xxyourlittleangelz - Tumblr blog

xxyourlittleangelz · 2 years ago

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EXCUSE ME?!?!

I love this! You outdid yourself 🫡

10/10 your a genius my little bean

👏🏻writing not mine👏🏻

solicitation

Murph Connors x AFAB!Reader

IT'S HERE BABES. AT LAST. this was so so far outside of my comfort zone but i'm finally happy with it I think. thank you for your patience and your love for this silly goofy guy. I just adore him and I hope you do too.

You go undercover as a sex worker, determined to nail the Major Crimes Unit for their casual disregard for the law. Unfortunately, the blonde one is...really cute.

5.1k words. Porn w/ plot. Everyone's a cop including reader. Drinking & drug use. Canon-typical douchebag behavior. Murph knows like ten words and nine of them are "fuck." Smut, fingering, very mild dirty talk. Murph is thicc iykwim. He's also a sub and reader is more dominant as a result. Creampie bc we DESERVE IT. Apologies in advance for all the side characters in this lol.

In theory, this had the potential to be a cut-and-dry operation.

The Major Crimes Unit wasn’t exactly shy about their complete and utter disregard for the law. All laws. Every law. The running joke was that the only difference between the MCU and the guys they took down was a badge. Unfortunately, they tended to pull results out of the smoldering wreckage left in their wake, and that had lent them a truly maddening amount of immunity.

No one had come at them from this angle, though. You were a pioneer of sorts. A pioneer with a wire taped between your boobs.

You didn’t probably need to be wearing actual lingerie. The dress was enough. But it was a mental thing, being undercover. Started from the ground up. So you looked stunning yet attainable, sweet and a little spicy. Fun. You looked fun. This was going to be fun.

Technically, when Detective Henderson had made the offer to you and a few of the regular corner girls to stop by suite 243 at the Haven on Vine, that had almost been enough. He had been deliberately vague about the nature of the invitation, but money had changed hands, and the implication hung in the air. You could get him for that, if you dug your nails in.

But you didn’t just want Henderson. You wanted all of them, but most of all, you wanted O’Brien. To see that smug sonofabitch slapped with a solicitation charge? You just might sell yourself for real to make that happen.

So you agreed, along with the rest of the girls, hitched a ride with a couple of them about an hour later. Only one of them knew you were a cop, the one who had tipped you off that the MCU went looking for party favors every Saturday night. You’d had her back a few times. She’d keep your secret to herself.

The cacophony of three pairs of pleasers clacking up the cinder block stairwell was deafening. You made your way down the hall to 243, watched your girl rap on the door with fingers tipped bright pink and glittering. When the door flung open wide, O’Brien was standing there with a beer in one hand and a blunt in the other, all bad tattoos and worse attitude.

“Ladies!” he boomed. “Come in, come in, please.” He stepped out of the way, ushered you in, grabbed your ass as you passed. You hid the grit of your teeth behind a silly smile, kept it pasted on as you surveyed the scene.

The gang was all here. Detectives Henderson and Connors were hunched over a poker game. The pool was a mixture of cash, drugs, and someone’s silver lighter. Detective Magalon had cards in one hand and a hooker in the other. Detective Zapata was snorting coke off the countertop with not one but two girls, bringing the grand total of dirty cops up to five, sex workers up to six, counting you, and crimes in progress up to twelve or so.

“Make yourselves at home,” O’Brien said. “Can I get you something, a drink, a smoke?”

The other girls opted for drugs. You needed your wits about you, weren’t supposed to drink undercover, and so you declined altogether. This was met with general disapproval.

“Come on,” Connors teased. He winked at you when you met his eye. He was cute, you thought. Kind of scruffy.

O’Brien levelled a stare at you from beneath his heavy brow. Much less cute. “What, you underage or something?”

You had to play the game to win. “What do you got?”

“Well, we’re fresh out of pina coladas. What kinda night you hoping for, honey?” O’Brien held up a bottle of vodka and a fifth of whiskey.

Vodka always hit you hard and fast. “I’ll take the whiskey.”

“Atta girl,” Henderson muttered.

“Your wish, sweetheart.” O’Brien poured you a generous serving into a glass and leered at you. Maybe the whiskey was a good idea after all. You batted your eyes at him and took a delicate sip, let it seep across your tongue until the burn turned to cinnamon and cloves. He grabbed your arm and kissed your cheek as he walked by. “Let’s fucking party, boys!”

Zapata cranked the volume on the speaker thumping R&B from an iPod – a genuine third-gen iPod Touch. The room was stifling, smelled of coconut body spray and weed. This job always took you to the nicest places, but you hadn’t expected to be blasted back to a shitty house party in 2009.

You sipped your whiskey sparingly and trailed O’Brien around the room like a lovesick teenager for a while, laughing at what passed for jokes, hanging on his arm every chance you got, making sure to get every one of the men’s voices on record. You danced with one of the girls for a song or two and listened to countless stories told by dirty cops, which all amounted to basically nothing. No details, no evidence, no incrimination. Apparently, you just had to be there.

The whiskey was warm in your hand by the time you decided to give it a rest. You were putting in work and getting nowhere fast, and you truly could not stand Nick O’Brien. You choked down one more sip before tipping it quietly down the drain. You’d had too much already.

Leaning against the countertop, you tracked your mark from across the room. He took a shot, punched Magalon in the arm, dropped to the couch beside Connors. You watched him lay a heavy hand on the blonde’s shoulder, lean in close, whisper something to him that you couldn’t make out. Connors’ gaze lingered on his cards, then floated across the room and up the length of your body before meeting your eyes.

“C’mere, princess,” he said, patting the space on the couch beside him.

You rounded the poker game, felt both detectives watching you. “My friend here needs some company,” O’Brien said, clapping Connors on the back.

You paused, regarding both men with doe-eyed interest. You were being pawned off, just like that. You weren’t sure whether to be relieved or offended. “What about you, baby?”

O’Brien smirked. “Flattered, honey, but I’m married.”

Zapata snorted. “Since when?”

O’Brien scowled at him. “You were in the wedding party, dipshit.”

“Uh-huh, so where’s your ring, Nick?” Henderson folded, set his hand on the table.

O’Brien shrugged. “Left it by the sink or some shit.” He stood up and maneuvered past you with his hand on your waist, nudging you toward the couch. “Sit down, honey, Murph don’t bite unless you ask him to.”

“That’s the truth,” Connors said as he folded too. “Borracho, you gonna show us your hand or what?”

Magalon withdrew his tongue from behind the teeth of the girl in his lap just long enough to say, “Fold.” He threw his cards down on the table. Henderson and Connors groaned.

“Man, you won that round,” Henderson grumbled. “You ain’t even playing.”

You sank down onto the couch beside Connors and tried not to feel like you were being handed a consolation prize. You reminded yourself that there was evidence aplenty tucked in your cleavage. With their luck and yours, it would probably amount to a month’s suspension. A goddamn paid vacation. Fuckingridiculous.

“One more round?” Henderson asked, shuffling cards.

“Nah.” Connors leaned back and put his arm around you, nudged you into his side. “Got better things to do.”

You rested your hand on his ribs, looked up at him through your lashes. The night was still young. You could play this right, maybe land an actual criminal charge on at least one of them. Of course it had to be the cute one. His thumb drew circles on the bare skin of your shoulder.

“Hey.” He smiled at you. He had killer eyes, you noticed. Sky fucking blue. “What’s your name, baby?”

“Selene.”

“Selene,” he repeated. You liked his voice. Had that been your real name, you’d have butterflies. “Name’s Murph.”

”Is that short for something?”

He chuckled. He’d probably been answering that question his whole life. “Nah. Just Murph.”

You examined him up close. He had a tattoo on his neck, the most basic compass rose you’d ever seen, black ink bleeding a little from age and sun exposure. You wondered if he’d been a sailor in a former life, maybe ex-Navy. His shirt was a size too small, clinging to him like a second skin, tight on his biceps.

“You work out, Murph?” you asked. Low-hanging fruit.

“Every day, baby.”

“That's about all Murph does,” Henderson said, shuffling the deck. “Can’t get rid of the double chin under that beard though.”

“What do you do, Henderson?” Murph shot back. “’Cause I never see you at the gym, skinny motherfucker.”

“C’mon man, you know if Gus ain't working he's praying,” Zapata offered from the kitchen.

“Look, I'm a man of faith,” Henderson said as he pulled the pot towards him with a glance at Magalon, who could not have cared less.

Zapata scoffed. “Name one book in the Bible, dude. One.”

Murph pulled you in closer to be heard over the sound of their bickering. His cologne was smokey and musky, made your nose tingle. “I don’t just work out.”

You cracked a smile at his defensive tone. “What else do you do?”

You felt his nose against your temple, his beard bristly on your cheek. “I surf, too. You like the beach?” His lips at your ear sent chills down your arms.

“I love the beach.” You hated the beach.

“You surf?”

“I’ve tried it once or twice.” An outright lie. “I’m not very good at it.”

“Bet you look hot as fuck in a bikini.”

“I do, actually.” This was true.

His gaze flicked to your mouth and back up. “What do you do for fun, princess?”

You cocked your head. “You mean, besides this?”

Murph laughed. “Yeah. Besides this.”

“I like to cook. I jog. Got a couple dogs, take them to the park on weekends.”

“You ever been to the dog park on 11th? Real nice, has a little obstacle course and shit.”

“How long does it take you to run through it, Murph?” Zapata interrupted.

“About the same amount of time as it takes to fuck your mother.” You snorted and he snickered in your ear, conspiratorial. “Got him.”

Morons, every one of them. You couldn’t keep from rolling your eyes.

Murph didn’t seem to notice. “C’mere, baby.”

He patted his knee and you slid into his lap, looped an arm around his neck. Your tits were nearly in his face and you had to sneak a surreptitious glance down the front of your dress to make sure that the mic wasn’t visible. His jeans were rough on the bare skin of your thighs. He held you against him with one big hand splayed on your waist, the other on your ass, and gave you a squeeze. “You’re fine as fuck, girl.”

You ran your hand over his stomach. Considerable muscle was tucked beneath the foundation of a beer gut. He probably looked good without a shirt, wet and sandy. Too bad you hated the beach.

“You wanna take this somewhere else?” you murmured. Risky. You were skirting the line. You couldn’t actually offer him anything, not even verbally. You had to be vague enough to leave space for a lawyer to argue it had been Murph’s idea to pay you for sex.

He looked at you with interest, almost made you wish these were better circumstances. His lashes were long and thick. You imagined, just for a moment, how it would feel to watch those pretty eyes roll back. How he sounded in bed. You had to cut that train of thought off quick as you felt it shoot straight to your pussy. You were working, for God’s sake.

For a second, you were sure he was going to proposition you right then and there. The promise of it hung in the meager air between you. But then his mouth twisted into a wry smile and he let you down easy with a kiss on your cheek. “Not yet, princess. Night’s still young.”

He looked away, threw an insult at Zapata, got sucked into a mind-numbing conversation about baseball statistics. You were relegated back to accessory status with his hand trailing aimlessly up and down your thigh.

With determination bordering on desperation, you kept working on him, keying him up a little at a time, making sure he didn’t forget about you. You ran your fingers through his hair, drew circles on his chest. For all he was barely paying you attention, you were terribly distracted by him, kept catching yourself admiring his profile. Your knee was nestled against his crotch and you found yourself thinking he probably had a gorgeous cock. He had just the right amount of swagger for it.

Christ. You dug your nails into your palm to snap yourself out of it. Goddamn whiskey was making you spacey. You were not, in fact, here to get laid. You were here to score something more than a slap on the wrist for bad behavior. A department transfer at least, jail time at best. Breaking up the boys’ club either way.

Across the coffee table, Magalon finally decided to stop dry humping his girl in full view of everyone. He untangled himself to escort her into one of the two bedrooms amidst a chorus of howls and ribbing, threw a theatrical wink over his shoulder before swinging the door shut behind him.

“Get it, my man,” Henderson said with a lazy salute.

“It was just gettin’ good,” O’Brien complained. “I got half a boner here.”

Spurred on by the knowledge there was one bedroom left and four girls looking to make an actual business transaction tonight, you figured it was time for desperate measures. You’d already lost O’Brien; you weren’t about to let the night end without a victory.

“Murph, baby,” you whined softly. You had his attention immediately. The expression on his face was so open and earnest that a fleeting thrum of guilt flitted through your chest.

You stroked his cheek and leaned in slow, giving him the opportunity to deflect you, but he didn’t. His lips were soft and he met your kiss with surprising gentleness. He tasted like weed smoke when you slipped your tongue over the threshold of his mouth. You felt his hands tighten their grip on you just a little bit, like he was looking to stabilize himself.

The room filled with hoots and exaggerated moans from your audience and it was enough, you had him, but you didn’t stop and neither did he. His cock twitched against your leg and you let out a small sound of satisfaction, forgetting for a minute that none of this was real. Your hand slid to his neck. His skin was hot under your fingers.

When he broke the kiss and leaned back, he regarded you with a look on his face like he’d underestimated you. His lip shone with your spit. You wanted to suck on it.

“Get outta here?” he mumbled. You nodded and rose unsteadily from his lap. He took your hand and picked his way past the coffee table, leading you to the other bedroom.

“Make good choices,” O’Brien called. “Use protection.”

Murph flipped him off before swinging the door shut behind you.

You turned and opened your mouth to back him into a corner, ask him just what he was hoping for, but his hands were on your waist and he was kissing you again before you got the chance to speak. You meant to push him off – of course you did – but you balled up his shirt in your fists instead, parted your lips for his tongue. He groaned low in his throat and you pressed yourself against him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, backing you toward the bed until your knees hit the mattress and you dropped to a seat.

“Murph –”

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He braced himself on the mattress and bent to kiss the skin below your ear.

“Murph, wait –”

“Tell me, how long have you been a cop?”

You froze. Had you heard him right? “…what?”

He lifted his head and met your eyes, a smug, reproving smile on his face. “Nick clocked you in the first fifteen minutes, baby. Told me to keep you busy. This ain’t our first rodeo.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock. You had no words.

Even in the wan yellow light filtering in through the blinds, you could tell he was enjoying himself. “What you wearing under that dress? A thong? A wire?”

“…both.”

Murph grinned. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he said loudly, “let the record show she kissed me first. That’s entrapment, detective.”

You scowled. “Fuck you.”

“Now let’s talk about that,” he said. “You seem pretty committed to the bit, huh?”

You hesitated. “I…I don’t….”

“It’s okay. The thing is, I really want to fuck you too. Don’t pretend like you haven’t been thinking about it all night,” he said, cutting off your protest before it could materialize. “Bet that thong’s nice and wet, huh?”

You smacked his arm. “You’re an ass.”

“I know it.” He leaned back, gave you a little space. “Look at it this way. You absolutely can’t use that recording now, right? So this has been one hell of a waste of your time.”

“Looks like it,” you shot back.

“It doesn’t have to be.” There it was again, that sweet, sincere expression. “Let me make your night, princess. We’re two consenting adults.”

“No way.”

“Why not? I’ll even tell Nick he was wrong and you are just a whore.”

You scoffed. “What an offer.”

Murph chuckled. “Come on, baby doll. You know you want to.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, mind racing. He was right, any evidence you’d managed to collect had gone up in smoke the moment he’d outed you on tape. For all intents and purposes, after you left, you were never here. And if he could shield you from Nick O’Brien’s wrath….

He tucked his finger beneath your chin and leaned in. “Please?”

Your breath caught. You did want him. You let your eyes drift shut as his lips found yours. His kiss lacked any hint of malice, was all softness and sensuality. Your hands hovered to his face and you caved, kissing him back, kissing him harder, grabbing his shoulders to tug him on top of you.

To your surprise, he resisted. “Mm – hey.”

“Shut up.”

“Wait.” He pulled back. “Probably best we get that wire off, huh?”

You narrowed your eyes. “The wire, or the dress?”

Murph shrugged. “Both. I’ll get naked too, if it makes you feel better.”

He peeled his shirt off and you were right, he looked damn good without one. The hair on his chest was blonde and curly, the hair on his stomach a shade darker, disappearing into his boxers. He had a tattoo of a shark on his left hip. You shimmied out of your dress and there was the mic taped securely between your breasts, the wire running down your stomach to a small receiver at your hip.

“Fuck.” He reached out and peeled it off, the brush of his thumb sending goosebumps flaring across your skin. “You’re gorgeous, girl.”

You grabbed him by the beltloops. “Come here.”

“Whatever you say.”

He sprawled on top of you and you caught him on your lips, scrambling up the mattress and pulling him along with you. He scooped you into his arms and rolled onto his side, hitched your leg over his hip, grabbed at your ass. You palmed him through his jeans and he threw his head back and moaned.

“Pants are too fuckin’ tight,” he complained.

“Whose fault is that?”

“Yours.”

You undid his fly and slid your hand into his pants, feeling him up through his boxers. He was thick. He writhed as you stroked him purposefully, caught between working his jeans off and melting into your touch.

“What’s the matter?” you teased.

“Driving me fucking crazy. Hold on. Fuck.” He swatted your hand away and stripped off everything at once and you must’ve been on your game at least a little bit tonight because he did indeed have a gorgeous cock. You wrapped your hand around it before he could even settle back beside you and he groaned, collapsing onto his back.

“Jesus Christ, Murph.” Your fingers only just met around his girth. “You’re huge.”

“I know,” he grumbled. “We can take it slow, it’s – fuck – it’s okay.”

You didn’t expect him to be so considerate. “That’s awfully sweet of you.”

“It’s nothing, c’mere. Let me touch you.” He slipped his fingers past your panties and you sighed as he eased them along your slit. You could feel how wet you already were. So could he. “Goddamn…you want it bad, huh?”

“Been pressed up against you all night.”

When his thumb found your clit you jerked and gasped. “Take it easy, baby, I got you. Like that?” He worked you in soft, slow circles that had you bucking against his hand.

“Yeah. Like that.”

You were wound up and desperate for him by the time he pushed his fingers into you, cursing under his breath at the sound they made as he scissored them in and out. The man could multitask, rutting into your hand as he fucked you with his fingers. His kisses were sloppy, without pretense. When you squeezed his balls he moaned shamelessly into your mouth.

“You like that?” you asked him coyly.

“Yeah.”

“Feels good?”

“Feels so fucking good. Get on top of me, girl.”

You obliged, straddling his hips, holding his dick where you wanted so you could grind against him. His head lolled and he let out a vocal sigh, grabbing at the blanket, grabbing at your waist, arching his spine. You were torn between watching his face and watching his cock part your lips as you rocked back and forth. When you reached behind your back to tug at his balls again he whined.

“Need to be inside you, baby, please?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready yet.” You were absolutely ready.

He squeezed his eyes shut, furrowed his brow. “That’s fine, yeah. That’s okay.”

“I can try….” You lowered yourself onto him slowly, so slowly, easing just the head of his cock into you.

“God – fucking – “

“How’s that?”

“So good, baby, that’s so g – fuck.” He bit his lip hard as you sank a little further down. “It’s perfect, you’re perfect.”

You sighed in bliss. “You gonna cum already, Connors?”

“No way. I’m good. You good?”

“I’m great.”

You took him all the way at a glacial pace just to see him squirm, half an inch at a time until he filled you completely. His gaze was locked on your pussy, stretched snug around him, and when his eyes finally wandered up to meet yours his pupils were blown in the darkness.

“Fuck me?” he said breathlessly.

You rolled your hips slow and he groaned, gripping the flesh of your thighs. You rode him lazily, reveling in every little sound that escaped from his mouth, the way his lashes fluttered when you switched up the angle. When he fumbled for your clit in the meager light you took his hand and guided him to it, letting out a soft squeak when he found it. Your cunt clenched tight and he shuddered.

“Easy, tiger.” You slid your hands up his stomach, over his chest. When your thumbs brushed across his nipples he responded with a broken moan and a full-body flinch. “Oh, sweet boy.” He was done for.

You bent low over him and laved your tongue around his nipple, sucking greedily, worrying the other one between your fingers. He choked out a sound that was downright indecent, tangling his hand in your hair and grinding up into you, helpless and needy. The change in position pressed his cock to your g-spot and you rabbited your hips in short, quick thrusts until you were both frenzied and panting.

His beard was coarse as you combed your fingers through it, admiring his flushed and handsome face. “Pretty boy. You feel so good.”

“You’re hot as fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head. “That pussy is – fuck.”

You smiled at him. He was sexy like this, so thoroughly dazed and disheveled, whimpering when you flexed around him. “What are you gonna give me if I let you cum inside?”

“A million dollars,” he said immediately. “Are you for real? Two million dollars.”

You laughed. “No way you have two million dollars.”

“I can get it.” He said it like he meant it.

You gripped his hair and kissed him, lapping at his tongue. His big hands were warm and gentle on your waist. “How about you let me finish first?”

“How about I let you finish first and I give you my number?”

“Is that for my benefit or yours?”

“Mutual benefit, baby doll.”

“Deal.”

His muscles flexed under your hands as he sat up and adjusted you in his lap, wrapping his arms around you, kissing you hungrily. He dug his nails into your back as your mouth wandered down his neck, licking the sweat from his skin, blazing a trail of love bites and kisses, sucking a sultry purple hickey into the center of his tattoo.

“I got work in the morning,” he protested weakly.

“Good,” you said. “They’re gonna love it.”

He offered you his thumb and you wrapped your lips around it, watching his expression turn desperate as you sucked a shade past innocence. He tugged it from your mouth with a pop, snaked his hand between your bodies and felt for your clit.

You made a soft, dreamy sound when he stroked you just right. He was damn good with his hands. “Let me make you feel good, baby,” he murmured. “Wanna make that pussy fucking drip.”

You let him work you up for a minute and then took up a gradual rhythm, eyes closed, grinding on him with intention. Wave after wave of steady-building sensation coursed through you, tightening the clutch of your body around him. You were so full, pulled tight, the friction addictive. You could feel it, that swing and pull like gravity, his body coaxing yours to the brink.

“That’s it, princess, let me see it.”

You pawed at his shoulders. “Murph….”

“You gonna cum for me?” he breathed.

“Yes – God –”

“Fuck, you better cum for me, I can’t –”

You felt the swell of your release in your core and cried out, burying your face in his shoulder and clawing at his biceps, riding him through it. Pleasure washed through your veins. Your cunt spasmed in staccato bursts, stretched to its limit.

Murph inhaled sharply, his whole body tense. You felt him quiver inside you. “Baby – baby – please –”

Hazy and gratified, you strung kisses along his jaw, snapped your hips until he started to come apart. “Come on, big boy, cum for me.”

With satisfaction, you watched his eyes roll back as he let go and it was better than you’d imagined, the way his lips parted and a strangled groan twisted free, the way he threw his head back like some feral animal under the moon. You gasped at the throb and pulse of him inside you, sending vestigial sparks spiraling off into your core.

He slumped forward with his forehead pressed to yours and let out a heavy sigh. “Fuck,” he mumbled.

“Fuck,” you agreed.

You moved to extricate yourself and he grunted, tightened his arms around you. “You got somewhere to be?”

“We should probably get back out there.” You had no idea how much time had passed. The music was still going strong in the next room; you couldn’t imagine anyone had called it a night.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “No way, baby.”

You laughed, smoothing his hair back from his brow. “We can’t stay in here.”

“We could,” he said. “We could sleep here.”

You shook your head. “O’Brien’s going to be pissed at you.”

“He’s always pissed. Don’t bring him up. This is a nice moment.”

With a laugh, you said, “You’re right. It is.”

You laid your head on his shoulder and listened to his heartbeat for a few minutes more before pulling away in spite of his protests. “You’re breaking my heart,” he complained.

“You’ll have to text me later so I can break it again.”

“Do you need a ride home?”

“No, I’ll call a cab.”

“You don’t want a police escort?”

“I’m a fucking cop, Murph.”

“Oh. Right.” He watched you dress. “What’s your name? Your real name.”

You told him, smiled when he repeated it to himself. “Do you really surf?”

“All the time. I love it.”

“I have a confession. I hate the beach.”

Murph gave you a crooked smile. “Bet I can change your mind.”

He offered his arm to stabilize you as you stepped into your absurdly high heels, wound the wire around his hand neatly and gave it to you to hide away in your bra. He called after you as you made for the door. “Hey.”

You turned. He sat on the edge of the bed, hair mussed, light from the streetlamp out the window cutting lines across his bare chest.

“Kiss me goodnight?” he said without a hint of sarcasm.

Fuck, he was cute. You wobbled back across the carpet and took his face in your hands, kissed him long and sweet. “Goodnight, tiger.”

He took your hand as you pulled away and kissed your fingers, and then finally, reluctantly let you go. “’Night, princess.”

You slipped back into the main room, met the chorus of heckling with a beatific smile. You exchanged a few words with your girl from the corner, let her know you wouldn’t need a ride home. She gave you a look; you gave it right back; she gave you a subtle nod of approval.

On your way out you shot a glance at O’Brien. You couldn’t help it. He had a look on his face that could curdle milk, watching you like a hawk. You supposed it was alright you hadn’t managed to get very far with him, all things considered.

You gave him a delicate finger wave, blew him a kiss. “Thanks for the invite.”

“Get the fuck out.”

You winked at him as you ducked out the door. “Your wish, sweetheart.”

#not my writing #all credits to owner

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