your friendship, and it seems to happen more often as the years go by. you had probably spent more time at his apartment this past month than your own. you don’t even bother staying in the guest room anymore, opting to sleep next to quinn as the two of you always fall asleep while watching a movie or reading side by side in his bed at the end of the night.

you awake like you do most mornings when staying over at quinn’s, with his arm thrown over your stomach, and his soft breaths against your neck, one leg intertwined with yours. you successfully sneak out quietly, going to the living room and doing your daily morning scroll through social media while waiting for quinn to wake up but the bed must have been colder than usual without you because it wasn’t even five minutes after that he woke up and entered the living room with a tired groan, collapsing next to you on the couch and nuzzling his face into your chest as he mumbled, “why you awake so early. come back to bed,”

“quinn,” you say softly, as not to startle him but the hesitancy in your voice makes quinn lift his head and meet your eyes with a sleepy little squint that makes your heart squeeze.

“what’s wrong?” he asks with a yawn, immediately knowing something was bothering you and leaning on his elbow so he can meet your eyes.

“you know how I follow some canuck fan accounts?” you ask and he furrows his brows

“I told you to unfollow them,” he points out, smiling slightly at the guilty look on your face, only realising now his body was plastered to yours but he didn’t want to move and you didn’t look like you were uncomfortable with the closeness, so quinn just snuggled closer, his thumb rubbing soothing patterns on your hip.

“I am ‘nucks fan to my core quinny. I can’t just unfollow them,” you argue as if it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard and he chuckles slightly at your dramatics.

“you can if what they’re saying upsets you. what you see?” quinn asks, and you hesitate for a second before telling him, knowing his reaction was gonna affect you, whether you wanted it to or not.

“pictures of me and your mom sitting together. and pictures of the two of us leaving the game together. us at dinner with your family and me wearing your jersey. there’s one of us at a bar with the team and we look …” in love, you think but can’t voice it. “cosy. people are speculating that we’re – you know, together.” you explain, biting your lip anxiously and quinn gently tugs it out from between your teeth, running his thumb over it.

“oh,” he replies, distracted by the thumb still against your bottom lip.

“oh? that’s all you're gonna say?” you ask, grabbing his wrist and pulling it down to your stomach again, the way he was caressing your face was way too distracting for the conversation you were trying to have.

“I uh – already saw that. basically everyone I know has sent it to me. my brothers, the team, even my mom,” quinn explains, and it makes sense now why he didn’t seem shocked by the news.

“your mother?” you squeak out, mortified at the thought of his mother reading the things people have been saying online about the two of you.

“yeah. wouldn’t be surprised if she started these rumours herself though. she was excited to say the least, going on and on about how happy she was that we were finally together and that it took me long enough to lock you down” quinn jokes, and your heart warms slightly at his words.

“you’re not - upset by it? I know it’s probably weird –” you start but quinn cuts you off by pressing a gentle and unexpected kiss to your cheek.

“it’s not weird. I’m honoured actually, that people think I have enough game to pull someone as hot as you,” he says and you scoff, rolling your eyes and gently hitting him against the chest.

“be serious,” you scold lightly, picking at the blanket thrown over your lap and he laughs, hand nudging your chin, prompting you to look at him.

“I am serious. you’re way out of my league angel. It’s a bit of a cruel joke that people think you would date me,” he says and you immediately frown, wondering if your best friend must have gotten a concussion somehow in the last 24 hours because there was no way Quinn Hughes actually believed the words coming out of his mouth.

“that’s an utterly ridiculous thing to believe considering you have every quality I love in a man and I’ve had the biggest crush on you since the day I met you,” you say without thinking, your cheeks heating up when you realise what you just said, your embarrassment only multiplying when you see the amused grin on his face.

“you have a little crush on me, eh?” he teases, and you sigh lovingly

“quinn, shut up and kiss me already, would you?” you say, and both of you can’t keep the grins off your faces as he leans closer and connects your lips in a sweet, tender, long overdue kiss.

“Your mom was right, you know? It took you long enough to lock me down,” you mumble against his lips and quinn doesn’t even get a chance to respond when the front door suddenly bursts open and ellen walks in.

“Talk of the devil,” quinn mutters and you hide your laugh in his shoulder as his mom observes the position you two currently found yourselves in.

“Hi mrs. Hughes,” you greet her, both you and quinn sending her matching, sheepish smiles.

“Quintin Jerome Hughes, you are such a little liar! I raised you better than lying to your own mother”

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Our Safe Haven

Wanda x little!fem!reader

Word count: 1.1K

Warnings: None this is very fluffy

Authors notes: I had a thought while rewatching DSMOM yesterday. What if...Wanda hadn't been consumed by the darkhold?

“Baaaaaa Baaaaaaa.” 

You woke up to the sound of sheep with a smile on your face. Jumping out of bed and changing into your shortalls and pulling on your perfectly white mid-crew socks. Your tongue sticking out a bit as you pull on your cowgirl boots. You were ready to bolt out the front door when Wanda caught you, we'll her magic did, making you giggle.

“Mama! Mama!” you cried out with a giggle as she carefully placed you down at the kitchen table. She turned around with your breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast. You wiggled in your seat as she set the plate down, leaning over to kiss the top of your head. 

“Good morning detka. Feeling small this morning?” She asked sweetly with a smile as you put some eggs on your fork and you nodded, shoving the food into your mouth, a little ‘mhmm' coming from you. Wanda simply smiled at you, the little light of her life that she found after The Westview Incident.

The moment you were done you bolted out of the house. Your great Pyrenees, Lola, getting up from her spot to follow behind you as you run to the sheep, letting them out to roam and running around with them.

.°⋆.°⋆𐚁

“Apples, right?” Strange asked, making Wanda look up. She was pruning one of the many apple trees that were on the property the two of you had purchased with the money Tony had left everyone.

“Eventually.” She handed him the small branch that was blossoming. 

“Smells…”

“Sweet?”

“I was gonna say real.” Strange said in an accusatory tone making Wanda's face fall.

“It's all very real. Thanks. I put the magic behind me.” Wanda looked over at you, watching as you herded the sheep with Lola laying nearby, watching. 

Strange followed her eyesight. Watching carefully. “Who's the girl?”

“Y/N. I met her after I left Westview. I was looking for a remote place to settle down and she worked at the general store in the secluded town. Eventually I found myself falling in love again.” Wanda smiled, a genuine smile before turning back to Strange. “Well, I knew sooner or later you'd... show up, wanting to discuss what happened at WestView. I made mistakes, and people were hurt.”

“But you put things right in the end and that was never in doubt. I'm not here to talk about WestView.” 

Before Wanda could ask why he was here you came running up, “Mama! Mama!” You hadn't noticed the man at first otherwise you wouldn't have called her Mama, you knew better as you shied away, pressing your face into her. 

Strange was befuddled by the exchange happening in front of him, but watched Wanda soothe you back down, “It's okay little one. He's a friend. He helped me save the world. Your favorite story to hear.” She spoke softly, kissing the top of your head. Wanda looked back at Strange, “So if Not Westview then what are you here for?” Wanda questioned as you looked up at her. 

It was rare that she talked about Westview. When you first met she had mentioned coming from there and that things didn't go as planned. She needed a fresh start. 

“What do you know of the multiverse?” The man asked as you turned slightly to look between them.

“The multiverse. Vis had his theories. He believed it was real. And dangerous.” Wanda's voice shifted slightly, her grip on you tightening ever so slightly. 

Vis…a name you'd heard twice. She always left him out of the stories she told. She tried once, but started to cry. The second was in passing, you heard her ask herself, “Would you have liked this Vis?” You pretended not to hear her. Deciding it was best not to acknowledge it.

“Well, he was right about both. We found a girl who can somehow travel across it but she's being pursued.” Strange informed the two of you and you looked up at Wanda happily about possibly a new friend, but Wanda looked worried. Her grip tightens further on you. A small squeak coming out of you. 

“Mama…” You spoke softly, tugging on her shirt. She looked down at you trying to hide the swirling emotions in her eyes. You saw it though and you didn't mean to, but it brought you right back to a big headspace. “Love what's wrong? What is it?” Your hands cup her cheeks and she practically melts at your touch. It grounds her back down. 

“I'm fine.” Her voice betrays her with a slight crack as she looks back at Strange. 

“You can bring her here. She'll be safe and Y/N can keep her company.” 

“Are you sure Wanda? It won't be too much trouble?” He asks as she shakes her head in response. 

“No trouble at all Stephen.” She plasters a smile on her face as Strange portals back to the temple. 

“What's wrong?” You ask sternly. “He's not here, it's just us Wanda. I know something isn't right.” She tries to pull away, but you hold her there.

“When we met I was in possession of something called the darkhold. It gave me a lot of resources, but it all came at a price. I found the price was too high once I got to know you. I knew I couldn't have both so,” her hands find yours on her face, “I gave it up so we could live our life. So I could leave my past where it belongs. But now with this I can feel that itch. The want—no the need for it again.” 

A pained expression covered your features. You could tell she was struggling and so you did the only thing you knew how to do when she got like this, her thoughts swirling and drowning her in her past mistakes, you kissed her. It was soft and she barely pressed back, but you felt it. 

“We'll get through this. I'm here for you Wands. Didn't I already tell you when you told me who you were?” Wanda looked down at you, waiting for the reminder, needing it right now. “You aren't a monster. What you did is in the past. We can't change that. We can only be better in the future.” 

She leaned her forehead against yours, a smile slowly spreading on her face. “Thank you for the reminder my little love.” She spoke in a whisper as you reached a hand to tangle in her hair, scratching gently as she closed her eyes. 

“We're gonna make it through this. Do what we have to and keep moving forward.” You tell her as she nods against you. 

“How'd I get so lucky?” she whispers.

“I ask myself that question every time I look at you.” you whisper back as you hear a portal opening behind you. Getting ready to face the next chapter of your life together.

[holybibly]

As much as I love my sugar bunnies, I can't leave you empty-handed before my trip. So enjoy the preview of my new ff for Seonghwa. I love you, my darlings.

𝔙𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 𝔉𝔞𝔱𝔞𝔩

Mafia!au ​​Alpha Seonghwa x Omega reader

"I think that you should take a little more time off from work, Hwa. If you go on like this, I'm very much in doubt that you'll be able to tie any Omegas with your knot. Aren't you worried that you're going to leave all those sweet, horny babies needy and unfulfilled, daddy?" Hongjoong soberly chuckled as he turned his amberish feline eyes to the gorgeous dark-haired Alpha beside him. There was a hint of mockery in his seductively purring voice.

"Oh, my sweet Joongie, you're so worried about that, I could think you're desperate to ride on my knot too. But you're working so hard too. Aren't you? When was the last time you tied a nice omega yourself?" Seonghwa said as he walked out of his office, which was located on the top floor of a luxurious, high-class brothel. 

It was an exquisite establishment for Seoul's chosen elite, full of the most beautiful and fertile Omegas with luscious, sexy bodies and submissive, soft dispositions. Seonghwa would never settle for anything less than the most beautiful and luxurious. 

Pulling a black glove made of soft Iberian leather over his long fingers, Seonghwa was walking down the dark corridor that led to the common room when a tantalising scent hit him in the face. It was barely perceptible—just a soft sensuality—but Seonghwa felt as if the scent had taken over his body, making every cell in it tingle and burn and sending goose bumps running up and down his smooth, golden skin. 

The Alpha stopped abruptly, practically bumping into Hongjoong, and let his nose wiggle a little, trying to find out where the delicious scent was coming from. All of his Alpha instincts flare up with a strong curiosity. The blood in his veins becomes more viscous and hotter by the second, and saliva starts to collect in his mouth. 

'Shit, Seonghwa, what are you...' Seonghwa doesn't let him finish and abruptly cuts him off in the middle of his sentence.

"Can you smell it, Joong? That aroma..." His voice is hoarse and deep, and there is a slight, velvety purr to be heard in between the letters. Seonghwa almost groans as a puff of air brings a new wave of the thick scent to him. A heavy, rich, almost maddening smell—there is something big in it—something sinful, decadent, depraved, but at the same time fresh, pure, and so innocent. 

"What's that, Hwa? What do you feel?" Hongjoong's voice is filled with genuine curiosity. He raises a well-groomed eyebrow in question and sinks his teeth into his plump lower lip to keep the grin from spreading across his demonically handsome features. He takes real pleasure in seeing Seonghwa, who is normally so cold and perfect in every way, turn into an excited puppy at the slightest whiff of an unfamiliar scent.

"We have a new Omega in the brothel, don't we?" Seonghwa's voice drops a few octaves, each sound enveloped in a thick, murky sexuality. His breathing becomes heavy and hot, as if he has a fever. Fuck.

"Oh, that..." Hongjoong nods in understanding and now grins openly, revealing the tips of his pointed fangs. "I think it's the new Omega that Yeosang told me about—the cute little thing has just been hired to work here, Hwa. She's probably still waiting in Yeo's office." 

Before Hongjoon could finish his sentence, Seonghwa was already halfway to Yeosang's office, the bare, luscious scent of vanilla wafting through the air and seducing him, and Hwa immediately wanted to know whose scent it was. 

Seonghwa quietly opens the heavy, oak  door leading to one of his assistants' offices and looks inside to finally see the owner of that intoxicating scent. 

"You know, you can just have this omega if you want to.'" Hongjoong whispers as he tries to peek over Seonghwa's shoulder to get a better look at the Omega, the scent of which has made his friend so excited. 

"Can you just shut your pretty mouth and stay out of my way, Joong?" Seonghwa hissed back irritably as he rolled his beautiful feline eyes on the other alpha before he focused all his attention on the unknown Omega.

Oh, what a little sugar baby you are. You look just too adorable dressed up like a doll in the fluffy pastel-coloured sweater with the open shoulders, the high socks with the satin bows, and the white lacquered Mary Jane shoes with the little gold buckle. You seem completely out of place in the gloomy atmosphere of the office, but you are seductive all the same. There is an inexplicable eroticism about you, like a fragile butterfly caught in the deadly web of a spider. Which was basically true because Seonghwa was the king of the world's dark side, and you fell right into his hands. 

Your hair is long and black and shiny like the silk sheets on his bed; he can't see your whole face from his seat, but the contours of your plump cheeks are seductively soft and pink, and your lips are childishly plump and overly sensual. Seonghwa would even call them kissable, but as far as he's concerned, he'd rather bite them bloody and lick them with his tongue than kiss them. 

You're clearly nervous; it's all too easy to tell by the way you fidget restlessly in your seat and the slightly bitter notes in your scent, which fills the entire office like fluffy candy floss, sticking to his tongue and leaving a moist, sweet trail on it. Seonghwa can't help but wonder: What could a candy thing like you be doing in a brothel in search of work? 

This is definitely not the kind of place he would have in mind for such a delicate Omega. You might look perfect between his legs, with a diamond collar around your swan-like neck and your sweet, glistening lips curled around his cock, but a brothel... 

Only the most desperate and needy Omegas seek work in a brothel. And even then, not all of them get the chance to find a place. It's necessary to comply with too many requirements to be able to be just an object of pleasure for the rich Alphas, Betas, and even other Omegas. 

His curiosity is aroused even more, as is his excitement. His hard cock tugs at the fabric of his leather trousers, and the knot at the base begins to press slightly, slowly swelling. Fuck, he's no puppy to be so shamefully turned on by your scent alone, but you smell heavenly and look like an angel, and Seonghwa just wants to spoil you in the most depraved and darkest way, and maybe this desire is too strong for his own good. 

Something catches your attention, and you turn your head sideways, allowing Seonghwa to finally get a full view of your angelic face. Involuntarily, a small sigh escapes from his throat, his feline eyes darken, his fangs ache to sink into the soft skin of yours, and thick saliva gathers in his mouth. 

You're beautiful, a real little angel from the heavens, an exquisite porcelain doll for his pleasure. With a face like that and a scent of pure innocence and sweetness, you could be a gold mine for a brothel. Seonghwa isn't surprised that Yeosang hired you. If even Seonghwa himself wants you so badly, he has no idea how long the queue for you will be. 

"Seonghwa, Mingi wants to talk to you." Hongjoong whispers in a low voice, hands a mobile phone to the dark-haired Alpha, and tries not to draw the attention of the Omega to them. Seonghwa closes the door carefully and takes the mobile phone out of the hands of the other Alpha. 

"I'm listening...' Seonghwa glances at the Omega for the last time before walking away. He leaves behind his back the rich scent of vanilla and a sweet, angelic face with sugar-sweet lips. There is no doubt that you will be the object of his wet dreams.

Seonghwa had tossed and turned for hours in his luxurious royal bed, unable to sleep. The black silk of the expensive sheets flowed around his body like a surface of water, cooling the excited heat of his bare skin a little. But it did nothing to help him control his feelings and thoughts.

Even after all these hours, he can still clearly hear every seductively innocent note of your intoxicating scent, and he feels as if the bare, viscous sweetness of the vanilla has soaked into his skin and seeped deep into his bones. He almost chokes on it. 

With a heavy sigh, Seonghwa leans back against the soft, fluffy cushions, his dark, feline eyes meeting his own reflection in the mirrored ceiling. Even though Seonghwa was hellishly tired, his body categorically refused to relax; every nerve tingled, and his muscles tensed and trembled as if he were in heat. And it's all because of you. 

You're such a sweet, voluptuous omega, with a face like an angel, big innocent eyes that literally beg: "Fuck me, Alpha," and the most sinful lips he's ever seen. God, he just can't seem to get you out of his head. 

As soon as he covers his gorgeous eyes, the image of your sweet mouth stretching so beautifully around his thick cock appears in his mind and causes his whole body to react in an instant. Seonghwa can feel how his cock is straining once again; the massive velvet length is getting harder by the second, and drops of pre-cum are starting to appear on the dark pink, swollen head. 

The Alpha lazily runs his long fingers over his bare chest, hissing from his hypersensitivity, lust burning like poison under his skin. No other Omega in his life has ever been able to interest him in such a way that Seonghwa becomes hard just at the mere thought of her.

And he doesn't know if he hates it or if it just makes him more horny.

You are the very real Miss Pink Sugar, not at all his type, but still, Seonghwa longs to crumble you up between his teeth like a damn shiny lollipop and to devour you without a trace. 

The alpha in him purrs with approval at the thought of that. 

As he stares at his reflection in the mirror, Hwa can't help but wonder what you would look like if you were lying in his bed with his cock deep inside of you. Your pretty tiny pussy is stretched so deliciously around his thick knot, and your belly is swollen from the huge amount of cum that he is pouring into you. Fuck. Hwa would have marked every millimeter of your soft skin and would have left behind forever the inflamed marks of his teeth, which would have bloomed like bloody flowers on your body. 

Your pretty little brain can't even begin to imagine the horrible, dirty things that he would do to you if you were in his presence right now and how much he would teach you.

And he'll be doing that soon. 

For him, there is nothing more pleasurable than to corrupt someone's innocence, to turn divine purity into vice and sin—it is his natural instinct for his inner Alpha, one that has appealed to him since the very beginning of his kind. Hwa has never been a gentle Alpha; he has always been one to take what he wants, and you will be no exception. 

To be honest, he didn't know what he would do with you once you had stated his hunger and satisfied his Alpha's dark desire. But that was the least of his worries at the moment. 

Seonghwa wants to see your lovely, sweet face contorted in pure bliss as he ties you with his knot, your soft, plump cheeks all flushed with shame and wet with tears, and your beautiful mouth sticky and glistening with his cum. 

Damn, you're going to look divine. Seonghwa has no doubt about it. 

Hwa growls in irritation, turns over in the bed, throws off the silk sheets that are now only a nuisance to him, and reaches for his phone. 

"Seonghwa, is there something wrong?" Yeosang's voice is deep and sultry as he answers his call. Seonghwa lets out a grim chuckle, knowing exactly what the gorgeous Alpha is doing right now. 

"Why doesn't that surprise me, Sangie, that you're fucking around instead of concentrating on working? Sometimes I have the feeling that you all are an absolute waste of my time and my money, Sangie." Before Yeosang starts talking again, a muffled groan and rustling can be heard on the other side of the phone. 

"I can never deny myself the pleasure; you know me as I am, but why are you calling me at such a late hour?"

At such a late hour? Seonghwa looks absent-mindedly at the screen of the phone. It's almost three o'clock in the morning; yes, really late. He's been spending more time in his fantasies than he would like to. 

Fuck, he'll just go crazy if you're not in his bed, but he doesn't mind spreading you out on any available surface.

"Never mind. Hongjoong told me that you've hired a new Omega, right?" 

"You mean Y/N, don't you? The doll is so  gorgeous; it's not at all clear why she decided to work in a brothel, but let's just say it's our luck. I've already got some plans for her. In my opinion, she could be one of our star girls..." Seonghwa doesn't let him finish and rudely interrupts him. 

"Sangie, I want you to bring her to me first. Do you understand me?" 

"Oh, what do I see? Someone wants to play with the beautiful Omega, eh? Finally, our Seonghwa will have some time to himself. But I'll do whatever your wish is. Just don't break her, OK? She's real gold." 

Seonghwa doesn't answer him, but ends the call and throws the phone down on the bed before she leans back onto the silk sheets. 

As usual, Hwa will get what he so desperately wants very easily, he just has to wait a little longer.

[luveline]

Hey Jade! I was wondering if you could do some Derek Morgan comfort?! Maybe reader who deals with headaches/migraines?

Hope you're having a nice day/night!!💛

thanks lovely, you too!

You're pinching the bridge of your nose pointlessly when Derek and Spencer arrive that morning. 

“D'you guys do a coffee run?” you ask, surprised to see them come in at the same time. 

“We did!” Spencer says, putting a paper cup down in front of you. “I got you a donut, too.” 

“Thanks, honey,” you say, rubbing the hot spot between your brows to no results. Spencer smiles, pleased, and sits at his desk with the bag of donuts to start a napkin dissemination. 

You wrap your hand around the coffee and let it warm your fingers. 

“You okay?” Derek asks. His brows are pinched upwards at the starts but otherwise furrowed. “You don't look happy.” 

“I have a headache,” you admit. Talking is twice as hard with the pain pulsing behind your eyes; you slur. 

“What?” 

What does he mean, what? You look up from the desk in confusion, but he isn't confused like you, he's borderline upset. “It's not that bad,” you say. 

“It looks pretty bad where I'm standing.” 

Derek grabs the back of your chair and turns you toward him, his expression a mirror of your own discontent. He's wearing a short-sleeved shirt that in any other circumstance would draw your attention, and the badge clipped to his shirt is wonky. 

You're in pain, but you like him. You care about him in the weird way that makes you want to make him breakfast and tie his shoelaces. He is not a man that needs coddling, but you can't restrain yourself, reaching for his pocket to right his badge. 

He laughs quietly. “You're squinting.” 

“Pain's in my eyes.” 

“Sweetheart.” He takes your face in one hand and turns it down, away from the harsh office lights. “You're impossible to understand.” 

You laugh but wince when a flame of pain sparks anew. “I think it's travelling. It's in my brain.” 

“That's your second best feature.” 

“Don't make me laugh,” you plead. 

Morgan gives your cheek a rub with his thumb before pulling away. He takes the few steps to his desk and opens the drawer, pulling out a familiar pair of sleek black Ray-ban shades. “Here. Try these on for size,” he says, opening the arms wide. 

You close your eyes, but there's no need. Derek's extremely careful pushing them over your ears and up your nose. 

“Too sunny in here?” Blake asks, bemused as she skirts past with her mug of tea, her baby bump nudging the back of your chair. 

“Poor girl's not feeling good,” Derek answers for you. 

“Poor girl thought you felt sorry for her,” you say, staring at him through the grey lense of his shades. They're immediately helpful. You won't tell him that, though. 

“I pity anybody stupid enough to feel sorry for you, sweetheart.” He hesitates for no more than a second, dropping his hand onto the stretch of your shoulder blade gently. “You take anything for it? Aspirin?” 

“I did,” —your voice wobbles of its own accord, the instability that comes with a pain that has no clear end in sight— “but it hasn't kicked in yet.” 

He rubs your back, pressing his cheek briefly to your forehead in a side-armed hug. “Let me get you a glass of water.” 

“Morgan?” you ask, catching his arm. He waits. “Kiss it better?” 

You say it because you know he'll crack a smile. It's not nice seeing him so worried, and your headache genuinely feels a little better when he laughs. “Don't start with me. I'll do it. You know I will, beautiful.” 

You sink back into your seat and push his sunglasses up. “I'll be here.” 

He leaves to get you a glass of water. While you're waiting, Spencer passes you your donut, which you pick apart and chew on feebly. Distracted, a warm, chaste kiss is pressed to your cheek as a familiar hand places a glass of water in front of you. 

Derek wiggles his eyebrows at you, asking, “Better?” 

“I'm telling Penelope.” You wince as you turn on your monitor. “In a bit. Just as soon as this screen gets less bright.” 

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Over the Limit - pt.iv

jenna ortega x female reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

summary: You and Jenna each reflect on your own choices and the growing tensions between you both. Torn between loyalty, responsibility, and personal longing, what does this growing conflict mean for the future of your alliance?

word count: 12.8k

————

"So, victory sex?" Hunter teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Victory sex?" You echoed, genuinely confused. "With who?"

"Who else? Your little Viper girl," he replied, rolling his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

After dropping Jenna off at home, you'd shot Hunter a quick text, asking if he wanted to come over. After the whirlwind of the race, and the intense feelings stirred up by Jenna, you needed someone to debrief with—someone who knew about the tangled situation you'd gotten yourself into. Fortunately, your mom didn't know Hunter was part of the Sinners, so he was in the clear to hang out without raising any suspicions.

"Come on, Hunter, I barely know the girl."

"Doesn't seem that way to me," he shrugs, taking a seat on your couch and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. "You let her wear your jacket, didn't you?"

Did everyone see that?

You roll your eyes and flop down beside him, letting out a tired sigh. "That doesn't mean anything."

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say." Hunter smirks, but his teasing tone amplifies after a beat. "But there's no way you didn't feel Racer's High after winning."

You didn't need him to define Racer's High. You knew he was referring to that primal, raunchy, adrenaline rush of a feeling that overtook you once you won the race a few hours ago. You shudder remembering how much you yearned for Jenna in that moment.

"So, how are you feeling about it all? The race, the attention... her?"

You hesitate, considering how much to say. You trust Hunter—he's the only one in the crew you can really open up to, but you're also not ready to dive into the whole Jenna situation. Not with everything going on, especially since you're not sure how deep things go with Percy and this "Ghost Smoke" deal.

"I don't know," you finally say, running a hand through your hair. "The race was wild. Winning felt... intense. I get why people get hooked on that feeling."

Hunter raises an eyebrow. "And?"

"And... I can't shake the feeling that there's more to this. Like, there's this whole side to racing I'm not seeing."

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, watching you carefully. "What do you mean?"

You glance at him, trying to gauge how much you can say without tipping too much of your hand. "I don't know, man. I've been hearing things—whispers about this new stuff called Ghost Smoke floating around Brimstone. You heard anything about that?"

Hunter's eyes narrow, and for a second, you think maybe you've pushed too far. But then he exhales slowly. "I've heard the name. It's bad news, Y/n. Real bad. That shit's spreading fast, and people are already getting hooked. Some of the younger guys are sniffing around for it. Why are you asking?"

You shrug, trying to play it cool. "Just heard it mentioned. Thought it might be connected to some of the things I've been noticing. You don't think the Vipers are involved, do you?"

Hunter goes quiet, his face unreadable. Then he leans back, crossing his arms. "I don't know, and I'm not looking to find out. You shouldn't either. Percy's been getting into things outside of racing, and if Ghost Smoke's part of that, it's not something you or anyone else in the crew wants to be tangled up in."

You nod, though his answer doesn't satisfy you. Not because you don't believe him—but because you have this sinking feeling that the situation is bigger than either of you realize.

The conversation shifts after that, and the rest of the night passes with more casual banter. But the unease never fully leaves your mind.

"Looks like Madison's got a thing for you."

You raise an eyebrow, laughing lightly. "Mikey? That girl's never even cracked a smile at me. Pretty sure she barely tolerates me."

Hunter shrugs, smirking. "Nah, trust me. She was asking about you the other day in the garage."

Your brow furrows slightly. Was it because of what I asked about Percy? A small part of you wonders if Madison's caught onto your suspicions.

"And even during the Viper and Raven races, she was giving you these weird looks."

"What does that even mean, Hunter?" You roll your eyes, half-amused, half-worried.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying this too much. "Hell if I know, but winning that race definitely got you on some people's radar."

Maybe at one point, being on the radar of a few girls would've mattered to you, but not anymore.

————

While Hunter crashed on the couch, you spent the entire night tossing and turning in bed. If someone had told you a month ago that you'd be neck-deep in street races and shady dealings—all for the sake of a girl—you would have called them insane.

When dawn finally broke, you shuffled out of bed and headed into the kitchen, finding Hunter gone and your mom brewing a fresh pot of coffee.

"Morning, Mom," you yawn, stretching your arms out. "Did Hunter leave already?"

"You just missed him. He said he'd be back later," she replies with a gentle smile.

You hum in response, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, savoring the warmth. It was in these quiet, mundane moments that you hated the path you were on more than anything. Between the mess with Jenna, the unpredictability with Percy, and the weight of secrets and family legacies, you sometimes wished you could just be normal—not tangled up in rivalries or trying to make sense of feelings you didn't dare admit.

"You've changed," your mother's voice broke you out of your thoughts, catching you mid-sip.

"Changed?" You raise a brow, joining her at the dining table. "What do you mean?"

She sighs, studying you with a mix of curiosity and concern. "You seem... happier in some ways but also more stressed. Something's weighing on you."

You stare down at your coffee, catching your own reflection in its dark surface, letting your mother's words sink in. Of course she'd notice something different—you're her child. But she's right; you have changed. And now, in this rare quiet moment in the chaos your life has become over the past month, you're finally realizing just how much. You've changed so damn much—and the thought terrifies you, especially because you can't even pinpoint when it happened.

Or you do. And that was the scary part.

A month ago Anton told you to find what's your purpose, your drive. What makes your heart race. What's worth risking everything for.

But you'd been so careful, you tell yourself. You abandoned her the first night you met, didn't even share your name—but now, she's got far more than just a name. She's got you feeding her intel, leading her through Brimstone like her own personal guide, pulling you deeper into a world you swore you'd keep at arm's length.

When did it happen? When did you start dropping her home, buying each other jackets, eating ice cream together—and, hell, when did you start racing? Racing, something you'd vowed never to do. And now here you are, about to walk into a private meeting that likely involves drug lords fueling Brimstone's biggest epidemic—all because she needs leverage on Percy. Leverage to protect herself from some mystery he's holding over her, something she still won't tell you.

You try to rationalize. She's got leverage on you, too. She's got footage of you stealing her dad's car. But deep down, you know she'd only pulled that card to hook you in. She wouldn't actually use it. You knew that. You knew her.

Except—you didn't. You didn't really know a damn thing about this girl, yet here you are, throwing caution to the wind for her. Risking everything for her. Breaking your own rules, doing things you'd avoided for the past twenty years...all because of her. And all way too fast.

Maybe it's because you're finally sitting in front of your mom, and to her, you'll always be her little girl. And facing her now, all you can see is the woman who once opened the door to find cops there, telling her that her husband, the father of her nine-year-old kid, was dead. You remember watching her piece together her shattered heart, all while carrying the weight of resentment for the racing that took him. And now, somehow, you're part of it too. How could you put her through this?

"Y/n?"

Your mom's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you lift your gaze from your coffee to her face.

"I've been calling your name for a while now. What the hell is going on with you kid?" she asks concerned.

Everything you wished you could tell her was everything you couldn't. Everything she warned you to stay away from.

"Look I know I haven't been the best mom," she sighs. "But I did it because I care. I'm strict because I know how quickly things can go south in this shithole of a town."

"You're not a bad mom, stop—"

"I can tell there's something on your mind, I don't know if it's good or bad. But I want to know Y/n/n."

Just as you were about to respond your phone pinged and of course it was Jenna.

Hey Oil spillage, just got news that the meeting moved. It's on Friday at 10p.m. now.

Wonderful news. After the realizations you just had, you were not ready to face Jenna again. In fact you would rather anything but see her. And now you can avoid her for six more days. Without replying to her message, you turn off your phone and turn your attention to your mom.

"I guess I've just been thinking about my future and what that looks like." You decide to open up a little, seeing no apparent harm.

Your mom nods slowly, her brow furrowing slightly as she absorbs your words. "And I also have to consider the fact that we're in Brimstone," you add, your voice dropping a notch.

She looks at you intently, searching your face for clues. "I get that this place can feel limiting, Y/n. But remember, it doesn't have to define you. You have the power to change your path."

You take a sip of your coffee, contemplating her words. "It's just...sometimes it feels like I'm caught between what I want and what I should be doing."

"And what do you want?"

"I don't know! I don't know what I want," you finish, softer now.

She squints, registering the tension in your voice. "Then, what do you think you should be doing?"

Racing. The Club. The Sinners.

But you can't say that. Not to your anti-racing mom, but clearly your face says it for you.

"Y/n," she sighs. "There's no place for you in that life."

"You don't understand, Mom! It's easy on paper to say 'stay away.' But people talk. I'm the daughter of a founding member; they expect me to be part of this."

"And how exactly are you hearing all this talk?" she asks, voice tinged with sass. "I thought I told you to stay away from Anton and that whole club."

"I am!" you lie. "But people at the warehouse still talk," you lie again. "Is working in a warehouse really what you want for me? For the rest of my life?"

"If it keeps you out of that club, then yes, a thousand times over. That club killed your father. I don't get your fascination with it!"

"Maybe I like cars! Maybe I want to feel close to him by doing something that mattered to him. You never even talk about him," you say heatedly, pushing yourself back from the table.

"Sit back down," she says, rubbing her temples.

You sit, your frustration simmering.

Your mom's eyes, usually a fortress, softened with a sigh. "You're right, I don't talk about him much. Not because he wasn't worth it, but because it's painful. But let me tell you something about your dad, something I should've told you sooner."

A shadow of confusion crossed your face.

"He was a founder, sure," she admitted, a bitter smile playing at her lips. "One of the Y/l/n brothers who started this whole thing. But that's not the part of the story that matters. Not the part that should define how you see racing."

Your heart stilled, anticipation prickling at your skin. "What do you mean, then? What's the part I'm missing?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, focusing on a memory only she could see. "Your dad wanted out."

The weight of her words hung between you, more jarring than the rumble of any engine. The idea of your father—the man who had seemingly built his entire world around speed, thrill, and the camaraderie of the club—wanting to leave felt impossible.

"What do you mean, 'out'?" you asked, the question barely a whisper.

She sighed, running a hand over her tired face. "He didn't start the club for the glory, Y/n. Not for the rush or to become some legend everyone would talk about. He did it because he felt trapped, and for a while, racing felt like freedom. But when things got bigger, more dangerous... he saw where it was heading. He knew it wasn't sustainable. He wanted out before it swallowed him whole."

You stared at her, trying to process this new version of the man you thought you knew. The stories you'd grown up on were all about victory, triumph, the unmatched skills of your father and the empire he helped build. But no one talked about the nights he lay awake, second-guessing the choices that led him there.

"Why didn't he leave, then?"

Her eyes glistened with a pain that seemed older than time, a sorrow she'd carried long. "He did, or... he was supposed to. That last race—the one that took him from us—it was meant to be his farewell. He promised me it would be the last time, that after that night, we would start over, somewhere far away from all of this."

You felt like the ground beneath you had shifted. The race that defined so much of your past, the race whispered about in awe and grief—it had been an ending, but not the kind you ever imagined.

"He was going to walk away?" you asked, your own voice thick with disbelief.

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the weight of old promises and lost dreams shining in their depths. "Yes," she whispered, a tear finally breaking free and rolling down her cheek. "He was tired of what it had become—the danger, the violence, the way it devoured everything good. He wanted out for you, for us. But fate had other plans."

You looked at her, seeing not just your mother but a woman who had lost everything for the sake of someone else's ambition. The image of your father—legendary racer, fearless leader—began to fracture, replaced by the vision of a man who was trapped, fighting for freedom that never came.

"And now," she said, drawing a shaky breath, "you have to decide if you're going to chase his ghost, or choose a different path."

Suddenly, the image of racing, of the thrill that had always called to you, shifted. It wasn't just the adrenaline, the wind whipping past and the engine's roar. It was what lay beneath—the fear, the drive to outrun something that couldn't be escaped.

"So, what does that mean for me?" you asked quietly.

Her fingers tightened around her cup, eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity. "It means you decide if racing is freedom or a cage. For your dad, it became both. You don't owe this club anything."

You sat back, absorbing the truth. Racing had always felt like destiny, an inheritance carved into the fabric of who you were. But now, for the first time, it seemed less like a birthright and more like a choice—a choice you'd have to make on your own terms.

"Do you ever... want to get out of here?" you ask, almost too quietly, afraid of the answer. "Out of Brimstone?"

A question you should've asked your mother years ago, but is only leaving you now.

She raises her eyebrows, surprised by the question. It lingers in the air between you for a moment before she sighs, looking out the window to the tired streets beyond. "Sometimes," she says finally. "Sometimes I think about it, yeah. The way this place drags people in, holds them down... It scares me for you, Y/n. I don't want you trapped here. I want you to have options, a life that's bigger than this town."

"Then why do you stay?" you press, voice softer now.

A flicker of something unreadable crosses her face. "It's complicated," she says, her voice tinged with a weariness you hadn't noticed before. "Your father was here. This was where we met, built our lives, and after he... after everything, I felt like leaving would be... giving up on him. Like walking away from the one thing he was part of."

"But you don't owe this place anything," you say, echoing her earlier words back to her. "If it's just a memory keeping you here, then... maybe we both deserve better."

She nods slowly, her gaze returning to you, eyes softer, more vulnerable than you've seen in a while. "Maybe we do," she admits, voice barely a whisper. She makes a gesture with her hand of tapping a cigarette into an ash tray—a habit you noticed since you were a child. Something she does out of nervousness.

For the first time, it feels like you're seeing eye-to-eye, both carrying parts of the same burden—one that isn't really yours to carry. You've both been holding on, afraid of what letting go might mean.

You never thought you had a bad relationship with your mom. You both just worked and worked, trying to make a life for each other. Survival mode felt like autopilot—there was no time for bonding or deep conversations. Showing care meant keeping each other going, making sure you both were okay. Talking like this felt foreign, almost like a new skill you were both trying to learn. You wonder what prompted it, this sudden need to speak the things you both usually left unsaid

"So Hunter told me you had a girlfriend—"

You face palm, "for fuck sakes."

————

"Dude you told my mom I have a girlfriend?"

"She asked me if there was anyone special in your life!" He puts his hands up defensively.

You groan, feeling a wave of annoyance wash over you. What the hell are you supposed to tell your mom if she asks about this again? The image of her face pops into your mind. "Hey Mom, here's my supposed girlfriend I met at a race I snuck off to behind your back. Don't worry, she's not a Sinner—she's a Viper, though."

Luckily, Hunter had walked in earlier from whatever he'd been up to that morning, sparing you from answering your mom's question on the spot. Now, all you have to do is figure out what to say when she inevitably brings it up again.

It's still morning as you both settle into your room, falling into the familiar rhythm of your routine. You sprawl on your bed while he spins around in your chair, his energy infectious. Hunter dives into the latest gossip, animatedly sharing every detail, and you find yourself drifting in and out of his words, letting the sound of his voice wash over you.

You phone then starts ringing, and his voice suddenly stops. You glance at the screen, and let out a heavy sigh. You've really got to change her contact name.

"Who is it?" Hunter asks, hopping off the chair and leaning closer to your phone.

"Is she not your fave Viper anymore?" He jokes, sitting at the foot of your bed. "Come on, pick it up!"

You hesitate, staring at the screen as the name blinks back at you. The tension in the room shifts, Hunter's playful smirk fading as he senses your reluctance.

"Seriously? You're just going to let it ring?"

You shake your head, biting your lip. "I—I can't, Hunter. What do I even say?"

He leans forward, a look of mock seriousness on his face. "How about, 'Hey, Jenna, what's up? Oh me? I'm just living my perfectly normal life—definitely not spiraling into an identity crisis because of you?"

You roll your eyes but can't help the smile that threatens to break through. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, but you know I'm right," he insists, nudging your foot with his. "Just answer it! What's the worst that could happen?"

A million thoughts race through your mind, each one heavier than the last. You're scared of what her voice will bring up—the memories, the feelings, the undeniable shift in your life since you met her. "What if she wants to see me again?"

"Uh, hello?" he raises a brow, giving you a look. "Isn't that the best-case scenario? Getting cozy with your fine, rich Summer Valley girl?"

You hesitate again, and the ringing seems to grow louder. Hunter's eyes are wide, filled with mischief and encouragement. "Come on! Just answer it already!"

"Huh, looks like I can't anymore, the ringing stopped," you smile, relieved that the ringing was cut short.

Hunter's expression shifts from playful to incredulous. "What the fuck, man? Why didn't you answer?"

You shrug, but inside, a storm of emotions brews, each thought heavier than the last. Jenna represents everything you're trying to escape, and yet everything you're drawn toward. She's the pull of a world that's dangerous, one you've seen tear lives apart—your life apart. And every second you spend with her, it feels like you're slipping further down a path you might not come back from.

You can't let that happen.

"Because I can't keep doing this," you say, the words coming out softer than you'd intended. Each moment with her feels like a step away from the life you once knew, from the version of yourself that kept your family safe. You're drawn to Jenna, but she's also a stark reminder of how much you've changed, of how close you're getting to undoing everything your mom worked so hard to protect, everything your father was trying to leave.

She makes you feel alive in ways you haven't felt in years. But that feeling comes with a vulnerability you're not sure you can handle. If you keep this up, you'll lose more than just yourself—you'll risk letting down the family that depended on you to be the strong one. The thought sends a cold chill through you.

"I don't think I'm doing the right thing, Hunter."

Hunter lets out a quiet sigh, watching you closely. "You were doing alright last night. What's got you all worked up now?"

You hesitate, the weight of it clawing at you. Saying it out loud feels like crossing a line you can't come back from. "Things just... feel different," you say, voice barely audible. "I've been doing things I never thought I would, getting in deeper than I should. I don't even recognize myself anymore."

Hunter frowns, studying you. "You're not a completely different person just because you're out there racing. Isn't this what you wanted?"

"It's not just about racing." You rub your face, trying to calm the frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Jenna's got this... hold over me. She's made me cross lines I thought I'd never touch. She's tied up in a world I swore I'd stay away from."

Hunter's gaze softens, like he's trying to understand. "Maybe she's just got you seeing things differently. Doesn't mean you're losing yourself."

But that's the problem—you can feel yourself losing your grip, and the need to push her away rises, desperate, like an instinct. You know that the closer you get to Jenna, the deeper you risk sinking into something that could destroy you both. "Maybe it's better if I keep my distance," you murmur, more to yourself than to him. "I can't let this go any further. She's in the Vipers, and that's not a world I can afford to be part of."

Hunter shakes his head, not fully understanding. "So you're just going to shut her out? Because of some fear? Even if she hasn't been around long, what you two have—it's something real—"

"No." You cut him off, a hint of desperation in your tone. "What I have with her isn't real. Not really. We just thought... we could help each other. But that's all it is."

Even as you say it, though, you can feel the lie settle in your chest, heavier than you expected.

Hunter doesn't know the whole story with Jenna and Percy, or how you got roped into digging up dirt on him. You bite your tongue, stopping yourself from saying too much. A part of you wishes you could tell him, though—because if he knew you were supposedly getting mixed up in things like Ghost Smoke, he'd be the first one pushing you to cut Jenna out of your life for good.

"Alright, let me ask you this," he says, leaning forward. "You've had your first race, you were technically a Sinner. But from what you're saying, it sounds like you've made up your mind. So, what—you're sticking to your car hijacking ways, no racing, right?"

You hesitate—even after everything your mom has told you today, and he catches it.

"There's still a part of you that wants it, Y/n. You're not sure, and that's okay. This isn't about you changing; it's about something else. Unless you can look me in the eye and say you're completely done with this racing stuff, I don't see why you have to push her away."

You don't know why either. Maybe this wasn't about racing entirely and how much you've changed. But it feels foolish now to drag yourself deeper into this world after learning your dad died trying to leave it. Point is, you need to step back before you lose yourself completely.

And as much as it hurts to admit, that might mean losing the girl who makes your heart race. Looks like you found what makes your heart race, but not what's worth risking everything for.

————

"So, should I throw the microwave at your head now or later?"

Jenna tears her gaze away from her phone, frowning at her sister. "What are you even talking about, Aliyah?"

Aliyah grins, enjoying the confusion on her sister's face. "You don't remember? You told me ages ago that if you ever fell for someone again—or got caught waiting on a text—I should throw a microwave at your head."

Jenna sighs, the memory of that ridiculous pact making her groan. "Yeah, well... Wait—hold on. I am not falling for anybody!"

Aliyah raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh. Says the girl who's been glued to her phone all day waiting on a text. Sounds exactly like someone not falling for anybody."

Jenna scoffs, rolling her eyes, but she can't hide the faint blush creeping up her cheeks. "I'm just... checking my messages. It's not that deep."

Aliyah chuckles. "Right. Not that deep. Just let me know when to start unplugging the microwave."

The older of the two shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "You're so dramatic."

"I just know you too well. Face it, sis—you're hooked."

Jenna scoffs, though her expression softens. "It's... complicated," she admits quietly, her fingers grazing the edge of her phone. "She's—" She stops, catching herself. She's. But she's not about to explain all that to Aliyah.

"Complicated?" Aliyah finishes, feigning shock. "You? In something complicated? Never."

"Okay, fine, enough!" Jenna laughs, trying to brush off her nerves. But her sister's words stick with her. She can't ignore the fact that she's thinking about her way more than she should be. And she knows all too well that if Percy found out, it would be a whole new problem.

Aliyah flops onto the bed, scrolling through her phone with a satisfied grin, fully aware that she's already planted the seed.

The Viper tries to focus on something else, anything else, but her mind keeps drifting back. "You're hooked."

Aliyah tilts her head, watching Jenna with a knowing look. "You don't even deny it. Whoever this person is, they've got you in knots."

Jenna rolls her eyes, trying to dismiss it, but the truth settles heavily in her chest. "It's not like that," she says, almost to herself. "It can't be."

Aliyah raises an eyebrow. "Why not? Because of Dad? Or because of that sleaze Percy?"

Jenna's jaw tightens at the mention of the men, and she looks away, fighting the urge to share too much about her mystery Brimstone girl. "Let's just say... it's not as simple as having someone in your life and calling it a day," she says finally.

Aliyah's playful demeanor fades a bit, sensing the weight in Jenna's voice. "Jenna... are you in some kind of trouble?"

For a moment, Jenna considers coming clean, but she shakes her head, forcing a smile. "When am I not in trouble?"

Aliyah's smile falters slightly, guilt seeping through her playful demeanor. She shifts in her seat, Jenna wouldn't even know this kind of trouble if it weren't for her.

Jenna catches the look in her sister's eyes and instantly regrets her words.

"Aliyah, don't," she says softly, the tension in the room shifting. "You know I don't blame you."

"I know, but I can't help feeling responsible," Aliyah whispers, looking down at her hands. The unspoken reality—that Jenna's entanglement with the Vipers was to shield Aliyah—lingered between them, heavier than any words.

"Dad shouldn't have made you—"

Jenna reaches out, squeezing her sister's hand. "We're in this together, remember? Whatever happens, I'm the one who chose to stay."

Aliyah looks up, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But it's not fair. You shouldn't have to carry this for me."

Jenna offers a small, sad smile. "Family isn't about fair. It's about being there, no matter what."

Aliyah's shoulders slump as she bites her lower lip, a familiar crease forming on her brow. The guilt that's been gnawing at her shows clearly in her eyes, and Jenna's heart clenches at the sight.

"I hate this," Aliyah whispers, her voice wavering. "Every time you walk out that door, I keep wondering if you're coming back. And it's because of me."

Jenna's tough facade cracks, and she leans forward, wrapping an arm around Aliyah's shoulders. "Hey, don't go there," she murmurs. The words are steady, meant to reassure, but the tightness in her chest betrays her. For a moment, she lets herself imagine a life free of this cycle—a life where neither of them has to look over their shoulder.

"I won't be stuck for long," Jenna finally admits, a determined edge creeping into her voice. She pulls back just enough to look Aliyah in the eyes, hoping to pass on some of that conviction. "I'm working on something, alright? This isn't forever."

Aliyah searches Jenna's face, her eyes widening with hope and hints of disbelief. "You mean it?"

Jenna nods, "I mean it. I promise."

Suddenly the sadness in Aliyah's expression is replaced with a smirk, "Does she have anything to do with it?" she asks glancing at her sister's phone.

"Don't change the subject," Jenna says, trying to sound stern but unable to keep the corner of her mouth from quirking up.

Aliyah's smirk grows, the earlier heaviness giving way to something warmer, more familiar. "I knew it. Your mystery girl isn't just another risk, is she?"

Jenna rolls her eyes but can't fully suppress a small, reluctant smile. "It's complicated, Ali. She's... well, she's a lot more than I expected."

Probably the biggest risk of all, Jenna thought

Aliyah's smirk softens into a genuine smile. "Good. You deserve more than this mess, Jen."

Jenna's heart tightens at her sister's words. "Yeah," she whispers, more to herself than to Aliyah. "Maybe I do."

Suddenly an idea stirs into the younger Ortega's mind. In a swift motion, her hand darts out and snatches Jenna's phone from the bed. Before Jenna can fully process what's happening, Aliyah is already on her feet, eyes dancing with mischief as she clutches the phone to her chest like a prize.

"Aliyah!" Jenna's voice sharpens "Seriously? Hand it over."

Aliyah tilts her head playfully, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Relax, big sister. Just checking if your mystery girl left a love note or two."

Jenna takes a step forward, trying to maintain her composure as she reaches out for the phone. "I mean it, Ali. Give. It. Back."

Aliyah shifts her weight, effortlessly dodging Jenna's reach as she chuckles. Taking advantage of the height, she holds the phone above her head, reading the chat messages. "Greaser? Pet names already?"

"Aliyah."

"Left on read for almost three hours? And here I thought you had game."

"I don't like her."

"Sure you don't," Aliyah teases, tapping the screen. "Let's see if your non-existent feelings show up when I—"

Before she can finish, the familiar ringing tone starts, and Jenna's heart drops. Aliyah's eyes widen with mock surprise. "Oops. Guess we'll see soon enough."

"Aliyah!" Jenna lunges, grabbing the phone from her sister's hand after the phone rang for a while. Without hesitation, she swiftly hits the end call button. The silence that follows crackles with tension as Jenna clutches the phone, her face flushed.

Aliyah bursts out laughing. "Wow, if that's not feelings, I don't know what is."

Jenna takes a steadying breath, unable to mask the way her pulse races. "It's not like that," she insists, more to herself than to her sister.

She couldn't help but wonder why you didn't answer your phone. You had more than enough time to answer the phone while it was ringing.

————

Two days have passed since you left Jenna's call unanswered. The rhythmic clinking of tools filled the garage as you worked tirelessly on your latest project—the stolen Aston Martin. For the past two days, the garage had been your refuge, the metallic smell of oil offering a sense of your old routine amidst the chaos. In that span, you had buried yourself in work, starting early in the morning and ending late into the night, determined to keep your mind from straying.

You stepped back to study the Aston Martin, now wrapped in a deep green that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. The change from the initial black colour was supposed to help, to make the car feel less like a painful reminder of her. But as you ran your hand over the freshly smoothed surface, sighing at the ghost of memories it evoked, you realized that nothing had changed. No matter how much you worked, every inch of that car still spoke her name.

Your phone buzzed on the workbench, a sharp intrusion that pulled your attention. A name lit up the screen—Jenna's. A message providing you the address of the meeting, nothing else. Seeing her message made your chest ache with a guilt you tried to ignore. You glanced at the glowing screen, your resolve wavering for a moment before you shoved the phone into a drawer, the metallic clang echoing in the small space.

Out of sight, out of mind.

As you smoothed out the last stubborn air pockets on the Aston Martin's fresh wrap, the sound of footsteps echoed in the garage. It was nearly 1 a.m. and no one should be around at this hour.

"Y/n?"

You turned at the familiar voice, eyes narrowing slightly before recognition softened your expression. "Mikey?"

She walked toward you, eyes curious as they swept over the car. "What are you doing here so late?" she asked, curiosity lacing her voice.

You shrugged, forcing a nonchalant tone. "Just working on a car. Needed the distraction. And you?"

Mikey tilted her head, not satisfied with the answer. "I felt like going for a drive. Thought I'd stop by first."

Her gaze shifted between you and the green Aston Martin, catching the tension in the air.

"This is the car you rolled up in with your girl right? What was on the surveillance?"

Ahh yes my girl. Now you need to come up with a believable break up story for the crew.

You clenched your jaw at her question, the mention of Jenna sending a pang through your chest. "Uh, yeah," you muttered, hoping to keep the conversation brief. Mikey's sharp intuition wasn't something to underestimate.

"Trouble in paradise?"

You sigh, "something like that, I don't really want to talk about it."

Mikey nods carefully, and deliberates her next words before speaking, "Did you want to join me on my driv—

"Okay I brought Chinese!" Hunter's voice booms through the garage.

Hunter set the bags down on a nearby workbench, the crinkling of paper and the scent of takeout breaking the heavy silence. He glanced between you and Mikey, sensing the charged atmosphere and shooting you a raised brow.

"Am I interrupting something?" Hunter asked, his usual playful tone laced with curiosity as he tossed a napkin your way.

You caught it mid-air, forcing a smirk to hide the knot in your chest. "Just working late," you replied, shrugging as if that explained everything.

Mikey's expression softened, the slight edge from moments ago replaced with a grin. "Nope, you're just in time. I was about to drag Y/n out for a drive," she said, her voice lighter now, as if trying to pull you into an easier conversation.

Hunter's brows lifted. "Oh? That's a miracle. She's been glued to that car for the last 48 hours" he teased, nudging your arm.

The mention of the past few days made your stomach tighten. You hadn't told Hunter or anyone else why you'd been so buried in work. The truth was, it kept you from thinking about Jenna. The guilt, the confusion—it all seemed simpler when muffled under the sound of engines and the smell of oil.

Mikey leaned against the Aston Martin, folding her arms. "Come on, you've been cooped up in here long enough. What's a quick drive gonna hurt?"

Before you could answer, Hunter grabbed a takeout container and tossed another to you. "Food first, you too Mikey. And then drive second," he said with a grin. "Don't think we'll let you skip out on both."

You took the container, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. Maybe stepping away from the garage—and everything it represented—would be good for you. Even if just for a moment.

You could tell a lot about a person from how they drove, and never in a million years did you think Mikey would be a careful driver. She would teeter on surpassing street limits, but was a relatively relaxed and smooth driver.

The car rolled through the night, the city gradually giving way to quieter roads framed by dark silhouettes of trees. A comfortable silence settled among the three of you, broken only by Hunter's occasional commentary and Mikey's bursts of laughter when he cracked a particularly absurd joke.

"Remember that time you tried to drive with only three wheels?" Hunter leaned forward from the back seat, his eyes dancing with mischief. "You swore it would work."

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head at the memory. "And you were the one who dared me to, you idiot."

Mikey laughed, the sound deep and genuine. "And you actually tried it? That's commitment."

"Or stupidity," Hunter added, and the three of you erupted into laughter that carried through the night, momentarily easing the tension that had wrapped itself around your chest for days.

The conversation meandered through old stories and lighthearted teasing as the car hummed smoothly down the open road. But then, in a pause between topics, Mikey glanced sideways at you, her gaze more serious. "So, do you plan on racing again anytime soon?"

The question hung in the air, a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Before you could respond, Hunter's smirk dropped. He leaned back in his seat, his voice more subdued. "Don't bother, Mads. She doesn't know."

Your eyes flicked to Mikey, watching her reaction. She didn't miss the slight hesitation in your expression, the way your hands clenched. Her brow furrowed, a mixture of concern and curiosity flashing across her face.

"Still figuring it out, huh?" she said softly. "If you haven't made up your mind yet and you're not already back on the track, it's probably a no."

You kept your gaze on the road, the rhythmic whoosh of the wind outside acting as a buffer for your thoughts. Mikey's insight stung more than you'd admit; she was right. Your lack of being back on the track had to mean something.

"Maybe," you said finally, offering no real answer. Hunter glanced between you and Mikey.

Mikey settled back in her seat, a subtle understanding flickering in her eyes as her expression softened. "Trust me," she said, her voice calm yet pointed. "Most racers, when they're trying to get something off their mind, they hit the streets and push their limits. But you? You're here, spending your nights working on a car. That says a lot about where you really want to be."

She was the first person to openly discourage you from racing, and you couldn't help but appreciate it. It felt different, almost liberating—a break from the endless pressure to prove yourself. For once, someone saw the side of you that wasn't caught up in the thrill, and it was a relief.

But there was also that suspicious part of you. Mikey was close to Anton, and she knew how much Anton wanted you in the crew. Does she fear that you'll replace her spot in the club if you join? You brush off your intrusive thoughts and try to enjoy the rest of your drive.

————

Two more days had passed since Jenna had sent the text with the updated meeting address, and the silence on the other end gnawed at her. She leaned against the balcony railing outside her room, eyes skimming the darkened city skyline in the distance each blinking light a reminder of how life pulsed and moved without pause.

The air was crisp, biting against her skin as she shivered, but it did nothing to numb the restless ache in her chest. She scrolled back through the last messages, the words on the screen staring back at her like a mockery of the certainty she'd once felt. It wasn't like you to go this long without responding, but then again what did she know about you? You were the definition of uncertainty, you couldn't figure your own shit out how could you help with hers. She should've seen the red flags for your ghosting tendencies from the first time you met. You had no reason to help her, there was no personal gain.

Aliyah's voice broke through her thoughts, calling from inside. "Jenna, you're doing it again."

Jenna blinked, tearing her gaze from the phone as Aliyah stepped out onto the balcony, eyes filled with concern.

"You're still thinking about her, aren't you?" Aliyah's tone was soft, not judgmental, but knowing.

Jenna sighed, slipping her phone into her pocket as if hiding it would erase the gnawing uncertainty. "I can't help it. Something's off. She's... pulling away, I can feel it."

Aliyah's expression shifted, guilt briefly clouding her features before she masked it with a small, encouraging smile. "Maybe she just needs time. You know how it is—this life, this... chaos we're in. It's not easy."

Jenna met her sister's eyes, searching for reassurance that felt out of reach. "Yeah, maybe." But it wasn't enough. Aliyah didn't know the extent of your relationship. How you were going to help her get dirt on Percy. How you were her best bet.

Jenna had noticed for a while now that Percy was spending a lot more time in Brimstone, and that anything she could find would be found in that shady town.

"I saw the messages with her... something about a meeting? If she won't go with you, maybe I could?" Aliyah ventured, her tone eager but tentative.

Jenna's reaction was immediate, sharp. "Absolutely not. It's too dangerous."

Aliyah crossed her arms, a defiant glint in her eyes. "Come on, Jenna. It could be good to do something together for once."

"I'm serious, Aliyah. This isn't up for discussion. It's not safe," Jenna said, her voice firm, eyes blazing with protectiveness.

Aliyah lifted her chin, stubbornness radiating from her. "Too late. I don't care," she declared, turning on her heel and striding out before Jenna could argue.

"Aliyah, wait—"

Jenna's phone pinged, jolting her from the tense silence that followed Aliyah's departure. For a split second, hope fluttered in her chest—a foolish, fragile thing—as she thought it might be you, breaking the days of silence that gnawed at her. But that hope quickly crumbled as she glanced at the screen.

It was from Percy.

Get yourself dolled up. Race tomorrow night. Be there. And you're on my arm. Look the part, don't embarrass me.

Jenna stared at the messages, her fingers itching to throw the phone across the room. He knew exactly how much he got under her skin and used it at every opportunity. And tonight was no different; he needed her there, not just as a racer, but as his accessory, some trophy to drape over his arm. Like she was at the Sinner race almost a month ago. It was a power move, one he'd pulled too many times, trying to keep her bound to him and his schemes.

Another ping. Don't even think about bailing. You know what happens when I'm not happy.

Jenna scoffed, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She could imagine Percy already preening in the mirror, smugly counting on her to show up, loyal and subservient as always. She could almost hear his oily tone, the mock concern he would flash when she hesitated, only to follow it with another thinly veiled threat. Percy loved to remind her how "lucky" she was that he'd given her a place in the Vipers—and what a shame it would be to lose it.

Jenna pushed away from the railing, the metallic chill of it seeping through her skin as she stood upright. The city lights looked dull now, swallowed by the storm brewing in her mind. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a part of her tempted to tell Percy to shove it. But she knew better. Defying him could mean losing her only leverage, the tiny foothold she had in this game of shadows and lies.

With a sharp sigh, she typed out a reply, each keystroke feeling like a betrayal to herself.

Swallowing her disgust, she replied. Fine. I'll be there.

It was almost too easy to imagine the smirk that would be stretching across his face as he read her reply. She could feel her muscles tense, a quiet storm brewing beneath the surface, made worse by the fact that she'd lost any sign of you as a reprieve.

The phone slipped back into her pocket, but the weight of it pressed heavier than ever. The ache in her chest turned sharper, a reminder that even though she needed you, even though you were the one who was supposed to stand beside her, the silence between you spoke volumes. She just wished it wasn't so deafening.

Her eyes drifted to the hallway where Aliyah had disappeared moments before. She couldn't let her sister get pulled deeper into this mess, not when it felt like she was barely holding her own head above water. Yet, with every passing moment, the line between protecting the people she loved and keeping them at a distance grew blurrier. And Percy's summons felt like another shove towards the edge she was already teetering on.

Tomorrow night, she'd play the role. But Jenna swore, as she stared out at the city, that she would find a way out of this tangled mess.

Aliyah popped back into the room, her eyes bright but cautious as she took in Jenna's guarded stance. "Hey, so, the family's heading out to catch a movie right now. Are you coming?" Her tone was light, hopeful even, as if she already anticipated the answer but wanted to hear it anyway.

Jenna's gaze shifted to her sister, the corners of her mouth pulling into a tight line. The unspoken question lingered between them, though Aliyah's expression faltered as she awaited an answer.

"Is Dad going?" Jenna's voice came out sharper than she intended, and Aliyah's smile dimmed slightly.

"Yeah, he is," Aliyah admitted, her eyes darting down for a moment before meeting Jenna's again, trying to read her sister's mood.

Jenna's jaw tensed as she looked past Aliyah, the weight of years of resentment and disappointment pressing down like a vice. "Then no," she said flatly, the finality in her voice leaving no room for argument.

Aliyah's face fell, but she nodded, understanding etched into her features. She didn't push, didn't try to convince Jenna otherwise. The silence between them grew heavy, filled with all the things they weren't saying.

"Okay," Aliyah said softly, turning to leave. But before she stepped out, she cast one last glance over her shoulder, eyes shadowed with a mix of concern and quiet resignation. "Just... don't stay up all night, okay?"

Jenna forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah. I won't."

But as Aliyah's footsteps faded down the hall, Jenna knew she was lying. The night was already hers to wrestle with, haunted by the things she couldn't change and the person she wished she didn't need.

————

Before you knew it, Friday had arrived—the day of the meeting. The meeting you weren't planning to attend. You started your day the same way you had over the past few days—in the garage.

You had been avoiding your phone all morning, afraid of what new messages might appear. Each buzz was a test of your resolve, a reminder that giving in would undo everything you had decided. You needed to stay strong, keep your distance, and not let the past pull you back in.

The project car in front of you demanded all your attention. You poured every ounce of focus into it, the sleek curves of the Aston Martin glistening under the dim garage lights. Tonight, you were determined to take it out for a spin, using it as an excuse to push out the stress gnawing at your mind.

The garage was unusually quiet, lacking its usual bustle. The regulars, including Anton and Mikey, were conspicuously absent, skipping their usual stops at the garage. You welcomed the peace; the last thing you needed was their relentless teasing about the car's dubious origins.

The sound of footsteps broke the monotony, and you didn't need to look up to know it was Hunter.

"Got a minute?" His voice came from the doorway, casual but laced with concern.

You nodded, wiping your hands on a rag before tossing it aside and standing up. "Yeah, what's up?"

"So you're really done with Jenna?" he asks wasting no time.

You couldn't even bring yourself to say the words.

"I'm hoping the drive with Madison the other day doesn't mean yes," he frowns. "I don't think she's right for you."

"Neither do I dude. I never said I wanted anything with Mikey. We literally all went on a friendly drive, nothing more."

"Good, she kind of gives me an off vibe," he shares. "I mean, she's cool and all, but there's just something... I don't know. 

Hunter leans against the workbench, studying you. "But that still leaves Jenna," he says, quieter now. "Are you sure cutting her off is what you really want?"

Your chest tightens, and you look away, focusing on the glint of metal on the project car. "I don't know," you admit. "But staying away feels like the only way to keep things from going up in flames."

Hunter's eyes narrow with concern, but then he smirks, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Just don't forget—sometimes running from the fire only makes it burn hotter when it catches up," he finishes with a wink.

You roll your eyes, but a small chuckle escapes despite the tension in your chest. "Trust you to turn everything into a dramatic line."

————

Hunter left around the 6 p.m. mark and time slipped through your fingers, and before you knew it, the clock had struck 8 p.m. The Aston Martin stood before you, polished and ready. It looked solid, steady—exactly what you needed. Without a second thought, you grabbed the keys, took a breath to steady your nerves, and slid into the driver's seat. Tonight, it would be just you, the car, and the open road.

You eased the car through the streets of Brimstone, your hands gripping the wheel, your mind drifting as you weaved through the winding roads. The town looked different at night—darker, quieter, with the occasional flicker of neon signs casting long shadows on the empty streets. You passed by abandoned buildings, alleyways where the stray figures of drug addicts huddled together, their glazed eyes staring into the nothingness that had consumed them. They barely registered your presence, too lost in their own world.

You drove without a clear destination, allowing the car to take you wherever it wanted to go. The sound of tires on asphalt was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. The rush of the road beneath you, the flicker of streetlights, the occasional blur of other cars passing by—it was all you needed. Just you and the road.

And then your mind went to her. Of course it did. How could it not when you were sitting in this car. You were fooling yourself by thinking a single car wrap can get the job done.

You remembered the day you took this car, how you spilled your guts to her in the midst of your chaos. The way she'd listened—really listened—and kissed your cheek when you dropped her off. The memory was so vivid, you could almost feel her lips on your skin again.

She should be heading to the meeting now. The one you weren't going to attend. The one she was walking into, blind. No idea what it was really about, no clue what she was getting herself into. Alone.

For all you knew, she thought Ghost Smoke was some sort of cereal. But no. You knew better than that. She wasn't stupid. She was smart, and she could handle herself. You tried to tell yourself that, tried to calm your racing thoughts. She could handle herself. She would be fine. Nothing bad would happen.

But even as you tried to convince yourself, the doubt crept back in. The image of her walking into that meeting—unprepared, vulnerable—made your stomach churn. You couldn't help but picture the worst. What if they used her? What if she got caught up in something deeper than either of you realized?

But then, as you took a sharp turn, you found yourself on the road you hadn't meant to be on. The track.

The place where it all went down.

You didn't intend to end up here. Not tonight. But there it was, the race track standing still under the muted glow of the moon, the outline of the old fence barely visible against the darkness. The stories rushed back like a wave—your father, Anton's dad, both gone in an instant after the crash that took their lives. The race had been their last, the night that changed everything.

You slowed as you approached the entrance, the cars long gone. There was no movement, no sign of life, just the emptiness that had followed the tragedy. The track had been abandoned ever since. The Sinners stopped racing there out of respect, unwilling to return to the place that had claimed so much.

You parked the car on the side of the road. For a long moment, you just sat there, the hum of the engine ticking down as the silence of the night pressed in. The weight of the past, of your father's legacy, of everything you thought you knew about this town and the racing world, settled on your shoulders.

You couldn't help but feel the ghosts of the past watching, waiting, taunting you—what are you going to do Y/n?

You shifted the car into drive, the road ahead a blur.

————

"Can you not be mad at me anymore please?"

Jenna rolls her eyes, frustration evident in her posture. "I told you not to come. I seriously can't believe you followed me here."

Aliyah huffs, crossing her arms. "You're in this mess because of me, and god forbid I want to help! It's not like your girlfriend was dying to come with you, so you should at least be grateful I'm here."

Jenna's stomach clenches at the mention of girlfriend, but she holds her tongue. She's too tired for this. She could've corrected Aliyah for the thousandth time, but it wasn't worth the fight now. Better to focus on getting this over with. At least until this little mission was done, she needed to push all thoughts of you to the back of her mind.

You're not here anyway. You're not helping her anymore.

Aliyah continues, clearly trying to lighten the tension, but there's a note of sarcasm in her voice. "Seriously, there's no way you're not happy I'm here. Look at this place!" She gestures toward the imposing, dark warehouse ahead, a shudder running through her as she takes it in. "It's straight out of a horror movie."

Jenna doesn't disagree. The place does feel like something out of a nightmare. She can feel the resentment bubbling inside her, a sharp, unwanted feeling that she tries to push away but can't. How dare you ghost her, leave her to face this alone? If you were here, Aliyah wouldn't be, and maybe she wouldn't feel so exposed, so vulnerable. But you aren't, and her little sister is. The sting of abandonment hangs in the air, heavier than the looming shadow of the warehouse ahead.

Jenna sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing in from all sides. With one final glance at the door to the meeting place, her shoulders slumped in resignation. "Fine," she muttered, voice tinged with exhaustion. "But stay close, stay quiet. Don't do anything stupid."

Aliyah gave a small, relieved nod. "You've got my word."

Jenna leads the way into the dark warehouse, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the cold, concrete floor. The place is completely abandoned, with broken windows casting faint, eerie light into the room. There's nothing in sight but dust and the lingering smell of stale air.

Aliyah looks around nervously, her eyes darting from corner to corner, but all she can see are the dim shadows creeping along the walls. The place feels like a ghost town, unsettlingly empty.

"Is this really the right place?" Aliyah's voice is low, the uncertainty clear in her tone.

Jenna pauses, squinting into the darkness, trying to make sense of the scene. She's not sure why the meeting is set up like this, or why it feels like they're walking into the unknown, but she can't let herself doubt now. "Yeah," she answers, her voice steady but with a hint of something unspoken. "This is it."

They keep walking, the air growing colder as they venture deeper into the warehouse. Aliyah keeps glancing at her sister, confusion written across her face. "What exactly is this meeting about?" she asks, her voice tinged with concern. "I mean, what's going on here? Is this about the club or—?"

Jenna cuts her off, shaking her head slightly, her gaze focused ahead. "Don't worry about it," she says, her tone sharp and final. "Just stay close."

And then, they saw him.

He was standing in the far corner of the warehouse, facing away from them, his silhouette sharp against the dim light filtering in through the broken windows. Dressed all in black, his figure was imposing in a way that sent a chill down Jenna's spine. He hadn't noticed them yet.

Instinctively, both sisters ducked behind a stack of old, dusty boxes, their breath held as they exchanged a look. The quiet tension between them thickened, and in that moment, everything felt so much more real—so much more dangerous.

On the phone, the man spoke with a low, almost mechanical tone. "Yes, boss. I'm the first one here, waiting on the other two."

Jenna made a mental note on the words. So this was a meeting between three people. Percy would be one of them.

Aliyah's voice was barely a whisper. "Do you know who that is?"

Jenna didn't answer at first. Her eyes stayed fixed on the man, analyzing his every movement, trying to make sense of the situation. Finally, she shook her head. No, she didn't know him. But something about this felt wrong—like they were in deeper than they had anticipated.

She reached out, squeezing Aliyah's hand tightly to calm her nerves. "Stay quiet," she murmured. There was no turning back now.

Jenna's heart skipped a beat when the door creaked open, and two figures stepped into the dim light. Percy walked in first, his usual calm confidence unmistakable, but it was the figure beside him that made Jenna's breath catch in her throat.

She remembered seeing him at the Raven race. The night you were racing. What the hell was he doing here? Her mind raced, the weight of the situation crashing down harder than before. Why was he with Percy?  Was he the club leader? This meeting was about something far worse than she could have imagined.

Aliyah's grip on her hand tightened, her eyes wide with uncertainty and fear. But Jenna couldn't look away. She barely registered the tension in her sister's hand, too focused on the strange alliance before her.

Without a word, Percy and the Raven exchanged brief glances before walking further into the warehouse with the mysterious person in all black. The air around them seemed to thicken, the sound of their voices indistinguishable.

Jenna's pulse quickened as her instincts screamed that she needed to get closer, to hear more.

She crouched low, glancing over at Aliyah with an intense, silent plea. "Stay here," she whispered sharply, her voice low but firm, knowing the weight of the situation.

Aliyah nodded, her face pale with fear.

Jenna barely gave her sister another glance before she began moving, silent as a shadow, staying low to the ground as she crept closer to the three men. 

But the floor of the warehouse wasn't as kind as she hoped. Her foot caught on a jagged edge, and in an instant, her body lurched forward, her heart skipping a beat.

Time slowed, the rush of panic surged through her, and in that split second, her heart seized with terror. She was going to fall—she was going to make a noise and blow their cover. Aliyah was going to be in danger.

She braced for the inevitable crash, for the sound of her body hitting the ground and the betrayal of her hiding place.

But just as the world tilted beneath her, strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back from the brink. Her heart raced, her breath catching in her throat. She blinked, disoriented, but when she looked up, her world seemed to freeze.

There you were, standing in front of her, holding her steady. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. You were here. You had come for her.

In the six days you had ghosted her, Jenna had planned what she was going to do if she ever saw you again. First was a slap, possibly the silent treatment—a taste of your own medicine. She even toyed with the idea of keying one of your cars. But falling into your embrace, wrapping her arms around your neck and letting out a sigh of relief was certainly not part of the plan.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You could feel her breath against your chest, soft and steady, and despite everything, her warmth was exactly what you needed.

Jenna pulled back slightly, her hands lingering on your arms as she looked up at you, her eyes searching for something—answers, maybe, or just reassurance. She was still upset with your disappearing act. "You really are something," she muttered, her voice softer than usual, almost vulnerable.

You couldn't find the right words, not when your heart was racing from the sudden rush of emotions. Instead, you simply nodded, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a quiet acknowledgment of everything unspoken between you. "We'll talk afterwards," you whispered.

She nodded, knowing you both have a bigger issue to deal with at the present moment.  You notice Jenna worriedly glance behind you and you follow her gaze to see another girl you've never seen before.

Jenna noticed the fear that was once on her sister's face melted into a mischievous grin as she looked at her, raising an eyebrow and pointing a finger at you while mouthing, Greaser?

You'll have to figure out who that is later, but for now you take your attention away from the girl who is very close to you, and look up at the scene in front of you. Pissy, the Raven crew leader, and an unfamiliar man.

“Who thought holding the meeting here was a good idea?” Percy muttered, annoyance dripping from his tone as he glanced at the dust clinging to his shoes.

“We can’t afford any slip-ups,” the unknown man replied curtly. “Let’s keep this brief.”

The Raven crew leader smirked, eyes glinting in the dim warehouse light. “We’ve already pushed about fifty keys of Ghost Smoke into Brimstone over the past two weeks,” he said, voice smooth but full of intent. “No hiccups, no heat—just a steady stream. And trust me, the streets are starting to bite. By the time the next batch hits, they’ll be begging for more.”

"Okay, and you Percy? How's the Vipers' distribution going?"

You clenched your jaw as the conversation confirmed your worst suspicions. These guys were flooding Brimstone with product, exploiting the town's vulnerable, turning the Brimstoners into their playthings. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Jenna stealthily recording the exchange between the three men, every tense word.

Percy shifted uneasily, a flash of frustration in his eyes. "We've moved about eight keys so far," he said tightly, the disappointment in his voice evident. The number wasn't enough compared to the Raven's progress. "It’s not easy for a Viper to operate on Sinner territory without drawing attention."

"Maybe if you'd stop cozying up to your girl at races and focus on your job, things would be different," the unknown man snapped, his tone biting.

His girl?

"Relax," Percy retorted, his voice strained but defiant. "No one wants Brimstone to become a zombieland more than I do. Some of those Sinners have been getting way too fucking cocky."

Jacob, the Raven leader, let out a low chuckle and placed a hand on Percy's shoulder. "Easy there," he said, smirking at the unknown man. "I can’t blame the guy. It’s hard to stay focused when your girl’s a knockout like that." He finishes with a whistle.

A whispered "ew" sounded behind you, and you felt Jenna tense, a silent fury radiating from her. Anger roared in your chest. Not only were these men scheming to drown Brimstone in Ghost Smoke, but now they were talking about Jenna like she was just another trophy. The rage that simmered inside you sharpened into a razor's edge.

But now was not the time to get angry. You had to remain calm, get all the info you can and get the fuck out of there.

Jacob, the Raven leader, crossed his arms, his gaze sharp as he looked between Percy and the unknown man. “And what if this operation doesn’t go as planned? What happens if someone decides to interfere? I know you tried this once and failed.”

The tension in the room crackled like static. The unknown man’s expression darkened, a slow, menacing smile creeping across his face. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said, voice low and chilling. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of Bullet and Apex.”

You freeze.

But before you could fully process the implication, a sudden noise shattered the silence about 15 meters to your left.

“Hey! Who’s there?” one of the men barked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Heart thundering, you whipped your head in the direction of the sound and spotted the familiar mop of curls.

Hunter.

He was crouched low, eyes wide with a reckless determination that sent a jolt of both dread and relief through you. Before you could even react, Jenna’s urgent voice sliced through the fog of panic clouding your mind.

“We have to go,” she hissed, fingers locking around your arm like a lifeline and yanking you into motion. The edge in her voice snapped you back to the present, and your body jolted into action. The girl—clearly someone Jenna trusted—was already sprinting ahead, weaving between crates like shadows. You cast a quick look back, your gaze catching Hunter’s for a split second as he, too, bolted to follow.

This was a fight against time, and survival was the only thing that mattered.

Jenna’s grip on your hand anchored you as you both tore out of the warehouse, feet pounding the ground as adrenaline roared through your veins. The cold air bit at your skin as you charged towards the first car in sight—yours.

“Stop right there!” A shout from behind sent a surge of terror down your spine.

“Hey!” you yelled to the girl ahead. She glanced back, eyes sharp, just in time to catch the keys you tossed her. She was closer to the car, and with no time to spare, she slipped into the driver’s seat.

The three of you scrambled in—a blur of limbs and frenzied breaths. Jenna flung herself into the passenger seat, while you and Hunter dove into the back, your heart hammering in your chest like it might explode.

“Go, go, go! Step on it, Aliyah,” Jenna commanded.

Aliyah didn’t hesitate. The engine roared to life, and the Aston Martin peeled away from the warehouse, tires screeching against the asphalt. The last thing you saw in the rearview was the shadowy figure of the man pursuing you, growing smaller as you sped into the dark night, leaving danger and revelations in your wake.

No one dared to speak. The air in the car was thick with tension, the adrenaline still simmering just beneath the surface. Once Aliyah had put enough distance between them and the warehouse, she eased off the gas, slowing to a steady, legal pace. They were in Summer Valley now, the bright lights of the town casting fleeting shadows across their faces.

Ten minutes ticked by in silence before the red glow of a traffic light gave them a momentary pause. It was then that everything unraveled at once.

“Hunter, what the hell are you doing here?” you demanded, voice tight.

“How the fuck did you go from boosting cars to this?” Hunter fired back, eyes wide with disbelief.

Aliyah leaned back, throwing a teasing look Jenna’s way. “You didn’t tell me Greaser was cute!”

"Since when did you know how to drive?” Jenna shot back at Aliyah.

The car was filled with a low hum of murmured conversations, each person settling into their own thoughts as the road stretched on.

“Did you follow me here?” you asked Hunter, still in disbelief.

“Yeah, I did. And I’m glad I did.” His voice was filled with concern. “What the hell are you mixed up in, Y/n?”

“I don’t know, man. I’m just finding out about all this today, too.”

Hunter let out a frustrated sigh. “We need to tell Anton. They’re trying to destroy Brimstone.”

You exhaled, mirroring his sigh. “Yeah, this is bad. Real bad.”

As soon as Anton’s name left his lips, your mind raced back to the meeting. What the men had said.

Hunter could see it in your eyes—he knew exactly what you were thinking, and the tension in the air between you both grew thicker.

Up front, Jenna’s voice broke the silence. “Okay, yes, I get it! She’s cute. Can you just… shush? She’s right there,” she muttered in exasperation, turning back to her sister, who was practically grinning.

Jenna slouched back in her seat, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. This was not what she expected when she set out to gather dirt on Percy. She couldn’t wrap her head around it—Percy, the same person she thought she knew, was tangled up in a plot to destroy Brimstone. Yeah, he was a jerk, but this... this was murder, drawn out and deliberate.

The crew she had once considered family was directly linked to the distribution of Ghost Smoke, targeting people from the town over.  She knew there was always a rivalry between Brimstone and Summer Valley, but she didn't think it would resort to elimination techniques. The shock of it all left her breathless, the pieces clicking together with an unsettling finality. 

She got her dirt. But this feels far from over.

Despite everything, Jenna couldn’t ignore the pull to check on you. She knew you had to be feeling the weight of it all—learning that your town was the target of such destruction. But there was also the anger. The unresolved frustration from you walking away earlier. She couldn’t just let you back in without confronting it, could she?

But as the drive wore on, the pull to turn back softened, and she glanced at you instead. You were lost in your own world, staring out the window, looking like you’d retreated into yourself. Nothing could touch you right now. And she didn’t blame you. Tonight had been a mess.

She turned her gaze to Hunter, raising an eyebrow, silently asking if he knew how to handle this. He met her eyes, shaking his head in that subtle way that said, Not tonight.

Jenna nodded in acknowledgment, her expression a mix of concern and frustration. She gave a quiet command to Aliyah, who turned the car toward their place. The drive was silent, the weight of everything hanging thick in the air. When the car finally stopped, both girls exited, but Jenna couldn’t help but glance back at you one last time. Her gaze softened, seeing how much this was affecting you. You didn’t look at her once as you stayed seated in the back, your face unreadable.

Somehow, without even realizing it, you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of Hunter’s car. The shift had happened so subtly that you hadn’t even registered the transition. You assumed once the girls had left, Hunter must've taken over the drive. But the ride felt endless, every minute dragging in uncomfortable silence, like you were trying to outrun the truth without really knowing how.

When Hunter finally pulled into his driveway, the car came to a stop, and the air between you two felt suffocating. No words were spoken for a long moment.

Finally, Hunter broke the stillness. His voice was low, sincere, and filled with an understanding that made your stomach churn. “I’m sorry, Y/n,” he said, his tone full of empathy. “That must’ve been a hell of a lot to take in.”

It wasn’t easy, not by a long shot. You could feel the weight of the words pressing down on you like a heavy stone.

Bullet and Apex. Your dad and Anton’s dad, their racing names. You had tried to convince yourself that you had misheard at the meeting, that it was some twisted misunderstanding. But as you turned to look at Hunter, his pitiful eyes told you everything you needed to know. You weren’t wrong.

Your father and uncle’s deaths wasn't an accident. They’d been taken from you on purpose. And now, the truth of that hit you harder than anything else.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

*crawls onto desk and looks up upon you* oh dear and glorious author god who graciously feeds us by humble request,I have arrived once more to give asking for blessings of feed for my brethen and I. Please gib the jealous scenario. It is finally time to gib us. The jealous monke. Please and thank you.

((my beloved, i take as this request as a joyfull presents. I NEED MORE! PEOPLE I NEED MORE!))

"Well, it looks like you're getting quite good at it, huh?"

Turning around, you noticed Shen coming closer from his spot. You took the chance of a small chat with the forefather to get a small break from your training with your new-found powers. Being able to use some of the same skills that Yuán Fèn had was handy, but he was such a natural with them while you needed to focus a little more. Of course, your friend decided to help you out with them. That's why you both decided to head to the Zodiac Village to not gain attention. Of course the two of you were under the wathfull eyes of Bajie, sitting on a giant case near the furnace.

And of Shen, of course, but he had a strange glim in his eyes that day.

" Yes! Is exciting! I never imagined that even I could do such things as these!"

"You're a Natural One, y/n! We still need to fix a few mistakes, but you're on the right path!"

Yuán Fèn has nothing but pure pleasure; seeing you so excited makes his heart slip a bit a few times. And of course, many had noticed, and someone wanted to use another approach with you two.

"Is that so? Well, good to know, good to know... Since she's a natural with these staff, do you mind if I take your little friend here for a few tests? I should really need a palate like hers now."

Shen put his arm around your shoulder, poking your nose, glancing a few. Look to the other one. His tone, usually so relaxed and aloof, was strangely sweet to the younger monkey ears that time. To be honest, it felt less genuine and a little more suave. 

"I...ehm...yes, why not? If y/n is fine by that."

"Well...okay! I needed a break!

"Good! Now follow me, dearest."

After that nickname, that gesture, and another side glance from the forefather, Yuán Fèn felt itchy, his foot tapping the ground light, and his tail wiggling in a strange behavior.

///

From there on, you cannot shake away the feeling that Shen was onto something. 

He was closer, very closer than usual, to you while he let you taste a few of the wines that he was able to produce, and he kept letting you use the sober stone to avoid any kind of surprise. He wanted you vigilant, that's what he said.

He was funny; he had always had this easygoing behavior, but this time he had never let a chance slide for making you laugh or making some compliments that led you to a blushfull state.

And while he was acting in this behavior, as trying to show you around, someone seemed to be in an agitated state. From time to time, when you heard movements or something being touched by a foot, you were able to see a certain destiny around, looking at the two of you. You tried to call for him, trying to ask him if he was okay or if he needed something, but Shen was always ready to take away the words from your mouth and question the other male.

Yuán Fèn, with some scoff, just avoid the questions.

You were trying another wine when you felt Shen's hand on your shoulder.

"But enough of it; tell me, Y/n, do you have a special one?" You almost choke on the wine.

"M-me?"

"Of course you! Someone that caught your eye? Someone that let your heart skip a beat?"

You tapped the cap a few times, your eyes avoiding to meet Yuán Fèn and confirm something.

"Wel... I don't think. No..."

"Oh! So you basically free now, uh?" Why was he so close? You get so small between his hands. "In this case...why don't we-"

And in one swift second, two other hands grabbed you, taking you away from Shen's attention. A tail was wrapping around you like a cobra, and a shadow loomed over you, covering you from everything.

Yuán Fèn, with his teeth grinding, was looking at Shen with a pair of eyes that could set fire to a forest.

"HANDS OF OR-" as he had taken that stance, he suddenly stopped, one hand leaving you to cover in teeth in shame.

"Or...what?" Shen had that smirk again, unmoved by that show.

Yuán Fèn lowered his eyes on you; his shameful eyes met your incredulous ones. As he had come, he darted off, mumbling something for himself. You stood up, looking at him with a worried expression.

"Yuán Fèn! Wait! I'm so sorry, Shen! I'll go talk with him!"

You followed the Destined One, while Shen waved his hand with a sneaky eye.

///////

You were able to reach it only when the same monkey stopped in his tracks. You had called him a few times. but it seemed that he didn't quite register you at all.

"Yuán Fèn! Wjat happened! Why did you act like that?!" You looked at him with concern.

He had never reacted with someone like that, especially with you as an audience! When he turned around, his face was covered in a pure red shade, making him look more like a fire bell than anything.

"I don't know what happened to me! He-he was just...and you were...and I started to... I'm so sorry! I shouldn't act like that to the forefather!"

"Wait, wait, wait..." you take his hands in your "breath, then speak."

He did what you asked; he needed more minutes to completely calm himself.

"I'm so sorry that you have to witness that shameful display. I felt something bad from the moment he took you to testing those wines. I know he was planning something, but I didn't know what. And these things, this emotion—I felt this itching sensation that I needed to take you away from him!"

He seemed genuinely hurt, so you guessed that he acted as an idiot. After all,. he may be the destined one, but he was a monkey too. And, by the way, he was explaining it...

"Were you jealous?"

By hearing these three words, his expression of shame became one of pain. Like the idea of having such feelings made him sick of some sort.

"It's horrible; I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it!"

"Calm down," you giggled. " Is...fine! ...Flattering even."

"Flattering? How?" He looked at you, now confused by that statement.

"Well," you continued, "no one ever had jealousy as me as the motive. It's a new thing and a tiny tipsy cute."

"How can that be cute?!"

"Well, just a little! It's showing that you care, but just a bit! I'm not someone; I want to see you fight over people!"

At least you took it in the most rational way. He massaged his eyes, sighing deeply.

"I'm still sorry...in front of the forefather, a deity even!"

"Let's go and apologize. Besides, he was acting off, and I felt a little...hoverwelmed by him. As long as we make our piece, I think we're even." Your warm smile gave him a little more of a relax; at least you weren't angry. If it was necessary, he would have talked to the other zodiacs too; for now, he let you take his hand and guided him towards the village.

/////////

"You old monkey, have you no shame?!" Bajie could give a damn to the fact that the monkey was come kind of deity; he was ready to hit him with his rake. Shen just kept drinking with a very satisfied face.

"Brother,"Chen stepped in. "He's right! Poor girl, you must have scared her for life! And that poor boy, have you no shame to embarrass your youngling like that?!"

"Easy, my friends, easy! Look!" His finger pointed to the figure of you two, talking to each other and...holding hands. You were smiling, reassuring him. He was calming down, cinfessing something. " See? They just needed a small push."

"That's not even a real confession if you ask me," retorted Bajie.

"You may be right, brother pig, but if we don't set the base, we'll never have a house!"

@sleepingdramaqueen

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[occamstfs]

In The Rink: Dunks

After moving far away from home Duncan seeks to find new community with the local hockey team. Little does he know that the Captain sees the potential for him to be a new star player.

My little reward for HairyJockTf went a little long so I broke it up into two stories haha! Hope you enjoy this ode to hair growth, jock stink, and hockey! -Occam

The sound of a puck sailing across the ice echoes through the freezing stadium, accompanied by the sound of the massive men racing to catch it. Skates on their massive feet send flurries of shaved ice up in their wake as they zip and turn in shocking displays of brutish grace. When bodies start to collide and fists start to fly in what Duncan Worthy thought was just a fun little scrimmage game he imagines how quickly he would be laid out in such a brawl and begins to hunt for the nearest exit. 

Almost as swiftly as the fight broke out however, coaches call their men to heel and the teams separate. After a second longer of posting up, all return to the game and seem almost playful in the wake of what seemed like genuine violence. Suddenly realizing this is far more a bloodsport than he was aware, Duncan starts backing away sheepishly. Though he was looking for a team sport to find prepackaged community after his move from the south, clearly ice hockey was not the move.

Unfortunately for the suddenly shy Duncan, his attendance today was initiated by him reaching out to one of the players soaring down the ice, Matt King, the team captain. As the burly player turns to see Duncan begin to skulk away he calls his coach to pause the practice and less than a moment later Matt skates to the edge of the rink and begins shouting for Duncan’s attention, “YO! Worthy!” His impressive arms seem even bulkier covered in the thick obscenely large uniform he’s wearing. Duncan audibly gulps, though thankfully he’s far enough away from the athlete that he could scarcely hear.

Duncan isn’t sure why he’s frozen in place, seemingly trapped by Matt’s attention. The skater rolls his eyes as he calls out once more, “Hey kid! Are you coming or what?!” Despite himself he starts walking down rinkside. It’s not like he’s not athletic, Duncan’s healthy, he prides himself on staying fit, lithe. But as he nears Matt it just becomes clear that he bit off far more than he could chew. Even without skates the captain stands well over a head taller than him. Duncan struggles to speak while everything in him begs him to leave with his tail between his legs and never come back. Realizing that Matt is staring down at him expectantly, demanding a response, he speaks up unprepared as he may be, “Well, uhm Matt-”

“Nah nah, call me Kinger, bud. So youse think you’re ready to hop on the ice eh?” Duncan feels his bones turn to jelly as every neuron struggles to heed his flight response. There is simply no recourse but to escape, he’s too small, they’re too intimidating, they’ll break him in half completely accidentally. But he remains firmly rooted in the captain’s gaze. Kinger whistles to the equipment manager to summon some skates for Duncan and the sound forces the fearful man to attention. His shaky hands grow rigid as the older man approaches with a pair of skates. “See ya out on the rink Worthy!” 

Kinger turns and gets back to the game. Duncan’s preylike instincts are overpowered by the man’s words. Though from any reasonable angle it’s just a phrase in parting, they sear into his mind like programming. See ya out on the rink. Pausing to watch the game resume, the desire to leave wanes as he sees the men grind against each other after the puck. Certainly looks like they’re having fun right? Wearing all that protection, how bad could it be? How bad could he be? Sitting down he changes into the smallest pair of skates the team had for him, even still his toes have about an extra inch of wiggle room. Neglecting to take that as yet another sign to back out, Duncan hops up on the wall and then he’s on the ice.

Still finding his bearings he slides along and sticks to the wall. The manager tosses him a stick and the coach implores he get used to moving around on the ice. Duncan sighs and, despite his limited experience skating, finds himself immediately moving with intuitive familiarity. Faster than he can comprehend it becomes second nature, allowing his attention return to the burly men on the far side of the rink going at it. Soon enough he can’t even remember what he was so scared of, excitement begins to build in his chest as he begins to follow the puck from afar. 

From his vantage point he races with a fluidity alien to himself, as if the skates have imbued him with a lifetime of experience skating. Chewing his lip he has a stray thought wondering about wearing a mouthguard which he promptly discards, lest it interfere with his keeping up with the puck. Eagerness to properly join in the fray with the crew of men who outsize him before even accounting for their bulky pads continues to burn within him, he scratches at his chest and finds his tee hugging his torso in a distinctly odd manner. And man, beyond whatever butterflies hide in his chest, his skin is itchy enough that he should be concerned about an allergic reaction. 

But no, no time. He’s gotta keep his mental. The puck goes long and flies towards him. Both teams follow the puck hungrily with their eyes before it nears the man who holds a hockey stick for the first time. He doesn't think as he moves, he doesn’t need to. It’s as if he were made for this. The sound of his stick making contact sends a crack through the stadium that echoes louder than a gunshot. The puck shoots past the men who now stand with mouths agape. He stands tall with pride, seemingly taller than he’s ever stood before. Must be the skates he thinks with a newfound cocky smirk across his face, but as his midriff is clearly exposed, the few hairs compromising his meager treasure trail fluttering in the aircon, it is clear something has changed in the man.

Practice is cut short soon after and Duncan has an immediate meeting with the Captain and Coach. Off the ice the confidence that filled Duncan begins to seep away, certainly not helped by the fact that he apparently threw on a shirt a couple sizes too small. He blushes as the older coach puts his hand out for a shake and his arm goes an embarrassing length past his sleeve. The coach simply smiles and nods though, and before Kinger even gets a chance to vouch for the newbie he’s already on the team. Duncan doesn’t notice as his shoes have apparently inched to fill the skates that were a size too large as his head begins to swim with the excitement of being out there with the boys. 

His shirt hugs his chest even tighter as Kinger pats him on the back, “Welcome to the team Worthy!” Duncan smiles looking up at his captain and while struggling to get his shoes to fit he speaks up only to hear the first voice crack he’s had in a decade, “Ah well, then yoOu- Ah!” His mouth slams hard enough it seems to be welded shut as he clears his throat. Kinger smirks and ruffles the newbie’s hair laughing, “Howsabout you go shave up and take a shower. Wear that tarp any longer you’ll have to peel ‘er off, hah!” 

With that he leaves Duncan behind and heads off to the locker room leaving his new teammate behind to take in his words. Shave? He scratches his cheek and tilts his head as he finds more stubble than he thought he left the house with. Guess it must have been a week since he shaved he guesses. Putting it on the todo list he then sniffs himself and grimaces as he finds himself muskier than he’s been after his sweatiest workout. There’s an audible sound as he pulls his sticky shirt from his skin which convinces him to expedite his time out of here. Still unable to get his shoes off he finds a pair of tennis shoes left with the equipment given to him and throws them on.

It takes a few steps for him to get used to them, despite his complaints to the equipment manager these tennis shoes are even larger than the skates he was given. Though feeling cramped in every other piece of clothing he finds himself not quite minding the room. Hopping in his car to drive home he furrows his brow as he finds himself needing to adjust all his mirrors. His new odor rapidly fills the car, overpowering the smell of his pristine equipment with ease as he speeds off to clean off the stink of his first practice. 

Storming into his apartment he struggles to tear his clothes off en route to the bath. His sweaty shirt gets stuck on his shoulders as he tries to yank it upward, exposing a core thicker, his waist seemingly filled out from the hourglass figure he has unintentionally maintained. Beyond that his treasure trail seems to be claiming far more real estate as it flourishes upwards and outwards, curls as thick and long as his pubes begin an ascent above his waistline as they begin to shade the whole of his lower stomach. 

No time for inspection however as he starts the shower going as soon as he gets the shirt off, grimacing at the clear tearing sounds of fabric giving way. Arms still upraised he quickly turns away from his steaming pits, quick enough that he notices not how his few curls have begun to multiply. Instead he leans in close to see the stubble that Kinger called out. He twists his jaw to get a good look at every angle and rolls his eyes as he finds it as patchy as ever. His eyes glaze over and his jaw slackens as he finds himself briefly distracted by a thought, or no, a memory? 

The rink always brings out a rookie’s stubble Matt- It’ll just grow back. Why shave when that’s time you can spend on the ice?

He comes to before he even notices he was out, his thicker hand scratching at stubble that is thicker, darker than it was seemingly seconds earlier. Duncan certainly doesn’t mind though, seeing his beard fill in more, becoming stubble he can be proud of fills him with a surge of pride, and below the belt something else begins to surge. He smirks as he contemplates whether he should masturbate before or after taking a shower, grasping at his cock and finding it weightier than usual he quickly makes up his mind. What the hell, why wait.

Then his phone rings, a message from his Captain. His cock twitches as he focuses in on the message, “yo worthy sry for not askin earlier- oilers v flyers 2nite, u down 2 come over” Without a thought or second of hesitation he replies “ya” and he begins getting ready to go. Turning off the shower before even stepping inside he remembers he still stinks and bathes himself in cologne, smirking as he stares at his body in the mirror, proud as he sees his paltry patch of chest hair seems larger, thicker than he remembers it being. He pokes at a new weight on his chest and fights the urge to flex his barely existent muscle as every movement seems to have a bit more force behind it.

Duncan pointedly avoids questioning new idiosyncrasies as they begin to pop up. Surely he didn’t just douse himself in Axe instead of showering? Why does he know where Kinger lives? When he goes to his wardrobe he finds most of his clothes simply do not fit right. Button ups struggle to close across his chest and thicker waist. He struggles to move his arms in tees and sweaters as they hug his shoulders. Nothing without an elastic waistband seems to be able to manage stretching around his ass. Throwing on his new tennis shoes as they seem to be the only ones that fit he finds them almost snug? 

Every roadblock causes micro-headaches. Questioning them only exacerbates the issue, while acceptance ameliorates. Throwing on sweatpants and the baggiest shirt he could find, Duncan doesn’t even give himself a once over before he’s out the door. On the road once more he only keeps one hand on the wheel while the other mindlessly feels himself up. His stomach is tighter for sure, with an alluring amount of give. New pecs pop out just far enough for his hand to push up on them, which allows him realize that any amount of excitement will cause his larger bulge to show in his sweatpants. No time to debate how he’ll conceal that from the Captain he wanders up to the front door and prepares himself.

As if Kinger knew he was standing there, the door swings open and the Captain’s thrown his arms around Duncan’s wider shoulders. His thick palms slam into the newbie’s back with enough force to send him falling on his face. Presently each slam only sends more pleasure into Duncan. Feeling his player’s package unmistakable poking into his own waist at the embrace, Kinger clicks his tongue, “Ah excited to see me eh? Hah! Be sure not to lose control bud, need all of youse out on the rink.” Released from the bro-hug Duncan gulps and blushes as he is less than certain he will be able to go long at all without giving in to desire burning stronger than ever. 

Seeing doubt in his expression Kinger’s friendly eyes switch to something far more commanding and Duncan stands rigid. Gotta listen to the Captain. Watching stubble thicken and the once baggy shirt tighten even further on his broad shoulders, Kinger returns to joviality and points to a stack of pizzas on the coffee table, “You hungry bud?” Duncan suddenly feels an emptiness in his stomach and wonders when the last time he ate even was as he feels a hunger more ravenous than he could understand overtake him. His mouth waters like a drooling dog as he mindlessly goes to tear open a box. Already stuffing his face he takes in the number of boxes and asks, with uncharacteristic slovenliness, “Scho, uhhh is more of the team coming or wha?” 

Kinger smirks and stands behind the smaller man, massaging his shoulders, “Nono those are just for us, didja forget how much food youse demolish bud?” Looking at the stack he knows that can’t be right, he’s never even had the need to exercise moderation. The idea of eating more than four slices is anathema, and yet less than a minute into the game he’s already starting his fifth and his stomach demands more yet. Kinger watches the man feast, knowing his newest teammate needs all the calories he can get as his body struggles to put on pounds at a speed eldritch. Shoulders broadening enough to be shoulder pads themselves as chest hair begins to bloom far beyond the small patch that has long made its home in the center of his chest.

Spreading out like a fungus, follicles neglected by puberty go into overdrive as his greasy hands funnel food into him, getting grease over stubble that begins to crest its way into a solid beard. Duncan is unaware as he demolishes the first box of pizza by himself as he is completely absorbed into the game on TV. Reacting to each play as if he were in the actual stadium. His legs bounce with anxiety as the players race across the rink, each time shooting up with more force as they bulk up. His expanding jungle of pubes, discontent from spreading upwards alone, send dense curls to shade his inner thighs before shooting down to cover his calves.  

Kinger moves to sit on the couch, attention solely focused on his team’s growing asset. His eyes struggle to keep up with the changes simultaneously rocketing across his body. Already he hears the elastic waistband of his sweatpants straining, Duncan’s, or rather Dunks’, butt filling out to the size needed to maneuver such an otherwise powerful form on the ice. The most powerful ass in the MLB has nothing on the monumental pair of cheeks that are a moment away from sending a tear through his sweats. Making an uncomfortable face Duncan kicks off his shoes before they begin to tear. Glancing down, Kinger finds he doesn't have the care to finish the job and remove socks that have similarly begun to turn to tatters. Curls spreading down from his meaty calves poke through the expanding holes on his tearing socks. His feet rapidly become hairy fins that would fit on any number of fantastic bestial men, toes surging through the front of his socks as he flexes his feet without thought.

The Captain jumps in shock as Dunks stands with a start and shouts at the ref, his voice clearly deeper, rougher, as spit flies from his mouth in a rage. Beard thickening as his neck similarly expands with his deluge of expletives at the man in stripes. Kinger puts a hand on Dunks’ arm to calm him down, “Hey hey bud, save it for your own penalties eh?” Clenching his jaw the newbie looks down and at the Captain’s words crosses his arms and barely stilling his anger at Kinger’s request. The man’s hand still resting on Dunks’ arm, both men turn to see the growing package not at all hidden in Dunks’ sweatpants as the sound of it tearing through his briefs resounds in the small living room.

Scratching at his meatier pecs he sits down and after a moment of hungrily staring at his Captain he rolls his eyes and returns to the game. His biceps are suddenly constricted by his sleeves so he does what any rational mind would and rips them off. Kinger’s mouth is ajar as he watches the increasingly brutish man toss the torn sleeves to the floor before scratching deep into his pits and sniffing. The Captain doesn’t pay much attention to the jungle of hair spreading out from Dunks’ pits, after all that doesn’t bring anything to the rink, but he would need to lose a few of his five senses to not notice how potent the changes are there. 

Patches of sweat appear all over the shirt that now hugs his burgeoning torso like lycra. But nowhere so prominent as under the still-expanding jungle of hair under his arms, musk thick enough to warrant stink lines, enough to knock a lesser man unconscious spills from his freed underarms. Eyes glancing over to see his Captain cover his nose in shock, Dunc smirks as he realizes how much power he holds. He grunts in his new barbaric voice as his pecs can no longer be hidden by his ratty shirt. Unwilling to hide his pride under a bushel, just as he removed his sleeves he wrenches his shirt off. This was of course made easier by the litany of tears sundered across it by his expanding torso. 

His breath catches in his chest as his pecs burst larger into the open air. Thick strands drip with sweat as they spread dense enough to be a pelt across his upper body. Moaning as he leans back on the couch, hair rapidly covers every inch of real estate it can find, connecting every disparate patch from pubes, to pits, to the scratchy underside of his neck. Expanding shoulders similarly aren’t safe as curls bound across them to meet with the itchy forest spreading up the small of his back. He shifts uncomfortably as thick strands similarly cover his ass, though somewhere in between slamming pizzas and screaming at referees he lost the shame to scratch such an itch in front of his Captain, and so he does. 

Kinger struggles to hide the grin on his face as the man in front of him becomes the enforcer he’s always dreamed of having on his team. He watches as the changes in his mind finally begin to show on his face. His brow thickens to hang over eyes that grow dull to anything but hockey. His iron jaw hardens over a beard that should have taken years to grow while his nose becomes one that has clearly taken more than a punch or two. It’s unclear how many of his front teeth or real or inserts, though something in the minds of both men makes it clear that they’ve seen his own teeth scatter across the ice on a handful of occasions, though not nearly as much as those of his opponents.

Kinger’s chest flutters with excitement as he imagines being on the pitch with Dunks. His own eye twitches as years of playing together begins to fill his mind. He’s always dreamed about having a teammate as committed to the game as he is and finally he’s got a brute enough to carry them to the trophy. Seeing the behemoth taking heaving breaths on his couch, torn clothing scattered around him, Kinger can’t quite help but feel there is some vital piece of the puzzle missing. The burly man’s hands trail to his crotch as every muscle in his body feels the need to give into lusts that control him but Kinger whistles and Dunks immediately halts his giving in, “Not yet bud, not yet. Gotta hit the rink first.”

Dunks’ mind fractures and remakes itself in a moment. Memories of over a decade playing surges into his mind. He remembers starting out a waif, as he was in reality this morning. He remembers hardening over the years alongside his captain, alongside Kinger. Becoming a man on the rink, becoming an unstoppable titan. Maturing into an athlete the likes of which his team's never seen, and with each leap forward in ability so to does he become more masculine, more virile, more of a man. No, more of a beast, higher function giving way to instinct and physicality. Kinger couldn’t be prouder, and until another reason presents itself he can think of no higher goal.

Coach never expected Dunks to be nearly as much of an asset as he ended up being. The hairy brute was always looking out for his Captain’s back, truly a tank on the rink. Often he would struggle to control his urges, on and off the ice, but a look from Kinger would always snap him back in line and empower him to come back even stronger, sometimes seemingly literally so. He never took more than two trips to the penalty box a game despite his ever-present urges to truly dominate his opponents. After months of success on the rink it becomes clear that Dunks’ virility is making him a bit of a loose cannon. Lucky for the both of them Kinger has an idea. When an old friend of Duncan’s reaches out to the team to inquire of Worthy, Kinger implores him to visit. While it would be unbecoming for the Captain to have a relationship with a member of the team it was clear that Dunks’ has long been in need of some manly relief. As he’s drafting a letter with a one way plane ticket to Dunks’ once-friend he wryly smiles as he realizes exactly what the missing piece was all along, their team could use exactly one more player and if this Remy Woods ends up being even a fraction of his friend, there is no way for them to lose.   

Continue Reading with In The Rink: Woodie!

[seattlesellie]

just a quick bbf!ellie blurb. (this really is the definition of a blurb 💗)

cw: public teasing, mentions of fingering, cum eating, strap on sex, ellie’s a lil perv whos cutting up some fruits. i don’t know. ♡

﹒ 𓈒 𓏸 ﹒ 🎀﹒ ࣭ 𖧋 ˚ 𓂋 ﹒

right now, her big, veiny hand resting on your naked thigh is nothing but a friendly, comforting gesture — right? and so is the way it caresses you slowly, short fingernails tracing faint circles on your skin, that make your thigh shiver and your skin grow goosebumps that she feels. there’s also absolutely no underlying motive for her covering both of your bodies with a thick blanket in the middle of august, nor for her breath hitching inside her throat when you lay your head on top of her shoulder for just a quick one second.

there’s also no reason for her to not answer your brother when he asks her a question about the movie you’re all intently “ watching “, and yet — she doesn’t.

“that’s such a cool scene” he voices, but to ellie, his best friend and your… whatever, it sounds like muffled gibberish, like he’s stuck inside a cardboard box. he could be banging on the walls and screaming “let me out!!!” and all she’d hear is her own thumping heartbeat. he glances over at her, and just when he catches her gaze, she hums a startled “hm?”

her forehead is covered with tiny beads of sweat, deep auburn bangs sticking to her scorching hot skin because again — it’s the middle of fucking august and she has a fuzzy blanket covering from her tippy toes to her crotch, and the girl sitting innocently besides her has been nothing but a teasing, irritating, mind altering presence that makes her toes curl up inside her socks whenever she’s around.

“i said, cool scene… i heard he doesn’t even use a fuckin’ stunt double”

ellie shifts on the couch and tries her best to look cool, calm and collected. her knee nudges yours by mistake and you nudge it again but you do it harder and on purpose, just to feel her hand tense up on your thigh.

“yeah, super cool” ellie mutters, followed by a chuckle that makes her sound anything and everything but genuine. she doesn’t even know the name of the film you’re all watching, let alone the name of the actor or even the goddamn genre.

all she knows is the feeling of her clammy palm against your thigh, and the flashbacks of you silently whimpering out her name on the porch last night playing in her head like you’re about to be nominated for an oscar. she also knows that the same hand that’s on your body was on your lips, sealing them, attempting to shut you up because the entire house was still awake, and that the same fingers that are now trailing small circles on your flesh were buried deep inside your heat.

when she cut a fresh plum today for breakfast, it’s thick juice splattered on her tatted forearm and she swore that when she pressed down on the fruit — and made a small dent, it felt like being inside of your grippy little hole. then she pressed on it harder and her finger was poking at it’s flesh and it was wet and sticky.

then, she thought about how your eyeballs nearly exploded in your head when she curled her fingers up. “oh yeah?, uh-huh, you like that?”, she teased, and didn’t even expect you to reply — but you mewled cries of “yesyesyes ellie, oh!, more, please”, and now it echoes in her head and she hisses. she presses harder on the fruit, wiggling her long finger in, the knife is nowhere to be found.

she’s thinking of how you gripped at her forearm when she pressed down on your tummy, and sobbed a needy, sickly sweet “oh— oh god, ellie” — which is funny or lewd or blasphemous, because god had nothing to do with it, and the cross that’s splayed on your family’s house walls has probably flipped itself upside down.

afterwards, she thought of how cute you looked, glossy eyed and pouty and sweet, when she told you to open up your mouth and stick out your tongue because your honeyed juices were dripping down her hand and she wanted to see if you’d taste your own cum. and you did.

she pressed down on your tongue with her thumb, circling it over and over again and nearly making you gag, then praised you with a husky “atta’ girl” through gritted teeth and a nearly quivering smirk.

your knees pressed up against her ribs, thighs pressed down against your tits, hands being pinned up on your pillow, cunt aching and clenching around nothing because she’s just letting you grind on her silicone cock and just that — because whenever you try and buck your hips the harness presses snugly on her puffy clit and she has to physically fight the urge to take it off and rub one out, staring at you and using you whilst you’re laying on your back.

she thinks you’re so nasty you might even like it.

she clears her throat and starts thinking about cool stuff she likes. cool stuff that don’t involve you, or your hole or your lips and your eyes or your hair or your tits—

and then and only then, she feels her cheeks grow red — nearly exploding, same color but a slightly lighter shade than the plum, rolls her eyes, scoffs and calls herself a “gross perv who’s also a terrible fuckin’ friend”

because she tried thinking of stuff she actually likes and she thought of you again.

the plum looks like it’s been through hell and back. like a meek soldier who’s been through a tough war and then lost.

so she throws it in the trash, picks another one and prays to god you won’t sneak your way into her thoughts again.

and you do, so the loop continues.

💗

[blackberries45]

Until You Tell Me

Beetlejuice x reader (no pn used)

Fluffy short one shot

As always, grammar and spelling ain't my thing

Notes: I honestly had a slightly heavier theme here but changed it. You can insert anything that is currently bumming you out. I’m sending you a big hug!!

Warnings: just general unrest and needing comfort

*****

The alarm went off as usual. Stretching, you sat up and swung your legs over the side of your bed. Ugh. The thoughts from the night before flooded back. You could feel the crust on your cheeks from the tears. Your throat burned as well. Although a sunny morning was starting to take light outside, it felt like a cloud had just formed above you. Uh oh. Here they come again.

You held yourself tightly as you rocked back and forth crying. You didn't know how you even had more tears left. A solid minute went by and the headache that had been dulled by sleep was now back in full force.

As you lifted your hand to wipe your face during a moment of rest, you saw him flicker in the corner through your desk. Beej did that little flicker thing when he wanted you to call for him.

"What do you want? I'm not in the mood" you held yourself again as you stared in the corner. It took half a second before he was standing right in front of you. Normally you'd scream from his sudden full body apparition. Today you didn't have it in you.

Realizing he wasn't going to get a reaction he slowly sauntered back over to the corner he had been flickering in. Turning to lean back against your corner desk, he crossed his black boots in front of himself as he leaned against the top. "Now what would a delicate little flower like yourself have to cry so hard and so loud over that a dead guy can hear ya and have to come runnin'?"

"No one asked you to come running." You turned your head slowly towards him and glared.

"Yikes! Spill your guts babe or I'll spill mine" he tilted his head down so he could look at you through his lashes and raised an eyebrow.

You turned away from him. "I just want...I'm just... I'm unhappy. And I can't shake it. And everyone tells me it's going to get better and I wake up and nothing has changed. I feel the same way I did the day before. I’m so sick and tired of crying but it seems to be all I'm capable of doing right now.”

“But what is it?” his voice had slightly smoothed out. It's what you guessed he sounded more like when he was still breathing. It happened now and then when he was being genuine.

You couldn’t look at him now though, no matter how soft he was trying to be. You simply shook your head slowly side to side.

In a flash you felt the bed move. Before you could think about where he was, a pair of hands were pulling you backwards and wrapping around you, just under your chest. The "eek" you squeaked out only encouraged a throaty chuckle from him.

"Now here's what's gonna happen babe. We are going to lay here until you open up and tell me how to help you get over whatever this is”

"Beej, I don't have time for this! I..."

"No, you don't have time to keep torturing yourself. You breathers only have so long. You can be in hell when you're dead if you'd like. I'll take you"

With a snap of his long fingers, your computer screen came to life with his favorite movie.

"Oh no!" You whined and bumped your head back against his chest "This movie scares me!"

"Better for me then" he squeezed you back against him again. "Just let me know if you need to be distracted during a scary part" a not so subtle thump hit the small of your back. Before you could wiggle away, he calmed you down again. "Now now, let's not get feisty babe. I'm just playing with you. But you gotta say who's the ghost with the most so I can stay. "

You rolled your eyes but did as he asked, saying his name three times while fixing your pillow. You decided you had to give him a small bit of attitude now that you were feeling a little better. "I swear to God if anything crawls on me you'll regret being this close to me" you put your arms across his, nestling in again with your back against his chest.

"Noted" you felt his smile as he kissed the back of your head.

“Thank you” without almost any sound left your lips. Beetlejuice just gently squeezed you again in response.

[silverzoomies]

135 for Peter- I can’t- it genuinely sounds like something he would say🗣️

Peter Maximoff/Reader drabble: ⚡"I'll be honest: I get off on the thought of you."⚡ warnings: use of "truth serum," dirty confessions. also, i don't usually post unedited writing. apologies if this isn't up to par with my usual, polished work !!

Spending a venturous night sneaking around with your bestie, you followed behind him on your toes. Stealthily moving through the X-Men’s base of operations, you found yourself snooping in Beast’s lab. Your teammates all slept upstairs in the mansion. Which gave your mischievous pal all the time in the world to unleash hell. Peter had a bad case of sticky hands that night. He smuggled a few gadgets from Hank’s lab tables.

While he gave into his klepto compulsions, you busied yourself with a mini-fridge labeled "Samples. DO NOT TOUCH!"

You were a good little nugget. You knew you shouldn’t be so nosy. But part of you wanted to take the risk, just to impress your trouble-maker friend. Giggling quietly, you pulled the fridge open.

“Duuuude! Check this shit out!” You whispered.

Your curious eyes scanned the army of glass vials lined up neatly inside. Cool air fanned your face as you leaned in. Squinting, you read off the labels one by one, mumbling their names under your breath. Peter appeared by your side in a speedy blur. He peered over your shoulder. On impulse, he hastily snagged a vial or two without a second thought.

“Oh, dude, sick! Are these his nerd potions?” Peter snickered.

“I think so! Metamor-...Metamorphose Elixir? What the…” You tried to keep your laughs at a low volume, “Angel’s Essence. X-Celeration. Honeysuckle…” You scoffed as you picked through the fridge, “I don’t even know what half of these mean. What’d you get?” 

Absentmindedly, Peter paced the room. He moved backwards with effortless grace, reading the vials in his hands. The stolen gadgets stuffed in his jacket pockets made sharp noises as they rustled together.

“Uhhhh…Super Sonic Boom…pppffbbbttt…what even is that?? I told you, Hanky boy’s, like, nerd supreme.” Peter rolled his eyes affectionately, before reading off the next one, “And I got…OHHHHHOHOHO!” He raised his voice a little too much, and you quickly shushed him, “Sorry! Sorry! Just…check it out! Truth Serum!”

You skittered up to Peter, snatching the vial from his hand, “You really think it works??”

Peter wiggled his silver brows. His lips stretched in a cat-like grin. Totally aloof and super chill.

“Only one way to find out, ah?”

You popped the cork off the vial, giving the sample a sniff test. Neon liquid bubbled inside. It reeked strongly of pickle juice. The scent made you reluctant to try it first. But after an impromptu game of rock, paper, scissors - of which you ultimately lost - you braced yourself and took the tiniest swig.

“C’mon! That was nothing! Don’t be chicken shit!” Peter teased, tossing the other vial in his hand into the air, catching it before it fell to the floor.

You smacked your lips and hollowed your cheeks, feeling your eyes overflow with tears; all in immediate reaction to the serum’s sour flavor. Several seconds became a minute, as you stood there in silence. Over eager and irritable, Peter huffed. He rapidly tapped his foot. Before breaking the silence with a restless exclamation of-

“Well!? Did it work ‘er not?!”

You chuckled, gesturing with the vial.

“I hate it when you do that.”

Peter’s expression fell. He slumped his broad shoulders, catching the other vial just in time after tossing it again.

“Huh? When I do what?” He asked, giving you a defeated, puppy dog look.

“That. When you act so impatient? I can’t tell if it's super annoying, or ridiculously cute.” You spoke without filter, shifting your bashful gaze, “And…augh. Please stop looking at me like that. You really are so freaking cute it’s unbearable.”

“Wait...are you...” Peter’s lips curved upward in a cocky grin.

Covering your mouth with a hand, you felt your cheeks heat up in a flash.

“Did I…what the hell did I just say??”

“You really think I’m that cute, huh?” Peter sheepishly blushed. Pulling his lip between his teeth, he flitted his gaze to the vial in your hand, before meeting your shy eyes again. He threw you a nod of his head, “Lemme see that.”

Peter downed the entire vial in one shot, instantly shuddering as the tart taste oozed down his throat. He smacked his lips, scowling, looking at the vial with a single brow raised.

Not even two seconds passed before he openly admitted-

“I’ll be honest. I kinda get off on the thought of you, like, all the time.” He said on impulse, his dark gaze still fixed on the empty vial.

When he tilted his head up to meet your eyes again, you gaped at him with your peepers blown wide. Peter blushed an even brighter shade of scarlet. Laughing uneasily, he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Uhhhhh…heh…uh…wow…awkward.” Peter whistled, shaking his head, “I guess…safe to say…this shit most definitely works. Way to go, Beastie!”

“Do…” You hesitated, biting your tongue for a microsecond before you found the courage to continue, “Do you really think of me like that? Because…I mean…I'm kind of into you too.” You confessed without meaning to, "Or...no. I'm really into you."

With no filter to hold him back anymore, Peter's lips moved at an alarming speed. He began spouting an onslaught of filthy words. As he did, you felt hot, pulsing wires of tension pull between you both. Drawing each other in closer.

“You say that now. But if you knew how much I beat my meat thinkin’ about your body, you'd never wanna talk to me again. It happens like fifty times a week. I just can't help it, babe!” He shrugged, his face burning hotter and hotter with every loose word, “H'oh, man. I should shut up now. I should really shut up. Before I admit somethin’ else. Like how I can't stop starin’ at your ass when you're not looking.”

“What!?” You burst out laughing, hiding your blushing face with your hands.

He matched your laugh with his own, “Sorry. The pickle juice of truth's got me acting all kinds of loco right now.” Peter bit his lip again, stifling his next words before they slipped out anyway.

“Sometimes you get a feisty attitude with me and it really turns me on.” He added, "Ah...shit."

Basking in the thrill of this back and forth truth game, you parted your lips. Anxiously awaiting your own, inevitable disclosure.

“I've always wondered what your speedy tongue would feel like on my…” You sealed your mouth shut once more, groaning into your hands.

"YOOOO! No way! Seriously? You're twisted, baby. That's hot."

Carelessly discarding the vials, letting glass crash the floor without a moment's pause; Peter grabbed you by your waist and pulled you into him. You both searched each other's eyes frantically.

A devastating degree of mutual attraction had the two of you on edge. Peter waited for you to break the silence with another sexy confession. You did the same. Waiting. Anticipating his next words in hopes he might say something to further turn you on.

“I have a huge boner right now.” He fessed, biting his tongue to suppress his giggles.

You wheezed loud enough to shake the earth, surely waking up the whole mansion.

[haikyu-mp4]

Taxes

word count; 865 – gn!reader, I don't work in finance please don't fact-check me

Working in finance wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t terribly fun either. Most days looked the same and while some regular clients brought you a little basket of fruits as a thank you, some new clients would rather slam their fists into your table in annoyance.

In the morning briefing, your boss said that you would be helping an important new client today, who your boss had pulled some strings to fit into the schedule.

And you were amused, to say the least when Bokuto Kotaro walked into your office behind your assistant in an attractive combo of suit pants and a white shirt. His blazer looked a little too tight, but you didn’t think much of it.

He had this smile on his face like he was excited to meet you but apologetic that you had to meet him.

You did the usual greeting and after returning it, he sat down, intertwining his hands in his lap and twiddling his thumbs. Opening the new folder with his information, you hummed under your breath.

“Professional athlete, what sport?” you asked, following your routine of making a good relationship before getting to the serious part.

“Volleyball!” he said excitedly. “I’m with the MSBY Black Jackals.” And you nodded along, wishing you had time to learn more about him.

“I played volleyball once in school, wasn’t very good,” you chuckled. “I heard this was about taxes, but it was out of normal routine so could you fill me in on what you need, exactly?”

Bokuto cleared his throat awkwardly. “Of course! You see, I’m not sure about… uh… taxes, and all that.”

You frowned, taking a second to register his words. “How do you mean?”

“Could you maybe…” He flashed you his brightest smile, the tops of his cheeks tinted red, which they weren’t when he first came in. “Do my taxes for me?”

You pursed your lips, and for the first time at work in a long time, you genuinely laughed. A short but clear laugh that made him laugh too, albeit a bit more unsurely.

“You know what? They don’t teach you the useful stuff in school,” you said.

He leaned forward, hands resting on his thighs. “Right?” he agreed. “So I asked my captain about it and he said he knew someone.”

You two fell into a conversation that drifted from where you both went to school to your culinary preferences. Meanwhile, you started taking the necessary notes for him, sometimes making a break in the conversation to ask him a question or have him log in somewhere. It shouldn’t have taken long, but the two of you thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company.

“Okay, so this is all the information you need, and then I’ll show you how to fill it in and send the report,” you hesitated for a second before looking at him. “If you want, you can move your chair beside me so I can show you properly.”

“Sure!” He got up, but you eyed the way he wiggled awkwardly in the tight blazer.

“You can hang your jacket over there,” you suggested, pointing at the hooks on the back of your office door. He quickly started pulling the blazer off.

“I woke up a bit late this morning and couldn’t find my usual suit jacket so this is my high school uniform,” he explained, turning to hang it up before picking up his chair easily and coming around the desk.

You smiled at the way he focused on everything you said, hands knitted into fists resting on his thighs. Handing him a pen and notepad, you made sure he knew what information was most important and asked him to take notes.

After finishing the tax report and finishing up, he grabbed one of the cards that stood at the front of your desk, bowing with that bright smile back in place. “Thank you so much for the help. I’ll take this,” he flipped the card in his hand while his other hand scratched the back of his head. “And maybe I could ask you in case I need help next time?”

You cursed mentally at the way your cheeks heated up. “In a year?” you asked, somewhat hesitantly grabbing a new card and placing it on your desk before picking up a pen. You bit your lip as you wrote down your personal number.

How unprofessional of you.

“Why don’t you take this and text me if you have an evening off,” you said, handing over the card but not meeting his eyes. “To talk about… taxes… of course.”

He took the new card. “Maybe you’d like to come to one of my games?” he asked, and the way he sounded so excited and hopeful made you look up, nodding your head.

“I’d really like that, Bokuto.”

“I’ll text you the details!” he said, picking his blazer up off the hook.

“I can’t wait!”

“See you then!”

“See you!”

“I’ll be looking for you!”

“Goodbye, Bokuto,” you said finally, closing your office door and letting your assistant lead him away as you leaned your back on the door.

Work was never terribly fun, but Bokuto sure made it seem that way.

masterlist

[smuttyaf]

Jasper Gentlemen’s Club

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭

wc: 9.3k | part two of the business

“Treat yourself to something nice.”

Smile shines genuinely at the stack of blue bills falling into your grip. The heart of your customer pounds against your ear from the generous tip being gifted as you swiftly lean in pressing a kiss against his stubble cheek.

“I’ll surprise you,” You tease. His grip growing tighter against your hip at the gesture. “But that will just be our little secret.”

Following your movements he heads with you out of the dim decorative room. You depart from his side once leaving the elevator with faint ‘goodbye’ and his lingering touch trailing away from your waist. White train flows down your sides as you venture to the back of the establishment.

Heels click against the chestnut floorboard, the sound of lockers closing and gentle laughter fill your ears.

“Speaking of the devil,” Grace grins. Fishnets and lace peek under the usual feather robe. Her ginger hair sits in voluminous curls while her eyes are painted in black shadow.

Jasper Gentlemen’s Club, your place of employment for three years now. It’s a private upscale strip club to say in short, however it was the popular type of establishment catered for specific people; the elites and socialites of society, ranging from celebrities to politicians.

Already being high maintenance from the clientele that it specifically caters for, there were codes set in place to appease them. For example, always having proper upkeep of your appearance. Nails, toes, hair, lashes; everything had to be perfect. You were meant to look like a doll for your customers, suppose to be their escape from reality so you had to play the part perfectly. The second, would be no photography or video recording. It’s a no brainer but it was hounded into your mind, the only type of film the customers will ever be on is the security cameras. The situation being so serious everyone in the building had to sign non-disclosure agreements. And the last and final major rule, always being dressed in the renowned long tulle robe. Each dancer had this garment in every colour and pattern you can imagine, fluffy soft material making all your coworkers look like fairies dancing under the inky light.

Sometimes you couldn’t believe that this was your job. Working at this elegant spot and always looking stunning with your weekly manicures, pilates classes, and lash appointments. It was all that consumed your life aside from work. Even though you never thought you would find yourself in this position you couldn’t help but be happy about it. You struggled a lot during your teenage years, getting kicked out of your home at a such a young age you had to turn into an adult quickly. So you accept this lifestyle of greedy men and lustful hands, you much prefer it over the life you had before.

“You look like a sexy dominatrix,” You say glancing over her attire for the night.

Peeling open your purse, you let your tip money fall amongst the pile built up from your shift.

“You know me, you really know me!” Grace giggles with hand lying on her heart. You laugh at her expression while sitting at your vanity next to hers. “So… Do you remember the club owner I’ve been telling you about?” She ask, one arm place on the back of her chair as she faces you. You hum at her words nodding your head slowly.

She was boasting about this man that has been her new favourite of the month. Ranting about how he tips her generously and was the most handsome out of all her regulars. You’ve never took much notice of her roaster though, too indulged with your own you couldn’t really care about what her clients look like.

“He’s here and brought a friend… I may or may not have put in good words about you that he wants to meet,” Grace remarks with plucked eyebrows wiggling. It results with you shaking your head in disagreement.

“No thank you, I would like to go home to Cleo,” You sigh giving her an annoyed look. The desire to kick off these heels and curl against his fur freckle coat was all you wanted to do at the moment.

“Oh come on! Just one more before you leave!”

You twist your head at her words again. The clock was ten minutes away from your shift ending and you couldn’t wait for those numbers to dial in. Biting your lip you look at her.

“At least talk to him, I’m sure he’ll tip you for that… you know, because you’re just the sweetest girl in this joint.” Grace mocks Jasper’s southern voice. You roll your eyes at the reminder of him drunkly calling you one of his most prized employees during one the work anniversary parties.

“Fine, but you owe me.” Huffing with fingers tapping annoyingly at the vanity.

“Of course baby doll.”

You both touch up your makeup before going to the floor once more. It was Saturday night which meant it was busy, there was men litter by the bar while many sit amongst the lounge chairs, eyes all set on your coworkers performing their own little show for them before paying for the real thing. Her black train leads you towards the elevator, security smiling as you two step into the machine.

“Three please.” Grace smiles. The guard swiftly presses the number that brings you to the floor reserved for the most confidential people.

This makes you confused. If her client is just a club owner he couldn’t possibly be on this status? That can only mean the guest he brought with him has to be the one filling the role. If you could do a little dance in the space you would. Happy in your head thanking Grace for making you tag along but also causing you to wonder who it could be.

The elevator halts as you reach the floor. Both of you stepping out of the machine with robe swishing against your skin. White fluffy material tugs along the carpet as your heels echo in the hallway, eyes meeting the number of the door 323. The golden knob turns, allowing you both to step into the dim room.

Plum curtains pressed in baroque prints drape amongst the wall with stockard candles laminating the room, it gives sight on the two men standing each with glass of dark bourbon held in their hands.

Grace’s annoying rant about her regular being remarkably handsome is something you totally understand now, both look as if they could easily get sign and put on a runaway at any moment. One man holds a golden hue to his skin, black shiny hair slick under the lights, while the other has fair skin and luscious curls.

They stand in black suits fitting seamlessly against their bodies. The brown eyes of one man holds hues of caramel looking towards Grace while the other has beautiful emerald orbs that makes your breath catch in your throat.

She makes her way to the bronze man, feathers of her robe flutter under the lights. “Angelo, Y/N. Y/N, Angelo.” She introduce. You roll your eyes at her playfulness.

“Nice to meet you Y/N,” Deep Italian voice fills your ears as you smile curtly before giving the brunette next to him your attention.

Eyes watch the contour of his cheeks sink from his jaw tensing. His hair was short with loose ringlets weaving through, nose broad and standing high amongst the features of his chiseled face. He was enchanting, especially with the way he’s towering over you in this dim light, your cheeks begin to swell with heat from this foreign feeling brewing in.

Yes, you had plenty of handsome clients but never once did it make your heart sing a different tune. Your canine tooth pierces the corner of your mouth. The focus he has on you was more then just admiring ones appearance, it was as if he was devouring you.

The only thought passing through your head is hoping he can’t see your blushing cheeks as you play along to his daring gaze and let your alluring persona kick in.

“And who must you be?” You question, lashes look up at the man who still overshadows you in these tall heels.

“I’m shock you don’t know my name love,” Deep voice matching the same tone as his friend. It causes waves of arousal to flow through you.

“Don’t mind her, she’s doesn’t involve herself in small talk here,” Grace interjects, her hand sliding on Angelo’s suited shoulder while stepping into his body.

“Oh? Just my kind of woman then.” The brunette smirks. Those words make your ears tingle and grow red.

Jesus Christ get it together! You think to yourself. This is your new client, not some cute guy at the club, reel in your feelings and do your job.

“Told you to trust me Harry… now have fun you two,” Grace sings, hand slipping and locking with Angelo as she tugs him out.

The sound of the door closing is met with the slow hum of The Weeknd that fills the atmosphere, your heart is pounding in your ears with smile shining on your lips. Timid palms glazed over with sweat run over the white train of your robe.

This was so unlike yourself to be shy around men, especially with your profession after these few years, but now it was as if you can’t even control your nerves. You want to jump his bones and study every inch of him.

“Harry?” You say, body leaning into him and immediately smelling his expensive cologne, Baccarat Rouge. Your favourite mens cologne. Yeah, this was going to be difficult.

“Harry Styles,” He clarifies, eyes drinking you in as you move closer.

Your hand leaves your robe and feels over his collar to roam down his chest to feel over the buttons there. Applying pressure you gently shove him back a few steps before he’s against the familiar sofa, his knees bend with back falling softly against the cushions, your body now towering over his seated position.

The way he’s staring at you made the blood running through your veins thump with urgency to regulate your heart. A closed off part of you is unravelling itself just from looking at this man.

“Let me help you relax, Mr. Styles.” Pushing his legs apart with your thigh, your hips begin to sway to the music in the air. Nails going to the ribbon and playing with the bow.

Teasingly letting the smooth material slide between your fingertips, you move to the soft voice of the artist through the space, head lolling back seductively as you begin to unravel the string, your white embellished lingerie set reveals itself when you let the garment slowly cascade down your arms to rest in the hollow of your elbows.

Intricate fabric displays your busty breasts smooth with light sparkles dazzling under the lights, the floral lace design sits tight against your hips as your thighs rub against each other from each swing. Besides your waist moving so confidently with each stride, you can’t get over the way you feel so timorous.

Harry gaze is practically looking through you, observing every alluring movement that you do. The gentle press of your hands run up his thighs, your hips twisting side by side as you make your way between his legs, nails dragging into the thick fabric of his suit while doe eyes look up at him with playful smirk on your glossy lips.

His chest inhales deeply, knuckles turning white as he strains his hands by his side. The look in your gaze makes him want to groan hungrily, especially due to the position you’re lingering in. Nails trail into his thighs dreadfully to the slow symphonies in the background. He bites down on his bottom lip, body shifting under your eyes as you begin to rise up, swaying your waist back to your original position.

You continue to be enticing, hands running up your body as you turn around let your robe venture further down your arms to rest by your wrists, plump backside set in the air as you continue provoking him.

These movements were nothing new, especially with the way you allow yourself to fall deeper into his body and begin to dance in his lap, hair falling across your face you when rub yourself slowly against his obvious erection. Although, performing this sequence over hundreds of times your heart was beating erratically in your chest with mind racing with millions of thoughts. Thoughts you never had before ever since you’ve started working here, this new found feeling as if discovering Pandora’s Box.

You try to ignore the glint in his eyes, the way they hungrily look over every inch of your body, staring as if knowing what’s brewing in your mind.

Harry’s hand peels away from the velvet seat going to your moving hips, pulling you deeper against his embrace with head lying in the crook your neck, breath warm against your ear as you continue your teasing.

“No touching… you know this,” You scold. But despite the taunt you don’t move his hands, instead you slide your fingers on his knees increasing your ruthless movements.

You hear the groan that erupts from him lowly, nails curling into your skin as you push further into him. Turning your head slightly you nearly brush your lips together, it leads you to stutter at the close encounter. The mistake in your movements so distinct that you know he felt it, and if the lights weren’t such a dim glow he would see the way your eyes flare up at the near moment of kissing him.

“But you like it? Don’t you?” Harry purrs in your ear, heart fluttering at the rasp in his voice.

Rather than burrowing deeper into his touch you draw away from his reciprocating moves, his hands falling to his sides as he smirks up at you, expression shining with amusement.

Smile toying on your lips you straddle his thigh, hands running up his arms to curl around his shoulders. Everything about him was driving you crazy; the colour of his eyes, the cologne drawing you in, the material of his suit that feels smooth under your touch. You want him on top of you in every way possible.

As if catching a glimpse into your mind his hands find themselves back on your hips, compelling you to halt your previous movements of swivelling circles to drag roughly down his thigh. Your clit pressing tightly between the material of your panties to his rough motions that it makes you moan surprisingly.

Immediately biting down on your lip you can’t help but lean forward towards his face, his hands still moving you along his body, inching you closer and closer towards him. Nose brush against each other in the rush exchange just as lips nearly touch. You quietly whimper at the feeling of his nails digging into your hips. His mouth parting slightly as if trying to breathe in the sound you release.

You want so badly to lean in and discover the way he tastes. Honestly, you would do anything to have him cocooned around you in this moment, but unfortunately those thoughts don’t overshadow the reality of why you’re both in this room right now.

Skimming your tongue over your bottom lip, your teeth bite deeply into the flesh continuing to let him control your movements, his eyes still staring at you as he watches you restrain yourself from showing pleasure.

“How much you charge for the night?”

The words hang in the air causing your face to draw away from his, mouth parting in surprise as your expression resembles disappointment. You should really laugh at yourself. Did you think he was different than the rest? That the possessive look he has on you meant something more? You barely even know the man and your heart jumps for joy just at the appearance. You’re so naive, so stupid to really think he would see you differently.

“I —I don’t do that.” You mumble, pulling further away from him as you divert your gaze.

The tension that was once a teasing attraction between the both of you now is strained, the hum of the song concluding in the background sounds in the atmosphere while Harry’s grip relaxes realizing your change of emotion.

“Oh? I just thought…”

“You thought wrong.”

Heels balance yourself back on your feet. Arms trailing down the expanse of his as you faintly smile at him, your hands gather the sleeves of your robe around your wrist and drape it back over your shoulders, fingers lacing the ribbon together as the speaker occupying the room begins to play another song.

“It was nice meeting you sir.” You hush, faint smile tugging amongst your lips even though your face reads as if someone stomped on your dreams.

“Hold on now, let me apologize. I didn’t mean to offend you in anyway.” Harry confesses, his hands that were once on your skin reach out to draw you into his touch, however you step back.

It didn’t matter how he was going to form his words to express his regret about the invasive question. Whether he tried to say it in the nicest way or simplest terms, you know how he sees you. Just like your other clients; their little play thing that they want to unwrap to see more skin under the fabric.

It’s why you care little about the words you hear regularly. It’s expected of you even if it wasn’t something you offer. Yet, even when hearing it so many times, it still hurt that you were always perceived that way.

“None taken, have a good night.” You conclude the conversation.

Swiftly turning around you ignore the irritated expression on his face from your words, as you exit the room you try not to think of Harry and the blooming feeling of his presence captivating you.

“You shouldn’t have such high expectations.”

Sparkling wine dazzles under the chandelier lights when Grace brings the glass to her lips. She rolls her eyes faintly as she drinks back the sweet liquid, all you can do is turn the noodles in your pasta out of boredom.

“You know that’s not it.” You sigh, fingers fiddling with the fork and slouching your head on your hand.

“Oh come on!” It’s her turn to exhale tirelessly with annoyed smile on her lips. “I say you let him have what he wants, see what you can get out of him.”

Of course she would say that because she provides that type service but, you on the other hand didn’t. You never look at Grace differently because of it but she would always comment on just letting certain clients pay for sex, little jabs about doing these favours especially since it charges more. Yes, it would be easy to receive such superficial things out of those gestures but you desire more than that, which she knew tremendously.

“You know that’s not my thing.” Letting your fork scrape against the red sauce in your plate.

“Yes that’s what you say but you’re so infatuated with him, just give it a chance you never know what you can get from Mr. Mafia himself?”

“Mr. What?”

Eyes nearly bulge out of your face as if you were a cartoon character. The metal instrument in your hand drops from your grasp with your head raising off your hold in complete shock. Harry was in the mafia? Now you’re just finding out about this?!

“Oops? I thought I told you,” Grace reveals as if it’s so normal to forget.

“Are you serious?” You remark, eyes stuck on the way she shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly.

“Yes very serious, now relax. Some of our clients don’t have the best professions either.” She points out raising her eyebrows, and to that you nod in agreement.

You breathe in deeply, hands reaching out to grab your drink and take generous sips from discovering this new found information. This beautiful man with sweet colour eyes and soft curls was part of something dangerous. You never thought about what he could possibly do for work but that was definitely not one of them.

“But yes, the man you’re so in love with is in fact part of the mafia.”

“How do you know this?”

“If you spend enough time around drunk Jasper you’ll find out anything babe.”

Laughing faintly you agree to that, he was always the most honest when intoxicated.

“He was telling me about Angelo as a new client, how he’s some club owner laundering money for someone related to Luciano, some mob boss? I don’t know, never heard of that guy, but! When I met Angelo the first time at work… and well after work too, he was always having someone call him under Styles, one time I caught him talking to him on the phone, something about money so I just put two and two together.”

You bite down on your lip, eyes falling away from her hazel ones and to your unattended bolognese. Money laundering? Hopefully that’s the worse he’s ever done, but the inkling feeling roaming in the back of your mind tells you it’s not. Why should you even care though? This false hope that he’ll actually want you is slim, so why even try to care about what he does.

“I’m telling you girl, with the amount of money he probably brings in you should give it some thought.” Grace sends you another look as she continues eating.

Rolling your eyes again you bring the wine glass back to your lips. This conversation was steering its usual direction and frankly you were over it, you need to shove your heart back in your chest and forget these ridiculous ideas.

“Well if this isn’t a coincidence.”

Both of your sights catch on the same men you saw last night, especially on the specific man who is the topic of the conversation. Harry is now standing right in front of you still looking remarkably handsome as ever. This time he was dressed in a navy blue suit that brought out a gentle tone in his eyes. If you weren’t in this restaurant you would probably take up Grace’s words and get on your knees in this moment.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the heat rush to your cheeks, and unlike the gentlemen’s club the lights inside this restaurant are brightly lit around the room, only highlighting the flush to your skin. Diverting your gaze, you continue to tip the alcohol into your mouth as cheery laughter beams from Grace when she looks between Angelo and you.

“It’s good to know we all have taste,” She humours, while you decide to swallow back the sweet fluid and place your drink back in its previous place.

Your sight darts from your drink to the napkin with extra cutlery to avoid the unwanted attention burning on your face. You know it’s Harry practically boring holes into you, so heavy that you don’t even want to look up and see him. You just willow in Grace’s conversation doing everything to ignore contact.

That’s until weight presses on the back of your chair, the smell of him fills your nose as he practically buries his head into the side of your neck. You’re completely taken back at the gesture, head turning slightly to make distance.

“Are you going to hold onto my mistake forever?” Harry ask, voice low and assertive that you feel your cheeks grow even brighter.

Pulling away from his embrace you scan his face as he straightens his back peering down at you. He studies your appearance in reciprocation to your detecting gaze, as if wanting to know every dip and curve that roams the expanse.

“No.”

“Are you always this cold then?”

“Maybe.”

Finally breaking the stare down you turn towards Grace who smiles sheepishly Angelo way before looking towards you. Sight flickering between Harry retreating next to his friend.

“See you soon.” Grace shines watching the two step away and head to their table.

As soon as they’re out of sight you clench your teeth, fury completely combing through you at the sudden intrusion of the night.

“Ease up on him.” She laughs. It makes you sigh dramatically, reaching over and finishing your glass of wine.

“I want a shot,” You declare. It makes Grace erupt in even more laughter only making you join along. This night was full of surprises.

“For once would you take my advice?”

Monday evening is slow; music transitioning between easygoing temp to dreadful paste. You book a couple private rooms in the beginning of your shift, flirt with some men on the floor to find some entertainment throughout the night, till you’re now in the back room listening to Clarissa and Lucy rant about their evening.

“I told Simon to let Jasper know I’m not taking him anymore and he persists on me keeping him!” Clarissa groans in annoyance hand hitting the leather sofa with frustration. Her energy radiates annoyance.

“Simon probably didn’t even ask, he’s just saying that… you know how he is,” Lucy responds with an eye roll only making you laugh at the exchange.

“I heard that!” Simon strides into the room with clipboard in hand and sharing knowing glances between each girl.

“Lucy you have private room eighty-six, Y/N you have confidential in three-hundred and twenty-three, and Clarissa you’re on the floor in five! No one should be in the back room on slow nights, you ladies all know this.” The statement only causes the group to exchange displeased expressions.

Clarissa and Lucy stand from the couch and make their way towards their own respective vanities while you get out of your seat and move towards the club manager.

“Confidential?” You question, following him as he begins to walk out the room.

“Yes, same gentleman as your last shift so don’t keep him waiting, quickly now,” His voice rush as he takes your wrist softly in his hand and drags you to the elevator, he sends tight limp smile towards the security guard before nodding his head and stepping away.

Same gentleman as last time. Harry wants to see you again? Even yesterday after the attitude you put up? The thoughts erupt in your mind with each of ding of the elevator. Different emotions course through as you make steps towards the familiar door.

You know you shouldn’t get your hopes up. He’s just like all of your regulars who simply want to see you, another of your clients. Nothing he can say or do will make you change your mind.

Fingers curl around the door knob, you relax your shoulders and let an alluring smile spread on your strawberry colour lips. The bubbling anxiety rumbles in your stomach as you retrieve the door open and move deeper into the room.

He sat on the diamond encrusted sofa, white button up with few undone to reveal ink roaming amongst his collar bones. His back is against the seat with arms laid amongst the sculpted frame, one hand free while the other held a glass of dark liquor. Even though he was sluggishly sitting along the chair, the way his hair was in messy curls and gaze falling to every step you make towards him, you shiver in excitement.

“Mr. Styles.” You smirk, concealing the feelings that spark in you.

Harry’s eyes venture down the expanse of your appearance, lingering extremely long on the way your hips sway, to them eventually staring even longer at your lips while you look down on him. His tongue escapes his mouth to run over his flesh, the hand occupying his drink brings it to his lips.

You let your eyes reciprocate his actions, staring longingly at this disheveled appearance; you admire how charming he looks relax with his ruffled curls and roaming eyes. You want to reach out and brush your hand across his skin but instead you let them slide down your waist comfortably.

“You look good in red.” Harry comments locking sight and smirking at you. His hands twirl the ice cubes in his empty glass that echoes in the space.

Smiling faintly at the compliment, you bow your head at the acknowledgment. “Thank you sir.”

Harry draws his other hand off the frame, fingers reaching into his breast pocket feeling over the contents before pulling out two blue bills. The warmth of his palm melts against your skin as it slips through the space in your robe and slides it into the band of your panties.

“Fill up my glass.”

He’s pushing it into your hand, voice so demanding it makes you confuse at the change of tone. You welcome the cool feel of it before turning around and going to the serving bar located in the room.

With your movements unscrewing the bottle to pour the contents, you hear ruffling from behind. Your heart beats so intensely it begins to give you chest pains. Circling back on your heels and making your way towards Harry, you see another few bills between his fingers as you hold his drink in front of him.

“Sit down.”

You oblige taking the seat next to him, mind completely confused on the change of his behaviour. You know your attitude yesterday may have been uncalled for but this was a different type of treatment. His presence being so cold yet inviting, you can’t tell if you’re scared by him or not.

The hand resting along the couch occupied with papers between his fingers run along the strap of your bra, he tucks the bills there while his gaze goes back to admiring you.

“What are you doing?” You ask, welcoming the his palm going to your breast to feel up your neck and grip your jaw with dominance.

“Do you forgive me?”

Threaded brows press together completely dropping your suggestive demeanour, eyes going to his suited pants until his grip tightens and directs your attention back to his.

“Is that what this is?” You continue, gaze running over the way his jaw flexes. “This money for my forgiveness. I’ve heard worse things in my field of work sir but, I’m very appreciative of the gesture.”

Your hand trails away from your thigh and drags along his knee, body leaning into this scent as you completely fall into your thoughts of this handsome man before you.

“So you don’t forgive me.” Harry responds coolly, the pads of his fingers sink deeper into your skin.

“I don’t care.” You state. Clenching down on your teeth while he releases his hold on your jaw. He rolls his eyes at your words, bringing the glass to his lips.

“You’re so frustrating.”

The comment causes your expression to grow with annoyance.

“Do you want me to dance or not?” Attitude clear in your tone as the palm of your hand continues to glide down the expanse of his thighs.

“No. I just want you to sit there.”

“Why?”

“You’ve been running away from me. So, I’m paying you not to.”

Swallowing hesitantly the previous motions you draw on his skin pause. Sight tearing away from him and falling to your polish nails. Well, aren’t you stuck. Sitting against these velvet seats with erratic heart and sweaty palms. The light beat of the song playing through the space between you both only intensifies the atmosphere even more. The ice smashing against his glass every few moments as Harry brings the drink to his lips.

“What do you want?” You say after a few minutes, fingers fiddling together when you look up at him.

“Isn’t it obvious already?” His voice still lace with frustration as he turns his head.

“You.”

Cheeks burn bright with mouth parting, the emotions he makes you feel… he was also feeling them as well. You distract yourself urgently flickering your eyes between him, trying to collect your words wisely.

“You don’t even know me.” The sentence not causing his gaze to waver. He’s still looking at you with this stone glare.

“So… tell me about yourself.” Harry suppresses the irritation in his voice as he rises his brow.

“Are you serious?” Completely surprised at the change of events.

“Very, now do tell.” Drink in hand gesturing for you to begin.

Suddenly that’s how you spend the rest of your night, introducing yourself to Harry. It range from telling him how you begin working at Jasper’s to how you grew up, and when your mind would dwindle he would ask you his own questions.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Two creams one sugar.”

“Favourite food?”

“I love Thai.”

And without the disturbance of Simon ushering you to another room after your extended stay with Harry, you grow comfortable. Relaxing in his embrace and answering anything that came to his mind.

This connection that was clouding your judgment is too good to be true, from the introduction of your meeting to the the way your head is nestle in the crook of his neck, you thrive in the affection. Not listening to your overthinking thoughts that stir you in the wrong direction.

Instead, you let him know everything he wants; you tell him your favourite colour and how you like your steak cooked, to even confiding to him about certain clients you weren’t exactly keen of. The fact that you’ve only known the man for three days and was telling him your whole life story was beyond what you could imagine at the moment, he makes you relax and feel acknowledged. It was nice to feel this way after three years.

Since that night Harry began to make his appearance throughout the week. The same room, for the same time, in the exact same position as last. With each meeting he never let you dance or even suggest it, instead he let you talk whether it was anything on your mind or his, that’s how you spent your evenings.

His presence was relief during your hectic week, depending on your availability between clients you spend as much time as possible in his touch and finding serenity in the way his voice soothes you.

It was now Sunday and you were off, deciding on staying in tonight and catching up on Real Housewives. You sat in your loft with Cleo tuck on your lap, fingers digging into the bag of popcorn while the other reaches towards your ringing phone.

“Hello!” You sing, eyes caught on the dinner scene happening before you.

“Not in today?” The voice on the other line making your body shiver with excitement.

“No sorry, I don’t work Sundays… I should’ve told you.” You confess, guilt brews of him going to the club and not finding you there.

“No worries, what are you doing now?”

Eyebrows rise up on your forehead with deep breath releasing, you flick your eyes around immediately taking your hand out of the popcorn bag to grab the remote and lower the volume, body straightening up as you sink your teeth into your lip.

“Miss me already?” Fingers falling to your plump flesh as smirk pulls on the skin. Harry’s laugh sounds through the speaker, the happy cheer making your heart leap.

“Yes. Yes I do, how can I not?” Lashes flutter with smile beaming shyly.

Maybe this was all too good to be true. Maybe this was just a fleeting moment that Harry is having; booking you six nights out of the week, paying you to refill his glass and converse with him. Maybe he was just going through phases, maybe he just thought of you as another one of his toys. But this attention was one you couldn’t pass up; the way he admires at you, the feel of his hands gracing your body for sheer moments, the reassurance of his words when speaking your thoughts. After years of petty affection and surface base material, this for once felt different. It felt genuine even if you’ve only known him within such short time.

“Are you home?” Are his next words to break the silence.

“Yes,” You answer, fingers trailing from your lips to run into your hair nervously.

“Can I come over?” Heart practically melting in your chest at the suggestion.

“Yes.” With blooming hues of pink roaming amongst your cheekbones.

Eager emotions flood your body as you voice your address to him before ending the call. Your hand drops the remote and gently moves Cleo off your lap as you escape towards your room.

What the hell did you get yourself into and what the hell are you even suppose to wear? Your outfit currently being an oversized t-shirt and gym shorts will certainly not do the job as you venture into your closet; skimming over hoodies and dresses. You end on grabbing your two piece yoga set hoping it will suffice compared to how you look throughout the week.

Sitting in front of your vanity you immediately comb through your hair and brush through your lashes. Nerves coursing through your body at Harry coming over. The unusual excitement of getting worked up for seeing someone revels in your mind, you skim over your features intricately to look for something off when you know that there wasn’t anything. There is this need to look your absolute best for him, even you know you already do.

Huffing slightly at the thoughts running through your mind you get up and make your way out of the room and head into the kitchen, fingers immediately lighting candles and then running quickly to the couch to begin folding the blanket you once laid on. If you were being recoded right now you would laugh at how you run across the spacious condo to make sure everything looks in place.

With ideas of the night ahead bombarding your mind the familiar sound of the buzzer quakes in the room making your heart drop. You step away from the couch and move towards the door, hand pressing the button to let him in.

This feeling was as if you were a teenager all over again. These dreamy aspect of emotions being as if you saw your high school crush passing in the hallway. It’s been three years without mental or physical affection, this new found treatment from someone was making you drunk off happiness.

With these nerves overcoming you, the urgency for alcohol to sooth your system lingers in your mind making you go over to your fridge and take out the chilling wine to soon tug your body over to your glass rack and pull two off, you’re setting them on the table when there’s knocking at the door.

Taking a deep breath you count to three, making your way over and unlocking it. Grin toying on your lips with Harry revealing himself adorn in his black suit.

Chest quakes with each pump of your heart as his lips mirror your happiness. Widening the door you let him step into your home, body turning to shut the door before letting your smile turn nervous.

“I know you drink whisky but I only have wine for tonight.” You stammer, body making your way over to the island and gesturing to the bottle of Prosecco.

Harry looks over the bottle, his eye soon falling on yours with smirk appearing. “I’ll have a glass.”

Control motions peel open the new bottle and fill each cup. He takes his drink in hand before humming at the taste.

“Enjoy reality tv?” The question only makes the warmth in your cheek spread further as you look at the television screen displaying women throwing drinks and overturning the table.

“Oh… um… yes,” You stumble over your words, avoiding Harry’s eyes as he chuckles next to you.

“Flustered are we?” He points out, body bumping into you teasingly.

“This is what you came over to do then, just make me a blabbering mess in my own home.” You pout, sight moving away from the granite counter as you lift the wine glass to your lips and look at him.

Amuse expression shines over his face while he shrugs his shoulders in response. “It does make things more interesting.”

“Interesting?” You recite in his own tone.

His hand that rest along the counter passes through the space between you both to let his palm venture down your waist.

“Yes… interesting how displeased with me you were at first yet having this look of want in your eyes.” Your gaze blares, confusion written all over your face while you relax deeper into his touch.

“I —I feel it too.” He’s hesitant before clearing his throat, lashes flutter against the hollows of his eyes as he collects himself. “This pull to be next to you… it’s unexplainable… ever since the first night.”

The words Harry formulates as if he’s just letting his heart expel everything he’s been building up over the week. It makes the one in your chest thunder with admiration.

“And I shouldn’t have said those things… it’s so stupid but my mind went blank and I just…” His brows push together trying to collect his thoughts properly. “The night I saw you at the restaurant it made me realize I really fuck up. I don’t want to do that with you ever again. I want you to trust me, I want you to love me, I want you to—“

But you immediately cut him off letting your emotions spring in and press your lips against his. Wine stain flesh burns on each other as gracious pecks transform into tongues joining together. The hand that trail down your hips run over your backside.

The heat that he expels when he steps deeper as if shielding you with protection has you moaning against him, head tilting slightly to invite the arousal blooming.

As his palm moves further the surprise of his grip tightening around your ass makes you jump, the hand that was wrapped around your glass bumping against the underside of it causing it to tip over.

“Fuck!” The crashing sound of it smacking against the counter makes you part away from him. “I’m so sorry.” You breathe out. Leaving his embrace to go to the paper towel dispenser and beginning to clean the mess. Cheeks burning even brighter from knocking over your wine.

“Relax baby,” Harry coos, hands falling on your nervous ones as you clean up the puddle.

Laughing shyly you shake your head embarrassed by your behaviour.

“You make me anxious,” The confession falling out of your mouth effortlessly as you collect the drench paper.

His palms grip your fingers tightly causing your gaze to catch with his. Instead of an irritated expression he shares one of amusement and adoration.

“Likewise.”

And ever since that night the connection between you both grows stronger; Harry visits during your shifts to meeting you right afterwards. Coming home to bouquet of roses and designer bags, sending you black trucks to take you out to dinner or meeting with you at Bottega Veneta to piece together an outfit for him.

Two weeks of knowing Harry and he was already dazzling you with the most extravagant gifts but still remaining respectful and never letting you dance when he visit the club. You’re absolutely head over heels. He’s always kind and gentle with you, never pushing your boundaries and soothing you with his words. This affection was a breath of fresh air and you’re undoubtedly happy about it.

Although the regard to respect you was admirable, you were beginning to crave more than cherish kisses and subtle touches. A plan brewed in your mine once your eyes peeled open this morning and you decided to put it in motion tonight. So, as you sit in front of your vanity of the club you fix the straps of your embroidered charcoal bra and look over yourself in the mirror.

“Who might you be expecting?” Clarissa calls from across the room. Your glossy lips don’t hesitate to smile as you look towards her.

“I told you about Harry, right?” You remark, letting your fingers run under the band of the bra to fit more comfortable against your skin.

“Oh! That’s who has you in a good mood lately,” Lucy joins in, jet black hair framing her face in layers with smirk written all over her features.

“If you say so,” You sing, turning around in your chair to look over yourself again.

“Don’t think we haven’t been seeing your post lately,” Clarissa marvels while drumming her fingers against the table.

“So generous with his gift-giving,” Lucy continues in her playful tone, only making you giggle.

The heavy steps of Simon thunder against the oak flooring as he makes his way into the room. Head set intact with clip board in hand, he begins to give everyone knowing looks assuring everyone of their duties tonight.

“And Y/N, you have your regular in confidential.” He finishes at the end of his list before turning to usher the ladies onto the floor from the back room.

“Have fun babe, be safe.” Clarissa whispers when passing you with gentle hug.

You smile at her while nodding with assurance. Looking over yourself, you tie your robe together, lips running over one another before stepping out of your chair and making your way towards the familiar room.

Even with spending so many days with Harry, these emotions that quake whenever he’s mention or to soon bare his presence always resonate these deep feelings; this need to feel his touch rougher on your skin or feel him in the sweet places that you think of him most. You knew this was beyond the earlier arrangements of your first initial meeting, this meant more.

Cigarette smoke roams the air as you make your way towards him. He’s in his usual spot, tailor suit gracing his appearance beautifully as you smile at him. Manicure nails drag against the material while his hands feel over your covered hips.

“Hi angel.” Harry says while feeling over your body.

“Baby,” You purr, moving deeper into his touch. “I have a question for you.”

His features raise in question but doesn’t stop his wondering hands from pulling the ribbon of your robe apart and revealing your body to him.

He hums attentively, looking over your face as he continues to roam over your skin. You’re so enthralled by his touch that you nearly forget your plan.

“Tell me how I make you feel.” Statement leaving your mouth with fingers roaming up his neck and playing with the hair there.

Forest eyes flash with worship as his grip tightens against your waist.

“I feel like you’re made for me.” Knees push his apart as you step between his legs.

“I swear you just take my breath away.” Head craning down for your lips to trail kisses along his cheeks to his jaw.

“You’ve imprint my heart so deeply.” Your hands find themselves running over his chest while his roam over your backside.

“That your love feels undeserving for someone like me.” Those words making you swell with sympathy as kisses continue down the curve of his neck.

“It’s so intense I just have to be near you.” Fingers undoing the few buttons of his shirt as you begin to sink to your knees. His eyes lock on you while his hands link together in your hair, the smooth symphony in the air only escalates the tension.

“Feel you.” He continues, eyes fluttering as your hands move away from his chest to feel over his thighs.

“Hear you.” Your fingers glaze over his erection as you both look at each other with lust.

“Be inside you.” Nails dragging roughly over the print with mascara coated lashes batting up at him.

“Tonight’s your lucky night.” You cut him off. Smirk smoothing over your lips as you begin to undo his belt buckle. “Let me help you relax, Mr. Styles.”

Shifting under your hold he watches you retrieve him out of his boxers. Tongue immediately escapes your mouth looking at how thick and heavy he sits in your hand. It makes pure arousal quake between your thighs as you tug him gently, eyes catching with his.

“Been holding out on me.” It’s his turn to send you a smirk. The look alone makes you want to skip foreplay and take him right there.

You lean in with tongue running from the base to the tip. Pressing flat against the underside it leaves trail of saliva in its wake, your mouth enveloping the crown of his cock while his chest raises with pure satisfaction. His hands continuing to run through your hair.

Pleasant moan vibrates through your throat as your mouth ventures down the expanse of him, tastebuds savouring the salty flavour with each descend of your mouth as you find your paste.

Both of you are still set in this hyper-focus trance looking at each other with the pleasing gestures you assert over him. Spit coating his member as you glide down his cock, plump lips wrapping around his girth as you swallow him down.

“S’good,” Harry slurs, one hand leaving your hair to drag along your neck.

Lashes flutter up at him, relishing in the blissful look crossing his face. He slides down your throat effortlessly with your head bobbing swiftly, his cock wrapped in the slick space of your mouth.

Your clit throbs between your legs, the need to have attention there stirs your next movements as you let your hands glide across his thighs and gather his twin globes into your palm and begin massaging them.

The gesture has Harry groaning, nails gliding down your skin in the change in motions. Eye contact breaking as his head falls against the couch with chest rising in urgency. The site alone makes you want to come, but instead you suffice for the whimper that leaves your mouth when letting yourself glide back up his cock.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” Harry moans, fingers trailing away from your neck to collect your hair in his palm.

The comment makes your stomach tremble, his hands following your gracious movements, with sweat beginning to shine from his temples as he chews away on his lip.

“Look at me baby,” He coos, his hold tugging your mouth away from him. Diverting your attention you look up at him; red eyes with saliva glistening across your lips as shaky breath escapes.

“So pretty for me,” Harry utters, thumb running across your bottom lip as his green eyes search your face. “Stand up, get this off.” He reaches over to tug on your robe.

You raise off your knees letting the garment trail off your shoulders as you stand. You’re immediately letting your feet kick off your tall heels, pleasantly sighing at the relaxing comfort at having them off.

The next motions are your hands teasingly pulling your panties down, Harry’s eyes watching every movement as he watches you unclasp your bra next.

His hands reach out for you, feeling over your soft skin as pulls you into him. Straddling his thighs your fingers go to his chest to pull his blazer off, he quickly follows your lead to take it off the rest of the way while you decide to continue undoing the buttons of his dress shirt.

“I want to feel you.” You breathe against his skin.

Gripping his cock in your hand, you gently let him glide between your folds. Harry nods earnestly against your chest, his hold moving from your waist to your breasts, his lips pressing against your fever skin as you let yourself sink down on him. High pitch whimper drawing from your throat as he stretches you out.

“You drive me crazy,” Harry utters with grip tightening as your hips meet each other.

A soft cry releases from your lips as you find the strength to raise back up on your knees and grind yourself into his lap. The thick strain of his dick against your walls has your head falling into his face.

Erotic moans fill the room when your hips discover the perfect rhythm that has him dragging down your folds in the most beautiful way with the combination of him reaching depths of pure bliss.

Harry hand trail away from your breasts and wrap around your throat, rough grasp taking ahold of you as he brings you deeper into his face. From the grip he has to the haunting look in his eyes you are completely devoid of every sense in your body.

“Good girl.” He continues, his thighs positioning himself better on the couch as he begins to thrust and meet your hips in perfect unison.

The name makes your frantic heart gush with devotion, eyes fluttering at the air shortening in your lungs while your nails curl around his shoulders digging into his skin.

“So good for me.” Harry rasps, his merciless strides into your pussy halting your previous movements.

The sweet nectar you produce between your legs sound with each thrust from the satisfying pleasure coursing through you. The static of your climax catches in the pit of your stomach, your eyes rolling from how deep he’s in you that you can’t help but lunge forward.

Lips connecting fiercely with the taste of him making you hum as your tongue explores him. The rough grip he holds around your neck relaxes as he continues his frantic thrusts.

The spark of your release climbs up your spine with fury; head tilting back, eyes fluttering in the thrill of falling apart around him. Your walls quiver in irritated satisfaction as your climax barrels over in passionate rage.

“Tell me…” Harry breathes when pulling away from your face, his eyes watching your dazed out state. Your fingers go numb against his shoulders, with your head completely being propped up by the hold he still has over your throat. “Tell me how I make you feel.”

Completely intoxicated with satisfaction of your release you let your lips begin to pepper kisses along his jaw. The urge to prove to him how much he means to you in this moment has your pussy meeting his rhythmic thrusts.

“Like I’m on fire,” You moan, nails digging into the material of his soaked button up.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to feel you inside me,” Urging him with the seductive tone in your voice. The hands he has wrapped around your neck tenses as he looks at you completely intrigued.

“I —It feels so good,” You whimper as you slowly rock yourself down his length. “You feel so good baby.”

Deep throaty growl shivers over your embrace as his head relaxes deeper into the frame of the couch.

“I want you like this forever.”

The flex of your slick walls around him earns a delicious moan from him. His seed painting your walls effortlessly as you continue to work yourself through his climax. Your fingers travel to his hair and bring your lips back together.

Harry releases his hold from your throat, his palms venturing down your sides and massaging the skin as you lazily ride him. Body relaxing against his comfort as you welcome his kisses.

“Do you even know how weak you make me feel.” Harry breathes against your lips, hands gripping your ass roughly to push you deeper into his chest.

“No… but I like when you tell me.”

[iamgonnagetyouback]

ivyyyyyyyy i think a frostbite with barty and "tell me three reasons why I should put up with you." "well, for starters, I'm cute." would be super adorable in your style <333 congrats again mwah

Carinaaaaa, thank you so much, love!! <333 You get me and my dramatic muse (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) I swear he’s my spirit animal in his over-the-top glory! I’m so glad you think he and my style fit well together, that means the world (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) And thank you for the congrats, mwah!

ivy's 1k celebration ❄️ navigation ❄️ prompt list

ˋ°•*⁀➷ BARTY CROUCH JR #44: "Tell me three reasons why I should put up with you." "Well, for starters, I'm cute."

You sigh, looking over at Barty with an eyebrow raised, fighting the urge to roll your eyes as he leans lazily against the wall, his hands stuffed in his pockets. You’re not sure what he’s done this time to drive you up the wall, but he’s certainly acting like he hasn’t just spent the last twenty minutes making it his life’s mission to be a menace.

“Tell me three reasons why I should even put up with you,” you say, arms crossed and giving him an unimpressed look.

Barty’s eyes spark mischievously, clearly ready to meet your challenge with enthusiasm. He straightens up, putting on a look of mock-seriousness as he dramatically flips an imaginary lock of hair over his shoulder, like he's about to deliver a line from a play.

“Welllllll,” he begins, drawing out the word as if he’s really contemplating it, “for starters, I’m cute.” He flashes you a grin that’s as smug as it is endearing, the corners of his mouth curving up like he’s already won.

You can’t help it—you scoff, rolling your eyes at him as you cross your arms tighter. “Yeah, sure, you’re cute.”

To your surprise, Barty’s face lights up in a way that’s so genuine it makes you falter for just a second. His eyes glint with excitement, and he practically beams at you, looking like a kid who’s just been handed a massive candy bar. “Oh! So you do think I’m cute!” he practically shouts, clearly reveling in the supposed compliment.

You can’t believe how easily he’s fallen for that, and a smirk tugs at your lips. You’re not going to let him have his little victory so easily. “If by ‘cute,’ you mean overly obnoxious, a bane to my existence, an insufferable little gremlin with no respect for personal space, then yes. You’re adorable,” you say, layering each word with as much sarcasm as you can muster.

Barty gasps, clutching his chest dramatically like he’s just been mortally wounded. “How could you?!” His voice cracks as he stumbles backward, casting you a wounded look as if you’ve stabbed him with betrayal itself. He clutches an invisible wound on his chest, stumbling back to collapse onto the couch like a tragic hero in the final act of his life. “Obnoxious? A gremlin? A bane to your existence?! How could you say such hurtful things? I thought we had something special!”

By now, you’re laughing despite yourself, trying to cover your mouth as a few giggles slip out. Barty peeks from under his hand, clearly pleased to have gotten a reaction out of you, his face breaking into a victorious grin as he sees your shoulders shaking with laughter.

“See?” he says, dropping the act entirely and flashing you that ever-smug grin. “That’s reason two: I make you laugh, and you know you love it.” He wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis, looking at you with such exaggerated confidence that it’s impossible not to laugh harder.

“Oh, Merlin,” you mutter, trying to compose yourself even as he gazes at you with the utmost satisfaction. “I don’t know if I ‘love’ it, but you sure do keep things interesting.”

Barty pretends to be offended, once again clutching his chest like he’s barely holding himself together. “Only ‘interesting’? Treasure, please, don’t shortchange me,” he says, rolling his eyes in mock despair. “I’m magnificent. I’m a vision. A one-of-a-kind gem in your otherwise humdrum life. Who else brings the kind of sparkle, the absolute pizzazz, that I do?”

You try to keep a straight face as you reply, “Pizzazz? The only ‘pizzazz’ you bring is when you manage to knock over three things in a row and try to play it off like it was intentional.”

He gasps again, this time managing to look somehow even more insulted. “You think I’m clumsy?” he asks, eyes wide with faux horror. “No, no, my love, that’s just me leaving a mark on the world, showing my… my undeniably charming presence.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it now?” you reply, trying to fight back a grin. “And here I thought it was just you being a klutz.”

Barty sniffs, lifting his chin with a dignified air. “Well, I don’t expect you to understand the intricacies of my charm, Treasure. It’s a rare gift, one that mere mortals such as yourself might struggle to comprehend.”

“Rare gift?” you echo, chuckling as he leans into his own grandeur. “If anything, it’s a rare torture.”

He laughs, clearly enjoying every second of your banter. “Oh, admit it,” he says, leaning forward, “you’d be absolutely miserable without me. Who else would provide you with endless entertainment, constant compliments, and the kind of delightful companionship that I do?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to look as unimpressed as possible. “Endless entertainment, maybe. As for companionship… I think I could find quieter, less ego-inflated options.”

He gasps yet again, stumbling back into the couch as if he’s been struck. “Quieter? Quieter? How could you even suggest such a thing? The silence would be deafening, and you’d be haunted by the memory of my delightful voice, echoing in the void.”

“Haunted by your voice? That sounds more like a nightmare than a fond memory,” you say with a grin, unable to keep up the unimpressed act much longer.

Barty pauses, noticing the way you’re smiling at him, and his expression softens for a moment, a genuine glimmer of happiness slipping through his playful mask. “Alright, reason three,” he says, his voice lower and a little gentler. “I make you smile, and I know that’s worth something.”

You try to stifle your reaction, but the warmth in his voice catches you off guard, and you find yourself unable to hide your smile.

“You think that counts as a real reason?” you ask, half-jokingly, even though you’re fully aware that it’s a perfectly good reason.

“Of course it does,” he says, leaning in closer with a look of triumph. “So, tell me, have I convinced you?”

You give him a long look, trying to keep your face serious but failing as a smirk creeps in. “Fine. Maybe you’re not entirely unbearable,” you admit.

He grins, looking as overjoyed as if you’d just handed him the world. “I’ll take it!” he says with a flourish, sweeping you into a dramatic bow. “It is a privilege and a pleasure to be tolerated by you.”

Laughing, you give him a playful shove. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that, Treasure.” He winks, flashing you that smug grin again, and you know, despite the constant teasing, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

the nickname 'Treasure' is taken from the lovely @ellecdc; aka the best barty writer everrr •ᴗ•

[cottonlemonade]

Strawberry Lotion

words: 546 || avg. reading time: 2 mins.

pairing: aged up Osamu x chubby!Reader (feat. the Inferior Twin (affectionate))

genre: suggestive fluff, established relationship

warnings: mdni, mild suggestiveness

You groaned when you slid the curtain to the side to find a brilliantly sunny day.

Your boyfriend Osamu, still sitting in bed, looked up from his phone with a questioning head tilt.

"It's a dress day. Ugh, I don't wanna shave my legs.", you pouted. Throwing your head back dramatically you shuffled to the bathroom.

Before closing the door, Osamu slipped in as well.

"Uhm.", you started tentatively, "This isn't usually a group activity, babe."

"Yeah I know, but I'm curious how girls shave. I've only had sneak peaks in razor ads, ya know?"

You sighed. "God, you hide it well, but you're an idiot."

Sitting on the corner of his bathtub, with your legs under the faucet you began the tedious process of removing the new stubble.

"Huh. That's a surprisin’ amount of acrobatics."

"It's just annoying cause it's not a 2 minute thing. It takes ages to get the whole leg and your skin gets all irritated and stuff. The only good thing is that my lotion smells like strawberries." (That and the feeling of rubbing your silky legs together like a cricket.)

Osamu perked up, knowing the one you‘re talking about. "Ya got it with ya?", he asked excitedly.

You nodded, resuming your task, feeling a little weird how he was staring at you. This wasn’t exactly the flattering image you wanted him to keep in his mind for a rainy day. When he didn‘t say anything else, you look up to find him with a wide smile of delighted anticipation.

"Guys.", an impatient knock and Atsumu‘s voice came through the door. "Sorry to interrupt, but will ya be done soon? There are other people livin’ here, too, Samu!"

"All done. One second, Tsumu!", you called.

Osamu wiggled his eyebrows suggestively when he passed his brother in the doorway heading back to his bedroom.

You rummaged in your bag for the lotion, taking out the small red tub.

"Can I do it?", Osamu offered, his voice filled with eagerness.

Swallowing a sarcastic reply, you just shrugged and sat back at the foot of the bed. Your boyfriend knelt down in front of you and set your foot on his thigh. Taking a generous dollop of lotion he began to massage your leg, setting kisses on the now smooth skin before covering it in the soothing light pink cream.

"Damn, ya smell so good." He winked and genuinely had to chew his lip to stop himself from parting your legs for him to dive between them, grabbing at your soft tummy. He was actually just about to ask if you wouldn‘t mind taking off your sleeping shorts so he “could get the whole leg“ when -

"What’re ya doin’?", Atsumu asked, confused, standing yet again in the open door, toothbrush hanging in his mouth.

"Makin’ a baby." Osamu deadpanned, not even looking at the blonde and resumed his work with great concentration.

"Wow, that smells real good."

"I know right, it even tastes like strawberry." The grey-haired twin held out the lotion tub and Atsumu stepped closer to sniff it quizzically.

“Really?“

“Sam-“

Your boyfriend gave your thigh a quick squeeze and winked as he watched with barely suppressed glee how his brother dipped a finger into the tub with the very non-edible lotion.