#husk would walk in slow-mo to this

[husk-says-no]

Have you heard Hell's comin' with me, by Poor man's poison?

Hell yeah I’ve heard it. That song sounds like the inside of my skull on a bad day—with fire in the belly and blood on the boots.

It’s got that "I’ve been quiet too long and now it’s your turn to run" energy. The kind of thing you play when you’ve got nothin’ left to lose except the chains somebody else strapped to your back.

Honestly? If I had a theme song for when I finally snap and take back every piece of myself they tried to bury, it'd be that.

[princessfroslass]

I really, really, really, REALLY need a scene of Husk admiring Angel more fem side. Like have him just goggling at him after he does the rom-com shit of walking in slow-mo after a glow-up and a pretty dress or just staring at him rocking the pole. Like we know Husk loves this bad boy who likes to shoot people while laughing like a sociopath and honestly good for them, but a huge part of who Angel is also how he expresses his femininity and I would love to see Husk heel over hills over both sides of him.

[imindepression]

Always an angel never a god (pt-I)

⠀⠀ᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ೃ❀��˙ ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ೃ❀ᮬ࿔˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ೃ❀࿔˙ ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ೃ❀ᮬ࿔˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ

A lot of angst, idk if there’s gon be a happy ending, porn with a plot, smut!

''hellooo? snap out of it y/n", said Ellie, one of your many detached friends

it was the usual school lunch meet that you guys had every day and currently you were glaring a bit too hard at a certain pink haired sophomore

she had caitlyn dangling from her arm, vi chucking about something caitlyn had whispered, both of them seeming like the picture perfect couple of the school

everyone in your school knew they were a thing, hell even the principal knew

your fists were chenched so tightly that you were surprised your nails didnt draw blood, but hey, not that you cared. the familiar burn of jealousy was also not surprising, because you saw them Every.Damn.Day

it wasnt just a crush, it was everything you had dreamed of, it was as if the faceless woman of your dreams finally had a face and oh what magnificant beauty she had

—

It was the start of semester, you were going to class as usual, thats when she crossed your path, with bright pink hair, a smug smirk and too hot to handle muscles. your heart fluttered, maybe even skipped a beat. You looked down at your beat up Nikes and speed walked toward your classroom in the far end of the hall.

It’s always the mascs

—

You silently and quite absentmindedly drew doodles of vi, a picture of her with perfection in all the right places.

Suddenly you heard commotion from the teachers desk, you looked up and at the moment you wished you hadn’t because boy oh boy, the face to all your wet dreams was looking at you, looking through you you couldn’t tear your eyes away from her powder blues.

—

You were tucked away in the far end of the library when you felt the weight of a gaze on you, you looked up and saw vi looking at you with hungry eyes, her predetory gaze somehow had a soft edge to it.

Then she started walking in your general direction,

“Hey y/n” she said in her non chalant tone

“H-hi vi” you muttered with mustered up courage

“So…I was thinking, could you do me a favor?”she asked in a hesitant and maybe fearful voice

—

You two grew quite close after your encounter at the library. And you later came to know that Caitlyn had dumped vi because of some stupid prank powder had pulled on her, you couldn’t figure out if you were a rebound but you enjoyed the moment while it lasted,

The inner voice inside your head was screaming with joy but you couldn’t bring yourself to be happy.

You saw the way vi had shut out most people in her life, how she would be in her room, punching away at the makeshift punching bag, it was ironically funny how you had once in life wanted them to break up but now…

As the days went on, vi grew more and more distant, only talking to you to get homework or when she was in the mood to fuck.

—

"baby, im gonna take such good care of you" vi husked out; her lips mere centimeters away from yours,

you were too pussydrunk to respond, insted nodding your head, vi traced patterns on your bare stomach, her fingers moving lower until they stopped at the waistband of your panties, looking into your eyes, she pulled it to the side and traced along your lips, gathering the pool of wetness. she flashed you a loop sided smirk, her fingers not stopping their slow assualt.

"vi, please!" you rasped out, this splurred vi into action, you knew how her body worked, how she would send you random locations to hook up and then leave you cold and bare.

she rubbed your clit in slow circles and inserted two large fingers inside you

you screamd in pleasure.

"as much as i want everyone to hear, you gotta be quiet or ill stop" she said, thrusting her fingers into your mouth urging you to suck, her fingers started thrusting faster, fueling the band forming in your stomach, you came with a startled cry.

"should i make you lick my carseats clean?" vi growled out

__

On a random Tuesday, you were observing your surroundings, moreover trying to locate vi, when you saw a dash of midnight blue hair run toward a pink haired someone

Vi, who was munching on a sandwich, looked startled when she saw Caitlyn. You balled yours fists and stood in a distance, careful to not let vi know of your presence.

Fat hot tears welled up in your eyes as you saw them talk, vi had a bright smile plastered on her beautiful face. One she never shared with you

Smug bastard

One moment they were talking, the next vi grabbed Caitlyn by her collar and connected their lips

You didn’t know if you were humiliated or embarrassed, maybe both but you were done being the play thing, with whatever dignity that you had left, you ran as fast as you could, you didn’t care people were looked nor abt how they whispered things like “I feel so bad for her”

Hot moisture ran down you face, you ran until your feet ached, until your chest heaved. You locked yourself in the bathroom, looking at your unkept hair and the mascara running down your cheeks

[scapegrace74-blog]

The Second First Christmas

A/N Despite the fact that I’m posting it after Boxing Day, this little fic is about Metric Jamie and Claire celebrating their first Christmas as a couple.  It is unadulterated fluff, and in keeping with the season of giving, I’m going to give this an Explicit rating.  You’re welcome.

With special thanks to @lady-o-ren, for Jamie’s gift idea!

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

December 24, 2018, Spitalfields, London, England

Claire could hear her phone vibrating loudly on the metal shelf inside her duty locker.  Overcoming fatigue so severe it blurred her vision, she entered her combination and yanked open the door, thumbing the screen just before the call went to voicemail.

How did he do it?  Jamie had an uncanny, and frankly slightly unsettling, ability to guess her whereabouts, even remotely.  The past week he had found her in the massive Spitalfields Market merely on the hunch that she would be craving sushi after her Pilates class.  At one point she’d found his prescience disturbing, but now it soothed her.  Someone cared for her enough, knew her well enough, to plot the passage of her days on the virtual map of his mind.  And that someone was on the line.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Claire Beauchamp’s circadian rhythm.  Press One if you’re a cortisol suppressant, Two if you’re an espresso machine, or Three if you’re Claire’s boyfriend, last seen in the flesh prior to the winter solstice.”

Jamie’s low rumbling chuckle filled her ear.

“Ye’re verra funny for a lass goin’ on twenty-four hours wi’out sleep, Sassenach. How was yer shift?”

Having worked most holidays in the A&E since graduating nursing school, Claire knew they went one of two ways: either complete bedlam, or utter boredom.  This one had been the latter, for which she was thankful.

“Surprisingly calm, but that means no lovely adrenaline to keep me awake.  I may sleepwalk into the Thames on my way home.  Are you at the station already?”

“Aye, jus’ starting my shift.  Can ye be at the main entrance of the hospital in five minutes?  I’ll call ye an Uber.”

“Jamie, that’s really not necessary.  I’m quite capable of walking...”

“Claire...” he interrupted, and needn’t say anything more.  They’d had numerous conversations and minor confrontations since becoming a couple over what Jamie termed her “wee addiction to self-sufficiency”.  She was trying to learn to accept help when it was offered, but it was an iterative process.

“Thank you.  I’d appreciate that.  Will I see you tomorrow morning before I go back on duty?”

Both Jamie and Claire were working extra hours over the holidays to offset the cost of refurnishing their flat.  Every minute spent together was therefore doubly precious.

“Aye, I’ll wake ye when I get in an’ we can celebrate our second first Christmas t’gether by tryin’ tae keep the other awake long enough tae open our presents.”

She smiled, but it morphed into a yawn.

“Get some rest, Sassenach.  And Claire,” he added in a serious tone, “t’would be a fine gift tae find ye in my bed, preferably naked, when I come home on Christmas morn.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she husked, suddenly much more awake.

***

There was a puff of cool air and then the Earth moved.  Straining to hold onto slumber, Claire rolled away from the disturbance, gripping the blanket beneath her chin.  A low chuckle preceded a solid warmth radiating along the entire length of her spine.  Something bristly abraded her shoulder and she flinched away.

“Has anyone told ye ye look like a wee hedgehog when ye sleep, Sassenach?”

“I’m fairly confident they haven’t,” she retorted, rolling onto her back and stretching before opening her eyes.  The room was mostly dark, but Jamie’s auburn curls glowed in the dim lamplight escaping their living room.  His bare shoulders were humid and pink from the shower.  “What time is it?” she asked.

“Gone four.  We have a few hours afore ye have tae be back at the A&E, aye?”

“Mmmm,” she hummed affirmatively, caught up in tracing the ligatures of Jamie’s upper arm.

“Good.  That should leave us jus’ enough time.”

“Just how many presents are we exchanging?” Claire laughed, mesmerized by the eager passage of Jamie’s eyes over her face.  The hand that wasn’t bracing his head aloft began a lazy exploration beneath the blankets, touching her naked skin so softly that it almost tickled.

“Only two.  An’ the first one’s already unwrapped.”

“How fortuitous,” she teased before leaning upwards to capture his waggish lips in a warm introductory kiss.  “Merry Christmas,” she murmured as they parted some time later.

“An’ tae ye as well, Sassenach.  Ye canna imagine how many times I thought of ye t’night, yer beautiful skin warm against my sheets.”  Jamie’s free hand was on the move again, firmer now along the contours of her body as it came alive to his touch.

“Slow night, then?” she gasped as his knuckle found her nipple, slackened with sleep.

“Painfully so.”

There was no further conversation for a time, mouths being employed far more enjoyably.  Four months of intimacy had bridged the span from friends to lovers, replacing hesitation with ardour.  They were still learning each other’s tells; when to lead and when to follow, how to ask and how to demand.  It was a giddy education for them both.  

Tonight, Jamie’s fatigue and drawn-out anticipation left him shaking with want, a sensation akin to sharing a bed with an earthquake.  His broad torso was outlined in the light from the door as he knelt between her thighs, lust pinwheeling like sparklers in his eyes.  Fortunately, condoms were no longer a necessity after they both produced clean blood tests and Claire had an IUD implanted.  So when he slid into her body, there was nothing but the needy clasp of flesh on flesh.  Her sigh of pleasure mingled with Jamie’s groan of relief as they began their dance.

“Yer breasts, mo nighean donn,” Jamie growled past the iron clench of his jaw.  She dragged her pupils down from the back of her eyelids to observe the twin objects in question, undulating in time to their meeting and parting.

“Touch them for me,” Jamie commanded.

Aware that her every movement was being minutely observed, she made a show of arching her ribs and running her hands first beside, then below, and finally between her breasts.

“Seadh, mo ghaol.” The words snuck unbidden between Jamie’s strained lips.  She didn’t have the Gaihldig, but his meaning was clear.  Go on.  So go on she did, dragging fingernails over the creased flesh of each areola before giving both nipples a sudden pinch.  Whatever tectonic fluctuations her actions caused, Jamie felt them, for he let out an ecstatic whimper.  A worried furrow now marred his brow.  Her fluent eyes read the desperation written on his face.  He didn’t have long, and he needed her to go before him.

Her right hand drifted down to where they were joined.  His cock was thoroughly coated in her moisture as it emerged from her body.  Wetting her fingertips, she began to trace the intricate geometry of self-pleasure against her flesh.  Breathy moans filled the air.  Jamie’s teeth were bared in a snarl of panicked concentration.  She wasn’t going to overtake him in the wire sprint to the finish, she realized.

“Do it, Jamie.”  His crazed glance snapped upward to meet her own certain one.  Doubt clouded the seascape of his irises.  “God, please,” she begged.  They’d spoken of it.  A fantasy.  A mental titillation not yet brought to life.

Resolution came just in time.  Slipping from her heat, he grasped himself and with two hard strokes erupted all over her skin with a hoarse cry, anointing the final acceleration of her fingers as she echoed his climax with a convulsion and a sob.

Minutes later, they lay side by side, still recovering their breath.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Claire warned.  “We still need to exchange gifts.”

“Greedy wee thing,” Jamie groaned, already halfway to slumber.

***

A shared shower and two cups of strong coffee later, they sat on their new sofa.  Claire’s carefully wrapped gift for Jamie lay on the coffee table before them.

“I can’t help but notice that there’s nothing under our tree for me, Fraser.”

“Och, ye mean ye expect me tae serve ye and give ye a wee present, Sassenach.  Ye truly are greedy,” he groused dramatically.  Standing, he extended his hand and confused, Claire allowed him to lead her towards her bedroom.  For a moment she considered that he might actually be taking her back to bed.  As he turned on the light she understood his intention.

As a lifelong wanderer, Claire could count on the fingers of one hand her precious material possessions.  Her mother’s emerald earrings.  Her father’s pocket watch.  A jade fish from the Cat Street night market in Hong Kong, a lucky talisman she carried in her pocket for every test and exam.  And a beautiful antique print of Persepolis left to her by her Uncle Lamb.  All but this last had survived their apartment fire unscathed, but the water and smoke damage to its parchment had been irreparable.  Or so she had believed.

“Jamie,” she gasped upon seeing the lithograph once again mounted in its frame on her wall.  “But... how?”

“Well, I willna bore ye with the details, but suffice it tae say that there’s an antiquarian o’er in Bermondsey who can work miracles.  There’s still a wee bit o’ smudging near the edges, but I reckon it adds to its character,” he explained.

“A palimpsest,” she said, taking his hand.  At his questioning look, she explained, “when one story is written overtop of an older one.  This print is a remembrance of my Uncle Lamb and his love for me.  And now, when I look at it, I’ll be reminded of your love as well.”

“Aye, just so,” he agreed.

***

Claire was unaccountably nervous as Jamie began to unwrap her gift.  She’d felt certain she’d picked just the right thing for him; personal without being sappy, meaningful without being extravagant.  But with eyes still misty from the thoughtfulness of his present to her, she was having doubts.

“Tis rather heavy,” Jamie observed as he lifted the rectangular package onto his lap.  His eyes were alight with childlike glee, which was a gift unto itself.

“A chess set!”  His smile was genuine, but Claire’s heart plummeted.  What kind of woman bought her lover a chess set?  She began to stammer.

“I... ummm... I thought you could invite your friend John over to play.  You mentioned missing the challenge, and ummm....” she broke off, floundering, but Jamie paid her no heed.  He was lifting each wooden piece from its velvet resting place, inspecting its shape with a look of utter fascination.

“Where did ye find this, Claire?” he asked at last.

“Oh, uhh, online, actually.  It’s from a store in Inverness, but of course I wasn’t able to...”

“It’s Culloden,” Jamie interrupted.

“Errr, yes.  I thought, you know, a chessboard is a tactical battlefield.  And with you being Scottish and your family’s Jacobite history...”

“Claire, this is the most amazing chess set I’ve e’er seen.   Look here.  See this wee knight?  Tis a Scotch Hussar.  An’ the white king is the Duke of Cumberland.”  Jamie’s finger traced the words and images carved on the plinth of each piece, going on and on about the clans represented by the tacksmen pawns and his own grandsire, Lord Lovat, symbolized by a tiny strawberry carved on the base of an ebony rook.  Claire’s ribs began to loosen their vice-grip on her lungs.  Maybe she hadn’t horribly miscalculated after all.

“Sassenach, thank ye.  Truly.   Tis a grand gift.”  The chess set had finally been set aside and they sat facing each other, hands gently caressing as the winter sun slowly warmed the room in tones of blush and grey.

“You’ve very welcome.  I’m so relieved that you like it,” she replied with candour.

“I love it.  But no’ half sae much as I love ye.”

“I love you too.”  It was only after the words had taken flight from her lips that she realized she had never said them aloud before.  Not to Jamie, whose sudden stillness indicated that he had heard her.  It was too late, then, to pluck her soaring words from the air and cage them once again inside her heart.  Too afraid to meet his gaze, she concentrated on smoothing her palms over the backs of his hands in a hypnotic rhythm. 

His response, when it came, was whispered into the secret stronghold they had built together.

“There’s naught on Earth tae compare wi’ the gift of yer heart, mo nighean donn.  I want ye tae ken that I shall treasure it, an’ ne’er give ye reason tae regret placing it with me for safekeeping.”

Jamie lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed them both sweetly.  Still looking down, she nodded her acceptance of his pledge, a single tear escaping from the tip of her nose.

It was well past sunrise by the time Claire rose from their bed a second time, kissing her sleeping lover goodbye before creeping out of their flat and into the gemstone light of a perfect Christmas morning.

[agapaic]

tianshan drabble. 💞 on behalf of an anonymous donation to the BLMUK organisation, this was created (with permission) for Eylül @eed752. if you would like to donate to an organisation supporting black lives in return for a drabble, please see here for more information. 🌸

tags: chef!guan shan, media exec! he tian, reality TV. tw: non-consensual kissing

///

‘I don’t need your fuckin’ help,’ Guan Shan says, teeth gritted. ‘I didn’t ask for it.’

On the other side of the resaurant’s foyer, Zhengxi lowers the camera. He’s familiar with Guan Shan’s belligerence, and he knows when to stop rolling without waiting for anyone’s call. He turns to He Tian, who’s already making his way over to Guan Shan while he rolls up the cuffs on his shirt sleeves. His smile is tight.

‘Do you want to say that off camera, hm?’ he says quietly, when he’s only a few feet away. There’s something sharp beneath his words that makes Guan Shan’s spine straighten. ‘Stop being a prima donna because you don’t want to follow my suggestions. You and I both know you couldn’t do this without the show.’

Guan Shan looks away. This. His father’s old restaurant had been an empty husk until he bought it, the inside like walking into a warzone. There was graffitti on the walls, smashed crockery covering the floor, burst pipes in the bathrooms and kitchen, some scene from an apocalypse movie. 

The PAP had done nothing with it since they seized the property fifteen years ago; when it came to auction, Guan Shan bought it without thinking, emptying the savings he’d been stockpiling from his job as a waiter. He’d planned to give half to his mom and pay off her mortgage.

He doesn’t have the money to rennovate now, or to repair. He barely has the strength not to revisit the memory of the raid each time he walks through the restaurant doors, bile burning his throat, nausea rolling through him as if he’s at sea. Sometimes, it feels like it, the earth unsteady beneath his feet, his surroundings beginning to spin, a high-pitched ringing starting to keen in his ears—

‘Hey,’ He Tian says, brows drawn in. ‘Hey, did you hear me?’

Guan Shan mumbles something, and his expression must throw He Tian enough because he calls out for a break in the shooting. The crew lower their cameras and mic booms—Take five! someone shouts—and a caterers rolls out a trolley with cans of soft drinks and snacks. 

Guan Shan doesn’t go to it; nor does he collapse into the fold-up chair that has his name printed across the back. Instead, He Tian grips him by the elbow and steers him, not ungently, out of the main restaurant and towards the kitchen.

It’s a building site still, most everything covered in sheets of plastic and a dusty layer of concrete residue. They’ll start filming this part of the show in a couple of weeks, and use a demo kitchen for now while they work on the recipes for the menu. It’s the nature of the show—Overhaul, it’s called, building someone’s business quite literally from the ground up. 

You couldn’t do this without the show, He Tian had said. He’s right. Guan Shan couldn’t have afforded anything on the scale that He Tian is giving him. That’s the whole point of this fucking venture. The furniture, the esteemed clientelle, a Shanghai-based HR agency to find the staff. Some chef from SHIC will help him with the menu, and his contract promises the review of a Black Pearl critic who will visit a year after opening. The restaurant will be a success, by default of He Tian’s purview. He’ll allow nothing else to damage his name.

When the kitchen doors swing to a close behind them, He Tian releases Guan Shan and leans against an old counter with his arms folded. He’s frowning. In here, with the dust and the absence of windows, Guan Shan finds it difficult to breathe. He rubs at his chest, easing a pressure that refuses to dissipate. He’s trying to imagine himself running this place one day, cooking in here, where his father used to—and he fails. 

‘You asked for my help,’ says He Tian, slowly. ‘You went to Jian Yi, who came to me. You signed the contract. You agreed to this.’

‘I know what I fuckin’ agreed to,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian is unimpressed, and Guan Shan realises he hasn’t brought him away from the eyes of the crew because he pities him. He’s just making an attempt not to air any dirty laundry. He’s being professional. 

He says, ‘Then you can stop with the chip on your shoulder and stop being a bitch to the rest of the crew. They’re not your enemy. Neither am I.’

‘I’m not—’

‘If you want sympathy, then play it up. Start crying. I don’t give a damn—the audience will love it.’ He Tian stares at him flatly. ‘Maybe at the end we can have a father-son reunion—’

‘Don’t you fuckin’ dare,’ Guan Shan growls. The thought sickens him. Already, he knows that his father might see this in the papers, or have access to the show on the prison’s communal TV’s. Guan Shan hasn’t told him. He hasn’t visited in over a year. By the time the show airs, He Tian’s name will be emblazoned in lights; it wasn’t written in the contract, but the restaurant will become He Tian’s has much as it has ever belonged to the Mos. 

‘You’re in the entertainment business, Mo Guan Shan,’ He Tian reminds him coldly. ‘You should take what you can get and don’t stop.’

‘Is that what you’ve done?’ Guan Shan sneers.

‘Isn’t it obvious? Look at me.’

Guan Shan is looking. He’s spent two months looking, and he could spend even longer doing so, if only for the fact that he doesn’t want to. His preocuppation with the looks of a pretentious media executive worth millions is really fucking unfortunate. He hates himself for it. 

Granted, sometimes things are good. Sometimes they joke with each other and have moments off-camera that make Guan Shan’s spine tingle. Sometimes he thinks He Tian’s hand touches him when it shouldn’t, and sometimes Guan Shan’s eyes linger longer when they shouldn’t, too. There have been no sordid, insidious rumours staining He Tian’s name as with other media execs in the industry, but that means nothing. He Tian has the money and charm to keep it quiet. Probably, He Tian plays this game with all his entreupeneurs. Probably, Guan Shan is being fucking stupid. He hates himself for that, too.

‘I don’t wanna be like you,’ Guan Shan tells him eventually. ‘You look at people like they’re ratings.’

‘Spare me,’ He Tian remarks dryly. ‘If you had enough of a moral backbone you wouldn’t be using me at all for this. You would’ve worked and worked until you had what it took to make this place work.’ He smiles, almost tenderly. ‘And even then it wouldn’t be enough.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘No, fuck you, Mo Guan Shan. You’re going to be whatever the camera makes tries to make you.’

‘You mean what you make—’

‘Shut up. Do you want to be the arrogant, angry chef with an overruling passion for food? The kid from a broken home with too-high dreams of running a business? Is this all some grand venture to repair your paternal relationship? Or maybe something else entirely. You have the opportunity of a life time. If I were you, I’d think about taking it.’

Guan Shan opens his mouth to argue, and He Tian swears—in frustration, in anger, in bemused disbelief that Guan Shan still won’t back down from the fight when he knows he’s lost. The outcome was pre-determined, and Guan Shan’s still wincing at new bruises and spitting blood onto the tarpaulin of the derelict kitchen. 

He can only stare as He Tian marches forward, and he only thinks to take a step back when He Tian is a few feet from him— In front of him now—  Grabbing his shoulders with two hands—

He Tian’s kissing him. 

He Tian doesn’t wait for Guan Shan’s too-slow reaction. He takes what he wants, pillaging the intimacy, tongue forcing itself between Guan Shan’s lips—and lets him go. Immediately after, He Tian staggers back slightly, narrowly avoiding the fist that swings in his direction. 

Guan Shan heaves. He doesn’t have the energy to try a second time. ‘You—’

‘There,’ He Tian says thickly. ‘File for harrassment. Put my name down in the mud and rebuild yourself from the ashes.’

‘You fuckin’... You...’ Words fail him. His head is reeling.

He Tian lifts his hand as if to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, but his fingertips linger on his lips. His face is slightly flushed. 

‘I’m giving you power over me.’ 

He says it like an apology.

‘I’d never win,’ Guan Shan chokes out. ‘Me against you in court? I’m nothin’.’

‘I’d agree with your story. If nothing else, I’ll pay out a settlement fee and you can do this whole thing yourself.’

Guan Shan shakes his head. His mouth feels bruised. The worst part is that he’d imagined this before. Different. Better. He’d wanted it. No, the worst part is that he wants it still.

‘Still dirty money,’ he whispers.

‘It doesn’t have to be,’ says He Tian. Guan Shan realises he sounds a little shocked—as if he hadn’t had control over his actions. As if he hadn’t expected its consequences. Guan Shan realises: He Tian hadn’t done this with the others. ‘Make your choice, Mo Guan Shan. You can quit, you can file a claim—or we can carry on and get this thing finished.’

‘Shit,’ Guan Shan breathes, dragging a shaking hand over his face. ‘How the fuck am I gonna just... carry on after you...’

He looks to He Tian, expecting some cool answer, something stemmed from exploitative experience, but He Tian only grimaces and says, ‘The same way I’ll have to.’

///

🌸 in the footsteps of @nightfayre’s wonderful initiative, i’m filling any drabble requests following a donation to causes in support of black lives. please read here if you would like more information! ✨

[mysweetestcreature]

Realignment

Y/n has back pains and Harry is her chiropractor.

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: Smut

***

Y/n loves going to the chiropractor.

Of course, the more obvious reason being that she no longer has to suffer long-term from those pesky pains in her lower back whenever moves her clients’ furniture all over the room (she’s an interior decorator, a very dedicated one too) so having her body feeling as though she’s been tackled by a three hundred-pound linebacker isn’t exactly ideal when on-the-job. She’d been skeptical about the whole thing at first. The videos she’d watch on YouTube had her cringing out of fear, especially when necks were involved. She’s a squeamish person, she can’t help it! At her mother’s insistence, however, she had scheduled an appointment with the practice with the best reviews, and that was that.

And she was so thankful she had listened to her mum.

The best part about going to the chiropractor, hands down, is the person attending to her needs. His name is Harry and is quite possibly the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen. With his charming dimpled-smile and luscious brown hair that curls right above his ears and green eyes that send tingles all the way down to her toes whenever he utters a word to her. She’s been going to him twice a month for the last six months, and it’s easily become the best part of her routine. 

“You’ve got some stiffness in your cervical thoracis junction, yeah? I told you to take it easy.” Harry tuts lightheartedly. His hands press down firmly on either side of her upper back. “We’ll just start with your T3 here on the left...” “And I told that-oh!” She loses control of her thoughts when he slowly stretches her neck to the right side before pushing her head in the same direction a little more forcefully until the cracking of her joints reaches her ears. Y/n lets out an exuberant sigh as she immediately feels the tension fade away. “That felt nice,” she says airily, letting her eyelids droop as she continues to hum to herself. He does the same to the T1 on the right side, and she nearly moans at the sound of the popping. 

“Feels better then?” Harry muses as he moves on further down her back. 

“Much,” she says, turning her head to lie on her cheek. “I just don’t know what it is. I even hired an assistant to help me!” 

Harry puts one hand on her hip and the other just above the sacrum. “Maybe your mattress is too hard. It could be pushing on all your pressure points and whatnot.” He looks up to her. “Can’t imagine it being good for other things either,” he says suggestively with the wag of his eyebrows.

Y/n feigns offense. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she sasses as she rests her chin back on the cushion, smiling when she hears him chuckle behind her. 

“Maybe I would,” he mumbles––or at least she thinks she heard it right––before he starts the posterior to the anterior drop to put a counterclockwise torque on her sacrum to rotate it back into its proper position. 

It could be the way the palms of his hand feel as they track down her back, or the way his fingers lightly dig into her flesh as he takes mental notes on how to best adjust her spine, so it’s perfectly aligned. She cranes her neck back, admiring the way his nose twitches in concentration as he now centers his attention to the lumbar spine. “I’ve been feeling that one for about a week now,” she admits.

“You should’ve come in earlier, I could’ve found a way to squeeze you in,” he replies. He helps her up, and his hands gently grasp the sides of her arms. They feel warm against her skin, almost familiar. Y/n has to hide her smile in her shoulder before he can take notice. He has her hug the bench tightly with her thighs as he crosses her arms around her shoulders. “No sense suffering through work when-” His arms wrap around her, and in that moment all she can concentrate on is the way his cologne smells. It’s something sweet, like vanilla, but with a subtle masculine undertone that she can’t quite put her finger on. Each time she’s here, the scent of him that overtakes her senses until the cracking of her spine brings her out of her fantasy. “- you’ve got the best chiropractor in West London. The best looking one too, if I do say so myself.” 

“Sure of ourselves, aren’t we?” she teases. 

He plays along, “You could say that.”

She can just picture the smirk on his face, and she can’t help but laugh in amusement. “Well, according to your secretary, you don’t take walk-ins,” she challenges, and turns around to face him fully. Her eyes widen. She hadn’t expected him to still be sitting so closely behind her––or maybe she had––she doesn’t know! She can’t concentrate when each puff of his breath lands right on the tip of her nose. “Hi,” is all she manages.

“Could always make an exception,” he says in low deep voice. He stays unmoving, staring at her for a moment, and suddenly she feels constricted by the space around her. She can feel the heat creep to her face, and for what reason? She can’t quite pinpoint it. It’s the way his brows slightly curve down and the manner in which his chest almost heaves under his shirt. 

She bites down on the inside of her cheek as her brain reminds her of how to function. “I-” she struggles to put the words together. Breathe. “I think I-I need a little break.” It takes the full force of her energy to back away from him, and even more to lift herself onto her feet. When her hand wraps around the door knob, she looks back at him. “I’ll just be mo’.”

***

The door closes behind her, leaving Harry alone in the room. He listens closely for the clicking of the restroom door before releasing the air out of his lungs.

Shit. He doesn’t know what to do.

All this is completely and utterly fucking him up because he really isn’t sure how long he can withstand the tightness in his trousers for. It’s not his fault! Okay fine, it’s partially his fault (damn hormones) ...but regardless! How can he be expected to keep their relationship strictly professional when he has the cutest girl purring out the sexiest sounds whenever he touches her. Harry likes Y/n. A lot. And it’s not just because she’s incredibly attractive and soft, or that he’s been wanting to bend over the bench for ages. It’s because he can’t get her out of his head for weeks at a time, and even then, it’s because he sees her twice a month––sometimes more because he’s recently discovered that they go to the same Sainsbury just a few blocks away. 

His assistant, Muriel, had warned him this would happen. Yes, sweet old Muriel had laid eyes on Y/n for not even a second, and knew she’d have this effect on him. It’s probably why she had told her that he doesn’t take surprise visits because she knows all too well what happens after their sessions. 

Him.

Toilets.

Lotion they keep by the sink. 

The twist of the knob catches his attention, and he snaps his head towards it and watches it with great intent. Y/n steps shyly through the threshold, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her face oriented down to the carpeted floor as she leans back against the door to shut it close. 

He makes a start towards her but stops halfway, as if halted by a red-light. She looks up at him, and there’s this look in her eyes. It feels almost dangerous. It’s her who fills in the remainder of the gap between them, coming to stand just close enough that the toes of their shoes knock together. “Let’s continue?” Feeling brave enough, she raises her finger to stroke the underside of his chin as she walks past him. 

“Right,” Harry swallows, turning on his heel. “We should definitely do that... On your back then,” he tells her. Y/n readily does as she’s told, laying back on the bench with her hands joined together low on her stomach. 

Harry stands over her head, shamelessly allowing his eyes to scan her body up and down as though committing every curve of hers to memory. With his hands behind his back, he walks around the bench with slow leisurely steps until he’s at her feet. Y/n follows his every move, her insides boiling with anticipation of what he’ll do next.

She had needed to take a moment for herself in the bathroom. She had stared at the person looking back at her in the mirror. Her appearance said it all. She wanted him, and now she was certain that their desires were shared. Their eyes meet again, and it’s then the corners of her mouth curl up seductively. 

“Oh, fuck it,” he growls. He grabs the back of her legs and pulls her all the way to the edge, and they wrap around his lower thighs as he bends down, chest above chest. His face hovers closely over hers. He teases her, parted lips just barely grazing over her own, and light little blows of air to her cupid’s bow. 

“Harry,” she gasps, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down closer. They’re practically sharing each breath with one another, but all she wants is to feel the warmth of his touch caressing her body. With her fingers tangled through his unruly curls, she takes that final measure that finally brings their lips together. 

She hums contently as he swipes along her bottom lip to be granted access across the barrier. His tongue prods its way into her mouth and finds hers to mingle with. They break apart only briefly to shed their tops over their heads. Further down, their hands fumble with the clothing covering their bottom halves. “Get this off,” she whines, pulling on his pants. 

“Anything you want,” he husks, sucking on the vulnerable skin on her neck as he pushes the pants and boxers down the remaining length of his legs. She lets out a shaky breath when she spots his erection. The tip looks painfully red, and spurts of pre-cum leak furiously from the tip. He hisses into her mouth as the cold air wraps around him.  “See what you do to me.” He finds her hand and wraps his fingers around her wrist, guiding it down his stomach until she feels the coarseness of his lower hairs. “It’s yours if you want it.”

She grasps the base tightly and giggles when he groans out, his forehead falling against hers. “So hard, for me baby.” She strokes up and back down again, and Harry crashes his lips onto hers as she continues to jerk off his throbbing cock. He feels big in her hands, so she can’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like to have him inside of her, fucking her pussy fast and hard. 

He palms his way up her thighs, stopping once he reaches the hem of her leggings. He yanks them off aggressively, and if she weren’t so turned on by him, Y/n would definitely have scolded him for tearing them to shreds. 

“Fucking drenched,” he mutters into their kiss, and she can’t help the moan that escapes her as he drags one of his long digits on the outside of her lips. “You gonna let me have a taste of that sweet little cunt? Bet you taste so sweet.” Y/n bucks her hips up against him. “Only one way to find out.” 

A smirk spreads across Harry’s face, and he excitedly moves down her body. When he gets to where he wants, the simple smell of her is enough to drive his nerves wild with lust. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful pussy spread out for him to devour. His tongue nearly falls out of his mouth before licking past her folds in search of her heavenly cave. 

“I knew it,” he mumbles, the vibration of his words against her make her arch her back. 

His tongue delves in and out of her while his thumb rubs passionately on her sensitive nub. It causes her to feel the preface of pressure begin to build up in the pits of her tummy and simmer within her electrified veins. 

“You like it?” she asks playfully, running her hands through his hair and pushing it out of his face so she can better appreciate the view. 

He lifts his head up, and the glistening sheen of her juices coats his chin. “Could eat you out for hours,” he says, wrapping his lips back around her clit to give it all of his attention for another few seconds before crawling up back to her. 

When he kisses her, she’s immediately hit the taste of herself on his tongue mixed in with the mouthwatering taste of him. She reaches back for his cock pumping it between her curled fist before poking the tip at her entrance. 

“Needy now, are we?” he chuckles, kissing down from her lips onto the curve of her jaw. “You want me to fill you up with my cock? Is that it?” He lets the top of him squeeze into her tight hole, and both moan instantly at the newfound sensation. 

Y/n braces her arms above her and clings to the top end of the bench. The burn is undeniable, the way his fat cock stretches her walls out to accommodate his size, but the feeling soon shifts as more and more of him enter her, one delicious inch at a time. 

“Fuck,” she gasps, wrapping her legs low around his hips. “You feel so good. I feel so full.” She starts to pant as he drills in and out of her. He’ll pull out, leaving her to feel empty before slamming back in until his tight balls slap against the curve of her ass. “I’ve never felt so full.”

“Oh, pet,” he starts, his lips barely touching hers. “You’re feeding my narcissism.” And he nearly loses it when she tightens around him as she giggles once more. 

She offers him an absolute devilish grin. “Got a praise kink, Harry?” 

Harry smirks at her as he starts to quicken the tempo of his movements, and Y/n does her best to complement each one of his powerful thrusts. The sound of their skin slapping against the other is surely loud enough for the people in the waiting room to hear, but neither one of them seems to give a damn as they claw their way up to the feeling of utter pleasure-induced fulfillment.

It’s all carnal desire that’s taken possession of their bodies as they fuck as though the world depends on it. She internalizes the feeling of the protruding veins of his lengthy member rubbing against all the right places in her wet pussy, and all he can think about is how snug he feels with her squeezing him the way she is.

Her head is absolutely spinning, and she swears if she reaches out, she could just touch the stars that start multiply around them. And that’s when she feels the tight knot within her start to pull apart. 

“Wanna feel come apart all over my cock,” he groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his own orgasm quickly approaches. 

Y/n takes her hands and cups either side of Harry’s cheeks, tracing over his sharp features with the thumb as he continues to fuck into her with animalistic force. He looks her straight in the eyes as he does so, and he can tell by the way her pupils grow twice their size that she’s about to let go. 

“I’m about to...” but she’s unable to finish as the bliss of her release causes her body to shake beneath him. Never has he witnessed a more breathtaking image in his life. He feels his balls begin to clench, signaling the coming of his orgasm, but when he’s about to pull out, she stops him.

She shakes her head, as she kisses him. “I want you inside me when you cum,” she says into his mouth. He continues to buck into her despite the restraint of her legs around him to keep him close. As her words playback in his head, they trigger the hot white spurts of his cum to coat every last inch of her walls as he stills inside of her. 

They breathe heavily as they come down from their highs. The stench of their sex is prevalent in the room, and surely embedded in the fibers of the leather cushioning of the bench. Harry shifts their figures so he can lean back and have her snuggle into his sweaty chest. 

His hand runs up and down the curve of her spine, but he stops midway and begins to push gently on it. Y/n squirms against him, letting out a little squeak. “Sorry, love,” he pecks the tip of her nose, “We might have to do something to fix that.”

Y/n loves her chiropractor.

***

Let’s talk about this :D

[libraryonothing]

Abacus Jones

         The hills was actually a bit further than they looked from the town.  Took me near on two hours til I started feelin their slow incline in my ankles.  I had kept my eyes on the town, wonderin when truth would show itself and they’d come runnin up to try and hack at my limbs and such, but it didn’t never come.  In fact they kept a happy watch off ta me for the first fifteen minutes or so of my walk, still waving like the crazies they must be to be so kind to a soulless type like myself.  Soon enough though they broke up their group and just seemed to go back to their normal dailying.

           After the long walk, I finally stopped at the base of the hills, sun shining without a cloud to muck it up, and the air without a wind to blow away my own stink.  I quickly came to noticing that there weren’t a sound around, save for my own breathin, and that slow ring in my ears that I only heard when everything was all quiet like right now.  Nothin, not a wild dog, lizard, snake, or even the flies that seemed so smitten with my soulless husk.  There weren’t a bit of life out here, and I didn’a like that much.

           The second bit of strange hit me the moment I was fully in the hills, the tops rolling over above me, and bits of loose rock tumblin down as if something was knockin em loose.  Somethin that was stalkin me, eyein’ me with it’s dark eyes.  Cept when I’d look, that same nothing greeted me again and again.

           I kept at eyein’ the ground for prints or some such sign, but none was ever there.  And I still weren’t feelin any spooks.  I had a sort-of sense for such things, and I’m fair for certain there weren’t none around.  But the pebbles above kept fallin, following me through the hills just as they continued to grow above me further, and I sunk down into the deeper valleys as the sun finally became hidden from me.

           It got moist around me, quick, and in a place that didn’a rightly seem it should be.  Black grass, devil weed, was growing at my feet, and reaching out far ahead of me.  Oft times, this stuff grew up on blood, you’d find it in or around secluded areas in the world, which weren’t many, mind you, as most a the killin I seen’s done out in the streets, or in some structure or nother.  Scribbits is a dark feeder.  Rip their prey to bit pieces, but as I ain’t seen any thing livin round here, don’t figure I’d get off so easy with just a few Scribbits to deal with.  No, I reckon this is them missin youngsters, or at least the emptied fillins of em.

           I kept on, the soft ground dippin further inward, and the devil grass getting thicker.  The hills above rose high now, and when the still-falling pebbles came tumbling down they made a racket, and gave me a sec or two to get out of their way.  But the little ones would shake loose some of the larger ones, and I found I couldn’t avoid em all, and I got one that knocked my hat off and everything.

           It had kicked me down, the devil grass rising above my head now.  Then I heard it, faint, little whispers really, echoing in my head, out there around me, but close enough to be inside.  It was wicked speak, not alive, but not dead yet either.  And them little bits, they knew my name.

           “Abacus…Jones…”

           “He has come!”

           “Rejoice!  In his name we should sing.”

           They was beginning to come in waves now.  Each of em layered all on top or under the other.  They was getting louder, like they was gatherin around me.

           “He’s the one, the dark-eyed stranger.”

           “The one who was summoned.”

           “Ill speaking worm!”

           “What condition affects you summit-seeker?”

           “The demon is among us, we should send it home.”

           “The dark eyes, they will free us.”

           “No, they will suffer us deeper.”

           I was startin to get dizzy, I felt my mind floatin around with the voices in my own head, like I was just another of em swimmin around up there.  I knew better an to listen to the devil weed, never bow your head to it, but the rock brought me down, down to the enchanted specklin of the living grass and their trance talkin.

           “Don’t listen, speak not to the way warder.”

           “some more, give it  more…”

           “help, please help us dark rider.”

           “he does not help.  The dark rider, the Abacus, he is the reason for our deaths.”

           “Yes, the reader, the sight of the soulless.”    

           “So you all’s the missin youngsters right?”  I called out in the pool of em.

           “See, he sees, already he has begun.”

           “Okay, enough already.  I’ll need my head to get the one that done poured your excesses out here.”

           “It tells us, it commands.”

           “No, not his purpose.”

           “But he speaks truth?  We are dead?”

           “Yes, dead.  Souls lost to the separated Earth.  Just vile weeds.  Now let me go!”

           “He preaches, the soulless preaching’s.”

           “Enough damned trance talk.  I need outta here, or…no, you need out.  Get outta my skull!”

           “And you will avenge this?”

           “The death of us all?”

           “Yes, he will.  That is why he was summoned.”

           “Summoned?  No one summoned me.  I found a flyer.  Reward poster.”

           “We will free him then, but must do so as a whole.”

           “Wait a sec, answer me.  What do you mean summoned?”

           “Yes, free him.  His soul hole stinks.”

           “Then go Dark rider.  We release you.”

           “Wait!”

           The voices shot out, and I felt my body again.  But I had a question burning in my skull now, a leftover from the weed.  The sun was nearly gone from the sky now, I would be in the pitch dark soon.  My path would take me further down, deeper still into the valleys, until all light had gone from the place.  All light save for a single glimmer coming from an opening just ahead.

           I gripped the splintering wood handle of my gun, it was cold, but I reckoned it’d be getting warm real soon.  I took one last look toward the empty sky, and two glowing red eyes stared back.  But one blink later and they was vanished, like they was never really there at all.  Probably just some tracer from the weed I figured.  I shook it off, and put my focus back on the entrance in front of me.  I figgered that my little job was about to be over, and that bag of gold sittin in my satchel was itchin to get to bein spent.

           Yeah, I know, this was all workin out a bit too well so far, and of course it wasn’t going to stay that way.