#fuck off man 5k words max

[hassanfield]

me🤝reducing my word count by hiding everything in the appendix

#fuck off man 5k words max #BUT the appendix is unlimited so i’ve just hidden everything in there LOLZ #IF I DONT GET AN A* i’ll be raging #or shall i take the -2 marks and keep my word count the same

[jamminvroomvroom]

777.

ln x fem!reader

in which lando has a wild week in vegas

on a bit of a roll whoops! had to write something slutty for vegas week/lando’s birthday so here it is! enjoy my loves and please please pleeeeease tell me what you think! 🎲💘 have literally been thinking about this since vegas was announced and i couldn’t stop listening to silk sonic lol

posting this with the @lavenderlando seal of approval 🫡🤍

inspired loosely by 777 by silk sonic

warnings: 18+ minors dni i am so serious!! listen it’s smut. it’s a lot lot lot of smut. alcohol, swearing, fuckboy!lando, one night stand vibes, choking, unprotected sex, general sex acts, some kinky shit, fluff, minor angst bc lando is a moody little shit

5k words

lando had gotten used to the taste of champagne.

the golden bubbles had grown on him over the course of the season, they tasted like success. so, he didn’t protest when several magnums showed up at the round table, some ridiculous happy birthday remix being blasted over the casino speakers.

it was the night of his 24th birthday, and the drinks hadn’t stopped flowing. he was surrounded by his friends, max and ash joining him, as well as the drivers that had arrived in vegas. the crisp white sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows by now, midnight fast approaching, the material half unbuttoned.

they’d started the night in a bar, drowning in a river of alcohol, and now they were in a casino, one of many on the strip. it was all a bit predictable, kitschy decor everywhere he looked since he’d arrived in las vegas, but that’s what made it iconic. the tackiness seemed to mesh well with the old money vibe, and lando knew this would be a birthday to remember. 


everything was mahogany, gold or red. nothing didn’t twinkle in the lights. his suit jacket was slung over his shoulder, curls messy already from the light breeze of november in the desert. his cheeks were champagne rosy, the alcohol going straight to his head and he felt so fucking good.

everyone toasted to the birthday boy, slot machines rattling in the background. lando didn’t usually enjoy this sort of environment, but he was too drunk to care, deciding to embrace the insanity of his life and live on the edge for one night.

he found himself hunched over a gaming table, fingers drumming against the green felt. his eyes scanned the embroidery, taking in the game that was being played. blackjack, he assumed. this really wasn’t his type of place.

by then, as if by some sort of divine intervention, it was.

a flash of red. a swish of hair. manicured nails on a martini glass.

suddenly blackjack seemed like the best fucking game in the world.

lando couldn’t look away from you.

you were stood right opposite him, drink in hand, red satin draping over every curve of your frame. the dress seemed to cover everything, and nothing at all, perfect for the environment you were in. it was daring, enticing, and lando sure liked being enticed.

from the very second he laid eyes on you, he was picturing what you’d look like against a clean, white bedspread, how his name would sound rolling off your tongue in the form of a desperate whimper. it was a crude thought, but he’d become a crude man.

things had changed a lot since his last breakup. he was messy, leaving a trail of clothes and kisses across every country he stepped foot in. he didn’t get off on the number of people he’d slept with, he got off on the rush of someone new, and he knew before he’d even touched down in vegas, a week earlier than he needed to, that this would probably be the messiest week of his life.

but then he saw you, and it felt weird. he didn’t just want to learn your name and bend you over the nearest surface, gone from your bed before the sun was even in the sky. he was addicted at first sight; he had to take you home, at the very least.

his fixation on you was broken by the dealers voice; it seemed like you were up to play next and you needed at least another player. lando’s eyes flitted back to you, wondering if he even knew how to play blackjack before he offered himself up to you on a glaring shiny platter. you took the decision away from him, because this time, you were staring right back at him.

internally, he was choking on air. externally, he was mentally undressing you with a filthy smirk on his face.

“wanna play, birthday boy?” you smiled coyly, an eyebrow quirked seductively. he could have fallen right to his knees at just the sound of your voice. sweet and spicy.

lando realised that you’d seen the embarrassing display the boys had put on for him. maybe you even knew who he was. he definitely wanted to know who you were, and that’s why he decided to give in to your electric stare.

“you’re on.”

he lost.

every. single. game.

numbers were never lando’s thing.

it was hard to care, though, when he had you sprawled out on the desk of his hotel room, his lips all over your neck.

the walk from the casino up to his room had been short, a bottle of champagne in his left hand and the curve of your ass in his right. there’d been very little small talk, very little convincing needed to seduce you, not with the way you’d been eye-fucking from opposite sides of the table, cards laid bare before you both.

he’d kissed you in the elevator, sloppy and desperate, pressed you against the door to his suite, and quickly pinned you to the other side of it once you were finally inside. you tasted like fruit liquor and cigarettes, your dress slowly bunching at your hips as his hands roamed the silky material. lando was restless, craving everything you had to offer, so he picked you up effortlessly, spreading his palms across the back of your thighs.

it had been a short walk to the desk from the door, and he placed you down carefully. lando slid the dress up your thighs, his finger grazing your calf as he did. you were arching into him, pushing his jacket off his frame and frantically tugging at the buttons of his dress shirt until it was hanging undone off his shoulders.

the look in your eyes sent his blood rushing, frenzied and desperate for him as much as he was for you. taking your jaw in his hand, he tilted your chin towards him until you were looking up at him through your lashes. lando tucked your hair behind your ear, continuing to graze down your neck until he reached the flimsy strap of your dress.

“are you gonna let me have you?” his grip on your jaw tightened and he studied your face.

he gulped when your lips twisted into a smile, conniving, dangerous, red lipstick smudged deliciously. you hadn’t caved into his touch, fallen into submission, and suddenly lando was swimming way out of his depth.

it seemed he’d finally met his match.

you pushed him away, giggling as he stumbled backwards towards the bed, and stood from your place on the desk. slowly, you made your way towards him, until you’d backed him up all the way to the foot of the bed, at which point he collapsed. he scrambled up onto his elbows, smirking up at you.

your eyes raked over his frame, swollen lip caught between your teeth. he looked disheveled in the best way, shirt framing lean sun kissed skin.

slowly, you unzipped your dress, letting it fall off your frame. the material pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it carefully, kicking it away. lando had moved up the bed so that he was sitting against the headboard, watching you hungrily. you were left bare, aside from a lacy thong and red stilettos. lando could have cried tears of joy.

happy fucking birthday.

lando’s eyes lit up like 777 had spun onto a slot machine. he may have lost at blackjack but he’d definitely hit the jackpot.

you crawled onto the bed towards him, not stopping until you were sat on his lap. his hands scaled your thighs, stroking up and down the soft skin. you rolled your hips, experimenting, toying with him, and he groaned, low and loud.

“does this answer your your question?” you whispered, leaning into him so that you could loop your arms around his neck.

lando kissed you, slow and sloppy, sitting up even further just to feel you closer. he could feel your nipples brushing against his bare chest, low whines breaking through the kiss your shared every time you felt too sensitive. your bodies were rolling together in unison, friction building nicely between your legs.

he was growing impatient, itching to get rid of the remaining barriers between you. lando held you still, tight, flipping you both over so that he was hovering over you. his lips worked your neck, hickeys littered down your neck and over your collarbone, while his hands moved down your body. he toyed with the band of your thong, snapping the material against your waist.

lando left you there, keening for his touch, while he peeled his shirt off. his trousers went next, along with his boxers, and then he was right back where he’d left off. your panties disappeared in a flash, his kisses punctuated by a splotchy purple mark sucked below your left breast.

and then he was buried between your legs, licking stripes into you like he was starving. he moaned into your pussy when he felt the first pull on his hair, spurring him on. he applied more pressure, taking it slow, revelling in the way you tugged harder and harder with every swipe. lando slid two fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick.

when he slid the digits inside of you, his mouth latched onto your clit, flicking against it relentlessly. he found the perfect rhythm, balance, everything he was doing made you see stars behind your eyelids. you were thrashing, helpless, and he was getting off on it.

you jaw went slack when you raised yourself onto your elbows just to find him grinding against the mattress, groaning into your cunt at the sensation, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. you couldn’t even hold yourself up then, dropping into the mattress as you fell apart beneath him.

lando resurfaced a few moments later, a glint in his eyes, his mouth glistening in the dim light. your vision was hazy, body shattered, but you ached for more of him. the feeling only intensified, your legs tightening around his waist, when he raised his coated fingers to his lips, lapping up every last drop of you. his tongue swirled around his digits lewdly, and you shuddered.

lando didn’t mind at all when you pushed him onto his back, clambering on top of him. you looked wild, animalistic even, as you guided the tip of his cock through your folds, and he folded his arms behind his head to enjoy the view. once you’d slicked him up, not that he really needed it, you sunk down on him.

fingerprints stained your hips; his grip on you increased tenfold as you adjusted around him, your walls throbbing around his swollen cock. lando sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, holding you down on him. your movements were stuttering, trying to hold yourself together and ignore the way he fit inside you so damn perfectly. you tested the waters, rolling your hips a few times, and his eyes rolled back in his skull.

you felt heavenly, like velvet and butterflies.

he lost all sense of control, every fibre keeping him from wrecking you. his grip didn’t loosen when he fucked up into you, bending his knees for any extra leverage he could get. your nails scraped down his chest, his abs, dripping at the way he tensed under your touch. you tried your best to keep up with him, to meet his thrusts, holding your own for longer than you thought you would.

and then you were folding, melting into his chest, one of his hands pulling both of your behind your back, holding you down as he fucked you into your orgasm. your whines were panted right into his ear, sending him hurtling towards his own high.

lando couldn’t help himself, spilling into you, your body pressed helplessly into his. you were exhausted, wrecked, grinning lazily against the thrumming of his heartbeat.

with your hands held behind your back, you couldn’t stop him from planting you on your back, snaking down your body, burying his tongue deep inside you. the room was filled with the sound of sex, his tongue dragging over you like you were the last meal on earth and he was ravenous. he cleaned up the mess he’d made quickly, sounds that would make the population of sin city blush bouncing off the walls.

your vision was white, maybe your were screaming, it was hard to know what was going on when he had you about ready to ascend. when you fell over the edge, you were boneless, at one with the bed. you watched as he licked his lips, flopping onto the bed beside you.

he stroked your hair and you hummed, content and satiated.

lando didn’t dare look away from you while you came down.

apparently, it was rare to wake up after a wild night in vegas and remember the events of the night before.

lando remembered everything.

the exact shade of your eyes, the feel of red satin and black lace, the way you tasted.

your lips on his skin, hips in his hands, the way you moulded pliantly to his touch.

the way you gave as good as you got.

he was smiling before he’d even opened his eyes, reaching blinding across the bed, ready to propose round… four? five? lando had lost count.

warm hands met cold sheets and suddenly he was wide awake.

lando sat up dead straight, searching for a sign of life in the room. there was none. no shoes on the floor, no dress to match, no thong hanging from the door handle. a pit formed in his stomach.

is this how he made people feel?

waking up alone after the best sex of his life and no trace of the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on was quite miserable.

he thudded back into the mattress, hands shielding his eyes from the burn of daylight. he felt like shit, that was undeniable. when he’d fallen asleep, naked and with you nestled into his side, he couldn’t wait to wake up, perhaps arrogantly thinking that you’d be waking up with him. what was that saying, again?

hope breeds eternal misery.

his brain was wracked with the image of you and him, champagne flowing right before he’d taken you again, bent over the desk. and then again in the shower, a harmless attempt to clean yourselves up ending up with you on your knees before your cheek was pressed against the shower screen.

lando tried to fathom why you’d leave after the night you’d shared. there was something about it, something more intimate in the desperation you’d shared, that left him senseless as to why you were gone before the sun was in the sky.

just like he usually was.

it dawned on him, quite quickly, that the habits he’d made of quick fucks and fast getaways was not good form. it was reckless and casually cruel, and he felt guilt for the first time since his string of one night stands had begun. perspective was a crazy thing.

when he sluggishly made his way out of bed, he felt even worse.

-

“where’d you get to last night? we lost you after that terrible game of blackjack.” max teased, sipping his coffee.

lando found himself at the breakfast table, head rested on his hand and hoodie pulled tight. he wasn’t in the mood to talk, but max was like a dog with a bone; there was no avoiding this conversation.

“met a girl.” lando mumbled, aimlessly stirring the tea he knew he wasn’t going to drink.

“ah, understood.” max said, grinning knowingly. but then, as if lando’s bad mood finally clicked, he continued. “wait, why are you in a mood then?”

“tired.” lando replied, monotonously. he wasn’t quite sure how to unpack this one.

“bullshit.”

“woke up alone.”

“oh.”

“she was- i don’t know. just thought it would be different, that’s all.” lando couldn’t disguise the deflated tone of his voice.

“don’t tell me you caught feelings from a shag.” max rolled his eyes, chomping away at his toast. lando could barely stomach the sight of food.

“shut up, i’m not saying i fell in love. just liked something about her.”

“well, anything can happen in vegas. you never know, mate. she might find her way back to you.”

lando was getting ready for the netflix cup before he knew it. he’d managed to shake off max, escaping to the darkness of his room, the curtains drawn and the lights off.

he pretended it was the hangover that had him laying face down on his bed.

the last thing he wanted was to go and play corporate circus on the golfing green, but he figured some fresh air wouldn’t hurt. and so, he was in the backseat of a car well on his way to the tournament.

carlos couldn’t distract him, neither could alex or pierre. rickie fowler was much less interesting that he hoped, or maybe he wasn’t and lando just wasn’t interested enough. not even zak’s mclaren printed trousers could cheer him up.

lando was leaning into his golf club, starting mindlessly into the crowd, waiting for this garish event to begin when he caught a glimpse of someone he recognised. in a sea of influencers and obnoxious businessmen, there you were.

there you fucking were, in your knee high boots and a mini skirt, sunglasses perched on your nose, skintight top under an oversized blazer and hair shining under the warm sunlight. he lost his balance, the golf club slipping from underneath him, and the only thing that kept him upright was the burning urge to keep his eyes on you.

just who were you?

lando didn’t need to clarify whether or not you were looking at him, too. no, you made it abundantly clear by the way you winked at him, before pushing your sunglasses back up the bridge of your nose.

you fucking winked.

he took a step in your direction, shaky legs ready to carry him all the way over to you. he only had your first name and he craved your second, your phone number, anything really. he’d just take the small talk, to be completely honest.

but then the klaxon screeched, knocking him out of his trance and he whipped round to discover that they were ready to tee off. lando cursed under his breath, rapidly turning to search for your face but you were nowhere to be seen.

had he imagined you? had he imagined all of it?

every golf ball hit was hit with frustrated vengeance.

the week disappeared in a bittersweet blur.

lando had achieved multiple hangovers and about zero dollars in winnings, but he’d successfully managed to take his mind off of you.

okay, so that was a bare faced lie, but if lando didn’t lie to himself, he wouldn’t be able to lie to anyone else.

he wouldn’t be able to lie to max that he was no longer moping. he wouldn’t be able to lie to the media when they asked him if he was oh so excited about the race. he wouldn’t be able to lie to his team when they asked him if he was still suffering the consequences of his week long hangover.

lando had been rushing around all day, after a solid p4 in qualifying the night before. the entire day had been horrendous, sequins and bright lights being shone in his eyes. all he wanted to do was hide, get in the car and then go to bed.

fate had other plans.

lando was rushing to the front of the grid for the national anthem, certain that whatever display that was about to occur would make him nauseous. he was derailed on his journey, caught by rachel brookes in the pitlane, and then accosted by martin brundle once he’d made his was onto the grid.

“good qualifying yesterday and good luck today!” martin called to lando, turning to wrestle another insufferable celebrity.

as lando was making his getaway, ready to jog through the masses of people to his place at the front, he went barrelling into another body, putting his hands out to steady himself and the poor person that had become his collateral damage. as he regained his balance, he must have looked like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out of his head.

“are you stalking me?” was all he could choke out when his eyes met yours.

what the actual fuck were you doing here?

lando had given up on the possibility of ever seeing you again, and yet, here you were, stood under the bright floodlights on the grid, his office. this was the last place he’d expected you to show up, paddock pass swinging from your neck. again, what the actual fuck were you doing here?

“might as well be, at this point.” you teased. “hopefully you’ll do better today than you did at golf on tuesday.” you smiled coyly up at him, tucking your hair behind your ear.

lando was on quite the time crunch, glancing at the time on the clock at the front of the grid. he had a minute to spare, if he was lucky, but he had to talk to you, before you inevitably disappeared again.

“thought i’d get at least your phone number before you left.”

“from what i hear, you don’t usually stick around long enough for those.” you smirked.

well, his reputation certainly proceeded him. he couldn’t really argue with that.

“maybe i’m trying to change that.” lando attempted to flirt but really, he sounded desperate. you didn’t seem to mind.

“i’ll make you a deal,” you proposed, leaning in just a little bit closer. lando’s breath hitched in his throat. “get on that podium, and i’ll be waiting in your hotel lobby.”

“and if i don’t?” lando’s mouth was dry.

“maybe i’ll see you next year.”

lando watched you walk away, your hips swaying tantalisingly, wondering if the hefty fine he would be bollocked with would be worth it if he didn’t move his ass for the national anthem.

this would be the drive of his fucking life.

lando couldn’t recall a time he’d left a track faster in his life.

media duties were rushed, so was the shower he had before he fled. it was lucky he was already on the strip, so the walk to his hotel was blissfully short.

he entered the lobby with a shit eating grin and a comically large bottle of champagne in hand.

a string of second places had gotten rather frustrating, but this one felt particularly good. a podium was a podium, fair and square, and assuming you’d kept to your end of the bargain, he was in for the best celebration of his life.

sitting pretty at the bar that stretched through the lobby, you were waiting for him, heels swinging from the stool you rested on. denim clung to your hips, a dark corset style top moulding to your curves. he wondered if love at first sight was real; lust at first sight certainly was.

lando’s eyes beckoned to towards him, and you slipped inconspicuously into the elevator together, not wanting to draw too much attention to your rendezvous. it was a futile attempt, frankly, because he had you backed into the mirror before the doors had even fully shut.

kisses on your neck had your eyes fluttering closed, one of his knees slotting comfortably between your thighs. one of his hands was clasped tight around the neck of the neck of the bottle, giving lando the fantastic idea to find your neck with his free one. he held you firmly, forcing you to look at him.

“i’m gonna make you wish you never left.”

-

hours on the mattress pulling countless orgasms from one another left you both weak, exhausted, a little bit clingy.

lando felt electric. no other person had ever left him so feral, so euphoric.

he’d had you first against the door, pulling your jeans off and pinning you against it, your thighs in his firm grasp as he fucked you into the wooden panel. then, he’d taken you to bed, your knuckles turning white from your brutal grip on the headboard when he’d planted you down on his mouth. two orgasms later, you were face down in the sheets, ass in the air for him while he slammed into you like his life depended on it, pulling you into his chest by your hair when you reached your climaxes.

all that hard work called for a bath, where you both found yourselves now. it had started off quite innocently, sat at opposite ends of the extravagantly large bathtub amongst the bubbles. but then you’d given him those eyes, and then your back was pressed against his chest, your body draped over his. his head was nestled into the crook of your neck, one arm slung over your waist. his other hand brought the bottle of champagne to his lips, the liquid going down smoothly. lando pressed the bottle to your pursed lips too, trading backwards and forwards while your bodies relaxed into the hot water.

lando’s hand on your waist was getting restless, fingers drumming over your abdomen, up, up, up, until he found your breast. he circled your nipple with his finger, not quite touching the bud yet, but he could feel it hardening from his scarce touch. your hips rolled backwards into his, feeling him hardening once again against your lower back. lando cupped your breast, massaging it in his hands before he switched, flitting between your tits.

you slumped somehow even further into him, not a millimetre of space between your bodies. he was winding you up beautifully, heat burning between your legs once more. you didn’t know how you did it, how you could be so ready for each other after the eventful evening you’d already shared.

lando was flicking your nipples between his finger, switching back and fourth until you were moaning quietly. you took charge, the sensitivity building too quickly, and so you rolled over in his arms, clambering into his lap.

the bath water splashed around you, moving in small waves across the tub as you situated yourself on top of him, grinding down on him until he was buried deep within your walls. he found that spot, rolling your hips against his, and then you were rocking up and down on him, nice and slow. he touched parts of you that never had been before, the pace and the angle intensifying every little sensation. your head was thrown back, hands clawing at his shoulders for something to hold onto, just for the feel of him.

lando reached over the edge of the bathtub, blindly searching for the bottle he’d discarded while you’d been switching positions. he felt the green glass grazing his fingertips and brought it back to his lips, eyes trailing over your body in sheer awe.

he couldn’t help himself, taking a sip before tilting it towards you, pouring the golden bubbles over your clavicle, jaw tightening - just like your cunt did at the sensation - as he watched the sticky alcohol drip down over the curve of your bouncing breasts.

you quivered when you felt his tongue lap over your nipple, then the other, dragging over your sodden flesh until he reached the junction between your neck and your shoulder. he bit down, hard, eyes rolling back at the taste in his mouth and the way you clamped down around him, whimpering out between breathless pants.

lando felt you let go, stuttering on his cock and sinking down on top of him, the water - now lukewarm - soothing your tired limbs. he held you close, basking in the intimacy of the moment, his hearing honing in on the dull hum of ecstasy you expelled.

the bath grew colder and colder as you sat there, comfortable silence filling the air along with the quiet rush of water that came with any movements made. when the time came, lando held you up as you got off of him and stepped onto the plush rug, quickly following suit. you were eyeing the shower when he turned to hand you a towel.

“i think i need a shower, as much as i enjoyed the bath.” you spoke, opening the screen and stepping in to adjust the knobs.

lando weighed up his options, agonising over joining you or doing his back in. he couldn’t exactly tell his trainer that his back gave out from too much sex.

“am i invited?” lando asked, stepping in behind you, hands on your waist.

“seems like you’ve already invited yourself.” you teased, looking at him over your shoulder.

“no funny business, you.” lando rested his head on your shoulder.

“from me? you’re just as bad.” you quipped, letting the hot warm stream all over your flushed bodies.

lando stayed as he was for a second, but then you turned your head again, looking at him from the corner of your eye and he needed to kiss you. he couldn’t help but, and so he twisted you round to face him and leaned in. you were more than receptive, fingers raking through his wet curls.

the hot water rained down on you while you stood there, holding each other close. lando couldn’t put his finger on it, why he didn’t want to let you go. he couldn’t even begin to process the idea of having anyone else in his arms like this. it was absurd, really, but he was too caught up in the moment to care.

when you were both clean and dry, you laid down in bed, gazing mindlessly at one another. his eyes followed the lines of your face, the curve of your lips. he learned a lot about you, a formula 1 fan with who ran her own business and took herself on holiday to vegas. the conversation flowed like the champagne had and you were laughing at all his stupid jokes. in turn he grinned like a fool at your quick wit, the sound of your laughter.

“so what are you doing next? back to work?” lando asked, an idea forming in his mind like a tornado.

“nope,” you popped the p. “giving myself some well deserved time off.”

“have you ever been to abu dhabi?” lando asked, lips quirking mischievously.

-

inbox me your thoughts bc aaaaaaaa 😨😨

-

taglist

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#lando norris #lando norris fic #lando norris smut #lando norris fluff #lando norris angst #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #lando norris oneshot #f1 #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 fluff #f1 driver x you #f1 driver x reader #f1 angst #f1 imagine #f1 writing #f1 fanfic #f1 smut fic #writing things #formula 1 #formula 1 smut #formula 1 fic #smut #angst #fluff #oneshot #imagine #fanfic

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐓

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

genre: smut, office romance

word count: 5k

summary: a week after walking in on your boyfriend fucking someone else, Max gives you the day off. You leave, unaware that you dropped your watch. Much to your surprise, he brings it to you. Your relationship with him escalates in the following days.

warnings: office sex, rough sex, praise kink, dirty talk, use of 'sir' & 'good girl', piv, dom/sub dynamics, very mild degradation (he calls you his cocksleeve like once), dumbification if you squint, soft!max at times

a/n: I drafted this months ago and only now I finally finished the fic, I have no idea why I waited this long especially since I'd written most of it back then but other wips got in the way--sorry Max lmaodvdf this is my first time writing for you and I hope I did you justice 🖤 I rewatched his scenes and I'm still so horny for this man it's making me look stupid

Max’s office is the nicest one of everyone who works in this building, albeit a bit darker. There’s a succulent on his desk that reminds you of a translucent star and you can’t seem to draw your eyes away from it. His voice is smooth and melodic but you aren’t really listening. Your hand moves over to your watch, feeling the coolness of metal underneath your fingertips. It’s nice. 

It’s safe to say that you’re not really paying attention to anything. 

Your eyes are wet still, a sting every time you dare to blink. It’s been a week since you found your boyfriend screwing someone else on the couch in the living room. The image still lingers in your head, taunting you. 

While you stared, unblinking as they scrambled for their clothes, all you could think of how happy you were that they didn’t use the bedroom. 

Now that the relationship is over it’s easier to see the red flags. The way he belittled you, your passions, the things that you enjoyed. Your body, your cooking, anything you did was never enough for him. It was an open invitation to mock you for who you were. And that was the least of it, he never touched you, and you had to beg him for sex— not in the fun kind if you might add. You feel so fucking stupid for trying to make him happy.

“You’re not listening are you?” 

You flinch upon hearing the question, eyes finally snapping away from the succulent and turning to Max. You didn’t mean to be so obvious about it. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. . . Great, another person you couldn’t make happy no matter what you did. 

“You’ve been like this all week. Is there something going on? You can take leave if you need to, you’re not really much use like this anyway” 

His words sting but you can’t really blame him for it. Though you did find it funny that as an immortal he was so pressed for time. 

“Sorry,” you say and he looks at you, really looks at you. Brown eyes move from your eyes to your lips, his own tongue darting out to wet his own. “I’ll do better just some... personal stuff going on,”

“Family?” 

“Shitty breakup.” 

“Oh.”

Max appreciates bluntness. You figured that one out on your first day here. He isn’t a fan of keeping anything that might affect your work bottled up. He doesn't like the guessing game either. If there’s something wrong he wants to know and if he can he’ll fix it. Not that he can really fix a broken heart. 

He suddenly stands up, making his way around the desk. He lends against the edge, hands on his lap. Instictecly you curl your fingers around the armrests. Max is pretty docile for the most part, unless he’s hungry. But the way he’s looking down at you, brows relaxed and a faint smile tugging at his lips, it makes your heart drop. He’s a walking corpse but his eyes are more alive compared to most people you’ve met. 

“I’m sure you’ll be happier without commitment wearing you down,” he says, voice dropping, barely above a whisper. You shudder and fail to see the way his fingers twitch. “Don’t think about it, relax, sweetheart.” 

And you do. It’s like warm water dancing over your skin. Your shoulders slump, your body limply sinking into the chair. A lazy smile spreads across your lips and he smiles back, teeth winking at you between his plush lips. “That’s it. You’re not feeling anything  now, are you?” 

You giggle, shaking your head. Even your heartbeat slows, the tips of your fingers tingling with pleasure—

You blink, pinching your brows, you slowly roll your shoulders and hear your bones crack. Max is gazing at you with utmost curiosity, thumbs drumming silently.

Then it hits you. The fucker is using his powers. Fucking vampires. 

“Stop it,” you hiss, your body relaxed but mind racing. He rolls his eyes and waves his hand as a sign of dismissal. The tension that had disappeared from your muscles return at full force, and you jolt. “You shouldn’t do that,” 

“I was trying to help,” he answers without a care in his tone. He buttons his vest and gestures with his head to the door. “Take the rest of the day off. Sort yourself. See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” 

“But—” 

“Just go. It’s fine,” when you fail to look convinced, he pouts and draws a cross over his chest. Ironic. “I swear. Now go, take the day off, collect your thoughts or whatever you need to do,” 

You leave without pointing out the irony of him making a cross over his non-beating heart. You’ve worked long enough to know that if the boss wants you to take the time off, you take the time off. 

Max drags his palm over his face, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he hops off the desk and turns to look at the empty seat you left behind. He’s not sure if he should be condoning this kind of behavior. He doesn’t want people barging in here asking to leave with the most minuscule of problems. But it isn’t typical of you to be distracted so he decided that you earned it. 

He’s curious about what kind of man would be stupid enough to leave you, let alone make you look that sad. Not that it’s any of his business. 

Max is amidst turning on his heel when he sees it. A small sparkle on the carpeted floor. Cocking an eyebrow, he leans over with his hands in his pockets. A watch? 

That’s right you had a watch when you came in, you were playing with it while he was going over the weekly sales. You must’ve dropped it. Looking almost bored, he scoops it off the floor and stares at it. He sees your initials written on the back, a pretty, delicate little accessory. 

Surely you would miss it. He knows your address due to dragging your drunk self back home after an office party— so maybe he should bring it to you. Max sighs and flips the watch over. He has time to make a quick stop. 

He leaves the office with the watch snug in his pocket. It really isn’t his style to be nice, or remorseful, but he does feel a tad guilty using his powers on you. He genuinely did think he was doing some good. It did look like you were feeling better until you broke out of the trance. 

Max steps into the elevator. The tedious music loud and scratching his ears as always. 

Taking a day off isn’t going as smoothly as you had hoped. 

Initially, you thought you would binge your favorite shows and eat a bucket of ice cream. Instead, you ended up staring blankly at the ceiling, arm dangling out from the side of the bed. It’s a shitty feeling. Your heart feels heavy and uncomfortable. Maybe Max taking away the pain wasn’t so bad after all? 

There’s a loud knock on the door and you jump. Every bone in your body aches, your heart beating fast as you head to the living room. You’re praying to every god you know that it’s not your ex. You don’t want to deal with him. Especially not today. 

You take a deep, calming, breath. It’s okay. He wouldn’t just show up now, would he? Stupidly enough you don’t look through the peephole before yanking the door open, the person that lurks on the other side takes you by surprise completely. 

It’s Max. 

What the hell? 

“Hiii,” he says with a smug grin. He lifts something to your line of vision and it takes you a moment to recognize your watch. “Found this, thought you might miss it.” 

Blinking, you open your palms and he drops it. It feels like a dream. “Uh…thanks,” 

“You’re welcome,” he peers over your shoulder, looking into the dimly lit apartment. “So how’s your day off going?” 

“Not as fun as I hoped,” you give him a bittersweet smile. His eyes meet yours, and you see your reflection in them, so bright. “Do you want to come inside?” 

A shudder climbs your spine when something dark crosses his face, eyes becoming sharper. Your stomach churns and you swallow, fingers tightening around the watch. 

“Would love to” he chirps, practically jumping over the threshold. “Thank you for the invite, much obliged.” 

“You really can’t come in without being invited?” you ask, closing the door with a push of your heel. 

“Nope,” he answers, emphasizing on the p. “Why do you think I left you at the door after the party? You were too drunk to say ‘come in’ I basically had to push you through the door just so you could crawl the rest of the way to your bedroom,” 

“I honestly thought you were just being an asshole,” 

He scoffs, “I am an asshole. Just not to the people I like,” 

He drops down to the couch, which in return makes your stomach sink. You really need to burn it, you don’t think you can have it in your apartment anymore. You sit across from him, placing the watch neatly on top of the coffee table. “I wasn’t aware you liked me,” 

“Let’s say tolerate. I like your work ethic.” 

“Thank you?” you answer, unsure.

“You’re very much welcome.” 

You’re not sure why you invited him inside. He doesn’t drink coffee unless it’s morning, and he doesn’t really like to eat as far as you could tell. The silence is deafening and uncomfortable. You part your lips to ask if he would like tea or anything else but he beats you to it, gaze fixated on you. 

“So, how did it happen?” 

Your throat goes dry, “What?” 

“The break-up,” he shrugs and leans back into the couch, you internally cringe. “Do you want me to break his neck or something?” 

“What—No!” you’re horrified but can’t ignore the way warmth blossoms in your chest. You’re highly aware that he’s joking, however, it’s still a nice thought that someone actually cares enough to get pissed about it. “Where did that even come from?” 

“I don’t know, I’m not sure I like seeing you so sad. It’s unnerving.” 

“Sorry that my misfortune is bothering you,” you answer, crossing your arms. “He cheated on me, and I’m only now realizing how shitty he was.” 

“Ouch.” 

“Yeah,” 

“So I do need to break his neck then?” 

You laugh. 

You aren’t expecting it, but here you are rubbing tears from your eyes as you laugh with your whole body. There’s just something about the way he said it; as if it was the most normal thing to do. He seems to enjoy the way you laugh. Smiling wide and bright, watching you with fond eyes. 

After minutes, your laughter starts to die down, softening into breathless giggles. You’re surprised to find that Max is still smiling at you, no smugness, no cockiness, just an earnest smile. 

“Thank I really needed that,” you say, heat building at the base of your spine. “Sorry if I worried you. It’s been a bit rough lately.” 

“We can’t all be perfect every second,” he grins, he flattens his palms over his thighs, moving them up and down. Your breath hitches, eyes involuntarily dropping to his crotch. You’re flustered all of a sudden. He tilts his head, tongue poking out of his cheek as he gives you an open-mouthed smirk. “See something you like, sweetheart?” 

Your eyes snap to his face, cheeks burning, “Nope. Not—Not at all,” 

He leans forward, placing his elbows on his thighs. There’s a table in between but you feel as if he’s a breath away. You swallow, goosebumps rousing over your skin. 

“You know I can smell it right?” he purrs. “I can smell the arousal gathering between your legs. I can hear the way your heart is beating… That asshole had no idea how to fuck you properly did he?” 

Your pussy bottoms out at his words. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction that he’s right, you don’t want him to know how badly you want him inside. For him to whisper praises into your ear as you squirm around his cock. You lick your lips. He’s not using his powers, you can tell. Yet you still want to blame it on the fact that he’s doing something to make you feel so hot and bothered. But it’s not him, just you. 

You’re not sure when you started to have the hots for your boss, but clearly, there was something there. Lurking in the darkness of your mind.

“Look at you,” he coos, eyes raking over your body. “So sweet and afraid. Let me be the first one to say that he didn’t deserve you. Not in the slightest,” 

“Max…” you warn. 

“Yeah…?” he mimics your tone, smile somehow wider. “Would you want to get coffee before work tomorrow morning?” 

The question catches you by surprise. You observe him for a brief moment, he seems dead serious—at least the amount of serious Max Phillips can be. 

You nod.

Your first early morning coffee date with Max goes exactly how you expect it to go. You pay for both coffees as a thank you. He found it unnecessary but grumbled a thanks anyway. He talks a lot about work; about sales, about his time in Romania. But mostly work. You do appreciate the distraction though so you don’t complain. You pitch in, telling him ways the company could improve but also adding that you want to quit one day and do something better with your life. 

The following mornings follow the same pattern. Mostly conversations about work, and sipping coffee. That is until Tuesday rolls around. It’s an especially cold morning and you find yourself huddling closer to him as the two of you sat on the bench. He doesn’t really seem bothered by the cold, which makes sense since he’s cold-blooded. 

Max’s eyes drop to your trembling fingers that were curled helplessly around the coffee cup. You notice his frown, his gaze lifts back up to meet your eyes. “Do you want to go inside?” 

“No, I’m good. Besides it’s too early to start working.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “We do get here early don’t we.” 

“I mean…we don’t have to. But I have been enjoying our mornings.” 

“So have I,” he chews on his bottom lip, instinctively moving closer to you when he feels a shudder crawling up your spine. “It sucks that I can’t really warm you up—being undead and all— This would be the perfect moment to hold your hands.” 

Funnily enough, he does manage to warm you up. You look down at your hands, the cup only half full, you place it to the side. Max truly had been a balm to your broken heart these past couple of days. He never got overly flirtatious again as he did in your apartment, some part of you is disappointed that he didn’t. 

“You can—” you lick your lips, the wetness furthering the chill. “You can still do that. If you want to.” 

“Yeah?” he moves his jaw, eyes dropping to your lips. “You’ll be colder.” 

“I think it might be worth the risk.” 

Max brings your hands to his lips, brushing your knuckles and kissing each finger individually. You shudder. He wasn’t wrong, he was awfully cold. But you weren’t wrong either, it’s worth it. Hundred percent. His mouth moves over the back of your hand in the shape of waves, the pit in your stomach rolling, and butterflies fluttering in your chest. His eyes meet yours and you’re mesmerized by him. His eyebrows raise, lips kissing the curve of your wrist, laying a path to the inside, he drags his teeth over the skin right above the vein. 

A sudden fear spikes from your feet to your neck. He wouldn’t, would he? 

“Are you afraid of me?” the question is whispered with a breath into your skin. Everywhere except the tip of your nose is warm. He looks at you with heavy eyelids, lashes kissing his cheeks every time he blinks. 

You don’t have an answer, but you know what he needs to hear. 

“I’m not.” 

Before you can blink his lips mold into yours. He traces the seam of your mouth with his tongue eagerly, and you part your lips, allowing him to taste and dominate. With both hands he holds your wrists firmly, pulling you close until you’re basically flush against him. Max inhales as he presses deeper, licking the inside of your mouth and swallowing your whines. 

He breaks away from you with a smile, you see the flash of fangs.

You gently knock on the already open door. Max is positively exhausted. His eyes snap from his computer to you, he sighs and signals you to enter with two fingers. You close the door when you enter. 

“Are we still good for dinner?” you ask, feeling slightly foolish now that you were standing in the middle of his office. 

“Sorry baby, not today. These assholes managed to mix everything up, need to fix all that so I’m going to be here late,” 

You try very hard not to look disappointed. You already know you failed when you feel your bottom lip starting to quiver. You ball your hands into weak fists, pushing your nails into your skin. He notices, a moment of worry crosses his face. 

Tonight wasn’t really a date, or anything important. It was just dinner. 

Then why are you so upset?

You neither move away nor lean in as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs, and you exhale at the way you can feel his chest move underneath you. 

“Nothing, just—Don’t worry about it. I’m just being clingy. I know you’re busy,” 

“Clingy? Oh, sweetheart,” he rolls his chair back and slaps his thigh. “Come, sit on my lap.” 

“Uh…” your eyes flit between his spread legs and his face. “Excuse me?” 

“Just get your gorgeous self over here.” 

Swallowing, your legs move on their own. Your heart does somersaults in your chest. His smile never falters as you slowly lower yourself down, feeling his frame under you. Your insides clench. Your arms shake. You feel his breath on your neck when he guides your arms around his neck. He presses his lips where your neck and chest meet, heat coils in your stomach. 

“Max…” 

“You could never be too clingy,” he murmurs. “And even if you were I would love it. I’m actually really happy you came over, I was starting to think this thing between us was going nowhere.” 

“You want it…to go somewhere?” 

“Of course, I fucking do,” he snaps, looking up, glaring at you. “Do you think I come here that early just to drink coffee—I like spending time with you.” 

You feel yourself start to tremble as his hands move up your thighs and cup your ass. He squeezes gently and you gasp, your skin prickling under his touch. His lips move away from your neck, pressing soft kisses up your jaw until he reaches your ear.

"I want to take this further," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I want to fuck you, sweetheart. Bend you over this table and make you scream my name because I’m sure haven’t been screaming anything for a while."

His hands move around your body, tracing the line of your spine and the curves of your hips. His touch is gentle and yet rough at the same time, your heart beats faster with each passing second. You melt into him, wanting more, wanting him.

“I want to feel your wet cunt around my cock,” he groans, dragging his teeth down the column of your neck. His voice drops an octave. “Let me fuck you sweet thing.”

You pause for a moment, and then you nod, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yes," you whisper. "Yes, I want this too."

Max smiles, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips, and he pulls you in for a long, deep kiss. He nips at your bottom lip before pulling it and slipping his tongue into your mouth. Pulling you closer—inhaling you—he cups your head from both sides, and groans into your mouth. You feel the growing wetness between your legs, your body having a mind of its own, you grind down on him, shuddering as you feel the hard length under his pants. 

“Needy,” he tuts, gripping you by the neck. You hiss when he yanks you back, the rest of your body falling still. “You’ll take what I give you. Is that clear?” 

“Yes—” you bite the inside of your cheek. “Yes, sir.” 

Your cheeks burn as his eyes widen momentarily. Then he closes them, taking a steady breath, he cocks his head to the side. A soft hum echoes in his throat. 

“I like that,” he purrs, opening his eyes. “Say that again.” 

“Please, sir.” you choke out.

Max's grip tightens as he bends you over the office table. You gasp, your skin hot as he shoves your pants down to your knees. While you kick them off, you hear a zipper, feel the weight of his cock on the top of your ass. Your face is directly staring at the door— If someone were to waltz in, the first sight to greet them would see you taking your boss’s cock. However, you can hardly care when his warm breath fans your neck, his breathing uneven and rushed. 

He slips his hands down and cups your ass, kneading and squeezing as he shoves you further against the cold desk. 

"You look so sexy like this," he growls, his cock pushing against your ass as he presses himself against you. His hands move up your body, and he starts tugging at the buttons of your shirt, loosening them one by one. His lips brush against your ear and you shiver in anticipation as his hot breath tickles your skin.

"Say. It." 

It’s a threat and some wicked part of you is tempted to exhaust his patience. His hands move down your body, and his fingers start to tease your nipples as he traces circles around them. Then, when you don’t answer, he pinches them harshly. 

Your body jerks at the sharp pain, an acute moan rips from your throat. 

“Fuck me, sir. Please.” 

“You sound so good like this, begging for my cock,” he purrs. “I’m going to go easy on you today sweetheart, but don’t expect me to always be so nice.” 

He slides his hands lower, and his fingers slip between your legs, teasing and caressing your wetness. Your eyes roll back as his fingers start to penetrate you, and you grind downs in search of more. Wanting him deeper, wanting more of him. 

“So fucking wet,” he coos, he pulls out his fingers, smearing wet streaks across your hips. He nudges his cock between your folds and rocks his hips, the catches against your clit and a loud moan rips from your throat. “That’s my girl, and you thought I didn’t want this. What kind of idiot wouldn’t want this pretty cunt? Hmm?” 

“Max, please. . .” 

You hear the growl that rattles his chest. Closing his eyes, he cocks his head to the side, tongue tracing the edges of his fangs. “I really love hearing you beg,” he groans. “And the blood rush in your veins.” 

Your breath catches in your throat—and in one smooth thrust, he slips inside of you. You clutch the edges of the desk, your eyes rolling back into your skull. Suddenly the rest of the world blurs and it’s just you and him. He stretches you perfectly, his length deep enough to hit all the right spots. His hands smooth a path up your spine. You practically purr at the feeling. You whimper, and when you do, his lips are on your neck in an instant. His body a cool, yet comfortable, blanket on top of you. 

“Good girl. Look at you, being so obedient,” he licks the salt off your skin. “You feel so good, baby. The perfect cocksleeve for the boss.” 

“Oh god—” you choke out. You have no idea how to respond to that, but your body sure does. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him tight. His breath hitches. You feel him straighten behind you, his hands press you down from the waist and you can’t help the small squeal that parts your lips. 

He’s restraining himself. You can tell by the way his hips twitches, eager to bury more of himself into you. His nails bite into your skin and instinctively you raise your hips. “Maaax,” you moan. “Fuck me, please. I can take it.” 

“You can, can’t you?” he mutters, sounding almost impressed. “My perfect girl. You’ll take everything I’ll give you?” 

You breathe out, “Yes—” 

And he gives you everything. 

Every thrust knocks the air from your lungs. Somewhere on the desk your arm hits a stack of papers and they fly everywhere, making a mess on the floor. Max doesn’t stop. He jackhammers into you, splitting you into two. It never felt this intense before. Never. You struggle to breathe and with every snap of his hips, you feel slick dripping down your thighs. Max groans as he wraps his fingers around your neck, pulling you up. Your breasts sway with every stroke, your nipples aching from how hard they are. His one hand remains on your throat as the other moves to your chest, kneading the soft mound in his palm. 

“Wouldn’t be fun if someone walked in right now?” he teases, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Seeing you getting absolutely railed—kinda wish I had a mirror so I could see how cock drunk you look, sweetheart.” 

Fuck, is all you can think and you desperately want to voice it out, tell him how good it feels. His voice, his breath, his teeth, his cock— But all you can do is whimper helplessly, hoping that the sound is enough to convey how much you’re enjoying this. 

“So stupid for me, I love it. You want me to make you come?” 

Another whimper. You nod helplessly, forcing yourself back to meet the movement of his hips. He hums as his hand slides between your legs, he draws wet circles around your clit, and your entire body clenches. You can barely hear him from the blood rush in your ears but you think he mumbles ‘oh shit’. Max continues to play with the sensitive bundle of nerves, with fast strokes he mumbles profanities against your skin. 

You come with his name on your lips. Your body convulses, muscles clenching and unclenching over and over as you gush all around his cock. It feels never-ending. He grinds his hips, burying himself deeper, throbbing inside. You hiss as your second orgasm washes over you, fluttering and twitching, your body goes limp. You're fairly certain if Max wasn’t holding you up, you’d collapse. 

Much to your surprise, Max slowly lays you on top of the desk and the office ceiling comes into view. He’s still pulsing between your legs. He smiles down at you, slides his fingers between your lips—the same fingers he made you come with—and leans in to shove his tongue alongside them. You part your lips wide, the taste of yourself and him making your head spin. You moan around his tongue and fingers. He pulls back with a smile.

“Where do you want me, sweetheart?” he asks, cupping your face with the same hand. 

“You can come inside,” you answer in a daze, then quickly add. “You can’t get me pregnant right?” 

He shakes his head and you smile, “Go ahead then.” 

It doesn’t take him long. He buries his face into the crook of your neck and takes deep inhales of your scent as he spills inside of you. You thread your fingers through his soft locks and gently tug on them. He groans. 

“That’s nice,” he hums, pressing his lips over your clavicle. “I wanna spend an eternity between your legs.” 

“Should I be scared that you actually can do that?” you say with a soft chuckle, he looks down at you, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. He wiggles his brows. 

“Maybe.” 

Max slowly pulls out, and when he stands, he watches the mess pour between your legs. His pupils eat away the color of his eyes and you shudder at how hungry he looks. 

Suddenly shy, you avert your gaze as you try to collect yourself, “Sorry about messing up your schedule. I’ll see you later.” 

“And where do you think you’re going?” 

He grabs your wrists and pulls you into an embrace. You hadn’t realized how tense you were until you feel yourself melting into him. 

“Fuck work,” he says, his hand resting over the small of your back. “I’ll get it done later. Let’s go home so I can at least spend tonight between your legs.” 

You grin into his chest, happy that he can’t see how ecstatic you look. He probably knows how excited you are anyway. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

#max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x fem!reader #bloodsucking bastards #bloodsucking bastards fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters

[frostbitepandaaaaa]

tell us about day 31 😌

lol so i guess you may have noticed that it may have perhaps resembled a Whumptober prompt? i never actually wrote/posted the last prompt i was responsible for for that month of prompts, but that doesn't mean i don't have a 5k+ word draft for it in my WIPs!!

i started and restarted on that prompt about 4 times until i landed on something i was pleased with. hopefully once i'm done with my RCSS, i can finish that prompt and all will be well with the world.

this fic borrows its premise from an old max/furiosa fic by @sacrificethemtothesquid that i am obsessed with, called Glow. basically, jyn and cassian are on a mission and Cass comes down with radiation poisoning. pain ensues.

snippet, for your pleasure/pain:

“Was it something you ate, you think?” she postulates. He shakes his head, shoulders heaving under his coat. Her blood stops in her veins when he finally looks at her. His eyes are wide and wild, his face pale and strange-angled in the odd, bloody light of Tilo’s brilliant sunset. He looks ghostly, haunted, an animal caught in a trap. “The parts—“ he pants, something in his voice breaking in fear. “You didn’t— you didn’t go near them…?” Jyn hesitates, shakes her head. First in confusion but morphing quickly into hasty confirmation as the fear in his face takes on an edge. She had not touched the half-rusted, nearly unrecognizable pile of parts they had traded for this morning. The man who had traded with them had claimed the parts were from some ruin of an outer-rim rock, now defunct and lost to knowledge. Old Republic and rare as kyber. Or something like that… Jyn hadn’t paid much attention. Cassian had handled the whole transaction (he had more patience for and much more experience in haggling) and she had hated every minute of the exchange. The queer look in the trader’s rheumy eyes, the swiftness of his acceptance of their offer (a stack of Jilib leather and a bag of local moonshine that could strip the paint off a speeder—certainly lowball barter). Jyn had tried to protest, but Cassian had insisted: these fledgling rebel cells they were here to infiltrate traded in scrap and salvage— the more foreign the better, to attract potential collectors and the deep pockets that came with them. Cassian had assured her it was, indeed, a scam as they left, but they could still promisingly trick any rebel leaders for long enough to get what information and recruits they needed before getting the hell off world. “Jyn,” Cassian prompts sharply, eyes growing wider, a bit wilder, as he looked her up and down. “No,” she finally croaks and Cassian collapses in relief on the runner board. “But, Cassian.. what does that have to do—“ He shakes his head, waves a stalling hand so he can cough and sputter between his knees again. Jyn’s very bones are tingling with heightened awareness. She’s never quite seen him this scared, this… dire. Cassian Andor is a constant, a non-variable. Steady, reliable, a force of nature that couldn’t be stopped or diverted. But here he is, her Cassian, cut off at the knees and spilling his guts into the blowing sands of a foreign planet. Looking at her as if she might disappear at any moment. As if he might. If she’s being honest, it’s fucking terrifying. She kneels next to him again. “Cassian… what’s going on?”

#frost has mail #astromechs #muahahahahaha #wip game #rebelcaptain #my writing

[ricciardostoast]

GR63;;Throw a fit [two]

you planned to get what you wanted, and make him work for it along the way

[a/n: mini series. been saying i was going to write for george for ages and here i am]

prior | masterlist | next

I'm baaaack. I'm still getting use to Mercedes George so for the sake of this story, we're sticking with Williams. But in future shorts I may pop into his new squad.

Rating: Explicit WC: 5k

“I thought this morning counted as the date.”

Yes, you were pouting. And likely sounded like a bratty bitch. But apparently nothing that happened in the last twenty-four hours was enough to deter the englishman, so you’d just about given up on caring about appearances.

After the regrettably brief kiss that left you savoring the the promise of more, George’s face twisted in an image of regret as he shifted from your touch to draw out his phone from his pocket. Though he was not a business man, you could comprehend the ‘work’ look when it was present.

The man didn’t draw far away, the animated way his hands mimicked his words still close enough to brush against your body occasionally. At first you might have written it off as incidental, but this his thumb and forefinger pressed a little too intentionally against the soft of your waist causing you to squirm. Amidst the surprised twist of your body, you managed to catch a hint of a smirk.

Ultimately, the call ended with a frustrated grimace as george announced that he would need to step away from the remainder of the afternoon to take care of team affairs.

Right.

Team.

As in Williams. Because he was a formula one driver.

Which would have had a lot more novelty had this same driver not been obsessed enough with you to spend more effort than most just to convince you to go on a ‘not so’ date.

A date that he promised would resume this evening when he picked you up for dinner. The man didn't even give you the opportunity to protest, managing to juggle stealing a final kiss and programing both numbers into respective phones.

The six hour delay of the ‘date’ was filled with Sara nosing her way back into the plot. While neither of you were dedicated fans, the two of you knew enough to acknowledge the many eligible bachelors sprinkled throughout the sport.

While you tore through your closet, your best friend had spent an ample amount of time doing last minute research on your posh beau.

“You have to admit, while he doesn't have the rugged look like Max or Daniel, the well-kept appearance really goes for him.” You tried to block out the insistent clack of her nails as she browsed through news feeds, twitter timelines and instagram posts alike.

By the end of her deep dive, you were supplied with more information that you felt ready to properly comprehend. To be honest, you weren’t expecting to need any of it. George was adamant about getting his way, but he wasn’t cruel.

You doubted he planned to string you along past this night, knowing what you wanted. You just hoped it was worth it in the end.

Sara’s scandalized gasp draws your attention away fro your panty drawer as you give her a bored once over.

“What now? Did you find out his dog’s name?”

Sara’s grin didn’t make your joke feel all that funny, especially when her lips only widened with enough conspirator step closer.

“So we agree he’s pretty. But did you know he was ripped too?” Intrigued, you leaned over to catch a glimpse of her screen.

Good god ole’ mightly.

You don't think you’ve ever witnessed that many packs on one body. At least not in person. And you got to experience that tonight?

Sara didn't protest as you pulled the phone from her grip, eyes glued to each and every edge and cut of the man’s abdomen. For fuck’s sake he didn’t even look like he was flexing. It just looked like the natural cut of his body. He was hiding all that behind a simple button-up?

“Girl. And you almost gave this up because you didn’t want to go to a free brunch? You’re pretty- but damn that would have been a stupid mistake.”

You could only numbly agree as you handed off her phone with nod. Earlier to was decided that you wouldn’t be nervous. Believing you’d already shown the worst of your personality to fear anything past this point. But that was when all the cards were in your hands.

And george apparently was hiding quite a few trump cards.

Sara grinned widely in your peripheral.

“Oh this boy is going to give you a run for your money.”

“It is, but then it got interrupted which was entirely my fault, apologies.”

Something smart turned sickenly sweet, viciously like honey as the image of his shirtless dripped back into focus. You were forced to blink away the visage as you accepted the offered hand as George helped you out of his car.

When he had explained that he’d had a intimate dinner prepared at his house, you’d felt a shiver thread through your nerves at the implication. George certainly hadn't left much to the imagination himself as his gaze inspected every curve of the outfit you’d chosen for the night.

You yourself couldnt even properly award his style when the second you tried to properly inspect it, your mind took a deeper dive.

George’s hand curled at your waist as he keyed open his front door with the other,” It’s hardly a date if only one of us ate.” You bit your lip as his thumb raised to follow the line of your jaw.” Don’t worry, i wont forget about dessert.”

In a different situation, you might have been considered about the darker ambience of the flat. Had it not been for the sparkle of hanging lights and sparse candles lighting up the table spread across from the kitchenette. Apparently the team meeting hadn’t taken too long, giving him plenty of time to prepare a spread that you didn't feel the slightest bit worthy of.

George’s hand flexed at your side as if sensing your apprehension. “If it’s … too much let me know.” It was the first taste of sheepishness you’d witnessed from the man. “ I might have gone overboard, but I wanted to show you that I was serious.”

Not that he had ever not presented himself as such. If anything you were the one playing games, you scolded yourself. But that was all this was meant to be right? An agreement where both of you got what you wanted in the end. Him a date and you a night worth every moment leading up to this.

Rolling onto your toes, George graciously met you halfway to peck your lips. “No it’s great, let’s eat.”

George lead you to your seat. Making sure you were situated before leaning to your right, procuring a lighter and bringing a flame to the only scented candle in the room. The warm glow gave off the soft scent of autumn, a fitting accompaniment to the freshly prepared meal.

Earlier that afternoon, George had shot off a few options which you’d mostly brushed off not expected to hardly eat or enjoy any of them. But now seated with the braised flavor dancing across your taste buds, you found yourself wondering how many more dates you could tolerate just to go through the impromptu menu.

“It’s good,” you mumbled after swallowing, almost shy to admit. Across from you, George soaked it all in with a pleased grin. “Some compliments to my mum, she walked me through most of the steps.” his timid admission was too endearing for the dispassionate exchange you tried to make this.

This was why you didn’t bother with dating. So many unnecessary steps and added emotions built up just for it all to come crashing down. The weight of it all even more amplified by the fact that he was practically a celebrity. In the end, it would be your own damn fault for chasing a fruitless race once morning came.

Despite your inner turmoil, you spoke softly in between bites,” Compliments to the sous chef.”

You hated how that smile weakened another wall.

“Are you a cook at all?” he asked conversationally. You could feel his determination to make the most of what you were unwilling to hand over. Even with your obvious predisposition, not one ounce of your resistance bled into the atmosphere.

With only the two of you here to make noise, silence wasn’t an available option.

“Every now and again when we get tired of takeout.” To be frank, Sara was more privy to experimenting in the kitchen than you were. You had your favorites and often tired her out of the novelties you were content eating on repeat without fail.

Before you could catch the words, they slipped past your lips. “I prefer baking.”

You didnt miss the subtle widening of his gaze at your admission. Before the mood could dissipate, he fed into it. “Yeah, what’s your go to?”

And so you delved into a spiel about how cakes were the easiest but you like to attempt the challenge of pie crust on the occasion. Srew him into an impressive recollection of an entire season of The Great British Bake Off to explain the reasoning behind choosing the bizarre rhubarb ( a plant you hadn’t even known existed before that episode) over the familiar strawberry.

George smiled, laughed and clapped through each story. Even sharing a few of his own childhood memories as your plates gradually cleared.

He took the finally bite,” So i suppose that’s a smooth enough leeway into the actual dessert.”

You don't know if you wanted to laugh or cry when George presented an actual dessert. He’d instructed you to take a seat on the couch after passing along a freshly opened bottle of something sparkling and two glasses.

After some fumbling in the kitchen behind you, he rounded the furniture with a plate of fresh fruit and cream.

“Now that I’ve learned a bit about your sweet tooth, this seems almost silly. But I didn't want to presume your diet too far.”

The arrangement was as delicious looking as it was bountiful, easily identifying some of your favorites that lookd much riper than anything you could have procured from the local store store. You supposed the least a formula one contract could do was buy fresh from the gardens.

George eased into the seat next to you, busing himself with reaching for a glass while you plucked a fruit from the tray and bit into it with a low groan. It had been unintentional, truly, despite how in another situation you might have used it to your advantage. But it really was one of the best bites you’d ever had. Tasted as if you’d plucked it straight from the vine.

“That good?” The question was a  breathy sound against your ear. You vaguely noted the soft click of his settling down his glass before his hand returned to your cheek. His thumb dipped at the corner of your mouth, collecting the trail of juice before offering it back between the purse of your lips.

This time it wasn't accidental, the way your tongue flicked against the pad of his finger, eyes noting the shadow of lust in his gaze as he leaned in closer. When your mouth parts in invitation he swoops in for another taste.

His kiss was even better than before, a practiced blend of firm and teasing. He’d been a part of the chase long enough to know when to delicately nibble at your lip and when to offer his orifice for exploration.

And explore you did with renewed determination as you abruptly straddled his lap in hopes that witnessing the plane of muscle that would certainly get your mind back on track.

George sighed into your mouth, squeezing at your thigh as your hands pressed and prided against his core.

One, two, three… four, five-yep close enough.

His abdomen clenched with laughter as your nails traced with each count. He broke the kiss, lips sliding down you neck as he spoke. “Did I pass?”

“Yes, you prick. You can finally justify all those hours at the gym.”

His laugh tastes like kiwi when his chin tilts up to recapture your lips. You instinctively humor him with a breathless chuckle of your own, one cut short with a chortle when he lifts his hips. You’re thoroughly reminded of the warm-blooded male you’re straddling by the hard ridge of him straining against his pants.

George’s nose nudged your cheek, delivering a short kiss to the corner of your mouth, “I’ll justify it when I properly satisfy you tonight. “

You would have scoff if that wasn’t the exact thing you’d been hoping for since meeting him in the club. Correction- would have scoffed hadn’t he not taken away your ability to breath.

His fingers tested the edge of your dress spayed against your thighs, the delayed touch a silent question. Upon the curt nod of your head, his palms slid beneath the hem trailing warm and delicious friction over the curve of your hips and along your ribs.

He cracked a simmering grin when the tips traced the pretty ensemble bracing your body that you’d chosen specifically for tonight. Not that you’d say it. Though the grin he bore spoke volumes of what he knew.

Rather than lift the dress for a peek, he leaned in again for another kiss. He was a quick learner, already practiced in the art of opening your mouth for him. All the while, he palmed your breast, thumbs circling over the peaked mounds.

Everything he did felt like fine tuned art, graceful and tortuously so. The way he lifts his hips into yours , and swallows down the sound of her pleasure like a sip of fine wine.

He thrust his pelvis toward you, craving the sweet pressure of your body pressed to his, and when you answer the call tilting your hips down to grind against him, he groaned shamelessly. The pressure of your groin rubbing against him was torturous, enough friction to make him want more without being nearly enough to satisfy. Fortunately, you felt the same way; in the space of a few heartbeats, you twisted your hips and dug fingers into his abs, mewling against his lips like a pretty kitten.

And he was already so drunk on you. Heady to the same atmosphere that swept him up the night before. Only this time the stars aligned properly and he would have you. As many ways as he could get you.

His nose nudged your jaw as he drew to the side,” Will you let me have a taste tonight?”

Blind on the delicious roll of his hips, you answered numbly without consequence. “Not tonight.” George could only chuckle at the low simmering resistance. You’d find some way to deny him even at the expense of your own pleasure. He hummed pleasantly at the thought of as many ways he’d absolve that as his mouth slanted back over yours.

George stroked the baby hairs at your nape and lapped gently at your lips, and when he slid his fingers curled just right, you whimpered and nipped his lower lip. He nipped back lip in turn, and you let out a breathy little sound of approval.

A flare of greed draws his hands back to the edges of your dress where he gives a silent nudge of question.

You acquit immediately with a sharp tug, freeing yourself and fully exposing the pretty little set.

By the sharp intake of breath, it was determined that you chose well. Though any man would find it difficult not to be enchanted by a gift placed on their lap just for them.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs finally, eyes trained on your well fitted bossom. When you don’t squirm at the compliment those blue eyes, notably a shade darker, flicker up. His lips tease a smirk at the forget,”Not when a blush, eh? You just know you’ve got it. “

You can’t resist cocking a sharp smile,”Well you for set the stage, Mr. Russell.”

Another quick intake of breath through the nose this time.

“I suppose … I should be grateful that you finally accepted the invitation.” His head dropped to the swell of your breast. “Allow me.”

Then the cheeky bastard licked the expose peak of your nipple, then blew on it.

George followed the chain of reactions with ease, nibbling at the twin bud as your chest rose and fell rapidly with each jolt. His grip on your waist was warm and firm as you writhed wildly against him. His brow pinched as you continued to squirm quite wantonly against his throbbing arousal, though he remained determinedly on task, altering his affections fairly between each breast.

“Let me take you to bed.”

“No.”

For once you weren’t necessarily being stubborn, you simply didn’t trust yourself to traverse the layout of his home on steady legs. And quite frankly you simply didn’t want to pause long enough for either of you to do so.

“It will be much better.”

“Oh so you’re limited by your environment? I always thought you were an adaptable driver.”

George responded with another audible intake through his nose. The flare of his nostrils sending a shiver down your spine. He worked his jaw quietly as he watched you, eyes droving and cataloging.

“I think … next time we’ll have more time to talk about boundaries.”

Heat flickered against your skin as you realized the implications. George Russell wasn’t simply polite and mild mannered, he was holding back.

You couldn’t scramble together the words of defiance in time. And frankly, you weren’t sure that you wanted to.

Though it was impossible to be sure, you almost felt rewarded for you silence as he slid a hand through your hair, thumb caressing your jawline in tandem. He kissed you fluidly this time, so thoroughly in tune with the shape of your mouth after only a few occurrences. His fingertips smooth along your scalp, teeth nibbling at your tongue as your hands pull at his lapels. A moment and a show of strength later, you were laid on your back against the couch cushions. The hand at your nape, cradled the descent remaining as he pulled away from your lips until your noses brushed.

For a moment his mouth opened like he wanted to say something but ultimately decided against it. A second later you felt his fleeting touch at the braces of your bra. Just when you’re about to speak your approval the hand pulls away.

“Better leave this on if you only want me for a quick couch fuck. Wouldn’t want to ruin the upholstery, hm?”

It was the crudest thing he’d said yet.

And you could already feel the threads of control slipping from your palms.

Still your lips parted in a plea,”George-“

Only to have your words swallowed in another searing kiss.

“Shhh.” You can’t look anywhere other than the churning storm swirling above you. “I told you kissing can lead to anything.”

His knee pressed between your thighs, parting them and looping your calves at his hips. He rolled his shoulders back to free them from his shirt, taking his time fold it properly unlike your reckless abandonment of your shirt.

The curt and proper corner folding shouldn’t have been that bloody attractive. Maybe it was more the brief moment of disregard and silent expectation for you to behave. Either way you waited with baited breath for him to set it down on the coffee table before you regained his attention.

Your breath caught on a pretty little gasp when his hand returned to the inside of your right, cupping to lift it higher as his other hand brushed over the damp fabric at your apex. His grip tightened when you flexed, ready for the buck of hips as you cried out.

George watched on with a focused look,”You get prettier and prettier by the minute.” The warm rising to the horizon of your skin was a mixture of flusteredness from both the words and the way he continued to pet you through your panties.

“I-hm, George … please.”

“Pretty words too. You’re so sweet when you get unraveled. Just like candy.”

You nearly shriek when he pinches your clit. “I wonder what I’ll earn at the center after a few licks.”

“Please…”

“Oh but you don’t want me to take you to bed. Don't want me to use my mouth," he asks as if he made the rules and you were the one treading the line. "Keeping it clean and impersonal, right? I only get you for one night. Let me not waste your time.”

You think about kicking him, but your nerves are too overwhelmed with pleasure to properly heed the command. George chuckles as if noticing your plight.

“Still worth your while,” the bastard silently mouths.  Then he pulled the crotch of your panties to the side and slid one finger inside straight to the knuckle.

For a moment there was mutual marvelment at the sight of his slickness finger withdrawing and entering with ease. And it had nothing to do with the angle of your leg. Your body has accepted him prior to this moment, physical want soaking the path to your destruction.

You babbled, leg flexing against the firm hold as he slipped another finger on on the next drive, curling inward to stroke your walls. Nothing about this was impersonal. You were so so wet for him and he smelled just as good. An earthy scent with a hint of spice.

George leaned closer at the touch of your palms at his sides, giving both permission and access to anchor as you rolled your hips toward him. His gaze cut to the exposed column of your throat before his lips followed, teeth nibbling and catching on each bated breath.

You whimpered say his hand curves against your mound, adding numbing friction with each thrust. He was meticulous, stroking you with smooth flicks of his thumb as you rocked eagerly into each cant.

The small satificsction you gained from the hiss granted from your nails biting into his abs was short lived as he bit harder at your neck in retaliation. From then all each strand of resistance fell from your finger tips as the adrenaline of your building climax took over your senses. You could feel your heart rate shooting, the flowing blood pounding in your ears and between your legs to match the quickening pace of his hand. You should be embarrassed by the sloppy sounds of your slick ends arousal meeting your palm with each thrust but the delirious state of your peak outwashes the shame.

Your body suddenly pulls taut, head flung back as your guttered cry burst from your lungs. George kept pace against your slackening rhythm, fingers curling and twisting until he wrung you dry. Eventually the grip that pulled him close was desperate to push him back, weakly tapping out until his wrist slowed.

You were left vulnerable under his feral grin as he brought his hand up to taste. “The taste of anticipation is always the most divine.”

He would be the death of you, it was decided. And he knew it.

“Now to ruin you all over again.”

George Russell was an infuriating enigma. Patient to the point of outrage as he spent the next few minutes languidly kissing you until your heartbeat slowed and your perspiration dried. He slowly drew back to the starting line one second at a time until you were primed again for the countdown.

The best you’d managed was to rid him of his jeans. Only catching a glimpse of the bulge before he was sliding over you again to capture your lips.

You tried to regain some control, backtrack to when you were at the top of the world and not simply living in his. But he nipped away at each attempt, flicking away every bratty whine with a flick of his tongue.

“Let me take care of you.”

“I got it. “

And his favorite.

“Shhh.”

He was driving you insane.

“Please-“

You were at your breaking point as your finger tips pulled at his tussled hair. Gone was the best quiff, lost to your tangled frustration.

“Hmm?” His head turned to mouth at your ear, blowing just to witness the shiver it left behind.

You couldn’t take it anymore. “George, please-“

“Please what ?”

This infuriating man made you scared to ask. Words lost in the long tumble of desires and pleas. You didn’t just want him to have you. Gone was the whimsical wish to savor a night to remember.

You wanted this man to take you apart and remold you into something new. You wanted to recall weeks of his touch, not just a simple night.

He leaned back enough to catch your gaze. “Yeah, baby? Want me now?”

His head cocked to the side in playful question as his hand came to cup your jaw. He couldn’t fight the small grin as his thumb rolled the fullness of your bottom lip from between your teeth. “Use your words, love. I want what you want, remember?”

You were grateful that he didn’t use that moment to quote your own words back to you. You’d crack.

Shatter.

“Please fuck me.”

George grinned so cheekily, face feverish with lust. Your body rolled as he shifted back onto his knees. Then he hooked yours over his arm as he spread you wider, his other hand coming down to free himself from his briefs. There was a short fumbled and a tingle of relief nudged the back of your mind as you recognized the crinkle of foil.

But George’s gaze was set determinedly on you as he prepared himself without straying his attention for a second.“Want me to take care of you?”

Your head jostled with the frantic nod, lips parting only to gasp as he rubbed the head of his cock against your entrance.

“Use your words, pretty.”

Because you’d been using sign language up until this point.

George’s brow quirked as if having a third sense towards your inner sass, look pointed. This man owned the night, and all you could do was cash in pleasure.

“Yes!”

He shifted closer, just enough to part your folds. You jolted closer even to help, but the hand on your thigh kept you still.”

You clawed at his waist,“…George, I need you.”

Then you were rewarded with the pleasurable ache of him sheathing himself inside. And he was just— god, you hadn’t had the chance to properly see him. But the feeling— the way he took up space and filled you like this. Before you could savor the weight of him inside, he drew back, dark gaze drinking in every mewl that lips from your lips.

The prior teasing intertwined effortlessly with the staccato of his hips, bringing you together in a frantic, eager and practice pace as your hands clutched at his neck and held him close. Though you couldn’t properly process it beyond your own gratification, the reigns had slacked, allowing you to buck freely to to meet as he thrust into you harder.

It felt like a rush, yet your body was not finished the accumulated exhaustion as you were brought closer to another end. The final knockout as the friction of his pelvis against yours sang in tune with your rising climax. The second tip over wasn’t quite as powerful as the first, more so a shifting of flow that eased the remaining thralls of pressure from your body.

Your arms curled around his neck, drawing him back in as you rode the final waves, whispering broken encouragements until his rhymn stuttered and the final damn broke. It was a reward in itself feeling him shudder against you, hips abading until they came to a halt.

For a moment only your breaths intermingled, words not needed as mutual peace settled between you. The storm in his gaze gradually dissipated as he tenderly stroked your cheek and leaned in for another kiss. It was a slow set glide of his lips, tonguing delicately meeting in a intimate dance.

Eventually it was you who had to pull away, head full and dizzy processing what had all transpired. George's head nudged yours gently before pulled away.

He carefully released your leg, mindful of potential cramps as he slowly stretched it out and kneaded the muscle. You eased into the touch, grateful for the extra attention while you relaxed into the couch, eyes slipping closed.

Though you could no longer see, you could still feel the second pair of eyes skimming over the gradual lift and fall of your chest. The low hanging cloud of satisfaction rumbling in his own chest as he spoke.

“You done throwing a fit? Or am I going to have to fight to take you to breakfast again?”

Yes there will be more. I haven't made George crack the way I want him to yet. Plenty more fits to throw to get him there

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #george russell x reader #george russell imagine #formula one x reader #x reader #George Russell one shot #formula 1 fan fic #formula one fanfiction

[wuanshii]

"Kisaki's Wife!"

( Hanma Shuji x fem!reader )

Highlights: Kisaki Tetta couldn't satisfy the one he wifed. So the captivated woman chose a path to have a secret affair with a certain hot friend of his; Shuji.

Warnings: Adultery content, porn with plot, leg-breaking smut, slight yandere Kisaki, violence, death, a satisfying ending etc. Rated 18+, Proceed with caution!

Word count: 4.5k - 5k

( improved version )

Your best friend Emma, sister-figure Hina, half of your close friends, everyone was taken away from you by your so-called loving husband Kisaki Tetta.

It wasn't your choice to stay with him, but neither did you have any to begin with. Catching the eyes of a wannabe italian mafia as him is something the young you never anticiapted.

His threats and a gun was the sole reason why you were supposed to stay with him as his 'wife'. Or else, not you but somebody else from your family's life will be taken away.

But you don't recall him mentioning anything about Loyalty...

ㅤ

7:30 PM; Monday

ㅤ

ㅤ

"Does he fuck you like this? Answer me Y/n, I need answers."

With your back pressed hard against the cold wall, Hanma's dick dug deep inside your cunt, sloppily moving in and out. His long hands were supporting your thighs against his hips as both of your skin slapping against each other's was the only physical sound that echoed through your shared bedroom with Kisaki.

ㅤ

"N-No!" you stuttered. Honestly, anybody would if Mr. Shuji had his fat and thick dick buried deep inside them.

"No, what babe?"

"No he doesn't---. Fuck me the way.....y-you do!" he smirked at your response. That's exactly what his ears sought to hear.

"Moan my name." he ordered with a whisper.

"S-Shuji....." and you did, as always.

"Louder."

"Shuji!"

"LOUDER!"

"SHUJI!!"

ㅤ

He's an aggressive man, a little dominant too. And with that, he finally loaded inside of you, a lot actually. But not a problem to be worried about considering how you are on pills for safety measures.

Shuji locked his gaze onto your eyes and slowly tugged the strands of hair falling on your face. He loves you, and to show that, the dominant man roughly entangled his lips against yours and started the tongue foreplay as your hands steadily made their way to caress his soft hair.

ㅤ

"You in for round four?" in between the atmosphere of intense make out session, he paused and questioned. Men and their fuckin' needs.

"Four? C'mon now, haven't you broken me enough? And guess who's returning home. If he finds out, we--"

"Chill babe. We've been doing this for a year and he doesn't even have a clue HAHA."

"Who knows....." there goes the usual carefree Hanma Shuji you know.

ㅤ

Like a gentleman he's been towards you, he gently lifted you up on his arms and made sure you to clean the sweats off your body thoroughly after laying you on the bed behind.

"Turn over, I'm down for some snuggles~" aftercare and cuddles would sadly last for only 20 minutes at max. Can't risk no nothing, it's a sad reality you live in.

ㅤ

"I gotta get going now." and exactly after 20 minutes of getting good chuckles, laying together on the bed skin-to-skin, he finally had to leave.

"Will miss you."

"Aww~ Will meet you soon anyway, don't worry."

ㅤ

By managing his shirt and pant properly, he bent down to your level on the bed and gently placed his lips on top of yours again as a goodbye kiss. 45 seconds of kisses here and there, he was turned on, again.

ㅤ

"Ah fuck it, let's go for round 4."

"Control yourself! We are not going in for round 4,"

"But what about my dick?"

"Go home and jerk-off or something. You know how he is, it'll be a double-homicide if he catches us."

"Would love to die together with you~"

"Go!!"

ㅤ

Kisaki has stuck something really invisible and weird somewhere near the front door that notifies his phone about the footsteps that entered or left the house. Good thing that Hanma was there with that secretive information, or else, one little mistake could've cost each of your lives.

With a pout, he hugged you tight and carefully jumped down from the balcony of your shared room. Kisaki is really careful regarding your freedom, that was the only option available.

And guess a little spy object won't stop Hanma from coming back to his boss's wife again and again.

After 20 more minutes of pin drop silence around the house, the front door finally clicked open as he, Kisaki Tetta stepped inside the house tired. You were no fool either, the room was so clean and perfect to the point with no trace of proofs were left behind.

The man straight up made his way inside the empty bedroom whilst you were in the shower cleaning yourself. He stood a little cautious as you weren't there to welcome him as usual. And with a 'hmm' , he roamed around the whole house looking for you;

ㅤ

"Y/n, I am home."

No answer.....

ㅤ

He once again checked the bedroom and heard the waters running inside the bathroom. That was a syringe of relief for him know that you're safe.

knowing that you're inside your prison as you're supposed to.

ㅤ

"Y/n? Sweetie, are you in there?"

No answer......

ㅤ

"Y/n."

No answer.......

ㅤ

He began banging on the door real hard several times with your name on his mouth;

"Are you in there or not!?"

"Yes, I am. I'm showering!" your heart skipped a cold beat after the bangings,

"Come out."

"What?"

"I SAID COME OUT!"

By wrapping the towel around your body real quick, you walked out of the shower with your shaking legs which obviously was the result of rough sex from earlier.

ㅤ

"Y/n."

"Yes, I know... I really didn't----"

And before you could form a complete sentence, he slapped you, twice.

ㅤ

"I know you heard me the first time. Forgot about the rules now, did we?"

Your one hand held the right cheek as the other one clutched on the white cotton towel wrapped around your wet body. No, you didn't heard him the first time, he should've known better about your sincerity towards his idiotic possessive rules.

He simply walked out of the room, leaving your half-naked, vulnerable figure alone on the warm floor. He was a complete yandere, narcissit, posessive. That man doesn't love you, he just wants to fill the void in him after Hina's death.

ㅤ

You aren't on the page to be blamed because this man was so sweet when you first met him. You never anticipated this situation to occur, or more likely to be in, to go through. The history sure is not a merry one, only if you knew everything was planned and connected.

Not even his black card can impress you. That's the height you've reached. Nothing he had, he has, and he will have shall convince you to forgive and love this man.

But, his friend named Hanma Shuji, your 'Mister' was an exception....

ㅤ

"I'm sorry for slapping you, my love. You forgive me, right?" the dinner time came by, yep time to 'console' you.

"Yes...."

"'Yes' What?"

"Yes, I f-forgive you..." No you don't. But what choice do you have in your plate anyway?

He let out an 'aww' and kissed your forehead before serving you his handmade delicious dinner. Thankfully, it went by peacefully, no shoutings, no scoldings, no arguments. Peace for once.

Bedtime came along pretty late, but you're thankful cause at least it came. His cuddles and embrace, that's the last thing that would give you comfort. With him spooning you from behind, you both silently lied down on the bed for a goodnight sleep.

By shutting your eyes, you imagined Kisaki as Shuji embracing you instead but him speaking, again and again, was a complete annoyance, interruption, distraction, etc....

ㅤ

"Y/n, we've been married for like 2 years now, how about we do little family planning?"

'Family? Oh hell to the nah!'

ㅤ

"I am not quite ready for a child." you made up an excuse.

"May I ask why you aren't ready for a family, dear?"

"I-....I don't think I will be a good mom. Not now, let's just talk about it when....I feel like I'm ready."

"I know you will be a good mom. But sure, whenever my wifey's ready."

ㅤ

With that, he fell asleep sooner but you were wide awake. Shuji's words from the past kept circling around your mind ever since Kisaki brought up the topic of 'family'.

ㅤ

'Of course, I love you Y/n. When the time is right, I will free you from his clutches, kay? Then we'll go somewhere far, far away and have erm......10 Hanmas maybe?'

ㅤ

Thoughts of having kids with him were the main trigger for the butterflies in your stomach. The day might not be that far, a woman can dream.

ㅤ

10:10 AM

ㅤ

"I'm leaving for work, take care love~" Kisaki planted a sweet kiss on your forehead and bid a temporary goodbye before leaving the house. The moment his Bugatti's sounds stopped echoing through your ears, you immediately turned to your phone and texted your 'Mister.'

ㅤ

ㅤ

ㅤ

He's busy. Won't be coming. A piece of sad news indeed...

After turning his phone down, he grabbed the random girl by her hair who was sucking him sloppily and pushed her away from his cock now soaked with her spittles.

ㅤ

"You said you're all good and extra with this but you ain't shit either. I won't pay a single penny for this. Get lost." he sounds 'disappointed'.

"Is that what you're worthy of? Scam? A fuckin millionaire, are you not?" the woman stood her guards up as he instantly took his spare gun out and pointed at the woman kneeling.

ㅤ

"As I said, you ain't shit. Y/n is the only one and none other."

"Y-......Y/n? Who is she--"

"My wife. Now get lost before I show you what else this selfish millionaire can do."

ㅤ

The terrified woman gave him one last glare and rushed out of his office. To him, she was just a fraud with an offer. It's been a week and he hasn't got any spare time for himself to meet you. Jerking off to your picture and voice mails isn't enough for him to clear his frustrations. The only cure for his desperation is your touch, your voice, the kisses leave on his skin, you and only you.

Just about the time, he managed his pants up properly, his 'boss' , Kisaki entered inside the office for a talk.

ㅤ

"Wassup?~"

"About the little business party in 4 days, I was thinking about inviting my wife as well. She has been inside the house for too long."

"Oh. What was her name again?" acting all foolish n shii!

"Y/n."

"Yeah, Y/n. Sure why not~ Let her breath some fresh air once in a while."

"She does if you're wondering. And I have a favor to ask, keep a close eye on her if I disappear even for a second. She isn't dumb, can't let her run around and mess up our marriage."

"Eh, the problematic wife you've got there. Stay assured, I take the responsibility of your little prisoner's safety in my clutches~"

ㅤ

ㅤ

7:22 PM; Tuesday

ㅤ

"I can't with you women. It's been half an hour since I got ready, what the heck is taking you so long?" Kisaki yelled at you.

"This dress doesn't look good on me! This either! I don't have anything to wear!" you were unconsciously taking out your anger on random situations you were stuck in. Since the last text, Shuji had neither called you nor texted you back. You stood furious, of course.

Kisaki slapped himself after hearing your tantrums and rummaged through the closet full of expensive dresses he bought for you. And after a thoroughout search, he grabbed quite a revealing cat-mugler and handed it over to you.

ㅤ

"Wear that. And be quick."

"This is so.......revealing...."

"That's the point."

"Well, I don't prefer walking half-naked out ther-"

"You either wear it or, watch your cousin die." he doesn't like disobedience, you know.

So without another word, you immediately wore it and stepped out of the room while managing the comfortable yet odd dress. It wasn't half bad except, it was too revealing for your liking.

ㅤ

"Don't even think about trying anything funny, got it?"

"I've been obedient now haven't I? Don't worry, your wife loves you~" A small lie to gain his trust.

ㅤ

The business party, it wasn't in some silent hotel. It was just a loud and lively club his 'gang' owned. Kisaki really had a high-head there, every man that looked dangerous enough to kill others with a single stare were bowing down to him.

Some random males over the tables beside were drooling over you, staring at you from their p.o.v and imagining quite dangerous, forbidden thoughts. But being by Kisaki's side in that dress really caught you as the center of attention.

ㅤ

Some were secretly taking pictures of you, a few women were cursing at you; 'bitch' 'slut' 'whore' and all since their so-called man had their eyes all over you.

All these gazes but yours only searched for him; Shuji. With his hands on your waist, Kisaki guided you in the private VIP room.

'Where is he even? Shouldn't he be here?' you pondered, still observing around in hopes of catching a glimpse of him.

ㅤ

Entering inside the messy and colorful room, as expected, everybody's eyes hooked onto you despite all the hired strippers and pleasure toys beside them.

ㅤ

"Yo, made me wait too long now didn't ya? And it's been so long, Mrs. Kisaki~ I am Hanma Shuji, your protection." there he is, the tragedy you've been looking for.

'Mrs- what? I'll bite his dick off.'

ㅤ

"Don't act like a condom now. Y/n, you better stick with him if I somehow disappear just in case, got it?" Kisaki interrupted,

"Oh, I will. And it's nice seeing you again, Hanma-san." funny how Kisaki couldn't notice the deep conversation shared between yours and Hanma through your 'eyes'

Four joint couches, the whole room was smelling expensive. You were seated in between of Kisaki and Hanma, more closer to your beloved actually.

ㅤ

"Let's get to the point now, kick these strippers out." Sanzu pointed his words out before starting something important.

Wow, a man with pinkish hair. Not to mention the rest of the good-looking guys around you, felt quite illegal to be there honestly.

ㅤ

"You heard me, come on time to go shoo shoo ." The pink-headed ordered the girls,

And one by one, each one of them left, leaving you as the only female in the room. Sanzu then cunningly fixed his eyes at you with a smirk which instinctively made you clutch on Shuji's coat tightly. His smirk stinked dangerous, you could tell.

ㅤ

"Want me to tell you in Chinese?" Sanzu yelled.

".........me?" had to make sure.

"Of course you, darling~"

"Mind your words, she isn't any whore or stripper." Kisaki defended

"That cloth around her body says something else tho, oh, or is she your girlfriend?~"

"This is my wife," next, he hugged you in closer and threw a grudge-worthy smile at Sanzu's way. Man loves showing you off.

ㅤ

After hearing that, Rindou choked on the whiskey he was drinking as everybody in the room looked at him with that look of 'disappointment'.

ㅤ

'I'm still her main-hoe tho.' ── Shuji

'Wife? Might as well ask how much he paid her for that role tonight cause she definitely isn't a wife of someone like him.' ── Ran

'Damn and here I thought I could hit.' ── Takeomi

'... ..' ── Izana & Rindou

'Maybe I am hallucinating right now cause no way he just called her his wife. Yeah, I'm just hearing things.' ── Sanzu

Their thoughts united.

ㅤ

"She will stay here, no worries. Also, where's Mikey?"

"What do you mean 'where's Mikey'? We thought you both were together."

"Don't start kiddin now, he's not with me,"

"Well then try calling him, we really don't know." Rindou interrupted those two.

ㅤ

Several dials and 'The Boss' wasn't picking the call up. Today's meeting was supposedly the most important one, or so they said. Their boss 'Mikey' really is their main criteria and guess who's missing.

ㅤ

"So it really came down to this..."

"What!?" Sanzu yelled after Kisaki got off from his phone.

"It's him again, that shithead. Called the hotel and seems like he was the one seen with Mikey last time."

"If you don't fuckin' tell me who--"

"Hanagaki!! Ahhh, why is he even alive? I'm checking to the hotel, anybody here mind accompanying me?"

Kisaki glanced at Hanma and began a short code conversation with each other through the 'Blink-Morse' code where one relays their morse message by blinking their eyes.

ㅤ

'Lock her in the empty individual-VIP room on the end of hallways, that's mine room.'

'Gotchu~'

'Make sure she won't run away from here,'

'You have my back~'

Not exact long words were relayed, a eye-to-eye convo took place hinting those words. At least Shuji got the point.

ㅤ

Everybody except for Sanzu kept their cool and stayed in their respective places. Thankfully, the men around weren't perverts. Their eyes spoke danger, no lust. So you can assume yourself a little safe around them.

Kisaki wrapped it all up for the moment and left without even saying a word to you. Not like you wanted to hear any either. Shuji got up and stretched for 20 good seconds before looking at you with his eyes filled with something that was needy.

ㅤ

"Guess we gotta move from the room, Mrs. Kisaki~" he offered.

The men aren't really a bunch of perverts, but they can't avoid 'not' looking at you. But no worries again, your 'protection' is right there, isn't he?

ㅤ

ㅤ

On the bed where Kisaki used to sleep once in a while when he wouldn't come home, Hanma steadily drilled you, fucking the sense out of your brains with his long and thick length buried deep within your walls.

His movements were dangerous, but the pain won't stop him from reaching the pleasure he desired. He only once shifted himself backward and rammed in you aggressively, making you flinch and loosen your walls due to sharp pain from his sudden motion,

ㅤ

"You like- this?" He exclaimed with flustered face as his cock was at the edge of your g-spot,

"Cum already, it's been 9 min---utes~" you tried your best to speak, which only caused him to moan and increase his speed.

The atmosphere of sex covering the whole room was pleasing. The moans, the beautiful smell, the faint background music playing around.

ㅤ

' I mi--ssed ya,' he moaned. Yep, he won't hesitate to. He's not like those other men in bed that won't let out a single moan.

Few more ongoing thrusts and you felt his warm seed painting your inner walls along with his deep groan of satisfaction that echoed through your ears.

You brought him in closer and planted a soft and sweet kiss on his lips. Two individuals in love, making out with each other inside the luxurious room, such a blissful moment, but little did any of you two know, Kisaki was watching , from the small fitting camera on the corner of the room , patiently.

Mikey was alright, he was just having his usual mood swings. And coming back to the door, he heard the cheerful chuckles from his wife that he himself rarely ever hears.

"I see how it is," Kisaki murmured when he had reached the door. He now has a moment to witness his haunting thoughts buried within him. Definitely, he's been suspicious of his wife for too long now. Of course he was acting all dumb and shit on purpose, to gain some little of evidence to prove his doubts.

The more he observed you two together on the bed, the more anger his fist poured. Gritting his teeth like a maniac, Kisaki took 3 long minutes to finally flash a smile on his face. An smile that spoke evil.

ㅤ

He then turned his phone off, unable to watch you two going for 3rd round; Hanma's swollen red tip caressing your wet clit again--

ㅤ

"Oh no, Y/n is such a bad girl." Anddd turned to your favorite cousin with that same smile as he raised his gun at his/her forehead.

Your cousin could only jerk tears off and beg for his/her life with the soft cloth wrapped around his/her mouth.

"You see this shit?" Kisaki shoved his phone that played your live porn on his screen right at your cousin's face, "Did you both not grow old together? What a tragedy,"

C/n knew Kisaki won't let him/her go just as that. He/She knows what kind of a man you got entangled with. But despite it all, he/she began begging for a life to live, saying how he/she will convince you to not commit such an act that will displease your husband. 'Y/n will listen to me, I know she will,'

ㅤ

But...

"Oops, can't hear you, C/n~"

BANG  >>>>>>>>>>> 💥

"Sorry, my fingers kinda slipped."

He walked over c/ns dead body and wore his gloves properly as he swiftly made his way outside the club.

ㅤ

The man holding the gun was cruel. He stepped through the boundary of his patience, and now we all can assume that he cannot be stopped.

He gave his gun a single kiss and managed it on his belt behind before whispering,

"Now, next are her parents." 

ㅤ

ㅤ

"Baby, I really think we should get...going," By holding each side of his cheek, you exclaimed,

"He hasn't called me yet, why're you worried?" and Shuji replied while gazing down at his goddess.

"I've got a bad feeling.....we're still in the club y'kno...."

"If that's why my baby wishes, Shuji shall fulfill it~ But don't sweat it, you're worrying for nothing."  He caressed his nose against yours with a chuckle and got up. Each of you gathered your own clothes and got dressed, ready to leave. Whilst Shuji cleaned every corner around of the room, you caught his attention;

ㅤ

"You sure you can walk?"

"I'll try," they were trembling a little, he's quite a person. Look at you, made you weaker than ever on 3rd round. No matter how many steps you tried to take, your legs would lump down, making you fall down on your knees time and again.

ㅤ

"Oh nah, you can't do that." Shuji hummed, looking down at you thinking with his hand on his chin,

"Do I look like I have a choice??"

"Well, hmm....Oh, yep. You do have a choice, we'll have to break your legs~" He offered.

"Erm....was that a joke?"

"No hun~" he came over to you and helped you up, "I'm being serious."

"Why!?"

"To fool him of course, you won't be able to walk until tomorrow anyway. Let's get you some rest, I know you'll be fine~"

"Shuji, you're being ridiculous-"

"Trust me, I'll make it less painful~" okay. It's not like he's gonna make it less painful, but maybe that was the only choice in your pocket.

Won't gonna have to do those house chores too if your leg is broken either, the only relief. Shuji carefully held you up in his arms and gently placed you down behind the managed bed again,

He then attached your hips to his torso and ran his slender fingers down your thighs with a smirk on his face. No, he was planning something else, something fishy,

ㅤ

"Okayyy, you trying for the 6th round now?" You interrupted in between as he was tugging your panties down,

"Noup, not a 6th, just making space for the pain to convert itself into pleasure," he sounded serious. It better not be what you're thinking of. . .

"Shuji, how wil-"

ㅤ

Before you could finish, the man bent your left leg sideway in a swift, making you wince and scream due to sudden rush of pain your leg suffered. Man, that was unexpected, and mostly, it HURT. Hurt so damn worse that you couldn't control the tears rolling down your cheeks.

Just about time you were about to curse at him, he immediately shut you up with his hand rushing over to cover your mouth. Your man knows how harsh, and loud you can be.

ㅤ

"It's okay babe, it's okay~" your left knee swelled so bad, not just the swelling, you began sufficating from the pain. But he was there, caressing your bare skin to comfort you by adding stuff like, 'You'll be fine baby' 'It's just a bone or two, you'll be just fine'.

He assured you, asked you to breath as his hand left your mouth and you did. Took your precious time to take all the air and pray for yourself. Whilst your eyes were calmly shut, you felt his length enter in you steadily.

"The pain's gonna go away real quick, stay steady k?" he whispered and began moving in-and-out, in and out sloppily. The pleasure didn't took long enough to directly hit your whole body.

Yes, he was breaking your legs while fucking you.

As he rocked his hips back and forth, filling the wholse room with the sound of two skins slapping against each other at a slow yet quick pace, a faint *crack* sound echoed through both of your ears; and it was just him breaking your right leg.

' He's a Demon. '  you thought,

Yet, he was smiling. You on the other hand were in between of mixed emotions, his hand caressing your thighs, eyes filled with tears, the body receiving both pain & pleasure at the same time.

' He's my Demon.' second thoughts as you gazed at his yellow orbs ,

ㅤ

"How ya feelin`?" he bent to your level, and smooched your face while still rocking himself inside and out. You couldn't even form a word properly, all that left your lip was the moans you couldn't control.

And he liked that. Made him feel good for no reason, perhaps he just liked the fact that his dick and hand worked magic right there.

The swollen muscles of your ankles, they were right on point and sort of dark blue in vision as he planted a kiss on top of it before reaching his climax together with you. It was a relief, you were numb, too weak to feel anything as Shuji dragged his dick out of you and laid beside.

"Hah! That was fun," yeah, fun my ass. you thought as the silence took over and the only thing audible in the room was the running AC covering the smell of sex from the room.

ㅤ

Until, Shuji's phone vibrated,

He moved forward and grabbed it from the table with an expression of annoyance.

And guess it was Kisaki,

ㅤ

ㅤ

"Elloo~"

"Where are you?"

"Protecting your wifey from the other evil eyes on the VIP room~"

"Oh."

"Wassup?"

"I just arrived at the club, meet me. Along with Y/n."

Shuji muttered 'Shit' under his breath and took 3 whole seconds to gain himself back to answer him,

"Sure, boss."

ㅤ

ㅤ

In a hurry, he managed his whole shirt and belt on his pants and zeopardly cleaned the room. Next, he fixed your tugged off panties on your hips and placed a kiss on top of your pussy before carrying you in a bridal style, you were just as confused there.

ㅤ

"He's already back, time to go, princess~"

"We've been here for 1 and half hours, of course he would've been bac-"

"I've got a bad feeling......." He tensed. The tone of Kisaki was different, he noticed that. And he was quite frightened as well but thinking it of as some random knockout feelings, he excused himself out of the door while carrying you.

But just as he stepped out, carrying you in his arms, both of your heart stopped beating for a sec right there.

ㅤ

As Shuji was holding you, Kisaki was standing right there, holding two chopped-off heads of your parents in his arms with a gentle smile.

ㅤ

ㅤ

"  N-No...." you muttered, recognizing them under the heavy mixed club night.

"Hello there, wifey~" Kisaki exclaimed,

You wanted to slide down from Shuji's arms but you couldn't, more like Shuji didn't let you. He was slowly taking a few steps back with you up in his arms, ready to run away from the madman in front.

ㅤ

"Oh no, what happened to your pretty legs? Did Hanma break it while fucking you?"

Before he could run with you, Kisaki pointed the gun at both of your way.

ㅤ

"Don't even try~"

"Y/n, shoot him, shoot him with the damn glock attached on the back of my belt!!" Tensed up Hanma whispered to you as you bent a little and checked wherever it was.

ㅤ

You found it, small in size it was but before you could even grab the gun, Kisaki shot the right thigh of Shuji which immediately made him fall down weak. Next was yours, how man pain shall your leg suffer? First broken knees, now a bullet on the right side?

Not just you but Shuji as well screamed in pain but the loud music of the club covered it up. Nobody would hear a single thing.

ㅤ

"Kisaki!!! Hear me out, it's not--" ─Hanma

"Oops, a corpse is talking."

ㅤ

And with that, the next thing you saw was a bullet piercing right through Shuji's skull. Blood ran down from the spot where he was shot as the bullet laid still within his forehead.

Hanma Shuji, your lover, he was murdered by Kisaki Tetta, the merciless man that claims himself as your husband.

ㅤ

The last thing Shuji muttered was your name, your name was the only thing that left his mouth before dying ,

You tried to shake him awake but it was useless, your whole body was trembling in fear. Just about some moment ago, you both were happy in each other's arms. This is the situation you last anticipated to find yourself in.

Your legs weren't functioning at all, and it hurts a lot too, yet you managed to place himself on your lap and started caressing his cold cheeks with your tears dropping down on his bloody face,

"Shu-- shu, no, shu, tell me t-this is a joke. Shu, wake--"

ㅤ

His fingers were slightly moving, but there wasn't much hope left either way. Kisaki's men came and took his dead body away, granting you the last time you saw your beloved,

ㅤ

"Oh god, whore." Kisaki muttered,

- as he dragged you away from there by pulling you by the roots of your hair, you teared up at the sight of your beloved's dead body lying on the cold floor alongside the carelessly beheaded heads of your parents.

ㅤ

Tortures and Abuse ,

ㅤ

That's what you received on a daily basis. It was a routine now, for both you and Kisaki.

He'd refuse to kill you, he simply just enjoys hearing your screams. You longed for his presence, his voice, his touch but Shuji's body was thrown away in the middle of the ocean, he would never come back.

ㅤ

Kisaki never showed mercy, he'd beat both you and your son together. He was disgusted with you to the point where he doesn't even like the mere idea of the mother of his child being you. But it ain't like you ever wanna bear his child either.

ㅤ

"Mama, why does papa always hurt us?"

Ryuji snuggled closer to you. Your 3 years old son, h/c with yellow orbs and face being the spitting image of his father; he's the product of your affair with Shuji. When he came to your life, you were blessed with at least one good thing.

ㅤ

Thankfully Kisaki let him live just because you were being an 'obedient dog throughout your whole pregnancy and these past few years. But nobody knows when he's gonna snap and hurt both of you together, like always.

ㅤ

"I don't think papa loves us, mama..." he cried in your arms as Kisaki had locked both of you in a cold chilly room just because you didn't clean the dust off the table properly. It was just an excuse of his, he just wanted to add more sufferings.

ㅤ

"Mama?" Ryuji called you out zoning in the middle.

"Ryuji,  he isn't your father." with a stern tone, you replied with a broken smile and caressed his head.

Ryuji was your everything, also the last gift left by Shuji.

ㅤ

" I know. Where is he, my real papa?"

".......H-He was...killed by this pig. 5 years ago, before you were even born, Kisaki Tetta is the man that killed your father."

ㅤ

That was the information a 4 years old could hardly grasp and go through but you didn't care. At this point, your hope had all died. But he smiled instead of being terrified.

ㅤ

" What was my papa's name, mama?"

With an expression so broke, you glanced down at your son and gave him a warm smile before replying. He chuckled, despite being in such a situation, he chuckled and hugged you tighter with a smile that hinted 'hope', hopes of meeting his real dad and living a good life with his Mom.

ㅤ

"Shuji, Hanma Shuji." you smiled, and he acted like he was thinking.

"....mmm....so that will make me...Hanma Ryuji!" 

ㅤ

ㅤ

You had to protect that smile of your son, your ray of sunshine. Shuji would've pampered him so much, given him the love and care of a father he deserves.

This, this whole abuse is something your son will never be freed from. Kisaki will definitely ruin Ryuji's future one way around, and you won't always be there for him. Nobody can predict whatever's gonna happen. But one thing you know for sure is that...you both are forever trapped in Kisaki's clutches.

ㅤ

By gently placing your son down, you got up and poured every strength you had to shatter the small window's glasses.

ㅤ

"What are you doing, mama?"  He innocently questioned, a little terrified too as his mama stood by the window holding a piece.

"Do you want to meet....your papa?"

"I..... Yess, I don't want to stay with this guy. I want to meet my Papa!" only if he knew...

"I see."

ㅤ

With a soft smile, you went back and embraced him a little closer and placed the sharp piece near the side of his stomach without his knowledge. His sweet smile faded soon, leaving his eyes widened as you caressed his cheeks whilst planting kisses of despair in his forehead.

No shit, the next thing you did was pierce the sharp object through his abdomen while hugging him tightly. Ryuji clutched his fists onto your shirt with wide eyes as it was so sudden, a child would never expect that. But neither did he scream, nor did he cry,

ㅤ

'Mama...my stomach on the side.....it's paining....it hurts. Mama---....why?' he silently cried, touching your hand holding the piece with his soft ones.

'I'm sorry my baby, I'm sorry, I'm sorry....Mama's sorry, she's really sorry--'

ㅤ── was all you repeatedly muttered while crying and holding him close to your chest. Ryuji simply uttered 'Mama-' before taking his last breath,

ㅤ

"Mama will....join you soon."

Just like his father, Ryuji too laid dead on your lap. It's as if history reapeated itself, but in a different font.

ㅤ

By building in enough courage, you took the glass piece out of your child and placed it on your neck, to slit your throat. You were terrified, hands trembled a lot too, but you had to do it.

To end it right there, all the sufferings, all the abuse, you have to free yourself.

ㅤ

In one last go, you slid the broken piece across your neck and lost your consciousness forever by still holding Ryuji's dead body on your lap.

The pain will be gone, all the suffering will end right there.

ㅤ

You are finally free.

ㅤ

ㅤ

"Mama look!! My Papa looks exactly like me!"  In between the void place where colorless cloud surrounded you, your son cheerfully came running to you.

'Is this a...dream?' you thought, looking around the never been place.

"Noup, not a dream, honey."  And when you glanced back, you found Shuji smiling at you, holding excited Ryuji on his arms.

ㅤ

How many years had it been since you last saw that pretty face? Heard that soothing voice? Felt his warmth and touch? You lost count of it long ago....

But there he was, wiping the tears off your eyes while holding his son closer to him,

Without hesitation, you brought him in for a tight hug and cried so loud that even God himself felt the pain in your voice.

ㅤ

"I watched, I suffered alongside you two and I waited, for too long. I'm proud of you, Y/n." With a soft smile, he exclaimed.

ㅤ

"Come on, my baby's such a crybaby~"

Ryuji too began tearing up for dramatic purposes since he saw his Mom crying like a baby in his Dad's arms.

ㅤ

"Come on my two babies, don't cry now, get up."

He helped his sweet little crybabies up and patted each of your back. Maybe it was a dream, or it wasn't, nobody knows.

ㅤ

"I missed you a lot , Y/n." He whispered, tears almost falling from his eyes as he brought both of you nearer and embraced you tightly.

One thing for sure is, the man standing in front of you was your Shuji, not a fake one, not a doppelganger, he was your beloved Hanma Shuji that was taken away from you 5 years ago.

ㅤ

" I missed you too, a lot, Shuji." You too replied with a warm smile, hugging him closer than ever. He stood up, holding your hand and wiped his tears with a smile,

ㅤ

"C'mon, let's go. We've still got 9 more Hanmas to make~

The End.

#hanma smut #tokrev hanma #hanma shuji #shuji hanma #hanma x reader #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers oneshot #hanma shuji x reader #tokyo rev angst #kisaki angst #kisaki tetta #hanma angst #angst with a sad ending #smut with plot #tokyo revengers #hanma x you #tokyorev hanma #hanma x kisaki #tetta kisaki x reader #tokyo revengers angst #tr smut #trauma

[angelisverba]

let me hear you

in which y/n touched herself without mafialeader!harry’s permission, and he made a rule saying she’s not allowed to

word count: 5k

pairing: y/n and mafialeader!h

warnings: mentions of drugs, violence, and sexual activity. very heavy sexual activity. like, pure filth and more bro. daddy kink.

note: this has been on my mind…. for a while now….. yeah…. i needed  to get it out before i started anything else.

lindsee= drowning in debt after this

It was hard.

Very hard.

She knew it was against his rules. Touching herself when he wasn’t present and without his permission.

This rule had been established when Harry came home after a long day of knocking teeth out and reviewing drug debts, to y/n mewling and bucking into her hand, sprawled out on their red satin sheets. She was so busy gripping the sheets and panting ‘daddy I’m almost there’ that she didn’t notice that her man was standing at the edge of their bed, one arm crossing his chest so he could rest his elbow on it, finger tapping rhythmically against his bottom lip as he watched with dark, hooded eyes, waiting for her to finish-- or acknowledge his presence, whichever came first.

A noticeable dent formed at the crotch of Harry’s pants, and he ached to reach out, grab her by the hips, and manhandle her. Tie her arms behind her back and fuck into her until she screamed for him to stop, all the while he growled into her ear ‘isn’t this what you wanted princess? ‘said daddy I’m almost there and now you don’t wanna take it?’ Loins aching for action, he refrained from doing what he wanted to do because he had a lesson to teach.

It seems he always did.

But holy shit was it worth it when she came, her back arching off the bed and her fingers stilling their movements on her clit (he was slighting disappointed in the fact that she hadn’t fingered herself). Y/n’s chest heaved wildly, the swell of her breasts glistening with perspiration, nipples pert with her arousal-- and she still hadn’t noticed him.

Harry had to make a deep, low humming noise from the depths of his throat to express his disappointment. This made y/n’s head spring up from it’s position on her pillows, with wide eyes and startles, parted lips.

“What was this-” he gestured with a finger at her naked body, a simple, intimidating gesture paired with a slight head tilt that let y/n know exactly where she stood. “All about, princess?”

“Daddy I-” she stopped herself, her word dying in her throat when she realized that the true reason could possibly get her into even more trouble.

She just couldn’t hold onto her inhibitions when he was around-- and also, when he wasn’t. The image of him getting dressed; buttoning his pants just above where his abdominal v-lines started, zipping up his pants, cuffing his shirt, and oh god when he buttoned up his shirt. She wasn’t sure why it turned her on so much, but it only riled her up further when he walked towards where she lay with the sheets up to her chest on the bed, and kissed the area just behind her ear, where he knew it sent shocks of heat to her center.

“Mhm, tell your daddy, why you were touching yourself and calling his name. C’mon, tell him.” Harry crawled onto the bed, positioning himself so he was right above her body, and trailed his fingers down her front and to her folds, plunging two fingers in with ease, given she was still wet from her orgasm.

A small gasp left her lips, and Harry worked her up to another orgasm.

And then another.

Then he paused, and spanked her.

And then fucked her.

He kept her going until she was crying from the pleasure. After all that, he yanked her by the chin to look into his eyes and said,

“You are not allowed to touch yourself if I’m not present, and especially if I don’t give you permission to, got that baby? It’s daddy’s job to make you cum until you’re shakin’ from my hands, mouth, fingers, and cock. Got it?”

Y/n whimpered a pathetic ‘yes daddy’ as a promise to quit her promiscuous antics.

A promise broken nearly three weeks after the first occurrence.

It was another Wednesday, the most stressful day of the week for the kingpin, and in efforts to start the day off on a pleasant note, he’d woken up his pretty girl by licking nose-deep into her cunt, his tongue flat against the mouth of her hole, the tip flicking in just slightly before starting it’s stripe all over again.

The girl, used to being woken up by having her pussy lapped at, opened her eyes to see that the red satin sheets were off of both her and Harry’s body, and Harry’s head was buried in between her thighs.

At her first moan, he glanced up with a lazy smile on his lips, murmuring in his raspy morning voice, “Good morning, darling.” He licks into her deeply, exaggerating the drag of his tongue to the tip lingered on her clit momentarily. “Love hearing your pretty moans first thing in the morning. Can you moan a little louder? For daddy, baby?”

Harry used his fore and middle finger to part her folds, his taffeta-pink lips forming a nice ‘o’ shape before releasing cool air on her swelling button, eliciting a whimper from y/n. Clearly, not high enough for his expectations.

“Louder, princess. C’mon, let me hear you.” He said, mouthing his words against her clit, every movement of his lips and vibration of his words sending her bucking up into Harry’s mouth. Releasing a strained moan, slightly louder than her previous noise, y/n reaches down to grasp at his hair, grabbing two fistfuls and using them as leverage to push her hips harder into his mouth, the bridge of his nose crinkling against her mound, and letting her jaw hang at the glorious sensation.

Feeling her nails scratch, trail, and clutch at his hair, Harry’s eyes roll back and he gives an instinctual rut into the silky sheets, a burn spreading through the underside of his cock from how hard he was. It was truly a delicacy, being able to lick at y/n’s warm folds whenever he wanted to, to feel her go wet on his tongue, the smell and taste of her arousal taking complete control over his senses. His ears roaring-- ringing-- with the sound of her desperate moans, the one’s she never ran out of. Pliant under his control, y/n wasn’t ashamed in letting herself go, and Harry was proud in the fact that she trusted him enough to do so-- cocky even, that he was the only one who made her feel that way (Harry was y/n’s first everything, but that was a whole other story).

The well-known tug of her near bursting arousal made itself ever-present when Harry’s second burner phone of the week began to vibrate on the nightstand, overlapping with the sound of her heavy breathing.

Harry lifted from her heat momentarily to say: “Answer the phone, my love. Tell them daddy’s busy.”

With her breath hitching in her throat , y/n removed one hand from his head, and reached over to grab the teetering phone, pressing the answer button and lifting it to her ear, biting down on her lip to keep from gasping into the receiver.

“Mr. Styles, there’s been a delay on the shipment coming in from Cuba, and-”

“Mr. Styles, ah-” Harry had delivered a hefty slap on top of her clit, the hit sending a spasm of pleasure up her spine and causing a breathless hitch in her sentence, clearly alluding to what was going on.

“Thas’ not my name to you, y/n.” He growled, sucking sharply on the place he’d just smacked.

“Sorry,” she squeaked, clearing her throat and not hesitating to continue, “daddy’s busy right now.”

“Good girl. Now, hang up.”

Y/n ended the call, the other man’s response dying in her ear as a deafening ring filled it instead-- a signal that her orgasm was right there.

“Daddy,” she released a jumbled noise of pleasure— a mix of a hiccup and a bleat— and used her hold on Harry’s locks to thrust her hips into his face; he took the offering with grace, widening his mouth so that the motions he inflicted became messier. Hungrier.  “Please, I’m there. I’m there, I-”

“Come on, my love. Let daddy have it, I’ve got you.” Harry picked himself up from his position between her legs, his hand moving from flicking at her clit, to mimicking fucking motions with his fingers inside her slick walls as he crawled up her torso, his face hovering over hers.

Now that there was nothing suppressing him,  

His cock curved up and left a sticky trail where it rubbed on his abdomen, precum from his arousal leaking all over the ruddy, mushroom head that strained upwards.

The sight brought tears of frustration to her eyes, her mind a boggled mess of want want want and yearning for Harry’s sprung member. She wanted Harry to fuck her. She wanted Harry to eat her. She wanted Harry to make. Her. Cum. She needed release, and just as she was about to, Harry removes his fingers from her hole, and the previous build-up starts to bubble down. The burning ache is still there, an underlying tone to her pleasure, but the burning intensity is gone.

Just as she is about to cry because he’s left her floating above the burning inferno of sexual impatience, Harry spreads her legs open with his knee, and thrusts into her, watching the way her pussy swallows his cock-head and the rest of him sinking after; consumed in her tight, slick, heat, he shudders himself to the hilt. The feeling of being so full, so stretched, painfully good to the max,  throwing her finally over the edge.

Y/n squeezed impossibly tight on Harry, her eyes falling half shut with euphoria, glazing over in signal that half of her has been driven away with the overwhelming pleasure. He looks into her eyes just in time, catching the moment with a smug pride that he always managed to make her feel that way.

The helpless, vulnerable look on her face, swollen lips and teary eyes, prompts the tell-tale twitch on the underside of Harry’s dick, his hips jutting back to splurge his warm load onto her still clenched belly. His fist closed tight around himself, sliding at a rapid pace to finish himself off with a toe curling orgasm, y/n’s recuperating pants hot in his ears.

“Thank you, my love.” He pressed a spongy wet-kiss right underneath the lobe of her ear, the pressure on the sensitive skin inducing a dreamy sigh from her. “Did so good for me. Wish I could stay inside you all day, but unfortunately, I’ve gotta go. Have a feeling something went from with the shipment from Cuba.”

Y/n whined in response, her eyes lulling shut from the wave of heaviness that came after finding her release. “Don’t go, daddy. Please?”

Alarmed, Harry pulls out from the nook of her throat to look her straight in the eye. He wouldn’t leave her if she was still feeling small, not after what happened the last time.

“Y/n? You small, baby?” His eyebrows are furrowed, but the look on his face is soft for the girl underneath him. “We’ve been over this, darling. My area of business is no place for a pretty princess like you.”

He uses the back of her hand to caress her cheek, watching her intently as she blinks owlishly at him, her hand coming to wrap around his wrist. “But, I’ll miss you.”

Harry feels the strings of his heart pulling with affection for his girl, yearning to comfort her. “I’ll come back, y/n, you know this,” he cooed at her. “I’ll come back just like I need you to come back to me now.” He leans the small distance between them and presses a soft kiss on the tip of her nose.

Y/n does a sharp intake of breath, her eyes widening and focusing, emerging from their daze. She becomes hyper aware of all the places Harry’s touching her. His lips pecking at her face, his knees parallel to the soft inside skin of her thighs, the tip of his cock that lay on the plushy part of her groin, his chest rubbing against her erect nipples. He held himself above her, hands slightly above her head, but his face was dipped so he was closer to her.

“With me now, my love?” He smiled at her, tilting his head to the right so a curl dropped over his eye.

“Yes,” she breathed, reaching out to comb back the curl that was obscuring his view.

“Good. I’m gonna get ready now, and I don’t wanna hear anything about this ‘take me with you’ thing you tried to pull okay?” His grin dropped to a more serious demeanor. He was very serious, about keeping her safe; uninvolved with his work.

“Okay.”

“We’ll do whatever you’d like when I get back, alright?”

“Alright,” her voice was quiet, her body language shy.

Pressing one last kiss to her lips, Harry gets up and walks into his and y/n’s shared closet, leaving y/n on the bed by herself.The area where the tip of Harry’s dick touched the plush of her mound tingled, her hole fluttering and aching at the abrupt absence of what was previosly filling her to the brim.

She wanted to complain.

It was selfish of her to beg for more, even though she was still heavy with her past wave of ecstasy, her body wanted more more more of Harry.

But, it was a Wednesday, the busiest day of the week and Harry’s job wasn’t exactly one you could fuck around with. He was giving her so much by simply ignoring the call he’d received, and she would be so ungrateful if she didn’t accept what she’d been given.

Y/n watched Harry get ready, the man strutting out at the closet in an all-black ensemble; black slacks, clack longsleeve button-up, black heeled ankle boots. The color added a magnefying hue to his figure, elongating his leg and making his biceps look desirable underneath the cloth.

Through the open bathroom door, she can see him check his collar in the mirror. Pick up the bottle of cologne she’d given him this past Christmas and spray it on his wrists and on the base of her neck. Her eyes flitted to the curve of his butt, admiring how he managed to look amazing and delectable in everything he wore. Drifting her eyes over his figure lazily, enjoying him while she could hoping that maybe some of the ache would go away. She didn’t see the way he had caught her eyes in the mirror, and how his lipd quirked up humoursly. 

“Do I look good, baby?” He asked intentionally, hoping to get a rise out of her. The low, senual drawl casued her eyes to widen, alarmed, and flicker up to connect with his. “Caught you lookin didn’t I?” 

He holds her reddening gaze in the mirror for a moment before turning around and walking towards her. The heels of his boots click on the floor, getting louder the closer he got to her, and stopping when he gets to her position on the bed. He sits by her hips and places a hand on the curve of her thighs, sliding up her body in a gentle and non-sensual manner. A simple act of appriciation that excited y/n nonetheless, as his hands rubbed on the side of her bedoy, his fingers coming up to trace the swell of her breasts sweetly. He maintaine eye contact through this whole ordeal, and when his fingeres reached the place where her shoulder turns into neck, he bends down and kissed her on the lips. 

“I love you,” He mumbled against her lips, parting her lips with his own and teasing her bottom one with his tongue lightly, not entering her mouth. Smearing his lips across her mouth, harry kissed a trail from the corner of his lips to her cheekbone. Stopping at her temple, he said, “Love you so much it hurts me.”

Y/n closed her eyes and hummed with every press of his mouth onto her skin. 

“I love you, too, Harry.” She said with a smile. 

Sitting up straight, Harry combed the few peices of hair littering her face behind her ear, grinning dreamily down at her. Y/n gazed at him lovingly, her own lips unable to stop from smiling and giggling at the intimacy in their looks, and the tickling feelings of fluttering butterfly wings in her ribcage.

“M’pretty girl. Gonna walk me down or are you gonna stay and sleep s’more? Know I woke you up didn’t I?” He said, rubbing his thumb in circled on her chin.

“Think I’ll stay here.” Part of her wanted to go down and kiss him goodbye, but that would only be torture.

Harry nodded and leaned down to kiss her once more, sighing into her mouth, “I’ll see you at 6:30, darling.”

**    

In a short summary, y/n was unable to go back to sleep.

She tossed and turned in the satin sheets for an hour before she gave up trying to lull herself intp the unconscious state because the ache between her thighs was overwhelmingly strong.

So strong, it brought tears to her eyes because GOD she was burning with desire and she could do nothing to help herself in accordance with Harry’s newest rule.

“You are not allowed to touch yourself if I’m not present, and especially if I don’t give you permission to, got that baby? It’s daddy’s job to make you cum until you’re shakin’ from my hands, mouth, fingers, and cock. Got it?”

And y/n really wanted to be good for her daddy. With her entire being she really did. Harry gave her everything, made her feel so special, loved her with all he had, and went the extra mile to make her feel so safe. 

It would truly be unfair if she were to repay him in such a way. By disobeying him.

The moment that Harry removed himself from her heat, y/n was left instantly unsatisfied. She still fluttered around nnothing, feeling cold and empty without his cock to fill her up; stretching her painfully-- pleasurably-- open. There was nothing better that the way he pushed himself deep inside her, buried himself in her pussy and took over all her senses as that one sensation drove her mad.

In efforts to occupy her mind with thoughts that are not sexually inticing, y/n walked into the bathroom, and took a bath. The water bubbled with the scent of rose petals-- a glass bottle of fragranced bath bubbles Harry bought her in Paris resting on the edge of the tub. 

There was comfort in the coolness of the water, soothing the heat inside her. She napped in it for a while, the smell of dainty rose petals drifiting her off into a light doozy.

But, it was over when her skin turned pruny and the water cold, her need returning as the water fell off her skin while she rised to exit. Her center becoming a dripping, sloppy mess with her exceeding horniness. Y/n tried to close her thighs, but her moisture only slipped out into the crevices of her crotch. 

Wrapped in a towel and only a towel, she came back to her bed, flopped down on to it, her tummy coming into contact with the slippery sheets. She wasn’t sure how long she laid there, but the droplets on her calves and the nape of her neck dried off by the time she was writhing on the bed, impatient and fucking needy.

The towl still rested on her back, rucking up on her thighs with the swell of her bum peeking out. Her arms came to cross above her head so she could hide her face in them, and restrict their movement from any tempation she may have to touch herself. She wouldn’t touch herself. 

It was hard.

Very hard.

Harry was coming back in from his day of assesing the delay of the Cuba shipment, meeting up with potential business partners, mingling and nursing a glass of whiskey or two. Being as the drug cartels are risky and unfaithful, he had to wear a gun holster at all times, secured tightly to his torso in order to disguise it’s prescence, and it had been digging into his ribs the entire day, causing an achy-ness to develop not just on his ribs, but his back as well. All the man wanted to do was unwin with the prescence of his lovely girl at his side. Clothed, naked, it didn’t matter to him.

One can onyl imagine his surprise when he arrived at the doors of his luxurious mansion of a home, to one of the security team members telling him that y/n hadn’t come out of the master bedroom all day. Was she alright? Was she safe? Was there something wrong with her? His mind ran crazy with possibilities, and he was slightly out of breath from taking the stairs two steps at a time with rapid speed. Pushing his curls back from his face, he knocked it with a bent finger on the door to their bedroom and opened it. 

“Y/n?” He called out, his blazing emerald eyes scanning the room for his girl, and landing on her crumpled firgure in the middle of her bed. She was face down, face hid in her arms, and her foot rested on the top of her calve, slowly dragging down to her ankle. And… she was crying. Light sniffles filled the room, her shoulders shaking slightly in sync with every noise she made. 

Harry strided over to her with long steps, walking around to the opposite side of the bed where her head lay. “Sweetheart, are you well? What’s the matter?” 

He spoke softly, knowing that his girl was extra sensitive while she cried, and rubbed her shoulder in soft patterns to show his consolation, producing a calm collected act even though on the inside he was in absolute panic over the fact that y/n wasn’t well and he didn’t know why, which therefore meant he didn’t have the power to fix it… yet.

Y/n tilted her head to the side so her eyes and part of her nose peeked out for Harry to see. Her water-line was irritated, eyes bloodshot, and her face a splotchy color that let him know she’d been crying quite a while. 

“Y/n, did someone hurt you? Please, tell me what’s made you so upset, baby.” His tone is pleading now, eyebrows slanted downwards in distress, facade slowly falling. 

Then, she speaks.

“It hurts.” It comes out as a pathetic whimper, her words laced with the thick wtnedd of tears.

“What hurts, y/n? Where? Use your words, darling.” He takes the towel off her then, moving to sit next to her so he can examine her body on a closer leve, checking for injuries. “Do I need to go call the paramedics? Wanna go to the hospital, baby? I’ll get the car read-”

“Can I have-- givve me your hard, please?” She lifts herself up to her forarms, her breats exposed which under any other circumstances, would have caused Harry’s dick to pop a stiffy, but he was currently blinded with worry.

He placed his hand on her small palm with furrowed eyebrows, his head moving to catch her every move. He watched tentatively as she moved onto her back, her hand wrapping around his wrist and bringing it down to the space between her thighs, parting them open and Harry can see how much of a mess she’s made.

The soft skin on the inside of her legs is glistening, the area around her heat sopping wet. 

“It hurts, and-- and you said I couldn’t touch myself without your permission, and I just feel so empy because you did-,” Y/n just about shreiked when Harry so much as dragged two fingers down her slit, a spidery web connecting the tips to her pussy when he removed them. His jaw dropped and his dickexperienced a sudden rush of adrenaline.

“Princess, what a mess you’ve made!” He gasped, his face contorted into an expression of pure surprise-- no malice or humor hidden. “I don’t understand, what happened darling? Did you miss me this much?” 

She gasped wetly, her eyes scrunched shut and her hips thrusted in the air, following after Harry’s fingers. “Left this morning so-- so quick, and you left me so cold.” 

He’s still confused, his head shaking incredulously. “Baby, you’ve got all these blankets to keep you warm.”

Y/n grunts when Harry stands to look at her fully and to takie off his suit jacket. The tears of impatience return, and she’s sobbing again. “Please, I just want your cock! Want it so bad, I need to  feel full, please, please, pl-” Her back arches off the bec, fists gripping the sheets tightly. He undestands how deperate she is then because y/n is never this vulgar in bed, usually leaving Harry to take control and decide what to do. 

“Okay, okay, my love it’s okay. I’ll give you what you want, stop crying, dovey.” He unloops the belt from his pants, the sound of the metal ends clinking against each other sending a throb to y/n’s clit, to which she responds by humping the air instinctively. Harry unziped his pants, and pushed them down only enough to take out his hardened cock. The straining flesh making y/n release a whine of impatience.

Y/n’s voice breaks, “No teasing, please no teasing, pl-”

“Sshh baby, I’ve got you now. Let daddy take care of it okay?” He wraps a hand around the base of his dick, and crawls up so his thighs are flush with the back of hers, which she’s exposed by listing her legs upfor Harry to grasp. There’s no need for spit or lubrication because she’s a pool of velvety wetness. 

“Such a good girl, for daddy, baby. Waiting for him to come home and take care of you like this. What made you this wet, little girl?” He asked, grabbing hold of her ankles and thrustin forward so his balls rested on the curve of her ass. Y/n moans and halts her breathing before she responds, her eyes rolling into the back of her head from the fulfillment, the ache finally settling. 

“This morning, you were only in me for so little time, daddy. Left me so cold when you left.” She panted, her hands coming to pull at the backs of her knees. “Been like this since you left, and you said I can’t touch myself so I waited-- harder, daddy. I need it harder.” Her eyes snap open and they connect with Harry’s blown pupils, his forehead lined with beads of sweat because he’s trying really hard not to cum before her, which seems nearly impossible because she’s so warm and so wet.

“S’that what this is all about? All wet for my cock? Look at you, my love all fucked out for me isn’t she?” He glances down to where they’re connecting, his pace still the same despite her command. “Your cunt’s this wet, and it’s…” He pulls his hips back, “for me,” and slams back into her with enough force to move her up the bed.

“Only for you, daddy.” She bleats, her voice high pitched and strained. 

Harry picks up his pace, dropping one of her legs and grasping the other by the back of her thigh, pulling it up to his hips and using it as a hold to pound into her. Every thrust is met with a new sound from y/n, who’s eyes clenched and head was thrown back. 

“I need more. Need it harder please.” She looks up at him with a quivering lip, her hands coming up to wrap around his shoulders. Harry leaned the small distance to kiss her, his teeth kicking against hers and pinching his lip with the primal agressiveness in their actions.

“Yeah, baby? I’ll give it to you harder then,” he growled against her skin, disconnecting from her mouth to bite into her neck, licking the underside of her jaw. 

Harry pulls out from her abrubtly, leaning back on his knees to flip her over, pulling her to him so her thighs wrapped around his hips, sheathing his cock into her pussy with no preamble. He thrust into her that way, so hard there’s a sting everytime their skin connects. Hands taking hold on her waist, he continues with force and rapidness, causing y/n to melt so her ass stuck in the air and her cheek pressed against the sheets.

“S’this how my girl want it? She wants me to rough her up?” He said, slapping her ass and watching his handprint darken her skin. Y/n feels the familiar clenching of her abdomen, and Harry knows she’d there because her pussy goes tight around him, milking his dick. 

“Yes, yes, yes, harder, daddy. Please don’t stop.” Y/n is a whimpering, babbling mess; her moans coming out in a high range of whimpers and squeals. She pushed back against Harry’s thrust, helping him hit the spot inside her that made her eys roll back into her head. 

“Not gonna happen, princess. Give it to me. Let daddy have it.” Wrapping a hand on her hair, Harry pulls her up so his front is parallel to her back his hand coming around to wrap around her neck, thumb applying pressure to the soft skin. 

That’s what does it for y/n. The strong display of male dominance that she so yearned for; Harry taking full control of her body and giving her what she needed. The knot breaks, and her nerve ending go haywire, buzzing into a frenzy that spreads throughtout her entire body, pleasure raking through her.

She’s clenching around him, begging for every drop; an impossible tight, warm, soft fist around his dick that pushed him to the edge. Knowing she was there, Harry allowed himself to spurt white ribbons into her, contributing to the wetness between her thighs with a strong thrust that knocks her completely flat, him following after her and landing on her back. 

They’re panting, tired out but relieved from the tense day they both had. Harry goes to get off y/n, but she grabs his hand by her hip. “Stay in me, please? I need it.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” He said, grabbing onto her hips and pulling them so they could lay on their sides and still remained connected. “S’that what you needed?”

“Yes, thank you.” She tried to turn to give him a kiss, but felt him start to shift inside her, and stilled instantly. Sensing what she needed, Harry pulled her closer and kissed her shoulder, letting her know he was there. 

“You’re welcome, my love. We’re gonna have to discuss this ‘no touching’ rule, aren’t we?” He asked her, nosing the place under the lobe of her ear, the rush of his soft breath sending shivers down her spine and to her hole, causing an accidental clench on his dick. They both moan at the sensation.

“Please.”

“Whatever you want, baby.” He shuddered, feeling his prick harden inside her again. “Whatever you want.”

#harry edward styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fic #harry styles smut

[sunmoonandeddie]

yellow lights

pairing: steve rogers x stark!reader

word count: 7,116

summary: Steve struggles with his decision to keep you safe, and you never get to tell him you love him.

prompt: ‘yellow lights’ by harry hudson

warnings: swearing, violence, alludes to sex

a/n: This was written for @youngmoneymilla‘s 5K Writing Challenge!  Congrats on the milestone, and I hope you enjoy!  I’ll probably end up writing a sequel.  Let me know what you think!

“Steve?”

The blond man in question grunted, but he didn’t turn around. His eyes were locked on the sky in front of him, his hands clutching onto the controls of the quinjet even though it was in autopilot.  It gave him some sense of control, which he hadn’t had in a long time.  In fact, he’s pretty sure the last time he had complete control of his life was before the, before he went in the ice.

“Steve?”

“What?”  He could see his best friend in the reflection of the window, staring at him with a kind of concern that comes from knowing someone inside and out.  He stared out at the million of lights in front of him, illuminating the night sky of whatever city they were currently flying over.  He thought they might be over Spain, but he couldn’t be sure.

They reminded him of you, and of a conversation that felt like it was from another lifetime even if it had only been a few days before.

Bucky took a moment before sliding into the copilot seat. The brunet let out a sigh as he glanced over at his best friend.  “You miss her.”

“I—”

“No,” Bucky said, huffing.  “You miss her.  And it’s okay to miss her.”

Steve’s grip on the controls tightened.  He was trying so desperately to push thoughts of you out of his head, and Bucky wasn’t helping.  “I left her.”

“You did what you thought was right,” he insisted.

“He can’t leave her in there, right?” He asked, finally looking over at his best friend.  His eyes were puffy from crying and his cheeks red after having spent the past four days crying his eyes out.  He’d been hiding away in the cockpit of the plane, keeping away from the prying eyes of his teammates.  He knew that he needed to face them, needed to figure out their next move, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back and face them.

Especially not after they’d watched him abandon you.

Bucky propped his feet up on the dash, despite the glare that Steve shot his way.  “I doubt he’d let them keep her in that hellhole.”  He snuck another glance at the blond.  “I mean, it is his daughter.”

“He already left her there once,” he argued.  He was just feeling worse and worse by the second. He had half a mind to turn the plane around, though he knew that it wouldn’t go over well.  They’d have already upped security and, hopefully, Tony would’ve gotten you.

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, not sure how far to go. Eventually, he decided to give him a little bit of tough love.  “He thought you’d take her with you.”  Before the blond could reply, he continues, “Tony isn’t stupid.  He knew that you would eventually break everyone out, and he knew there was something going on between you, even if he didn’t want to believe it.”

Steve stood up suddenly, his fingers running through his dirty, greasy hair as he paced the floor.  “The way she looked at me, though, Buck.  I…”  He bit his knuckles as he felt another onslaught of tears coming on.

And fuck, if that didn’t break his heart.  He’d seen his friend at a lot of low points.  He’d seen Steve when he was a scrappy little punk in the forties, when he could barely go outside without getting in a fight or catching a cold.  He’d seen him in the war, crying when he thought no one was watching because he was leading men into battle—sometimes to their deaths—and he still felt like that tiny punk from Brooklyn.  He’d seen him when they first reunited after Bucky broke out of HYDRA, and saw how his shoulder’s drooped, the pressure of the name Captain America weighing him down.  And now, he was seeing him losing his mind because he’d fallen in love with the one person that was off limits.

A person who’d chosen him, and he’d subsequently left behind.

Bucky reached out to the super soldier, his hand clasping on his shoulder.  “Steve, you were trying to protect her.  She’s gotta know that.”  He sighed as his grip tightened for just a second.  “Even if she didn’t realize it then, she knows you.  She’ll see your side sooner or later.”

“I think this time might’ve been it, Buck,” he croaked.

You bit your lip as you leaned your head back against the wall of your cell, the stiff fabric of the uniforms they had put you and your team in scratching against your skin.  The cell around you was completely silent, and it was more than a little unnerving. Not even the air conditioner made any noise.

“Hey, Y/N, I don’t think your daddy’s too happy with us,” Clint shouted from where his cell was across the room, and you just rolled your eyes.  “Think you’ll lose your inheritance?”

“Hey, shut up, Barton,” Sam snapped, hands pressed against the glass of his cell. Everyone was starting to get cabin fever and it was clearly not going to end well.

Clint laughed, the sound coming out harsh and distorted.  “We all know that she’s not really a prisoner.  This is nothing but a resting stop before daddy comes and whisks her away back to her tower.”  He glowered at you darkly.  “Ain’t that right, princess?”

Scott’s cell was in between theirs, and he seemed just as annoyed.  “Give her a break, Barton.”

“Who are you again?” The older man asked, head turning to the wall that separated them. “Some B-Team member?”

“Clint,” you said sharply, effectively catching everyone’s attention.  Scott still looked as though he was ready to throw something back in the other man’s face, but you knew that it wouldn’t end well. “Leave him alone.  Your problem is with me.”

He smirked, a glint in his eyes that you didn’t like.  You’d known Clint for years and had never see him act like such an asshole. He’d been an uncle figure for you over the years and had even gone as far as giving you archery lessons, even if you’d never been as good as you were with hand-to-hand.  “Yeah, it fucking is.  Because we all know that you’re getting out of here will the rest of us wither away in the middle of the fuckin’ ocean.”

“I betrayed my dad, Clint,” you said, your voice quiet as you stared at where your legs were stretched out in front of you.  You hadn’t moved in at least two hours.  It just seemed pointless.  “I doubt he’s getting me out of here.”

“Yeah, okay, princess,” he muttered, turning away from you.  You could see the beginning signs of guilt taking over him as he sat down on the little bed that was coming out from the wall.  “You’ll still have your shiny tower when you get out of here.  And we,” he motioned to the different cells, “get house arrest at best.”

You looked up as you heard the door open with a whoosh, followed by the sound of familiar footsteps.  Your father didn’t even look at you as he observed the room around him.  In all honesty, you weren’t sure whether you wanted him to look at you or not.  It wasn’t like you’d been on good terms the last time you’d seen him.

“The futurist, gentlemen!  The futurist is here!”  Clint stood back up, anger radiating from him.  “He sees all!  He knows what’s best for you, whether you like it or not!”

“Give me a break, Barton,” Tony said coldly, his hands flexing at his sides. He was in one of his nice suits, all sharp lines and angles.  “I had no idea they’d put you in here.  Come on.”

“Yeah, well, you knew they’d put us somewhere, Tony.”

Your father walked over to his cell, his posture stiff.  “Yeah, but not some super max floating ocean pokey.  You know, this place is for maniacs.”  His eyes drifted over the dark walls and thick bars, the glass separating everyone.  “This is a place for—”

“Criminals?”  Clint looked like he was ready to break the glass and beat the older man’s ass. “Criminals, Tony.  I think that’s the word you’re looking for, right?”  He nodded towards the other cells, his eyes eventually landing on your dejected form.  “It ain’t used to mean me, or Sam, or Wanda, or your fucking daughter.  But here we are.”

Tony tensed up even more, if that was even possible.  He was purposefully not looking back at you, even though you knew he knew you were there.  “’Cause you broke the law.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t make you.”

“The law. The law,” Clint mused as he began to pace his cell, his brows furrowed.

Tony leaned his hand against the frame of the cell, staring in at the man that he was certain was going mad.  “You read it, you broke it.”

“The law. The law.  The law.”

He rolled his eyes, a perfect reflection of the eyeroll you’d done earlier.  “Alright, you’re all grown ups.  You got a wife and kids.  I don’t understand.”  He scoffed as his hands dropped and clapped against his legs.  “Why didn’t you think about them before you chose the wrong side?”

“Just like you thought of your daughter when you let them lock her in here?”

You narrowed your eyes at Clint, shaking your head.  Baiting your father would only make things worse.  And it also pissed you off that he was flipping back and forth on whether you were getting special treatment or not for being a Stark.

But Tony’s jaw just clenched as he gritted his teeth.  He began to move on and Clint called out, trying to get one last word, “You better watch your back on this guy.  Chances are he’s going to break it.”

“Hank Pym always said, ‘You can never trust a Stark,’” Scott said, his eyes narrowed. But you knew him and knew he wasn’t as tough as he was trying to seem.  He caught the way your glare fixed on him and he at least had enough decency to look a little bit sorry.

“Who are you?”

The man sighed deeply as he let his head hang, Tony moving past him to stand in front of Sam’s cell.  “Come on, man.”

“How’s Rhodes?” Sam asked, his voice quiet.  It broke your heart, knowing how guilty the man felt about his friend’s injury.  It didn’t matter if it wasn’t his fault. You knew he’d be feeling that guilt for a long time.

“We’re flying him to Colombia tomorrow.  So… fingers crossed,” he said after a long pause.  His eyes roamed over the man’s face, taking it all in.  “What do you need?  They feed you yet?”

At the mention of food, your stomach grumbled, though you hoped no one heard it. They hadn’t fed you since getting there a day ago, and you highly doubted you’d get much after your father left. It was a prison, after all.

“You’re the good cop now?” Sam mused, shaking his head as he turned away.

Tony stepped closer to the bars.  “I’m just a guy who needs to know where Steve went.”

You perked up at the sound of your…  well, whatever-he-was’s name.  Sam’s eyes flickered over to you, his heart dropping at how desperate you were for any word on the man.  “Well, you better go get a bad cop, because you would have to go Mark ‘Terminal’ on my ass to get information out of me.”

Your father looked down at his watch, bringing it up so the other man could see. “Oh, I just knocked the ‘A’ out of their ‘AV.’  We got about thirty seconds before they realize it’s not their equipment.”  He shoved the watch closer, pointing at something on the screen.  You got to your feet, hoping to hear something, anything, of use.  “Just look.  Because this is the fellow who was supposed to interrogate Barnes.  Clearly, I made a mistake.”  He took in a deep breath, the air in the room suddenly a lot heavier.  “Sam, I was wrong.”

“That’s a first.”

“Cap is definitely off the reservation and he’s about to need all the help he can get.”

You pressed your hands against the glass, your e/c eyes wide.

“We don’t know each other very well,” Tony said slowly, his voice low.  “You don’t have to—”

“Hey. It’s alright,” Sam said, effectively shutting the other man up.  His eyes met yours against the room and he nodded slightly.  “Look, I will tell you.  But you have to go alone and as a friend.”

“Easy.”

Their conversation went even quieter, leaving you to wonder what was being said. No matter how much you strained, you couldn’t catch more than a few broken phrases.  More than once, Sam would peek over your father’s shoulder to look at you, as though he was trying to encourage you, reassure you that it was going to be okay.

Tony finally nodded and stepped away.  He walked by Wanda’s cell slowly, but when she glared at him he just kept moving, coming to a stop at yours.  His hands were folded behind his back and you knew he was trying to remain stoic and unbothered, but the shaky breath he took in said otherwise.

You looked up at him, your hands trembling nervously.  “Got myself in some trouble, dad,” you muttered, blinking back tears as you looked down.

“You’re a Stark,” he said after a long moment.  His voice was soft, fond, even.  “And I raised you to think for yourself…”  The laugh that came from him felt choked, teary.  “Even if it goes against me.”  You looked up at him in surprise, but he just continued, “Though I would like to know when you and Cap became a thing.  That would’ve been nice to know.”

“We’re not,” you said, turning away once again.  But your mind was filled with memories of shitty hotel rooms and holding each other until the sun rose.

“Y/N,” he said, placing his hand against the glass through the bars.  He took in how worn down you seemed, how tired.  “He almost died because he didn’t want to leave you.  That’s not nothing.”

“Do you really want to talk about boys?  Now?” You countered, a little confused as to why the hell he was trying to bring all of this up.  And also, why it had to be in front of some of the nosiest people you’d ever met?

Tony sighed as he glanced down at the ground.  “Guess not.”  He bit his lip as you placed your hand against the glass where his was.  “You’re not getting out of this, you know.  Just because you’re my kid doesn’t mean you can break the law.”

“Wasn’t expecting to.”

He leaned his forehead against the bars, and you could see the way he was shaking. When he finally opened his eyes a few moments later, he took one last look at you before letting his hand drop. “I’ll see what I can do about getting all of you out of here,” he said.  The room went completely silent as the door shut behind him, leaving you all alone once again.

You let yourself sink down against the wall, leaning your head back.  “Hey, Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t think I’m getting out of time out.”

You smiled up at the ceiling as you heard his familiar chuckle, knowing that things between you and the older man were okay.  “Shut up.”

You weren’t sure how long you sat there for.  It could’ve been hours.  It could’ve been days.  Time passed differently when there was no natural light or clocks.  All you had was the LEDs shining down on you, not even turning off for you to sleep.

Most of the time you spent lying on your bunk and staring up at the wall. The mattress was hard a lumpy, making it impossible to get comfortable, let alone sleep.

Sometimes one of the others would say something, and that would initiate a conversation for a few minutes, but it always eventually died out.  On what you thought was the second day, Scott finally spoke up.

“So, uh, what is going on between you and Captain America?” He asked, and the men in the cells on either side of him lost their shit laughing. Sam had his head thrown back and Clint was doubled over, his face going red.  Scott raised his eyebrows at the others before turning back to you.  “Seriously.  I’ve been wondering since Tony came and… you know.”

“Nothing is going on between us,” you said insistently, though your cheeks went a dark red.

Wanda laughed weakly from the cell next to yours.  “I don’t have to read your thoughts to know that that’s a lie, dragă.”

“We’re just friends,” you said, but even as you said it, you knew it was a lie.  You and Steve Rogers had been dancing around each other for three years.  From the second you’d gotten back from college, there’d been a sort of raw energy between you.  It felt dangerous and forbidden—your dad would’ve killed you if anything happened.

Sam chuckled as he leaned against the glass, looking out at you. His arms were grossed over his chest and his lips pulled up in a smirk.  “Babygirl, I’ve seen a lot of things in the world, and I can tell you that man looks at you like you created the universe.”

“There’s nothing going on between us,” you said.  A blatant lie.  You were pretty sure you still had a hickey on your chest to prove it, too.

“Are you trying to convince us or yourself?” Clint asked, and you couldn’t help but sigh.

You didn’t reply, just choosing to let them think whatever they were going to.  It’s not like you could change their minds or whatever.  Because the truth was, you didn’t even know what you were.  It had been three years of nothing only for everything to come to a head when you went on the run.  And now… back to nothing.  You had no certainty, no answers.

You felt like a stupid little girl with a stupid little crush, only it was much more than a crush.

You looked up in surprise as the door opened for the first time in days, a familiar figure coming through the door.  Everyone immediately got to their feet, the tension in the air palpable.

“Long time, no see,” Steve said as he came to a stop in front of Sam’s cell.

Your mouth went dry as you saw the man that had been occupying your thoughts for days.  You drank him in, your eyes running over him.  He hadn’t shaved, which you were grateful for since you were a big fan of the stubble that was starting to coat his jaw.  But the bags under his eyes worried you.

The man inside just smirked, shaking his head in amusement.  “’Bout time you got here.”

“You’re breaking us out?” Scott asked, his forehead pressed to the glass.

“Well, I didn’t come here just to visit,” the blond said as he began typing into the passcode for Sam’s cell.  It opened with a soft hiss, and the men embraced each other.  “Buck is waiting in the quinjet.  We gotta get everyone out.”

The others were out within two minutes, and the only one left was you. He’d even gotten the collar around Wanda’s neck off.

But he began to head for the exit without so much as a glance in your direction.

“Steve!” You shouted, confusion on your face as you banged on the glass.  There was no way he’d just forget you, right?  You were right there.  “Steve, get me out of here!”

He stopped in his tracks, his head hanging low as he let out a heavy sigh. “You’re not coming with us, Y/N.”

Everyone else froze, staring at him in shock.

“What…  What do you mean?” You stammered, your heart pounding.  Your fingers squeaked against the glass.

“Cap, we can’t just leave her,” Clint said, sounding just as confused as you felt.  All the anger towards you from earlier had disappeared.  You knew it was just because he needed someone to blame and you shared a name with the man who’d put you in the Raft.

Your e/c eyes desperately flicked over his face, trying to read him. “Steve, let me out of here.”

“You’re safer here.  With your dad,” he said, a tone of finality in his voice that made your blood run cold.

“Steve—”  Sam stopped, closing his mouth as his best friend shot him a look.

Wanda and Scott were looking between the two of you, not exactly sure what was going on or what to say.  On one hand, they wanted to bring you with them.  On the other, you were sort of the baby of the group and the urge to protect them was causing them to lean towards Steve’s side.

“Steve, come on,” you said, your voice cracking.  You didn’t want to beg but you weren’t above it. “Please.  Steve, let me out of here.”  He didn’t say anything, his fists clenching at his sides as he stared straight ahead towards the exit.  Hot tears were coursing down your cheeks.  “Would you at least fucking look at me,  you—you coward?!”

Steve finally turned to look at you, his heart clenching inside his chest. He wanted nothing more than to punch in the code for your cell and bring you with him, but he knew that it wasn’t the right choice.  He couldn’t steal you away from your father in the dead of night.  Couldn’t subject you to a life on the run, unable to contact anyone from your life before, just because he…

He shook his head, willing himself to not cry.  “This is for your own good,” he said, before turning and walking out.  The others trailed behind him, glancing back at you uncertainly.

The last thing he heard before the doors closed was your sobs, your broken voice calling out his name and begging for him to come back.

Natasha hummed as she stood up from the co-pilot seat on the quinjet, heading towards the back.  “Want anything to eat?”  She called back as she opened the fridge, pulling out two bottles of beer.

“’M Fine.”

She opened up the small cabinet and winced.  All they had was a few cans of tomato soup, a half-gone box of popcorn, and two things of Ramen.  Yeah, they’d definitely have to get groceries next time they stopped.

The redhead moved back up to the cockpit, being careful not to wake up Wanda, Vision, and Sam, who were all sleeping further in the back. She collapsed back in her chair and held out a beer for him, but he shook his head.

“What’s the point?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows as he eyed the beer.  “Not like I can get drunk.”

“It’s the idea of it,” she said with an exaggerated eyeroll. She popped open the cap and took a long swig.  “And besides, you can get drunk off of Thor’s Asgardian shit.”

The blond laughed a little as he took the extra bottle, despite the fact that it wouldn’t do anything.  “Well, we don’t have any of Thor’s mead, so I guess this’ll just have to do.”

“Atta boy.”

He finished off half the bottle in one gulp before slamming it back down beside him.  The beer inside sloshed around, a few drops landing on the sleek controls.

“Hey!” Nat chided, wiping away the little bit of alcohol.  “This is the only quinjet we’ve got, we gotta take care of it best we can.”

He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, choosing instead to sip on the beer.  It’d been a long few months since he’d broken everyone out of the Raft, and it hadn’t been easy being on the run, especially after he’d left Bucky in Wakanda.  His thoughts had never left you for a moment, always going back and forth between regretting leaving you and knowing it was the best thing for you.  He still wondered everyday how you were doing, if you hated him.

He’d started a million letters to you, but never had the courage to send them.  He knew that Natasha called Tony a few times, only talking long enough to let him know that everyone was okay.  He hadn’t had the courage to ask how you were doing, terrified that the assassin would say you hated him and never wanted to see him again.

Which was ridiculous, but his anxiety was never logical.

They settled back into their silence, staring out at the night sky in front of them.  They were flying over ocean and without the light pollution of cities, they could see what seemed like a million stars laid about in front of them.  Natasha nursed her beer, Steve having finished his within minutes.

“Are we ever gonna talk about her?”

“What?”

She sighed, swirling the amber liquid around in the bottle. “Y/N.  Are we ever going to talk about Y/N?”

Steve suddenly really, really wished he had more of that Asgardian mead.  He knew that this conversation would come up eventually with her, but he wasn’t looking forward to it. “What about it?”

“Steve,” she said tentatively.  She was doing her best to choose her words carefully.  “Would you please talk to me?  What happened between you two?”

“We, uh…”  He shook his head, trying to figure out how to phrase it.  “When we went on the run, we would, uh…  We’d stay in the same bed.  A lot. And the night before Berlin…”

“The night before Berlin?” Natasha prodded, growing a little frustrated as the man trailed off.

He had the decency to look a little ashamed, his cheeks heating up as he look down at his lap.  “We…  You know.”

“Steve, if you can’t even say that you had sex, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“We didn’t mean for it to happen!”  His fingers ran through his hair, gripping the now-shaggy strands. “It just…  I don’t know.”

Nat stood up and moved to grab another few beers, knowing that this was going to be a long night.  “And by ‘I don’t know’ you mean that you two finally acted on three years of disgusting, pent up feelings?”

He stared straight ahead determinedly, gripping the controls. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t try that shit with me, Rogers.”  Natasha slid back into her seat, popping open yet another beer. “You two did nothing but stare at each other with big ass heart eyes and pine after one another like the rest of us couldn’t see you.”  She tipped her bottle towards him, starting to feel some of the effects.  “You two…”  She smiled down at her bottle as she thought back on the times when everyone had been together, everyone had been happy.  “You’d always make her coffee in the morning after your morning run, and she’d always make sure Tony’s assistant got that natural, organic peanut butter you like.  You two always gravitated towards each other, like magnets.  If you two were in the same room, you were always next to each other.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. “Not to mention how protective you are.”

Steve chuckled, fond memories flashing through his head.  “Yeah, I, uh…  Didn’t do a very good job at hiding it, huh?”

“So why’d you fight it for so long?”

“You mean other than the fact that she’s Tony’s kid?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

The redhead rolled her eyes, shoving him.  “Yes.  Because I always thought you two were stupid to not act on it.”

“To be honest with you,” he said, feeling his shoulders droop a little, “I thought I was going to ruin her.”

“Ruin her?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, Rogers, what the fuck does that mean?”

Steve glared at her, though there was no real heat behind it. “Natasha, she was twenty-one when she got back from college, and I’m a hundred years old.  You can’t tell me that’s not weird.”

She took another sip of her beer.  “Y/N’s a Stark, she’s grown up around weird.  Plus, she’s dealt with her dad almost dying enough times that I’m pretty sure she’s mentally fifty by now, so you’re good on that front.”

“Really, though, Nat,” he said, relaxing back in his seat. “She’s got her whole life ahead of her. I didn’t want to weigh her down.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.  “And even though I was going to the VA about my PTSD, I couldn’t saddle her with that. She deserved to live her life.” He opened his eyes again, a little teary.  “And then I ended up stealing her away from her dad and ruining her life anyway.”

“Steve, you didn’t steal her away or ruin her life,” she said, a look in her eyes that clearly said, ‘Why do I have to live my life dealing with dramatic ass superheroes?’  “She made that decision for her own.  You know, because she’s a grown ass woman.”  Natasha looked at the now empty bottle of beer and sighed.  “Alright, so what happened when you guys went on the run?”

“Hey.”

Steve looked up, smiling faintly as he saw you standing in the open door.  You were in his t-shirt, looking absolutely delicious, and it took everything in him to not drag you back into the hotel room that you’d just come from.  “Hey.”

You bit your lip as you watched him turn back, watching the skyline.  It was a little chilly out, not that you minded, but you were worried about him.  “You okay?” You asked as you timidly walked over to him.  You stood far enough away that you two wouldn’t be touching, just in case.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching out for you.  He pulled you over to stand in front of him, his arms around your waist, and you weren’t sure if he did it on instinct or choice.  Either way, you weren’t complaining.  The super soldier was like a heater and you relished in the warmth that came from his embrace.  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

“I woke up and you weren’t in bed,” you said, closing your eyes as you relished in the feel of having him close.  Who knew that all it took for something to happen between you was betraying your father and becoming a fugitive?  “Got cold.”

His arms tightened around you as he brushed his lips over your shoulder.  He was a little surprised at how much he loved seeing you in his clothes, but then again, he’d realized that three years ago when you’d started stealing his hoodies.  But this was different.  Intimate in a way that neither of you had experienced yet.

You stared out at the city with a soft smile, watching the little yellow lights flickered in the darkness.  “Reminds me of home,” you said quietly, your fingers interlacing with his.  “Growing up in the city, I could never see the night sky unless there was a blackout.  And when you live in Stark Tower, those don’t happen.  Ever.”  His thumb gently rubbed against the back of your hand.  “So the city lights became my stars instead.”

And that caused a pang in Steve’s chest, because once again, he was reminded that you had run away from home for him.  You’d left your father, your work as an Avenger, and everything else behind. And he couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t because of him, because you’d straight up said when you got on the quinjet, “I’d follow you anywhere.”

“Let’s go back inside, sugar,” he whispered against your neck.  He shut the glass door behind the two of you with a soft click and couldn’t help but blush.

Sex still hung in the air, scenting everything around them.

But you didn’t seem to notice or care as you crawled under the covers and peeked up at him with those stunning e/c eyes.  The ones that always got him to do whatever you wanted.  “You just gonna stand there all night or are you gonna come keep me warm?”

And even though you’re literally asking him to join you in bed, he took a long moment to just take it in.  Your hair was mussed from sleep, a red line on your cheek from the pillow.  Your eyes were blinking sleepily at him and you just looked soft.  It was a truly beautiful sight and he wished he had his sketchpad.

“You coming?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, moving to crawl into the bed next to you.  “I’m coming, sugar.”

And curling up against you feels so good that it almost hurts.  You’re tucked into his chest, his hand having slipped under the shirt to trace your back.  He bit his lip as his mind wanders, going back to what you two had been doing in this bed just a few hours before.  Images of your mouth in a soft ‘o’ and your eyes rolling back, the little whimpers that drove him crazy falling from his lips.

In all his days, he’d never imagined getting to have this, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re staring.”

His lips pulled up in a soft smile as your legs tangled with his.  “Am I not allowed to?”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, watching him with narrowed eyes.  “You’re thinking.  And we’re supposed to be sleeping.”  But when you saw the look in his eyes, you dropped the teasing and sat up.  “What’s wrong?”

“Promise me,” he said, barely audible.  “Promise me that no matter what happens tomorrow, you’ll stay safe.  You won’t put yourself into any unnecessary danger.”

“Only if you don’t,” you said, your fingers running through his hair soothingly.

He rested his head on your chest as you leaned against the headboard.  The steady beat of your heart helped to soothe him, despite all of his anxiety about what would be happening when the sun rose.  He could feel the weight of his team’s lives on his shoulders.  His team that was spread out in the hotel that was way too nice for them to be staying in while they were on the run.  “You know I can’t do that, sugar.”

“Then I can’t promise either.”

“Y/N.”

“Steve.”

He turned his head to look up at you, his fingers intertwining with yours.  “Y/N, I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” you said, with a matter-of-fact tone that reminded the blond of your father.

He pulled away, sitting up so he could look you in the eyes.  Taking in a deep breath, he took your hands in his.  “I need to know that you’re going to be careful out there.  You can’t die.  If you get hurt, I…”  His grip on your hands tightened.  “I can’t lose you.”

Your eyes softened as you swallowed around the lump that had formed in your throat. “I promise.  I promise I’ll be careful,” you stammered, allowing him to pull you close to his chest.  “But you have to promise me, too.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, his fingers running through your hair as he kissed your forehead.  “I promise.”

“She’s here,” Steve said, his heart pounding as he looked at Bucky for some kind of guidance.  They’d just gotten to Wakanda a few hours before, other Avengers joining them for the battle that was to come.

Bucky looked at his best friend with an incredulous look. “After all this time, you still have no idea how to talk to women,” he said with a harsh laugh.  The time he’d spent recovering had done him good.  With Shuri’s help, he’d been able to undo HYDRA’s programming, meaning he’d never become the Soldier ever again.

He rapidly shook his head, all composure going out the window. “I didn’t know she’d be here.”

The brunet couldn’t help but smirk down at his hands.  “She showed up here about two months ago.  Her and Princess Shuri get along great.”

And well, if that wasn’t just fucking dandy.

“When were you going to tell me this?” He demanded, his eyes locked on where you were talking with Shuri in the lab.  You had a new suit, something he was sure was highly upgraded from what you’d had before.  Your hair was pulled up in a messy bun and you looked so serious but you were just as beautiful as the day he’d left you in the Raft.

“It wasn’t like there was a number I could call you at, Steve,” Bucky reminded him, rolling his eyes.

“Does she…”  His tongue darted out to wet his lips, finding his mouth suddenly dry.  “Does she hate me?”

“No, she doesn’t hate you, punk,” the other man said.  He was just about ready to beat his best friend’s ass for being such an idiot.  You two had spent a lot of time together over the past two months and gotten rather close. You treated him like a normal guy, and it made him not feel so much like a monster.  You were kind, compassionate, funny, and one of the smartest people he’d ever met.  He could see why Steve was so crazy for you.

But he’d also seen how much he had hurt you when he left you behind.

You’d forgiven him, of course, because you weren’t cruel and you knew his intentions were good, but he still caught you crying when you thought no one was looking.  You’d be curled up in a ball, sitting on one of the hills overlooking the village, or on the windowsill in your room, and you’d just cry.  And it hurt him, knowing how devastated you were.

Steve practically jumped out of skin as he heard Natasha’s voice behind him.  “I don’t know if now’s the right time to have a reunion, but we are about to go into battle.” She fixed the blond with a steely look. “I’d suggest talking to her.”

But he shook his head, turning towards the ground.  “No.  Like you said.  There’s a fight coming.”

Both of the assassins watched him walk off, sighing and having the same thought.

He’s a god damn idiot.

“Nat!”

The now-blonde turned and a wide grin spread across her face as you launched yourself into her arms.  “I’ve missed you,” she said, holding you tightly.

“I’ve missed you more,” you said, the sound muffled as your head was buried in the crook of her neck.

The rest of your reunions with your teammates were just as sweet, but you didn’t fail to notice that one person in general was avoiding you.

“Is he really not going to talk to me?” You asked Bucky, your hands on your hips as you watched the man in question speak with the king.

“I told you, whenever you’re tired of him being a dumbass, my arms are wide open,” he teased, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

A giggle erupted from your lips, though you missed the way the object of your affections turned to look at you with big blue puppy eyes. “Buck, we both know that the world would burn if we ever dated.”

“A man can dream, can’t he?” He teased, throwing a knowing smirk towards his best friend.  He knew the other man would get jealous, and he was hoping it’d be enough to cause him to fucking talk to you.

But it was to no avail, as Steve just gritted his teeth and turned back to T’Challa.

Before you knew it, the battle was raging around you. You barely had time to think as you fought off the weird alien creatures that tore across the beautiful fields of Wakanda.  It seemed to go on and on and on as the creatures just kept coming.  You’d almost gotten your ass handed to you multiple times, and if it hadn’t been for Natasha and Okoye, you wouldn’t be breathing.

But a conversation you’d had with Steve about a year before kept coming back to mind, his words ringing in your ears.

You can’t die.

You can’t die.

You can’t die.

As you offed one particular alien that had been giving you trouble, you whirled around, looking for your teammates.  Some of the fight had bled into the surrounding forest and you began to run in that direction.

You had gotten fairly knocked up in the fight, blood caked on your forehead and bruises littering your body.  You were sure that you’d broken at least one finger in your body, but that didn’t matter.

You had to get to your team.  You had to make sure they were okay.

You slowed down as you saw Thor standing in a clearing, staring down at his axe.  You stood at the edge of the forest as a feeling of dread seeped it’s way into your bones.  Something wasn’t right.  Something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Before you could say anything, Steve ran up, frantically scanning the clearing.  “Where’d he go?  Thor. Where’d he go?”  He was looking everywhere for Thanos, but he’d disappeared.

“Steve?”

All three of you turned to see Bucky turn into ash.  Your heart twisted inside your chest and all you wanted to do was scream, but nothing came out.

Everything felt fuzzy.  Like when that staticy feeling when your foot falls asleep, only it was everywhere.

“Steve?” You called out, though it sounded muffled and distorted.  “What’s happening?”

If it weren’t for them turning towards you, realizing you were there, you wouldn’t have thought anything had actually come out.

“Y/N,” he said, running towards you.  Tears were already staining his cheeks.  At his horrific look, you knew.  You knew your fate had been sealed.  His hands cradled your face and you relished in the feeling, despite knowing that was about to happen to you.  “Y/N, stay with me.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.  I’m so sorry,” You stammered, your hands moving up to hold his face.  As the two of you held each other, you began to panic.  You felt it before you saw it.  The sensation of feeling your lover’s beard against your skin disappeared, and then about five seconds later, your hands started to disintegrate.

You were turning to ash.

All you could think about was how you’d promised him that you wouldn’t die and you were breaking that promise and fuck, you’d never gotten to tell him you love him.  “St—"

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve x you #steve x reader #steve rogers fic #eliza's 5k challenge

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release - 17

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.  This chapter contains an 'active shooter' scenario.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 5k

Parts 18, 19, 20 & 21 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

One Month Later

“Hello, earth to Y/N.” Millie’s hand is waving in front of your face as you snap to attention. “Jesus, what is going on with you?”

“Nothing.” You shake your head, tapping the mouse to wake up your computer. “I’m just tired.”

“You don’t have to tell me, but don’t assume I’m an idiot.”

You’ve shared a little, she knew you were seeing someone, now you’re not. But you’ve never gone into details. She guessed once that your mystery weekend guy was some married man with a wife and kids. You let her live with the assumption. It’s easier that way.

Millie tilts her head, eyes flicking to Lexi’s empty desk. “Did Lexi tell you she’s working on some super secret project for the boss man?”

You want to throw up. Of course she is.

“She told me,” you confirm, typing in your password twice before getting it right.

“What do you think it is? I mean I love the girl, but she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.” Millie looks at you, frowning in concern.

You have a pretty good idea what kind of special project Sam’s assigned her to, the same kind you worked on. He was bored fucking you so he moved on to someone younger, firmer and dumber. As much as you try to fight it, your mind can’t help but conjure up images of her on her knees sucking his cock.

“Seriously, are you okay?” Millie places a hand on your shoulder and you flinch, looking up at her. “You’re all over the place.”

“No,” you shake your head, sitting back in the chair. “I don’t think I want to work here anymore.”

“Seriously?” Millie hunches down, getting close to whisper, “did Max do something again? Is someone bothering you?”

“No, he’s actually been really apologetic after he was put on his corrective action plan,” you snort. “I’m just fucking done. This place is a black hole and I need to move on.” You look at Lexi’s empty seat. “I’m gonna go talk to Pepper and put in my two weeks. Then I’m gonna let you take me out and get me drunk.”

--

After a few shots of tequila, you sit at the open window of your apartment, sipping a bottle of water and watching the city lights at night. For the better part of a year, life was focused around Sam, when you’d see him next, what would happen. Now that excitement is nowhere to be found and you're left with the realization that you’ve let the other parts of your life fade into the background. There’s a kind of emptiness that you’ve struggled to fill, a void that you’re learning to live with.

Above all else, you feel foolish. While you want to feel betrayed, you simply can’t. He was always up front. He told you time and time again it was nothing more than sex. But your logical mind and your heart aren’t always working together. Developing feelings for someone like Sam Winchester was bound to end badly, you knew that from the start.

If nothing else, Sam taught you a lot about yourself. Sex with him was eye-opening. He showed you how to openly desire all the things that you hid for so long. Not only do you know what you like, now you know how to ask for it and you’ll never be ashamed of what turns you on again.

It’s been one hell of a rollercoaster but it’s time to leave. Not just W & S, but Boston as well. It’s time to start over. In a couple of weeks, you’ll be in Chicago, a place where you know no one and no one knows you. It’s for the best, here your memories are haunted, little pieces of Sam everywhere. At least you learned a lesson.

As you lay down to go to sleep you glance at the bedside table. There’s a small vibrator in the drawer. You’ve tried to masturbate several times since your final goodbye but you can’t quite get there. All your fantasies somehow morph into Sam at the end and it pulls you right out of the moment. Perhaps more distance will help you get back to normal.

You fall asleep dreaming of a new life, somewhere far, far away.

Two Weeks Later

Juggling a comically tall stack of folders you head to the conference room.

You’re late for your last meeting as an employee of W & S. It’s your project hand-off, going over all your active cases with Pepper and Millie. Only a few more hours and you can kiss this place goodbye for good.

It’s as you open the door and flick the light switch, you’re met with a chorus of happy voices.

“Surprise!”

You jump back, breaking out into a smile at the room full of colleagues in party hats. There’s a sheet cake in the middle of the table with We’ll Miss You! scrawled across in blue frosting.

“You scared the shit out of me!” You laugh, dropping the files onto the table.

“That was the idea,” Pepper smirks, sliding a paper cup of punch across the table. “It’s not a surprise unless you shit yourself.”

“Honestly I didn’t expect this. I didn’t think anyone would care that I left,” you confess, looking at an envelope with your name written across it.

Millie is already cutting the cake, handing you the first piece. “Are you kidding, we all love you. It’s gonna be boring without you. Don’t get too excited about your gift, it’s only an Ikea gift card.”

“I never thought I’d say this,” Pepper leans in, dipping her finger into the frosting on your plate. “But I sure wish you were staying, Lexi is a nightmare.” You both look up at Lexi who’s babbling on in the corner of the room clad in a skin-tight pink dress. “I long for the days of your slow walking and crappy notes.”

“Good to know I’m appreciated in hindsight,” you force a smile, trying to focus on anything other than thoughts of Lexi and Sam.

There’s a faint, repeating noise in the distance, it’s out of place but you’re not really paying attention.

“Hey,” Max slides in beside you. Millie sighs but backs off. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, for you know, saying that stuff about you. I was a dick.”

He has been making an effort, there’s a subtle hint of that nice guy you met before he turned into a full-fledged bastard.

“Yes, you were.” You roll your eyes, offering him a smile. “I forgive you, but only if you don’t do it to anyone else again.”

“I swear,” he nods, a hand over his heart. “Lesson learned, I-”

He pauses to listen to the popping in the distance. The room falls silent.

“Is someone setting off fireworks?” Pepper stands up, moving toward the window.

“That’s not fireworks,” Tim Bellamy from accounting stands up, walking to the door of the conference room and looking out into the hallway. “That’s gunfire.”

“What are you talking about?” Your heart speeds up to gallop, a low simmer of panic setting in. Right on cue, all the lights shut off, the whirl of the air conditioning stops.

There it is again, closer than before. It sounds like it’s coming from a few floors down.

Pop

Pop

Pop

Pop

“Someone’s shooting,” Millie whispers, looking to you with eyes the size of saucers.

“Security will stop whoever it is,” Pepper’s voice is broken as she wrings her hands together, staring at the open door.

“What do we do?” You look at Tim. You don’t know much about him, but you do recall that he’s a combat veteran, a Marine if you remember correctly.

“We run,” he confirms, taking off his suit jacket and throwing it on the table. “If you're wearing heels, take them off. Get rid of anything that’s going to slow you down or make noise.”

You reach down, slipping off your pumps, bare toes sinking into the carpet. You’re sweating now, listening to the burst of gunfire coming in rapid succession. For a moment it’s getting closer then there’s a break, silence.

“Follow me.” Tim inches toward the door, peeking out into the hallway. “If you get out into the open don’t run in a straight line, zig-zag back and forth. Doesn’t matter if anyone’s shooting at you, make yourself a hard target to hit.”

“This isn’t happening,” Millies cries behind you, her hands on your hips. “Oh my god, this can’t be happening.”

“Quiet,” Tim turns back, looking at each one of you. “Stay silent. Follow me now.”

You trail after him down the hall, everyone moving in silence, grasping each other’s hands. The hallway opens up into a sea of cubicles. You’re headed toward the red exit sign at the other end of the room, it’s the door to the stairwell.

Without warning the door slams open, hitting the wall with a thud. Millie yelps, Lexi screams from somewhere in the back. Trevor from IT comes sprinting toward you, sweating, in pure panic.

“He’s coming!” He yells running past you in a sprint.

“Who’s coming?” Max yells.

“Brent!” Trevor calls back, his voice faint as he disappears around the corner at the other end of the room.

Brent.

“Fuck,” you breathe, remembering the day he was fired, how it took multiple security guards to wrestle him out of the building. “Where do we-”

Your voice turns into a scream as Brent appears in the doorway. He’s holding some kind of huge rifle, the kind you’ve seen in movies as he jams in a fresh clip. He looks up spotting your group.

“Run!” Tim shouts, stepping in front with his arms spread wide.

Time slows down and you have a thousand thoughts at once.

You should have called your mom this morning.

You’re not wearing matching underwear.

You should have told Sam how you felt as soon as you felt it.

You’re going to die on your last day here, you should have left last week.

If you’d have gone to college, none of this would have ever happened.

There is an ear-shattering pop and Tim’s body jerks back, careening into you before he hits the wall and his knees give way. He’s clutching his stomach, blood pouring from a wound. You’re frozen in sheer terror, a scream erupting from your throat as Brent advances.

There’s a shout from the other side of the room, a woman you’ve never seen before shrieks drawing his attention. There’s a spray of bullets in her direction and you watch in horror when she sinks behind one of the cubicles.

Turning back to you Brent looks calm and focused as he takes aim and shoots off another round, hitting Max in the upper thigh. One more step and he shoots again, the bullet hitting Max’s chest and this time he falls to the floor.

Brent is close now, his eyes narrowing as he hones in on you.

“Please,” you whisper, shaking uncontrollably as you raise both hands in front of your face. There is no sight or sound, everything comes to a halt as you take a final breath.  “Please don't kill me.”

Brent just snorts, raising the gun and pointing it at your head.

Sam comes out of nowhere moving with a speed and power that you would have never known he was capable of. He drives the heel of his hand up into Brent’s chin, snatching the rifle from him in the same move. Swinging the butt of the gun around he whacks Brent in the head hard enough that it makes a sickening crack. Blood begins to pour from the wound as Brent’s knees buckle and he collapses to the ground.

With a series of methodical movements, Sam disassembles the firearm as if he’s done it a million times before. In ten seconds flat it’s lying in pieces on the carpet. He kneels next to Brent, patting down his unconscious body and pulling away two handguns that are tucked into his waistband. Sam takes those apart as well, leaving the pieces on a nearby desk.

“Are you alright?” he asks and you realize he’s talking to you. You blink, your mind a blank slate looking from Brent to Sam who’s standing in front of you, one hand on each shoulder. “Y/N?”

“I think so,” you mutter, staring at him in disbelief. All that fear is suddenly gone and you’re numb, physically and emotionally, save for the nauseous feeling in your belly. You explain calmly, “I think I might throw up.”

“That’s okay,” he cups your face for a moment, both hands under your jaw, giving you his undivided attention. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head no, turning away from him to vomit onto the floor.

“Oh my God!” You hear Lexi’s high pitched shriek coming up behind you. When you look up she’s throwing herself at Sam, wrapping arms around him. “You saved us!”

Sam just looks at you, his arms dangling at his side as she presses her head over his chest.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod,” Millie’s arms are around you, trembling as she squeezes tight. Wiping your chin you heave again, the last of your stomach contents coming up. “You’re alright, you’re gonna be alright.” She keeps repeating, rocking back and forth as she strokes your hair.

It’s not exactly soothing for you, but it seems to be what she needs, so you let her cradle you.

The next few minutes are a blur. Every moment melts into the next. There’s a swirl of activity, police and swat officers swarming the room. Several people are talking at you but you can’t hear them, your ears are ringing and you’ve got tunnel vision. Someone moves you, there’s a hand on each arm and you’re walking but not sure where or how.

The next thing you know you’re in Sam’s office, sitting on his couch. He’s standing near his desk and you’re surrounded by a dozen agents with ATF and FBI emblazoned on their clothes.

The voices come in and out of focus. There’s a man sitting next to you, his mustache is untrimmed, creeping over his upper lip and for a moment it’s all you see.

“Y/N?” he asks, leaning closer. “Can you hear me?”

“She’s in shock.” A female voice comes from somewhere in the background. “We have an ambulance on the way. We needed to get the critical cases out of the building first. We can have someone drive her-”

“I can hear you.” You clear your throat, feeling like you’ve been shot with a tranquilizer. A hush falls over the room and you look from the man in front of you to Sam. “I don’t wanna go to the hospital. Please don’t make me.”

“Okay,” Sam nods, walking over and sitting on the coffee table in front of you. “She can wait until tomorrow, can’t she?” He looks at the officer next to you.

“We don’t recommend it.” Another voice answers.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” You look around at the strangers staring at you like a zoo animal. “Sam, I want to leave.”

“She shouldn’t be alone in this state. Once we have her emergency contacts we’ll send a car to take her home.”  

“That’s not necessary she’s going home with me.” Sam reaches out, squeezing your knee. “We can set up a time tomorrow afternoon for interviews.”

-

You sit in silence next to Sam as the car makes the drive to Newton. The world whizzes by as you look out the window, your mind a blank slate devoid of any real thought. Sam doesn’t say anything, you’re vaguely aware of him looking at you from time to time. By the time you reach his house, your mind and body are starting to equalize. You follow him into the house, looking around at the all too familiar surroundings. Nothing's changed since the last time you were here.

Sam walks directly into the kitchen, opening up a cupboard and pulling out an empty trash bag.

“Take your clothes off.” He instructs calmly. You snort, eyes widening, unsure of how he can even think that you’re going to comply with his commands- “You have blood on your clothes,” he explains and you feel instantly sheepish. “Undress and take a shower.”

You look at him, a combination of betrayal and exhaustion. There’s a lot you want to say, but instead, you pull your blouse over your head, then shimmy your skirt down your hips. He holds open the bag and you place both inside, then strip the rest of the way, peeling off your panties and bra.

Naked, you pad down the hallway to his room, leaving the light off as you find the way to his shower and climb inside. You sit down on the tile under the warm water, pulling your legs up to your chest. You stay just like that until the water runs cold and you have to get out.

When you finally get out, you halfheartedly dry off, leaving the towel on the hook and a series of wet footprints on the hardwood of his bedroom floor.

Sam is sitting on the edge of the bed but stands up the moment he sees you. He must have used the guest shower because his hair is wet and he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and blue and white striped pajama pants.

You just stand there in the nude, staring at him, a million thoughts colliding at the same time.

“Why am I here?” you ask quietly. You’re not sure if you want the answer, you’re still upset with him, raw over your last conversation.

“Because I want you here.” He responds evenly. “You were traumatized and I-”

“I’m not the only one who was traumatized,” you interrupt. “I don’t see anyone else here.”

“No, you don’t.” He raises his chin, jaw locked in place.

“How did you know how to do that? What you did to Brent, I’ve only ever seen people fight like that in the movies.”

“My dad,” he explains, running his tongue over his teeth under his upper lip. “Winchester 101.”

“Right,” you nod, feeling water dripping from the end of your hair, down your back and over your breasts. “You’re a hero. You came to save us. Guess you’re not a total asshole.”

“I am a total asshole. I don’t give a shit about anyone else.” This confession comes out just as simple as everything else while you stare at each other. “I came for you.”

“Why?” you ask imploringly, stepping forward. “Why didn’t you come for Lexi, she’s your ‘special project’ now.”

“You think I’m sleeping with her?” He raises an eyebrow, letting out a humorless chuckle. “Well, that’s what I hoped you’d assume. I wanted to hurt you because I am an asshole. I wanted you to move on. But I’m not fucking her. I have her reporting back me on Peter Kelson. He’s leaking information. He wants to fuck her, so he drinks too much and tells her more than he should and then she tells me. That’s all.”

“I don’t understand you,” you sigh, defeated. “You said you were bored with me. You cut me out like I was nothing and now you’re telling me you put yourself in front of a bullet for me?”

“I lied.” He shrugs, looking to the side before forcing his gaze back to you. “I was, I am, uncomfortable with the way I feel about you. I want to be with you, I care for you. That’s not something I know how to do anymore. I gave up on that concept a long time ago.”

Your heart does a little skip in your chest, first the worst day of your life and now this. Whatever this is.  

“You can’t just...do this. You walked away from me like I meant nothing to you.”

“I wanted you to hate me,” he confesses, eyes transfixed on yours waiting to see if you’ll bolt.

“I did.” You shrug, stripped bare of pretense. There’s no room for anything to be left unsaid, not anymore. “I do, hate you. The way you treated me made me feel small...insignificant.”

“I know,” he nods, blinking twice, before looking at the floor to gather himself. “But you’re not.”

“I care about you.” You look down at your hands. “But how can you say that? You were going to let me leave. Let me move halfway across the country.”

“You would have been fine.” He steps closer, face tightening in displeasure. “You were hurt, and pissed at me, but you would have moved on. I was going to let you go but I couldn’t let you die, I couldn’t go through that again-” His voice wavers and he pauses, searching your face. “I make a shitty partner in every sense of the word. I’m selfish and impatient. I don’t like relinquishing control. I don’t like to talk about how I feel or my past. I’ll hurt you and you may end up hating me in the end...but I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay in Boston, to stay with me.”

“You haven’t apologized yet, apologized for hurting me like that.” You swallow, watching his jaw set wishing you could just read his mind. It would make this so much easier.

“I’m sorry.” He implores and for the first time you see a side of him you would have not imagined existed. He looks vulnerable, sad and desperate, completely out of character.

“Will you try?” you whisper, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. “It’s one thing to say that you’re terrible at relationships but it’s another to accept it. You put so much energy and commitment into your work, Sam. Are you going to give me at least some of that? Because if you’re not going to try, then there’s no point.”

“I’ll try,” he nods. “I give you my word.”

“Then I’ll stay,” you murmur as his hands cup your face, sliding along either side of your jaw.

He leans down to kiss you, lips meeting gently for the first time. As adept as he is in the bedroom, you wonder if he’s kissed anyone like this since his girlfriend all those years ago. He’s hesitant, the gentle press of his mouth to yours growing more passionate as you slide your tongue forward. That first kiss grows, hands pulling and grabbing, anything to be closer to one another.

He’s naked before you hit the bed, whipping his shirt over his head and stepping out of his pants before he picks up and spreads you over the mattress.  For all the sex you’ve had, all the spanking and groping and sucking, you’ve never felt him like this. The heat and heft of his body take your breath away. This much skin on skin is like a drug as you wrap your legs around his waist, holding him tight as he kisses you long and deep.

His cock is thick and hard, poking your thigh as you whimper and moan underneath him. Your fingernails dig into his back holding on, desperate to have him just like this. You could drown underneath him in this bed and die happy here and now.

You’re both making up for lost time, his mouth sealed to yours as he moans against your lips, pulling back only long enough to suck in a breath before tasting you again.

Spreading your legs wide you watch as he notches of the head of his cock in your pussy. That first push inside makes you gasp as he stretches you open. Your mouth opens wide against his as he slides home, filling you to the root.

“Fuck, Sam,” you whine, fisting one hand in his hair as he strokes in and out, setting an easy pace that’s far from the usual. “You feel so good like this.”

“Gonna make you cum so hard,” he mumbles against your lips. Grabbing a fist full of hair he tugs your head back, slowly pulling your neck taught. “Look at me.”

“I am,” you promise, eyes opening as his cock moves inside you. It’s a full feeling that sends a tingle up your spine and then fans out in all directions. While you can’t orgasm from just this, the stretch of his shaft feels incredible. For a long time, he fucks you just like this, the weight of him pressing you down into the bed, his chest laying over your beasts, and his mouth sealed to your lips.

While he’s not exactly gentle, he’s also not as rough as he has been in the past. His breath is hot as he buries his face in your neck, grunting and panting with every stroke. Tonight is about pleasure and connection and you’re practically humming on every level as the world fades away and only this moment exists.

Sam props himself up on his arms, breathing heavy as he rocks strong and deep. One hand cups your breast, just holding you as you stare up him, his hair hanging down, swinging with the movement of his body. He dips down for one more kiss before lifting himself up enough to wedge his hand between your bodies in search of your clit. His mouth seals shut in concentration as he thrusts steadily, making gentle sweeps over your bud.

It doesn’t take long, you’re already drenched in pleasure and with the addition of his touch, you swell with satisfaction.

“Can I cum?” you pant, mouth falling open as you hold back, waiting for his permission out of sheer force of habit.

“Yes,” he gasps, pressing forward, holding his cock deep and rubbing your clit and you come undone, clenching and pulsing around him.

“Oh God,” is all you can muster, twitching and jerky underneath him.

He knows what you like, you prefer when he keeps his cock buried in your cunt as you cum instead of fucking you through it. It makes everything better, perfectly stuffed and stretched as you pull him inside, muscles tightening with each wave of pleasure.

He waits for you to come back down, letting you fall limp as he picks up the pace fucking you quick in a half dozen hard thrusts before he cums with a series grunts and groans as he fills your pussy, spilling thick and warm until you feel his seed leaking over your ass.

“Fuck,” he groans, collapsing on top of you.

You wrap yourself around him, holding him tight while he’s still inside you. The first time he tries to pull away you don’t let him so he settles between your hips and you kiss and touch each other until you finally release him.

Rolling off you he lies on his back, breath quick with one hand on his chest.

Everything is sticky, not just the mess between your legs but every inch of your skin is covered in sweat, most of it his. It feels claustrophobic, a rising crescendo emerging from somewhere deep inside. It starts as panic in your gut but twists into something else, an overwhelming sadness. An instant snapshot of your own mortality.

You almost died. Other people did. You were this close. So close.

All you can think about is the vast nothingness of not existing. The concept of simply being snuffed out is overwhelming and terrifying. You want to think about Sam, this new stage of your complicated relationship. You’re desperate to focus on the man lying beside you, the person you’ve missed for months who’s just confessed his feelings for you. But all you see in front of your open eyes is the image of Brent with that gun.

An unexpected sob tears from your throat and you slap a hand over your mouth in surprise. Sam actually jumps, jerking up into a sitting position as you wail, suddenly in hysterics. The panic returns, tightening your chest as your vision blurs and you roll onto your side, curling into a ball.

“Hey,’ his hand is hesitant, patting your hip. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you blubber, body shaking like a leaf. “I just feel...everything. I can’t breathe.”

“You’re in shock,” he speaks calmly from somewhere above you. He touches you with fleeting hands, out of practice with a gentle touch. “I should have taken you to the hospital. We can go-”

“No,” you sob, reaching out for him. “Just stay here with me. Don’t leave.”

You cling to him, burrowing into his neck as he lies back. His arm hesitating before wrapping around you. This is arguably the most intimate you’ve ever been with each other and it’s the truest test so far. You don’t need a doctor, you need something to ground you, make you feel safe.

And right on cue Sam fills the need as if you’d told him what to do.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispers, a big hand stroking up and down your back. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“People died,” you close your eyes, pressing your nose over his rough five o'clock shadow. “I almost died.”

“But you didn’t.” He reaches down, pulling the blanket up over you both. “And you’re not going to, not for a long time.”

“Are you sure you want this?” You ask softly, fingers curling into the sparse hair of his chest. “All I can think is that you’re going to walk away again.”

“I won't,” he breathes, both arms tightening around you. “Try not to worry about that now. There’s going to be plenty of time for us to talk about this. Just close your eyes and try to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You stare across the room at the open door of his closet, listening to his heartbeat.

“Everything is going to be different now,” you whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs, already on the verge of sleep. “That’s how we move forward.”

#control and release #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction

[until-theend-oftheline]

Kari’s Tom Hardy Writing Challenge

Since I am not hosting a quickie challenge this month I decided to try and do something different. This challenge is dedicated to the awesomeness that’s Tom Hardy. I picked a few of my favorite characters of his you can choose to write for - or you can do a rpf. If that sounds like something you might find fun - keep reading :D

Due Date: April 2nd (don’t worry about timezone. As long as it’s the 2nd somewhere it counts.)

Word min: 500 words

Word Max: 5k words

Style: It can be a drabble, one shot or beginning of a series. Do not put in in the middle of an ongoing series since I plan on reading them and don’t want to read 10 parts of something to understand the entry. If you create a series only part one has to be posted before the due date.

Fandom: Tom Hardy

Will you read and reblog my fic?

You betcha :D I am behind on reading for previous challenges so patience is a virtue here

When Do I Post?

Right now. Sign Ups start now and ends when there are no more prompts or when the due date rolls around

Genre: Anything you want. You have to be over 18 if you write smut and you always have to warn accordingly! Fluff, angst, AUs and crack are all welcome. I prefer none AUs - so fics that take place in the cinematic universe the character you choose is from. I don’t wanna limit you here though so if AU is what floats your boat, make it AU.

Limits on what you can write: No Mommy/daddy kinks, no non/dub con, no A/B/O, no merpeople. No underage. No incest or selfcest. No half animal anything please. No glorification on cheating(it’s okay as a plot device but use it with thought), no wife, s/o (even exes) or actor hate in rpfs! No monster or tentacle porn in Eddie Brock and/or Venom fics - if you got any questions at any time feel free to send me an ask,

Format: State in your A/N that it is for my (until-theend-oftheline) Kari’s Tom Hardy Challenge. And use the # Kari’s Tom Hardy Challenge in the first 5 tags.

Pairing and word count also have to be easy to spot in your header!

Submit: After you posted on tumblr you have to add yourself and your fic to this doc.  If you don’t do this you will not be added to the masterlist I create when the challenge is over. If you got questions - just ask :D

Doc link it case tumblr is an ass: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Y_FzXxeqyJZI7bPvv4KLzJlok_jq47DZHeLyUVr_AcQ/edit?usp=sharing

How do I join?

You pick a quote (all are something either Tom or one of his characters said) and a pairing off the list. Send me the prompt number along with a backup just in case and your pairing of choice. ASKS ONLY!! REPLIES, REBLOGS AND IMS WILL BE IGNORED!

There are no limits on the pairings but I only allow 1 person per prompt so think before you sign up. If you don’t think you will be doing it then don’t take the spot from someone else. For now 1 person can sign up 2 times (one prompt per story).

All pairings must be x reader or OC or general fics:

Tom Hardy (rpf)

Reggie Kray

Alfie Solomons

James Delaney

Eddie Brock (you can use venom but no monster porn!)

Max

Forrest Bondurant

Eames

Prompts:

1 “That’s simple really. I just left him in a hole. The rest is history.” @erak-w (Alfie Solomons) 

2 “What on earth are you on about?” @thatfanficstuff (Alfie Solomons)

3 “I’m singing right now on the inside. I’m dancing as well a little bit.” @marvelgirl7 (Eddie Brock)

4 “I like dogs more than people. Apart from the select few who I see as dogs.”

5 “Yes I was. Actually yes I was. Yes. Yeah. I can’t say anything about that.”

6 “I had no idea what we were doing. But I know it was awesome.”

7 “Put that in the swag pile”

8 “It’s quite hard to be Taboo when you got your hands tied. But it shouldn’t be. Paradoxically.”

9 “I’m gonna drink from a very small cup”

10 “We know it’s a drama cause I got my arse out”

11 “He’ll wake up. Granted he won’t have any teeth but he’ll be a wiser man for it” @queen-of-the-avengers (Tom Hardy)

12 “Who fights by the sword fucking dies by it”

13 “You can leave if you need to go to the little boys room or something” @seeingthestarsmakesmedream (Eddie Brock)

14 “Intelligence is a very valuable thing innit my friend? Usually it comes far too late.”

15 “There we must go we who wander this Wasteland, in search of our better selves.”

16 Hope is a mistake. If you can’t fix what’s broken you go insane”

17 “I tell myself they can’t touch me. They are long dead” @docharleythegeekqueen  (Eddie Brock)

18 “It’s not the violence that sets men apart. It’s the distance he is willing to go”

19 “We are survivors. We control our fear. Without fear we are as good as dead”

20 “We lay down for nobody”

21 “Patience doesn’t get you what you want”

22 “I’m not being funny here but the thought of you mom answering that door is a bit shocking so...”

23 “You want me to deliver it? I ain't going for that door”

25 “Nonono let him in. He’s only little”

26 “You musn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger darling”

27 “You’re still working with that stick in the mud”

28 “Your condescension is as always much appreciated. Thank you.”

29 “Arrgh! Who said that?”

30 “Again? You’re gonna get me killed”

31 “No! We do not eat policemen”

32 “Don’t go around the back of the telly without you mom and dad watching you or touch any wires or look for a door”

33 “Making the effort to be good is really really important. But being yourself is more important.” @sillesworldofwriting (Eddie Brock)

34 “Leave me or take me. I’m a bag of twiglets. What’s up?!”

35 “She seems like the princess. In a nice way”

36 “Love all things unless it’s coming at you mate. In which case despatch it with the love.”

37 “I’m not really good with heights” @queen-of-the-avengers (Eddie Brock)

38 “I have a parasite”

39 “This is dead. Dead!” @becs-bunker (Eddie Brock)

40 “It’s a term of endearment” @until-theend-oftheline (Eddie Brock)

Challenge tags

@ifyougetkilled-walk-it-off @captain-rogers-beard @dolphinpink310 @grace-for-sale @docharleythegeekqueen @rebelslicious @thorne93 @hillywooddestiel @peterman-parker @queen-of-deans-booty @acreativelydifferentlove @emilyevanston @blacktithe7 @becs-bunker @roxyspearing @blacktithe7 @cassiefanfic @readitandweepfics @kayla-of-shield @fangirlextraordinaire @thatfanficstuff @danijimenezv @hopes-archer @marvelentertainment_madam08 @averyrogers83 @thelookingglassalice @slowlywithfreedom

#tom hardy #tom hardy writing challenge #kari's tom hardy challenge

[seeaddywrite]

stars, hide your fire: chapter two

i absolutely will not be able to keep up with daily updates, but i’ve got the first 10k of this written & i’m just editing for continuity & nonsense sentences right now. this was almost a 5k chapter, but i thought that was a bit much, so there will probably be another part up tomorrow. 

also, to address one of the questions i got: yes, this is on AO3, if you prefer to read in that format.  

Chapter Index: 1 || 2

Anxiety is one of the remnants of active duty that Alex can’t shake. His fingers tap a frantic rhythm on his good knee as he watches the group he’s assembled parse through the surveillance footage and the schematics for the weapons, and he catches himself beginning to list all the ways Guerin and the others could blame him for this. He should have found it sooner. He should have pushed harder for information, when Jesse Manes was at his mercy. He should have known his brothers wouldn’t give up this easily just because their father and de facto leader disappeared. Alex should have thought more like a Manes, and less like better man he was trying to become.

He knows that the likelihood of anyone blaming him for those things is next to nothing, logically, but the worry is still there, half-stifled in the back of his mind. It’s especially loud as Guerin snatches the schematics and begins muttering to himself, and even consulting Liz on something that looks like an equation on the lower corner of the scans. Alex keeps his eyes on those two -- it’s easier than looking at Isobel’s ashen, waif-like countenance or the barely-contained fury on Max’s face. The lights keep flickering on and off, and Alex knows that he’s struggling to contain his powers. Alex thinks that’s understandable, but he might be the only one, judging by the sharp looks the others keep sending him.

“Evans, do you mind?” Valenti is finally the one to snap. “We’re all worried! But no one can read without lights, and if we’re still under surveillance, the fireworks show inside might seem a little freaking suspicious!”

Max’s lips tighten, but the lights steady and hold.

Alex lets them have another twenty minutes of trying to search for a way out of the mess in front of them before he clears his throat. Six pairs of eyes bearing various signs of horror and resignation look up at him, and Alex’s heart beats a little faster before he finds the calm, calculating place in the back of his mind that allowed him to survive ten years as an active duty codebreaker while men died all around him.

“Before you all start making plans,” he says calmly, projecting his voice just enough so that everyone in the room can hear him. “Just listen for a minute, okay?” There are a few nods, and after a moment, Alex continues, knowing that in their confusion and fear, they will respond to a voice laden with authority -- just like soldiers in the middle of an op gone tits-up. “Project Shepherd is my father’s pride and joy. It’s a family legacy, and has been for generations. There’s no way he’s given the keys to the kingdom away to random strangers.” Alex glances at Kyle, who nods once, encouraging. “This has to be my brothers. Kyle, Guerin, and I ran into Flint when we went to Caulfield --” The aliens all flinch in tandem at the words. Alex wants to reach out for Michael, seated to his left, to offer some measure of comfort at the bleak reminder, but he doesn’t have that right anymore, even if they are friends. And Michael is already stowing his grief behind a fierce mask, anyway, and wouldn’t appreciate the attempt if it was made. “And I’m pretty confident in guessing that Charlie and Hunter are involved, too.”

There’s a low mutter of discontent from Liz, whose dark eyes are blazing with badly-contained anger. Alex knows how she feels. Max runs a hand down her arm as he watches Alex, waiting for the rest of whatever he has to say, and Rosa leans in closer, looking more confused than anything. There’s still so much about the time before her resurrection that she doesn’t know, despite their best efforts to bring her up to speed.

“I know those guys,” Alex plods forward, refusing to be distracted. “I know how they work, and they’re not going to stop coming for us unless we stop them. And I think the only way we’re going to do that is by getting someone on the inside. Someone who knows how they work -- someone with the training and the skills to make them think that he can help.”

Guerin’s body goes rigid next to Alex, and Liz surges to her feet, but none of it stops Alex from saying: “I’m going to do it. I can get the information we need to bring in the government, or higher-ups in the military, and keep your names out of it. If I’m the one undercover, I control the narrative -- it’s the perfect set-up to make sure they all end up in a military prison, at the very least..”

Chaos erupts in the room around him, and Alex sits back, arms crossed over his chest, and waits.

There’s something grounding about being surrounded by people who all care about each other despite having plenty of reasons not to. Alex has never had a normal family, full of love and bickering and over-protective siblings, but he imagines this is what it would have been like, if he had. Fighting because they don’t want their siblings and loved ones to be hurt, rather than because they do.

Alex has never had that, not really -- his oldest brother, Charlie, had defended him a few times, but in the end, Jesse Manes’ opinion was the only one that ever mattered in their house, and according to him, Alex deserved to hurt. Eventually, Alex had gotten used to the isolation and abuse within his home, and he’d learned at a young age that sharing blood did not mean sharing love. He’d hidden his softest parts behind a sharp tongue and a rough exterior, complete with piercings and a ‘fuck off’ expression that kept even the most determined teachers and their questions at bay. Liz, Maria, and Rosa were the only ones who’d never been fooled, but looking back, Alex can admit that he kept even them at arm’s length. It was necessary, at the time; none of those women were the sort of people who would do nothing if they found out exactly how bad things were for Alex at home, and the last thing he’d wanted was for them to get hurt because of him.

Needless to say, from that perspective, it’s utterly bizarre to be sitting there,  listening to Michael’s little, makeshift family fight him on the course of action he’s chosen to take his father down for good. They’re all trying to protect him -- even Max, who’s only been breathing again for two weeks and has barely spoken two words to Alex in all of that time. But even still, he’s volunteered himself for the mission instead, on the grounds that he can defend himself with his powers if necessary, and the fact that it’s not fair to ask Alex to move against his own blood.

It’s insane, of course. Max is a cop, but he’s never been a great one; he’s too straight-and-narrow, aside from the lengths he’s willing to go to in order to protect the people he loves. This is the sort of op that requires planning on the fly and subterfuge, and a flexibility that Max just doesn’t have. Not to mention the fact that there’s no way Max will ever learn enough about computers and hacking in time to be any of use to Project Shepherd, and he doesn’t have the family ties that would get the Manes boys to even consider trusting him, even if they haven’t, by some miracle, seen anything suspicious about him on their surveillance footage.

Despite all of that, Alex can’t help but feel a little warmer at the obvious concern, even if he has no idea how to take it. His feelings about Max Evans and his god complex are complicated even on a good day, and Alex isn’t used to this sort of protective behavior. He knows it’s coming from a good place, though -- the one real conversation he and Max have had was about Michael, and the fact that if Guerin sees Alex as family, Max does too, no matter what their relationship status might be.

So,  yes. Alex would be lying if he said that it isn’t oddly nice to have people worrying about him, but eventually, enough is enough.

He’d gone silent as soon as the fighting started; Kyle had warned him that no one was going to like the idea of Alex going undercover with Project Shepherd, and Alex had predicted Michael’s immediate and absolute denial -- but this is his decision. His family, his legacy -- his responsibility. If he’s ever going to feel like it’s safe to be with Michael again, if he’s ever going to feel free of his father and his damned battles, Alex has to do this. There’s no other way out from beneath his shadow, and Alex has spent enough of his life missing the sun.

Alex has to do this, and no one is going to stop him -- no matter how good their intentions.

“It’s gotta be me,” Alex says loudly, adopting a tone of command that he’d learned in the middle of the desert in wartime. It effectively silences the squabbles filling the room, and again, six pairs of eyes turn to him, some incredulous, others resigned -- and one pair of beloved brown orbs full of vehement denial. But Alex sits tall on the couch, meeting each gaze in turn with steely determination, hoping that he looks more confident in his own abilities than he feels. His brothers aren’t stupid, and there’s a good chance they’ll see through his ruse, but he has the best chance of fooling them -- and Alex isn’t willing to risk anyone else.  “Come on, guys, you know it has to be me. No one else knows Charlie and Flint like I do, and no one else has the training to be useful to their project.”

Alex doesn’t know how he ended up as a member of this eclectic little family, but it’s happened, and he’d do a thousand horrible things before he let anything happen to any of them. Lying to the family he’d grown up with seems like a small price to pay in order to keep them safe. Michael has always deserved happiness and safety, and while Max and Isobel have their issues, they aren’t anything like the villainous aliens Jesse Manes laments about. And Liz, Rosa, and Kyle -- they deserve better than lives on the run, too, which is what awaits them if Project Shepherd ever finds out about their ties to the aliens.

Alex allows himself a moment to reflect on the way they’d all come together, in the wake of Max’s death, as a way to remind himself of why he’s doing this. It had happened in fits and starts, with plenty of stalling. At the beginning, he’d stayed strictly to the periphery. Most of that had been his own choice; in the wake of Michael’s decision to pursue a relationship with Maria, it had been easier to just keep his distance and try to keep moving forward with his own healing.

It only took a month for Michael’s relationship with Maria to end, though, and Alex found himself as a Max fill-in, bailing the other man out of the drunk tank and hiding the acetone when it looked like Michael might drown in it. It’s not an auspicious start to a friendship, especially considering their history, but after several awkward interludes and false starts, they manage to find even ground. Alex doesn’t think they’ll ever quite manage a completely platonic friendship, but they’ve found something that works for them -- something that someday, they hope can become something more.

Michael isn’t the only one who gets tangled up in Alex’s life in those rough months. After a few weeks of private grief, Liz showed up, wanting access to the Caulfield files to look for intel that could help bring Max back from the dead. She’d mentioned in passing that they needed help making sure that no one would question the cover story for Rosa’s miraculous return, so Alex had been the one to put enough of a digital footprint online so that anyone but an experienced hacker would have to believe she’d been kidnapped, not murdered, ten years past.

And then, somehow, the Ortecho sisters became regular fixtures in his cabin. It seemed like one of them was always there, cooking burned meals in his scarcely-used kitchen or dragging in a television set from Arturo’s basement when they noticed Alex didn’t have one. It hadn’t taken much for Alex to remember how much he’d adored Rosa as a teenager, or why Liz had been one of his closest friends for well over a decade before they drifted apart -- and he couldn’t deny that he’d been grateful to feel less isolated from the town.

From there, it all spiraled into weekly dinners and brainstorming sessions,  to sharing his space and his time with these people as they fought back against what seemed like the inevitable. They’d won against it before, and Alex is absolutely certain that they can again. But they need to all be on the same page, first.

“Max can defend himself if he has to,” Michael points out before Alex says anything more, shoving himself forward on the couch to bring his body within touching distance of Alex. It’s the closest they’ve been in months, and Alex hates the way his heartbeat speeds up just from the  proximity. “No one in your family knows that he’s an alien, plus he’s a deputy. Your dad wanted Cam’s input from the Sheriff’s office -- I bet your brothers will want what he can tell them, too. It’s a way in.”

Alex tries to decide whether Michael has so much faith in Max that he believes he can pull off an op like this, or if he’s just so sure that Alex can’t that he’s scrambling for any better option. Neither speak positively about Michael’s headspace, and Alex isn’t sure he wants to know the real answer. Michael’s been incredibly protective of his brother since his resurrection, though -- it seems strange that he’s willing to go along with Max’s self-sacrificing offer.

“Are you forgetting we just brought Max from the dead?” Isobel interjects shrilly, before Alex gets the chance to figure out what the hell Michael is thinking. She directs her icy gaze at Michael, and then at Alex, as if he hadn’t just told the entire room that he’s got to be the one to join Project Shepherd. Isobel’s been the quietest since they all arrived, and is pressed into Max’s side in a way that even Liz isn’t, though she’s still sitting close. Alex knows Isobel’s still trying to pull herself together from the realization that her husband was a mass-murdering psychopath for the duration of their marriage, and understands that she has the right to heal in her own way, but he’s getting tired of being the subject of her ire. “Like hell are we sending him straight to a bunch of people who want to cut him open and play mad scientist with his guts!”

“Give me a break, Isobel!” Michael snaps back at his sister. “I’m not trying to get him killed! But he’s got a better chance of defending himself than Alex, if shit gets ugly. I’d go if I could, but I’m on a fucking watchlist -- there’s no way they’ll buy it.”

He sends a look at Max that Alex can’t really see, but the taller man nods once, and rests a hand on Isobel’s shoulder. “Michael’s being smart, Iz,” he says quietly. “We can’t send Alex into Project Shepherd to --”

“I don’t think we should be sending anyone!” Isobel interrupts, and crosses bare arms over her chest. Fire dances in her eyes as she stares around the room at the assemblage, and for once, Alex is reminded of the intimidating teenaged girl from high school who’d had every straight guy at Roswell High panting after her. Lately she’s seemed more like a shadow than that person, and Alex can admit that he’s glad to see her regaining some of herself -- even if it’s the more difficult parts. “This is all stupid. Starting up some kind of super-spy mission is asking for them  to figure out our secret if they don’t already know. No one’s made a move on us, yet. There’s still time for us to get out of town; we don’t need to risk anyone for the sake of information. It’s not worth it!”

Isobel has suffered so much loss already that Alex can understand her point of view. There’s a risk to this op, and not just to Alex -- if he fails, there’s a high probability the entire truth will come out. It’s not a big leap from Alex being a traitor to the rest of them being involved, and from there, it’s a pretty easy supposition that Jesse Manes might have been right about who in Roswell might be from another planet. She’s thinking ahead and weighing the consequences against the possible reward -- and to her, it’s not coming out even.

“Do you really want to live the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, Isobel?” Alex asks softly, ignoring the way that Guerin is practically thrumming with anger in the seat next to him. He’ll deal with him soon -- but first, he needs to get everyone else settled down. Kyle is already in the corner, talking to Liz and Rosa in a low, soothing whisper. It strikes Alex then how lucky he is to have Valenti on his side, especially considering he doesn’t like the plan anymore than they do. He’s trusting Alex to make the right calls, and that means a hell of a lot.

“I know my family. They’re not going to stop coming. Eventually, even if they can’t get video or photos, they’ll come to town and ask the right questions to the right people. They’ll hear about Rosa Ortecho’s magical reappearance after ten years. They’ll hear about Michael’s hand, or the bizarre power outage, or the lawyer who just up and disappeared. Or maybe they’ll stop by the diner, or the hospital and find dad in that coma, and he’ll just give them all the answers when he wakes up.” That particular scenario is terrifying, and Alex pushes forward, refusing to dwell, or feel guilty for telling the bald-faced truth, despite the growing disquiet on his friends’ faces. “There are thousand ways for them to find out the truth, and to hurt you. Running isn’t going to make a difference. They’ll find you, eventually. It’s a delaying tactic, not a solution.”

Alex exhales slowly, gives everyone a moment to process his logic, and finishes: “So I’m going to take them down from the inside, and I’d really like you all to help me -- from a safe distance. If you don’t want to, I understand, but I am doing this. With or without your blessing.”

#my fic #stars hide your fires #multi chapter #malex fic [at least it will be]

[xfilescat]

a river in egypt (steve harrington x female!reader)

word count: around 5k

warnings: language as per usual, it gets a bit saucy sometimes, & of course there’s a little angst because I apparently can’t write a story without it :,)

preview: “You may be at each other’s throats most of the time, but if there’s one thing you both always agree on, it’s that you definitely do not have feelings for each other. The kids, however, are deadset in their belief that you’re meant to be together, and Max once posited that maybe that’s why you’re constantly arguing—it’s your way of dealing with all of the “sexual tension” between you two (her words exactly). That theory threw you for a loop for a few days, but you’re positive it’s not true. Right?”

A/N: omg this bitch (me) finally posted something! it’s only been, what, seven years? i’m terribly sorry. ANYways, this is based on an idea from @32bees who is super nice btw! i kinda took their request and ran wayyy too far with it, but it’s fine. also i literally just made up the layout of Steve’s house (and ignored major plot points/character traits) as i wrote so just pretend it’s right. also btw spoons is a real game and it’s the SHIT! definitely recommend. also i totally ripped off scenes from an episode of new girl and from an episode of friends so if you catch that, don’t judge me! i just love those shows so much! anyway i hope u enjoy, friends! love you all <3

If someone had told you a few months ago—before you’d been clued in to the whole Upside Down fiasco—that you’d be spending most of your senior year with a bunch of middle schoolers and Steve Harrington, you’d have laughed in their face. Well, maybe not so much about the middle schoolers part, because you babysit all the time and you love kids. But the Steve part? No way, you would’ve said. That’s crazy—you’d never even talked to the guy before. Yet here you are, standing on his porch waiting for him to come to the door, a plate of cookies in your hands and a smile on your face. You absolutely love nights like this.

The door flies open a moment after you knock, but it’s not Steve who opens it. Dustin grins at you before turning to the living room. “Y/N’s here,” he shouts before he looks back at you—more specifically, at what you’re holding. “Ooh, cookies! Let me help you with those,” Dustin says, grabbing the plate and dashing back inside. You chuckle, following him into the house and closing the door behind you. “I feel like you guys only invite me to these things ’cause I always bring food,” you call out, taking off your shoes and coat and placing them in the hall closet.

All you hear in response is incoherent yelling. You smile to yourself. Everyone must be involved in some kind of contentious board game. The last time you were here, you guys spent ten minutes crawling around the room searching for a missing chess piece because a disgruntled Lucas had flipped the board after a devastating loss to Max. These people take their games seriously, not unlike yourself.

You round the corner into the living room. Not a lot of things surprise you anymore, but you’re definitely confused when you see everybody sitting in a circle on the floor, playing cards in their hands and a pile of spoons in front of them. They’re all eating your cookies, too. You cross the room and take a seat between Will and El. “Hi guys. If you don’t mind my asking, what the heck are you doing?”

Everyone greets you with a smile, and El turns to you. “Playing spoons!”

“What’s spoons?”

“Dustin taught us.”

You look to Dustin for further explanation. He sets his cards down with a sigh. “Okay, this is like my third time going over this because somebody—,” he pauses to glare at Lucas, “—doesn’t know how to listen. Basically, everyone gets four cards to start. The goal of the game is to get four of a kind. The dealer—which is me—takes one card from the deck and passes it around. If you need that card, you keep it and get rid of another card, ’cause you can only have four in your hand at a time. Whoever gets all their cards first gets to take a spoon, and once that person takes one, everyone else can too. There are enough spoons for every player but one. If you’re the only player left without a spoon, you’re out.”

You nod slowly. “Got it. Why spoons, though?”

Mike, who’s sitting between Dustin and El, shrugs. “Why not spoons?”

“Touché. Alright, deal me in, Dusty. And get ready to lose.”

Dustin shakes his head. “I was just about to say the same thing to you.”

You smirk playfully. “Oh, you think you can beat me?”

“No, I know I can’t, but Steve’s won every round we’ve played so far. He’s, like, a spoons prodigy. Undefeatable.”

You level your gaze at Steve, who’s directly across from you and grinning smugly. “Not for long, he’s not.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Okay, Y/L/N, show us what you’ve got.”

“I intend to, Harrington.”

For some unknown reason, Steve brings out a furiously competitive side of you. You ponder this as Dustin reshuffles the deck and starts handing out cards. Whether it’s playing board games, giving the kids advice, or leading expeditions into other dimensions, you’re always trying to one-up Steve and he seems to be just as ambitious to win as you are. Further, the two of you are always disagreeing on things, and those disagreements are heightened by your competitive natures—neither of you ever want to admit you’re wrong. You once argued for a good five minutes about whether cats were better than dogs, and you would’ve kept going all night if Max hadn’t shouted at you both to shut up.

Of course, all of this arguing is in good fun. Steve’s become your closest friend and confidant over the past few months and you don’t know what you’d do without him. You’d never have thought that the infamous King Steve would actually be extremely kind, caring, and protective—especially of you and the kids. You love him (as a friend, obviously), but something about him just… you don’t know. He just gets you so fired up sometimes.

The game begins, and it’s not long before you get the hang of it. In fact, you’ve managed to make it to the semi-finals: it’s just you, Steve, and Will left in the circle. You’re going for sevens, you’ve decided. You’ve currently got three out of four and you’re pretty sure you’ve got this in the bag. Will passes you a card face-down and you try to maintain your poker face when you see that it’s the last seven. Nonchalantly passing an unnecessary five off to Steve, you surreptitiously reach for one of the two spoons in front of you.

Steve catches you and quickly grabs the other one. Will’s still staring at his cards, but he looks up when he hears you and Steve cheering. “Oh, man,” he groans, dropping his cards and standing up to join the rest of the Party, who are devouring the rest of your cookies on the couch. “Better luck next time, buddy,” you say as you place your spoon back into the center.

Steve stares you down as he collects all the cards and shuffles the deck. “Ready to lose?”

You laugh. “You wish. Deal.”

He smiles at you brightly before he complies, and you’re not sure why you feel your face heat up. It’s not like you to get flustered, especially not around Steve. You may be at each other’s throats most of the time, but if there’s one thing you both always agree on, it’s that you definitely do not have feelings for each other. The kids, however, are deadset in their belief that you’re meant to be together, and Max once posited that maybe that’s why you’re constantly arguing—it’s your way of dealing with all of the “sexual tension” between you two (her words exactly). That theory threw you for a loop for a few days, but you’re positive it’s not true. Right? You quickly look down at your cards and pretend to be very invested in them. Steve notices.

“What, are you nervous, Y/N?” He sounds cocky, and you roll your eyes.

“No. Not at all. Let’s go.”

The Party has moved from the couch back to the circle, eager to watch the final round. They seem to have chosen sides: Dustin, Lucas, and Max are cheering for Steve and Will, Mike, and El are rooting for you. Dustin is by far the most enthusiastic.

“C’mon, Steve! Kick her ass!”

“Henderson, I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Right. Sorry.”

You and Steve play for a little while, exchanging trash talk that makes the kids laugh like crazy. This time, you’re going for kings. You’ve only got two, and you’re starting to get worried. “Maybe you should go for something else,” Mike whispers. You shake your head, staring daggers at the cards in front of you. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You sure about that?”

You snap your head up at the sound of Steve’s question, fearing the worst. You shriek when you see him holding the spoon. “NO! No! No way! You’ve got to be kidding me!”

He passes you his cards with a smirk. He’s got four queens. “Sorry, sweetheart. Like Dustin said: undefeatable.”

You throw all of the cards down in anguish and the kids erupt into cheers, chanting Steve’s name. Even your own fan club has joined in. So much for them being on your side. “Fuck you, Harrington,” you groan, standing up and throwing yourself onto the couch. Steve feigns shock. “Language, Y/N! Such a sore loser.”

“Shut the hell up. That wasn’t even a real game! I guarantee Dustin just made it up.”

Dustin narrows his eyes. “Did not! My mom taught me!”

“Whatever! All I’m saying is that I’m still better than Steve at everything else in the world—especially babysitting you assholes.”

The kids’ jaws drop at your boldness and Steve’s definitely shocked for real this time, but he instantly regains his composure. “Really, Y/N? You think so?”

“Oh, I know so.”

Max bursts out laughing. You turn to her. “What’s so funny? You don’t believe me?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. It’s Steve for sure.” Lucas and Dustin nod their agreement, and Steve flashes you another one of those infuriatingly arrogant grins. Well, you think with a frown, this isn’t exactly going your way. You sit up and cross your arms. “Guys, c’mon! I’ve been babysitting half of you since you were in elementary school. Steve’s only been doing it for, like, three months.”

“She’s got a point, guys,” Will says, and Mike nods. El follows suit. Looks like you’ve got your fan club back.

The others stand their ground, shrugging off your argument. “Don’t you remember him with that bat? You know, while you were off hiding in the back of the bus? He was amazing,” Lucas says.

You scoff. “That wasn’t babysitting.”

Dustin furrows his eyebrows. “Then what was it?”

“Stupidity. He could’ve died, and then who would’ve been there to save your asses? Me, of course.”

Max chuckles. “Oh, right, because you crying in the corner was very badass!”

“I wasn’t crying!” Okay, maybe you were, but it was a tough day, alright?

“Alright, that’s enough. Leave Y/N alone.” Steve says sternly. You’re pleasantly surprised that he’s coming to your rescue. “Hey, thanks,” you say with a smile. He grins back, sitting down next to you and glaring at the kids. “Now, I don’t want to hear another word about me being the better babysitter.” He throws his arm around your shoulder and lowers his voice to a stage-whisper. “We all know it’s true, but I don’t want her to cry again.”

You shove him off of you and leap to your feet. “That’s it! God, I hate you all. Not you guys,” you say, pointing to your little team of Will, Mike, and El, “but especially you, Steve.” He’s still too busy laughing at his own joke to respond, which makes you even angrier. This is all his fault. If he hadn’t thrown you off your game with that annoyingly perfect smile, you would’ve won the round of spoons and you wouldn’t be in this mess. Why is he suddenly doing this to you? Why are you losing all your senses around him while he remains totally composed? Why can’t you stop picturing that fucking smile? You hate this.

Dustin perks up. “Oh my god, I just got the best idea! I know how we can settle this!”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “How?”

“A contest! A babysitting contest!”

You tilt your head to the side, amused. “How would that even work?”

“Alright, hear me out: we’ll set up a bunch of events based on all of the classic babysitting skills: cooking, entertaining, putting the kids to bed, all that kinda stuff. Whoever wins the most events is the best babysitter!”

The kids all voice their support for this idea, and you and Steve exchange a look. “I’m in if you are,” he says. “I’m always down for a chance to wipe that smile off your face,” you retort. He breathes a laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, Dustin,” he says as he stands up next to you. “You’ve got us.”

The kids huddle up for a moment, whispering back and forth. After a minute, Dustin steps away and claps his hands together. “Great! First event: keeping the kids out of harm’s way. Go!”

You freeze. “What?”

“I call playing with matches,” Max shouts, heading towards the kitchen.

“Yeah, and I’ll run with scissors,” calls Will, following her.

“We’ll go run by the edge of the pool,” Mike says, sprinting to the back door with El in tow.

“And Dustin and I will raid Steve’s parents’ wine cabinet,” Lucas states triumphantly.

“THIS IS NOT WHAT WE AGREED TO,” you scream, running into the kitchen and yanking the offending items out of the kids’ hands. Steve apprehends Mike and El before they make it outside, and he shuts down Dustin and Lucas with just one look. “Not fuckin’ cool, you dickheads,” he says when you all return to the living room. You nod, breathing heavily. All that adrenaline has made the room feel much hotter, so you unzip your hoodie and throw it over the back of the couch. You’re tying your hair up into a high ponytail when Dustin says, “I think that round goes to Steve.”

You open your mouth to argue, but when you see the look on Steve’s face, you’re rendered speechless. It’s every bit as smug as it usually is, but there’s something more there, too. Something different. Something intense. He’s never looked at you this way before. You feel yourself blush furiously. What the hell is going on? You quickly cross your arms over your chest and jump back into the conversation. “Okay, Dustin. What’s the next round?”

The rest of the competition is a lot less harrowing, but you’re still reeling over the way Steve looked at you. Does he… no, hell no. There’s no way he likes you. I mean, any teenage guy would check out a teenage girl like that. It doesn’t mean anything. And any teenage girl would blush if a teenage guy checked her out like that, so that doesn’t mean anything, either. Neither of you like each other, nothing means anything, and everything is completely normal. Riiight?

To distract yourself from your inner turmoil, you decide to throw yourself into the contest with everything you have. You crushed Steve in the cooking round, which consisted of the two of you trying to make the best meal out of whatever you could find in Steve’s pantry. You lost to him, however, during the entertainment event. You just couldn’t match the way he could so effortlessly make the kids laugh—primarily by teasing you. This pattern continued: you won at one thing, he won at the next. The two of you were taking a water break in the kitchen when the kids called you out into the living room.

“Competitors, this is the final round. Score’s tied, so bring your A-game,” Lucas announces. “Are you guys ready?”

“I was born ready,” Steve says. You nod, tightening your ponytail.

Max clears her throat. “You’ll notice that Dustin is missing from the room.”

Steve grins. “That explains why it was so quiet all of a sudden.” There’s a muffled “Hey!” from somewhere in the house, and you giggle.

“Your goal is to find him before the other babysitter does. Ready… set… go!”

You two take off running and end up racing each other up the stairs. You make it to the top first and you’re halfway down the hallway when Steve grabs your arm, pulls you behind him, and sprints on ahead of you. You stomp your foot. “Cheater!” He’s already searching his bedroom, and you know Dustin wouldn’t have hidden in the guestroom or Steve’s parents’ room, so you eliminate those. You’re just about to check the bathroom when Steve runs in first, cutting you off again. You throw your hands up in frustration. “Oh my god! Stop doing that!”

He looks back at you and smirks. “Sorry. I don’t know about you, Y/L/N, but I’m playing to win.” You roll your eyes and opt for heading back to the first floor. You do a quick scan of the front hall before your eyes land on the closet. That's it! You can see light spilling out from the bottom of the door and you chuckle. Rookie mistake, Dustin. You dash over and throw the door open. Sure enough, he’s there, and you jump up and down in excitement. “Hell yes! I win! Fuck yeah!”

The rest of the Party runs into the room and Steve appears at the top of the stairs. When he sees you celebrating, he groans. “Shit! C’mon, Henderson, why’d you go for the most obvious spot?”

Dustin steps out with a mischievous smirk. “Because we knew at least one of you would fall for it.”

You narrow your eyes. “Fall for wh—”

You’re interrupted by Dustin pushing you into the closet and immediately slamming the door. Stunned, you trip backward over a pair of shoes and land ungracefully on the floor. “What the HELL?” You stand up and grab the handle, but it won’t turn. You bang on the door. “Dustin, let me out! This really isn’t funny!” You can tell your voice sounds panicked. You start to feel like you can’t breathe. You’re not so good with being alone in confined spaces. You hear Steve make his way down the stairs and across the foyer.

“Hey, let her out, man. I’m serious.” There’s that protective side of him, the one you never knew he had. It stirs up that flustered feeling in you again and you try to brush it off. You hear Dustin sigh defeatedly. “Alright, alright.” You breathe out in relief when the door opens up. However, instead of letting you climb out, Dustin pushes Steve in with you. Steve trips over the shoes just like you did before, landing at your feet with a thud. You look at each other in shock as the door shuts once more. This time, you hear someone slide something underneath the handle—probably a chair.

You give Steve your hand, pulling him upright. The two of you start pounding on the door. “You shitheads better let us out of here,” he yells.

“Stop knocking,” shouts Max.

You continue hitting the door. “No! Not until you tell us what the HELL is going on!”

“We would if you’d be quiet!”

“Oh.” You both stop.

“Okay, so you’re probably wondering why we’ve locked you in there,” Dustin calls.

Steve rolls his eyes. “No shit.”

“Well,” Max continues, “we lied when we told you that finding Dustin was the final round. This is the real final round.”

You scoff. “What, you want us to fight to the death in here or something?”

Lucas laughs. “The opposite, actually.”

You hear a slapping sound. “Stick to the script, you idiot!” It’s Mike speaking this time. “This last event is about not giving in. Babysitters can’t give in because then, kids would get away with anything they wanted.”

“Whoever gives in to their feelings first loses,” Dustin says proudly.

Fuck. You should’ve known they’d pull some stunt like this. Remember the time they told you and Steve they wanted to go out to dinner as a big group and then none of them showed up, leaving you and Steve alone on what was technically a date? Yeah. This isn’t surprising. “Oh my god,” you shout. “How many times do we have to tell you that we don’t have feelings for each other?”

“’Til you can say it honestly,” Max responds.

“I’m honestly going to kick all of your asses,” Steve yells.

“You’re in a river in Egypt, Steve,” Dustin says.

“What?”

“You’re in DENIAL!”

The kids burst into hysterics and you two groan. You try to appeal to their better nature one last time. “Please, guys. Please open the door.” Your voice is small and desperate and you can feel Steve’s eyes on you. The lights go out, and you inhale sharply. “Not falling for it, Y/L/N. Good luck,” Max chirps. You hear the group walk away, and after a moment the radio in the living room turns on.

You turn around so your back is against the door and slowly sink to the ground. “Hey, you okay?” Steve sounds concerned. You nod before remembering he can’t see you. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just really don’t like being closed in like this,” you say with a quick laugh. He sighs, sitting down next to you. “Those kids… they’re gonna be the death of me. They should’ve let you out.”

“S’okay, they didn’t know any better. This is probably a flawless plan in their minds.”

He chuckles. “Are you sure you’re alright? Because I’ll break the door down if you want me to.”

You smile. “Not necessary. I’ll be okay. It’s easier with you here.”

He wraps his arm around you and pulls you close. He’s done stuff like that a million times since you two became friends because he’s naturally very touchy-feely, but this time, you feel butterflies in your stomach and your pulse starts racing. It’s unsettling. You decide to go back to teasing him in hopes that it’ll make things feel like normal again. “But honestly, I’d like to see you try to break down the door. Bet I could do it before you.”

He laughs. “You’re cute when you’re competitive.”

That catches you off guard. So much for returning to normalcy. “What?”

“You heard me.”

You blink. “I thought—I thought you said you didn’t have feelings for me.”

“Oh, I don’t. That’s just a fact.”

Your eyes have adjusted enough to the dark that you can sort of see him, so you look him dead in the eye. “Oh yeah? Well you’re insufferable when you’re competitive.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Insufferable, huh?” He leans back with a smirk like you just payed him a compliment.

“Yes! And that’s not a good thing, you dick! You make me so fucking mad. And I hate it when you smile at me like that when we’re arguing.”

“Like what? Like this?” He grins at you just like he did before the card game and your heart beats faster. You hope he can’t hear it.

“Ugh, yes! Stop it! I hate that!”

“Well, if I have to stop that, you have to stop getting all nervous and blush-y around me, ’cause I hate that.”

“That never happens,” you lie, feeling your face heat up.

“It’s literally happening right now.”

“Jesus, do you have superhuman vision or something? How the hell can you see that well in the dark?”

“Actually, it was just a guess, but now I know it’s true.”

You laugh in spite of yourself. “Fuck you.”

He pulls you closer. “You can if you want to.” You know he’s joking, but there’s an alarming hint of seriousness in his tone. You freak out.

“God, no! Stop it! You’re falling into the kids’ trap. They want us to live out one of those cliché movie scenes where the guy and the girl start making out in the middle of an argument.”

“Okay, okay. You’re right. Let’s just stop talking, then.”

“Wonderful idea.”

You’re grateful for the quiet. That conversation was giving you whiplash. You’ve spent so much time and energy trying to convince yourself that Steve doesn’t like you like that, and then all of a sudden, he comes right out and tells you that he does. And then he takes it back one second later. And then he invites you to fuck him, only half joking. It’s like a freakin’ roller coaster ride.

“I wouldn’t want to kiss you that way,” he says after a few minutes, breaking the silence.

“Wait, what? Wh-who said anything about kissing?”

“Um, you did, remember? When you were talking about the cliché movie scenes?”

“Oh. Right. Well, I don’t want to kiss you at all.”

He scoffs. “I don’t believe you. I know you like me, too.”

“Too?”

He sighs heavily. “Yes, I really do like you, okay? Can we both stop pretending now?”

“I’m not pretending,” you say as definitively as you can manage, looking away.

“Y/N,” he says gently, pulling you toward his chest. You push him away, stand up, and start knocking on the door. This is getting a little overwhelming, and you kinda feel like the walls are closing in. “Let us out, you jerks!”

Steve sighs. “They’re not gonna let us out.”

You ignore him. “Open the fucking door!”

“Y/N.”

You grow more and more frantic. “C’mon, guys, please!”

“Y/N!” He stands up and grabs your shoulders, spinning you away from the door. “Please stop it. Just talk to me.”

You look down. “I have to get out of here,” you say, your voice hoarse from yelling.

“Why won’t you admit you like me?”

You don’t answer.

“You can tell me anything, and you know that. So why are you lying?”

You finally meet his gaze. “Because what if it doesn’t work out?”

Damn. There it is. It’s definitely as surprising a response to you as it is to him. Oh my god, that’s why you’ve been denying your feelings for so long, that’s why you’ve been using arguing and competing with him as defense mechanisms, that’s why you feel like you can’t catch your breath right now. You’re scared.

Steve looks incredulous. “Why—why wouldn’t it work out?”

You sit back down and hug your knees to your chest. “Well, aside from the fact that we both know life likes to throw us major, earth-shattering curve balls,” you say with a humorless chuckle, “have you ever been in a relationship that didn’t crash and burn?”

He sits next to you, his shoulder touching yours. “No, but—”

“Exactly.”

Steve’s just about to respond when there’s a commotion outside and the door flies open. You both fall onto your backs on the hardwood. You look up and see the Party staring down at you.

“Shit, sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Dustin says with a suggestive wink.

“You’re not interrupting anything,” you reply as you climb to your feet and breeze past the kids into the living room. You can tell everyone’s staring at you. You grab your hoodie and hurriedly put it on.

“What’s with her?” You hear Max ask Steve quietly.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe she just got locked in a closet against her will! Anybody wanna tell me who’s bright idea that was?”

Everybody says a different name, and Steve sighs. You walk back across the foyer and pull open the front door.

“Are you leaving?” Dustin sounds confused.

“Just need some fresh air.”

“You forgot your shoes,” Lucas points out.

“I’m fine,” you say flatly, locking eyes with Steve before shutting the door a little harder than necessary. Hopefully he’ll take the hint and won’t do that thing where he follows you and tries to make you feel better. That’s a classic Steve move. You don’t need him, you tell yourself. Like you said: you’re fine.

Obviously you’re not really fine, though. Everything's pretty much falling to pieces, and all you want is to be able to erase everything that just happened. Also, you probably should’ve grabbed your shoes and coat because it’s still early March and there’s snow on the ground, but you don’t care. The cold is a welcome distraction from the realization that Steve likes you and he knows you like him. This is so not how you expected this night to go.

You hear the front door open and slam shut behind you. You jump half a foot in the air and whirl around. Steve’s standing there with his arms crossed indignantly. “What the hell, Harrington? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“You know, you’re kind of an idiot,” he says sharply.

You put your hands on your hips. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, you’re being stupid right now. So what if we’ve never been in relationships that lasted before? You’re missing the whole damn point. It’s so obvious.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Don’t you get it? It’s only gotta last once. One time. Maybe nothing’s ever worked out before because it wasn’t supposed to, because maybe you and me are supposed to.”

For the second time tonight, he leaves you speechless for a moment. “You really feel that way?”

“I have for a long time,” he says, his voice softer now.

You meet his eyes and there’s nothing but sincerity there. You’re not sure how to respond, so you just say what comes to mind first. “You’re my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend, too.”

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

He closes the distance between you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You’re not losing a best friend, you’re gaining a boyfriend.”

You laugh. “You sure you wanna do this?”

“I’m in if you are.”

“Alright, Steve. You wore me down.”

He smiles that goddamn smile again, the one that breaks down all of your walls. You narrow your eyes. “Did we not just talk about that smile? You’ve gotta stop.”

“I’ll think about it. By the way, can I kiss you now, or would it still be too cliché?”

You instantly blush, and he rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, never mind. If you’re gonna do that every time, this definitely isn’t going to work out. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“Shut up,” you breathe as you lean in and press your lips to his.

Kissing him is nothing like you would’ve thought it would be. With all the buildup, all the flirtatious arguing and teasing, you expected fiery passion and urgency. However, he kisses you softly, sweetly, and slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world to do it. Your hands tangle in his hair and he gently pulls you up against him, deepening the kiss. It feels so incredibly right that you forget why you ever tried to resist him. Maybe the kids weren’t too far off when they said you were meant to be together.

After a little while, he pulls away. “I’m telling the kids you gave in first.”

Before you can tell him to fuck off, his lips are back on yours and you forget everything again. You can’t feel the ice under your socks or the wintry air on your skin anymore. This kiss is different. It’s intense. It’s hot enough to dry up a river in Egypt. He’s definitely a better kisser than you are, no contest. You’re never ever gonna admit that to him, though. No way.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington reader insert #ST #stranger things #steve harrington #reader insert

[blueraith]

Some folks still need to learn how to constructively comment

Wish I could say that I’ve been writing Chapter... 12(? Legit, I don’t often remember the chapter numbers outside of the Google doc) since posting Chapter 11 (we’re just gonna assume I know where the fuck I’m at in my own story, okay? Give me this).

But that would be a bald faced lie.

(Mostly because of my sister’s graduation and all the family visiting and the concurrent back injury I was suffering. Really kills the writing mood when you can’t sit up properly to type.)

This is going under a read more, because this incident Vexed Me To The Max(TM) and triggered a Rant of Epic Proportions(TM).

But graduation has been over, and my back has been feeling great. What really kept me a bit down since all that was over and done with is that very morning I’m feeling better, I see that I have two comments on the 100 fic I’ve put on indefinite hiatus. Yeah, it’s not an active story, but I still care about it, and I’ve been thinking about it recently. So, in short. I still care about it a hell of a lot. Hell, I care about everything that I write. I’ve written fanfiction at what’s nearing 10 years now, but nothing has erased the fact that putting yourself out there in the public eye takes a hell of a lot of effort and, sure, a smidgen of courage and confidence.

Well, this lovely commenter told me that my word count was way too high, that I was slowing my story down, and that they skipped to the last chapter (from Chapter 2, they skipped 6 chapters of ongoing character development, an ensemble cast, Ark politics, and canon fix-its) “40k words and [Clarke’s] still not on the ground yet??”

This is me paraphrasing both comments. I deleted them with extreme prejudice from the fic because I wasn’t leaving that kind of useless bullshit on my work after it effectively ruined my mood for, like, four days.

Why was it bullshit? Well, for one thing taking the average word count per chapter, it’s only a little over 5k words per chapter. Look. I balance out my word counts very carefully for each story that I write. This fic has a longer than average word count compared to my more recent stuff (which is around 4k per chapter) because of all the fuckin shit I was pulling off in this particular fic. Reworking canon to better explain why the Arkers were resistent to the radiation on the ground while having the superior blood that the Mountain Men wanted without putting them up in their shitty space station for thousand of years that evolution would have actually required them to have gone through to be remotely realistic.

Jake’s alive in this fic because I don’t like dead characters shaping character development on a pre-canon basis. Personally, I dislike orphan/parental loss storylines before the specific original work has even started. I get that orphans exist in real life. But YA media has a disproportionate amount of dead parents. Eh. I wanted to do something different. So, this means there’s an entire extra character in the story that I have to write and develop.

Diana Allers actually matters in day to day Ark life instead of just showing up and nearly murdering everyone because she’s a selfish bitch for little to no reason other than to make Abby’s already pretty damn full storyline even more packed than it already was. (Seriously, why didn’t they develop Allers more? She’s lazily implemented in canon, and I hate it. Lord only knows I enjoyed Abby and Raven’s plotlines far more in several places of Season 1 rather than Bellamy’s Manpain Adventures Lite Before He Turns Into A Complete And Utter Psychopath Later On In The Series).

Jaha is far more competent and slimey than he is in the show, rather than being a foolish man who is barely toddering along in the plot towards something useful.

Abby and Jake are at odds because Jake technically betrays Clarke and allows her to get arrested in the beginning of the story. They adopt Raven in the interim and they’re all awkwardly trying to free Clarke while pretending that Jake and Abby aren’t having marital problems. Well, Jake and Abby are pretending, Raven is as blunt as she usually is and just calls shit like she sees it.

Ensemble cast. There’s literally a tag on this story that tells you all that “This Story Is Literally About Everyone.”

So.

Yeah.

Clarke’s not on the fucking ground yet. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? Having skipped past 6 chapters.

Is 5k really that long? I wouldn’t know, personally when I read a longfic, I go into it knowing that the chapters might be long as fuck because I know that I’m reading a fic that could literally take me through several days and I read pretty damn fast. Not that 40k words is really all that much when you’re rewriting a TV show using all the characters who already exist in canon and then getting into their thoughts and motivations because that is literally what books do, this isn’t a screenplay, I wouldn’t be caught dead writing one because I despise them. Sorry, but you’re getting the full range of thoughts and emotions of everyone involved. I know, that’s just awful, getting hours and hours of content for free, but god forbid the plot doesn’t run on your timetable.

But that’s really the crux of this rant, isn’t it? NEVER complain about word counts, people. Too short? Who the fuck cares? The author could be just beginning their writing careers, so to speak. Word counts of any significance takes practice, first of all. So, not only could they might or might not have the required experience to write longer chapters, they may not even want to. And that’s fine. Because they do this FOR FREE.

Same thing with longer chapters. Are you really going to come at me, nearly a year after I’ve written and posted this work, complaining about word count, as though there’s even a remote chance that I’m going to go back and edit down all of that time and effort I put into that work to satisfy your fragile reading stamina?

Pfffffffffft.

I mean, this is funny to me in some regard because I’m over here wondering just what would be a good length for this person. Part of the reason my chapters tend to be at least 4k words long is because that’s generally where I can get a comfortable amount of character interaction, introspective thought, and plot moving forward. All three of those things matter to me when writing chapters. I hate reading too short works (and no, I don’t tell these authors this. I read what they give me and just deal with it because they’re entertaining me for free) and it’s little more than characters just trading dialogue with each other. I want to know what they are thinking about as well. I want a bit of narration. I’m reading something from a specific character’s point of view, and I want that chapter to ooze the personality of that character.

These are all the things I keep in mind when I write to my word count goals, personally. Doing it in less than 3k words might be possible, but it would sure as hell be annoying.

But most of all, it just irritated the fuck out of me. Like I’ve said multiple times in this rant. I do this for free. I don’t expect you guys to know this, but in order to get these substantial updates when I can manage to actually feel well enough to write and get them published, it takes me EIGHT TO TWELVE HOURS of sitting in front of a computer screen to have a chapter finished. On a good day. Yes. Most of the chapters I put out are done in one day, in one block, and I’m often up until 5 AM finishing something up. I have severe ADHD. Sometimes it is a chore to get shit put on a page because I can’t sit down and focus my thoughts enough to sound even coherent. Sometimes I have issues keeping up with what the beginning of a long sentence was about and I have to constantly keep up with what the fuck I’m even talking about in any given thought.

So, you have an author with a severe executive function disorder attempting to concentrate hard enough to get her own thoughts in character for each and every character that is featured in any given story while attempting to resist even the most mundane distractions while desperately hoping she’s going to hit a period of hyperfocus long enough to get substantial work down, but if that happens she’ll probably forget to eat because she’s on a writing binge that goes on with actual significant work for a period of several hours.

I love writing, despite the challenges I have to deal with in order just to get it done. I love most of the comments that I receive. I’m coming off a period of extreme depression from some family issues I was dealing with. My skin is rather thin at the moment and that irritated the fuck out of me, but those two comments knocked more wind out of my sails that I really wanted them to, and that bugs me even more.

But I am more experienced in fic writing than probably your average person. This commenter pissed me the fuck off, but I’ve moved past this, it’s hardly shattered my motivation to write forever.

But a careless commenter could easily do that to someone just getting into fanfiction. And it makes me wonder just how often this happens everyday, every hour, when entitled, spoiled people who think their needs are more important than the author doing this FOR FREE decide to voice their terrible opinions on their works. I love my readers, I don’t hold myself beholden to them, but they are extraordinarily important to me. Plot, pacing, and character development are all my own when I write because first and foremost, I write for myself. It’s a hobby that I clearly have to work very hard at to even be remotely successful at, and taking anyone else’s standards into account is never going to happen when I have to live up to my own already very high expectations. But I do keep y’all in mind when I’m devoting my time, energy, and effort in. The chapter lengths I have partly exist to make up for the wait times I inevitably have between each release. I very much know that I am sporadic and inconsistent when updating. So, when I do, I want to have something that isn’t just a whisper in the wind when it finally cycles to the top of the AO3 listing.

I know there are inevitably readers who didn’t like my content, or do think my stuff is too long. That’s fine. But don’t come into my space and give me two comments that were effectively “TL;DR” and expect that not to be a slap in the face. Because it is. I have wonder if the fandom kids today even know the kind of slap backs this sort of thing would have gotten in LiveJournal.

But, never mind that. I’m a big girl, I took some petty revenge in deleting that bullshit from my boards and then setting the fic to moderated mode, but what I would like anyone who decides to read through what is actually a long winded post (all my rants are, admittedly) to learn is that you are not reading professional work. You are not reading work that has been paid for. You are not reading work that has been professionally edited. I’m not saying that you can’t have standards for fic, lord knows I have many, but I don’t go into an author’s work and leave shitty comments. Never. Constructive criticism on fanfiction keeps the author’s time in mind, their skill level over what they’re actually capable of, and whether or not they’re even open to criticism. Some authors don’t even want your advice. They just want to know that you liked it. And if you don’t, just don’t say anything. I’m not quite that fragile personally, when someone is giving me useful criticism that can be used to actually improve my quality of writing, but I will freely admit that clearly I have a sore spot about comments addressing word counts.

Get out of here with that shit.

In short. If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.

#fanfiction wank #shitty commentating #learn to constructively comment #pissed me right the fuck off #Rant Of Epic Proportions(TM)

[blackthornroot]

Haven’t Done One of These in About a Year Let’s See How it Goes...

So while I’ve been away in college I’ve been on a secret mission in an underground laboratory with the Metalborgs, known across the world as over-zealous, justice-obsessed maniacs who would always use their full force, even when, and I quote, “hunting small fry” and clearly valued power above all else.

But now I’ve found a way to reform the Metalborgs into the Kind Borgs.  Robots that are considerate of people and the environment.

With these new Friends at my side, I set out for a large gathering of fellow nerds with one objective in mind, “convert everyone to the side of justice.”  The side objective was to brutally murder anyone who was not in line with these ideals, but let’s not talk about that...

So anyway, the mission was simple enough:  Win 5/7 Games of Cardfight Vanguard in order to make enough friends to be allowed to make it to Day #2, where I could make more friends and get to the Top 8/16/whatever.  Sounds easy, right?  Well let’s see how the Kind Borgs held up against the very mean-spirited forces that live in New Jersey:

But first, a word on Metalborgs (since not only is the deck old as fuck and nowhere near tier 1/1.5, but I’m not exactly running a standard strategy either):

Metalborgs rely on an outdated gimmick, “Guard Restrict.”  Their bosses make it so the enemy can’t guard with G1 or higher cards from their hand when said bosses attack (so basically, no PGs, but guarding with triggers, intercepts, and special cases like guarding from soul/deck are still allowed).  This sounds cool and possibly menacing when combined with Commander Laurel and a crit trigger or two, but keep in mind that these days the better G-Guards let players no-pass 30K columns for 1CB.  G-Guards are also unaffected by the Guard Restrict (since they technically come out of the Extra Deck).

So what I’ve done is make a rush deck that can sit on G2 against the meta (every meta deck sans Blasters was GB reliant to a fault at the time of writing this), but also can reach the late game against less threatening opponents (Even though the opponent can G-Guard, they can only do it 4 times max in a game.  So theoretically if I can punch through all 4 I can win pretty easily after that).

Anyway, I’ll post the decklist first with brief explanations of cards in case you care:

Starter: Metalborg, Locobattler (into soul -> +6K to VG if in legion, +3K otherwise).

Triggers: 5X Crit (4 of which have the same effect as the starter). 7X Draw 4X Heal

G1: 16: 4X Commander Laurel (if VG hits rest 4 RGs to restand VG) 4X Metalborg, X-Blaise (10K attacker) 4X Dimensional Robo, Daishield (Old PG (the kind that can guard RGs).  Some of my RGs need protection and I don’t use CB that much.) 2X Metalborg, Death Blade (SB1 -> +5K to VG). 2X Cosmic Hero, Grand Police (Vanilla 8K).

G2: 13: 4X Metalborg, Ur Buster (Legion Mate to main boss, RG Skill: on-legion -> +4K to VG + “When VG attack hits a VG, kill 1 RG.”  The effect stacks if I have multiple Ur Busters on the field.) 3X Metalborg, Diggerion (Vanilla 10K) 3X Metalborg, Lionetter (12K attacker) 3X Metalborg, Blacking Barrow (Is an 11K body permanently if my VG is in legion.  CB1 + Move into Soul -> When Legion VG attacks, give +11K to VG). The G1+G2 lineup is the way it is for early aggression.  Triggers are to maintain survive-ability and help draw into Laurel/PGs/the G3s.

G3: 4: 4X Metalborg, Sin Buster (Legion: If it’s power is >= 20K (after boost) and attack hits a VG, draw 1.  It it’s in Legion and it’s power is >= 30K (after boost), opponent can’t guard with G1s or higher from hand.  He’s the win condition/finishing blow, obviously.  The G2 rush is to force the opponent to drop all their triggers to guard.)

Strides: 2X Hyper Metalborg, Guilt Digger (No I’m not making that name up.  Effect = “Persona Flip -> search your deck for up to one card that legions with your heart and perform legion in your heart.  Then draw 1.“  Saves me the trouble of wasting a turn legion-ing if I don’t want to).

4X Hyper Metalborg, Heavy Duke (CB2 -> On-Attack, pay the cost.  Opponent can’t guard with G1s or higher from hand.  If the attack hits, draw 1 (draw 2 if heart is in legion).).

2X Super Cosmic Hero, X-tiger (+4K for each face-up card in G-Zone.  Gains a crit if power >= 45K).

G Guards: I run more than 4 G-Guards because Metalborgs have no good strides and the entire point of the deck is invalidating the opponent’s PGs so the regular D-Police strides aren’t worth running. 4X Enigman Patriot (+5K if opponent’s attack is >= 20K) 2X Super Cosmic Hero, X-carivou (+10K if opponent’s attack is >= 30K) 2X Dizmel

ROUND 1: Kind Borgs Vs. Fanservice Mermaids (Bermuda Triangle: Harmony):

Opponent was a kind/polite yet slightly disinterested girl (I chalked it up to either being dragged along by her SO or being tired from a potentially long car ride (some people drive like 5+ hours to come to these things on the day of the competition)).  She had no idea about the overwhelming power of friendship and love that the Metalborgs had in store for her, so she guarded early.

Needless to say when I explained how Sin Buster worked she knew she was toast.  GG.

WIN!  Record: 1-0

ROUND 2: Kind Borgs Vs. Dino DNA (Tachikaze: Dogma):

Opponent was a jovial fat man.  Very loudly proclaimed his moves for all to hear.  I might sound like I was annoyed by this, but I found it hilarious.  I rushed the shit out of him by giving him all of the justice he could handle, pushing him to 5 by turn 3.  He responded by denouncing my kindness by striding and triple driving 3 Heal Triggers.  Of course.  My death was long and agonizing after that point.  Dogma is strong when you’re actually able to live long enough to use it.

LOSE! Record: 1-1

ROUND 3: Kind Borgs Vs. Nova Grappler (Victor):

This opponent, along with the girl I played Round 1, were the only “normal” people I played all day.  The guy decided to have a G2 duel with me.  Little did he know I was slowly but surely sniping his G2s and taking the triggers out of his hand.  I was eating a lot of pain too though, since he knew enough to dive on my RGs constantly.  Eventually, I was backed into enough of a corner that I had to ride to G3 and Stride.  I explained what Hyper Metalborg, Heavy Duke (read effect above) did to him at least 4 times, and he clearly read the card, but he didn’t understand that, on my second attack, he was allowed to guard with whatever he wanted (since I couldn’t pay CB2 a second time).  So he ended up dead with 9 cards still in his hand.  Serves the guy right for casually disregarding my deck I guess.

WIN! Record: 2-1

ROUND 4: Kind Borgs Vs. DINO DNA 2: Electric Boogaloo (Tachikaze: Dogma):

Opponent was 100% neckbeard.  Probably left his fedora at home.  The Kind Borgs began to become frustrated that they had yet to face a meta deck so far today (i.e. Blasters, Luard, Gears, Messiahs, etc.).  So frustrated in fact, that they decided to be decidedly unkind, giving me a trigger-heavy hand and damage check two of my G3s in a row on turn 2.

My opponent was able to capitalize on my being grade stuck by throwing his whole hand down on turn 3 and murdering me.  Ow...

LOSE! Record: 2-2

ROUND 5: Kind Borgs Vs. Murakumo (No clue what this deck was supposed to be, honestly):

Well shit, there were still 3 round to go and I couldn’t afford to lose a single one...  Hopefully love and justice won’t die just yet...

Opponent was another jovial fat man who wouldn’t stop talking about Sailor Moon with the girls that were playing in the game next to ours.  Slightly unsettling behavior but whatever, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was just getting his weeb on.  I have no idea what his Murakumo deck was supposed to do, but the basic strategy revolved around effects that went off if I guarded his attacks.

How do I beat a deck that does things if I guard?  Humm...  Well, I no-guarded his attacks, got to 4 damage, and used Heavy Duke to murder his face (like my round 1 opponent, he early guarded, clearly not being acquainted with the power of justice).  Justice Prevails.

Win! Record: 3-2

ROUND 6: Kind Borgs Vs. Luard:

2 rounds to go...  Come on cards I blew money on a two-night hotel stay don’t let me down yet...

Opponent was a overly extroverted girl who piloted the deck as if it was borrowed.  She was friendly though, if not uncomfortably so...

This is honestly the only game where I made an actual mistake/misplay all day (guess it was late).  After getting pushed to 5 by nothing but enemy crit triggers (she called no RGs for the entire early game), I noticed that:

A:  She was at 4, since my rush had been going pretty well. B:  Out of the 6 cards in her hand, I knew 5 (Crit, Crit, Abyssal Owl, PG, Macha, Mystery Card). C:  She’d damage checked a heal and a crit already, so there were only 3 heals and 9 crits not yet revealed. D:  If I went all-in and G-Assisted out a Sin Buster, I had the resources to pump it to 37K, so the absolute best she’d be able to guard for would be 31K as long as the last mystery card wasn’t a heal trigger (if it was another crit it’d be a 41K guard, a 1-to-pass).

So, thinking the odds were decently in my favor (and since I couldn’t ride another G2 over my current Vanguard to prevent myself from being Sea-Breezed), I went all-in, betting basically the entire tournament on my opponent not having a heal/crit in hand.

Let me just say that this was a mistake not because of the gambling aspect.  It’s because historically I personally have absolutely terrible luck in RNG scenarios like this. 85% chance to hit in Fire Emblem?  Miss; 6 triggers in an 8 card deck?  Twin Drive -> G3, G3; Etc.

So I went all-in but her mystery card was a conveniently placed G-Guard.  At that moment I realized I was dead.  Spectral Diablo was happy to introduce my face to the pavement.

LOSE!  Record 3-3!

MISSION FAILURE!  UNACCEPTABLE LOSS COUNT!

And so ends another episode in the saga of me playing card games.  Reviewing my notes from previous years attendance was decently down this year:

Reference (I missed singles regionals in Fall 2016 because I was too busy with school):

2015 Singles: At least 498 Players (I was badge #498 and we got to the event pretty close to the end of registration) 2016 Teams: At least 210 Teams (I was on team #210.  Again my team was basically the last one to sign up.  We get to these things a bit last-minute...).  210 Teams X 3 Players/Team = 630 Players.  A bit unreliable since people always drag along their SOs to fill slots of teams.

2017 Singles: We got there with 5 minutes before registration closed.  I was player #451.

So a slight downturn in attendance from 2 years ago but nothing suggesting the game is dying.  Luck and Logic, a dead game, had a whopping 16 players competing, for comparison.

@dragonstoneplus had a much better go of things than I, she made it to Round 7 before losing her 3rd game.

Some random kid from our shop who plays Novas (Victor) cleared Day 1.  He’s probably wrapping up his performance as I write this.  I wonder if he actually managed to top... (He’s pretty good, but can’t really put up a fight against my teammates and I when we’re actually trying)

#Cardfight Vanguard #Tournament Report #Sarcasm #tongue-in-cheek

[writedayandnight]

u know what’s not a good idea?????? ?? ?? ???? 

deciding that you aren’t cut out for the pressure and anxiety of watching people post in the shifters rp while you’re writing the next post and decide not even to check FR or talk to anyone until you’re done (this decision was made sometime last week i think?) 

and so far the huge ass post introducing the hacker posse mission team is 5k words long, has six different pov changes and needs two more before it’s finished

fav pov written so far under the cut (warnings for choppiness and pre editing)

G sat on the van’s floor near the back, tuning out K’s music and Q’s excited chatter from where the two sat up front, his computer balanced on his knees and was skimming files. He wasn’t sorting through the map of the facility like he was supposed to. He did that until they got into the van and were on their way, since he knew Q could handle the memorization. Besides, they had a long ride ahead of them.

G was flicking through the shifter reports, a scowl twisting his face. What was going on in that facility… it was sick. Torture cleverly disguised as experiments, clinical trials hiding the truth, carefully hidden from the outside world for a reason. It made him glad he brought his bat case with him- doubtful he’d be able to use it, but if he could there was several employees he’d be happy to cave their disgusting heads in. The fact that they were springing an eight year old- a fucking child!- made his vision go red..  G wrapped his rosary around his wrist, tightening it until it dug into his flesh, and breathed.

Lawrence. Achingly human, too much fire and justice blazing in his heart. Not divine justice, no, and not the revenge that kept you warm at night, but the simple belief in the law and the humanity those laws stood for. G has had many arguments with Lawrence, enough to know that the kid was a stubborn son of a bitch, and had a strong conviction and trust in the law that most of the populace lacked. He wondered if the kid was okay. Probably. Lawrence was human, why wouldn’t he be? G couldn’t shake off the uneasiness over the situation, though.

What was the worst that could happen? G remembered the vivid imagery from the Human Centipede and other medical gore movies B’s dragged him to see and frowned, trying to focus on more… realistic outcomes. Namely, Lawrence pissing off some scientist with a screw loose by arguing over ethics, pulling up laws and little codes with enough confidence and drive that made you want to punch him in the face. And then the scientist actually punching him in the face, because Lawrence being disappeared by the fucking government meant that they could get away with damn near anything. He could picture it clear as day- Lawrence outraged, ranting about physical assault charges, abuse of power, kidnapping. “Maybe he didn’t learn his lesson. Hit him again.” Passion, the justice system. “Again.” A shield of laws he crafts around himself like it could actually protect him against the brutality of man. “Again.” Mockery, playful teasing with a sharp bite lurking underneath. “Again.”  Lawrence with a gleam in his eye, never could let the other person have the last word, wiping the blood off his face and saying-

“What’s with the long face, G?” Q was suddenly in front of him, jolting G out of his thoughts. His rosary slipped out of grasp, beads clattering loudly against the van’s metal floor as he straightened reflexively. G glared up into warm brown eyes and shrugged, shoving his rosary into his pocket, not wanting to let on how startled he was.

“Thinking about Lawrence.” He said gruffly, moving his fingers across his keypad to wake up his laptop. The rosary left marks around the back of his hands, but he shoved away the urge to trace them. Q nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing over his face before he crawled closer, settling in next to G’s side, half leaning on the van’s back wall and the other on G’s arm.

“I’m sure he’ll be alright,” Q offered, nudging G’s shoulder with his own. “We have inside sources, remember? They would’ve told us if Lawrence was hurt.” G scowled at Q’s blind optimism, his eyes darting towards the files still opened on his screen.

“Wouldn’t be so sure about that, Q. Seems like some pretty shady shit is going down in there- for all we know, Lawrence has become some (insert max terminology) because he couldn’t keep his trap shut and they decided making him into a punching bag would be better than listening to his True Justice rants all day.” G tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice but didn’t quite succeed. Q shook his head stubbornly anyways, his long hair flying all over the place.

“Becoming a punching bag would only give him more ammunition- man, now I’m kind of feeling sorry for those guys,” Q joked, and G huffed out a laugh, more out of habit than anything. That must have been what Q was looking for because he beamed and opened up his own tablet, burrowing deeper into G’s side.

G reopens the file folders, lingering over the names and faces. Wonders if maybe, after this mission, if when the howling monster inside of him isn’t satisfied, still out for blood (have you ever felt the need for revenge, Lawrence? For vengeance? Has the rage ever kept you warm at night, burning and burning and burning your heart and lungs and throat until all you see is red and old ghosts, close your eyes but you can still hear their screams and there’s only one way to satisfy it, God’s divine justice, Old Testament style baby-)

Wonders if maybe he and his bats could go on a little trip. Wonders how many he could- knock out of the park, heh- in one night. He digs deeper through the files, finding those with minor infractions, notes of violent tendencies and reprimands, those who seem to go a little too far in an already… precarious environment. Those whose experiments were overtly cruel, reporting pain with unfeeling medical terminology. Those without immediate families- kids and spouse, but really he only goes easy on those with kids- get saved into a special folder. Those who were recently let go, paid off, whatever. If they’re still in the area, they’re the highest priority.

Thought you could get away, huh? G grimaced, feeling cold satisfaction rising in him. Thought you could just leave and everything would be fine? That no one would find out about the skeletons in your closet, the people you killed? The people you tortured, you sick fucks? Guess again. I’ll be the one bringing the wrath of God to you. Give you a little taste of exactly where you’ll be going.

Colin Burgess gets placed at the top of his list.

The rosary in his pocket pulses with approval.

#me: this is fine #*lights self on fire* #my anxieties and tendencies to viciously isolate myself when they crop up: GUESS WHAT BUDDY WE'RE GOING FOR A RIDE #also days and nights seem to blurrrr when ur working intense job/finals approaching/writing last night i drank like 32oz of red bull to try #to finish #it will be done tho soon i promise like prob tomorrow #also i have no idea what's going on in FR right now hooo BOYYYYY #my spidery brain: u cannot check fr until u finish the hacker post #me: but #my spidery brain: u CANNOT #also let me tell ya as someone who's only seen vague hacker stuff on tb #*tv #researching terminology for these guys has been an ADVENTURE

[wherethingscomebackx]

Honorable Mention Larry Fics of 2016 Part 1

These are the fics that didn’t originally make the Top 25 Larry Fics List of 2016. The original list was published according to kudos. These are fics that I consider underrated and I hold very close to my heart or just barely made the cut for the last list. Unlike the last list, this one is in no particular order. I encourage everyone to add to this list if they don’t see their favorites mentioned.

-Bloodline by @banana-louis (177k)

Louis doesn't know how to feel when his best friend, Liam, finds out about a brother that he never knew, who was placed for adoption before he was born and is bursting into his life at twenty-four years old.

Louis is very wary of the man who might replace him. He has always thought of Liam as his own brother.

What if Liam doesn't need him anymore? What if there's no room for Louis? After all, blood runs thicker than water.

Louis doesn't like Liam's new brother and he doesn't even know him. That's irrelevant, though.

He doesn't like him. He doesn't trust him. He doesn't want him hanging around. He doesn't want anything to do with him.

That is, until he meets him.

-All My Sense Come to Life (Cause You’re the Only One) by @larryismyotpuniverse (20k)

"I swear your life is a cheesy rom com."

"Oh and yours isn't?" Liam banters back, voice going deep like he's narrating a film. "Punk boy leaves home in search of something new. He never though he'd find love with the boy who wears crop tops and heeled boots. They pine after each other for a ridiculous amount of time until the best, most attractive character, Liam, comes to the rescue - "

"Really Liam?"

"Okay, okay. Point is, you and him, you're meant to be."

-For All the Things My Hands Have Held (The Best by Far Is You) by @mytinylou (3k)

“When will we sleep for more than three hours uninterrupted?”

“Eighteen more years,” Louis replies jokingly, his laughter rumbling through Harry’s body. “We’ll get through it.”

“The dream team,” Harry says, and Louis pulls him in closer.

Or, the one where Harry worries about raising two kids, but Louis knows they'll always be okay.

-Just Lucky by @mysticbelievexx (13k)

Jay looked uncharacteristically thrilled by her daughter’s latest choice of boyfriend but that could be because the guy was smiling at her in, what could only be described as, a charming manner. Louis inexplicably found himself wishing that smile was directed at him.

Harry couldn’t possibly be his soulmate…could he?

-Let Me Tear Down Into Your Heart by @aimhkink (1k)

Louis likes to pretend he's going into labour, but Harry doesn't.

-It Starts and It Never Fades Away by @mytinylou (4k)

“Niall told me I should put an ad out in order to get a date, and it’s three days before Valentine's Day, so everyone is already gonna have a date, but to get him to shut up, I’m doing this.” Louis turns his computer to face Harry, revealing the word document where he’s typed out the most ridiculous, unappealing, horrifying letter he can think of. “This’ll get Niall to fuck right off, I reckon.”

Or, Louis puts out a flyer to help him get a date he absolutely doesn't want. He gets more than he bargained for.

-Some Promises Are Meant to Be Broken by @miniature-lou (15k)

“Just come back in one piece yeah?”

“You know I always will.”

or. Louis is Spiderman and there is something that could break his and Harry’s only promise.

-Catfish: The TV Show - Louis and ‘Curly’ by Mie1412 (24k)

Minutes went by and Louis got more and more restless. What if Harry wasn’t coming? Had something happened? Had he changed his mind? What if he just didn’t want to meet Louis anyway? Louis wouldn’t be able to bear it. He was so close now. He had to show up.

“Louis…” Nev then suddenly said and Louis looked up, his erratic heartbeats being the only thing he could hear.

[Or, Louis have been talking with Curly for three years. It's now up to Nev and Max to finally bring them together.]

-Taste on My Tongue by @bethaboolou (77k)

Louis Tomlinson, second place winner on TXF four years ago, is looking to reinvent his career.

Harry Styles is a baker who is desperate for a bakery of his own.

Louis doesn't bake. Or cook. Or know how to use an oven.

Take Louis. Take Harry. Add in a heaping cup of sexual tension. Another cup of delicious (and not so delicious) food. A smidgen of competitive spirit. A dash of hopes and dreams. And you get Kitchen Wars, a TV show that promises to be the must-watch event of the fall.

-Tell Me What You Want by @alienproof (10k)

Based on the following prompt:

"Harry is looking for a new roommate after Liam moves in with his girlfriend. After a few bad dates he’s done with men for the moment and wants to concentrate on school. That’s why he’s looking for a female or a straight male roomie. When Niall tells Louis about the free room he leaves that little detail out. Louis, desperately looking for a room, pretends to be straight, thinking it would be easy, until he discovers that Harry likes to be naked at home. His best female friend posing as his girlfriend doesn’t work very well either."

-If My Heart Was A Compass, You’d Be North by @cheekiestcheeky, @heartsoftlouis (55k)

All Louis really cares about is his skateboard, tattoos, football, and his family. He has a job that he (mostly) loves and a (small) handful of good friends, and at 24 he is pretty content with his life... until he nearly crashes into a boy with wild curls and cratered dimples, he begins to think maybe he's been missing something he never knew was missing. That missing piece is apparently big enough for two.

[Or the one where punk Louis likes to think he’s not clumsy, but he suspects he’ll have to accept it when he falls face first into a relationship with a head full of curls and his tiny human.]

-Like Safety and Home by @illouminating (5k)

Harry pulls Louis into a tight tight hug once the cameras have gone away. Louis holds on for longer than she needs to. Harry doesn’t let go either. She smells like suncream and saltwater and strawberry body spray and Louis doesn’t think she’s ever loved someone’s smell more.

-Just Like a Tattoo (I��m Falling For You) by zayndotcom (2k)

Harry shut the apartment door behind him, shaking his hair and the negative aura out. Who cares what Zayn thinks anyway? He wasn't the one who had the phrase, Are those fucking flamingos on your shirt, mate?, permanently tattooed onto his body so his opinion was irrelevant. It was a strange time growing up with that tattooed on him. There was a lot of explaining he had to do in school, but it's not like he could do more than just shrug his shoulders and say, "Soulmate mark?"

in which harry and louis are soulmates and their first words arent the most... romantic ones.

-Second Time’s the Charm by @cherrystreet (8k)

Louis’ mother is convinced she met her son’s soulmate at the market. Louis is extremely hesitant to go on the blind date she’s set up, but she’s persistent, begging and pleading, pulling out all the stops. After all, mothers do know best.

(Or maybe they don’t.)

-Take Me Higher Than I’ve Ever Been by @crimsontheory (51k)

Harry is pretty simple. He goes to work everyday, comes home, then watches Netflix with his cat. And if he happens to have a tiny little crush on his coworker, then that’s just his own business.

[Or the one where Harry and Louis work together and Louis starts to notice Harry back. Featuring a wedding, a sassy cat, and first times.]

-You and You Are Sure Together by @churchrat (48k)

“I’m sorry to bother you twice in one day,” Harry says, settling on Louis’ beanbag—thankfully clear of dirty socks, as Louis had become keenly aware of his room’s being a tip after Harry’s stumbling departure and had gone on one of his intermittent tidying sprees right after he’d left, which consist mostly of shoving clothes into the hamper and papers into his rucksack or one of his desk drawers. Louis’ never been all that good with cleaning. He’d skipped lunch (which is absolutely not a problem) so thankfully all the dishes are clean, including the mug he’s designated for his residents in need of tea during a crisis.

Which—right, Harry’s here. Again.

- AU. The first day of fall term, Louis hits one of his residents in the face with a door. Later that day, said resident seeks refuge after a fight with his roommate.

It becomes a thing.

And then it becomes something else.

-Fallin’ Into You, Falling For Each Other by @therosiestofdaggers (20k)

After years of not trusting Slytherins- even though he and Harry constantly bump into each other, almost like fate- Louis puts aside his inter house bias when his younger sister is sorted into that very house, meanwhile those feelings of hate for Harry change rather quickly.

or the Hogwarts Au nobody asked for.

#larry stylinson #larry fic rec #fic rec #one direction #1d #harry styles #louis tomlinson #larry is real #larry fic #larry fanfiction