#low res jesus moment

[mrgintsu]

[coweye]

The Honda Odyssey

Logan Howlett x Reader | smut | 6k words Summary: The car fight reimagined and it only needed to be like 10% more erotic than the original.

I got carried away. I just love Wolvie so much. I'm so happy Logan is getting the adoration he deserves. Long live the Wolverine renaissance.

Warning: smut, p in v, ass play, foul language.

If you had to pinpoint a moment when your life became the shit show it had steadily developed into, you’d say it was the moment you auditioned for X-Force.

In your tenure as besties with Wade Wilson, it's fair to say things hadn’t gone smoothly. The man was a conduit to all things fucked up, but you adored his loose morals and quick mouth. The idiot in red had weaselled his way into your heart and became something of a brother to you and more recently a roommate.

Now, if you’d have told your younger self you’d be in your late twenty’s sharing an apartment with a burn victim who regularly staples a toupee to his fucking head and a coke-head, blind, old African American woman, you’d have laughed in their fucking face.

So, you’d like to think that as these things go you are pretty damn well adjusted but traversing the multiverse was a bit of a stretch, even for you.

One moment you’re at Wade’s surprise party, the next your ass has been zapped to the TVA and you’ve been given a sacred mission; to accompany Marvel Jesus (Wade) and protect the sacred timeline.

Naturally you’re fucking mind blown, you’re a low-level mutant, fuck, you couldn’t even join the X-Men.  Your particular set of skills were a dime a dozen and your flagrant disregard of rules had made you a ‘poor candidate’.

No, the mutant powers you had been graced with weren’t extraordinary by any means. You were basically an off-brand Captain America, just without the gorgeous cheekbones, patriotism and righteous need to do good.

In layman terms, you are strong as shit and have an accelerated healing factor. Not quite the same level as Wade’s mind you. You have, give or take, an inconvenient five-minute turnaround on the more fatally debilitating wounds.

To say you were unqualified was an understatement and to say you were reluctant was a simple fact. A fact you repeated, loudly to anyone that would listen as you were bathed in rich black leather.

“I think maybe you meant to grab negasonic teenage whatchacallit… she’s great, super powerful!” You continue. “Did you mean to get Domino or Colossus or maybe one of the X-Men? “

“No Miss Y/L/N. We have not got the wrong person for the job.” The man you later find out is called Paradox, calls out as you re-enter the operation headquarters. “Mr Wilson requested your presence; he wanted your assistance on his mission.”

“Y/N/N… ten out of ten, baby girl, I one hundred percent would bang. I’m talking raw dog, Barry White on a rug, let’s go all fuckin’ night.”  Wade hollers in his own brand-new suit and even you must admit, you look fucking amazing. “Sweet angel, we’ve just gotta’ come up with a superhero name for you!”

You are enrobed in rich thick black and teal leather, your first ever hero suit and it’s a fucking good one. It doesn’t cling, but instead pulls you in securing your flesh and extenuating curves, ones you hadn’t entirely realised you had. The bottom half your face is concealed with a mask, carefully crafted to follow the contours of your nose and cheekbones.

You’d barely recognised the mysterious figure in the mirror.

“Right?! Tailor was pretty handsy though!”

“Oh yeah, ha! - that man is indeed a predator.” Wade says with a chuckle and a fond sigh.

It shames to you to say but that’s when you stopped fighting this whole thing. You looked the part of a hero; you thought that maybe the TVA knew what they were doing. That they had seen something in you and knew that you had a good heart under all the darkness that lingered on the surface.

Wrong.

You were just a demand Wade had made. He wanted his number one disciple at his side whilst he carried out his sacred mission. You were part of an attempt at appeasing him whilst they destroyed your timeline.

Little more than a pawn to be used whilst they manipulated him into a false sense of security.

Thus, you were thrown into a series of events far beyond your control when Wade being Wade decided you were hunting down a Wolverine to stabilise the timeline, only to be once again fucking zapped into some place they called the void by that little English shitbird named Paradox. It’s entirely accurate to say that you were a little less sturdy than your compadres.

Unfortunately for you, the fall from such a height into the void was fatal. When you finally awake in the desolate wasteland to the sounds of blades clashing it is disorientating to say the least.

Forcing yourself to your feet you lower your mask and gasp in the sweet strangely stale oxygen as you stretch out your newly healed spine with a groan. It was impossible to tell how long you were out as you take in the scene before you; Wade and the Wolverine are engaged in a heated battle. From the looks of it, Logan is winning this fight despite being the human equivalent of a knife block with Wade’s katanas protruding from his chest.

For a moment you pause, perhaps its head trauma that hasn’t healed (He’s fucking Deadpool, he can look after himself for two minutes) and appreciate his form, the Wolverine the two of you had kidnapped was gorgeous. Tch, as if there was any other kind.

Sure, you were biased you’d always been somewhat of a fangirl, but the Wolverine was objectively breath-taking.

You’d indulged in comics whilst growing up but when you found out he was real and looked the way he did, hell, Wolverine was your sexual awakening. He was the first man to make you feel that tingle in your lower stomach. Yes, you may have been thirteen years old, a ball of puppy fat and social anxiety but you’d been waiting for him ever since. 

You’re snapped out of your reverie when Wade loses baby knife in Logan’s shoulder blade, finally you spring into action. In good time as well as you’re not sure if even Deadpool can survive decapitation.

In the singularly most stupid act of your life you throw yourself in front of your friend’s body. “Wait, Wait! Please!”  

Wade has paused behind you, you can feel him weighing up the situation, pausing for a moment to see what you’re going to pull out of the bag.

“The TVA they can fix it, whatever you did, whatever made you the worst Logan, they can fix it! – They have the power to end universes, but they also have the power to fix yours! Help us get back there and we can fix both of our worlds! I promise, they can fix it.” You plead, it’s not quite a lie exactly, more of an Educated Wish than anything.

Okay it is a lie, but you’re sure that the TVA can most likely, probably, maybe fix his world.

Logan’s eyes lock with yours in that moment you can see that he wants to kill you both and be done with it, but that hope won’t let him. You feel a smidgen of guilt for the deceit, but frankly you’ve done worse for less. Your world was on the line it wasn’t the time to pull your punches.

Fast forward four exhausting hours, two periods of unconsciousness and one flaying to find yourself sat opposite Wade gagging down cold spoonful’s of Spam in some dusty ass diner.

You were no better than a man as you watched the Wolverine.

Those arms, those thighs, the way he had beheaded Sabretooth without even breaking a fucking sweat. You wanted him to wrap those instruments of death he called hands around your throat and fuck you dirty until the sun came up.

It had been a long exhausting day and you had been soaking wet for most of it.

Shit, could he smell that? Does that count as sexual harassment? You’d have to ask Wade.

Logan, however, was utterly dismissive of your advances in the face of what was undoubtedly utterly horrific past trauma. Something you were trying to be understanding about, but self-pity in a man, it just turned you on. I said you had some surface layers of darkness.

Unable to help yourself you gaze at him as he opens a bottle of rubbing alcohol. You are utterly entranced, watching the thick chords in his throat bob as he takes a swig.

That tanned skin where his jaw ends and neck begins, slick with sweat and dirt. You’d love to sink your canines into the strip below his ear. He must feel your stare on him as he looks up and catches your eyes dark with lust already surveying his person.

It should embarrass you, that every time he peers your way, he catches you gaping at him like a lovesick puppy, but there’s something about Logan you can’t quite put your finger on. The man heats your blood like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, maybe it’s that torch you’ve carried for him since girlhood, maybe it’s the thick thighs you’d kill to ride – who can say for sure?

In what you assume is against his better judgement, he comes to perch on the booth beside you. His broad shoulders cast an imposing figure as he gets close enough that if you were to move your hand a couple of inches to the right, you’d finally be able to touch that yellow fabric that plagued your tween dreams.

You’re burning up at the thought of him, unable to stop yourself you part your legs slightly to ease some of the pressure. Logans nose twitches, his head swivels your way and his eyes catch your own.  

Welp - at least you have your answer about him smelling your arousal.

Deciding that you were most likely verging on sexual harassment charges you decided to focus back in on the task at hand, gagging once again at another spoonful of spam.

“Be a good girl and swallow, Y/N/N, you know the rules!” Wade jokes, your chortle was your only response. What could you say? He always hit your funny bone despite the ocean that was raging in your panties.

Logan stares at Wade for a long moment before turning to your way and addressing you for maybe only the fourth time today?

“What are you doing with this fucking clown? You his sidekick? Following him round to laugh at his stupid fucking jokes whilst he gets kids killed?”

“Why I have never.” Wade is faux outraged at his words, clutching his imaginary pearls as the Wolverine throws around accusations that aren’t entirely untrue.

The Wolverine’s expression remains stern as his eyes track your face. They seem to be evaluating your character and from the flare in his nose and crease in his brow you can guess he finds you lacking. You’re embarrassed to admit how much that deflates you, so you do what you do best; you deflect.

 “I could follow you around and laugh at your jokes instead, if you like?” When you speak your voice has a sultry edge to it and there’s no mistaking your intentions.

Logan seems to think on your proposition for a second or two, before he huffs grabs his rubbing alcohol and unopened can of Spam and heads over to sit at the bar.

“Holy hot ham and cheese on rye, Y/N, you fucking slut.” Wade berates you though his voice is as light as it’s always been as he boots your shin under the table. “Trying to your holes filled by Wolvie during a world saving mission, Marvel H Christ, stay on fucking task!”

You swear you hear Logan mutter a Jesus Christ from the bar.

Though as Wade continues irritating the hero hunched against bar, you can’t help the realisation that he didn’t say no.

“You’re uh… well regarded in our world.” Wade complements, being real doesn’t come easy to him. You appreciate the effort.

“Well, I’m not shit in mine.”

“I tried to join the X-Men because of you.” You speak up finally joining their conversation. Wolverine’s back goes rigid, but he doesn’t respond. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to continue or hoping you’ll stop. “You made a difference to this world, made me think I could do the same. I just never quite make the cut.”

Logan doesn’t seem to have a response.

It seems your words have an effect as you catch him watching you more often. When Wade makes his jokes, he looks to you for validation of his withering looks.

You’re probably more distracted by this revelation than you should be when the three of you come across a real nasty variant of Colossus seeking out Wade for… you want to say… revenge?

The not-so-gentle-anymore-giant flips the Honda and tosses both Wade and Logan through the treeline as they advance on him as if they were little more than toys his mother had asked him to pick up.

One by one your bullets ricochet from his metal skin as he comes towards you. You aren’t built for this fight; you are completely and utterly outmatched.

All you’re doing at this point is buying yourself some time for your backup to pull themselves from the rubble, however during a particularly spirited cartwheel the metal oaf finally gets his hands on you. Colossus’ metal palm is cold on your throat, and you could swear you hear your neck snapping before you feel it.  

With a gasp you return to life to find a slightly dishevelled Logan standing above you. By the grace of god, his sleeves have been worn away in the fight, his arms, oh sweet lord, his arms are on full display.

“Thought you were a goner.” He offers you a hand when you simply stare mutely his way. Locking your fingers around his wrist he pulls you to your feet. You don’t release your hold on him and neither does he.

“Don’t throw the party just yet, eh?” You joke weakly, for a second you could swear there’s a slight raise of the corner of his mouth, imperceptible, if you didn’t know what you were looking for. In the past few hours you had become an expert on Wolverine’s face.  

Your mouth is dry as you take in his thick sweat laden biceps.

“Where’s Wade?” You query whilst rolling your aching neck as you haven’t heard his voice in a record thirty seconds, Logan suddenly remembers himself and drops your hand.

“’fraid Metal man took your clown, was pissed with him and can’t say I blame the guy.”

“Shit.” You sigh rubbing your temples as you kneel to pick up the dismembered arm of your best friend. “Well – fuck. That’ll take him a few hours at least to grow back – He’ll be so sad about his suit.”

You peel the fabric from the limb and tuck it under the breast plate of your own suit. Wade will want his glove back when it grows back.

“He say where he was taking him?”

“Oh yeah, that along with his plan for world domination...” Logan huffs as if your mere presence annoys him.

“Thought you didn’t like sarcasm.”

“I like sarcasm just fine, Bub. It’s you I don’t like.” You can’t help but smile his way at the comment made at your expense, his brows crease. “You’re a strange one.”

“Can you do your sniffy thing?”  Its impressive, you thought he’d reached the limit with his scathing looks towards Wade, yet he somehow manages to pull a deeper frown out the vault especially for you.

“Sniffy thing?” His words are spoken with such derision, it turns you on a little. You realise that perhaps you are in fact a deeply troubled individual.

“Oh, sorry.” You pretend to clear a frog in your throat. “Please, oh, please, beautiful, handsome Wolverine, please can you locate my bestest pal with your heightened sense of smell?” His face doesn’t break despite your hands clasped in front of your chin.

“You’re just as fucking annoying as that moron.” He huffs “Get in the fucking car, we’ll follow his trail.”

“You can smell him from the car?”

“The blood, Jesus Fucking Christ, there’s a trail of blood.”

“Ah.” Is all you reply as you find your seat in the passenger side and start your own one on one team up with Wolverine. Its not exactly the way you imagined it, but beggars certainly can’t be choosers.

After a few moments of sullen silence, you decide that there’s no time like the present to form a long-lasting bond.

“What’s your world like?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Okay... What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they can save your world? I bet its something boring as fuck, like team-“

“What did you just say?”

“I bet you’re gonna do something boring like-“

“No before that.”

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they save your world?” You question, his sudden interest in your words takes you by surprise as he has been vacant from your conversation.

The breaks suddenly shriek as the car comes to a stop.

“What do you mean if?”

“I…”

“You said they could fix my world. Undo it all, is what you fucking said.”

“I mean I think they can!”

“You fucking liar.” The edge to The Wolverine’s voice is terrifying. The realisation trickles down your spine, Logan has been nice to you all this time, you’re finally meeting The Wolverine.

“I didn’t lie!” For some reason you’re ashamed of your deceit, you’ve murdered countless people and still, you’ve felt less remorse. Logan’s eyes pin you in your seat as disgust clouds his face. It hurts more than you can fathom. “Not exactly, I think they can fix your world! – I needed your help and if you killed Wade there was no hope for my universe!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about your universe!” He spits your way; his hands are gripping the wheel in what seems like an effort to keep his cool.

“I know, but I do!” You cry back at him. “You know how to save the world, you’re the fucking Wolverine! I know how to kill people, but this hero shit, this isn’t me!”

“Ha! No shit.” There is pure hate in the man’s eyes as he stares back at you.

“Please, you’re Logan. Whether you’re the worst one or not - You’re still better than me.”

“Get out of the fucking car.” The words come from between clenched teeth and are filled with warning.

“No – fuck you.”  Your rage breaks the banks to meet Logan’s. Perhaps it’s the guilt, maybe it’s the fear for Wade but something within you snaps at his constant bad temper. “It was an educated guess and a fucking reasonable one at that, get the fuck over yourself you big bird wannabe geriatric fucker! “

He slams his palms on the steering wheel, his nose flares and his teeth clamp together.  “Fuck me? Fuck you – you sad pathetic excuse for a side-kick. No wonder the X-Men wouldn’t take you, and they’ll take fuckin’ anyone. You are a ridiculous, immature, moron who spends her days following around a fucking clown to avoid facing the reality that you are no one. I have never met a sadder, more attention starved asshole in my entire life. You were right about one thing, you’re no fucking hero.”

Its shameful the way your stomach drops, and your eyes involuntarily begin to tear. To hear your hero say the words you’ve thought about yourself whilst laying awake at night. It’s a knife to the gut.

“Nothing to fucking say, huh, Angel?” The use of Wade’s nickname for you is like sandpaper on your skin, it rubs you the wrong fucking way.

“I am going to hurt you now.” Your voice is barely a broken whisper.

“You’re going to hurt – “His faux chortle is cut short by a swift punch to his face. You’re worried you may have been overzealous with your swing when his nose begins bleeding. The Wolverine is stunned for only a moment before he grabs the back of your neck and proceeds with smashing your face into the dashboard and those concerns are quickly put to bed.

The old fucker is strong, but you don’t think he’ll kill you, yet another educated wish.

“Not so tough now…” He shouts as the radio channels change with your skull. Pulling a knife from your leg strap you embed it in his thigh and pull the lever to recline your seat whilst he’s distracted, luckily, you’re not there when he swings for retribution.

Though one of his fucking steak knives catches your upper arm slicing through the leather. Warm blood trickles down your arm, staining the beige interior of the poor Honda. 

Your legs are your strongest asset, so when he attempts to restrain you with the seatbelt, you are presented with your window of opportunity. You wrap them around his neck as you pivot your hips slamming the Wolverine headfirst into the metal of the door. Once, twice, three times - on the fourth he lands a fist to your gut, luckily, he has retracted his claws.

If he was willing to kill you, you wouldn’t stand a chance.

You’re winded struggling to catch your breath from the gut punch, but you manage pull the knife from his thigh that is nestled between your legs and thrust it into his neck, you aim for the spot you’d fantasied about kissing before he’d torn your character apart piece by piece, now you just want to bathe in his fucking blood.

It was the pain that instantaneously made his claws extend. He’s quick to move them, though he slices through the sides of your suit as he buries them in the chair behind you. Your ribs are a bloodied mess though you don’t care, in a few hours they’ll be good as new.

Logan has seized the opportunity and has your arms pinned to your sides, his blood has cooled a little more than yours, he doesn’t seem to want to murder you over an argument.

Perhaps he’s more well-adjusted than yourself, that thought alone should concern you, except it just enrages you further.

“You stupid fuckin-“The Wolverine starts admonishing you, before you swing your head forward and headbutt him.

Yes.

You really do that.

You headbutt the man with the adamantium fucking skeleton– at full strength. Its sheer dumb luck you don’t crack your own skull in the process– maybe Logan was right, you are fucking dumb.

“Fucking fuck!” You cry grabbing your forehead and writhing. Noone wins with a headbutt, except Logan apparently.

“Fucking stop that.” Your writhing has pushed your core against his crotch, and he is already packing quite the heat at what feels like half-mast. He grabs your hips to stop your movement, but it only seems to push you closer. “Stop fucking moving.”

The constant arousal you’ve felt since meeting him returns in double time, Logan’s nostrils flare and his eyes darken. It’s debased and you’re ashamed that you want him, you haven’t stopped wanting him, despite the awful fucking words that left his mouth minutes ago.

“Like … a little pain Wolvie?”

Its relief you feel, you think, when instead of answering or punching you in the face, he closes the gap.

The Wolverine’s claws retract, and he grabs at your chin. Logan’s mouth utterly devours your own, your front tooth clashes with his own as you push yourself upwards, you pull your knife out of his neck, catching his grunt of pain on your tongue as you begin licking your way down his thick throat.

The vein you’d spotted hours ago is throbbing freshly healed, you sink your canines into the flesh and its as good as you’d fucking imagine. His groan is utterly beast-like as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

The Wolverine’s throat tastes like salt and iron. Thick, tangy and warm on your tongue as you soothe the bite. It drives Logan wild, thrusting his hardened member against your warmth. One of his gloved hands rises to lock on the back of your neck to pull you into yet another earth-shattering kiss.  His sharp hot tongue slides against your own, exploring the expanses of your mouth like its his to claim.

You bite at him again then, your teeth catching his bottom lip sharply.  Logan groans into your mouth before you use every ounce of your enhanced strength to throw him backwards against the dashboard.

He is taken utterly by surprise as his head slams into the windscreen cracking the glass with a grunt. When he looks your way Logan’s eyes are blackened with desire, he is utterly wild.

Slowly as if afraid to make any sudden moves, you unzip your combat boots, your eyes never leaving his. One boot and then the next.

You thank the TVA’s tailor for making your suit a two piece as you shuffle backwards into the backseat, pushing the thick leather down your legs all whilst maintaining eye contact with the beast leaning against the dashboard.

“You sure you want this Darlin’?”

“Darlin’?” You question mockingly, your voice lowering to imitate his own, as you wantonly spread your legs, your bare leg resting next to the headrest. Only a pair of black cotton panties separate him from your most intimate parts and his eyes are locked on your clothed core. “a second ago it was ‘Pathetic Moron’ to you.”

Your head tilts in question as his eyes lock back on your own, you think perhaps for a moment something akin to regret passes over his face, but you’ve never been entirely comfortable with feelings, so you drop your hand into the waistband of your panties, you’ve barely circled your opening with your pointer finger before he’s on you.

“That’s my job, you fucking Moron.” He plunges two bare thick fingers into your heat. Gasping you throw your head back against the headrest, it’s a tight fit and its been a while but the slight burn eases some of the aching in your core.  “You’re fuckin’ soaking wet, you like it huh, bub? Making me bleed?”

Your grab his jaw, your nails digging into his flesh. “I’d like to bathe in-” He scissors his fingers finding that spot inside you and you let out an embarrassing noise, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. “-Your fucking blood… you mean motherfucker.”

You’re an absolute goner when he starts rubbing your clit, after a day of foreplay your body seizes, and you grab at the nape of his neck trying to find something to anchor you down. But as fast as the build was you come tumbling down just as quickly, when he cruelly withdraws his hands.

“No! - Wha- what the fuck?!” You’re almost crying as your torn from the precipice.

Logan flips you over onto your stomach before you can complain any further, your face down on the filthy upholstery as he pulls your panties from your hips. You can’t see him from this angle, though you can feel his warm hands tracing the globes of your ass.

You force your knees further apart, pushing your bare soaking pussy against the tight bulge of his yellow suit. If you had enough of your facilities about you, you’d be embarrassed that you’re currently rubbing your cunt against The Wolverine like a bitch in heat after he’d chewed you out only minutes ago.

Logan’s hand dip between your thighs, his fingers swirl along your hole, dragging your wetness along to your aching clit.

“You think I’d make it that easy?” He asks as he continues the journey back and forth. On the second pass he dips his finger inside of you for a fraction of a second before resuming its path. “What do you want, darlin’?”

You weren’t going to beg, in fact you bit your tongue to stop the traitorous words from forming, this man had already made you abandon most of your self-respect, he wasn’t having this.

“Logan…” At your breathy words the man leans forward, pressing his fabric covered cock into your ass as he folds his body over yours. One hand comes down next to your shoulder, the other explore your tits as he rocks himself into your throbbing core. It’s the perfect storm as he nuzzles into your exposed throat but somehow you manage your words. “Fuck me or don’t, I’m not begging, bub.”

He exhales through his nose in what you guess is equal parts amusement and annoyance, but you’re far beyond caring. He places a bite on the spot where your throat meets your shoulder as his body pulls back. Momentarily his hands leave your hips to deal with his own pants. You hear the clank of his belt hitting the car floor moments before you feel the head of his cock, running along your folds.

The head of his cock is thick, and it feels hot to the touch as he runs it along your slick. All of a sudden Logan pushes forward and sheathes himself inside of you with a single thrust.

You try your best to hold in your incoherent moans but to little avail as he pulls back before slamming full force back into you. If you were a human woman, your pelvis would’ve shattered from the force of his hips against your ass, instead you gather your strength and push back, allowing him deeper. The both of you moan in unison at the depth he reaches.

You grab onto the foam of the seat, ripping through the fabric with your bare hands desperate for an anchor as Logan unforgivingly pounds into you from behind, once again he folds his body over yours, wrapping a palm around your clawed fingers.

“.” He grunts something incoherent into your ear as he picks up the pace, slamming into you repeatedly, slowly picking up his pace. Your core is positively aching as you throb around him, pulling him deeper within you.  If you were expecting any further explanation, you’re sorely disappointed.

The wolverine pulls back, gripping at your hips keeping you still as he resumes his powerful strokes.  Logan’s hand dips to your clit, rubbing quick circles sending you barrelling back towards your orgasm. As you begin to clench around him, he pulls your body upwards, his head brushing against the top of the car as he holds you against him his fingers never leaving your clit.

“Come on my cock, Angel.” Unable to stop yourself you clench around him, hearing him talk like that does something primal to you.

You fucking loved Logan’s mouth, you bet he ate pussy like a champion if he played the clit this fucking well.

You stopped fighting it and threw yourself from the cliff, shattering in his thick muscle veined arms as he held you up against him, his cock still viciously plundering your depths.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He whispers against your neck whispers peppering it with bites.

Logan gives you a few moments to come down from your high before he resumes his punishing pace, you think perhaps you’ve reached your limit of pleasure, that the threshold can’t possibly be topped until he whispers into your ear in that gruff voice.

“What was it Wilson said? Filling all your holes?” The Wolverine asks, his eyes meet yours over your shoulder meaningfully, asking permission as he offers you his thumb. You merely moan your approval and wantonly draw his finger into your mouth, soaking the pad in saliva.  

Logan yanks your head into a vicious kiss. It’s a messy one, filled to the brim with need. The hand not currently locked on your neck holding your face to his, travels down your back, through the valley of your bodies. The pad of his pinky runs appreciatively over the globe of your ass, before his hand dips into the crease.

Logan’s thumb runs teasingly against the tight ring of muscle, it’s a foreign experience which makes you startle slightly.

“Anyone ever fucked you here?” He asks as he bites down your neck, delicately pushing you forward until your head rests on the backseat. You shake your head as your eyes close, his cock is buried balls deep within you as he plays with your asshole.

When his thumb finally breaches your tight hole just past the nail, he begins his thrusts once more. His cock fills your pussy from behind and suddenly you feel so fucking full, Its far too much for you.

“Fuck… Logan.” You gasp almost on the verge of tears as pounds you into the back seat. It seems the ass play has gotten to him more than expected, as his pace has increases.

“Where?” He asks breathless from the exertion as he pulls his thumbs from your ass and takes a handful of the meat on your hips.

“Inside…. Please … Logan.” You practically beg though you’ll never admit it, his rhythm becomes stunted as his hips slam into the back of your thighs.

“Give me something tight to come in, Darlin’.” Moaning at his words you’re eager to obey as you reach your hand between your own legs and rub mercilessly at your clit. The unforgiving pounding, the grunting and the fingers currently bruising your hips and the burning of your now vacant ass send you sailing over the edge.

You clamp down on him like a vice, groaning unable to hold back your whimpers anymore as he finally bites your neck and pumps his seed deep inside you as far as it can go. Logan grunts like a beast as he pulses deep inside of you.

Logan collapses beside you. Dents in the interior of the van you don’t even remember making have appeared from where a stray elbow or knee has hit the metal in the throes of passion.

The Wolverine tucks his cock back in his suit. Ever the gentleman, he uses your black panties to wipe away the cum dripping from your thighs, you haven’t got the heart to tell him that when you’re commando redressed in your suit that you can still feel him dripping from you, your pussy uncomfortably slick against the leather.

After dressing, the two of you sit in contemplative silence. Neither one of you has the emotional complexity to discuss what happened and neither one of you will accept fault for your argument that led to it, so, silence reigns.

The tension is sliced in two as Logan leans forward and pushes an errant lock of hair behind your ear in an act so goddamn endearing, you melt. You still wouldn’t apologise for lying, because you didn’t lie but you can meet him a quarter of the way.

“I’m sorry for calling you geriatric.” You whisper catching his eyes, a small spark of humour leaps into them, you’ve seen more emotions from your hero in the past half an hour than you knew he was capable of.

“I shouldn’t have-“ Logan’s heartfelt apology is cut off by the lead of this goddamn story.

“Well, well, well.  Would you look at this, My best friends, Ha! I get fucking kidnapped, an arm ripped off and you’re nowhere to be found? I thought don’t worry Wade, they won’t leave you, Y/N/N will come around that corner any second."

Wade has appeared through the passenger side window; he looks a little worse for wear and has a child’s arm growing from his stump, its kind of gross to look at.

"What if Colossus had had his way with me? What then Y/N? I expect this from Wolvie, but not from you! No, no heroic rescue for old Deadpool. I have to save myself because you fuckers are too busy playing hide the adamantium bone!  Thanks for nothing guys. Now the car has old man sex stank to it, as if this hunk of shit Honda could get any worse!”

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

Like You Mean It | H.S

summary: you're tired of only ever meeting trash men, but your best friend and roommate harry shows you that there are still good guys out there, and what it really means to be a giver.

word count: 5.3k

reading time: 22 min

content warning ⚠️: housemate/bff!harry au, nonfamous!harry, friends to lovers, shitty men (not harry), smut, fluff, fingering, penetration (p in v), very light D/s dynamics (if you squint), softdom!harry, dirty talk, nicknames (baby, babe), very light degradation/humiliation kink (if you squint)

a/n:  i saw a text post that said “girl don’t text that man. make yourself cum and forget about him.”(solid advice lol)  and then this happened. also not to be an astrology girlie but he’s an aquarius with libra placements….this man is the perfect fwb.

“Harry, can I get a man's perspective on something?” you ask, turning to Harry next to you on the couch. You had begged Harry out of his room for a movie night as a ruse, but your nose had been buried deep in your phone the whole night. Re-reading and overanalyzing old text messages between you and the object of your anxiety.

You don’t often go to Harry for help with men, but his advice on other areas of your life is always sound, and you respect his opinion.

“If you’re asking me for help, he’s not worth your time.” He sighs, not looking away from the movie, hugging a pillow to his chest. 

“I’m serious, I need your help.” you whine, tugging on his sleeve. He turns and looks at your dramatic pout, “Please.” 

“Alright, I’ll bite.” He huffs. “What is it?” 

“As a man, do you prefer texting or like a call? Or maybe FaceTime?”  

Harry barks out a laugh at the ridiculous question, before looking over at you, and realizing your dead serious. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, tossing his head back against the couch. “I mean I’m more of a talker, and I like seeing who I’m talking to, so I prefer FaceTime. But I guess it depends on the girl and how long I’ve been talking to them. What our situation is, and stuff.  Which one of your boy toys are we talking about?” he asks. 

“Cameron.” you grimace.

Cameron is admittedly your least favorite of the boys on your roster, but your most tenured member. And the one Harry hates most. In the beginning you thought it could be something real. He was sweet and did a decent job at wooing you. That is until - in Harry’s eyes - he coerced you into a friends with benefits arrangement. Harry could tell that you liked him, and to see him treat you as terribly as he did, got Harry’s blood boiling. You deserved better, that much you both could understand. What Harry couldn't understand however was why you would even consider speaking to him again after the last time you were in contact.  

Instead of saying what he truly thought, or giving you a hard time, he just pinched the space between his brow with an exasperated sigh. 

“I know, I know,” you grumble.

“How long has it been since you’ve heard from him?” 

“A while. But he reached out recently and - ” 

“I thought you were done with him.” he deadpans, eyes glued to yours. 

“I was, but we got coffee last week and he apologized.” 

“Coffee?” Harry groans in disgust at the low effort. He pauses the movie, and turns to you, “Don’t text him. Don’t call him. Go back in there,” he says pointing down the hallway towards your room. “Make yourself come, and forget about him. For your sake and mine.” 

“Harry!” you laugh, hitting him with a throw pillow.  

“You think I’m joking, but I’m serious.” he concedes with a chuckle, “You don’t even like him.” 

“I like him enough.” 

“He’s a terrible fuck.” 

“He…gets the job done.” you defend voice cracking. 

“Everytime he leaves, there's suddenly a consistent buzz coming from your bedroom.” He scoffs. You go to defend yourself with heat rising to your face. You stammer a bit but not quite getting words out before he continues, “I’m a grown man, I know what a vibrator sounds like.” He smirks, and you giggle covering your face. 

“Jesus.” you laugh, “Look, I’ve tried your way already…and it’s not doing the trick.” you pout, “So tell me, how pathetic would I be  if I were to reach out to him.”

“I don’t think you’d be pathetic, love.” he soothes 

“Then why are you so against me texting him?”  

Because you deserve better! Why can’t you see that? He thinks, These guys don’t deserve you. If I were them I’d - 

“Harry?” you ask, snapping him out of his thoughts. It’s in the glow of the television, and the small light on the side table that Harry is able to admire your adorable pout and curious eyes. He’s always had a little crush on you throughout the entirety of your friendship. One he knew you could feel and was reciprocated. There were a few drunken confessions of your attraction for one another that were joked about the following morning. Then there was the holiday kiss . One New Year for ‘good luck’. But there was also a promise. A pinky promise, to never risk the friendship you had. To keep things platonic.  It was a promise that was becoming more and more difficult for both of you to keep. 

When you two agreed to move in under the same roof for economic reasons, you knew it would be an adjustment, with both of you having been living on your own for years. But you were excited. Living alone could get lonely and overwhelming. So having your best friend of years, under the same roof and splitting responsibilities felt like a huge weight lifted off of your shoulders. 

But being in such close proximity meant that it was becoming harder to keep your promise. Especially when things just felt so domestic with the two of you. Cooking dinner together, movie nights, cuddling together on the couch. It was hard for both of you not to let your minds wander to a reality where you were more than just friends. 

But you were friends, and as long as that boundary was there, there was nothing stopping either of you from being young, wild and free. So there were parties, and one night stands, and situationships. All in an attempt to distract you both from the truth. Because no matter how pretty the girls were that Harry brought home, no matter how sweet and kind they were. The only face he saw when they were splayed out in his bed…was your. 

And after a very awkward Sunday morning breakfast with one of your one night stands meeting Harry, you stopped bringing guys home all together. Opting for spending weekends away. A change Harry didn’t like, and lectured you over. “It’s not safe. You don’t know these guys. At least if you bring them here, I’m here if you need me.” he’d argued. All that did was keep you from seeing anyone for a while.  Which is how you ended up even considering talking to Camreon again. 

“Look” Harry finally says, turning his body towards you, “if you’re that sexually frustrated I’ll… help you out.” 

You tilt your head, letting out a nervous giggle, waiting for his real response. But it never comes, he just…smirks at you. 

“Oh,” you whisper, heart beating against your ribs. “You’re serious.” Harry nods, biting his lip. The offer was…promising, and the way Harry looked at you was intriguing. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t give you butterflies.  That the last month or so things haven’t  felt different between you two, something less than romantic, but certainly more than platonic. It was messing with your head for sure. But you were friends. Regardless of how fit you thought he was, you didn’t have the right to blow up your over decade long friendship just because you were horny. You clear your throat blinking up at him, shaking your head,“Thanks for the offer, Har but -” 

“Yeah no…you’re right. It’s - dumb idea.” He stammers, “I do think you just need to let off some steam, and then you’ll forget about him.” 

“Yeah. I guess.” 

He sees you deflate a bit at his words, and he realizes you didn’t expect  him to give up so easily. So he tries again a little more directly “And not to be that guy but I’ve been told I’m pretty talented, and if making you come keeps you from making a repeated mistake then I’ll take one for the team.” 

“Gee, thanks.” you scoff. 

“I just mean. You’re my friend, and I’m trying to be a helping hand.” he says sweetly before the smirk returns, “And tongue.” He laughs, and you roll your eyes. “And on a serious note, you’re too special of a woman to have to deal with mediocre sex from a guy that clearly - and I’m sorry to say - couldn’t give two shits about your Love. If you need to…get your rocks off, why not with someone you trust? With someone that actually cares about you?” Harry says sweetly. 

“Really?” you ask, and he nods, “And if we cross this line, it won't ruin our friendship.” 

“Cross my heart.” He says drawing an ‘x’ over his chest. 

“What about Taylor?” you ask, thinking of the pretty blonde that you’ve caught making breakfast in your kitchen a few times. You're trying to give him an out. But he doesn’t take it. 

“Out of the picture.” he smiles, “Has been for a while.” He admits, and before you get a chance to offer your condolences, he asks “So what do you say?”  

“Okay.” 

“Alright.” he smirks, “Come here.” He says softly, reaching for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. You scoot closer to him on the couch, your knees touching his thigh.  Your breath hitches in your throat as his other hand rests on your cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb.

He leans in slowly, his breath fanning across your face, his lips inches away from yours. His emerald eyes dart from yours down to your lips, back to your eyes. 

“You’re sure?” he asks. You nod your head slowly, eyes glued to his lips as he speaks. You watch as they curve up into a seductive smirk, “Words, baby. Want to hear you say it.” He coaches. 

He wants to hear you say it because the truth is, he can’t believe this is finally happening. He gets why you both agreed to not cross this boundary for so long. For the sake of your amazing friendship. But being this close to you now, seeing the look in your eye, the want and anticipation. Feeling the way he lit up touching you. It all seemed so silly. Why deny yourselves the pleasure of giving in to such chemistry, when life was so short? 

“I’m sure.” you whisper, “Are you?” 

“Oh, I’m positive.” he purrs, before leaning forward finally bringing his lips to yours. You sigh into the kiss, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips on yours. Immediately, the kiss feels different than anything you’ve shared in the past. What starts off as a soft sweet pecks, familiarizes yourselves with one another, quickly evolves into a hurried frenzy. Tongues swirling, teeth clicking, and with Harry’s hand having come down to rest on your neck, thumb caressing your jugular possessively your head was spinning. You gasp  into the kiss, trying to catch your breath but all you could do was breathe in more of Harry. It’s when he nipped at your bottom lip licking at the skin after, that you have a moment of clarity. Pulling away slowly you, run your hand through the hairs at the nape of his neck making him look up at you. 

“You okay?” he asks, worry etched into his features. 

“If we’re going to do this,” you begin, “ I have one condition.” 

“Okay.” he prompts 

“Want you to fuck me like you mean it.” you whisper, voice shakily. 

“Planned on it, Love.” He smiles, bringing you back into the kiss, lifting you up onto his lap to straddle him. You drape your arms around his shoulders and lean forward bringing your lips back down to his. Any nerves you’d had earlier slip away with each swipe of his tongue into your mouth, and grind off your hips down onto his hardening cock. He moans into your mouth as you grind your hips into his, and you couldn’t help but smirk into the kiss. 

He sounds so pretty, you thought. 

He lets out another groan, as his hands roam up your thighs to your hips, gripping them firmly and pulling you as close to him as he could. He pulls his lips away from yours in favor of kissing down your neck. His lips roam up and down trying to find your favorite spot, and when he does, you let out a lewd moan, pulling at his hair. He groans into your neck and continues sucking and nibbling. He licks a stirp up your neck, dragging your earlobe into his ear sucking at it. Before he pulls away looking at you with a proud grin on his face, watching you. 

“Why’d you stop?” you pout, leaning your forehead against his. 

“I’m not fucking you on the couch.” He chuckles and you giggle. “Your bedroom or mine?” he asks as he untucks your lip from your teeth with his thumb. “Wherever you’d feel most comfortable.” 

You didn’t have to think for more than a moment before answering. “Is it okay if we go to yours?” you ask nervously. If you were going to get the Harry Styles special, you wanted the whole experience. 

“Of course.” he smiles, giving you a quick peck, “Hold onto me.” he instructs and you hook your arms and legs around him as he stands up and makes his way down the short hallway to his bedroom. He leans in and kisses your cheek 

It is a little strange, how natural it all feels. How your lips seemed to slot perfectly with his, how he grabs your ass so dominantly in his hands, how you instinctually nuzzle into his neck, sucking just below his ear like he did for you. It’s as if  this whole thing, your dynamic, was sitting there all along, just waiting to come to the surface. 

He kicks his bedroom door open, kicking it back closed once inside. Breathy swears falling from his lips as you suck on a spot just below his ear. He sets you down on your feet as you pull away from his neck, bringing your lips back to his. Your hands move from around his shoulders to the elastic of his sweats. You pull at the strings keeping the material around his hips. But Harry stops you, pulling away from the kiss, holding your wrists in his hands.

“Hey, hey.” he coos, tilting your head up to look at him. “This is about you. Remember?” 

“Right.” you sigh, “Sorry.” It was a force of habit. Focusing on pleasing your partner, without much thought of your own pleasure. 

“It’s okay.” he smiles softly, “Don’t worry about me. Just let me take care of you.” He lifts your hands to his lips kissing each of the back of your hands,  “Okay?” you nod and he places a quick peck to your lips,  “Get up on the bed, for me.” There was something in his voice, a tone you’ve never heard before nor could you pin down, but it already had your stomach doing somersaults. 

You crawl your way up the bed, laying down amongst the mountain of pillows and it suddenly hits you what you’ve agreed to. Did you have some nerves about the possibility of ruining your longtime friendship? Of course. But the primary feeling was anticipation. You’ve heard Harry take many women to heaven in this very room, in this very bed through the thin walls of your apartment, dozens of times.  And now as you lay in his sheets… It's your turn.

He watches from the foot of the bed as you settle into his bed, admiring the sight of you there. You're quick to remove your shirt, but you keep your bottoms and bra on. You watch as he strips himself of his band t-shirt, and sweats admiring his tattooed littered chest and arms. Your eyes follow the trail of hair from his navel to the growing tent in his boxer briefs. He notices you admiring, watching as his muscles contract as he moves up the bed to you, a smirk plastered to his lip. 

“Eyes up here.” he jokes, and you snort out a chuckle, as he hovers above you with elbows on either side of your head. You bring your arms, sound his shoulders, pulling him down on you, enjoying the weight of him on top of you. 

“Shut up.” you smile, kissing him. You try to lead the kiss, but eventually give in to Harry, allowing him to choose the pace, too distracted and consumed by the feelings of his hands roaming your body. As he teases your mouth open with his tongue, you nibble at his bottom lip wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer to you. You both moan as the tip of his clothed cock catches onto your clothed pussy. Your pussy throbs at the sensation and you roll your hips up into his, begging for some friction. But Harry holds your hip in the softness of his mattress.  He pulls away, caressing your cheek, running a thumb along your kiss bitten lips. 

“Let me take my time. Want you to enjoy this. I’m going to give you what you need. I promise.” 

You nod, looking up at him through your lashes, “Okay.” you sigh

“Just relax.” he leans down, kissing your lips, “Do you trust me?” 

“Yeah - of course.” 

“Good.” Harry smiles, his dimpled smile, before continuing your kiss, hungrily kissing your lips, down to your neck. Kissing and sucking trying to find your most sensitive spot. When he does,  he nibbles and sucks, groaning into you as he feels you relax in his arms, with each swipe of his tongue on your neck. His hand reaches behind you, fiddling with the hooks of your bra. “Can I take this off?” he rasps. 

“Mhmm, yeah.” you rush out, helping him shimmy your arms out of the annoying barrier.  Before you get the chance to pull him back down to you chest to chest, Harry pauses, looking from your chest to your eyes.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous” he whispers, a hand cupping one of your breasts, pinching the pebbled skin of your nipple. He dips his head down, drawing the other nipple into his mouth sucking on the nub, before releasing it with a pop. You couldn’t help the lewd moan that escaped your lips. It’s needy and breathy and if it were anyone else above you,  you’d maybe be embarrassed with just how desperate you sound. But the way Harry is worshiping you, and moaning into your chest, you knew he was enjoying this just as much.

He works his way up from your breasts back to your neck, sucking and kissing anywhere his lips could reach. You wrap your hands around his shoulders pulling him in, for a deep kiss, until you feel his fingers tangle into the loose strings of your flimsy lounge shorts. 

“What about these?” he asks against your lips. “Can I take ‘em off?” 

“Please.” you gasp into his mouth. Without breaking the kiss the best you could, you lift your hips, as you help him get the shorts down your legs. 

With nothing but the thin material of your underwear between you.  You could really get a feel of Harry now as he grinded his hips into yours. He was thick, and just as hard as you were wet. After a few nudges of his cock against your pussy, Harry snakes a hand between the two of you, rubbing you through the thin cotton of your panties in small circles. 

“Mmhm.” you moan, rolling your hips into his hand. 

“This okay?” he huffs, leaning his forehead on yours. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, pulling him back down to your face for a kiss. “More.” 

Harry smirked at you teasingly, but obliged. Sliding your panties to the side, his thick warm fingers making contact with your clit. 

“Oh, fuck.” you huff. 

Harry usually likes to tease. He tells the girls in his bed to be patient, to be good girls and wait for the inevitable earth shattering pleasure he’s sure to spring on them. But you're not just some girl in his bed. You’re…you. And he’s never not given you whatever it is you wanted. Because as far as Harry is concerned, you deserve the world. And the truth is, even if you didn’t realize it, you have him wrapped around your perfectly manicured finger. 

“That feel okay?” Harry asks, rubbing you in tight circles. He dips his fingers further down your folds, collecting  the wetness at your entrance to wet your clit. He rubs at your pussy,  up and down, until you start bucking against his hand. 

“Mmhm” you nod, “so good.” you whimper. 

It’s beginning to become harder to focus. All you feel is Harry. His fingers, between your legs. His tongue massages yours. His breath fanning across your face, when he rests his forehead on yours. His hardening cock pressing into your thigh.  His weight on top of you. He was completely consuming your senses. 

His fingers dip down, teasing at your entrance drawing out a deep groan from you as your grip on his shoulders tighten. 

“What’s got you so wet? Huh?” he smirks into the kiss, as he teases your entrance. Your cheeks warm to his teasing tone.

“You.” you whine, “Feels so good, Harry.” 

“Yeah?” he smirks, “And this?” He coos, as he slowly, finally, slides a long finger inside. “This feel good, too?” 

“Oh, god.” you whimper, arching your back into the mattress, gripping at his shoulders.

Harry kisses your check, pulling back admiring how sweet you looked as his finger worked you open, pumping in and out of you. 

“Look at me.” he coos, curling his finger inside to that spongy spot inside of you. “Let me see you baby. Look at me.” He repeats, sweetly kissing your cheek. Slowly, and with all the focus you can muster, you peel your eyes open to look at Harry. “Good girl,” Harry praises, “you’re doing so good, Love.” Your breath hitches at his words as you feel your pussy tighten around his fingers.  “You gonna come on my hand? Already?” He smirks. 

His light teasing, mixed with the pet names, only has you barling closer to the edge. You're so, very close and the way you're looking up at Harry all blissed out has him ready to bust in his boxers. 

“Har-” 

He can sense the frustration. See how close you were, but not quite. He needed to see you come for him. 

“What is it baby?” he coos, kissing your cheek. 

“More. Harry,” you whine, “Please, please plea-” you whine, through a pout.

“Shhh….Okay. You can have,” Harry slowly inserts a second finger, while his thumb circled your clit, “anything you want.” 

“Fuc-” Your moan gets cut off with a kiss, as Harry continues to work his fingers in and out of you.

“There you go. Better?” 

“Ye- yes. Oh my god.” you whine. 

Harry continues working his fingers in and out of you, thumb rubbing your clit as you could feel your orgasm barrelling closer. 

“Come on,” Harry encourages, “come on my hand. Come for me.” he pants, through a kiss, fingers curling, maintaining their pace inside of you. 

“Shit!” you moan out, coming apart on his hand. 

“There you go. Good girl.” he praises, kissing you anywhere his lips can reach. You whimper, a shiver shooting through your body as your orgasm shook through you.  “Shhh, I got you. I got you.” he coos, slowing his fingers to a stop.   He withdraws his fingers from your center, eyes remaining on yours as he sucked his fingers clean, moaning around the digits. 

“You taste good.” he smirks, before leaning down, burying himself in your neck, sucking on the spot just below your ear. He pulls away, looking you in the eye admiring your fucked out state. He plants a kiss on each of your cheeks, and then kisses you deeply nipping at your lip. 

“You did so good.” Harry huffs into your mouth. You rake your fingers through his hair, still reeling from your orgasm, trying to use Harry to bring yourself back down to earth. “You’re pretty when you come.” he smiles down at you, kissing your lips, “Do you need a minute?” 

“No.” you mumble kissing his lips, “Just fuck me please.” Harry nods into the kiss, reaching into his nightstand for a condom. He’s quick to get rid of his bottoms and slip on the condom. 

“Harry.” you plead, rolling your hips up into his, as he slid his cock up and down your slit. He taps the head of his cock on your clit twice.

“Shhh, relax. I got you.” He coos stroking your cheek with one hand as he runs his cock more deliberately up and down your slit with the other. Harry kisses the corners of your mouth, and then places a kiss to your lips. He looks at you, eyes aflame with lust. He leans his forehead against yours, his breath fanning across your face, as he slowly pushes inside. You gasp, grab his shoulders, dig your nails into his skin. Harry hisses, tucking his face into your neck as he slowly worked you open with his cock, little by little thrusting in and out until he was fully settled inside. 

“Fuck, babe.” he sighs. He stays still for a moment, deep inside of you relishing in the feeling of your tight  walls wrapped around him. 

“Oh my god.” you gasp as swears fall from Harry’s lips above you. You thread your fingers into his hair, pulling lightly at his curls, drawing out more groans from him. “Move.” you whine, rutting your hips up into his. “Please, Harry.” 

He slowly begins to grind his hips down into yours, pulling back only slightly before driving back in, allowing you to feel every inch of him. “Fuck, you feel so good baby.” He praises. He’s quick to find a decent pace, his arms bracketing your head, forehead leaned against yours as he pounded into you with deep strokes. 

“Har- oh my god.” you moan, your pants of pleasure, fanning across Harry’s face, eyes screwed shut. 

“Look at me.” he rasps, kissing the corner of your mouth, “Please. Need to see you.” He moans. And he does. He needs it. You can hear it in his voice, and feel it in the way he caresses your hip. He must be closer to you. He needed to see you, all of you. 

So you grant his wish, peeling your eyes open and looking at him. And your pussy clenches at the sight of him. You don’t remember why you’d close your eyes in the first place. He was beautiful, like this. All kiss bitten lips, and flushed cheeks, curls glued to his brow and lust filled eyes. You threaded your fingers in his curls, brushing his curls away from his eyes. 

“You feel so good.” you gasp. 

Harry smirks, twirling his hips, “So do you.” You pull at his curls, a loud moan rips from your throat,  as a particularly hard thrusts hits your g-spot. Harry’s eyes flash with a new kind of focus, and lust as he hits it again. 

“‘S that it? ‘S that your spot, babe?” he huffs. You nod frantically, eyes glued to his lust filled ones as he continued pumping into you. “I want you to come for me again. I want to feel you. Please,” he pleads, “Need it.”  

“Oh god!” you cry out. The more he talked the closer you could feel yourself approaching your peak. “Harry -” you 

“Breathe through it, Love.” He instructs, keeping his rhythmic pace. As he grinds his hips down into yours, he demonstrates a breath, taking a deep breath in and out. You follow suit, feeling the heat pool in the bit of your stomach warm, as your orgasm grows closer and closer. 

“Harry - oh my god.” “I know, I know.” He gasps, “Let go, Baby.” And you do. Just like that, you coming around Harry’s cock, tightening around him as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm. “There you go,” he coos, dropping a kiss to your forehead, before tucking himself back into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “Good girl. Fuck baby.” 

Harry’s thrusts become sloppy as he struggles to hold himself up above you, feeling his own climax quickly approaching. “I’m gonna come baby.” Harry pants. 

“Please.” you whimper, holding his face in his hands. You bring your lips up to his, moaning into the kiss, “I want you to.” 

“Fuck.” He huffs, and with a few more deep strokes, Harry comes apart above you. 

He grinds his hips to a stop, burying himself into your neck, kissing your shoulder, as you run your nails up and down his back, trying to catch your breath. 

You stayed like that for a while, enjoying the weight of him on top of you, and Harry enjoying your hand in his hair. Once he heard your breath slow, he slowly pulled out of you, kissing your forehead, and rolling off of you.

“I’ll be right back.” he smiles.

“Okay.” you whisper with a sweet smile.   

Harry drags his boxer briefs up his legs, looking back at you with a smile before he’s out the door. 

“Shit.” you giggle, looking up at the ceiling. You look over at the clock on his nightstand, and smirk.  Nearly an hour and a half  has passed. I really got the Harry Experience ™ you muse, to yourself. 

Sitting up in bed, you scan the messy bedroom floor to find your clothes. Before you get a chase to put your bra back on, Harry is back with bottles of water, some snacks and a towel. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asks,  He sets down the two bottles of water, snacks on his nightstand.

“Getting dressed.” 

“What for?” he pouts, crawling into his bed, lifting his sheets for you to follow,  “Come back here.” you allow him to pull you back into his side, resting your head on his chest.  

“I don’t want to overextend my stay.” you whisper 

“You’re not.  Let me hold you for a bit. Not done taking care of you.”  

He kisses the crown of your head, and it feels almost too intimate, but still you relax in his arms, letting out a deep breath, allowing the gentle motion of his hand stroking your back to calm you. 

“Can you do me a favor?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Promise me that we’ll still be friends.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment. A little too long for your liking before he finally speaks. 

“I don’t think I can do that.” Harry says, and there's a slight panic at his words until you look up at him and see he’s smirking down at you. 

“I got you pussy whipped that quick, Styles?” you joke, poking at his side, and he laughs. 

“Maybe.” he smirks, before looking at you earnestly, “Or maybe hearing you moan my name made me realize it’s something I've wanted for a long time.” 

“Oh.” you sigh. 

“Or maybe I’m just selfish, and I don’t like the idea of anyone else seeing you that way. Especially if they aren’t going to treat you right.” 

“And you want to treat me right?” you smile

“I do.” He says firmly, “Give me a chance. Just one date. A real one. Ideally one where we stay clothed, and vertical.” he smirks.  “And if you don’t want to pursue anything, then…I’m happy to stay friends. But I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t try.” 

You look at him, trying to find a hint of dishonesty, but you couldn’t find it. 

“Okay, Styles. One date.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” you smile, snuggling back into his chest. 

Everything between you two has changed. That’s for sure. But maybe it’s for the better.  And maybe this is just the beginning. 

a/n: imagine harry as your fwb *deep sigh*

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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

THE SOUND OF SILENT GRAVES (X)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XI

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 15.5k

WARNINGS: Angst, threats, exploitation, stalking behavior, very dark/toxic modeling standards/expectations, body issues, scar descriptions, mentions of past intimacy, broody/stubborn Nikto, brief smut, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your mind doesn’t remember the first time you looked in the mirror and saw the beginnings of the flaws. Perhaps your nose was a bit too strange—lips a bit too…there the second you turned thirteen. Maybe fourteen. Fifteen. You know it started slow, like all poison does; the point to where you actually begin to pay attention to the chains around your neck. 

Your eyes hadn’t left where Nikto’s sweatpants sat so well over your hips for at least five minutes. Usually, you’d pick at those flaws here, on the cold bathroom tile with the black and white wash of nothingness. But this is distraction enough to block it out, at least for now. 

You smell like him. 

You’d noticed after you had woken up for the second time and had found Nikto gone—his thigh no longer the firm pillow to your skull. It startled you, admittingly, and you thought it was unlike him, but then your ears had picked up on the barked Russian sentences outside the bedroom door, drifting in from under the wood as your haze cleared. Best guess? He was on the phone with someone while you kept getting the rest he said you needed; you could only speculate how he got out from under you without making your eyes snap open. But, yes, it was undeniable that every ounce of your skin was bathed in his scent; marked, branded as if a sheep. 

Rotting wood coated in gunpowder, and gnawing metal that peels back flesh. 

It’s stuck in your nostrils as you itch at the side of your nose, blinking away from your reflected visage as if it’s on fire. 

Focus, you plead, and you don’t even know to whom. 

So much had happened, that the thought of your brain calming down was impossible. Nikto knew. He knew about the purpose of the parties, he knew about your doubts and fears, he knew your body. 

As you exit the bathroom, your mind slips into a dark thought—maybe learning to care about someone turns you into a bit of a stalker of your own. No one else could say they knew you as well as Nikto now does: your fears and your hopes. Not even Alyona, you flatten your lips at the realization, and you consider her your best friend. 

“Jesus,” you groan quietly after a moment, pushing your palms into your eyes with a heavy sigh. 

It can’t be past noon now, and you can’t run from this forever. 

The phone on your nightstand is taken up, and, sitting back on the bed, your eyes dart and skate past the tossed party dress on the floor, wishing someone would go out and burn it already. As the visible tear in the lace catches your attention, along with the slashed corset, there’s an unmistakable twitch at your lips, that only makes your chest tighten immediately after.

Clearing your throat, you turn back on the device and try to give it your undivided, though anxious, attention. The sound of sharp Russian beyond the door gives a sliver of comfort. 

But still…why hadn’t he woken you up? There’s a sliver of confusion that takes place in your mind, but you push it back softly.

The first wave of notifications is expected, and exactly the same as it had been before breakfast. 

Kliment Fedorov, Alyona, your Mom, even the investigators—texts and calls, ranging from clipped sentences to long paragraphs. Thumb hovering over the screen, you raise your opposite hand and rub at the base of your skull, a low sound in the back of your throat. There was so much, you didn’t even know where to begin. You should be worrying about the stalker, not your job. 

But…when had you not been worried about your job?

Just another thing to make me lose my mind faster, you think. God, this is getting to a point where I’m starting to not care if they get rid of me—at least then I’d be able to make my own decisions. You start with Aly, and you quickly slap the call icon just to ease your shaky fingers of the stuttered typing they would have had to do otherwise. Phone to ear, the ringing only persists for two seconds before there’s the hurried panic of static and a frantic voice. 

“Seraph!” 

“Aly—” You try to quickly calm her down, mouth open with the half-formation of speech.

“Bastard! Why did you not call me?!” The woman snaps, and your ears twitch, your body flinching at the guilt that grows. “I have been up all night and worried most of the morning—damn you. Everyone at AMA is silent and Fedorov won’t let me into his office.” 

That’s right, you had told her you’d call her after the party—when you’d talked to her after seeing Nikto’s back tattoo. 

After you’d touched his ravaged flesh. 

Your face heats slowly, head tilting to the floor as you clear your throat. It was all wrapped in tissue paper, those memories. The storage room, the way those pale eyes had dug into your form in that damned dress, wanting to try and compliment you in his own strange way but being unable when you degraded yourself so consistently—unsure of himself. It was addictive seeing such a frenzied and numb man walking on cracking ice.

But that doesn’t make you any more sure of yourself.

“I meant to,” you hurry into your explanation, waving a hand even if she can’t see it. “You know I wouldn’t leave you wondering unless I had a good reason.” 

Alyona huffs over the line, silence falling as her anger tapers into a line. “...I need to put a bell on you, Солнышко.”

You close your eyes and sigh, fingers moving to push into your nose bridge. 

“Yeah,” your mouth utters. “Honestly, it’s not a bad idea, Aly.” 

It isn’t long before there’s the low plea—that heavy insinuation. You know she’s still now, waiting for you to begin. “Tell me, then.”

Face tightening, you pause and listen for Nikto. You still hear the muted conversation, and occasionally, the stomp of heavy boots along the floors. He’s pacing. 

What’s going on out there? Who was he talking to? You wonder silently, perplexed. Nikto had made many phone calls before, and while he preferred to be in a nearby area and speak in his mother tongue, they hadn’t been as long as this—nor as snappy. Shaking your head, you suppose it’s a problem for later, and in the back of your mind, every word that he’d ever spoken to you rattles like rocks. 

You were nervous around Nikto now, and that doesn’t make any sense to you.

Doesn’t the nervous part come before getting touched in the back of some dark storage room? 

You grunt under your breath, clenching your jaw; becoming more and more like Nikto as the days pass, it seemed. 

“I didn’t sleep with Tarkovsky,” your words are breathy and low. Trying to hide. “...Nikto stopped it.” The heavy pause is enough to make your palms sweat. “Aly?”

“Perhaps I judged the beast of man too early.” You blink, tilting your head as your eyebrows draw in. “Christ, Seraph. I’m relieved, of course I am, but what will Fedorov do once he finds out?”

“He already knows,” you relay. “Nikto wasn’t…subtle about his refusal to let me go.”

“Blood?” Aly asks.

“And bone,” you sigh. 

“Shit,” the woman over the line grumbles. “Do you…” she trails off slowly. “Do you think AMA will keep you on?”

“This hasn’t happened before,” you shrug to yourself, hearing Nikto speaking louder. Your eyes dart to the door, and as you blink, your fingers run your thigh in a self-soothing motion. “I don’t know. Right now I’m debating if it’s even worth it.” A painful chuckle. “Any advice?”

“Keep the bastard around long enough to break someone else's bones.” Aly’s laugh is sharp and smooth. “Show them what happens when they do anything he doesn’t like.”

“The night wasn’t all bad,” you try to defend his personality a smidge. “He’s not some monster, Aly.”

“I wasn’t implying that,” there’s the sound of moving fabric from over the call, and Alyona is most likely in a fitting room herself, taking up your call as she rushed out of a photographer’s shoot at light speed. “...You like him, then? Truly? Or are you just enamored by his capacity for violence?”

Your body slows at the obvious jest, taking it seriously. Face stilling, you blink at the wall across from you. Everything else blurs for a moment, memories slashing to every opened car door and meal made with expert hands. Organized magazines on your tables and cleaned dishes. There was something funny about the way you enjoyed the stretch of his sin coating you like blood over the visible flesh of a masked face.

Nikto wasn’t a good person. You knew that.

“Yes,” you whisper regardless, feet shifting below you. “How can I spend so much time with someone and not like them?” Your words try to reason.

“Very easily,” the Russian woman scoffs, not wasting time. “You know what I mean, Little Seraph. Don’t try to push me off like I am stupid.” A low hum. “When you talk about him, your breath goes light.”

“It does not,” your voice tightens. 

“Denial,” Aly sighs. “The first sign.”

“Oh, shut the hell up,” you groan, standing up and beginning to walk the room casually. You enjoyed the banter—the teasing: you two were good at that. 

As soft chuckles waft around, your lips twitch into a smile. “He’s not horrible. That’s all I’ll say.” 

“No beast?”

“No, no beast. A stubborn brute of a dogish ex-soldier?” You roll your eyes, and the commotion outside of the door takes on a different tone. You pay it no mind. “One hundred percent.”

“You like strays, yes, Seraph?” Alyona’s line crackles.

“I was burdened with a good heart,” you joke with a chuckle, nodding. As the second of silence draws, you reluctantly push out, “I need to check in with everything else.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” is the easy reply. The next sentence is troubled. “...If you’re kept, will you have to go to the rest of the parties?”

You don’t get to reply, because there isn’t a moment to think above the sinking in your gut and the sudden shove of the door. Head snapping up, the phone is tilted from your face as your eyes bug wildly. 

Iakov makes it three steps into the room, searching for you, before a growled shout and a ruthless hand connected with his suit’s collar. Watching wide-eyed, you see the way the pale-haired man is dragged out with a loud call of alarm.

Mouth agape, all you utter is a quick, “I’ll call you later,” before rapidly hanging up and moving as fast as you can to the door.

Shoulder hitting the frame, you stutter as you right yourself swiftly. “Nikto?”

“Go back to bed,” the black void grunts, gloved hand releasing Iakov with a violent shove. The two men are in the living room, your guard glaring with venom at your media coordinator as he stumbles back, nearly falling to the floor. 

“She can’t!” Iakov meets that fire with fire, strengthening himself. His face is a tone darker—eyes sharply snapping. “Fedorov has been waiting all day to have a meeting, and I won’t have my job on the line because of some entitled bra—!”

Nikto’s hand re-wraps itself around the man’s collar, jerking the fabric, and in turn, the smaller body forward until the rough fabric of the lower half of his mask is nearly brushing Iakov’s nose.

“I will cut out your tongue,” Nikto eases out far smoother than you’d heard thus far in your many days together. 

Your heart skips a beat.

“...Okay,” you say under your breath, face on fire as your coordinator freezes like a bird under a cat, a flash of rage simmering in his expression. The tension was palpable.

Truth be told, you’d never seen Iakov so unmanaged before—hair this way and that, suit ruffled not only from Nikto but from the apparent running of hands. He was always so put together. You swallow down your shaky worry. 

You’d never known him to be anything but respectful. It was like a knife to the chest to see such a rabid switch of emotions—of personality. Christ, it was damn near wrong.

“Nikto,” you say quickly, and the brute only tilts his head your way, not looking at you as his fingers tighten. Your tongue darts to wet your lips. “Please.”

Iakov is pushed back once more, and your guard grunts, light gaze unwavering as he backs up only a half-step nearer to you, widening his shoulders as the trunks of his arms cross his chest. Suddenly, thoughts of sex, power, and a stalker boil down to the sight in front of you instead, and the great confusion gets larger still.

Nikto is back in full gear, and here you are in sweatpants and an oversized shirt. When had your Russian bear managed to change? Had he left the bedroom far sooner than you’d thought? And…why? Keeping the Russian in the side of your narrowed eye, you take a breath and quickly address the greater problem. 

I thought Nikto was only on a phone call.

“How did you get in here?” Your voice is low, riddled with exasperation and a tinge of stiffness. Would Nikto even have let someone in without talking to you first? It seemed unlikely.

Iakov sneers, clenching his jaw—the void beside you is silent. 

“Key.” Long fingers disappear into his suit, peeling out the gray face of a hotel room key and holding it between two fingers. Eyes pierce you, narrowed with a wave of horrible anger and swirling contempt that makes your breath hitch as if under the scrutiny of a wolf.

Your lungs hold themselves in your ribs like prisoners at the confession; eyes widening. 

Key?

Nikto levels out slowly, shifting with canid-like movements. “Walked in when we were speaking to the investigators over call.” He breathes out a rumble. “Nearly shot his head off.”

“You would have had a harder time than that, Хуй,” Iakov barks, dress shoes clicking as he slaps a foot forward. 

Heart hammering, your anxiety dances—questions muddling. Paranoia. Why would Iakov be allowed to have a key to your room? Had he always had one when you were sent out to parties?

What if he’d walked in before….?

Shaking your head at the implication, you step in before Nikto has a chance to jump the man, snapping out in a fashion that was unlike you, but came from both a place of desperation and nervousness. Your face pulls into a sharp display of panicked anger.

“Both of you shut up and listen!” Nikto freezes, eyes flashing instantly to shock. After a moment, any discernible emotion vanishes from his pale eyes, and he blinks down to you; shoulders lowering as if a display of submission.

While you can’t see it, Nikto’s heart sputters. He hadn’t expected that from you. 

Even back in Yekaterinburg, you were more prone to letting the course go calm—letting others lay themselves over you to avoid confrontation. You were still like that, of course; that was plainly seen in your unwillingness to explain before the party what was going on, but an outburst like that Nikto had never seen before. 

He watches you closely but remains mute even if his throat cages in a grunt of surprise.

Iakov freezes as well, neck snapping over like a fish on a hook. He was rageful and arrogant, you could now see it plainly. Even if he was always composed, you weren’t blind to the looks he would give you when he passed you in AMA—the discreet touches to the back of your shoulders or arms when you’d be given schedules face-to-face. 

You were stuck in a circle of distrust and lustful eyes, and the only reprieve was a man with more blood on his hands than a butcher holding a pig’s heart. 

Trying to calm yourself, you shake your head softly.

“Iakov,” you utter at the glaring face, hate and disgust stuck behind pupils. “Explain it to me.”

“You fucked it all up,” he growls, and Nikto’s gaze snaps to return to a pale face. Yet he still doesn’t interfere, hanging around like a puppy lacking his needle teeth. Muzzled. It doesn’t stop his eyes from sparking, however. “There is no deal with Tarkovsky! You know what that means, Seraph?” His hair is flattened down by a fast hand, tongue licking at his lips. “No money. Fedorov is wringing my neck! Why have you not answered the phone?!” 

“I was resting,” you mutter stiffly, face a tension-ridden mess. Glancing at Nikto and his tight pupils, the Russian doesn’t look over, only his hips moving in a small shuffle. You clear your throat with a small ache starting to form at the base of your skull. “Just got up.”

“It is past noon,” the shorter man barks. “This is absurd!” 

“Lower your tone,” Nikto utters. 

“I will speak what I will,” Iakov’s expression is like a knife as you stuff your shaky hands into your pockets. “Seraph needs to listen to what I tell her to do before—”

“Before what,” your guard interrupts, tilting his head. Around him is a false calm that somehow seems more violent than if he was yowling like a mutt. Your lips thin into a line. “Hm? Speak. You were doing it not a second ago.” 

Your coordinator stills and he wisely keeps his tongue from flapping.

“We will say it only once more,” you watch Nikto from the corner of your eye, breath trapped in your throat as his hips tighten and arms slip to hang by them; gloved hand flexing where the lack of a digit is glaring at you. “Watch your tongue.”

“I’ll call him,” you comply to Iakov’s complaints after a moment of heavy silence, face on fire and your chest being hit by every palpitation of your heart. Your mind is airy, and that scent of rotten wood is back as your legs push in on themselves. “I’ll explain what I can and—”

“Too late,” is the hissed answer. “He already gave me my workload. You’re going out tonight if you still want your job.” Your spine goes rail-straight. “This is the last chance, Seraph,” the pale-haired man spits. “This is it—you’ll put on what I have for you to wear, you’ll give yourself to the man who wants to invest into AMA, and you’ll keep doing what I tell you to. Your dog,” Iakov stares at Nikto for a long while, opening and closing his hands like he wants to say more, but only growls, “will do as he is ordered.” 

Nikto is about to punch him, you can tell by the roll and shake of his wrist. In an instant, you have your hand grabbing at his bicep, barely applying pressure beyond the initial grasp and yank. It does the trick though. 

Nikto’s body halts.

“Give me the key and get out,” you say in a monotone to the raging coordinator. 

Iakov looks like he’s going to fight on that, and your unease at his presence gets larger. The knowledge that he had access to your hotel room the entire time makes your muscles writhe with something dangerous—alarm bells. But the stalker isn’t here with you, is he? He’s back in Yekaterinburg unless there’s something you don’t know about.

Before you can pull on your guard’s arm again, Nikto pounces and slaps the key to the floor, which skids along the white tile as you gasp softly. Great hand connecting with a shouting Iakov’s collar, Nikto doesn’t let go as he begins dragging the man away like a toddler with ease, dress shoes scuffing the floor. 

Face loose, your eyes follow as the Russian grasps the door handle, yanks the barrier open, and tosses the coordinator out with a snarl. 

“You need to obey what I tell you—!” The scream is cut off as the door is slammed shut in Iakov’s face ruthlessly. A lock clicks in place, and that’s the end of it. 

Nikto stays to stare through the peephole, eyes beady and chest heaving with heavy breaths. Under the mask, his skin is taut with feral tension. 

In his youth, the Russian had been unswayable in his anger—a fact that resulted in many a school fight and bloodied faces, usually not only his own. It’s what brought him to the military, to be completely honest with himself. A lust for something he could control like a pocket knife in his hand, but bigger than two teenagers wailing on each other in some field while a gaggle cheered them on. Split knuckles and cut lips. One thing never got any easier, though. 

That damn spark of animalistic loyalty.

He’d formed some bond with you, that was certain. Mutual gain? Who knows. Bodily need? Maybe. Actual care? …Curse him, but perhaps. Yet, hold his toes over a fire if he didn’t feel a horrific rage at some man he could break over his thigh speaking to you like that. 

He feels your gaze on the back of his head even now, as he watches that media coordinator scurry off like a rat, and he flashes to the ongoing gag the two of you had formed. 

Looks like a Shrew. Little rodent.

Nikto sighs under his breath, fingers coming up to rub at his covered chin, scraping gloves against the thick canvas. He backs up with a scoff and stalks away. 

“The man is weak,” Nikto says to you, keeping a tight side-eye. “Get a better one before we dispose of him.”

You strangle down a quick laugh, mouth slowly opening as you think over your words. The comment, said in that rough and sandpaper-like accent, flows through you like water. You should be put off by it, you think to yourself in the back of your brain, especially after the explosion in the bakery and the death of your three previous guards; of Yefim.

Yet…

Your throat tightens. “You think he was being serious?” You ask. “About the party tonight? My job?”

“You are not going.” It’s immediate. 

“Nikto,” you frown, stepping forward as he brushes past you to grab his phone that was sitting on the coffee table. “There are parts that I won’t be a part of again, but I know that you know, that I need to keep my position at AMA. With any hope, showing up will be enough—I can speak, persuade, the person who—”

“Why?” he spits, shoving the device away as his pale eyes glare, head tilting. 

If you knew any better, you’d compare this to a boy pouting. Just perhaps a bit more serious. 

“Oh,” you vaguely motion with a hand, sarcastically uttering as your heart slows now that it’s only the two of you. “I don’t know—food, rent, the ability to live comfortably. You know, the usual.”

Nikto huffs, taking out his baretta and placing it on the table before the cleaning rag is slipped from his belt. He sits down near the neatly folded blanket and perfect pillows, silent. You’d have to keep this conversation going later, there was a low curiosity in your stomach. His phone—the speaking you’d heard from the bedroom. 

“Who were you talking to before I came out?” Walking forward, you listen to the click of dark metal as Nikto takes apart his gun piece by piece, setting them all down in a well-thought-out order. He glances up, and you see his lashes dip in a blink. As usual, his expression is unreadable while behind that mask. You almost missed the balaclava—at least you could see the outline of his lips that way.

“Anything important?”

“Investigators,” Nikto grumbles. “They have taken Sergi into custody, but can get nothing out of him,” he pauses, troubled though you can’t see it as your eyes widen, body going to sit beside his own before intently listening. 

“That’s perfect!” You speak, a smile overtaking your lips. “Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten any more texts from the stalker. Do you think that they’ll keep him there?”

“No,” you still, smile freezing. “They cannot.” Pale eyes stare into your own smoothly before they break away. Nikto clears his throat, fingers twitching as more bits and bobs are polished. “DNA does not match those found on the letters from your lockbox. It is illegal to falsely detain someone for over forty-eight hours. He will be released unless further evidence is discovered.” 

It’s a slow moment before you swallow down the sharp disappointment in your gut, attention darting from the silent Russian to the table. 

“Oh.”

Nikto’s muscles tense the longer this silence permeates, eyes unconsciously darting back from his gun to you. After a long while, he sighs aggressively, dropping the rag and the slide he had been polishing without thought as it thumps to the table.

“Птичка,” he turns, and you blink back to him just to notice the instant tension as your eyes lock. 

Such grays and blacks make up his being, that you wonder if color even mattered when it came to him—you already know those shades of in-between things, and Nikto could certainly be described as in-between. The activities of the storage room flash behind your vision, and your lips part softly. 

But something isn’t right. 

You’d thought that maybe Nikto would always be something of a blank slate to you—obviously, you could tell when he was frustrated and such, but anything beyond that was still up to your imagination. But it’s especially telling when you can understand the way he hesitates to touch you when his hand rises. 

The limb moves to your bicep before the Russian drops it back down, turning back to his rag, and gets back to work with the lines beside his eyes visible as if grimacing. Beyond the anxiety, and the paranoia, you find the hurt burns sharper than those two ever could.

Not to mention the uncertainty. 

You stare openly for upwards of three minutes, hesitant with the white noise in your brain overtaking your thoughts. 

Nikto’s head is thumping—attacking every ounce of common sense to be found. The picture on his phone; the implications. The stalker wasn’t Sergi, because Sergi was at this very moment still detained and had been since last night…how could he tell you that? A man who was already horrible with words, so used to barking out his true feelings to soldiers and civilians alike. He can’t be that with you. Not anymore. He doesn’t want to be. But he’s stubborn—he’s prideful. Arrogant. It’s easier for him to figure it out himself than burden you, and in many ways, you were the same beast.

Mutt, mutt, mutt. Golden chains around supple flesh.

Nikto opens and closes his mouth many times, not knowing how your heart is cracking piece by piece; so averse to speaking about yourself. He’d left while you were still asleep to make the phone call himself to your investigators, not able to stare at your face any longer or feel your flesh. It had made his attention slip, and his focus fail. 

The lack of control where he already had so little. He couldn’t take it, and in that, he felt dirty. Tainted. 

The knowledge that someone had a picture of you in perhaps the most vulnerable moment he’d ever seen you in was worse, still. Like the blood on his hands was smearing itself over you, dipping along your waist and hips; sinking its dripping knuckles into the tight clutch of your welcoming walls. Fingerprint marks over your navel, clawing. 

Nikto flinches subtly in his seat, a low sound echoing in the back of his throat. He wishes he’d never known the color of blood if only to not be able to imagine it along your pretty skin. 

The Russian had only been thinking about it when you were sleeping, a slow infection seeping in as it always did—the stalker had been just behind him and he hadn’t heard a thing. The thought was enough to nearly make him vomit.

It was an utter disgrace to his skills. 

He can’t be distracted anymore; not now. Not when he feels the fingers digging into his scars, the cuts, the drags of knives, and the burn of fire. He needs that control back. Some semblance of stability. 

You try not to show how much you’re taken aback—how much Nikto’s sudden distance is a physical pain to you. The dead air settles, and you feel your pulse through your skin like a wound. 

“...Anything else, Nikto?” Your voice is deathly still. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you had pushed something too far. 

“...Нет.” The Russian’s fingers are hovering over the pieces of his gun, dismantled and laid bare to the overhead light of the blinding hotel. This place is cold; sterile. You’d said it before and you’d say it again—this was not a place you’d want to live. Now…even less so. Nikto clears his throat as you stand jerkily, sending a glance that lands on your throat and not your eyes. “There is nothing.”

You nod quickly. 

“Good. I’m, uh,” your tongue wets your lips, and pale eyes try not to follow the motion even as he finds it like a siren call. Control. “I’m glad. I’ll figure out the details about the party tonight and get back to you.” 

Nikto’s shoulders froze, but by the time his damaged brain had caught up with his mouth, you were already back in the bedroom and shutting the door with a soft hand. 

A blue gaze sticks to the barrier, but not a single sound creates so much of an echo as the seconds draw into minutes. 

“Enough,” Nikto orders himself, turning back to the table. Lips shifting into a deep frown, there’s little in the way of understanding his own actions, but wasn’t that the norm? Distance lets him think—thinking means solutions. Solutions for you; solutions for him. 

But the feeling of your warm flesh is addictive, and there are moments in between the flashes of bloodshed that circulate when your brushing fingertips scrape down his back—a bear to a deer, but now he’s not too sure which is which. There’s a need to consume and eat down sustenance until his face is bloody and raw again, that half of a Glasgow smile ripped open and hanging, brutality ingrained into his psyche by way of pain and pleasure. 

You touching him was both.

Being near you was both.

Knowing about that picture he’d been sent was worse than the former.

Nikto had thought to tell you, he’d been getting better with that, but then he’d truly thought it over and in his own way wanted you to be safe from just one more violation. It was how he was—a silent, brutish, mutt-like hired gun. He was smart, though. 

And, damn him, he liked it when you smiled. 

“Focus on the task,” he grunts, his knuckles under his gloves surely white from how hard he handles the metal of his beretta, stress cleaning even if he doesn’t know it—doesn’t acknowledge it.

His tight-pupiled eyes keep dragging themselves back to the door.

—

The hotel stayed in a suffocating silence even as the stylists came and went. They didn’t say a word as the hours lengthened—nervous, if you had to guess. The story of ‘the guard who snapped a man’s wrist in one motion’ had made its rounds quickly; gossip always on loose tongues. 

You’d had a call with Fedorov. You think you had only gotten through it because you’d dug your nails so hard into your hand, that the initial scrape of cartilage had distracted you from the threat of being fired. The beady-eyed CEO had been less than pleased, and that was all you wanted to comment on; to even think about.

“I’ve heard troubling things, Seraph. Very troubling. What is this about your guard? I had thought we had come to an understanding about it. Tight leash, yes?” 

Your fingers skate the smooth front of the newest dress you’ve been given, and you play with the dangle of cold metal around your fingers. Rings. You don’t know if they’re gold or silver, nor the gems set into them, but you know they’re elegant—just as the fabric you wear is.

There’s no great slit here, not in this form-fitting sleeve of white. Two pieces of fabric move up to cover your breasts and meet at a collar around your neck of the same silk, the train extending from the back of that collar that trails the ground. Lace, of course. Your shoulders are bare, just as a good ninety percent of your back is; only stopping at the small of your back where the fabric is once more tight to you. Pearls and feathers create a beaded version of a corset, tantalizingly caressing your bare flesh. 

Your first thought is that you’ll freeze in this, but the second is how you’re going to walk in the heels—a silk strap looping your ankle before a big bow meets your eyes.

And the third is even worse.

“I think I’m losing my job tonight,” you whisper, blank-faced and knowledgeable of Nikto once more waiting where he had been before. A vicious repeat, a hopeless deja vu. 

A pawn in someone else's game.

Your fingers tap your abdomen in broken intervals. There had to be a way out of this, you try to tell yourself. 

Think. 

But your mind always drifts back to the damn ex-soldier that’s in the living room. His attitude today—his distance from you was like taking a bullet to the gut. You should be celebrating the detainment of Sergi, of possible breakthroughs even if the DNA didn’t match. 

The baker’s boy knew something, that was a fact. 

But nothing. No joy—no jokes or sarcasm. 

As you look at yourself now, you can only now recognize the expression of utter defeat you wear so plainly like a burial shroud. This was a cruel game. But there was something truly frightening about how close you and Nikto had become in such a relatively short period. Akin to soulmates finding one another, except for the simple fact you didn’t believe that was what the two of you were anymore. 

It had been a brief hope, truly. But one that you’d wanted more than anything, and you don’t know why. You don’t know why you let him touch you; let him be so near—it runs around your brain to speak itself in tongues just like the rest. Problem after problem. 

One at a time, you turn and exit the room, not looking at yourself longer than you have to. 

Nikto stands stiff by the door, already in his suit and balaclava—M13 and Beretta back where they belong respectively. The knife, you have no clue, though you know it’s somewhere. 

There are no compliments from the two of you. No speaking. So quickly something flipped on its head. Pale eyes dart, but when they meet yours, drip and drag away to the coat rack as you grab for your jacket. As your attention tries not to linger, you see him momentarily peel back his eyelids at the sight of your elegant dress but say nothing beyond a garbled sigh.

The air was so thick, that it was nearly enough to display how idiotic and childish the two of you were for acting like this.

You open your mouth and push out, “Ready to go?” 

In the hours you’d taken to get ready, the Russian had come up with a plan. 

He nods to you now and opens the door, allowing you out as he stays behind, making sure the lock clicks as you glance over your shoulder. Beginning to walk with him just a foot away, Nikto runs over his idea once more. 

With any hope, the stalker now had a personal vendetta against him for getting physically involved with you—he’d been looking up studies in his spare time while you were getting dressed; tapping his fingers along his phone stiffly. 

Only one sentence stood out to him, and it still stands out now as you go to wait in the elevator ahead of his looming form, eyes to the ground and hand massaging the back of your head. 

‘Stalkers like to get their target isolated; they’re selfish. They want the person all to themselves and dislike anyone who can possibly get in the way of that. Whether it’s a romantic partner, family, or friends, if they pose a roadblock for the stalker it can result in added stress or an urgency to act.’

Nikto moves to stand beside you, shoving a firm finger to the ground floor button and glaring at the wall, lips stiff from under fabric. 

If the man would come after him, then it would get you out of the spotlight at least for a short amount of time—perhaps it would even be enough to catch him. 

Maybe tonight, Nikto wonders silently, eyes narrowing as his feet settle. He will be there. We need to be ready. 

Your lungs breathe down a slow breath, taking in oxygen until your chest rises with the swell like a bag in the wind. This feeling is something you don’t know if you’ve experienced before beyond the sensation of having to relearn your limbs after your accident; an expectation and a draw, something just there but out of sight. 

Inebriating instability. 

Instead of your hands being shaky, now your mind was. 

Nikto is so close—so there beside you. You wanted to reach out to him, to hang off of his arm. To be something. It was pathetic of you, especially after he’d already assured you that you both would deal with the uncomfortableness of your prior affair. 

Was this his way of dealing with it? Avoidance? He didn’t seem the type, and you’d already known that he wasn’t. 

So it’s bigger, your face pulls in. But what? Why this…hesitation?

Your eyes spark. 

Hesitation, no. In the elevator, your arms tense as the small sound of the metal box meeting the ground floor echoes; Nikto also darts his head up, deep in his thoughts. You both share an unexpected side-eye, before the doors open and you hurry out on unstable feet as your face burns. This is fear. 

“What are you afraid of?” You whisper to yourself, hearing those boots behind you. 

At the Russian’s unease, you find your own doubling just as simply. 

Who could make a bear afraid of the forest?

—

As you enter the party, you go about business and try not to stay on the fact that you have just gone through one of the most uncomfortable car rides you’ve ever experienced.

Passing off your jacket and hearing the doors close behind you, your curated smile dims to an imitation of happiness, shoulders drooping. 

Nikto had only touched your arm to guide you along the sidewalk to this more humble residence—not at all like the previous party you’d been to. Every step and click off your heels had welcomed the same nervousness, however. 

You still didn’t know what you were going to do, but right now, it was more important to just calm yourself to a state of taking it moment by moment. If it all came down to it, would you need Nikto to guard you again? Order him to break more bones? Welcome the spray of black fluid and gray meat? 

“Nikto,” you address the Russian as he blinks over, fixing his hold on his M13. He doesn’t like this either—he doesn’t understand why you don’t listen to him and go to events like this. Nonetheless, he’ll follow and steer you clear of any situations you shouldn’t be in. It was his job to watch you, not force your hand.

Pale eyes level with you before they go to survey the foyer. “What is it?” 

“When all of this is over,” you utter, walking forward. “What will you do?”

The Russian pauses, heart stuttering. What would he do? That wasn’t the question he thought you were going to ask, but it’s a welcome distraction from the mess of his head. 

“Go back to KorTac,” he breathes, elbow brushing yours with his voice like rocks. “The contract will be over. I will not be needed anymore, да?”

You tilt your head, licking at the corner of your lips to push back the bead of fear that had settled into your stomach. “That makes sense,” your mind pulls a flat-falling tease. “But who will tell me what color of the paintings on the wall?”

Nikto’s hidden face is a stiff reflection of your own, scars tight. It’s a strange thing, he understands, the pressure on his chest that grows stronger. He’s so used to keeping secrets…why was this so hard for him?

“The blonde woman will be at your side, no doubt,” he grumbles, looking away from the image of your beauty and the silk of your dress. “She will tell you. I am not the only one able to understand the need for it.” Those feathers and pearls make a strung corset of utter angelic purity. 

Blood on my hands. 

He’d already tainted you enough, hadn’t he? When did sex suddenly become important to him? Weighted with…with care. There were so many times he could carelessly get his fill and leave with nothing mattering to him—just another way to get off and forget the formalities of waking up next to someone and making breakfast. 

But wasn’t that exactly what Nikto had willingly done with you? Willingly sat near you for breakfast, willingly allowed you to coax him into bed to be a pillow, willingly touched you? Like a loyal beast, he had. He had. 

You were a horrible creature. A beautiful, lovely, creature. Disgusting. Awe-inducing. As holy and as blasphemous as all of the monsters that sit on his shoulders; the ones he cannot name.

Nikto’s fingers pull into soft fists, and his gloves stretch. He grunts as your face falls a bit at his reply, your head nodding as he clenches his jaw until his molars scream. 

You were messing with his head again. It wasn’t like he wanted you to not understand his motives—he needed to focus. 

“I didn’t think Iakov was like that,” you change the subject as you both awkwardly move into the party, voices moving along the airwaves as you enter the large living room. “I’ve never seen him so angry.”

“Men like that care about money and power,” Nikto answers, keeping your body nearest to the wall as he sticks to your right. “He will never forgive you for letting him lose it.” Pale eyes jump from one set of curious gazes to another. “It is not in his nature. Waste of skill.”

“Isn’t money what everyone wants?” You mutter, staying close to him and nodding politely at those who look your way with digging gazes. “That's why I’m here.”

“You are not the same,” is the swift answer, shifting vision stilling on a man with blond hair that moves through the crowd, camera sitting around his neck as dark eyes meet Nikto’s own. The guard blinks, and the individual is lost to the crowd.

Looking at you, the Russian’s eyes narrow. “You are not selfish, did we not explain ourselves enough earlier?” 

“You said I was good,” you explain slowly. Not good enough to keep?

“I did,” Nikto grunts. “I say what I mean. We do not lie.”

“Too prideful for that,” your mouth pulls into a smile. “Aren’t you, Big Guy?”

His eyes swirl, low amusements littering the pale orbs like a sly cat. “Да, вот именно.” 

You huff, not understanding the words, but knowing they’re agreeing with you. It’s as if a glass wall is dissecting the space between your bodies. You can see Nikto—hear him and feel his presence, but you can’t touch him; can’t get the smudges off without a rag. A blurry mess of black and white, not a slash of color to be understood. 

This separation was thin but still there.

“What aren’t you telling me?” You have to finally push as you stop near the back of the room, as far away from anyone as possible, but it isn’t at all private. Eyes turn and fingers shift over wine glasses. It was quieter here, too. Not so blatant in its display of choking wealth, but still rich if decor was anything to go off of. 

Nikto’s amusement vanishes instantly, and he’s back to a careful blankness.

Stopping as well, he only waits a second before uttering, “I do not tell you many things, Seraph.” 

“You know that’s not what I mean,” you bounce off of him, hands moving up to motion softly as your face twists. Shame hits you in the chest, and you take a shaking breath. “...I knew it would end up being like this if you found out about all of it. All your job stated was a simple protection contract, not some—”

You stop yourself. 

Pale eyes don’t blink once as they keep themselves tight to you. Nikto lets his mind calm before he speaks. “Why are we here?” 

Your brows shift, and you open and close your mouth. “I don’t know. I’m hoping my boss might give me some credit for just showing up and not—”

“Then we are going now,” he growls, attention flying from one prying person to the next. There are too many eyes here—too many ears. Nikto knows who might be lurking. 

“Why,” you lightly push back, chuckling sarcastically. “I’m not in any danger, Nikto. At every turn, there aren’t any stop signs at the side of the road—at least here I have a grab at good wine and company that doesn’t hide the truth from me.”

Pale eyes flare. People start to turn your way. There’s a pause as if there’s something the Russian wants to state, but it fails on lips that you barely see rise from under his balaclava.

“I told you I do not lie, woman,” Nikto grunts, stature ridgid from where it spreads like a steady corruption; a shadow lengthening. 

You had always avoided confrontation—always. You hated it, and, currently, you hated this as well. But the stress was getting to you, the threat of losing everything on top of your own life. Nikto had become a lifeline, and now he was trying to pull back. 

Why?

Your face turns, and you stalk away. “Then do me a favor and stop telling me half-truths.”

—

If steam were able to come out of your ears, you would have filled the room with that heavy layer of your anger. Nikto was still stapled to you—unable to leave after what he now understood might come to fruition at these events if he did. 

So, you both stood. 

Silent.

Stoic.

Unsatisfied.

A dog without a bone left longingly glancing as if its eyes could speak all the words that needed to be explained on a human tongue. 

Your hands push at the base of your skull, massaging the forming headache that had grown from when Iakov had let himself into your hotel. You can’t wait until these parties are over—until you can get another call from the investigators saying that your stalker has been apprehended with Sergi’s statements. There needed to be a happy ending to this; needed. 

This can’t be all your life is meant to be. 

You didn’t come here thinking that you would be sleeping with someone. Currently, as you’re sipping down the second glass of wine brought to you, you can see the head of the man you’re supposed to be attending to. 

Borya Belov, or something close to that. Your coordinator had sent a text, but you’d barely looked at it and the picture attached. Large and middle-aged, he was up and coming in the city, generating impressive amounts of money and influence through his iron and steel plants. He knew your CEO, too—old family friends. 

Your eyes tear themselves away before he can look in your direction, frowning heavily. A rock and a hard place. 

You were foolish if you thought that by you being here it would allow you to keep your job without handing yourself over. It seems you’ve been foolish a lot lately. Your gaze sneaks to look at Nikto and only finds a rigid pole in his place. No under-the-breath jokes or knowing glances. No indecipherable emotions. It was just blank.

Shaking your head lightly, you bring the wine glass to your lips and take a large sip, letting the swell of it fill your mouth before it slips into your throat; tasting the bitter edge. With all of the blatant mess of emotions, it wasn’t any wonder why anyone hadn’t come over to talk to you. 

“All of these things are the same,” you speak to yourself quietly, trying not to sweat as Nikto’s body shifts closer when Iakov walks past the two of you stiffly. The pale-haired man sends you a dark look and you bite your tongue, eyelids narrowing with unease. 

Get dressed, speak gossip, get used, repeat. 

Already the trap had settled, routine following like a pet. 

Your fingers run over the glass in your hand, nails dragging as Nikto’s eyes stare from the side, thighs tightening before he rips his attention back to the party. He grunts and tilts his head, shoulders rolling. 

Focus.

It’s in the atmosphere of a taut rope that you hear the thin conversation from not that far away. 

“Look at him.”

Your ears quirk, but you don’t think of it much as you drink down the last dredges of your wine, licking at the corner of your mouth—careful of the lipstick. It was a group of women all turned into one another, muttering quickly and giggling even more so. 

“Which one?”

“The big bastard, obviously. How much do you think he eats, hm? I’m betting an entire kitchens worth a day.”

Pausing, your spine slowly begins to straighten up, face stuck staring into the wall far across the room. 

“I bet he’s hideous under all of that. Look at the mask—see?”

The round of muffled laughter behind silken gloves makes your heart jerk inside of your ribs as one of the photographers passes by Nikto and you, fiddling with his camera in his hands.

Beside you, the Russian either hears what’s going on and ignores it, or can’t and is simply not moving because he found someone in the crowd to pay attention to. 

Looking over now, you’d place your bet on the first. 

Nikto’s eyes are void, tiny pupils stuck in on themselves as he stares at nothing—his M13 is strangled under the grip of black gloves, and that little sliver of skin you see from his wrist has visible tension in it. He cracks his neck silently, sets his feet, and pretends.

Watching as he’s so apt to do to you, your anger-ridden face steadily freezes the longer your ears strain themselves to hear above the clink of glasses and useless chatter. Work and pleasure are zapped from your mind.

“You think so?”

“I am willing to bet on it—a thing like that is hiding its face because it has to. No soulmate, either. Go up and speak to him; I want to see.”

“But…what if he does have a soulmate? That woman beside him, isn’t that the one from Yekaterinburg? They could be—”

Nikto’s fingers twitch, eyes flashing. 

“If I had a soulmate that had to hide his face from me, I would think he was a beast. No one would want to be within five feet of that.”

Few things made you angry. 

Liars, cruelty, and the rest of the normal points that were on the list everyone keeps. But there was something particularly special about how you hated someone talking about Nikto like that. Forget him hiding something from you, forget his distance and his inability to speak about his emotions—you still cared about him deeply. The words he’d said to you, how he carries himself; his blunt honesty. 

Your heels are hitting the ground before you can remember you’re here to not make a scene.

“Excuse me,” you say, slipping into an easy smile as you nearly trip over your own feet as you settle near the group. All of their eyes widen, some turning around to lock gazes with the sudden arrival. “Could you repeat yourself for me?” You chuckle without humor. “I swear I had thought I heard you talking about my guard over here.”

Your chin moves to allow your eyes to settle over your shoulder, looking back at Nikto who had walked two steps after you initially before seeing where it was you were stomping to. His wide eyelids are snapped back like book covers, darting from you to the women as if utterly confused.

“That one,” you point casually before turning back. “The, uh,” your body leans a bit closer, hand coming up to your grinning mouth, “beast.” 

The gray shade on some of their faces darkened, a few stuttering through a Russian and English jumble of words. 

You blink at them as a familiar shadow begins to sit over you, heavy boots connecting to the floor. Your face burns, but there’s truth in your words—in your conviction. 

“Seraph,” Nikto says quietly in warning. 

“One moment,” is the response he gets. Pale eyes are stuck to the back of your head. He doesn’t know what to do, but in his throat, there’s an airy feeling stuck there that he can’t describe. It swells in his chest first, spreading through his veins.

Nikto was always used to being the one to stand in front of you. 

His heart is pounding, and he doesn’t know how to tell you to stop—that it doesn’t matter. The bigger question he should be asking is if he wants you to. The man wasn’t unused to comments. He can take it. But that fire behind your eyes rendered him speechless.

“His name is Nikto,” you say firmly. “Not that I expect you to remember it,” you tilt your head, looking them up and down. “In fact, I think it would be better if you didn’t.”

Huffing, you’re acutely aware of everyone watching, and your previous anxiety over your work is null. Disgust breeds like death flies. 

None of this was worth it. 

“Nikto,” you utter purposefully, setting your glass down on a side table and stepping behind. One of the Russian’s hands hovers over your back, the weapon resting on his chest clicking as it shifts. “We’re leaving. I don’t know why we came in the first place. There are more important things to worry about.”

“...Understood,” he levels, voice deep. Nikto blinks a few times, face under his mask layered with heat. There was no focusing when it came to you—his iron will was being smoothed down like a rock in water. 

You push past Borya Belov without a glance, looking to the side to see a shock-stricken Iakov burning you with his orbs. There was nothing for you here. 

Heels clicking over the floor, your dress ripples out behind you, unable to think beyond the deep insult you had taken on Nikto’s behalf. What gave those women the right to say anything? Especially about his appearance. 

When physical looks meant so much to you, you dreaded that being placed on someone else as well. Even if it was apparently obvious that Nikto suffered just as you did.

“You did not have to do that, Птичка.” A hand grasps your upper arm and guides you away from the table you were about to run into as you both enter the hallway stiffly. “It does not affect us. Useless opinions—they do not reflect my character.” Jumping only slightly from being ripped from your thoughts, your head darts over. 

You frown into a hidden face, Nikto stuck on the site of your pulled expression. 

Cute, he silently thinks in that jumbled mess of a brain before his memories flash to the sight of that picture on his phone. The hand leaves you in an instant, moving back to his M13.

“I know I didn’t,” you breathe sharply, shaking your head. Closing your eyes, your shoes halt as you stop.

Nikto follows suit, pausing before turning back with a furrow of his brows.

It’s a special thing, the way your desperation bleeds into your sentence. “Will you tell me what’s going on with you, or not?”

He stares, body pausing under your attention. 

“Nikto,” you breathe, far enough away from the main living room to indulge in a bit of horrific truth. “I like being with you,” your words slip. “I mean with you, with you. Y’know? I like you near me—watching over me. I don’t want this to become something that jeopardizes what we’ve built up. I’m not asking for a relationship, or even for you to tell me that you care about me, I just…” you fail to finish, eyes breaking off to glare at the floor; fighting against the sting. “You’re making my head spin,” your words dip lower, and Nikto flinches. “Just…tell me what’s wrong. You’re not acting right, and you’re worrying me.”

You don’t think you’ve been looked at this intently before now. Not by boyfriends, not by flings, or crushes. It’s a bare thing, Nikto’s eyes. A landscape of pale gray tundras and white snow—you don’t know what he’s thinking as he stands there like some Greek statue; Aries personified and dropped right in front of you.

You want that blood of his, that malice and incurable damage. Not to fix it—not to change what’s already scored into flesh—but just to see those eyes soften as they had a handful of times before.  

A war god and a white bird. 

Nikto’s throat bobs in a slow swallow as you finish, pulse hammering as his gloves suddenly constrict his hands far too much. He doesn’t want to tell you. He doesn’t want to explain why his distance is more for his benefit than yours. 

You push once more.

“What are you so afraid of?” 

“You.” He grunts stoic-like, and all of it falls into a swift silence thereafter. Your breath is taken on one great rapturous theft. Nikto stares as your jaw slackens, mind going blank. 

He darts his eyes away and tilts his head. 

“...Come. We do not want to be here any longer.” The Russian’s body is next to yours and in a fast movement, you find yourself being gently prodded along to the front door, jacket grabbed from the side of it and settled over your shoulders. 

Grasping at the corners, this moment is verging on irreparable—you’ve never found yourself so thrown off course besides when the inevitable advances from the stalker had come to you. 

Your hands shake in unsteady intervals as you blankly stare ahead. 

Me? 

The car is cold when you get into it, pulling your jacket closer as you slip across the seat—Nikto grabbing the long trail of your dress and making sure it stays inside. The man sits next to you, grabbing and slamming the door with a fist thumping the window twice. 

Under you both, the engine starts up and the tires push against the concrete. 

Your eyes ogle Nikto, and not once do they leave them even as the Russian pointedly ignores you by keeping his head locked forward. His body moves to the turning of the car, and your phone in your jacket pocket is going wild with call after call as his feet shift to steady himself unconsciously. It’s all a blur of needless sound and emotion. 

“Me?” Your voice finally finds itself; breathless. 

Nikto doesn’t react, spine so straight, the seats of the vehicle don’t touch anything. His fingers over his gun twitch before he grasps the cold metal harder to stop them. 

The Russian tries to halt the way his eyes want to gravitate to meet yours, trying to think over every face from the party and who had made any attempts to get near to you; just in case something pops up tonight. Yet, the hitting pain in his ribs is akin to something ripping them open with a fork, mutilating an entrance to his heart just to take and grasp it in soft hands.

He was never taught gentle love. Nikto was taught to grab and rip at it, to claw into it with fangs until there was blood on his face, seeping down his throat to settle in his stomach—hoping it might find a way to spread to his soul. 

Iakov had a key, the man catalogs, trying to fight his quivering fingers as you just can’t seem to look away from him with those eyes of yours. Does he have motive? Perhaps. We need to add him to the list regardless. I did not see any repeating faces from last night here unless they were in another room or waiting outside. 

Pale attention briefly pauses to the driver of the car, strong jaw clenching.

Drivers? Stylists? Who else could be here and not be noticed even by me? 

Eyes flash to the previous party again, back to the crunch of bone under his grip. Hands trailing flesh, ripped lace, and silk that pools at his dress shoes. The feral rubbing of a gun between two panting bodies. It should have been enough stress relief for the both of you—Nikto wasn’t lying when he equated the affair to something he could look past. He wasn’t new to flings; he considered himself a master of them in his youth. It wouldn’t have made him think any differently about the job, except for that one pin-pointed problem:

He was right behind us. 

Nikto’s mouth goes dry, anger brewing. He blinks to stare out the window, and your gaze is still present as if a knife to his throat.

It doesn’t leave once.

—

The hotel room is seeped in an eerie level of silence. 

You’d long since called Iakov—said a firm and swift answer of, “I’m done with the parties,” and hung up before the yelling could start again. 

You’re not even sure if you still have your job at AMA, but that’s for a later date, it seems. Not having an income was worse than the emotional turmoil that had settled right on your chest.

Leaning in the window seat of the bedroom, you keep your legs tucked in close to you with the curtain stuck at your back, head resting against the glass. White lights twinkle, but the places that aren’t illuminated are too dark to focus on—an amalgamation of shadows like a veil. The night was always difficult for you and your sight, but right now you think it’s best to just sit here and stare, even if it’s at nothing. 

Your eyes drag slowly along the thin view of the street below, feeling the cold seep in through the glass, softly easing the headache that pulses at your temple. 

“He’s…afraid of me?” The door to the room is slightly ajar, a sliver of light from the living room making its way in. Your face twists. “What does that mean?” 

You pose no threat to him without something like a gun, so it couldn’t be that. And what had changed since this morning? He’d let you lay next to him—see a part of his face. You’d traced his tattoo with willing fingers; Nikto hadn’t pushed you away then. 

What had happened? 

There’s a small squeak of the metal hinges of the bedroom door, and your head rises quickly. 

Nikto stands there, in only a white button-down shirt and his dress pants; normal mask re-stiuated. Blinking gently, a thick pause emanates before you glance down at his hands and see a soft display of an olive branch. 

The gruff hired gun holds a tiny, white, tea-cup. 

“Magnolia,” he huffs, not moving an inch as he motions with his hand, the ceramic material clinking. 

You stare, oversized shirt all to cover you besides your undergarments. You’d long since lost the sense of embarrassment of bare skin—particularly yours. 

Pale eyes slip to caress the image of your flesh bathed in the sliver of warm light, your curious eyes stuck on him as his feet re-situated themselves. 

“You remembered?” You ask, trying to sound casual beyond the surprise. 

Nikto blinks, voice muffled. “I do not forget when it comes to you,” he hums, accent thick. “Drink.”

Softly standing, your bare feet hit the coldness of the floor, yet you feel it little. Walking over to stand in front of him, your hand reaches only to bounce off the small tea plate instead, fingers flinching back lightly from the miscalculation. Your face heats, and you’re about to utter a quick apology before Nikto’s hand captures yours. 

Gasping under your breath, the warmth that seeps through his glove goes bone-deep as he manually wraps your digits around the handle. Nikto grunts in satisfaction and lets you take it to you, keeping the plate which he lowers his hand with.

After a moment, you clear your throat and say while staring down at the liquid, “Where did you get this?”

“Bag.” Your brows tighten.

He sighs gently. “We packed it. You forgot, yes?” 

“Oh,” you nod. “Yeah, I didn’t even realize I had left it behind. Thank you, Nikto.”

The Russian nods once, and then pivots to walk back to the living room, leaving you standing there as the sound of rummaging items in the kitchen echoes. Holding the mug, the tea rippling under your unsteady grasp, your head shakes itself in slow exasperation. The man wouldn’t talk about this unless you pushed him…but would that break the unsteady relationship you’d been trying to build?

“All of this is so confusing,” your lips mutter before your body follows after Nikto, slipping out into the light of the room as you blink rapidly in response. 

Locking sights on Nikto as he cleans up the counter, your form is wracked with an impending sense of nervousness. Damn him and his mask—you didn’t have something you could hide your emotions behind. 

It was times like these when you wished your mother was warm enough to ask advice from, that your father wasn’t back in the USA with limited involvement due to the peaceful contact order. You were alone here, except for Aly. But this was something that only a parent could help you with, and you were fresh out of those. You doubted that your mom knew everything going on—you weren’t about to tell her you’d allowed a ruthless killer to get you off in a storage room after you’d seen him snap a man's wrist back. 

Nor that you enjoyed it. 

It falls on me, your breath is thin as you breathe it down, steadily moving to set the teacup to one of the many tables holding useless decorations. You scowl at the boring interior design unconsciously before your focus locks in. 

What you had to do was bring up your points clearly and smoothly—

“Why are you standing there doing nothing,” your eyes widen as Nikto fluidly turns to look over his shoulder directly at you. His gaze narrows behind Kevlar and canvas. “If you want to say something, speak.”

“I want you to tell me what’s gotten you acting like a constipated bear,” you blurt out. 

It’s almost funny the way his eyes flinch. 

Nitko grinds out, “We do not understand.”

“You do,” you huff, crossing your arms as your voice bounces off the walls. “I don’t have infinite patience, believe it or not.” Inside of your sockets, you feel your gaze soften; voice lowering to the level you’d raised it. “I think I’ve been honest with you, Nikto. I’m not trying to push you into a corner. You know that. I need an explanation,” you take a breath, “and you’re going to give it to me.” 

Pale eyes move to the side, and you visibly see the large Russian’s body fighting itself both internally and externally. You had noticed a few things from the time you’d come under his protection, some obvious—Nikto valued cooking and a clean place to rest; he liked reading, and a silence built on mutual respect. Nikto’s fingers twitched when he was either nervous or trying to focus. He tilted his head when he needed to think. 

You liked to think that you knew him quite well, despite it all. You especially knew his fraying patience. 

Nikto’s shoulders roll, bones cracking from under the button-up. His masked face is the only thing he feels gives him protection. A cover. 

“It is not something,” the man begins slowly, trying to convince you, “that you need to concern yourself with.” 

Your lips thin out, feet taking you forward as you shiver from the cold of the hotel. 

“Nikto,” you utter again, softly knocking your side into the counter before you can stand in front of him yourself. He looks down at you, chest moving up and down in slow breaths. 

You know the horrors that live under that fabric. The great scars—the burns that had slipped into your dreams as you’d laid on his thigh like a child afraid of the dark. You can remember the dips of them under your fingertips; the trauma that bleeds still. 

You’d called him beautiful, and of course you had, but the very base of it still left you cold with a betraying sense of sickness. Same with the lower half of his face, which you’d only chosen to see a glance of. It was a deep rolling of your stomach. You cared more for the marks he had put on, willingly, himself; the tattoos. Dark ink.

But that didn’t stop you from reaching out to him—responding to that addictive pull that had always seemed to be there from the moment you’d first met him in the Consulate Building. 

Your fingers hover over Nikto’s pec, right above his heart as you swallow saliva and stare with parted lips. Piercing eyes give way to nothing, but there’s a knowledge in the heart that beats above your waiting touch. 

You tilt your head and wait silently.

Nikto’s pulse moves his flesh, and he can feel every drop of blood under his skin. 

“It does not need to be explained to you,” he tries again, his firm words now only comparable to the sensation of rocks thrown along the sand. Salt-stained throat raw as your fingers brush his shirt. “Seraph,” Nikto attempts a tone of authority.

“Call me by the other one,” you mutter, and it’s pathetic the way he responds to your request in that hotel kitchen. Like a soldier following an order. A whining little dog beholden to a white-lace collar.

“Птичка.”

Your smile makes him want to rip himself away from you and take a cold shower, maybe stare at his scars; even break his mind again before it slips away to thoughts of your curling lips and your shining eyes. 

“That’s it,” you whisper, and your hand flattens over his heart as his gaze breaks away to the simple contact, blinking in confusion as his flesh pulls tight. “That’s the one.” 

But he was more surprised when he didn’t flinch rather than when he shivered. 

It’s only after a small moment of nothing that he lets himself bathe in the warmth of your skin and the scent of your perfume as it slips under his mask. A mask that has seen far too much death for you to bear. Then he’d want you to bear.

Your words make his bones ache.

“Tell me,” you urge, as perfect as a bird’s dew-coated feathers.

Nikto’s vision is stuck only to you, and his greatest fear is that this is all it will ever be bound to—not by honor, the man had no such thing, but by utter devotion. There was no lying about it now as his lips parted, those cut and torn-up things like a ragged jigsaw puzzle of pain. He cares not about soulmates or brain trauma. Blood or bile.

He cares about the sound a silent grave will make when his bones are the ones that chain themselves to rest beside yours. 

Mutt.

Now that, maybe, would seem an honor-coated title to carve into his corpse, but only if it was in reference to his affection for you.

“Picture,” Nikto grinds out, fighting to step closer to the addictive sensation of your touch. The warmth. The pound of blood. You listen silently, and not once do those eyes separate.

“Sent to my phone.” He pauses, and suddenly his voice is very low—you can feel it in your chest as it rumbles the walls, the floors; the bedroom door. It’s difficult to say how you feel when he explains it to you, there’s something relieving in knowing, though. Yet, it still makes your throat close in on itself. “Of us.”

“From the stalker?” You ask, already knowing the answer but hoping it might have just been a fluke. 

Pale eyes don’t blink.

“Да. From him.”

You take a large breath, nodding as your fingers quiver over Nikto’s dress shirt, creasing the fabric slightly. He takes a quick glance down at them again, and his own twitch at his sides.

“...Don’t tell me the details?”

“Never,” the Russian sighs, clenching his jaw. “Я бы этого не сделал. We did not want to explain, regardless.” 

You shrug as well as you’re able, hand beginning to slowly slide off of him. “Still,” your lips pull into a steady smirk, though it lacks enough amusement to make it convincing. “I’m glad you told me—I was getting worried that it might have been by fault you were acting strange.” 

“My emotions are,” Nikto struggles for the correct word in English, grunting as his mouth closes under his mask. He glares at the wall behind you as if a toddler without a snack.

You tilt your skull, tiny chuckles wafting out of your mouth. 

“Stuck, Big Guy?”

“Enough,” he grumbles, feet re-situating themselves from under him. 

Your hand is only a millimeter away from his flesh before his grip finds your wrist and brings it back, digits caressing to press into your pulse. You blink quickly, air getting stalled in your nose. 

Nikto’s eyes slowly dip to stare at your hand, and you notice the shades even more clearly now that you’re so close to him—though they’d always just be pale gray to you, there were moments when you wondered the true color. A silly dream, seeing as you wouldn’t know how that color would look anyway, but, still. 

The Russian’s large fingers turn your wrist. 

“Your heart is racing,” he mutters. If having your bodyguard check your pulse was something that you found attractive, now was only the realization of it. 

Your face suddenly feels like you’re walking on the sun, and a small noise in the back of your throat makes Nikto’s attention leave the fast thump of your blood.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Your breathless question eases out past your lips like a soft flutter of wings. 

“Hm,” Nikto hums, and you can also see his throat bobbing. His hold squeezes, his face looming just the tiniest bit closer to yours. 

The Russian takes a chest-rising inhale and speaks.

“I am not good,” he mutters, eyes moving the dips and drags of your face—it feels like his gaze is touching you when he stares like that; studying your visage as if he’d be tested on it. “We are not…” He blinks, and his pupils are small voids of inky corruption. “Perfect.” 

You wonder how often he’d found you in his mind, and feel both foolish and hopelessly lost in his shadow.

“I never said you were,” you murmur back, seeing the wickedness in his heart. Painted on his skin. “I think it’s lovely.” 

Here is where this should end—you’d both had your fun previously. You’d been sipping your sugar water like a little hummingbird; reveling in the intimacy of that storage room. You should be thinking about the stalker, about your job, about what will happen tomorrow when you open your eyelids to light through the curtains. 

Not about how Nikto’s fingers would feel digging into your hips. Not the panting of fast breaths. Not how the color of his eyes would be, perhaps, the most beautiful shade you could ever hope to imagine in your damaged brain. 

“Nikto,” you breathe, body light. He’s as still as a statue above you, not saying a thing. “What color are your eyes?”

“Blue.”

And then you’re being picked up as if a doll by the back of your thighs and hefted up with a throaty huff akin to a boar. Your forehead connects with his, and your arms wrap his neck to hang off with crossed wrists. 

“Blue?” Your legs tighten around his waist, squeezing as the man’s nose pushes into yours. Breath bounces off the mask, your eyes flutter at the firm press of fabric prodding at your underwear. You fight a small whine, bodies tight to one another. “Your hair?”

“Brown,” is the puff from under the mask, and tiny pupils dilate the longer you hold eye contact.

Your hips roll, and Nikto’s strained grunt reverberates against your chest. “Tell me it in Russian.”

“Карие.” He growls, fingertips digging into your flesh like the teeth of a bear trap. Nikto thumps past the place where you’d set your tea, completely forgotten by everyone just like the previous tension was. 

When the two of you were together, things managed to get out of hand quickly—at least, emotionally-wise. You both were utterly hopeless, just as the room was now far from the cold monochrome wash of white. It was bathed in spraying sparks lit behind your eyes when one of Nikto’s hands staples itself to the base of your back, just above the curve of your tailbone, and angles your core further into the growing prod of his erection. 

You gasp as your pelvis jerks, face twisting up with your pulse impossibly increasing. 

“You are curious,” Nikto pants, pushing past the bedroom door with a shoulder as the handle smashes into the wall. Not that you care. “You push me, Woman. Leave my head loose and my body aching.” You feel the way your core burns, aches, nearly, as your underwear gets wet with the anticipation of flesh. 

Your lips sear Nikto’s soul when they push to the canvas of his mask—just as they had in the storage room though now it’s harder to feel. 

“Don’t act like you don’t like it, Big Guy,” you whisper, tongue darting out to lick at your lips, eyes half-lidded. 

That pull between the two of you only seems to increase as you’re dropped back to the bed, head pointedly planned to slap a pillow as you involuntarily gasp. Your shirt is ruffled up to your breasts, and the sheets are around you like a cocoon of expensive finery—eyes darting to Nikto, you find his gaze easily standing beside the bed. 

He stares at you like you’re the greatest meal ever placed in front of him. Forget the items he cooks, forget the things he’d eaten, even forget the way it satisfies him; nothing could compare to even the thought of what he now has. 

You’re staring at a man with blood on his hands and wishing he would spread you open already. 

Nikto’s chest bounces with a pleased noise, gaze shifting to study your bare legs and arms—the stain that coats your underwear, spreading by the second as your thighs tighten in on themselves to trap the chill. Your face is on fire, and your lungs heave.

His ravaged hand grasps at your knee, coaxing them back open as he says a simple order with a raw voice, “Keep them open.” 

You’re not embarrassed with how you listen, letting the limbs be forced back to display your instinctual need to the large Russian. Your thin whine is choked back as his fingers run up and down your clothed core, teasing. 

Nikto chuckles, and you shiver. 

“We do like it,” he breathes out in response to your previous comment. Pale eyes dart to find and lock with yours—not leaving as his index and middle finger find your clit, pressing firmly and lightly rocking up and down. Your hips jerk as you bite on a shocked moan, relishing in the sudden ricochets of electricity that run your bones. 

Head tilting back, you bite your lip and pant out, “Nikto, yes.”

His fingers leave just as quickly as the words do you, and your desperate eyes move with near pain until your hand darts to grapple onto Nikto’s wrist like a cat. He lets you try and guide him back firmly, to no avail, before you grit your teeth and glare at him, opening your mouth.

Yet, the Russian’s hidden face finds your ear with no trouble and leaves your upcoming words frozen.

“But we like it better when you are too choked on pleasure to think at all.” 

Nikto moves back, taking his other hand and making yours release him before he steps away. He blinks, watching your aroused state as you stutter over your sentence; smirking to himself and tilting his head as if you’re an exhibit in a museum. The man grunts, now free grip able to slide to his belt slowly and fiddle with the buckle.

“Y-you’re horrible,” you grumble, eyes unable to stay on the image for long before you have to slash it away so you can breathe. The clinking of metal

“We did warn you,” Nikto pauses, his voice so laced with smugness that it seemed an insult. “Птичка.” 

Your lower body shifts, trying to satiate the urge for stimulation. 

Breathing heavily, you raise your forearm and put it over your eyes, expression tight as you try and focus. Your ears twitch to Nikto’s steady undressing, hearing the pull of dress pants and the unclipping of a thigh holster. Each sound sends a pulse directly to your weeping slit, and it becomes so strong that Nikto can only watch as your other hand slips under the elastic of your panties. 

He stops himself instantly, his eyes pulling back as he pauses. Slipped out of everything besides his shirt, boxers, and obviously his mask, Nikto’s shoulders tense wildly at the sight in front of him.

Your body is tight as you begin to breathe heavier, lips slightly open as your fingers idly roll your bundle of nerves a bit harder. Hips jerking every so often, your fingers stretch the fabric of your garment as your toes curl. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, jaw clenching and eyes closed from under your forearm. 

Nikto is firmly planted, the firmness in his boxers now seemingly to a point of no return—his fingers twitched to dig into your skin, his eyes stuck to how you were playing with yourself. Clothed in only a large shirt that was bunching up further to allow a glimpse of your breasts and hearing those tiny little noises escape your mouth…

“Harder,” Nikto grunts, his own hand slipping into his boxers as he hisses in pleasure at the state of himself. Firm in his grip as he wraps his fingers around the hot pulse of his cock, groaning when his thumb slips along his tip to collect the beads of pre-cum.

Your breath hitches and through your soft pants, you sigh as your arm slides, “I think I know how to—”

Your fingers twitch harshly as your eyes flutter open to lock onto the scene in front of you, causing you to moan before it strangles off with a quick noise in your throat. Eyes wide, you watch Nikto begin jerking himself off one slow stroke at a time, his thighs tense as his other hand moves to unbutton his shirt one at a time.

There was something so inherently intimate about seeing the other in the throws of self-pleasure, half-clothed and desperate for something that can’t be named. The chain of events was building, and some concerns needed to be addressed, but it isn’t fair to have to put your life on hold for them—necessary, yes, eventually. But Nikto’s eyes were so hellishly pale, and your hands were shaking, and the scent of sex was permeating inside of your nose. It’s different than the storage room, it’s hinged on the knowledge that this bear of a man is afraid of you, which in and of itself is unfathomable, and that he was in such a sour mood simply because he had been trying, once more, to spare you from the unseen threat. 

He had done it with the birds in the box, he’d done it when you’d gotten the first pictures sent to you, and he did it every time he let you hang off of his arm. 

You push your digits across your clit harder and whine out as Nikto’s open dress shirt slips to his waist, the cuffs rolled up as bare skin meets the darkness of the room. That sliver of light from the door was all that was needed, the barrier having slowly crawled its way back from where the Russian had shoved it, to witness the bulge and dip of scar tissue—the shades of hyperpigmentation. 

And you wanted to drag your nails along all of them.

“Смотреть на себя,” Nikto’s chest heaves, the bulk of his frame just the same as when you’d touched along his back. His hand inside of his boxers stutters, and his eyes flinch closed for a moment, masked face tilted. “Хорошим слушателем. Good for us, hm?”

“Touch me,” you ask, unconsciously mirroring Nikto’s pace as the sensitivity of your core heightens, leaking out to stain your underwear to the point it’s no use to keep them after this. Your spine is tight—begging to be arched just as your cunt begs to be filled. It tightens over nothing, and you whimper with a push of thin breath. “Please, Nikto, you filled me so well last time.”

His eyes glint, that Russian pride bleeding to fill the cup in his abdomen. Nikto smirks, but you can’t see it above the large hand that goes to grip your face, angling it to him as his other hand continues with the wet slapping of his cock. You want to see it—you want to watch it. Damn him he’s making this into a game of cat and mouse.

“What is that? You like when we fill your tight cunt, Птичка?”

Your face burns, and your eyes study his own as your pace below increases—rotting wood taking root beside sweat and pheromones. 

Nikto’s grip squeezes and you hear the rutting of flooded skin more clearly as he looms over your body, both fucking yourselves for no other reason than liking the sight and the sounds of the other.

“Answer.”

“Yes,” you stutter, unable to stop the thin noises from your mouth that follow—the cord in your abdomen pulling until taunt. “God, yes.”

“Not God,” the Russian chuckles before he groans, forehead connecting with yours as it rocks to the rabid abuse of his own hand, trying to imagine the sensation of your walls against them instead of his calloused fist. Your flesh would be softer than his ever could be, and the knowledge of that is enough to reduce him to a mindless beast. His breath hitches tightly, his hand moving rapidly, unconcerned about how fast his release is finding him just by hearing your little pleas. “No, Seraph, there is no God in this room.”

When he drinks down the sounds you give him he feels your body tense one final time, your lips flattening as your eyes flutter—only seconds away from your orgasm, perhaps. 

Nikto’s hands leave your face, and so does his forehead. You barely notice, truth be told until it’s not a second later that fingers are gripping the hand down your panties and dragging it out just as your hips begin rising off the bed. 

“No!” Your desperate keen echoes off the walls, eyes snapping open to rip your head down to the scene. Nikto was lacking his shirt, boxers are gone, and as he staples your arm beside your head, his body drags itself atop yours until his weight is as firm as stone. “Nikto, why did you—?”

“Hush,” he utters, knocking your leg up over his hip in a swift thrust that leaves the leaking tip of his dick prodding against your sopping cunt. Your eyelids flutter at the sensation, painting only to have your breasts shove into a sweaty chest.

“So close,” you beg, the feeling of your release draining away, leaving you irritated and unsatisfied. 

Your hips roll in a play to find friction, and the feeling of Nikto’s happy trail seems promising as you grind up into it, but there’s only so much you can do when the man’s other hand snags your waist and pushes you down.

You glare heatedly up into blown and smug eyes. 

You know better than to ask him to remove the mask, and now that you look at it, maybe that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. There was something alluring in those eyes, set into the dark void around them, deadly and numb, yet showing more emotions than anyone else would be able to tell besides you. 

“Let us help,” Nikto pushes himself up, grinding into your core as your glare breaks away into blown need. “I have something better than fingers. Show you how good it can be, yes? Show how you are supposed to be treated, Little Bird.”

Your hands slide up to his shoulder blades and he groans under his breath, taking in the sensation of nails along flesh, catching on the scars until they settle. Had he not imagined this before? Had he not fantasized? Desired? Sinful, yes, but he’d do it again if he could still feel the wet fluids of your arousal coating his abdomen. If this was the outcome of Nikto becoming locked in his own stoic emotions, there was a part of him that was greedy because of it.

There was no possible way that this was going to continue…right? 

His ears twitch to your voice as your legs shift to wrap the top of his hips, dragging his pelvis ever closer until he’s fighting the wave of agony by not having your cunt pulse around him. 

On your part, there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation.

“Then show me.”

It’s easy to slip the tip of himself inside of you—there’s enough fluid to render even the thought of dry friction impossible. Nikto's body shudders at the sensation, though it’s only a small portion of what you both need.

Your head rocks back, fingertips digging into the Russian’s shoulders as you both curse at the stretch of your folds. You hadn’t been able to gawk at the build of the man tonight—both too desperate for release—but thinking about how he gives small thrusts to help himself along, his eyes not moving from you unless to blink, you’d safely say he was well-endowed.

“Fuck,” your lips quiver, sweat at your brow. Through the whimper, you moan, a large thumb finding your clit and rolling as the sound of squelching echoes between the groans and whines. You’re both nothing but damn animals. “Could have,” you gasp, and Nikto stops before you shake your head and pull him closer. “Could have given a girl a warning, Big Guy.”

His strained chuckle only makes your core welcome him more, and the feeling of textured veins and warm flesh steadily driving itself home was addicting. Sex had never felt as fun as this. As safe.

Nikto made it safe.

“Apologies,” he grunts out, great form above you before you feel the nested base of his pelvis connect with yours. 

You both shake and your face is open with a pleasure-driven emotion as the Russian slides his head to your shoulder, his breath echoing from under his mask into your ear. He licks his lips, grip on your waist and arm pulsing with steady intervals of—tense, release, tense, release…

“Are you—”

“Fucking hell, please start moving,” you gasp out, grinding into him as the string on Nikto’s caution flees like a loose animal. 

His hand travels back from your waist to your hip, the other to the back of your neck, and as he staples his forehead to yours, he grinds out a quiet, “да,” and moves himself out of you nearly all the way as your eyes roll to the feeling. 

When the bed starts knocking the wall, there’s little to the imagination as to what’s taking place, and the steadily rising sounds mean nothing as sheets rustle and skin slaps faster, both sensitive from such near releases earlier. There are mutters in Russian, fast, harsh things that hold no venom—slow mutters that make your legs go numb long after both of you had finished. 

Nikto was right: for such a brute, he did know how to treat a woman. Well, maybe he just knew how to treat you right. 

Multiple times.

TAGS:

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[mewdas]

mdni chase, fear, cnc themes, crying, blood, vampire suguru wants ur blood ^_^ fluffy near the end (barely) heed my warnings or feel my wrath -> blocking

the looming spires of the church were your only solace that night.

the space looked much different to how you were used to it in the daytime, all pretty flitters of sunlight soaking through large stained glass panes, gentle warmth that held the large cross on the back wall like a mother would a child, like Mary would Jesus. it looked different now. scarier. it was something you wouldn’t dare think aloud, not here.

each little sound you made echoed off what seemed to be every surface, prompting your cheeks burning red with embarrassment even as you walked through the quiet rows alone. it was akin to catching word of some lewd things youd said during a sexual encounter the morning after it’d happened, that heavy sink of shame in your gut — except, only now it was because you weren’t technically supposed to be here after dark.

you weren’t entirely sure how you ended up in the situation; one moment you were easing your form through the loud, heavy double doors at the front, skimming every pew for that book, that— curses.. the title of which seems to have escaped you, which makes you feel almost.. trivial. going out of your way like this to fetch a book you were barely a few chapters through, one you didn’t even recall the name for, now. no matter.

you swore you had seen a flicker of the beige cover catch your eye in one of the pews you had just passed - prompting you to step backward in order to re-check. except — when you did so, you were met face-first with the chest of a tall, dark figure; one who’s eyes glinted with purple mischief and thinly veiled longing. his hair was a black, cascading stream down his shoulders, a feature which stuck even more-so when he leaned in enough for his breath to ghost over your ear; goosebumps sent up your nape as aforementioned hair tickled at your collarbone.

“ah, angel.. i didn’t mean to scare you,” he began, voice so delicate, so promising - yet harbouring such thick, burdening needs that laid out from his pointed tongue. “im ever so thirsty,” he continued, tracing a clawed finger along your jaw, quietly marvelling at the way your breath hitched in that pretty throat of yours, the way your eyes darted.

“…and since you’re here, you wouldn’t mind.. would you?” he’s already licking a slow, languid stripe up your neck, an approving sound purring from his own when he leans in further, nudging his nose into your jaw. he’s trying to be gentle, truly he is, but that delicious thud of your jackrabbitting pulse on the side of your throat was just making it.. ever so hard for him. he was a man, after all.

suguru’s gaze found yours, smiling wide at the flicker of fear and uncertainty laying there. he allowed his jaws to part, expectant, toying, watching like a hawk as your eyes go wide and panicked in the face of two, pearly pointed fangs inches from your face. in a blur of hair and clothing, you had spun on your heel, darting off through the pews again and further into the church away from him.

there’s a playful lilt to his words as he lets you go, straightening now to watch your panicked form with a smirk. “silly rabbit.. i would’ve hoped you’d catch on. the chase makes it all the more rewarding when i catch you.”

and he’s striding after you, letting his initial black robe pool on the aisle carpet, briefly adjusting his shirt cuff, grinning all the while - those pointed fangs glinting in the low light of the church. a place regarded as safe, sacred, now turned his dark, thrilling hunting ground.

you run, and run, and run, a place you once found respite suddenly feeling like it was closing in on you, suffocatingly confusing and maze-like in the dark, each corridor seemingly unfamiliar and you’re just letting your jellied legs carry you along through pure adrenaline, and your lungs are just burning, and you can hear him laughing and right fucking behind you and—

your vision blurs and blots from exhaustion when he finally gets his clawed hands on you, yanking you in so suddenly your back meets the wall of his chest, the little air you had left in your lungs clawing its way in and out. you barely even have it in you to writhe, limbs aching but the fight and prickle of tears in your eyes pushing you so fruitlessly on, despite it being inevitable.

suguru’s breath is crawling up the back of your neck and over your shoulders like a strangling hand. “caught you.” the sing-song nature of it almost makes the dam break, and you have to steel yourself to keep the tears behind your watering lash line, resolve in pieces.

you know it’s inevitable deep down, yet something else is looking in your gut, something that makes you wince in shame and embarrassment, something suguru picks up on. he hums, carding careful claws through your hair from your scalp, tracing twistedly sweet strokes. “oh?”

“did that little chase excite you, angel? you know i can practically smell it on you.. don’t be shy, now.” suguru can’t help but grin in poorly hidden delight, still pressed into your back — which in any other scenario would’ve been comforting. one hand found your jaw, angling your head up to give plenty of access for his drooling maw, the desperation clearly fuelled tenfold by that escape act.

he’s cooing soft little praises into your warm skin, face pressed in like an attention-starved feline, licking and kissing up the column of your throat, groaning low in appreciation. he’s almost glad you ran, actually, because the way your pulse is hammering beneath his flattened tongue - god, he can’t keep the moan behind his lips as he sinks his fangs in, stroking back your hair when he feels you unmistakably tense beneath him.

it hurts. of course it hurts, it’s like your very essence is being lapped away through two little holes in the side of your neck, like you’re some human juicebox. the feeling of your blood seeping from the puncture wounds, warm and trailing delicate paths down your skin makes you sway, already lightheaded, given your circumstances, yet supported in incredibly bittersweet fashion by the groaning vampire behind you.

it’s a terrifyingly calm sensation, being able to experience your limbs grow heavy and your brain lethargic with exhaustion as you’re fed from.

it feels like forever he’s spent latched onto your neck, nursing like a newborn animal all tongue and teeth, mindlessly stroking patterns into your loosening form in his arms. finally though, he’s pulling away; a series of purple-pink lovebites blotted over the twin puncture marks - a testament to just how delicious he found what you had to offer, lips swollen and bloodied when he turns you to look at him, that knowing smirk on his face.

“how cute.. you’re all worn out, aren’t you?” suguru is mumbling into your lips, well-fed and leaving bloodied kisses across your face, as affectionate as a pleased puppy now that he’s had his fill.

— 🦇

i need a pt2 for my own sake … only bc i want vampire suguru to rail me . sorry

special thanks to my dear friend & her hunt fic for getting me thru this spiritually lawl check her out @fangsandsoftgrass 🩷

[cripcross]

LATE PAYMENT.

🔞 this post contains mature themes. mature audiences only, minors do not interact. ageless/anonymous accounts that interact with my account will be blocked.

pairing: dark!post-outbreak!joel miller, afab!reader 😇 warnings: DARK THEMES: DUBCON! (straight porn), p in v sex, creampie, unprotected sex, joel is manipulative and mean, gunplay, slight predator/prey dynamic, reader is described to be shorter than joel, unspecified age gap, pure filth. summary: you're late with a payment and joel isn't too happy.

Everything seemed to be graying.

Losing life, losing potential. It was a continuous cycle. The streaks of dried blood on the cracked pavement, the run-down buildings, the cries of people in need, the dead bodies dumped into fires. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Endless amounts of fear coursed through your veins. Eyes wide, meekly gazing up at the towering figure above you. Stronger, calloused hands grasped at your sides, digging the cold metal of a gun barrel deeper into the side of your head. He cornered you into the back of an alley, with ease, behind one of the many deserted buildings in the QZ.

Joel Miller. His presence, alone, was intimidating. The man you admired from afar. Seeing him work around the QZ, never taking a moment to waste his time. He was a smuggler who didn't fuck around. Joel―the same man was who holding a fucking gun to your head, right now.

"You're seven short. I gave you a week. The fuck 're the rest of the cards?" He snapped, in an unforgiving tone. Joel's inky, rage-ridden eyes stared down at you, with an almost predatorial gaze.

Fuck.

The ration cards.

After making the poor decision to purchase pills from Joel and be late with your payment, the unmistakable feeling of regret began to pitch in. The pills weren't even for you. It was for your neighbor junkie who took advantage of your kindness.

Did Joel give a fuck? No.

His anger was a ticking time bomb. He was getting fed up with your antics. "You know how to fuckin' speak? I asked you a question. Stop fuckin' about and answer." Joel spat. The metal pressed harder against your skull, making you let out a small whimper of pain.

Glancing up with a blank stare, your first instinct was to plead with stumbles and stutters. "Please... p-please, Joel. I'm sorry."

Still pressing the cold, metal barrel of his pistol against your skull, Joel used his free hand to roughly grab your jaw. "How fuckin' pathetic. Think you can beg ya' way outta this? Jesus, you really are a dumb slut." His words cut deep, deep down to the crevice between your legs.

Thousands of possible options to free yourself flowed through your mind. Kick him. Punch him. Scream. Yell. With the smallest amount of hope, you pitifully attempted to move. Joel's grip on your jaw tightens and he presses your head back against the chipped, alleyway wall. "'m serious. 'm this close to blowin' a fuckin' hole in your head." Joel warned in a low tone.

One more potential option that rids all self-respect―take Joel by surprise and kiss him. A silent plea for a second chance. A second chance for your life and for the wet spot in your panties. Sex is majority of what men want as a payment. What makes him different?

Without thinking of repercussions or consequences, you lean up as much as he possibly allows you and press a soft kiss to Joel's lips. A fucking fantasy in your head makes you believe that Joel kissed you back, for the most imperceptible second, even though he ripped away from you in a heartbeat.

You could've sworn that your unexpected actions caused a look of surprise on Joel's face, for a brief moment, before his steeled expression took over, once again. "Fuck is wrong with you?" Joel had a grim look in his eyes. His fingers dug into your cheeks, physically forcing your head upward.

Awaiting your response, a specific thought clicked, deep inside of Joel's mind. "Should fuckin' shoot you, but that ain't what you want, huh, sweet girl?" He murmured huskily, before taking your silence as a chance to speak again. "You want me to take you right here, in this fuckin' alley? Use your words and speak to me properly." Joel said.

"Yes, I want it... I want you." You find yourself nodding, almost in a desperate manner. Joel has a deranged, half-smile plastered on his face. He removes his hand from your face and aimlessly tosses his pistol to the cracked, concrete ground, not faraway from one of the nearby dumpsters. "'Course you do. Seen me around the QZ, practically needin' your pussy to be filled by me, hm?"

As Joel rambles, he undoes his belt, lets his boxers and jeans pool at his boots, and allows his crown jewel to spring free. His cock is girthy and long, with a vein running from his shaft to his throbbing, leaky tip. You blink, admiring his cock, in all its glory. Fuck, he was big. With an uninterested expression, Joel nods toward the pants you were still wearing. "Hurry up and take your fuckin' pants off." He orders.

Spending a moment to clumsily strip your bottoms off, Joel has a stern gaze on you, the entire time. Once done, Joel takes a single step towards you. "Jesus, you're fuckin' soaked." He mumbles. His stronger hands grasp on to your waist, lifting you with ease and pressing you against the wall. Now, Joel has you sandwiched between him and the cracked, alleyway wall.

In this new position, you have an unspeakable urge to kiss Joel, but you know that he'd fucking hate that. He runs the tip of his cock along the sopping, puffy slit of your cunt, mixing his pre-cum with your juices. He softly slaps the tip of his cock against your clit and without wasting another second, Joel pushes his member in, in, and in. The soft sound of your wet pussy squelching around his cock is enough to drive Joel mad. He's stretching your cunt and, fuck, it burns. "So tight..." Joel grunts.

One hand of his is placed firmly on one side of your waist, and the other on your ass. He's slowly kneading the skin without thinking. You let out a small whimper, feeling his leaky tip gently brush against the sensitive spot, deep inside of you. It doesn't take much for Joel to initiate his frantic thrusts. His hips lightly slam against the inner pads of your thighs, mimicking the same, soft slaps of his balls against your leaking slit.

"This what you wanted, hm?" Joel says lowly, burying his head in your neck. Your response of a wordless, frenzied nod, accompanied with pornographic 'ugh, ugh, ugh's, was enough for Joel. You could feel every fucking inch of his cock and, fuck, did it feel good. Small tears formed in the corners of your eyes. Mouth slightly agape and mind too fucked-out, only uttering whines and moans. "Shit... shit, shit..." Letting out a soft gasp, your hips involuntarily started moving back on his, in small movements. Wanting more. Needing more.

The hand that was on your ass, was now pressed firmly on your mouth. "Shut up. Curfew's―fuck―gonna start soon. Don't need FEDRA findin' us." Joel grunted into the hot skin of your neck. Only the muffled whines and soft, lewd noise of his heavy balls slapping against your cunt were faintly heard in the alleyway. Every squelch, every squeeze, every time Joel bottomed out, more liquid leaked out of your sopping slit. "You gonna be good for me?" His voice was soft, a brief, surprising change in his hardened personality.

Not leaving a second for Joel to ponder, your head nodded in a frantic, longing manner. If the words didn't come out muffled, due to Joel's stronger, calloused hand pressed firmly on your mouth, you would've chanted a firm 'yes, yes, yes'.

Joel removed his hand from your mouth to place it back under the fat of your ass. His hips snapped against yours, with his thrusts quickly transitioning from precise to sloppy. The way your pussy clenched and swallowed him, Joel's cock had a ring of your white, sweetness smeared around his hard shaft. He couldn't last long with your cunt, no way in hell. A long spill of curse words from Joel was muttered in the shell of your ear.

Both sensing each other's urgent need to release, every movement heightened. "Fuck, need... please... cum inside me..." Panting softly, your hands instinctively found a soft grip in Joel's graying, curly hair. Usually, he would've hated any form of physical touch besides fucking, but Joel did the unexpected, this time around. His dominant hand gripped your throat, pressing a sloppy kiss to your mouth. With a suppressed moan and hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the slightest, you came on Joel's cock.

That milky, white consistency of yours spurted on Joel's cock, dripping out of your slit and between your thighs. Joel's face found its way back into the crook of your neck, with the tip of his cock bulging, just right, against your g-spot. "Fuck, fuck..." Joel growled. Clenching tightly around his cock, your mouth fell agape, once again, feeling a sudden fervor in the pit of your stomach. His semen squirted out of his tip, spurting a similar consistency against your cervix.

Not even minutes later, Joel returned to his brooding, persisting self. He pulled out of your cunt, placing you on the ground on slightly trembling legs. Not uttering a single word or sharing a glance in your direction, he properly dressed himself again before picking up his pistol from the cracked ground and turning to leave the wretched alleyway. His actions were leaving you in a whirlwind of confusion and hurt.

"Don't be late on your next payment." Joel called out, turning the corner and leaving your sight.

What the fuck?

🚀 authors note: whew, apologies for not posting in a while. it's gonna be a little bit till my next post, since it's exam week 😔 writers block got me down bad lately, shit's crazyy. always gotta give n pull thru for daddy joel, tho !!

[dun9eons]

a/n: hihi first post on this site anyway enjoy chiaki x fem reader smut (my chance to revive the danganronpa community is at low rn..) my carrd if u wnna know more abt me > dun9eons.carrd

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summary: you make chiaki mess up on a level and she punishes you for it (im nasty like that..)

CW (18+): smut, cunnilingus, make-out, fingering, overstim, wlw

words: 3.0k

fuck up, make up

You 're playing a game on your phone, trying hard in those team games and yelling at your teammates, so what? They 're bad and you're obviously better than them. Silently cursing to yourself for your teammates mistakes, you got a notification on the top of your screen.

Your face moves closer to the screen for a better look to realize it was from your crush Chiaki. Chiaki? Why would she be messaging you now? You knew around this time she would be napping, but any how, you opened to message that reads; “hi S/OOOOO, I just wanted to let you know if you could like come over to my dorm to hang out n stuff”

You started smiling at the screen in excitement, as you quickly typed back; “yeah ofc i can, js givr md a few minutes and ill be there!” You made typos along the way during type just a simple response, did Chiaki as your crush really affected your typing towards her? Jesus it’s pathetic. Your finger shook, leaning closer and closer to the send button, finally pressing it. You got up from your bed, packing your phone, console, and your dorm keys. You head for the door, opening then leaving, walking to Chiaki’s dorm. Chiaki’s house wasn’t far from yours, just a simple few minute walk from one side of the dorms to another.

You’re finally at her door, you knock a few times, Chiaki yawns, opening the door for you as she moves, making room for you to step inside. “Hey, S/O…” She gives you a small wave, rubbing her eyes as she holds a video game console in the other hand. Already in her pajamas.

"H-Hi Chiaki..!" You stuttered, you cursed yourself silently, why did you stutter? Just the presence makes you shiver, but she’s not even scary, she's the opposite of scary, you guess that you have a crush on her, who wouldn’t be nervous around their crush?

Snapping out of your thoughts you wrapped your arms around her neck as you buried your face in the crook of her neck.

Chiaki jumps a little at your sudden gesture, her eyes widening in surprise for a moment before she relaxes and wraps her arms around you in return, gently rubbing your back.

"Hey, what's up? Are you alright?" She asks in a soft voice, her breath warm against your ear. "You came all this way to see me, so I'm happy you're here, but is everything okay?" She looks at you with concern, her blossom pink eyes searching for your answer.

You pulled back from the hug with a little worried look on your face. “I’m fine, why?” You asked in a nervous tone, was it obvious that you look or act differently around Chiaki because she’s your crush? Who knows.. “Ah, sorry for assuming, you just look a little err.. Red?” Her hand reached up for your face, softly swiping off your hair from your forehead, as she planted the back of her hand onto your forehead. “You’re kinda burning up S/O, are you sure you’re okay?” “Of course I’m fine, don’t worry!” You instantly felt your face heating up and turning more redder, due to the contact and her basically calling you out. “Alright alright..” Chiaki's brow raises she's skeptical but she leads you into her living room, setting down the video game console on the table.

"Alright, how about we play a game together and then maybe have some snacks? What do you think?" She asks, trying to make you comfortable and ease the tension. 

“Yeah sure, I wouldn’t mind that.”

As you settle down on the couch, she turns on the console and selects a game for you both to play. Chiaki joins you on the couch, sitting close to you, you and her thighs brushing against each other lightly.

"Alright, here we go.." She says, starting the game. She's quite good at gaming, her fingers moving quickly on the controller, emitting soft grunts of concentration.

After a few rounds, you notice she's leaning closer to you, her body pressing against yours slightly. You can smell her light floral perfume mixed with a hint of vanilla. Your heart races faster as she focuses intently on the game.

You stole a few glances from her, noticing how cute she looked when she was tense and so concentrated on a game. You looked back onto the screen, looking on her side of the screen, you noticed that she was about to break a world record score.

It’s to the point you 're way too comfortable with each other, so you thought it was funny and fine to elbow Chiaki on the side, causing her to mess up. The room was silent, until Chiaki finally spoke up. “S/O what the hell? Why did you do that?” She said with a frustrated tone, “I was about to break the world record, oh my god..”

Realizing what you’ve done, you apologized frantically, “I-I’m so sorry Chiaki! It was just a prank I swear!”

“Prank? And you thought that was funny? S/O I swear..” She trailed off when she said the last word to her sentence, you tried brainstorming ideas on how Chiaki can forgive you, she was your crush, and your crush hating you was the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone, so you finally spoke up. “I’m so sorry Chiaki, I-I’ll do anything! Please just forgive me..” You pleaded desperately.

There was a minute of silence, you noticed a grin forming on Chiaki’s face, you knew what you said was very risky, but Chiaki wouldn’t go that type of risky right? Well, that's what you thought, until she spoke up. “Anything? Are you sure you mean anything..?” She asked, leaning closer than usual. Your breath hitched at the sight of Chiaki leaning in, your faces a few inches away from each other.

“Yes, anything! Just please forgive me, that's all I want..!” Your eyes stayed on the pillows of the couch you were sitting on, your body filled with guilt and nervousness, you kept thinking to yourself; what is she going to do to you?

(W: Anything past this part is 18+ if ur uncomfortable, please skip through)

“Well then, if you say anything.. Then you wouldn’t mind If i did this, right..?” She leans in closer, her lips barely brushing against yours, your heart was beating so fast, you couldn’t even comprehend what was happening, even if she was right in front of you.

Both of your lips we're now connected, her hand resting on the side of your cheek, it started of slow and a bit shy, then you eased into it, Chiaki’s tongue desperately asking for entrance in your mouth, you opened your lips a bit more wider for her tongue, she easily slipped inside, claiming all of your mouth with her tongue. She was so aggressive with her kissing, you fell back on accident, all of your back resting on the couch pillows you were sitting on, and Chiaki on top of you. Her knee was slightly pushing in between your thighs, putting pressure on your sensitive area.

Both of you continued your passionate make-out, turning more needy every passing second, Chiaki then pulled her head back, looking down on you, still continuing to grind her knee against your sensitive area. “Uhm.. Why’d you stop..?” You don’t even know why you asked this, you 're just so needy and lusting for more from Chiaki, you never knew she was good at these types of things, is it because of the dating sims she would play? “Oh? You want more..?” She said, with a teasing smile, “I just have one more question for you S/O, then maybe I’ll give you some more.” “Yes, o-of course..! What’s your question..?” You waited in anticipation with whatever question Chiaki would ask you.

“Well.. S/O, do you perhaps.. Like me..?” Your heart dropped at the question, how did she know? Was it really that obvious you like her? You wanted to just end yourself right then and there. “I’m sorry S/O, but you made it pretty clear you liked me, even when you came right at the door, you were so flustered and all red around me weren't you..?” You took a deep breath before finally confessing, “Yes Chiaki, I’ve liked you for such a long time, I don’t even know how long, but I know that I love you dearly..”You finally realized what you said, you confessed to her, her on top of you, you can’t even tell if this is a good or bad situation to be in. You instantly bring both of your hands to your face, covering the growing blush, your eyes filling with tears and sliding down your cheek. Now you really wanted to end yourself.

“Oh S/O..” Chiaki noticed you were crying from the sniffling sounds you 're making, she gently took your hands off your face and rested a hand on your cheek, wiping away your tears.

You used your sleeve to try wiping off the tears, along with Chiaki’s gentle care, you stopped crying, but that didn’t stop your sniffling and your flustered face. “S/O, stop crying okay..? You didn’t even let me finish..” You wondered what she was going to say next, was she going to reject you? Accept your confession? Anything can happen. “S/O, I’ve loved you for such a long time as well, as soon as my eyes landed onto yours, you were so perfect, so kind, so gentle..” Your face filled with a red color even more than before somehow, you couldn’t believe it, she liked you back. You were hers. You didn’t even respond, but you put your hand on the back of Chiaki’s head, forcing her lips to connect with yours. It was yet another aggressive make-out, making a few soft moans during it. God, you were so aroused, you didn’t care about anything but just her, the thought of you being hers increased your arousal significantly. Chiaki started kissing further down, to your cheek, and onto your neck and collarbone, making a few hickeys along the way. Chiaki pulled back, she adjusted herself and was now sitting on top of your lap, admiring the marks she made on your neck and collarbone. Her hand slowly rises up from her side, placing her hand on your chest. “May I?” She asked, would you let her do such a thing? Her taking off your clothes? Yes. Yes you would. You nodded frantically, just being more in need of Chiaki’s touch.

With your confirmation, she kept going, unbuttoning the uniform to your clothing, taking off your blazer, and your white sleeve top, tossing them on the floor. You couldn’t believe it, your bra was exposed to Chiaki’s view. You didn't even care anymore, you just wanted her to touch you right then and there. She reached behind her, pulling the waistline of your skirt just a little lower than usual, showing the outline of your underwear. She took her hand off your skirt, then continued her attention on your chest, with your bra still exposed to her view, she definitely wanted to see less than that, so she reached a hand behind your back, unclipping your bra, she then brings her hand back, pulling down your bra, now with your perky breasts to her view, nipples hardening to the cold air of the room.

It took her a minute, leaning in, teasingly licking the tip of your nipple, causing you to slightly twitch and your breath hitching. Without any warning, her mouth enveloped your nipple, her other hand slightly pinching and twisting your other nipple to further increase your arousal and sensations. You let out a few whines and shaky breaths of pleasure, you could feel Chiaki smiling against your chest, she knew you were needy for her, she found it adorable.

As Chiaki was still busy with your chest, you could start feeling an awkward heat rising from the lower region of your body, you couldn’t believe you were enjoying it this much, you just confessed to Chiaki, made out, now having sex? It was like a dream come true. 

But your thoughts came to a stop when she pulled her head back, you could feel her saliva traveling down your chest to your torso or down your ribs. She adjusted herself, now in between your legs. Being left with no touch, you were squirming a lot, trying hard to create some sort of friction, but with Chiaki’s leg still in between your legs and teasing your sensitive area, she believed it was time for attention for a different area.

She pulled your skirt down and puts the middle of her finger, slightly pressing it on your damp panties, she giggled slightly, you were so wet, so aroused. “S/O.. You’re so wet already, just from a little touching..” She teased, her fingers doing circle patterns on your panties, she could feel your clit pulsating in need. “Shut up..” You whined, you wanted her to stop teasing you, and just touch you on the place where you needed her most. She scoffed, playing with the waistline of your underwear, she gave you a look to keep on going or not. You nodded, and you felt her sliding your underwear down to your ankles.

She then cupped your pussy with her palm, feeling the warmth emanating from your needy pussy.

“Chiaki please..” You pleaded, you kept squirming, letting out a whimper, you really need her fingers inside you right now. “So needy..” She mumbled, she then placed two fingers on your folds, opening them for a better view. She then stuck in one finger, pumping in and out of you, teasing you in such an annoyingly slow way. It felt a bit uncomfortable at first, the first time both of you have ever had sex, so, she took it slow at the start, but a minute or two later, she gradually increased her speed, starting to become more aggressive and powerful, curling her fingers up with each thrust for that g-spot. You arched your back off the couch, your chest heaving, the continuous moans and sobs you let out. “Ngh..~ Aaahnn.. Ch-Chiaki..~!” She then added a second finger onto the first one, which made you make even more noises, she leaned into your neck, her fingers still pumping in and out of you. She kissed everywhere on your neck and collar, leaving more hickies. You desperately reach your arms out, hanging them onto Chiaki for dear life, the pain and pleasure you are enduring is so much, your nails are digging to the back of Chiaki’s skin. “Ch-Aah.. Chiaki..! M-More pl-ngh.. Please~!” You choked out, barely getting the chance to form understandable sentences, it was pure gibberish. “Mmmh.. Such a pillow princess..” She said, her hot breath against your ear, she did well putting you in such a lustful state, your mind was just nothing but blank but filled with lust and desire, all for Chiaki.

She added yet another finger, now making it three, the pure sensation of 3 fingers pumping in and out of you at such a fast pace made your eyes roll back. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten even more from each thrust from her. You were so close, you needed to release.

“Chiaki.. I-I’m ngh..~ Gonna c-cum..” You muttered, signaling to Chiaki that you were close. After Chiaki knew you were close, she went even rougher and faster. Not even a minute later, you finally released on her hand, your thighs spasming. You watched your cum slowly travel down to the couch’s surface and down your thigh. You glanced up at Chiaki, she had most of the cum on her fingers and hand, she then reached her hand out towards your face, stretching her fingers to see the string of cum stuck in between. “Never knew you could produce that much S/O..” She grinned. You said nothing, you were busy desperately breathing for air, your chest heaving. Chiaki then came back to her position, she looked like she had a thought to herself, not a good one at most, she was smiling in a way that you knew she was up to no good. She shifted lower, now her head in front of your dripping pussy. You instantly realized what she was doing. “Wait Chiaki.. I can’t last another round..” You said, still breathing heavily from your first orgasm.

“Mmh.. You want my forgiveness right..?” She grinned an evil smile, she knew the power she had on you, you were so submissive to her. You couldn't do anything but just sigh and comply with her.She smiled innocently, prepping both of your legs on top of each of her shoulders for easier entrance and view. Your pussy was still dripping from your intense orgasm just bare minutes ago.

She planted kisses on your pussy. Her tongue teasing your entrance, flicking her tongue up, causing you to let out a whimper. She then plunged her tongue in, exploring and expanding your walls. The sensation of her tongue just flicking inside you rapidly made you scream. You already felt another orgasm coming, and it was only one or two minutes since she started. You needed to release again, it was starting to become painful, yet still pleasuring.

“Chiaki.. I-I’m! Going to cum a-again..~!” You mewled out, your moans being mixed with sobs, you couldn’t take it anymore. You really needed release.

And with that, a minute later goes by, and you finally cum, producing even more than before. Chiaki carefully placed down your legs on the couch again, licking your sweet cum off her fingers.

“You did so well for me S/O, is this a warning that you don't mess me up again..?” “Of course..”

i wish chiaki could do tht to me irl istg

for anyone who wants the link of the photo i used for the > banner <

[doodlevich]

DTIYS: Mickey + Puppy 🐶

For dear Harvey’s challenge!❤️ @mikhailoisbaby

I got inspired by Mickey and the dog and wondered how Ian would fit in to the whole things… and then a wrote a little au meetcute fic about it for good measure :-)

🔽🔽🔽

“The fuck is wrong with that thing?”

Ian glances over his shoulder and in doing so almost trips over a tree root sticking out of the ground.

Standing in front of him is a gorgeous, dark haired man, sporting blue eyes that basically pierce Ian’s fucking soul. He’s wearing various shades of black and the look of disgust curling up his sharp features tells Ian that the guy wouldn’t like it much if he was referred to as ‘slightly petite’.

But he is, though. Just Ian’s type.

“What’s w-wrong with what?” Ian sputters, at a loss for words as he takes it all in. Then he remembers he happens to be holding a shivering chihuahua wrapped in a pink puffer doggie vest and pink booties to match.

Goddamnit Tami.

“Oh? The chihuahua?” Ian chuckles once the pieces all click. “She belongs to my sister-in-law. I’m dog-sitting while she and my brother visit her family.”

The dark haired stranger snorts. “If you can call that a dog.” He reaches down to pat his own animal on the head, and Ian realizes he was so caught up with the man than he didn’t even notice the pit-bull by his side. “Looks like it’s one wrong move away from being lunch-meat.”

Ian shrugs. It’s a fair point.

“Yeaaaah, Penelope it’s one for picking fights.” The Chihuahua wriggles in the crook of his arm and yips at the mention of her name.

The man snorts. “Penelope? Jesus Christ, man.”

“Fitting right?” Ian smiles at the pitbull’s blissed our expression as the mystery man scratches below the chin. “What’s his name then?” He nods towards the larger dog. “Monster-mutt? Grave-digger? Maximum Destruction?”

The man laughs, a low rumble, and it’s the best thing Ian’s ever heard with his own two ears.

“First off, stop listing names of fuckin’ monster trucks.” He snorts. “And second, her name is Lia.”

Ian laughs along. “And you’re over here busting Penelope’s balls for having a cutesy name?”

The man shrugs. “She already had a name when I adopted her from the rescue shelter. Not gonna confuse her by re-naming her.”

“She’s a rescue dog, huh?” Everything Ian learns makes him want to know more about this guy. “Mind if I ask her owner’s name?” Ian can’t tell if he’s being smooth or coming across as a dumbass, but the man seems amused regardless.

“Me? Name’s Mickey.” He extends his hand to shake, and before Ian takes it he notices the knuckle tats- yet another factor to drive him wild. “How about you? Got a name?”

“Ian.” Ian shakes his hand firmly, and it feels like more than a mere formality. He swears he’s not imagining it- there’s a spark when they touch, and Ian realizes he can’t waste an opportunity to change his life for the better.

“You up to anything after this?” Ian asks, projecting all the confidence he can muster. “I know a bar about a block from here that’s dog-friendly…”

Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up, and for a moment Ian wonders if he’s reading the signals wrong. Then a grin appears on Mickey’s face.

“You askin’ me on a date, Ian?”

Ian’s face heats up, but he’s giddy, something he hasn’t felt in years. “Maybe. If that’s what you wanna call it. Kinda just want to get to know you better, Mickey.”

“You’re in luck then, cuz I love a good mid-day beer.” Mickey sets off down the park path, motioning for Ian to follow him. “And a drinking buddy wouldn’t be so bad, either.”

It takes Ian a moment to realize that this is Mickey’s way of saying ‘yes’, but once he does, he’s jogging to catch up, Penelope bouncing in the crook of his arm.

Something tells Ian he’s just made the best decision of his life.

[peterparkersnose]

Be My Mistake

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: sadness, relationship memories, fluff, alcohol consumption, horrible dad jokes, mention of FEET, tiny make out neck sucking in public, 

a/n be fed children. enjoy. bonus at the end 😉

listen to ‘Be My Mistake’ by The 1975 bc that is what I based this fic on, hence the lyrics

summary Joel regrets his breakup with Y/N and re lives some memories

masterlist

join the tag list

read time: 5 mins 40 seconds

His heart beat fast in his chest. He sat propped up against his bedroom door, one leg extended in front of him the other one arched.

He missed you more than ever. Life was so dull without you. He yearned for you, craved you. Just one moment of bliss he prayed for. All he had left was the memories.

The thought of you plagued his mind. The argument you two had was plain out stupid. He struggled to remember what it was really even about. Had he just made the biggest mistake?

She bought me those jeans; The ones you like.

“I like the dark wash ones better, personally.” you said, hands on your hips with your head tilted.

Joel held up the two pairs they had found in a storage container. One for him, one for Tommy.

“I dunno, you think the lightwash will be better for the summer?” he asked mockingly, making a joke.

“Most definitely,” you chuckled back, taking the dark wash pair from him. “Dark wash then?” he asked. You nodded your head. “I like that color better on you anyways. Brings out your eyes,”

You folded the pair of Joel’s new jeans and stuck them in your backpack.

The pair he was wearing now.

He took his finger and thumb and moved a bit of the fabric in between his fingers.

I don’t want to hug; I just want to sleep. The smell of your hair; reminds me of her feet.

The cold January night hummed past your creaky old window. Joel begged for sleep, but the wind was keeping him awake.

“You want me to hold you?” you asked, your cold breathe falling on his face. “No,” he said stubbornly.

The two of you lay close in the many blankets you had wrapped around yourselves.

The windows chattered from the wind, making you jump a little.

“It’s only the wind darlin’,” he assured you.

The smell of your freshly washed hair filled his senses. Strawberry, from your new shampoo you picked up from the resource station.

The soothing scent of you and the warmness of the blankets set Joel into a daze. Sleep was there, he could see it.

He was awoken as you moved your cold feet under the blanket and onto his bare leg.

“Jesus Y/N!” he croaked, flinching back. “Get some goddamn socks,”

You smiled to yourself, letting a breathe of air out of your nose. “If you have such a problem with it, you go get me some.”

Joel suddenly grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him. You let out a tiny yelp from the surprising move.

“Don’t put your nasty ass feet on me again. Good night, my love.”

He kissed the top of your head and closed his eyes.

Just wait till I give you a sign; ‘Cause I get lonesome sometimes.

At the beginning of your relationship you kept it on the low. Very low in fact, Maria’s nosy self found out when she suspected you two were switching patrol partners a little too often to be with each other.

So during that stage, you two had a signal.

If he needed you, or you needed him just to talk or be with each other, you would rub the side of your nose.

The room was filled with board members of Jackson. Joel had been sitting in the boring meeting about infrastructure and electricity for hours.

Another member had requested coffee, and coincidentally you were the one who brought it up to them.

Joel was relieved to see your smiling face after the hours spent in that dull room. He made eye contact with you and rubbed the side of his nose.

You sat down the coffee tray and returned the gesture.

You left and turned the corner, waiting for him. Joel excused himself to the bathroom, putting the meeting on hold.

His head crept around the corner and found you leaning up against the wall playing with the bottom end of your braid.

“God, I missed you.” he whispered, grabbing your waist. You kissed him, his dry lips moving softly against yours.

“Boring meeting?” you asked, draping your arms around his shoulders. “Boring isn’t a strong enough word to describe that meeting.” he smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Well, I’m glad it’s almost over. You coming over tonight?” you asked him, staring into his dark eyes.

“When am I not,” he sighed, pressing his lips against your neck. You took in a sharp breathe as his lips attached themselves to you, sucking your soft skin. Your hand moved through his coarse hair.

“J-Joel it’s gonna leave a mark,” you stuttered, trying to convince yourself you weren’t enjoying this.

“Hmm. Maybe that’s a good thing,” he smirked, giving you one more small kiss on the lips.

“I’m finishing that tonight!” he said, walking back down the hallway.

Save all the jokes you’re going to make; While I see how much drink I can take

“There’s no way I’m even taking a sip.” you bragged, crossing your arms as Joel poured the bottle of Gin into two glasses.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, cracking his neck on both sides and cracking his fingers out in front of him.

“Alright. Shoot your best shot, Miller.”

“Why do bees have sticky hair?” he asked, pushing your glass closer to you.

“I dunno,”

“Because they use a honeycomb.”

Your face stayed plastered emotionless.

“Oh, come on.” he whined, taking a fast sip of his drink.

“Okay, okay. My turn.” you said, trying to think of your best dad joke.

“What kind of music do chiropractors like?”

“Beats me,”

“Hip pop,”

Joel’s stone face quivered a bit, his lip moving into a slight smirk.

“Ha!” you yelled, calling out his broken poker face. “What? What?” he asked, admitting his defeat. “I didn’t do anything,” he complained, picking up the cup and taking a sip.

“Okay. My turn.” he said, eyes pointing like daggers into yours.

“Why do nurses like red crayons?”

“I dunno Joel, tell me.”

“Sometimes they have to draw blood.”

Your top lip folded on to your bottom one.

“That was bad.” you sighed, holding your breathe and taking a sip.

“Final one, final one.” he insisted.

“A horse walks into a bar,”

“Oh this better be good,” you scoffed.

“The bartender greets him and says ‘Hey’. The horse says ‘yes please’.”

Your smile returns to your face along with your blush.

“That wouldn’t have been funny if we weren’t just in the stables,” you sighed, admitting your defeat.

Another sip.

I shouldn’t have called; ‘Cause we shouldn’t speak.

Joel hovered over his landline, heart re broken by the memories he just re lived in his head.

They were so vivid, a little too vivid for him. The long day out working and the feeling of agony he’s felt over the past week has been eating him alive. He couldn’t believe it’s been a week since he’s spoken to you, since he’s touched you. How could he have gone that long?

He had your number memorized. All those secret late night calls he could never forget. His heart raced like a teenage girl as he dialed those numbers.

“Hello?” you said perkily, answering the phone. Your meer tone set him off, panicking. Why didn’t he think of something to say? Why did you sound so happy? We’re you not hurting like he was? This is so stupid.

“Hello?” you asked again. Joel cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he sighed.

He heard the shortness of your breathe caught through the phone. “Oh,” you sighed. “Maybe we shouldn’t speak,” you asked, your tone so much more saddened than it was. You were also in mourning of the beautiful relationship you two once had.

‘I shouldn’t have called’ Joel thought to himself.

Fuck it.

He sighed. Joel needed to get out what he had been wanting to say.

“I-I’ve been thinking,” Joel said. “About you know…”

“Us?” you asked, finishing his sentence. “Yeah,”

“Maybe this was… maybe this was a mistake Y/N. I-I don’t think I can handle this for much longer. I can’t have you be my mistake.”

“Really?” you asked, hope reigniting in your voice. “What did we even fight about anyways?” you asked him. “Honestly, I can’t even remember.” he laughed.

You two paused for a moment, enjoying just the closeness through the phone in that moment.

“So…” you said, breaking the silence.

“You want to come over?”

“How could I resist,” Joel said, his smile widening. “I’ll be over in a few. See you soon, my love.”

Bonus:

“Psst, look.” Maria whispered to Tommy. They say on their front porch, Maria was cleaning her gun and Tommy was reading over patrol reports.

Crickets chirped and mayflies flew around their porch lamp.

His head shot up, squinting in the darkness. “What?” he asked. “Y/N’s house- quick. Look.”

And there he saw his brother walking up your driveway. He had a fruity skip in his walk. “Well I’ll be damned,” Tommy laughed, putting his paper down next to him.

“Woahhhh,” Maria said, shocked. You opened the door and immediately embraced him, giving him a long passionate kiss.

Joel looked around his surroundings and scuffled into your house, slamming the door behind him.

“I knew they would be back together. I called it.” Tommy chuckled, rocking back on his rocking chair.

“And you thought they were dunsos for real.” Tommy taunted his wife, poking his finger into her shoulder.

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean

[everythingmp3]

𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕥 ⋅⋆☆⋆⋅

adult!Van x fem!reader (smut)

you are her younger partner and get an idea during date night that might qualify you as a bad influence on her

minors dni. warnings: top!reader, semi public sex, oral, fingering

(note: i know i don´t interact much on here bc it´s just a side blog, but i saw some of you followed me, so thanks <3 I had fun with this one, hope u enjoy xx💌)

it was finally Friday night after a long week of you and Van barely seeing each other, so she had taken you out for a nice dinner, to properly make up for the time you´d spent apart. after leaving the restaurant it was still light out and neither of you wanted to go home just yet, so she drove you to a beautiful spot overlooking a lake, just in time to witness a golden sunset. you decided to just enjoy the view on a bench for a while, sharing some pastries she´d brought for desert. you were the only two people around, it was peaceful, idyllic.

as the sun set, it got increasingly cold and Van´s freckled cheeks grew pink, you kept staring at her from the side, captivated by her; the way her pretty hair fell down her shoulders, the way her soft lips glistened in the remaining sunlight, the way she looked like she was blushing. you were suddenly overcome with desire for her, eager to get your hands on her. you knew that the drive back home was gonna take about an hour but you wanted her right there, in that moment, more than anything.

"can I ask you something?" you said, breaking the silence, looking at her, grinning a little. she eyed you, wondering what was going through your mind, "depends" she said, her voice low, so you leaned closer, "have you ever had sex in your car?", she raised her eyebrows, a little stunned by the sudden bold question ,"no, never", you kept looking at her, unwilling to let it go, determined "and...would you ever?", your hand on her thigh now, giving away exactly where you wanted things to go, it became clear to her, "okay I see, you´re trying to corrupt me, aren´t you?" you smiled, your other hand in her hair now, her weak spot; anything resembling hair pulling got Van to her knees immediately, always, "maybe, yeah" you admitted, watching her expression change, obviously affected by your attempt to persuade her.

you leaned even closer now to whisper to her "i want you so fucking bad, i can´t wait until we´re home, i need you, please Van" placing a kiss on her temple, then on her cheek, traveling down to her neck, kissing her tenderly, breathing in her familiar scent, already feeling yourself grow hot and excited, a groan her escaped her before answering "fuck it, you win, come". she took your hand and pulled you up, looking around to make sure you were truly the only people around, dragging you to her car, your face lit up now, satisfied from seeing her fold so easily.

she got into the back seat, you got in on the other side, banging the door shut so loud she laughed "jesus you´re eager", the second she closed the door on her side you were all over her, pulling her towards you, kissing her sloppily, almost biting her lips from how desperate you were, both of you moaning into each other´s mouths now, your hands grabbing her face, hard, your fingers running through her hair, pulling a little, getting a whimpering sound out of her.

you backed away, panting, pulling up her shirt and the tank top underneath, almost violently, grabbing her tits with your cold hands, hearing her gasp, her nipples immediately growing hard from the touch, "fuck..." she cursed under her breath, her head now resting against the door, eyes closed, legs sprawled out over the backseat, you on top of her, your mouth attached to her chest, tongue running over her skin, sucking, savoring it, making humming sounds from the pleasure, her breathing now irregular and interrupted by moans "god, you feel so good".

you needed more of her so you unbuttoned her pants, dragging them down to her ankles, including her underwear, which left her exposed to you, her thighs already pushing upwards in anticipation, your hands pulling them apart a little to position yourself between them, "you have no idea how much i want you" you whispered, taking in the sight of her, flushed, panting, almost angelic looking, "you´re so fucking hot" she praised, staring at you, turned on by the way you were admiring her body, "please..." she begged, needing you as badly as you needed her.

you placed your hands on her thighs, holding her in place, caressing her a little before kissing her inner thigh all the way up, biting down here and there, feeling her wince a little, until you could finally run your tongue over her wetness, a shudder running through her from the sudden contact. you couldn´t be slow with it, you were too hungry for her, your face buried within seconds, tongue diving in with deep, needy movements, sliding up and down between her aroused lips, your mouth stopping at her clit for a moment, sucking the sensitive spot, hard enough to make her moan without regard for how loud she was being, her hands grabbing your head, your hair, encouraging you to keep going, to give into your need to devour her.

the thing that immediately drove you insane when you and Van first started dating, was how this very composed and chill seeming person was so unbelievably sensitive to physical touch, anything you did to her, a gentle squeeze here, a lingering hand there, was enough to turn her into a needy mess; sometimes an unexpected kiss on her exposed shoulder was enough to hear her breathing get heavy all of a sudden, so during sex it was that times a thousand. nothing pleased you more than always feeling her body not just want, but need yours.

you were deeply enjoying the feeling of having your way with her out in a public space like that, the urgency of it, the way you were literally all over her due to a lack of space, eating her out like you´d been apart for months when it had only been a few days, sounding pretty desperate yourself while sucking on her overstimulated skin, feeling her writhe under you, Van´s hair all messed up by then, her top still pulled up over her chest, the hottest sight imaginable to you.

after a while your hand wandered up to where your mouth was already busy, you looked up at her from between her legs for a second, seeing her nod, urging you to do it, so you ran two fingers over her, eliciting a gasp, before pushing them inside of her and starting to fuck her slowly, feeling and hearing her unravel, her hand clinging onto the seat for support. you continued the motion with your fingers, curling upwards, hitting the spot, feeling her hips bucking hard against you, licking her clit to add to the sensation, relentless in your pursuit to make her feel as good as possible, you could tell she was close, her muscles contracting more and more each passing second,"it´s okay baby, do it, i got you" encouraging her to let go, feeling her thighs trying to squeeze together but keeping them apart. a few final hard pushes from your fingers mixed with your tongue on her made her body shudder and tense up one last time before you could feel her legs relaxing a little and her breathing become steadier again, removing your hand but still lazily licking up her juices while she came down from the climax, telling her how good she tastes.

finally, you got up from between her legs, adjusting your hair, wiping your mouth, your chin, smiling at her, seeing her face all red and glowing from the high, mouth still parted. you had gotten so wet from pleasing her and hearing her moan and whine that you reached down your own pants to quickly finish yourself off but she intervened, sitting upright, shaking her head, "no stop, my turn, let me take care of you", you nodded, obeying, feeling her hand reach down your underwear, "god..." she groaned, feeling how wet you were, the fabric practically dripping, she knew she didn´t need to do much at all, her fingers sliding between your folds for a second, gathering some of the wetness before rubbing your clit, watching you close your eyes, your hand on her shoulder to steady yourself, finishing very shortly after, too turned on to last any longer, pulling her hand up from between your legs to kiss her fingers, her knuckles; a moment of spontaneous pure tenderness. she was your partner after all, not just a hookup.

once Van could actually form a clear thought again, she shook her head in disbelief, realizing what you two had just done, somewhat in public, “fucking hell...you´ll get us trouble one of these days" she said, leaning back, smiling, eyeing you, so obviously enamored, "take it as a compliment" you responded, smiling back at her, "i never wanted someone badly enough to talk them into car sex. believe it or not, i wasn´t usually this desperate before you", she laughed, reaching for your hand, her thumb running over your palm,"really? i am that irresistible, hm?" her eyes sparkling in the moonlight that was illuminating the dark scenery around you, "actually yes, you are" you responded, laughing too, but fully meaning it.

[jxtina-86]

Control

Part of the Roman/Katherine series - this follows on a few months after the The Request where these two decided to level-up their escapades.

Two things inspired this. This promo which makes my brain short-circuit every time I see it and this GIF series. Especially the first one. Jesus Christ. Anyway - credit to the owner (and @thesamoanqueen for finding that first one MONTHS ago when I first had this idea).

Oh and I spent way too much time hunting around for a certain item that features in this and reading the reviews - my search history is beyond rescue at this point.

Warning: Sexual content/descriptions

Rating: MA

Comments/reblogs/likes all welcome!

****

Katherine rolls her neck slowly, easing the tension that's built up from sitting still for too long. Stretching her arms up briefly, she drops her hands to her face and pushes her glasses up to rub her eyes.

Letting the frames fall back into place, she blinks at the screen. She clocks the time in the corner and knows she should shut her laptop down and come back to it in the morning with fresh eyes. But yet…

Her brow furrows as she re-reads the last few paragraphs. She knows it's a bad habit - she should leave it alone, let the words sit and breathe a little longer before she edits, but in moments of frustration, such as this one, she can't help herself.

Her finger hovers over the delete button for a second before she shakes her head and retracts her hand. Spinning slowly away from the desk, she once again pushes her glasses up onto her head. Closing her eyes, she slowly pieces together fragments of the intended scene in her head.

His hands, one gliding down her body, fingers tugging… the other cupping her face, turning it to his.

His body pressed against her back, firm, strong. She melts into his embrace, her body loose and willing as his fingers slip between her legs.

Her thighs open, welcoming him and she relishes in the groan that vibrates through him as he teases the exposed and sensitive skin.

A loud buzz.

No. That's not right.

Her eyes flicker open and she sees her phone lit up. She already knows it's him before she even spots the name.

Back at the hotel x

She swipes to reply but he sends through another message before she finishes.

You better be in bed, baby girl. It’s late x

Busted, she grins at the screen as she taps out a reply.

I'm working x

Go to bed x

Make me x

She chews her lip, waiting as she sees that he’s typing. There’s a brief pause and then…

She grins as both her face and his flashes up on the screen - a new photo she took the last time they were together in the back of a cab on the way back from a bar. The smirk on his face and her wide eyes give away the fact that his hand, not seen in the photo, was sliding over her thigh and between her legs as she’d taken the snap.

Her skin tingles at the memory, but Katherine still leans back in her chair in mock defiance as she answers the video call. Yet the second she sees him, her resolve begins to crumble - even she would admit that was inevitable.

Roman is standing in a hotel bathroom, in a pair of grey joggers that are slung deliciously low on his hips. Katherine physically has to suppress a whimper, her eyes unsure of where to look as she takes in his chest, abs, arms, face, the faint imprint of his dick against the grey material.

Roman smirks, leaning forward to tower over the phone he has propped on the vanity.

“See something you like?”

“Always,” she replies, not missing a beat.

“You should be in bed. It’s nearly midnight there, baby girl.”

“I know. But I was mid-flow.”

“Bullshit,” he chuckles. “You wouldn’t have replied if you were.”

Katherine pouts in response.

“Bed,” he tells her. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Will you?” She tries not to sound too hopeful.

Roman scrapes a hand across his face. “This was your idea, baby girl.”

She pouts. “I didn’t realise a four-week stint was on the cards.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“No, Ro…”

“Someone dropped the ball, my schedule got fucked. I swear to God, I gave ‘em fuckin’ hell.” His brown eyes stare at her pleading through the screen.

“So when are you back?”

“Saturday.”

“So three extra days?”

“Yeah…” he exhales slowly. “I’m sorry, Kat.”

She forces a smile. “It’s okay. Shit happens.”

“I’m gonna make it up to you. Dinner on Saturday. I’ll take you to that fancy sushi place you’ve been telling me about.”

“It’s booked up for weeks, I tried.”

“Good job you got yourself a man with contacts then.”

“How-”

“Uh-huh, I got contacts, that’s all you need to know.”

She smiles. “Okay, okay. Thank you. I can’t wait.”

“For you, anything.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Anything?”

A deep laugh echoes through the screen. “Oh, you really are trying it on tonight, baby girl.”

“Four weeks, Ro,” Katherine whines, unashamed of how much of a brat it makes her sound.

He shakes his head. “Firstly, this was your idea. I’m just playing my part. And secondly, it’s only a few more days. Plus,” his voices drops an octave. “You’re doing so well.”

A shiver curls down her spine. “Yeah?”

He nods slowly, his head rocking to the side as he eyes her. “You can hang on a few more days.”

She knows he’s right - it was her idea.

And she also knows that if she does default on this agreement, there’s no real consequence. He’d only take it further if she asked him to.

But the way he embodies the character she demands of him - a man in charge of her pleasure - makes her feel that she owes it to him to carry out her part.

She didn’t quite imagine it would end up like this - what had started as the occasional teasing play had quickly evolved. The sex had been pretty fucking wild before she’d made the request. Now it was off the charts.

Now she could only cum with his permission and more crucially, only in his physical presence.

In past travel stints, they’d survived on phone sex, purring down the phone at each other, listening to each other’s breathless moans, slick fists and fingers and the occasional gentle hum of a toy. 

Now he’d pull her back from the brink, even from miles away with just one solitary word she finds she can’t ignore. Stop.

It had been equal parts delicious and torturous. Katherine had countdowns set on her phone for each trip away, waiting for his return. But even then, he’d take his sweet time, watching her writhe in frustration until he relents and tells her ‘now’.

But four weeks. Four weeks was not the plan. And nor was an additional three days.

He interrupts her thoughts. “Did a package arrive today?”

She blinks. “Huh? Oh. Yeah.”

“Go open it for me.”

She does as she’s told - the spell is wound too tightly to refuse him anything at this stage - and heads for kitchen. “Why’d they send it here?”

“I asked them too. Knew you’d be in to take it and saves me getting a redelivery or going to the depot.”

She nods, placing the phone against a mug on the counter before finding a knife to slice open the box. “What is it?” she asks as she peels back the flaps of the box.

He smirks. “You’ll see.”

“What’s with the mystery?” Katherine grumbles lightly as she rifles through the packing paper that fills the box. Her hand finds a smaller box - two in fact. She tugs the first free and casts Roman a curious look. “A new phone?”

“For you.”

“Why-”

“Find anything else?”

“Yeah, I-” she stops as she pulls out the other box and sees the image on the front. She raises an eyebrow. Looking back at the phone, she sees the wicked smile playing across Roman’s face. “You’re a bastard, you know that right?”

“What?” He winks. “Can’t I treat you, baby girl?”

“This,” she taps the box. “This is not a treat. This is a torture device.”

“Don’t be too hasty,” he smirks. “Read the box.”

She scans the blurb and then looks back up at him. “Oh…”

“Not such a bastard after all, right?”

“Perhaps,” she throws him a wink. “But Ro… it says it needs a Bluetooth connection to set up and link to more than one phone.”

“Two steps ahead of you, baby girl.” Grinning, he tugs a phone from his pocket and flashes it at the screen.

“You planned this?”

“Well, I didn’t quite plan not being with you to try it out together but actually, this works just as well…”

Katherine can feel her heart starting to pound as she opens the box and the vibrator slides into her hand. “Pretty,” she tells him with a grin.

“Turn the phone on. Passcode is your birthday.”

She does as she’s told and when the phone boots up, she clicks on the solitary app on the homescreen. A second later, she jumps as the vibrator starts to hum in her hand and she looks up to see Roman grinning at her. He twists his hand to show her the app opened on his second phone too, his thumb on the screen sliding slowly up. As he does, the vibrations gradually increase and Katherine feels her breath catch in her throat.

“All in my control,” Roman murmurs, his dark eyes meeting hers through the screen.

She nods, almost hypnotised.

“I’m gonna take care of you, baby girl.”

“You… you are?” Katherine feels a tremor down her spine at the thought. 

“Only if you do exactly what I tell you.”

“I will.”

“Good girl.” A whimper escapes her before she can stop it and he scrapes a hand over his face and down his neck with a deep chuckle. “One day I’m gonna see if I can just make you cum by saying that over and over again…”

“That,” she breathes shakily. “Would be one hell of a dangerous talent.”

“More dangerous than this?” His thumb is back on the app and the vibrator jolts once again in her hand. “Bed, baby girl.”

She doesn’t need telling twice. She eagerly gathers the three devices in her hands and makes her way to the bedroom. Propping up her main phone against the lamp on the bedside table, she awaits his next instruction.

“Strip. Slowly.”

Taking a step back so he can see her fully, she hooks her fingers into the waistband of her tight shorts. Turning away from the screen, she wriggles her hips as she slides the material over her ass before slowly bending forward.

She hears a sharp intake of breath from behind her and glances over her shoulder. Roman’s eyes are dark with lust and his tongue slips out to wet his lips briefly as his head tilts to one side. “Keep going,” he breathes.

With a grin, she edges the shorts down her legs before she slowly straightens. Turning back to face him, she crosses her arms to grab the hem of her shirt before pulling it up and over her head. Cool air hits her breasts and she cups them, her thumbs brushing over her bare nipples.

“Fuck,” Roman groans. “Keep going.”

She shakes her head. “Show me first.”

“Show you what?” he says, taking a step back and dropping his gaze down for a second. He drops a hand to the waistband of his sweatpants and tugs them an inch further south but not far enough.

“Show me what’s mine,” Katherine whines softly.

“What’s yours, huh?” He glances up, his hand letting go of the waistband and dropping instead to palm his dick through the material. “You’re gonna be in a whole world of trouble when I get home.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Missed those sweet fuckin’ lips on my dick,” he groans. “Fuck, keep touching your tits baby girl.”

She does as he requests, her fingers gently circling her hardening nipples and she’s rewarded almost instantly. She bites her lip, her head rocking to the side as he pushes his sweatpants down and kicks them away. It still takes her breath away every time she sees him naked - every part of him is chiselled and toned to perfection and she can’t quite believe her luck that she gets to explore every part of him.

She watches, transfixed as he takes his hard dick in his hand and pumps it slowly. She closes her eyes briefly and remembers the last time they were together - on her knees in front of him, hands loose on those deliciously thick and taut thighs of his. She’d gazed up at him, her brain still foggy from the intense orgasm he’d bestowed on her moments before, her mouth open as he fisted his dick with one hand, the other wrapped in her hair.

“Get on the bed,” his voice cuts through her thoughts and it takes her a second to remember where she is.

She steps forward and readjusts the phone on the bedside table, making sure he can see her and she can see him.

“What were you thinking about?” he prompts as she settles back against the pillows.

“Our last time together,” she sighs. “I’ve thought about that night every fucking night since.”

He grins. “Me too.”

“And the morning after…”

“That too,” he agrees. 

It had been equal parts rough, messy, fast, slow, tender, loving. He’d pushed and pulled her body in ways that left her unsure which way she was lying, facing, standing. He’d growled in her ear commands to wait, stop, cum, knees, open wide. And then he’d scooped her up, carried her to where she lay now, and cocooned her in his arms until she fell asleep.

The following morning, every movement was slow and gentle - he’d adorned every inch of her with soft, warm kisses, making his way down beneath the sheets and made slow, lazy love to her, his body pressed firmly against hers, his hands cupping her face to kiss her as her legs at wrapped around his waist.

“Stop,” Roman murmurs and Katherine realises her hand is on her stomach. She feels her cheeks flush as she blinks at the camera. 

“I…”

“You’re forgetting something.” He lifts the spare phone into view. “I’m in control, remember?”

She nods, reaching for the toy before taking a shaky breath of anticipation. A second later, it begins to hum softly in her palm.

“Squeeze them tits for me again,” he tells her and she notes the soft rasp in his voice already.

She obliges him, her free hand palming her breasts for a moment, awaiting his next instruction.

“Pinch your nipples for me.”

She gazes at the screen, feeling the haze starting to cloud her mind. He’s leaning against the vanity again, one hand out of sight that she knows is back fisting his dick and her mouth waters at the thought.

“Now with the toy.”

The vibrations hum through her body as she glides the toy across her breasts before circling one nipple and then the other, making both impossibly long and taut. All that’s missing is his hot mouth and tongue on them and she tells him so, drawing a shaky ‘fuck’ from him before he resumes control.

Literally.

The vibrations kick up a notch and Katherine’s back arches in response as she continues to drag the toy over the sensitive skin of her breasts. She lets the toy slide down to her ribs for a second, finding the spot that makes her squirm from any touch, her head flooded with the memory of Roman discovering it for the first time and practically latching onto it until she begged him stop through squeals.

“Uh-huh,” he corrects her and she returns the focus to her breasts once again. “Better. But I need to know…”

“Know what?” she manages to get out as she swirls the tip of the vibrator around one nipple again and again.

“How fuckin’ wet you are.”

She lets her free hand drag over her stomach slowly, her legs spreading. She can feel how wet she is already - the combination of the situation, the toy, him, her imagination all make it inevitable. She lets her fingers caress her inner thighs for a second before she slides two fingers across her wet slit.

“So wet,” she tells him with a groan.

“Show me…”

She pushes her two fingers inside herself briefly, letting out a moan as she does. She pumps them slowly, once, twice before she holds her hand aloft to show the glistening mess.

“Taste yourself.”

She bites her lip for a second, holding his gaze before she rubs the tips of her fingers across her bottom lip and then swirls her tongue around them. She grins at the screen, watching Roman’s eyes clouding with lust and wonderment.

“I taste good,” she murmurs.

“I know,” he rasps. “I’m gonna eat that pussy up all fuckin’ night when I get home, I swear. You’ll be beggin’ me to stop.”

“Never,” she promises. “You between my thighs, why the hell would I tell you to stop.”

“My favourite place, baby girl. And you might not be telling me to stop, but I sure as hell have to hold you still to get you good.”

“That just makes me wetter,” she teases. “I miss you, Ro.”

“I miss you too, Kat,” he says softly. “I had a whole other plan for this tonight.”

“Yeah? Tell me…”

“I was gonna drag that damn toy over your entire body. Real slow too - I wanted to hear all those breathy moans you give me when I’m teasin’ you.” The rasp is back in his voice and Katherine can feel her skin start to prickle in anticipation once again. “Do it, baby girl. Do what I’m saying.”

She lets out a soft moan as she moves the toy down her body at last.

“All the way,” he encourages. “That’s it… across your stomach, tease them thighs for me…”

Katherine’s eyes close as her back arches as the vibrations near her core. She’s not sure how she’s going to last beyond a minute when this toy is inside her.

“Slow,” Roman’s voice echoes beside her. “Spread those legs for me.”

“Ro…” she whines.

“Almost,” he promises as she bites her lip as the vibrations relent for a second. “Tease your pussy for me, talk to me…”

“Fuck, Ro…” her voice catching in her throat as she runs the toys over her wet entrance. “Like when you tease me with your dick, making me beg for it…”

“Just like that, baby girl.”

“Or when you spit and blow on my clit,” she gasps, her back arching at the thought. “And then you wrap your… your arms around my waist so I can’t escape… Ro…”

“Keep going…” The vibrations kick in again for a split second, just as she drags the toy over her clit and she yelps in shock. His chuckle fills her mind and she doesn’t need to open her eyes to see the wicked grin on his face.

“I… I need it,” she gasps.

“Keep teasing,” he tells her. “You know how I love to make my dick nice and wet with your juice before I fuck you… Do exactly that…”

His breath hitches and her eyes flick open to see that he’s moved - no longer in the hotel bathroom, he’s on the bed, the phone angled so that whilst she can’t see his face, she can see the length of his body. She groans as she sees his hand, slowly pumping his dick, his thumb swiping over the tip with every other stroke.

“Kat…” he breathes. “You listening to me?”

“Yeah,” she moans.

“Push it inside you.”

She gasps as she does. It’s the first time he’s let her put a toy inside her for four weeks and even though the toy is far smaller than what she’s used to, it feels impossibly big. Her back arches as she slowly pushes it deeper inside herself, her breath ragged at the sensation.

Rocking her head to the side, Katherine glances at the screen. Roman has moved again so she can see his face. His dark eyes glint wickedly at her as with one hand he still grips his thick cock and the other flicks the vibrations up a notch. Her whole body starts to hum and she lets out a strangled whimper.

“Do not,” he half-growls slowly. “Cum. Not until I tell you.”

“Ro…” she gasps. “Please…”

The vibrations stop and she’s left panting and squirming whilst he chuckles at her from a thousand miles away. “Too much, huh?”

“You…”

He grins. “I’m going easy on you, baby girl. This is nothing compared to Saturday…”

Katherine can feel her brain start to short-circuit. “What… what about Saturday?”

“That’s for me to know.”

She groans in frustration and then gasps again as the vibrations start again. Her hands grip the sheets tightly, twisting them around her fists as she tries to anchor herself to the bed.

“Breathe,” he tells her and she lets out a shaky breath in response, unable to stop herself from doing anything he says.

Through hazy eyes, she gazes at him through the screen, watching his hand grip his dick firmly and his abs tense. His head rolls back for a second and she wonders what he’s thinking.

“Tell me,” she moans.

“Tell you what?” he replies throatily.

“What you’re thinking about.”

“You. Always you, baby girl. You grinding on me, sliding up and down my dick.”

She nods, her eyes closing. “Your hands on my tits… then up to my neck and pulling me down to kiss you… Flipping me over onto my back, pushing my…” she gasps as the thought swirls around her head. “My legs up over your shoulders so you… you can go deeper… Ah, fuck…”

“That’s it,” he groans. “Wrapping my arms around your legs so they don’t fall and fuckin’ you hard and deep…”

“Twisting me over,” Katherine’s mind is overdrive now, snippets of past encounters flashing before her. “Pulling my hips up, pushing my head down so you can fuck me even harder…”

She’s not sure how she’s getting the words out. Her body is on edge, the toy throbbing inside her, pulsating even and every part of her is tingling. Her mind races on, imagining Roman pulling out of her with a growl and flipping her back over, his mouth on hers for a second before he slides down her body and wraps her legs around his head. What a combination that would be, his tongue and mouth on her clit whilst the toy hums inside her.

“It’s like you read my mind,” she hears him groan and only then does she realise that thought has spilt out of her mouth.

“I just…” she whimpers softly as she feels blood rushing to her ears. “Ro…”

“Not yet…” The hum of the toy inside her ebbs slightly and she tries to steady her breathing to slow down the surge of pleasure rattling through her.

“Please…” she chokes out.

“Soon,” he promises. “I got you, baby girl. I promise.”

Fixated on the screen, she watches as his leg twitches and she knows he’s close. “I wish I was there, Ro…” she starts, watching his head roll back onto the pillows. “My hand where yours is right now. My mouth too, running my tongue up and down your dick, taking you all the fucking way…”

“Shit… Kat…”

“Keep going,” she tells him, enjoying the thrill of telling him what to do for once. “You gripping my head, pulling me back and telling me to open wide so you can cum on my tongue…”

“Kat…” he growls, his eyes closing tightly as he gasps and she watches enthralled as he cums, his fist pumping himself dry as she moans at the sight.

“Ro…”

His chest rises and falls as he sinks back against the pillows for a second and then she squeals as the vibrator jolts back to life inside her.

“I got a request,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?” Katherine manages to get out, her body tense with anticipation as her back arches yet again.

“Saturday. My flight gets in at 5. I’ll be at yours by 7. You better be ready.”

“I will be,” she promises.

“Wear those heels that I like. The black ones. And that dress that makes your ass look amazing.”

“Done,” she groans. “Anything else?”

“The toy.”

“What… what about it?” Her breathing is getting more laboured as she twists on the bed.

“I want you to have it in you already.”

“Ro… no…”

“Oh yes, baby girl. I’m gonna tease you all fuckin’ night. I want my dessert nice and wet after dinner,” he chuckles.

She can picture it now: sat in a dark corner of the restaurant, one of his hands casually resting on her thigh whilst with the other he sends powerful vibes quite literally her way. She can see herself gripping the table, trying to compose herself as he grins wickedly and then leans towards her and whispers dirty thoughts into her ear.

“I told ya I was gonna eat your pussy up when I got back. I just wanna make sure it’s perfect for when I do…”

“Fuck… Ro…”

He chuckles. “Take my sweet time with you till you’re a fuckin’ mess. Squeeze and pinch your tits as I do, make you taste yourself on my fingers, fuck you with that damn toy until you scream my name, baby girl…”

She’s on the edge, right there, waiting for that word, begging him to say it.

“Then I’m gonna fuck you slowly… Pull all the way out and then push back in inch by inch so you feel every single part of my dick buried inside you…”

“Ro…”

“Tell you what a good fuckin girl you are…”

Her eyes roll back as she balances on the edge, her breath caught in her chest, the vibrations too much now. There’s no way back, even if she tries, she’s right there and she’s going to…

“Cum.”

She falls, with a gasp that echoes around her head. His name tumbles from her as every inch of her body erupts with force and she feels herself twisting and writhing without shame before him.

Her head throbs as she comes down from the high and she tenderly unclenches her fists from the sheets.

“You okay?” Roman’s voice cuts through as always, pulling her back. “Talk to me, Kat.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, her eyes still squeezed shut as she grounds herself back in the here and now.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

She twists her head towards the phone and opens her eyes slowly. His face fills the screen, his eyes wide and full of concern like they always are after moments like these.

“That was amazing,” she reassures him as she reaches down between her legs to remove the toy. Her own eyes widen as she feels how wet she still is. “Jesus, Ro… I think you made me…”

He laughs. “Just imagine what I can make you do on Saturday.” He tucks his arm beneath his head and not for the first time tonight, she wishes he was there next to her, wrapping his big arms around her.

“You’re serious about what you said, aren’t you?” She picks up the phone, bringing it closer to her as if that will make a difference to the distance between them.

“Deadly serious.” He eyes her for a second. “But only if you’re up for it.”

She chews her lip. “I am…”

“You don’t seem sure.”

“It’s not that.” 

“Then what?”

Despite the space he offers her, she can’t find the words. Not the right ones anyway. She can’t tell if it’s the post-orgasm haze or something else, but she can’t put into words the disconnected thoughts running through her head.

She can feel him watching her, so she smiles to reassure him.

“Tell me,” he murmurs. “Or… Can I tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“If you’re worried that I see you differently because of all this shit we do together… You best believe that ain’t true.”

She stares at him in disbelief. How…

“I do this for you because I wanna make you happy, baby girl. You wanted to explore it, I was right there with you. But that doesn’t change how I see you. It’s just a tiny part of what we do together. I think you gave me an opportunity to tap into something too and I like it. But I like you more.”

She blinks. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Read my mind.”

He grins. “I know you, baby girl. Inside out. Literally,” he winks and she feels her cheeks flush. “But seriously, Kat. I’m not here just for this. This is just a bonus. At the end of the day… I just want you.”

Her heart flips. They’ve skirted around this for months - she’s bitten her tongue far too often not wanting to ruin it in case he was just looking for a casual fuck.

“I just want you too,” she hears herself whisper and his eyes light up at the words.

“I’m still doing what I promised you earlier on Saturday,” he tells her. “But on Sunday morning, I’m gonna show you exactly how much more you mean to me than just that.”

“You always do,” she says softly.

“What do you mean?”

“You do that already. Whenever we have nasty sex, the next time you’re treat me like glass.”

Now it’s his turn to blush and he runs his hand over his face with a grin. “See? I can’t hide it.”

“Hide what?”

“I’ll tell you Sunday.”

But she already knows.

Fin x

So... votes for a follow-up? Wanna see how Saturday unfolds...? Or Sunday...?

[hypnotisedfireflies]

I am re-reading Drifter's Dawn and in the chapter when Tess tells Joel the actual story of what actually went down when the outbreak hit with Mike and Nico, I couldn't help but wonder how Joel would react in that situation. (Basically just slotting Joel in for Mike, with Nico)

I think Tess and Joel's near-telepathic sympatico stems from their chemistry but also their circumstances, having to fight for their lives and get very good at it very quickly. So obviously that wouldn't have developed on Outbreak day, but there would still be a strongggg underlying understanding they would have between them.

All this is to say, may I please request a one-shot re-imaginging of that Outbreak moment where Joel and Tess are married and Nico is their son. (Sarah may or may not exist in this universe)

Thank you kindly!

Oof, what an ask, friend!  You are requesting my brain to do some seriously tricky rewiring here.  And it’ll be kind of weird too, given I’ll be taking the script and changing a character.  I don’t think I’ve ever done that before.  But some mental gymnastics never hurt me so … let’s give this a go!

For this to work, let’s assume all the following are true for the exercise:

Tess and Joel are married and living in Detroit – as you say, just swapping in Joel for Mike (ouch)

Sarah is Tommy’s kid and they’re still in Texas (just to uncomplicate it a little)

Up until now they have lived an ordinary life within their ordinary careers and nothing live-changingly traumatic has happened to them (ie, they have not been tested as they have in Driftersverse) but, as you say, they still have that powerful current of understanding

Let’s not question why any of the above is true and also not hate on Mike too much for what happened in Driftersverse canon :p

I wrote this really fast so I didn’t overthink it, and then proofed it just as fast, so please forgive any errors.

Thank you for the prompt! I hope you like it. <3

Okay ... here's an alternate universe version of the first chapter of Drifter's Dawn:

A low rumble infiltrated Tess’s consciousness.  She let it in, let her mind mull over what it might be … and then let it go as the inviting temptation of deeper sleep engulfed her.  She turned on her side and took a deep breath.  A truck, or someone revving their motor too late into the night.  Tess heard it again and thought even less of it now the noise was rationalised.  She slid her arm over Joel’s waist and felt him bring her hand up to his chest. 

His warmth suddenly lurched from her grasp.  Tess blinked in confusion and sat up on an elbow. 

“What are you doing?”  The words lay thick in her mouth.

Another rumble came as Joel, dressed only in his shorts, raised the blind.  The bedroom was cast in acrid honey light and this time, Tess recognised the rumble as too deep, too long for any truck or car.  As the blind came up Joel was silhouetted completely by unnatural light. 

The next sound was no rumble but an explosion.  The boom swallowed them up and Tess heard herself scream, saw Joel duck down and extend his hand out to her to stay back.  She could hear the windows rattling.  Nico began to cry in the other room. 

“Jesus Christ,” Joel moved back from the frame, still in a half-crouch.  “Stay there.  Stay where you are.  I’ll get him.”

“What’s going on out there?”

“Just stay there!”

Tess watched him go with some kind of amazement.  In her sleep-addled, scared mind it seemed Joel had somehow done this, or that he had answers that he was denying her.  She came up to her knees and leaned toward the window.  She could see smoke buffeting up into the sky.  Something was gone.  What was over that way?  Tess flinched as she heard another explosion, further away. 

She was still looking toward the window when Nico’s cries drew closer.  Joel had him:  the baby was bothered enough to be twisting himself about, flinging his arms and legs and making him hard to hold on to.  But Joel’s hold was inescapable, and the security began to calm Nico even as Tess watched.

Tess slapped around for the remote control.  She extended her arm like a wand to turn the TV on and it came alive across the other side of the room.  An explosion that big was surely breaking news.  Maybe there’d been a trash crash, or a bad fire …

“What the fuck …” she breathed. 

It took Tess a moment to realise that she wasn’t watching a movie.  She flipped two channels ahead and then went back again.  She was seeing the same kind of footage on every station.  People rioting, buildings going up, the army deployed.  A police car on fire.  People were screaming about rabies and terrorists, but all Tess could see in every single shot was masses of bodies rushing and falling all over each other.  She didn’t notice that Nico had gone quiet.  They lost track of time as they watched the same news on every channel. 

“That’s Chicago,” said Joel.

More cities they recognised played out before them, seized in chaos, dense under thick smoke and the screams – the same screams everywhere, on every channel, on every camera.

“What is this?  Joel, are you seeing this?  Joel?”

“That was Houston,” he said.

She tore her gaze from the screen.  Joel was balancing Nico with one arm against his body – the baby still grizzling – and thumbing the buttons on his Nokia with the other.  He pressed it up against his ear, shook his head furiously, and tried again. 

“Come on, Tommy.  Tommy, pick up.”  He finally threw the phone on the bed in disgust.  “It’s not connectin’.”

Tess scrambled out of bed and hurried to the dresser, rummaging around for her jeans.

“What are you doing?  Tess?”

“Getting dressed.”

“What the fuck is going on, Tess?”

“I don’t know.  Get dressed.”

Joel deposited Nico on the bed, where he immediately began to burrow.  They pulled on clothes, passing pieces that belonged to one another back and forth, and then were drawn back to the TV like magnets.  It was increasingly terrifying – two stations went off-air even as they watched, one of them when the camera itself suddenly careened sideways into the out of focus floor, but the screaming was unmistakable.  They discussed what they saw in fractured sentences, trying to make sense of it.  But the message from all authorities were the same:  stay indoors.  Joel kept trying Tommy.  He tried his father.  Tess, slow to the party, found she was unable to reach anyone when she tried, too. 

“Take him.”  Joel passed Nico into her arms.  He was sleeping now, and didn’t protest.

“What are you doing?”  Tess leaned forward, moving Nico to her other shoulder. 

Joel was in the wardrobe.   He reached up and shifted a few boxes around and it took her way too long to realise what he was doing.  He had a handgun which Tess didn’t much like, stored away at the back of the closet.  He’d kept it so casually in the drawer for years but once Nico started moving around, Tess had insisted it be put away.  She watched him take it out and load it up with ammo from a separate box.

“Joel …”  Somehow, this sight was more terrifying than anything else she had seen so far.

“We’re not gonna need it,” he told her.  “It’s just in case.” 

He stuffed it down the back of his jeans and sat before her.  He smoothed his hands through her hair and cradled her face.  He kissed her soundly.  “It’s just in case.”

A new report on TV caught their attention, and they both turned to watch a terrified woman reporting from the back of a news van, which seemed to be speeding through the night.

Tess stood abruptly.  “What the fuck are we doing?”

“What?”

“Joel.”

“Oh, shit.”

It was so surreal, watching the world crumbling on TV.  They had been so engrossed in what they could see in the box that they had forgotten it was meant to be everywhere.  They stood on either side of the bed and stared across at one another, hardly able to believe they had both missed the obvious.  And then a long scream came from somewhere outside, and they ran.

They pounded down the hall.  At the top of the stairs Joel grabbed Tess and pulled her to him to make her stop, and then thrust her back.

“Stay up here with him.”

“He’s fine.  No.  No.”

“Stay up here.”

“No.  No, no.  No!” 

Tess wouldn’t let him go.  Every time Joel freed part of himself, Tess grabbed him again, and he eventually had no choice but to take her hand.  They went down together, quieter now.  Their blinds were already closed.  They went to each door and window and checked the locks and then, by silent agreement and pointing, began moving furniture in front of the doors.  There was not much they could do about the windows.

“Are we doin’ this wrong?  Wait, let’s just think.”

Joel came around the couch they had just lugged into place and grasped her elbows. 

“Let’s just think a minute.  Should we be goin’ somewhere?”

“… where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Go where, Joel?”

“I don’t know!”

Tess pressed her hand to her mouth and took a long, steadying breath. 

Think. 

They were scared.  They’d been woken in the middle of the night to … something, and they didn’t know what was going on.  Not really.  They didn’t know anything except that it was apparently everywhere and the authorities were saying they needed to stay inside.  Now that they were still, Tess could hear other sounds outside, too.  Between the screams was the angry hum of traffic, crashes, alarms.  Her head was buzzing with it.  Tess shook it off.

“This will pass,” Tess told him.  “This is crazy.  We just need to lay low a minute, and it’ll – burn itself out.  Whatever this is.”

Joel was nodding, reassured.  “Okay.”

“We wait.  We just wait here and – the phones will clear and that’ll stop,” she pointed vaguely outside, “and if we have to leave, then the army will come and evacuate us.  Right?  That’s what they do.”

“Yeah.  That’s what they do.”

“Okay.  Let’s – we can wait it out, right?”

“Sure.”

“It’s the right thing?”

Joel pulled her in close.  She could feel the tension vibrating in his body.  “You’re right.  We just wait it out.  Let’s – let’s bring up some things, we’ll wait upstairs.  Stay good and quiet.  Upstairs.”

“Okay.  And – and we’ll pack for when the army comes,” Tess added.  She could feel the uncanny hysteria trembling at the edges, but a plan helped put it in its place.  “One bag each.  That’s what they always – that’s right, yeah?  We pack one bag each.”

The activity kept Tess sane.  They swept up everything they thought they needed from the kitchen (panic shopping – they would make two more trips later in the day) and then packed three small bags.  Tess laboured over it for hours.  She couldn’t decide what were the most important things they should take.  She had visions of their luggage being tossed aside and losing important documents.  There was no sentimentality in her packing.  She left out Nico’s favourite toys until Joel reminded her that those might be a good idea, and she almost lost it because she’d just gotten everything organised in a way that made sense to her.  She snatched the toys and pushed Joel away to repack without his meddling. When she was done, she took them downstairs and placed them by the front door in readiness.

He stayed with Nico.  He paced with him or sat up in bed, talking to him like nothing was going on out there.  They divided up the duties of parenting and packing without even talking about it.  Nico’s bond to Joel was stronger, anyway.  Things had been improving for Tess, especially in the last few months as Nico grew older, but in times of distress Nico was better off with Joel.  He could calm him ten times faster than she could.  Tess had no doubt that were she holding him right now, all her fears would transmit directly to him and he’d be wailing and terrified.  His big, brown eyes were uncertain and wet, but he was quiet.  His fists were balled in Joel’s shirt.  He couldn’t have handed him over Tess even if he wanted to. 

She sat with them only when she couldn’t fuss around with the packing any longer.  Tess thumbed Nico’s hot cheeks. “We’ll just wait it out, yeah? Little holiday at home, we’ll just wait it out.”

The night passed.  All the channels had gone off air and the phones still weren’t working.  They kept the blinds down and agreed on silence, regular patrols downstairs to check everything was all right.  They thought they recognised some of their neighbours out there and had a quick conversation about whether they should check it out.  But when they saw one tackle another at high speed they quashed those plans, and never brought them up again.  Sometimes the air was thick with shouts and screams, the squealing of car tyres and crunching metal.  Helicopters pounding overhead, explosions near and far.   And then it would go eerily silent for awhile and that was worse, waiting to hear something.  Then there would be pounding somewhere and breaking glass, more shouts, gunshots.  So many gunshots. 

“We did the right thing?”  Tess asked not long after the power went off.

“Someone will be along,” Joel promised her, but it was hard to believe him.  “Why the fuck are all the lines down?”

He tried Tommy again, tried his father.  He got nowhere both times and lost his temper, tossing the little phone across the room.  It hit the wall and the casing split open. 

“God-fuckin’-damnit.  Oh shit – no, baby – come on.  It’s all right.”

The tantrum had been stewing in Nico for hours, and they had only just managed to keep it under control.  Now it unleashed, and he was arching his back and wailing.  Tess hurriedly passed him over to her husband but Nico was too far gone, and not even he could bring him around.

And then the pounding started at the back door.

“It’s okay!”  Joel held out his hand to Tess.  “They’re locked, we – we barricaded them up.”

The pounding began at the front door.

“If they get in, there’s nowhere to go,” Tess said.

She had been unable to contemplate any alternative other than the turmoil dying down or the army coming to get them.  Going out in the car was unthinkable.  They had no place to go.  And all night they’d heard collisions, honking horns, squealing tyres.  Maybe if it had been the two of them they would’ve tried going somewhere, but not with Nico.

Who was still bawling.

“They’re not gonna go away,”  she added. 

They’d seen that play out in the house across the street. People – these possessed, angry people – mobbing around doors until they got inside.  It had sometimes gone on for hours.

“Quietly,” Joel said, which was stupid given the noise Nico was making, but she understood.

As they went down the stairs the pounding grew worse.  Tess was pacing herself through what was next – the luggage, the garage door, Nico’s seat.  Should they even bother with that?  She could drive, Joel could hold him. But that wasn’t safe.  Was there time, though?

And then windows broke somewhere in the house. One side or another – it was hard to say – but they were shattering inward and Joel was pushing her but Tess could already see it was too late.  As they neared the garage door the first of the figures – bloodied and torn from the windows, presumably – lunged toward them. 

The gunshot was so loud at Tess’s ear that for a moment she didn’t know what it was.  Joel emptied the entire clip into the shapes – there was more than one, how could she not have seen that – and cut them down until they lay strewn on the carpet laid only four months ago.  Tess looked back at him.

He seemed more shocked than she was.  Nico squalling on his hip, the gun still pointing off into the living room.   Tess pushed his arm down and urged him into the kitchen, thinking of the garage and the steps they would need to take to get out. 

Another figure threw itself at them.  It must have come through the other side.  She could see glass in the man’s hair and it tinkled in his wake like fairy dust.  Joel tried to shoot but he was out and then it was on him.  Joel turned Nico away and threw up his arm. 

The kettle was in Tess’s hands before she could think.  It was the first thing within reach. She swung it straight at the head – maybe she shouted, maybe not – and it took three tries to crack the exterior and drop the attacker.  Springs bounced across the kitchen tile.  Tess hit him two, maybe three – maybe ten more times when he was down until she was sure.  She might’ve kept going if Joel didn’t grab her.

“Come on!”

“Are you okay?!”  She clutched at him, at Nico.  He was shocked to silence, gaping at the carnage.  Perhaps he was finally, properly scared.  “Is he okay?”

“We’re okay!  Tess, come on!”

With her free hand, Tess snagged the entire knife block – all seven that had been a wedding gift from Julian – and tucked it under her arm. Joel pushed her into the garage and she had time to grasp just Nico’s bag.   They threw it in the back.

“What’s that?!”

“The knives!”

“What?!”

“You’re out of ammo!”

“I got more!”

“I didn’t know!  Get the door!”

“His seat – ”

“There’s not time!  You’ll have to hold him!”

Sounds inside the house again, a thump against the closed door.

Tess pointed.  “Get the door!”

They pulled out of the driveway moments before the kitchen door crashed inward.  Tess pulled out and stopped with a jerk when she hit something –

“Letterbox!”

“It’s on the other side!”  She cried.

“Just fuckin’ go!”

Tess turned the wheel hard and they sped into madness.

[sombrashe]

"Just the tip, please. Remember what happened last time?"

your voice has a low whine to it as you pout your puffy lips. Troy spent hours chewing on them which started off the teasing. Two hours you spent having your pussy played with. Each mewl you released was accompanied by a bruising kiss. Struggling to keep up you knew he wouldn't stop until he came. His weak grinding against your mattress was doing nothing to ease your stimulation.

"Just the tip."

He echos as he lines his cock up to your leaking core. Concentrating, he resituates and bumps the ruddy tip against your sore clit. You huff and kick a leg out in response. He pauses to bend your leg back into position. A wolfish smile graces his features. Gliding his fingers over your knees and down your thigh. He finally convinces himself to remove his fingertips from you for the moment and goes back to lining himself up to your fluttering pussy. He pushes past the need to snap his hips forward and takes a deep breath as the tip of his leaking cock is enveloped by your warmth. Tilting his head he sighs contently. Tracing your features with his eyes he jumps over the slope of your nose and lands on the curve of your lip. Leaning forward he catches your lips with his for a few moments. The kiss is soft and sweet, no more blood or pain just the gentle taste of your chapstick. He only lingers there for a few minutes, soon opting to pull back when your nails trace down his bicep. Seeing how content you are has his heartbeat hammering against his ribs.

"Gotta stop tha'. Ya' lips 're gonna get all sore again."

He uses his thumb to remove your bottom lip from its trap between your teeth. You pout up at him as a response. His smile is soft, his dimples on full display. No matter how long he spent between your legs you always so easily pushed away any soreness to take care of him. He loved watching you greedily take his cock, all smiles and babbles as he fucked you out. Right now he watches as you struggle to keep the majority of him out of you. You look so fucking good. His fingers twitch as his arms tire from holding him up. He would never dream of forcing himself to cum quickly, always preferring to take his time. Unfortunately, these circumstances call for his control to diminish. Much too slowly he sinks a little deeper inside of your oh-so-warm heat. It beacons him even, how could you get mad at him when it's your fault for having such a perfect cunt.

"I'll buy you the pill. Make you a doctor's appointment too."

Another inch sunk in and you're turning your face away from him. Huffing you use one of your heels to press into the small of his back. You can't let him see you like this, slowly losing control. He watches amused at your little actions. A quick swipe of your tongue across your lip and you bite back begging, the unmistakable way your nails dig into his shoulder blades, the way your walls clench and try pulling him in deeper and deeper until even he can feel the stretch.

"Okay, fine. Yes. I wanna cum, Troy."

He buries his face into your shiny neck all smiles. Fully sheathing himself inside of your perfect amazing wonderful tight pussy it only takes three heavy thrusts until he's cumming inside of you. Fuck.

"God. Fuck, Jesus. God. 're so perfect and pretty, daffodil. I love 'ya so much. Such a good pussy taking all o' me. Letting me cum inside like this."

He's babbling into your neck, tendons being gently chewed on in between each sentence. You're attached to him like a baby koala, arms holding him in place against your chest and you kick at his back. He knew you were close, so close and he wants to feel you lose yourself like he lost himself.

"C'on. Need me to eat you out again?"

Your response is a tighter grip ensuring he won't be able to leave until you're finished. Despite the cramp in his hand forming he focused on rubbing tight then loose, hard then soft, circles into your swollen clit. He does everything he can to help you, continuing to languidly thrust despite the annoyance his cock feels. Soon your muscles tighten, your stomach flexes, and your teeth clench as your orgasm overtakes you. Clamping down around him in every way you let out a high-pitched squeal before going silent again. It takes a few minutes, but you eventually collapse into yourself. Sprawling out across the bed you pant heavily. Not even opening your eyes you shoo him away.

"Pills."

He laughs and steals a final kiss before sliding out of your full pussy with a slick pop. Moving away he steals glances at your sleepy form. One final look and he's slipping out the door and down the road.

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

✨a s n e a k p e e k ✨

“Harry, can I get a man's perspective on something?” you ask, turning to Harry next to you on the couch. You had begged Harry out of his room for a movie night as a ruse, but your nose had been buried deep in your phone the whole night. Re-reading and overanalyzing old text messages between you and the object of your anxiety.

You don’t often go to Harry for help with men, but his advice on other areas of your life is always sound, and you respect his opinion.

“If you’re asking me for help, he’s not worth your time.” He sighs, not looking away from the movie, hugging a pillow to his chest. 

“I’m serious, I need your help.” you whine, tugging on his sleeve. He turns and looks at your dramatic pout, “Please.” 

“Alright, I’ll bite.” He huffs. “What is it?” 

“As a man, do you prefer texting or like a call? Or maybe FaceTime?”  

Harry barks out a laugh at the ridiculous question, before looking over at you, and realizing your dead serious. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, tossing his head back against the couch. “I mean I’m more of a talker, and I like seeing who I’m talking to, so I prefer FaceTime. But I guess it depends on the girl and how long I’ve been talking to them. What our situation is, and stuff.  Which one of your boy toys are we talking about?” he asks. 

“Cameron.” you grimace.

Cameron is admittedly your least favorite of the boys on your roster, but your most tenured member. And the one Harry hates most. In the beginning you thought it could be something real. He was sweet and did a decent job at wooing you. That is until - in Harry’s eyes - he coerced you into a friends with benefits arrangement. Harry could tell that you liked him, and to see him treat you as terribly as he did, got Harry’s blood boiling. You deserved better, that much you both could understand. What Harry couldn't understand however was why you would even consider speaking to him again after the last time you were in contact.  

Instead of saying what he truly thought, or giving you a hard time, he just pinched the space between his brow with an exasperated sigh. 

“I know, I know,” you grumble.

“How long has it been since you’ve heard from him?” 

“A while. But he reached out recently and - ” 

“I thought you were done with him.” he deadpans, eyes glued to yours. 

“I was, but we got coffee last week and he apologized.” 

“Coffee?” Harry groans in disgust at the low effort. He pauses the movie, and turns to you, “Don’t text him. Don’t call him. Go back in there,” he says pointing down the hallway towards your room. “Make yourself come, and forget about him. For your sake and mine.” 

“Harry!” you laugh, hitting him with a throw pillow.  

“You think I’m joking, but I’m serious.” he concedes with a chuckle, “You don’t even like him.” 

“I like him enough.” 

“He’s a terrible fuck.” 

“He…gets the job done.” you defend voice cracking. 

“Everytime he leaves, there's suddenly a consistent buzz coming from your bedroom.” He scoffs. You go to defend yourself with heat rising to your face. You stammer a bit but not quite getting words out before he continues, “I’m a grown man, I know what a vibrator sounds like.” He smirks, and you giggle covering your face. 

“Jesus.” you laugh, “Look, I’ve tried your way already…and it’s not doing the trick.” you pout, “So tell me, how pathetic would I be  if I were to reach out to him.”

“I don’t think you’d be pathetic, love.” he soothes 

“Then why are you so against me texting him?”  

Because you deserve better! Why can’t you see that? He thinks, These guys don’t deserve you. If I were them I’d - 

“Harry?” you ask, snapping him out of his thoughts. It’s in the glow of the television, and the small light on the side table that Harry is able to admire your adorable pout and curious eyes. He’s always had a little crush on you throughout the entirety of your friendship. One he knew you could feel and was reciprocated. There were a few drunken confessions of your attraction for one another that were joked about the following morning. Then there was the holiday kiss . One New Year for ‘good luck’. But there was also a promise. A pinky promise, to never risk the friendship you had. To keep things platonic.  It was a promise that was becoming more and more difficult for both of you to keep. 

When you two agreed to move in under the same roof for economic reasons, you knew it would be an adjustment, with both of you having been living on your own for years. But you were excited. Living alone could get lonely and overwhelming. So having your best friend of years, under the same roof and splitting responsibilities felt like a huge weight lifted off of your shoulders. 

But being in such close proximity meant that it was becoming harder to keep your promise. Especially when things just felt so domestic with the two of you. Cooking dinner together, movie nights, cuddling together on the couch. It was hard for both of you not to let your minds wander to a reality where you were more than just friends. 

But you were friends, and as long as that boundary was there, there was nothing stopping either of you from being young, wild and free. So there were parties, and one night stands, and situationships. All in an attempt to distract you both from the truth. Because no matter how pretty the girls were that Harry brought home, no matter how sweet and kind they were. The only face he saw when they were splayed out in his bed…was your. 

And after a very awkward Sunday morning breakfast with one of your one night stands meeting Harry, you stopped bringing guys home all together. Opting for spending weekends away. A change Harry didn’t like, and lectured you over. “It’s not safe. You don’t know these guys. At least if you bring them here, I’m here if you need me.” he’d argued. All that did was keep you from seeing anyone for a while.  Which is how you ended up even considering talking to Camreon again. 

“Look” Harry finally says, turning his body towards you, “if you’re that sexually frustrated I’ll… help you out.” 

You tilt your head, letting out a nervous giggle, waiting for his real response. But it never comes, he just…smirks at you. 

“Oh,” you whisper, heart beating against your ribs. “You’re serious.” Harry nods, biting his lip. The offer was…promising, and the way Harry looked at you was intriguing. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t give you butterflies.  That the last month or so things haven’t  felt different between you two, something less than romantic, but certainly more than platonic. It was messing with your head for sure. But you were friends. Regardless of how fit you thought he was, you didn’t have the right to blow up your over decade long friendship just because you were horny. You clear your throat blinking up at him, shaking your head,“Thanks for the offer, Har but -” 

“Yeah no…you’re right. It’s - dumb idea.” He stammers, “I do think you just need to let off some steam, and then you’ll forget about him.” 

“Yeah. I guess.” 

He sees you deflate a bit at his words, and he realizes you didn’t expect  him to give up so easily. So he tries again a little more directly “And not to be that guy but I’ve been told I’m pretty talented, and if making you come keeps you from making a repeated mistake then I’ll take one for the team.” 

“Gee, thanks.” you scoff. 

“I just mean. You’re my friend, and I’m trying to be a helping hand.” he says sweetly before the smirk returns, “And tongue.” He laughs, and you roll your eyes. “And on a serious note, you’re too special of a woman to have to deal with mediocre sex from a guy that clearly - and I’m sorry to say - couldn’t give two shits about your Love. If you need to…get your rocks off, why not with someone you trust? With someone that actually cares about you?” Harry says sweetly. 

“Really?” you ask, and he nods, “And if we cross this line, it won't ruin our friendship.” 

“Cross my heart.” He says drawing an ‘x’ over his chest. 

“What about Taylor?” you ask, thinking of the pretty blonde that you’ve caught making breakfast in your kitchen a few times. You're trying to give him an out. But he doesn’t take it. 

“Out of the picture.” he smiles, “Has been for a while.” He admits, and before you get a chance to offer your condolences, he asks “So what do you say?”  

“Okay.” 

“Alright.” he smirks, “Come here.” He says softly, reaching for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. You scoot closer to him on the couch, your knees touching his thigh.  Your breath hitches in your throat as his other hand rests on your cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb.

He leans in slowly, his breath fanning across your face, his lips inches away from yours. His emerald eyes dart from yours down to your lips, back to your eyes. 

“You’re sure?” he asks. You nod your head slowly, eyes glued to his lips as he speaks. You watch as they curve up into a seductive smirk, “Words, baby. Want to hear you say it.” He coaches. 

He wants to hear you say it because the truth is, he can’t believe this is finally happening. He gets why you both agreed to not cross this boundary for so long. For the sake of your amazing friendship. But being this close to you now, seeing the look in your eye, the want and anticipation. Feeling the way he lit up touching you. It all seemed so silly. Why deny yourselves the pleasure of giving in to such chemistry, when life was so short? 

“I’m sure.” you whisper, “Are you?” 

“Oh, I’m positive.” he purrs, before leaning forward finally bringing his lips to yours. You sigh into the kiss, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips on yours. Immediately, the kiss feels different than anything you’ve shared in the past. What starts off as a soft sweet pecks, familiarizes yourselves with one another, quickly evolves into a hurried frenzy. Tongues swirling, teeth clicking, and with Harry’s hand having come down to rest on your neck, thumb caressing your jugular possessively your head was spinning. You gasp  into the kiss, trying to catch your breath but all you could do was breathe in more of Harry. It’s when he nipped at your bottom lip licking at the skin after, that you have a moment of clarity. Pulling away slowly you, run your hand through the hairs at the nape of his neck making him look up at you. 

“You okay?” he asks, worry etched into his features. 

“If we’re going to do this,” you begin, “ I have one condition.” 

“Okay.” he prompts 

“Want you to fuck me like you mean it.” you whisper, voice shakily. 

“Planned on it, Love.”

more coming soon...

✨masterlist✨

let me know what you think :) - A

[atopvisenyashill]

What if Stannis was the eldest instead of Robert?

This one kinda stumps me tbh. On the one hand, Ned & Stannis are far too similar to ever grow particularly friendly but on the other hand, Stannis isn’t gonna sleep around on Lyanna (he’s barely gonna sleep with her lmao) so Lyanna is probably not itching to leave that betrothal? But on the other hand, Stannis is gay in a very Roman “my god i HATE women i’m gonna suck dick instead” kinda way due to the patriarchal hellhole he lives in, and I can’t imagine him approving of how wild Lyanna is, and what 15 year old girl wants to be married to a dubiously heterosexual stick in the mud? on the other hand, stannis reiterates at several points that shireen is his heir, and he makes it a point to offer for renly to be his heir over shireen, meaning he believes in the andal “a daughter before an uncle” law so there is *some* hope for him?

regardless of how lyanna and ned and robert and stannis all feel, Lyanna is still going to save Howland from being picked on, enter the lists, beat some ass, and get found out by rhaegar, who will still crown her queen of love and beauty. he’s still gonna get fixated on her and since we don’t know how willing she was, it’s entirely possible that he makes off with her even if she says “well stannis is annoying but i promised.” brandon & rickard are still gonna go to the capital and demand lyanna back, and aerys will still kill everyone brutally and jon will still raise his banners and refuse to hand over ned and stannis.

in THIS situation tho - it’s called robert’s rebellion for a reason. for all his many failings as a ruler, a husband, a father, and a brother, robert was the perfect figurehead for this rebellion. he was military minded, thick as a castle wall, charming, and had distant valyrian blood. stannis has the valyrian blood and that’s about it. i think stannis is smart enough to get through the beginning of the war but we don’t know why the smallfolk decided to help robert in the battle of the bells. it could be they were just as sick of aerys as everyone else and would have helped any rebel, but just as likely it was robert HIMSELF who inspired that loyalty. even assuming they still hide stannis, is he capable of defeating rhaegar at the trident without help? that image of Robert’s warhammer coming down on Rhaegar is iconic not just for the series but for the rebellion! does ned step into the fight, to save stannis, to fight for his sister? does stannis declare his intentions towards the throne?? given him being a stickler for law, i think it’s much more likely stannis goes for a dance esque approach, and insists they crown baby aegon and have a group of trusted regents - this being the SECOND time a baby named aegon is crowned after all the adult targs have died, and the last in a long line of mad kings, even if that’s what stannis pushes for, with the momentum of the rebellion, i don’t know that the lords would be satisfied with that! robb certainly wasn’t trying to be named king but he couldn’t stop the momentum of the northern rebellion, and stannis - especially a stannis that hasn’t lost the battle of blackwater and had a come to jesus moment re: every life matters with edric storm and davos - is NOT gonna be able to unring that bell. beyond that, every other conflict has involved a targaryen claimant on both sides but stannis/robert are distantly targaryen only. too much infighting and i think that when ned marches on KL to beat tywin there, jon and hoster decide to push for a great council.

and that’s IF robert keeps mace distracted! because robert isn’t gonna sit in a siege, he’s gonna fight and mace is putting up a very low effort siege here - he doesn’t want to fight, he’s wary of picking on side too strongly, he’s purposefully trying to starve storm’s end out by sitting on his ass and sitting out the war. robert isn’t gonna wait for davos and his onions, he’s gonna try to break the tyrell host.

and honestly, even with the rebels still winning, without a king to rally behind, the political situation is looking. dire. who knows what a great council decides bc there are a lot of very proud men jockeying for power in the aftermath of the sack of KL, not to mention Rhaella crowning Viserys and birthing Dany and also, ya know, the Jon Snow Of It All. Robert’s Rebellion ends the way it does because Robert is an excellent figurehead for Jon Arryn to push onto the throne. Stannis doesn’t have the charisma and given he’s just as stubborn as Robert, I don’t think Jon is gonna be able to make him do jack shit. that leaves the rebellion and the realm at large in a precarious and weird situation, politically. do they crown a guy who inspires very little loyalty? do they crown an infant? a toddler? a woman? do they crown NED, with no claim to the iron throne, even distantly? do they call up maester aemon and ask him to sit on the throne while they figure out what the fuck they’re gonna do? do the kingdoms break back up??? without robert to lead them, and with stannis being stannis, i think it becomes more complicated. at the end of the day, if they decide their best option is stannis, he will feel duty bound to take the throne but you can bet your ASS he’s not marrying a lannister, or a tyrell, without a lot of cajoling bc he’ll see them as cowards. and who even are his options after that? lyanna is gone, elia is gone, rhaella is gone, rhaenys is gone, dany is an infant. lysa or cat wouldn’t be terrible choices but cat’s going to marry ned no matter what & i don’t think jon is gonna push for a girl he knows isn’t a virgin to be queen. they’ll want him married right away, but there really aren’t any suitable brides besides cersei and maybe a hightower or two? tricky tricky! robert is key to the rebellion working, without him, it goes sideways!

[loveinhawkins]

oh goodness, I just did a reread of nbtdad and thought of the director's cut thing for a couple scenes as I did so I'm so excited two seconds lemme go find them!!

in the meantime (and hopefully you don't mind multiple asks from the same person), [presses a star sticker to your hand] tell me something about any fic you want, please!

(oh so touched you were re-reading! i’ll be updating nbtdad as soon as i can, was actually working on the ending recently—don’t worry, we’re not quite there yet! not ready to say goodbye to it ❤️)

i don’t mind multiple asks at all, feel free to send as many as your heart desires! looking forward to answering the rest of yours ❤️

ooo… i’ll talk a little bit about this ficlet, pre-series 3 pre-steddie crossing paths on one of steve’s last days of high school, posted on ao3 as like something from the silver screen.

He jumps up onto the window sill to better enjoy the breeze, stretching his legs and idly looking outside. He just catches Eddie scoffing, the little aside he makes: “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Steve turns his head to him. “What?” Eddie rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Just… you,” he says. And it’s said with a kind of reluctant fondness, almost like they’re friends—which is bizarre, Steve thinks, since this is definitely the longest conversation they’ve ever had. But maybe the approaching summer break has Eddie all sentimental. “What about me, Munson?” Eddie gestures at him, as if to say uh, everything, but it somehow doesn’t come across as an insult. “Just… the way you do things sometimes. Like you’re in a goddamn movie.” Steve raises an eyebrow. “Dude, I’m just sitting. Anyone could do this.” “Nah, Harrington. It’s all in the execution, y’know?”

it makes me laugh thinking about this moment from Eddie’s POV, because his internal thoughts as Steve sits on the window sill are mostly …are you fucking kidding me followed by swiftly changing the pronouns of a police song, every little thing he does is magic.

i liked hinting at this kinda reluctant but huh maybe not really infatuation Eddie has going on. Like in this instance, Steve really does hop onto the sill gracefully, but he could also do anything and Eddie in his poetic, rose-tinted view would find it graceful. Like I’m imagining Steve accidentally dropping his lunch tray while recovering from the fight with Billy and Eddie just sighs in despair at himself, because how does Harrington even do that with style, Jesus Christ, Munson, this is a new low.

in that fic in general with the title and the mention of movies shots and whatnot, i wanted to show a sorta commentary on how obviously the show itself has got iconic shots, and also that Steve is feeling frustrated with himself because his life hasn’t panned out idealistically, no girlfriend (but now he’s quietly gaining more perspective on that), no dream college. the it’s a wonderful life references also compare Steve’s frustration to the main character George Bailey who wants to leave his small town & ‘see the world.’ it also foreshadows some more of Steve’s self-sacrificial tendencies cause George ends up staying in his hometown for the sake of the people who live there. While Steve doesn’t technically actively choose to stay in Hawkins, he does end up staying and protecting the kids. ❤️

fic director’s commentary ask game