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#i had to mute and fucking CLEAN
luv4kozume · 28 days
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🍯 𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐌 — CHRIS STURNIOLO
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Chris x Fem!Reader
Contains: Swearing, pet names (baby, ma), safe word (not used), blindfold, oral f!receiving, fingering, praise, use of sex toy (vibrator), missionary, overstimulation, multiple f!orgasms, unprotected sex, squirting, creampie, established relationship. Proof read!
Synopsis: A story in which Chris finds a box of your sex toys while cleaning your room.
Word Count: 4,697
💋 — Requested: “can u do one where chris finds the readers vibrator in her room and he asks her ab if and then they have sex and he used the vibrator and make it super freaky yk”
💋 — Requested: “hiyaa!! i was wondering if u could write something where matt/chris overstimulate the reader”
a/n: I combined two requests for this one teehee.
The vibrator in this is based off the magic wand plus with four settings (not me exposing myself, bye). I may or may not have had a little bit too much fun w this request!? 😨
Served up real freaky as requested, ENJOY BABIES!!! 💞
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*:・゚✧ 💌 *:・゚✧
A thrawt sigh fell from your lips as your fingers clicked against the keyboard. You sat in bed, your back pressed into the pillows and your knees up with your laptop resting in your lap.
You had already been pushing off this assignment for the past week and was dangerously close to the deadline. You were trying so desperately to get done with this paper as your boyfriend, Chris, sat across the room.
He sat hunched over in his gaming chair, caught in a trance in front of his PC. The sleeves of his orange hoodie draping around his arms as his fingers moved rapidly against the controller. His eyes scanning back and forth on the screen and tongue poking out in concentration.
“No! You’re fucking trash!!” He screeched into the mic of his headset, causing you to jump.
You were already overwhelmed and his constant screaming and hollering was not making it any better.
To be fair, he did ask you beforehand if you would mind if he played the game while you did your assignment. At the time the gesture seemed sweet and endearing, and you didn’t mind having him in the same room. But now you were beginning to regret it.
Even though he was irritating you, you still wanted him here with you. But you couldn’t help it when another frustrated sigh slipped out. You could feel your temples pounding as you massaged them with the tips of your fingers.
Chris’ eyes flicked over towards the corner of his PC, seeing just a bit of you through the reflection of the screen. He muted his mic and took off his headset, letting it rest on the back of neck before spinning the chair around to face you.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” He asked, in a much more relaxed tone than before.
“Nothing.” You reply, still trying to rub away that pounding headache of yours. “Just frustrated. And you’re so loud.”
He felt awful, he hadn’t even realized how disruptive he had been. The chair squeaked a bit as he rose up from it, leaving his headset and controller on the desk before making his way towards the bed.
You watched as he nearly tripped over the many clothes that scattered the floor. The bedroom had been a mess for the past week and it was driving you crazy. You just hadn’t had the time or motivation to tidy up and that may have been another reason why you felt so overwhelmed.
The mattress moved a bit as he sat on the edge of the bed, his palm wrapping around your knee in a loving manner before looking up into your tired eyes.
“Go take a shower, I got it.” He says in almost a whisper, nodding his head towards the door.
“Got what?” You ask raising a brow, he only cleaned up whenever you suggested him to.
“The room. I know you hate it when things are a mess so just chill out. I got it.” Chris repeated, a dumb smirk growing on his face at your unamused expression.
“Okay.” You huff out, shutting off your computer and placing it in the center of the bed before hopping out. “Thank you.”
“You don’t gotta thank me.” He replied, pressing a kiss against your cheek.
*ೃ༄
The sound of the shower running had faded into the background as Chris started gathering piles of clothes from the floor. Making two separate stacks to decide what was dirty and clean.
He had made a mental goal for himself to get finished with everything by the time you get out of the shower. That way, you’d be able to fully relax. He even shut off his game.
It only took a few more minutes to finally get rid of all the clothes, which thankfully was the bulk of the mess. There was concerning amount of empty pepsi cans laying around his side of the bedroom, so he quickly gathered those and took them to the trash.
Once he returned back in the room, he checked under the bed to make sure that there weren’t any more soda cans that may have rolled under— he knew how much that drove you crazy and didn’t want to get you worked up anymore tonight.
Luckily, there weren’t any but there was something out of the ordinary that caught his attention.
“Huh?” He voiced aloud, focusing his eyes on the small pink box he had never seen before. Curiously, he grabbed onto it and slid it against the carpet towards him.
He sat on the floor with his legs crossed, the box laying in his lap. He took a peek just above the bed at the open door to make sure you weren’t in sight to see him snooping through your things. He knew how embarrassed you’d be if you were to find out.
He had just assumed it was just ordinary girly things like makeup or more clothes. But why did you have it tucked away under your bed?
His fingers grazed over the lid before finally opening it, his eyes widening at the lewd sight in front of him. He certainly wasn’t expecting that.
In the box laid a large blue and white vibrator with three small buttons on the side. It came with a charger that was laying right next to it, along with a pink, silk blindfold.
His heart raced in his chest at the many thoughts running through his mind. All he could think about was the way you could’ve used this on yourself. How you would squirm against the sheets, your face twisting up in pleasure as you pressed the toy against your clit.
An idea about tag teaming you with it consumed those thoughts. He wondered if you would be able to handle both—him and the toy—at the same time.
How you’d look and sound with your vision impaired, the vibrator pressed against you, and his dick ramming into you at a brutal pace. He thought about all the possible positions he could get you in, how your voice would begin to crack after he made you cum over and over again, how you—
“I’m starting to feel so much better!” You beamed, clutching your white bath towel up to your chest. But you don’t see Chris right away, you could hear something shut close and your boyfriend instantly shot up from the floor with his arms behind his back.
“Hey.” Chris spoke, a devious smile tugging at his lips. He tried his best to sound nonchalant but that grin on his face was a dead give away that something was up.
“Hi?” You giggle, pulling out a drawer from the dresser to get some clothes to change in.
He walks over towards you, still keeping his hands behind his back, as he shuts the drawer closed with his knee.
“What, weirdo.” You joke, looking up into his eyes.
“You just won’t be needing clothes. That’s all.” He shrugged.
“And why is that?” You ask, crossing your arms together. Assuming that it has something to do whatever he was hiding.
“Thought you’d never ask.” He replied, finally revealing the mystery to you.
Your mouth fell open and your ears grew hot, seeing your vibrator in one hand and a silk blindfold in the other. You hadn’t used either of them since you and Chris got together. In fact, you almost forgotten about them since you had them tucked away.
“Chris!” You squeal, a wave of embarrassment rushing through you. You reached out, trying to yank it away from him but you were left unsuccessful when he had it raised just above your head.
“When’s the last time you used it?” He asks, ignoring your pouting.
“I don’t remember, it’s been a while.” You huff out, adjusting your towel back up to your chest.
“Well, what do you think about using it right now?” He suggested with a smirk.
You felt like your knees were going to give out just by his simple question. You already knew exactly what he meant but you couldn’t form the right words to respond. He searched your eyes for an answer and to him, the message they were sending was blatantly clear.
You watched as he tossed the toys at the foot of the bed. Two strong hands slipped around your waist, pulling you in towards him. His fingers dug into the creases the fuzzy towel made around your figure as he pressed his lips against yours.
Your brows furrowed together, whimpering at how Chris hungrily kissed you. His tongue slipping past the plumpness of your lips to get a taste of your own. Your arms reached up around his neck, lazily draping them around his body, allowing your towel to drop around your ankles.
He only groaned into the kiss, blood rushing towards his dick knowing that you were completely nude. His hands slithered down your curves to cup your ass.
You whimpered at this, a bit of saliva trickled down your chin as his tongue swirled against yours in a way that set your body ablaze.
Your hands slid down past his chest and rested on his biceps, entangling your fingers into the soft, thick fabric of his hoodie. You gave a slight tug at his clothing, telling him that you wanted to take this to the bed so that you wouldn’t have to pull away from his lips.
You feel his grin grow on his face, letting out a low chuckle before uttering the word, “Up.”
You let out whine, jumping up from the floor and into his grasp. Scooping you up by the bottoms of your thighs and pressing your body up against his so that your stomach was flushed with his own.
The kiss now turned into a sloppy mess as you tilted your head in the opposite direction of his. Your teeth clashing together and the sounds of them smacking bounced off the walls— eliciting even more delicious groans from him that made your core tingle with excitement.
His feet dragged against the carpet as he slowly carried you over to the bed, not daring to pull away from your lips in the process. The bed frame creaked as the two of you adjusted against the mattress.
Your fingertips grazed just over his stubble, pulling him in closer as your legs fell open. Allowing for his hips to rest in between them. He swallowed each whine that escaped past your lips as he shamelessly rutted his bulge against your bare pussy. Your arousal staining the fabric of his grey sweats.
He earned another whine from you once he finally pulled away, rising up between your legs. Your chest heaved as you watched his fingers loop underneath the hem of his hoodie, tugging it up over his head and tossing it to the floor.
His black tee raising up just a bit, getting a good glimpse of the happy trail that decorated his toned stomach before falling back down. His silver chain glittering in the dim lighting the lamp illuminated in the bedroom. He saw the hungry look in your eyes, subconsciously asking him for more.
“Want this off too, ma?” He taunts, pulling at the bottom of his shirt only to leave you a flustered mess.
He already knew the answer before you gave him a cute nod, already pulling away at his clothing and letting it join his hoodie on the floor.
Your heart fluttered in your chest, seeing his hand grab hold of the small piece of silk and bringing it up to your face. You already knew what he was going to do, your arms bent so that you could prop yourself up by your elbows. This allowed him to stretch the elastic band over your head, bringing the silk down to your forehead.
“You can tell me when you want it off, okay? You know the word.” He reassured, before bringing the blindfold down over your eyes.
“Okay.” You reply, adjusting yourself back into the mattress.
Your mouth fell open just slightly and your hands balled up into weak, shy fists as they rested on your chest. You could feel your heartbeat pounding in every part of your body, nervously waiting for Chris’ next move.
Your hips buck up from the bed when you felt both of his warm hands wrap around your waist. Usually you weren’t this animated when your boyfriend touched you, but now that one of your senses had been hindered, it made every touch seem much more than it actually was. If this is how you reacted with just his hands on you how would you react to the vibrator?
His hair gently brushed against your skin as he peppered tender kisses into your stomach. You wiggled into his grasp, your arms naturally falling against your sides, allowing his head to come up further to press kisses into your chest.
You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling him cup your breasts and squeeze them together. Butterflies filling your stomach as you felt his clothed dick press into your core once again. You could feel your cheeks and ears growing hot from all the intensity.
“Let me hear those pretty sounds, baby. You know how much I love ‘em.” Chris coaxed against your skin before wrapping his lips around your nipple.
Your brows knitted together and your teeth let go of your lips, allowing a faint whimper to slip out. His chain pressing into your skin as his stomach was flushed with yours. He groaned against the plushness of your skin, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.
“Fuck.” You whimpered, arching your back up from the bed.
Your palms flattened against his shoulder. A low vibration coursed through you as Chris hummed against your skin, loving the way your nails sank down into his flesh. Your hips squirmed underneath him, desperately trying to get that sweet relief of friction down below. It was like an itch you just couldn’t scratch.
You heard a slight popping sound once he released from your nipple, only to show the next one the same amount of attention.
His fingers pressed into the already wet, sensitive bud. Gently rolling it between his fingertips as his tongue flicked against the other.
His cock twitched against the constricting fabric of his boxers as a series of whines slipped past your lips. He loved being the cause of them and couldn’t wait to pull even more out of you.
Another popping sound came, you sighed feeling the warmth of his damp lips now pressing into your hot skin. Leaving a trail of sloppy kisses from your ribcage down to your waist. His thumbs tracing circles into your hips and a few soft strands of his hair tickled against you as his head slowly inched its way between your legs.
Two strong hands wrapped around the back of your thighs, slowly prying them open to leave you whimpering at how exposed you felt. Your heart pounded in your ears as you tried to prepare yourself for what was about to come, but Chris moved at a terribly slow pace that made it nearly impossible to predict what he was going to do next.
Was he going to use his tongue or perhaps his fingers? Or shit, maybe he’d start right off with the vibrator. All those thoughts fogged up your mind and you couldn’t tell if your face was hot with embarrassment or excitement.
Either way, all those thoughts came to an end once he finally gave you what you craved the most— direct contact.
His name slipped out in a sharp gasp when you felt his tongue flatten against your clit. He licked a stripe on it before pulling away with a smirk, humming in amusement over how worked up you were getting from just his tongue. Perhaps he should blindfold you more often.
Your fingers clenched onto the sheets, feeling his tongue start from your slick entrance. He made sure to gather each drop of your sweet juices before bringing his mouth back up to your puffy clit.
“Fuck.” You sighed, your legs quivering around his head. Your toes started to curl in and your back raised up from the mattress as he stayed latched onto your cunt as if his life depended on it.
Your arousal had already saturated his lips, dripping down his chin and soaking into the satin sheets. His grip remained strong around your hips, reducing the amount of wiggling you could do.
His prickly stubble brushed against your thighs as the sound of his lips smacking filled your ears. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach from all the lewd sounds that came from him, being sure to soak up everything in this moment.
Your fingers made their way towards his hair, combing through his locks before slightly tugging at his scalp. Eliciting a low grunt from him that sent pleasing vibrations into your core.
You whimpered as you felt that familiar knot in your stomach start to build up, a telltale sign that you were fairly close. Chris is also aware of the fact, knowing how your voice tends to get higher as you approach your high.
“Chris..” You plea, rustling against the sheets. “Baby, I’m close..”
His eyes flicked up to you, although you can’t see him, he couldn’t help but look up at you. Your lips poking out in a needy pout, your brows furrowing together, your cheeks flushed and your chest heaving— so sweet and angelic as you were slowly beginning to unravel right before his eyes.
“Come on, let go for me.” He uttered against your flesh before diving right back in and attacking your most sensitive bit.
“Oh, shit.” You cry, tossing your head back into the pillows, your whole body now levitating off the mattress. The elastic band of your orgasm now snapped after hearing his melodic words of confirmation.
His tight grip around you loosened just a bit giving you the opportunity to smush his face in between your thighs. His cheeks glowing a rosy hue as his nostrils flared against you, his tongue remained glued to your clit as you rode out your high.
Your body melted back into the sheets and your legs slowly fell back open. You exhaled a sigh as you were starting to catch your breath, only to let out a sharp gasp once you felt a sudden feeling of stimulation.
Your clit twitched against his lips as he pressed a kiss into your folds, his face now glistening in the dim lighting just as much as your pussy. A timid, shaky hand raised up to push his head away, a low conniving chuckle soon followed.
“It’s sensitive..” You whined, attempting to close your legs.
“You don’t think I can get one more out of you?” He asked in a taunting voice. His large hands roaming all over your body, sending a shiver down your spine. “Please baby, for me?”
“But—“ You start to protest, only to be cut off.
His hips made their way back in between your legs, he leaned in towards you so that his stomach was now flushed with yours. You could feel his chain dangling just over your breasts as he lowered himself down, various strands of hair now brushing against your cheek as he peppered kisses into the nape of your neck.
“You know the word when it’s too much.” He coaxed in your ear, his kisses now getting lower as his hand slithered down last your stomach.
“Chris!” You gasped, feeling the pads of his fingers press into your swollen clit. He wasted no time massaging quick yet gentle circles into your sensitivity.
“Gotta make sure you’re nice and wet for my cock, yeah?” He groaned, his fingers sliding down your slick folds, making sure to coat them up good with your juices before daring to slip inside your entrance.
Your arms draped around his neck, nails digging into his back as his lips were now pressing kisses into your cheek, slowly inching them towards the corner of your mouth and then finally your lips.
Your tongue intermingled with his own as his fingers slowly pressed their way inside, dipping deep into your wetness. Chris swallowed your moans as he started pumping the two digits inside you. Your moist, spongy walls hugged around him just right, it had his cock weeping in his boxers to be set free.
“Squeezing around me so.. fucking.. nice.” He groaned against your lips in between smacks. “Can’t wait to fill that pussy up with my dick, you’d like that, huh? Fuck you full of my cum?”
Before you could give him an answer, all of the pleasure and warmth was gone. You whined loudly in frustration, bucking your hips up into the air, desperate for more. You were working up another orgasm only for it to be snatched away in a blink of an eye.
“Be patient, baby.” He chuckles at your pathetic pouting. All you could hear was the bed frame squeaking and the weight shifting in the bed, you assumed he was getting up. “All good things come in time.”
A clicking noise soon followed that, then the sheets rustled as his knees sank back down into the mattress. You didn’t know this of course, but he had the biggest grin plastered across his face knowing that he had the upper hand in the situation— perhaps he was enjoying this a little too much.
His grey sweats and boxers were now scattered on the floor, his neglected cock rising up to his stomach, twitching at the wondrous sight in front of him. The vibrator sat up in his dominate hand as the other slowly pried your legs back open.
A low whimper escaped past your lips, feeling the head of the vibrator press against you. Chris ran the silicone along your wet folds before finally bringing it back up to your aching clit. His free hand pressed into the back of your thigh, his thumb massaging into your plush skin.
“Oh, fuck..” You whined, your body curled up towards him as he clicked one of the blue buttons on.
The toy giving off a low yet pleasing sensation that traveled all throughout your body as he pressed the toy further into your core. That same devious grin remained on his face, growing bigger by the second as he watched you squirm about. Making the weakest attempts to wiggle away from the overstimulation.
“Don’t run away, now. I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.” He whispered, his free hand forcing your hips down in place. His thumb tauntingly brushed over the button just before raising the setting up to two.
Your legs now shaking and your bottom lip was tucked behind your teeth, trying your best to contain yourself but Chris made it terribly difficult.
“Have you ever made it to four?” He asked, keeping the silicone head right on your clit, occasionally pressing deeper into you to give you that extra pressure. Your hips stuttered in his grasp each time he did so.
You could hardly withstand the intensity of the second setting, you couldn’t possibly imagine attempting the fourth. Shit, you haven’t even experienced the third.
Your jaw fell open, attempting to give him an answer but your mind was all fogged up. Broken moans slipped out between each incoherent word, leaving you trembling in embarrassment when you heard Chris laugh.
“You can work up to it, baby. Don’t worry.” He cooed.
Your breath hitched in your throat as the bed shifted, the vibrator rocking into your cunt as he adjusted himself in the bed. His fingers wrapped around your dainty wrist, slowly bringing it up to the toy.
“Gonna be good for me and hold it up?” He says, finally passing it over to you once you replied with a feverish nod.
You whimpered as your fingers grazed his, grabbing a hold of the vibrator. Your breathing slowed just a bit as you had gotten used to the sensation by now.
That was until another clicking sound came and you nearly screamed feeling the toy rise to the third setting.
Both of your hands now wrapped around it’s handle as your entire body trembled. You were so close to letting the safe word slip out.
Despite the overwhelming amounts of pleasure coursing through you, deep down you knew that the last thing you wanted was for it to end.
“Atta girl, you’re doing so good.” Chris purred with a smirk.
His fingers wrapped around the base of his member, slowly pumping it before aligning his tip with your sopping wet entrance. His teeth tugged at his bottom lip as he teasingly ran his head against your folds, making sure to lather his cock in your juices before finally slipping himself inside.
“Fuck, fuck..” You whined, feeling your second orgasm quickly creeping up on you.
A low groan slipped past the brunette’s lips, his chin dropping down to his chest as your plush walls hugged around him in all the right ways. His fingers dug into your thighs, pushing your legs up further to your chest, causing your tits to squeeze together.
The new angle allowed him to press his way into you deeper. Your back arched as you felt his girth stretching you out, his head kissing that sweet, sensitive area inside you that made your toes curl and voice hoarse.
“Squeezing the life outta me, s-shit.” He stuttered, wasting no time ramming his pelvis into your hips.
Your whole body felt like it was on fire, your breathing quickening and your voice now raspy from how much you’ve been crying. Your clit ached against the vibrator, not knowing how much more you could take— but still refusing to say that word.
His eyes flicked down to your hands, your grip so tight on the handle that your knuckles changed color. He couldn’t hold back his laugh as he gazed at the button, so tempted to see how you’d react to the highest setting.
As much as he’d love to prolong this little session, he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Especially with you clenching around him so tight, his veins twitched along your walls as his orgasm crept up on him too.
Click!
“Chris! No, no, no..” You squealed, at the sudden change of speed. The new sensation too much to bare and had you cumming in an instant, your juices spraying all over the toy and Chris.
You dropped the toy, attempting to catch your breath but Chris kept on going. His thrusts were quicker and much more sloppy now.
He raised up your silk blindfold with a pinch, locking his eyes into your glossy ones. His hands now back on your hips, raising you up from the mattress as he pounded into you, showing you no mercy.
The sight was nearly enough to send him over the edge. Your bouncing tits, your strained voice, the erotic sound of your wetness. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he peered down at your core, amazed at how much you came. He really got a kick out of watching himself stuffing you full of his cock.
Your hands wrapped around his for leverage before hiccuping a quiet, “Hurry..” warning him that you were close to tapping out and calling it quits.
Luckily for him, it wasn’t long before he finally came, his hot seed spilling out into you— filling you up to the brim. You chanted his name like it was prayer, your brain unable to think of anything else other than him and his dick.
His body collapsed on top of you, his lips lazily kissing away at your pouty ones. His cock still inside you, twitching about as your thumbs traced along his rough stubble.
After a few moments had passed, he finally pulled out with a sigh, leaving you whining from sensitivity. The sheets were soaked with cum and your bodies were both a sweaty and sticky mess.
“Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?” Chris said, carrying you out of bed and towards the bathroom.
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wynnyfryd · 5 months
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Trailer Park Steve AU part 6
part 1 | part 5
October
It's Wednesday night, which means dinner at the Hendersons. Steve finally decided to show his face — and no, not because Dustin's doorstep song and dance had any effect on him; it was partly because he was sick of hearing muted metal music from across the street and mostly because he hadn't left the trailer in three days and he was starting to feel and smell like shit.
So, anyway. Dinner. Ma Henderson's pulled out all the stops: prepped a homemade lasagna, stocked the fridge with full-sugar sodas and bought the good brand of key lime pie; invited the Sinclair and Wheeler kids to make a little party of it. (Nancy was 'unfortunately too busy to attend,' thank fucking god.)
But then Ma got stuck late at work, so now it's all hands on deck. Mike and Erica are setting the table — Steve can hear Mike bitching at her because she told him the knives go the other way, dumbass; Lucas is at the fridge filling cups with ice and Pepsi and muttering to himself about how much better Coke is; Steve's got an eye on the oven, waiting for the cheese on the lasagna to bubble up juuust right; and Dustin is using "prepping the salad" as an excuse to corner Steve and annoy the ever-loving crap out of him.
“What do you mean it’s hard?” Dustin whines, dropping a handful of shredded carrots into the wooden bowl. “Just talk to him!”
Steve takes a deep breath. Mourns, briefly, for the night he could have had; the girls he could be doing hand stuff with in the back of the Beemer instead of putting up with this kid's shit. “I don’t wanna Just Talk to Him." He bends to peek through the oven door. "And, also: get off my ass about it, alright? I came to dinner, I'm heating up the lasagna. I'm, like, participating or whatever. What more do you want?”
“For you to talk to Eddie! Obviously!" Dustin's tossing the greens so aggressively that it kinda feels like he wishes he was pummeling Steve instead, and when he throws his hands up, little flecks of iceberg lettuce go raining to the floor.
Steve eyes the leafy green confetti. "You're cleaning that up."
"Come on, dude," Dustin begs. "It's been two weeks! What's the point of having friends who are next door neighbors if they refuse to get along?”
Behind them, Lucas supplies in a weirdly strangled tone: “This really doesn’t seem like the way to get him to talk to Eddie."
Thank you. Steve couldn't agree more. He turns to tell him as much and realizes the reason Lucas' voice sounded like that is because he's trying to make one trip to the dining room at any fucking cost. He's got an armful of drinking glasses and three cans of Pepsi tucked under his chin, and he's about to fumble the whole wobbly stack.
"Jesus Christ, man, cut that out!" Steve swoops in to grab the cans before they can join the lettuce shower Dustin just made. He doesn't care how much he loves Claudia, he will leave without helping if they splatter soda all over this floor. Mews the Second can lick it clean for all he cares, he's so for real. "Two at a time," he says sternly, taking the extra cups from Lucas’ hold and handing him back a reasonable amoint. He sends Lucas out of the room with a knee to the ass.
"Hey!" Lucas pouts.
"Hey yourself," he grins.
Lucas sticks out his tongue like a child (because he is one, Steve reminds himself), and when he shoulders the swinging door to the dining room he almost brains his little sister, who makes a graceful side-step and comes strutting through undeterred.
"Are you two nerds done playing good cop, annoying cop with Steve?"
"Ah-!" Dustin gawps. "I better not be the annoying cop!"
"Uh, yeah. Obviously, you are." She props a fist on her hip, a little tyrant in the making, and Steve’s ribs go tender with a fond, vaguely proud ache. He really loves her so much. "Now scram. I need to borrow Steve."
On second thought.
Surely at some point these kids, like, owe him money or some shit for the amount of weary sighs they've caused him to let out. Like, financial compensation for the years taken off his life? Something?
"Yes, Erica?" he asks, nostrils flared; eyes closed.
"You should talk to Eddie."
"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ." Steve looks up to the ceiling, pleading for anyone to grant him strength, then he turns to pull the lasagna out of the oven and watches the bubbles sizzle and pop in the hot cheese until he no longer feels like blowing up at a little girl. "Okay. Okay. And I should listen to you because…?"
Screw financial compensation.
He deserves a presidential medal for how calm he's keeping his tone.
Erica's glaring fiercely at him when he glances her way, and why is every kid he knows such a brave, confrontational little shit? "Because," she explains, "He's being mean to my brother."
Oh, fuck no. "What do you mean?" he asks, voice dropping to an urgent hiss as he feels his hackles raise. Like hell is he letting some Billy 2.0 hang around his kids. "Is he, like- Is he saying shit about you guys?"
She spares him from trying to find a tactful way to ask what he's really asking. "No," she says shortly. "But he is being a bastard about him joining the basketball team—"
"Language—" Oh, what's the point.
"—and those two nerds out there? Are obsessed with him. Especially Mike. Like, ob-sessed.” She writes the letters out in the air in front of her to really drive home the point. “Mike likes whatever Eddie likes, so you need to convince Eddie to like Lucas before Lucas loses his friends over this stupid 'jocks versus freaks' crap." She lowers her voice and jabs the skywriting finger into his shoulder hard enough to bruise. "And if you tell Lucas I said any of this? It is on. sight, Steve. I will crush you."
"Jesus Christ."
"So, we good?"
"Uh huh," Steve stammers. "Y-yep. Understood."
Wow. So dignified, Steve. Really loved how you let a ten year old intimidate you. He's saved from any further bullying by the sound of keys jangling in the lock.
"Dusty!" Claudia calls out through the door, "Dustybunny, can you come help? My hands are full!"
In the dining room Steve hears Dustin groan while Mike and Lucas start immediately tearing into him for the name, mocking 'Dustybunny; oh, Dustybun!' in stupid sing-song tones.
"So I'm just gonna..." Steve says awkwardly, inching toward the door. "Go get that."
"Mhmm." Erica gives him an unimpressed look. "You do that."
"Oh, Steve, sweetie, thank you!" Claudia says when he opens the door, cheerful and sweet as always. He goes to take her bags from her, but she drops them all at her feet and steps forward to give him a hug, a firm and tender thing that makes an annoying lump form in his throat.
"How are you?" she asks, stepping back to look at him; eyes raking over his face, hands on his cheeks. Really looks. She frowns at whatever she sees. "How's your mom?"
"Can you please just talk to me?" Steve begs, shivering in the hallway because they haven't budgeted for turning on the heat just yet. Wasn't supposed to get this cold for another pay cycle. He tugs the ends of his sweatshirt sleeves. His limbs feel stiff and tense, a budding anxiety like there’s a bomb in the base of his spine.
"Steven, darling, not now," his mother sighs as she sinks demurely onto the couch. "Then when!" he explodes. He doesn't want to yell at her, but, "Seriously, when? When are we going to say anything to each other that actually fucking matters, mom? I feel like I barely even know you anymore!"
"Yes, and I feel a migraine coming on; are you quite finished?"
"….She's fine," Steve answers.
Could be true, for all he knows.
The wrinkles between Claudia's brows deepen, like she wants to press the subject but decides to hold her tongue. "That's good to hear," she settles on after a moment, giving him a gentle pat on the cheek before stepping away with a subtle look that’s not mad, just disappointed.
Steve kind of wants to cry.
"Mom! Food!" Dustin hollers from the other room.
Steve rolls his eyes. "I swear I try to teach him manners."
"Well, good luck with that," she grins, the shadow of tension between them dissipating. Her mood is good like that. Resilient. Strong. Immune to outside force.
Steve’s moods, on the other hand, are more like those stainless steel fridges that promise to remain spotless but then end up covered in grubby handprints. (Exhibit A: he’s doing it right now.)
Thankfully Claudia’s got enough sunshine in her for the both of them. “Come on,” she says, extending a hand and wiggling her fingers for him to grab hold. “Let's eat."
part 7
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hotchnrz · 6 months
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october 5th - seungcheol and daddy kink
You decide to bother your husband during a business meeting, oblivious to the consequences that lie ahead. dom!cheol, mentions of the other members (vernon, wonwoo, mingyu), hair pulling, rough sex, lots of humiliation
wc - approx. 1k
kinktober masterlist
"Okay, Hansol. I see where you're coming from, but to increase our profits, we need a better user interface." Your husband has been debating with his coworkers about whatever they are talking about for the last 20 minutes. Seungcheol had promised that he would be done by now. You were sitting on the couch in his office waiting for him to get off his meeting. "Cheollie, when are you going to be done?" He quickly muted himself and said, "A few minutes, princess." You sunk back down onto the couch with an exasperated sigh.
About 20 more minutes went by without him turning off his computer. You made your way to his desk and crawled underneath. He was obviously eyeing you once he saw you on your knees between his legs. He tried to ignore you, but the second you started palming his cock through his pants, he was livid. Why couldn't you just wait until he was done with his meeting? "C'mon, Cheollie...need you." His breathing became increasingly faster, but he kept a calm composure on camera. He was telling you to stop. His hips bucking into your hand was telling you otherwise.
There was a prominent wet spot in his pants when he grabbed your wrist and glared at you. "Cheol...you paying attention?" Wonwoo asked in a suspicious tone. "Y-yeah. I just need to take care of something real quick. Give me an hour." He hung up the call before anyone could answer him or say goodbye. He unbuttoned his jeans, pulling his cock out for you. He pumped his cock a few times before slapping the tip on your lips, signaling you to open it. You stuck your tongue out, waiting to taste his cock. But the second you did, he grabbed your hair into a bunch and shoved his cock all the way to the back of your throat.
You weren't expecting him to go all the way in, and his sudden movement made you gag around him. He started to fuck into your face, purposely disregarding you tapping his thigh. "Such a needy slut, but you can't handle some dick? Toughen up." His words made you clench around absolutely nothing. His consistent thrusts soon started to falter when your throat began constricting around him from the lack of air. He pulled you off his cock, only to lock eyes with your hazy ones. "Take a second to breathe, but don't think I'm fucking you any time soon." He took the time to wipe some of the drool on the sides of your mouth before he put his cock back in. "C'mon...suck me off, and don't stop 'til I cum."
You lapped at his swollen tip, taking your time with him. He was bucking his hips up to meet your lips, obviously getting impatient with your pace. You finally took him into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks and making sure not to use any teeth on his thick cock. If you were being honest, his cock being in your mouth was sometimes a struggle. Despite that, you loved tasting him and making him feel good. You bobbed your head up and down, trying to get as much inside. But you did use your hands to stroke whatever you couldn't. You felt him shuffling around in his seat before he held you down on his cock. He came with broken groans and a tight grip on your throat. "Good girl." He lightly tapped your face with his cock before pulling you up to his lap.
At this point, he had a huge wet spot on his pants, and you were extremely soaked. He placed you on his lap, grinding his cock against your clothed cunt. The feel of your cotton panties was perfect for Seungcheol, but you wanted more. "Cheol, stop teasing," you whined. He practically ripped your panties clean off before splitting you open. "I don't remember that being my name?" His cock entered you with a squelch to which he responded with a drawn-out groan. You couldn't hold in the whimpers that were in your throat. "I'm sorry! 'm sosososo sorry, daddy!" You were getting so loud that Seungcheol had to put his thumb in your mouth. "Needy slut can't handle her daddy's cock?"
He relentlessly pounded into you, paying no mind to how much you were dripping all over him. "I c-can handle it! Wish it was Mingyu fucking me right now." Seungcheol knew you wanted to rile him up. As much as he didn't want to give you that satisfaction, the mention of his own coworker fucking his wife's pussy made him feel different. "You wish it was Gyu fucking you, hm? Why don't we call him and see what he has to say about that?" You shook your head furiously, not ready for the impending humiliation. He kept one hand on your throat while he used the other to grab his phone off the desk. He put the phone on speaker and you could hear it ringing.
ring...
ring...
ring...
ring...
"Hello?"
You were hoping that he wouldn't answer, but of course, your husband was going to get his way. "Seungcheol, why did you leave the meeting like that?" He completely disregarded the question and proceeded to say, "___ has something she'd like to say. Go ahead, baby." There was no question. Mingyu could hear your muffled whimpers, but you had to do what your husband asked of you. "H-hey, Gyu, fuck!"
"___? You okay?"
Seungcheol wrapped your legs around his waist as he stood up, his cock still inside you. "G-gyu, I'm fine. Just... I wish you were f-ucking me instead of Cheol!" There was about a minute of silence on the other end, but you were going feral. Your husband had you on his desk while he pounded into you. "Guess he's gone quiet." Just as Seungcheol was about to hang up, you both heard what sounded like a zipper on the other line. "Wish it was me, hm? Why didn't you invite me then, cutie?" You clenched around your husband, and it didn't go unnoticed by him.
"Fuuuck, Gyu. She just clenched around me so hard." At this point, you could hear the wet sounds coming from Mingyu's hand working on his leaky cock. "Y-yeah, Gyu. Wish it was you fucking me like t-this. Fuck!" Both your husband and his friend had their way with you. Mingyu was coaxing you towards your orgasm with his words while Seungcheol dragged his cock in and out of your walls. "Gonna cum around daddy's cock?" Your legs were shaking and you could barely get a word out. "C-can I? Can I please cum?" Seungcheol couldn't say no to his princess but he was gonna leave this one up to Mingyu. "Should she be able to cum, Gyu?" Mingyu's hand never stopped working on his cock. Both you and Seungcheol could hear his grunts on the other side of the phone.
"Hmm, I don't know. She's thinking about another man while her husband is fucking her." You wanted to cum so bad but they weren't going to let you. "That sounds like a 'no' to me," your husband cooed. "Sorry, princess." He kept his pace but started to go deeper. He was nearing his orgasm while he kept you edged. "Gonna fill this pussy and you're gonna take it," he started, "Don't let one drop go to waste." You felt him pulse and throb inside you before he stilled, finally filling you up with his cum. At this point, you still weren't allowed to cum and it was driving you crazy. Once Seungcheol came inside of you, Mingyu was working through his own orgasm which is what made it so hard to stay together.
Seungcheol slapped your face a few times to get you back into reality. You were so fucked out that he found it funny. "Wanted my cock so bad, hm? Look at you, princess, going dumb on your daddy's cock." He and Mingyu talked as if you weren't even there anymore. Your husband told Mingyu he could go now, and although reluctant, he ended up hanging up. "See? That's what happens when you wish for someone other than your husband to be fucking you; you don't get to cum." You were pleading with him at this point to let you cum but he just wouldn't relent. "If you want to cum, you're gonna have to when I say so. Alright?"
You nodded in desperation. "Good girl. Face down, ass up." He took you off of his cock and you rushed to the couch, making sure none of his seed dripped out. He rubbed his tip between your folds before sliding right in. You were so wet it was just easy for him to get directly to that gummy spot inside of you. Despite trying your hardest not to, you clenched around him several times, warning him of the impending orgasm. "Gonna cum, princess?" He asked only to receive no reponse. He yanked your head back and asked again. "Yes, yes. I'm so close, daddy." He started to count down from 10. "I'm gonna count, and you're gonna cum when I say so." He kept his pace but decided to snake his hand down to add 2 of his calloused fingers to rub at your clit. You could feel yourself coming undone on his cock, your clit throbbing as he pounded into you. "Three, two, one." You finally fell apart, legs shaking, toes curling, and eyes rolling back into your head. He continued fucking his cum into your cunt, making sure nothing goes to waste.
He, too, was riding out his high. It was hard to resist cumming when your pussy was milking him so well. "Don't interrupt my business calls again, princess."
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undercoverpena · 22 days
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a debt to pay
frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist
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summary: you surprise frankie by coming home earlier than planned, answering the door a-la-fake-porn like, making him drag you to your bedroom.
warnings: smut. established relationship. praise kink. minor (and I mean brief) hand necklace. dirty talk. okay, frankie likes to talk kink. cowgirl riding for iwd. and the pizza goes cold (felt it needed a warning) wordcount: 4.8k an: to the wonderful, amazing @morallyinept - happy international women's day! i hope frankie treating you right is what you had on your bucket list for the day. but if not, just know you inspire me, and i'm grateful for your friendship every day. and ily.
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Nothing should surprise him.
He’s seen a lot. A thing some could argue is far too much. In some ways, they’re right.
Frankie isn’t sure people who weren’t doctors should know the exact hue of red that blood is—shouldn’t know the pain from a bullet grazing his shoulder, catching flesh and ruining cloth.
Still, he found himself continually surprised—especially the night he met you.
Falling into him, into his life. Disrupting his days from bleeding into the next, knocking things off their axis. Change should be scary, but it was all welcomed, just not in a way he’d ever thought he’d earned.
Somehow, amidst the chaos you brought with you, you also handed him harmony. You made the corners of his world slot together. Slowly, he even found himself anchoring down to brick and mortar, and calling it ‘home’ for the first time since he’d originally left his for battles and fighting.
In time, even as months became a year, your things found their way to be with his, Frankie had assumed he’d seen everything. Happy to accept it, the routine, the complacency. He looked forward to lazy Sunday mornings with his fingers inside yours, toes curling; Thursday nights in a bar, watching a line appear on your brow as you scoured your brain for an answer to the trivia question.
He liked it, adored it.
And then you opened the front door for him.
Flooding him in golden light that makes him squint, before he finds himself reminded, quickly, he hasn’t seen it all. Not even by a margin.
Because you're not supposed to be here, due back tomorrow.
Your voice on the phone earlier muted, low, "I miss you, Morales," as he stares at your untouched, clean mug on the kitchen counter.
Yet, here you stand. All veiled in barely anything except bits of lace and sheer, a sight his eyes aren't able to tear away from even if he tries. Not even the dryness in his throat or the warmth emanating from the pizza box he's holding (attempting to sear his skin to his palm) is bothering him.
"Bab—"
His words are cut short, ended.
"Oh," you gasp. “Let me take that; and how much do I owe you?”
On registering your words, his eyes narrow, staring.
Doing so from one eye to the next. It taking a while, brain firing, ticking over, taking precious seconds as he remains out in the cold and you stand in the warmth in barely fucking anything, before it dawns on him. Crawls up over him as realises what it is you’re pretending to do, what you're reenacting.
Lips lifting, curling into one of his cheeks he steps in through the doorway. Almost over the threshold, easily able to take another step and close the door behind him.
But he waits.
Fingers twitch at his side, Frankie swallows, eyes dropping, tracing up the bare backs of your thighs as you bend over. Because fuck, you're something beautiful. A thing he always thinks, but finds himself reminded in waves as they crash into him.
Raising his hand, he itches across his chin, scratching along the wiry hair there as his gaze drops to the thin fabric protecting the last bit of your modesty as you and the bits of lace spread across your ass—
“I only have card—unless, I can pay you in another way?”
This shouldn’t be real.
You, like this. Him, standing like this. Not even as he steps inside, eyes trained on you—forgetting what words even mean—as you bend over.
A low exhale escapes, lips remaining parted as he fights to place his palm on the back of your thigh—stops himself from hooking a finger in the band of your underwear and dragging it down your thighs, bending you over the sofa, and burying his—
“I would really like to pay you in some way.”
Your words are almost lost due to the way his pulse has quickened in his ears, thundering, pounding. Feeling nothing but discomfort as his cock hardens against the zip of his pants as you bite down on your lip.
Brain quiet, no thoughts, all rendered silent by your appearance. Only able to shift enough to discard his cap, his jacket—folding it over the back of the sofa, eyes drawing out over you as he takes a step closer. Fingers finding his wrist, pinching, making sure this isn't some dream he hasn't woken up from.
But he can smell the present. The glorious cheese and several toppings, even if devouring the pizza are long forgotten. Because his eyes are raking over you, because how could he not—especially now as you straighten up, softly wiggling your hips.
"Is that so?” his voice rough, words catching. Letters clagging at the back of his teeth as though they attempted to glue to his mouth.
He's aware the three words are stained with want—a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips as you turn to face him, knowing it too.
But then, you always do know. Having long figured him out.
Like always, your eyes meet his in a way he can never explain, no words to articulate, to explain—just shared understanding dancing between the two of you.
“It’s only right,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, your fingers reaching out to trace his wire-stubbled jawline. “It’s bad of me to order food and not have the money to pay.”
He catches your wrist, gently but firmly. Pulling you close, steadying you with the other at your waist. Hearing it, the gasp, the briefest of indications you'd been caught by surprise, as he brushes his fingers against the fabric, all unable to stop themself. Half-needing to know what it feels like, as his thumb smooths out, taking his time—forcing the tension to buzz in the air as he leans closer. The distance you small, minimal—almost non-existent—as his breath hitches in his throat.
“You know what you’re getting into?” his voice a low growl, strained.
His gaze locked on you, watching you bite on your lower lip. “I really don’t like being in debt.”
It’s low, the way he replies. Short, two words: okay baby, before he’s leading, guiding, pecking kisses on your lips that likely leave you disorientated. It thrumming in his veins, the fact he gets to undo you, peel off the thin fabric you’ve likely had stuffed at the back of the closet—or even purchased with him in mind on your trip, thighs pressed together, wondering, finger and thumb stroking it as you imagine if he'd rip it off or slowly slide it from you.
He's not sure himself.
A part of him wishes to snap it from your frame in front of open blinds and undrawn curtains. To place his palm on your ass and taste your gasp on his tongue.
But another, the part which has missed you, wishes to wait. Make you wait. Wants to drag it out as long as humanly possible, have you soaked, wet, needy and desperate.
Because Frankie wonders if you've imagined this. Or, if you plotted it or it came to you randomly.
He gets an answer to it when the two of you are behind another door—one more private, intimate.
And it feels different in the bedroom than it did out in the living room.
The lighting being one of the reasons.
In here, you had opted for a darker shade when you’d both redecorated. Told him you preferred it, and had given him a shrug and a smile as you did. It had been a while later when he’d learned it was for him. For his eyes, for the sleep he struggled to grasp. It’ll help, I think? Saying it to him as though it wasn’t the kindest fucking thing someone had done for him.
But then, you are a waking dream.
A thing which has shaped itself and made itself real right before his eyes. Sculpted yourself from wishes and wants, shaping until you’re nothing but tangible and real.
He’s not afraid to tell you that either. Spends hours whispering it into your skin, pressing it close to your ear, repeating it over and over what perfection you are as you look at him with lust-blown eyes and lips parted around his name.
Frankie doubts it’s enough.
Least of all now, when you’re painted in soft white light, all gentle in how it rolls over you, as it becomes clear you’ve been home for a while.
You've drawn the blackout curtains—keeping out the evening—and you'd flicked the little bedside lamp on, doing its best to illuminate the room.
Swallowing, he traces his teeth over his tongue, wondering if you watched him reverse off the drive as you waited to make your move. Wondering if you're snuck in, trying not to disturb—dress yourself up, even if you never need to.
Because you’re a vision always.
The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Even angry because he's left his tools out or with disappointment etched into your eyes because he’s forgotten something, you’re radiant, a goddess on earth.
A thing he finds himself reminded of as he steps closer to you. Fingers fiddling at his side as begins to close the small gap.
If not for the way he’s looking at you, he might have missed the shiver running through you from anticipation—and he knows it because of his action, due to the hungry look he's sure he's sporting as he raises his hands to remove his outer shirt. Balling it up, throwing it, a thing already unremembered before it even leaves his fingers.
"Frankie..."
"I know, just keep your eyes on me."
And you do, ever obedient. A thing no one would believe him off outside of these four walls. Not when you hold yourself strong and are quick to bite back, all wit and quick-thinking in addition to your brains and beauty.
He hooks a finger under the edge of his t-shirt, dragging it up over his head as he hears it—that little hiss, that slight gasp you do as though you’ve not seen him topless a thousand times.
It feels good. Makes heat rise up his neck and flood his ears. For a moment, he forgets he’s not all that. Because he’s soft, a little thicker around the middle, it feels like a lifetime ago he was trained in combat. But the way you look at him makes him feel like that is the furthest thing from the truth.
Fuck, you make him hard. Make him want. Have done since the moment you’d given him half a chance.
It’s why he's quick to pull you close, desperate to slant his mouth over yours. All fiery, hungry. Aiming to claim and write out all the ways he’s thought of you in the days since you’d been away. How the hours of you being gone and the amount he’s missed you have all balled up into a thing that is now fuelling him—sketching his wishes and desires across your lips, against your tongue, burying them past your teeth so they sit in your throat.
He grasps. Likely leaves marks of it on the perfect skin that covers your waist—because his palm is calloused and worn. Reminders of holding things not half as soft as you. A flicker of guilt almost bubbles in his, as he moves to rest it on your cheek, cradling your jaw and ear in one hand, as he slides the other up your back.
You whimper against his teeth before fingers find the clasp—finger and thumb, pinging it open before he feels fabric scrape against him—then you moan.
His chest being greeted with nothing but warm, smooth bare skin—nipples pebbling in the cooler air before being pressed against him, before he cups the swell of one, thumb stroking, playing a pattern.
“Do this for all the deliveries you get?”
You snort, it blowing out in a breath. “Only the ones with packages I like.”
In the time you’ve been together, you’ve said worse, but this time makes cock harden more than it already is. It's almost uncomfortable, in how it presses against his zipper, wishing to be released, as his index and thumb stroke over your skin. Taking it on how warm you are, how impossibly soft—distantly feeling the tremors from your heart hammering into your ribs.
"Too good for me, you are." You hum, as he seals his mouth back over yours. “But, I don’t take card.”
Purposefully, he drops his hand, fingers dipping, tracing across the lace that covers your slit—finding damp fabric as his ears take in the note of a quiet escape leaving your lips. It trying to bury itself between your two mouths open, breathing it in.
“Guess you’ll have to swipe something else.”
He snorts, and buries it into your neck, teeth grazing your skin—nose catching the scent of your perfume. And the scent almost makes him dizzy from how his blood rushes south. How the moment he’d dropped you off for your flight, it had lingered in the cabin of his truck. Remaining there for the first few days you were gone, before slowly fading. Leaving.
Just there on the coat you'd hung near the door and the pillows he slept beside.
The ones he rested his head against when he’d heard your voice down the phone, tell me to touch myself, Frankie, I need you. His own hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it as you moaned his name, all those miles away, dripping instructions into your ear.
“You're such a dirty girl.”
You grin in response, fingers tugging at his curls—urging his mouth back to yours.
But, he instead traces his tongue over your pulse, circling it, all defiant in bowing to you as his teeth trace over his path. Instead, his finger dips, traces the crease of your thigh with his gaze never leaving yours.
“Missed you,” you whisper.
His hand slides between your thighs, cupping you—feeling the discernible wetness soaked through.
“Can feel it.”
You scoff, but he kisses it away.
Doing so in a similar way to how he makes you forget, how he pulls you from your mind and brings you to the present. It’s also swallowed by another gasp, one made because of his fingers finding the edge of the lace, hooking a finger underneath, sliding the pad of his thumb against your swollen nerves and slick entrance.
"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the whine you emit. “Feelin’ needy, querida?”
And he can’t take his eyes off you.
Practically locked in, watching as your lips part, and your hips try to shift for more friction. He’s too fearful he’ll miss it, all of it—a slight curve of a brow or a shimmer on your eyes. All things he thinks over when he dreams, when he wishes for replays of moments until the next day when he makes another that easily replaces a good one.
He likes how you say his name when he slips another finger inside you—how it falls all soft, breathless. So much intention in such a low sound. Even as you squirm, mouth pausing over his; little mewls and moans falling as he drags them in and out, all languorous, teasing.
“Want you.”
His thumb brushes over your swollen clit, a hiss escaping. “I know.”
You gasp his name, stifle a moan, teeth biting down on the underside of your lower lip as your lashes flutter. It’s your nails digging into his scalp that keeps him rooted, that keeps him focused—precise touches and strokes that have you rocking against him and keep him tuned in to you.
“Missed how you sound, baby. You're doing so well.”
You’re close. His words make your perfect pussy clench around him. A chorus of moans escaping as he curls them inside of you, finds that spot, the one which makes you babble and turns your muscles into liquid.
He likes that he can do this.
That he can read you and undo you. That it’s a thing he’s mastered when he’d thought he was far from learning. But then, he’d taken great pride in spending hours studying—in alternating between being on his back and on his knees.
And because of that, he knows when he halt you over the edge. Let you linger, not tipping.
Normally, he’d never tease, never make you want—but, today is a different kind of day as he stops. As he retracts his fingers and allows the fabric to lightly snap back into place.
It’s a different whine that cuts into the room then. It pours out from your lips as your eyes dig daggers into him—but, he knows you.
Knows it’s momentary and nothing he can’t fix. Able to hold his ground against it, digging heels into the floor—all refusing to be swayed by the storm rising inside of you, creeping across the formerly tranquil sea. Instead, his hands move to his belt—undoing it, metal clanging and zip sliding down as your eyes break from glaring to stare hungrily at the outline of his cock.
Watching as you walk backwards, the back of your knees hitting the bed before you’re perching—eyes holding his, tip of your tongue sweeping, tracing, as you move further up the bed. The one you’d picked—chosen.
He’s in a trance.
Under a spell when you hook a thumb on either side of your underwear.
It’s not smooth, it doesn’t glide or remove with ease—there’s even a slight kick out of your legs before it flings from your ankle. But, it makes him tighten the hold on his cock. Because it may not be a thing people ever see on TV or in movies, but then they never feel like this.
They don’t feel real, no rawness, no tangling of his trousers he has to step out of as he strokes himself, eyes flicking down to where you’re bare—where you’re glistening—
“Wanna ride you, Frank.”
He sucks in a shuddering breath, hands gripping the base of his cock.
It’s slow, the way he grazes his teeth over his lower lip. “S’that how you wanna pay me, yeah?”
“All I’ve thought about,” you reply, a soft smile greeting him. “Lemme ride you—wanna look at you, wanna watch you come, baby.”
Fuck. He doesn’t fight it.
Instead, letting you guide him, allowing you to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw when he kneels on the bed and groans—because it’s been a long day, querida; he’s not as young as he once was.
“Still know how to be good, though. Don’t you?” you smirk, open mouth leaving a trail down his neck, eyes flicking up when you leave one in the space above his heart.
Hands behind his head, admiring, doing nothing but watching you place your thighs on either side of his as your fingers wrap around his wrists. You pin him, pressing down—aching cock ignored, left to leak against his hip as your lips press to his, over and over, and over until he’s chasing for the feel of them when you pull back.
You only offer a gentle, "I missed you," against the air before you're lining him up, bearing down, sinking, taking him in as he paints a groan against your collarbone.
There’s a beat, maybe two.
Stillness, enveloped entirely by your walls as his mouth wraps itself around your breast, leaving it wet, coated in spit as he groans when you begin to move. Setting a rhythm, slow.
“Not rushing this, Frankie.”
He never wishes you to.
His hands gripping your hips, guiding you. Head falling back onto the sheets as his breath hitches, the sight of you atop him, breasts bouncing—owning him—is a sight he could never grow tired of. One he also never feels worthy of—but he won’t squander, won’t ruin.
Because you’re perfect, head to toe—pussy made for him as it strokes up and down and breaths leave your mouth in short pants.
“Y’so good to me, Frankie. So handsome.”
And he wants to tell you that it's you who is so good—who is nothing but colour in an otherwise grey world. That you’re sunshine and stars, moon and so much more goodness than he can list buried inside of you.
“Go on, querida,” he grunts through clenched teeth, hands squeezing your hips a little tighter as you move a little faster.
As you take a little more. It makes your eyes flutter, parts your lips—watching in nothing short of awe as you use him, as you lose yourself in the moment.
"That's it, just let go. Make yourself feel good.”
It’s something majestic when he sees you nearing release—when he feels you clench and flutter.
“Feels good, y’feel good inside me baby.”
“You need more?”
And you nod.
The green light—the sign—and he doesn’t wait a moment.
Just canting his hips up, making a rush of pleasure spread up his spine. He’s lightheaded, hot—practically dizzy with how good you feel enveloped around him.
The noises filling the air, your slick walls taking him and the sound of skin slapping against skin. It’s drowned by the noises he pulls from you, making a mess of you as your lust-blown eyes land on him.
It almost steals his breath. Thieves it.
Because you’re so pretty, wild—a fucking dream on top of him. All soft and shimmering with perspiration from how good you ride him as he’s bathed in whines, moans and cries of his name.
“You're perfect,” he says, hand clamping on your hip as he shifts, and angles himself before thrusting up into you—watching your eyes squeeze shut. “From your smile to your tight pussy. You know that?”
Studying you as you try to keep the same rhythm. But, you’re nearing your climax—nails digging into his shoulder and neck, half-moons etched there, and he hopes they take hours to disappear.
“Thought about you all week—”
You moan, eyes meeting his. “Thought about you too—missed you. Missed how good you make me feel.”
“Fucked my fist to the thought of you like this. Never thought—fuck—I’d come home to this, baby. Y’fuckin’ perfect.”
Your chin lifts, neck elongating as he spreads his palm across your side, fingers pressing, grasping.
“Love hearing how much you missed me,” he smirks, watching you—thinking nothing but revolving thoughts as to how pretty you look, what a picture you are on top of him—
Then he hears a slam. Heavy boots. A voice he'd rather not hear at all:
“Fish? You home?”
He stops, realisation slamming into him.
A hand drops to the bedsheets, grasping them so hard his knuckles pale, and throb—the bones in his hand aching as he fights shouting and blowing his load right there and then.
The plans he’d made—the ones he’d put into place because you weren’t supposed to be home—all coming back to bite him. How he hadn’t wanted to spend another night alone, another evening in front of the television until you could call and tell him about your day—when he should have. He really fucking should have.
And you’re frozen, hips halted in place—his other hand remaining on your waist, fingers digging in as you both tense, keeping movements paused.
He considers it, the two choices he has and decides.
Leaning more against you—half-grinning, whispering shh as you look at him full of alarm—suddenly aware of the impending actuality that you could be caught like this.
And, then you clench around him. He feels it. Head tilting and eyes narrowing as he takes you in.
"Dirty girl," he mouths, and you look bashful, shy—a look he rarely sees when you’re split open on his cock and the base of him is covered in your slick.
“Fish, where the fuck are you?”
“Getting changed Ben, be a min.”
Your pussy flutters around him at your shout, as he moves to not shout the words towards your ear—feeling you clamp down, muffling a whimper. Another falls as he lifts up further onto his palm, dragging his nose down the valley between your breasts.
He knows you’re close—teetering, a few more thrusts and you’d have unravelled.
Dropping his voice, low—barely above a whisper, “Shh, baby. Or, I won’t let you finish.”
“Fuck,” you hiss. “Can‘t, Frankie—I can’t.”
He nods, finger and thumb holding your chin because he knows you can. Seen you do so much, and been witness to what you’re capable of—before his hand guides your hips to begin moving, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hips.
“Touch yourself for me, querida. Be good for me.”
And you whimper, something akin to his name.
But he’s guiding his mouth away, shouting, “Beers in the fridge, Ben.”
His mouth presses to your chest, hearing the shout from his friend back, but it’s the sound of your fingers on your slick and swollen clit that he tunes into. That he wants to flood his ears. Watching you shiver, shake, tremble from it as you tighten around him, choking his cock as he begins to thrust in and out.
He could keep you here. Should do too.
One week has already been too long. A need to make up for it—to have you pay for all the times you ask him those questions you wait until the lights are usually out for and he’s about to tip over to sleep; have you press yourself against him, nudging your ass into him as you cuddle, but really you want his mouth between your thighs. He should edge you, hang you over the edge of pleasure and watch your eyes dig into him until your lips whisper the word beginning with P.
But he won’t.
Couldn’t.
He likes knowing he pleases you too much.
Your moan bringing him back to it. Seeing how your eyes are clenched shut, trying to keep it behind your teeth. Failing, expletives dropping in breaths before he raises his hand, pressing it to your mouth, muffling it, the moans you have to release before you shake your head and fold into him.
Suddenly, he wants to move the dresser and lock the two of you in here. Wants to let them watch whatever fucking sports they want out there, and him just watch you in here.
You’re his favourite sight, after all. Especially like this. Free, not overthinking or worrying, just present, feeling as good as you should—as good as he always wants you to feel.
And you deserve this.
Hearing the low please fall before he plants his feet down, angling his cock up into you as you let out a muffled gasp. His palm flat to your shoulder, steadying you, as he feels your fingers slide it to your collarbone, resting it, fingers an inch away from the base of your neck.
You flick your eyes open—smothering him in permission, in radiant sunshine and lust, before the softest fucking smirk graces your lips—as his own mouth chokes out your name.
“Not tonight.”
It’s less words, and more a noise.
Because he’s close too—it having risen close to the top. Toes clenched around the sheets, digging in.
But he wants to feel you come first. And it’s there—that familiar sign. Lashes fluttering, gorgeous mouth going tight, slack as you tighten around him, locking up, clamping down as your hips move sloppily and out of rhythm.
You’re so fucking close.
“Shh, be good for me.”
Fingers, trembling and weak, slide around the base of his neck, tugging on his curls that are likely slick with sweat.
“N‘gonna last—let go for me baby.”
“Please.”
“Come for me.”
Spearing up into you with more vigour as you rasp, groan, and hiss—spit coating his fingers as he slides them out, dropping his hand from you as his knuckles press to the mattress as he fucks up into you.
Your body bucks, a cry you bury into his neck—a drag of nails against his scalp—as you come undone around him. Convulsing. Muffled cries vibrating against his pulse.
Frankie is barely able to contain the low growl as his hips stutter—heat raging through him, joined by rabid electricity. It sparking, ripping through, making him both ache and feel alive.
The sight of you and the feel of you drives him to the edge—and then over. A grip on your hip all tight as he thrusts into you one final time, unable to contain the growl. His chest heaves as he spills inside of you, and you tremble against him—panting, all messy and boneless as he pulls you with him as he rolls onto his back.
"You're incredible," he breathes into your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck.
You let out a small laugh, a soft, content sigh escaping your lips. "So are you."
He smiles against your skin, his heart swelling with affection. He may have assumed he'd seen everything, but you—you continue to surprise him, to captivate him in ways he never thought possible. And he wouldn't have it any other way.
Pulling his mouth from yours, feeling you ease him out of you, his hand lightly slaps you on the back of your bare ass.
"I missed you, querida," he murmurs, heart still racing in his chest.
Meeting his gaze, your lips purse. "I know," you whisper, leaning in to capture his lips in a tender kiss. "I'm here now."
“Shame you’ll have to sneak out the back and come in through the front door. Otherwise, you’ll be in here all night—”
His words trail off, a sly grin tugging at his lips as it dawns, rises up over your face and makes your mouth fall open. “Francisco….”
“Shoulda' told me you were coming home. It's boys night.”
Narrowing your eyes, you tick your jaw—spine straightening. “Well, I could stay in here—like this…”
Smirking, he kisses your nose. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby.”
Your mouth opens, a smirk gracing his lips in response as he raises a finger to his mouth, moving and pressing a kiss to your knee. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
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soapskneebrace · 1 year
Text
disquiet comfort
Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Rating: Explicit (18+ only) Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: voyeurism, implied masturbation, John is very lonely and very horny Author's Notes: I tried to get this out yesterday as a birthday present to myself, but I was so dead tired it wasn't gonna happen. Late is better than never! MASTERLIST Now on Ao3!
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John hears the creak of your bed springs the next morning.
He’s not surprised by it—you’re not the first neighbor he’s had, only the first he’s met. He knows how thin the walls are now, and has long passed the point of finding it annoying. He listens as the sound of your taps coming on filters through drywall and insulation at a low hum, thinks he can hear the buzz of an electric toothbrush. He wonders if you can hear his razor going as he trims his mustache.
It feels nice to have this odd company, he thinks. The two of you, going through the same motions. It strikes an old, abandoned chord—he hasn’t woken up with anyone in a long, long time.
He puts his razor down and squashes the thought flat. His neighbor—his kind, pretty neighbor—does not need him to think like that. Even if your eyes had traveled the length and breadth of his body before making it to his face.
He meets his own eyes in the mirror, giving himself a flat look. He isn’t used to civilian life. Answering the door shirtless had probably been some sort of faux pas. If you’d been looking, you’d probably been more disconcerted than anything else. That’s the long and short of it, he tells himself, because there’s no room for anything else.
John is never very good at being home. The things that keep him alive out there—hyperawareness, sharply defined mission parameters, strict operational regimens—are, at home, needs that go unmet. Liverpool is not a popular terrorist hotbed he needs to pay attention to. He isn’t going to die if he forgets to buy milk. And he can only go to the gym so often.
But he needs something to do, or he’s going to go crazy.
So today he does on leave what he dreams of in the field: he has his first of two showers for the day, makes himself breakfast in his own kitchen, and turns on the telly for the noise. It’s some dumb morning show, with too-clean hosts shilling for weird kitchen tools. Easy to ignore.
Inevitably, he thinks about Mexico. About Shepherd. About Chicago, and Hassan, and Laswell telling him he needs to get some goddamn rest before he kills himself trying to stop a war that isn’t even happening.
“Yet,” he’d ground out.
She’d just stared at him with dagger-sharp eyes and told him to go home.
John bites into his toast harder than a grown man told to take a fucking vacation should, and turns up the volume.
Three soft, polite taps sound on the wall.
John blinks. Remembers the previous morning, what he’d said to you. The remote is in his hand before he thinks about it, the mute button depressed beneath a quick thumb.
The quiet is like the end of a gunfight. Unsteady.
He waits. He doesn’t know what for. The silence stretches. He notices a shaft of sunlight coming through his window, little motes of dust dancing in the air, as he looks around his own flat for some reason. It’s habit—surveying a battlefield after it’s been passed over by violence.
He looks back to the space above the TV. Rises carefully from his seat. Goes over to the wall.
Raps his knuckles twice against it. All good?
Immediately there are two taps in response. Yes, thanks! And the break of the still silence is like a soap bubble popping. John breathes, and then realizes he hadn’t been.
There are no further knocks. It disappoints him, but he does not expect them. It’s just a friendly interaction between neighbors.
It doesn’t matter. It feels like something has unknotted in his chest.
-
He feels almost like a voyeur as the day goes on. He hears when you work in your kitchen, notes the muffled clang of a pan on the stove. He hears your dishwasher run later, and briefly wonders at the utility of using it for so few dishes.
You’re on the phone at one point, but he can’t make out the conversation. He only half-tries to, but the even the indistinct, low sound of your voice is comforting. It reminds him of late nights in the barracks, listening to bunk mates talk while trying not bother anyone else. The closest to domestic comfort John has really ever had.
You turn music on at one point, something soulful and a little moody. John thinks it might be Marvin Gaye, but he’s not sure. The urge to knock on your door and ask is a strong one, but he doesn’t think you need a lonely old soldier bothering you in the middle of your day. At least, not any more than he already has. And before he can figure it out for himself, he hears you exclaim “Oh, shit!” and the volume immediately drops.
He has to smile at that. It’s a rare luxury for him to experience these days, that kind of consideration.
Something in his chest gives a little jump when he hears two knocks on his wall again. Sorry, he thinks you’re saying.
He knocks twice back. All good.
He should not feel so invigorated by this exchange.
You leave the house a little after noon—he hears your door open and close, and the jingle of keys followed by footsteps quickly retreating. Then, your noise is gone.
John and silence do not go well together. Too quickly, the quiet closes in, and John thinks if he stays in his own home a minute longer he’ll suffocate from it—so he takes your cue, and leaves. He isn’t really sure what to do, but he has to do it anywhere else.
-
He gets home after you do, sore from the weight racks and full on pub food and a few pints. The sky is dark and the sidewalks are illuminated in yellow lamplight, and the air hums with the wind of cars driving in the distance. He sees your window lit up bright and warm, and the relief it fills him with is disproportionate to how anyone should feel knowing that their neighbor is home.
Where did you go during the day, he finds himself wondering? What are you making for dinner? What will you do once you’ve eaten?
John realizes he’s standing there staring at your window, and scowls at himself. He’s a fucking creep, that’s what he is. A pretty neighbor talks to him once, fucking welcomes him home like any nice person would, and suddenly he’s pining like a stupid little schoolboy.
He goes inside. Hears you in your kitchen again and convinces himself he’s ignoring it. Tries to find something to stay awake with. Has one cigar more than he’d planned for the day, and thinks at least he’ll get to go out and get more sooner—something to do with the wealth of time he didn’t ask to receive.
He’s already in bed, second shower finished, when he hears activity on the other side of the wall. He hadn’t really been falling asleep, but he’s wide awake now, and feeling like a pervert as he listens to your bath come on.
He hasn’t gone to bed with anyone in a long time, either.
John lays there in the dark, eyes open, and tries to ignore how easy it is to breathe as the water runs muffled only a few feet away. He doesn’t acknowledge the fact that he can hear again the tiny buzz of a toothbrush a little after the flow shuts off. He listens to the creak of your bed and does not think about how warm your skin must be, how softly the sheets must fall around your body.
He closes his eyes. He tries to sleep. He isn’t thinking about listening to your breathing beside him. He isn’t drifting off imagining the smell of your hair on his pillow…
He hears a tiny buzz again. Brushing your teeth a second time? No, it’s closer now…
Oh. OH.
John’s eyes fly open. Your bed creaks again. He is rigid under the covers, every muscle tensed. He breathes consciously, testing the limits of his diaphragm, counting to three between each inhale and exhale. He is desperate that his pulse remain even, that his blood refrain from rushing through his ears and other parts.
A small sound. Breathy. Low.
John slaps his hand against his thigh before it can move any further inward. He curls his fingers around the hem of his briefs, grips the fabric as if it’s going to save his damn life. Clenches his other hand into a fist, digs his nails into his palm.
What expression is on your face? What is the scent of your toothpaste on your breath?
What angle are you holding that vibrator at?
You give a low moan again.
His breath shallows out. John considers giving the wall a tap but dismisses the option immediately and ruthlessly. He will take his secret audience to the fucking grave. And he’d shoot himself before denying you this—and, he thinks shamefully, denying himself this, too.
He should get up. He should go into his living room and give you privacy. Your bed creaks again. He remembers his own mattress tends to the same disruption. He can’t move, because it would effect the same outcome as a knock—you’d know exactly how thin the walls are, know that he’s right there and that he’s only leaving after he’s already gotten an earful.
Another sound, higher. John isn’t sure he’s breathing anymore. What did your skin feel like? Would his fingers fit you better than that toy? Would his cock?
He thinks he feels a nail break skin. He tries to think of anything other than the throb of blood and heat between his legs, between your legs.
You give a sudden, high-pitched cry, one that abruptly cuts off.
John knows you’ve buried your face in your pillow to quiet yourself. His entire body twinges with the disappointment of it. He breathes so lowly as to be silent, to give space to your noise, and waits.
But the buzzing stops. Your bed shifts again, and then all is silent.
Wait. What?
Was that it?
The silence stretches. John does not move. That was it.
John does not think about how much longer he could’ve made that last. He does not think about teasing you with his hands, his lips, his tongue. Does not picture your legs hung up high on his hips.
His cock aches. He ignores it.
The gym tomorrow. And then a run. Maybe a drive to the coast, and a dip in the cold ocean.
It wouldn’t be enough, but it had to be something. John isn’t going to get a minute of sleep, and he’s going to be hearing that cut-off moan for a long, long time.
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4K notes · View notes
akystaracer22 · 2 months
Text
Maybe in Another Life We Would Hate Each Other a Little Less
A chance encounter sheds a little light on Adam that Lucifer couldn't have predicted, leading to a moment he thought he'd never have with the man.
Notes (Aka my thoughts while writing):
God is a dick and I wanna kill xem
Adam folds his wings like a bird because monkey see monkey do
Both these guys were traumatised by the same person and we don’t talk about it enough
Probably Guitarduck/Adamsapple but in a fledgeling platonic kinda way
Refer to my ref for what Adam looks like!
I listened to Rät while writing this and- it kind of fits Adam???
Jesus is God’s favourite child and it fucking shows
How tf did this become a sickfic????
Lucifer gets the experience of being me whenever I make the impulsive move to boot up Char.ai and talk to literally any of the AI’s, get aunt agonied bitch.
Oh my god Adam has middle child syndrome.
Can you tell I attended a Christian school when I was younger???
Adam was hiding just how fucked over he was from the wing rot but he’s not having a good time in this. Most of the latter half of the oneshot is him dazed from both the one set of wing rot and the feeling of someone touching his wing.
Shit emergency wing HC for Adam ig: His wings grow warmer corresponding to his mood, as in when he is in general happier his wings radiate warmth and when he’s in a foul mood they’re just normal or even a little cooler.
In saying that yes Lucifer’s wings glow when he’s happy
Word Count: 1902
Fic under cut!
“Fucking- Shit!”
Lucifer paused, looking behind him and backing up to peek through the crack in the door. This ought to be good.
Sure enough, he was right, this was entertaining.
Adam was ranting again.
Honestly it was a nearly daily thing by this point, probably the only good thing about his daughters decision to let Adam stay at the hotel. He loved his daughter, he really did, by Adam was… Adam.
Lucifer knew he was a lost cause.
But still, didn’t mean Lucifer couldn’t tease the hell out of the man since he was stuck down here with the rest of them.
Lucifer’s smirk at watching the first man rant quickly died as he took in the guys appearance, he looked…
“What is wrong with your wings.”
Adam jerked and twisted around, scowling at him and oops he said that out loud didn’t he.
“Piss off!”
Lucifer, in his typical fashion, did not piss off and instead entered the room, “No seriously what is wrong with your wings.”
Now that he was closer, the king was certain they didn’t look like that a week ago. The feathers, while already having looked like a wreck were duller and the colours seemed almost… muted. Ignoring the already horrific state Adam’s wing were in, they shouldn’t look THAT bad so why…
“Wait-”
“I said-!”
“Have you not been preening you wings?”
Adam went silent, staring wide eyed at Lucifer much to the kings confusion. A beat passed, then two.
“What the fuck is preening?”
Lucifer blinked, he wasn’t serious, was he?
Surely not.
.
.
.
“By the heavens you’re dead serious.”
“What the fuck are you talking about.”
Lucifer debated whether he should explain it or not. On one hand, it’s Adam. On the other, Wings were a serious thing. He’d even seen Husker cleaning his wings from time to time, for Adam to just not know…
“You know what? For once my hatred of you is outweighed by my need to show you what’s what,” The fallen seraphim huffed, closing the door behind him and summoning a chair to block it from the outside so Adam couldn’t escape. “Come on we’re fixing this travesty.”
“What part of fuck off you do you not understand?!” The first man snapped, his wings mantling as Lucifer rifled through the closet, dragging out one of the many jars of oil he’d had the foresight to put in most of the rooms, perks of being a guy with basic common sense.
“The part where you’re being stupid and my daughter started rubbing off on me,” Lucifer shot back, his own wings serving well to corral Adam towards the bed, “How you don’t know how to preen your wings is beyond me but that’s ending today.”
“Again- what are you blabbering about.”
Lucifer paused, hand hovering just over Adams feathers. Preening someone elses wings was… intimate. It was something reserved for friends, family, lovers, and stuff… not enemies. Was he really going to just go ahead and clean Adams wings for him?
The seraphim’s eyes flicked over to where the ruined wing was draped over the bed. The wing was already in bad enough shape as it was, if he didn’t do this then wing rot was bound to hit it at some point and-
He didn’t really have a choice, not if he didn’t want to watch someone die of wing rot again.
Adam went stiff under Lucifers touch as he started work on the mans functioning wing, it was the easiest to work with, not the mention the safest to start with. The injured wing would no doubt be sensitive to any interaction, so better to start small.
Ish.
Adam shuddered as Lucifer moved between feather’s, periodically reapplying preening oil as he went. He was right as usual, looking closer most of the barbules had been separated and needed to be locked together again. Grimacing, the seraphim gently scratched out what looked like dried blood from where it was hidden in the base of Adam’s Secondary coverts.
“What are you doing?” Adam whispered, his voice for once lacking it’s usual bite. Lucifer paused for a second in confusion before Adam’s wing flexed back into Lucifer’s hand, “Don’t stop!”
“Okay okay!” The king huffed, working on his primaries, “What I’m doing is called preening. It’s something beings with feathers do to clean them.”
“Like birds?”
“Yeah, like birds,” Lucifer agreed, “The oil helps take care of bacteria, but you got to realign the feathers, get rid of the ones ready to moult, and fix the feathers that are out of sorts, though you can just shake the feathers to do that part quicker.”
“Mhm”
Lucifer shifted over to finally tackle the ruined wing and froze, a chill slinking down his spine. As he took in the state of the tattered appendage.
“Shit.”
This close the seraphim could see the red pimples under the thinning layer of feathers surrounding the injury, it was wing rot in its early stages.
“What?”
“Nothing!” Lucifer dove his fingers into the scapulars to shut Adam up while he discreetly conjured up some disinfectant for the rot, if he’s lucky he can treat it now and just get Charlie or Vaggie to deal with it now, knock it over the head before it becomes so visible the others can notice. He ignored Adam’s breath hitching as the seraphim started, just as predicted, the wing was sensitive from the damage done to it.
“But seriously you need to do this more, this is just horrific,” Lucifer grumbled to himself, not really caring if Adam listened, “Honestly I’m surprised this hasn’t happened to you before!”
“Mmmm tried once… I think?”
Lucifer, glanced at Adam’s face, it was pointed away from him, but he could still sense Adam’s attention was on him, “Yeah?”
“Saw the birds doin’ it and tried to copy ‘em,” Adam continued at the prompt, spreading his other wing, “It hurt so I stopped, didn’ know there was a method to this shit or someth’n.”
“You… nobody even tried to teach you?”
“I think they thought I knew,” Adam chuckled sourly, “I think they thought I fu’kin knew how to just- do this. ‘Cause I was meant to right?!” Another laugh, “I bit the fu’kin apple so I shou’da known this kinda shit! Apple of knowl’dge or what’ver.”
Lucifer, wisely, didn’t say anything, he just kept working on Adam’s ruined wing, applying the disinfectant, and fixing what few feathers were still healthy and removing the rest. If it was anyone else in this situation he’s wrap the wing and tell them to rest but… it was still Adam that was in this mess.
“I- why didn’t they teach me? Luci why didn’t they teach me this shit?”
“I… don’t know,” Lucifer replied carefully, deliberately skipping over the butchering of his name that sounded way to close to a nickname for comfort, “Come on, up you get he still got the underside to finish then I’ll be out.”
Adam grumbled but complied, sitting up a little to turn around as Lucifer summoned a pillow for Adam to lean back on. Rolling his neck Lucifer got to work on the auxiliary feathers, the lighter feathers were definitely in better shape, but then again that wasn’t exactly a high bar, and they still were looking rough.
“Jesus was prob’bly taught how to preen himself.”
Lucifer’s shoulders hitched as his wings tucked in against his back abruptly. Jesus… was a rough topic. For all sinners talked about him, Lucifer never met him but from the sinners around that time… it was never a fun conversation. Pretentious once kings cursing his name while hopeless commoners lined up for the exorcists blade, faithful until the end that Jesus would let them into heaven if they just believed in him.
… there was a pattern in there, wasn’t there. Like father like son, he supposed.
“Jesus was made from me and yet he’s God’s favourite fukin kid, course he’d fucking know how to preen,” Adam continued unimpeded, “Doesn’t matter if I was Gods first- Jesus was always fucking better than me.”
Okay! Lucifer was in no way prepared for this conversation, but he highly doubted Adam was even going to remember this conversation, so he just focused on the wings.
“…Luci, do they all hate me?”
Lucifer sincerely wished Anthony, or just anyone really would bust down the door at this moment, at least then he could get himself out of this conversation.
“Why do you think that?” the seraphim deflected, moving onto Adam’s good wing and going through his coverts.
“Because none of them ever fucking did this,” Adam waved his hand haphazardly before letting it rest on his chest, “You’re my enemy but you’re fixin’ my fu’kin wings because I’m too stupid and useless to just figure it out myself.”
“Not useless,” The words left Lucifer’s lips without his input, damn himself to double hell, but it managed to shut up Adam, so he kept on the thought train, “You’re not useless you were just never taught, it’s not your fault heaven doesn’t think.”
“Jesus-”
“Is God’s prodigal son and shouldn’t be counted.”
Adam huffed and leaned back on the pillow, “Why’re you good at this?”
“I’ve had aeon’s to learn, and over a decade of putting it in practice,” Lucifer thought about his daughter, a small smile making it’s way into his expression, she really was the best thing to happen to him.
He finished up with Adams good wing and moved onto finishing off the wrecked one. Applying the disinfectant to the infected spots on the underside before reaching for the preening oil again.
“Y’know, maybe in another life we would’ve hated each other less.”
Lucifer just laughed and started preening the wing, yeah right, maybe in a reality where the apple incident never happened, “You’re sick Adam, feverish even.”
“And you’re a wife-stealer.”
“Should have been better in bed.”
“Fuck you,”
Lucifer stuck his tongue out at the first man, earning a tired chuckle. Then the seraphim blinked at the sudden warmth radiating out from the feathers. What in the-?
“Oh… they haven’t done that in a while.”
Lucifer blinked up at Adam who was staring at his feathers in amazement, “Ackde-whuh?”
Adam leaned back and closed his eyes, “Yeah… sometimes they just get warm all of a sudden it’s weird. Hasn’t happened in a while though. Apparently it sometimes happened when Lute was around? I dunno why.”
Lucifer blinked a couple of times before letting out a small “huh” and running a hand through the ruined wing, it was definitely warmer.
Sighing, Lucifer let his hand fall away despite the wing chasing it, “Alright well your wings are definitely cleaner now, so I’ll be out of your hair now.”
The seraphim stood up to leave through the balcony, opening the window and almost stepping out when Adam called after him, still sounding exhausted.
“I can see why they left me for you.”
Lucifer paused, before smiling sardonically and looking back at Adam, who looked like he might have just passed out.
“Tell me that when you’re not delusional from illness and I might believe you.”
With that, Lucifer stepped out and left for his own room… though, if Adam woke up to a small plush duck on his nightstand, that was between Lucifer and the god that cast him down.
But there is one thing Lucifer will admit.
Maybe Charlie wasn't wrong about thinking Adam could be redeemed.
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boogybk · 26 days
Text
summertime
content: femme milf/pool boy butch, age gap, dacryphilia, dom femme/sub butch, face-sitting, humiliation, infidelity, teasing, titty suckin, thigh riding
8.9k words + ao3 link
This pool that Jesse’s cleaning is in such a poor state that he doubts it’s been used for years. It’s indoor and the humidity inside is insane. Jesse’s been moving sluggishly along the pool's edge, repeatedly having to clean his glasses from the fog. The water would be murky if the sun wasn’t shining through the glass ceiling. It instead looks emerald green from the filmy coat of algae on top. Jesse scoops it up with the net and launches it into a bucket.
It’s sweltering in here, but Jesse figures he shouldn’t be so shocked. It’s a record-breaking summer and it hasn’t been pulling its punches.
Jesse wipes the sweat from his forehead and assesses the pool. It’s going to take a lot more work than the man he spoke to let on, but it’s in a nice, enclosed pool house, so it won’t be too bad. He hasn’t met the client in person though, and he isn’t sure what to expect.
It’s a nice house in a swanky neighborhood, though Jesse has seen nicer and swankier. He’s still impressed when he walks up to the front door of his client’s house. It’s a beautiful, massive estate that flanks a nearby river. When Jesse walks up, he catches his unkempt reflection and winces at himself. He suddenly feels horribly underdressed and before he can internally wallow in embarrassment, the front door opens.
“Oh, hey darlin’,” she says, smiling brighter than the sun outside. “Were you just working on that pool? My husband didn’t tell me you were comin’ today— Christ, I’m all out of sorts. C’mon in.”
Jesse remains on the porch, blinking, staring, and wondering if this is reality. This woman has the biggest tits Jesse has ever seen in his entire short life. He sends a prayer up to anyone listening and crosses the threshold.
“Hey— uh, miss?” He mentally slaps himself as he comes up short with her name.
This is an extravagantly nice house. Jesse doubts this woman has a job, though, Jesse wouldn’t make her have a job if she was his girl. She must spend most of her time maintaining this place— everything from the glossy, oiled hardwood floors to the fresh, fragrant linens in every room. She’s walking too fast for him to take everything in, but he gets the idea.
“Oh— I didn’t tell you my name!” She whirls around suddenly and Jesse has to screech to a halt to avoid faceplanting in her tits. “I’m sorry honey, I’m Melissa, it’s really nice to meet you.”
Jesse is rendered mute and barely manages to grab her hand and shake it. He croaks out a weak, “Yeah, you too,” and winces at himself once she turns away.
Melissa leads Jesse through her opulent house while chattering nonstop. Jesse tries to pay attention— really, he does, but Melissa’s walking in a way that’s making her a—
“Jesse?”
Jesse’s eyes immediately snap up. He’s greeted with the sight of Melissa’s cloudy blue eyes. She’s close enough for him to smell her the next time he breathes in. She’s a little sweaty (it is unreasonably hot) but under that, there’s an intoxicatingly wet garden scent. Jesse wants to bottle her smell and dab it on his pillow every night before bed.
“Yes, miss?”
Melissa’s pencil-thin eyebrows fly up and she stifles a shocked laugh. “Oh! Please drop the miss. You’re making me feel old.”
She’s smiling, crow’s feet adorning her eyes, and Jesse is rendered mute— or, he wishes he was when he says, “You don’t look that old.”
Melissa’s smile doesn’t falter. “I’m really not,” she says, shooting Jesse a look that makes him feel like he’s getting let in on a secret. “I’m in my forties. So, not doing too bad!”
Jesse bites back the urge to blurt: How old? Have you had kids? Can I suck on your tits? Instead, a hoarse sort of mmm! makes its way out.
Melissa turns and leads Jesse into a room off to the side. This is the West wing of this house (this place is big enough to have fucking wings) and Jesse already feels himself getting lost. The thought of having to ask to be walked out has his face beet-red.
Melissa herds him into an office and sits on the other side of a grand mahogany desk in the center of the room. Although the whole space screams wealth, it’s a bit on the sleazy side with the dark, wood-paneled walls and warm, orange lamps scattered about. Jesse can smell the faint fragrance of wood in every inhale. There’s Melissa’s floral perfume on top of it too.
Jesse gathers himself and clears his throat. “I wanted to tell you that the job is going to take several days.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I figured it would— I don’t know why my husband told you otherwise, I’m really sorry about that.”
Jesse shrugs. “Shit happens— oh, sorry.” Jesse looks away, all too aware of how visibly flustered he is.
Melissa lets out a groan so despairing that Jesse feels compelled to look up. She’s resting her head on her hands, staring into the growth patterns on the oiled wood. Her blonde hair is falling over her shoulders in a soft, golden curtain.
“What’s wrong?” Jesse feels ridiculously out of place— too conscious of his khaki shorts and the chlorine, chemical scent that seems to cling to him like a stray pet.
Melissa waves a dismissive hand and Jesse catches sight of a set of cherry-red nails. He’s always been drawn to long acrylics like that. They feel good when dragged over his shoulders. They feel like fire when traced along his side. He could go on.
“God, that man,” she raises her head and those perfect lips have adopted a pout. “I really shouldn’t drag his name through the mud to some kid.”
Jesse feels the impulse to jump in with, “I’m twenty-one.”
Melissa trails off before gathering herself and letting out another light, elegant laugh. “Oh, you could’ve convinced me otherwise. You’re a handsome young man too.”
Jesse pretends to ignore that last bit and miserably fails. He’s sure that Melissa is just fucking with him now. Things like this happen in porn and the occasional wet dream, so Jesse forces himself to remain professional. An alluring, yet bored housewife is no match for him, he tells himself.
“Well, I just wanted to let you know.” Jesse turns away and hesitates before leaving. Melissa makes no move to stop him as he walks out.
After a moment of walking, he realizes he should have asked to be walked out, but as he turns to head back, Melissa is already there, sliding a manicured hand over his narrow shoulders.
“Jesse, I have to let you back out,” she says. Silly Jesse.
“Oh, thanks.”
“Were you too embarrassed to ask me?”
Jesse can’t bring himself to look at her and focuses on the ornately patterned rugs they walk over. “Kind of, yeah.”
Melissa makes a sympathetic hum and the nails on Jesse’s shoulder begin to wander higher. “Poor baby— don’t ever be embarrassed. This house is ridiculous. This is what I get for marrying into money though.” Melissa barks a laugh and guides Jesse on.
Every room seems to have a different candle burning. One room near the front of the house is scented like pine, the same color as the evergreen walls of the room. Another is light, linen, matching the array of blankets spread across the couches.
Jesse finds himself unable to bear the silence and asks, “Did you decorate this place?”
Melissa looks at him and he feels obligated to maintain eye contact. She seems taken aback. “I didn’t think you would point that out. Or— shit, even notice it.”
Jesse finds himself smiling and unable to stifle it. “It just looks really nice in here. I like all the candles.”
Melissa looks like she could cry at any moment. “Oh! You noticed my candles! I could cry,” she says. “I just love playing with the layout of the home while my husband’s at work (Jesse doesn’t miss the way she hasn’t mentioned his name). It gets boring all the way out here.”
The estate is very far from the city. Jesse has to figure out a plan for where he’s going to stay overnight. It would be good to get a motel room in town and just finish everything the next morning. It’s a good plan, but the thought of figuring out a ride has him nauseous. Melissa must catch onto his unease because she asks, “Oh, hon, are you alright? You look all worried.”
“Oh,” Jesse tries to wave her off, silently telling her it’s okay, it’s fine.
“No, what is it?” She’s taken on a different tone. Jesse recognizes that tone. Anyone with a mom would recognize that. And Jesse’s protests shut off and he can’t muster the energy to do anything but obey.
Melissa huffs a sigh and says, “That’s better— now just tell me what it is.”
Jesse relents because he can’t imagine himself doing anything else. “I’ll need to work on it tomorrow. I should finish it by noon, but I don’t have a ride into town to get a motel room.”
Melissa puts a shocked hand over her heart. “There’s no need for that— you can stay here tonight.”
Jesse must look beside himself because she continues, “I guess that must sound odd. I mean, we always allow people working on the house to stay over if they need it.” She offers him a radiant smile. “I promise there isn’t anything strange going on that you need to worry about.”
Jesse wants to lunge at the opportunity. God, he’s literally salivating at the thought of just sleeping in the same house as this woman. Instead, he clears his throat and says, “It’s alright, I just need to find a ride.”
Melissa rolls her eyes and puts her hands on his shoulders in exasperation. It’s only now that Jesse realizes that she’s taller than him. It isn’t much— they’re basically standing eye to eye, but it’s just enough for Jesse to feel it. Her nails dig into his shoulders and he wonders if he’s imagining it.
She says in a tone that commands obedience, “No, I insist. There’s a spare room near mine, you can just stay there if you’d like.”
Jesse opens his mouth to keep protesting, but Melissa gives him this look, and all his excuses die in his throat.
Melissa must spot his defeat because she claps her hands together and smiles again. “Good! Do you think you can get any more done today? I can get you something to eat?”
Jesse looks outside through a frosted glass window. It’s quickly getting dark. Jesse hadn’t realized how long he spent outside today, hauling equipment and treating the massive pool, and exhaustion hits him like a freight train.
Despite himself, and the fact that this is too good to be true, Jesse nods and politely says, “Yeah, that’d be great. Thank you.”
Melissa is beaming at this point. He doesn’t think she could look any happier if she tried. “Wonderful! Here— I’ll show you where your room is and give you time to rest, wash up, whatever you need to do. I can come get you when dinner’s ready.”
Jesse nods and allows himself to be led. He really is close to Melissa’s room— she points it out as they walk, a door adjacent to his. He gets pushed gently into the room and Melissa leaves before he can say thank you.
------
Jesse can’t shake the feeling that he’s intruding on the family’s space as he settles in for the night. The whole experience continues feeling surreal as he robotically goes through his nighttime routine.
Dinner was a more casual affair than what he expected. There was no husband in sight and his questioning was rewarded with long, despairing sighs.
Melissa said from opposite Jesse, “That man,” she was grumbling, not looking at Jesse, and glaring into her food, “He is gone so often I feel like I’ll start forgetting what he looks like.”
Jesse didn’t know what to say. He settled on, “I’m sorry to hear that,” and cringed at himself after saying it.
Melissa waved him away again before spearing some vegetables. “It’s alright. I get bored though— which is why I always invite people to stay over.”
At that moment, Jesse kind of wanted to say that he was a serial killer. He supposed he understood it though. “You really don’t mind?”
“Of course not,” Melissa said. “I appreciate what you do and— yeah! You know.”
Jesse instantly became flustered and was vaguely aware of his face burning. He always tends to blush hard and fast. Melissa reached across the table so suddenly that Jesse found himself mute. The cool back of her hand briefly rested on Jesse’s cheek before she said, “Aw, you’re a little hot.”
Immediately, all the blood in Jesse’s brain traveled South and it took him gritting his teeth to not start straight down her cleavage. She was leaning over the table, the neckline of her blue sundress dipping low, her white bra visible in the gap. Jesse was painfully aware of how long it was taking him to respond, but he couldn’t form a coherent thought with Melissa staring at him like that.
Finally, she moved back, still smiling, and broke the silence. “I’m just messin’ with you— not about the appreciation of course.”
Jesse managed a weak laugh and couldn’t bring himself to look at Melissa until dinner was finished. She rose first, tossing a mass of blonde curls over her shoulder.
“Well, I can show you back to your room?”
“Uh— yeah, please do, Miss.” Jesse scrambled to stand with her, still feeling very in over his head as he basked in her presence. It was hard not to bask. Melissa grinned at the sight of him stumbling over himself, though it didn’t carry any judgment.
As they left the dining room, Melissa looked over her shoulder. Her face was half-hidden in the shadows cast by the low light, and her eyes were invisible in the darkness. She turned fully and said, “What’d I tell you about calling me Miss?” She was smiling and when Jesse failed to answer, she turned with a playful eye roll. “Makes me feel old.”
Jesse followed her back to his room and has strangely felt like a child getting cooed over since then.
The room he’s in rather, the entire wing of the house— is decorated more lavishly than anything he thinks he’s seen in his entire life. Less pictures are hanging here, instead making room for plants in ornate vases. It’s pitch-dark inside and the only lights that are on are dim, warm sconces. Jesse feels like he’s navigating by candlelight, but he can’t bring himself to turn on the overhead lighting.
Melissa’s room is right there but he knows to keep himself in check. A little, insistent voice is in the back of his mind begging him to explore. Part of him hopes to just stumble across Melissa, preferably in some state of undress, but his unease keeps him from chasing that train of thought.
The room is all dark-paneled wood and rich-colored textiles. Jesse figures that the bed skirt probably cost more than his nicest coat.
The room only holds his attention for so long before he gives in to the temptation to leave. Melissa absolutely knows he’s attracted to her— she carries herself with the confidence of a woman who’s never had to really try for anything. Jesse wonders if he’d make it easy for her if he even has a chance. He can’t tell if Melissa is the type to tease and string people along. He’s always been a bad judge of character.
Still, Jesse decides to leave, even with the uncertainty.
The long hallway ends in an open space used as a library. There’s a balcony and a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the grounds. Jesse can see the pool house and— he squints and moves so close to the window that the surface begins to fog with his breath.
Is he imagining that? Jesse comes impossibly closer to the pane and if he focuses, he can spot someone in the pool house.
It’s too dark to see well, but Jesse assumes it’s Melissa down there.
She’s standing near one of the glass-paneled walls, wearing a flowy, sheer nightgown. Even from up here, Jesse can tell that if he was closer, he’d be able to see far too much. Is it an invitation? She must know how visible she is. Jesse can picture it now— Melissa growing bored and restless while alone in her room. He imagines her thinking back on dinner and how he stared so openly, maybe she picked up on his attraction, maybe she’s waiting for him down there.
The thought of that has Jesse’s mind made up. On the off chance that this is something calculated on her part, he would be a fool to not jump at this opportunity.
The rest of the house is completely dark and Jesse is forced to mostly feel his way down the grand staircase. Plush rugs muffle his footsteps and the tapestries adorning the walls seem to absorb all noise. He’s sure he would be able to hear a pin drop here. Then, it hits him that she’s always alone here, in this massive, empty house. It’s decorated and stuffed with comfortable furniture, but it still feels eerie and sterile as he advances. It reminds him of an open house, decorated and filled only for show.
When Jesse makes it to the foyer and leaves to house, the cold night air hits him like a slap. It’s somehow still humid, so he’s sweating by the time he reaches the poolhouse. Now that he’s here, he can partially see through the haze of condensation on the glass.
It is Melissa, which doesn’t surprise him, but the nightgown she’s in is far more sheer than he expected. As she moves along the wall checking on the many plants set there, he can see the outline of her body. He’s hidden, so it’s too easy to just check her out from the safety of being unseen.
Melissa’s tits are unconfined by a bra and they’re straining against the thin fabric at her neckline. His eyes drift lower, tracing the outline of her nipples and settling on her stomach, particularly that soft swell against the gown right above her cunt. He is suddenly hit with the urge to kiss her there, where she’s the softest.
He remains there for a moment, just watching her go through her motions. He wonders if this is a nightly occurrence and when it started. Was she so unbearably lonely that she stopped sleeping? Her nails gingerly trace the leaves of each plant as she tends them in a way that feels intimate. She’s been doing this for a long time.
Finally, Jesse decides to go inside. The door squeaks when he opens it, so Melissa is already walking up to him when he enters.
“Oh, Jesse?” She sounds groggy like she hasn’t spoken since dinner.
“Hey, sorry,” he says, realizing that he has no reason to be down here. He gestures to his window. “I just saw you. Are you okay?”
She looks pensive as she thinks of an answer. It’s dark in here despite the lights. Those need to be replaced too, apparently, and Jesse wonders if she’ll ask him to do that as well. He would.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she says unconvincingly. “I come out here whenever I can’t sleep just to, y’know, spend time with the plants. I’m sure that makes me sound very sane.”
Jesse shrugs and pretends to be less endeared to her as he is. “I don’t know, I think it’s the same as having a bunch of cats or something.”
That thankfully gets a laugh out of her. “Well, those old spinsters are usually the only ones with all the cats. I don’t think I’m quite that bad yet, also, not a spinster because of the husband,” she says and frowns thoughtfully. “Feels like it sometimes, I guess.”
“Because he’s always gone?” Jesse can’t believe he actually just said that out loud— but Melissa just sighs and says a defeated, “Yes,” before sitting at the edge of the pool. Jesse waits until she looks back up at him to sit with her.
Melissa stays quiet for a moment and stares into the water. It looks less murky in the darkness, though Jesse knows that there’s a layer of algae there. If he squints, he can see their reflections, sitting silently side-by-side.
“I dislike sleeping alone,” she says eventually, still staring into the water.
Jesse doesn’t know what to say, so he says, “I’m sorry,” and Melissa waves him away.
“It’s okay, you didn’t come here to comfort me.”
Jesse shrugs. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Melissa laughs at that and it’s a hearty one. She throws her head back, exposing her throat and a delicate silver chain around her neck. Jesse didn’t notice that before.
“That’s fair, it’s hard to sleep in that house knowing that it’s only you in such a big space.” Melissa looks at him again and Jesse finds the eye contact to be less grating than it was. “What type of place do you live?”
“Just an apartment,” Jesse says, leaving out all the shitty details. He’s abruptly gotten the urge to impress her.
“Oh come on,” she shakes her head and casually places a hand on Jesse’s thigh. “Tell me! I’m bored!”
Jesse’s laugh sounds less nervous this time around, even though every cell of his body is focused on the hand on his thigh. “It’s just in the city, it’s not the best, but I get to live alone, which is nice.”
“Oh, you prefer living alone?”
Jesse nods. “Yeah.” He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as high as he thinks.
Melissa casually, quickly squeezes his thigh before taking her hand away and Jesse immediately misses the warmth. Before he can dwell on why she squeezed his thigh or touched him at all in the first place, Melissa continues, “I’ve never enjoyed it. In college, I was so upset when I had to finally move out of my roommate’s place. I got married pretty quickly, so I think I was only living by myself for two or three years.”
“What’d you study?” It feels like they’ve regressed into small talk, but Jesse’s completely tuned in. There’s nothing in the deathly quiet poolhouse save for them.
Melissa smiles and sighs before running her nails through her hair. It looks silky soft and parts for her fingers like water. “Accounting. I’ve always been good with numbers and I wanted to be a CPA.”
An unspoken but now I’m here hangs in the tense silence that follows.
Jesse takes the bait (or at least, what he assumes is bait) and asks, “Are you happy?” It seems obvious. Melissa’s turned away, looking down, and heaves a sigh.
“No,” she says, then turns to face him. “Not really.”
Jesse doesn’t know what to say. His hands are folded respectfully in his lap and he raises them, sitting poised to touch her should she ask him. “What can I do?” He asks, overcome by his desire to help.
Melissa’s hand lands lightly on his shoulder this time. She squeezes him once and then rubs little circles over his shirt. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything.”
Jesse feels his face bloom bright red when he says, “I want to though,” and he prays that what he means gets across. He’s too nervous to ask her please take it out on me outright.
Melissa’s grip tightens and she laughs; it sounds a little disbelieving. “Jesse, what are you saying?”
“Uh—” he clears his throat and tries to inch away from her, but she grips him tighter. “Oh, I just am trying to say if you need anything, I can try to help you.”
Melissa’s eyes make Jesse feel like there’s a weight on his shoulders, forcing him down, and ducking his head in submission.
She says, “There’s something you’re not saying though. There’s something specific you’d like to help me with. Is that right?”
Jesse swallows hard and finds it too difficult to keep looking into his eyes. He ducks his head and forces out a laugh that sounds too nervous to be convincing and says, “Uh, yeah. I guess so.” His face is burning.
Melissa’s hand drifts down from his shoulder and comes to rest on his back. Her nails dig in and she’s scratching him, making him preen under her attention. “Tell me, please. Use your words, Jesse.”
He can’t help it, he feels as though he has to listen to her. “I wanna uh,” he trails off and Melissa’s hand boldly goes to his hair. She’s scratching his head like he’s a dog.
“What is it?” She asks. Jesse wants to cry— he isn’t used to this, this relentless teasing. “Jesse, just tell me, baby,” she says, deceptively sweet.
“I wanna— ah fuck,” he stutters, he’s so embarrassed he fears he’s shaking. “I wanna fuck you, God, sorry.” He immediately turns to hide his face, but Melissa’s hand follows him and pulls him back.
“Jesse,” she says and her tone commands him to look into her eyes. She’s smiling softly and says, “Thanks for being honest, I know it’s hard. I’d love for you to help me, thank you for asking so nicely.”
Jesse really could cry now. He basks in the praise and then reality hits him— is this really happening? Does he deserve this? He looks at her, drinks her in, her full tits inches from him, and her lips in a pout— he wants her.
“It’s okay,” she says. Maybe his uncertainty was obvious on his face.
“What’re we gonna do?” He asks and his voice is palpable with his need for guidance now. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Getting here was one thing, halfway an impulse, and he didn’t imagine he could get this far.
Melissa smiles at him and everything feels alright. Jesse softens under her touch and she says, “I’ll kiss you.”
Jesse nods sheepishly and allows Melissa to pull him onto her lap. It feels awkward sitting on her, but her tits are squishing up against his chest and he’s inches from her face. She smiles and wraps an arm around him, pulling him in, and kissing him so deeply that he feels it in his clit.
“Uh— fuck,” he’s gasping into her mouth, sighing, groaning until she sucks at his lower lip and bites down.
“Do you like being kissed like that baby?” Her voice is honey-sweet again.
“Uh-huh.” Jesse doesn’t think he’d be able to speak if he wanted to. Melissa’s nails begin scratching at his head again and he feels like he could melt.
“That’s so cute,” she murmurs. “Let me make you feel good.”
“Ah, no, not yet.”
“Why not?” Melissa’s already kissing at the side of his sensitive neck and he’s trying so hard to keep from moaning.
“I wanna do you first,” he says honestly.
“Oh,” Melissa says, smirking, and slides off of him. “C’mere then.”
Jesse follows her to a bench in the poolhouse. It’s soft and he sits happily, partially still disbelieving that this is happening. The moon is high in the sky now and is shining directly into the glass ceiling, casting angular shadows across the floor. Melissa’s skin looks incandescent in the moonlight and Jesse can’t help but kiss her.
Melissa’s mouth yields quickly to Jesse’s, but her hands remain tightly on his hips. It’s serving as a silent reminder that this is her territory, this is her house, and right now, he belongs to her. Her cherry-red nails dig into him a little harder anytime he whines into her mouth, but he really can’t help it. She tastes as sweet as she talks, all cloying and syrupy sweet.
He wants to touch her, but he can’t bring himself to do it without her permission. His hands remain awkwardly poised, aching to touch. He pulls away and shyly asks, “Miss?”
Melissa grins. “Yeah?”
“Can I touch you?”
“Where do you wanna touch me, baby?”
Ah— Jesse feels his face fill with blood. He probably feels feverishly hot to the touch. His clit is throbbing now and it’s taking everything in him to keep from squeezing his thighs together. “Uh— you know. Everywhere.”
Melissa shakes her head and her hands descend to his thighs. She squeezes them, sighs, and then pinches him. “That’s not very specific, should I help you out?”
“Yeah— please do, Miss.” Jesse notices that Melissa hasn’t minded his use of the word Miss now. It must depend on the context.
Melissa smiles, leans back, and then pushes the neckline of her nightgown below her tits. She lifts them and lets them spill out of the front of the gown. They hang there, heavy and full, and Jesse can’t help the moan that escapes him at the sight.
“Aw, do you wanna touch my tits? Can you ask me?”
Melissa’s smiling so sweetly and Jesse doesn’t feel judged when he asks, “Can I please touch your tits?” He sounds breathless.
Melissa nods and opens her arms for him. Jesse gratefully takes her invitation and goes to her, straddling her without shame. He’s only listening to his clit at this point. His hands hesitantly go to her tits and he cups them, speechless at the feeling of their weight in his palms. He dips his head down to kiss them and Melissa scratches his head again. He’s sucking them now, kissing her sloppily in between sucking hickies onto her. He doesn’t know why, but he feels compelled to mark her up. Maybe show her shitty husband how she should be treated.
Melissa groans at Jesse’s attention and the noise goes straight to his clit. It isn’t loud before he’s wanting to grind onto something, preferably Melissa, but can’t bring himself to part with her boobs and ask.
“What is it?” She asks, somehow picking up on what he needs. He didn’t think he was being so obvious.
“Can I uh, grind on you or something?” He feels unbearably nervous to ask, but he still doesn’t feel judged. It’s an exhilarating first-time feeling for him.
“Do you wanna grind on my thigh, baby boy?”
Ah fuck. Jesse nods, horribly flushed, and prays that he’s playing this cool. He doesn’t know what to do and it’s all hitting him now.
Melissa mercifully says, “Then grind, it’s okay. You’re allowed to.”
That’s all the permission Jesse needs. Melissa’s nails bite Jesse’s neck as her free hand remains planted on his waist. God— he wants to tear his eyes away from hers, but it’s impossible to do anything when his cunt is smashed into her leg like this. Melissa’s concentrated frown quickly gives way to a satisfied smile when she flexes her quad and Jesse whines.
“Oh, what was that?” She coos in that honeyed voice. “What was that baby?”
Her nails dig in deeper, and the sharp sting at his neck just makes him wetter. His boxers will likely need to be thrown away after this. There’s a wet, sloppy noise every time Jesse rolls his hips and Melissa’s asking, “Does your job stress you out? Is that right? You just wanna be taken care of?”
Jesse clenches around nothing and wishes with every fiber of his being that something could manifest inside of him. He manages to open his eyes and to his shock, he has to blink away the beginnings of tears before he can see. Melissa’s tits are straining against the neckline of her nightgown and the material is so thin that he can see her nipples through it. He wonders what would happen if he asked to suck on her tits. At the thought, some broken-off pitiful sound comes out of his mouth without his permission and Melissa’s smile grows a little wider, a little wilder.
“You want my tits again?”
“Yeah,” Jesse groans, shocked by how dazed his voice sounds. “Please.”
Melissa smiles and moves the mass of her hair over her shoulder, then she pulls her nightgown over her head. She’s wearing panties, but they’re tiny, barely hiding anything, and her tits are hanging free. If Jesse stares (he’s too embarrassed to do it blatantly), he can see her lips pushing out against the fabric.
Melissa’s scratching his head while he’s sucking on her tits and rolling his hips, so it feels like his entire body is overly sensitive. All of his nerves are working in overdrive trying to take in everything he’s feeling. It doesn’t help when she starts murmuring, “You’re such a baby, I really can’t believe it. I’m so lucky, aren’t I? It isn’t every day that a sweet little thing just stumbles into my house.”
Jesse feels like he’s gorging on praise. His clit is rockhard now and throbbing with every little thrust of his hips. He’s so wet and so awfully empty. His cunt is aching for something, preferably Melissa’s fingers, it keeps throbbing to remind him.
Jesse inhales deeply and lets her floral sweet scent fill his lungs. He moves to her neck and kisses her there, right where he can see her pulse. She smells overwhelmingly cloying and Jesse feels a little dizzy from it. His hands are wandering more now— he’s feeling a bit more brave. He asks, “Can I finger you?” and grins when Melissa nods yes.
Her panties are damp and Jesse just cups her, gingerly holding her pussy like it's delicate. “Uh— do you do this often?” He found the silence overwhelming. His nerves reacted badly to it.
Melissa smiles and rolls her eyes. “Not usually. Not everyone’s as cute as you.”
“Will your husband mind?” He feels compelled to ask and immediately regrets it.
Thankfully Melissa just laughs and sighs happily at Jesse’s hand working between her legs. She’s getting wetter, and she says, “I don’t think he notices me. It’s okay. It’s good like this, or, better than any alternative.”
She offers him a smile, but it looks a little sad.
Jesse doesn’t know what to say, but he does know that he can take her mind off of it. His hand increases pressure on her clothed cunt. He can feel her already leaking through the thin crotch of her panties.
Melissa asks, “Do you do this often?” She’s smiling, looking very satisfied with herself. Jesse can’t tell if she likes talking about her husband or not, but it doesn’t really matter when her pussy is in his hand, literally. His deft fingers find her hole through the panties and he presses there, just to see.
Jesse says, “Not really,” and grinds the base of his palm against where he knows her clit is. The noise she makes has him wanting to beg to taste her. He doesn’t want her to make it easy for him, but he can’t bring himself to ask.
“You wanted to though,” she says knowingly and Jesse feels her hole clench around nothing.
His face is bright red when he answers, “Yeah— was it that obvious?”
Melissa grins and pulls Jesse back into her neck. “Kiss me,” she says, and he does, then, “I don’t usually get people tripping over themselves when they see me.”
Jesse can’t think of an answer that doesn’t make him sound like an overly horny piece of shit, so he gingerly bites down and Melissa groans lowly at the sting before tracing her hands up her body. She asks, breathless, “Do you wanna fuck me?”
“Yeah,” Jesse says against her feverish neck. Melissa replies, “In a bit, I just had an idea.”
“Okay,” Jesse pulls away and lets Melissa move him so that he’s straddling one of her thighs. She leans back, propping herself up on her hands, and squeezes one of her tits. “They’re kind of sore— I think I’m starting my period soon.”
All the saliva has drained from Jesse’s mouth. It’s a miracle that he manages to ask, “Uh, do you need any help with that?”
“Be patient,” Melissa playfully rolls her eyes. “Grind down, c’mon.”
It takes Jesse an embarrassingly long time to realize what she wants him to do. He’s still fully clothed, so he stands and strips down to his boxers, all too aware of how Melissa is openly staring at him. His clothes get flung somewhere off to the side and Melissa’s pulling him back down before he has a chance to take her in.
She looks exceptionally beautiful while sitting on the bench. Her tits and tummy look softer than anything he’s ever seen and a literal whine escapes him as he thinks of how badly he wants to suck on them. Jesse meets her eyes and straddles her thigh again. Without all the extra layers, the contact feels almost overwhelming.
Jesse lets out a soft fuck at the sensation and Melissa cups his cheek. “Is that too much for you baby boy? Do you need a second?”
Hearing baby boy makes Jesse’s brain short circuit and his clit ache with need. “Ah, no,” he manages to get out without sounding too affected. Though, he’s sure that Melissa knows exactly what she’s doing to him. Fuck— he’s thinking so much. “Can I please— y’know. Can I suck on them?”
Melissa smiles and nods. “Yeah, keep grinding though.”
Jesse doesn’t need to be told twice. He cups her tits, momentarily feeling their weight and how they squish into his palms, then he puts his mouth there. He really could drown in her tits, he thinks. There’s enough there, it seems like miles of soft, sweet terrain for Jesse to explore. He rolls his tongue around her nipples and a small part of him wishes he could just suck. If he gets horny enough, he thinks he could convince himself that he could drink from her if he tried hard enough.
“You like these?” Melissa asks, tenderly cradling his head.
Jesse grinds down harder than he has been and gasps into her. He manages to part from her nipple and croaks out, “Yeah.”
That gets a laugh out of her, but it barely registers as Jesse plummets deeper into her. It feels like that, anyway. They’re so close with Jesse halfway in her lap, buried in her cleavage, that it gets hard to tell who’s feeling what.
Jesse sucks a nipple into his mouth and traces the outline with his tongue. His hands are occupied with kneading at her tits, holding them up, groping them, squishing them until he hears he get breathless. Her nails scratch a little harder in his hair and the sharp, swift pain feels so much like a jolt in his cunt that he just can’t help but moan. As addictive as kissing her chest is, Jesse’s so worked up he can’t ignore his clit anymore.
“Ah— fuck,” he groans, pulls away, and shakily asks, “Can you help me?” He can’t bring himself to actually say it: Can you help me cum, Miss? Though it seems like Melissa picks up on his meaning.
She murmurs, “C’mere,” and pulls him closer. They’re hugging now, Jesse fully tucked in her lap while Melissa adjusts him. “Brace yourself,” she instructs, and he does, grabbing the back of the chair while he gets on his knees.
The position immediately makes him feel like a slut. His clothed cunt is fully exposed and it’s protruding because of the reflexive arch in his back. He can feel the cold air on his hole and he’s suddenly thankful that Melissa can’t see the aroused humiliation on his face. He can feel her moving under him, and then she stands, shaking her head when Jesse attempts to move.
“I’m sorry, baby, is this too much?”
Jesse, red with shame, shakes his head. “No,” his voice sounds oddly distant and hoarse. His whole body feels distant like all of his focus is centered on where Melissa’s touching him. Positioned like this, he can’t help but just slip under Melissa’s control. He stares into the glass, looking at their reflection. She looks ethereal looming behind him, illuminated from the moonlight.
“Can I touch you more?” She asks.
Jesse whispers, “Yes,” breathless. Her hands are on his shoulders and she’s softly rubbing her thumbs there in some unknowable pattern.
She drags them down the soft curve of his back. On the small of his back, Melissa uses her nails, only the tips of them, to travel down to his boxer's waistband. Her nail slips under and pulls it up, holds it, and then snaps it against his sensitive skin. Jesse yelps and his skin burns hotter.
“Are you okay?” Melissa asks. Her nails are teasingly drifting lazily around his waistband, tempting him to consider asking.
“Yeah—” Jesse stammers because Melissa is finally peeling off his boxers. “This is just… I don’t even know.”
Melissa laughs a little and tosses his boxers aside. The exposure doesn’t make him shrink back into himself like he thought it would. Instead, he’s tempted to deepen his arch and present himself to her on a silver and willing platter.
“I understand that, it can be a lot if you’ve never done it,” she says and her confidence soothes the last of his nerves. “Have you though? Done this— I mean?”
Jesse presses his forehead onto his forearms and sighs, “No— I mean, I’ve had sex, but not like this.”
“Not like this,” Melissa echoes. Jesse can’t tell what she’s doing now— she’s stopped touching him and his body yearns for the contact. “Do you like it?”
Jesse feels bold, he’s sure Melissa is standing directly behind him, examining his hole. He arches his back and shyly says, “Does it feel like I like it?”
“Oh—” Melissa steps closer, he can feel the heat from her body radiating out. “If you want me to touch you that bad, just ask.”
She sounds amused, but Jesse still feels a bit bad for talking back, so he looks over his shoulder to meet her eye and asks, “Please, Miss, touch me.” The pitiful waver in his voice barely registers because his cunt’s emptiness is overwhelming everything else.
“Aw, okay baby.” Melissa places her hands on his ass and Jesse can’t help but arch further into it. She shamelessly gropes him for a moment, pinching and squeezing his ass so hard that his hole gapes open. She clicks her tongue. “You poor thing. You’re really desperate for it, aren’t you?”
Jesse feels like he’s about to cry. He’s seconds away from either sobbing or thrusting himself back until he gets fucked. “Yeah—” he gasps out.
Melissa chooses to have mercy on him and finally spreads his cheeks. One of her thumbs is achingly close to his hole and it's taking everything in him to not beg for her to put it in. His face is slick with sweat and his glasses are hanging on for dear life. Melissa carefully nudges the edge of his hole with her knuckle and he cries.
While fat tears stream down his cheeks, Melissa pushes a finger into his hole, bottoming out immediately because of how obscenely wet he is.
“Oh!” She sounds shocked and some part of Jesse feels pride in that. “You’re very wet.”
Jesse swallows and says, “I’m hard, too.” He gasps as her other hand brushes against his clit. The contact was brief, but it still had him shuddering.
“Aw, you really are baby,” Melissa sighs and pushes her finger impossibly deeper. Jesse can feel her in his guts. “Does it hurt?”
Jesse gasps when that finger crooks up and hits something deep inside him. “Uh— no, please.”
“What’s that?” Melissa asks in between peppering kisses on the back of his thighs.
Jesse sniffles. The tears are slowing, but if she doesn’t fuck him soon, he might start again. “Please, more. Fuck me like you mean it.”
Melissa raises her eyebrows and something is under the calm blue of her eyes. Jesse can’t place it and he turns away, unsettled. Melissa takes her finger out of him and just as Jesse opens his mouth to whine in protest, she shoves two fingers back into him without warning.
“Fuck!”
“You wanna cum baby?”
Jesse can’t help it— he’s crying again and he really feels like a child. In over his head and left without guidance. “Ah, fuck! Yeah— please, just let me.”
Melissa’s fingers begin slowly pumping. The new girth has Jesse seeing stars, but it still isn’t hard enough for him to feel it in his clit. He desperately wants to touch himself.
“Okay baby,” Melissa sighs and uses her free hand to scratch through his hair. “You’re such a sweet boy.”
Ah, Jesse could get used to this. He leans into her touch and suddenly wants to be closer. He asks from over his shoulder, “Can you hold me again?”
“Yeah,” Melissa takes her hand away and Jesse instantly craves it again. “C’mere baby.”
Jesse follows her impatiently as she leads him to one of the lounge chairs by the pool. It’s so late; Jesse can’t begin to fathom what time it is. The moon is barely in sight now, but the whole world is still submerged in that unnatural glow. Jesse figures he should go outside at night more, just to look at the sky.
Melissa sits and he straddles her lap, spreading his legs wide enough to let her hand in. She slides in without hesitation and cups his cunt, caressing the hair there while smiling softly at him. Something aches in his chest and he suddenly wonders what he’ll do after this. It doesn’t matter, not now, not when she’s pulling him back in for a kiss just as her fingers sink back into his cunt like they were made for each other.
Her fingers are more purposeful now and they’re jackhammering into him before he can blink. She has two of them stuffed inside and they slowly begin to scissor open and stretch him out. If he didn’t feel like a whore before this, he certainly does now. He can feel his wetness and pre-cum oozing out of him and getting smeared around his hole.
“Give me a little hickey,” Melissa says, smiling, and jerks her chin toward her tits.
Jesse smiles and dives in, shamelessly bucking his hips into her hand while his mouth seeks one of her nipples. He sucks a bruise there all while gasping and whining and sniffling somehow. He’s dangerously close to cumming and can’t manage to speak. He squeezes her soft waist hard and she yelps.
“Oh, you’re close, huh?” She sounds vaguely amused, like she’s chastizing an unruly pet. “Here, I’ll give you another, and then you can cum sweet boy.”
Jesse nearly cums over hearing that alone, and then immediately cums when Melissa forces a third finger into his overstuffed cunt. The stretch is unreal and he shoves himself down onto it, forcing all three fingers deeper, while Melissa moved them just so. It takes Jesse an embarrassingly long time to realize that all of the gasping and sobbing is coming from him. He slumps onto Melissa and she holds him despite the sweat.
Her hands travel to his hair and she asks, “Are you okay?”
Jesse heaves a breath and nods. “Yeah. I’m fine, really. I don’t know why I’m crying.” He barks a laugh, partially in disbelief of the situation and his immediate post-nut clarity.
“Aw, that’s okay. It’s emotional, isn’t it?” Melissa sounds like she’s done this before and maybe had this conversation before.
Jesse wipes the tears from his face and leans back to look her in the eye. “Do you do this a lot?”
Melissa wordlessly stares for a moment and looks more uncomfortable than Jesse has seen her all night. She finally sighs and says, “No— I wish I could. I just think about it all the time and then the moment an opportunity presents itself, I lunge into it without really thinking.”
“Oh, no, I’m not uncomfortable,” Jesse says, rushing over himself. “I was wondering because you were good at it.”
Melissa quickly smiles and covers up her affection with a careless chuckle. “Well, do you still wanna help me out?”
Ah, fuck. Jesse momentarily forgot about that. He supposes that that makes him an asshole. “Yeah, of course I do.”
“Okay,” Melissa smiles. “I’d like to sit on your face.”
Jesse hopes the disbelief isn’t too apparent on his face. He wasn’t sure if he could even get hard again, but here he is, uncomfortably stiff just from the thought of it. “Okay,” he says smoothly despite his nerves. He doesn’t want to let her down.
He lays down on the lounge chair and Melissa straddles his chest. She’s still wearing her skimpy panties, but Jesse can feel how wet she is through the fabric. She smiles down at him, her face framed with her golden hair like a halo, and she says, “Get ready,” and straddles his face.
Jesse’s hands instinctively move to her hips and he grabs her hard enough to make her moan. He digs his thumbs into her soft flesh and pulls her down. The first taste of her on his tongue has him wanting to grind against anything. She’s gushing over his tongue and it’s a deep, heady taste that dominates his senses. His clit is rockhard again and begging for attention.
Jesse can’t help himself. He asks and between kissing her, “Touch me?” and he moans when she complies.
“You’re all worked up again, you sweet boy,” she sounds so lilting and affectionate— like a siren drawing him deeper. Her hand cups his cunt and he gratefully bucks into her. “I’m afraid you’ll need to get yourself off, just use my hand— good boy.”
Jesse nearly cums when he hears good boy roll sweetly from her lips, but he steals himself and focuses on his task. He’s drowning in Melissa, in her pussy, in her fat thighs enveloping his head. The whole world feels muffled and all he can process is her in his sense.
“I don’t last very long,” she sighs and throws her head back. Jesse’s hole clenches at the sight. “Not anymore. I’m close, Jesse. Now finish me off like a good boy.”
Jesse groans into her and pushes his tongue into her pussy. She’s overwhelming and cloying on his tongue, but he greedily laps it up. His hands are shamelessly groping her hips and stomach now, unable to get enough of her. Melissa’s grinding onto him too— her clit is becoming very well acquainted with his nose— and he’s grinding up into her hand.
“Are you gonna cum too?” Melissa asks suddenly. She sounds like she’s hardly able to hang on.
Jesse gasps out, “Yeah— soon,” and dives back in.
The grinding intensifies. Jesse’s hand forces its way and shoves two fingers into Melissa’s tight pussy while Melissa’s hand increases pressure until Jesse sees stars. Melissa cums right after, gasping hard and gushing onto his fingers.
Jesse laps her up, even as she starts twitching and his jaw begins hurting.
She whispers, “Jesse, stop,” and he obeys.
“C’mere.” He does, he climbs onto her and melts on top of her. “Are you okay?” She asks again.
“Yeah, seriously,” he says honestly. He can’t bring himself to open his eyes.
“Do you wanna sleep?”
“Yeah, can we just sleep out here?”
Melissa sighs, but there’s a smile in her voice when she says, “Yeah, I don’t see why not,” and Jesse promptly passes out.
------
Jesse wakes up with his face pressed uncomfortably onto a wicker chair. He sits up quickly and feels the impressions from the seat on his face. Somewhere off to the side, someone laughs. Jesse momentarily forgets and immediately remembers what happened the night before.
“Ah— fuck. Uh, Melissa?”
He stands and searches for his clothes while keeping an eye out for Melissa. Now that it’s light outside, reality is hitting him. He doesn’t know what happens now, what changes.
“Hey Melissa?”
“I’m back here!”
She doesn’t sound upset at all, so Jesse walks toward the sound of her pleasant voice. The inside of the poolhouse in the early morning feels just as surreal as it does at night. The orange sunrise is streaming in through the panes and casting shadows from the leafy plants. Melissa’s sitting in the corner of the poolhouse and propping her legs up on an unfinished table.
“Hey, Jesse.” She’s smiling and sitting so casually that Jesse feels bad for even thinking ill of her. “How do you feel?”
“I’m good,” he yawns, “Tired, but really good.”
Melissa wiggles her head in pleasure. “Yeah— I figured you needed that.” She looks extremely pleased with herself.
“Well, uh,” Jesse isn’t sure how to continue. “I guess I should get back to work?”
“Oh— well, you know how my husband is the one who set you up with this job?”
Jesse doesn’t know where she’s going with this. “Yeah?” He nods.
Melissa grins wildly. “I told him you did such a good job on the pool that we should just call you anytime we’re having a problem. Are you okay with that?”
Am I okay with that? “Of course I’m okay with that,” Jesse scoffs, then he smiles because she’s smiling and it’s infectious.
“Then c’mere,” Melissa says, opening her arms and beaming at him. “You can get to the pool later.”
Jesse goes to her and the pool isn’t cleaned until a few days later. Neither of them can say they mind that much.
318 notes · View notes
stararch4ngelqueen · 6 months
Text
Overachiever
Time Written-12:01 a.m.
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Jason Todd/fem!reader smut (gave up looking for an image for this guy so yea)
Faint blotches of muted blues and crooked gray shadows shroud your closed eyes, your heartbeat drumming in your head. Loud, thick gurgles ring in your ears, forcing all thoughts from your head.
Short, guttural grunts erupted above you. The sting along your scalp from a fistful of hair being clutched helped control your involuntary speed, coming to a sudden halt.
“I said,” his voice breaches through your muddled mind. “Keep those eyes open.”
On demand, you do so. Your watery eyes opening to a blurred vision of him; a rugged, sweat dampened mess, still clad in his leather uniform.
His hand eases off the back of your neck, allowing you to pull yourself off his fat, curved cock with a loud, lung expanding gasp. You cough after short chokes, a mix of spit and thick precum dribbling down your chin, seeping in between the valley of your breasts through your own suit.
“Look at you,” Jason huffs, guiding his heavy cock again to press against your glistening lips, feeling a sparkling pride over your ruined makeup.
“Pretty little whore. Y’see that?” He questions, guiding your head with his free hand to gaze down at him in question, focusing on the faint ring of bright red lipstick marking a good three quarters along the length.
“You’re getting better at this, Princess,” he breathlessly chuckles, tapping your outer cheek with his drenched dick.
“Bet your throat hurts, huh? Be honest.” His question has you nodding without much thought, feeling the muscles in your neck tingling after getting bullied and bruised by an eagerly horny vigilante.
“Tsk tsk. New hole’s just getting used to me, sweetheart,” Jason cooes with highly detectable mockery before leaning down, grasping your chin with two fingers to have you look at him, taking in his crinkled, amused expression.
“All that big talk when you’re stealing shit, now you got nothing to say.” After a condescending chuckle, Jason traps you in a hot, tongue heavy kiss, feeling himself throbbing at the sounds of your measly little whimpers.
“Aww, What’s the matter? Too fucked out already?” He whispers in between short pecks, swiping off a hint of spit along your chin before bringing it towards his lips, sucking the digit clean.
“Maybe it’s a little too much for ya,” Jason insists in a second guess attempt, fighting back a smirk from your growing eyes loaded up with denial. “Bit too big for you to take—“
“N-no!” You insist, your once balled up fists reaching up to grasp along his wrists. “I can do it, I know I can. Please, Jay.”
“Easy, easy. Fun’s barely starting, babygirl.” Jason displays his full smile, sharp teeth making an appearance with his chuckle.
Alongside pride, he was still giddy that he got you to agree to this.
“I know you wanna make me happy. Know you wanna earn your little reward.”
A hot, gushy load down your throat became your solid priority in an instant. Jason had that ability to suddenly render you absolutely starving in seconds, manipulating you into wanting what hadn’t come to mind before.
Your answer was a solid nod, eyes glowing in anticipation to further please him. His heavy palm clasps your throat in a snug hold, holding your head in place. His voice is low, quiet and lustful, but you hear him loud and clear.
“Tell you what,” Jason proposes with a quirk in his brow. “You take all of me; every last inch, an’ I’ll give you what you want.”
Eagerness leaves you automatically agreeing; pretty, kiss swollen lips with a pretty pink tongue eager to lap at the fat bead that threatened to drip off his length.
“That what you want, pretty girl?” He questions. “Want to make me happy? Wan’ me to make you come?”
You feel your whole body heating up from the fire that's burning deep inside you; your pussy painfully untouched and drenched. Jason promised he’d give you what you wanted if you played along in being a pretend thief, the motivation keeping you barely stable as it is.
It was like your brain was hard-wired to urge him towards his release. Or, maybe the mix of arousal and oxygen deprivation swirling around in your head was making you more submissive to set your own desires aside for him.
Eagerly nodding was your only form of answer, but Jason would gladly take it.
“Prove it then,” His hands leave your neck and head, settling them back along his sides. “Show me.”
Adjusting your sore knees against crooked gravel, you greedily lap up the fat, clear bead of precum that called your name, the saltiness drowning your tastebuds.
He lets out a short groan, brows furrowing slightly as he watches a bit of himself disappear between your lipstick smeared lips. His hum rumbles low in his chest as you bob your head back and forth at a steady pace, swirling along him with your tongue.
He's quickly drunk off of your persistent eagerness to please him, peering up at him through wet lashes. You were more focused on his reactions, watching his head slightly raise, threatening to tilt back if he wasn’t so stubborn to watch every second of it.
You looked a gorgeous sight already as you changed direction, pressing your glistening lips along the underside of his heavy cock, feeling the majority of his heavy dick rest along your face, settling against the corner of your cheek, nestled beside the small grove of your nostril.
A perfect picture to capture the memory, if it occurred to him to pull out his phone. His obedient, needy girl eager to please whenever he needed you.
He's panting harder now, shoulders rising quicker with his slightly labored breathing.
“Ready?” He had the decency to ask, waiting for your muffled hum in response before grasping hold of himself.
“Open.”
You obey, sticking out your pretty tongue.
“Eyes on me,” he taps the fat head along the muscle at least three times, too impatient to warn you of what happens if they close.
His hips lurch forward, sliding himself deep in your throat with a relieved groan. He fills your mouth up easily, his tip pushing past something hard in your throat until he's blocking your airways. You try to settle your reflex, nearly choking on him at the start.
Your soaking wet lips slowly passed where you last reached, your nose brushing against thick curls at his base, taking in his musk while choking on cock, hooking your fingers over the tight harnesses securing his meaty thighs.
You furrow your brows, trying your best to keep your throat from rejecting him, but you're not able to hold him there for long before you choke.
The vibrations left him shivering, watching spit bubble from the corners of your mouth, dripping slowly down your chin and neck, disappearing down your constricting suit zipper.
“That’s it,” he grunts, his head tilting back in pure, raw pleasure, feeling his balls tighten with every constrict of your throat as he fucks your face.
Maybe it was his fault, getting off on your vile, arousing gags, your sickly gray tears rolling down your ruined face. The ultimate ego boost, nothing could ever top this.
You could've cared less of the mess you became, focused on him and his pleasure alone. His deep, aggressively hot tone serenaded through your brain like melted dark chocolate, leaving you addicted for more.
A rich, heavy moan left his mouth, vibrating through his chest as his head tilts back, Adam’s apple bobbing with thin beads of sweat as the nightly breeze bats against his shivering skin.
The sight of those gorgeously shiny lips clenching along the base of his drenched dick left him teetering on the very edge, your eyes watering from the sheer size of him being a bit too much for you to take.
Jason raised you higher up on his cock, nearly forcing your buckling knees off the ground.
The sounds that came from your pretty little mouth as you reached your limit, forcing you to take more than you were used to were vile and filthy, but he loved every second of it. A private symphony just for him alone.
“Nice and messy, babygirl,” Jason rasps out, glancing down at your flushed face with heavy lidded eyes.
“Gonna clean up that messy little pussy,” he murmured through heavy panting, reinforcing his interlocked fingers behind your head. “Then fuck those wet tits next.”
908 notes · View notes
queers-gambit · 3 months
Text
Campus Breakdown
prompt: ( requested ) after a hard day, at least you can come home to him.
pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader
fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear
word count: 1.6k+
warnings: reader's a graduate student, cursing, small angst but mostly small hurt bigger comfort.
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The door slammed shut in a forceful rattle, making Carmy perk up from his place on the couch. "Baby?" He called, setting aside the magazine you left behind.
"Carmy?" You sounded confused, exiting the foyer to round into the living room. "Hey, what're you doing home so early?"
"Uh, pipe burst at work, left Fak t'deal with it," he sniffled, muting the television. "What's up with you? Or do you always slam doors happily around here?"
You sighed, "Sorry, I just - it's been a day and a half, you know?"
He pouted dramatically, offering, "Wanna tell me 'bout it?"
"It won't fix what happened."
"No, but it might help get it off your chest, filter a little emotion."
You nodded absently, "I think I might want a glass of wine first - maybe two."
He felt a surge of empathy in his chest, knowing that distant look in your eyes and the way your entire demeanor seemed absent, distracted, exhausted. Work often kicked his ass, too, so there was an understanding after so many nights you had let him rant and rave about whatever went wrong - it was only right to return the favor.
Carmy readjusted the pillows and coffee table, leaning over to light the scented candle you kept there; grabbing a blanket to prepare for you. When you entered the living room, you had stripped out of your pants and was pouring a glass of wine, leaving the bottle on the cleaned-up coffee table; sighing when you dropped onto the couch.
"All right, pretty girl," Carmy chuckled, pulling your feet into his lap. You readjusted with a small grumble as Carmy then tossed the blanket over you, but left your feet out for him to massage. "Tell me what happened today."
You held up a single finger, downing more than half your glass of wine. Carm's brows perked up, blinking in shock before nodding slowly when you swallowed. "Today. Fucking. Sucked," you told him.
"I can see that, and feel it - your feet are knotted," he noted, working his thumbs into the meat. "Did you sit down at all today?"
"Well, no, 'cause I had to work alone today," you groaned. "Lisa has mono, Brittany had to make up some exam, Benjamin apparently had a meeting with the bursar's office, and Stacy literally stood outside, fighting with her boyfriend - like what!?"
Carmy offered you a stale look in reaction to your story, "She get docked?"
"Well, yeah, I mean, I kinda had to; she didn't bus a single table, she didn't talk to a single customer, like, the only other person working with me today was Carl and he was in the kitchen the whole time."
"Doesn't sound exactly fair..."
"It's a shitty campus diner, Carmy, 'fair' isn't exactly in their vocabulary, but the tips are semi decent 'cause we have that 'drunk rush special'. Oh! Wait! That's not all," you hummed, taking another gulp. "'Cause why would anything go right on a day I worked the entire floor alone? Right?"
"What else?" He asked, turning in his seat so he could face you directly; still massaging your feet, but leaning his cheek on your bent knee to remain close.
"The fucking register went down."
"You mean the only one in the whole place?"
"Yep, of course! 'Cause why the fuck wouldn't anything go right?" You scoffed. "And it's not like any of this was, like, hidden, you know? It was very obvious I was working alone, the register was fucked, but do you think that made anyone empathetic towards the situation? No, of course not, they wanted to just pay their bills and leave. Which I fucking get! But like, what!?"
"What'd you do?"
"Took cash only," you shrugged. "ATM was still up and running, so it was on them," you wiped you eyes, sighing deeply. "Still bitched the whole time though, complained to whoever listened. End of the night, that new manager even docked my tips, you believe that?"
"Hold up - for what?" Carm snapped.
"Customers were that pissed, Carmy, so a few of them dined-and-dashed, someone had to pay," you whined, head tilted back. "Like I did any of this on purpose? Like I went and unplugged shit myself? Like I wanted to make my life significantly harder? Do people even fucking think by themselves now? Where's the empathy?"
"Nah, they definitely lack in that department," he chuckled. "Know what I'm gonna say, right?"
"Hmm? Oh, Carmy, no," you groaned, "I'm not working at The Beef."
"It's ten times better than where you work, baby," he pouted. "And I could use someone with experience like yours with the customers. Richie's not always the best 'face of the store', you know?"
"No, Carmy," you refused sternly.
"C'mon, why not?"
"You as my boss? And boyfriend? Fuck no!"
"I'm literally so nice!"
"Yeah, that's exactly what Sydney says," you laughed, nudging his stomach with your foot. "Baby, no. Listen, I appreciate it, I really do, but I get ten times the tips at that shitty diner than I would at The Beef, and it's right on campus so I lose literally no time."
He sighed, "You're only, what? A year out from your Masters?"
"Just about," you grumbled with a pout.
Carmy chuckled, "C'mon, baby, don't torture yourself. Get a new job."
"I'm not, I'm just - " You cut yourself off with a sigh, hating that advice (as if it were just so simple), shaking your head and finishing your wine. "I'm just dealing with my current circumstances, I'm sorry I came home in a bad mood - "
"No, hey, wait," Carmy sat up, reaching for your cheek to hold, "I didn't mean to make you feel as if I was shutting you down. Baby, I always want you t'talk to me, okay? I just mean, there's something better out there, and you deserve better than that place. I hate seeing you so stressed out," he pouted dramatically, making you snicker lightly.
"You're one to talk," you reminded softly, sitting up so you could nestle under his arm. "You're stressed out, like, more than 90% of the time."
"Hey now, we're talkin' about your day, not mine," he deflected with a small chuckle. "What if I asked around a bit? You know, a different server job? I can check out places close to campus, but you'd get much better tips and better customers at a nicer place."
You groaned, "Now that sounds nice." He chuckled with you now. "I mean, it's bad enough I have to deal with those creepy frat boys in class, but in the diner, I have to play nice 'cause they tip with daddy's money well if I don't shut them up. It'd be nice working somewhere they couldn't even afford t'walk into."
"See? I'm good for something."
"You're good for everything, Carm, shut up," you laughed, leaning up to kiss his jawline. "I'm just tired of this whole 'pay your dues' bullshit. You know? I get having to suffer a little to build a better character, but for fuck's sake."
Carmy pouted, "Sounds like a second glass of wine kinda rant?"
You pouted back at him, nodding, both mockingly making little noises as he lifted from his sitting position to snag the bottle of wine. You smiled as he poured, watching his face, loving the effect he had on you; feeling calm and serene, and it wasn't the alcohol. When the bottle was set aside again, he tugged your legs over his lap and laid one of his arms around your shoulders; keeping you snuggled close and under the blanket.
"What else happened?" He asked softly, kissing your temple.
"I don't want to sound like I'm just bitching."
"How else do you expect to blow off steam? Huh?" He countered. "You're not bothering me, I want to hear this, baby - all of it. So, lemme recount, yeah? Okay, so, you worked alone your whole shift with only the frycook in the back, the cash register went down, and that made a buncha customers all pissed off. Enough that a few dipped off and you had to cover their bills. But the ATM was good, so they could still pay cash, but they were still being dickheads, yeah?"
"Mhm," you hummed, halting yourself.
"Nuh-uh, c'mon, what else?"
Tears sprung to your eyes as your head lulled onto his shoulder. "It was just a really shitty day, Carm," you whispered, giving a small sniffle. "Guys are grimy and gross, they garnished my wages 'cause of those dashers - I told you. It was a fucking shit show! Oh, and a few bulbs blew all within 10 minutes of each other - like fully snap, crackle, and pop, blew out. So, I had to call the electrician, he took over 2 hours to get there, so, part of the back dining room was darker and this group of guys all decided to sit back there - it was so fucking creepy!"
Carmen frowned, listening to you rant and rave about how overworked and under appreciated you were. He held you tight, raking a hand through your hair, tracing invisible patterns on your upper arm; keeping you close as the wine slowly sunk into your blood. You grew less lucid by the passing hour, mostly the exhaustion sinking in, but Carmy didn't mind.
He just adjusted you both on the couch so he was laid out with you safely tucked between the cushions and his body. You had long since changed subjects; going from shitty work conditions to sports to your coursework load, then to The Beef, breezed over whatever Richie's daily attitude was about, then quietly debated if Carmy was taking the weekend off to spend it with you. Now, the TV was the only light on in the apartment, wine bottle empty, you resting on Carmy's chest; his arms tight around you, blanket tangled around your legs, both speaking quietly into the night before sleep claimed you both.
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requesting rules and masterlist
The Bear masterlist
624 notes · View notes
uhlunaro · 1 year
Text
𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡; (𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥)
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pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader
summary: "If you could do all of this over again, you would dare to love him even more."
words: 3.4k
warnings: 18+ only
notes: here's the final part it has arrived!!! i was mad hatter bonkers when i wrote this. at my peak. tbh i'll probably do more with this series but as of now, she is complete!!
» part one // part two // part three
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You’ve become friends with your kitchen floor over the last three weeks.
Leon calls when he can. He updates you on his trip, any injuries to expect when he comes back, asks if you’ve eaten or slept or spent time away from the house.
He understands your worry, and tries his best to soothe it away. The last time he slept over, he left you a shirt that smelled of him. He calls at designated times throughout the week, and informs you beforehand if he’ll be busy.
It’s sweet, and it’s thoughtful, but still. You worry. Loving someone who stays gone three weeks out of the month, who comes back to you battered more often than not, who you miss so deeply that your chest threatens to cave—you never believed you could cope.
You also never believed that he would love you back. 
“When will you be home?” you ask, mid-sulk on the kitchen floor.
His voice echoes tinny through the speaker, concealed by static. 
“As soon as I can.”
Your head tips back against the side of the counter with a heavy thud. “You said that last week.” At this point, you’ve worn yourself down to cold resignation, and it shows itself in the flatness of your voice.
“I know, but listen. I’ll make it up to you.”
“And how do you plan on doing that if you never come home?”
A tired sigh filters through all the crackling. “I’ll be home soon. I swear.”
You know that you’re acting foolish. That this is what you signed up for when you decided to be with him. But still. You miss him, and you’re worried and sad and he’s never been away this long. Who wouldn’t sulk in a situation like this?
“You’re quiet. Talk to me.”
“I’m just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how unfair I’m being. This is your job. You can’t help it.”
“You’re not being anything. And if you are, then so am I.”
“But don’t you get tired of it? I’m worse than a fucking helicopter parent.”
He laughs, and the sound starts to ease you from your sour mood. You just need to hear it in person again. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of talking to you.”
“That is a horrible line.”
“But is it working?”
“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”
“Just making sure I haven’t lost my touch.”
He excuses himself shortly after, cites a change of plans, then tells you he won’t be available for a few days.
You take the opportunity to stress clean, to visit with friends, to fall back into some kind of routine because if you don’t then you will go insane from the overflow of anxiety.
But he comes back to you. He always does. Always tender-hearted, a little more broken, but he comes back. 
On a Monday morning, no less. Half an hour before you start readying for work, still asleep on the couch. You recognize the sound of the lock turning, then of his footsteps.
He tries to stay quiet. Let you rest. But the sun already threatens to rise, and your brain-matter alarm jolts you awake anyway.
“Good morning,” you say, voice thick, skin still warm from sleep.
You lift your head from the pillow to see over the armrest, and find him removing his coat, turned toward you with an apologetic smile.
“Sorry. I tried not to wake you up.”
“I have to get ready soon anyway.”
He takes a seat on the coffee table, and the light from the television casts a muted, cool glow over his face. You prepared yourself for this, he had warned you, but you don’t think you could ever truly grow used to the bandages, the gauze, the injuries that will turn to scar.
But he’s alive. And he’s here. And being alive means healing, so you can’t stay too angry.
“Or, you could take the day off.”
“It’s not that simple, Leon.”
“I’m friends with the president. I could give him a call.”
You blurt out a laugh, but his expression remains stoic and severe. 
“Wait, you’re serious.” He nods. “What the fuck do you even do?” He shrugs, and you think to throttle him across the living room. “No, you can’t just say you know the president and expect me to not ask questions.”
“It’s not much of a story. I just work under him.”
You know he’s lying, and he knows that you know he’s lying. There is a very important story here that he doesn’t want to tell, and you're too nosey for your own good.
“Is this another thing you have to hide to keep me safe or whatever?”
He rolls his eyes and rises from the coffee table. Goes to pick up his luggage then turns to you, eyes fraught.
“Listen, I know it’s a shitty position to put you in, and I wish I could tell you, but I would rather you be mad at me than be dead.”
You sit up then, mirroring his own distress. “Leon, I’m not mad. I mean, I knew what I was getting into, and I know you wanna keep me safe, but I still feel scared. I’m doing the best I can.”
Whatever tension stifles the room suddenly deflates, right alongside the stiffness of his posture.
“No, I know,” he says, voice small, pitiful, sad. “I just—“ He shakes his head to discard the thought. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
“It doesn’t.”
The alarm clock on the end table begins to blare, a shrieking cry of overstimulation, and you think to throw it against the wall. Stomp it to pieces.
You don’t have time for this. Not now. Can’t leave things fractured.
He leaves to the bedroom as you lean over and silence the noise, and you listen to the squeal of the suitcase zipper, the sliding of drawers, the shuffling of footsteps.
Can’t leave things like this. 
You stand timid in the doorway of the bedroom, watch as he sorts through clothing on the bed, shoves piles into drawers, and a melancholy smoke tightens your throat.
“I’m sorry,” you say, words choking on the ashes of regret.
You never meant to hurt him, to press hard on some invisible bruise, but you should’ve known. He’s lost so many close to him, seen death on an unimaginable scale. You should’ve known.
He spares you an acknowledging glance, then resumes unraveling then re-folding clothes. “You know I love you, right?”
“Of course I do. I’ve questioned a lot of things, but never that. Never.”
He lowers onto the edge of the bed, and the mattress groans. The sheets wrinkle. His suitcase angles to one side. A smile stretches his lips, and the sun rises again.
“I knew for a while. That you… felt the way you did.” His eyes meet yours, and the muscle of your heart freezes for a long moment. Your face buzzes, stokes to flame. “I didn’t want to say anything because I knew I couldn’t be who you needed. The person you thought I was.”
“I didn’t think you were anything. You’ve always just been Leon.”
“But am I worth it to you?”
He’s been fighting his own worries, that much is clear, and what little information he gave you, about his struggle with loss and the bone-deep roots of trauma, you should’ve known.
If you could go back, re-do this all over again, loving him is the very last thing you would change.
“Always.”
He nods his head, mutters out an, “Okay,” and turns back to his wrinkled clothes.
“How about we make some breakfast after I shower?”
“Now that you mention it, I have missed your cooking.”
An air of sickly-sweet affection bathes the room, and you smile at him all tender, so wide your cheeks begin to ache.
“In that case, you should get in touch with the president. My boss is an asshole.”
“I know a guy who knows a guy who can make people disappear.” 
“I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
After a long moment of you being struck still by shock, he gives a teasing, conspiratory smile, and the world begins to turn again. 
Like every other day he comes back home, you laze around until evening. A celebration in peace, safety, sanctuary.
“You know I’m probably gonna be fired, right?” you ask, sliding in next to him beneath the covers.
“Good riddance to your shitty job.”
He throws a heavy arm over your waist, pulls you close, tucks his face into the curve of your shoulder.
“What money would I have to pay rent?”
“Just move in with me.”
You huff. Leon and his simplicity, his easy-as-breathing solutions. 
But it is a good solution.
“You sure that’s a good idea?” You lift his head with a tender hand, and press a teasing kiss to his lips. A cheek. The tip of his nose. “It’ll be a little harder to keep secrets.”
“I’ll risk it.”
You love him. Still adore him on the worst days. Would rip the stars from the sky, craft another moon, black out the sun if he asked.
“Okay, then.”
His brows raise, and a hand tightens against your waist. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
He smiles, then kisses you this time, cradles a hand around the nape of your neck and presses his weight against you. Your heart rate spikes in anticipation, a yearning that threatens to consume.
An unspoken promise, the way he holds you. How his hands dip warm beneath your shirt, ghost trails of gooseflesh over the curve of your belly.
“Can I?” he breathes against your neck, traces his lips along the thump of your pulse. 
You’ve already fallen apart and he’s barely touched you, and such starvation should be undoubtedly embarrassing, but it’s him and you love him and you’ll probably always feel this needy where he’s concerned.
“Yes. Whatever it is, yes.”
He leans back onto his knees and rids you of your shirt. Follows the raise of your hips with hurried fingers, and strips your legs to bareness.
It’s all frantic, the limbo between clothing and nakedness. You forget to undo one of his buttons, an arm gets stuck in his shirt, he elbows you in the side while trying to remove his pants. By the end of it all, when you’re both naked and cuddled up, you’ve laughed yourself almost to headache. Definitely breathless. More in love than you ever could’ve imagined.
He’s a simmering heat against you, all muscle and sinew, a final ray of sunshine in the shadow of this apartment. You’ve never wanted, or craved, or starved for anyone more.
“You’re quiet,” he whispers, traces fingers down the curve of your spine. “I thought you said thinking was dangerous.”
His eyes, low-lidded and lazy, sparkle from window light of the evening sun. His last trip graced a spatter of freckles on his skin—the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, a lone speck just above his lip. You wish to kiss each of them, one at a time, endlessly.
“My thoughts have been better recently.”
You throw a leg over his hip, and a large palm follows the back of your thigh. Squeezes at the curve of your ass.
A noise starts in the back of his throat, halfway to whimper when you slot your lips against his and dip a hand between your bodies and curl cautious fingers around the head of his cock.
“This okay?” you ask, press a soothing kiss to his cheek.
He licks over his bottom lip, groans out a, “Hold on,” and rolls onto his back, pulling you with him. “That’s better, I think.”
The sight of him now—that same halo of blond hair, that same stare of tender devotion—almost a deja vu to months past, yet distinctly different in his naked vulnerability.
That’s what this is. Vulnerability. Terrifying in practice, yet sacred for all its beauty.
He presses a hand to your back, coaxing you closer, until you’re chest-to-chest and his heartbeat pitters through the cage of his ribs.
“Nervous?” you ask, gentle in tone, fearful of offense. 
“Admittedly.” An immediate response, one that almost surprises you. But you know him, and he knows you just as well. Can probably sense the anxiety rolling off you in waves. 
“Thank God. So am I.”
It’s no surprise that your sex life has suffered, whittled into the negatives, due to months of one-sided pining, and his hectic schedule grants no reprieve for blooming hormones. 
And it’s odd. Not a negative sort. Just… different and new. That fun, awkward phase where you learn how to give and receive pleasure all over again, from a fresh perspective. A new pair of hands.
You lean over to sift through the top drawer of the nightstand. Leon’s hands settle on your hips to keep you steady. He seems to believe the same as you: falling off the bed and breaking something would really ruin the mood.
“This is always a must,” you say, tossing a bottle of lubrication onto the sheets.
He picks it up. Clicks the cap open. Takes a whiff. “Strawberry.”
“Regular lube tastes like shit.”
“It’s also half-empty.”
You shrug. “I get lonely when you aren’t here.”
“We could’ve done this a long time ago.”
You move back to sit on his thighs, take the bottle from his hand, and squeeze out a quarter-sized portion into your hand. “Too bad our boat had holes in it.”
“I will never live that down, will I?”
“Nope.”
He exhales a shaky sigh as you spread a slick hand over his length. Drops his head back against the pillow when you twist your fist over the tip.
“Good?” you ask, a little breathless, desire twinging at the base of your spine.
All he can do is hum in response, and his pretty eyes close, and his hips twitch up to meet your hand.
You could sit here forever, you think. Watch him succumb to pleasure, forget language, offer himself over to you. A show of trust in its most potent form. Maybe another time, you’ll have him use you, just like this. Fuck himself on your fist.
He grits out a low moan, the sound lancing through your belly, and you look down. The sight of him, blush red and slicked-up, a thatch of trimmed hair at his groin, thick and curved and so pretty—fuck, you really should’ve done this a long time ago.
His cock twitches in your grip, and an unbearable emptiness leaves you desperate. Wanting. Needy.
Fuck it.
You brace a hand atop his chest to reach between your legs, but he stops you. Curls a hand over your back, presses you hard against his chest, and noses at the shell of your ear.
“Didn’t take you for the impatient type,” he says, and you feel like you might combust.
It’s all heat now, sweltering, an agitated energy that keeps you fidgeting in spite of his hold. 
“I’m usually not. Guess you bring it out of me.”
A thick, wet finger slides into you, and you mewl into the curve of his neck. A tight fit, an effect of unused muscles, and you pull your knees higher toward your chest to open yourself up, the inside of your thighs sticky against his torso.
“More,” you sigh, clench hard around him. 
“Already?”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I don’t wanna hurt you, actually.”
“I’m fine.”
Another joins the first, stretches you wide, and you arch against him. Your face buzzes with static. Your breathing deepens. You fist a hand in the hair at the base of his skull and pull him into a bruising kiss. A lick of teeth. The wet curl of tongues. He tilts his hips, slicks his cock against your belly, slackens his jaw to sigh into your mouth.
You could die like this. Die happy and sated. You’re fit to consume each other and god, what a beautiful way to go.
This is love, you think. You’ve had partners into the past, felt strongly for them, cared deeply about their wellbeing. But nothing like this. Never like this.
He’s gentle when he pushes into you, much like the midday sun. The slight burn of heat, the caress he gives to your back, the kiss he plants on your shoulder. You cling to him, brace for the steady fill.
It hurts, like all other things in life. But he’s there, quick to soothe. And it’s always been that way, hasn’t it?
He’s soothed you with words, and actions, and the simple being of his presence. He’s kept you from loneliness, kept you sane, kept you safe. He’s always been there, like this.
It’s always been him.
And he bottoms out inside you. A welcome, satiating fullness that forces the breath from your lungs.
You wait for a few long moments, a selfish savoring, before you raise your hips then sink back down—and that split second of emptiness seeks to ruin you.
The arm over your back loosens to allow you movement, but he holds steadfast. Never breaks contact. Needs the closeness, the intimacy as much as you.
It’s a relieving thought. That he’s affected by this, too.
He attaches his lips to a spot on your shoulder, teases his teeth, threatens a bite when you quicken your hips and a heavy schlick echoes in the quiet room. The heat in your belly smolders, builds to flame, and you sigh out a needy whine.
A hands lowers between your legs, and his breathing shudders on each exhale, and you’re close. The tether’s pulled taut, ready to break.
He bites into your skin to muffle his moans, hugs you tight against him, and spills inside you. The rhythmic jerk of his cock sends you reeling, every muscle in your body tensing up, the hot clutch of your insides aiding his orgasm.
And then everything stills. Your bodies relax. Tensions disappear.
“Didn’t mean to bite you that hard,” he says, voice thick and gravelly.
“Think it’ll scar?”
“Didn’t break skin, so no.” He traces a finger around the indentations. “It would make a nice tattoo, though.”
“Would you pay for it?”
“Government salary, remember?”
After a few moments, he softens inside you, and you lift your hips to release him. A mess spills onto his stomach, and he flinches. Mirrors your wince.
“How about a shower?” you ask, already rolling off of him. 
“Please.”
When you’re freshly clean and back in bed, sleep settles over you. Multiplies tenfold when he curls himself around your body, all warm and comforting.
“Will you really move in with me?” he asks, traces his nose along the curve of your jaw.
“If you’ll have me.”
“I’m the one who asked.”
You sigh into his hair, soft strands tickling your nose. “Then I have some calls to make.”
“I’m owed a couple favors.”
“As I’ve found out.”
He laughs, situates himself beneath the sheets. “I think I’ll miss this place. A lot of memories here.”
You cradle him against you then. Curl a soft hand over the back of his neck. In fact, you think you might cry as a sweet kind of melancholy coats the cavern of your chest.
Your entire relationship took place in this apartment. He sat on every piece of furniture. His blood’s been stained into the floor. His presence overwhelms each room.
But it’s a logical thing, moving on. No matter how painful it feels, how comfortable you’ve been staying stagnant. And you prepared for it—moving on from him.
Now, he joins you.
A funny thing, that.
“Yeah. I will, too, I think.”
“Greener pastures, right?”
“Speaking of, you know anybody who’s hiring?”
“A few people, actually.”
“Give them my number tomorrow.”
He exhales a laugh, and then he falls into sleep, with a protective arm slung over you, cradled against your body.
“Sweet dreams, Leon,” you whisper, and you press a kiss to his hair.
If you could do all of this over again, you would dare to love him even more. And more, and more, and a fond part of you knows that you could offer all of yourself to him, every atom of your physical being, and still—
Still, you could never express your love enough.
1K notes · View notes
multifandomfantasies · 10 months
Text
stay ever (18+)
skz + song recommendation
the masterlist | the playlist
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perv!i.n x y/n smut ; mentions of hyunjin x y/n
based off of these headcanons of i.n being obsessed with hyunjin’s girlfriend
w.c.: 3.6k
warnings: smut, angst in the form of yearning, perv!i.n, virgin!i.n, masturbation, voyeurism, fingering (f. receiving), first time penetrative sex, no infidelity but they’re on thin ice. reader has a vulva, she/her pronouns.
this is pure fiction for entertainment purposes only.
jeongin was never the type to easily get attached. but with you it’s even more than just attachment. you are his obsession.
no matter how many times you stay the night in hyunjin’s room, jeongin is never prepared for running into you in the morning and catching a glimpse of you in your sleep-shorts. those fucking shorts. jeongin feels himself short circuiting, locking himself back into his room and resting his tired head against the door as he adjusts his half-hard cock beneath his boxers and sweatpants. it’s just morning wood, regular morning wood, he tries to convince himself, failing miserably and deciding to let himself wallow in despair for a bit.
why him? why must he, who was never the type to easily get attached to someone or let alone fall for them, be cursed with this attraction to you, his rommates girlfriend.
jeongin’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t really pay much mind to the way he palms himself through his bottoms again and again, dull sparks of pleasure more of a background noise the the sharp, torturous images of your shapely ass in those shorts that should be illegal. the mounting of his arousal almost goes unnoticed by jeongin, the way he’s adjusting his grip on his weeping erection more muscle memory than conscious self-satisfaction - it’s all a muted blur until the fabric of his boxers catches on the tip of his sensitive cock just right and jeongin accidentally makes himself cum in his pants, like a pathetic teenager.
he immediately feels dizzy with shame and from the unexpected force of his orgasm. he heads to the kitchen because he knows needs some coffee in his system before he can even think about cleaning up.
hyunjin is sitting at the kitchen table, glaring at his cereal.
“hi, baby,” you say, making jeongin jump. he hadn’t even noticed you at the sink cleaning up, his heart almost threatening to jump out his chest now that it’s racing due to the combined efforts of his orgasm, his surprise and your casual use of the sweet nickname for him.
“good morning,” jeongin replies very coolly and not at all like someone who has cum starting to uncomfortably dry between his dick and his boxers. fuck, he came so much too. jeongin fights the urge to look down at his crotch to see if anything seeped through the front of his gray joggers already and focuses on your face instead. you look really pretty in the mornings, he notices anew. with your hair disheveled and no make up on your face, your beautiful lips are moving while you- fuck. your lips are moving. you’re talking to him.
“huh?” jeongin says very eloquently and mentally kicks himself for being such an easily distracted weirdo.
“are you one of those people that are like: ‘don’t talk to me before i had my cup of coffe’ or something?” you ask him, with a grin.
“uuuh, i guess?” jeongin replies.
“good to know,” you giggle. “i’m taking a shower.”
you turn and saunter out of the room. jeongin can’t even be mad at losing his opportunity to properly clean up the mess in his boxers to you hogging the bathroom for what is expected to be the better half of the next hour because it gives him the view of watching you move out of the room, your sleep shorts hugging your ass so perfectly as you walk away.
you have to know what you’re doing.
“hey, man. could you stop staring at my girlfriends ass?”
right. hyunjin is still here. he’s switched from glaring at his cereal to glaring at jeongin apparently.
“i’m not- i’m sorry, i just- i didn’t-“
hyunjin laughs at him, obnoxiously loud for the early morning hours, but jeongin is relieved to see his face crinkle up in obvious lightheartedness. he likes being hyunjin’s roommate and he doesn’t want issues.
“i’m just kidding, dude,” hyunjin says airily. “it’s fine by me if you look. it’s those short, right?”
“right,” jeongin says. those fucking shorts.
hyunjin asks jeongin what to get you for your birthday.
“maybe you could paint her something?” jeongin suggests. everyone likes hyunjin’s paintings, jeongin thinks. he doesn’t really know why hyunjin is even coming to him in this matter, jeongin is known to be a lousy gift-giver and to never have had a girlfriend on top of that, but he’s happy to be involved in your relationship somehow.
hyunjin snorts. “you know what? i actually heard her tell her friend that with the amount of paintings i’ve given her over the past two years she feels like they’re not even for her, like i’m just working on these projects anyway and i’m just giving them to her as an easy gift. it’s not like that obviously. but i’m not going to spend so much time and effort on an art piece she doesn’t even appreciate.”
jeongin shrugs. he doesn’t know the experience of a lover not appreciating your presents or your art. and he’s definitely not trying to pick any sides in this.
“just spend a lot of money then,” he suggests instead. “like on perfume. what perfume does she have now? maybe if you can figure out what’s in there, you can buy her one with a similar smell that’s way more expensive.”
he watches hyunjin pull your current signature scent up on his phone, copying and pasting some of the notes into the search engine, lazily scrolling through suggestions until he finds something he tells jeongin he’s sure you’ll be fine with.
jeongin makes a mental note of the name of the scents - both your current and the new one - and he tucks it away into the secret corner of his mind that’s only dedicated to you.
on your birthday, jeongin listens to hyunjin and you fuck.
hyunjin’s eating you out, jeongin assumes, judging by the pretty sounds you make and the lack of hyunjin’s respective less pretty sounds. jeongin’s gotten pretty good at painting a picture in his head while he’s listening to the two of you go at it, down the positions he imagines you in. when hyunjin’s whiney moans join yours after twenty more minutes, jeongin is straining in his boxers, desperate to touch himself a relieve the ache that comes with the torture of being so close and yet so far away from experiencing you in the throws of pleasure. but he waits, his erection waning and swelling again depending on the state of what’s happening on the other side of it all, until you and hyunjin are finally finished, showered and on your way to your birthday party with your friends at a club.
as soon as he hears the front door latch, jeongin sprints out of bed to retrieve a small box from the bottom of his dresser. he bought the exact same perfume he knows hyunjin gifted you today for this specific moment. it’s a smaller bottle - jeongin could not believe how much a couple of milliliters of the liquid retail for - that he plans on cherishing. jeongin sprays carefully sprays two pumps of the scent on his pillow and buries his face in it immediately, dizzy when the smell takes ofer his senses.
this is what hyunjin was smelling when he pressed his lips to your neck while pushing his cock inside of you for the first time tonight. how would the scent of the perfume react with the chemistry of your body and mix with your shampoo, your lotion, your sweat? the perfume is beautiful composition already, but on you, jeongin knows it would smell intoxicating, so intimate, so you.
after almost an hour of having to wait, jeongin doesn’t hesitate to loosely wrap his fist around his cock, fucking into his hand with jerky, desperate thrusts as he imagines the feeling of you wrapped around him instead - that teasing smile on your face, your scent clouding his mind, the sensation of your warm cunt finally engulfing him for the first time. just the thought of it has jeongin ready to cum. would you tell him to wait? order him to last longer? he would try his hardest for you, make sure you feel good too. would your eyes roll up in pleasure when he figured out how to hit the right spots inside of you? would your nails dig into his arms while your pussy clenches around him? would you moan his name as loudly as you do hyunjin’s? would you let him cum inside? jeongin bites down on his pillow when that image inevitably makes him cum hard, leaving shaking and groaning and feeling pathetic as his release drips over his fingers and sheets at the thought of you finally, finally not making him wait anymore but letting him fill you up with his seed until you’re leaking with it.
jeongin’s never made a secret out of being a virgin - the prospect of having sex or even dating never seemed that appealing to him - but now that you’re occupying his thoughts, jeongin desperately craves intimacy. with you.
when he starts dropping hints around the other boys that he wants to have sex, but with someone he trusts. the others react as expected. teasing but supportive.
even in his wildest dreams, jeongin wouldn’t have dared to expect that hyunjin’s teasing would turn into a serious talk about inviting him into his bedroom. not to have sex with him, god forbid - the thought makes both of them laugh for a second - but because hyunjin is willing, he’s actually willing to let jeongin have sex with you.
which means - and jeongin’s heart soars at that realization - that you want jeongin too.
jeongin can’t take hyunjin up on his offer quick enough and this time he doesn’t mind how loud hyunjin laughs at his stuttering.
you are staring at his hands, jeongin notices constantly now. it’s torturous to feel your eyes on him in those days before the three of you finally have enough time make true of your agreement. especially when the two of you bump into each other in the hall or have a moment in the kitchen together when hyunjin’s in the bathroom. you almost kiss him one time, jeongin can almost feel your breath on his lips, but then pull away from him again, just in time before he closes the gap himself. “wait. we shouldn’t. not yet,” you whisper.
but you want to, jeongin knows it. you might have always wanted it, maybe - just maybe - you’ve been wanting it just as bad as him.
“i’m making sure you don’t make a mistake,” hyunjin says, leaning back on the chair jeongin carried from the living room to hyunjin’s bedroom just minute ago. he’s teasing of course, jeongin can tell by his grin and how relaxed he is. jeongin on the other hand is practically vibrating with nerves and excitement now that the heat of your body is radiating against his skin everywhere you brush against each other, sitting side by side on the bed. he won’t make any mistakes, he’s got this one chance with you and he won’t mess it up.
you turn to kiss him, just a brush of lips and tongue, but jeongin feels himself getting hard.
you lie on your back and jeongin drops down next to you, awkwardly propped up on his side and kind of looming over you as he connects your mouths again, letting out an embarrassing groan when you suck his bottom lip into your mouth.
when you guide his hand to your panties, jeongin holds his breath.
he gently slides his hand under the material of your underwear, feeling your mound, your clit, the wetness seeping out of your hole, runnin down over your lips and soaking your pretty panties.
“just take them off,” hyunjin scoffs from where he’s seated. jeongin wishes hyunjin would shut up and become invisible for good measure, but he’s too excited at the prospect of getting to see you without your panties that it’s easy to push his anger away. his hands shake when he peels the soiled garment down your thighs, ears flushing red when you giggle at his enamoured expression when he first lays his eyes on your pretty pussy. he could stare at you for hours, he thinks, now that he has the real thing in front of him he realizes how none of his fantasies could ever compare.
snapping out of it, jeongin eagerly pushes two his fingers into your weeping hole deep, right up to the knuckle and curls them upwards in search of something. what exactly he’s not sure of, but he can’t dwell on that as he focuses on quickly pulling his fingers out, then thrusting them in again, trying to recreate the speed he’s seen in porn so many times. despite the wetness you’re impossibly tight around his fingers, but with a bit of effort and the help of your arousal your hole gives to his fingers every time. jeongin can’t even begin imagine the feeling of your pussy around his cock, your walls already gripping his fingers like a vice. he desperately hopes he can get you turned on enough for him to fit, although jeongin’s sure by now he won’t even be able to push in to the hilt before he’ll come for you.
jeongin pushes his fingers in and out a couple more times, fighting the urge to pull his hand away and bring it to his lips every time he sees his fingers re-emerging coated in your moisture. when he glances up to gauge your expression, jeongin sees that your face is screwed up, but it doesn’t seem like it’s from pleasure. before you can say anything, hyunjin confirms jeongin’s suspicion.
“slow down, dude. you’ll end up hurting her.”
jeongin freezes, embarrassment coloring his chest and neck red as he stills his fingers that remain curled up against your walls deep inside of you. “sorry,” he mumbles sheepishly, cursing himself for being so obviously inexperienced. “i- fuck, i’m so sorry, y/n. i guess i got too excited.”
“it’s okay,” you tell him. you slowly start gyrating your hips against his hand. “i just need you to take it slower for now, okay?” “okay,” jeongin agrees readily, not daring to move yet as he watches you languidly fuck yourself on his fingers at your own pace, huffing out sweet little breaths that make jeongin ache with need.
when you twist your upper body to get your face closer to his, jeongin’s heart almost stops for the tenth time tonight when he looks down at your lips. you don’t lean in to kiss him, but what you tell jeongin is almost just as good.
“i love how eager you seem, baby,” you breathe quietly, only for jeongin to hear. “you make me so wet. i’m so horny for you. just let me get ready to take you, okay?”
“okay,” jeongin repeats back once again, mesmerized by your confession.
it might not be just him, he’s aware of that. maybe your body is simply getting excited at the prospect of you having sex, getting you ready for any cock. or maybe it’s the fact that hyunjin’s watching that has you so excited to do this with him. but when jeongin experimentally curls his fingers upwards in a gentle motion and he hears your breath hitch and feels your arms flying around his neck, he lets himself feel special in the moment.
“condom,” hyunjin says when your breathing gets more ragged, wet sounds filling the room as jeongin lets a third finger slip in alongside where the other two two are working against your rippling walls carefully.
“of course,” jeongin is quick to reply. he didn’t expect anything else. he knows sex is different from his jerk off fantasies, he didn’t expect to actually be filling you to the brim or covering your skin in his cum. he doesn’t want to disrespect you or hyunjin. for now he���s content, no he’s thankful, to get to have you like this at all.
who cares about hyunjin and his judgemental glare? jeongin is too focused on you.
no amount of fantasizing about this moment, no amount of fucking his hard cock through the tight ring of his fingers or into his soft bedding could have prepared jeongin for the real thing; the moment he finally feels your warm cunt sucking in his cock, every inch of him slowly but surely being hugged by your velvety walls.
if it’s true that the condom is muting the sensations, then jeongin is grateful for that, anything more intense would probably leave him and overwhelmed, sobbing mess.
“it’s okay, don’t overthink this,” you soothe from beneath him, your voice so pleasant and airy, laced with that certain urgency he’s only heard through the wall until now. “just do whatever feels good for you, i can take it.”
jeongin knows he’s shaking, but he can’t focus on that, can’t focus on anything but your reassuring words and how his hips almost move on their own as they grind themselves against you, chasing the sparks of pleasure that tighter up his abdomen when he feels his cockhead slip into deeper. jeongin can barely pull out again before he ruts forward again, short, weak thrusts that probably aren’t much of an image, but create the most addictive friction.
it just feels right, jeongin thinks, hovering above you with shaking arms, grinding his aching cock into your welcoming cunt, feeling your nails trail down his back when his grinding stimulates your clit just right, hearing your breathing hitch when he changes up his clumsy movements just right.
in and out and back and forth - it all feels too fucking good to him. jeongin knows he probably seems delirious with pleasure, not able to articulate his feelings or control his facial expressions, but he can’t stop himself, all of his energy going into chasing indulgence inside if your perfect cunt.
he’s completely surrounded by you now, his nostrils filled with your scent, the taste of your lips still on his tongue, your pussy massaging his cock just right as you meet his messy movements the best that you can. your face is screwing up into a look of arousal and concentration that jeongin would find cute if it weren’t for the fact that another roll of your hips almost knocks the air out of his lungs when you help him bury his cock to the hilt with one fluid movement, both of you groaning in unison.
it feels so long and so short, this precious time he has with you in the bubble of hyunjin’s bed. jeongin wishes he could fuck you forever, but he knows he’s reaching his limit now, feels the way sweat is trickling down his face, how he feels his balls swollen with all the cum he’s ready to give, how he can’t stand to look down at you anymore because he knows it will be what does him in.
“oh my god, baby, you’re gonna make me cum,” you suddenly gasp. the surprised expression on your face stings and soothes jeongin’s ego at the same time.
he will make you cum, he has to.
jeongin knows he’s not hyunjin, he knows compared to your boyfriend he lacks severely in experience with women as well as experience with you, but when he brings one hand between your sweaty bodies it’s his chest you arch into, his biceps you dig your nails in, his cock you clench down on like you want him deeper still, like you never want him to leave.
and it’s his name you scream when you cum this time, your eyes boring into his before your eyelashes flutter closed, your body bowing and shaking as you orgasm because of him.
jeongin can’t resist anymore. he lets himself get pulled in by the rhythmic rippling of your cunt and just crashes, cumming the hardest he ever has in his life with a sob, hips jerking into yours as he loses his balance and sees white.
your hands are carding through his hair when he calms down. “are you okay?” you ask him. “how was that for a first time?”
“amazing,” jeongin can’t stop himself from grinning, basking in the afterglow, enjoying the feeling of your nails against his scalp, even the sticky skin getting clammy between the two of you.
“how…,” it’s embarrassing to be vulnerable like this, but he has to ask. “how was it for you, though?”
“so good, jeongin. you made me cum so hard,” you reassure him with a pleasant sigh, seemingly satisfied.
all of his tension, his yearning, his frustration should be gone, but in this moment jeongin just wants to kiss you again. he wants to make this moment you’re sharing even more special. he wants you to stay connected.
hyunjin interrupts the peaceful scene when he clears his throat and hands both of you a towel. the clean-up isn’t unpleasant, but it’s awkward. now that post nut clarity doesn’t allow jeongin to just push hyunjin’s presence into the back of his mind anymore, jeongin finds himself embarrassed, vulnerable, too exposed. despite his almost magnetic attraction to you, jeongin all but rushes into his clothes, stammering a humiliating “thank you” to both hyunjin and you before quickly making his way to the door when hyunjin waves him off in the exit of the room.
jeongin catches your eyes before he closes the door behind him and he holds your gaze. there’s something there, he tells himself, something more than pitying your boyfriend’s roommate.
jeongin hopes he’s not delusional when he tells himself he knows he’ll have you again eventually. even if you make him wait.
795 notes · View notes
jujutsubaby · 2 months
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after hours (part 4)
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☆ pairing: toji fushiguro x afab!reader, satoru gojo x afab!reader ☆ summary: you and toji FINALLY have some alone time...things are getting steamy in the fushiguro household...meanwhile, satoru gojo cannot keep his hands to himself, no matter how hard he tries. ☆ warnings: 18+. MINORS DNI !! oral sex (f!recieving & m!recieving) deepthroating, fingering, spanking, penetrative sex, slight power dynamic, dirty talk, hints of a threesome, masturbation, dirty fantasies ☆ tags: modernAU, babysittingAU ☆ a/n: OK IT"S FINALLY HERE U HORNDOGS <3 the toji smut i wrote once again with one hand 😈 i'm excited for the next chapter where i can finally write some gojo smut hehe 🤭 🖤🤍 series masterlist 🤍🖤
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"be right back, gonna tuck megumi into bed really quick," toji says to before giving you a quick peck on the lips and heading upstairs.
you sit on toji’s couch, twiddling your thumbs, quite honestly feeling excited for the rest of the night. you’ve wanted this for long it feels like you manifested it and you just couldn’t wait any longer. you close your eyes and sigh deeply, imagining how toji’s hands would feel sliding up and down your body and shiver slightly. your hand starts wandering lower and lower down your stomach, but your thoughts are abruptly interrupted by your phone dinging. you immediately frown. getting a text from satoru is always an immediately boner kill…sometimes.
satoru: wyd wanna come over?
ugh, how many times do i have to tell him that i’m busy tonight? you quickly type a response.
y/n: dude i alr told u i was busy tn remember 😒
satoru: are u fr gonna let toji’s broke ass dick you down instead of hangin w me?? sad 😔
y/n: yes 🙃 best offer i’ve had tn
speech bubbles show up, indicating satoru is typing, and continues to type for what feels like hours (it was 30 seconds). 
satoru: i guarantee u i can blow ur back better than he can. just ask anyone 😈
you stare at the text dumbfounded. what the actual FUCK is he on? you’re honestly so annoyed that he would try to slide into your thoughts right now, right before toji blows your mind. 
y/n: kys
you put your phone on vibrate and mute satoru’s texts, not caring how he responds back. you go back to the fantasy you were thinking of before his intrusion and your hand starts sliding down your body once again. you’re imagining toji’s arms holding you tight and how skillful he was with his tongue last night. he never properly showed love to your tits, and you imagine him continuing what he was doing earlier in the night with your delicate buds. and satoru choking you while it happens. wait, what the fuck?
your hand immediately stops, shocked by your intrusive thoughts, but your lower body betrays you, soaking your panties. 
as if your heart wasn't beating fast enough, you hear toji come down the stairs and you get up to meet him. he holds a hand out for you.
"have you ever been to my bedroom?" he asks, leading you up the stairs.
you giggle, excited to see toji's bedroom for the first time. "i haven't! i'm so excited! i feel like a person's bedroom says a lot about them and i just love-"
you're left speechless as you enter toji's bedroom, which is just plain sheets on a king sized mattress without a headboard, and a measly bedside drawer and dresser. you think you saw one of the two on the sidewalk last spring for spring cleaning.
"this is where the magic happens, pumpkin," toji says slyly. "i know, i know, contain yourself."
"there's no way you live like someone who's in kappa sigma. be so fucking for real right now, toji. you're literally a father..." you say, still in absolute shock over over his room. you vowed back in undergrad you would never hook up with a frat guy ever again and here now is this mid-30s man who you were about to link up with that doesn't have a headboard. you look up at toji nonplussed.
"i guarantee that you won't give a shit about how this place looks once i'm done with you." with that, toji lifts you up and starts kissing you deeply, tongue feverishly exploring yours. he slams your body down into his bed, and you're surprised that his bed is softer than you expected. your body melts into his sheets and you never break contact with his mouth, moaning into the kiss.
he breaks the kiss and flips you over, causing you to squeak. "let's get this thing off of you," toji growls, his eyes filled with hunger as he fiddles with the zipper on your back. you arch your back out, your ass meeting his hard member, and he hisses at the slight touch.
"calm down, pumpkin...so eager and slutty for me..." toji whispers as he finally undoes the buttons and zippers. it practically takes everything toji has to not rip your jumpsuit to shreds as he turns you over and peels your jumpsuit off of you, exposing your chest and your perky nipples.
he wastes no time and immediately latches on to one while kneading the other, and you let out a wanton moan, gripping his hair. the things he's doing with his tongue is sending electricity throughout your body and your back arches in pleasure.
toji moves on to your other nipple, and lightly bites and rolls it between his mouth, causing you to yell out a pathetic "toji, please..."
"what do you need from me, pumpkin?" he asks, lifting his head up and locking eyes with you.
"n-need...i need you in my mouth." you whimper, feeling so helpless to the lustful indulgence you were giving into.
toji grunts and places your hand on his hard member and you use your fingers to unzip his pants and palm him through his boxer briefs, whining for more. "can't keep my pumpkin waiting, can i?" he says, as he pulls his underwear down and his throbbing member bounces out.
your eyes widen at the sheer size of him, but you were never a quitter. your mouth salivates as your fingers wrap around him and start to move up and down. you kiss the tip and leave a trail of saliva connecting your lips to his throbbing member, before fully engulfing him in your mouth.
you hear toji let out a guttural moan before his hands fixate themselves as your makeshift ponytail. "just like that...yeah...you're taking me so well, pumpkin..." he says softly between throaty sighs. he starts moving your head up and down at a faster pace and you moan around him.
the vibrations of your constant moans sends toji into a frenzy. "fuck, y'think you can deepthroat me? think your little mouth can handle that?" he asks between deep breaths.
your eyes look up to meet his. you give him the green light, and toji wastes no time picking up the pace and fucking your mouth. your whimpers against him only motivates him to go faster. you don't think your mouth has ever been this full (and you're sure it's gonna be bruised tomorrow morning), and tears start to brim your eyes and mascara slowly smudges down your face. you're determined to take his full length into your mouth, or at least gag trying until he's close.
you should've known better than trying to fit all of him in. he's so incredibly huge so you don't get to take in his full length, and you end up gagging on him a few times. soon enough, toji finds a pace that allows your tongue to skillfully lick and suck his entire length while your hand takes over what you can't.
"f-fuck, pumpkin, you keep goin' like this i'm gonna get close..." toji says, his eyes closed, face flushed, and his mouth in an o-shape, taking in the sensations your mouth was performing. it really was a spectacularly lewd performance, as toji cannot recall another time another girl was so skilled with their tongue. none of the girls he fucked before compared to you.
you continue your ministrations, and just as toji warned before, he gets dangerously close before he abruptly pulls his soaked, leaking member off your mouth. you cry out at the loss of him inside your mouth, but finally relax your jaw as toji starts kissing your neck all the way up to your mouth, and then back to your neck.
as he starts to bite your neck and leaves, what you think will be, a giant purple patch tomorrow morning, you wantonly cry out. "t-toji~ please, i can't handle this anymore," as tears start to well up in your eyes from deepthroating him. "i-i n-need you i-inside m-mee~" you beg. your mind can barely form a coherent thought, as all you could think about was how you wanted to feel him. all of him.
toji lets out a breathy chuckle as he starts kissing you down your body, slowly removing the rest of your jumpsuit and leaving you in your - oh my god? why the hell are you wearing your pink panties with burger prints all over them?!
"ohmygod, sorry i totally forgot to change into sexy pant- ohh, f-fuck~"
toji kisses your wet clothed core deeply, hitting your bundle of nerves, causing you to stop mid-sentence. "these are fuckin' adorable, pumpkin," toji coos, his eyes never once leaving your clothed core, hypnotized by the sight of your wet panties sticking to your core in front him.
he slowly takes off your burger panties, and locks eyes with you, before his tongue flicks across your bundle of nerves, causing you to practically scream at how sensitive you were. toji smirks, knowing he quite literally hit the right nerve, before diving into it.
"o-ohh, f-fu-, don't stop, pleaaase~" you whine as you hold his head in place between your legs. you grind your core up and down, feeling your sensitive nub shoot pleasure through all part of your body and causing your toes to curl.
"you know, i think we forgot to get dessert tonight...", toji teases as he switches to his fingers rubbing rough circles on your bundle of nerves. "you taste better than anything we would've got..."
you breaths become heavier and shorter as you feel the familiar dam build up begging to release. "remember when i made you cum all over my face last time princess? let's do it two for two," toji says between licks to your sensitive and throbbing core.
"y-yes p-please, toji~" you nod, already feeling yourself coming undone. "i-i'm about to...please~" you beg, unable to stop the dam from breaking and you release over toji's mouth once again. toji takes in every part of you, making sure you ride your release until the very end, almost to the point of overstimulating you.
you to jerk your hips away from toji's mouth due to how overstimulated you got. satisfied, toji leans up to give you a wet open mouthed kiss that you whimper into pathetically, unable to properly prop yourself up after your first release. before you're able to say anything, toji flips you over on your chest and pulls your exposed ass up as he slips off his underwear.
"been waiting my turn for ages, pumpkin," he mumbles, as he licks his two fingers before sliding them inside your entrance, stretching and prepping your for his length. you let our a throaty moan as you feel yourself already ready for another release over just his fingers.
"think you can handle me, pumpkin?" he asks, taking his fingers out of you and you mewl at the loss of contact.
you bit your lip and widen your eyes as you look at him. his pupils were dilated and filled with lust, and you bit back a moan. "i can take you," you pout, feigning displeasure with toji's diffidence towards you. can you though? you've never had something as big as him inside you, and you knew it. but once again, you were never a quitter, always a pleaser.
he wordlessly chuckles, as he slowly teases your entrance with his tip. you shake your hips back and forth, eager to feel him fully inside you, and toji obliges, unapologetically sliding his full length inside your eager entrance.
he anticipates your long moan, and immediately slaps his hand over your mouth, and your cries end up muffled and muted. toji hisses at the way your walls immediately tighten around him.
"fuck, pumpkin. never met anyone tighter than you..." he grunts, slowly and rhythmically moving himself against your ass. you feel him hit the sensitive patch inside you, and your moans are muffled even further as toji tightens his hand around your mouth harder.
after pounding into you for a bit more, he releases his hand from your mouth, causing you to slur out toji's name. "t-toji~ i'm getting sooo clo-"
you're cut off by toji switching angles, as he pushes your back down, creating a harsh arch of your back. your face sinks headfirst into the pillows, and your ass flush against the base of toji's throbbing member. your whimpers are muffled against the pillows, as toji masterfully and ruthlessly starts to slam into you in and out. he's getting close, but he's determined to hold out until you are too.
toji's hand slips around your waist and his fingers start circling your bundle of nerves, causing you whimper and grab the bedsheets until your knuckles turn white. he switches up the sensation by giving your ass a harsh slap, earning a high pitched moan out of you. seeing the red palm imprint on your ass cheek spurs him on to hammer into you even faster.
you feel the familiar tight coil starting inside your core, spreading all over your body. your toes and fingers curl, and you're a moaning crying mess. your makeup is definitely staining toji's sheets but your don't even care. no one does.
toji alternates between relentlessly massaging your delicate nub and playfully slapping your ass as he's teetering closer and closer to the edge.
he feels your walls clench up around him and can tell your close. "need a release, pumpkin?" he says through gritted teeth and deep breaths.
you don't even understand what you say, your words slurred from the ecstasy of toji's sublime movements. how is he managing to hit your g-spot every single time?
"nnghh~ i-i'm g-gonna c-cu-"
you cry out in ecstasy as your walls begin to tighten around him as you feel the tight coil in your stomach unfurl with fireworks and spots blurring your vision as you have your second, and strongest, release of the night. your release directly results in toji's as you milk his hard throbbing pulsating member and he fills you up. he lets out quick, deep, guttural groans as he spills all over you. thank god you're on birth control.
you both are left breathing heavily, as you turn on your back, legs still twitching from how hard your body gave in to toji, who bounces into the spot next to you breathing heavily. you feel toji's seed slowly seeping out of you, but you can't bring yourself to care; you're far too fucked out to think a coherent thought.
he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close as you snuggle into his neck, just like a puzzle piece finding it's place. you sigh and close your eyes, hearing nothing the sound of your breaths in unison slowing down.
"that...was...so fun..." you whisper slowly in between breaths.
toji airily chuckles. "it was, wasn't it, pumpkin?" toji starts massaging your scalp an playing with your hair and you both sit in the comfortable companionable silence you both appreciated.
toji doesn't know when your silence turned into slumber, but when he gets up, he sees your eyes closed with your mouth slightly open, your mind somewhere far away. he knows he shouldn't wake you, but he also knows you really should use the bathroom before falling asleep. deciding on letting you sleep a bit more before waking you, he tries his best to slowly get out of the creaky bed and head to the washroom.
toji won't lie, he's also incredibly fucked out, and his eyes are droopy as he tries to stay awake while he brushes his teeth and gets out an extra tooth brush for you. once he's done, he approaches you silently and lightly shakes you to wake you up.
"mmmghh, stoppp i'm trying to sleep..." you mumble, clearly unreceptive to waking up.
"i know, pumpkin," toji coos, rubbing your body up and down, "y'gotta pee after sex, i read it somewhere i think..."
you sleepily giggle at his concern with your eyes closed as you lay on your back. "ugh, fine...but you have to keep my spot warm for me." you warn, as toji helps you get up.
"left you a toothbrush on the counter. it's the blue one."
"gotcha," you say with a thumbs up as you swing your legs over the bed. as you take the first step, you double down over the pain you feel in your abdomen and lower stomach and yelp.
a concerned toji runs over to your side, only to start grinning and laughing. he leans down your level. "ohhh, someone's sore..." he teases.
"shut up toji~" you yell in a loud whisper, frowning at him laughing at your pain. "this is all your fault," you pout.
"okay, go pee and brush your teeth and i'll make it up by playing w your hair again until you sleep," he promises, giving your ass a quick slap. you give him a playfully dirty look before heading to the bathroom to finish your business.
while brushing your teeth, you send quick text to shoko letting her know you're planning to stay the night with toji. immediately, you get a text back from her acknowledging it, but even more surprisingly, you get a text from satoru:
satoru: so ur spending the night at his place, huh? that good? 🤨
no way they're together right now. you furrow your eyebrows and send a quick text back.
y/n: what are you doing w shoko
satoru: i'm at ur apartment stupid i told u i got bored
y/n: stay away frm my room
satoru: too late i'm going to do 3/3 of my jerk offs in ur bed tn :/
you don't know why you snorted. i mean it was a little funny. you shake your head and finish brushing your teeth. you look at your reflection in the mirror and notice all the mascara and eyeliner streaks on your face and have to hold back a laugh. you're looking so ridiculous and fucked out, and you know shoko and utahime would find it hilarious (and partially very happy for you for having a fun time). you grab your phone and take a selfie of your makeup streaked face and send it to your group chat with them.
y/n: [1 Photo] it happened ya'll 🤪
utahime and shoko both immediately respond:
utahime: u deserve this queen u manifested it 💓
shoko: i do NOT want to hear that ur down bad ever again after this
shoko: also !! [1 Photo]
shoko sends you a screenshot of her and utahime's villager avatars on their animal crossing island, cottagecore witchy theme and all, holding hands. this might possibly be the cutest thing you've ever seen in your life and send at least 10 hearts in response.
you let out a big yawn and head back to bed. you have an early morning tomorrow, as you made plans with your friends to meet up at cafe amanai again to dissect the parent teacher conference. you can't remember why you were so nervous about tonight -- it went just as lovely as you hoped (aside from all the dumb texts from satoru).
"gotcha this also so you're not cold," toji mumbles, half alseep, pointing to his national park t-shirt on the bed. you put it on, and it's the perfect oversized fit for you. oh my god, it's kinda cute...should you keep it?
you get into bed and bonk toji's head lightly. "hey! you said you would play with my hair," you chide, facing away from him, but pushing your body snugly against his. he pulls you even closer, accepting his role as the big spoon, and mumbles something you can't hear starts playing with your lightly.
you hum in contentment. "by the way, this t-shirt..." you yawn. "it's...so dilfy."
"hmm..." toji says half alseep, "bet you say that to all the dilfs you fuck..."
you feel so warm inside when you realize you can hear his smile in that response, even half asleep. "you got me," you joke, as the sound of toji's breathing and his fingers caressing your scalp sends you into a blissful slumber within minutes.
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meanwhile, at your apartment, shoko and utahime are bidding farewell to suguru and satoru. utahime is trying not to rush them out, but she really doesn't want her night to be more soiled by satoru than it already is, and shoko agrees.
satoru drives himself and suguru back, mostly in silence since it is past midnight, and they are both incredibly tired. once back at their apartment, like clockwork, satoru finds himself doing the motions to get ready for bed.
his head plops into his silk pillow and despite being obviously tired and having an early morning of gossip sessions, work, and classes ahead of him, he cannot stop thinking about the photo he sneakily saw of you on shoko's phone -- the one of your mascara running down your face.
if he recalls correctly, you didn't have a neck hemline in the photo either, so you were probably naked too. he's trying really hard not to think about him fucking your mouth like that. no, he really is, he swears his hands are just reaching down his boxers magically. he's also getting hard despite trying to replace your face with literally any other girl he's slept with, but it always reverts back to you.
satoru always makes jokes about blowing your back out, and he knows he's joking...right? it's just a cheeky joke he makes with one of his best friends, satoru thinks, as he's starts stroking himself more passionately.
his breath hitches, and he imagines you- no, not you, that, uh, other girl...what's her name? jessica? he imagines jessica's face tearing up as he casually rams himself deeper into your throat - no, jessica's throat!
fuck, satoru thinks, reaching closer to the edge of no return. at this point, he's shameless as he let's his fantasies run wild. he thinks of you on your knees, tongue sticking out, waiting for him to spill all over your fucked out face. satoru climaxes hard, and wishes nothing more than to watch you clean it up with your mouth.
god, satoru knows it's wrong but you both have bad habits of blurring the lines of your friendship...
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harrygoeswest · 1 year
Text
Infatuation On A Mutual Level
You and Harry are housemates and are both secretly quite fond of one another.
A/N: Woooo she’s here!!! I loved writing this one shot a lot and I really hope it shows. I haven’t had motivation to write for ages and this year I’ve really come back to it and I’m so happy. I hope you all love it as much as I do. She’s special to me. Special mention to the only person who ever wants to read for me @all-things-fic​ <3 Please come tell me what you think afterwards!! Katie x
Trigger Warnings: sexual content, brief mentions of loss, nightmares
Word Count: 18,777
~.~.~.~.~
Now
Every morning was the same.
The creak from the only bed on the first floor began the day. Then the gush of the tap in the shared bathroom. The kettle in the kitchen on the ground floor. The door closing when George left for the day. Then again 15 minutes later when Rhys did. Abbie starting the shower immediately afterwards now her boyfriend was gone. And then the only thing that ever made your skin prickle:
Harry’s door opening.
Every morning you would roll over at the sound, away from it. God forbid the man who defined ‘sex on legs’ ever pinned you with that warm, green-eyed stare first thing in the morning through the open gap of your own bedroom door. No, you might never be able to survive such a thing.
Living in a shared house was hard. Not least because you felt responsible for the place itself; owned by your single dad who would do anything to bring in what income he could, including taking more rent off his eldest child than he’d like. An argument arose regularly over your living situation but it was hard enough filling the fourth bedroom with a tenant. Living in the third was the least you felt you could do. The building was in dire need of some TLC but it wasn’t exactly an affordable fete. Sometimes the ceiling leaked on the second floor when it rained thanks to some shabby scaffolding work a few years back; the main reason why it was so hard to let the fourth bedroom. Part of you didn’t want to.
It was also hard in a house share because people were messy and you had a horrendous phobia of general mess. If you could quit your job and play full-time housekeeper you absolutely would. But your dad wouldn’t allow that. “Not in my lifetime,” He’d say with the gentlest scowl.
But the hardest part, by far, was being in such close proximity to the man who rented the bedroom across the hall. You weren’t sure why you were so terrified of him. Scarred by your original encounter with him, perhaps, but he wasn’t actually scary. He was, rather annoyingly, the nicest person in the house. Constantly aloof, yes, but still the poster boy for gentlemen everywhere.
Maybe if you spoke to him you’d learn he’s just a normal bloke, your inner voice trilled.
“Shut the fuck up.” You hissed into your pillow.
You waited for the inevitable sputter of the shower starting up again, and then rolled out of bed, threw on the clothes you’d hung up on the wardrobe door the night before - clean white shirt and grey trousers, ironed within an inch of their life - and scurried downstairs to arrange your usual to-go breakfast. Coffee in a reusable cup and a cereal bar. Hair and makeup could be fixed at work. You were always thirty minutes early anyway.
~
Harry wasn’t sure how you managed it. How every day you managed to evade him to avoid a puffy-eyed “good morning” or a potentially awkward conversation over breakfast.
As he stood in the hallway between your bedrooms towelling his hair dry in nothing but a pair of boxers and a damp t-shirt, he stared into your bedroom and marvelled yet again at how you seemed to have managed to keep it tidied to a borderline compulsive degree.
A large king bed sat against the left wall with ironed white linens and a plush sunflower yellow throw draped across the foot. One lone bedside table tucked against the right side with a tasselled muted green 60s velvet lamp and a book resting atop. A picture hung above the headboard - some vibrant canvas of abstract art. Every morning he wondered if you’d painted it yourself. Against the opposite wall stood a tall regal-looking cherrywood wardrobe next to a matching dresser with a sleek TV on top. It was the most modern thing about the room. In the window overlooking the garden a dream catcher hung in the dead centre. It was the only nicknack you seemed to have, and part of him hated that it seemed like something negative. Something to catch nightmares, to ward off evil.
Did you have bad dreams? And if so, why?
As always, the window had been opened two inches to let in fresh air. You never closed your door, not even at night. You never had clothes left out. Clutter didn’t exist in your vocabulary. Dust wasn’t permitted in your room. Or the bathroom, or kitchen, or living room, he’d deduced. You took Wednesdays off in the week and cleaned when no one else was home to bother you. He doubted the others had picked up on these things about you, but he’d noticed.
Harry had noticed a lot about you.
Especially that in the mornings, you waited until he took his bathroom time to get ready for work and leave without having to run into him. Some chaotic part of him wanted to change his routine so you’d have to. He wanted to know what you looked like straight out of bed with puffy eyes and linen marks on your cheeks and hair in disarray. The other part of him, the gentleman, told him not to. Who knew what might happen if he threw your routine off kilter.
Distress, probably?
No. He wouldn’t be having that.
Shaking his head, he wandered into his own room and shut the door behind him. One day the puzzle of you would finally form a complete picture. Today, he settled for the tethered, jumbled segments he’d managed to collect this far.
~
You stared at your phone, face a picture of bewilderment. Deciphering text messages from the housemates was starting to get increasingly difficult, no thanks to the fact that you were shit at it and everyone else seemed to excel.
Blackpool Tower
🌚 👰🏼❌🧽🍽️🔄
🌝 🙈🖕🏼
👰🏼 😕
Translation: Abbie George didn’t wash his dishes again.
Rhys Oh for fuck’s sake.
George Whoops.
You were on a roll with the emojis. It had started as a joke because George had said he hated people who only used emojis to text each other rather than actual words, so for a week the four of you had sent every text using only emojis. Then it had turned into a bet: how long could all of you go without using words, and who would be the first one to crack. You all knew that, without a doubt, Rhys would crack first, even though he was the one who’d proposed the bet in the first place. It had been two weeks and no one had cracked yet.
🍉 🤔👰🏼🥄🥄🍱🔄
👰🏼 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😠
🌝 😒🙄
🌚 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️
👑 ❌❌❌❌❌❌❌
Translation:
Harry Maybe George should cook dinner again…
George HAHAHAHAHAHAHA no.
Rhys Yeah right.
Abbie No thank you.
You Absolutely fucking not.
Why did all of you have such ridiculous headers?
Abbie and Rhys were the twin moons because that was the look they always gave each other when they thought something was cute, funny, interesting, or otherwise. They’d moved into the house as a couple and had remained in said couple for 3 years. Sharing a room was their way of saving money to buy a house. It made sense.
George was a blonde bride because he was the most outwardly gay man any of you had ever known and often acted like an utter madam. Madam was actually George’s nickname to his friends now thanks to the house’s light ribbing. He had also chosen his own emoji.
Harry was the watermelon because we were never without it thanks to a frankly concerning obsession. If there wasn’t a watermelon in the fridge, or slices, or packaged chunks, something was very wrong.
And you were the crown because you’d refused to pick an emoji and the house had affectionately bestowed the title of Tower Queen to you. You’d pretended to hate it, but they all knew you viewed it as the highest compliment.
Oh, and the group chat was called Blackpool Tower because you lived together in a tall, two-rooms-to-a-floor townhouse at the top of town. The Eiffel Tower had been suggested but George immediately pointed out that we were not a classy enough bunch to live in such a fine establishment. I’d told him to speak for himself.
The talk of food made you hungry, and it hit you like a landslide that you hadn’t had any dinner. You rolled off your bed and sent a text to Blackpool Tower, then shoved your phone away.
~
Multiple things happened at once. The shower turned on in the bathroom; your bedroom door opened with a quiet creak (which would not happen again since you went through WD40 like a bee in pollen); Harry’s phone vibrated with another text.
Blackpool Tower
👑 👩‍🍳🍝 … 🌚🍝🌝🍝🍉🍝➡️🧊 … ❌🍝👰🏼
Harry snickered.
Translation: You Making dinner. Leftovers in the fridge. None for George.
It wasn’t unusual you’d make enough food for everyone. Harry had learned that you’d picked that trait up from your dad. Sometimes no one would stop you, especially since there was never anything wrong with a meal you’d cooked. In fact, if there were a restaurant with food cooked by you, Harry would dine there every night. But he also knew that letting you cook for all the other housemates all the time wasn’t fair.
🌚 🍉➡️🍉❌🍉➡️🍉❌👑
👰🏼 🚫🚫🚫🚫
“For fuck’s sake.” He muttered.
Rhys must have been in the shower. If George or Abbie were home they’d have rugby tackled you to the floor given the chance.
Harry abandoned his phone and lurched out of his room, down the stairs to the kitchen. He nearly stacked it twice but he made it, with panting breaths to accompany him.
You turned your gaze on him with a startled look, giving him a once over. “What are you doing…?”
“Don’t you dare cook for everyone else.”
You blinked twice and then rolled your eyes. “It’s fine - I’ve got plenty.”
“It’s not fair.”
“If I don’t cook it today it’ll go off. So might as well.”
Harry looked at the produce you’d piled on the counter and back at you, then back again. “Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You bought enough for everyone.” He straightened and folded his arms across his chest.
You spluttered and scoffed for far too long. “No.”
“Yes.”
“You can’t stop me.” You scowled at him.
It was the most emotions he’d ever seen on you. If he’d known all this time that all he needed to do to get a conversation out of you was wind you up a bit, he’d have done it much sooner.
“Yes I can.”
You put a hand on your hip. Christ. “How?”
He stared at you, statuesque and cursing himself for challenging a bet he couldn’t win. You were right. How would he stop you? He wasn’t going to drag you away from the kitchen and up the stairs without your permission. Hell, he didn’t want to do anything without your permission, threats begotten. He hadn’t thought this through.
You let out a breath, a mocking one, and turned away from him and picked up a knife to start chopping. “Didn’t think so.”
“You can’t do this forever.”
Chop.
“Do what?” You challenged, refusing to look at him again.
Chop chop.
“Look after every person that comes in here because you feel like you owe people something. The world will take advantage of you. Is that what you want?”
Your shoulders visibly tensed over the words that tumbled out of his mouth. They weren’t even spoken with malice. They were soft and cautious.
CHOP.
“This feels like a very deep conversation to be having on a Tuesday evening.”
He growled, frustrated. “Stop babying everyone.”
Chopchopchop.
“If they didn’t want me to baby them they simply wouldn’t let me. And maybe I like babying people. Sometimes it’s nice to have a responsibility.”
“That’s just it, though. They’re not your responsibility.”
You smacked the knife down on the chopping board and turned to face him, an unfamiliar anger in your eyes that muddled with something else murky and grey. Hurt. “Will you just let me cook my fucking dinner in peace?”
Harry stood, tense, staring at you with his fists clenching and unclenching. Finally, he said, “Fine. But you’ve got to let me help you.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ, Harry.” Your head lolled back.
“Two different people, but I appreciate why you might get confused.”
You stared at him for an indecipherable length of time. Or gawked might have been a better descriptor. And then you snatched the tea towel off the side and smacked it in a whip-like movement against his arm. “Git.”
~
Two weeks later and you and Harry had begun a sort of ritual; you would cook with each other every other night. The distinct difference was that when you bought food, you bought enough for everyone. When Harry did it he only bought enough for the two of you.
You hadn’t quite figured out yet if being in this new… friendship with Harry was better or worse. Cooking together four nights a week versus blissful ignorance towards him and his attractiveness? The now near-constant proximity to him was making your head spin for stupid reasons. Namely said attractiveness.
His biceps for one. No one should be allowed arms that had the ability to make one’s mouth water. Pair his strong muscles with the litter of tattoos that were drawn down his right arm and you’d found yourself sweating even on the coldest day. A man’s body should not have such a strong effect on a person, yet here you were - a swoon personified.
Then there was his face, which was worse. Eyes mouth jaw. Those three things individually on a man were the first thing that always drew you in, but Harry had a triple threat. Seaglass green, blush pink and the perfect 100 degree angle. Not too square. And to top it all off, a wispy mop of chestnut waves atop his big head.
The perfect man?
“Aye,” Harry took the knife off you before you started chopping an onion, “thought we established that needed sharpening. A blunt knife is more dangerous than a sharp one.”
A man who cared about your wellbeing?
His bedside manner could use some work.
“Fuck off.” You whispered to your inner voice.
“What?”
“Nothing.” You shook your head, cheeks burning. Great, he probably thought you were crazy.
You silently passed Harry the stone out of the drawer. He could sharpen it if he was going to make such a big deal out of it.
“Thank you.” He mumbled, and started swiping the edge of the knife along the full length of the stone.
Chalky noises. Sharp noises. Furrowed brow. Biceps flexing. Obscenely attractive. Abort abort abort.
You busied yourself by turning on the hob and drizzling oil into a pan. Basically looking anywhere but at Harry and his arms. Sexy arms.
Sex on legs.
Your legs were wobbling. A flame of burdened heat licked its way between your thighs and you had to lean against the counter to stop from buckling. It had been a long time since a man had touched you.
Yeah. This was worse. Definitely worse. Hyper-awareness of everything going on around you wasn’t unusual, but being hyper-aware of everything Harry did was like some unfound form of torture. There was being attracted to someone and then there was whatever this situation was.
Ridiculous?
It was ridiculous, but at least you could suffer knowing that your inner voice had been wrong. Harry was not a normal bloke. He was some kind of enigma.
~
For the past couple of nights Harry had kept his door open. He’d learned that you did indeed have nightmares regularly so the dreamcatcher you kept in your bedroom window was doing little for your unconscious mind. He’d debated buying a bigger one for you but wasn’t entirely sure how appropriate that would be.
You weren’t loud. In fact, if he hadn’t kept his door open he never would’ve known, because the ajar-ness of his door had come prompted for completely different reasons - that unusual urge to see you first thing in the morning. Now two nights in a row he had been woken up by your little yelp, followed with a hissed string of curses while shifting around your bedsheets to get comfortable again. As soon as he knew you were asleep, he wasn’t too far along after you.
He still hadn’t been able to decide if cooking with you nearly every night was a good thing or a bad thing. While he never failed to enjoy himself during your bi-nightly kitchen sessions, he hated separating from you afterwards. It wasn’t enough. The persistent nearness of you for an hour or so only to be followed by a later severance was almost painful. The bedroom door being left open was just another attempt at trying to get closer to you.
He knew it was you in the bathroom because you took longer than everyone else. Not because you were using up all the hot water but because you used it as an excuse to give it a thorough clean. Being able to hear everything going on in the house was both a gift and a curse, but Harry wasn’t attuned to all the tenants. Only you.
Five minutes later the bathroom door opened, and you plodded up the two flights of stairs. He knew the way all the stairs creaked, and you were going at nothing more than a leisurely pace. He caught a glimpse of you as you passed, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. The scent of strawberries and jasmine wafted through the gap in his door after you.
Harry’s phone vibrated.
Blackpool Tower
🌝 Friends coming over tomorrow night for drinks 🍻 we’ll behave
👰🏼 You idiot
🌚 RHYS
🌝 NOOOOOOOOOO
🍉 Pay up dipshit
🌝 😭😭😭
A few minutes later Harry got a notification to say he’d received a £10 payment into his bank account.
~
Then
The cold had crept in again. Not from the weather - it was warm at night. This was a different kind of cold. The sweaty kind that kept you up at night. Medication had kept the nightmares away for some time but now you were locked in the house for the foreseeable future you couldn’t bear the idea of being constantly dimmed down by it in front of your housemates.
Last night was the first time you’d had a nightmare in close to a year and it was just as terrifying as it used to be. Some traumas just wouldn’t leave you be. You’d taken a couple of painkillers to numb your headache and they’d graciously knocked you out for another few hours and brought you right on through to 8am. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d slept that late. With everyone at home all the time now, it seemed no one wanted to get out of bed.
You had a job to do today, anyway. The room next to yours had finally been rented, so you’d been tasked with giving it a proper clean before the new tenant arrived this evening.
You did need to eat, but before that you wanted to get the window open in there to coax some fresh air in.
Hauling yourself out of bed, you meticulously tidied your room the same you did with every morning, dressed in clothes appropriate for cleaning, and took the short step across the hall to the other room.
The door was closed which was unusual. You always left the doors to the empty rooms open with a wedge so they wouldn’t get stuffy from disuse. Maybe you’d opened the window yesterday and forgot? Had the wind closed it for you?
Shrugging to yourself, you opened it anyway.
“Oh,” your eyes widened, “fuck, shit, sorry.”
Inside, collapsed face down on the bed dressed with only a sheet was a man, near-naked in only a pair of boxers. You couldn’t see much of his features bar a mop of chocolate curls, a heavily tattooed arm, and a particularly nice arse beneath his pants.
He lifted his head, complete with a gorgeous profile, and peeled open an eye. A very green, beautiful eye. He made a confused, questioning noise.
The room was full of belongings, so this must be the new tenant and not some homeless person who’d managed to sneak in without anyone realising. At least you hoped.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were moving in later today. Sorry.”
“Friday.” He managed. A sleep-coated, groggy and somewhat delirious voice. It was delicious. You wanted to taste it.
“What?”
“Friday was moving day.”
“Yes. Today.”
“No. Yesterday.”
You looked at your phone. “Christ. I’m sorry. Isolation is getting to me. You don’t care. I’m sorry. I’m interrupting your sleep. I’ll go. Sorry.”
You pulled the door closed before you could embarrass yourself any further, and then hid yourself in the bathroom out of sheer embarrassment.
If you never saw that marvellous-looking man again it would be too soon.
~
Now
Harry often thought about that first day.
Morning. Just after dawn. Early summer sun casting you in gold. Tiny shorts. Faded creaseless t-shirt. Sleepy face messy hair.
He hadn’t seen you anything of the sort since and he craved it like an addict did cocaine.
A pandemic had ruined many things for many people, and the most recent ruin back then had been Harry’s longest relationship. That’s what had brought him to a double bedroom in a shared house rather than a flat and his own fucking space. He couldn’t afford the latter.
It had been hot that night, moving into a new home in the darkness. He’d picked up the key from the owner, your dad it had turned out, and transferred his possessions from one place to another in the late night simply to avoid having to discuss his situation with people he didn’t know.
But yes, the heat is what had caused him to strip down to his underwear before passing out. The startled look on your face at the sight of him had absolutely been worth it. The sight of you had been worth it. Such a strong attraction to someone fresh after a breakup should be wildly inappropriate, but there you suddenly were, bare-legged and dangling yourself in front of him like a piece of string to a kitten. Still, the fact remained that Harry liked to think himself a gentleman. He tried to be a gentleman, and after living so close to you for so long, it didn’t take long to learn that you liked to keep to yourself. So he had done the same.
Until now, apparently.
“That housemate of yours here?”
Harry’s ears pricked up at the question like a cat’s would if it heard something interesting. He recognised the voice and hated the speaker. He always had. Today was no exception.
“Which one? I’ve got three of ‘em if we don’t include Abbie.” Rhys’s oblivious laughter filtered up the stairs to the sanctuary of the top floor.
“Well I ain’t talkin’ about the lads, am I?”
Harry shivered. He imagined if you could hear them then you would too.
“She’s here”, “Don’t bother,” came simultaneously from Rhys and Abbie. Abbie sounded almost defensive, and that pleased Harry to no end.
“Why not?”
“Because she isn’t interested.”
“Maybe you should let her decide that for herself.”
Unconsciously, Harry rose from the desk in his room and made his way across the hall to yours. The door was open, obviously.
You were sitting up with a book but you had earplugs in. Whether it was playing music or just to block out the noise from downstairs he wasn’t sure. As soon as you spotted him a small smile curved on your lips, and you pulled an earplug out. It was playing music.
Harry had never met anyone who could listen to music and read at the same time. There were surely plenty, but this put you in the Elite Tier in his head.
“What’s up?”
Footsteps began on the stairs, and Harry threw a cautionary glance over his shoulder before he slipped inside and closed the door behind him, sliding the lock across.
You were leaning forward now, a crease in your brow. “What’s going on?”
“Rhys’s friends are here.”
You blinked. “I know.”
“Yes but his idiot friends are here.”
You tipped your head. “I’m not following.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know… Gaz? The one with the teeth.”
“Oh. Right. Why not? He’s harmless, no?”
“Is he? I’m not so sure.”
Your name suddenly trilled from the floor below. “You home?”
You looked at the door as Harry moved to the side, dumbfounded. Harry shook his head at you when you began to move.
Why not? You mouthed.
Harry pretended to drink from an invisible glass and grimaced.
The idiot called your name again and knocked on the door. “Come on, come say hi.”
Harry was really scowling now. You flashed glances between him and the door multiple times.
“She’s probably asleep, mate!” Rhys hissed from outside the door. “She works early some Saturdays.”
That was not true. You’d never worked weekends, not even as a teen. It was Rhys’s smart ruse to get him to back off.
The door handle jostled. Harry suddenly looked more threatening than a mafia boss, and your jaw fell slack from shock.
“Oi,” smack, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What? Worth a shot.”
“No it fuckin’ weren’t, go downstairs.”
Some heated muttering commenced, but neither you nor Harry moved or spoke until you were satisfied they wouldn’t hear anything.
“Did he seriously just try and get in here?”
“While you were ‘sleeping’?” Harry air-quoted around the word. “Yes. He did. Hence the distrust.”
“What the fuck…”
He watched you for a moment and the look on your face said it all. You were upset, in a confused sort of way. Your mind was somewhere else, no longer in this room. Eyes glassy and breathing shallow.
Someone had tried to come into your personal space while they had the impression you were sleeping. If that had been the case there was no telling what would’ve happened. If Harry hadn’t come in you probably wouldn’t be any the wiser to Rhys’s friend’s real character, and that was what scared him. You had a tendency to put too much faith in people as just people. If someone was being nice to you that must mean that they are nice.
“What are you reading?” He asked into the silence, not only to break the quiet but to pull you out of the trance you’d been in.
“Oh, er,” you looked down at the book in your lap and turned it upwards, flashing the cover to him, “some daft romance.”
You put it aside after slotting the bookmark inside to keep your place. He smirked to himself. God forbid you dogear a page.
“Happy ending?”
You nodded, playing with your loose earbud. “Yeah. Has to be.”
“They’re my favourite.”
You gawked at him then. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Is that so shocking?”
You laughed musically. “I don’t know… I kind of assumed a guaranteed happy ending would irritate you or something.”
“Not at all. Sad endings are rubbish.”
“Aren’t they?” You patted the bed by your lap, suddenly animated. “I hate them.”
“Me too.”
“What are they for? No one wins, everyone is miserable, and someone has almost always died in the middle.”
He folded his arms, brows furrowed in a mock defence. “Now who hurt you? Tell me. Who do I need to beat up?”
“John Green.”
Harry scoffed. “He’s the worst.”
“Paper Towns? What the fuck was that all about?”
“Load of shit.”
“Exactly!”
He grinned, relaxing his posture. A commotion began downstairs, and he turned over his shoulder towards the door. Two phones dinged inside the room.
Blackpool Tower
🌝 🍻🍻➡️🌃➕👰🏼
You were being left alone. Thank God.
Harry met your gaze with a passive smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “I’ll let you get back to your reading.”
“Wait…”
He raised a single brow at you. “Yes?”
“Why don’t we watch a movie? If they’re pissing off out…”
He was both surprised and elated by your suggestion. All he’d be doing otherwise was looking for flats to move into alone and listening to some murder podcast before passing out. Friday nights were raucous in one’s late twenties.
“Two movies.” He bargained. “One we can bitch about first, and then one we like to make ourselves feel better.”
Your returning smile was prizewinning. Priceless. “And… takeaway? I really don’t want to cook.”
He clicked and pointed a finger at you. “You’ve got yourself a deal, madam.”
~
This was a new low for you. Or perhaps it was a high - you hadn’t decided yet. Using the newfound common ground over a love of happy endings off the back of the fear of a mad man trying to let himself into your room to coax Harry into a movie night with you. In your room, no less. The house was empty yet you chose to suffer the shitty WiFi signal in your tower room because your bed was more comfortable than the communal sofa in the living room on the ground floor. The cold ground floor.
Now, after a shared pizza that was delivered in record speed, you and Harry lay parallel to one another as you batted bitchy comments between one another about the infuriatingly devastating plot of Atonement.
“I wanna smash her face into a wall.”
You nearly choked on your wine, and wiped a pre-existing tear off your cheek. “Harry,”
“What?” He whined. “Every time I get to the end and she tells the real story I see red. Why get people’s hopes up like that?”
His eyes were red around the rims.
You sat forward as the credits began to roll and looked at him with a timid smile. “Opinionated, aren’t you?”
He was draped across the left side of your bed closest to the door, legs crossed at the ankle and hands tucked behind his head against the headboard. He was close to slouched, but he looked so impossibly at ease you wanted to just nestle right into him.
You could do it. Nothing is stopping you.
You repressed a growl.
“Coming from you?” He retorted, amused.
Childishly, you stuck your tongue out at him. “What’s next?”
He pursed his lips and gave a thoughtful look towards the ceiling. “Notting Hill?”
You gasped. “Fuck yes. Do you fancy dessert?”
“Always. What have you got?”
“I picked up a chocolate trifle on the way home from work.”
“That sounds dirty as fuck.”
“It is dirty as fuck.” You agreed and stood from your bed. “I picked it up on the way home with the intention of eating it all by myself, but… I’m willing to share.”
“How kind.” Harry chuckled. You felt his gaze on you leaving the room.
Two minutes later you returned with an unwrapped trifle and two spoons. Harry had already found Notting Hill on one of the many subscription sites you paid for and had it paused right at the start. He sat up straighter as you settled back down, pressed play, and then the two of you sunk into cake and gooey chocolate layered beneath sweet cream.
“Is Hugh Grant too posh?” Harry asked between mouthfuls.
“Yes, but it suits him?” Your question pondered. “Like, I couldn’t imagine him with a Scouse or Georgie accent.”
Harry’s returning laughter was delighted, magical. “This would be a very different film if he did.”
You gave a gutterall, mischievous laugh. “I would like to see it.”
Once you’d spoiled yourselves with trifle you settled back down, two parallel figures unmoving in the dim room, except to drink wine.
Harry was an ominous presence beside you. Warmth radiated off him in languid rolls, beckoning to you like an evil sea siren. Your hands fisted on your stomach, muscles tense. It really was taking everything in you not to lean into him and inhale his scent. Let it lull you to sleep like a safety blanket.
Occasionally you peeked glances at him. If he’d noticed you he never said anything, and it made you brave. After so long the film became background noise and Harry was the real star. A black t-shirt across a flat, muscular chest, steady breaths causing a rise and fall. Black jogging bottoms that rose higher up his legs with each slight movement, showing more scrumptious leg hair per inch. Big, boney, veiny feet with heinously long toes. Hair taken off his face with a tiny claw grip, a little greasy around the ears.
The overwhelming need to shove your face into his armpit finally gave motive to look away. Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts meant nothing anymore. There was a sexy man sprawled across your bed who ate your trifle and wanted to watch stupid rom-coms with you.
You fell asleep before the end.
~
Harry was sure he was dreaming. It wasn’t possible, the situation he found himself in. It was what he wanted, what he had really wanted for a while now, but the actual possibility of it coming to fruition had been next to none. Zero. Impossible.
He’d woken up in your room. That was the first tell that he was still dreaming. Then he found a warm body curled around him, and him around them in return. Your warm body. Leg draped over his thigh, arm slung across his torso, head tucked under his chin, his arms around your shoulders and inhaling your strawberry shampoo.
You were both still on top of the covers, neither able to finish the movie without passing out. He’d even noticed you had nodded off first but he didn’t want to leave you without making sure you’d lock the door behind you again in case Rhys and his idiot friends returned.
Huh. Maybe it wasn’t a dream. That was too accurate and not nearly lucid enough for an unconscious mind.
He didn’t want to move in case he stirred you, but he was desperate to see your face. Your beautiful, sleeping face. He refused to believe you’d cuddled up to him while conscious. Because it had been that way around - you were parked up on his side of the bed. His lips pricked upwards at the corners with that knowledge.
It was raining heavily outside. It fell against the window in loud smatters, the room cast in a dull grey tone. It made him want to squeeze you tighter, to keep you from any harm. He still refrained.
Eventually you woke. He could tell from the way your body tensed and your breath caught in your throat.
“Don’t freak out.” He mumbled, voice thick from lack of use.
You took in a deep, obvious breath. “No? Why not?”
“You don’t need to.”
“I think I do.”
“Explain, please.”
You hesitated, wetting your lips, and took in another deep breath. “I’ve embarrassed myself.”
“How?”
“I’ve put myself into your personal space without your permission.”
“You were unconscious.” He argued.
“Doesn’t make it any better. You should’ve run for the hills the second my foot touched your lovely hairy leg.”
Harry chuckled. He tightened his arm around you and brushed his nose through your messy hair. “Maybe I don’t mind you in my personal space. Maybe… I like it.”
“Do you?”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?”
He laughed again. “You’ve nothing to worry about.”
You sat up and faced him.
Gah. There you were. Puffy eyes, cracked lips, scruffy hair. His stomach did a backflip at the sight of you - a dream he had nightly. In equal measure, he missed having the warmth and weight of your body against him.
“Don’t think about it too much.” He gave you a gentle smile. “Nothing needs to be complicated.”
You remained silent, either awestruck or dumbfounded. He wasn’t sure.
He stood, reluctantly, and pinched your cheek. “You’re cute when you’re in shock.”
That sorted you out. Your face rearranged itself into a scowl, gaze following him as he left the room. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but such a conversation felt too poignant for 8 o’clock in the morning. You needed space to let your thoughts take over.
~
Cooking dinner and movie nights. That had become yours and Harry’s thing. After he’d dropped what you considered a bombshell that he didn’t mind you in his personal space you’d had the longest shower of your life - accidentally using all the hot water - and then spent the morning face down on your bed trying not to scream into your pillow.
Since then you’d been obsessively cleaning, more so than usual by way of distraction from the man living across the hall. The house was spotless. You’d even cleaned the windows at one point, outside, with help from your dad and looked at a way to fix the leaking problem in the empty bedroom.
It still didn’t stop your mind from constantly drifting back to the other morning. Waking up curled around Harry like that had been both terrifying and utterly perfect. For a man with such a hard physique he’d been incredibly comfortable. Too comfortable. Then he’d said a number of things that threw your somewhat orderly brain into complete disarray and chaos.
“You’re cute when you’re in shock.”
Harry hadn’t seemed to take his own words lightly, either. He’d been more comfortable in closer proximity with you since that morning, in the little things like light touches to your arms and back while you cooked together, or a kiss on the top of your head before you disappeared into your room for the night. Some nights you would share a bed after a movie because it was just easier - you were already settled, and you always woke up cuddled against him like a fucking creep.
“This,” Harry said as he pulled the oven door open, a waft of heat filling the cold room, “is gonna be fuckin’ banging.”
“Mhm.” You quipped, shoving a tortilla chip into some salsa, and then into your gob.
It was a Saturday night. By a freak stroke of luck, all the other housemates had gone away for the weekend - George to his parents’ and Rhys and Abbie on a weekend break to Amsterdam. So, a dinner and movie night had been a given, but you’d stuck a portable heater in the communal living room downstairs, found as many blankets as you could and piled them onto the sofa, then queued up enough movies to last all night.
Harry’s carefully crafted pizza sat atop the stove, cooked to perfection with your favourite ingredients on one half and his on the other. Your mouth watered.
You carried everything into the lounge, set it all up on the coffee table, and pressed play on your first movie of the night.
It was civil while you ate, and you were admittedly starving. To Harry’s credit the pizza was delicious and you wished it was bigger because you could’ve eaten another. You filled the hole in your stomach with tortillas and salsa instead. He graciously took all the dirty plates back into the kitchen when you were done, and returned with two bowls of strawberries, raspberries, and of course, watermelon. It was a very healthy dessert but the watermelon looked seriously out of place.
“I can’t believe you’re letting me eat your watermelon.” You joked. “Feels like a sacred honour.”
He snorted but remained silent.
Eventually, after all the food and a couple of glasses of wine, you were horizontal, your feet in Harry’s lap. He had his hands locked around your ankle after you accidentally kicked him in the thigh.
“If you were in a rom-com, who would you want to play your love interest?”
Harry pursed his lips. “Hugh Grant.”
You giggled, turning your face into the sofa cushion. “90s or current Hugh Grant?”
“90s. Current Hugh Grant is into much more sophisticated roles that I don’t care for. Even if they are generally great films.”
“I see…” you mused.
He squeezed your ankle, a smile flirting on his lips. “No, I don’t know. Who’s queen of romantic comedies? Reese Witherspoon? J-Lo?”
“Oh my God, I love J-Lo.” Your voice was a dreamy, breathy sound.
“A fine woman indeed.”
“I love it when you talk like it’s the 1800s.”
He laughed so loudly it was almost a bark. “Noted. Who would you want to play opposite?”
“Sam Claflin.”
“The king of rom-coms.”
“Exactly. Very easy on the eye.”
Harry was smirking again. His hands were moving now, smoothing up and down your leg in easy strokes.
Thank fuck you shaved, you little scruffy bear.
You mentally flicked your inner tormentor behind her ear.
The film played on and held your attention for some time. You were possibly the most relaxed you’d been for a very long time. Not one muscle in your body felt tight.
Harry’s lackadaisical caressing continued, which you were still half-conscious of. It was nice to be touched that way - you don’t think you ever had been. You didn’t panic until you realised he’d been venturing just a touch further up your leg with every stroke; until his fingers tickled your thigh.
You gasped, grabbing his wrist, wrenched yourself upright.
Heat flooded your centre, slick and warm. It was so instantaneous it took you by surprise, and your cheeks burned, the tips of your ears warm.
His eyes were on you, wider than usual. “Sorry,” he tried to speak but it only came out in a whisper.
What is wrong with you, woman? You wanted this.
The inner tormentor was right. You had wanted it, and for quite some time. But the advance of it had taken you so completely off-guard that your body had reacted before your brain did.
“Shouldn’t have done that.” Harry muttered, a furrow between his brow. He was angry with himself.
Finally you managed to shake your head. You managed to manoeuvre yourself by taking one leg - the leg he still had his hand on because you were keeping it there - off his lap and tucked it under itself. You pressed his palm flat against your skin, smoothing over each of his long fingers in turn, and met his intense gaze.
You were much closer now, faces and bodies mere inches from each other. You could feel his breath against your face, and you knew he could feel yours too from the way his eyelids fluttered with each exhale. Shiny eyelids, you noted.
He slowly closed the space to brush his nose upwards against yours, and your next exhale was much shakier.
“What are we doing?” You asked.
“Whatever you want.”
You wanted many, many things. And 99% of them involved him.
You licked your lips, and his gaze dropped to them at the action. Your stomach squirmed and your inner voice squealed with nerves.
Harry placed his other hand firmly on your hip and tugged, and you spilled over his lap, straddling him with your hands using his shoulders for balance. Another gasp fell out of you at the feeling of a certain something between your legs. A certain hard something.
“Is this okay?” He asked, both hands tentative on your thighs.
“Mhm.” You managed.
His hands spread wider, and you grew wetter, breathing heavier
He swallowed thickly. “Can I kiss you?”
All you could do was nod.
You noticed the beginning of a smile before his mouth was on yours. That mouth you’d thought of many times, at all hours, on all days of the week. And it was finally on yours, and perfect too. Soft, big, spongy. It felt like heaven against your own.
He took his time, leisurely testing the waters with you. What you would allow and what you wouldn’t. What you liked and what you didn’t.
You liked all of it.
His tongue was reverent as it eased your lips open, but thorough once you’d granted him access to you. He tasted like strawberry and watermelon, a delicious combination. A lethal combination.
His hands still smoothed over your thighs, reaching for your arse but never quite making it there. He didn’t want a repeat of the previous reaction from you.
You held onto him tightly, hands squeezing over his shoulders in an accidental but welcomed massage. You wanted to touch him everywhere but weren’t sure if he was okay with it.
“I never thought I’d be able to do this with you.” Harry’s voice was gruff, strained. He spoke against your lips.
“Neither did I.” You said breathily.
“Thought about it a lot.”
“Me too.”
He groaned into your mouth, hands rising to your hips and waist, tugging on your loose t-shirt.
You continued kissing, mouths bruising with lust, skirting around the removal of clothes. His arousal only got harder between your legs and it made you wriggle. Your wriggling caused friction, and the friction caused whimpers.
“I won’t last if you make noises like that.”
This information gave you immense satisfaction. He practically ate the smile off your face, and you wriggled again over the top of him. More whimpers, more movement. Back and forth, back and forth until you were utterly soaked inside your pyjama shorts.
“Jesus Christ,” he hissed.
“Harry,” you moaned, fisting his t-shirt at the chest.
“Keep going.” He practically begged.
You gave a frustrated noise and did as he said, rolling your hips over the length of his clothed shaft. Over and over and over again. Tits began to bounce. Back began to sweat. Toes began to curl.
Harry stripped you of your top and buried his face in your chest. Kissing, licking, sucking, bruising. A canvas of vivid colour. He dragged his lips across any inch he could, leaning forward, arching you backwards, just to access more. More more more.
Rolling, dragging, rolling and dragging your dampness against his erection. It was your sole focus. You needed it - the release you hadn’t felt for some time. You were always too nervous to masturbate with only two walls and doors separating you and Harry. You needed this more than anything else.
He held onto your back with one strong arm, hand gripping your waist while his other cupped your breast, and he took your nipple into his mouth without any further hesitation. Lick, suck, lick.
You squealed at the sensation, grabbed his face and brought his mouth back to yours. Faster faster faster you moved your hips and devoured his mouth until-
“Harry!”
Heat burst through your body, crashing through every cell, corner and crevice. You were tense as you came, clinging to Harry as tightly as possible. Then, as breath left you, you fell limp against him.
Harry stroked your hair and kissed your temple. His nose drew circles on your cheek.
When you pulled back, thoughts catching up to you, you looked confused.
“What?” He asked, head tipped to one side.
“This doesn’t make sense to me.”
“What doesn’t?”
“This,” you pointed between him and you.
“Why doesn’t it?”
“Because,” you gestured at him and then dropped your hands to your lap, “have you seen you?”
“Many times.”
You gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m serious, Harry. People that look like you aren’t interested in people who look like me.”
“What a horrifically outdated cliche.” He said in a flinchingly bored tone. “For the record, I think you’re bloody gorgeous. Have done since the day I met you.”
“Why?”
“Because I do! Life is too fucking short to let society dictate who is attractive enough to date who.”
You made a face, one where your eyebrows and your mouth stretched. “Yes, but-,”
“-No buts. I fancy the pants off you and that’s all you need to know.”
“Are you sure?”
He laughed. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t have let you do what you just did if I wasn’t sure. Would I?”
“I don’t know… some men are pigs.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Look,” he took your face in his hands, “some men are indeed pigs. But I like you. A lot. And I’ve had fantasies a hell of a lot like what we just did together for a damn embarrassing amount of time. About you. That’s all you need to know. Ever since I met you, I’ve been all about you.”
You pulled your lips between your teeth and stared at his chest, unseeing. Giddiness filled your tummy and white noise flooded your ears.
Harry picked up your hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. He watched you closely as he peppered kisses to your skin. “You’re thinking too hard, but I get it.”
“I think too hard about everything.” You mumbled. “Especially when it comes to you.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“I don’t know but I’ve always thought about you more than I’d like to.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You’re very distracting.”
“Sounds like a compliment to me.” He said, and pecked your nose. “Shall we finish our movies and go to bed?”
Involuntarily, and as if prompted by the suggestion, you yawned. “Probably a good idea.”
Harry smiled, wrapped his arms around your middle and squeezed you tightly to his solid frame. “Let’s do it.”
~
Harry worked late a lot over the next week or so. He hated it mostly because it meant less time with you. Less conscious time, anyway. For the first few nights he’d come home to find you asleep and couldn’t bear the idea of accidentally waking you up, but after sharing a bed with you for so many nights now, it had been a hard drug to quit.
It was late now, well past midnight and you’d probably fallen asleep hours ago. But seeing you curled up and facing the window, sheets bunched up to your chin and face buried in your pillow, he couldn’t help himself.
He quietly stripped out of his clothes, save for his boxers, shut the door behind him and slid into bed beside you. He surrounded you with his warmth - arms around your middle and his face pressed between your shoulder blades. He tugged you backwards until your bodies were flush together, chest to back, and sponged a wet kiss into your shoulder.
You did rouse a little, giving out a soft, sleep-filled squeak. “Hi.”
He smiled, leaving another kiss closer to your neck. “Hi.”
“Wondered when you’d be back.” You said around a content sigh.
“And me.”
You giggled. You took a hand that clasped around your chest and brought it up to your lips. “Tried to stay awake for you but failed.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“But I want to.”
He littered more kisses against your skin, because he could just never get enough of you. “Thank you.”
“Pleasure.”
“Now go back to sleep.”
“Yes sir.”
~
“You look different.”
You frowned, meeting your sister’s scrutinous eyes between washing a saucepan clean. You were washing, she was drying, like you always did. You didn’t trust her enough to actually clean the dirty tableware. Sometimes she didn’t properly dry things either, but you’d make the most of what you could.
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno.” She shrugged. “You’ve got a kind of… air about you.”
“Right…”
“Hey,” your dad appeared, nudging your sister’s arm, “maybe she’s got a boyfriend.”
Embarrassed heat filled your body.
“No, that’s not it.” Your sister shook her head. “Anyway, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”
“I don’t…” you didn’t know how to finish that.
Perhaps your many nights sharing a bed with Harry had been what she was talking about, but the label of boyfriend/girlfriend definitely hadn’t come up yet. You just liked each other. A lot. Add that to the fact that any night you shared a bed with him you didn’t wake up in cold sweats or choked screaming fits, it wasn’t exactly something you planned to stop doing any time soon.
“Oh my God, don’t overthink it like you do everything else. It’s a compliment. Take it.” She rolled her eyes.
“Aye, don’t be snotty.” Dad swatted your sister’s arm.
“I’m not!”
Your sister was younger than you, and for all eternity most definitely cooler. She was in school and that hadn’t changed into adulthood. It didn’t particularly bother you. Generally you got on very well, she just didn’t have a problem opening her mouth when she had an opinion.
“Anyway, don’t forget family dinner night. Next Friday?” Dad reminded you.
Ah yes. Family dinner night was not here at Dad’s house with just you and your sister. It was at the house with Dad, your sister, and all the housemates. George proclaimed it his favourite time of the month, because Dad, an ex-chef, always cooked. Harry, because of his often awkward shift work, was almost always absent.
“Okay.” You nodded.
After finishing your last dirty dish, you pulled your phone out.
Blackpool Tower
👑 ❌😃
Sometimes a text simply couldn’t be written exclusively in emojis, so you’d come up with a rule whereby if you needed to write one, you’d send a ❌😃 to alert them.
👑 Family dinner night next Friday. Be there or be square 💘
👰🏼 🤯🤩🤯🤩🤯
🌚 🎉🎉🎉
“You’re still doing the emoji thing?” Your sister asked with a narrowed gaze.
“We have another bet running to see who’ll crack first.”
“Right… will everyone come?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“That’s me asking if Harry will be there, by the way.” She said with a smirk, nudging your arm.
If you didn’t know any better you’d be hot under the collar thinking she was onto you. The mention of his name got you flustered anyway, but you did know better. As any sensible woman would, your sister had a little thing for Harry that she’d never shied away from.
“I don’t know.” You repeated, somewhat irritated.
“Well, find out! Do I need to make an effort or not, you know?”
“I mean… he doesn’t usually come. So probably not.”
“Double check. To be safe. Or give me his number.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Bore.” She scoffed, and swished away.
~
Sundays were laundry day. Harry knew this, which is why he’d never do his on the same day. Everyone in the house knew that first thing on a Sunday morning you would head down to the basement with a book and a basket full and sit there until everything had been through the tumble dryer (unless it was delicate in which case you’d air it in your window for the day).
Today, though, Harry travelled from the top of the house to the very bottom and slipped inside the utility room, closing the door behind him before any of the other housemates could hear him.
“What are you doing?” You asked, voice light with laughter.
Harry’s gaze rested on you, full of some kind of infatuation. You were sitting atop the industrial-size tumble dryer in the far corner of the room, back against the wall and knees up, book held against your thighs.
He shrugged. “Wanted to come irritate you a bit.”
“You never irritate me.”
He grinned and put himself in your personal space. He found your bookmark and placed it between the pages, and then took it away, abandoning it. “Are you sure?”
You let him manoeuvre you; pulled you forward a little and spread your knees apart. Your legs fell over the side, resting either side of his hips, and your breathing quickened. He placed one hand on your thigh and the other stroked over your cheek.
“Feel free to interrupt laundry day any time you want.”
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
You laughed at his mock genuine tone and brushed your fingertips against his lips. “You know, my sister has a massive thing for you.”
He stood quietly for a fraction of time, gaze assessing. “I would tease you about it but I just can’t. I kind of already guessed.”
“Did you?”
“Mhm. She’s not exactly subtle.”
“No, she’s not. She asked me for your number.”
“Did you give it to her?”
“What do you think?” You rolled your eyes.
He smirked. “You getting possessive of me?”
“Maybe. But she’s too self-absorbed to realise. She thinks I’m doing it because giving out your number willy nilly is morally wrong. Which it is. But yeah, I also just don’t want her to have it.”
His lips tightened, nose flared, eyes light - batting away a smile. “I think I like this side of you.”
You gave an uncharacteristic grunt, but your eyes never left him. “You look like a frog when you make that face.”
His face neutralised and he sucked in a breath. “You’re not the first person to tell me that.”
This visibly delighted you. “Maybe I’ll start calling you Froggy.”
“Too far.” He pinched your waist
You giggled, hands pressed against his chest. Your palms felt warm over his t-shirt and he never wanted you to take them away.
“How long left on your cycle?”
“Er…” your gaze dipped downwards to the screen on the washing machine. “Like, 20 minutes probably.”
“And then it’s going in the tumble dryer?”
“Yes… why?”
“Because,” he pecked your lips once, “I think I know,” he kissed your left cheek, “something we can do,” then your right cheek, “while we wait.”
Your gaze was curious and intense as he started sponging his lips down your front, from neck to chest to stomach. You reclined some, breathing heavy, and he pulled your legs up by the ankle and planted your feet back on top of the dryer.
“Oh,” you spoke, voice caught.
“You okay with this?” He asked hesitantly.
Even though you’d been sleeping side by side something close to 5 nights a week, your little dry humping session last weekend was as far as you’d gone in the sexual intimacy department.
You made a strangled noise. “Christ, yes.”
Grin fully spread across his face, he smoothed his palms up your thighs to your hips and tucked his fingers into the silky waistband of your pyjama bottoms.
“Can we take these off?”
You hummed an affirmed noise, and lifted your arse off the surface. In one smooth pull he had the garment off your legs and over his shoulder, probably in the same vicinity of the book he’d taken off you.
He met your gaze with a lifted brow. “Not a fan of knickers?”
“Not in my jim-jams, no.”
His smile blossomed like daffodils in spring. “That’s either the cutest or sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”
“Can we go with sexy considering what I hope you’re about to do?”
“Sure thing, cutie.”
You squealed a little at the name, but he couldn’t tell if you loved it or hated it. Regardless, he kept a firm grip on your legs and lowered his lips to your knee. In a slow, measured movement, he kissed his way up the inside of your legs with his hot, wet mouth.
Your breath was laboured as you watched him, eyes wide when he met your gaze again but so incredibly keen. To prove it, you pushed a hand through his curls and massaged his scalp, coaxing him forward.
“I’ve wanted to taste you for so fucking long.” He admitted, mouth dragging over the softest part of your thigh.
His hot breath fanned against your waiting lips and you visibly clenched.
“I’ve wanted you to, believe me.” Your voice was but a rasp.
“Yeah?” He sighed happily, left hand moving closer to your centre. He extended his thumb out, “Are you wet for me?” He pulled your lips apart, and the noise he made at the sight of you was practically carnal.
“Harry,” you whimpered, tugging on his hair.
He hummed again, face inching closer to your dripping lips. He licked between you, wetness collecting on his tongue. The taste of you was something better than he could’ve ever imagined and he growled because of it. He gripped your legs tighter, hesitant no more, and buried his face right between your soft thighs.
“Oh, God,” you whined. Your head lolled backwards and both fists found purchase in his beautiful hair, twisting and tugging.
He grunted in response to you, spurred on. He collected as much of your juice as he could, firm stroke after firm stroke of his perfectly capable tongue.
He played with your clit in a way that made you squirm and squeal, eliciting the most delectable little noises out of your hoarse throat. Harry didn’t hold back - he never had in that department. He went for it completely and utterly.
The washing machine launched into rapid spinning, filling the room with wheezing, screaming noises.
“Harry, don’t stop.” You begged, body rigid with desperate tension.
He obeyed your every word. He spread your legs further and further with his digging grip. He burrowed his face into your cunt, tongue plunging inside of you and spading inside your heat like a desperate gardener.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you panted as you lifted your head again to watch him.
His eyes were already on you, dark and hooded and filled with keen lust. His head moved with an eager precision like his mouth did. He wanted you this way. He’d wanted it for so long he couldn’t quite believe he was getting it. You were a goddess, ethereal and perfect.
The washing machine’s cycle reached its peak, vibrating harshly beside the two of you. It was deafening yet the least bit distracting.
Harry pursued his advances on your cunt relentlessly and without breath until your body went rigid and then shuddered. You screamed his name, withholding nothing, any cries drowned out by the washing machine. Your body visibly vibrated like the machine beside you, and eventually your limbs weakened to jelly.
Harry stood straight and helped you sit up again, wrapping his arms around your middle. He tucked your head into his neck and twisted his face into your hair.
“You’re right, that was incredibly sexy.” He mumbled.
He revelled in your returning laughter, the sound light and airy. You showed no shame in clinging onto him, fingers raking through the curls at the back of his neck.
“Maybe you can do it again later.” You suggested, lips sponging against the skin on his neck.
“Any time you like.”
After another minute or so you pulled away, eyes scouring his face. “You’re a mess, sir.” You commented as you wiped your thumb around his shiny mouth.
He made a wordless noise, held your wrist, and took your thumb in his mouth. “I’ll be a mess for you.”
“Perhaps I’ll be a mess for you, too.”
His brows shot up and it made you laugh. “It’s cruel to joke about that.”
“I’m not joking.”
He gave you a challenging look.
“Want me to prove it?” You offered.
Was it even worth the question? “Always.”
You grinned. “Let me put my washing in the dryer and I will.”
He took a step back and bent at the waist, arms extending like he was bowing. “M’lady.”
You hopped down from where you’d been sitting and pulled him in for a kiss.
“Sir.”
~
The kitchen was a hive. And a mess. There was shit everywhere and your anxiety was through the roof just looking at it. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight because any kitchen your dad found himself in nowadays ended up looking like a pig sty but it didn’t settle the tightness in your chest.
He moved around the room with chaotic precision while you trailed after him tidying up any unnecessary mess, and your sister sat at the dining table Rhys and George had brought up from the basement an hour ago, scrolling through her phone.
“What about him?” Your sister flashed her screen to the two of you, the next Tinder profile filling it.
Your dad leaned over and squinted. “His eyes are too far apart.”
“Ugh. Knew you were gonna say that.” She grumbled.
This was a game you played regularly. Your sister would showcase potential Tinder matches either for her or for you (which you always declined to comment on), and your dad would garner his unfiltered opinion. It was probably a big part of the reason you were both still (technically) single. No one was ever good enough. That, and you didn’t have a Tinder account. Or any dating app account, actually.
“Him?” She flashed the next profile to you both.
Cute. But…
Not Harry.
Your inner tormentor smirked.
“What’s his anthem?” Dad knew all the terminologies now for the dating app world. He liked to call Hinge ‘UnHinged’, because that’s what the suitors on there usually were.
“Um… Wonderwall.”
You gagged, and Dad scoffed. “Next.”
You carried on for a little while, joining in when you felt like it but mostly just trying to keep the kitchen at an acceptable level of clean.
Rhys, Abbie and George were upstairs getting themselves ready for dinner as if it was some kind of gala they were about to attend. They did it everytime; dinner with Dad felt like an occasion. Harry wasn’t home and you hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask if he was going to be. He left at such a weird time this morning you couldn’t figure out what shift he was on and how that would affect his ‘home time’.
“Lay the table please, poppet?” Your dad asked of your sister, because he knew it was the only task she’d willingly do.
She leapt to her feet in a dramatic flurry and made for the cutlery draw. “Have we got enough for matching sets?”
“Very unlikely.” You muttered. You hadn’t eaten dinner with matching cutlery since you moved in.
The front door opened, cold air blustering in and mixing with the heat of the kitchen. Harry stepped in, bundled up in a big coat and rucksack slung over one shoulder.
“Hope I’m not late.” He said in a gravelly voice, smile sheepish.
“Harry!” Dad greeted him with complete joy. “Wasn’t expecting you, what a nice surprise.”
Your sister looked flustered all of a sudden. She’d convinced herself he wasn’t coming. Part of you had, too.
“I’ll just change and be back down.”
“Sure, we’ve got a bit of time yet.” Dad waved him away.
You’d pretended to busy yourself, but you watched as he headed for the stairs and caught the subtle wink he gave you.
Ah shit.
“What am I going to do?” Your sister panicked. “I'm a disaster - I look hideous.”
“No you don’t.” You grumbled. She’d never looked hideous in her life.
“Can I borrow some makeup?”
It was easier to just give her what she wanted rather than fighting her on it. “Sure - what do you need?”
She listed off a bunch of makeup items, most of which sounded completely foreign so you were sure you didn’t have them. You’d just give her your entire makeup bag and let her do what she wanted.
You knocked on Harry’s door before you went back down, makeup bag in hand. He opened in just his jeans, a light straight-leg pair with gaping holes at the knees.
“Hey,” he smiled, and rested an arm against the doorframe.
“Hi… I thought you’d be working late?”
He shook his head. “I was supposed to be. Swapped my shift ‘cause I always miss family dinner.”
“I see… well, you’ve successfully panicked my sister.”
“That was my plan all along, actually.”
“Mhm, sure.” You bit away a smirk. You liked this playful side of him a lot. “If you need half an hour to mentally prepare… I’d take it.”
“Noted, thank you.”
You left him to change and made your way back downstairs. Your sister eagerly took your makeup from you and dashed to the bathroom on the first floor.
Neither she nor Harry, or anyone else for that matter, came down until it was time to sit down.
Your dad sat at the head of the table as he always did, spread laid out in front of you in the middle. You sat to your dad’s right on the corner, and your sister to the left. You knew she was going to try and save the seat on her other side for Harry, but George ended up taking it instead, which visibly irritated her. She did have a particular ‘gay man’s best friend’ vibe about her - they flocked to her like sheep. Abbie sat at the other head, Rhys on her left, and then Harry sandwiched between Rhys and you.
He squeezed your thigh under the table, and you tried to pretend like it didn’t have some obscene effect on your intimate places. You lightly kicked his shin and started piling food onto your plate.
Like some kind of mafia father, your dad went around the table and asked all of the housemates for an update on their lives. He liked to do this, and fortunately your housemates liked pleasing him. He was a good landlord, and that showed by the way they gravitated towards him. He probably wouldn’t do this sort of thing if you weren’t living there, but he had a responsibility to them as tenants as well as you, his eldest daughter.
When you were done eating you sat back in your chair and put your hands in your lap. Harry didn’t hesitate to take one in his own and link your fingers. You peeked up at him as subtly as possible, unable to fight the giddy warmth that spread through you. He didn’t meet your gaze for the sake of keeping everyone else out of your business, but he did squeeze your hand, which only made the airy, slightly delirious feeling inside of you that much stronger.
Your sister spent 20 minutes talking about herself without breath, and as self-absorbed as she was, she was harmless, really. Not to mention entertaining. You never laughed as much as you did when she had her mouth open.
“Harry, you should come to these more often.” She said to him, batting her eyelashes.
You were about to walk her and your dad to the car and send them on their way. Harry was trying his absolute hardest to escape.
He cleared his throat. “I probably should, yeah.”
“It was good having an extra nice body.”
You gave her a look, brow raised. She shrugged. “I think it’s home time, no?” You prompted, gripping her arms and nudging her away.
“Fine.” She huffed, and began walking towards the street. “Bye team!”
Most people had already disappeared to their rooms but you had to admire her spirit. Dad was already gone, eager to go to bed.
You were halfway to the car when your sister asked, “So are you gonna tell me or what?”
You met her gaze with another raised brow. “Tell you what, exactly?”
“Mate,” she swatted my arm, “I am not an idiot. I know when I’m not wanted, because it’s not often.” She could not get any more vain if she tried. “I always did wonder what I had to do to get Harry’s attention better, and today I finally figured it out. I need to be you.”
Ah. Not as ignorant as she appears, then.
You pressed your mouth closed, looking away. “Er,”
“Don’t ‘er’ me. I saw that wink he gave you when he got home, but I thought he was just trying to wind me up. And then he sat next to you, not by choice it seemed, but there was barely an inch of space between you and practically a metre between him and Rhys. Then he just didn’t stop looking at you, even though he pretended he wasn’t. Let me tell you, that boy has not learned the art of subtlety.”
She turned to you then, a searing gaze heavy. “Look, I don’t know if you’re aware of it, or if you’re already shaggin’ him and lying to me about it-,”
“-We’re not having sex.” Yet.
“Okay, fine. Whatever. Just do something about it, please. If I can’t have him you should. Don’t let a man that beautiful go to waste. You hear me?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Good.” She huffed, and then pulled you in for a tight hug. “Fed up of seeing you alone and underselling yourself. You’re hot shit! I know it, and Harry clearly knows it.” She suddenly takes your face in her grasp. “So do something about it.”
~
You appeared in the doorway of Harry’s room around 20 minutes later, fresh-faced and in your PJs. He was reading in bed, having stolen a book out of your cupboard.
“Is he secretly in love with her?” He asked without taking his eyes off the pages, his long finger brushing the spine.
You squinted at the title as you moved closer to him. “Yes. What made you pick that one?”
“Because it’s obviously your favourite.”
“How’d you work that one out?”
“The spine is cracked beyond belief. It’s nearly falling apart.”
“I might’ve bought it from a charity shop.”
He lifted a brow. “Did you?”
“No.”
He put the book aside, focussing all of his attention on you. You’d sat down cross-legged on top of the covers, and you wore a calm yet unreadable expression. There was a hint of something in your eyes. Infatuation, maybe?
“What’s going on?”
You shook your head, smiling. “Nothing. I’m just… happy.”
“Me too.”
You remained quiet for a moment, gazing at one another in a comfortable silence. Eventually, Harry opened his arms in request of your embrace, and you gave it to him without hesitation. You settled against him, head tucked under his chin.
“I like this, Harry. Us.”
“So do I.” He nodded, pressing his lips into your hair. “A lot.”
“You make it easier.”
“Make what easier?” He asked, and then held his breath.
A beat passed. “Life. Sleeping. Consciousness. Cooking. Just… being.”
“That’s a very big compliment.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
When you peered up at him, he lowered his mouth to yours for a slow and tender kiss. It wasn’t abrasive or demanding; it was perfect. Full of an understanding that neither of you expected to find in another person.
“Tell me about your nightmares.”
“I don’t have them when I’m with you.” You admitted, as if he hadn’t already worked it out. When he didn’t respond to you, you reluctantly continued. “They’re about my mum. She died in a car accident a few years ago and I dream about it sometimes.”
Harry’s heart found its way into his mouth. “You were there?”
“No. My sister was. I was with dad - it was a weekend. Me and dad at his work cooking, mum and my sister shopping in town. Were on their way back and someone just ploughed into the side of the car, driver’s side. She died on impact and my sister was in hospital for a week.”
Harry held onto you tighter, his lips against your temple. “I’m sorry.” He whispered.
“It’s okay…” you swallowed, body tensed in stillness. “I dream about that day a lot. Mostly the part where Dad broke the news to me. Seeing my sister in the hospital plugged in and drugged up. The funeral; the look on Dad’s face. I wake up crying more than screaming, usually.”
He took a deep breath, and he clung to you like you might disappear. “I’m really sorry. Sorry that happened to you and your family, and that you have to relive it most nights. That’s not fair.”
You met his gaze, cupping his cheek. “Ever since we started doing… this, I haven’t had a single one. Not even on the nights we don’t share a bed. I don’t know why, I guess my conscience has decided it’s safe with you. And I do feel safe with you.”
“Then I will stay with you every night to make sure you never have a bad dream again.” He vowed, turning his head enough to kiss your palm. “I like knowing that you feel safe with me. S’a pretty big compliment.”
“I’m full of those when it comes to you.”
His chest swelled, a helpless smile on his face. “Even when you tell me I look like a frog.”
You snorted and hid your face in his chest. “You do, though.”
“Okay, thank you.” He huffed, feigning offence, but he didn’t let you go; didn’t loosen his hold on you.
You talked late into the night until you fell asleep, wrapped around one another and bundled under his bedclothes. Having you so close and being so open gave Harry a sense of clarity. He’d had an attraction to you since the day he met you, but this was turning into something more. Feelings were now coming up to bat, and he had a pretty solid idea of where they were heading.
~
“You are filthy.”
You wiped your brow, meeting Abbie’s gaze with indifference. “I am not letting this garden turn into a jungle again like it did last year.”
“I know, but I’ve never seen you so dirty. You’re the cleanest person I know.”
“Believe me, I’ll be jumping straight in the shower once I’m done.”
It was the warmest day of spring so far, and for once it wasn’t raining, so you’d taken the opportunity the second you had it to get outside and sort the garden out. The winter had turned it into a tangled overgrown mass of green mess, and you’d been desperate to get it sorted.
Abbie had offered to help but had realised very quickly that she was out of her depth, and eventually offered moral support in lieu of the physical kind. You didn’t mind the company - it beat waiting inside for Harry to come home, alone all day.
You chopped away at the forest that had grown, turned the soil over when you found it, and potted some new plants to give it some life. By the time Harry came home your legs were covered in dirt, cuts and fresh bruises, nail beds black, hair full of dead foliage, and just downright sweaty.
Abbie had surrendered to the house to be entertained by Rhys, and George wasn’t home. He was never home much anymore, you were all under the impression he had a boyfriend.
Harry helped you to your feet where you were kneeling in the soil, eyes giving you a thorough once over. “You look…”
“Filthy. Yes, I know.”
He grinned. “Yeah, but I like it.”
“Really?”
He followed you as you collected your gardening tools and hid them in the shed tucked against the side of the house. “Absolutely. You’re so clean and put together all the time, it’s kinda nice seeing you a bit roughed up.”
You hummed out a laugh. “Interesting.”
Harry boxed you up against the wall, out of sight of any of your nosey housemates. His hips trapped yours, hands holding your sides at the ribs. Without a hint of hesitation, he pressed his mouth to yours, eagerness overpowering tenderness.
You simply let him, never one to deny the most handsome man you knew a hot and heavy kiss. You enjoyed being wanted by him. Who the fuck wouldn’t?
“I’ll let you go shower.”
“Okay.” You murmured, delirious.
He pulled away, giving your hip one last squeeze before he vanished into the house. You spent five more minutes in the garden making sure you’d tidied up after yourself, and took some pictures to send to your dad.
Your shower was longer than you’d have liked thanks to the state of you, and in turn it took you longer to clean the bathroom down than usual. You were starving by the time you got back to the top floor.
Harry was at his desk when you slipped inside his room, browsing something on his laptop.
His room and yours were polar opposites of one another. Where you hid all your belongings, made your bed and kept things as minimal as possible, Harry had more shit than necessary. A bulging wardrobe, unmade bed, things everywhere. He was a man with stuff, and lots of it. Sometimes it made you itch. But he wasn’t dirty in any capacity. It smelled of fresh linen and clean air all the time.
“Do you feel better?” He asked, closing the lid on his laptop again.
“Mm. Loads better.” You gave him a warm smile as you perched on the edge of his bed.
He rolled over to you but abandoned the chair halfway to stand up. Then he crawled over you, forcing you to lie backwards and caged you against the bed.
“You smell amazing.” He said with a voice like gravel.
You ran a hand down his front and slipped it under his t-shirt, trailing your fingertips over his chest. “Thank you,”
He lowered onto his forearm, face an inch from yours and groin against your pelvis. You inhaled sharply, noticing the very obvious stiffness coming from Harry’s midsection. His hand smoothed the length of your side, down your thigh to your knee and then back up again to your arse.
He met your mouth with a kiss, deep and hungry. Dizzying. He led and he was all over you, tongue devouring yours.
“It was a lot harder than it should’ve been to not follow you into the shower.” He admitted.
You let out a soft whine and fisted his t-shirt, pulling him flush against your chest. You wanted to feel the weight of him on you. “You should’ve.”
He returned that with a growl, and his hand on your arse gripped tighter. Your name tumbled off his lips in a husky plea, “I want you so fuckin’ bad.”
Hooking your legs around his hips and pushing his centre against yours, you gave him the silent go-ahead. You looped your arms around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair.
“I’m right here, and you can have me.”
Something inside Harry snapped. Any reservations about your desire for him vanished. His kisses became punishing and carnal. His hands on you a little rougher than before, than ever. Possessive.
You helped him out of his top and in turn he helped you out of yours. You scooched backwards up the bed as he drank you in. It wasn’t lost on you that this was the first time he’d seen your top half naked. Somehow, amongst all the nights of bed-sharing, you’d never been fully naked.
His eyes were dark, hooded. He looked at you like you were his last meal, and honestly you lived for it. You wanted to die under that gaze.
“You’re so sexy.”
You bit away a timid, flustered smile. Bashfulness wasn’t sexy.
He stalked you like a wild cat as you lay back. His mouth and hands descended on you again, searching and exploring every inch of you, searing hot and wet kisses into your skin.
His hands slipped into your pyjama bottoms, feeling around your arse again before he tugged them down your legs, leaving you completely stark under his burning gaze. A strangled moan fell out of him while he regarded your naked form, hands smoothing and squeezing your hips, your waist, your boobs.
“You’re so fucking soft.” He said the words like praise.
You laid your hands on his as they travelled over you, and he pushed his mouth back to yours in that same eager dance as before. He ground himself against you, hard as a rock underneath his joggers, and it was doing all sorts to your core. Your heartbeat fell down and down again to your middle, slick heat flourishing between your legs.
“Please, Harry,” you begged him, pushing his hand down.
“What do you need?” He asked, a little cruelly, as if he didn’t know exactly what you needed.
“Touch me.”
The man gargled at you. He was fucking strangled. He traced between your thighs delicately to the point it tickled, and swiped a finger easily in a stripe up your folds, wetness collecting.
“Like that?”
“Yes.” You wriggled under him, desperate for more. “More.”
He played with your clit teasingly, enjoying the way you squirmed. “More?” He asked as he slid a finger into your waiting heat.
A small cry left you. It wasn’t enough and he knew it. “More.”
“Bossy, aren’t you?”
You whined. Now you were the one being carnal. You gripped his head tightly and kept your mouth to his, tongue abrasive and lashing.
While he wound you up in the most irritating way, you found your own ways to move him on. Your feet dug into the backs of his thighs and pushed downwards at an attempt to budge his joggers off. You didn’t want to wait anymore. You wanted him in all his solid glory, right now.
“Are you trying to take my bottoms off with your feet?”
“Yes.” You grunted.
“Oh,” he gave you a dark laugh as his kisses trailed back down your front, “that’s gonna cost you.”
He licked around your belly button, the warmth of his hands vanishing from your body to push his joggers down. He gave your cunt the shortest, most mind-blowing piece of attention with his mouth, dragging noises out of you that you weren’t even aware you could make. Then he turned you over without warning, on your front, and tugged your arse up to rest against his crotch.
You gasped, excited by the somewhat aggressive nature he’d taken on. Your Harry - soft and gentle as they got - man-handling you. You peered at him over your shoulder as he produced a square foil wrapper from somewhere and ripped it open with his teeth. He watched you watching him as he rolled it down his shaft, drawing your attention to it - visually, anyway - for the first time. You had to swallow the lump in your throat.
“This what you wanted, darlin’?” He asked as he smoothed his hand over your arse, but his gaze never left you. “You want me to fill you up with my cock?”
“God yes.” You said without a hint of a waver.
“You want it like this?” He lined himself up, fisting himself at the base, and glided the head of him through your wet, parted, waiting folds.
“Yes.” You whimpered. “Please. Please please please.”
He made that noise again, his large fist grabbing your hip as he hovered at your entrance, and then he thrust himself inside you.
A ripping, searing pain had you wanting to scream so loudly you had to shove your face into the mattress to muffle it. An ache blossomed in place of the initial pain, one that was all too familiar and yet quite unfamiliar. It had been absent, like a friend who lived too far away. Now it homed itself inside of you like it belonged there. Perhaps it did, and the only way to quell it was to entertain it.
“Jesus fucking Christ, you feel good.” He hissed, his hands squeezing your hips and your bum in turn.
Harry pulled out, enough that only his head remained inside you, and then he gave another powerful thrust until he completely filled you. “So fucking good, my God.”
He started moving, in steady, sharp movements. He didn’t want slow. Hell, you didn’t want slow. You wanted fast and hot and sweaty, and that’s exactly what he gave you.
Harry started fucking into you so viciously you could feel it in every part of your body, from the jiggle of your tits to the shake of your arse to the rock of your hips. Oh, and the stretch of his cock as he buried deeper and deeper inside you. Every part of your body was aflame with need, a desire, a craving to be fucked into oblivion.
His hands were on your hips again, fingertips digging into your skin. He rocked you back and forth in time with his thrusts, not that you needed him to. You were doing that all on your own.
He grunted and hissed through every single powerful drive of his cock into your cunt, your name tumbling out of his mouth over and over again.
“Harry,” you whimpered, “harder.”
He growled and obeyed, pistoning inside of you.
“Yes, oh fuck yes.” You cried, head burrowing again.
You felt him on you, all over you then, his chest against your back, lips kissing your shoulders and his arms with a vice grip around your middle. His skin was tacky, as was yours. You were surrounded by a cloud of packed heat, like a humid summer day.
“You are…” Harry began to say, panting in your ear, and his head shook against you, “fuck, I can’t even think straight.”
You moaned, lifting up and twisting your head in search of him. He caught your chin and brought your lips to his in another deep, claiming kiss. You wanted every kiss to be like that from then on - owning, possessing, asserting. You were his and you wanted him to know it.
He gave another round of punishing thrusts before he made a winded noise, “Turn over,” he pleaded, “I want to see your face.”
A whimper fell out of your mouth when his thickness disappeared from inside you, and he helped you onto your back before he got straight back in there. He was low over you, chest on your chest, hand on the back of your thigh, and his eyes roamed your face while it contorted with pleasure.
He hooked your leg over his hip and went harder. Harder, faster, harder, faster. Your head lolled back and a string of curse words fell out of your mouth. His lips danced across your chest and you tangled your fingers in his hair to keep him there. There was nothing better than being worshipped by a mouth. Especially Harry’s mouth.
He licked and sucked over your skin until your boobs and sternum were littered with little purple spots of lust, and honestly you didn’t care. You wanted them all over you. You wanted yours all over him.
His hips never stopped moving - pushing, pushing, pushing you towards a beautiful, glorious high like a high-speed train ploughing towards a dangerous cliff edge. God, you wanted that edge and you wanted it now. You wanted to be flung off it whilst securely attached to the man currently pushing you there.
You pulled Harry’s mouth back to yours, holding your body to him as you clenched, milking him towards his end and yours. You needed it. Your head was about to explode with rampant thoughts and you needed to wash them away.
“Fuck, Harry,” you whispered, neck and shoulders spiked with heat. It radiated off you.
“I know.” He groused and bit your lower lip. “I’m fucking close. So fucking close, and I’m gonna blow if you keep doing that.”
“Please do it,” you begged, clenching again to feel his growl in your mouth, “come, Harry.”
And boy did he fucking come.
His body wracked with a shudder, movements ceasing as you wrapped yourself tightly around him. His muscles rippled beneath your fingertips while he came, oblivious to your own masterful undoing.
You calmed together, lips moving in tender kisses until your breath was caught again and your limbs were sore. You deflated when Harry abandoned you to clean himself up, and you dipped into your bedroom to do the same when you found the strength.
When he came back you snuggled up to him in his bed, between his legs with your head on his chest. His lips grazed through your hair, breathing light and content.
“I am… fucking obsessed with you.” He mumbled.
You traced your fingers over the hair and the swallows on his chest, a warmth filling you, like an acceptance. Being wanted hadn’t mattered to you until now. Until Harry.
“I… am also quite infatuated with you. And I have been for some time. Just… quietly.”
“You been sniffin’ my bed sheets while I’m at work?”
You giggled and nuzzled closer to him. “No. Not recently, anyway.”
“Not recently?”
“I’ve never sniffed your bed sheets, Harry.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
“I’m weird, but I’m not that weird.”
“But you’ve been infatuated with me for ages.”
“Not enough to go into your room and sniff your bed sheets.”
“Did you do anything a bit weird?”
“No.”
“Really? Not even… a little… you know?”
You gave him a bewildered look, and he waggled his eyebrows at you.
Haha. You totally did that, you creep.
“Maybe.” You murmured, hiding your face again.
He chuckled and held onto you tightly. “I did, too. Feeling’s always been mutual, darlin’.”
You heaved a content sigh. “I’m glad it was. I really do like this. Us.”
“Me too.”
~
Harry had been living life with a permanent spring in his step. He had you, living in the same house and sharing a bed, cooking at dinner time, shagging at night time, and just generally being wonderful, fantastic, gorgeous, brilliant you.
Tonight you were at your dad’s house with your sister so he was cooking alone, but George was in the living room watching one of those daft culinary competition programs on Channel 4, the commentary filtering out with an occasional expletive. Abbie and Rhys were out but would likely be home soon. You’d be back eventually, too, and he liked knowing that nowadays you came home to him.
Rhys and Abbie came back first. Harry had decided to join George in the living room, too intrigued by the shouty drama on Come Dine With Me to ignore it.
Abbie gasped at the TV. “This is the one!” She squealed.
“What one?” Rhys demanded. “Oh, yes!”
“What am I missing?” Harry asked, a little bewildered.
George shushed everyone with a finger to his lips. “I’ve been talking him through it but I want him to see.” He flailed a hand in the couple’s direction.
All four pairs of eyes glued to the TV, a vetted interest in the argument unfolding. The contestants from that week’s episodes were gathering in the final host's living room, bank notes spread in a circle atop a silver tray and holding up a scroll wrapped in red ribbon.
The front door of the house opened again, and in you waltzed, a baffled look on your face. Very rarely did you come home to find everyone in the living room.
Abbie squeaked your name, begging you to join before it kicked off on the telly. “Come on, quick.” She patted the space between her and Harry, conveniently.
His eyes were no longer interested in the TV drama, only in you.
“In fourth place is… me.”
“Ah,” you said in recognition of the scene on the telly as you sat down. Your arm brushed against Harry’s as you tucked your right foot under your left thigh, and caught yourself before you settled into his side like you normally would.
A chorus of patronising oohs filled the room from the contestants on the screen. The host was shaking his head.
“Wait, is this the-,”
“You won, Jane.”
Barking laughter filled the room from the housemates, including Harry, but the host didn’t stop there.
“Dear Lord, what a sad little life, Jane.”
“You’ve got that on a T-shirt!” Harry swatted George’s arm.
“Damn right I do.” He grinned. “Cultural icon.”
“You, or the bloke having an aneurysm?”
“Both.”
“... grace of a reversing dump truck.”
More squeals filled the room, as if the entire scene hadn’t been a meme for years now.
Abbie patted your shoulder. “Did you see the video of Penn Badgley doing this?”
“Obviously.”
“Wait, I wanna see.” Rhys frowned.
Episode forgotten, Abbie found the clip on her phone and showed it to everyone.
“Oh my God, I think I’m going to hear it in that voice forever now.” George muttered, a wistful look in his eyes.
“Shall we watch a movie or something?” Abbie suggested, a hopeful look in her eye. “We never do anything all together… it would be nice.”
“I’m up for that.” Rhys grinned, because why would he ever turn down one of his girlfriend’s ideas?
“Yeah, me too.” George nodded.
All eyes turned to you and Harry. You couldn’t very well say no now, it would look odd. Especially if you both did, which is what you both wanted to do. There were two perfectly good beds upstairs, one of which needed to be destroyed. That wasn’t very well going to happen if you both sat on the couch and watched a film with your housemates.
“Yeah, sure.” You finally said, because you hated the way everyone was looking at you.
“Go for it.” Harry managed, much worse at hiding his disapproval than you were.
“How are we going to decide, then? ‘Cause I don’t really watch the horror films you two are into,” George pointed between Abbie and Rhys, “and Harry probably only watches underground indie movies or something.”
Harry had no idea what gave him that impression, but the laugh that came out of your mouth - hearty, loud and delighted - was worth the assumption.
“Why don’t we all write a movie name down on a piece of paper that we’ll all like - a comedy or something - and do a raffle.”
“Okay, but who’s choosing?”
Harry rolled his eyes and waited for the inevitable to happen. George and Abbie fought for five minutes, both arguing that one of them should choose, and then the decision was given to you as the honorary house mediator. Everyone wrote their choices down on a scrap of paper and dropped them all into one of Rhys’s beanies. Then you closed your eyes, body screaming reluctance at having to be the decision-maker, and plucked a folded square out.
Your mouth lifted at the corners. “Shrek 2.”
Snacks were brought in, beers were shared out, and someone pressed play on the film where it had been queued up.
“Wait!” George screamed.
You all looked at him, bewildered by his dramatics. He’d even stood up.
“What?” Rhys gave him a baffled look.
“I wanna sit in the armchair.” George pointed to the very one Rhys sat in. “I don’t wanna sit in a couple sandwich. A third wheel is bad enough, but a fifth wheel is a disaster.”
“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, laughter nervous and the ultimate giveaway.
“Oh fuck off if you two think we don’t all know you’re a thing.”
Your body tensed. Harry could feel it, the way you went from soft to rigid in a split second. “What?”
“We’ve known for ages.” Abbie said with a sweet smile.
“Yeah, like, the second Harry moved in.” George rolled his eyes.
“But we haven’t been-,”
“-Maybe not the whole time, but definitely recently. I can hear the floorboards creak, you know.” George gave you an accusatory glance. Curse him living directly beneath you. “Amongst other things.”
Harry wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or whether he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. His cheeks and the tips of his ears had turned pink, and you looked like you were in shock. “Right…”
“I am slightly offended that you didn’t want us to know.” Rhys folded his arms. “What did you think was gonna happen?”
He had a point. What did you think was going to happen? Mild ribbing and inappropriate jokes? It wasn’t exactly any of their business what the two of you were doing on the top floor, but that didn’t mean you’d needed to hide everything from them. Why had you stopped yourselves from being affectionate when around them? They were your friends. You all had inside jokes and a group chat and emoji code names. They were like a second family in a way. Even though you all enjoyed your own company, you liked each other too.
“I think… for a while we didn’t really know what was happening.” Harry finally spoke, twisting in his place. “We just started hanging out and it kinda grew from there.”
“I called this on day one, by the way.” George said smugly.
“It’s true, he did.” Abbie nodded, still smiling. “Two good-looking people at the top of the house? Recipe for heaven.”
“We’re happy it finally happened. Just… don’t hide shit like that from us. We’re all friends.” George was back to scowling.
“Friends.” Rhys cooed, like Jay from The Inbetweeners.
“Anyway, now that’s all out there, can we start the film please? Or it’s gonna be my bedtime.” Abbie flailed her hand around.
The movie started, everyone settled into their places, and you managed to find a comfortable position against Harry’s side.
Even though you chatted along with conversations and laughed at the telly, Harry knew something was off. You were still tense, and you didn’t touch him like you normally would. He wanted you in his arms, not pushed awkwardly against his side. He wasn’t sure if it was because you were uncomfortable displaying affection in front of other people, but whatever it was he wanted to make it go away.
He shifted at one point in an attempt to wrap an arm around your middle, but instead you moved further away. That utterly terrified him.
As the movie credits rolled, everyone started to move, ready to get to bed for the night. Except you.
“Guys,” You said, quiet as a mouse, but everyone heard you. Because you never stopped anyone for anything, “can we all have a chat?”
Dread nestled itself into Harry’s stomach. A chat? About what? Everyone? Why did everyone have to be present? What was going on?
The housemates sat back down, if a little tentatively, gazes wary. You finally gave Harry your attention, if only fleetingly with a worried smile.
“Are you alright?” Abbie asked and pulled your hand into hers.
Harry leaned forwards.
“You’ll all be getting an email tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you in person.” You licked your lips, stare heavy on the stone floor of the living room. “Dad is selling the house.”
~
A little piece of your heart broke that evening when your dad told you his plans to sell. It was a place that you had such an odd relationship with, because while it cost a lot of money and caused a lot of financial problems, it also brought you a family you never asked for and a man you never dreamed of having.
You knew your dad would try and hold onto it as long as he possibly could because it had become your home, and he’d been in bits over dinner as he broke the news. He cried, so you cried, and then your sister cried, too. Everyone had been a mess.
“What?” George said, dumbfounded. Hell, everyone was dumbfounded.
“It’s the last thing he wanted to do, but it’s kind of burning a hole in his pocket and we can’t afford it anymore. Between the leaking second floor and dodgy plumbing there’s also woodworm and stone repairs and all sorts of other crap I don’t want to bore you with.”
“You found this out today?” Abbie asked, bottom lip trembling.
“Yeah, an hour or so ago. I’m really sorry, guys.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Rhys frowned.
Abbie crawled across the small gap between her and you and wrapped her arms around you. “We get it. It’s old, it’s a bit rickety and it needs a lot of TLC. We all know your dad gave it all the care he could afford and it’s okay that he can’t afford it anymore.”
“How long do we have to find new places?” George asked, biting his lip.
“As long as it takes to sell. Given the condition of the place it could be fuckin’ ages.” You managed a laugh.
“If your dad needs us to do anything, he just needs to let us know. And we’ll make sure it’s tidy as fuck for viewings and shit.”
“Thanks, Rhys.”
The housemates starting shifting again, collecting up their bits and leaving with softly spoken good nights. You still didn’t move, and neither did Harry. After a quiet minute or so, he slipped his hand into yours and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“What are you thinking?” He asked in a gravelly whisper.
You took a deep breath, nibbling away at your lower lip. “That I’m scared.”
“Scared?”
“Mhm.”
“Scared about what?”
You turned to face him, cataloguing every crease of worry on his handsome face. “Us. What this means for us.”
He gently cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “What do you think it means for us?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’m scared it means the end, when I don’t want it to. I’m scared that what we’ve been doing is just… convenient? And now that we have to leave it won’t be so convenient anymore and it will be over.”
“You don’t want it to be over.” It wasn’t a question.
“No. Not even a little bit. I… I don’t want a night without you ever again. I can sleep with you around. I can breathe. I need to breathe, and I can’t do that without you. And part of me hates that I need you, but I do, and the rest of me that doesn’t hate it tells me to fuck everything to the wind. Because it’s not just need, it’s also a want. I just want you around, like you have been. Presence is such a funny thing when it comes from different people, but yours… I like yours. A lot.”
Harry spoke your name in a low voice, gaze on your mouth as he smoothed his thumb across your lower lip, “I don’t want it to be over, either.” He meets your gaze again, cool, calm and collected. “I really hoped it wouldn’t be at any stage ever, least not because we have to leave the house and find another one. I’ve been living with you for three fucking years and I also don’t want to have to spend a night where you don’t live with me. Hell, it’s not even a fucking option. I know you love this place because it’s your family’s, but I don’t care where we live as long as we do it together. I’ve been looking at other places since the day I moved in, and the only reason I haven’t bothered to leave is because you kept me here, whether you meant to or not. And now we have to leave, and I’m sure as shit gonna take you with me, because I can’t live without you.”
You stared at him for a moment, and then launched into his arms, tackling him into the sofa. You peppered his face with kisses until he caught your lips and held you there, happy in the knowledge that you needed each other and that was absolutely fucking okay.
“You’re special to a lot of people, but especially to me.” Harry mumbled into your lips. “I’m selfish enough to not let you go.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Good.”
You remained in the lounge for a little while longer, wrapped up in one another, until movement began upstairs and you decided it was probably time to head upstairs to bed. Before you made it to the stairs, Rhys and George appeared in front of you. Rhys looked apprehensive and George looked irritated he’d been dragged out of his room again.
“What’s going on?” You asked, cocking your head.
“Abbie’s in the loo so I’m gonna make this real quick before she comes back.” Rhys threw a wary glance over his shoulder. “I need your help.”
~
Every morning was the same.
This week it had been, anyway. You woke up with the sunrise, wrapped in Harry’s arms, and you listened to his heartbeat and his unconscious breathing for a blissful twenty minutes before his alarm went off. Then he’d fall out of bed with a reluctant yawn, mooch his way around the room and disappear into the bathroom to get ready for work.
Upon reappearing he’d head to the kitchen to make a coffee and leave a cup of tea on your bedside table, then a kiss on your lips, and then you’d watch the man who defined ‘sex on legs’ leave your apartment from the comfiest spot in the bedroom.
Today was the same, but different. He wasn’t going to work today, and neither were you. It meant longer in bed, with enough time for sexy shenanigans, then he’d make for the bathroom, bring you tea afterwards and breakfast.
You spent the day in bed, right up until 5 o’clock when you had to get up and go out to give your keys back.
Yes, your dad had managed to sell the house. It had taken a while, but it got there. The new owners were moving in tomorrow, and you’d all arranged to meet your dad and your sister there to do a final ‘handover’.
George had moved into a studio flat in the centre of town but spent most of his nights at his boyfriend’s place. Rhys and Abbie had finally bought that house they always wanted, out of town but easy to travel into. And you and Harry also had your own place, still renting and in the city, but it was yours together, and that was all you wanted.
“Are you nervous?” Harry asked as you walked up to the front of old Blackpool Tower.
“I’m not the one that needs to be nervous.” You shrugged, even if you had been the one to help Rhys with most of the planning.
He’d been a lot of work over the past few weeks. After he initially asked for your help he spent so long searching for the damn jewellery he forgot about the rest of it. You had reminded him on many occasions that it didn’t need a big song and dance, but he insisted, because he wanted it in the house you’d all shared with her favourite people to witness it.
The garden was lit up in the early evening with fairy lights and candles. George, your sister and your dad were already at the far end waiting for Rhys and Abbie to arrive. You gave over your keys - dad had the house professionally cleaned even though you had offered, because it was too big a task for one person.
Blackpool Illuminations
Rhys We’re nearly there…
Yes, Rhys had really named the group chat for the planning committee ‘Blackpool Illuminations’.
You stood next to your sister who wrapped herself around your middle, and Harry kept hold of your free hand.
“I hope she says no.” Your sister said, and Harry snorted. “Just for a laugh.”
“I don’t think Abbie has it in her to say no to Rhys.” You mused.
Five minutes later the couple in question turned up. Abbie had no idea what was going on, obviously. She’d been told they were going for dinner and then for a walk. The walk was always supposed to end here, at the old house.
Abbie gasped at the sight before her, hands on her mouth as she moved through the garden. “What’s going on?”
Behind her, Rhys swiftly dropped to one knee and presented the ring he’d spent months agonising over. “Abbie,”
You all watched and listened as Rhys spent five minutes talking about how perfect his girl was for him. It was very typical Rhys - overboard and unnecessarily long. Most things maybe could’ve been kept for his wedding vows.
Just as your sister was about to explode from restlessness, Rhys finally asked, “Will you marry me?”
“I would’ve said yes five minutes ago.” Abbie giggled, nodding, and held her left hand out.
George and your sister started hollering, your dad was pretending not to cry, and you fell into Harry’s hold again, watching the happy couple with a warm smile.
“I hope to God they don’t ask me to help plan the actual wedding.”
Harry chuckled and pressed his lips into your temple. “I’ll make sure they don’t.”
Your sister presented herself in front of you with an assured look on her face. “When are you two getting engaged, then?”
Harry choked behind you, and you gave your sister a bewildered look. “Reel it in, please.”
“What?” She shrugged. “Being in love suits you. A wedding would really suit you.”
“A wedding isn’t something you arrange for an aesthetic, sis.” You reminded her.
“Speak for yourself, but I do recommend heavily considering it.”
After she turned away, Harry lowered his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I wouldn’t mind marrying you.”
You tightened his arms around you. “One day.” You said with a kiss to his palm.
His smile imprinted on your cheek. “One day.”
~.~.~.~.~
Thank you so v much for reading if you make it this far. It’s a long one, I know. The longest one shot I’ve actually ever done. Much love to you <3
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pseudowho · 2 months
Text
Infiltration, Chapter Eight: Unchained
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Nanami Kento and the reader must pretend to be married to infiltrate a deadly Curse-user cult and take it down from the inside.
*SMUT/NSFW/18+*
THE FINAL CHAPTER!!
A slow-burn fic with fluff/comfort, angst, smut and heroics from our favourite salaryman.
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Kento broke into a jagged run, as an almighty roar burst from the writhing mass above him, the many faces within it screaming in shrill tandem. Kento stumbled, slipping in the rot, cutting his palms open on shards of bone and gristle on his way to you, still hanging, chained, against the wall.
Kento's hands clamped instantly to your face, crying out in disgust and panic as he smeared it with blood and rancid muck. His hands roamed you desperately, from chains, to face, to sliced belly, to waist, to chains, uttering frantic breaking moans-- "no no no, darling please, wake up, I can't do this, I can't do this, please, please". Your pale, lax face shot through him like shards of ice and he sobbed, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your mouth, trying to push life from his own body to yours.
His shredded palms settled on your chains, and Kento roared in frustration as he felt his Cursed-energy output dwindle to nothing the moment he touched them. Kento spun, dropping to his knees and scouring the floor for anything he could use. His hands were scattered, stinging, and landed on a discarded, gouged long-bone; a femur, mostly intact. The biblical darkness crept closer above him, hungry, eager, tentacles and limbs slapping down the walls of this vast deep well towards you.
Brandishing the femur as a weapon, imbuing it with every shred of power he had, Kento stepped into the hit and slashed the wall above your chains in a devastating blow. A spray of damp brick and rubble had the wall buckling, and as the chain's tethers were released, your body slumped downwards. Kento caught you, shielding you from the falling debris, cradling you in his arms as he, you and the chains slapped to the slick icy floor.
Clutching your body to his, Kento begged you to live, begged the empty chamber around him for help-- "I can't-- I can't help you-- don't go yet please don't go yet, we can make it, you can make it...fuck, please!" His trembling hand crept to your belly, glugging blood in lazy, weakening pulses, and Kento's eyes drifted closed.
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"I can get her to Shoko, Nanami-san. It won't be a problem...I know you hate working late. I'm sorry."
"This isn't work. This is...something more. I needed to be here. She needed--" Kento's voice cut off as Ijichi continued to bow his head in apology before him. Kento felt the first heavy splatters of warm summer rain, the sky pregnant with humid downpour. Kento looked to you-- bloody, eyes fixed in mute horror, wrapped in his suit jacket in the passenger seat of his car.
Kento tipped his face back towards the sky, eyes closed, Ijichi unable to see how his face twisted in helpless agony, rage, disgust. He felt the heavy spatters of raindrops on his cheeks, his glasses. He did not know for how long he stood, still. His beige suit had turned tan, his navy shirt sodden, stuck to him, black and warm in this tropical storm.
He wished to be wiped clean. He wished you could sleep and forget. He wished to be baptised and ordained in the arms of someone more powerful than him. He wished, he wished, he wished.
Kento blew it all away, smooth and restrained as he felt trickles run down him, from his shoulders to his belly. He looked back down to Ijichi, his glasses removed and pocketed now, his gaze passive, authoritative.
"She's uninjured. No need to make any more work for Shoko. I'll get her home and...and safe." Ijichi's face contorted in apology again-- not vague apology; sincere apology, grief for the unlived life he had to administrate.
Ducking under the un-trickling veil once more, Kento reached his car, hesitating for just a moment on the door handle before stepping in, sodden against his leather seats. With barely a sideways glance to you, he reached over, the backs of his fingers ghosting over your bare arm. With a grunt, Kento rumbled the engine to life, setting the heaters to maximum.
Kento twisted in his seat, unbelted, and gently grasped your hands. As if dead, in rigor mortis, your limbs refused movement, tight against yourself as Kento tried to urge your hands towards the air vents. He huffed lightly as you trembled, trying to draw your hands back.
"I can't bring her back," Kento strained, his voice tight with regret, "but I can keep you warm. Please. Darling."
Your arms relaxed, melting under Kento's warmth and urgency, and you allowed him to press your hands to the leather-sweet whoosh of warm air. You trembled, nauseous and numb. You stayed this way as Kento reached around you, threading the belt and buckling you in before fixing his own. The car rolled to a start. You had little to no memory of the journey home.
Kento had carried you to your door, seeming so small in his arms, in his suit jacket. Placing you down with utmost delicacy, Kento gripped your upper arms as if afraid you'd fall, before cautiously letting go. He eyed your lock, and surveyed you; no keys, he surmised. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an army knife, multi-functional, well-used, Scandinavian branded. Within seconds, the lock of your door was jimmied open and you were ushered inside.
You had vague memories of being lovingly cleaned with a bowl of warm water, a gentle soft cloth meticulously cleaning blood from your fingernails. Of being verbally dressed, Kento's voice smooth and encouraging outside your bedroom door as your shaking hands pulled pyjamas on. Of being fed, hot soup brought in steady mouthfuls to your lips. Of being tucked into bed, hair stroked out of your free-flowing tears. Of his steadfast presence in the armchair beside your bed as you drifted into an uneasy sleep.
You awoke, your home empty, the apologies for which seemingly drifting like dust-motes in the air around you. Kento had cooked, cleaned, left fresh clothes out for you.
In your shame, and your grief, you saw yourself as a burden. Kento gave you space, always wondering if it was too much or too little.
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There was a pause between heartbeats as panic ebbed away. Kento felt a wave of warmth sweep through him, ushering him, as soft as a wave, to a state above his own body, outside himself, as weightless as a breath. The wave swept back out to sea, taking Kento's warmth with it; he gave it, its strength amplified through his willingness, trickling out through fingertips.
With a gasp and a thump, Kento's heart started again, and you twisted, coughing in his arms, gripping his biceps with cold fingers. Kento choked, gasping and coughing, and you climbed up his lap, your eyes feverish with pain and confusion. Kento swayed, drained.
"You're back-- you're...you're back," he stuttered in disbelief, shaky hands lifting your top and stroking reverently across your intact belly, before rising up to cup your face, his eyes brimming with relief, adoration, joy. You shook, wet cold seeping into your bones, still feeling the handle of death's door in your grasp.
"Kento...what did-- what did you--" Your voice trailed off, disbelieving as you knelt, wet-steel-chafing chains clanking on your wrists. With matching soft smiles, you leaned towards each other, foreheads pressed, clinging in the dark.
As you opened your mouth to speak again, you felt an instinctual sting run down your spine as something powerful, something old stabbed out of the gloom behind you. You grasped Kento, rolling him sideways with you, and felt the air split beside your cheek as a foul black tendril shot like a lance, missing you by a hair's breadth and piercing, instead, into the brickwork on the opposite side of the well.
Kento lay on his side, stunned-- he hadn't felt anything approach. He and you had almost been impaled. His near-fatal exhaustion left him reeling, scraping the barrel, his Cursed-energy depleted by the first and only successful Reverse-cursed technique of his life. He couldn't feel the toes on his broken leg now, and, concerningly, the burning pain had reduced to dull, hot throbs.
As blood whooshed through his ears, sound crept back in and he heard you-- "...up! Kento, get up, we've got to go, we've got to get ou--" Kento felt you stand and draw his arm over your shoulders, and you lifted him with the vigour he had sacrificed to bring you to life.
You roared with exertion as you half-dragged, half-carried Kento partway across the chamber, until he seemed to find his own again, and stumbled with you, his pale face clenched with determination. Ugly crunches shook the ground behind you. Diamond-tipped black tendrils stabbed through the dark, missing you both, rending the ground as the eldritch horror above you roared, hungry, hungry, hungry.
Reaching the rungs of the ladder clinging to the well, you gazed up, stomach sinking as you realised the corrupted goddess blocked your ascension to safety, even if you did both make it up the ladder unscathed. In mute devastation, you gaped. Kento pressed his palms to the wall, pressing his ear flat to it, knocking experimentally with grazed knuckles.
As Kento stepped backwards, drawing back a fist to bring the wall down, seeking a break in the foundations, the fast approaching black tendrils retreated upwards with a snap and a screech-- you both heard shouts above, and the Goddess bellowed, jagged and shrieking, in pain, under attack.
"Nanami! Nanami?" Kento stepped forward, eyes skyward at the sound of Ino's voice. The Goddess reeled backwards, uncovering the surface of the well, and a rumble sounded above, debris falling as she slammed into the walls of the Shrine. Hope sprang up in both of your throats, wordlessly clutching hands as the sounds of battle sprang down the well.
"Nue!" A great masked owl swooped down towards you, landing with a skid, bones crunching beneath its great talons. Upon its back, Megumi leaned forwards, reaching a hand out to you. You faltered as Kento pushed you forwards, and you dug your heels in.
"No, Megumi. Kento first. He's injured." Kento spun to you, clench-jawed and fuming before you pushed him to Megumi. Before Kento could argue, Megumi pulled him towards Nue, and Kento stumbled, clambering upon great red feathers before urging you up into his lap, his thick forearms bound around your waist. With a gut-lurching jolt, the ground leapt away beneath you, and you and Kento felt the frigid slap of snow against your cheeks above the rim of the well.
Landing upon the ground, stepping off, your vision filled with the dreadful horror of the corrupted Goddess. You gasped, recognising the naked human form at its core, buckling under the weight of the twisting bodies and tendrils bursting from its back, vast, almost filling the huge hollow chamber. The woman who had spat venom at you, beaten you to within an inch of your life, on only your second night in the village--
"Emi," you breathed. The pale form of the woman was as a corpse, animated and possessed, as the poisoned Goddess poured out of her, the vessel too small for her containment. Kento was momentarily paralyzed beside you, stunned and reliving his final fight with Haibara Yuu, against a Cursed local deity; boyish terror stripped him bare, no longer a man, no longer a young adult, just a child, a boy, left to fight alone in the dark--
"I'll go," Kento forced, desperate to make amends, bile churning in his belly. You spun to him, to argue, and he interrupted, "I'll go. This needs to end, we need to finish her--"
You stared at Kento in disbelief. You stared into the chaos around you, at brutal short battles being waged between the sorcerers of Tokyo and the remaining few cult members. You stared at Ino, Megumi, Yuuji, Maki, Nobara...all fighting desperately, to keep the eldritch Goddess at bay, fighting a losing battle. You ran your hands in anguish through puzzle pieces, desperate, desperate--
"...but they're dead," you spat, as Kento gripped your shoulders, breathing heavily in his agony, frowning, questioning.
"I...what?" Kento was drowsy, drunk with threatened collapse. His eyes blurred as you nodded frantically to him, cupping his face in your palms.
"The people...the people they fed to the Goddess, they're dead, but that Cursed-energy...is too much to be her own. If they're dead, their Cursed-energy should have died with them."
You watched as the information trickled into Kento, his slim brown eyes flickering as his mathematical brain whirred, remembering Father Tatsu, remembering the brothers' techniques...
"...well no, he...the Father he...stole the peoples' Cursed-energy first and imbued the Goddess with it, to...to make her strong."
With a dull thud of realisation, Kento understood. Ino hit the floor with a sickening crash beside him, scrabbling upright again, his bloody nose oozing out through his balaclava. The Goddess shrieked, black arms flailing, now some eerie creature of the deep, and wildly overpowering the team sent to destroy it.
"Fuck," Ino spat, lurching sideways, staggered, "how is it so fucking strong?"
"The Father who originally transferred all the Cursed energy is still alive," Kento barked, "Father Shinzu. It's the only way, if the original Cursed energy owners are dead." With a hopeful pang, Kento realised the same applied to Father Tatsu, who would be rendered all but harmless with the death of his brother.
"So, kill the transfer-guy, Goddess goes back to being a pussycat, yeah?" Ino nodded, joining the ranks of sorcerers now backing away from the writhing Goddess, "Oh! Almost forgot..."
Reaching behind his back, Ino pulled something harnessed from under his sweatshirt. Kento could have cried to see his spotted blunt-blade, heavy and trustworthy in his hands again. Kento felt he had nothing left to give, but was suddenly safer with his beloved weapon to fight alongside. Kento squeezed Ino's shoulder, and Ino almost melted at the strength of silent thanks passed through him by his mentor.
Reaching out for your hand, Kento impeached you with eyes and words; "come with me," he pressed, leaning down, nose to nose, "we finish this together, or not at all." Hands grazing his jaw, pressing your lips and forehead slowly to his, you nodded.
"Together," you whispered. Kento gripped you by the waist, bound together, as much for him as for you.
"Ino," Kento rumbled, "you hold her off. We'll kill the Father. This will all be over." Ino grinned, saluting, and turned to take charge of the motley crew of sorcerers.
Looking keenly at Kento, you saw the slow blink of his eyes, the slight slump of his shoulders, how his grip wasn't as true on his blade as usual.
"Yuuji," you called, and the boy turned to you with wide eager eyes, "Nanamin's hurt. Come with us." Kento frowned at you again, cross at having been identified as weakened. Yuuji looked at his father-figure, concerned, afraid. With a pause and brief hesitation in the swirling snow, Kento nodded once. Yuuji bounced to attention, the three of you hushing out through the snowstorm, beginning to make your way down the hill back to the Fathers' quarters in search of Father Shinzu.
Visibility was next to nil in this sea of white. The scarlet torii gate split through the storm, but it looked...warped, irregular, as if shattered by something, or someone--
Kento lifted you by the waist, throwing you into a snowdrift with a roar as an almighty crunch split the ground between you, a devastating seam running up the path towards the Shrine. Kento's ears rang, and when the sound faded, all he could hear was his own agonal gasping, so desperately exhausted.
Dust settled over the black crack in the earth; Father Tatsu stood, snarling in pain, twisted over, wrenching his fist from the earth.
"Enough of your interfering, Tsuda," he bellowed, convulsing like a wounded bear, "you and your slut can go hang." Kento snarled back, seeing red as gut-churning rage filled his belly at Father Tatsu's slur. Yuuji circled to the side, head low and ready to pounce. You were gone, lost somewhere in the snow drift.
Kento twizzled his blade once in his grip, before rocking forward, the ground cracking beneath his feet as he panned for scraps of Cursed energy, and found gold. He brought his blade down on the junction of Father Tatsu's neck and shoulder, and the old man crumpled to one knee, crying out in pain, his body woefully unable to contain his stolen power.
"You're dying," Kento hissed, teeth bared in fire and fury, "and you're taking us all down with you." Father Tatsu laughed, one hand on the blade, shaking, his teeth gory with the blood of his bitten tongue. He spat a thick glob of blood and phlegm into Kento's eyes, and Kento's head snapped involuntarily back. Father Tatsu took his chance, kicking Kento's injured leg out from beneath him.
Yuuji bullrushed Father Tatsu, all vigour and inexperience, and was hit with a gut-bursting blow to his belly. As Yuuji fell to his knees, retching and vomiting, Father Tatsu stood over him hands clasped together in one great fist, Cursed-energy belching out of him, to strike a deadly blow to the back of Yuuji's head.
A warning jangle rang behind Father Tatsu, and his head turned imperceptibly, too slow to stop you wrapping your arms round his neck, throttling him with the restraining chains still clamped to your wrists. The thin old skin of Father Tatsu's throat tore beneath the icy chains, their power dulling his Cursed-energy for a few crucial seconds.
"Now, Kento-- NOW!" you screamed, clinging to Father Tatsu as he bucked, strangled. Kento forced himself upwards, and the downy flakes seemed to slow around him, as he entered a state somewhere between rage and serenity. With a crack and flash of black and red, Kento brought his blade down on his own forced gradient.
Father Tatsu died instantly, split from neck to groin in an attack which sent you flying back in the snow. Skidding to a halt, you would remember Kento this way for the rest of your life; black long coat flapping in the wind, snowflakes melting into his bloodsoaked hair, heaving with white-knuckled rage against the monochromatic landscape.
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You would not allow Yuuji to kill the comatose old man, surrounded by his own weeping wife and begging nurses.
Shackled to life with cruel intention, brain dead after his efforts to combine Emi with the Goddess, Father Shinzu's bedroom was incongruously crowded by medical equipment. Sounds of life were replaced by regular, irritating bleeps, the mechanical hiss-whirr of a ventilator, the steady march of his own enforced heartbeat.
"I'm sorry," you choked, sincere and nauseous, walking forward with conviction, your fingers settling over pumps, and machines, and devices, the pretence of life, "it has to be this way. He has to die."
Father Shinzu's wife darted forwards as you began to turn off equipment. Her tearstained, twisted face broke your heart as you ended Father Shinzu's life support. Yuuji flung out an arm, holding her back, pale as he watched you work.
Father Shinzu's heart beat for only a few moments after the beeps of the equipment ceased...and the room soon rang with the reedy bleep of his heart flat lining, as his wife screamed at you to stop, furious helplessness in her eyes. Yuuji let go of her, turning with his face in his hands as Kento entered the room.
You stood, eyes closed and silently weeping. The overwhelming pulses of Cursed energy from the Shrine died with Father Shinzu. A few ear-splitting screeches from the top of the snowy hill...and, the unmistakeable silence of the grave.
"You bitch," Father Shinzu's wife screeched, lurching to her feet, rushing at you, and you had the barest moment to see a metallic glint in her hand, "you ungrateful bitch!"
A field of black in your vision- a dull thud, a gasp of air leaving lungs.
"Nanamin-- NANAMIN!"
Your hands shook, head shaking in silent disbelief as Kento dropped to his knees in front of you, and he stared, stunned, at the knife in his chest. He turned to look up at you, apologetic, questioning, confused.
You caught him before he slumped sideways to the floor, struggling to heave his bulk into your lap, sobbing and crying out for him as his breaths grew wet. Sound closed in on you as you begged Kento, hearing Yuuji beg the medical staff in the room for help, corralling them, grabbing them.
As you stared around for help, wild-eyed and sobbing, you felt a large, warm hand come up to cup your cheek. Kento coughed, lips stained with blood, as he gazed up at you with such a tender smile that you wracked with tears, clutching him to you.
"...love you...always knew-- I always knew--" You shook your head as Kento nodded, smoothing his thumb down your nose, across your cheeks, committing you to memory.
"You owe me a date," you wept, pressing your lips to his forehead, "you can't-- you owe me a date--" Kento chuckled, wet and weak...and silenced. You shook him. His body was loose on your lap, a soft smile fixed on his lips, his eyes drifting closed, the run of his blood over your lap stopping.
"Kento-- no-- KENTO!"
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
It was a crisp, bright day. Ijichi grieved its passing as he grieved the passing of friends, colleagues, strangers-- administrating, administrating, administrating.
Yaga Masamichi sat opposite Ijichi, a swirl of steam rising from the coffee pot between them. He flipped slowly through folders, an uninterpretable grunt voiced after each one.
"Too many dead," he stated, blunt and low. Ijichi hummed, solemn.
"Imbuing a fertility goddess with Cursed energy..." Ijichi sighed, "...and for what? A dead cult. Dead sorcerers. A dead goddess." Ijichi sighed again, deeper this time, "And so much paperwork."
"So much overtime," Yaga hummed. He stopped, reminded, "speaking of overtime, Ijichi...how is Nanami?"
Ijichi looked up, smiling.
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"...stab wound penetrating the left lung, one very broken leg, some cracked ribs from the CPR, abrasions...you're lucky the medical staff there helped you, Nanami."
Nanami grumbled, still aching and scarred, despite Shoko's efforts to heal him after Father Shinzu's doctors and nurses had intervened.
Shoko almost giggled, taking a long, slow draw on her cigarette, "I wouldn't have helped you if you'd just murdered my patient in front of me."
"The murder was all mine, actually," you piped up, batting away Kento's sore hands, buttoning up his shirt for him as he pressed his nose and lips to your hair, "but this guy, just can't stop himself from being a hero--"
"--darling, I was just doing my job--"
"-- swooping in at the last minute to save me--"
"--really now, you think I'd just let you--"
"--and he still owes me a date."
Kento laughed despite himself, fixing you with a stern look; "Darling...read the room."
You pursed your lips in mirth, cupping Kento's face in your hands, staring into each others' eyes, seeing only each other and the promise of a better life. Shoko smiled fondly at you both, tapping at her cigarette thoughtfully.
"I'd say you two deserve a holiday. A real one."
Kento leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours, basking in your warmth; "Where should we go, my love?"
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Infiltration is finiiiiiiiished! 🎇 ❤️ 🍾
Thank you so much to all my readers; those who have been, those who are, and those yet to come.
You've all made this so much fun.
Yours, faithfully,
Haitch xxx
319 notes · View notes
stylesloveclub · 1 year
Text
Pleasing (grumpy h blurb)
In which Harry's acting kinda grumpy, and y/n helps him... destress. :)
+++
Harry’s hand slams onto his phone, muting the blaring chimes of his 6 AM alarm. His head hurts and his eyes are heavy, and the thought of having to get out of bed, get dressed, and go to a business meeting when it’s still dark outside makes his feel physically ill. 
He’s tired… beyond tired. Last night had been another one of his annual “In-Chef nights.” He’d been up on his feet, cooking meal after meal from 6 PM all the way until midnight, and had then spent an additional two hours with his staff cleaning up. He’d driven home in the cold rain, and didn’t even have enough energy to change into his pajamas when he got home. He just stripped down to his briefs, and collapsed into his bed.
 Running on barely four hours of sleep, he’s feeling cranky and miserable and irritable. The sound of his alarm has been nagging at him through three snooze cycles, and he knows if he stays in bed any longer, he’s going to be running late. 
He forces himself to blink his eyes open. He feels gross and sluggish, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, and letting out a loud groan. The early morning meeting he has today isn’t even one that he’s excited for… he hates the constructors that are helping him open a new Pleasing location in New York. They’re bad communicators, and always make mistakes in the plans that they’ve made. Harry’s a very particular man, he’s picky about the way his food is cooked, a neat freak in his home, and has an organized schedule that he never strays from. So working with these incompetent people, who somehow always manage to royally fuck something up… god it really gets Harry frustrated. 
He yanks the blanket off of himself and swings his legs over the side of the bed. His feet meet the floor, and it’s ice cold. Great. 
This is just fucking great. 
+++
“Jesus fucking christ.” 
Harry takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes to calm himself. It doesn’t work. His nostrils are flaring and his eyes have turned a dark, angry shade of green. “I fuckin’ said last week that I wanted gas stoves. So why is there an order for six electric stove tops?”
Ian, the contractor, fumbles in front of Mr. Styles, cheeks turning red. “Uh-um, t-the installation of the electric stoves was cheaper.”
“What did I explicitly ask for,” Harry seethes.
“Err– t-the gas–”
“So what in your right mind made you think that I’d be okay with this?”
“I– well, sir, we just wanted to go with the option that was more affordable–”
“Do you think I give a fuck which one is cheaper?” Harry yells. “For fuck’s sake, I’m running a multi-million business!” He slams the papers he’d been holding onto the desk in front of him and stands up angrily, his chair scratching loudly against the hardwood floors. “Get this fixed, today,” he says before storming out of the conference room and slamming the door behind him. 
He locks himself into his office, and sits in his chair, rubbing his red-veined eyes. He’s too tired to have to deal with all this shit today. How hard is it for people to follow instructions? His life would be so much easier if everyone else didn’t fuck up so much. 
He sits there for a few minutes with his head in his hands, fingers still rubbing at his eyes to try and soothe away the burning feeling he feels every time he opens them. His head is starting to hurt, a pounding migraine so intense that he can feel his heartbeat in his ears, and his stomach hurts. All he had to eat today was a black coffee before he went into that horrific meeting five hours ago. 
Yes, the one hour meeting they had planned had ended up taking five hours instead. He literally had to clear his schedule to fix all the fucking mistakes that they were making. They’d chosen the wrong tiles for the floor, ordered the wrong stove tops for the kitchen, and had designed all of the countertops to be one inch too low… it literally pained him to be working with such incompetent designers. 
And now he was behind on his work. 
He lets out a tired sigh and turns on his desktop, opening his emails. The bright screen makes his eyes sting, and he has to squint to read the tiny word on the screen. He scrambles around in his drawers and finds his reading glasses, but still, the words blur together and make his head hurt. He bares with the pain, and spends an hour or so responding to emails and filling out paperwork, until there’s a knock at his door. 
“What is it?” he calls out a bit snappily, not looking up from his paperwork. 
He hears the door jiggle, trying to open but struggling against the lock. “It’s me, Mr. Styles!” 
Immediately, he puts his pen down and unlocks the door for his sweet y/n to come in. She’s holding a plate of food for him, and looks up at him with her pretty smile, cheeks warm and dimpled with kindness. 
“Hey puppy,” he murmurs, surprised. She hadn’t come in for the majority of this week because she had finals. In fact, she just had her physics final just this morning. 
“Hi!” she says enthusiastically, entering his office. “Teddy told me that you’ve been here since 8, n’that you haven’t eaten anything all day.” She looks up at him with her adorable bambi eyes, “How come you’re allowed to scold me for not eating enough at work when you’re skipping meals too?” 
He smiles lightly, “you’re right puppy, that’s hypocritical of me.” 
“Very hypocritical,” she nods resolutely. “So, I brought you some food! I had Teddy make it, ‘cos I know he’s your favorite.”
His stomach growls at the sight of the fettuccini alfredo in front of him. He’s starving but he’d been way too caught up in his work to think about getting up to get himself any food. “Thank you,” he says, taking the plate from her and picking up her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. 
“It smells yummy, so I want some too,” she says, sitting down on the chair behind his desk. “But we gotta eat it quick, ‘cos I’m supposed to get back out there in five minutes.” 
“Thought you weren’t meant to come in today?” he says, sitting down next to her. 
“I wasn’t scheduled,” she says, shoving a forkful of the pasta into her mouth, “but then Grace texted me asking if I could cover for her. She got the flu.” 
Harry hums, grabbing a tissue from his desk, and wipes off the little bit of white sauce clinging onto y/n’s lips, her mouth full of deliciously creamy and garlicky pasta. “How were your exams?”
She rolls her eyes. “Ugh. Don’t talk about it. So hard, but everyone else said it was super hard too, so hopefully there’s a fat curve.” She claps her hands excitedly, “But at least I’m done! No more school for the rest of the month!!!” 
Despite his initial grumpy mood, he can’t help the smile that graces his face. His girlfriend is literally the cutest thing in the world, especially when she gets all giddy and excited like this. She’d been really stressed out and MIA all week because of her exams, so it’s refreshing to see his lively and happy y/n again. 
“So proud of you puppy,” he says, cupping her cheek and giving her a kiss. 
She twirls a forkful of pasta for Harry and feeds it to him. “Are we gonna hang out tonight?” she asks. 
“Of course. Need t’cuddle tonight, you’ve been so busy I feel neglected.” Just sitting with y/n for a few minutes has already calmed Harry down, the stress in his body fizzling away. 
She giggles cutely. “Okay baby. We can spend alllll night together.” 
+++
The ache in his stomach fades away after finishing the pasta that y/n brought for him, and after popping an advil, he feels his headache start to slowly go away as well. He’d gotten an email that the electric stove tops had been returned and that an order for the gas ones had been put in, so he’s feeling more relaxed about that as well.
He lounges around in his office until y/n is done with her shift, and they sneak out the back exit to head home together. He’s got a one hand feel on the steering wheel, the other on her thigh, and he’s feeling much better than he was this morning when he’d been all grumpy and stressed out. 
When they get to a stop light, his phone rings. He thinks nothing of it when he picks up, not even looking at the caller id. “Hello?” he answers casually.
“Er– Hi, Mr. Styles.” 
Harry rolls his eyes. It’s Ian on the phone. “What’s going on?” he says tersely.
“Um… so we figured out the stove issue, which is great…” 
The light turns green. “Okay…?” Harry says, slightly annoyed.
“So… well– the stove company said that the shipment is gonna take a few weeks, which is gonna put the construction schedule behind since we can’t install the countertops until we put the stoves in, which means…” Harry sighs in disappointment, already knowing what’s coming. “Well, it means that the restaurant might not be ready for the opening date that we’d set.” 
“Ian,” Harry’s knuckles are turning white around the steering wheel, and he’s using every cell in his body to keep his voice steady so that he doesn’t start yelling in front of y/n. “When I signed that contract with you, didn’t we agree it would be done in three months?”
“I– yes, it’s really unfortunate–” Ian stammers, but Harry cuts him off.
“I don’t want to hear fuckin’ excuses,” Harry bites. “We signed a contract.”
“Sir, I don’t know what to tell you,” Ian says casually.
“How about we start with the fact that this issue could’ve been completely avoided had you simply followed the plan that we had agreed upon?” Harry’s voice is steadily rising, an angry fire to his tone. “Or how much money you’ve already cost me from all the mistakes you’ve made? I signed a contract and I expect the deadline to be met. It’s far too late to push back the opening of the restaurant.” 
“It’s out of my control–” Ian tries to explain, but Harry won’t hear it.
“Jesus christ, do I need to do everything for you?” Harry bursts. “Call the company and tell them the delivery is for Harry Styles! Figure it out with the investors, pay them extra! We will not be pushing the date back, not when we’ve already invested so much into it.” Harry hangs up the phone angrily and throws it into his lap. “Fucking hell,” he breathes angrily. 
Y/n sits next to him quietly, her eyes wide. “Everything okay?” she asks timidly.
“S’fine,” he bristles tersely, pulling into his parking spot. He puts the car in park and gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him with such aggression that y/n winces for the car. 
Scrambling behind him like a little puppy, she follows him into his penthouse. There’s an angry furrow in his brow as they ride up the elevator, and his lips are pressed together in a frustrated line as he types out a message on his phone. He storms into the kitchen without even glancing at y/n, and pours himself a glass of ice cold water to maybe help himself calm down. 
Y/n stands shyly behind the kitchen counter, not saying anything but watching him quietly.
“Just a second, puppy,” he says, his tone impatient and clipped, pushing past her to head into his home office. He dials the number of one of his restaurant’s business partners on the phone, and spends nearly half an hour figuring out what they were going to do. 
“I want a new fuckin’ contractor,” Harry rants.
His partner. Niall, gives out a hearty laugh, “I know mate, but don’t worry. I’ll figure it out for ya. I know the guys over there, I’ll give ‘em a ring and see if they can get your appliances sent over any quicker.”
“Thank you,” he mutters gratefully. Finally, there was someone who knew how to get shit done. He hangs up the phone and runs his fingers through his hair frustratedly. His headache is back and his neck and shoulders hurt from being so tense.
Y/n knocks on his office door, and he sighs heavily. “Not now, puppy, v’got to send some emails.”
She steps in, despite the fact that he’s dismissed her, with sad eyes and a pout on her lips. “If this is how it’s gonna be all night then… I’m just gonna go home.” 
His eyes snap up. “What?” 
“You’re working and being all… grumpy,” she says quietly. “So I’m gonna get an uber.”
“Y/n, don’t be like that.” He looks at her with an exasperated look. “Something important came up, v’got to deal with it.” 
“I’m not trying to be like anything,” she shrugs. “You’re stressed out and you don’t wanna talk, so I feel like I’m just annoying you by being here.”
“Baby…” he sighs, rolling away from his desk and getting up to go stand in front of her. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest in a shy, almost protective manner, and she has her bag hanging off of her shoulder, fully prepared to leave. Standing in front of her, he can see the sadness in her eyes. “Don’t go, m’sorry.” 
“I know you’re upset…” she whispers, looking down at the floor, “but that doesn’t give you the right to be snappy with me. It hurts my feelings.” 
Oh, his precious girl, so sweet and sensitive. His heart breaks a little bit, knowing that he’d made her sad… he’d been so caught up in his own stress that he’d neglected her feelings. He knows that she was probably so excited to come over after having finished all her exams… and he knows that she’s sensitive. She gets teary eyed whenever someone uses a stern voice with her, cries for days if she ever gets yelled at. Of course it would hurt her when he pushes her aside and snaps at her to leave him alone.
He pulls her into his chest, “Sweetheart, you’re right, m’sorry. I shouldn’t be takin’ it out on you, you’ve done nothing but been sweet t’me all day.” She’d brought food for him when he was hungry, was cheerful and lovely on the car ride home, and had tried to talk to him when he was upset… only to get pushed away at the end of the night.
“I wanna stay, but not if you’re gonna be mean,” she says into his chest.
He presses a kiss to her hair, “no, m’done puppy. Not gonna be mean, promise. Please, stay?” 
She looks up at him and smiles softly. “Okay,” she puckers her lips and leans up for a quick kiss. “Thank you.” 
He smooths his hand over her hair, and rests his head atop her cheek, still hugging her close. She’s warm and smells sweet… holding her in his arms is all he wants to do for the rest of his life.
“How about I go take a shower while you send your emails, and then we can go to bed?” she suggests, pulling away.
He shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. No more emails tonight, I can send them in the morning.” It’s late at night anyways, it wouldn’t make a difference if he sent them now or tomorrow. 
“M’getting in that shower with you.”
+++
In the shower, y/n washes away all of Harry’s stress and worries. She lathers up the loofah with the rose scented body wash that she keeps in his shower, and rubbed it all over his chest and back and biceps. She even went so far as to lift his arms above his head and scrub his armpits for him, making Harry cackle at how silly she was.
Then, she took his yummy smelling shampoo and had him bend down so that she could wash his hair for him. She threaded her fingers through his hair and scratched at his scalp deliciously, scrubbing his hair as though he were getting spoiled at the salon. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly as the foamy shampoo dripped down his forehead, but she always made sure to rinse the bubbles away before they got into his eyes. 
They got out and dried themselves together, standing in front of Harry’s heater in their towels for a few minutes while y/n brushed her hair. He changed himself into only a pair of boxers, while y/n opted to skip on undergarments (it’s very important to let ur pussy breathe!!!), putting on only a pair of thin sleep shorts and one of Harry’s huge t-shirts. 
“M’gonna give you a massage,” she tells Harry once they’re both changed, shoving him onto the bed. He chuckles to himself at her weak attempt to manhandle him, but complies easily, settling onto his stomach so that she could straddle his back. She squirts some lotion onto her hands and warms it up between her palms, then rubs it smoothly onto Harry’s broad and muscular back.
“Mm, thank you baby,” he groans. “So good t’me.” 
It’s all innocent at first – y/n knows that Harry was stressed out and probably super tense, so she thought giving him a nice massage to work out the knots in his shoulders would be nice. But, of course, with Harry shirtless underneath her, it’s hard for her thoughts to stay completely pure. 
Harry’s so strong and muscled… it’s so hot. He feels firm underneath her hands, her palms smoothing over the ridges and curves of the muscles in his toned back. His shoulders are broad and his biceps look huge, even without being flexed or anything. The skin of his back is warm and smooth… so soft and tan. Her mouth waters as she rubs her hands up and down his back.
Her fingers find his shoulders and she kneads them deeply, which makes Harry let out a loud groan. His shoulders are particularly tense, and her little fingers are rubbing the tight knots in them so nicely. “Harder baby,” he grunts, and she obliges. Her thumbs dig deep into the meat of his shoulders and rub in slow, painful circles.
She uses all her strength to massage him. He’s so built, every inch of his back covered with hard muscles, that it takes a lot of energy to really get in there. She has to put her entire weight into her hands and press deep onto his back. Luckily, the lotion made it easy for her to glide over his skin and knead his sore muscles. The groans that he lets out tell her which spots to focus on. 
His eyes are shut, eyebrows furrowed with pleasure. It hurts so good. His cock has started to plump up a bit, twitching every time her delicate fingers knead a particularly painful knot in his back. She keeps rubbing him, digging her fingers into his muscles, and the pressure in his cock grows unbearable. 
He flips himself around, unable to deal with it any longer. Y/n gasps at his sudden movement, then finds herself short of breath when she settles herself back down on his lap and feels how hard he is underneath her. Straddling his hips in nothing but her little, thin pair of sleep shorts, she can feel him… feels the curve of his cock, restrained in his boxers, and feels the ridge of his tip nudging against her clit. She’s sure that he can probably feel her pussy too, feel every fold and the tiny bud of her clit.
He smirks up at her when her little pussy flutters around nothing, twitching so delicately against his clothed cock. Her center feels hot, keeping him warm while she sits prettily atop him. “Keep going baby…” he says, voice low and dangerous. “M’arms hurt so much, can you rub ‘em for me?” 
He pouts up at her, but it’s a mocking pout. He knows exactly what she’s thinking about, and it’s much more filthy than his innocent request for an arm massage. 
Nonetheless, she squirts some more lotion on her hands and brings them down to his strong biceps. He’d been to the gym yesterday for arms, so he wasn’t lying when he said they were sore. But also, that means they’re particularly pumped today, firm and delicious… y/n just wants to bite them. 
His hands rest on her hips while she rubs her palms up and down his arms, his thumbs tracing soft circles onto the skin of thigh where her shorts have ridden up. She looks like she’s intently focused on rubbing his arms, but really, she can’t stop thinking about the way his cock feels underneath her. He subtly grips her hips and presses her down harder onto the hard bulge in his pants, and lets out a strained breath through his nose. Y/n similarly feels her breath catch in her throat, her hands pausing momentarily as she flutters her eyes shut.
“Feels so good baby,” he murmurs when her hands migrate up to massage his chest, rubbing circles over his swallows and tracing over his butterfly delicately. It’s a not-so subtle innuendo to fuel the fire of the sexual tension burning between the two of them right now. 
The hands on her hips start to slide upwards, under her shirt to rest on her warm tummy. He can see the soft peaks of her nipples poking through the shirt she’s wearing. “Baby… show me y’pretty tits, please?” he begs. He slides his hands even higher until his fingers graze the undersides of her breasts. “Had such a long day, I deserve a treat don’ I?”
“Y-yeah,” she agrees softly, taking her shirt off and throwing it onto the floor. She’s left topless, her perky nipple peaking in the cold air of Harry’s bedroom, and her wet pussy pressed firmly to his hard cock.
She continues rubbing his chest with her tits out, and Harry takes it upon himself to do the same to her. He plays with her tits, holds them in his palms and rubs his thumbs over her hard nipples. Still, it’s not enough. 
“Come closer, baby,” he murmurs lowly, guiding her forward. She inches forward slowly, back arching while holding herself up with her arms, until her boobs are hanging in front of Harry’s face. 
He sticks his tongue out and leans up, attaching himself to her nipple and sucking it into his mouth gently. His tongue licks the soft bud gently, and he hums happily. “Mmm, baby, so nice to me,” he mutters, switching to her other nipple, “Lettin’ daddy play with your pretty tits ‘cos I had a long day.” Hand engulfs the breast that he’d just hand in his mouth, palming it gently while his tongue plays with the other. His teeth skim her soft skin gently, and he starts sucking. Each purse of his lip and pass of his tongue sends a shock straight down to y/n’s center, and she’s absolutely, totally drenched. Her heart is beating erratically in her chest, and she can’t help herself before grinding herself down. 
Since she’s lifted herself up to align her tits with Harry’s face, she’s no longer sitting on his bulge, but instead now sitting on the butterfly painted on his abdomen. She presses herself onto his abs, soothing the dull ache that comes each time he hums around her breast.
Her boobs are so plump and plushy, dangling in front of his mouth and covered in his spit. His hands grope her chest sensually, pushing her breasts into his face and letting himself indulge like a teenage boy. He lets them bounce on his face, skimming his lips against them then pulling himself back, teasing himself. He nudges his nose against them, and they jiggle prettily right in front of his face. God, he’s making himself so hard, playing with her tits like this, having them all up in his face. All he can see is her skin, the roundness of her breasts, the soft bud of her nipples. No matter which way he turns his head, he makes contact with her, her nipples skimming his cheeks or his lips dancing against her sideboob. 
“Jus-” she gasps when he takes her boob back between his lips and sucks, tongue curling around her nipple, “Jus’ wanna make you happy daddy.” 
“Doing so good baby, taking caring of me so well,” he murmurs, barely moving his lips from her skin before reattaching to her areola. “You know what would make daddy so happy?” 
“W-what?” she whimpers, pushing her clit down against his hard abs.
“If you got on my cock and got yourself off. Could you do that for me, puppy?” 
She nods eagerly and shuffles herself down, shoving Harry’s briefs down. His cock bounces up and slaps against his stomach, the tip completely slick with his own precum and arousal. She doesn’t even bother warming herself or Harry up – the massage and his little play session had gotten both of them 100% ready.
She doesn’t take her sleep shorts off, genuinely too excited to stuff herself full of his cock. Grabbing him by the shaft, she hovers right over his hips and slowly guides him into her dripping cunt. The slide in is easy, absolutely no resistance from how wet she is, and she’s able to bottom out on the first go. 
Her hands rest on his chest to support herself, and she starts to lift her hips, up and down, skin meeting skin with every drop down. Her nails dig into his flesh, and it hurts just as good as her massage had. She’s riding him like she never has before – usually she’s a bit of a princess, mostly grinding her clit down and rubbing herself on his cock slowly until her thighs start to burn and she whines for Harry to take over. 
Now though, with the way he’d teased her all nice, she’s bouncing on his cock properly, using all her strength to pull herself all the way up, then drop back down. She sets a messy pace for herself, but it doesn’t matter. He’s hitting all the right spots in her, and that’s all she care about. 
Harry lies on his back in bliss, her pussy absolute heaven around his cock. Her messy pace and high bounces have her tits jiggling, and Harry pushes himself up onto his elbows to get a better view. “Fuck, puppy, you’re an angel.” 
He brings a hand down to rub her at her clit, fingers rubbing tight circles as she grinds herself on him. “Gonna cum baby,” he groans, “Are you close?”
She whines out, and nods messily, eyes shut as she keeps herself going. 
Harry throws his head back, and shuts his eyes, rubbing her clit faster and faster until she’s cumming, clenching around his cock and squeezing him so tightly. His vision goes white his ears start to ring, and he’s in absolute heaven.
Y/n collapses onto his chest, and he spurts out long streaks of cum into her warm pussy, balls clenching with every release and his hips twitching upwards, trying to get as deep into her as he possibly can. She lays on top of him heavily, breathing hard with rosy cheeks and a glistening forehead from how hard she’d worked to get them both to their end. 
He pulls her up for a kiss. What had he even been stressed about, again? 
+++
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thefallennightmare · 24 days
Text
The Coyotes Cry-One
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*gif made by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*
Pairings: MafiaBoss!TattooArtist! Noah Sebastian x OFC.
Warnings/Tropes: violence, death, swearing, smut(very mature), angst, fluff, forced proximity, forbidden love, dark romance, mafia themes, arranged marriage, tattoo artist.
Summary: Centered on the story of a young bride whose fairy-tale vision of the Concrete Jungle is shattered when her father, part of the Irish Crime Family; McManus strikes a marital peace deal with the mafia head of OMNS, Noah Sebastian. Scarlett is faced with rage and conflict, as she is forced to work alongside her new husband in his tattoo shop that fronts for his mafia dealings. Devastating events leave Scarlett with the realization that there is more to Noah than meets the eye. "I would willingly, lay down my life for you if I had to." The power of love is thicker than blood.
Authors Note: Here is chapter one! I don't think this series will be more than six parts but you never know with how often I'm always adding things. This series will have mature themes throughout as a warning.
Tags[OPEN]: @thescarlettvvitch @sammyjoeee @happi-goth @lma1986 @iknownothingpeople @vinyardmauro @malice-ov-mercy @concreteemo @wheezybrenda @thisbicc @malerieee @mrs-zimmerman @srorgana1 @miserylovescompany1195-blog @embracethereaper42 @lizzieseveride @eclipseeetop @sundamariis @calleyx13 @krisslee18 @princessgh0st @aprosiacperson @xxrainstorm @ourdiabolikal-rapture @iamamatus @klutzy-kay24 @cookiesupplier @bngurngheart @idwt-money @rain-down-on-me
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NOAH
The screams were muted due to the concrete confines of the room, the cold, moist air circulating us in a suffocating grip. But none of that mattered, the only thing that did was strapped to the chair in front of me. Cleaning the sharp blade on the once-white handkerchief, I clicked my tongue at the raw screams. 
“Scream all you want. No one can hear you all the way down here,” I said while pointing to the concrete walls. “I mixed the concrete myself with a special formula. Think of it as soundproof.” 
The man spat blood at my feet, nearly missing my black boots. “Fuck you!” 
A chuckle to the left of me and I glanced over to one of my right-hand men, Joakim. Although, we in OMNS always called him Jolly. 
“I applaud the fire in you,” Jolly nodded at the man. “You’ll need it.” 
Twirling the knife between my fingers, I yet again asked the same question that I asked three times previously. 
“Who killed Vincent?” 
“I already told you fuckers, I don’t know!” The man, Barry, choked out on a mouth full of blood. “You’re asking the wrong guy!” 
As Barry fought against the bindings, the chair scraping against the ground at our feet, I hummed in mock disappointment. “No, Barry. I don't think we are. My intel tells me that someone in the Irish Mafia killed a dear friend of mine.” 
“I hate to tell you, your intel is wrong,” Barry said with a dry chuckle. 
Suddenly his screams of agony sounded like music to my ears as I dug the knife deep into his thigh directly above the previous wound that Jolly had given him with the screwdriver. My hair fell into my eyes and I hastily brushed it back with my large hand, blood smearing in the dark strands. I’d been due for a haircut for the last few weeks but haven’t found anyone able to give me the correct Levi cut since my older barber passed away. 
“My intel is never wrong,” I gritted out through clenched teeth while twisting the knife deeper.
Barry was a blubbering mess, dark tendrils of his hair covered the agony on his face so with a sharp nod from me, Jolly stood behind Barry and ripped his head back so I could watch in pleasure. 
“Now, I’m only going to ask one more time,” I twisted the knife deeper. “Who killed Vincent?” 
He did his best to writhe away but with my knife piercing him in place and Jolly’s tight grip on his hair, there was nowhere for Barry to run. Blood dripped from his mouth, his nose, and the cut on his eyebrow. Before we captured him, he had the looks of a movie star but now, I couldn't help but cringe. 
“I already told you,” he sobbed, a mess of blood and snot. “I swear.”
Jolly and I shared a look for a brief moment before we pushed away from Barry to slink over to the far end of the room to have a conversation. 
“Do you believe him?” Jolly tied up his hair into a messy bun. 
I placed my hands on my hips and sighed. “I don’t think he knows who killed Vincent but he knows the right direction we need to look. We need to crank it up a notch and show him that OMNS isn't going to back down from this.” 
Instantly, he understood and while he retreated up the stairs to my office, I titled my head at Barry. 
“What family do you work for?” I asked. 
His breathing was shallow and unsteady thanks to the hard blows of Jolly’s fists to his ribs but I had to marvel at this kid's drive to remain loyal. 
“The Walsh’s,” he eventually answered. 
My brows furrowed in confusion. “The Walsh’s haven’t been around since they moved their operations back to Boston. Why are you still here running the streets for them?” 
Barry lifted his heavy head and wore a smug smile. “Call me committed.” 
“No, I don't think that’s it,” I shook my head and took two large steps towards him, him shrinking back into himself. “I think it’s the fact that you’re lying to me and I fucking hate liars.” 
“Fucking shit!” 
He cursed when I ripped out the knife from his thigh to press the blade against his neck. 
“You’re insane,” Barry shuddered when he noticed the playful gleam in my eyes. 
“Maybe,” I shrugged. “But I also don’t like liars. Now, I’ll ask again. What family do you work for?” 
“It’s a new family on the rise called O’shove it up your ass,” he spat in my face. 
Literally. 
His saliva and blood dripped down my cheek but I didn’t even flinch and made no effort to wipe it away. Instead, I broke out into a wide smile when I heard Jolly returning with something special in tow; something that made Barry’s eyes widen in fear. 
“Wh-what the fu-fuck, man?! Do you just have that lying around?” He stuttered. 
Glancing over my shoulder, I extended my hand to Jolly who in turn placed the handle of the katana in my palm. Standing straight now, I studied the old sword with careful precision. 
“This used to be my great-great-great grandfathers; passed down through each generation. It might be old but I have the blade sharpened every once in a while, just in case,” I said while slowly removing the blade from the sheath. 
The dim light overhead cast its faded yellow glow on the sharp blade and something inside of me twinged with sheer delight. 
“Ju-ju-st in case fo-for what?” 
Jolly snorted at the stuttering mess of Barry while leaning against the concrete wall. 
“Tell us what we want to know and you won’t have to find out.” 
The sharp tip of the katana pressed lightly against Barry’s jugular, all it would take would be one flick of my wrist to end it all however I refrained, not wanting to end the fun before I got what I needed. 
“What family do you work for?” I asked again, this time with less patience than the last time. 
Barry’s eyes glanced down from the long blade at his throat to Jolly then finally up to me as I towered over him. His bottom lip wavered as he finally nodded. 
“Okay, okay. Promise you won’t kill me?” 
He tried to wager but to humor him, I gave a curt nod. “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll think about it.”
“Fuck,” Barry sobbed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m good as dead anyway. The McManus family don’t like rats and a low-level drug dealer like me isn’t worth saving.” 
My grip on my katana slipped slightly at the name but I was quick to recover. “The McManus?” 
He nodded widely. “ Yea. I work for the brothers; Connor and Murphy. I deal their drugs and run their errands.”
“So you’re their bitch?” Jolly asked. 
Barry’s shoulders fell. “Essentially, yes.” 
“Did the McManus brothers kill Vincent?” I asked while tightening my grip on the handle of the katana. 
“No,” he shook his head, the blood from the wound above his eye now pooling into his eyes. “But they might know who did it. I can try and set up a meeting with them, on your behalf. Maybe they can lead you in the direction you’re looking for?” 
Jolly gave me a look and I held up a finger, not quite finished with my conversation with Barry. 
“Why the fuck would they listen to you if you’re just their bitch?” 
This brought a wicked smile to his face as he used his shoulder to wipe away the blood from his chin. 
“Because Murphy McManus doesn't like it when his daughter is threatened.” 
A loud rumble erupted in my chest, like a ravenous growl, as I dug the blade of the katana deeper into Barry’s neck, blood now oozing from the fresh wound. I ignored his wails of pain, now only seeing red. 
“You’ve got some balls kid to threaten the daughter of one of the most feared Irish Mafia families,” I said. 
Barry shrugged in his binds. “I didn’t say it would be coming from me. Word on the street is that McManus' grandfather had issues with your grandfather some odd years ago. They’d believe me if I said the great Noah Sebastian was looking to start a turf war.” 
With a scowl, I snapped my head at Jolly. “Get this piece of shit his phone so he can make the call.” 
Never once faltering the blade from Barry’s neck, I watched with narrowed eyes as Jolly removed one of the binds around his wrist and tossed the phone on his lap. 
“Make the meeting. If I hear one threat on the daughter, I’ll end your life before you even hang up the phone,” I seethed behind the mask of my hair as it fell into my eyes. 
My heart beat like a thunderstorm in my chest at the thought of the McManus daughter. No one knew of her and what she meant to not only the family but me as well; besides my closest allies. 
Barry’s fingers worked fast to type out a message before showing me the screen and with my free hand, I snatched it from him to read it. 
Barry: The brother's food will be delivered at six p.m. tonight. 
Unknown: What’s on the menu? 
Barry: Japanese with a side of Swiss.
“Joakim is Swedish,” I corrected Barry. “I’m assuming this whole dinner rous is to keep the authorities off your back if they go snooping?” 
“Look at you! I think you earned yourself a gold star,” Barry joked. 
Jolly’s fist collided with his face, his neck snapping to the side, and the faint red mark from his ring began to rise on Barry’s cheek. 
“Let me guess, he’s the muscle between the two of you?” Barry spat out a chunk of blood. 
Not bothering to look away from his phone as a new message came in, I answered his question. 
“No, that’s Ash. Trust me, you don’t want to meet him.” 
Unknown: Dinner will be served in the study.  6 o’clock. 
“It’s set,” I tossed the phone to Jolly who dropped it to the ground seconds before his boot came crashing down on it. 
“What the fuck! You guys owe me a new phone!” 
Placing the sheath back over the katana, I set it on the table along with the other wide variety of weapons and turned back to Barry with my hands crossed behind my back; grasping the weapon tightly. He glanced between Jolly and me and noticed the sinister gleam dancing behind my honey eyes. 
“Hang on,” he began thrashing in the chair, free hand swinging widely. “You said I could live.” 
“I did. But watch what you say next.” 
Quickly, Jolly grabbed Barry’s free arm to drag his still-bound body over to the table behind me and held his wrist down. His hand was on display for my wicked plan. 
“Barry, I have a question for you. If you answer wrong, well-,” I pulled out the hammer from behind my back and shook it in front of him. 
His eyes widened in fear but I paid no mind to it, simply asked my question. 
“Will Murphy’s daughter be there tonight?” 
“Fuck no! Dumb broad never leaves her bedroom,” Barry answered. “She’s holed up in there all hours of the day. The only time she leaves is at 8 o'clock for her nightly walks.” 
Jolly sucked in a breath just as I raised the hammer, bringing it down on Barry’s pinky, whose cries were overshadowed by the noise of his bones breaking.
“Why are you so obsessed with this broad?!” 
I brought the hammer down again, this time breaking his ring and pointer finger. Now he was practically having an exorcism with how he was moving about on the chair, struggling to break free from the binds. 
“One more question then I’m finished with this game,” I said while craning my neck to the side before getting eye level with the man. “Do you suspect the McManus family killed Vincent?” 
While he stayed silent, the look that flashed over his hazel eyes told me everything I needed to know. Turning on my heels, I dropped the hammer on the table and began walking upstairs to leave Jolly to clean up until Barry’s voice halted me in my tracks. 
“I wouldn’t be surprised if the broad pulled the trigger herself. She’ll do whatever she can to get Daddy’s attention since she was never the favorite..” 
My shoulders went rigid and I could faintly hear Jolly mutter under his breath something in Swedish before I grabbed the gun from behind my back that had been tucked in the waist paint of my black slacks and fired two rounds straight into Barry’s chest. 
“Noah,” Jolly started. 
I waved him off before dropping the gun on the table. “Let’s be real, Jolly. We weren’t letting him walk out of here alive anyway. 
“McManus,” he sighed while rubbing his jaw. “Why does that name sound familiar?” 
I cleaned the blood from my fingers and rings before letting out a long breath. I knew he wouldn’t remember the name but that name haunted me for years, plagued my entire existence in more ways than one. 
“They’re one of the most notorious Irish Mafia families. Their lineage started in Ireland generations ago before relocating to Boston where the McManus brothers were raised by their grandfather, Fergal. They moved to Los Angeles when the brothers were in their mid-twenties.” 
“Wait,” Jolly’s head snapped over towards me. “The twins that went on that killing spree all those years ago in Boston. The last anyone heard from them is when they shot Yakavetta in open court.” 
“Exactly why they moved here. Fergal didn't appreciate the hot trail on them so they hid out here for a few years. But Fergal couldn’t handle laying low for long because he began building the ranks here. Overstepping on my grandfather's turf, because he was still young at the time.” I grabbed the weapons we used on Barry and tossed them into the bucket of bleach in the utility sink. 
“You know a lot about this family,” Jolly noted. 
I hummed. “My grandfather told me all about them growing up. He wanted to make sure I was well versed in the McManus family once I took over.” 
Glancing down at myself, I hummed again in displeasure when I noticed the blood spatter all over my white turtleneck.
Should have worn the black one, idiot.
I went about cleaning up the mess, ignoring the slumped-over body in the chair for a moment. 
“The daughter. Do you think she did it?” Jolly wondered. 
I halted unraveling the plastic we used to wrap the dead bodies for a few seconds before letting my shoulders drop slightly. “I don’t believe so. While the McManus brothers do hire hitmen to do their dirty work, there’s no way Murphy would make his own blood do it.”
“I know there’s some sort of history between you and her. With all of us-” 
His words trailed off when I snapped my eyes over to him. “There is no history, Jolly. She’s just someone who went to high school with us. That was years ago and I doubt she even remembers that we went to the same school. She was too busy being preoccupied with other things.” 
All of us in OMNS grew up together since we were twelve years old, Jolly moved here from Sweden when he was ten. We’d all been inseparable for the last sixteen years in the schoolyard and now the streets of the Concrete Jungle. 
Not saying another word, the two of us busied ourselves cleaning up our mess and by the time we returned upstairs to my office. The staircase to the hidden basement was located behind a bookshelf and while Jolly closed it, I rummaged through the drawers of my desk to find a different shirt. 
Now dressed in a fresh black t-shirt, we stepped out of my office and the sounds of tattoo machines reached my ears and I smirked walking into the open lobby. Every one of my artists had someone in their chairs and my most sought-after artist, Nicholas, glanced up at me for a second before returning to tattooing his client. 
“How’d the meeting go?” He asked. 
“Didn’t work out. We have another one set for 6 tonight,” Jolly informed. 
I went up to the counter of my tattoo shop and glanced down at the book. It was a full day of appointments not to mention the group of girls that came in for a walk in. They were chittering like birds about how it was the blonde's bachelorette party and she specifically wanted me. 
In more ways than one. 
While she was cute, she wasn’t my type. 
Roger, the receptionist of Under The Right Lights Tattoo Parlor, and newest recruit of OMNS glanced at me over his shoulder. 
“Oh hey, Noah. Are you ready for the walk-in?” 
I shook my head. “No, I’m not tattooing today. But I do have a job for you.” 
His eyes lit up. “Yeah?” 
“Tonight when the shop closes, stick around. We need your help with something,” I patted his shoulder. 
“You got it, boss,” Roger nodded with a wide smile. 
Turning on my heels, I stuffed my hands in my pockets to glance at my studio. I opened Under The Right Lights about six years ago and even though we had a slow start, once word got out that Noah Sebastian and Nicholas Ruffilo tattooed here, business flowed in through the doors. 
I took over my grandfather's other business eight years ago but needed something to cover those dealings so that's when I thought of opening a tattoo shop with my best friends; my brothers. While Nicholas tattooed, Jolly ran the financial side of things, and Nick, or as we called him Folio, ran the motorcycle shop right next door. He was a mechanic, one of the best in town, and he often frequented here through the door to the left of Nicholas’ booth when he wasn’t busy fixing bikes.
Above my tattoo shop housed thirty apartments, all owned by me, and I lived in the penthouse on the tenth floor. Everyone in OMNS also lived in their own units so we could always be close to each other, in case something came up. With nine of the units being occupied by us, I rented out the other twenty-one for another form of income each month. 
I treated everyone as an equal with the tattoo studio and OMNS but they also respected me enough to know that I had the final say with both. Things didn’t get approved unless I gave the okay. 
Glancing down at my watch, I noticed that it was only four in the afternoon meaning we had a few hours until we met with the brothers. So I walked over to the back area of the shop where we used a private section to make a small gym where I knew Ash and Byran would be. 
Ash was not only my bodyguard but he was also my trainer and Bryan took photos of the tattoos and ran our social media account. 
“Tonight, six o'clock,” I said while crossing my arms. 
Bryan wiped the sweat from his forehead and nodded. “I’ll make sure the SUV is loaded up.” 
“Thank you,” I then turned towards Ash. “I’ve got a body downstairs. Do you mind?” 
He shook his head. “Not at all. I’ll bring Matt. He needs a break from managing everything. Get out and smell the trees in the woods. Or the salty brine of the ocean.”
With a snort, I bid them goodbye before retreating into my office and ignoring the preposterous waves of the blonde in the waiting area and instead thought of a certain redhead. 
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SCARLETT
With a longing sigh, I brushed away the fire-red strands of hair from my face and adjusted my position on my bed to continue reading the book in front of me. It was the book Wolves: Behavior, Ecology, and Conservation by L. David Mech. This was the third time I’ve read but every time, I somehow learned something new. 
I've been out of college with my degree for four years now and although I haven’t done anything since then, I still tried to keep up with my studies. The possibility of opening up a wildlife rescue still weighed heavy on my mind but I knew my father would never agree to it. His money was to be used for other business opportunities.
The spiral notebook was filled with my chicken scratch handwriting and after tossing down the pen, I shook out the cramp from my hand to glance at the clock on my nightstand. It was nearing six in the evening and when it would be time for dinner with my father and uncle, they had to cancel due to a meeting that seemed to come out of nowhere. 
Next to the clock was a picture that made my heart drop to my stomach like it did every time. It was of me, my father, and my mother back on my eighteenth birthday and high school graduation; the last picture we took together. 
Because she was murdered that night. 
Eight years later the tears still burned in my eyes when I thought back to that night. We were driving home from dinner when someone crashed into our car and ran it off the road into a ditch. My father managed to pull me from the wreckage before the car burst into flames; my mother however wasn’t that lucky. We never found out who ran us off the road that night and whenever I asked about it, my father would wave me off and say one word only. 
Revenge. 
The relationship with my father was never the same since that night and once my Uncle Connor moved in, I retreated into myself. I loved them both dearly, but I blamed their life in the Irish Mafia for my mother's death. I did my best to remain respectful because I still lived in the McManus estate and knew I couldn’t make it on my own; not yet. My father had made it clear more than once that the only way I was to move out was either if I had my own money or married. 
Hence why I was doubling up on my studies, I needed to find some kind of job with my degree, a simple job at a store or fast food place would not be enough to survive on my own. And clearly, my relationship with my boyfriend was nowhere near marriage level yet; we’d only been together for less than a year and never spoke about getting married. 
I checked my phone and noticed Cory texted me a little while ago. 
Cory: I have to cancel tomorrow night, sorry. Work is sending me out of town and won’t be back till Sunday. 
I rolled my eyes knowing damn well he wasn’t the slightest bit sorry. 
Me: OK. See you then, I guess.
I locked my phone, the sound echoing in the quiet of my bedroom, and I busied myself once again with the book in front of me until there was a soft knock on my door. 
“Yes?” I called out. 
The door cracked open slightly and a head of white curls popped their head inside and I instantly smiled. 
“Hi, Dortha.” 
“Hello dear,” our housekeeper smiled, resting her frail hands in the pocket of her apron. “I know your father and uncle can’t make dinner but I still made your favorite. If you’re hungry.” 
My stomach growling gave way to my answer so with a chuckle, I let my studies be to follow Dortha out of my room and down to the dining room where I knew she already had a plate of food set up for me.
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NOAH
The car ride across town to the McManus estate was filled with the ramblings of the other members of OMNS while I sat quietly behind the wheel, mind filled with more pressing matters. I gripped the wheel so hard that my knuckles were turning white, something Nicholas, who sat in the passenger seat, noticed right away. 
“Are you alright?” 
I nodded. “Just going over what I’m going to say.” 
Pulling the car to a slow stop at a red light, I drummed my fingers against the dashboard, trying another thing to calm my nerves since the deep breathing exercises my therapist recommended weren’t working. 
“Hey boss,” Roger spoke up from the back seat between Ash and Bryan. “Maybe someone else should drive. You seem nervous.” 
My eyes sliced into him through the rearview mirror. “No one drives my car but me.” 
With a shaking hand through his golden locks, he nodded and kept his head down the rest of the drive once I hit the gas again. 
“Do you know what you’re going to ask them? Folio wondered from the seat behind me while tapping the wooden drumsticks he always carried on his lap. 
“I’m thinking of coming out right and asking if they have any idea who killed Vincent,” I answered. 
Jolly shifted in the seat behind Nicholas and without having to gaze over at him, I knew he wasn’t too thrilled about my idea. 
“I’d say we just pop these fools. End this turf war once and for all,” Roger pipped up again. 
His excitement for being brought along tonight was evident but I was suddenly regretting my decision. 
“Chill, we need to be smart about this,” I said. 
“We can’t go in there with guns blazing,” Jolly added. 
I came to a stop in front of the large, gothic-like gate, and rolled down my window so I was able to click the button on the intercom. 
“Yes?” A thick Irish accent responded. 
I cleared my throat. “I have the brothers' dinner. Japanese with a side of Swiss.” 
Only static came from the speaker for a long moment until the loud creak of the gate caused Roger to jump in surprise and Byran to stifle a laugh behind his hand. The SUV glided up the long drive with ease as the setting sun spilled inside casting all of us in an orange and purple glow. We all piled out as soon as the car was parked in front of the McManus manor and I nodded towards Bryan, Ash, and Roger. 
“You three hang back in the foyer in case the brothers don’t want all of us in the meeting,” I said while clicking the safety on my gun before stuffing it in my back waistband. 
While Ash and Bryan agreed, both double-checking their weapons, Roger on the other hand made his distaste for my orders known with a low scowl. 
“All due respect, Noah,” he began. 
I adjusted the peaky hat on my head and raised a brow. “Is there a problem, Roger?” 
He shifted on his feet. “I’ve been the recruit for six months now, don’t you think I worked up being involved in one of these meetings?” 
I bit the inside of my cheek to my snarky remark to myself but Folio was quick to respond in my place. 
“Kid, calm down. It took Bryan six years to work up the ranks. Ash, it took him ten years.” 
Roger gaped at the two of them who seemed to have played along with Folio’s joke and agreed with a nod. 
“Can I atleast get a gun?” He outstretched his arms. “You guys are sending me into the warzone with no weapon!” 
“It’s only a warzone if you make it one,” Ash said. 
“No weapons for recruits,” I said. 
Not wanting to waste any more time out here, I led the group of us up the crumbling steps and came to a stop in front of the door. Motioning to Roger, I waited for him to ring the bell, and glanced around the vast grounds of the McManus estate while stuffing my hands deep into the pockets of my black peacoat. 
“Nervous?” 
Peering to my left, I nodded to Nicholas. “A bit.” 
He clapped my shoulder. “Let’s keep our questions short. Try to get the info we need then we can leave.”
“Yeah,” Folio agreed while shivering. “This place gives me the creeps. It looks like it's days away from caving in.” 
Glancing up at the old brick mansion, I had to agree with him. It looked as if neither of the McManus brothers bothered to keep up with the maintenance of the home and the overgrown grass on the other side of the driveway was proof of that. 
Suddenly the front door opened with an eerie creaking and all of our eyes met with an older lady with a head full of white curls. 
“Yes?” 
I stepped forward. “My name is Noah Sebastian. OMNS has a meeting with the brothers.” 
Her brown eyes shifted between all of us before she slowly stepped to the side, letting us all pile inside the grand manor. While the outside needed some work, the inside was marvelous with expensive pieces of art and not a speck of dust anywhere. 
“My name is Dorthea. I will let the brothers know you’re here,” she said with a thick Irish accent. 
Movement from the corner of my eye caught my attention and when I gazed up at the top of the stairs landing, all of my breath left my soul when those familiar hazel eyes met mine. All of the hairs not only on the back of my neck but on my arms stood straight with the buzz of electricity that shot through me when I noticed her eyes double in size. The brightness of her gaze struck a chord in my heart, playing a soft melody that only the two of us could hear. 
It had been a long while since I’d seen her last but fuck, she still looked absolutely breathtaking like she did the night of high school graduation.  
Her hair was deeper red than the last time we saw each other, now it cascaded down her back, and when she outstretched her arms on the wooden banister, her head tilted to the side in a way to assess all of these strangers in her home. 
Although four of us weren’t strangers to her. We all went to high school together even though she wouldn’t remember us. She was always with the group of kids that were rich, too good to be seen with the bottom dwellers like us. 
I removed my hat to hand it to Roger to hold onto it then shook out my hair from my eyes before slicking it back and I could have sworn I heard someone’s breath catch in their throat. 
“Noah Sebastian, standing here in my house. I must say, I almost didn’t recognize you without the long hair.” 
Well, shit. 
“Saoirse McManus,” I hummed in response to her sarcastic tone. 
A low scowl pulled on her lips before she pushed herself away from the banister and quickly scurried down the hall, disappearing around the corner. 
It was almost bittersweet seeing her again after all this time. While I wish it had been under better circumstances, I knew that I couldn’t allow myself to get wrapped up in Saoirse McManus; not again. I had built an empire since dropping out of high school and I couldn’t let anything tear it down, especially a silly little crush. 
It never was a silly crush. It was always more than that. You’re just bitter that she never felt the same.
Why would she ever have feelings for me? In her eyes and her financial stature, OMNS were nobodies; the gum on the bottom of their shoe. While they ran their empire up in the rich estates of the wealthy, we ran ours in the slums of the Concrete Jungle. There may have been a point in my life when I wanted to be in the same stature as her but now having earned my wealth, I realized that all I needed was my brothers. 
Bullshit. 
If that were the case, seeing her tonight wouldn’t have taken my breath away and cock twitched with such a dire need for her. 
“What was that about her not remembering you?” Jolly asked. 
I ran a hand over my mouth. “I didn’t think she would.” 
“Hey,” Roger’s head popped in between Jolly and I. “That’s the daughter, right? You know, rumors are going around the CJ that she’s the one that killed Vincent.” 
My eyes sliced into him and Jolly had to press a hand to my chest to keep me from wrapping my hands around his throat. 
“The CJ?” I spat out through a clenched jaw. 
Roger swallowed thickly. “Yeah. The Concrete Jungle. I thought you would understand the nickname since you were the one who created the Concrete Jungle. I spend a lot of time in the tunnels with groups of guys who tell stories of OMNS success. Why do you think I wanted to join so badly?”  
“Do me a favor, kid. Stop lingering in the underground parts of the jungle because you don’t know what dwells underneath there. You don’t want to find yourself in a situation you can’t sweet talk your way out of,” I said. 
“What?” He let out an airy chuckle. “Are you hiding a tank full of sirens? Or creating your own artificial intelligence?” 
With a dark look filling my eyes, I gave him a smirk before giving him my back when I heard the faint footsteps of Dorthea returning.
“Just the Japanese and Swiss,” she pointed to us. 
Jolly let out a groan. “I’m Swedish.” 
“Follow me,” she hooked a finger at us, ignoring Jolly. 
Giving the rest of my brothers a nod, we followed Dorthea down a long wide hallway, and I took in the sight of all the pictures lining the wall, noticing that they were family pictures of the McManus family. 
The first picture was of the man who started it all over one hundred years ago, Cillian McManus. It continued for a long while until Fergal’s familiar face caught my eyes, followed by his son, then Connor, then Murphy with his wife and Saiorse. 
Coming to a brief stop, I studied the picture for a long moment, before Jolly pulled me along. 
“The brothers are allowing you five minutes of their time,” Dorthea informed as we stopped in front of a set of double doors and her hands wrapped around the golden knobs. 
“How generous,” I grumbled under my breath just before the door opened. 
Inside was a huge library/office combo. Three out of four of the walls were just bookshelves full of books, the smell of old literature tickling my nose. Thick black carpet covered almost every inch of the floor and in the center of the room were two long burgundy couches that sat horizontally to an old fireplace that was blazing with hot flames. I felt the warmth on my face when Jolly and I stepped inside.  
On either couch sat the brothers, both having a glass dangling from their fingers, and their hushed conversation seized when they noticed our presence. 
“Ah,” the taller one with shorter hair muttered as he slowly stood to his feet and extended his free hand toward me. “You must be Noah. An acquaintance of mine said I’d be expecting you. I’m Conner.” 
After we shook hands, Connor motioned to the other man on the couch, who still had yet to stand up. “That is my twin brother Murphy.” 
Giving him a curt nod, I clasped my hands behind my back. “This is Joakim. We won’t take much of your time. But we do have one question to ask.” 
While Murphy muttered something in Irish under his breath, Connor urged me to ask. 
“About six months ago, a dear friend of ours Vincent Riquier was murdered, his body being left on the doorstep of my tattoo shop. I had some intel point me in the direction of someone in the Irish family.” 
Connor's brow raised as he took a small drink of his amber liquid. “Are you saying we had something to do with it?” 
Jolly shook his head. “Not at all. We were just wondering if you could let us know if our intel was correct since it came from one of your men.” 
This caused Murphy to snap his head towards us and brushed away the long hair from his face; blue eyes boring into us. “One of our men?” 
“Barry,” I said flatly. “Movie star looks. Although, I must say that was before.” 
The twins shared a look before Murphy rose to his feet with a roar. “You killed him?” 
I stood toe to toe with him, not showing him an ounce of fear because I knew guys like this could smell it. 
“Never said I did,” I answered with a shrug.
“Imigh leat,” Murphy waved a hand in my face before turning on his feet to face the fireplace. 
Connor let out a displeased noise at his brother before giving Jolly and me a tight smile, the lines in his face creasing. “You must ignore my brother, he just argued with his daughter before you arrived.” 
Saoirse’s face crept into my mind but I did my best to push away those feelings. I couldn’t give away my feelings for her; the ones that stayed buried for so long. 
“Again with this foolish dream of opening an animal rehab facility. Why she wants to work when she has all the money I can give her if she just stays here is beyond my thinking,” Murphy muttered after downing the rest of his drink, slamming the cup on the table next to the couch. 
“About Barry,” Connor ignored his brother while stuffing his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. “If you did kill him, one less thing for us to worry about. He was a pain in our arses anyway.” 
“So then, as a token, you’ll give us the direction we need to look into for our friend's death,” Jolly tried while scratching the facial hair on his chin. 
With Connor’s silence, his gaze locked in on us with his hand on the holster on his hip, and Murphy’s back still to us, I nodded towards Jolly, who understood and we bid the brothers goodbye. 
“Thank you for your time,” I said before ushering Jolly outside of the room before me. 
Once we were back in the solitude of the hallway, we rushed back to the foyer with a burning feeling at the back of my neck. Something wasn’t right, their silence told us way too much and I needed to get far away from here. 
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Jolly noted. 
I agreed with a low rumble in my chest, placing my hat back on. “I know. They were quick to dismiss us and I didn’t like how Connor reached for his gun.” 
Hearing our footsteps echo loudly on the marble floor, Bryan glanced up from his phone with furrowed brows. 
“That was quick.” 
“We’ll discuss it in the car,” I said while ushering everyone outside quickly. 
One by one we all piled out of the house and before I stepped through the threshold, I dared a glance back up to the stairs landing, hoping to catch sight of her but instead, I locked eyes with two large guards who had their guns in their grasp. 
“Boss, this doesn't make sense,” Roger turned swiftly on his heels and blocked me. 
“Roger, not now,” I said sternly. “Get to the car. Now.” 
“All these rumors, they had to start somewhere,” he continued to ramble on. 
I backhanded his chest and then threw a thumb over my shoulder to the men who were now descending the grand staircase. Finally, when Roger noticed them, he scrambled out the door, me swiftly following behind him. 
All of us gathered around the SUV to discuss what our next plan of action would be. There were other Irish families I could talk with but they all had connections to the McManus brothers so they wouldn’t give me anything. 
As I was chatting with Nicholas, Roger began pacing in front of the car, running a hand through his hair. 
“What’s his problem?” Nicholas mumbled to me. 
“He thinks the brothers are hiding something,” I informed him while shrugging. “I must admit, I feel the same. They were too closed off in there. And the way those guards were staring at me, I swore they were looking for a fight.” 
“In retaliation for Barry?” 
“Could be,” I ran a hand over my chin. “Or they don’t appreciate us showing up tonight. Either way, we need to get out of here.” 
Everyone began loading into the SUV, besides Roger, who was still pacing. 
“Roger, get in,” I demanded from behind the driver's door. 
"They're a bunch of liars. all of them. I bet you that broad upstairs knows something.” 
All I saw was read for a few moments before I realized that I had Roger pinned to the hood of the car by his throat, my tattooed fingers cutting off his oxygen. Strands of my hair fell into my eyes but I made no effort to let up my grip. 
“Watch how you speak about her,” I spit out. 
Roger’s eyes were white as he struggled to fight me, his nails digging into the skin of my wrist. 
“Shit,” Ash muttered while scrambling out of the car to wrap his arms around my chest, trying to pull me away. “Let him go, Noah. You’re going to kill him.” 
With an effortless grunt, I tossed Roger to the ground and did my best to fix my hair when Ash let me go as the front door of the manor opened; Saiorse walked out with the two guards following closely behind her. 
She paid us no mind as she trotted down the steps and began walking the opposite way of us. Glancing at my watch, I noticed that it was 8 p.m. 
“The only time she leaves is at 8 o'clock for her nightly walks.” Barry’s words from earlier rang in my ears. 
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I grumbled while adjusting my jacket. 
Roger quickly scrambled to his feet and when he finally noticed the two guards who had stopped walking to watch us with careful eyes, something switched in Roger’s mind. My jaw began to drop when I saw him reach for something underneath his shirt, my next words came out slow, almost inebriated. 
“Roger, no!” 
The sound of gunfire erupted, and all of us dropped to our knees around the car for some sort of protection. Bullets ricochet off of the car, one nearly missing my forehead as it blew the hat clear off my head. I strangled out a vacant cry while pressing my body closer to the car. My heart was beating widely in my chest and my hands shook but I didn’t have time to dwell on almost dying, I needed to stop this before it became worse than it already was. 
“Mother fucker!” 
Glancing over my shoulder, I cursed when I saw Folio go down to the ground clutching his thigh, his gun skidding halfway down the long driveway. I crawled over to him, keeping my head down when I noticed that a couple more McManus guards had emerged from inside and now we were outnumbered; seven to nine. 
Blood oozed out from the wound on Folio’s thigh and I grabbed a handful of his shirt, ripping a large piece from it. 
“You’re alright; just a flesh wound,” I reassured him while fixing the makeshift tourniquet. 
“Where the hell did Roger find a gun?” Folio asked through clenched teeth when I squeezed too hard on his wound to stop the bleeding. 
“I’m about to find out,” I patted his cheek before ripping my gun from behind my pants and clicked off the safety. 
Using the open door of the SUV as a shield, I peered around it to see that four guards were lying dead on the ground, two were hiding behind the pillars of the manor for their own protection, and one was coming towards us. 
Firing off two rounds, both hitting the mark of the guard's chest, I watched him crumble to the ground and then gave a sharp whistle towards Jolly who was firing his weapon in the car through the shot-out back windshield. 
“Two on the porch!” I yelled over the sounds of gunfire. 
Jolly nodded and I gave him protection against the other two guards who were firing their weapons from behind a bush, he snuck up to the two guards hiding on the porch, their lives ending before they even noticed him. 
Now the numbers were in our favor so slowly rising to my feet, I stepped out from my shield and called out to the last two McManus guards. 
“You’re not walking out of this alive!” 
“Imeacht go fánach ort féin is ar do chnapán miúlach!” A deep voice rumbled out from behind the bus. 
A flash of red caught my attention and I forgot for a moment that Saoirse was outside when the shootout began. I could hear my heart in my ears with worry if she’d been hit but when I saw her slowly rise to her feet due to one of the guards pushing her to farther safety, I breathed a little. 
Until a gun went off to my left and with sharp eyes, I watched as the bullet hit Saoirse in the arm, blood splattering against the fading white paint of the house. 
“Bitch! That’s for Vincent!” Roger bellowed his victory. 
I let out a vicious growl as I tackled him to the ground, laying fist after fist into his face. Poor kid never saw me coming and gave no fight against me. By the time I finished, my knuckles were broken and raw, covered in not only my blood but his as well. Roger’s face was a mangled mess as he rolled over to his side, spitting out chunks of spit mixed with blood. For a final measure, I laid a swift kick to his stomach making sure he wouldn’t get up for a while. Through the white noise in my brain, I did my best to calm my breathing when I gazed over my shoulder to the carnage that lay in our wake; all thanks to Roger’s trigger finger. 
Besides Folio, all of my men were unharmed and it seemed as if Folio would be fine. However, out of nine McManus guards, only two remain. One held something to Saoirse’s arm while the other tossed his gun to the ground, showing us he surrendered. 
“Is she alright?” I called out to them. 
“Fuck you, Noah!” She spat, eyes almost as red with fury as the color of her hair. 
Yeah, she was fine.
Through the eerie silence of the night air, I watched as the front door carefully opened then both the McManus brothers stepped into the carnage. 
“Saoirse!” Murphy’s voice boomed. 
“She’s over here!” The one guard who was tending to her wound called out while pulling them out from behind the bushes. 
I sucked in a breath when I saw all the blood staining the gray long sleeve of her sweater as the guard quickly whisked her inside, her father right on her tail. The look of pure hatred was on Connor’s face as he ran a hand through his hair. 
“Whose bullet hit my niece?” He asked. 
I pointed to the broken body of Roger, who was still struggling to rise to his feet. “I’ll take care of him, I promise you.” 
Conner gave a curt nod before hooking his finger in my direction. “You. By yourself. Now.” 
Licking my lips, I nodded and handed over my gun to Ash, who looked at me with bewilderment in his eyes. 
“Are you insane?” He demanded. “You can’t go in there by yourself.” 
“If they wanted me dead, I would be,” I said with more reassurance in my voice than I was feeling. 
Giving a soft smile to the rest of my men, letting them know I’d be fine, I stepped back inside the manor with Conner close behind. 
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SCARLETT
“What the fuck!” I screamed while pushing myself away from the table, but hissing as pain shot through my arm.
The doctor we had on standby informed me that it was merely a flesh wound I suffered and closed it up with a few stitches and some pills for the pain. 
“Watch your tongue,” my father warned while not looking away from his plate of food. 
“You just told me that I’m supposed to marry Noah Sebastian! How the fuck can I watch my tongue?! This is absurd! You can’t make that decision for me.” 
He pushed away his plate with a sigh and then steepled his fingers together. “I can because I am your father. And for the price of peace, I couldn’t deny his offer.” 
I nearly fell back into my seat at the dining room table. “His offer? This was his idea?” 
My Uncle Conner nodded. “That man is quite the negotiator. He didn’t want any more bloodshed and for a truce, he asked for your hand in marriage; we agreed on one condition.” 
“Oh, I can't wait to hear what this condition was,” I placed my hand on my hip. “Does he want a baby in a year? Do I have to abide by his command? Am I to be locked away in a castle for the rest of my life?” 
“Far from that,” my father lit his cigar, puffing the smoke into the air. “We agreed that you can marry him as long as he kill the man that shot you.” 
My eyes widened. “The kid? Fucking hell, dad! He can’t be more than twenty years old!” 
“Then he shouldn’t have been involved in a game that was designed for men!” My father’s fist slammed on the aged oak of the table. 
I didn’t even flinch, being so used to his outbursts like this. Instead, I fought back harder against this offer. 
“What about Cory?” I questioned. 
“Who?” My father’s thick brows furrowed as the age lines in his forehead creased. 
“The boyfriend,” my uncle informed him while swirling the ice cubes around in his cup. 
My father did a double take. “How the fuck do you know?” 
“Fuck you, I know shit,” he shrugged. 
“Very well,” my father sighed. “It’s not like this relationship would have worked out anyway. You will end it and move in with Noah by Friday.” 
“FRIDAY?!” I screeched. “That’s in two days!” 
“The wedding will be at the end of the month,” my uncle informed me. 
Too much information had been thrown at me all at once and I pinched the bridge of my nose to keep myself from crying. I typically wasn’t a crier but from the moment I laid my eyes on Noah Sebastian in the foyer of my home, all of my old feelings came rushing in like a tidal wave and I still didn’t have time to process that. 
“If I say no to this deal?” I shot back. 
Neither my uncle nor father said anything, simply motioned to the guns that lay next to their plates. Now, I knew they didn’t mean they would kill me. Instead, they would kill Noah and every last mother fucker who had anything to do with tonight.
“This is unbelievable!” I yelled while throwing my hands up and storming my way up the stairs to my bedroom. 
The sound of my door slamming shook the old bones of the manor and I yanked the ends of my hair with a scream. I despised not only this life but also the fact that I couldn’t do anything about this arrangement. Not when the lives of innocents were on the line. 
Innocents? They shot you! 
Shaking the thought from my mind, I fell back onto my bed with a groan. It was easy to tell that the kid was the one that started the unnecessary gunfight. Noah was only doing what he could to protect his people. 
Those gorgeous almond eyes haunted me for years, plaguing my entire existence since I first saw them freshman year of high school. I never could do anything about it, however, knowing that we ran in different circles and it was forbidden. His family ran the slums while mine ran the prestige wealth. 
The last I saw of Noah or any of those guys was the night of high school graduation. While Noah dropped out three months before, the rest of his friends walked across the stage and he was there for support. Our eyes locked across the vast space of the room. His hair was long but pulled back into a high bun, showcasing the sharpness of his cheekbones as he gave me a gentle smile. Of course, I had to ignore the pull of my heart strings, no matter how strong they were. 
If someone had told a teenage me that now, eight years later, I’d be marrying that man who captured my heart so long ago, I’d laugh in their face. 
Running a hand over my face, I sat up in bed and quickly dialed Cory’s number so I could deliver the news. On the eighth ring, he answered almost breathlessly. 
“Hello?” 
“Hi,” I played with the ends of my hair. “Do you have a minute to talk?” 
There was some rustling on his end before his breath came through. “I suppose.” 
Ignoring the tone, I took a deep inhale to prepare myself for breaking the news to him. “There’s no easy way to say this. But my father just informed me that he arranged a marriage for me. I have to move in with the guy on Friday. I tried to fight it, tried to fight for us, but I didn’t have a choice. It’s something I have to do.” 
There was a very long beat of silence on Cory’s end before his voice broke through. “Ok. Thanks for letting me know.” 
My heart dropped to the pits of my stomach. “W-what? That’s it?” 
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Scarlett? You said it yourself, you don’t have a choice in this. Why fight for something that has no end in sight?” 
I bit down on the inside of my cheek hard to not snap at him but eventually failed. 
“You know, you’re right. What’s the fucking point,” I seethed. 
Before I could hang up on him, I heard the click and stared down in disbelief at my now black screen. 
“What a piece of shit!” I bellowed while tossing my phone onto my bed. 
My knee bounced in anger, that conversation adding more fuel to the fire, and as much as I wanted to scream out my frustrations I knew that it would be futile. Instead, I dragged my feet into the large walk-in closet and began packing up things that I knew I would need in my new life. 
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NOAH
Wiping away the blood from my rings, I stepped into the lobby of the quiet tattoo shop and noticed Nicholas closing up his section. 
“How’d it go tonight?” I wondered after tossing the rag into the bag he had opened. 
The one we planned on burning anyway so any evidence would be gone in the flames. 
“Slow night but those aren’t bad every once in a while,” he answered before motioning to the door I previously walked through. “All finished?” 
“Yeah, Jolly and Folio are cleaning it up. This one was messier than I would have liked. I’ll admit, the kid put up a hell of a fight,” I said while leaning against the wall with crossed arms. 
The tattooed muscles in my forearms flexed. 
“Did he say where he found the gun?” 
“Bought it off of someone on the street before we left that night. Apparently, he had a feeling I wouldn’t allow him to have one and he felt like he needed protection,” I informed Nicholas. 
Who, in turn, snorted while packing up his tattoo gun. “A lot of good it did.” 
My lips parted to speak but with the sound of the bell dinging above the door, revealing that someone had stepped inside. 
“Sorry, we’re closed,” the words died in my throat when I saw who walked inside. 
Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid, her green eyes standing out amongst everything else about her. She carried two suitcases behind her and one large duffel bag on her shoulder. 
“Hi,” I said while standing straight up. 
All of the breath inside of me left me with a whoosh of air as the excitement of our arrangement finally filled me. When I first brought up the idea to the McManus brothers, I fully expected them to deny it. Much to my surprise, they agreed almost immediately with the exception that I take care of Roger, as promised. 
Not even an hour after sending the picture to Murphy, his daughter was standing in front of me; bags in tow.
“Hi?” Saoirse scowled. “Do you know what the fuck I had to go through to get here? The number of times I had to circle the building to find somewhere to park? Two blocks away. Not to mention, how many homeless people stopped me along the way to ask for either money or drugs? And all you can say is hi?” 
Biting my lip at my smile, I walked over to the receptionist's desk to rest my elbows on it. 
“Are you finished?” I teased with a playful gleam in my eyes. 
She scoffed, appalled. “Am I finished? No, Noah. Far fucking from it. How dare you bid for my life without my consent? This isn’t the 1900’s where this was a common thing! I have a say in who I should marry!” 
“Then why are you here?” 
Saoirse pursed her lips and when I realized she had nothing to say back, I pushed off the counter to close the distance between us, my height towering over her. 
“Let’s get one thing straight. I didn’t pay for you. I don’t plan on holding you prisoner here. You have a say with anything and everything however to keep the peace from stumbling into my empire, if I had to arrange for your life, you bet your fucking ass I would do.” 
Her lips mimicked a fish and when her shoulders slumped in defeat, I held out my hand to her. “Keys.” 
“Excuse me?” She raised a brow. 
“Give me your keys. OMNS Legacy Villas has underground parking. There’s already a reserved spot for you,” I informed her. 
Shoving the keys in my hand, she sliced her eyes into me. “If it says Saoirse, change it.” 
I quickly tossed the keys to Nicholas, who understood and slipped out of the shop to retrieve her car. 
“Change it?” I repeated her words. 
“The only people who call me that are my father and uncle. Everyone else calls me Scarlett,” she tossed her bags on the ground at my feet before crossing her arms over her black sweater. 
This sass that fell from her blood-stained lips made me want to toss her onto the counter, rip off that sweater, and attack every inch of her skin with my teeth but I refrained. Instead, I brushed a hand through my hair and smiled. 
“Scarlett it is.” 
Scarlett glanced out the large window in front of the shop, watching as people walked past, every single one of them dealing with something in their own lives. The trash that littered the street was figuratively and literally. I had to admit that when I first opened up my empire here, the slums were extremely bad but with my help and funding, the streets had been cleaned up immensely; with a few stranglers still lurking around. 
Especially in the underground. 
“I don’t understand how you live here. The homeless, the drug deals, and the illegal activities I saw walking in here. It’s disgusting,” she shivered. 
I stood next to her now, stuffing my hands in the back pockets of my pants. “Welcome to the Concrete Jungle, Scarlett.” 
She turned her head up to me as I bent low towards her, my warm breath fanning those beautiful lips. “Where I’m the fucking king.” 
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