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ellewritesx · 2 months ago

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possession agreement

(part three of the sugar, baby series)

Summary: Jealousy brought him to the bar. Possession dragged you into his lap.

Warnings: sugardaddy arrangement, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), kind of a size kink, choking kink, some light stalking, jealous and possessive behavior, slutshaming, lots of feels

A/N: thank you guys so much for the love on the series so far! i've gotten a lot of requests to be added to the tag list, so if i've accidentally overlooked yours, just let me know :) hope you like this one. don't cheer too soon. good luck x

Word Count: 4,851

...

He sees you before you see him.

The bar is crowded, low amber lighting pressing warm against your sweaty skin and hazy music rattling deeply in your ribs. You're loosely cradling a drink, something pink and sweet, wrapped in an emerald green dress with iridescent sequins, so short it barely clings to your thighs, cinched at the waist and hugging every inch of your body like it was poured onto your skin.

It's a new dress, bought two days ago with the little black card that Harry had tossed in front of you on the bed one night, like it meant nothing. ''Just use it'', he'd said. ''Buy whatever you want.''

And that you did. You've always been so obedient, so eager to please. It's one of the reasons your arrangement works so well. But lately, the transactions have started to blur into something... different. It's not just groceries and bus tickets and rent anymore. Not just the careful, predictable spending of someone just taking what they need.

Now it's glossy department store visits, spontaneous dinners for one at upscale restaurants, even spa days and yoga retreats. Designer perfume that clings to your skin. Heels that cost more than your rent. Dresses that shimmer in the dark.

He'd noticed the changes in you. All the little shifts.

Your perfume was the first thing that changed. Sweet, like you, expensive in a way that clings, notes of vanilla and jasmine, and something more adventurous he can't quite name.

It lingers in his car after he drops you off. Lingers even longer in his sheets. The first time it happened, he caught himself burrowing into the pillow you had laid on, inhaling so deeply it left him light-headed. He changed the linens the next morning with a scowl, told himself it was distracting. Unprofessional.

He tried to blame this momentary lapse of judgment on the perfume, on its tenacity, its price tag. But he knew. It wasn't about the perfume. It was you.

The way your voice softens when you say his name, a tone you save just for him. The way your smile twitches when you try not to laugh at the noises of complaint he makes when you leave the bed. The way you're always so kind to him, even when he's cold or harsh or difficult. He doesn't know what to do with that kind of softness. That kind of grace. Especially when it's directed at him.

You've changed, he can see it in the way you carry yourself, the way you walk into a room with your chin up a little higher. But you're still the same at your core. Still shy when he mentions sex outside the bedroom, just a passing comment, really, a teasing whisper in your ear when you're cooking or reading a book. Still thanking him every time he buys you something as simple as a coffee, even though he always rolls his eyes and mutters ''it's part of the deal, baby''. Still too gentle for this world. Still too good for him.

And the lingerie... fuck. He's seen the credit card charges. Little things that cost hundreds, maybe thousands, of pounds. And he knows it's for him. You never say it, but you only wear them when you know he'll be the one undressing you.

He fucking loves it.

The timid smile on your face when he tugs off your hoodie, revealing the sheer, shimmering little things that look painted onto your skin like he's unwrapping a present. Pearlescent mesh that cups your tits like a second skin, thin garters that dig into the plush curve of your thighs, delicate embroidery right where his mouth loves to be. You never say much when he peels it off, just blush and look up at him like you're waiting for his approval. He always grins. ''Fuckin' love that you wear my money like this.''

You moan when he tells you how gorgeous you look. You shiver when he mutters how good it feels knowing no one else gets to see you like this. Sometimes, when he's buried between your thighs, he thinks about snapping photos, keeping a private collection, but he reckons you wouldn't allow him.

After all, even after all these weeks of tangled limbs and messy sheets, you still won't let him fuck you, not properly. Not the way he wants to. Needs to. You'd always politely stopped him when things started to slip too far, and he'd respected that, without question, without pressure. Never asked why.

Until one night, after you'd melted beneath his mouth, trying to catch your breath, when he'd propped up his face on one hand, stroking your arm in slow, lazy circles with the other. He'd asked, quiet and curious, ''Why d'you always stop me, baby?'' Not accusing, not frustrated, just genuinely wondering.

You'd been shy about it. Said it softly, hesitantly. That you just wanted to get to know him better before doing something that intimate. That it wasn't about him, not at all. That it just meant more to you. He'd never thought of sex as anything but a release, as friction and sweat and a way to shut off his brain, and he'd felt something odd curl in his chest at your words. Not annoyance. Not rejection. Just… respect. Maybe even admiration. You saw sex as special, sacred, and for once, he wanted to deserve that. Deserve you.

God, what was he turning into?

The question lingers in the back of his mind as he watches you from his shadowed corner near the back of the bar, hidden by the low-hanging bulbs and velvet curtains, eyes tracking you like a sniper with his jaw set and his knuckles white.

You're blissfully unaware. You sip your cocktail, lips glossed and sticky around the rim, smiling at something on your phone as if you don't feel the heat of a dozen gazes trained on your body. You don't even seem to notice the way all the men in the bar study your every movement. You don't hear the way the women whisper in jealousy about your dress, your confidence. A girl who could get anything she wants with just a bat of her eyelashes.

He hadn't planned to come. You hadn't even told him where you'd be. You hadn't needed to. He always finds out.

The moment he saw the tag from your new dress in the trash and the ridiculously high charge made to his credit card, he knew. You were out. Without him. In that dress, on his dime.

You laugh at something the barista says, the sound bright and genuine, and his throat tightens. God, you're pretty. That's the worst part. You're pretty and kind and so stupidly innocent about it all, like you don't realize what you do to people when you walk into a room. Like you don't realize what you do to him.

He ducks into the men's bathroom quickly, just to splash cold water in his face, just to try to snap himself out of whatever trance you've seemed to put him in. Get it together, Harry.

He swiftly slides back into his booth when he returns, and for a second he debates going up to you, making sure that everyone sees that he's the one taking you home at the end of the night.

Then the guy approaches.

He's tall. Closer to your age than Harry is. Clean-shaven and grinning like he actually believes he has a chance. Harry leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing as he watches the stranger slide into your space, hand braced casually on the bar beside your elbow.

''Hey,'' he says, voice cocky but smooth, sounding charming enough to hide the hint of arrogance. ''I was gonna wait for your boyfriend to come back from the bathroom, but… I figured, screw it. Mind if I buy your next drink?''

You blink up at him, a little surprised, but you smile sweetly at him nonetheless. ''Actually, I'm here alone.''

That goes straight to Harry's gut. Alone. You're here alone, looking like that. Wearing his money. Sitting pretty on a barstool like a trophy someone forgot to take home and worship. His jaw ticks.

''Damn,'' the guy says, clearly pleased. ''Lucky me, then. You're so hot, I can't believe no one's snatched you up yet.''

You smile politely, but Harry can see the offense etching its way into your skin, a delicate frown sitting on your pretty face. That's my girl, he thinks. He'd learned early on into your arrangement that you didn't appreciate being degraded or objectified, and he'd nearly lost his family jewels the first time he called you ''hot''. ''I'm not a cup of tea, Harry'', you'd told him defiantly.

''No, I mean it,'' the guy presses, inching closer. ''It's like you walked in and I forgot what I was doing. I've been watching you the whole time, just couldn't take my eyes off you.''

Your smile falters just slightly. Harry sees it. The way your fingers tighten around your glass. The way you glance away, uncertain, uncomfortable. But the guy keeps going.

''Listen, I know this is forward, but do you wanna get out of here? Maybe hit another place with better music? Or straight to my place, if you'd prefer,'' he asks confidently.

Harry's up before he realizes it, drink forgotten on the table behind him. The blood in his veins is cold, electric, every muscle in his body pulled taut like a wire. He's on autopilot as he cuts through the bar, ignoring the brush of shoulders, the flicker of stares.

His only focus is you. His girl and a stranger who clearly has no idea what he's playing with.

He stops just behind you, hand curling around your waist, fingers splaying possessively across the curve of your side.

''She's taken.''

His voice is low. Rough. Measured, but only just. A breath away from breaking this man's nose.

You go stiff in his grip. Your eyes snap to his, wide, caught somewhere between shock and relief. The guy blinks, taking a step back with his hands raised.

''Look, man, she said she was alone—''

''And now she's not. Move.'' His eyebrows raise, the look on his face saying ''try me. I dare you.''

The guy swallows and stammers something, but he's already turning to retreat. You open your mouth, debating whether to strangle Harry for following you here or kiss him for saving you from that creep.

But Harry doesn't give you the chance to speak. His hand clamps around your wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough pressure to make it clear; you're leaving.

''Harry—'' you start, but he's already dragging you through the crowd, jaw locked, pace fast. You trip slightly in your heels, breath catching as you stumble after him.

The door slams open with a sharp crack, rain sweeping in around you both like it's part of his fury. He storms out first, and you stumble after him, heels clicking sharply against the wet pavement, glittering dress clinging tighter to your skin with each second.

The streetlights blur with water, casting gold halos onto the slick pavement. He doesn't let go of you even as the rain soaks your clothes. He doesn't even look at you. Just paces a few feet away, running a hand through his damp hair like it might somehow tame the chaos boiling inside him.

''What the fuck were you thinking?'' His voice is thunderous, splitting the air like the lightning that's blocks away from you. He finally turns to face you, jaw clenched, lips curled in a frustrated snarl. ''Out. Alone. Dressed like that? Do you have any idea what kind of creeps hang around places like this?''

Your heart is racing, not just from the cold or the scolding, but from the abruptness of it all, how you'd gone from laughing over a cocktail to being dragged out like a misbehaving child.

''Excuse me?'' You blink against the rain, glaring at him through your soaked lashes. ''I was having a drink. I was fine.''

He scoffs, taking a step closer. ''You call that fine? That guy was three seconds away from dragging you into a fucking alley. And you were smiling at him. Entertaining his delusions. You're a woman, for God's sake. Don't you know better than to engage with men like that?''

You huff out a bitter laugh. ''Men like what, Harry? Men who find my location, who watch me from dark corners?''

''I was keeping an eye on you!''

''You were stalking me.''

''Well, apparently I have to, because you don't seem to have any survival instincts whatsoever.''

''I was being polite!''

''You were flirting.''

You throw your hands up in exasperation. He's behaving like a petulant child. ''And what if I was? It's not like you're my boyfriend.''

That hits him like a slap in the face. He smiles tight-lipped, bitter. ''Right. Not like I have a say, right? Because I'm just the guy funding your new lifestyle, paying for your little wardrobe, all those fucking slutty dresses—''

''Are you seriously throwing that in my face right now?'' You spit back at him, offense settling deeper in your bones than the cold.

He doesn't say anything. He knows that comment was low, even for him, but he doesn't take it back. He can't, he's too deep in it now.

You take a shaky breath, fists curled at your sides. ''I didn't ask for any of that. You offered. You set the rules. The boundaries. Yet here you are, dragging me into the street like a jealous ex.''

His eyes widen slightly, running his hand through his soaked hair in frustration. ''I'm not jealous,'' he says defensively, but his voice lacks the conviction it usually carries.

''Bullshit.''

''I'm not.''

You tilt your head at him, voice growing quieter, the exhaustion seeping in. ''Then why are you out here? Why were you in there, Harry? Don't lie to me. I'll know.''

He flinches like you hit him, and for a second, he doesn't have an answer. Just stares at you, rain dripping down his temples as his drenched curls stick to his skin, his jaw tight.

You know you've hit the nail right on the head. There's no use pretending anymore. He can't stand the idea of someone else touching you, looking at you, even if he's the one who keeps you at arm's length. Even if he swore he didn't want anything more.

''I didn't like the way he was looking at you,'' he finally mutters under his breath, a hint of shame crawling up his neck.

You bite back the lump in your throat. ''Why?''

He opens his mouth to answer, then closes it again. His hands twitch at his sides, like he doesn't know whether to reach for you or push you away. He looks back at you, and the fury in his eyes is morphs into something softer as his gaze drops briefly to your dress, soaked through and clinging to every curve.

You're shivering now, teeth chattering every few seconds, hair sticking to your cheeks, mascara probably halfway down your face. You're trying so hard not to cry, not to shake, not to break in half in front of him. But he sees it.

''Fuck—'' he breathes, almost to himself. Like he can't believe he let it get this far. Let himself get this far. Setting boundaries and breaking them. Pushing you away but still kissing your skin.

Shoving his feelings so far down until it was too late to realize they'd consumed him.

He shrugs off his coat in one swift motion and steps forward before you can say a word. He drapes it around your shoulders and tugs it closed in the front, hands lingering a beat too long on the lapels. You stare at him, stunned, lips parted.

His hand lifts, almost hesitant, and brushes your soaked hair gently out of your face. The contact is soft, so impossibly soft after all that screaming. His palm lingers against your cheek, warm, even now.

He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing, and he's staring at you like he doesn't know what the hell to do with everything building behind his eyes. You nuzzle into his hand, pressing a soft kiss to his wrist.

You don't know who leans in first. Maybe you both do. Maybe it's instinct. Maybe it's fate.

Your lips crash into his like a dam breaking, weeks of tension and questions and all pouring out in one desperate collision. He freezes for a split second, like he hadn't considered this outcome, like he didn't know he was drowning until your lips pulled him to the surface. But then he's kissing you back with every ounce of heat and anger and longing he's buried beneath his rules.

One hand fists in your hair, the other at the small of your back, pressing you into him like he's terrified you'll vanish if there's even a sliver of distance between you. It's messy, wet, a little frantic, but it's real. Your arms slide around his neck, trembling hands clinging to the soaked collar of his shirt.

You've never done this before. Never kissed. Never crossed that invisible line. But now that it's happening, it feels inevitable. Like everything else was just leading up to this moment.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathless. His chest is heaving. Your lips are swollen. His hands are still on you, fingers twitching like they don't want to let go. You look at him and see it in his eyes. The want. The fear. The guilt. The hope.

Neither of you says a word. You just stand there, shaking under his coat in the pouring rain, while your heart beats loud enough to drown out the thunder.

He doesn't speak as he suddenly pulls you through the downpour. Just stalks toward his car while you try to match his pace, your heels slipping on the slick asphalt, but he doesn't slow down. His hand is locked around your wrist like he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go.

He tugs the door to the driver's seat open impatiently and practically throws himself in, dragging you with him, wet limbs tangling, your body landing hard against his in the cramped front seat.

The door slams shut behind you, muting the sound of the rain to a steady percussion against the roof, the storm now caged outside while another builds in the tight, humid air between you. You're both drenched, clothes sticking to your bodies like a second skin, breaths ragged, chests heaving.

Your knees hit either side of his hips, thighs sliding against his jeans as you straddle him awkwardly in the seat. His hands are already under your dress, bunching the fabric up to your waist with zero finesse, just raw impatience. ''Wore this to tease me?'' he hisses, jaw clenched, eyes dark as sin. ''Parading around in this tiny fucking dress like you don't belong to someone?''

''I don't belong to anyone,'' you retort defiantly, hating it when you're treated like an object, like a possession.

But right now, you're breathless, and you don't sound so convinced anymore. Not when you're rutting your hips down against the hard line of his cock in his jeans, not when your panties are clinging to you, wet from both the rain and your own arousal.

He barks out a laugh that's all raging jealousy and lust. ''Bullshit. You belong to me. This cunt belongs to me.''

You whimper at his vulgarity, grinding down harder. The windows start fogging up around the edges as his hands grip your ass, dragging your body against his. ''You're such a desperate little thing,'' he mutters, cock thick and straining beneath you. ''Bet you'd let me fuck you raw right now, wouldn't you? Right here in my fucking car. Don't care if people walk past and see, do you?''

You shake your head, drunk off him, dizzy from the filth in his voice, nuzzling your face into his shoulder.

''You're so fucked up for me, baby. Look at you. Letting me do this to you. Wish that fucking creep from the bar was here to see how you behave when it's just you and me. Fuckin' filthy, baby.''

Your hands shake pathetically as you work open his jeans. He helps, yanking the zipper down, pulling himself out with a hiss. And then… Jesus Christ.

Your mouth goes dry. You'd nearly forgotten how massive he is. Thick and veiny and already leaking at the tip, twitching against your thigh. You stare like you've never seen him before. How the hell is that going to fit inside of you?

He must see the flicker of nerves in your eyes because his voice softens just slightly, only for a second. ''You sure?'' he asks sternly, his hand skimming your thigh, eyes watching you like a hawk.

You nod. ''I want to. I just... Fuck, Harry, you're big.''

His jaw flexes with pride, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead, you feel him reach under your dress again, curling his fingers into the waistband of your panties and starts to drag them down.

''Up,'' he murmurs. ''Need these off you.''

You shift your weight onto your knees to help, thighs bracketing his hips as he tugs the soaked fabric down your legs. But as you sit up, spine straightening in the cramped car, your head smacks hard into the roof.

''Ow—fuck!'' you hiss, dropping back down on his lap instantly and grabbing the crown of your head with both hands.

Harry freezes. Then his lips twitch. Then he laughs.

''Shit, are you okay?'' he asks between chuckles, clearly trying and failing to stifle them, swatting your hands away to cradle the back of your head and inspect the damage.

You glare at him, shoving his shoulder when he presses a finger into the bruise that's surely forming on your scalp. ''Do I look okay?''

''You look like you just lost a fight with the ceiling, baby,'' he says, grinning now, voice warm with amusement.

You swat his chest, trying to look mad, but the corner of your mouth quirks too. ''Don't laugh, it hurts like a bitch.''

''Aw, c'mere.'' He pulls you forward into a kiss, soft and smiling. ''You're alright. I've got you.''

The lingering tension from your fight earlier melts away, and you let him take your panties the rest of the way off. Let him hold you steady again. Let yourself breathe.

His fingers brush through your soaked folds like he's checking how ready you are, and he hums in approval, almost smug. ''So wet for me already, baby. I barely even touched you.''

Your thighs twitch. He lines himself up with you, holds your hips, and begins to guide you down slowly. ''Just breathe, baby. Gonna go slow. Let me stretch you.''

You sink an inch. Then two. Then stop with a sharp inhale, your nails digging into his shoulders.

''Fuck, too much?''

You shake your head. Your walls are fluttering around him, pulsing tight as your body struggles to accommodate his size. But God, you want to. You want to take all of him. You want to be ruined by him.

''Just... give me a second,'' you whisper, barely able to speak.

And he does. He leans up, wraps one arm around you to pull you impossibly close, forcing your back to arch into him. He kisses your jaw. Your cheek. Your collarbone. Your shoulder. ''You're doing so good,'' he murmurs. ''So fucking good for me. My pretty girl.''

The praise knocks something loose in you. You grip the back of his neck, burying your face in his wet curls at the top of his head as you slowly start to sink down further, inch by inch. It burns, but it's good, thick and overwhelming, your slick easing the way.

''God, I can feel you squeezing me,'' he growls, forehead dropping to rest on your chest. ''Tight little cunt's choking me, baby. Fuck.''

By the time you've taken all of him, you feel split open, fuller than you ever thought possible. You both freeze there, chests heaving, soaking wet and panting. You clench around him instinctively and he moans, moans, like he's losing control.

''I've never let anyone ride me before,'' he pants, dragging his hands up your sides as you adjust. ''You know that?''

Your brows twitch up, surprised, your hand combing through his wet curls, his face still pressed against your boobs. ''Why?''

''Don't like giving up control,'' he admits. ''But fuck...You, I'd let you do anything. Look at you. Look at how pretty you are on my cock.''

Your lips part, stunned by the confession, by the way his voice strains at the edges, the hunger in his eyes when he pulls back up, looking at you like he's unraveling beneath you.

He rocks his hips up just slightly, and the friction sends sparks through your stomach. You brace your palms against his chest and start moving, slow at first, lifting your hips and dropping back down. He hisses between his teeth.

''Fuck, yes. That's it. Ride me, baby. Show me how bad you need it.''

You moan as you begin to find a rhythm, the tight squeeze and drag of him making your head spin. Every time you drop down, it feels like he's deeper, thicker, rubbing that spot that makes your vision blur.

One hand shoots to your throat, squeezing gently as his hips thrust up into you sharply. ''This what you wanted, huh?” he snarls, grip tight enough to make your breath catch. ''Wanted to tease me all night just so I'd fuck you like this?''

You nod desperately, moaning as his fingers flex at your neck. ''Harry, please.''

''You're mine,'' he growls, thrusting up into you harder now, no longer letting you lead. ''Mine to look at. Mine to touch. Mine to fuck.''

His possessiveness makes you clench hard around him, the struggle to breathe making you feel dizzy and depraved and his. You're barely keeping up anymore, your thighs burning, body trembling, but he's got you, one hand guiding your hips while the other keeps you tethered to him by the throat.

Your head falls back and he takes the opportunity to mark your neck, tongue dragging over your skin before he bites down and groans, ''Gonna come inside you, baby. Gonna fill you up so good. Let everyone know who you belong to.''

You cry out, slamming your hips down on his, his cock punching deep as he fucks up into you, harder now, rough and punishing.

''Tell me you're mine,'' he demands. ''Say it.''

''I'm yours,'' you sob. ''Harry, fuck, yours—''

That's all it takes.

He lets go, growling as he snaps his hips up again, again, again. You feel him spill inside you with a strangled curse, hot and endless, his entire body trembling beneath yours. He groans your name into your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around your back as if he could fuse your bodies together and keep you there.

His release spurs on your own, and he lets out a choked moan when you squeeze him, riding out the high, milking him of every last drop, as the coil in your stomach snaps.

You're shaking, both of you breathing heavy in the steamed-up car, rain pattering against the windows, your soaked dress still bunched around your waist.

And when you finally open your eyes and see the way he's still looking at you, jaw clenched, lashes wet, hand stroking your thigh possessively, you breath hitches.

He lets you linger against him for a second too long. You can feel the rapid thrum of his heart under your palm, the slight tremble in his fingers where they rest on your thigh. But then, just as you're starting to think this might mean something, he pulls away.

He gently nudges you off his lap, tucking himself back into his jeans, like the moment never even happened, and your stomach drops. He leans over the console to tug your crumpled dress down and fasten your seatbelt, avoiding your eyes the entire time.

''Hey... Are you okay?'' you ask, voice soft, dipping your head lower to get him to look at you, or at least catch a glimpse of his face, of what the hell he's thinking right now.

He pulls back, slumping into his seat and staring straight ahead, his eyes unreadable. ''Yeah. I'm fine. Let's just go.''

It stings more than it should. Not cruel, not dismissive exactly, just... closed off. As if something cracked open between you two, only for him to slam it shut again just as quickly.

And you wait. For a look, a soft smile, a brush of his fingers. Any kind of reassurance to soothe the ache of the subtle hint of regret in his voice. But nothing comes.

You nod slowly, swallowing the lump rising in your throat as he turns the key in the ignition, the air between you thick with everything left unsaid. ''Okay.''

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

sugar, baby series tag list

@indierockgirrl @prettygurl-2009 @cherryflavoredbyme @dipmeinhoneyh @haliastyless @drewrry @maddiesalvatore1839 @robinsue87 @zoraaasyd @sincerely-yours-marsbar @m0mmyfromtarget @maudie-duan

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump

...

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so-i-did-this-thing · 1 month ago

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do you ever stop being scared of getting misgendered? this morning i went to a fun little grad party that my old school was throwing and it made me feel so terrified, cus i started transitioning after i left. i was so scared someone was gonna recognize me as the weird little girl no one liked so i didnt talk to anyone and honestly it was super lonely

Misgendering is unfortunately going to be one of those things you will need to learn to face. Let me tell you about some of my experiences.

I transitioned very publicly (the music world is very small) and the deliberate misgendering and "jokes" just made it clear who I would and would not go to bat for. Very important as someone who frequently put his job on the line to make sure people got paid fairly. One of the worst offenders was an orchestra owner I assembled a group suit against for non-payment, and by the end, he was terrified of me. I'm sure he still makes "jokes", but he also doesn't live in his fancy house anymore after all his payouts.

Being treated as a curiosity is going to happen. Even among "allies," you are going to get rude questions, accidental misgendering, and those lingering looks where people try to figure out what you look like naked, or how you did before HRT. You need to hold your head high and establish firm boundaries on inappropriate questions. This is hard to navigate, as you'll be spending a lot of emotional labor assuring some folks that they are not bad people, as they whine it's "so hard" to get your pronouns right. It's up to you to decide how much effort is worth it, and you can only really educate those who come to you in good faith.

What's worse, imo, is the misgendering that feels like a betrayal. In-laws who previously thought I was cis immediately started misgendering me when they learned I was trans. We are cordial now, over 10 years later, but that relationship is probably irrevocably damaged because they never apologized and furthermore, acted like a victim when confronted with their transphobia. But I treat it as their loss, not mine. I do a lot for my family, including the jobs no one else wants to do (mainly revolving around taking care of the dead & dying), but my sense of family obligation nonetheless has limits.

I also had a very, very long-time friend misgender me with growing frequency as he fell down the alt-right pipeline. I ended up abruptly cutting him out of my life, with the reminder to myself that a childhood based on proximity + pop culture things we both enjoyed is not necessarily a true friendship -- if we had met as adults, I would have instantly hated him.

So, misgendering is a scale, and I'd recommend you reflect upon the forms it can take, and how you'll respond. It's very, very important that there be penalties for it, from a stern talking-to to going no-contact.

But I will be honest -- I am openly trans partly out of defiance. I enjoy the cognitive dissonance people experience, especially when I end up being bigger (it does happen), better looking, more confident, and more successful than the naysayers think I should be.

And among allies, I enjoy when folks can compare the angry, shy, weird little girl they knew before to the calm, confident, yet still weird middle-aged man they still know, and acknowledge what I've overcome to thrive. I worked my butt off to get to where I am and am proud to have that recognized.

Ultimately, you likely need to reconcile how you feel about that weird little girl no one liked. Clearly, she was incredibly strong, if you're here today. Embrace and celebrate that part of yourself, especially for being a survivor. It makes it all the more difficult then, for anyone to weaponize who you used to be.

#trans stuff #transgender #this is why I write transfic btw #especially lots of coming out moments and references to one's past #because it helps me not be so bitter about my own past #and definitely not ashamed to share that “weird little girl” with other people

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rapz-rites · 2 months ago

Text

Doing Better

Damian Wayne x Singer!Reader

After your and Damian’s breakup, you both think the other is doing better

A/N: This is inspired by all the TikTok edits I see to We Hug Now by Sydney Rose. If you haven’t listened to it before, please do. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone do this before, so I hope I start something. If any Tumblr writers see this and are inspired by it, plz tag me in your versions 🙏🏾

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning(s): heartbreak 💔

You needed to move to LA for your music, and Damian had responsibilities in Gotham, Robin and his father’s company. Long distance was NOT an option.

The two of you had done long distance for a slightly over six months, and it was horrible. You two were supposed to alternate weekends to visit each other, but due dates and missions, and life got in the way. So you ended up not seeing each other for nearly 4 months, and considering you saw each other every day for years, that was hard. That's why when you reunited, you both promised to never do long distance again.

Neither of you wanted to break up, but you had to.

I have a feeling you got everything you wanted

And you're not wasting time stuck here like me

You're just thinkin' it's a small thing that happened

The world ended when it happened to me

It's been roughly six months since the two of you broke up. You’ve moved to Los Angeles with your label to start producing music for your first album.

They never talked about how difficult it is as an artist. It wasn’t necessarily difficult, but a lot at once. Yeah, you've got to move to LA and do what you love, making music, but they barely talk about the negotiating at every turn, the amount of time and energy and money it takes to make and produce an album. Then you also have to promote it. Then there are the events. Being on social media as long as you have, you have made some mutuals and online friends, but that’s not much. Even though you talk to them at events, they have other friends that they’re much closer to. So oftentimes you’re just wandering alone.

But what they never talk about is the constant cameras in your face and the baseless rumors. Don’t even get started on the hate. It’s as if they have nothing better to do than hate on you for small, petty reasons.

But most of all, you missed him. You missed Damian. When you moved to LA, you got a cute, cozy apartment for yourself. You had to stop yourself from getting a larger one because you forgot Damian wasn’t going to be joining you. It was pet-friendly too for Titus and Alfred the cat. You would stay up late into the night waiting for a certain vigilante to come through your window, only to realize he wouldn’t be coming. He’s back in Gotham, and the two of you aren’t even together anymore.

But after a while, you got used to everything. The people, the events, your hectic schedule, and you went to bed at a reasonable hour.

Now, you wouldn’t say you were an obsessed ex, but you couldn’t help yourself. When you and Damian first started dating, your Google would slowly start suggesting news articles about the Wayne family, more specifically, Damian. Eventually, as time went on, you would look for the funniest article you could find and tease Damian about it. So naturally, when you opened Google and saw the words “Damian” and “Dating” in the same sentence, your heart dropped.

You and Damian had kept your relationship a secret from the media. Of course, your families and friends, including the League and other heroes, knew. The two of you didn’t want the press in your business and thought it would be easier on both of you. It was only a plus that you both also preferred calmer, more intimate dates. So you two would drive hours to get away for a weekend or go to hidden gems that not many people knew of.

Your social media always showed that you were taken, but never specified who, same with Damian. So when you were asked by someone about your dating status and you said you were single, your followers who were with you before you blew up flooded your DMs asking what happened.

You didn’t plan on dating anyone else anytime soon, or at all, even. You thought Damian would have felt the same, that’s why seeing that article was such a surprise. You didn’t bother reading the article and just stared at the picture. Though a small part of the girl showed in the photo with Damian, you knew who it was just by the hair: Raven, his first girlfriend.

You knew deep down they weren’t dating, and were most likely together due to them both being heroes. Of course, no one wanted their boyfriend around their ex, but you had to get used to it while you were dating him. You loved him, but most importantly, you trusted him enough to know he would betray and hurt you like that.

But seeing that photo still hurts. There was a small smile on his face, and you couldn’t help but think, ‘Maybe he’s better off without me.

I have a feeling you got everything you wanted

And you're not wasting time stuck here like me

You're just thinkin' it's a small thing that happened

The world ended when it happened to me

Usually, while you and Damian were dating, if any tabloids got out that suggested he was dating or seeing someone else, he would immediately have it taken down. But this time he was too late, it had been up for a little over a week.

He contemplated messaging you to assure you it wasn’t what the media made it out to be, but the two of you agreed not to stay in contact. Neither of you deleted the other's number or removed each other from your socials. Staying in touch would have just made the breakup harder than necessary.

He wouldn’t admit this to anyone, but he missed you. More than he ever thought he could miss a person. Once you were gone, so was a part of him, the best part of him.

As you were friends with Stephanie before you and Damien even started dating, she would constantly show off photos and videos that you would post and send her. Naturally, as time went on and you got busy with your career, you didn’t send as many updates to her, but still continued talking to her, which is how Damien would know what you’re up to.

He would see on your social media, photos and clips of you at events, having a good time and smiling.

God, he missed your smile. He missed everything about you.

He especially missed the way he could be himself around you, and he could talk to you about anything. Right now, he was going through a lot. He was thinking about his future, whether he would continue as a hero under his father or branch out to become his own hero, he contemplated going back to the league, or even stop being a hero completely. If only you were here right now, one conversation with you and he would know exactly what to do, but you weren’t.

Damien continued to look at photos and videos you would post, thinking how you might be doing better. Better off without him.

Years Later

It had been years since you’ve been in town since you left. Crime has gone down, the air is less polluted, and overall, the people of Gotham are doing better than they’ve been in years.

You returned to attend a charity event hosted by Bruce Wayne. It had been hours, and you greeted and talked to a lot of people, including your best friend Stephanie, whom you hadn’t seen in months. Despite being famous and constantly attending events, you would always need to take a break and get some air.

On the rooftop, you just stared at the starry sky. When you lived here nights when you could see the stars, were far and few between. The air didn’t smell as dirty as it used to.

As you stared at the sky, you felt a presence watching you. Considering you dated Damien Wayne, a former assassin, and constantly had cameras on you, it wasn't difficult for you to know when you’re being watched.

“Are you going to keep staring at me or say hello?” You asked out loud as you continued to look up at the stars.

“I wasn’t staring, simply observing,” a deep voice said.

You could feel your heart skip a beat while you turned to face the man. He stepped out of the shadows to reveal himself. He was easily over 6 feet tall. His olive skin glowed under the moonlight. His emerald green eyes still mesmerized her to this day. He was clad in a dark emerald suit, which was tailored perfectly for him.

“Damian,” you said breathlessly. You hadn’t expected him to be here tonight. You heard from Stephanie about a year after you left, then Damian returned to the League of Assassins. Not only to take over, but to transform it into something better.

You continued to stare at him as he walked closer to you, closing the distance between you. He brought his hand up to gently cup your cheeks.

“Hello, Beloved,” he said just before bringing his lips down to meet yours.

Are they gonna get back together??? 👀😏

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weeping-treee · 21 days ago

Text

A Desperate Man- Part 10

Simon loves you. He's just scared to finally admit it.

All parts here

2,235 words

CW: 𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭.. 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲🫡

(Also, part 10 is crazyyy. Thank you all. I love you so much)

Discharge day. One you and the men have been looking forward to. Price already drilled Simon to take a leave so he can heal and reassess things.

So there he is—stepping out of the medbay, bandaged up, sling on his right arm from a light sprain, and gaiter pulled over his nose. His black hoodie hugs his imposing frame as he shakes his head as all four of you blow party poppers and celebrate something so small.

"Jesus Christ. You're all bloody idiots." He huffs, annoyed yet amused.

Price chuckles and steps forward. "Y/N offered to let you stay at her place during your leave. Can't have you moping around base that you can't do anything."

Simon's eyebrows raise as he looks at you. You just shrug and look at the mess of streamers on the floor.

Soap and Gaz step forward—Soap with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Try not to break her or her bed, yeah?"

Gaz crosses his arms and nods in agreement.

Simon scoffs, trying to downplay how hot his cheeks turn beneath his gaiter. "Fucks sake, Johnny, shut the hell up."

You roll your eyes and smack Soap on the shoulder before nodding towards the door. "C'mon princess, time to whisk you away."

He shakes his head, muttering as he walks by, "Fuckin' hell."

You chuckle and wave to the boys before following him. When you catch up, you look him over.

"You feelin' better?" you question—genuinely concerned despite the teasing.

"Been better, been worse." He murmurs lightly, glancing down at you as you walk side by side.

"Sorry about them.. and that I didn't tell you I offered to let you stay at my place. Figured you would've been stubborn and denied my offer."

He chuckles. "Yeah, I would've. Don't wanna crowd your space."

"You're the only person that can crowd my space without annoying me, Simon." You smile softly before holding the door open for him.

You two walk in silence to your car before you open the passenger side for him. "My passenger princess."

"Shut it." He mutters as he gingerly sits down. You watch him struggle with the seat belt for a moment before leaning over him and fastening it—making sure to kiss his head and chuckle at how grumpy his is needing help for everything.

You shut the door and round to the drivers side, settling in yourself and starting the car.

"My place isn't far. It's on the countryside so it's quiet—I think you'll like it. You'll have it to yourself most days since I'm gonna be here working. So make yourself at home once we're there. Relax for once, yeah?"

He hums softly in acknowledgement. Despite the weird feeling of being in your home... with or without you.

...

Once at your house, you help him out and unlock the front door—pushing the old, rickety thing in with a bit of effort.

"It can be a bitch to open sometimes. So if you wanna go out and it's being difficult, don't strain yourself, use the back door. There's a porch swing back there with a better view anyways."

You let him in and start to ramble—apologizing for the mess, the dust, the old smell. He doesn't understand why you're making excuses for every little thing. This place—your place—is the homiest home he's been inside in years. It's decorated nicely, all things screaming you.

Even if you're not home because of your time on base. The dust, the clutter—all things make it a home. Makes you even more human to him. More perfect... if that's even possible.

His eyes linger on the records on the wall above a turntable stand. Mostly rock and metal records. He smirks slightly at your music taste. The exact opposite of you. You're bright and soft-spoken, but your music taste is heavy and loud. Which makes him even more enamored with the enigma that is you.

He's so lost in taking in your world he doesn't even hear you still rambling.

"Shh. Quit talkin'. Quit apologizing. Nothin' to apologize for," he says, finally turning to look at you.

You stop the moment he tells you too, just looking at him with clothes bunched up in your arms that you had scooped up from the floor.

You stand there, still holding the bundle of clothes, just watching him as his words sink in.

Nothing to apologize for.

Your throat works as you swallow, unsure what to do with the softness of his tone. The sincerity behind it. You feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with the messy house or the dust or the clutter.

He steps toward you—slowly, carefully. Not because of his injury, but because something about this moment feels... delicate. Like if either of you speaks too loud, it'll shatter.

His voice is quieter now. “You don’t have to act perfect around me, y’know.”

“I’m not.” You huff a small laugh, but it lacks bite. “I’m a mess, Simon.”

He looks at you for a long moment. “Then I guess I’m in good company.”

The silence stretches. You feel it pulling at your ribs, your chest. His eyes flick to your mouth for just a second. Barely.

You step forward without thinking. Just a little. Barely a breath of space between you.

“I, uh…” You glance down, unsure, then back up at him. “You want help getting comfortable? In bed, I mean—not, like—God, I meant literally, not—”

He raises an eyebrow, and despite the stiffness in his posture, a low, rasping chuckle escapes him. “Bed sounds good.”

You hesitate—but only a moment—then turn and lead him down the short hallway to your bedroom.

He pauses in the doorway, taking it in. It’s personal. Your scent clings to the room. Soft fabrics, half-finished mugs, a hoodie draped over the back of a chair. It’s you, in every detail.

You help him sit on the edge of the bed. Help him out of his hoodie, careful of the sling. His skin is warm beneath your fingers.

His voice is lower now. More intimate. “You always take care of people like this?”

“No,” you answer, without missing a beat.

He looks at you—really looks. “Why me, then?”

You don’t answer right away. You sit beside him, not touching, but close enough he can feel the heat of you.

“Because it’s you,” you say simply.

That’s all it takes.

His hand finds yours.

His lips brush yours—not deep, not hungry. Just a gentle test. Like he’s asking permission.

You give it.

The kiss stays soft, careful. Hands remain still, just a shared breath, a shared knowing. The kind of kiss that says I’m not going anywhere. The kind of kiss that asks nothing but honesty.

When you pull back, you rest your forehead against his, and whisper—

“You should rest. You need it.”

But neither of you moves right away.

His thumb brushes your cheek. “Stay.”

You nod.

You don’t crawl in right away. You help him lie back. Pull the blanket over him. Turn the light off.

And when you do finally slide into bed beside him, you stay on top of the covers. One hand resting over his chest as you lay on your side and look at him.

He stares at the ceiling for a while. Like maybe the words are written there and he just needs to read them right.

You trace lazy circles over the blanket that rests across his chest, your fingers drifting in a pattern that’s more comforting than conscious. The silence isn't uncomfortable—but it’s charged. Like something wants to be said and neither of you knows how to say it.

His voice breaks the stillness, low and almost rough. “Y’ever think about… what this is?”

You blink, then shift your gaze up to his face. “This?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just keeps his eyes on the ceiling like it might collapse if he moves.

“This. Us. You stayin’. Me not wantin’ you to go.” He pauses. Breathes. “Feels like somethin’. And I’m not good at... this sort of thing.”

Your hand stills over his chest.

“I know,” you say softly.

He swallows hard. “I’ve seen a lot of shit. People leavin’. Dying. Disappearing without warning. I don’t... hold onto things. Never really learned how.”

There’s a long pause.

“But you,” he adds, voice lower now, “you’re in my fuckin’ head all the time. Even when I don’t want you there.”

You smile faintly at that. “You love me.”

He finally turns to look at you. Eyes serious. A little wide, like he’s realizing it at the same time you say it.

He huffs through his nose. “Didn’t mean to. It’s not... convenient.”

You laugh quietly, touched and amused. “Love never is.”

He shifts slightly, wincing as he does. “I don’t even know what to do with it. The word feels stupid when I say it. Doesn’t feel like enough.”

You meet his gaze. “Then show me. When you're ready.”

“I’m tryin’,” he murmurs. “But I’m scared shitless.”

Your hand moves from his chest to cup the side of his face, your thumb brushing along his cheekbone. “So am I.”

You shift, searching his eyes. “Is it... how fast it’s happening?”

He nods once. “We’ve only been on one date. You stitched me up, we kissed in the dark, and now I’m here—half broken—saying I love you.”

“And I’m letting you sleep in my bed,” you add, voice soft with humor. “Yeah. It’s insane.”

He nods, just barely. Lets his eyes close.

“Still mean it, though,” he says, so quiet you almost miss it.

“I love you.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth, gentle and sure.

“I know. I love you too.”

He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for years.

And then—

“I’m not helpin’ with the dishes, or any of that shit."

You laugh, forehead dropping to his shoulder. “You’re such a bastard.”

His good arm shifts to wrap around you and pull you half on top of him.

“Your bastard now.” He teases, comfortably nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Where you both murmur light words and slowly fall asleep.

...

You wake before the sun. The light outside still blue and cold, but his body is warm beneath your cheek.

You’re still on top of the covers, his good arm looped around you loosely. His breath is steady, but his fingers twitch—like his dreams are restless. Like he's restless.

You shift slightly to look up at him, just to check.

His eyes are already open.

Watching you.

“Didn’t want to wake you,” he murmurs.

“You didn’t,” you whisper, voice still heavy with sleep.

Your hand drifts across his chest, tracing the edge of the blanket where it rests over his shirt. He’s quiet. Tense.

Like there’s something he’s been holding in all night. Holding himself back.

“I was thinkin’,” he starts, voice gruff, “about how I shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want to have you like this."

Your throat tightens. “Because you’re hurt?”

“Because it’s you, and you deserve better than some fleeting moment or a quick fuck."

“I want it to be you,” he adds, jaw tight. “But not if it’s just... want. Not if it’s just desperation. Or the adrenaline from all that shit we went through.”

You stare at him for a moment before softly speaking, "You think that's what this is?"

He doesn’t answer. Just looks at you like he’s scared of what you might say next.

So you lean in. Brush your lips against his.

Soft. Reassuring.

"Simon," you whisper, "This is so much more than that."

His hand drifts up, fingers brushing your jaw. He studies you like he’s memorizing the exact moment. Like if he looks hard enough, it’ll feel less terrifying.

“I want it to be right,” he says. “For you. First time we do this.”

You smile. “Then just be here. With me. That’s enough if you're not ready.”

He exhales hard through his nose, like he’s trying to breathe out a lifetime of tension. Like he's annoyed at the prospect of waiting.

Then slowly—deliberately—he sits up.

You reach for him instinctively. “Don’t strain—”

He lifts his arm and rips the sling off.

You sit up, speechless. All you can do is gasp his name, "Simon, don't—"

"It's just a damn sprain, doesn't fuckin' matter like you do." he mutters, reaching for you.

You're in his lap before you know it. Large hand find your hips, you barely have time to protest before his mouth is on yours—firm and deep. Still controlled. But hungry.

Starved.

He pulls back only slightly, forehead pressed to yours, breathing uneven.

“You tell me to stop,” he says, “I stop. No hesitation.”

“I won’t,” you whisper.

He searches your eyes. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

You let him take the lead, though it’s clear he’s never done it like this before—this slow. This gentle. He touches like he’s afraid to bruise, kisses like he’s unsure how much of himself he’s allowed to give.

He trails kisses down your neck, lightly biting on your pulse point making you gasp.

"I'm not gonna break, y'know?" you say softly, running a hand through his hair.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. "Don't say that unless you're sure you can handle me." He grinds his hips up into yours, letting you feel exactly what you're doing to him.

You bite your lip. "Good thing I'm a fast learner."

Taglist🏷️: @tysukier @hypertail @tessakate @givemeangstorgivemedeath @jess-cyt

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley cod #simon ghost fluff #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #call of duty #simon ghost x you #slow burn #a desperate man

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zepskies · 7 months ago

Note

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGdFgGL1y/

I’ve been loving this trend and then realised this could literally bmd Ben and reader asking him to show how he would’ve moved to her in the 80s and even better cause he literally experienced it, I can see him being unwilling to entertain but slowly caving in when he sees she’s not breaking and giving him attention until he tries

LOL that's adorable. 😂 Thanks for thinking of Break Me Down (Soldier Boy x Reader)! Seems to be a theme this week lol! I went ahead and watched that TikTok and again it got me imaging the thing...

Imagine Soldier Boy (Ben) "Sliding Up" to You in the Club

I can imagine that coming up in conversation if the reader in BMD was being subjected to watching another one of his music videos. She'd be teasing him, of course, but he'd be defending himself and his career choices. It was the 80s!

And for your information, Ben says, women were fucking falling over themselves to have him sign their Rapture albums. It was frankly irritating when he went out. Sometimes, he just wanted to relax with a smoke and a glass of bourbon at the club. You scoff at that one.

He looks amused. "What, you think you would've been the only girl in America who didn't cream their panties when I showed up?"

You shoot him a wry brow raise. Do you have to remind him how you two met? Being tied to a chair with zip ties comes to mind.

But then, something else occurs to you. The first time you and Ben actually met was in a smokey club in Medellin, Colombia. You'd been "undercover" then, and though you hadn't danced with him, it makes you think...

"Okay, let's say we're at the club," you pose, with a sly smile. "It's 1983..."

You find the song "Too Shy" on your phone; quintessential 80s pop. The smooth riffs start playing. You get up to start vibing near him in the comfort of your living room. You're just swaying side to side with a little sensuous, playful bounce to your step, your hand movements simple.

Ben doesn't want to smile, but you're making it difficult as he lounges half across the couch.

"Come on. How would you slide up on me?" you taunt.

He arches a brow. "Slide?"

"You know what I mean. What was your move, huh?" you ask, teasing him with the curve of your ass and the sway of your hips in your yoga pants.

You saunter closer to him, beckoning him over to you. All the while you sing to yourself, "Too shy, shyyyy. Hush, hush, eye to eye..."

Ben rolls his eyes, reluctant to rise to your bait. But eventually, your teasing is too much for him to ignore. He pulls himself off the couch and comes up behind you.

He takes your hand while you're purposefully facing away from him, and smoothly turns you around, guiding you back into his arms like he's Fred Astaire. You utter a little gasp and grab onto his shoulders. Your gaze flicks up to his with a smile.

His lips curve as he looks down at you. He matches the vibe of the song as he moves along with you, but then he turns you around, holding you from behind with steady hands sliding down the curve of your waist. His strength is tempered just enough for you to feel it.

He gradually moves closer with every bounce of the beat, and soon every part of his body is molded to yours. Your hands fall over his as you subtly lean back against his chest.

He bows his head near your cheek, smiling, because he can hear your heart beating a little faster. His lips brush the shell of your ear.

"Gotcha."

AN: Once again, this turned into a little headcanon/imagine that I wasn't expecting. 🤣 Last post before I'm off on a trip all weekend! 💚

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blainesebastian · 22 days ago

Text

best behavior

word count: 9,441 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: NC-17 (for some smut, suggestive sexual language and expletives) summary: While you're excited to see your brother when he comes to visit, you know that it'll also come with a dinner with your parents. And that's something you're never looking forward to. notes: just wanted an excuse to write some protective and supportive nick 🥰 notes2: gifs from here, masterlist is here!

Smoothing a hand over your face, you sit down on the edge of your bed where Nick is on his stomach reading a book. It’s a lazy Saturday, just spending time with one another, a long day of hanging out at his place in the pool and eating way too much food after the fact. He drove you back here with the windows down and the music a little too loud, his hand stretched across the divide to lace fingers together, resting his palm along your thigh. Your cheeks are warm from wine and a shower with the water too hot, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You’ve been dating Nick for two years and somehow, days like this always make you feel like the very beginning. Butterflies in your stomach, a warm glow behind your ribs. Just utterly in love with him.

That’s always been the easy part.

The hard part? Well. You’re still working on it.

It’s always been a little difficult for you to open up, to share things with Nick. It’s not him, exactly, that’s hard to talk to. It’s just that you’re used to people judging, used to them not understanding, not seeing you. It’s unfortunately been a staple in your life—with family, with friends, with relationships.

Granted, it only takes one instance with Nick for you to learn that that’d never be the case with him.

It’s a combination of things, you realize, happening at once.

You’ve bottled things up your entire life. Your parents aren’t exactly the poster-children for handling or managing their emotions well. They never talk about how they really feel or why it’s important to vent or share before tidal waves swallow them. The sad part is, this isn’t even something that’s passed down to you—this is memorized behavior. Your father is a block of ice, a deaf ear, and your mother has somehow convinced you that oversharing (or rather, sharing in general) isn’t attractive.

Distantly, you know that’s not healthy and you do your best to unlearn it in relationships that mean something to you—your brother, friendships, boyfriends, but it’s a lot harder than it seems. Especially when you put up resistance and no one pushes, no one gently tries to take down a wall that you’ve carefully crafted around yourself to keep your feelings in.

No one, until you start dating Nick.

Which is probably why, when he senses something is off and asks you for the second time in different and supportive words if you’re okay —that bottle that’s been tipping back and forth inside of you for about two days explodes.

You love your job at the bookstore, it’s one of the things that feels most put-together in your life. Especially for a future that you want working with kids, becoming a teacher—you’re able to spend time reading books and help develop reading programs and activities for the kids that come in. You made the mistake of trying to tell your parents about an event that you put together because you were excited about it. In turn, you get a twenty-minute lecture about how your future job needed to have more ‘substance’.

A conversation that’s not new, yet is painful all the same. Something that you’ve learned to swallow, smile and nod about and then move on. To brush it under the rug where it belongs because lingering on it will do nothing but hurt.

And yet you’ve let those feelings build for far too long, and when Nick gently tries to pry you open, because he can tell you’ve been upset for the past few days, a wave of emotions come crashing down—hard.

Your face crumples and you try to hide the reaction with your hands but you’re not quick enough, a sob bursting out of your mouth before the onslaught of tears comes. Embarrassment stings in your chest so sharply that you attempt to turn away from him,

“Hey,” Nick gently reaches for your elbow, tugging you closer. “Oh, hey. C’mere.” He whispers, wrapping his arms around you. He holds you tightly, absorbing every shuddered cry that rocks your body.

He has to think this is so pathetic, the fact that you’re crying over something that happened two days ago, that you don’t have to listen to what you’re parents are telling you about what to eventually do with your life, like it’s somehow written in stone—that this is the first time in a long time it feels like someone actually cares enough to hear what’s wrong.

But of course, Nick doesn't make you feel like that at all.

He doesn’t try to ask you what’s happened, just keeps you against his chest for the worst of it, his one hand mapping circles up and down your back while the other threads his fingers through your hair. He presses so many kisses against your forehead and temple that you begin to lose track.

Eventually, when you pull back to look at him, Nick cups your cheek. He brushes his thumb along the bone underneath your one eye and offers you the softest of smiles that somehow lightens the heaviness in your chest.

Which is why when your breathing evens out and the tears stop, you tell him everything.

Still. It’s not always easy. You’ve gotten a lot better at it, but the moment something happens that you want to tell him, something that’s important…you feel yourself clam up, snap shut, bury it.

Which is how you’ve been sitting on this particular nugget of information about your family for the past week. Something reaches deep into your chest and clutches, creating a heartbeat in your ears.

Nick bumps your leg with his elbow, snapping your attention to him. The brush that was sitting on your thigh almost tumbles onto the floor. You manage to catch it, a soft hum of amusement from your boyfriend.

“Fast hands.”

You smile a little, a small sound rumbling in your chest. “You would know.”

Nick sets his book down, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your knee. “I would.”

He shifts on the bed until he’s seated behind you. There’s a silent conversation as he kisses the back of your shoulder, his arm slipping around your waist. You’re not wearing much, just underwear and one of his t-shirts, but the touches here and there are not inherently sexual. It’s more of a deep-seated intimacy, something that fills you up so entirely that you’re not sure how you didn’t have it before.

His one hand rubs at your waist while the other reaches for the brush on your lap. You close your eyes when his fingers begin to thread through your damp hair, guiding the brush to follow afterwards. The touches are deft and measured, getting tangles out. But it’s not just about combing out the strands, there are gentle questions he’s not asking, because he knows you. Can sense the tense lines in your shoulders, can feel the way words are tucked underneath your tongue.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” He asks softly, his breath fluttering along the back of your neck.

Despite the soft sigh that leaves your chest, a twinge of a smile tugs the corners of your mouth. Because he understands what you need. It’s almost frustrating how well he’s able to see right through you. Almost. You appreciate that no matter how tightly wound you might appear, he’s always there, gently encouraging you to open up.

There’s a tender, knee-jerk reaction to keep him out, to hide, but his hands brushing your hair unwind some of your hesitation. “My brother and his fiancée, Gina, are coming to visit from New York on Tuesday.”

Nick doesn’t pause in his ministrations but you can tell he’s listening to you, calm and even breaths that sweep against your back every so often, encouraging you to keep talking. You glance down at your hands, wringing your fingers on your lap.

“I haven’t seen him in a few years, not since we moved here, so,” You swallow over an emotion in your throat. Truth is, you get along amazingly with your brother. He’s one of your favorite people in the world. Much like Nick and his relationship with Maddie, you and your brother, Alec, have been inseparable since you were kids. Despite the fact that he’s five years older than you, you’ve grown up playing together, looking out for one another, and getting into trouble for shared shenanigans. That closeness has never been diminished, not even from living further away, even though you miss being able to just show up at his place without an invitation to hang out or check in.

You can’t wait to see him, even though sometimes his presence comes as a double-edged sword. Your parents have done their best work at trying to drive an invisible wedge between the two of you where it doesn’t belong. For whatever reason, he’s always been the golden child all throughout growing up. If anyone were to meet Alec though, you’d never know that he was constantly put in the center of attention, he’s never let that praise go to his head. He’s down to earth, kind, funny, and dedicated—everything that he has, he’s worked his ass off for. And yet, for reasons that feel like a briar patch in your lungs, your parents practically worship the ground he walks on. Like everything he touches literally turns to gold.

You’re not saying that there’s no justification to praise Alec for any of his accomplishments, especially lately. He’s working as one of the youngest positions in a supply-chain company and gets paid really well for it. He’s also been putting funds together to fix up an old brownstone to eventually move in with his soon-to-be wife. Gina is practically a Disney princess; she's so sweet, not to mention successful in her own right. They’re just a really good couple. Textbook, almost.

You couldn’t be happier for Alec, he deserves it.

And yet…it always seems like some sort of competition between the two of you in your parent’s eyes. Even though it’s never been like that privately for you and him. Neither you nor Alec take much stock in that commentary, it’s just something to smile and roll your eyes over. You’ve learned a long time ago that your parent’s approval is not the be-all-end-all to how you feel about yourself. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. Though it doesn’t make it any less painful when it’s pointed out.

You don’t even realize you haven’t finished your thought process until Nick speaks up, starting on the other side of your shoulder. He runs the brush through the locks there, over and over, and it settles your heartbeat in your throat better than anything else.

“I’m sure you’re looking forward to seeing him.”

You nod, leaning back a little until your shoulders bump against his chest. Nick stops brushing your hair, his arms wrapping around you from behind. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, tipping his chin down to press a kiss to your jawline.

“Yeah, I just wish my parents weren’t ruining it by having some sort of overzealous dinner.”

That’s totally bogus, anyways? You know them. They just want to show off and pretend to be something they’re not in front of Gina because she comes from money. Despite Gina being one of the most grounded people you’ve ever met, it’s like your parents think they need to impress her, that she’ll report back how everything was to her own parents.

You roll your eyes, your head tipping until it rests on Nick’s collarbone. He doesn’t comment but instead, gently squeezes you. He’s only met your parents a handful of times but it doesn’t take a genius to put two-and-two together to figure out that Nick doesn’t like them. Or rather, he doesn’t respect them and it’s directly related to how they’ve made you feel. How they continue to make you feel.

Regardless of that, Nick has always been a perfect gentleman around them. He’s never said anything outright to your mom or dad, has never caused waves, has always been polite and respectful. A mask that fits in with a few others you’ve seen sliding over the features of his face, indistinguishable if you don’t know him well. You understand that mask perfectly well, after all, you tend to wear your own when handling your parents’ disappointments. You’ve already told him that it wouldn’t be worth it to get into it with them, anyways. You’ve been dealing with their sour mood swings all your life, you can take it.

Nick lets out a long breath out of his nose, “You said it was on Tuesday?”

Chewing on your lower lip, you nod, “Yeah, I was hoping you could…” Then the upcoming week slams into view as your eyes snap to the calendar hanging above your desk. Fuck, “Shit, I didn’t realize it was the same night you had that fight scheduled.”

You can feel Nick shake his head but you keep talking, so annoyed with yourself that you didn’t put it together when it came to those dates. As much as you hate watching Nick fight in the ring, you’d much rather be there than at a dinner table with your parents.

“Lion’s been trying to organize that for forever and I can’t—”

Nick squeezes you again, “Hey,” He whispers in your ear, waiting until you turn a little in his arms to face him, “I’ll be there.” He holds your gaze, nuzzling your nose with his own until a ghost of a smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. “Okay?”

Admittedly, there’s a bubble of relief that bursts in your chest when you know you won’t be going to that dinner alone. You’re definitely excited to see your brother, you don’t want your parents to ruin it or take that away from you. But it’ll make you feel better to have someone in your corner.

You nod, wanting to thank him but you know you don’t need to. He wouldn’t let you anyways, that’s not what he’s after. He just wants to be there for you, as he has been since you’ve met him. And you can’t help but love him a little more for that.

Planting a kiss to his cheek, you turn as he shifts so that you’re both leaning against the headboard of your bed. He’s propped up against a pile of pillows while you get comfortable against his chest.

“Can’t promise the food will be good either.” You mumble.

A soft laugh rumbles in Nick’s chest that you feel more than hear, “We’ll go to the diner after—french fries and milkshakes.”

“Something to look forward to.” You agree with a grin and finally feel your body slowly begin to relax against him, one muscle at a time.

—

Smoothing your hands over your plaid dress for what has to be the fiftith time, you chastise yourself for wearing something so fucking uncomfortable. This is a typical occurrence for you, unfortunately. Despite settling into the fact that no matter what choices you make your parents will probably never be happy with the things you do, wear, or say…there’s still that niggling inside of you to try and appease them.

Hence this stupid dress.

It’s something your mother bought you three Christmases ago and it’s not your style in the slightest. Maybe if it didn’t have puffy sleeves, or if it was more low-cut than the stifling high neck…maybe if it didn’t feel like it was suffocating you. You got ready at Nick’s house, kind of hiding out there until this dinner reared its ugly head. You should have brought options instead of just…this.

“We can turn around,” Nick says, not looking at you as he drives, but his one hand leaves the steering wheel to squeeze yours that’s on your thigh. “Or stop at a store, buy you another dress.”

A laugh rumbles up out of your throat, “Right, because I have money to burn for that.”

Nick’s lips twitch, like you don’t already know that he’d buy you whatever you needed, whatever you asked for. “Can forgo the dress altogether then.” He shifts at a red light, turning his head to look in your direction.

“Oh yeah, that’ll really be something to talk about at the dinner table.”

He shrugs his one shoulder, his eyes giving you a heated onceover despite this stupid dress choking the life out of you. “I know what you’re wearing under there, I’ve got zero complaints.”

A small snort leaves your nose, your cheeks flushing as you playfully poke his side with the hand he’s holding. You appreciate his offer, even moreso at his attempt to distract you as you head to your parent’s place. You wish this dinner was somewhere public, as if the bustle of a busy restaurant might help detract from whatever conversations are going to spin between your family.

He eventually pulls into the long driveway that leads up to your parent’s house. You don’t come from near as much money that Nick does, or apparently what Alec is marrying into, but you’ve always been comfortable. You’ve never wanted for anything a day in your life and you know most have it far worse off. You also know that the profession you’re interested in is severely underpaid when it comes to teachers. Which is probably another reason why your parents are against you becoming one, they’ve always been the type of people to crave things they don’t need, including acceptance and notoriety. The only thing they asked about when you told them you were dating Nick is what his parents do (and then once more when they realized Nick was directly responsible for a successful ride-share app).

When he parks, you squeeze Nick’s hand after he pockets the car keys. He looks over at you, raising his eyebrows when nothing comes out of your mouth. Your jaw ticks, gaze wandering towards the front door. You don’t want to say anything, exactly? But…

His eyes soften as he follows your gaze, lifting your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles, “I’ll be on my best behavior,” He teases, “Promise.”

You let out a long sigh, but there’s the softest of smiles pulling the corners of your mouth, “I owe you one.”

He shakes his head, opening up the car door, “You really don’t.”

You follow him out of the car, a small grimace crinkling your nose because…you’re not sure about that. The night still has yet to happen and you already know there’s a ton of better things you and him could be doing that’s not this.

His hand reaches for yours again while approaching the front door, fingers lacing absentmindedly. You tug him a little closer, “I don’t know, I can easily think of a few ways I could make this up to you.”

Nick smiles and rings the doorbell, turning his head to kiss the bridge of your nose. “I’ll take you up on that if we survive.” He winks, nipping at your lower lip before offering a small kiss that melts some of the remaining nerves. When the door opens, you look over as your mother lingers in the doorway.

Carole gives a small smile, her eyes instantly grazing over your dress before humming, “Don’t you look beautiful?” Then, “Though maybe another size up would have been more comfortable.”

You let out a breath, tipping your head towards Nick to change the subject, “You remember my boyfriend, right mom? Nick?”

Your mother’s gaze snaps to him standing beside you and even though she’s smiling, you can tell that you’ve thrown her a bit off kilter with him being here. You didn’t let her know you were bringing him in case your parents attempted to feed you bullshit about not being allowed to have a guest at a so-called ‘family dinner’.

She clears her throat, nodding, stepping aside to let you both in, “I do. How are you Nick?”

Nick slides his leather jacket off, handing it over to your mother to hang up as she opens a side closet door. He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans that probably could pass as black and an expensive short-sleeved, collared, cream colored sweater. His accent jewelry is the same, a tiny bit of gel in his hair to tame the wild curls near his forehead. Your stomach does a flip as a waft of his cologne, combined with something that’s purely him, brushes your nose.

“I’m good Mrs. Y/L/N, thank you.”

She hums, not asking any additional questions and certainly not offering for him to call her ‘Carole’. Which is just fine for Nick; the moment your mother stops speaking, his attention returns to you, his hand reaching out for yours.

Though before he can manage that, you hear your brother come down the hallway with a boisterous, “I thought I heard Y/N.” He grins when he reaches you, picking you up in a spinning hug that easily makes you laugh. When he sets you down, he grimaces at the dress, “Really?”

“Shut up.” You laugh, swatting his chest, but god—it’s really good to see him.

Alec is dressed in a pair of light colored jeans and a dark blue button down rolled up at the sleeves. It’s almost unfair how casual he can dress and probably nothing was said about it. But your usual style is met with commentary and not so subtle looks as if you’re wearing a dead fish and not long silky dresses paired with spiky heeled boots.

Your brother squeezes your arms, bringing you back from your thoughts. He’s taller than you but he’s got similar features that leave no doubts to you two being related—same hair color, eye color, and a dimple in his one cheek when he really smiles. He glances over at Nick, raising his eyebrows.

“You must be the boyfriend that I’ve heard so much about,” He offers his hand and Nick takes a step forward to shake it.

“Hopefully good things.” Nick offers back.

You smile, your hand finding his when he’s done greeting Alec, “Only good things.”

“And the occasional rant,” Alec teases, winking in your direction before motioning down the hallway. “C’mon, Gina is excited to see you too.”

Your mother clasps her hands together, humming, “Dinner should be ready in a few minutes here.”

Drawing in a breath, you glance over at Nick and press a kiss to his cheek as you follow everyone towards the kitchen. Gina is there in an apron, helping your mother put the finishing touches on anything that still needs to be done. She’s got her long, blonde hair tied up in a loose ponytail, a pretty pink lipstick bringing out the shades of blue in her eyes—she’s the type of easy beauty you wish you could pull off. When she looks up and notices you, she gives a bright smile as you all come in.

Introductions are gone through again and Gina gives you a firm hug before offering a piece of cucumber that she’s cut for the salad that’s in a bowl in front of her. You take it with a hum, popping it into your mouth. You don’t see your dad anywhere, but knowing him, he’s probably in front of a football game in the living room as he waits for everything to get set up. Or maybe even trying to figure out what bottle of wine to put on the table to go with the food at dinner.

“We’re going to need another plate setting.” Carole comments and even though her tone is light, you know her well enough to detect a slight edge. “Not sure if there’s going to be enough food…”

“There will be more than enough,” Alec comments, pouring himself some more water. He cuts off the fabricated hysteria before it can start and you give him a small, grateful smile.

Leaning your elbows against the counter, Nick stands beside you, his hand resting on your lower back, “Want some help?” You ask Gina, she’s been cutting cucumbers but there’s still other things to do. You feel like doing something with your hands will only help with the nervous energy.

“Sure,” She grins and shares the cutting board with you, grabbing a knife so you can begin slicing cherry tomatoes in half. “Your birthday is coming up, isn’t it?” She asks and you nod—within the next month. “Did you decide what you wanted to do? Alec said you were thinking about Italy?”

You scoff out a laugh, “I wasn’t being serious. I just said it’d be cool to go one day because I’ve never been.”

Gina lets out a romantic sigh, glancing at your brother, “I’ve been trying to convince him to do our honeymoon there. So I understand the pull.”

You grin, “Let me guess, he’s happy with going to Disney World.”

“Hey,” Alec huffs, playfully smacking your leg with a dish towel, “It’s the happiest place on earth.”

Another laugh leaves your lips and Nick brushes a kiss at your temple; you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. “I’m not debating that. Cinderella’s castle is super romantic.”

Gina rolls her eyes but it’s that kind of love, you recognize, in which she’d do anything for Alec. Even a honeymoon in Disney. But knowing your brother, he already has something up his sleeves that involves Italy, just like his fiancée wants. It’s one of the reasons you were talking about it on the phone, not just your whims for a birthday trip. Though it’d definitely be nice.

“I’ve been taking Italian lessons just in case,” Gina then shares, gathering up a small stack of cut cucumbers into her hands and plopping them into the salad bowl. “Waking up in Florence, can you imagine?”

“I told Y/N that’s where we could go,” Nick shares, raising his eyebrows with a soft smile.

And he has. He’s offered you that getaway option for your birthday. You, him, Lion and Jenna escaping to Italian cities, as many as you could fit in distance-wise the week of you turning a year older. But…you can’t possibly shirk responsibilities for that, right? You’ve got a day job and college classes coming up to fill for your teaching degree. Not to mention you’re kinda strapped for cash unlike the three of them are. Nick has never suggested for a moment that you’d need to pay for anything but…you’re not sure if you’re comfortable with that.

Regardless of how romantic it is.

“And I told Nick that it’s way too much.”

He smirks a little, which is mostly just air leaving his nose. He squeezes your side almost in a purposely ticklish place so your body arches closer to his own, “And I told you that your birthday is worth it.” You know what he’s saying, that you’re worth it. You can’t help but smile, shaking your head as you lean over and plant a quick and soft kiss to his lips.

Gina hums, her eyes darting between the two of you, “Alec, I hope you’re writing down notes on romance.”

Alec grunts but he’s smiling, mostly at Gina, “Actually I’m ignoring everything that has to do with my sister at the moment.” He does motion towards the other end of the kitchen though, where it leads into a study, “You any good at pool, Nick?”

Nick nods, “I can hold my own.”

You playfully bump your hip against his, encouraging him to follow your brother in that direction. Dinner is almost done anyways, so it’s not like there’s much to do in the kitchen as you and Gina finish this salad. You’ve been wondering why your mother has been so silent but it’s then you realize she’s left the kitchen at some point, probably to go find your father. Relief splinters throughout your body that she didn’t hear about your birthday aspirations. Though you know that just means that dinner will probably have even worse commentary than if she would have been in here to give her criticisms on all the Italy talk.

Nick pulls away slightly, his gaze finding yours and holding it for a moment. He’s making sure you’ll be alright if he leaves and while you appreciate the sentiment, you like the idea of him getting to know your brother, having some time with him. When you nod, he leans forward and brushes a kiss over your forehead before following Alec out of the room.

Letting out a long breath, you look up at Gina, who’s wearing a warm expression. “What?” You laugh.

“Nothing,” She shrugs, “He’s really sweet. Nick.”

You hum knowingly, grabbing another tomato to cut in half, “He is.” And a hundred other things running through your thoughts, “Still not sure what he’s doing with me,” You joke, “I dunno how I got so lucky.”

Gina just smiles, her gaze wandering towards where Alec and Nick went. “I know exactly what you mean.”

—

After helping Gina with the salad, you wander past the study in search of your father to let him know it’s time to eat. A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth as you hear the soft echo of Nick and Alec ribbing one another over the pool table, not keeping score but having a good time anyways. It touches something deep in your chest that they’re getting along, both of them important to you in different ways. Especially with how difficult family can be.

Speaking of, you round the corner and pause at the small wine cellar that’s attached to your father’s office, watching him examine a bottle in his hands.

“Dinner’s ready, dad.”

He looks up, adjusting his glasses, “Oh, Y/N.” There’s a once-over on your dress, a prickle between his eyebrows because he recognizes it, then, “I’m just preparing you, your mother wants to talk about a few things at dinner.”

You sigh softly—that can only be about one thing.

“Even though the ‘prince that was promised’ is here?” You mumble under your breath and then wince about that because…your anger, your jealousy, is not with your brother. Not really. Rubbing the back of your neck, you straighten your shoulders.

“Shouldn’t we focus on Alec? There’s plenty to ask him about his business and the wedding.” There’s no need to talk about me, whispers against the back of your mind, almost out of your mouth.

Your father gives you a tired look, like this song and dance isn’t new, so why are you putting up a fuss? “You know your mother. This wouldn’t be so painful if you considered what she’s trying to tell you. We only have your best interests in mind.”

Except it doesn’t feel like that at all. Instead, it feels like the fifth time in the variation of this conversation, of not being heard, of being disregarded. You think that hurts the most—what you want isn’t considered. It’s merely pushed aside as something irrelevant.

“Dad…”

“Y/N.” He replies, tone final, taking his glasses off. He looks at you calculatingly, like one would a bottle of wine.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, the bridge of your nose stinging as you shake your head, dismissing the words stuck in your throat. What would be the point? The acquisition might be led by your mother, but your father is just as complicit—a silent bystander, never adding to the conversation but never being helpful, either. Never on your side.

You turn to head upstairs, slipping inside the bathroom to compose yourself. You don’t dare look at yourself in the mirror, afraid of what you’d see there. That stupid fucking dress feeling like it’s getting tighter around your throat by the minute. You stare at the porcelain sink, your eyes filling with tears. Blinking rapidly to clear them, you sniffle, wiping one away that skitters down your cheek.

Taking a few moments to breathe and run your fingers under your eyes, you eventually open the door, turning to go down the hall towards the dining room—

And see Nick waiting for you right outside the bathroom. He’s leaning against the wall, his gaze drinking you in the moment you’re in his frame of view.

He takes one look at your face before, “We can leave if you want.”

A wet scoff leaves your lips, “I wish that’s what I wanted.”

But he reads the unspoken words beneath the ones you’ve said. You wish your parents supported you, respected you, that they’d just make things easy. Like they do with Alec.

There’s a question in his eyes as he lifts a hand to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb over the bone where the rest of your tears haven’t fallen yet. You bite down on the side of your tongue so that they don’t. It’s not worth it. You know that.

And then, like you’ve been trying to do more of, you share how you feel with someone who’s always been in your corner. “My dad basically just said to grin and bear it through dinner.”

Nick’s face clouds over in a telltale sign that he is not pleased with what’s been said to you—that you basically just have to endure whatever hurtful words are spat over the tablecloth and fancy dishes.

Sighing softly, you shake your head. “Don’t.” You whisper. “It’s one dinner.”

“It’s not.” His voice is quiet but sharp, a knife wrapped in velvet. “That’s another reason why I’m pissed off.”

Meaning they’re like this to you all the time, any time they feel like they can get away with it. And that’s why it’s even more fucked up—your parents aren’t doing this to be malicious. They just…don’t consider your feelings, don’t seriously take how you want your future to go. There’s a lack of respect that you can’t understand. But you’ve lived with it your whole life, you’ve tried to fight those battles, you’ve stood up for yourself the best that you can. What else is there? Totally cutting yourself off from your parents? You’re not sure if you’re ready for something like that…if you could do it.

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. “Best behavior,” You tease lightly, trying to steer him away from looking so murderous. “Remember?”

He lets out a slow breath out of his nose, a halfhearted eyeroll. His jaw clenches but eventually he nods, tone gentle and at odds with how upset he is. Angry on the behalf of you. And it means more to you than you think you can voice without crying.

“Come here,” Nick encourages you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. He squeezes you tightly, as if he can convey without words how much you mean to him. You read him loud and clear, allowing your eyes to close so you can focus on stopping your lower lip from wobbling.

Your arms snake around his waist, one of your hands holding onto his sweater like a lifeline, until your pulse slows. And when you eventually have to pull apart, he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and holds onto your hand to lead you into the dining room where your family is waiting.

—

Dinner starts off as it usually does—easy. The conversation is light as dishes are passed around and drinks are poured. Your mother has made your brother’s favorite meal, which is lasagna. Even though you’ve never been a fan of fennel, you pile a large piece onto your plate and eat your fill of it. You’re mostly just here for the warm bread and butter and your dad’s apple pie dessert. After finishing one piece of bread, the basket suddenly appears by your plate again and when you turn to glance at Nick beside you, he offers a playful wink.

You can’t help but smile, grabbing another piece and lathering it up in butter before having a bite. Nick’s mellowed out a little as everyone started eating, but you think it’s for your benefit more than anything else, to help you feel relaxed. You’re not going to lie and say it hasn’t helped.

Pushing thoughts of the words exchanged with your father aside, you pay attention to your brother as he fills your parents in on how his job is going. He just got a raise last year, so he’s headed in the right direction with his company. You’re perfectly happy with the conversation bypassing you, flitting through the air back and forth between Alec explaining aspects of his job or life in New York and your parents offering encouraging sounds and hopeful words.

Except you know better, because it never stays like that.

“That’s what we’ve been trying to discuss with Y/N.” You tilt your head up at your name being said, eyes landing on your mother. So it begins. “A job needs to have a clear ladder of success.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek—by ‘success’, you know she means ‘money’.

Alec lets out a breath, but he’s smiling as he purposely twists what she’s saying by using the job you have now instead of the one your mother is talking about, “Oh c’mon mom, Y/N climbs ladders every day at the bookstore.”

A soft giggle rumbles in Gina’s chest, her hand slipping over Alec’s in solidarity and you can’t help but smile at your brother too. Your parents don’t approve of the direction your life is going in, but what else is new? You’re pretty sure you could pick anything under the sun to pursue and they’d have some sort of issue with it.

It just so happens you want to be a teacher, maybe elementary, maybe middle…you haven’t decided yet. But that’s the whole point of college, to figure it out. At the very least, you know you want to teach art, so you’re navigating what classes line up with the education ones you need. But you’re really serious about it…and everyone that matters has been supportive. After talking with your father, you’re reminded that even if you followed what your parents wanted to a T— went to the college they picked, pursued the job they selected, eventually married whoever they deemed worthy, they still wouldn’t be satisfied.

You take a very small amount of comfort in that.

Nick clears his throat, turning to look towards your father, “My dad mentioned the company that you work at the other day, Mr. Y/L/N. Something about a joint project coming up?”

Your father’s eyes light up a bit at the attention and you could practically kiss Nick over his plate of lasagna for the shift in discussion. Even though he’s listening to your father’s reply, his hand moves under the table to rest on your knee, giving it a comforting squeeze. You lean a little into the touch, allowing it to distract you as you put another small portion of food on your plate. You’re getting full but even so, you’re hoping Nick meant what he said about a diner stop after this. You feel like a cleanse of crispy fries and thick milkshakes is just what you need.

When everyone eats what they want, the table lingers and talks before dessert and coffee. You’re almost hopeful at getting through this dinner with your parents unscathed but…it’s wishful thinking as the conversation pendulum swings back in your direction when Alec asks,

“So you ready for college?” He has another sip of wine after Gina fills his glass, “You know, I was thinking about that arts and crafts program you do at the bookstore—it'll probably look great on a resume for your teaching job.”

Warmth spreads throughout your chest at being seen. Alec’s always encouraged your journey in figuring out what you want to do with teaching and the fact that he brings it up means more to you than you can express with words. But that same warmth is quickly snuffed out when your mother interjects,

“I’m still unsure how that is part of your responsibility at the bookstore,” She shakes her head, “It’s like taking care of someone else’s children at a daycare.”

You straighten your shoulders, letting her words roll off. You give yourself a moment before you reply, not wanting to say something you’ll regret, and have another forkful of lasagna. It’s beginning to taste like ash on your tongue.

“It’s something I asked my boss if we could do,” You shrug, “There’s a lot of kids who come in after school and places like libraries have those sorts of things all the time. I just figured it might be a good idea.”

Not to mention, a lot of the kids stick around and then pick out books to read—and really, isn’t that the whole point? To get them excited about reading?

“It is,” Nick reassures about it being a good idea, his hand squeezing your knee again. Your own slips under the table and brushes your fingers over his, playing with a ring that’s on one of his fingers.

There’s a blinking red light in the back of your mind that tells you to stop while you’re behind, but your mother’s tone digs right under your skin. That she can’t find anything worthwhile about the time you’re spending building experience with what you want to do with your future, that you obviously love art and working with kids. That teaching is something you want to do.

You draw in a calming breath, trying to straighten your spine and not feel like a deflated balloon. “Besides, teaching will be a lot more than that?” You tell her, “Looking after someone’s kids, I mean. It’s—”

She gives you a look that is almost amusement but it’s obviously at your expense, like you’re the one misunderstanding here, and it cuts you off at the knees— “I’m just trying to get you to understand that you can find a job that not anyone can do.” She has a slow sip of her wine, cutting into another piece of lasagna. “You can pull a random person off the street to become a teacher.”

Her words hit like a slap to the face, your cheeks heating with embarrassment even though you know what she’s saying isn’t true. But the fact that she’s equated teaching with being an ‘easy’ profession that anyone can do…it just goes to show that she knows nothing about what being a teacher is. It’s so much deeper than people give it credit for, it’s so much more than just building and carrying out curriculum.

Nick bristles beside you, his hand shifting to grip yours when it begins to tremble. Fuck, you should have known better than to try and have this conversation right now, so openly at the dinner table. It’s not worth it—your mom is someone who will never see eye-to-eye about this. You knew this was coming and yet you still pushed forward, tried. You feel like a fool even though you know that’s the furthest thing from being true.

You clear your throat, trying to remove the lump that’s found a home there, not daring to look across the table at your brother or Gina because you don’t want to do something stupid like cry.

“Well, I guess we can agree to disagree.” You reply, voice as even as you can make it. You just want the subject to shift into something else. Nick’s thumb brushes over your knuckles and when your mother makes a soft noise of contempt, you chance a glance at your boyfriend.

“We’re not going to ‘disagree’ about something as important as your future.”

Nick’s body is still but there’s an undercurrent of ice settling in the usual warmth of his brown eyes, a muscle flexing in his jaw like he’s grinding his molars so he doesn’t say something. He lets out a slow breath from his nose, picking up his water to have a sip—

“You’ll end up a glorified babysitter, it’s not a job to be taken seriously.”

And then his restraint snaps. “That’s enough.”

The phrase is sharp and commanding, settling in the room like a nuclear bomb. The aftermath is utter silence in which you almost need to hold your breath, like you might have imagined Nick speaking up. But you didn’t, because your mother’s face almost turns red at being scolded.

“I beg your pardon?” She’s practically choking silverware in her hands.

You’re holding onto Nick’s hand so tightly that you’ve got to be hurting him, but all he does is brush a soothing thumb along your knuckles again. You want to say something, to cut this conversation in half, to somehow…move on? But you know by the stance of Nick’s body that he’s not backing down from metaphorically stepping in-between you and your mother. He might not be in the ring but it doesn’t change that he’s geared up for a fight.

“With all due respect, you heard what I said.” To his credit, Nick’s tone doesn’t change. His voice doesn’t elevate, his anger is cold. Which somehow makes it worse. “You’re belittling her into making her feel like she’s less than she is because, what? She wants to be a teacher?” He lets a slow breath from his nose. “I can think of worse things. Like monotonously clicking open a spreadsheet or endless conference calls with China over what supplies they need to order. There are other ways a job can pay that has nothing to do with money.”

He glances towards your brother. “No offense.”

Alec’s lips twitch into an almost smile, shaking his head, “None taken—it’s definitely not for everyone. And neither is teaching, that takes someone special.” Which goes directly against what your mother has said about how ‘anyone’ can jump into that job.

Your father at least has the decency to look a tiny bit ashamed, but he doesn’t intervene. He never does. At this point in your life, you don’t expect him to. He never wants to deal with the backlash so he just lets her be like this. Because it’s easier.

Your mother just lets out an offended gasp, her hand resting near her collarbone like she’s trying to control her reaction. Her animosity, however, is not directed towards your brother at all—her lazer focus is on Nick.

“Your father will be severely disappointed when he hears how rude you’re being after you were invited into our home—to a dinner you weren’t supposed to be at, mind you.”

You get the implication immediately. You never told her Nick was coming, that your mother considers this a family only dinner.

But Nick is your person.

When he feels you tense up beside him, ready to defend him, he shifts his hand so that he’s squeezing your wrist, stopping you from saying anything. Your mother’s comment lands flat, Nick’s not threatened or flustered in the slightest as he calmly puts the napkin that was on his lap onto the table in front of him.

“The only thing my father is going to be disappointed in is the fact that I didn’t open my mouth sooner.”

Your mother actually sputters but Nick doesn’t respond with anything else, the implication is clear: she can say whatever she wants about him, but he’s not going to sit here any longer and listen to her disrespect you.

Whatever Carole is about to say, it’s silenced by your father putting his hand on her arm. She straightens her back, hard lines on her face as her eyes alight with flames, “I think it’s time you showed yourself out.”

Nick is standing before she even finishes her sentence and you begin to follow him, tossing your napkin on the counter. You’re certainly not staying here without him. Alec clears his throat,

“I think you owe her an apology, mom.”

“Don’t,” You manage softly, finding your voice, “It’s alright Alec.”

It’s not, but you appreciate him. His jaw ticks, like he wants to argue, but eventually nods softly before looking over at Nick.

“Really nice to meet you.” And you can read right through that too, he likes Nick, approves of what’s just happened with the attempt to put your mom into her place.

It probably won’t help in the long-run, but you can’t help but feel a flicker of warmth behind your ribcage at being so thoroughly stood up for. It means everything to have him in your corner.

Nick gives him a small smile before nodding his head at Gina too, “Yeah, likewise.”

He puts his hand on your lower back, guiding you out of the dining room and down the hall to where his coat is hanging up. You can hear the hushed voices of Alec arguing with your mother but you don’t try to listen to what they’re saying, you’re just happy to be leaving. Your boyfriend tugs his leather jacket from the closet and you follow him outside towards his McLaren.

He pauses in front of the car, turning to drape his jacket over your shoulders. He gently pulls the fabric closed over your chest, using it as momentum to tug you closer. You let out a soft sigh, not even realizing that you’re still shaking a little bit until you slide your arms through the sleeves.

Tilting your chin up to look at him, you whisper a small, “Thank you.”

Nick shakes his head, “You alright?”

You manage a small smile because…no. Not really. Despite having Nick stand up for you and how good that felt, it unfortunately doesn’t change the fact that he needed to do it in the first place. It’s heartbreaking and discouraging that your mother is so against something that obviously makes you happy? Your father seems indifferent, but that silence does nothing but fuel your mother’s fire.

Nick’s gaze softens, his hands cupping both of your cheeks before he leans down and kisses the corner of your mouth. You swallow over that lump returning to your throat, closing your eyes before tears can form, the bridge of your nose stinging. He shifts to wrap his arms around you, drawing you against his chest, his one hand clasping the back of your neck while the other rubs up and down your spine.

He holds you for a few minutes, your face tucked into his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his laundry detergent and something purely him.

“C’mon,” He says softly, “Let’s get you home,” His house, which honestly feels more like home than where you just left. “Cut that dress off you.”

You sniffle out a laugh as you pull back, nodding as he opens the passenger door for you. That awful feeling that lingers from dinner automatically begins to dissipate the moment Nick’s hand finds yours as you back up out of the driveway.

—

Nick holds that promise, he uses scissors to cut you right out of that dress despite the zipper working perfectly fine. A series of occasional giggles leave your lips, your hands covering your mouth, but you think that’s his intention. He presses random kisses along your body—your arm, your waist, your hip, your thigh…and then lifts you up onto his bathroom counter. He slips down between your legs, your dress falling in a flourish to the floor, forgotten about. He kisses the center of you, the seam of your lips through your underwear.

Your breathing shudders, your hand running through his curls, keeping him as close as possible.

He tugs your underwear aside, sliding his tongue along your slit and the moan that leaves your mouth echoes against the tiles of the bathroom. He definitely smirks against you, your legs widening as much as you can without losing the ability to ground yourself. Your eyes flutter closed when he begins to circle your clit and it takes such a short amount of time for Nick to have heat spinning through your veins. It begins to gather in pulsing waves in your lower belly, building and building—

Then his tongue slips inside you and fuck. The way he’s able to use his mouth should really be studied for science.

“Nick,” A breathless noise leaves you, warning him you’re about to cum.

He hums, bringing his attention back to your swollen clit, and within moments you shatter. You completely fall apart against him. He holds you steady, drawing out your orgasm until you begin to close your legs from sharp sensitivity. Your hips jerk with a soft whimper and Nick shifts as you lean back until your spine rests against the mirror.

He smiles up at you, lips wet from your arousal, curls mussed from your fingers running through them. His elbows rest on either side of your legs until you cup his cheek, encouraging him closer by playfully pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. Leaning down to kiss him, a soft moan leaves your throat, your other hand attempting to slide down between your bodies.

But Nick leans away, shaking his head a little, his fingers squeezing your wrist. Your eyebrows draw together, voice slightly breathless when you talk, “But you didn’t…”

“I know,” He whispers, running his thumb along your pulse point, “That was just for you.”

That warm, fuzzy feeling behind your chest blooms outward and you can’t help but smile as your lips brush his, drawing him into another kiss. It’s something lazy and languid that takes time until he pulls you into his arms, carrying you to bed.

—

Once you’ve both changed into comfortable clothes, which consists of a t-shirt and a new pair of underwear for you, Nick in his boxer briefs and an open zip-up hoodie, you lean against a pile of pillows along the headboard. The fries that you picked up at the diner are a little worse for wear since it took you so long to get to them, but neither of you seem to be bothered by it. Picking up your milkshake from the nightstand, you have a long sip, humming at the pleasant taste of chocolate smoothing over your tastebuds.

Your phone buzzes with a few texts from your brother,

Alec: sorry about mom, should have said something sooner Alec: Nick’s a really good guy, I like him…even though his confidence in pool is questionable Alec: hang out tomorrow? Just you and me?

You smile at the messages, hearting the one about Nick and giving a thumbs-up at the last one before setting your phone face down on his nightstand. Giving up on the fries, you turn to lie on your side, propping yourself against Nick as your TV plays a random movie. You’re not paying attention to it though, for the most part your gaze keeps wandering towards your boyfriend. The light reflecting from the TV is pretty against his skin, against the soft gold in his curls and you can’t help but smile a little, tucking your chin along his shoulder.

You press a soft kiss there and Nick turns his head, his lips grazing your temple.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offers—tonight, your mother being the absolute worst, your father’s silence, any of it, all of it. And while you appreciate the offer, his concern, there’s nothing to really discuss. No matter how many times your mother is put into her place, regardless of how you try to explain to her your wants and needs, she’s going to continue to be utterly blind to them. Selfish. There’s nothing to change that.

But dinner kind of made you feel like…maybe that doesn’t matter. You’ve always had people on your side, but tonight solidified just how important it is to only listen to the voices that don’t mean anything.

“No,” You whisper, closing your eyes when he kisses the bridge of your nose, “I’m okay.”

You knew that tonight wasn’t going to be the best, it was to be expected given that you know how your family can be. And yet, you’re so grateful Nick was there, you’re not sure if it would have been something you could have stomached without him.

A twitch of amusement tugs the corners of your lips, remembering something he said when the dinner was brought up in the first place, “So…that was you on your best behavior?”

Nick smirks, eyes warm as he looks down at you. You can read the unspoken words right in his eyes—he has zero regrets about how he acted at that dinner, the things that left his mouth, the way he’s protective over you.

“Definitely.”

#nick leister #nick leister x reader #my fault london #my fault: london #matthew broome #matthew broome x reader #my fault series #my fault london x reader #mccall writes things

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cy-cyborg · 2 years ago

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Writing and drawing amputee characters: Not every amputee wears prosthetics (and that's ok)

Not every amputee wears prosthetics, and not doing so is not a sign that they've "given up".

It's a bit of a trope that I've noticed that when an amputee, leg amputees in particular, don't wear prosthetics in media its often used as a sign that they've given up hope/stopped trying/ are depressed etc. If/when they start feeling better, they'll start wearing their prosthetics again, usually accompanied by triumphant or inspiring music (if it's a movie). The most famous example of this is in Forest Gump, Where Dan spends most of the movie after loosing his legs wishing he'd died instead. He does eventually come around, and him finally moving from his wheelchair to prosthetics is meant to highlight this.

The thing is, it's not that it's unrealistic - in fact my last major mental health spiral was started because one of my prosthetics was being a shit and wouldn't go on properly, despite fitting perfectly at the prosthetist's the day before. I'm not going to use my legs when I'm not in a good headspace, but the problem is, this is the only time non-prosthetic using amputees ever get representation: to show how sad they are. Even if that's not what the creator/writer necessarily intended, audiences will often make that assumption on their own unless you're very careful and intentional about how you frame it, because it's what existing media has taught them to expect.

But there are lots of reasons why someone might not use prosthetics:

they might not need them: this is more common in arm amputees because of how difficult it can be to use arm prosthetic, especially above-elbow prosthetics. Most folks learn how to get on without them pretty well. In fact, most of the arm amputees I know don't have prosthetics, or only have them for specific tasks (e.g. I knew a girl who had a prosthetic hand made specifically for rowing, but that's all she used it for).

Other mobility aids just work better for them: for me, I'm faster, more manoeuvrable and can be out for longer when I'm in my wheelchair than I ever could on my prosthetics. Youtube/tik tok creator Josh Sundquist has said the same thing about his crutches, he just feels better using them than his prosthetic. This isn't the case for everyone of course, but it is for some of us. Especially people with above-knee prosthetics, in my experience.

Other disabilities make them harder to use: Some people are unable to use prosthetics due to other disabilities, or even other amputations. Yeah, as it turns out, a lot of prosthetics are only really designed for single-limb amputees. While they're usable for multi-limb amps, they're much harder to use or they might not be able to access every feature. For example, the prosthetic knee I have has the ability to monitor the walk cycle of the other leg and match it as close as possible - but that only works if you have a full leg on the other side. Likewise, my nan didn't like using her prosthetic, as she had limited movement in her shoulders that meant she physically couldn't move her arms in the right way to get her leg on without help.

Prosthetics are expensive in some parts of the world: not everyone can afford a prosthetic. My left prosthetic costs around $5,000 Australian dollars, but my right one (the above knee) cost $125,000AUD. It's the most expensive thing I own that I only got because my country pays for medical equipment for disabled folks. Some places subsidise the cost, but paying 10% of $125,000 is still $12,500. Then in some places, if you don't have insurance, you have to pay for that all by yourself. Even with insurance you still have to pay some of it depending on your cover. Arm prosthetics are even more expensive. Sure, both arms and legs do have cheaper options available, but they're often extremely difficult to use. You get what you pay for.

they aren't suitable for every type of environment: Prosthetics can be finicky and modern ones can be kind of sensitive to the elements. My home town was in a coastal lowland - this means lots of beaches and lots of swamp filled with salty/brackish water. The metals used in prosthetics don't hold up well in those conditions, and so they would rust quicker, I needed to clean them more, I needed to empty sand out of my foot ALL THE TIME (there always seemed to be more. It was like a bag of holding but it was just sand). Some prosthetics can't get wet at all. There were a few amputees who moved to the area when I was older who just didn't bother lol. It wasn't worth the extra effort needed for the maintenance.

People have allergies to the prosthetic material: This is less of a problem in the modern day, but some people are allergic to the materials their prosthetics are made from. You can usually find an alternative but depending on the type of allergy, some people are allergic to the replacements too.

Some people just don't like them.

There's nothing wrong with choosing to go without a prosthetic. There's nothing wrong with deciding they aren't for you. It doesn't make you a failure or sad or anything else. Using or not using prosthetics is a completely morally neutral thing.

Please, if you're writing amputees, consider if a prosthetic really is the best mobility aid for your character and consider having your characters go without, or at least mix it up a bit.

For example, Xari, one of the main characters in my comic, uses prosthetics unsupported and with crutches, and uses a wheelchair. They alternate between them throughout the story.

#disability #disabled #id in alt text #writing #writing disability #disability representation #authors of tumblr #write #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writer #creative writing #writing tips #writing resources #writing help #writing advice #writing disability with cy cyborg

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thesummerpetrichor · 1 year ago

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𝓘 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓘 𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾:

𝒪𝒻𝒻 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓈

Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: Its been five months since you started sleeping together, and you're having second thoughts about your "relationship" with Javier. But what does it matter to him? he hasn't even kissed you yet. 🍒 Continuation of “Off to the Races” and “Your Face is Shameless” but can be read alone.

Warnings: 18+ Only Minors DNI you will be blocked. Mentions of DEA, thicc age gap [Javi is in his 40s reader is in her early 20s], mentions of anxiety, major angst, situationship, guilt, unrequited love, self loathing, kissing [they did it!], Javier is emotionally unavailable, petnames, major dom/sub dynamic [dd/lg ish vibes], mean!Javi then soft!dom!Javi, degradation, dumbification, minor objectification, major size kink [Javi is bigger than and can lift reader], praise kink [finally some good girl action], daddy kink, choking, pussy pronouns, finger sucking, oral [f receiving], unprotected P in V [ do better!!]. Let me know if i missed anything 🫶

Word count: 5.4K

A/N: Hello!! I'm back!! thought it would be fitting to revisit these two post hiatus. Sorry in advance for the emotional torture that is about to ensue, but I couldn't help myself. Big thank you to @pixelsandothernonsense for being a big supporter of these two and fuelling their return on the blog time and time again. Lotsa plot, lotsa porn– as always. Hope you enjoy, nasties. Mwah

🍒Off to the races 🍒Your face is shameless 🍒Masterlist

You wanted it to be easy but it’s difficult. You wanted it to be over, but it was not.

While Colombia seemed to be all fun and games at first sight, the longer you remained stuck in the American embassy’s city centre building the more you longed for home.

Your research was hitting a roadblock, and things were hard. Funding was running out, and your professors were running away. Better jobs, better prospects. But your degree was the least cause for your troubles.

You were smart. You were controlled. You didn’t know what you were thinking when you got yourself involved with Javier Peña. It seemed fun at the moment- fooling around, messing with a man double your age and four times more qualified. Trying to wrangle his true intentions out from under his furrowed brow and frown.

Looking back you felt stupid. Embarrassed. A little ashamed of what you had become. How you let him treat you.

He used you like a walking sex doll. Didn’t give you one look afterwards. Maybe a pat on the back but somehow that was more insulting. He had never kissed you. And there you were, fixing your makeup in the office bathroom after an evening under his desk had ruined it.

It had been five months since the first time he'd bent you over his desk but you were only half way through your trip. Five more months seemed too long to bear. It made you sick.

You glanced at yourself in the mirror. You looked tired, and sleepy and your clothes weren’t crisp as usual. You felt a little bit like the tissue you’d just dabbed against your cheek. A little flimsy and a little dirty. A little used, perhaps.

It felt a little worse knowing it was all your doing. You weren’t expecting a man like Javier to change. Objectively, it wasn’t possible. But you still asked for more. For him to use and then forget about you. You wanted to leave. You wished he’d never seen this side of you. Frankly you wished you hadn’t either.

Because you were smart and funny and interesting and could talk about all sorts of things. You liked music and books and movies and trying new food. But he’d never seen you that way. He never would.

You hadn’t spoken to him once. Not about anything that wasn’t strictly utilitarian. Especially not after he started fucking you. It was far too awkward and far too intimate.

For him.

Your feelings flip flopped every day, from the casualty of the affair seeming rather appealing, to it making your chest ache. And yet you couldn’t seem to help yourself, unable to understand not only what this thing you had going on with Agent Peña was, but why you couldn't seem to stop.

Five months camping out in the office and you hadn’t missed a single day. No matter how bad the hurt in your chest you rolled out of bed and reminded yourself of why you were where you were. It worked. It hurt, but it worked.

But after five months it seemed like getting out of bed was suddenly impossible one morning and you thought it best to stay home. You got a few calls. One from Fiestl and Van Ness. Connie Murphy sent Steve over with soup when she heard you weren’t feeling well.

No news from Javi Peña.

You slept most of the day. With your computer shut and materials put away. You didn’t want to think about it. You fixed yourself dinner- instant noodles, and headed to bed once again.

You thought it was temporary but the excruciating pain only lingered and carried you on to another day confined to the four walls of your bedroom.

It was a bad idea- ignoring your work for as long as you did. You should have known that you wouldn’t be able to put it on the back burner- considering the neurosis surrounding your work, the fact you took a two day break was impressive. It wasn’t long before your anxiety was eating away at you, an impending deadline hanging over your head and reminding you the world didn't care about your little pity party.

Stupid as it was, you found yourself crossing the street at the witching hour of 23:00- clad in the soft cotton dress you forced yourself into earlier that evening. The friday night had persuaded everyone out of the office, and you weren’t surprised when you found the top floor of the embassy building cold and empty.

You were glad, and perhaps it was the only way you could stomach being there– alone.

Your desk was exactly how you’d left it a couple of days ago- your books piled in one corner, papers thrown all over the place. It was disorganised and untidy– very unlike you. You swallowed a lump in your throat as you began to sort things out, a feeling of complete exhaustion and defeat threatening to force you into your office chair. You glanced over at Javier’s office, signs he was out for the week prompting the slight relaxation of your shoulders.

When you finally sat down to get to work, your eyes couldn't help but flutter shut every few moments, the screen of your computer zoning in and out of your vision every now and then. The words seemed to escape you, four lines on your document all you could manage before you were pressing your forehead against the wood of your desk.

After spending the past two days sleeping somehow all you wanted to do was climb right back into bed.

Music, surely that would help! Or at least you thought, to no avail, a whole album played once, yet you could only manage another paragraph. Turns out burnout was real.. and it had decided now was the best time to get you. But you weren’t ready to pack up and banish yourself to your studio apartment just yet. So you upped the volume, and sat up just a little bit straighter in your chair, and got back to work.

Something about the loneliness of working in that drab, white, characterless office was especially miserable. So miserable in fact it was almost comforting, it was so miserable it was funny. It wasn't long before you were sitting completely straight in that sad, uncomfortable office chair, laughing at yourself with a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief. You were stupid, and acted silly, and had all these big feelings, but what did it matter? It was diabolical; the capacity Javier had for ruining your life, but soon enough you’d be out of here and one day you’d probably be laughing at the whole ordeal.

It was exhausting, but what could you do? The words came just a little bit easier from that point, and you felt yourself accept defeat and immersed yourself in your paper. At the end of the day you couldn’t control how he felt about you- you just had to take it or leave it. Not everything is that deep, you rolled your eyes at yourself, but you knew truthfully the lack of his care and affection was more than a little sting. You decided you were better off defining the “relationship” for yourself, and maybe showing a little bit more restraint. Who said everything had to be that serious, maybe you should've taken a page out of Javier’s book!

Yes that was it, not everything was that serious, was it?

You really wished you’d had the foresight to gauge the stupidity of trying to drown out your surroundings in a public space in the middle of the night. Sure, no external threat could get you inside the excessively secure embassy building, but what did that mean when the real threat to your sanity was the DEA attache.

Truth be told, you'd have jumped in fear if anyone had tapped their fingers on your computer screen, but when Javier rounded your desk with a raised brow and waved his hand in front of your computer, you were particularly startled.

“The hell are you doing here?”

Any other time you’d probably met him with a snappy reply, something to get him going, maybe rile him up enough till he was pressing your face against your papers and fucking you from the back. You wished you could have given him that response that day, but you were so completely out of yourself, you settled for a shrug and a normal “trying to finish this section”.

“That why you disappeared these past two days?”

“I wish.. probably would have been done by now.” His brows kit, somewhat confused and just noticing your tired, puffy eyes now that he was closer.

“When’s it due.” he leaned to sit on your table , and traced your features with his fingers. You felt your eyes flutter shut as the tip of his index ran along the bridge of your nose, and feared your new policy was at risk of being thrown right out of the window at his attention. Sighing, you leaned into his touch. Unhappy, but unable to resist it. “Next week.”

He pitched your damp cheeks between his fingers, gently shaking your head from side to side. “You've got time.”

You hummed and took a moment to look up at him- yellow table lamp doing his golden features all sorts of favours, ones that he didn't even need to begin with if you were being honest.The weight of his hand, the roughness of his skin against yours had a soft sigh escaping your lips.

Javier's hand moved slowly, almost hesitantly, to the back of your neck, and he gently guided you to stand. Your legs felt weak, but you helped yourself up long enough to watch him rise beside you, stepping closer. He stepped around you, positioning himself between yourself and the chair, his breath warm against your ear.

"Sit," he murmured, his voice low and commanding. His hand moved to the back of your neck again, this time pulling you down onto his lap. The gesture was possessive, not tender.

You obeyed, lowering yourself onto him, your legs on either side of his waist, dangling off the seat. Javier's hands rested on your waist momentarily, heavy and harsh, before drifting lower to your hips, pulling you further into his lap till you could feel his bulge swell against you. You felt yourself get wet, he lifted your hips and then pulled you back down against him, allowing you the slight relief of the friction as you felt yourself embarrassingly throb against him.

The proximity was suffocating, his scent—cigarettes, and aftershave. He leaned closer, and for a moment, in your delusion, you thought he might kiss you. Instead his fingers squeezed around your throat, breath fanning your lips. “You want to be daddy’s good girl, dontch’ya?” his voice was low, and biting, and you knew you were in for it, for avoiding him, when he tightened his grip at your lack of answer.

Slick pooled in your panties, and he let you press your hot core against him, undoubtedly able to feel how easily he could unravel you. You shifted your gaze up at the ceiling to avoid his own.

You squeaked out a feeble “yes”, already delirious. “Then why the fuck, did you think you could disappear without telling me?” He reached for the string that held together the top of your dress, rather aggressively tugging it undone, watching as it unravelled and revealed the soft cotton of your lingerie. “Busy” you whined when traced your skin with his pointer finger, palm coming to squeeze at your breast and then pull your bra aside.

“Not looking too busy now, are ya?” your nipple pebbled under his palm, his hot breath fanning against your skin as he trailed open mouth kisses along your neck. You whimpered, reaching to tangle your fingers in Javier’s hair. Surprisingly, he let you tug on his locks, allowing you to ground yourself as he sucked your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your bud. He came up to nip at your jaw and you whimpered a soft “M’ sorry”.

“What was that?” Javier rolled his eyes and growled in your ear, grazing your earlobe with his teeth, and pinching the flesh of your thighs, prompting you to speak up. And speak up you did, heat seeping into your panties at his tone and words. He didn’t respond to you, just hummed his assent and pulled you harder against him.

His hands found the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up and into his arms. You wrapped your legs around him and his big arms crossed under you to support your weight. Continuing to kiss along your neck he plopped you on the table, but you couldn’t lie, you much preferred being carried so gently in his hold. Thank god the desk had been cleared– giving him enough room to push you back against it. You didn't really want to unwrap your legs from around him, but he grunted disapprovingly before prying your legs from his waist. Your heart jumped as he took a seat on your dingy rolly chair, his large palms lifting your legs by your calves till your feet were planted on his thighs. You propped yourself up on your elbows.

Javier's eyes caught sight of your untied shoelace, a small hazard in the midst of your hurried night. As usual, without a word, he leaned down, fingers deftly working to tie the lace in a swift, fluid motion, securing the bow with a final, firm tug, patting the top of your shoe before returning to the task at hand.

His eyes were hungry like they always were, deep brown, alluring, the only readable emotion in them- lust. Those large palms parted your knees, making space for you between them. A tingle ran up your spine when he brushed the tips of his fingers against the inside of your thigh, dragging them along your skin till he was toying with the hem of your panties. He shifted forward in the chair, meeting your eyes as he planted a kiss on your calf, and then hoisted your legs up on his shoulders.

Javier took a moment to admire you, letting his rough hands roam under your skirt. You always wondered what those hands were doing; how they wrapped around his gun when he ran out of the office with it, how small they made the cigarette he was smoking look. You watched him grab, and hold, and type from across your desk when he hadn’t fucked you in a day or two, imagined those hands grabbing at your flesh and wrapping around your throat. You imagined him pumping his fingers in and out your pussy with your own hands between your legs in the middle of the night- unable to go mere days without him fucking you, salivating at the thought of those hands wrapped around his thick cock, wondering if he too couldn’t go without your touch.

Lost in your thoughts you shuddered when you felt him drag his tongue up the cut of your slit, the already moist fabric of your panties sticking to your skin as he nudged your clit with his nose. Your head fell back involuntarily, and you felt your arms ache as you continued to struggle to hold yourself up on your elbows. Seemingly, he had decided that day he wasn’t going to make you work for it- you looked like you were working far too much already.

“Look at me.” Javier sharply instructed from between your legs. Nipping the inside of your right thigh till you yelped in his hold. You weren't going to last very long at the sight of him, eyes glancing up at you as his mouth ghosted over your soaked pussy. You watched intently as his fingers pulled your panties aside, softly grazing your swollen flesh in a way that had you pulling your lip between your teeth to contain the pornographic moan that threatened to spill from your mouth and alert the security guard across the hall.

Your leg twitched on his shoulder as he licked a long, firm stripe up your aching pussy. Both your eyes fluttered shut as his tongue softly explored your folds. The sight of Javier between your legs was enough to send you over the edge, one that would live in your head for a very long time.

You struggled to hold his eyes with your own when he licked at your entrance, increasing his pace ever so slightly before he was softly sucking your clit into his mouth. Letting yourself lean back against the table you reached to continue to tangle your fingers in his hair, hoping he'd let you have his fluffy locks in your hold. Turns out you were lucky the first time, because as was more common, Javier reminded you of his “no grabbing at daddy” attitude by grasping your hand in his.

“No grabbin at daddy, babygirl” he murmured against your wetness and you shivered. His fingers engulfed yours, stroking your skin and moving your hands to your chest. His large palm covered yours and squeezed your fingers around your breasts. You moaned, and arched your back against the table up into both your palms as his tongue achingly slipped inside you.

The feel of his mouth against you was more than perfect, the way he expertly ate you out till you were wiggling your hips against his face, his nose nudging your clit as he fucked you with his tongue. Slow and soft then faster and rough, just how he knew you liked it.

He seemed to be enjoying the feeling of you just as much, groaning against your wet cunt everytime you twitched and shuddered against him, the taste of you prompting him only to bury himself deeper between your thighs, pull and grab at your hips, hold you close against him as your chest rose and fell.

Javier lashed his tongue at your entrance, then plunged it into your slick cunt. You felt your core tighten, and you knew you couldn’t hold on much longer. “Please…” barely able to complete your sentence you squealed when he circled your clit with his tongue. You could feel him grin against the inside of your thigh, and you reached for his hands on your hips to tug at his fingers feebly.

Making out the sound of his chuckle over your heavy breathing you whined, and then proceeded to melt in his hold when he responded with a rather gentle, yet delayed and somewhat playfully annoyed “You can come for daddy, babygirl.”

The grip of your fingers on his tightened, and you sighed, finally letting go as Javier worked between your legs. Your cunt clamped down on his tongue as he finished you off, licking you through your orgasm and holding your hips down as you shook and squirmed above him.

He kissed along your seam gently as you caught your breath, your breath hitching when he pushed two fingers in your still sensitive cunt to gently stroke your walls. He stifled a groan. You looked down between your legs as he withdrew those fingers and began to stand up. “She so fuckin wet for me, hmm?” He rubbed slow, soft circles on your clit, not caring to watch you intently for any giveaway that would instruct him on the perfect rhythm. He already knew what you liked- he didn’t need to bother. “Slutty little pussy achin’ to be fucked… after all these days, aint she?”

He took a second to get a good look at you as he moved closer between your legs, and you propped yourself back up on your elbows and wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him in.

“My good little slut”

Bringing his fingers to your lips he urged them open, pushing in and watching you suck gently on his digits. You shivered at the taste of your own arousal. As always you felt a little fuzzy when he did something like that– letting your eyes droop until he nudged you to release them with a pop. He ran those fingers across your lips, watching you struggle to keep your eyes on him as his hand drifted downwards to wrap swiftly around your neck. “That's better isn't it?” he pressed his clothed cock against your bare, swollen pussy, your panties surely on the verge of ripping the way they’d been pulled aside. Javier seemed to be thinking along the same lines as you, because in a moment he reached for them and urgently dragged them down your hips, unwrapping himself from your hold and holding your ankles in one hand as the other slid your panties all the way off of you.

When you whined at the loss of his body against yours he tutted, raising his eyebrows at you in warning.

He then grabbed your thigh with his hand once again, squeezing it and holding it in place against his waist. You heard the jingle of his belt as he undid it. A rough edge on said belt scraped against your skin, but it was difficult to pay attention to it when you felt him reach between your bodies to tease your dripping slit with his length.

It was sad to admit, but nothing took the weight of your shoulders much like the feeling of his hard cock sliding against your wet pussy, head bumping your clit till you were shivering and then notching at your entrance. You heard him mutter a strained curse under his breath at the feeling of your cunt sucking him in. Javier didn't waste much time, as much as he seemed to enjoy the sight of you deliriously wiggling your hips under him.

He leaned down and traced the curve of your jaw with the bridge of his nose, breathing in your scent as he pushed in– slowly and gently. Much slower and gentler than he had ever been before. Your legs tightened around him, hips lifting pathetically as you felt him stretch you open. It had been far too long since you’d had him inside you.

“Such a good little girl..” His hips snapped towards yours.

“Aren’t ya?” It was an out of body experience, so overwhelming and dizzying you could almost see yourself in the act. Your brain couldn’t comprehend that tone and that gentleness as is, forget when Javier’s cock dragged deliciously against your aching walls.

Your elbows caved from under you, letting you fall completely back against your little desk. Your head went to fall back soon after, but Javier had managed to snake his hand behind your neck– cradling your head and shielding it from the hard wooden table. Instinctively, you buried your nose in the collar of his dress shirt. He let you seek respite, palm holding you against his warm body, and pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck.

Your skin felt like pins and needles, little sparks bounced off your exposed waist and prompted you to wiggle your hips away from him at the intensity of the sensations. “Nah uh” yanking you back in his direction Javier squeezed your hips in his hands, refusing to let you escape the death grip he had on your body, pulling you towards him with every deep, slow, thrust.

“Silly little thing” He laughed against your lips, so close they brushed against you. You couldn’t help it when your mouth fell slack against his. He took your bottom lip between his teeth. He released it as your walls clenched around him, brows knitting at the feel of your warm, soft cunt around his cock.

“Mine aren’t ya? Daddy’s good little slut?” Unable to catch hold of anything on the table, your hands flew to his shirt, your fingers twisting the fabric as you gripped it as tightly as you could. He let you pull him towards you, one hand sneaking between your bodies to grab and squeeze at your breast.

“Then you’re gonna take it like I give it to ya?” You tried to nod, head lulling side to side and mouth hanging open, desperate noises leaving your lips. When your back arched against the table he pulled you into his chest, letting you wrap your legs around his waist so tightly you felt the leather of his belt cut into your soft skin.

Eventually he picked up his pace, and you could make out the sound of your pens clattering to the ground as your back moved relentlessly against the desk. The dim grey flood light above you came in and out of your focus, the heat that swelled up inside you hindering your ability to concentrate on absolutely anything. “Getting all cock drunk on me..” Anything but him. Yet another orgasm stirred in your tummy, your entire body hot and tingling with overwhelm. “There’s my good girl”.

He pulled you into him with every thrust, his hard length throbbing inside of you. “Just how I like ya’– no thoughts in that head’ve yours.” Your bare chest pressed against his soft shirt, but you longed to feel the heat of his body against your skin.

“Can't think ‘bout anything but daddy can you?” he managed to laugh, his thick cock dragging against your wet walls in a way that had your mouth falling open in a gasp. “Just daddy, ain't that right?” As usual he grabbed at every part of you he could, hands seeking purchase on any exposed skin.

He grazed your earlobe with his teeth as he spoke. “Poor baby, going dumb on daddy.” All you could do was whine. “Can’t hear ya..” you whimpered again, strained and hasty “yes”s leaving your mouth at record speed as the tension in your core threatened to burst.

“S’ how it should be” your dress made it easy for you to slide along the surface of the table as he fucked into your tight, wet heat, railing you as you twitched around him. You struggled to form a broken “daddy” between your lips.

“Stupid little girl can’t do anything but be daddy’s little sexdoll hmm?” you shook your head, but he grabbed your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed. “‘S okay babylove, s’ how daddy likes ya best” he shook your face gently, “when ya ain't runnin that smart mouth of yours.”

He grunted and sighs above you, seemingly lost in his own pleasure, not bothering for the first time to make you beg. It was as if the two days you spent apart had him prioritising other things. “Better this way isn’t it, nothin you gotta worry that pretty head about…” you felt your cunt squeeze him. “Not when daddy’s fuckin’ ya’”

You could tell he was close by the way his thick cock throbbed against your slick walls, the way his Texan accent came through just a little more than it usually did. Your thighs quivered against his waist as the heat continued to pool in your belly.

You knew he was close when he straightened up again, hands wrapping firmly around your throat as he angled his hips to hit that sweet spot inside you over and over. “C’mon baby, be a good girl and come for daddy” he tightened his grip, thumb reaching up to swipe gently at your slack lips.

You felt your pussy clench around his cock, finally letting go as you writhed under him. You heard him groan over the ringing in your ears, your own eyes rolling back as your orgasm rolled over you in waves. You gushed around him, your own release prompting his.

Watching his brows knit as his thrusts got sloppy might have well sent you on a second release, aftershocks making your hips wiggle against his palms as he squeezed them, his cock throbbing inside you before he erupted with a shudder. A string of strained curses escaped his mouth, chest rising and falling rapidly as he rode out his high.

You laid there, the heat from your exertion slowly dissipating. You felt Javier pull out, his spend trickling down your thighs, and slide your panties back up over your legs. A heaviness tugged at your limbs and made your eyelids droop. Every muscle felt loose, languid, as if all the tension and energy had been drawn out, leaving behind only a deep, satisfying fatigue.

Javier put his hands on your waist and lifted you off the table, you returned to your habitual silence, this time albeit far more satiated than before. You were dizzy, feeling like a small ghost floating in front of him, engulfed by his towering form. The world around you began to fade, sounds muffling and blurring into an indistinct background hum.

Every blink became slower, your vision narrowing to slits before closing entirely. You let yourself drift into that warm state between sleep and wakefulness, the exhaustion of the week catching up to you in more ways than one, uncaring of the sense that Javier’s eyes had been lingering. You felt him trace the bridge of your nose, reducing any prospects of you actually getting off that desk.

He fixed your lingerie and tied the bow of your dress back up, one hand returning to stroke your cheek. His other arm came to support your back as it wrapped around you, pulling you towards him. You looked up to find him watching you, with an expression you couldn’t bother to decipher at the moment.

You couldn’t help but fall into his chest as he stood above you, his arms reaching behind you as he packed your things in your work bag. You felt your eyes flutter shut again, complete exhaustion taking over your weak form. He placed a kiss to your temple, lifting you off the table once and into his hold once again. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, locking securely at the ankles. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, fingers digging into your flesh.

You felt cold again suddenly, and Javier readjusted his arms to hold you with his right while his left rubbed along your shoulders to warm up your skin, prickled with goosebumps.

Your head rested against his shoulder, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek a comforting, rhythmic lull. You nuzzled deeper into the curve of his neck, tilting your head till your nose was brushing the cut of his jaw.

Javier shifted slightly, and you could feel the subtle change in his posture as he leaned towards you, and his face came level with yours– you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, a stark contrast to the cool air around you. His hand cradled your cheek.

With your eyes still closed you felt his lips press gently against yours, so pillowy and soft you barely registered them. He tasted how you’d imagined so many times before– cigarettes, and whiskey. Melting into his touch your hands moved to ball the fabric of his shirt gently in your fist. His lips moved against your’s with a carefulness you couldn’t really understand, but the fact that they were at all was enough. Exhaustion aside, you had a feeling the triviality of the whole ordeal, its comfort and normality seemed expected. And just as quickly as it began, it was over.

Perhaps it had always meant a lot more to you, than it did to him.

The hand that was cupping your cheek pinched it and then snaked around your waist to help you find your footing on the ground, the same hand coming down to slap your ass as he pushed you towards the door.

In usual Javier fashion he checked his phone, uninterestedly murmuring a soft “you can start again tomorrow” as you stood in the elevator. He let you lean against him, his palm coming down to pat your head momentarily before it was back to sorting the files in his hands. You looked up at him, his mind now completely diverted to whatever he had come to collect in the office in the first place, so unbothered by what seemed to transpire between the two of you.

Perhaps nothing really did.

You wished his words gave you some motivation, but it was turning out to be really difficult to want to be anything more than his dumb, silly, little girl.

Who else is gonna put up with me this way?

I need you, I breathe you, I'll never leave you!

They would rue the day I was alone, without you

You're lyin' with your gold chain on

Cigar hangin' from your lips, I said, "Hon'"

"You never looked so beautiful as you do now, my man"

sakjdlakd I'm sorry I just can't let them be happy lmao. Hope you enjoyed this, and let me know what you think. Thank you to everyone who reblogs and comments on my content, you keep me writing. Dividers and banners by @/sardika 🐝✨💗

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woso-dreamzzz · 1 year ago

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Finally

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: The pining is finally over

There's a hand on your waist.

You've been in Spain for nearly two months now. You've completed preseason and played your first two matches for Barcelona.

You've gotten used to Natalia and her touchiness. In her home country, she's more touchy than she ever was out of it. It's natural to have her skin against yours, holding you tightly.

You're used to her hand on your waist.

But it's not her hand on your waist right now.

The game earlier was a good one. A clean sheet for you and a seven goal win for the rest of the team. You don't know who it was but someone had floated the idea of going to the club.

You'd tried to wiggle out of it. You avoided clubs like the plague when you could. The music, the drinks, the too little space had you feeling boxed in and nervous but somehow you had been convinced.

Which was why you were sulking at the bar all night, trying to make yourself look as small as possible, which was quite a difficult task.

Natalia had been by your side all night, hyperaware of how this was absolutely not your scene. She'd held you like you love to be held and whispered straight in your ear so you could hear her over the music.

Every shift of her body had goose bumps erupting down your body and you wish for her presence now as someone else reaches to touch your waist.

"I recognise you," This newcomer says," You play for Barcelona, right?"

There's an edge to her voice that you can't place and she looks up at you from under her lashes. Her fingers gently dance up and down your waist.

You don't like it.

It doesn't feel like how Natalia touches you and you don't like it at all.

Talia disappeared off to the toilet a few minutes ago, promising that it would only take a second.

A second was all it took for this new girl to come up to you.

"Er...yes..."

She giggles like you've said something funny but you don't think you have. She steps further into your space and you wonder if it's impolite to back up a few paces.

It's different in Spain to Sweden. You wonder if everyone is as touchy as Natalia is, even if it's toward a complete stranger.

"I'm a big fan," The girl is practically purring, her voice dropping low and you have to crane your head down closer to hear her over the heavy bass of the music.

Her hand skates up to your bicep, squeezing the muscle there.

"You're so strong," She says, trailing her finger up and down your arm," What are you drinking? Can I buy you a drink?"

People in Spain are very friendly, you think and you look down at your glass.

"I've just got a coke."

She pouts, batting her eyes at you as she somehow steps even closer. "Just a coke? You've just come out of a big win. Don't you want to let loose a little?"

You let out a few awkward chuckles, eyes darting around desperately in search of Natalia. "I don't drink during the season."

"That's so disciplined. You're so disciplined, so in control of yourself. Are you always so in control of yourself?"

Somehow, she's pressed herself against you. Your chests are pushed together as she looks at you, a half-smirk present on your face. You don't like this at all but she's Spanish so you assume it's another one of those cultural things that confuse you.

You don't want to shove her away and be impolite but you don't want her touching you anymore, skin crawling.

A hand lands on your waist again but you recognise it this time.

Natalia hooks her chin over your shoulder and stares down at this new girl.

"Can we help you?"

The girl moves to speak, to say what you don't know but it's clear that Natalia doesn't care because she gently nudges you to move.

You relocate closer to the doors and Talia keeps glancing over at the other girl, face set firmly into a frown.

"Why did you let her do that?" She asks, her eyes not straying away from the girl at the bar," Touch you like that? Touch you like how I touch you?"

"She was just being friendly," You say. Your brow furrows and you're sure that your little crinkle has appeared.

Natalia scoffs, swirling her drink around angrily in her glass. "She wasn't being friendly. She was flirting." She spits out the last word like it personally offends her.

"She was?"

Finally, Talia cuts her gaze to you. Her features soften slightly as she looks at you. She downs her drink in one go. "You're so oblivious," She says. The words are soft and low and barely audible over the loud music but you still hear them perfectly.

"What?"

Talia's looking at you in disbelief, shaking her head before she's got your waist in her hands and she's pulling you closer until her lips ghost your ear.

"You're so oblivious. I couldn't believe it at first but it's true. There's so many girls trying to throw themselves at you. That girl from earlier, girls at matches. They touch you in ways that aren't friendly and you jump through hoops trying to convince yourself it's platonic. You're so oblivious."

Ever so slightly, her hands tighten on your waist and she pulls back to look at you.

She isn't that much taller than you so you're practically at eye level as she stares.

Her eyes flick from your gaze down to your lips and then back up at your eyes again.

That's when everything comes crashing into you.

All those hugs, those private 'friend' dates to coffee shops and restaurants, those naps you took on her sofa together.

"You don't even know," Talia continues, like she doesn't even care about the bomb she's just dropped on you," I think that's even worse. You can't even let them down easy but you just don't know. It's infuriating."

Your heart's in your throat or, maybe, it's in Natalia's hands because you can't tear your eyes away from her.

She's still holding your waist, her hands familiar and welcome. Her gaze is hypnotic and your chests rise and fall in sync with each other.

"Natalia-" You say before breaking off. Your eyes dip down to her lips, barely even a glance but you know she catches you looking. "Talia...I...I think I'm in-"

"I know."

She kisses you like you're the only two people in the room. It's different to the kiss you shared as teenagers when you were scared and unsure.

Her lips mould against yours easily and everything else blends away until it's just you and her.

"Natalia," You breathe out when she pulls away," Do you...Do you want to go on a date with me?"

Talia laughs, pecking your lips. "Ask what you actually want to ask, mi vida. You will like the answer."

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

"Yes."

You go home with Talia in that moment, completely forgetting that you had told your mothers you would call tonight.

#hardersson x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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yasministration · 7 months ago

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Fire pit confessions - Robin Buckley

summary: you know robin likes you, and finally act on your reciprocated feelings at a party. wc: 1k+

You know. Of course you know. Any girl who liked women could take one look at Robin Buckley and call it. But it didn't help that she didn't know about you. Her crush was a little too obvious, stuttering whenever you were around, her cheeks turning bright pink, but you didn't want to make the first move — you never did. You liked to think that you were too classy to make the first move on someone, liking the chase, playing hard to get. However, with someone as clueless as Robin, you assumed you had to take the first step forward. At first, you considered telling Steve about your crush on his friend in hopes that he would spill the news to her, but that might get a little out of hand, and the last thing you wanted were rumours floating around the small town about you and some girl.

Weeks passed by of you waiting for the perfect opportunity to hint your feelings to the girl, but it was never the right time. Hang outs started and ended, with you and Robin sitting next to each other, her arm slung around your shoulder, tugging you close to her chest. As friends. Friends and nothing more. Tonight, you carefully pushed her arm off of you, standing up to get another drink from Steve's kitchen with Nancy and Eddie. It was only then that you realised the gravity of the situation. "You have to tell her." Nancy immediately insisted once the door slammed closed behind you. "Yeah, it's difficult to watch you guys go on like that as only friends." Eddie added, cracking a can of bear open. You laughed nervously, averting your gaze to the choice of drinks. "Is it really that obvious?" You asked, only to get a unanimous yell of "So obvious!" From your two friends.

You shook your head in amusement "I've tried, but there's never the right moment!" Nancy crossed the kitchen, pausing at the door with her hand on the handle. "Party this Friday in this house. Tell her then." Eddie hummed in agreement, following the girl out the room without waiting for your answer.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

Steve and Robin watched as the three of you left the room in a search for more drinks, and Steve shot Robin a look, only opening his mouth when he heard the slam of the kitchen door closing. "Robin you're literally cuddling her! You have to tell her!" Robin shook her head adamantly. "Not a chance. She's letting me hold her like that as a friend, not as a lesbian, Steve!" Steve's expression turned desperate, pleading "Please Robin, I'm begging you. I can't handle the sight of the two of you cluelessly flirting anymore!"

"It's not flirting! She's being nice and I'm being so so dumb. I literally can't speak to her." Steve sighed at the response, running a hand through his hair in surrender. He didn't know how much more encouraging he could do. He only hoped that Nancy and Eddie would have more success trying to convince you than he did with Robin.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

Robin didn’t like these parties, she decided, standing in a corner and watching as people danced along to the loud music. Actually, she always knew she didn’t like them, but she always enjoyed your company. After dancing for a couple of hours, you would always find her in a quieter area of the house, or in the backyard with a drink. You’d talk tipsily, letting Robin wrap her arms around you as you hiccuped quietly.

Tonight was no different. At least, from her side. For you, everything was different. You made sure to stay glued to the dance floor, drinking a little bit more than usual. A mix of distracting yourself from what you had to do, and gathering liquid courage. Nancy and Eddie had warned you that if you didn’t get it done tonight, they’d take action. You danced with your cup in the air, chanting along a repetition of lyrics with those around you. Your eyes shot to where Robin usually stood watching you, and you smiled in reassurance when your gaze met hers. You gestured for her to join you on the dance floor but she merely shook her head no.

The smile on your face dropped when Robin began making her way outside, and you instantly started pushing your way through the crowd of people to follow her. You stopped by the kitchen, downing a nasty shot of vodka that made you cough for a good few seconds, before finally making a beeline to Steve’s back yard. It was still early, so the backyard was mostly empty apart from Eddie and Nancy smoking by the pool. Robin sat on the couch around the fire pit, legs spread as she stared into the crackling fire. “Robin.” You called out in a sing-song voice, catching her attention before you slumped on the couch next to her. “Hey you.” She said, a wide smile on her face. God, was it contagious. “You didn’t have to follow me out here.” Robin muttered, though she wrapped an arm around your shoulder nonetheless. You hummed in satisfaction, both your hands snaking around her waist to cuddle closer to her. “Wanted to.” You responded, digging your face into the crook of her neck.

You don’t know what forces take over your body when you decide to press a kiss on Robin’s neck, but you instantly feel her tense up, the short hairs on her neck standing up straight. She whispers your name, not a warning but an inquiry. “Let me kiss you Robin.” You murmur, pushing yourself up so you can look at her properly. She looks shocked more than anything, but finally she asks “Why would you want to kiss me?” You sigh, raising your eyebrows and cocking your head to the side as you put a hand on your hip. “Because I like you, stupid.”

You don’t wait for Robin to utter another word, leaning closer to Robin to softly press your lips against hers. The kiss doesn’t last long. You pull away to look at her face, watching as she opens her eyes, turning to glance at the party going on inside the house before cupping your cheek and pulling you into another kiss. You let yourself fall against Robin, moaning softly into the kiss, a hand trailing to grip her hip.

When you finally pull away, it isn’t you nor Robin who speaks first, but rather Eddie, you exclaims “Well that’s one way to do it.”

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bunnyrights · 11 days ago

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PAC reading - what makes you sexy?

i was NOT familiar with y'all game... what's your brand of sex appeal, and how can you embrace it more? pick a group and find out! remember, you can be drawn to more than one group (⁠◠⁠ᴥ⁠◕⁠ʋ⁠)

for personalized readings, message me! i have a $3 flash sale going on at the moment

group one

eight of swords + two of pentacles + two of cups

you have an air of effortless sex appeal, and it's very alluring. i'm seeing someone with messy bed hair and makeup that's smudged, like it's been slept in. you have a very casual glamour that makes you seem approachable, but many fail to actually do it. you may attract people who like the idea of binding you and doing what they like to you; a fragile, delicate beauty.

i see you don't make your appearance a big deal, but it stands out, and people find that appealing too. this is not to say you don't put effort into looking good, rather that it doesn't seem like you're trying too hard to be viewed as attractive. what comes to mind is the indie sleaze era and how people put so much effort into looking like they just put looks together mindlessly.

there's a very 2000s indie vibe about you; alexa chung, american apparel basics, flash photography, dilated pupils & tobacco-stained fingers. you're nostalgic and exclusive, and people are drawn to that. some of you may be pretentious about music and that's endearing, so keep being opinionated.

group two

queen of swords + ten of cups + eight of wands

you have quite the mouth on you. people are drawn to your intellect and wit. i'm seeing it come as a shock to some people how quick you are, not just with your humour, but with putting people in their place as well. you don't get to show your feisty side often because people know to speak to you with respect, and it turns them on more than they'll admit.

you aren't obnoxious about the brilliance of your mind, even though it's so obvious, and people find that very attractive. you have a lovely speaking voice too, very soothing and seductive when you want it to be. you're graceful in how you carry yourself, and it makes you feel unreachable to people. they know that only the best can stop up to you. those with humiliation kinks like that you're too good for them, but they obviously would never reveal that to you or anyone else.

you're black turtlenecks, unprompted philosopher name drops mid-conversation, lips pouted in disapproval, warm, throaty laughter; the smell of rain-soaked dirt, ink stains and sly jokes whispered with a straight face. to know you is to be let into the garden of eden by lilith herself.

group three

king of wands + three of wands + ace of pentacles

your undying optimism makes you incredibly magnetic. you don't have to say it, it's obvious in how you think and go after what you want that you know that things always work out for you. there's a silent wisdom that only the most perceptive will pick up on; you know that it's only over when you die, and there's always an alternate route if one doesn't work.

you are a delight to be around, and people love to listen to you talk when they can reach you. you're elusive and people are drawn to that; you don't have to pretend to be mysterious because you actually are hard to pin down. you're simultaneously open but difficult to know, and that's wildly attractive to so many people. you really are focused on living the best life possible, and rather than saying it or even showing it, people simply witness it.

you're sun-kissed skin in the middle of winter, a wisecracking flapper, the purring of a cat, a mischievous smile and a wink; a vintage fur coat, a smoky jazz club, the jingle of coins in a pocket, and a kiss on the cheek. you're neither here nor there, and it's maddeningly enticing.

group four

six of swords + the magician + nine of cups

you feel unreal, and so many people dream about being with you. you live in your own world, governed by your own beliefs and ideals, and people desperately want a part of it. you feel like a good luck charm, a trophy to be won, but people don't know how. you are successful at the things you pursue, even with how untraditional your goals and aspirations are. people may not share them but they can tell you're ahead of the curve.

you are a breath of fresh air. people can tell that you don't take missteps and failures to heart, and they want to learn from you. there's a childlike wonder to you that is rooted in mature wisdom, an eagerness to take as much as you can get from the world. you are blessed but not at all greedy; you are generous and welcoming, but difficult to "own". i see people you've known for years not knowing fully just how close they actually are to you. your innerworld is yours and yours alone.

you are the lapping of the ocean in the distance, plush velvet, biting into a peach plucked from a tree; singing along to 80s pop, a starry night when you're drunk, latex and lace, and giggles shared in the dark. you are delight personified; potent but fleeting.

#tarotblr #tarot reading #pick a picture #pac reading #kpop tarot #ateez #bts #loona #stray kids #tarot #2ne1 #p1harmony #spotify

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milkoomi · 2 months ago

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Heyy! I hope you're doing well.

I want to ask a question regarding habit changes and grooming qualities in yourself.

Before lockdown, I was disciplined, but since then, phone addiction has taken over. I don't use social media like Snapchat or Instagram, but I still spend too much time on my phone, which makes me feel miserable. I managed to control it once for two months but relapsed. How can I break this habit for good and get rid of unwanted habits permanently?

Thank you <3

hello darling!! thank you so much for sending in an ask! i hope you’re doing well! sending you so so so much love! 🤍

a realistic guide to breaking bad habits. ᥫ᭡

habits are so hard to break. it can be an extremely frustrating journey to let go of certain habits, even if it may be something as simple as high levels of screen time. i understand just how difficult it is to break bad habits, and trust me, it wasn’t an easy feat. but as i’ve gone through my own little journey of life, i’ve learned a few things that have helped me at least start to let go of bad habits!

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — immerse yourself in new hobbies

having a hobby, or multiple hobbies, can get your mind focused on something more productive or better for yourself! it gets you to bring your attention and energy into something that makes you feel good and brings you joy rather than getting lost into those habits that seem to take over your life!

there are so many wonderful and fun hobbies out there that you can try! i’ll be listing some hobbies divided into two different categories.

soft hobbies: activities you can do that won’t require too much time, effort, or money!

reading - really simple! try rereading books you love, picking up a new genre, or try different ways to read like audiobooks! visit your local library & get books from there!

coloring - there’s tons of affordable physical and digital coloring books out there! you’re never too old to color! it’s such a relaxing activity & it allows you to get creative!

creating playlists - get inspired by different moods, characters from shows/movies, books, emotions, or vibes! this is another hobby that allows you to get creative and it also encourages you to explore new music!

poetry - i love writing poetry. poems are one of my favorite forms of art! it’s a beautiful way to express your thoughts and emotions while getting those creative juices flowing! you can get a simple notebook or an aesthetic journal & start creating to have a lovely little collection of poems written by you!

gaming - okay, i know we’re trying to reduce our screen time, but if you’re needing to step away specifically from your phone i highly recommend gaming! the games you play don’t even have to be video games, they could be card games, board games, puzzles even! there’s so many different games out there that can help you relax or get your mind working. it could also encourage you to be more social and create game nights with loved ones!

crystal hobbies: activities that may require a little more time, effort, & maybe money!

scrapbooking - i personally have a digital scrapbook on my ipad & i created a scrapbook for my fiancé on our most recent anniversary! i LOVE scrapbooking. while it does take up more time & energy, it still helps you get creative and focus your mind on things like cherished memories!

nature jars - if you aren’t familiar with what these are, they’re literally just jars filled with things you’ve found outside in nature! leaves, rocks, flowers, sand; anything you find outside. this can encourage you to go out more & be one with nature and explore! not only will you get your steps in, you’ll also probably find something really beautiful that mother nature has to offer! (of course, please be very careful with what you touch and take from the outside!!)

cooking/baking - hone those culinary skills! you could try out recipes you’ve been dying to try or experiment with different flavors! cooking isn’t just a life skill, it’s art!

art - painting, drawing, sculpting; essentially any art form practice can be a great hobby to take up!

creative writing - i mentioned poetry in the ‘soft hobbies’ section, but now let’s go even deeper & try writing stories! you can start by creating synopses of different stories you’ve maybe thought about writing before jumping right into story creation! or, if you’re feeling ready, you can start writing up the first chapter of a story! you can even get more detailed by creating character pages with all the stats & information on characters you want to create!

the more hobbies you have that make you happy, bring out your creative/productive side, and make you feel good, there’ll be less time and energy going into those bad habits! it’s important you focus your mind on something else; something better, and as time goes on and you continue to immerse yourself into your hobbies, the less likely you’ll be going back to those habits! the key is to occupy your mind with other things that are beneficial and replace those bad habits with something more rewarding!

୨ৎ — write out your dream life

this is essentially manifestation, but grab your journal and write down what your dream life looks like! ask yourself: what would my life look like without these bad habits? think of this as setting goals for yourself, but write as if you’ve already achieved those goals!

bullet list

create a list of everything that involves your dream life without those bad habits! this is a quick & easy way to imagine what your life will look like!

write a story

play as the omniscient being for a moment and write your story! it doesn’t have to be a full novel of course, it can be a short story, but write and describe how you are in your dream life and what your life is like! this allows you to create a clear mental image of what you’re wanting to achieve! it can even motivate you to make that story become your reality!

things to consider…

what are you doing in your dream life? job/career? level of education? social life? traveling?

what do you look like? not just traits like skin, hair, & nails, but what are your expressions like? do you show more happiness? do you show a sense of relief and peace?

what do you sound like? is your tone of voice calmer? do you sound happier? what are things you would say?

breaking bad habits is all about your mindset, so writing affirmations and/or manifestations for yourself can help to rewire your brain and turn on that switch for motivation to get you to start breaking those habits!

୨ৎ — detachment

something that seems so easy but is also extremely difficult is distancing yourself and removing yourself from the source of your bad habits.

in this case, it’s your phone, so it’s time to start detaching yourself from it and i’m going to go through some methods of how to do so in a less daunting and more manageable way!

time-out method

this method is, essentially, putting your phone in “time-out”. it sounds silly, but i promise it works!

how to…

shut off your phone completely

place it far away from you (in another room, tucked away in your bag, in a drawer, or even in a shoe box tucked away underneath your bed). you can even ask a family member or loved one to put your phone somewhere else & hide it from you (if you’re feeling up for that!)

keep an eye on the clock and note the time you put your phone away

give yourself a set amount of time to stay away from your phone. you can start off small with 10-15 minutes away from your phone or, if you’re feeling ready to, start with 2 hours away from your phone

this method doesn’t work with every bad habit. it’s more effective for habits that involve some kind of object.

meditation method

meditating is a wonderful habit to replace with other ones! it allows you to practice mindfulness and helps to relax your mind & body!

how to…

sit in a quiet place & silence your phone (it will probably help to either turn on a ‘do not disturb’ feature or shut off your phone)

for about 5 minutes, focus on different characteristics of your body and try relaxing yourself. notice the tension in your shoulders and relax them, there may be some tension in your neck so try and relax that portion. you can also focus on your breathing during this time!

gradually increase the amount of time you meditate. maybe the first 3 days you meditate for 5 minutes, then for 3 more days you increase your time to 7 minutes, and then for 3 more days after that you increase to 10 minutes!

redirection method

our minds and bodies work as if we’re in cruise control and just do things without thinking twice about it, so this method is exactly what it sounds like: redirecting your mind onto something else!

how to…

let’s say you catch yourself on your phone, mindlessly scrolling through social media, so as soon as you catch yourself, redirect your energy to something else!

or, if you’re thinking about a certain bad habit, redirect those thoughts elsewhere like in a journal! write out what habit you’re thinking about, talk about how it makes you feel, and explain to yourself why you should do something else

redirecting can be anything! it’s just a matter of acknowledging the habit and driving yourself to something more beneficial!

go for a walk, watch a new movie, go do your skincare, journal, chat with a friend/loved one, read a book, make yourself a snack/meal, clean your room; any activity that makes you feel good and makes you feel productive can be a great choice for redirection!

final notes —

breaking bad habits isn’t easy, i can’t stress that enough. i know it’s hard and it’s all easier said than done, but! you are capable of breaking those bad habits if you put your mind to it! some discipline might have to make itself seen to really see the results you’re searching for, but you don’t have to go to the extremes to make yourself more disciplined! be patient with yourself, talk to yourself kindly, and remind yourself that progress is never linear! you will have ups and downs, right turns and wrong turns, and you might slip up a few times, but that’s completely okay!

be gracious towards yourself; you’re only human.

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

#ask tina!!#milkoomis #self care #self care blog #self care tips #personal growth #personal growth tips #self improvement #self improvement tips #breaking bad habits #it girl #that girl #it girl tips #becoming that girl #becoming the best version of yourself #girlblogger #girlblogging #girl blog aesthetic

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gurugirl · 2 years ago

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hi can u write something about step dad harry and yn going for a trip on a boat with her mom together and he secretly takes her to a room downstairs while her mom is upstairs and she rides his face and like his facial is covered with his arousal… u can add something more too& make it spicy?? theres just something about this photo, i couldnt resist

stepdad!harry x stepdaughter!reader

I started writing something else for stepdad!Harry but this just made my mind go blank for anything else because I can’t resist these photos and it’s summertime so we’ve already got the vibes going. Thank you for the request, babe!

Note: As a reminder Y/n is 22 and Harry is 28. Both are adults and met as adults. xoxo

Word Count: 2371

Warning: 18+ only, smut, the tiniest lit bit of degradation, cheating, inappropriate relationship between a stepdad and stepdaughter. Don't read if you don't like!!! xoxo

stepdad!harry masterlist

Your mom had rented a boat for a day over the weekend. She hadn’t had many days off but she wanted to have a day out in the sun with her two favorite people while summer was still in swing.

She even encouraged you to invite a friend to come along. So you did.

Harry could tell right away that you were being a little bit cheeky. He’d taken care of you the night before and told you to behave on the boat but you rarely did as he asked these days.

Your girlfriend Lei came along. She was focused on her cell phone most of the time which Harry found annoying too. He expected that you’d wear a cute little bathing suit that barely hid a thing but he didn’t expect it to expose nearly your entire backside. It looked closer to cheeky panties that were almost thongs than a bathing suit bottom. He’d never seen you wear this one. Cheeky bottoms, cheeky attitude.

The cooler was full of drinks, music was playing, the sun was high in the sky, and everything smelled like sunscreen and tanning oil.

Harry anchored the boat in a deep area away from other boaters as Lei (finally putting her phone down) and your mom dove into the water to swim. You were lying on the bed at the front and sunning yourself with a beer next to you, sunglasses over your eyes, and a smirk on your face.

“What’s so funny?” Harry stood over you and blocked your sun. The bit of sweat that began to form on your skin and between your breasts was making it difficult for him to avert his eyes. He was glad your mom jumped into the water so he could look without fear of your mom seeing.

You pulled your sunglasses up and frowned at Harry, the grin falling from your face, “You're blocking my sun. Move…” You waved your arm at him in a shooing gesture.

Harry caught your wrist and you gasped, “Don’t talk to me like that.” He spoke lowly, still hovering over you and looking down at your body.

“I’m just sunning myself. What do you want?” Harry knew you were trying to push it with him. Figured you thought you could get away with it a bit since your mom and friend were in tow.

“Asked you a question. You’ve been a brat all day. What’s with you?” He knew what was “with you”. You liked to tease and your attitude always got him worked up. You liked the back and forth. But so did, Harry, even if he’d never admit it.

You let out an annoyed sigh, “I’m not a brat. I’ve been really good. I’m just having fun today. What’s with you?”

Harry really wanted to yank you up by your ponytail and teach you a lesson but when he looked over his shoulder he could still see your mom and Lei in the water not far off.

You tugged your wrist out of his grip and flipped over to your tummy to sun your backside.

Harry watched as you shifted and settled your head into the crook of your arm and close your eyes. The spread of your thighs and your bottom looked irresistible. If he knew he wouldn’t get caught he’d have stuffed his face into your soft cheeks and bitten down and made you squeal right then and there. He loved making you squeal.

A new song came on as Harry reached for a beer for himself and looked out over the water. Trying to ignore you. Trying to think of anything but your skin slowly tanning and exposed to him. Didn’t want to imagine the way you’d taste as he saw sweat forming along your inner thighs. It was hot out and you were sweating just enough that he could see the glisten. Imagined that sweat was forming under your bikini bottoms and how delicious you’d taste. One of his favorite and depraved cravings was the taste of you after you worked out and all your bits were sweaty and salty.

“Harry!” He turned to see your mom waving to get his attention. He stood up to walk toward the edge so he could see what she wanted.

“Throw over both of the inflatable mattresses. We’re going to lay out in the water for a bit.”

Harry picked up both the pink inflatable water mattresses and tossed them into the water for your mom and your friend. The pair were laughing and chatting like old friends. That was the nice thing about your mom. She got along with everyone.

But now Harry realized there’d be a little time for him to do just as he wished with you in the cabin below the boat.

He sat down next to you on the cushion and put his hand over your ankle, “You need to get out of the sun for a bit. You’re gonna get burnt.”

You scoffed and shook your head, “No I’m not.”

Harry huffed a breath through his nose as he looked back to the water and then back down at your and your smooth thighs. The sweat he’d noticed between your thighs was now forming under your butt cheeks and he was going to go mad if he didn’t get a lick in. But he knew he’d want more than just a lick.

Instead of waiting for your attitude to clear up, because he knew it wouldn’t, he swatted your bottom quickly and then leaned over your back to speak into your ear, “We’re going into the cabin below right now.” He pulled your arm and you gasped dramatically before looking toward where your mom and Lei were floating in the water. You pouted at Harry as he pulled you to the door and down into the cabin before you could protest further.

And Harry normally liked to be begged. Liked it when you wanted him and you were asking to be punished or you were all squirmy for him but he couldn’t stop his mouth from watering. He wanted you to sit on his face and smother him with your pussy and your sweat. It was a bit out of character but he had no time to waste. He’d punish you another time for your attitude.

When he dragged you the small built-in couch at the side of the room you figured he’d spank you or push you down to your knees and make you suck him off or something. But instead, Harry laid on his back and pulled you with him, “Sit on my face,” his words were panted and breathy.

You scrunched your brows at him and looked at him in question as he pulled at you to climb up, “What are you doing?”

Harry sat up and kept his hand around your forearm, “I fucking said sit on my face. I won’t ask you again. I’m doing you a favor.” He was about to lose control and start begging you. Which was not what he wanted at all but he needed it. Needed to have your pussy on his mouth and nose. God he didn’t know what had gotten into him. But he’d forego a blowjob to eat you out in this instance. It was like he was desperate for nourishment.

You squinted as your frown turned into a small teasing grin, “Yeah? Daddy needs to eat?”

Harry rolled his eyes and laid flat as he dragged you up and grasped your thighs, pulling you down, over his face. You still had your bikini bottoms on and Harry moaned into the fabric the moment you settled onto his face.

You smelled so concentrated. You hadn’t showered that morning since you knew you’d be on the boat sunning and swimming. And the sweat that had formed made your natural fragrance even more mouthwatering.

Harry smacked your ass and then pulled at the fabric swiftly, bringing the tiny bikini bottom to the side so your bare pussy was pressed over his mouth. He kept his hands at your ass, fingers on his right hand looped into the material pulling the crotch away for his access.

He sucked and licked as he kept you pressed down hard over his mouth. You steadied yourself by holding onto the edge of the arm of the couch.

His cock thickened fast when he finally got a taste. He wanted to make you come and get his face all nasty with your arousal and sweat before your mom and your friend came back into the boat.

You gasped at how ravenous he was. “Hhharry…” you breathed when your clit was nipped at. But when he began to guide you up and down on his face, over his nose, and down to his chin your breathy pants grew into small little squeaks. Just like he loved.

You began to wet his face when your clit was being nudged and poked into. Looking down at him and the naughty, dirty deed that was being committed only 100 feet from your mother and friend out in the water drove you to your peek quickly.

Harry was grunting in muffled noises into your pussy as he smeared you up and down over himself. He could barely breathe but he was in heaven.

And when he felt your thighs begin to quiver he knew you were close. He pushed you over his chin to catch his breath, “Such a nasty slut. Needed to have your pussy cleaned with my tongue,” Harry figured a little bit of degradation might make him feel like he was still in charge. Still calling the shots but when he dragged you back up and you began griding yourself down on his face and you pulled your tits of your little bikini top out and moaned your words, “Mmm… Daddy needed to clean my pussy so bad. So good at it too,” she rolled her hips and Harry pressed his digits harder into your soft skin as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

It was too late. He’d shown how weak he was for you by doing this in the first place. He needed your pussy on his face and he was getting exactly what he wanted and even though you’d been a brat and he should be denying you an orgasm and making you give him one, there was just something about the way you looked, and how he was so desperate to put his tongue in between your crack and your folds and get your taste and slick coated on his tongue and face that made him push down his need to dominate you like he normally did.

Your hips began to jerk faster and you looked down at Harry with only his eyes peeking up at you and his dark curls a mess under your thighs. It was explicit. Your pussy lips were spread over his nose and your soft, wet entrance was right over his lips. He couldn’t breathe but he seemed to love it as he was only egging you on to move faster and holding you tightly to his face.

The heat of your orgasm began to unfold as you pinched your nipples and rode his face hard. You loved this position. Loved giving him a small taste of his own medicine, so to speak. He was rough with you so many times, always making it hurt a bit. He often choked you and made it so you couldn’t breathe when he had his huge cock lodged down your throat. This felt like a bit of payback, even though he wanted it.

“Ffuck!” You yelped when you felt the snap of your release unfurl, “Daddy… yes!”

Harry closed his eyes and took a small breath through his wet nostrils before you ground yourself back up and over his nose. He could feel his cock throbbing in his green shorts as you gushed on his face and came with a loud groan. He doubted anyone could hear you from the cabin under the boat but it was loud. He couldn’t care, though. He needed to get you off. Needed it.

You whined and rocked on his face until you were satisfied and your orgasm waned. The moment he felt you still he pushed you down off of himself and yanked his big cock from his swim trunks and stroked it right over your face as you were flat on your back, releasing his own hot come all over your face and your neck as he gasped and held himself up with his palm on the inside wall above the couch. He thought he could be okay to go without an orgasm but he was so close to coming without even having touched himself that the moment he wrapped his fist around his shaft his balls tightened up and his dick began to pulse and leak and then he was coming in ropes all over you.

It was a much bigger mess than he intended. You had globs of his sticky come on your face as you smiled and licked your lips when he tucked himself back in.

Normally he’d have done something nasty and depraved at that moment. Would have had you wipe your face up with your palm and lick it all off while he lapped away your messy arousal to clean you up. But there was no time for it.

He pulled you to standing and brought you to the small sink with paper towels and soap.

You smiled proudly as you wiped yourself up and Harry washed his face, hating to remove the scent of you from his nose and cheeks and overgrown scruff. But he couldn’t have your mom kissing him and smelling your pussy all over his face. Which was unfortunate. He’d have loved to have pulled that off but as oblivious as your mom could be, she wasn’t dumb. She’d recognize the scent of pussy. And she’d know it wasn’t hers.

Harry tossed the paper towel and swatted your bottom again, leaning his chest into your back as you started to wipe your sticky crease, “Don’t think this means you’re off the hook. You’re in for it later, little girl.”

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Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕

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