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drghostwrite · 5 days ago

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Hey !! the Regina mills request was so jaw dropping that its gotten me back into my evil queen obsession because you works are incredible. Please I beg could you write another in that style? That request has made me see Regina as a power bottom now omg 🫣🫣🫣

Of course!!… She’s literally my fave to write for, I’m obsessed…. Also I am so sorry it took so long to write, I had some health issues going on and had to take some time off. But I worked pretty hard and I hope you enjoy. ;) <3

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Power Plays

Summary: Combining my previous poll idea and the request above, imagine reader and Regina are together but also no one really knows yet. After a very seductive date she takes you home and you spend the night, later that morning you get caught. This does start out very steamy but has a very fluff ending.

Pairing: Regina Mills x reader

Warning: Smut, MINORS DNI!!

******************************************************** 4 months…

Four very long months since you had caught Regina’s eye and what started as professional had quickly turned into seductive whispers and stolen glances. You and Regina had agreed to keep things quiet with her being mayor and you a detective, not wanting to make your relationship completely public to the prying eyes of Storybrooke, so far as she would spend nights at your place as to spare Henry and not risk him finding out.

Tonight though you decided to risk it all, you had asked Regina out to dinner for your first official debut as a couple. You pulled up in your car a sleek black Mustang. You walked up to her front door the streets glistening with a fresh rainfall. You knocked on her door and stood waiting, the door swung open and you both paused as your eyes raked over each other.

Every inch of Regina's gaze seemed to linger a little longer than normal. You were dressed in a fitted black suit paired with a black button-up, the open buttons leaving a low cut hinting subtly at the tattoos peeking out from between your breasts. The suit hugged you perfectly, sharp lines giving way to your smooth curves and Regina found herself breathless.

"You look... incredible." she murmured, her eyebrow raised, a spark of something dark flashing through her eyes.

"And you look like pure sin," you replied in a sultry tone, smirking as your gaze traced over her. She wore a satin, dark maroon dress with a plunging neckline and high slit, leaving little to your imagination as the satin hugged every perfect curve. "How is anyone supposed to keep their focus on dinner with you looking like this?"

She chuckled lowly, a smirk pulling at her perfectly painted lips. "Who says I want you to keep your focus on dinner?"

You smirked as a small laugh escaped you lips and you extended her your hand, "Well then, shall we give the town something to talk about?" She let a small laugh escape her lips before she happily interlaced her fingers with yours.

The date passed in a whirl of flirtatious teasing and stolen glances. Every time you reached for her hand or leaned in just a little closer than necessary, you could feel the electricity and tension between you building. After a few glasses of wine and uncertain glances from people in town you got the check and made you way outside.

“You know that suit and top combo should be illegal.” Regina started, walking beside you her fingers interlaced with yours.

“Is that so?” You chuckled.

“Yep,” she said slightly popping the p with her plump lips.

“hm.” You chuckled walking her around to help her into your car, “and what’s to say you should be allowed to wear this dress.”

She smirked as your eyes raked her body, your fingertips brushed against the exposed skin of her thigh from the slit in the side.

“I can take it off… if you’d like.” She said grabbing your lapels and pulling you closer, your lips lingering for a moment before her soft plump lips met yours. Your hand caressed her side as she leaned back against your car, her hands coming to brush up your sides pulling you closer.

“I would love that.” You left a smug chuckle escape your lips…she knew not being able to tear the dress off right there was driving you feral.

“My place?” She suggested.

“Henry?” You asked.

“Emma’s… she has him this weekend.”

“Perfect.” You said opening the door and helping her in, you quickly got in the drivers seat and started the engine. Whipping the car out and possibly breaking a few Storybrooke speed limits to get to her house. By the time you reached her home your patience was at its breaking point.

The second her front door closed, Regina pulled you close, capturing your lips in a kiss full of pent-up passion. Your hands found her waist, pulling her flush against you as she tangled her fingers in your hair, her nails scraping your scalp and deepening the kiss.

"You know… black is my color, but I so enjoy seeing you in it." she whispered breathlessly, her eyes dark and intense.

“Just letting everyone know who I belong to…” you teased.

“You’re driving me mad, darling.” She kissed you again.

You grinned against her lips pressing a kiss to her neck. "That was the plan."

She chuckled, and you felt her hands leave your hair, letting out a small whine against her neck before you felt her pull away, something falling to your feet. Looking down, you saw deep red satin pooling as Regina walked away, the black lingerie beautifully contrasting against her skin. Her hips swayed as you grabbed the dress and followed after her. She guided you to her bedroom, the two of you laughing in between kisses, she closed the door pushing you up against it, peeling your suit jacket off your shoulders and tossing it aside. Her hands ran over your arms and shoulders, your lips tangled in a heated kiss, a wave of her hand left you standing there in black lingerie.

"The things I want to do to you..." you whispered in her ear.

"So do them..." she said, her eyes looking up into yours, you pulled her into another kiss. Your hands found the backs of her thighs lifting her, she draped her arms over your shoulders and wrapped her legs around your waist as you carried her to the bed, climbing on and laying her down.

You climbed on top of her straddling her waist, her hands ran dangerously up your sides in a way that would make anyone else come completely undone.

You kissed along her jaw and down her neck, leaving a small nip on her pulse point. You moved so your leg was pressed against her aching center and grinned when you heard a soft gasp escape her lips, but instead a devious smirk pulled at her lips. She moved to press her thigh to your clothed but aching pussy, her hands finding your hips and pushing you flush against her.

“So needy just for me...” She whispered as you bit your lip eyes fluttering closed as she forced you to grind against her thigh. Your orgasm drawing closer and closer but instead you pulled away, opening you eyes to meet her dark orbs, pupils blown with lust.

You snickered before moving down her body, placing open mouthed kisses from her neck. You unhooked her lace bra and tossed it somewhere to be found later, placing kisses between her breast licking over her hardened nipples just enough to tease. You continued your kisses over her stomach, then hips before you grabbed the band of her lace panties between your teeth, sliding them off her legs and tossing them aside, all while keeping eye contact.

“Darling?”

“Yes my love?” You asked placing kisses and bites all over he inner thighs as her legs spread for you.

“You know what teasing gets you…” she said reaching down, her hand brushing hair out of your face as you looked up into her eyes mischievously.

Your tongue slow and teasing met her aching core, “I’ll take my chances...” You whispered against her, her eyes darkening as you latched onto her clit, watching her head fall back onto plush pillows.

You watched her chest heave, small gasps escaping her lips and you added two fingers, at first slowly pulling in and out, drawing her orgasm closer and closer. Using your spare hand you ran it over her stomach up between her breasts and let your fingers play around her neck, she grabbed your wrist and you moved it to play with hardened nipples.

“Y/N, I-I’m gonna…” she whispered her hand followed down your wrist her nails deliciously scratching up your bicep. You sucked her clit harshly curling you fingers to hit the spongy spot that she craved and felt her release, dripping down your hand, her walls still clenching around you.

“How I love hearing my name fall from your lips…” you said, moving back up her body and kissing her deeply, letting her taste herself on your tongue.

“You’re cute… but don’t think you’re getting away with your little stunt.” She said kissing you, pulling your bottom lip between her teeth biting softly to let you know who was in charge here.

“if you say so…” you trailed, tempting her, testing her dominance… but nevertheless she had something planned, her devilish smirk and dark eyes telling you that you were in for it.

She sat up with you still straddling her lap, with a wave of her hand you were no longer in your lingerie and felt a bulge against your core, you looked down and saw she had conjured her favorite strap on, a notable size, deep purple with very realistic ridges and bumps, the sight making your lips part as you practically drooled over her.

“My eyes are up here…” she whispered, her hand coming to lift your chin. She placed teasing kisses on your lips, you let out a small moan, almost a whine.

“Did you want something, sweetheart?” She played dumb knowing exactly what you wanted, you wanted her to rail you into oblivion.

“Damn you, Regina.” You whispered as her fingers traveled to your dripping pussy, slowly teasing you. Her lips found your breast and pulled one into her mouth, her tongue swirling as her fingers teased your entrance.

“Baby, I-I’m gonna cum…” you let out a breathy moan as your hips bucked against her, you could feel your body so close and yet the release never came.

“Are you?” She teased, her eyes darkening, that’s when the realization hit, she was using her magic to stop you from cumming, her fingers still teasing you.

You let a whine escape your throat as she bit into the skin of your shoulder. “I told you there would be hell to pay…” she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. She teased you some more, sliding two fingers inside of you, her palm brushing your clit, you chased your high but still found no release.

“please, please…” you begged, tears falling down your cheeks out of frustration.

“So pretty when you beg,” she kissed the tears that were falling down the cheeks before finding your lips and you could taste the salt.

“Lift your hips for me darling…” she said her hands fixing your waist and guiding you, one hand gasped the appendage and guarded it to your aching pussy.

“Shit, Regina…” you hissed as you lowered yourself, but instead she rammed into you, giving you no time to adjust, the stretch burned at first, but slowly turned into pleasure as she slid in and out of you. You eyes fluttering closed as you hoped that she would let you cum soon.

You felt her lay back against the pillows, watching as your hips moved in harmony with her thrusts. Your hand going back to grip her thigh as your hips swirled giving her a full view of you riding her.

“That’s it… show mommy how good she makes you feel,” you let out a low moan as the dick hit your sweet spot, “you feel so good wrapped around me sweetheart.”

Your eyes snapped open to look at her blissed out face, “Y-you can feel it?”

“Mm,” she moaned deliciously, “I can feel everything.”

“h-how?”

“I know a few… tricks.” She trailed.

“but… oh god.” You felt her thrust up into you roughly.

“Show me what a good girl you are and ride my dick till I say stop.” With that you ground down against her harder.

You let out a breathy gasp, watching as her eyes fluttered, seeing her dick slide in and out of you, your movements bringing her to the edge. You felt so close and begged again, but still no orgasm for you, hearing her get closer and closer.

“So warm and tight… I think I’m gonna…” you felt her tap your hip, telling you to get off, “we didn’t use protection.” she panicked as she tried to push you off but instead you leaned forward, one hand on her chest and the other gripped the headboard, keeping your body in place.

“I don’t care…” with that you could feel her release inside of you. Her breath ragged as you slowed your hips, but you didn’t stop, still chasing your high.

“Dammit, Regina please… please let me come.” You cried out, tears burning in the corners of you eyes.

“Have you learned your lesson?” She asked, watching you squirm against her.

“yes…” you trailed.

“yes what?”

“yes mommy.” You gasped.

“That’s my girl…” she kissed your lips hungrily before thrusting up into you rapidly. It didn’t take long for either of you as you have been so on edge and her being so sensitive, you could feel her hips beginning to get sloppy and her breathing heavier as she got close.

“Mommy I’m gonna…”

“Cum with me darling…” she whispered in your ear and that was enough to make you come undone. Your body trembling as you fell forward against her, both of your movements coming to a halt, both of you almost painfully sensitive.

You stayed like that for a moment before she helped you lift off of her, you winced slightly at your muscles now sore and exhausted, laying down beside her as a wave of her hand made member disappear and cleaned you both up.

She pulled you close her hand on you waist as she looked into your tired eyes.

“You know a move like that could get you pregnant, right?”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t be proud to know I’m carrying your baby?” You teased.

“There are better ways of letting everyone know you belong to me…” she retorted.

“Whatever you say Madame Mayor.” You said sleepily, turning in her arms so she was flush against your back, the cool sheets enveloping your bodies until you fall asleep.

“Stubborn as ever, Detective.” She says placing a kiss to your shoulder before settling against you.

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The next morning soft light crept in through the curtains, you heard soft breathing and felt as the gorgeous raven haired woman shifted next to you. Soft thighs met your hips and Regina straddled your waist, her dark hair slightly disheveled, her skin warm against yours as she leaned down to press soft, lingering kisses on your lips.

"Mmm... morning beautiful," you murmured your hands finding her hips as she moved against you, her lips claiming yours in another heated kiss.

"Good morning, Detective." she whispered with a playful glint in her eyes, her finger tracing your jawline before she bent down to trail kisses along your jaw, burying her lips against your neck.

“You going to behave today, or will I have to remind you?”

“a reminder wouldn’t hurt.” You teased feeling as she sucked on your pulse point.

Just then you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps break through the quiet. Regina's eyes widened, but before either of you hand time to react, her bedroom door flung open and Henry bounded in with an excited smile on his face.

"Mom! Emma and I..." He stopped quickly his eyes darting between you and Regina as he looked between you with confusion.

"Henry!" Regina gasped yanking the sheets up over you both to cover your exposed bodies before he could see anything, her face flushing.

Emma was right on his heels, taking one look and quickly shielding his eyes, "Oh boy..." she said before sighing dramatically, "Alright kid, let's give your mom some privacy."

Henry blinked, utterly confused as Emma steered him towards the door. "But... Isn't that Y/N... what's going on?"

Emma shot a very embarrassed Regina an amused, knowing look, "Nothing you need to worry about. Come on, let's go."

“Bye mom! Bye Y/N!” Henry called as Emma escorted him out.

You both waited holding your breath until you heard the front door close. You felt as a very flustered Regina fell forward burying her face in your neck, letting out a small groan.

"Guess the secret's out," you teased brushing soft fingertips up her side.

"This is so embarrassing," Regina mumbled, her face still covered.

You couldn't resist leaning in to whisper in her ear, "If it makes you feel any better, you look adorable being all flustered."

She swatted your arm, letting out a small chuckle, before climbing off your lap, getting off the bed she picked up your shirt that was crumpled on the floor and pulled it around her body, with a wave of your hand you were clad in a tank top and soft pajama pants, her phone buzzed on the night stand next to you. she carefully picked it up, her hair falling around her face before she swipes some of it behind her ear. Her eyes scanned the screen and she let out a small huff of laughter.

"It's from Emma," she read, unable to keep the smirk off her face, "Nice to see you and Y/N has fun last night, Henry is excited to know that you two are official. ;)"

You chuckled, getting up you wrapped your arms around her waist from behind, placing a kiss on her neck, "So does that mean it's okay to be out in the open?"

Regina turned to look back at you, biting her lip. "It... it might be. but I want you to know, it's not easy... to love me." She glanced down, her expression softening to something almost vulnerable, "I've had... trust issues in the past. I've kept my heart guarded for so long, but you..." she paused, smiling up at you, "You're different, I want to try... with you."

You pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead as you felt her relax against you, her head settling on your shoulder, your hand squeezing her waist. "I want that too, Regina... I will be by your side, as long as you want me… especially considering I could be pregnant with your baby.” You teased and she playfully squeezed your arm.

“You did that to yourself, I tried to warn you.” She smirked, moving to kiss your lips, before she tucked her head back into the crook of your neck.

“Not my fault you turned me into a whining mess above you… you’re very persuasive Madame Mayor.”

"Hmm..." she hummed softly against your skin before pulling back to look into your eyes. "Well Detective, I'd be lying if I said that badge and gun weren't part of the appeal."

"Oh really?" you replied, a playful glint in your eyes as you leaned in your lips dangerously close. "Because my office is just down the road... and it comes with handcuffs."

Her laugh was low and warm, and she pulled you into another deep kiss, her arms hands gripping your hips, nails digging into the skin. "Don't tempt me."

#x yn #x reader #fluff prompts #regina mills x reader #ouat x reader #ouat fanfiction #ouat #regina mills #evil queen #wlw smut #x reader smut #power bottom

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years ago

Text

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 3.7k

chapter summary: you have your first girls' night out with Olivia and of course, Joel is at the same bar— waiting for his date.

warnings: alcohol consumption, piv sex (between joel and ofc!asha sorry y'all but don't worry reader and joel are gonna get there... eventually), a bit of hurt/comfort vibes, sex for comfort

Chapter Three || Chapter Five

The bar is much more crowded than you expect, but then again, you haven't been going out much so you wouldn't really know. Despite the sweaty crowd, the fans do a good job of circulating the air and it smells nice, like strawberries.

Olivia is sitting across from you. There’s a small wooden bowl of unshelled peanuts on the table, she reaches over and takes one. You’re a bit nervous. You're barely paying attention as you absentmindedly shove the nail of your thumb into the pad of your forefinger, lost in thought. Your eyes lift to Olivia just in time to see her dark brows furrow with concentration as she deftly peels the thick shell off the nut, a bit of tongue peeking out above her glossy bottom lip.

She looks nice, you observe. Her white knitted tank top accentuates her breasts, and the mustard yellow ring around her waistline draws your eye to her curves. You can see a shimmer to her dark skin, little specks of gold that catch the light. You assume it must be the body spray she's wearing. Meanwhile, she pushes a successfully deshelled peanut between her lips. You suddenly feel uncomfortable with your own outfit.

You had made an effort, mostly because Tommy had insisted, but you couldn't imagine going out in sweatpants anyway. You're wearing a burgundy dress, the sleeves going all the way to your elbows and the neckline delightfully deep. The dress is a bit too short for your comfort, and you find yourself tugging it down whenever you stand up, but it elicited a whistle from Olivia when she first saw you, so you decide the trouble is worth it.

When Olivia throws the remains of the peanut shell to the floor, you frown.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to litter.”

“Look around babe,” she answers, taking another peanut. “It’s the concept.”

Suddenly you’re abundantly aware of the peanut shells on the floor acting as decor, your lips form a simple oh. Before you turn back to Olivia, you see multiple people throwing their shells to the floor. The waiter appears before you can get the words out.

“What can I get you, ladies, on this fine evening?”

“I want a long island ice tea,” Olivia smiles, her green eyes flitting to you.

In contrast to Olivia's effortless smile, yours is awkward and forced, the corners of your lips trembling slightly.

“A greyhound please,”

“Anything else?”

Olivia throws more shells to the floor, “Are you hungry?”

“A bit.”

She proceeds to order a mixed plate of deep-fried everything, which your stomach has no objections to. When the waiter leaves, you finally reach out and grab a peanut for yourself.

“I see you every day, can you relax?”

“Sorry, it’s just…” you swallow. “It’s been a while since I went out. I’m just a bit excited. I’ll return to normal, promise.”

“I bet you’ll feel much better after we get some alcohol in your system,” she leans closer, and so do you, your nail ferociously battles the salty shell of the peanut. “You don’t go out much with the boys?”

“Boys?”

“Duh, the brothers,” she grins, tapping her nails against the table's surface. “Tommy and Joel, don’t they ever take you out?”

“Not really. I mean Joel is mostly busy with work and Sarah. Tommy comes by to fix up the room.”

“Ohhh, that’s right, you two were working on that little project of yours,” the waiter comes back with their drinks, leaves them, and moves to the next table. “How is it like spending time with him?”

A soft chuckle falls from your lips, “He actually wanted to come tonight, but I said no,” when Olivia shoots you a confused glance you grin. “Girls only.”

“Hell yeah it is!” she exclaims which is followed by a cheerful woo, she lifts the cold glass to her lips and takes two gulps. Her red lipgloss stains the rim. “How is the room going by the way? Have you managed to paint anything yet?”

“We barely started, last night we cleared out the room,” you rub the side of the glass with your thumb. “And no. But that’s enough of me, what about you?”

Olivia’s face lights up at that. Her parents recently came to visit from Boston and she was quite excited for them to meet Pyrrha. The two had been dating for two months but their chemistry was instant. Olivia had described it as love at first sight when she came to work the next day— she never even believed in love before, her words not yours, and it took her by surprise.

But Pyrrha, she said that day, They’re different.

You’re confused as to why the memory makes you think of Joel but it does. The heat of alcohol burns your cheeks. You force yourself to smile at what Olivia is saying. You catch her train of thought mid-sentence. The meeting with the parents had gone without a hitch. You’re happy for them. Olivia is one of those rare people that genuinely deserves to be happy. And you’re just about to say that. Your lips part, and at the same time you reach for a peanut, with the corner of your eyes you notice the waiter coming to your table with a large plate—

Then you see him.

Joel fucking Miller.

At the bar.

Alone.

His eyes are glued to the door, his leg bobbing up and down. When the waiter lays the plate in front of you both, you can’t even look to thank him. Olivia does it for you and follows your gaze. Her eyes go wide, bringing her half-full glass to her lips.

“Holy shit is that the Joel?” she lets out a soft whistle. “I wasn’t aware he was the type to wear a leather jacket, it suits him.”

“Yeah that’s new,” you mutter, balking. “Why is he even here? Should I say hi?” you ask frantically, eyes moving back to Olivia.

“Only if you want to,” she clicks her tongue, looking amused. “And it looks like you really do,”

“Do you think he’s waiting for someone?”

“Well he’s alone now so go on, he won’t bite—unless that’s your thing, I bet he has some nice chompers,”

“Ha ha very funny—”

He catches your eye over the shoulders of a group of people moving past, and for a moment, time stands still. His eyebrows slowly raise, his gaze intense. Your heart pounds in your chest, every muscle in your body taut.

You blame your reaction on the two sips of the cocktail you had. Joel’s eyes flit to the entrance one last time before turning to you again and smiling, a slow nod made as a greeting.

It’s supposed to be left at just that. You’ll smile back and the whole interaction will be over.

However, you forgot about Olivia.

She turns towards him, arm casually draped over the back of the booth, and waves in an animated manner, “Hey, Joel!” she calls out, you nearly laugh at the way he jolts, confusion etched between his brows. “Why don’t you come over?”

Seeing no other choice, Joel grabs his beer and walks over. You’re left in slight surprise when he sits next to you, the close proximity forcing your legs to press together. He has a kind smile when he looks at Olivia.

“Hi, I’m Joel,” he says, offering his hand. Olivia takes it with a grin. “But I guess you already know that.”

“I do,” she coos. “I’m Olivia, the designated best friend.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Olivia winks at you, her wide smile providing comfort, “Nice to know she talks about me.”

“Only good things,” Joel chuckles. “You two havin’ a girls' night out?”

“You know it!” she laughs, fingers moving around the rim of the glass. “Also, this poor girl tells me you guys never go out? Is there a reason for that or are you guys just hermits living under a bridge?”

“Olivia!”

She waves you off, bottom lip pushed out. “I’m only kidding, he knows that. You don’t mind, do you Joel?”

You’re surprised at how relaxed he is. You've forgotten that he's actually a pleasant person, capable of engaging in a conversation. It's not that you ever thought of him as unpleasant, but he just never seemed to be that way with you. His booming laughter rattles through the air, and the familiar lines of his face that you've come to admire smooth out in the presence of Olivia. You can't help but admire the power she holds - the power to make anyone feel at home, as if the world is nothing but a playground for them to enjoy. The only time you've seen Joel act differently was during the moment you shared on the porch, a moment that has never been repeated.

You realize you never really saw him after that.

“I don’t mind at all, darlin’,” he tuts, throwing an arm over the back of the booth. The heat his arm radiates makes you straighten, little needles prick into your skin. “Why didn’t you tell us you wanted to go out?”

It takes you a second to notice the question is directed at you. You lick your lips before meeting his gaze to answer.

“I don’t know actually. I guess I never thought about it. Besides, you two are busy.”

You don’t expect to see his eyes soften, you shiver at the feeling of the tips of his fingers brushing alongside the back of your neck, “We would’ve made time.”

“We should all do something together one day,” Olivia chimes in. “Like we should have a dinner party or something. Anyway—” she suddenly slaps her hands over the table and pushes herself up from the comfort of the booth. “Need to use the little ladies' room. BRB.”

You watch helplessly as Olivia leaves, the air around you two grow uncomfortable, like cold air filing a hot room from a window crack. Joel’s fingers are still moving over your skin, a feather-light touch. A soft sigh parts your lips and you close your eyes.

You don’t know what to think.

“Seems like you’re in good company.” he hums, tilting the beer bottle to his lips.

You’re disoriented by the remark, you assumed he felt the awkward energy too, but maybe it’s just you making up things that just aren’t true.

“She’s the best,” you answer as you force your body language to relax. You lean into the back of the booth, allowing his palm to loosely cup the back of your neck. “I think she likes you, which is good. I want her to like you.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do,” you finally turn to him, his dark gaze bores into yours, a soft expression of surprise painted over his face. “I mean, who doesn’t want their friends to get along? That’s pretty much a universal want, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“So why are you here? Your schedule is so packed that I’m surprised you give yourself the time to breathe.”

“Tommy complains a lot about it, huh?”

You grin behind your glass, cold condescension smooths over your lips. A chill settles at the base of your spine. “Maybe.”

There’s an awkward pause after that, you can’t quite place why. He takes two long sips from his beer as if waiting for the ground to swallow him. He only speaks when you start to shift in your seat, not really knowing what else to do.

“He set me up on a blind date,” he blurts out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s why I’m here,”

“Tommy…set you up with someone?”

“Well him and Isaac,” he swallows. “Is that bad?”

You turn to him, eyes widening momentarily, your heart sinks into your stomach, “No, of course not. Why would that be bad?”

Joel starts to peel the sticker of the beer bottle with his nail, a hum echoing from the back of his throat. A chuckle drops from your lips.

“I think it might be good, yeah? To have some fun, to meet someone? Tommy and this Isaac might be on to something,”

“Yeah, I guess…” he clears his throat. “It’s been so long, I don’t think I’m any good at flirtin’”

“You’ll do just fine, Miller. You’re quite charming when you want to be.”

You playfully slap him on the back—which in hindsight probably didn’t look as playful as you thought in your head. He stiffens at the gesture, and you quickly pull back your hand, wrapping your fingers around your glass.

You don’t expect him to stare at you, which forces your gaze back to him.

“You think I’m charmin’?”

His question lingers in the air when you notice a woman walking in. She’s mesmerizing, your eyes following her like a moth to a flame. It’s downright impossible for your to tear your gaze away from where they had fallen. Her dark skin glows under the bar light, and her wild, curly hair frames her sharp, angular face. A nose ring glints in the light, catching your eye. You can't help but notice that she's incredibly tall, even taller than Joel and Tommy. With pinched brows, she looks around frantically. Joel’s gaze is still glued to you and your cheeks heat up.

“I think your date arrived,” you murmur and he finally follows your gaze. “She seems nice. And for the record, I don’t think you need to worry about the flirting part,”

Joel swallows his body somewhere in between getting up and wanting to continue to sit. You finally nudge him in the shoulder, giving him the last incentive to get up and go before she leaves.

“Go,” you smile. “I’ll see you later.”

He leans in and your heart stops beating—the moment is a pocket in time, a memory you’ll always remember until your bones mix with the earth. His lips touch your cheek, warm, slightly wet from the beer. Your lips part with a gasp, mustache tickling your skin. There’s a brief moment where he pulls away and holds your gaze, only an inch away from your lips, his gaze drops to them momentarily.

“See you later, neighbor.”

Joel was against it, simple as that.

But when Tommy and Isaac basically cornered him, saying that he needed to relax and let out some steam—whatever the hell that meant—he didn’t really find it in him to say no. He did need a distraction. From you, mainly, but that was beside the point. He felt tense, his knees ached, and a night out didn’t seem too bad when he put two and two together.

So he begrudgingly accepted to go out. And rolled his eyes when Tommy and Isaac high-fived each other.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was for you to be there. With his luck, he shouldn’t have even been surprised, of course you would be there, life loved making a mockery of him.

You were with a friend—Olivia, he recalled from Tommy’s stories—and opted to just nod as a greeting. That was what normal people did right? Just briefly greet each other and move on.

A minute later he found himself sitting next to you and officially meeting Olivia. He was sweating through his damn leather jacket.

When Olivia left to use the restroom, you asked him why he was there. He didn’t want to answer. In fact, he didn’t even want to go on the date anymore. He wanted to stay with you, spend the night drinking and laughing.

At that point in time he didn’t care that he was placing himself between a rock and a hard place. He just wanted to spend more time with you, get to know you. Because frankly, he didn’t know much.

It was mostly his fault, he distanced himself. But he had to when Tommy’s pupils were forming literal hearts whenever he talked about you. Joel could see it. He wasn’t stupid.

He had to go on the date. No matter how warm your skin felt under his fingers tips, he had to. For his young brother’s sake, he couldn’t allow himself to succumb to whatever he was feeling. It wasn’t right.

The kiss had happened unexpectedly. You looked so soft under the dim lights, so kind, he couldn’t help it. He saw disappointment lingering in your eyes. It made him fear something he never allowed himself to think about. A kiss to the cheek among friends, it was normal, it was nothing.

He was only imagining the way you gasped when his lips touched your cheek.

But if that’s the case, why is he still thinking about it?

Asha has her arm wrapped around his, the leather jacket he heard so much shit about draped over her rounded shoulders. Her sharp rings dig into his arm, a welcomed sting to pull him away from his thoughts. She’s a nice person, a bit stubborn, independent. He learned that she was a journalist, and loved her job, but it meant that it was hard to find good dates. And one day as she was browsing through the hardware store she bumped into Tommy, they became fast friends.

Honestly, he can’t even blame Tommy for wanting to set him up with Asha. By all means, she’s a great woman.

“You didn’t have to walk me home by the way,” she says with a charming grin. “But I do appreciate it.”

Her steps slow and Joel mirrors the speed. Asha squeezes his biceps before pointing towards her home, “This is me,” she wets her lips, and he noticed her shoulders going stiff. “Would you like to come in? I can show you my vintage turntable?”

Joel finds himself nodding, allowing him to get dragged by the hand into her home. The first thing he smells is wood, a familiar scent that makes him feel at home. It smells fresh. And when he looks around he can see why; the living room is littered with wooden furniture, some of which looked handmade rather than store-bought—which impresses him almost immediately. There are multiple large green-leafed plants, a couple he recognizes because Sarah would point at them whenever they visited Ikea, asking for one. He often said no.

There’s a divan pushed against the wall, soft looking pillows thrown haphazardly on top. Asha reaches for the light, a soft yellow brightening up the interior.

“Sorry for the mess,” she says, though she sounds unbothered. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Do you have beer?”

She smiles, “I have beer.”

Apparently, the turntable was in her bedroom.

Neither of them spends much time talking about it—not that there is much to talk about a turntable. It’s nice, it looks cool, and that’s pretty much all Joel’s vocabulary and come up with. Asha scans her collection of vinyl records until her gaze rests on Nina Simone's "I Put a Spell on You." She grasps the record and slides it out of its sleeve, placing it gently on the platter.

The plaque glints in the dim light of the room, casting an ethereal glow that seems to complement the sultry, bewitching notes of the song now filling the air. Asha closes her eyes and lets the music wash over her, feeling the haunting vocals of Nina Simone wrap around her like a warm embrace. Joel watches with amazement as she starts to sway with the music. She takes his hand and guides him into a slow dance.

Looking up, Joel’s eyes linger on her glossy lips. She smiles fondly, brushing a lock of hair away from his face. His hands feeling too sweaty for comfort, Joel grabs her hips, squeezing tenderly as the dance leads them to the bed. They strip each other slowly, eager kisses being traded in between. Her lips find his collarbone, sucking a bruise into his skin and dragging her tongue up his neck. A shudder rolls up his spine.

It’s been long since he’s been intimate with someone. Very long.

He feels a mixture of guilt and pleasure, he can’t stop thinking about the way you gasped when he kissed your cheek, but at the same time, Asha’s fingers around his cock are a beautiful sin. He needs to stay away from you anyway— and let Tommy navigate through the relationship how he sees fit.

Her strokes are fast and hard, eager. Joel lets out a groan before crashing their lips together, he licks into her mouth, swallowing her moans and thrusting into her palm. It’s a much different kiss from the dreams he had with his neighbor, dreams he didn’t allow himself to think about when awake.

She gasps when he buries himself into her, she’s tight, warm. His body melts into her, sloppy kisses pressed into the swell of her breasts. She answers him beautifully, a symphony of delicate moans, she doesn’t talk much, in fact, she doesn’t speak at all, not even when Joel asks if it feels good—she only moans and whimpers.��

Asha wraps her legs tightly around him, pushing him as he thrust forward. He moves faster, his strokes deeper. Her back arched beautifully, her nails digging into the slope of his shoulders. Beads of sweat gather at his tailbone. His built-up tension from the past years bleeds into her, all his frustrations, anger, all of it pushes him to move his hips faster—harder.

The skin above his stomach grows taut, Asha quivers underneath him, legs trembling against his back. She squeezes him dry, cunt pulsing around his dripping cock and holding him there. Joel grunts into her skin, his teeth sinks into her spasming flesh.

Only then she whispers the first she’s spoken since they stumbled into the bed, “Come on my face,” she breathes heavily.

He’s never been asked that before, it lights something inside of him, something primitive and animalistic. With his cock in his hand, he straddles her chest, stroking himself until he stains those soft lips and pretty face with his spend. He squeezes his eyes shut, nostrils flaring as he stifles the pleasure that rakes painfully across his back.

When Joel opens his eyes, it feels like someone has poured cold water on him, all he sees is you.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #tommy miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #hbo the last of us #the las of us #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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bloodiedrogue · 1 year ago

Text

IS THE MEMORY REALLY MINE? (6)

SUMMARY: After all the begging and pleading, Miguel finally shows you who he is. And more importantly, how you fit into all of this.

PAIRING: Miguel O'Hara & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 12,261

WARNINGS: Angst, dual POV, SMUT (I know, fucking finally), oral sex (fem receiving), vaginal sex, switch Miguel, inappropriate use of webbing, orgasm denial, major character death, canon typical violence, depictions of depression and dissociation.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Holy fuck, okay this chapter got so out of hand but I'm so proud of it so please for the love of god if you decide to reblog any of the chapters let it be this one.

CHAPTER LIST / LAST CHAPTER / MASTERLIST

“Who’s that?”

Miguel averts his gaze, moving from the woman in the corner to the edge of his glass. It’s the first one he’s had all night —the only one he’ll have because he thinks beer is gross and didn’t have the heart to tell Gabriel he’s more of a scotch guy. Disgustingly, it stares back at him as he lifts it up, sniffing the contents before shrugging his shoulders and taking a sip.

“She’s cute.”

He’s in his face now, grinning from ear to ear and sipping a drink Miguel’s lost count on. He’s had to have had at least six by now. Miguel remembers the third and the fourth —vaguely the fifth as well— so most likely it’s a number above that. Six or even seven, he guesses.

“Go talk to her.”

He lets out a sigh, giving his brother the look. The one that says fuck off, I’m not doing that. Not in a million years. Not even if I’m drunk.

An hour later he’s drunk enough to walk over, scotch in hand, eyes half-lidded. There’s not an ounce of nervous energy inside of him. Everything’s been drowned out by the onslaught of shots his brother ordered him, telling him to drink up because it’s Saturday night and neither of them have work in the morning.

You’re sitting in the booth by yourself. All of your friends have gone out for what he assumes is a smoke, and you’re on your phone, narrowing your eyes at the screen with a topped-up glass in your hand.

“Hi.” He clears his throat —awkwardly smiles when you look his way and slide into the booth across.

“Hi?”

Thankfully, you look a bit drunk yourself. Your eyes are tired like his but a bit more bloodshot; the whites of your eyes peeking through the pinks and reds that dart around like lightning.

“I, uh, thought you could use some company. Y’know, while your friends are…”

“Gone?”

“Yeah.”

You’re skeptical now. You drop your phone on the table face down before leaning back in your booth. Slowly, you move your arms to cross over your chest, prompting him to look down just for a second, noticing the low neckline you’re sporting. It’s nice. Classy, even.

“I don’t know if we have enough room for anyone else,” you tell him, taking a moment to look across the bar to the window where a group of people are smoking cigarettes and doubling over in laughter. “There’s quite a few of us.”

“Oh, so they won’t mind if I steal you for a bit.”

He has no idea where this confidence is coming from. Maybe it’s the never-ending feeling of loneliness finally giving him a good kick in the ass or simply just the alcohol. Either way, he doesn’t fight it. Instead, he just raises his brow and takes a long sip, watching the way your mouth falls open and your tongue tucks its way into the edge of your cheek.

“Let me buy you a drink?”

“Uh—“

He sees that you’re thinking about it. Mulling it over in the form of pressed lips and avoided glances. Even on the surface, he can tell that you’re intrigued —that he’s somehow impressed you, but that you’re afraid he’s the kind of guy that’ll take an inch when given a mile.

“I promise that’s all I’m offering,” he assures, dropping the glass in his hands onto the table before raising his hands innocently.

“I don’t know.”

He smiles, half to try and convince you he’s harmless, half out of discomfort. “C’mon, I promise—“

He’s interrupted by the voices of your friends. All of them are huddled in a group, still giggling to themselves until they’re in front of you, staring at him with raised brows that slowly glance your way. Almost immediately, one of them asks who he is to which you say just a friend, causing them all to look at him who has no idea what to say. He didn’t plan on having to lie.

“Yeah, we uh, we work together.” He nods and looks at you, watching the way your mouth closes in a tight-lipped grin.

Your friends nod back and redirect their attention to you, telling you that they’re going to head to some club in the underbelly of the city. The new one that’s owned by Fisk.

“That sounds fun but uh, I have an early morning tomorrow. Got that new job interview and everything.” You stare at him as you say that last part, a smirk pulling across your lips that have your friends in stitches before they’re pouting and accepting defeat.

After that, they all take turns hugging you before they go, patting your back through disappointed slurs that have Miguel looking towards Gabriel who’s throwing darts with one of his buddies.

“Don’t have too much fun!”

When your friends are out of sight, Miguel lets out a heavy breath and throws his head back against the booth, looking at you with narrowed eyes. “I guess the coworker excuse was pretty weak.”

“A bit, yeah.”

“Next time I’ll try and come up with something more believable. Maybe something like, we met at the gym or something.”

You scrunch your face.

“What? You don’t go?”

“If it were life or death, you still wouldn’t find me there.”

He snorts —shakes his head and takes a sip, watching from the corner of his eye as you do the same. Subtly, your lips grin against the glass as you take a pull, making it hard for him to focus on anything else because, truth be told, you’ve got amazing lips. Beautiful eyes and pretty skin.

He likes the way you look. It’s why he’s been staring at you all night. Why, even when you were drunkenly yelling with your friends, demanding the kind of attention he usually avoids, he found himself giving in.

Now that he’s sitting across from you, he understands why he chose to come over. It’s because there’s something warm about you. Comforting. He can’t quite place it, but regardless there’s this magnetized feeling in his chest that refuses to go away as he sits across from you; forcing him to continue this conversation until he’s certain there’s an end.

Because so far you haven’t given him a reason to leave. You haven’t outright denied him that drink or thrown the one in your hand at his face. All you’ve done is sit there and stare.

Oh, and smiled, he points out, watching you practically choke on your drink with upturned lips.

“Is this how you pick up all the girls?” you ask, amused.

“What do you mean?”

Despite his often bitter-looking expression, at this point, he’s grinning like a madman —eating up the attention you give him like a starving man, desperate for joy.

It’s been so long since he’s done this. Since he’s tried to pick up a pretty girl at the bar just because. With this new gig as Nueva’s Spider-Man piling on top of his already heavy workload at Alchemex, lately, it feels like the only time he has to himself is when he’s sleeping. So, it feels nice to do this. To sit across from a stranger and pretend like things are normal.

“I don’t know how to explain it.”

You cock your head to the side, watching the way he shrugs as he takes the final sip of his drink.

“Maybe you could explain it over another one,” he says, motioning to your glass that’s managed to almost empty in the short time you’ve been sitting together.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

His brow twitches with excitement. You’re thinking about it again. More so, because now instead of an I don’t know it’s a maybe, which means progress.

“Depends on the drink.”

“Take your pick, sweetheart.”

You shake your head and lean forward, pressing your chest against the edge of the table. “How about we play a game?”

He hates games, especially ones like this where the stakes are embarrassingly high. He likes you. Thinks you're charming, even though he doesn’t know you at all, and because of this, the last thing he wants is for some stupid, flirtatious game to ruin everything.

“What kind of game?”

“Pick a drink,” you say with a shrug. Acting as if this is the most nonchalant thing even though it isn’t. It’s high stakes —too high if you ask him. “If you pick one I like I’ll let you buy it for me.”

“Seems a bit one sided.”

“Says the guy who slid into my booth without asking.”

You’re right. He’s annoyed, but you’re right, so instead of arguing he agrees to your terms. “So, am I guessing like, mixed drinks or—“

“I’ll throw you a bone and settle for the type of liquor.”

“Appreciate it.”

“I know.”

If he weren’t trying to impress you he’d comment about how smug you’re being. But since he is, he merely presses his hands together in the form of a prayer, thanking you. It makes you laugh, which instantly gives him the motivation to focus, prompting him to slide toward the edge of the booth and narrow his eyes at the bar, scanning all the bottles on the shelf.

He isn’t sure why but his eyes immediately draw to the vodka. Maybe it’s a bias but every woman he’s ever met has drank it. That or gin, so his mind starts scanning all the clear liquids, reading and rereading the brand names like a script he’s been asked to memorize.

“Can I phone a friend?”

“No.”

“Ask the audience maybe?” He smirks, peaking over his shoulder to see you roll your eyes.

“That’s cheating.”

“How?”

“I’m the only one here.”

He clicks his tongue and looks back, looking at everything all over again. Vodka, gin, bourbon, whiskey, tequila —all of them morph together in his mind, their labels layering over each other until all he can see are blotches of colour and random letters.

He has no idea what you like. The only thing he’s seen you drink is beer so there’s no statistics to back his answer. No matter what he’s going in blind and it makes his stomach feel sick, knowing that this is the end. That the potential night he imagined with you will walk away thanks to some stupid fucking guessing game.

“I—“

He shifts his jaw in annoyance as he slides back into the booth, facing your proud face in defeat. You knew this would happen —that he’d be sitting here, sweating while trying to figure this out. It was your plan all along. A revenge plot for showing up unannounced.

Despite the humiliation of it all, it somehow makes him more interested. Something about a woman being able to fight back always makes him a bit stupid.

“Would you like a scotch?”

It’s the only alcohol he can think of on the spot. He can see the bottle clearly in his mind, the amber liquid sloshing about as it’s poured into a tulip-shaped glass. Clearer than anything, he can smell the smoke —the citrus-filled bites that sting his nose every time he takes a sip.

He can taste it on his tongue, and immediately he knows after this is over he’s going to walk over to the bar and order a double to numb the pain.

“Wow, didn’t think you’d get it.”

Okay, so apparently he’s ordering two doubles.

“Really? You like scotch?”

You nod.

At that moment, he thinks he might be in love. You’re pretty, mean, and have good taste —a trifecta of traits that has him practically jumping from his seat to order your drinks.

At the bar, he constantly glances back to make sure you’re still there. To ensure he didn’t just imagine you in his inebriated state. Every time he looks back you’re awkwardly staring at him, your chin resting against your open hands.

When the bartender asks him what he wants, he orders two doubles, offering him cash once they’re slid onto the counter in front of him. Then, he tells the man to keep the change, offering him a curt nod that’s so out of character he knows if Gabriel’s watching he’ll probably never hear the end of it.

“Well, uh, here you go.” He places the drink in front of you and slides back into the booth, watching as you take it in your hands and raise it into the air.

“Cheers, uh…”

“Miguel.”

When you say your name in response his heart skips a beat.

He’s muttering that same name against your lips a few hours later, pushing you further into your apartment. Hastily, his hands move along the hem of your shirt, the fabric feeling soft against his fingers as he slides them underneath to grip your waist. In response, you nip his lower lip and grin, both of you chuckling through heavy breaths that have him kicking your door closed and pulling you close.

So close that he’s worried he’s overstepped once he feels you start to pull away, his hands stiffening until he hears you say the word bedroom.

Normally when women invite him over like this they offer up the location —say the word bedroom like it’s a question he has to answer. Usually, they’ll play with his shirt and bat their eyes. Make it seem like the idea was his all along so that they don’t have to feel like they’re acting too desperate. It’s cute, sometimes. If Miguel’s honest though, the way you say it —the way you tell him where he’s going by gripping the collar of his shirt, instead of asking him if it’s okay— makes him want to fuck you right then and there. To ditch the prospect of the bedroom in favour of the dusty, old hardwood.

Which makes maneuvering through your furniture a gruelling task. Because he’s so distracted by your lips and hands and hips, he manages to slam his shin against the edge of your coffee table before hitting his elbow against the wall. Both times he ignores the pain, groaning into your mouth as you open another door behind you, fumbling for the handle through your mutual fixation.

As you do, he can practically feel your mind speeding through the inevitable —the panicked moments where you’re reaching for his shirt to pull it off. The one where you then playfully toy with the loops of his jeans while he kisses down the edge of your mouth to your chest.

When you’re inside the room, everything plays out exactly like this. The fabric of your respective shirts are discarded in haste, both sets of pants lingering as Miguel stares at the curvature of your chest inside your bra. Reaching forward, you tease the zipper of his jeans with slow-moving fingers and in that moment he feels like he’s dying because all he wants to do is touch you. To taste you. He wants every inch of you wrapped around him like a heated blanket made of flesh and bone. He wants to trail his fingers across every curve and divot, lick long languid streaks across your most sensitive spots so that he can hear that pretty mouth of yours call out his name.

Before he can even resist temptation he’s pushing your hands away and gripping the base of your neck. Hungrily, he shoves you into his chest, enveloping you in thick muscle that twitches every time you move against him, especially when his mouth takes hold of yours. His lips feel heavy then, moving with more force as he pushes them down along your chin, stopping to expose your throat and hum in approval.

“Was this what you expected when I said hi?”

Both of you laugh. He can feel the reverb of it in your throat, dancing across his fingers before it hits his mouth; feeling too impatient to await an answer before latching on.

“Not really, no.”

Your voice is all breath, pushing from your lungs to hit his ears in a way that motivates him to skim your throat with his teeth.

“Don’t tell me you’re a biter.”

Almost instantly, his lips encase around a particularly supple-looking portion of your neck. In the process, he discards the idea of teeth, remembering the fact that he’s venomous now. He can’t bite like he used to, even if the thought’s intriguing.

“Mm, no. Too old fashioned for that.”

“You, old fashioned? I never would hav— oh, my god.”

His lips move lower, decorating your skin in marks he’ll later admire. “Shh, you talk too much.”

“You shh.”

He’s certain you expect him to laugh. But considering how much he needs this he merely pulls away and stands, suddenly towering over you in a way that has you visibly swallowing and backing up, your hands quickly ghosting down the edges of his arms until they’re locking onto his wrists. At that point your calves are pressed against the edge of your bed, threatening to topple over. Miguel knows this because the second you’re there and he steps forward, he notices you fumble and grip his hands.

“Careful there.”

It sounds so condescending that when the words slip from his mouth they end up sounding more like an insult rather than a moment of care. So much so that it makes you roll your eyes and swat his hands away before falling backwards onto the bed, spreading your arms out wide.

“Okay, bye, I guess.”

Jokingly he turns on his heel, hearing you shift before you’re wrapping yourself around his lower back, placing a chaste kiss against his hip. “Get back here.”

This time he does laugh, reaching around to run his fingers through the roots of your hair. “Why should I?”

You respond by turning him around and undoing his pants, this time making quick work of the zipper as you stare up at him. Not a moment goes by where you break eye contact. Even when your hands awkwardly fail to push the fabric past his thighs and he’s forced to help you, do you even think of looking away. It’s admirable, Miguel thinks, watching the dedication of your features. The way they pick him apart piece by piece as he kicks away the remaining fabric before peeling off his socks.

When he’s finally free he slowly kneels in front of you, following silent orders by taking the rest of your clothes off. First, he starts with your pants, slowly but surely pulling them off your hips and thighs, following the newly exposed skin with open-mouth kisses that have you throwing your head back. Then, after he’s placed a few pecks to your knees, he swiftly darts up to your mouth, distracting you with an eager tongue as he reaches around to unhook your bra.

A mutual sigh rings out between you as he darts down, moving to survey the newly exposed flesh. Hovering for a moment, he cocks his head to look at your form and how it curves into these shapes that have him acting instead of thinking. Moving instead of asking as he continues his descent, placing damp kisses across your skin until his hands are on the band of your underwear and he’s looking up.

It’s the only time he’s asked for permission all night. Resting his chest against the lower half of your stomach, he raises a brow at you, watching the way you breathe in and out and stare back. Your pupils are blown out of proportion, the colour of your irises hidden by a darkened lust that Miguel prays you’ll act on.

“Please.” He mutters it through open-mouth kisses that move lower until they’re ghosting your clothed entrance, sending a series of shivers down your spine so intense, Miguel can’t help but grin against you.

“Go ahead.”

There’s a mix of excitement and confusion as he slips the fabric off your hips. A tinge of something foreign in his chest once everything’s gone and you’re lying there bare, squirming under his touch. As his arms curl underneath your thighs, dragging your form towards the edge of the bed for better access, he feels it rattle against his ribs.

You’re already wet when his mouth latches onto your clit. Soaking against his tongue as he runs it along that sweet spot that has you sighing out his name. When he hears it, he somehow pulls himself closer, nudging his nose against the space above your cunt as his fingers fan across your stomach, applying a bit of pressure to keep you still. Beneath them, he can feel the spasms of every breath. Each time his mouth sucks a little harder or his tongue changes pace, he can feel the shift of every movement and he can’t help but lose focus.

There’s something about you that demands his attention in ways he never thought possible. Maybe it’s the way you carry yourself whenever his aggressive side slips through or the way you’re roughly reaching down to grip his hair, pushing him further in regardless of his need to breathe. Either way, it perplexes him —leaves him with inquiries that mould to the sections of your body he can feel against him.

How come this feels different?

As he unhooks one arm from your stomach, he can hear a quiet whimper leave your throat. Desperation sinking in from the lack of support as he hooks one leg and begins to trail through your folds.

Is she lonely?

Quickly, the whimper transitions to a groan, followed by a breathy fuck that has him slipping two fingers inside of you, slowly pumping in and out.

Am I lonely?

For a second he pulls away to breathe, feeling your slick tingle against his lips. Feeling you shake against his fingers that begin to curl in place of his absent tongue.

What if together we were less lonely?

There’s a weird sense of relief when he looks up and notices you staring back. All overwhelmed and half-lidded, your eyes look at him with a fondness he’s never felt before. A fondness that makes him wish that this moment could last forever as he slowly dips back down, refusing to break eye contact.

“Don’t stop.”

There’s no politeness in your words. Just aggression and desperation as you lift your hips, and in that moment, every question in Miguel’s mind is answered. Every reluctant thought of why you feel so different in his hands that pushes to the surface is lost through the distracted movements of him navigating through your pleasure.

Picking up the pace, his unused knuckles ghost the outside of your entrance, providing an overwhelming amount of friction when paired with what’s already happening. As they brush against your folds, Miguel can feel you tipping over the edge. Your breathing is hard and trembling against the hand that creeps up to rub your sides.

Your face is fully hidden behind the rising of your spine as it curls in tandem with the fingers inside your cunt and Miguel can’t help but imagine what you look like. How your eyes are screwed up tight and your mouth's all open, letting out sound after sound as he finally hits that spot that has you shaking uncontrollably and reaching to pull him off.

He doesn’t budge. Refusing to even consider it, even when you’re practically crying into the air, begging for him to stop, because all he can think about is giving you more. More stimulation, more movement, more push to counteract the desperate pull you have against his head that refuses to lift the anchor.

Miguel feels within himself that you need this. This over-the-top decoration of worship that has him holding you down with a heavy hand as he readjusts his position. On the bed, you’re a sight meant only for him —a goddess, listening to the prayers of praise he mumbles under his breath and he pulls down the fabric covering his cock, lining himself up.

He doesn’t ask this time when he pushes into you. He doesn’t hesitate or wonder why the feeling of you wrapped around him instantly becomes too much. All he does is continue to please you. To cage you in against his chest with greedy hands that grip your hip and face, pulling you in.

When he kisses you there’s nothing else. Every feeling and sound is muted behind the backdrop of his mind. As his body moves against yours —pushing further into a space that feels so familiar he feels almost breathless— all he can think about is fate. If those moments at the bar that somehow led to these moments in your bedroom were meant to happen.

It feels like you were made for him. Moulded from his rib like Eve from Adam. You’re a connection he’s never felt before. An unfamiliar body surrounding a soul he’s always known.

It makes his movements all the more frantic as he kisses your mouth —your cheek, your chin, your neck. Anywhere he can latch onto to make this moment last as presses your hip and juts further in, feeling the fluttering of your walls begin to take hold of his orgasm.

As he burrows his face against your neck, breathing harder than he ever has before he can feel everything building. The presence of your hands coaxing goosebumps across his back; the heavy breaths against his ear as you let out a blissed-out laugh before you gently nibble the shell of his ear.

All of it becomes too much, and in an instant he’s coming inside you, twitching against your hips with a groan that has you humming as you kiss his cheek.

The morning after feels a bit too bittersweet.

When Miguel wakes up, still wrapped around your frame, his chest pressed firmly against your back as both of you simultaneously stir, there’s an inkling of reality that sets in. A reminder that it’s an entirely new day as the sun outside beams through the window near your legs, coating the blanket overtop with morning light.

While blinking, he nudges his nose against your head, feeling his chest swell at the arrival of his thoughts. The night has ended and it’s time to go home now and despite knowing that’s true, there's something that prevents him.

“What time is it?” you ask.

Grumbling, you try to peel from his grasp but fail when he tightens further around you, groaning in response because, as weird as it might be that he’s still here, he doesn’t want whatever this is to end yet. Instead, he wants to be a bit selfish. To lay in a moment that feels unreal he finds himself smiling against the back of your head.

“Don’t care.”

“I do.”

Reluctantly, he lets you roll over to face him; your eyes fluttering open for a second before they quickly close, realizing how bright it is. “Then check your phone.”

“I can’t,” you groan and shove your forehead into his chest, letting out a yawn.

“How come?”

“I have a hot guy holding me.”

Miguel lets out a single ha as he runs his fingers along the base of your spine, feeling you jump beneath his touch. “That’s disgusting.”

“What is?”

“Your compliment.”

You don’t know this, but he’s never taken to compliments. Something about them always feels cheap —tacky even. Considering they’re almost exclusively about appearances, it always feels weird when someone offers him one, saying things like you have nice arms or beautiful cheekbones or the classic you have an incredible ass.

Over the years, he’s concluded it's all manipulation. Words of affirmation to get you to like whoever’s saying them. If you compliment someone, it’s pretty much proven that after it’s said a deeper connection will develop in the form thanks to a biased opinion. And because of this, he finds them deeply uncomfortable hear; often opting to brush them off or outright change the subject.

Somehow when you say it though, it’s different. Honest. As if you’re offering him a truth he’s always needed to hear.

It sounds weird given the lack of time spent together. He’s known you for seven hours tops. Eleven maybe if count the time spent sleeping in the same bed, but something about you feels genuine. To him, you feel like a no-bullshit kind of gal and he likes it. Enjoys it in a way that —even though he knows that these moments spent lingering under the covers are nothing more than delays to the inevitable— he can’t help but long for something more. Something real and tangible and—

“It’s nine, by the way.”

He regrets telling you the moment you’re swearing under your breath and pushing him away, your naked frame bounding out of the bed. Blinking in confusion, he watches as you rush across the room to open your closet and sift through its contents with a frown.

It’s sudden, seeing you go from so relaxed to stressed, and guilty it makes him laugh even though it’s obvious that you’re late for something important.

“You good over there?”

Your body is tense as you throw on a fresh pair of underwear, practically tripping on the fabric as you attempt to pull it up over your ankles. “My job interview is in thirty minutes,” you tell him, and he nods.

You mentioned that last night. Something about a journalism gig with the Bugle. If he’s honest, the details on what exactly you were applying for are still fuzzy —a half-remembered phrase lost to the events of last night. He remembers you talking about school, for sure. You took classes at one of the local colleges before getting a gig at some magazine you absolutely hated, so you quit.

Or maybe you got fired?

As he attempts to recount these details, he watches you quickly pull together an outfit that looks professional enough. At first, you grab a pencil skirt and a nice top, holding it up to inspect before shaking your head and choosing a dark blue blouse tucked into a pair of black slacks. Then you move to stand in front of the mirror and roll up your sleeves, examining everything together before rushing to grab a pair of socks.

“You okay?”

“Yup, never better.”

The sarcasm that clings to your words is apparent. In this moment you’re anything but okay. You panicked and confused and even though Miguel knows he shouldn’t care he finds his sympathy level rising.

“Do you need a ride?”

“What?”

He repeats the question before he can even suppress it, realizing he’s made a mistake. A moment of uncharacteristic weakness that has him biting his tongue, watching the way you stare at him like he’s just lost his mind.

“You want to give me a ride?”

“Sure. If you need one.”

Miguel wonders if maybe he’s lost his mind because normally he doesn’t do things like this for people. Normally, instead of getting roped into the affairs of others he just coasts through life by his lonesome evading favours of any kind.

For example, at work, he single-handedly avoids everyone who comes within a certain radius with any sort of question. With women he’s nice, but not too nice, knowing that if he steps over that threshold he’ll be roped into something he wants nothing to do with. Hell, even at home, Gabriel has a hard time convincing him to do anything without him questioning his motives. So, all of these details combined with the fact that he just met you make his offering all the more strange. Maybe even creepy based on the way you’re awkwardly grinning and avoiding his gaze as you pull on your socks.

“Or I could just, uh —go?”

When you don’t respond right away he sits up in your bed, tearing away the sheets to stand and grab his clothes, trying to forget the fact that he’s naked and nervous and suddenly overthinking everything about your time together. Something that’s so unlike him that he has to really think about what you’re doing to him. How someone like you —someone so normal— has suddenly developed this ability to turn him into a blundering idiot who has no sense of mental direction.

“No, no, I’ll take the ride,” you tell him then, ripping him from his thoughts in an instant. “I’m just surprised.”

He finds his underwear by the edge of your bed and pulls them on. “Why?”

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy that offers to chauffeur girls around.”

He’s not. Not even in the slightest. Sure, he’s nice. Charming, even, but unless there’s something in it for him (like there was last night) he could care less. He should care less.

“Wouldn’t want you losing out on a good opportunity.”

Did he seriously just say that? Jesus.

You smile and nod, but regardless, he can still tell that you take his answer at face value. He would too if the roles were reversed because no one in this day and age does anything without some underlying motive. Every favour comes at a price, so for him to just offer to help without anything in return is questionable.

And even after you’re both dressed and sliding into the front seats of his car, he can’t help but focus on how out of character he feels. How instead of doing all this extra work on the off chance he impresses you, he should’ve just left. When he was still awake, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, he should’ve just gotten up and left without saying goodbye.

It would’ve been easier that way. Less jarring and awkward than waking up to him gripping your chest like it’s something he does every day. If he’d done that, he wouldn’t be in this position: driving you to an interview he knows you’ll inevitably be late to.

“I don’t mean to sound like an asshole but could you, uh, maybe speed it up a bit?”

The traffic is already too thick for him to race through. Up ahead, the light flashes red and he’s about fifteen cars behind. There’s no way you’re making it in time and it’s apparent that you know based on the desperation of your voice.

“You obviously know that I can’t.”

“I know —I just— fuck, I really need this job.” Your leg is bouncing as you lean an elbow against the edge of the window, using it as a resting place for your chin. “God, I should’ve set an alarm.”

“Probably, yeah.”

He’s never seen a head turn so quickly. Your eyes, which were filled with worry just a second ago, instantly narrow to a point, causing him to swallow hard.

“Don’t chastise me.”

“I’m not chastising you!” His hands fly off the steering wheel in defense for a moment before they land back down, realizing that the light’s turned green. “I’m just agreeing with you.”

“Yeah, but you said it like you were better than me.”

“How?”

He’s confused but weirdly entertained. Like most of the time he’s spent with you, everything feels brand new. As if he’s experiencing a different way to interact with a person. Everything you do has him second-guessing his responses —sitting with the words inside his head before releasing them into the air, and it’s weirdly refreshing.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s your voice.”

“My voice?” He laughs. “What’s wrong with my voice?”

“I don’t know, it's just aggressive sounding —judge-y.”

“My voice isn’t judge-y. If anything your’s is for assuming that mine is.”

This time you laugh. “You know what, I actually don’t have time for this.”

“Neither do I!”

“Then why did you offer?”

When Miguel doesn’t make the light you let out a groan and reach for the door handle, fiddling with it angrily until he rolls his eyes and presses unlock. After he does, you shoot him an angered look and throw open the door.

“Hey, wait a minute, where are you—“

He doesn’t get a chance to finish. Instead, he’s just met with more confusion as you flip him off and weave through the cars, holding out your hands cautiously until you make it to the sidewalk and start to bolt.

He hasn’t stopped thinking about you. Not since you left him on the street about a week ago, never to be heard from again. No matter how hard he tries to distract himself with work or missions or even Gabriel, he can’t seem to get rid of the image of you tearing down the street without looking back.

As he swings onto a nearby building, landing on the edge with ease, he can still clearly see the anger in your eyes at that moment. The knitted brows formed over half-closed eyes honing in on your destination. He’s never seen anyone look so motivated.

It makes him wonder if you made it. If by some divine intervention, the person interviewing you was also late. As ridiculous as it sounds, he hopes they were. That they turned up, out of breath and panicked long after you settled into a waiting room chair; your bearings already in check. Secretly, he hopes you impressed their socks off —that they offered you the job and now, eight days later on the dot, you’re happily employed.

It’d make the guilt he feels for not even trying to get your number less intense. If he could just get some confirmation that that argument you had in the car wasn’t an introduction to an equally, if not worse, ending day, maybe then he could just stop thinking about you.

Deep inside he knows that’s not how it works. Connections like that don’t just evaporate overnight —they linger. Fester and boil underneath flesh that rises in a wave of goosebumps every time he thinks of your voice and how it felt fighting against his own.

As he surveys the city below, crouching down to sit on the building’s ledge, he wishes he could forget you. Wishes that those moments he felt in bed with you were nothing more than urges.

Miguel’s been in love before. More times than he cares to admit, but he’s always been able to push past it. To pin it as another weak moment of infatuation that just got out of hand. Normally, with time he can shake himself out of it. A couple more days without seeing you will probably do the trick, he thinks, and if not, he can always find someone else to keep his mind off of you.

“Fuck.”

He can tell you’ve really gotten under his skin when he finds himself palming the sockets of his eyes, trying to come up with a plan, knowing the longer he spends away from you the better he’ll feel. That maybe if calls up Gabriel after he stops a couple of robberies or something he can find someone else to fill the void.

Yeah, that could work, he decides. If he can find someone else to fuck for a while maybe then he can erase the memory of you entirely.

Specifically the memory of you that night. The one where your hands against his head while his mouth’s on your pussy. Thinking about it now, Miguel’s certain that’s the memory that solidified all this. The one that made him realize that maybe he’d be willing to force through the barrier of intimacy he so often fears.

He’s not sure why that moment specifically sticks out in his mind. Maybe it’s the lead-up —the intimate conversations had between you at the bar before you left or the insatiable way you took your own pleasure rather than the other way around.

Regardless, as Lyla appears in his peripherals, signalling him of an incident near 4th Ave, he can’t stop thinking about it. How every little sound and movement sends his mind into a mess of thoughts, realizing that he doesn’t want to remember it. Nor does he necessarily want to forget it either. No, he wants to experience it first hand, the moments that you shared. The soul that you willingly bared for him.

When he arrives at the Daily Bugle, there’s an inkling of fear that rises throughout his chest. He’s not sure why when Lyla mentioned the address he didn’t think clue into where he was going. Most likely he was just too distracted, but now that he’s here, sailing through the window of an already crashed party, he’s panicking —looking through the crowd of people being antagonized by a handful of gunmen.

It’s a mix of dread and relief when he doesn’t see you right away. The Bugle doesn’t often throw parties but based on the decorations that flash through his vision as one of them bounds across the floor to meet him, that it’s for someone’s retirement. Meaning that, if you didn’t get hired, you might be at home.

Because for some reason he doesn’t see you attending a retirement party for someone you just met a week ago. You seem too reserved for that.

“Spider-Man!”

There’s about half a dozen people that cheer for his presence, calling out in excitement before they’re silenced by the barrels of guns.

Miguel sighs and gets to work then, shoving all the thoughts of you to the back of his mind to throw himself into the line of fire; quickly, shooting webs at hands and faces while maneuvering his body through the air to dodge what blows come his way.

It all feels so seamless now that he’s had enough practice. Every motion easily flows into the next, pushing him around the room to focus on every gunman. Under his breath he calculates the timing of all his shots, making sure the webs wrap around his targets at the exact moment he needs them to, suppressing all their shots as he works to disengage.

On the ground beneath him, a handful of the men are trying to dislodge the webbing from their guns, grunting and groaning as they dig their fingers into the silk. Grinning under his mask, Miguel takes this opportunity to knock some of them out; kicking and punching until they’re weak enough for him to web as well.

He repeats the process a few more times until every gunman is tied together in the corner of the room, struggling to break free. At that point, everyone in the room begins to cheer again, rushing to each other to check that nobody got hurt.

As this happens, Miguel awkwardly moves towards the already broken window, glancing around the room until he notices a middle-aged woman looking at him with wide, nervous eyes.

It’s obvious she needs some kind of help. Hidden between the legs of the crowd, she’s looking at him like she’s just seen a ghost, her bottom lip quivering as she turns to her side, reaching out her hands to grab someone prone. As soon as he sees this Miguel’s over there in an instant, brushing past bodies that willingly move as the woman looks back up.

When their eyes meet he’s met with the realization that someone’s hurt. And unfortunately, that someone is you.

Almost immediately his entire body goes into shock. His breath picks up and his knees give out, but somehow through the stressful haze, he manages to play it off. As if his dramatic movements are nothing more than feelings of urgency at the sight of an injured civilian.

“What happened?” His voice sounds distorted —lost through the crowding of his pounding heart and racing thoughts as you work to sit up.

“I got shot, genius,” you groan. Then you motion to the pooling of blood that stains the fabric of your sweater.

“Thank you for clarifying.”

“You’re welcome.”

Every word spoken between you feels like it’s nipping at the edges of his heart. As he watches you struggle to sit up, it aches for you —because of you, knowing that you’re in pain and somehow he was too distracted by outside forces to prevent it.

“Stop moving.”

He sighs in annoyance and forces you back down to press his hand against your wound, causing you to cry out and attempt to push against him. “We have to stop the bleeding, okay? Stop.”

You’re defensive for a moment, looking at him with those rage-filled eyes that make him swallow hard and divert his attention, commanding the room to give him something to wrap you with. Immediately, a man nearby rips off his jacket, handing it to Miguel who tells you to apply pressure to the wound while he fashions you a bandage.

“I thought you’d be nicer,” you mutter breathlessly, watching closely as he wraps the fabric around your shoulder, tying it as tight as he can before taking you into his arms.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

He’s out of the building and in the air in less than a minute, holding onto you for dear life. Against him, he can feel you flinching at every movement, breathing so heavy he can feel the heat of your breath against his ear.

“We have to get you to a hospital.”

Your fingers tighten around the blade of his shoulder, nails digging into his skin as you shake your head.

“You could die—“

“I don’t have insurance.”

It’s the most insane thing he’s ever heard. So insane that he actually scoffs in your face, earning himself quite arguably the angriest look you’ve ever given him.

“Quit judging me. Not all of us are rich.”

“I know, I just—“

“Just drop me off at home, okay? I’ll call my uncle.”

“Your uncle?”

He can’t believe you’re willing to risk your life to avoid a hospital bill. Miguel’s well aware that the cost of medical care is high —always has been, but surely you could make an acception this once considering there’s a bullet wedged inside your flesh.

“He was an army medic. He’ll know what to do.”

As much as he wants to continue this argument he can feel the changing of your breath. How it goes from continuous and heavy to an even set of gasps that have him rushing towards your apartment. Weaving through the city skyline, he makes quick work of the journey, whizzing past windows that flash across his vision. Against his chest, he can feel you squirming impatiently, your voice hoarse as you tell him to stop taking the corners so roughly right before he takes another one, spotting your building.

When he arrives at your fire escape there’s a sense of relief that floods over him, making you groan. “The window’s locked just, uh, bust it open.”

He holds you tight, lifting his leg to kick out the window. “You’ll pay to get a window replaced but refuse to go to the hospital?”

“I was planning on billing you.”

It’s almost comical how consistent your speech is. How, even though he’s literally saving your life right now you manage to be an impenetrable force of sarcastic wit. It makes him laugh as he breaks away the edges of the glass and crawls in, making sure the hold that he has on you is tight. Then when you’re fully inside, he rushes you to the bed, asking you about your phone so that he can personally call your uncle to explain the urgency.

This time without argument you hand it over, motioning to the pocket of your jeans, making him realize it’s too hard for you to get it.

“Don’t even think about getting handsy with me right now.”

He nearly chokes as he reaches into the back pocket of your pants, his fingers brushing lightly against your ass before they quickly retreat.

“Don’t worry. You’re not my type.”

“You mean I wasn’t your type last night?”

He can almost feel the curling of your smirk. The way it pulls across your face in such a devious way he has to really focus on going through your contacts instead of overthinking what you just said.

Because you said it, right? Without context, you mentioned last night. Without clues, you made a simple call back to him and you and all the things that happened over the course of a few hours.

Feeling overwhelmed, he turns his back to you and calls your uncle, ignoring absolutely everything but the task at hand, knowing what’s at stake. If he doesn’t focus you could die. And if you die he’ll never be able to ask you how the fuck you know he’s Spider-Man.

So instead of giving in to his racing thoughts he just explains the situation. Cool and calm as possible, he tells your uncle everything before hanging up the phone, promising to take you to the hospital if things start to go south. Upon hearing this, you clear your throat, prompting him to turn back around.

“What?”

“If you take me to the hospital I’ll kill you.”

Your threat is anything but convincing, but Miguel doesn’t argue, knowing the stress of it all is the last thing you need.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“I know you know. I’m just… reiterating.”

Your voice is beginning to strain so instead of responding he merely just sits on the edge of your bed, watching the way you clench your teeth around a sudden burst of pain he wishes he could get rid of.

If only he’d gotten healing powers instead of retractable claws and venomous teeth. It’d make the situation you find yourself in a whole lot easier. If he could just take your pain away he’d do it in a second. He wouldn’t even think about it.

“Stop looking at me like I’m dying, Miguel.”

The way you say his name is evil. The way it makes him feel is full of sin and as much as he hates you for it, he finds himself releasing a heavy breath and letting his mask disintegrate into dying pixels that show the annoyance on his face.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

Despite the pain you’re in you manage to grin again. “I know, but you like it, so shut up and kiss me. I need a distraction.”

It’s the most surprised he thinks he’s ever been. Hearing the bluntness of your words mixed through the struggle of your voice. It’s off-putting in a way that has him leaning without question, pressing a shaky hand to your cheek; knowing that if this is what you need to feel like yourself again he’ll give it to you.

No questions asked, he’ll give you anything you ask for. Anything you want, even if it feels unattainable because in this moment you could ask for the sun and he’d throw himself into space to get it.

And that scares him.

It’s terrifying seeing this side of him. The side that's disgustingly sweet and stubborn. The one that forces you to rest —to let him cook and clean and replace the bandages of your healing shoulder. It’s nice, you tell yourself, even though the more you experience it, the more you fear it. The ever-growing pit in your stomach blooming against your insides; curling around your organs in tendrils of vine that will someday wither away and die.

You don't know how long it will last. You expect the moment you’re better, he’ll leave. That once you're back to the swing of things he'll tell you some bullshit excuse like it’s been fun, but I have other things going on before he walks out into the hall never to be seen again.

In the grand scheme of things, you've known Miguel for a few seconds. A minuscule amount of time compared to the rest of your days spent on this earth. At this point, you’re nothing more than a pair of people waving to each other on the street before parting ways. Two individual bodies meeting in the middle only to separate.

As you lay in bed, stretching out your shoulder two weeks after the incident, you can feel him staring. His eyes burning holes into the side of your head as peeks one eye open.

“You okay?”

You tell him you’re fine. That you’re just stretching and that he shouldn’t worry but immediately he defies you. Stares at you with worry in his eyes as he sits up, watching you strain to sit at the edge of the bed and gently roll your shoulder.

“Do you need—“

“I said I’m fine.”

You don’t mean for it to sound so harsh but ever since that night at the Bugle he’s been glued to your side. Lingering like a fly on the wall, watching your every move.

It’s nice, but you know it won’t last. So, instead of dwelling on it, you force yourself to stand and move towards the bathroom, groaning under your breath at the pulsing pain as you open your medicine cabinet and pop two painkillers into your mouth.

“Here.”

Miguel’s behind you before you can even tell him to stay put, offering you a glass of water that you begrudgingly take, feeling your chest ache, wondering if you’ll be able to cope if he vanishes.

It sounds crazy but despite the annoyance you feel every time he forces you to rest or do your required stretching, you enjoy his presence. The way he takes charge regardless of the fight you put up. The way he’s always there when you need him.

“You know you can chill out.” You take another sip of water, peering at him over the edge of the glass with a raised brow, watching the way he rolls his eyes and leans against the doorframe.

“I know.”

“I’m better now. I can do things. You don't have to hover.”

“I’m not.”

You snort. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m not,” he repeats, and suddenly it feels like you’re crumbling. Falling beneath the rubble of your heavy thoughts, watching the way his eyebrows knit together, looking at you like you’ve just insulted him.

Maybe if you did that it’d make the end come faster. Maybe if you were meaner he’d get tired of you and call it. Leave without saying goodbye in the middle of the night, or something.

If he did, you’re certain you’d get over it. Just like the wound that spreads across the edge of your shoulder, it’d heal and, over time, you’d be fine.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

Your declaration confuses him. Makes him open his mouth and cock his head as he watches you hand over the glass and turn on your heel. He can tell you’re being weird but, because he doesn’t know you well enough, he probably isn’t sure how to handle it. How to navigate the upheaval of your emotions as you struggle to strip down in front of him and turn on the water.

Uncharacteristically he leaves you alone without arguing, closing the door behind him so quietly that as you step under the warm water, you can tell it’s already happening. The calm before the storm is developing and you're stuck inside the centre of it, watching the rain and wind waft together in the form of miscommunication and passive aggression.

God, this sucks.

As you peel off the bandage, wincing and shaking at the way it sticks to the edges of your skin, you can feel the pinprick of tears. You’ve never been a crier. Reserving your tears for moments where they’re actually deserved, the feeling is foreign. Overwhelming in a way that has you pursing your lips and heavily breathing, trying to force it away.

To distract yourself you toss your bandage into the trash beside the toilet then close the shower curtain, shielding yourself from Miguel and the rest of the world as you slowly lower yourself into the bowl of the bathtub.

Everything hurts at that moment. Your shoulder, your head —your heart. All of it pounds with a ferocious bang, echoing throughout the rest of your body as you curl into the fetal position, hugging your legs with your good arm, wishing you could go back to that night. The one where things were easy and simple. The one where Miguel was nothing more than a guy trying to pick up a girl for some fun. Everything seemed so perfect then. So picturesque and dreamy; both of you filled with the kind of anticipation you wish you could use to replace the kind you feel now.

Back then, it felt like you had something to look forward to. An unknown where the expectations were built but not yet solidified. Now though, it feels like there’s standards. Assumptions that the both of you secretly have now that your time together has grown. You’re not sure what his are but yours are needy. Desperate and embarrassing to the point where you’re certain once he realizes he’ll grow tired.

And then he’ll leave.

And then this toxic, fast-growing support system you’ve come to care about will be gone forever and you’ll be left to pick up the pieces like you always do.

You know you sound crazy, thinking like this. Thinking that this guy is worth the effort of your tears. You barely know him. Sure, over the last few weeks, he’s told you about his life —about his brother and his mom and in detail, the incident at Alchemex that earned him his powers, but he’s still a stranger. A body of water that’s washing over your shores, attempting to pull back the sand. To roughly erode the walls of an already decaying structure too tired to continue.

You want to reciprocate. To tell him all about your life and why you are the way you are, assuming that if you did, he’d understand why you’re so defensive. Why, instead of accepting him and all his help, you’re quick to push him away.

Moving your palm to gently rub the dry skin of your wound, you give in to the tears, feeling a sob rip through your chest —feeling the shame of your own emotions take over.

You hate crying more than most things. It’s a useless emotion meant only for the weak. Since you were a kid crying was always the last resort in the list of reactions when something bad happened, and to this day, that still rings true. It’s why your first response is to get angry —to lash out with hostile remarks or combative body language.

It's why you’re so broken, you think. Why, you can only count on your fingers the handful of times you've shattered under the pressure.

You’re gasping through the stream, then. Moving your hand from your shoulder to your face to suppress the cries because the last thing you want is for Miguel to hear you. For him to witness you in your lowest state.

At this point, Ben’s the only one that’s seen you cry and that was on the day that Peter died. The day that everything became messy and confusing and your emotions turned into this burden you constantly have to carry.

You don’t want Miguel to have to see this side of you. The side that’s so irreversibly weak and careless and unable to cope with time and how, at the end of it all, it’s just you. Just the thought is too much for you to bear. Especially now that you’ve had a taste of what it feels like for someone to care again. For someone to look at you like you’re a person deserving of the bare minimum, despite the effort you put in to avoid it. Despite the way you constantly berate him for coming so quickly into your life without the prospect of knowing if he'll leave again.

Another sob escapes, shaking you to your core. Erupting from the confines of your shattered bone and blistering flesh, it takes the wind right out of you. Leaves you gasping for air under the heat that wraps a hand around your throat.

The tears in combination with the steam have made your eyes virtually unusable. Everything around you is so blurry that when you turn your head at the sound of the creaking door, you don’t see Miguel come in. You just see the outline of his body and the colours of his clothes disappear before he’s rushing into the storm and holding on for dear life.

He’s the gentlest he’s ever been, wrapping himself around your back. One of his arms wraps around your stomach for support while the other reaches to shut off the water, making sure not to bump your shoulder in the process, then it skims across your scalp.

His fingertips ghost your tired head. His mouth presses kisses in their wake, whispering affirmations in between. His other hand thumbs the edge of your torso.

Every movement is intimate. A combination of sensations you’ve never experienced. Somehow instead of freaking you out they calm you down. Pulling you back to a place of reality where your thoughts become memories and Miguel is present and willing to stay.

Under your breath, you apologize. Under his, he says it's okay.

“I like you, I think.”

His body shifts. A sigh of relief is released and it’s the first time in your life you’ve felt okay about being vulnerable. “Yeah?”

“But I’m not good at this.”

“Okay.”

“I don't know how to be there for other people.”

“That’s okay.” He kisses your face.

You close your eyes at the impact of his lips, feeling your stomach flip. “You say that but what if I fuck it up?"

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t open his mouth to tell you that everything’s going to be fine. Nor does he agree. All he does is sit, tighten his grip and let out a sigh, letting you figure it out on your own.

You figure out his coffee order by week four.

Now that you’re healed and able to do more things on your own he’s started working in the lab again, opting to give you more space after a conversation about smothering just days prior.

You like having him around —love it, if you're honest, but sometimes you miss the solitude of your own space. The moments at night when the air is cool and you’ve just finished making dinner.

Before there was you and him, you used to eat out on the fire escape. Grab a beer from your fridge and carefully crawl through the window to watch all the people down below. You’d play music from your phone and just exist, lingering in a space where your mind could go completely blank for a while.

When you told him this he understood completely. Kissed your face and told you to let him know when you wanted him back.

Now that the weekend has passed you miss his presence. His tall, looming yet loving figure napping soundly on your couch or following you around the kitchen, arguing about which spices should go in whatever dish you’re making.

As you finish up some work for the Bugle, you shoot him a text, telling him you have a surprise for him. He responds with a question mark that makes you roll your eyes and stand from the table you’ve been using at the coffee shop nearest to his office. Then, you walk up to the till and order something you hope he’ll like, waiting patiently at the hand-off plane.

While waiting, you text back and forth for a bit, arguing about the surprise reveal even after the cup is in your hand and you’re walking through the Alchemex entrance, telling the receptionist up front you here to see Miguel O’Hara.

When you’re offered clearance and then given directions you practically race to his office, trying to suppress the ever-present grin that pulls across your face once you’re at his door and tapping your knuckles against it.

It takes a few moments for him to open the door. On the other side, you hear shuffling, followed by silence and then eventually slow-moving footsteps that have your heart pounding in your chest.

When he opens the door he narrows his eyes, confused at how you’ve suddenly appeared in front of him. “How’d you—“

You lean in to kiss him, lingering there for a moment before shoving the coffee into his hand. “Surprised?"

“Very.”

“Good.” You grin triumphantly as he sidesteps to let you inside.

“How did you get here so fast? Your apartment’s across town.”

“I did some work at that cafe across the street,” you tell him, watching him pause to look down at the cup in his hand before taking a sip. “Thought since we haven’t seen each other all weekend I'd pop by. Bring you some energy.”

He hums around the lip of the cup.

“Wasn’t sure what you liked so I kind of just guessed.”

He smiles then, moving to wrap his arm around and pull you in, placing a kiss to your head. It’s the kind of kiss that’s full of warmth. As if he’s grateful for the gesture. As if this kiss is his way of telling you you did a good job.

By week twenty, you discover he likes being put in his place.

After an argument about not calling you after one of his missions, you tell him to fuck off when he shows up at your window the next day, holding a bottle of apology wine. It’s the middle of the night and you tell him you have work tomorrow, but all he does is move behind you, reaching around to close the lid of your laptop with a satisfying smack.

“Miguel, I'm serious. Go home. I have shit to do.”

Ignoring you, he pulls your desk chair out, using the wheels to spin you around before letting his mask disappear, revealing the tiniest inkling of a smirk. “But I brought you wine,” he says, acting like it means something. As if bringing you wine is the all-encompassing apology for bad behaviour.

“Okay, and?”

“And I thought maybe we could pop it open. Hang out a bit.”

You know that hanging out is code for sex. That his adrenaline is pumping from a good night out and now he wants to fuck you so that he can get his energy out and sleep. It’s what he always does.

Normally you’d be fine with it, but tonight you’re honestly exhausted. Barely hanging on as you fight the onslaught of fatigue trying to take over your mind the longer you sit at your desk, attempting to write.

“Miguel, I can’t do this right now. I have an article to finish and another one to edit—“

He leans down to kiss you but before he can you shove him off, rising from the chair in heated anger, listening to the way he laughs.

“Seriously Miguel, stop.”

In an instant it's like he’s switched his tactics, moving from one extreme to the other. Gently, he grabs your face in his hands, looking down with false innocence that has you rolling your eyes. “Please?”

“I’m busy.”

“Please.”

“Miguel—“

He drops to his knees, bracing your hips in his hands as he lowers his face to your cunt, resting his cheek against it. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

You don’t know what's gotten into him. Maybe during his mission, he bumped his head a little too hard or some goon injected him with some sort of aphrodisiac. Whatever it is, there’s something different about him. Something so desperately adorable that when he kisses the fabric of your shorts, lingering for a moment as he plays with your waistband, you partially give in.

Huffing, you glance around the room feeling your face begin to warm. “Okay but, we’re doing it my way.”

“Course.”

He quickly realizes your way involves him being strapped to the bed, unable to touch while you take your pleasure.

After agreeing you made him web himself to the headboard of your bed, both of his hands tightly wound in layers of silk that you touch with curiosity, sitting naked across his chest.

You can tell he hates whatever it is that you're planning. Whatever sick revenge plot is brewing inside your head as you run your hands along his wrists and lean forward to ghost your lips across his.

“This is nice.”

“Is it?”

You hum, watching his eyes narrow once your hands hit the ditches of his elbows and swirl around, decorating his skin in spiralled goosebumps.

“I’d argue it’s rude but—“

“My rules?”

“Your rules.”

You give him a kiss for good behaviour. A quick peck that has him chasing after you as you continue to move lower, making sure to never break eye contact.

“You know, I never get as needy as this when you work late.”

His lips firmly press together when your fingers begin to move up his arm, sliding up the edges until they stop atop his shoulders and you squeeze.

“I never interrupt your work asking you to fuck me.”

He swallows hard when you raise your hips into the air, moving both hands towards his chest as you line yourself up over him.

“I’m nice to you. I respect you.”

“I respect—“

You slide his cock inside of you agonizingly slow, mockingly matching the way his mouth falls open and he throws his head back. As you do this, you can feel his chest rise and fall, quickly twitching as you take him in, suppressing a moan of your own.

It never fails to feel this good. The way he fills you up always has this calming quality that empties your mind. When he’s with you, the entirety of the world is erased, the feeling of comfort immediately replacing it once you feel those first few inches slip inside and eventually settle against your base.

Gently, you lift yourself off, moving at a pace you knows he hates with a drunken grin.

“Nice and slow, right baby?”

His hands pull against his webs, threatening to break free before you reach up a hand, lacing your fingers in his.

“Be good.”

You can feel him fighting off the urge to defy. The way he tightens his grip around your hand. The way his hips push up every time you rise away. All of it proves just how much he truly hates this and how he wishes that you’d hurry up and let him go so that he could fuck you properly.

A small chuckle escapes your lips as you lower yourself down again, moving your hand from his grasp to follow the trail of his arm again. This time though, instead of resting it against his chest you let it skim across his skin, lowering past his torso until it’s sweeping through your folds for him to see.

“If you’d just listened…” You shake your head and click your tongue, chastising him in such a humiliating way he’s forced to close your eyes and just breathe.

You don’t give him the satisfaction though, pausing the movements of your hand to snap your fingers and scold him, telling him that if he wants to come he has to watch.

When week forty-two hits, he tells you he loves you.

After a mission goes wrong and he loses the police captain to a fatal gunshot wound at the hands of one of Kingpin’s goons, he crawls into bed and holds you so tight you end up coughing at the impact.

“Sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “Are you okay?”

When he doesn’t respond right away you know he’s not, so you grip him just as tight, pushing his face toward your chest so that you can kiss the top of his head.

“I love you,” he says then.

He doesn’t ask for you to say it back —just snuggles closer, letting the increased rate of your heart lull him to sleep.

On week forty-four, you say it back, telling him you wanted to say it that night but didn’t know how to. You’ve never loved anyone before —not like this.

He tells you he understands and that he’s glad you feel the same before kissing you.

When he pulls away both of you smile and continue cooking dinner.

In between week sixty and week sixty-one, there’s a moment where Miguel looks at you strangely. It’s subtle —a simple widening of the eyes paired with his usual grin— but there’s something different. Something mischievous that has you raising your brows and reaching to grab his hand as you walk along the sidewalk.

“What's that look for?” you ask.

“What look?”

You know he knows. The way he awkwardly laughs almost immediately after, turning to hide the blush that develops across his cheeks, tells you everything you need to know and more.

He’s up to something.

“I know you think you’re good at lying but you’re not.”

“Says who.”

Before you can answer, there’s an explosion in the building beside you. Enveloping your skin in a hot burst of flame, your body soars through the air after impact, landing you near the centre of the street where oncoming cars screech to a halt as Miguel pushes through the pain to make sure you’re still alive. To make sure that he’s there when you open your eyes and smile at him and tell him everything’s okay, even though it’s not because, instead of in the street, he’s standing on a platform years later, knowing how this ends. Watching how it ends for the hundredth time alongside a version of you that sits there in shock, realizing why he’s been so reluctant to let you in.

TAGGING: @fandxmslxt69 @buckysblondie @leucoratia @avatricu @rexxesgirl @hoe4fiction @erissco @dil3mma @ashjbu @mfrnchsk @sanjisluvbot @deputy-videogamer @arloballs @fictional-character-whore @busy-buzzing @twincesskorisoka @iyyom @beantokki @harleycao (if you'd like to be added fill out this form, also if you've filled out this form and don't see your name check your settings because it won't let me tag you!)

#who are you when nobody's watching?#miguel o'hara series #miguel o'hara fan fic #miguel o'hara x female reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o'hara smut #switch! miguel o'hara #summer writes

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cosmos-coma · 2 years ago

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Blood and Vengeance - Part 6

A/N: Part 6 is here! I hope you like it! I know I was getting chills as I wrote it haha

Pairing: Dettlaff x Reader

Words: 1697

_______________________________

Voices floated around you unintelligibly, dancing on the edge of your waking mind. Though they were still fuzzy at best you began taking in bits and pieces of what was going on. Regis and Dettlaff’s voices- you now came to realize- were the ones floating around you as they argued in the hallway in hushed but urgent tones.

“... Blood… bandits…”

“... Monsters…tell her…. we are…”

“.. can’t… Not yet…”

The softest groan vibrated from your chest as you tried to open your eyes and all semblance of conversation quickly ceased. Swift, almost silent feet approached you before a heavy weight dipped the bed. Cool and loving fingers caressed your cheek, urging you to wake further from your slumber.

As the light finally eased its assault on your eyes Dettlaff’s worried expression came into view, his face now clear of blood stains and its bat-like features.

Perhaps the fangs and claws were all another delirious dream?

“My moth…” his low voice rumbled with relief as his eyes swept over you in a cursory glance.

“What happened..? Where..?” you asked. Your body was cradled in unusual softness and warmth that your basement dwelling just did not have. You tried to sit up to get a better look, but pain ripped its way through your stomach in a humbling memory of the evening's events. A yell tore away at your throat and your grip on Dettlaff's hand tightened like a living vice.

“Ahhh! FUCK!” you screamed as you laid back, your breath lost from the simple effort and your face contorted with pain.

“Please do be careful or you’ll tear your stitches…” Regis advised from his place in the doorway, right behind a very concerned-looking Amelia.

“How are you doin’, girly…?” Worry painted her face like a picture as her hands wrung together in front of her, “can we get you anything? How about some soup? I have just the soup for you, it’ll heal you right up…!” she nodded as she rushed off toward the kitchen to get you some food-based medicine.

A faint smile played on Regis’s lips as Amelia hurried off in a way that only the redhead could, “And I’ll get you something for the pain…” He said, nodding at Dettlaff before taking his leave to give you two some time alone.

You looked down to examine yourself, lifting the neckline of the clean, loose dress you now wore to see bandages wrapped securely around your midsection. Blood just peeked through the top layer, old, brown, and dry, but nothing fresh so far.

You nodded a bit as you turned to look about the room, noting the familiarity of it.

“I brought you to my room…” Dettlaff admitted in answer to your unspoken question, “I couldn’t stand the thought of you recovering in that ice box of a basement.”

“But… how did you?” You started, but Dettlaff seemed to already know what questions plagued you.

“Regis has a knack for making medicinal items,” he explained, “And we had Amelia change you from your blood-soaked clothes…”

You nodded slowly, taking in all of his answers as your hands idly touched the soft sheets below you. Your lips had just parted to speak when the higher vampire beat you to the punch.

“I thought I’d lost you…” His voice was a somber whisper as a hint of grief laced his words. Though he turned his gaze away from yours, you could see the storm of his irises had slowed their perpetual storm to dark, suffocating clouds.

“I should have been here to protect you,” you could hear the trace of a self-loathing growl building in his voice, “Instead, I was traveling needlessly. I should have heard them coming. I should have-”

“Dettlaff…” your voice was gentle like the nighttime breeze, yet still pulled his spiraling attention to you in an instant. “It’s okay, I promise. I’m still here… and I’m safe now, thanks to you…,” You assured as your fingertips grazed his cheek, nimble fingers tucking away a few spare hairs.

He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed as your touch left a trail of loving warmth across his cheek. His heart slowed its rapid beat as he listened to the breath fill your lungs. The light sigh from your lips tingled his senses as he turned into your palm, his lips tenderly brushing over your skin.

You were still here.

Still with him.

That's what mattered.

“Y/n? Oh-! Sorry to interrupt…” Amelia said bashfully as she entered, but the moment was already broken.

His chest ached as your hand fell away from his face, far too fleeting of a touch to satisfy him and a territorial rumbling threatened to spill from his chest, but he knew better. “You should eat… “ He urged.

You nodded in agreement and strained to sit up, grunting as you gradually pulled yourself upright.

Amelia, always the wonderful friend, stayed by your side the entire time as you ate, entertaining you by regaling the epic tale of her beating the living shit out of that bandit.

You chuckled at her bubbling enthusiasm, holding your stomach as each laugh pulled at your crude stitches. “Ow, oh, ah… too much, you're too much…,” you said through dwindling laughter.

“Well, laughter seems like as good a sign as any…” came Regis’s voice as he stepped in from the hallway with a small container. “Let’s get your bandages changed and then I think we all should get some sleep. It’s been… an incredibly long day.”

----

Darkness surrounded you when you woke, stirring the residual fear from your most recent nightmare. Only the sliver of moonlight coming past the curtains and the cooling embers of the fireplace broke up the monotonous black and gave your mind some relief.

A sigh escaped you as you rolled over slowly into the empty space beside you, the cool sheets chilling your skin uncomfortably.

Something was missing.

The sheets crinkled beneath you as you sat up and looked blindly into the dark room, “Dettlaff? Are you there…?”

Silence.

“I’m here, moth…”, finally came the familiar rumble of his voice from the far corner where he attempted in vain to sleep. Footsteps creaked the floorboards as he came closer until he finally stepped into the sliver of moonlight darting across the floor.

Your breath escaped you as pale light illuminated the graying strands at his temples and highlighted the silver that flecked across his blue irises. His fair skin sang a siren song, beckoning for your touch under the magical light. He seemed somehow both otherworldly and right at home in the light of the night and it made a different kind of chill run through your limbs, one that couldn’t be solved with the warmth of a fire.

“I’m cold…” You explained through a yawn, a testament to your body's exhaustion, “Would you lay with me?”

His body froze for a moment in surprise as your imploring tone rattled a part of him he had long since set aside, but he could never deny you. “... Of course, my dear…”

Your hand reached out as you heard him come closer, your eyes finally seeing him in the dark of the room as he peeled away his heavy outer clothes.

A small flame of desire flickered to life in him as your hand ran down his bare arm, the thrum of his heart at your fingertips as your alluring touch stilled. He propped his back up against the headboard and let his hand find its home in the soft strands of your hair.

But you were still cold.

“Hold me…?”

Oh, you were going to be the death of him.

Wordlessly, one strong arm wrapped around your waist as the other moved under your legs.

Your nose tucked away into his neck as he lifted you to his side with little effort. Dull pain radiated from your wound, even more so as you were moved, and caused you to let out a shaky breath as you winced.

Your shuddering breath danced like mist over his sensitive neck and made blossoms of fire bloom beneath his skin in its wake. His fingers pressed into your soft flesh as he fought back the inklings of desire, its flame now licking at what would surely be pure gasoline.

Surprisingly strong arms held you safe and secure against his chest as your legs draped over his lap. You looked up into those silvery-blue eyes as you settled into his warmth, their storms dancing just inches away from your own. Your gaze flowed along the fine lines and features of his face; the tiny imperfections that gave him character, the painted beauty marks that freckled his skin, all the way down to the gentle slope of his lips.

“Dett…” you whispered, afraid to shatter the moment in the already quiet night. Your fingers answered the relentless siren call of his skin, your fingerpads smoothing over his jaw as your thumb traced the curve of his bottom lip.

An intoxicating buzz ran like static across his lips, and he could feel that swelling flame inside his chest finally catch the gas-soaked wick alight.

“May I…” You started, your thoughts struggling to stay coherent as his warm breath puffed against your skin, “may I kiss you…?” Your lips parted of their own volition, your head tilting to the side in an open invitation.

“Please…” his words came out as a desperate plea. He watched your eyes flutter closed as he leaned in slowly, still trying to stave the growing fire in his chest from the fuel you so readily supplied.

He leaned in, the heat of your breath gracing his face as your lips came excruciatingly close…

Before you’re head lolled away from him, and your divine touch fell away from his face.

“Moth…?”

Your sleeping form let out even breaths through your still-parted lips, waiting for their promised kiss. Your entire being radiated pure peace for the first time since you had been so grievously injured, and Dettlaff would not be the one to wake you from it.

A shallow sigh filled the air between you but didn’t diminish the lingering smile on the vampire’s lips.

“I love you too, my dear….”

_______________________________

Taglist: @writingmysanity, @open--till--midnight @unstable-kiwi @madamemelancholysstuff @tigerlyla-of-metinna @bluppulb @shit-i-say-shit-i-think

Wanna be added to a Taglist? DM me to let me know!

#Blood and Vengeance #Dettlaff #dettlaff x reader #dettlaff x you #dettlaff x y/n #dettlaff imagine #dettlaff van der eretein #dettlaff van der eretein x reader #dettlaff van der eretein x You #dettlaff van der eretein x Y/n #The witcher blood and wine #TW3 dettlaff #dettlaff fic #higher vampire

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sinswithpleasure · 2 years ago

Note

You get two job offers at different companies as 2nd in charge of a department. In both cases, you’re working in exactly the same conditions, such as sharing an office with your boss. The deciding factor would be the boss you’re working under.

1) Im Nayeon

She’s the boss that almost every guy and even some girls want to have a relationship with. She likes to wear the tightest tops and the shortest skirts she has, showing off her deep neckline with the top button not done and her luscious legs with a slit in her skirt. She basically exudes pure sex.

“Stop acting like you’re busy. I know you’re staring at me. How about you fuck me now? We can continue working afterwards.”

2) Myoui Mina

She’s the kindest boss you’ll ever meet and she makes the workplace lively. Her bright personality almost makes you forget about her smooth sexy hers and her ass cheeks that peeks out from under her skirt. You’ll get to see an absolute different side of her outside of work.

“Focus on your work. We can decide if I’m begging for you cock or if you’re begging to cum later on.”

Two casual relationships to choose from. No love, only lust. Which job would you pick?

This is a stacked card but I want Nayeon. Her personality is a little too good to give up.

#asks #co reborn

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vendetta-if · 2 years ago

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Hey guys 👋 This is the second part of the Patreon exclusive content update post. This one will contain the Spicy Side Stories and the Q&A sneak peeks 😄 For the non-spicy side stories sneak peeks, click here.

If you guys are interested in supporting me and getting access to all of these exclusive side contents, please check out my Patreon page 🥰💖 I currently have a monthly-subscription-based payment set, so you don't have to worry about getting charged twice when subscribing near the end of the month.

Other than weekly progress update posts, here are currently all the exclusive spicy side stories and Q&A sessions that are up by the end of November 2022:

November Spicy Story (Male Santana x Heir Female MC)

The very first explicit spicy side story that I ever wrote. It's about Heir Female MC visiting Male Santana in his office and helping relieve some... stress 😏 3.1K words.

Deciding to help him relieve some stress, you settle your hands onto his broad shoulders and start giving him a shoulder massage. You feel his tense muscles unwinding bit by bit under your palms and he groans quietly.

After a few minutes, you bend down and embrace him from behind, trailing your hands down and tracing the contours of his torso underneath the white shirt. “Let me help you blow off some steam, hm, darling?” you whisper sultrily right into his right ear. He shivers under your touch.

You lean in and pepper kisses on his cheek before trailing downwards to his neck and throat, nibbling lightly, the very light stubble tickling your lips and you can still smell a hint of his aftershave.

Feeling annoyed by the back of the chair getting in the way, you move to the front and slide onto his lap, separating him from his paperwork on the desk. He leans back to give you more space before bringing his hand behind your head and pulling you in for a passionate kiss that soon devolves into a make-out session.

While both of your lips are preoccupied, Santana’s hands are also busy roaming all over your body, paying special attention to your chest area. His bare fingertips and palms dip under the plunging neckline of your chiffon dress.

October Spicy Story (Female Ash x Male MC)

A more suggestive spicy side story, really toeing into the explicit area focusing on Female Ash and Male MC whose sparring session turns more... heated than first expected 😉 Around 1.3K words.

Your eyes involuntarily trail over her athletic figure; she’s wearing a tank top, showing off the snake tattoo slithering around her left biceps which ripple along with the movement of her muscle. Every time she touches your bare skin, you can’t stop your mind from going a bit haywire from the warm contact, slowing down your reflexes enough for her to land a couple of hits.

You are in the middle of wondering about whether Ash also feels the same and as distracted as you are right now when she manages to sweep you off your feet… literally. You feel your breath getting knocked out of you as your back hits the padded floor roughly; it doesn’t really hurt but it does take you by surprise.

Before you can get back on your feet, you feel a weight pressing down on you and you glance up to see Ash straddling over you—or more like sitting on you; her hands are on your chest.

October Q&A Session (Part 1 & Part 2)

October Q&A session is done with me, the author. There are a lot of interesting questions answered, starting from questions about the writing process of the story itself, to characters reactions to scenarios, more info about the characters and lore, and NSFW questions 😂

Here are a couple of questions from one part of the session:

"Is Mayor Moore related to Skylar or is it just a case of unrelated people having the same last name?"

Yes! To this day, you’re still the only one who noticed and asked me about it 😆 Mayor Moore is Skylar’s father. You’ll learn more about their relationship with their father on their route 😉

"Random facts about Rin's family? Do they have abilities? If so what are they?"

If you ever wonder where Rin gets their more dignified and elegant disposition (especially since Takashi is so easygoing, boisterous, playful, and can such be a lovable himbo sometimes 😂), it is from their mother, Azami.

Rin has little twin siblings, Nariko (the female and older twin by a few minutes) and Kaito (the male and younger twin), both around 10 years old. Nariko is more similar to Takashi (energetic, mischievous, can be a bit impulsive, gregarious) while Kaito is more similar to Azami (calm, reserved, collected, and is also most of his twin sister's impulse control 😆, but can still be mischievous as well like his twin).

They do have abilities, and I actually haven't thought too many details into it before you asked the question. But, after giving it some thought, right now, I would say:

Azami: Hypnotic Music - Able to affect and shift moods, and hypnotize a person (to a certain degree) by playing songs on musical instruments Nariko: Electrokinesis - Electricity manipulation Kaito: Hydrokinesis - Water manipulation

November Q&A Session (Part 1 & Part 2)

November Q&A session is done with the characters. It's written in the interview-like format and the characters are divided into groups for the interviews. Part 1 will focus on Luka & Jackal and Viktor & Takashi meanwhile Part 2 will focus solely on all the 4 ROs.

I had a blast writing interactions between the characters and how they respond to each other's answers (especially Rin and Ash 😂). There are a lot of interesting and NSFW-ish questions answered as well 😳

Here is a really small tidbit of the interview section with Luka and Jackal:

Luka and Jackal are sitting side by side on the plush sofa in the designated interview room when the door clicks open and MC steps in.

Luka: “MC? You are going to be our interviewer?”

MC: “Well… no. I just ask permission to ask some of my own questions for a few minutes before handing the rest to the Interviewer.” [sits down on the armchair to the sofa’s left and steeples their fingers]

Luka: “Ah, I see. So, what questions do you have in mind?”

MC: [smirks and waggles eyebrows] “So… Jackal, huh. How did you two first meet?”

Luka: “How we first met, huh?” [smiles wistfully] “Well, almost two years ago, this… madman infiltrated one of the fancy parties I was invited to, posed as a server, and approached me.”

Jackal: [snickers] “Yeah, it was one of those pretentious masquerade parties where everyone wears those creepy masks. Worked in my favor though. Couldn’t complain.”

Luka: “He offered me a deal: I would extend my protection to him, and he’d be at my beck and call for various high-profile hit jobs.” [shrugs]

Jackal: “Yeah… I really needed it. I’ve been running away and moving from one place to another for almost a decade at that point. I pissed off important and dangerous people back in my country of birth.” [sighs]

Luka: “Well, the protection worked, right? The attacks started to lessen and they were more wary now because they don’t want to piss my family off. Am I not your knight in shining armor, hm?” [smirk]

Jackal: “Yeah, yeah… You self-congratulating bastard…” [blush lightly, looking away]

MC: “You guys should definitely tell me the full story sometime later. I want all the juicy details! But for now, back to my next question… Jackal! What are your intentions with my uncle, huh?” [subtly cracks knuckles and glares]

Patreon Link

Patreon Side Stories Sneak Peek Post

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guardiandae · 1 year ago

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Some rare descriptive moments from 5+7 chapter 10

That does it, making Genos grin despite himself. He turns his face away, but his hand stays in Saitama's and squeezes lightly. Saitama squeezes back, feeling weirdly protective of Genos. That's his real role, isn't it? S-Class hero Genos, top of all the rankings, and Saitama is the one lucky enough to be his emotional support idiot for the most stressful night of the year. Well, only the second most stressful. He can do that. The windows are so darkly tinted, Saitama can barely see outside of the vehicle, but he can tell that they've arrived somewhere. The limo stops, and then creeps forward slowly. He can hear some of that chaos Genos mentioned, and the warm metal hand he's holding tightens, pinching his fingers a little.

The smile on Saitama's face seems more subdued, almost wistful compared to the devious sort of flashes of grins that he'd shared before. It's confusing, all of it, and even more so because Genos had never really thought this far ahead. He'd planned it out, definitely. He'd tried to pin every detail in place before he'd even posted that listing online. Find someone. Anyone. Exchange enough information to claim they truly knew each other, and then bring them to the gala. It didn't really matter who, so long as he trusted that they'd have enough incentive to keep everything discreet. Even the conversations, he'd scripted out in his head in advance. But Saitama is a factor he hadn't been able to prepare for. Every time they met, his scripts went out the window. The only thing about Saitama that he can predict, every time, was the way he feels when Genos holds him in his arms. The heat of his body, the scent of his skin, the circular patterns Saitama's fingers always take when he cards them through Genos' hair. Those things are all familiar to him now in ways that have been entirely unexpected, and unexpectedly welcome. He never could've imagined himself being so comfortable with anyone. Now he can't imagine himself being so comfortable with anyone else.

Genos doesn't sense how close Fubuki is until it's too late to put any distance between them. To his credit, he doesn't visibly startle when a delicate hand slips around his arm in an overly familiar way, stiletto nails gripping his sleeve like claws. And despite the fact that they have no physical effect on him, Genos is nevertheless just as snared. "What do you want?" Genos asks, just mindful enough not to sound too annoyed or bothered by her sudden appearance. It occurs to him that she was probably watching for a long time before she saw the opportunity to have him alone, and took it. Fubuki lets out a soft 'tsk', pressing herself against Genos' side. She's poured into a velvety black dress that hugs every curve, featuring a high slit up one side which allows a stock-covered thigh to peek out. A cool silver necklace glints at her throat, drawing the eye to an attractive neckline and her half-bare chest. It's elegant, and overtly sexual. Someone who didn't know her well might almost consider her carefully groomed appearance to be manipulative – and it absolutely is – but she's just as alluring on any other day of the week. "Please, Genos," she murmurs through a placid smile, always conscientious of appearances. "At least pretend to be civilized, like the rest of us have to."

#wife wife wife wife wife #sorry for being gay on main #what was this fic about again?#oh right saitama and genos #-thinks about fubuki-

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worldcatlas · 2 months ago

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DS9: Emissary (Part 2)

Read part 1 here. This is the last article wrapping up two-part episodes, which will be in a single article from here on out. Thank you for reading!

Part two of Deep Space 9’s pilot episode opens in Ops, giving us several lovely close-ups of Major Kira’s uniform, including her Bajoran-style comm badge and belt. The badge appears to be made of a brassy metal material, and is in the shape of the Bajoran logo, much like its Starfleet counterpart. The belt, in a deep burgundy colour that matches her uniform, has a texture that suggests reptilian leather (or, perhaps, a replicated substitute). We can also see in this early episode that Kira’s makeup originally included a slight brow ridge, like Ensign Ro.

I guess they still have cosmetic surgery in the 24th century.

Odo beams into Ops to join the team, briefly giving us a full head-to-toe view of the goo he has shaped into a brownish-beige Bajoran uniform. My favourite part are the Uggs boots. Do all the Bajoran uniforms come with little booties? They’re not particularly intimidating for the Chief of Security, although they do look like they’d be great for someone on their feet all day.

Fighting crime in comfort.

We can also see in this scene that the costume department has decided to flare out the lapels on the Starfleet uniforms; I actually don’t remember if this trend continues into future episodes of DS9, but the same uniforms lay flat on Voyager (which hadn’t yet premiered at this point), so we’ll check back in on that. It’s an interesting styling choice, and kind of makes Bashir and O’Brien look like they’re hitting the club after work.

I mean, I guess I don’t know that they aren’t…

Inside the wormhole, Sisko converses with the locals through his memories, and we see the aliens speak to him through various characters. Among them are Locutus in his full Borg makeup and Kai Opaka in elaborate Bajoran religious garb. We saw Opaka in this outfit in part 1, although it looks like they may have draped the outermost layer differently here.

It’s hard to tell what’s changed through the Memory Haze™.

The aliens also take on the appearance of the Chicago Cubs in old-timey uniforms – worn by fictional holodeck characters – and Sisko’s former crew in a TNG-era look. The baseball uniforms will show up again in Deep Space 9, but I suspect the Starfleet uniforms are recycled directly from The Next Generation, giving them a nice on-screen send-off before retirement.

These are all core memories for Sisko.

Back on the station, we get a better look at Major Kira’s Bajoran earring as she jumps on a subspace call with her #1 fan, Gul Dukat. The jewelry is made of a silver metal, with lower and upper pieces connected by a fine chain.

It channels her pagh, as well as six stations of FM radio.

Dukat, of course, shows up wearing the same thing Cardassians always wear, made out of old recycled tires.

It’s actually very eco-friendly.

Going back to Benjamin, we finally get some new costumes as Sisko finds himself snuggling his dead wife. Well, one of the aliens inhabiting the memory of his dead wife. They’re dressed for a lovely picnic in the park, Ben in a striped jewel tone shirt, Jennifer in an elegant pink dress.

Does this human look good on me?

We can see that the fabric on the top section of Sisko’s shirt has been pleated and pressed flat before being sewn, a trick that seems to be used a lot in Star Trek to create more exotic and visually interesting looks from regular Earth textiles. In this case, it complements the fabric’s vertical stripes nicely. The shirt also has a geometric neckline with a notch in front, giving just a little flirty peek of chest. As we zoom out, we can see it has been paired with an extremely high-waisted pair of olive green pants. From this angle, we can also see that Jennifer’s silky-looking dress tapers at the waist, and has been paired with matching tights and shoes. It’s an adorable look somewhere between “prom queen” and “dance recital.”

This is what it looks like when you can just beam to a picnic site instead of hiking.

In a scene that’s no doubt just as pleasing to our Commander, we next see him in the memory of a holodeck baseball game, wearing a baseball mitt and cap, while an alien inhabits the image of his son (dressed in a catcher’s uniform) nearby.

Is this going to become a theme, Dad?

In an incredible bit of attention to detail, even the background actors in this scene appear to be dressed in period-appropriate suits and hats. Then again, it’s very possible Paramount already had these costumes in the back, and they were among the few outfits they DIDN’T need to make custom for this episode.

Look, son: normies.

Back on the station, Cardassians have begun to attack, meaning we get to see a crowd of evacuating civilians in one-colour co-ords. Among them is the real Jake Sisko, who isn’t sure about all the monochrome matching.

It just doesn’t feel appropriate for the season.

Also present is– what the? What the heck is this guy?! I don’t even know what this alien is, but it has a cute hooded blue dress. If anyone recognizes this species, please leave a comment with the ID!

Is it visiting from the Star Wars universe?

We finish out the episode – at least in terms of costumes – with a fantastic showing from Quark. He hasn’t changed since part 1, but we do get a better view of the details of his outfit, including the giant, spherical, shiny buttons on his jacket, which may actually be small doorknobs. The jacket also features sparkly black bands around both arms and wide lapels that flare open dramatically. Like Sisko earlier, he finishes the outfit with olive green pants pulled up as high as they’ll go.

The Ferengi who invents belts will be drowning in latinum.

—

The Costume Designer for this episode was Robert Blackman. The Wardrobe Supervisor was Carol Kunz. Key Costumers include Maurice Palinski, Phyllis Corcoran-Woods, Jerry Bono, and Patti Borggrebe-Taylor.

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thatonemarvelchick · 3 months ago

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Peter - Twelve

Peter led Apricity outside, looking up at the cloud-covered sky. The sun hung low, already setting even though it was only seven. He glanced over at the girl, her small form swallowed almost whole by one of his hoodies. He’d insisted she change, wear something warmer. He almost made her take a pair of his boots if they wouldn’t have tripped her up so badly.

She had her hands shoved into the pockets, the neckline pulled up to her nose. Peter smiled softly at the sight, the way her big hazel eyes peeked over the collar of his hoodie. It made something in his heart flutter. He tried to ignore the feeling.

“Where are we going again?” Apricity asked, looking over at Peter. The two trudged along down the streets of Boston, towards one of the main roads.

“We’re getting a rental car, and we’re going to drive to Brooklyn. That’s where Mr. Barnes lives.” Peter had been keeping tabs on all of the Avengers, even if none of them knew him anymore. He knew Bucky would would recognize Spider-Man.

Apricity stopped short, looking up at him. “You want to drive all the way to Brooklyn? Peter that's a four-hour drive on a good day, with this weather we’ll be lucky to make it there by morning.” She shook her head. “Plus, I don’t know about you but I don’t really have the money for a rental car.”

Peter shrugged. “Don’t worry about the money, I’ve got it covered.” He and May had money stashed away for emergencies almost his whole life. When everything went sideways, he took all of it before he left. It was one of the few things he had left of her. “I just want to figure out what’s going on, see what Bucky knows. Sooner we get this whole mess cleaned up…” He let the words hang in the air.

“The sooner you can go back to pretending I don’t exist.” She finished for him, keeping her eyes on the sidewalk ahead of them now.

Peter’s throat got tight. He tried not to think of that moment in the bathroom. Of how delicate her touch was on his face. Of how much he’d wanted to pull her in and never let go. He’d even thought about kissing her.

But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t get too close, because in doing so he was only putting her in danger. This was bad enough.

Apricity didn’t say anything else the rest of the walk, and neither did he. When the man renting out cars heard they were looking to get one to take overnight, he looked at the two skeptically.

“You’re gonna make a drive to New York in this weather?” He asked, eyebrow raised. He was an older man, with graying hair and a beer gut that hung low over his belt. Peter didn’t like the way he looked at Apricity.

“Yeah.” He said simply, taking a step closer to her and setting the cash down on the counter. “It’s all right here, including the extra for insurance. Can I get the keys, please?” His tone was no-nonsense. It was clear he would not be argued out of this. He saw Apricity staring up at him from the corner of his eye, but didn’t look down.

Soon enough, they were sitting in the seats of a comfortable blue Kia Spectra, with a working heater and a running engine. That was really all Peter could ask for.

“Alright, ready?” He looked over at Apricity, who had stripped off one of the coats he’d given her and was now only wearing the hoodie. She was tying her hair up into a knot on the top of her head.

“Yeah.” She mumbled around the hair tie in her mouth. It was the most she’d said to him since their conversation on the walk over. Peter sighed, turning on the radio. He couldn’t be upset that she didn’t want to talk to him, he’d essentially told her he was planning to abandon her as soon as they’d figured everything out.

But she had to understand, right? On some level, she had to understand why he was doing what he was doing. Why he was keeping himself apart from her, why it was safer for her to be away from him? She was smart, incredibly so, she had to have understood.

“Apricity, I’m sorry.” He surprised himself with the words.

She frowned, turning to look over at him fully. “What?” Clearly, he’d surprised her with the apology too.

Peter swallowed, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly. “I just… You have to understand why I want to- Why I don’t want you around me.”

She sighed, realizing what it was about, and turned away. She was shutting him out. “It’s fine, Peter.”

Peter shook his head. “No, no because I can’t stand it. I don’t want to do this to you. I just- Everyone in my life, at some point or another, has gotten hurt. Everyone. And after the Statue of Liberty…” He shook his head and swallowed, trying to shake the memories of the Goblin out of his head. How badly he’d wanted to kill Norman Osborne. How badly he’d wanted to shove past the other Peter Parker and kill him. “Stuff happened. I got May- my aunt-” He felt his throat closing up and his words came out choked now. “I got her killed. She died and it was my fault. And in order to save the rest of… well, everyone, I had to make them all forget.”

Apricity was looking back at him now, those wide hazel eyes full of confusion and care. “What do you mean forget?” She whispered. Her voice was soothing to Peter, he found. It drifted through the car and caressed him, urging him to continue.

“The problem was, that I had messed up one of Dr. Stranges spells. I made everyone who knew that Peter Parker was Spider-Man, from every universe, start spilling into this one. And in order to reverse what I did… I had to make everyone forget Peter Parker.” He swallowed, ecstatic that he’d actually managed to get the words out. He hadn’t talked about it with anyone, hadn’t had anyone to talk to about it.

Apricity was silent for a moment, and this made Peter’s heart sink. Maybe she was seeing him for what he really was now. A fuck up, a murderer, an idiot. A catastrophic kid who ruined everything he touched.

What she said next surprised him.

“I’m so, so sorry, Peter.” Her voice was so genuine, it felt like a punch to the gut. He didn’t deserve sympathy, he didn’t deserve understanding. He didn’t deserve someone sitting here, consoling him about the worst things he’d ever done.

Peter’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel now, and he shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before reopening them to see the road.

His decision was final. He would not allow Apricity any closer than she’d gotten. When this was over, he would cut her out completely. Delete her number, change his classes, hell, maybe he’d even change schools. He would no longer be around her anymore. He couldn’t let her past any more of the precious, delicate walls he’d put up.

He would do what he couldn’t do for Ben, Tony, May, MJ, Ned, and Happy.

He would keep her safe.

“You shouldn’t be sorry for me. You should be sorry you ever ran into me that day.”

Next Chapter

#spiderman #tom holland #peter parker #marvel #marvel mcu #fanfic #mcu #marvel movies #peter parker fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe

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brassybrablog · 10 months ago

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Boob Tape Mistakes and How to Fix Them

You got the boob tape and the smokin’ outfit. Now, you just cross your fingers and hope it all works out. Okay, now, wait—you can totally make sure your boob tape does exactly what you want it to do for you. Even if you tried it before with less-than-stellar results, you can learn from those little mishaps and move forward with the perfect adhesive bra application. The following situations are common boob tape mishaps, but they never have to happen again.

It Didn’t Stick Oops! That’s a big deal. When your boob tape doesn’t stick, it basically defeats the purpose of an adhesive bra. Make sure you choose a high-quality tape bra with medical-grade adhesive. Before applying your bra, your skin should be completely clean—no oil, lotion, or moisture for at least 30 minutes before the bra goes on. After smoothing the bra over your skin (with the nipple cover in place), you need to rub it into your skin for at least a minute until it feels warm. Then, let it set for about 30 minutes before getting dressed so another material doesn’t mess with the process. There Are Lots of Wrinkles Yikes—nobody wants to see big wrinkles in their boob tape. Unfortunately, it’s quite the challenge to get things perfectly smooth, so the trick is to find boob tape with a flexible, breathable material that moves with your body. It will look more natural. When you apply the bra, don’t slap it down too quickly. You need to be slow and smooth as you go so it adheres to your skin. It Doesn’t Stay Inside My Outfit If your adhesive bra starts peeking out of your outfit, you need to trim it down after it sets. Yes, you should be able to trim your boob tape without compromising the support and lift. After the bra fully sets, trim the bra down by about an inch on the sides and/or top to keep things under wraps. You Sweat Too Much A high-quality bra tape doesn’t come off when you sweat. Once again, you need to make sure the bra sets in place, and you should be able to dance the night away, sit in your office, or go to a summer party without worrying about sweat. If that still doesn’t work, you need to find a better adhesive bra, like one with medical-grade adhesive. You Can’t Get Your Boob Tape Off A strong boob tape requires oil to remove it from your skin. It won’t simply peel off your skin, especially if it has that highly desired medical-grade adhesive. You can use a removal oil formulated to safely remove the bra and nourish your skin. Saturate the adhesive bra with the oil (so the bra is not reusable). The original boob tape brand, Brassybra, for example, has recently started offering a removal oil with lavender oil, an ultra-soothing aroma. You Never Have Another Bra Available If you own a lot of outfits with unique necklines, like off-the-shoulder pieces, backless dresses, tops with plunging necklines, or strapless sun dresses, you need a supply of boob tape. You should at least be able to rely on a boob tape delivery service or something. That might have sounded like a joke, but some brands have a bra subscription that ensures you have adhesive bras whenever you need them. You can choose the frequency of delivery, which determines the discount. Regardless of whether you experienced any of the above situations, you can avoid them in the future. Boob tape is one of those super handy inventions that make it easy to wear whatever you want without straps, gores, and bands compromising your look. About Brassybra Brassybra is the first brand ever to offer a high-quality tape bra with medical-grade adhesive. Their product is super-strong, flexible, and comfortable so every woman can get the perfect fit for her girls. Plus, Brassybra’s adhesive bra can support up to a European G, which is a DDDD in the U.S. These bras are available in a variety of shades, so you can find a color suitable for your outfit or for a chic invisible look with a shade closest to your skin tone. In addition to inclusive boob tape, Brassybra offers aromatherapeutic oils to help remove the tape and nourish the skin. From the moment you take Brassybra out of the box to when it comes off, you experience what it’s like to enjoy wearing an adhesive bra. Resolve all your boob tape troubles with Brassybra, and visit https://www.brassybra.com/ Original Source: https://bit.ly/3Uv26dZ

#subscription for bras

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quill-pen · 10 months ago

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@rom-e-o Bess probably sends him a pic of her in posess lot like these.🤭

I can just hear Connie's dialogue:

"All right, let's drape the skirt like this, so he can see just how high that slit goes. Oh, you picked a wonderful piece, Darling! It hugs your curves so well and this slit was positivey made to frame and show off these glorious hips of yours. Wolf won't be able to stop himself from drooling over this one!"

"Ooh! Let's get a silhouette shot of you arching up off the floor. Tease him a little with how flexible you are, hmm? No man worth his salt can resist a lovely back-arch."

"Let's give him a little peek down your neckline. Oh, hush! You have plenty to show off with there! If I could tell you the number of times I've caught Wolf sneaking peek down your top then quickly looking away with a guilty, goofy little smirk and a twinkle in his eye. It's about the quality of the breasts, Bess, not the size."

"All right, let's try another shot like this. I'll go a little more to the side--turn your face to me? Perfect! Now, I want you to give me your best bedroom eyes. Of course you have bedroom eyes--everyone has them! Honey, yes you do--believe me, I've seen you use them during your performances when Wolf is there. You look right at him with them the whole time. I honestly don't know how the man hasn't stormed the stage and taken you on top of the piano yet. Oh, don't be embarrassed! They add to your stage persona so well! After all, lounge-singer Bess Moonrock is supposed to be a sultry, smoky, glamorous fox is she not?"

"Ooh, this window is perfect for a moody shot. We'll let him see how beautiful your curves look in his satin! And again we'll drape the skirt just so, just so he can get a cheeky little sneak peek at you. Oh, you should see how powerful those shoulders and arms of yours look in this pose! So strong and glorious! Am I taking pictures of a woman or a goddess? I honestly can't tell!"

"Let's try a cuter more innocent one, now. Kneel on the bed? Yes, just like that. Now arch your back some. And can you push your chest out and shrug your shoulders forward? Yes, just like that! Oh, you're a dream to direct, Dear! And look at how prettily your girls pop out like this! Give me that cheeky little smile of yours, like when you make a pun and Wolf groans about it? Oh, Wolf is going to hit his knees!"

Connie taking Bess lingerie shopping when Wolf and Bess finally start taking steps in their sexual relationship. Bess really only wants one other person with her because she's not comfortable with more people than that seeing her body up close yet and Connie is who she trusts most and knows she will understand best about... things.

Them getting a few sets and trying them on and Connie being a positive doll about everything but Bess just breaking down in tears when she finally tries on the last set. This is the first time she's actually looked at her body in reference to sensuality and sex since Oliver. Needless to say, over the handful of years, her body has definitely changed in some ways:

She's thickened up, with muscle and body fat; there's a little more pudge going on in some places than ever before--some indentations are happening and love handles are spilling over the waistband of the knickers or pooching out in openings. She has some cellulite going on. It looks like she has some stretchmarks and her old ones seem even bigger and more noticeable. She's kept the length of them trimmed down but has let the range of her pubes go a bit wild, which Oliver never would have gone for (he liked little, shaved designs at the very top, but nothing else). Oliver liked her tanner too, so she used to do spray-on tans, but she hasn't done that since leaving him either, so she's gone all "Snow White" and her scars and freckles stand out even more now.

"None of them look good! I look ugly in all of them--I make everything hideous! I'm too scarred! I'm too fat! I'm too hairy! I'm too big here and too small there! And I have too many freckles! I can't send pictures to Wolf looking like this--he'll be so disgusted and never want anything to do with me when he actually sees what I look like! No wonder Oliver wasn't aching to touch me--I'm a complete joke!"

NOOOO BESS, ANGELLLL.

I imagine Connie hears her crying and (after asking permission from Bess, of course) slips into the dressing room. Upon seeing her, she eyes soften. Not because she agrees with Bess; no, she thinks Bess is positively beautiful.

But she knows what Bess is going through. she's been through it.

She lets Bess cry it out, hugs her and makes sure to give her tissues from her purse. After a few minutes, she speaks up;

"You know, this experience of trying on lingerie or swimsuits in a dressing room is one so many people dread. The lights are too bright, the mirrors are weird. You have to stand awkwardly and straight up. It's unnatural, this place. You look beautiful to me, but when you're staring at you ... it's a different feeling. We never gaze upon ourselves with the love others have for us.

"Try this - imagine the lights are different, and not these dreadful LEDs. Imagine warmer light - maybe candlelight. Imagine you're not standing in this cramped room - you're laying down, or sitting, or sashaying toward him. Imagine he sees you dressed down for him, lounging in his desk chair with a cheeky grin on your face, your body adorned in the prettiest fabrics, offering him just little tempting peeks at what awaits. Imagine his gaze going molten, and his hands clenching just to stop himself from reaching out. That's the real you in lingerie. And I'm imagining her, and she looks like - excuse my British vernacular - a bloody FINE knockout.

"If you really don't like how these pieces look, then we'll keep looking until we find a set you love, okay? I promise."

I imagine she then JETS around the store, grabbing black lace pieces, different cuts of bras/bottoms, finding some cute rose-accented pieces. She finds colors that compliment her complexion, and grabs different materials - no cutting elastic, just soft and comfortable lace and cloth. She also grabs her accessories and shoes to try on with the lingerie!

"Let's take it slow. Even finding one piece is great!"

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ageless-soul-au · 2 years ago

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Here's Sun!!

We've been holding onto her for a little while too, same as Hyrule. You may recognize her outfit from the sksw concept art! (just slightly different in design and color) She wears boots and leggings underneath!

#she has stretch marks too :) bc she did have babies #you can see some peeking up from the neckline of her top #god i love her. i miss writing her.#asau sun #character ref #au art #ageless soul au

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moonchildstyles · 3 years ago

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malvasia

prosecco part four: dating y/n was different now that he knew how she felt, especially the things that happen when he takes her home

wordcount: 10.5k+

—————

Harry felt a moment of deja-vu lingering around him as he waited outside (Y/N)'s front door. The familiar weight of a bouquet of flowers was held in his hands, the blooms acting as an unmatched rival to the bright smile on his face. He could hear the shuffling on the other side of the door, (Y/N)'s voice muttering out an obscenity before following with something she apparently forgot to grab. A moment later the wood swung open to reveal her in a similar state to the first time he had come to pick her up for a date.

"Hi!" she chirped out, irises melted and soft as she took in the sight of him. She almost entirely bypassed the sight of the flowers, instead looking him over as if he were the gift for the night

"Hi," he greeted her, voice smooth and quiet for just the two of them.

His presence served as a welcome distraction, momentarily causing (Y/N) to forget about whatever she had been muttering complaints about just before opening the door. She bit at the full of her lip, backing away from the threshold in an invitation for Harry to enter, "Do you want to come in for a minute? I'm sorry, I still need to do a couple more things before we can go; I feel like I'm never ready when you come over."

"Don't be sorry, you know I don't mind," he hummed, stepping onto the small white place rug that outlined the space she made for him, "Y'look pretty enough, anyway, can't imagine what's left."

While Harry meant his soft compliment to her, he couldn't lie and say he wasn't saying it to see what kind of reaction his open affection to her would draw out. He watched on as she looked up at him with moony eyes, her hands moving on their own accord as she closed the front door behind him without moving her gaze. She seemed to flounder over her words, unsure of what to say as a glow radiated from under her skin and added to the dew of her makeup. Harry raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for some kind of response from her though he rather enjoyed the dazed silence he seemed to through her into.

The shift in his expression was enough to pull her back into her head, getting her to move her eyes from him towards her fumbling hands twisting the lock. Though he couldn't see the full of her face from the angle she stood, he could still imagine the sheepish curl of her lips and the fluttering of her lashes as she spoke, "Sure, as if you didn't see my 'shoes' for the night."

Her words were meant to be a joke, Harry knew that, but he still took it as an invitation to drag his eyes over her body while they stood in her cramped version of an apartment foyer. His gaze trailed down her form, finding her clad in another dress he was going to have a hard time getting out of his head.

It was a long, summer dress, the fabric light and bright with a pattern of tiny, baby pink flowers covering the expanse. Pops of soft green to make up the leaves and peeking vines worked to relax the pattern as it fell towards the ground. It stopped just by her feet that were still clad in a pair of fuzzy socks that brought a smile to Harry's already sore cheeks. A high slit cut through one side of the fabric, showing off the bare of her leg with every step she made. Her collarbones and décolletage were left on display with the help of the off-the-shoulder puffed sleeves that hung over her biceps. The neckline was kept simple, ruching going down the middle of the bodice to create a heart shape to the hem before the bodice tightened around her ribs. Harry seemed to be slowly figuring out her style as he found the familiar shape of a headband adorning the top of her head—this one a pearly green color that reflected pink in the light, shaped into a string of leaves that acted like a crown on her head.

An easy smile covered his features, aware of the obvious time he took to look her over. He tipped his head to the side and shrugged his shoulder in nonchalance, "Looks fine to me—gorgeous, really, but, you know."

It seemed Harry wasn't giving her much of a break between those moments that threw her into a tailspin. A familiar sheepish tint took her features, the curl of her lips wavering as she looked up at him with melted irises and something like adoration swimming in the pool of them. Yeah, Harry could get used to these kinds of reactions, definitely.

"Thank you," she finally peeped out, dropping her eyes from his own gaze as a form of self-defense at this point, right to the flowers still held against his chest, "Are those for me?"

"Of course," Harry smiled, following her eyes to the brightest bloom in the bunch—a blush-pink lily with a buttery yellow center at the forefront of the bouquet, "'S a proper date, of course 'm bringing y'flowers."

She graciously took the bundle from him, examining the arrangement just as she had the first time he had brought her something like this. "I love them," she beamed up at him, delicately holding the stems between her fingers as she slowly inched out of her doorway, "Thank you."

"Anytime, sweetheart."

Just like that, another shy reaction was drawn from (Y/N), enough to get Harry smiling with a curl of pride to his lips. It was that easy, was it? Just a sweet petname and she was giving him puppy eyes? He was going to remember that.

"I'm going to go put these in water and everything, then finish getting ready," she mapped out, almost as if her agenda was a reminder to herself more than a notice for Harry.

A soft smile took her features before she began moving towards the entrance to her kitchen, but he wasn't about to let her go that easy. "Where do y'think you're going, hm?"

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks, a genuine bite of confusion downturning her features and pinching her brow. "I'm putting these in water rem—"

"I think you're forgetting something," Harry crooned, taking a slow step towards her as the heels of his boots clicked over the hardwood floor. He watched her reaction, noting the twist of her features though she didn't make any moves to step away from him as he drew closer.

"Y'haven't given me a kiss yet, sweetheart."

Harry's smile only widened as she immediately perked up at the mention of a kiss. Her grip around the strong stems in her hands only increased as her eyes widened. "You still wanted to?! I wasn't sure, so I didn't want to assume!"

As his shoulders dropped and muscles halfway liquified, Harry swore that, if she asked, he would drop to his knees right that second to worship every bit of her existence. She was too cute for her own good, telling him she wasn't sure if he would still want to kiss her, as if that hasn't been what he's been craving and missing since the night in Tawny's bathroom (and before that really, but he didn't want to be weird and detail out just how long he'd been thinking about kissing her).

"Of course, I still want to kiss you," he told her, voice low now that they were stood right in front of one another, stray petals from her bouquet brushing against his tummy, "Do you want to kiss me?"

"Yes, yes, of course I do!"

There was something so innocent about the way she perked up and parroted his own sentiment that of course she wanted to kiss him. The baby hairs framing her face swayed around her features as she bounced in her spot, rolling on the balls of her feet with an added inch to her height from the extension of the tiptoes.

"Then, c'mere," he cooed to her, "Give me a kiss."

She practically melted into his hands as Harry cradled her cheeks in his palms. Though he wanted to keep her flowers intact, he couldn't help but close the space between them as much as he could before he dipped his head down and smoothed his lips over her own puckered ones. The contact was soft and sweet, her lips warm and plush against his as he gave a round of soft pecks to her mouth. He was mindful of the fact they had reservations across town (finally fulfilling that promise they made of revisiting that restaurant), but that didn't mean that he didn't want to spend as much time as possible lingering with her kiss on his lips. He cradled her face delicately in his hands and took his time learning the difference between the fruity taste of her lipgloss and the sweet taste she seemed to carry naturally.

After planting a few more tender kisses against her pout, Harry reluctantly pulled away. A final press of his lips was granted to the very corner of her mouth, a hum sounding from (Y/N) at the contact. When he drew away, he caught sight of the way she seemed to lag after him, only just barely fluttering her eyes open as he scanned over her face. A tiny bit of her gloss was smudged outside the lines of her lips, enough for Harry to clean up with a gentle swipe of his thumb just under her bottom lip. She watched his face with rapt attention, her moony eyes visible from his peripherals.

When he was satisfied with his minimal cleanup job, Harry dropped his hands from her face and positioned them on the curve of her waist. He gently urged her towards her kitchen, setting her up to finish the tasks she had started on before he distracted her.

"Go ahead, sweetheart, finish up. I'll wait here for you," he crooned, speaking through the smile on his lips. He nudged her down the hallway, reveling in the way she seemed more than dazed at this point.

After a moment, the lag in her brain caught up and she practically stumbled through her first step towards her kitchen. "O-Okay," she stuttered, nodding her head more for her benefit he was sure, "I'll be right back."

It only made Harry's heart that much fuller when he caught how many times she looked over her shoulder to him, checking if he was going to wait for her just as promised. It wasn't until she had her bouquet all squared away and she disappeared to her bedroom—not without one final look in his direction, of course—did Harry let out his own breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He felt warm now in the presence of all her things, something like a shot of novocaine working to relax and liquify his muscles as he breathed in her scent and threw his gaze around to her now familiar apartment. Now that he knew her feelings towards him, Harry had all the confidence in the world to do the things that made him happy. And, making her flustered with such shy reactions and sweet smiles was what made him happy. He couldn't wait to see how far she was going to allow him to take it.

—————

"Are you sure you can't stay with me a little while longer?"

(Y/N)'s pouted lips were just a pucker away from getting Harry to bend to any of her wishes. She fluttered her lashes at him as she pled for him to stay just a minute longer at her apartment, the flourishing of her curled lashes being something he didn't think she was even aware she was doing. Really, if she looked at him like that for just another thirty-seconds he was going to set up camp at her apartment and move in if that's what she wanted.

He'd been at her place for the better part of two hours at this point, having taken her up on the offer to come up when he had dropped her off. Since then, they'd been bundled up on her couch, shoes left by her front door with a forgotten movie playing on the television before them. Tonight had been a wonderful replay with added scenes and special, pink-tinted bonuses of their first date, the air of openness and comfortability between them making it that much better. He was more than grateful to get more time to spend with her before he had to go back home, not having gotten enough of her throughout dinner. But, as the hours ticked by and the impending plans of the following morning loomed closer, Harry couldn't draw his time out with her any longer.

"'M sorry, sweetheart, I can't. I've got some 'business brunch' meeting in the morning with a bunch of other executives for team building." Harry rolled his eyes at the stupid event that was in the way of him staying with (Y/N) any longer. He had already dodged this team building thing for months and he was out of excuses this time.

"Okay," she settled, visibly deflated at his denial, leaning into the doorframe she was guarding as if she could physically stop him from leaving. She had camped out in front of the door when he had finally convinced her to walk him out, having stopped before letting him go to try her hand at another round of pleas and avenues of conversation to distract him from leaving. "But you'll text me when you get home?"

"You know I will," he promised, dimples denting his cheeks at her sweet request, "Can text y'when I get to m'car even, if you'd like."

"Oh, no, you don't need to do that," she waved off, turning to unlock the front door for him, "I'm already walking you down."

Harry's brows cinched at her offer. "You're not walking me down, love, stay inside. I'll be okay."

"No, I want to go with you." The look she shot him over her shoulder was filled with sincerity, a final effort to spend a few more moments with him.

And, who was he to say no to her?

"Alright," he sighed, reaching for his keys he had left on the table by her door, "Put your shoes on and y'can walk me down."

She immediately perked up at his compliance, slipping on a pair of fluffy pink slippers that almost matched her dress. Once her shoes were on, she looked to him for approval, letting him see that she had done what he asked and was ready whenever he was.

"Those are cute," he prattled, taking her hand in his before opening the door, "They match your dress."

"That's what I was thinking! If it didn't look stupid, I would have worn them to dinner tonight," she laughed, her fingers fit snug between his as he escorted her down the flights of stairs to his car.

An easy silence settled between them, Harry reveling in the lingering sound of her laugh and the way it felt to be under the moonlight with her. He was hyperaware of her hand in his as they reached the visitors' set of parking spaces; he didn't want to feel the cold ghost of her hold when he had to let go.

"Thank you for taking me out tonight," (Y/N) sighed as they approached the space he was parked, a reluctant undercurrent to her tone.

"Thank you for agreeing to come out with me," he countered, squeezing her hand in his.

As they stopped on the driver's side of his car, he pulled her to stand in front of him, between the door and his chest. The angling was perfect, allowing the cool, violet tones of the moon to shine over her in shimmering rays. Her eyes mimicked that of the craters in the sky with the way she looked to him with a moony gaze, both of her hands wrapping around his one in an encompassing hold.

"Would it be too much to say I'm going to miss you?" she whispered, voice sheepish to match the shy curl of her lips.

"Definitely not. I know 'm gonna miss you the second y'let go of m'hand."

Harry watched for her tender reaction. She shyly tore her gaze from his, fixing her eyes onto their joined hands with a sweetened smile curling over her lips.

"Me too," she peeped, voice almost quiet enough to get swallowed by the pounding of Harry's racing heart. After a moment of her distracted gaze, she shifted to look up at him through the frame of her lashes, "Will we see each other again soon?"

"Jus' tell me when and I'll be there," Harry promised.

"Even if it's tomorrow?"

"Especially if 's tomorrow."

(Y/N) breathed out a laugh at his quick-witted response, cradling his hand that much closer to her chest. "Drive safe, okay?" she requested, the sound of her slippers shuffling against the pavement as she moved closer to him.

"Of course. I've got to be in one piece so I can see you tomorrow, right?" Harry teased, a softened set running under his words despite his joking.

A beat passed before she chirped out her own question: "Can I kiss you before you go?"

Harry shook his head affectionately, dropping her hand from his to cradle her cheeks between his warmed palms. "Y'don't even have to ask, sweetheart."

She managed to pucker her lips through the smile on her mouth, allowing Harry to pull her in for the long kiss she had craved at the beginning of the night. He fit her bottom lip between his two, guiding her through the growing familiarity of the contact. While his hands affectionately held her cheeks, the pads of his thumbs brushing over the heigh of her cheekbones with green painted nails, her own were tucked against his chest. He wouldn't be surprised if she pulled away worried about his pulse with the way his heart was hammering against his ribcage. The gloss that had lingered over her lips had long faded, leaving just the taste of her to carry him through until he saw her again (he was beginning to secretly hope that she wasn't kidding about asking him over tomorrow).

If not for the fact they were outside with the time ticking closer and closer to midnight, Harry would have kept going. But, he wasn't going to make (Y/N) stand outside in her thin dress and house shoes for any longer just because he was feeling greedy. He was the first to reluctantly pull away, leaving a lingering kiss to the full of her bottom lip before giving her space to breathe.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispered, the words just for her in the middle of the moonlight.

"Goodnight, Harry," she gazed up at him, irises melted and fingers flexing against his chest as if she wanted to cling to him, "Don't forget to text me."

"Promise," he smiled, stepping away from her with his hands lingering on her form as he brushed them down her shoulders and the length of her arms, "Now, get inside before y'freeze. 'M not leaving till I see y'get up those stairs."

Though Harry hated when she had to go, he loved to watch her leave with the lingering glances she cast him over her shoulder. This time, he was granted with a small wave of her fingers to him before she was out of sight, following the curve of the stairs that took her to her floor. Once he was sure she was safe inside, he made his own exit.

The drive home was filled with thoughts of her, his body warm in the same places she had touched—his hands were blazing with the phantom hold on them with the imprints of her hands on his chest glowing through his skin. He was undressing when he got home, reaching for his phone to send the text he had promised her when another notification caught his eye.

It was from instagram. He was tagged in a new post, the accompanying thumbnail on the grey bar doing little to reveal what photo he was mentioned in. Once he swiped over, the points where he felt (Y/N)'s contact the most seemed to go up another degree in temperature.

Lighting up his screen was a photo he didn't recall her taking at their table for dinner, the centerpiece of a glowing candle serving as a partition between her plate and the main view of his side of the table. His hand with the tattooed cross was laid on the table while it seemed his other was holding his wine glass. His face wasn't in the picture, but with the tag placed just over the sliver of his exposed chest that was captured in the frame gave him away (though, it wasn't like he had much posted to his own account anyway). The filtering and angling of the photo gave enough of a romantic air to it that Harry felt pride puff at his chest for the fact he was being posted to her social media in a way that made it clear he was more than just a friend.

Her caption was left simple:

even better than the first time

He couldn't agree more.

—————

(Y/N) 🎀

I can skip my 11:30 class on Friday if u wanted to get lunch!!! I'll just have one of my friends send me the notes!!

Harry knew that it was more than a little rude to be giving majority of his attention to his phone while Mitch was trying to talk to him, but he couldn't find it in himself to really care. The sound of his friend's voice was becoming something of a background monologue as he nodded along to whatever story was being told, though his eyes never left the screen of his phone. His lips were spread into a tender smile as he read over her text, the added punctuation looking especially sweet knowing that it was because she was excited to see him.

You shouldn't be skipping class, love. We'll get dinner, instead, on Friday.

Aren't you in class right now, even?

The welcome sight of the three grey dots popped up on the bottom corner of the screen, holding Harry's attention as he awaited her response.

A new blue bubble had just popped up when Mitch's voice called out his name, "Right, H?"

"Mhm, yeah," Harry answered, quickly making a point to pull his eyes from his phone to look at Mitch across from him.

He had a raised brow that could be seen over the frames of his dark sunglasses, the rays of sunlight that filtered through the shaded pergola above them emphasized his unimpressed features. The restaurant's patio furniture suddenly became uncomfortable as Harry could only imagine what he had just agreed to with the way Mitch was looking at him.

"Yeah, you agree? You think Sarah and I should break up and I'll move to Poland?"

Harry breathed a laugh at Mitch's words, sounding less humored by the situation than embarrassed to be caught. "Sorry?" he offered, knowing there wasn't much he could say to get out of his inattention.

"Sure," Mitch drawled, leaning his forearms on the glass patio table, "I know you've been a little distracted lately, but that was a bit much."

A small curve of his friend's lips let him know he wasn't in any real trouble, but he still felt a bit bad for his lack of attention. Especially since he was itching to check (Y/N)'s message, even after he was called out.

"Who are you even talking to anyway?" Mitch prompted after a moment, the shade of his glasses shielding the intensity of his gaze.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head, "No one important, it was jus' work stuff."

He and (Y/N) hadn't quite defined what they were doing with one another other than the shared feelings they held, so he didn't really want to spill any details in case she wasn't ready for the others to know. Once one of them knew, the news would spread through the group like wildfire, along with a slew of questions and nosy spectators whenever they were together. So, despite the way he was closest to Mitch out of all the friends of the group, he was going to wait it out, even if it meant telling shit lies that were several levels below believable.

Even under the shade of his sunglasses, Mitch was able to get across exactly what he was thinking under the lenses. "Really? You were smiling like that at a work email?"

"Well, it was—" Harry floundered over his response, thankful when he saw their waitress approaching with a pair of dishes in her hands.

He was granted a small reprieve while she—their waitress with a name tag spelling out Vicky—ran through her script, telling them to enjoy their meal and she would be right back to check on them. Mitch let the subject go for the moment, instead focusing his attention on the plate in front of him.

Harry ran his knuckle under the tip of his nose, clearing his throat as he flicked his gaze across the table. "It—The email, it was jus' good news about some numbers, so—"

"It's okay, H," Mitch laughed, pausing the cutting of his burger to focus his attention on his friend, "You don't have to tell me. Or lie."

A heavy breath left Harry's lungs, "'M sorry, I jus'... I don't—"

"Don't worry about it—really. I'm happy you got a good work email, and that's all I need to know." An easy smile covered Mitch's features, using the cover of the work email to tell his support.

"Me too." Harry smiled, "Thank you."

Though the air was now cleared, Harry still wasn't able to shake the urge to check his messages. Would it be really rude to take a look after all of this?

Mitch must have noticed his squirming and the twitching of his hand that refused to reach for his phone, "You can check, I don't mind."

A sheepish smile was shot across the table before Harry picked up his phone, the screen coming to life with the thread of (Y/N)'s messages across the screen. Two new blue bubbles popped up in the time that he was distracted.

(Y/N)🎀

yeah but its just a review day im not missing anything, dad

but fine I won't skip for you but only if I can pick where we go for dinner

Harry was aware of eyes on him as an easy smile bloomed across his face.

—————

"Can we go to your house?"

(Y/N)'s bubbled request only deepened the dimples dipping into Harry's cheeks. "If that's what y'want," he agreed, his hand on the back of her seat with his body twisted to get a look out the rearview as he backed out.

"I feel like I never go over there, but I like your house. It's nice." Her smile was audible in her tone, Harry not even needing to look at her to picture the bloom of her lips.

"You know you're more than welcome to come over, whenever y'want," Harry offered, sliding his hand over the back of her seat as he righted his position. As soon as he shifted into drive, (Y/N) was quick to grab his hand, fitting her palm against his and filling the gaps between his fingers with her own.

"Don't say that unless you're ready for me to bother you all the time," (Y/N) joked, bundling her other hand atop his.

"Could never bother me, you know that," Harry countered, his tone much more tender than the teasing she'd given him, "I can never get enough of you."

From the corner of his eye, Harry caught the way she dropped her head with a smile facing their joined hands. "You mean that?" she said, voice soft. Her fingertips tenderly traced designs over the back of his hand, Harry swearing that he could feel something like heart shapes over the skin.

He was more than grateful for the stop sign he pulled up to. With the lack of cars piling behind him, Harry took his time reaching his free hand over the center console and fitting his palm around the curve of (Y/N)'s neck. The glow of the dashboard lit up her features as he tugged her to him, her hair tangling between his fingers.

"Of course, I mean it, love," he crooned to her, leaning into her space. Though his hand on the side of her neck worked as a steady weight, she was free to pull back if she wanted to. Harry's heart stuttered in his chest as he felt no resistance, instead noticing her warmth nod into his hold. "You know that, right? You've been listening to me, right?"

Her lashes fluttered over the wide of her eyes as her gaze was fixed on his own. "I-I am, I'm listening," she let out, a dreamy look passing over her irises.

A tender curl of his lips softened his features, his pupils dilating as he took in every detail of her face. Gone was the sparkling gloss she started off the night with on her lips, the curl of her lashes having fallen over the course of the date, but she hadn't lost the glow he had caught radiating from her skin the second he picked her up. God, was he lucky that no one was behind them.

The hand on the back of her neck pulled her that much closer to him as Harry tipped his chin to smooth his lips over her's. The kiss was simple, an indulgent moment that couldn't wait until they got to his home. (Y/N) melted into his grip, his hand on her neck serving as a steadying hold that held her to him.

Harry drew away first, finding the same dreamy expression on (Y/N)'s face when he got a look at her features. Though he wouldn't have minded to stay in that moment, parked in front of a four-way stop, he needed to get her safe and home. And, he figured, they could do more of this at his house without the warning of others around them.

He brushed his thumb over the hinge of her jaw, dotting one more kiss on the corner of her mouth. "I know y'are, lovie," he cooed, giving her a once over before settling back in his seat.

Letting her keep his hand bundled in her's, Harry started them off in the direction of his house. He could feel her eyes still on him as he did so, a small smile quirking the corner of his lips as he took note.

"Are we going to do anything when we get to your house?" (Y/N) asked after a beat, settling in her spot with a deep breath. Her tone was a tick higher than before he had pulled her in for that kiss, a sheepish edge flowing under her words.

"We can do whatever y'want, sweetheart," Harry offered simply, taking note of her wobbly fingertips resuming the shapes on the back of his hand.

"Okay." (Y/N)'s small chirp of an answer didn't give anything away as to what she was thinking; no explanation for that shy tint to her words.

He peeked at her from the corner of his eye, finding her gaze still fixed on their joined hands. "Y'alright, love? You're being really quiet."

"Yeah," she peeped, nodding her head and looking to him with a tender smile on her lips, "I just want to get to your house."

Harry pretended not to notice the extra five he started going over the speed limit.

—————

(Y/N)'s shoes were left in a cluttered mess by the front door as she pranced straight towards Harry's kitchen. He didn't even think about it before he picked up her small mess, kicking his own shoes off to sit beside the pair of heels she had worn for the night.

"Harry!" she called, voice filtering from the kitchen, "Can I have some water?"

He let out a laugh at her line of questioning, "Go for it, lovie. Grab a glass, I'll be there in a second."

She chirped out a small okay! followed by the sound of her rifling though the cabinets for a cup. He found her reaching to the tips of her toes for a violet-tinted glass perched on the top shelf. Without the help of her heels, Harry couldn't help but linger for a moment in the threshold, watching as she extended her fingers towards the shelf just out of her reach.

"Why don't y'get one from a lower shelf?" Harry asked, amusement tinting his words. He watched on as she jumped at the sound of his voice, spinning on her heel with her hand fluttering to her chest.

"You scared me," she bleated, wide eyes looking to him before settling on the pads of her feet, "What did you ask me?"

The smile on Harry's lips was wide, dimples denting into his cheeks as moved across the kitchen tiles to where she was waiting for him, "I asked why you're not grabbing one from the lower shelves, instead."

"Oh," she sounded, looking over her shoulder up towards her purple glass she was reaching for, "I just want that one."

"Do y'want help then?" Harry closed the distance between them, planting both of his hands on either side of her waist with a crooked smile on his lips.

She hesitated reaching out to touch him, her hands bundled against her chest, "If you don't mind?"

Harry didn't answer, instead widening his smile before reaching for the top shelf she had struggled to touch. He kept his one hand firm on her side, the warmth of her body being felt against his chest with the way he inched closer to her form through his reach. From the very edge of his peripherals, he could see the way she tipped her head up to lock her eyes on his jawline. He easily grabbed the chosen purple cup she had set her eyes on, the advantage of his height mocking her as he settled the glass on the countertop behind her.

"Need help with anything else, love?" he asked, feeling a bit too proud of himself for helping her do such a simple task. She gave a simple shake of her head, a sheepish smile on her face as she locked her gaze on the planes of his face. A single dimple dented his cheek as she made no move to leave his hold. "Are y'sure?" he prompted, only to be answered with a minute nod of her head, spurring him on to press further, "Then why are y'looking at me like that?"

Her eyes widened a fraction of a centimeter as if she were surprised she was caught though he had been looking right at her, "I'm—I'm not looking at you in any way, just—I don't know, thank you."

His heart swelled at the stuttering of her words. "Okay," he relented with a small quirk of his lips, "'M gonna go set up a movie then, 'kay? Is there anything y'wanted to watch?"

Another small shake of her head, "No, you pick."

Harry gifted her with a small kiss to the top of her head before he left her to finish her mission for water. He could feel her eyes following after him as he turned on his heel and left her be in the kitchen, moving towards his living room. Something a little smug and self-satisfied sunk in his chest at her attention—he had craved this for so long, and it felt really good to finally have it.

Settled into the cushions of his couch as he scrolled through Netflix, Harry kept an ear out for the sound of (Y/N)'s footsteps that lingered just on the edge of the living space. Looking over his shoulder, he found her with both hands wrapped around the lavender glass, her eyes fixed on the titles he was flicking through.

"Did y'want to get comfortable at all before we start, love? I finally got makeup wipes after the last time y'were over."

A beat passed as she contemplated her answer, fluttering her lashes as if testing how much longer she could stand the weight of her mascara and the thin, pink sheen that covered her eyelids. "You got wipes?" she prodded, "Do you still have that wash I used last time?"

"Mhm," Harry hummed, already standing from his spot on the couch to lead her up to his bedroom, "C'mon."

She was quick to step after him, pausing for just a second to place her water on the small side table saddling the couch. He offered her his hand, reaching behind him as he started up the stairs. Her smaller palm slipped against his, fingers wrapping around the width of his hand. A slow smile spread over his features, his cheeks holding somewhat of an ache from how often he was repeating this expression in her presence.

He led her across the hardwood flooring, the sound of her socks sliding against the polish giving away her position as he brought her to his room. Once he crossed the threshold to his bedroom, he swung her around to stand in front of him, nudging her towards the bathroom. He reached around her and flicked on the lights before urging her over the tiles.

"I wasn't sure if these were any good, but the woman at the store said these were really popular, so I hope y'like them," he mused, bending to reach under the sink for the blue packet of wipes stowed away for her, "And I've still got that wash in that drawer if y'wanted to use it."

Her irises were melted and soft as she gazed up at him, something dreamy passing over her gaze as Harry matched her look. "Thank you, Harry," she settled on, tone tender.

He took a small step back, planning on leaving her be as she worked through her routine. "'M gonna finish setting up downstairs, but jus' come down when yo—"

"You're not staying?"

Harry stopped in his tracks at her line of questioning, glancing over his shoulder to where she was standing with a furrowed brow in the threshold of the bathroom. She held the packet of wipes in her hands, fingers playing with the metallic flap as her eyes fixed on him.

"What was that, love?" he paused.

"I just thought you were going to stay with me. But, I can meet you downstairs if that's what you wanted to do." She wiped away her pouted expression as she finished, bouncing on the balls of her feet as if it were her suggestion.

"No, no," Harry shook his head, already backtracking on his socked feet, "I'll stay with you, love. Wasn't sure if y'wanted me to, that's all."

(Y/N) seemed content now that he was opting to stay with her, her shoulders loosening as she gestured for him to join her in the bathroom. He took the cue easily, taking a spot on the closed toilet lid to sit beside her station in front of the mirror.

"Thank you," she chirped, looking to him through the reflection in the mirror.

Harry shot her a sweet smile, a garden of affectionate flowers blooming in his chest at the fact she was wanting him close. Balancing his elbow on the muscle of his thigh, he propped his chin in the palm of his hand. His positioning gave him a perfect view of (Y/N)'s profile as she started swiping at her skin with the damp cloth. An easy silence settled between them as more and more of her natural features was revealed in streaks of clean skin. If Harry hadn't been watching her so intently, he swears he would have missed the small look she tossed in his direction with how quick it was.

Catching the sheepish glance she flicked in his direction, Harry kicked his foot out to nudge at her ankle. "What was that look for?"

She gave a half-shrug of her shoulders, fixing her eyes on her reflection instead. "Sometimes I forget you've seen me without makeup on—I'm not used to that," she answered, her voice muffled as she passed the wipe over her glossed lips.

It was Harry's turn to let a pinch pull at his brows, "What do y'mean?"

Her eyes flitted to his with the help of the mirror, nonchalance painting her tone, "Usually, guys I like don't see me without any makeup on."

The answer rolled around in Harry's head for a moment. Was he one of the lucky few that got to see her in what she considered her vulnerable state? The roses that had bloomed in his chest acted as if they were going to claw their way out to get closer to her, her presence acting as the sun that birthed them.

"Until?"

"I'm not sure," she started, chirping out her easy answer, "I've never gotten comfortable enough with any of them to find out."

The roses in his chest wilted a moment as he processed her answer. He felt sad, even leaning into something tinted with anger that she had never been treated right; the sweetest girl he'd ever known was never made to feel comfortable in her own skin around people she deemed worthy of her attention. While the blue moment pinged in his chest for a second, it was quickly replaced with a vivid unfurling of pride that painted the blossoms red again. He wasn't one of the lucky few, he was the lucky one.

"Are you comfortable with me, then?"

He watched as she tossed out the wipe that was now covered in the traces of her makeup. Her eyes were clear and bright, rid of the mascara that had fanned out her lashes with the pink sheen on her eyelids now replaced with the natural glow of her skin. She looked just as beautiful now as she did when they started the night, and he had been the only one allowed such a view.

Lucky him.

A shy smile took (Y/N)'s features, curling her lips into a softened smile that beckoned him closer. Harry couldn't resist the draw of her, following that small cue and standing from his spot on the toilet lid. Her eyes followed him as he stood to the full of his height, a raised brow prompting her to answer his question.

"I think so, yeah," she murmured, tipping her chin up to look at him as he stepped closer in the limited space, "You make me feel safe—I think that's the best word for it."

Something like pride filled his chest at her words. He couldn't deny the roll of protector he had taken up when it came to her; he enjoyed the rewarding feeling that came with caring for her, especially when she had asked him to in the first place. Mimicking their position from the kitchen, his hands landed on either side of her softened waist.

"Do y'feel safe, right now? Here with me?" His voice was kept soft, a sweet secret just for her.

A soft fluttering of her fingers was felt against his chest, her grip curling into the fabric of his shirt. She softly tugged at him, the motion seemingly happening out of her own volition. With each pull of his shirt, Harry couldn't fight the beckoning of her touch. He dipped his head down and placed a delicate kiss to the soft of her cheek, the tip of his nose skimming over her skin. The fingers in his top flexed, the fabric bunched in her fist and pulled him that much closer.

"Hm?" he prompted, still looking for her answer though his lips trailed down to cover the line of her jaw.

"I-I do—I do feel safe," she stuttered, voice turning breathy.

He let out a soft hum, his trail of kisses moving across her skin in gentle presses. (Y/N) shuffled forward, pressing the length of her body against his as she melted into his hold. The bathroom was left silent aside from the soft sound of his kiss against her skin, inching closer and closer to her ear before dropping down to the curve of her neck. His hold on her hips tightened as he backed her up, pressing the curve of her spine into the countertop behind her. Her body was kept firm against him, her own hands sliding a shaky trail from the bottom of his chest to the tops of his shoulders.

His lips clung to her skin, never lifting and instead skimming over the expanse in affectionate kisses. A soft breath was exhaled through (Y/N)'s nose as he hit a particularly tender spot at the base of her throat, her hands sliding up farther from his shoulder to wrap around his neck. Her fingers locked at the nape of his neck. With her new hold, Harry felt subtle nudges of her pulling him from the map he was marking over the soft of her neck to her mouth.

A smug smile curled his lips as he followed her tugging direction. Pulling back just far enough to catch her eyes, he found (Y/N) with a familiar dreamy haze over her eyes, now at full force and swimming through her irises. Something akin to a whine was exhaled through her pouted lips as she pulled him with a firm tug around his neck.

Harry's smile only broadened at the sound, a satisfied puff filling his chest. He scanned over her features, skimming the planes of her face and noting the warm glow that emanated from her skin.

"H," she breathed, nudging to the tip of her toes in an effort to pull him back.

He resisted her attempts, his smile stretching just a hair further. He couldn't turn down an opportunity to play with her.

"Ask me for what y'want, love," he prompted, a sultry undertone wrapping around his words. In an encouraging move, he ducked his head and gave her a small kiss to the space before her ear, "Go on, sweetheart, tell me."

A beat passed with a shaky breath leaving (Y/N)'s lungs. Her linked fingers broke apart as she dug her fingertips through the baby hairs on the back of his neck. "Can we—I want to kiss," she whispered, "Please?"

His smile was pressed into her skin as he skimmed over the line of her jaw. Looping his arms around her middle, his hands spanning over the planes of her back, Harry pulled her from where she had been pressed against the counter.

"Is that what y'want?" he mumbled against her skin, "Want me to kiss you?"

A shaky nod of her head was given in response.

"C'mon then," he prompted, drawing away from the affection he was spreading over her skin, "'M not kissing y'in another bathroom."

Finally, he was able to crack the haze that tinted her features and fixed her moony gaze onto him, a small smile ticking over her lips. "I wouldn't complain."

Standing to the full of his height, with (Y/N)'s body still bundled against his chest, he gave her a challenging looking and a raise of his brow. "I know, but you're coming with me anyway."

Though he was reluctant to let her go, Harry dropped his arms around her waist and settled for taking her hand in his. Despite her playful teasing, (Y/N) was quick to fall into line and follow after him as he led her through the soft lighting of his bedroom. He pulled her along until he hit the edge of his bed, the mattress taking out his knees and bouncing under his weight as he fell into it.

He sat on his bed with his legs spread wide and his free hand laid flat behind him, waiting for her. She stood at an arm's length away, her hand still protected in his own, though she looked to him with wide eyes.

"C'mere, lovie," he murmured, a soft smile spreading over his lips. With the help of his tugging hand, (Y/N) inched closer. The hem of her dress moved like something of a dream behind her as it fluttered, delicate like a cloud that chased after her.

Once she was close enough, Harry didn't hesitate to pull her to his chest, fitting her between his muscled thighs. She was much less hesitant than when she had approached him, settling her palms along the line of his jaw. Craning his neck, he caught her lips in a warming kiss.

It was familiar by now, Harry felt grounded to the moment with her. He slotted his mouth against her's, the full of her bottom lip tucked between his two. The soft sounds of their lips coming together and pulling apart filtered through the room. It was under Harry's control that deepened the kiss, tipping his head under the warmth of her hands and drawing her deeper to him. His own hands were fixed on the thick of her thighs from where she stood between his own, her dress bunching under the flexing of his fingers.

He could do this for hours, Harry decided. He could sit here for hours, his (Y/N) tucked against him with her lips smoothed over his own with nothing other than pink-tinted thoughts racing around his head with butterfly's wings beating through his stomach. His head felt like it was up in the clouds, stuffed full with a rosy haze while the rest of him was too hyperaware of her touch, the warmth of (Y/N)'s body, and the soft noises she was making against his mouth to be anywhere than completely grounded in the moment.

Warmth bloomed throughout his body, his stomach tightening and chest glowing the more she melted into his hold. Harry inched his hands around the full of her thighs, hooking his palms around the back just under the crease of her bottom. He eased her to him with the hold on her legs, drawing away for just a second though he could still feel her mouth brushing against the full of his lips. He waited for any kind of protest as he brought her closer, any small indication of rejection that she was ready to draw that line for the night.

One never came, only a small whine leaking from between her lips as he nudged his nose against her's. With the help of her hands on his cheeks, she pulled him back to her kiss on her own accord. Harry was more than willing to take that invitation, planting his lips against her's in an adoring kiss as he pulled her that last inch to his lap. She fell into him, chest pressed to his. His hands moved from the thick of her thighs to wrap around her waist in a tight loop as she adjusted her legs to sit on either side of his hips. A rumbling worked through Harry's chest as he dropped back to lay flat on the bed with (Y/N) atop him.

(Y/N)'s breathing stuttered, the skipping of her chest felt against Harry's own just before a breathless whine fell from her lips. The noise was smothered by his kiss, the taste echoing that of the sweetness he had come to associate with her. All the while, their kissing never ceased, only small breaks granted for air before diving back in.

Harry noticed just how breathless she was becoming as he slicked his tongue over the full of her bottom lip, prompting him to draw away from her and allow a moment of reprieve. Still, he couldn't resist from planting a garden of kisses over her features. Her breath fanned out against his jaw as he dotted his lips over her cheek and across her cheekbone.

"Can we stay up here?" she asked, voice a breathless murmur that traveled to his ear.

Though he was inclined to nurture her skin with the garden of kisses layered over her features, Harry drew back with a raised brow, "Don't want to watch a movie anymore, love? I thought that's what y'came over for."

His tone was teasing, softly mocking her request though he was more than willing to indulge her. He watched on as a blink of her eyes fanned her lashes across the tops of her cheekbones, dreamy eyes never swaying from his own despite the sheepish tint that moulded her features. Her pupils were blown wide, a sliver of her melted irises remaining in a ring around the black. She looked like she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, embarrassed for getting caught but not enough to take back her want of the sweet.

"I-... I don't know, we can stop if y—"

Harry was quick to shake his head, a smug smile quirking up one corner of his lips. "'M jus' teasing, sweetheart. We'll stay in here, don't worry. I don't even think I remember the film I picked anyway."

Before she could tailor any kind of reply to his words, Harry tugged (Y/N) down to button his mouth to hers again. She was distracted with the nature of his lips as Harry wrapped a firm arm around the curve of her waist and hooked his hand around the back of one of her plush thighs. She melted further into his hold, making it easy for Harry to roll them over, replacing each other's previous positioning. He maneuvered them to lay with (Y/N)'s head resting against his pillows, the silken nature of his dark green bedding acting as a glimmering background. With her thighs still hugging his hips, he fit himself between her legs. A gasp was felt against his kiss-slicked lips though the noise was muffled into his lips

"This okay?" he breathed out between the long pulls of her lips. His hand on her thigh slipped over the length until he landed just at the back of her knee. He hitched her leg over his thigh, her hips pressed flush against his own in a move that made his stomach tense and flutter from the contact. He was more than sure she could feel his length against her core, their kissing having formed a pleasurable spiral in his stomach that caused tension between his legs.

"Uh-huh," she hummed. Her hands that had been on the back of his neck made their own warming trail as they worked their way under the neck of his shirt and skated over the bare planes of his back she could reach.

It could have been hours that Harry had her laid out under him as he kissed over her already swollen lips and reveled in the sweet chirps and sighs that fell from her lips. His own contented noises slipped out for her to sample, the tip of her tongue delicately dipping into his mouth before teasingly pulling back, stealing his chance to taste. He could never be in any position to complain over what she was willing to give him, especially as it seemed she was giving him a taste of his own teasing medicine he had been so inclined to dole out through his soft mocks and teasing remarks. It only spurred him on knowing that she was willing to play his game.

His hand had been serving as a grounding weight, grip tight around the thick of her thigh with flexed fingers and a tensed palm. Now, the weight was shifting over the length of her leg, moving and twisting until he had it splayed against her hip with his fingers working to brush over her core. Her breathing hitched to the point Harry swore she didn't breathe for a few seconds, her chest lagging behind as he worked over her.

Drawing back in search of her reaction, Harry caught her eyes that were still shuttered behind her eyelids. He could see her eyes dancing underneath, mimicking that of the butterflies fluttering through his tummy that urged him closer to her. After a beat, (Y/N) blinked her eyes open, her gaze wide and scanning over his features in quick darts as if to take each detail in before he disappeared.

"Is this okay?" Harry parroted, flexing his fingers from where he had them stationed over the bone of her hip. She hesitated for a moment under the heat of his gaze, her kiss-swollen mouth gaping like a fish. He gave her another second, waiting to see if she was going to offer any kind of response before dipping his head down and nudging his nose to her's in a puppy's kiss. "'S okay, sweetheart, y'can tell me."

Her hands under his shirt slid up the planes of his back before linking her fingers together behind his neck. He could feel the brush of her fingertips against the sensitive skin, a layer of goosebumps rising over his heated skin. With eyes mimicking that of a doe, wide and seeking approval, she asked him, "Can we just kiss tonight? I'm sorry, I know I kind of started this an—"

"Hey, hey," he cut her off with a tender smile, his hand on her hip drifting to cradle the full of her cheek in his palm, "Don't be sorry, 'kay? We don't have to do anything y'don't want, that's why I asked. 'M not mad, especially not since I get to spend the rest of the night kissing you."

"Are you sure?" (Y/N) pressed, something like guilt floating through her irises.

"'M more than sure," he cemented, ducking his head to touch his forehead to her's, "Don't feel bad for changing your mind—I only want to do the things y'want. I mean it."

(Y/N) blinked up at him, Harry thinking their lashes would tangle together with how close he kept himself to her. "Thank you," she murmured, the full of her lips brushing against his.

He caressed his thumb over the height of her cheekbone, adoration swimming in his gaze. Her words took a pick to his heart, chipping another shard off in her honor. She shouldn't have to thank him for doing the bare minimum and listening to her and what she was comfortable with; what kind of people had she been with before and what had they put in her head that made his actions deserving of such gratitude?

"Don't thank me," he said, the words coming out like a cliche though sincerity colored his tone, "Not for this, 'kay? All 'm doing is listening to you."

With her fingers linked at the back of his neck, (Y/N) pulled him to her, tipping his chin and craning her own neck to make their lips meet. Nothing was frantic about the contact, desperation left simmering far in the background. Though they couldn't get enough of one another, the slow, languid kisses that were shared between their lips were more than satisfying. His arm that had been sandwiched between the mattress and her back grabbed at her form, fisting the fabric of her dress and tugging her tightly to his chest, though his hold wasn't desperate and dominating. All he wanted was to take in every bit of her form that he could; to learn her body in whatever way she was comfortable in letting him.

Soft sighs were breathed between them, Harry fighting to keep his own noises of contentment down in favor of listening to (Y/N). Every time she murmured his name, tugged at the baby hairs on the nape of his neck, and tightened her thigh around his hip, something in his heart swelled at the small display of her vulnerabilities, feeling more raw now that she was comfortable with the direction they were heading for the night. If he hadn't had his arm around her, he swears she would have melted into the mattress.

Aside from small breaks when breathing was hard to come by, when Harry checked the time, he found they had been holed up in his bedroom kissing for a little over an hour. He had shifted over her, moving to lay beside her on the pillows with her thigh thrown over his hip and his own leg tucked between her two. Peering over her shoulder as she snuggled into his chest, face nudged against his neck, Harry's read the time on his phone as 10:32 p.m.; they had made it to his house a little after nine, with (Y/N) having told him she was planning on heading home around ten. A smug smile took Harry's kiss-swollen lips. He'd convinced her to stay.

"What time is it?" (Y/N) whispered, the length of her lashes tickling his skin.

"Ten-thirty," he murmured, voice hoarse from disuse. He hugged her tighter to his chest, arms wrapped around her in a hug with his palms spanning over her back in soothing circles.

"Oh," she breathed, sinking further into his hold with her own arms looped around his middle, "I don't want to leave, though."

Harry exhaled a breathy laugh, drawing away from where he had tucked her shoulder under his chin. Though he felt like his lips should be completely sore from the amount of use for the night, he still rested a string of kisses along her hairline, never lifting his lips from her skin before dragging over to the next spot.

"Y'don't have to, lovie, y'know that. Stay for as long as y'want," he murmured, voice soft like a secret between them.

A beat passed with Harry keeping her hugged to his chest.

"Even if I wanted to stay the night?"

He smiled against her skin, eyes fluttering closed at the thought of getting to cuddle into her again like the last time she had laid in his bed. "Especially if y'wanted to stay the night."

(Y/N) shifted in his arms, pulling away to give him a proper view of her sleep softened features and kiss-swollen lips. A soft smile moulded her features, eyes tender with irises swimming, "Am I allowed to borrow your clothes again?"

Harry reached up and tugged on a messy strand of hair that had been mussed by his hands and the silken pillows cushioning her head. "Anything specific y'wanted for the night?"

The way her eyes brightened at his counter question filled his heart almost as much as her kiss had. He couldn't help but slip his fingers through the strands of her hair, brushing against her roots and pulling her down. He pressed an affectionate kiss to her tired lips. A dreamy look settled into her gaze when he caught sight of her features through his hooded gaze. And, he was going to get to spend the night with her.

Tonight had been a good night.

—————

malvasia is a dessert wine, rich and amber colored with clinging notes of toffee; bright points of acidity leave you wanting more.

thank u sm for reading!! sorry if theres any mistakes and please send me a message if u had any ideas ab the next part or wanted to talk about this piece!!

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free-pool-trash · 4 years ago

Text

dancing with our hands tied - peter maximoff

here it is you guys... the ✨very spicy✨ sequel to delicate which can be read here <3 (had to keep the rep song title theme going here)

please for the love of god let me know how this is I’ve never written smut before so please go crazy with the asks/comments/reblogs on this one I’d really appreciate it😩😓

word count: 4k 😳 (it’s not all smut dont get too excited)

warnings: +18 content, sexy times, unprotected wrap it before you tap it, swearing, i tried to keep vulgarity on a low level but i decided to just commit towards the end lmao, insinuation to sex from the beginning , some fluff and a tiny bit of angst sprinkled in there too, wandavision spoilers

You can definitely read this as a stand alone but it’ll make more sense if you read delicate first !! enjoy <3

masterlist

The days you spent in WestView had been tiring. Wanda seemed to be losing her composure with each day that passed, you watched how she became more and more skeptical of Peter and found yourself growing all the more anxious with the situation you’d run head first into. But, you were with Peter, your mind and his mind were free of Wanda’s influence and she’d been kind enough to appoint the pair of you your own house in the neighbourhood, a few doors down from her own, so, you couldn’t complain too much.

Today was a relatively quiet day, but you had a feeling that just meant you were in the calm before the storm. Tonight was, apparently, Halloween. Despite the fact that it was nowhere near October, you were more than happy to play along with Wanda’s over the top festivities.

Peter and Tommy had just zoomed into your and Peter’s bedroom, sporting matching outfits and excited expressions as they looked at you expectantly, “Well? What’d ya think?” Peter asked, motioning between himself and Tommy. The littlest speedster awaited your answer with wide, hopeful eyes, wanting validation from his cool uncle’s even cooler ‘friend’.

Yeah, you’d made out on Wanda’s couch but you still hadn’t addressed the question of where exactly your relationship stood. It felt as though the pair of you were both actively avoiding the awkward conversation, opting instead to simply fall into bed together every single night and completely disregard the boundaries of friendship in favour of hearing each other moaning until the early hours of the morning.

With a smile you let out a low whistle, “Looking good boys. I gotta say, Tommy, I think you’re outshining your uncle right now.”

You had to laugh when Tommy smirked triumphantly at Peter, “I told you she liked me more than you.” He boasted proudly and your laughs grew louder when Peter huffed angrily. He crossed his arms over his chest and jutted his bottom lip out childishly.

“Y/n, tell him you like me more.” Peter demanded, again, childishly.

You only grinned, “No comment.” You told him airily, making your way to your closet and hesitantly pulling out the latex costume Wanda created for you off of the rail, holding it by the hanger skeptically.

It was Peter’s turn to let out a whistle when his eyes scanned the skimpy looking leotard suspended by the hanger. The fabric mimicked the design of Peter and Tommy’s outfits although it seemed Wanda had gone out of her way to make yours ever so slightly sexier. The leotard was strapless with a sweetheart neckline and a silver lightning bolt ran through the light blue material. The only saving grace was the silver tights that hung from the hanger as well, at least you’d have some kind coverage. With one last peek into the closet, your eyes landed on a pair of white, knee high gogo boots.

“Christ…” You muttered, eyebrows furrowing at the thought of wearing the ensemble out in public, if it was cold tonight Wanda would be in for an aggressive telling off. With a deep sigh you turned to the two speedsters who were both staring at you, waiting for you to say something. “I guess we’re all gonna be matching tonight.”

“Sweet!” Tommy exclaimed while Peter only smirked. Peter, with a lot of effort, moved his attention from your costume to his nephew.

“Why don’t you go hang out with your brother for a while? I gotta talk to Y/n for a sec.” Tommy welcomed the suggestion, only nodding his head before he had sped out of your house and back to his own.

A gust of wind hit your face as Peter sped himself in front of you, the man didn’t hide his intentions as he gripped your hips and pulled you flush against him. Swaying his body against yours and bringing his lips to the exposed skin of your neck. He trailed his lips up your neck, sucking and nipping, smirking when you let out small noises of approval. When his lips reached the spot behind your ear, he gave a final, harsh suck which had your breath hitching and whining when he pulled away.

To be honest, you’d love to be able to call him your boyfriend and be certain that he thought of you as his girlfriend, but at the moment you were perfectly happy with whatever the fuck the two of you had going on if it meant you could keep feeling him against you like this.

“I cannot wait to see you wearing that.” He all but groaned against your ear, his voice deep and gravelly. The butterflies in your stomach went feral at his words and you had to pull your bottom lip between your teeth to keep from letting out a moan from his tone of voice alone, not to mention the fact that his crotch was pressed up against yours, he was excited to say the least.

Your hands slid up his chest and settled on either side of Peter’s neck, you gently pulled his head out from the crook of your nape and teasingly raised an eyebrow at him, “Maybe later I’ll let you help me get out of it.”

A wicked grin spread across his lips, he squeezed your hips in response, tugging you into him even further for some kind of relief then pressed his lips to yours briefly, murmuring against them, “That’s definitely a plan I can get behind.”

Giving him one last kiss, you pried his hands from your hips and pushed him away, “Alright, get lost I need to get ready.”

“Meet me at Wanda’s?” You nodded at his question, letting out a deep sigh you hadn’t noticed you’d been holding when he finally sped out of the room.

After a second of cooling down, you pulled on the outfit and you’d be the first to admit; Wanda knew what she was doing with this one. You looked incredible, albeit a little stupid in the costume, but still incredible.

When you made your way over to Wanda’s to meet up with the others, you let out a laugh seeing as Wanda was essentially wearing the same outfit as you, only with the added extras of a cape and gloves.

“Hey! Why are you dressed the same as Uncle P and Tommy?” Billy asked you curiously, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he glanced between you and Peter for answers. The speedster in question was smirking proudly, his arm finding a spot wrapped around your shoulder.

“Because she’s totally obsessed with me.” He lied with an over dramatic sigh, causing Tommy to laugh.

You rolled your eyes, elbowing him in the ribs playfully before focusing your attention onto Wanda, “I think it’s safe to say that Wanda and I will be winning best couples costume.” Wanda gave you a knowing grin and a not at all subtle wink in response to your statement.

“Only the best for the best.” She replied, walking forward and linking her arm with yours, stealing you away from Peter who whined in protest, “Oh hush, you can have her back later.”

Telepathy definitely had its perks, one of those perks being you could tell there was more to Wanda than just being an evil puppeteer. The two of you got along extremely well, you were actually growing to see her as a friend. It helped that you knew her story, though. You sympathised with her, knowing full well that if you lost the love of your life you’d probably create a false reality to be with him too. You’d already followed him into a fake reality so you supposed it wasn’t really too much of a stretch to imagine yourself in Wanda’s position.

As the night went on, yourself, Wanda and Peter were sitting around in town square, the twins having run off somewhere. Tensions were high between the interreality siblings at the minute, Peter seemed to be having the time of his life getting on Wanda’s last nerve, poking and prodding at her lifestyle choices.

“Lay off, Pete.” You warned quietly, your stare serious as you felt Wanda becoming impatient with the mutant. Your breathing stopped for a moment and you let put a horrified gasp, your hand clapped over your mouth as you stared at the image in front of you.

Peter’s skin was grey, his eyes were milky and he was littered in what you could only assume to be bullet holes- he was dead- no, you realised as you caught Wanda’s pained expression, he was Pietro.

Wanda regained her composure after a few seconds but the sight of Peter dead was enough to shake you to your very core and you found yourself shaking where you stood.

You didn’t even have a chance to regain your composure before shit had hit the fan. It had happened in a blur, Billy and Tommy were frantic and worried about Vision being in trouble and next thing you knew Wanda was sending Peter flying with a ball of energy after he made a smartass comment about Vision not dying twice.

Quickly, you ran to Peter’s side, he was groaning in pain and looking up at you through squinted eyes, “What the hell was that all about?” He grumbled, hiding his head in your lap when you got down on your knees beside him.

With a sigh you let your body fold against his, wrapping your arms around him and letting your head rest against his shoulder, the image of him bleeding out still too fresh and real in your mind. You could berate him for his brash behaviour another time, for now though; you just needed him close.

“Come on, dumbass. Let’s get you home before you decide to cause more trouble.” You mumbled, pulling him up with you. Ignoring his whining while you led him home, your arm remained firmly around his waist the whole way despite the fact he’d recovered from the blast Wanda dealt him after only a few minutes.

When you got back to the house that Wanda had deemed yours upon your arrival, you finally allowed yourself to breathe. Peter was staring at you with a guilty expression as you released a heavy breath through your nose and shuffled into the kitchen, the heels of your boots scraping on the hardwood as you walked.

Like a lost puppy, Peter followed you. Once he reached you lent against the sink he wrapped his arms around you from behind. He knew you weren’t angry at him by the way your arms immediately moved to grip his and tug them tighter around you.

“You know, her real twin- Pietro… he died,” Peter’s face contorted in confusion when you began to speak, he listened with concern as he could already hear your voice beginning to shake, absentmindedly he caught himself tucking you closer against his chest. “For a second… you must have said something that hit a nerve but for a few seconds…” Your voice hitched and you shook your head in an attempt to knock the image out of your mind, though you had a feeling it would haunt you for as long as you lived. When Peter noticed you’d started chewing at your bottom lip, as you always did when something was causing you anxiety, he gently turned you around in his arms so that he could look at you, his arms remaining firmly around you, yours finding a place resting against his chest.

“What happened, sweetheart?” He cooed, his eyes very much alive and staring into yours.

Swallowing thickly you answered, “You looked like him. You were dead.” You told him quietly and he was sure the look of grief on your face, brought on by the thought of him dying, would haunt him for a lifetime.

Your eyes watered as you took in his face. Scanning every part of it, his brown eyes that made you melt, the dimples that could still be faintly seen even when he wasn’t smiling, the lips that took up the vast majority of your thoughts and that tiny furrow between his brows as he looked down at you with worry.

You loved him.

Of course, you’d known this for years. But you needed him to know, and even though you were already well aware the overwhelming feeling is mutual, you needed to hear him say it.

His thumb running under your eye pulled you from your thoughts, “I’m not going anywhere, baby.” He whispered softly, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb ran back and forth over your cheek bone. Your stomach flipped at the pet name and you nuzzled against his touch.

“Good. I don’t want to lose you ever again.” You confessed, looking up at him through your lashes fondly as his lips formed an almost sad smile.

Gently, he brought his lips down to meet yours, pouring his heart into the kiss, hoping it would make up for the turmoil he felt responsible for causing you. Too soon, he pulled away.

“Believe me, I’m never leaving your side. I mean come on, I’m without you for like three days and I end up being mind controlled by my sister who isn’t even my sister.” He chuckled out, a grin growing on his face as you began to smile too. He let his eyes close blissfully when you brushed your nose against his, a toothy smile on your face.

“You, Peter Maximoff, are completely hopeless.” You whispered through your smile as he opened his eyes to look at you. His own face sporting an adoring smile.

Your heart skipped a beat the second his next words passed through his smiling lips, “Without you, Y/n L/n, yes I am.” Within a second your arms were around his shoulders and your lips were moving frantically against his. Peter’s hands wasted no time in sliding down to your thighs, gripping them and propping you up onto the kitchen counter.

Your legs automatically wrapped around his waist and your hands got lost in his hair, keeping him as close as humanly possible while his lips migrated to your jaw.

An appreciative hum left your throat as he lapped at the underside of your jaw, leaving a mark before trailing his lips back to your mouth. His tongue licked at your bottom lip as he kissed you, moving it into your mouth the first chance he got. Peter moaned into your mouth when you gave his tongue a light suck.

You grinned at the sound and leaned your weight forward so you were primarily resting against his body, your arms and legs wrapped tightly around his body, your ass barely resting on the counter by that point. Welcoming your movements, Peter’s hands glided up from your thighs to grip your ass and pull you from the counter completely.

He carried you clumsily through the halls of the house, bumping into furniture and pausing to press your body against walls, his eyes closed and lips never separating from yours. You were about a foot away from the stairs when you felt your back make contact with the plaster behind you, your chest heaving when Peter abandoned your lips in favour of littering wet kisses across your chest, no doubt leaving a trail of hickeys in his wake.

You let your head fall back against the wall, enjoying the sensation of Peter nipping and licking at your skin, the man diving back to your neck as soon as he realised that your head thrown back made it entirely exposed to him. You released a breathy moan when his lips ghosted over a sensitive patch of skin, he moved his tongue frantically and you shuddered at the feeling of his hot breath hitting your bruised skin.

“Peter…” You whined when he pushed his crotch up against yours, pressing you further into the wall smirking against your neck when you called his name.

“Yes?” He asked teasingly, rutting his hips against yours once more, deliberately attempting to pull another moan from you, he obviously succeeded. His smirk broadened when you let out a huff and tugged his hair so he’d look at you.

Peter swore he was in heaven when his eyes met yours again, your face was red and your eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide with lust as your chest heaved. He could’ve exploded on the spot when you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth and looked at him innocently, all the while grinding your hips slowly and firmly against his. Peter clenched his jaw and let his eyes fall shut, his hands gripping your hips so tightly that you were pretty certain the area would have bruises come tomorrow. You were struggling to care about that though, focusing your energy on the man who had you pinned against the wall.

You brought your lips to Peter’s neck, repaying the favour, not detaching until you left a dark, albeit small, purple bruise on the underside of his jaw. Deciding to prolong the teasing for a little while longer you moved your lips up and let them hover by his ear and you began to let out soft little moans in response to his grinding, the action caused Peter’s movements to become more frantic and your lips to form in a smirk as you felt him hardening against you.

His breath was laboured when he murmured, “Let’s take this upstairs, yeah?” Before you could even answer he had sped the pair of you to the bedroom and you let your feet return to the floor.

As he stood in front of you, you took him in, swollen lips and Halloween hair completely tossed, not to mention the tent in his trousers that was very visible despite the layers of his costume. When your bodies collided again, it was a frenzy of hands, the both of you practically tearing the fabric off the other until you were in nothing but your underwear, kissing sloppily and stumbling towards the bed.

Peter’s lips attached to your chest again the second your back hit the mattress. He groped at your right breast while his tongue sucked on the other, swapping over before you pulled him back up to you.

The way he slotted between your legs and how his forehead rested on yours felt so perfect, you couldn’t help but grin.

“You’re gorgeous, sweetheart.” He muttered between kisses against your lips, his hands kneading your breasts as he did.

You were practically dripping by the time his hand slid down your stomach and under the band of your underwear. For someone with super speed he was moving agonisingly slow at the moment, his hand rubbing languidly over your wet core while he swallowed your moans.

“Fuck- God, Peter please.” You whined, your hips bucking into his hand, desperate for more friction than he was giving you.

The sound of your voice, so needy for him, was all he needed before he was pulling your underwear off, tossing the thin material over his shoulder haphazardly and shimmying out of his own boxers, clumsily kicking them away from his ankles, earning a giggle from you.

When he kneeled on the bed between your bent and separated knees you sat yourself up, sliding one hand up his bare chest and resting it against his shoulder while the other slid downward, only stopping once it was wrapped around his shaft. Peter sucked in a harsh breath when your began pumping him softly, the man completely losing it when your thumb swiped over his tip collecting the precum that had gathered and using it to wet the length of his dick as you continued to fuck him with your hand.

As much as Peter was loving the image and feeling of you jacking him off, he knew if you carried on he wouldn’t be able to last much longer. Still, he didn’t have the heart to pull your hand away when you were making him feel so good. His head found it’s favourite spot in the crook of your neck and he groaned out against the skin that was littered with little purple and red marks from his earlier work, which he’d be sure to admire later, “Shit, Y/n-“ He croaked through a moan, hands gripping your hips as he fought the urge he had to thrust into your hand, “M’not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that.” He groaned out, almost reluctantly, not truly wanting you to stop while simultaneously craving more.

You stopped your motions at his statement, giggling when he let out a strangled noise of disappointment at the sudden lack of pleasure. Doing the honours, you lined him up with your entrance, letting him take over when his lips connected with yours.

Peter gently pushed you back until your head was resting against your pillow and your back was flush with the mattress. His lips continued to mesh with yours as he pushed into you inch by inch until he bottomed out. The deep groan he released was music to your ears and your hands gripped his biceps when he began to thrust in and out.

A symphony of moans filled the room as Peter had managed to set a steady pace, trying his best not to let his mutation get the best of him, as much as he wanted to just go to town he was determined to make you feel as good as you made him feel and judging by the way your head was thrown back and his name fell from your lips like a prayer; he guessed he was doing an okay job.

In only a few minutes Peter had you gasping and clutching onto him like your life depended on it as he picked up speed, one of his hands reaching down between your bodies to rub your clit, his hips snapping against yours. Soon enough, you felt the pressure in your stomach release, your walls clenching around Peter’s dick as your back arched and you released around him. After only a few more staggered strokes, Peter moaned your name against your lips, finishing inside of you and thrusting lazily, riding out his high and subsequently helping you ride out yours.

You let out a blissful sigh when Peter pulled out and rolled over to lay on his back beside you, his chest heavy and his blonde hair sticking slightly against his forehead.

“That- that was awesome.” He mumbled, intertwining his fingers with yours, holding your hand by his side.

Over the last couple of nights you and Peter had, admittedly, ended up in a similar position but neither of you intended for it to happen. It’d usually start off innocently enough, with cuddling or just talking and then one of you would move in just that little bit closer and things would escalate. But there was something about this time that felt a lot more emotional than the few times before. “It was.” You agreed with an airy giggle, squeezing his hand affectionately.

A gust of air shook you from your haze. Peter had taken it upon himself to clean up the mess the pair of you had left between your legs, a pair of his boxers and one of his t-shirts now adorned your body matching him as he wore the same.

He was on his side facing you, his arms holding you against his chest securely the same way they had the night you’d shown up in WestView and urged him to kiss you. When he took you in, he kicked himself for missing out on so much of you for so long.

He was certain, one of these days he’d actually speak the three words that followed him around whenever he thought about you, but as he watched your eyes flutter closed, he decided the words would be best spoken some other time. He was well aware you already knew, just as he was well aware that you loved him, it needed to be said. Eventually, but not quite yet.

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