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youvebeenlivingfictional · 8 months

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Bad Faith Part Two

Part One | Masterlist

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+. Minors, kindly get off my lawn.

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever. Read this over six times but there are probably twenty typos that I'll spot the second I hit post, so. Anyway! Welcome to part two of two!! Thank you for reading 💖

Length: 14.2k

Warnings: Angst; fluff! Huzzah!; Reader’s married surname is Hayward; reader is depressed for swaths of the chapter; unhealthy coping mechanisms; lovers to enemies to allies to lovers; explicit sexual content - vaginal sex, oral sex, hate sex, safe sex

Summary: Your life was four walls, a cruddy bed, rickety furniture. You spent too much time awake when you should’ve been sleeping; too much time reminiscing when you should have been moving on; too much time dwelling on the time that you spent with men in your life that probably wouldn’t spare you another thought.

“Ross. Mike Ross.”

“Cut the Bond schtick.”

“I’m a contender.”

“Not a chance. Besides, we’ve been over this; you’re Q at best.”

“Could do a lot worse than Desmond Llewelyn or Ben Whishaw—Hang on, you think you’re Bond?”

Harvey stopped, gesturing over his body sweepingly before scoffing, “Please.”

“Please is right,” Mike muttered, tucking his hands into his pockets. “You always go to this thing?”

“...I’ve been once or twice.” In truth, Harvey hadn’t been to the New York City Estate and Properties gala in years. He hadn’t had occasion or reason; the last time he had, he’d made sure that she wouldn’t be there before he’d agreed. Tonight his purpose was manifold—drink good champagne, eat good food, and warn Hayward off of pursuing his lawsuits against his client’s property.

His client. It wasn’t as simple as all that, but these days, he’d managed to separate her from the work. It was clinical—and clinical was exactly what he needed.

“Did you see the menu for dinner? I didn’t see a menu.”

“Get your fill of canapes. I’m talking to Hayward and then we’re going.”

“What?” Mike pouted. “But I thought we were staying for the ceremony.”

“You thought wrong. Keep your eyes peeled. Sooner we get this conversation over, the sooner we can get away from this den of cobras.”

“Never have a mongoose when you need one.” Mike nodded over Harvey’s shoulder. “Found Mrs. Hayward.”

“Thought she didn’t like you calling her that.”

“She doesn’t, but around here, it might be better to use that rather than use her maiden name and have someone ask me who the hell I’m talking about…You gonna talk to her?”

“What for?”

“So she at least knows what suit to look for when she wants to avoid you.”

Harvey’s chastising glare was met with a wide, smug grin.

“Come on,” Mike groaned. “You haven’t spoken to her in weeks.”

“And have you considered that that may be why things have been going so smoothly?”

“Fine—I’ll give you another reason you should say hi to her.”

“You better make it a good one this time.”

“Jessica is catching on to the fact that you haven’t touched this case with a ten foot pole.”

Harvey winced slightly as he swallowed the last of his champagne.

“Fine,” He grudgingly conceded, setting the empty champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray. “Point me.”

“She’s at your two o’clock.”

Harvey turned accordingly, pushed out an annoyed sight—and then felt what breath he had left catch in his throat.

‘Stunning’ was the first word that came to mind, but in his heart, Harvey knew that it didn’t do her justice. For his lingering, abiding annoyance with her, and with them—with the whole goddamn situation—there were moments when Harvey remembered why he’d fallen in love with her in the first place.

She didn’t want to be there. Harvey didn’t need to ask to know that—it was common sense. But that didn’t stop her from showing her face, from being impeccably dressed, and maintaining what had to be a meticulously constructed poker face.

“...You do know what staring isn’t talking, right?”

Mike’s amusement cut into Harvey’s reverie, and he cleared his throat to refocus himself.

“Keep an eye out for Hayward,” Harvey ordered before he forced himself forward, slowly weaving through the crowd.

What the hell was he even going to say to her? Hi wasn’t going to cut it; Come here often? Was almost as stupid. How about something about her dress—Whether or not it was new? That had to be safe, neutral ground—

Harvey had been so focused on what he planned to say that he hadn’t clocked her turning to face him. He chalked it up to panic radar—her hype-sesitivity given the current situation. He stared. She watched. And then—

“Come here often?”

Damnit. Stupid, sure, but at least it wasn’t hi.

“...Annually, at least.”

Was it your imagination, or was Harvey…Nervous? At the very least, he seemed as confused as you were at the fact that he was talking to you.

“I’m a little surprised that you made a showing,” He admitted.

“I could say the same for you. Does Jessica have you prospecting clients to get back in the good graces of the real estate department at the firm?”

Harvey’s eyes narrowed with playful intrigue,and for a moment, you saw a flash of the man that you used to know—the man who gave you that same look when you slipped your panties off and tucked them into his jacket pocket to find later.

“What did Mike tell you?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, glancing around.

“Nothing impor—...Tant.” You trailed off, falling still and quiet as your eyes landed on Steven.

Well, he was hard to miss.

Standing at 6’3, with a manufactured tan, swimmer’s build, full head of gracefully graying hair, and veneers that made his smile look like a neatly arranged row of chiclets gum, Steven Hayward was the very picture of the kind of health that only wealth could buy. With the stress of the last few weeks, you knew that you weren’t looking your absolute best. You’d had so many sleepless nights; you’d swapped out your favorite catered meals in favor of cheaper alternatives, or dollar slices of pizza, or ramen from the bodega down the block from your apartment, pulled gently from beneath the cat that seemed to always be napping on the exact flavor that you wanted.

You were certain that Steven lost no sleep over the decision to divorce you, or to pull the rug out from beneath you. You expected him to be in tip-top shape—but you saw hints of his rage as he grew closer.

“Oh—Hell,” You mumbled, tipping your head toward Harvey. “You might wanna clear out.”

“You kidding? I’ve got a front row seat to the prize fight of the century.”

“Target acquired.”

You frowned at the sound of Mike’s voice, but you didn’t turn to look at him as you muttered, “Target?”

“Darling.” The term of affection oozed past Steven’s bleached-white teeth. He stopped just a couple of steps from you—not near enough to touch, but close enough to see the anger sparkling in his dishwater gray eyes. A pulse of vindication swept through your chest at the tense smile, and the tight pull of his jaw.

“Steven,” You greeted cordially.

“I’m surprised to see you this evening.”

“If I had a nickel.”

“Oh, but you do. Putting all of those properties up for sale, I expect you plan on having more than a few nickels.”

“What can I say? A girl’s gotta get by.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Have you considered unfreezing our joint account?”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Anything but that.”

“Then wire me half.”

“You haven't earned half.”

It was meant to cut you down and lay you out, but you refused to bow to this man publicly when the other attendees must always hold you in such low regard as it was.

“I agree,” You offered, and before Steven could preen in his false superiority, you clarified: “I deserve more.”

Steven bristled, shoulders bunching tight.

“Perhaps I should just take this evening’s expenses out of that half.”

You furrowed your brow pointedly, shaking your head.

“Mmm…I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“Really.”

“Mm…N—...No—?”

“Perhaps you’ve been so busy hocking your clothes like a dog snuffling for scraps—” Your face flared with embarrassment as Steven pressed on: “But there was meant to be a reception at my penthouse this evening.”

My penthouse. If it had only been the two of you in that room, you may have slapped him. How had he been able to detach, to force you from his mind and his heart so quickly? Had he ever loved you? Had any man?

The heat of Harvey’s body suddenly seemed to flare just behind you.

“Ah!” You nodded sagely, “It’s all coming back to me.”

“What could have happened there, I wonder?”

“You must not have taken care.”

“Of what?”

Of me. “Of anything.”

Steven took you in for another long, cruel moment before he jutted his chin over your shoulder.

“Friends of yours?”

Ah yes. Your personal legal peanut gallery. You glanced back to confirm their positioning before raising your hand to gesture:

“This is Mike Ross.” The name seemed to knock something loose in Steven’s mind as he shook Mike’s hand.

“Ah, Mr. Ross. I saw your name on some documentation this morning.”

“You’re about to see it a lot more, Mr. Hayward.”

“And this is Harvey Specter.”

Your stomach lurched as Steve’s eyes widened slightly, lips curling into a smile.

“This is Harvey Specter?” He didn’t bother to hide his amusement as he proffered his hand. ”I didn’t realize I sent you the worst possible port in this storm.”

“You didn’t,” Harvey insisted, grasping Steven’s hand firmly. “You sent her to the best.”

“Try not to drop her this time. My arms aren’t open anymore.”

Your hands tightened where they were clasped around one another. You forced yourself to keep your gaze set stalwartly on Steven, rather than watch the contentious (and no doubt, painful) handshake that the two of them were sharing.

“Well,” You chirped. “This was a lovely little catch-up.”

“Yes,” Harvey chimed in, finally extricating his hand from Steven’s and tucking it into his pocket. “We must do it again sometime. Preferably at a deposition.”

“Maybe in court,” Mike added. You had to fight down a smile at the sudden swell of support, and a wave of warmth that swept through you. Steven’s eyes narrowed just a touch more before he nodded.

“I do hope you’ll stay for my speech.”

“Who’d you have write it for you this time?” You asked.

“I took a crack at writing it myself.”

If that was true, it was sure to be a mess and a half. You always had been the one to draft his speeches or remarks—or you paired down any drafts sent over by the agency’s PR department.

“I look forward to it.”

Steven gave you one last look before he turned away, slapping on his businessman smile as he went, and raising a hand to signal someone like a politician trying to garner votes.

“...Why didn’t you mention the forgery charges?” Mike asked.

“It’s too soon to tip our hand...What table are you sitting at?”

“Thirteen,” You sighed.

“Lucky number,” Mike muttered.

“Go change our place cards,” Harvey ordered. “Put us on either side of her.”

You whirled around to face him, stunned at the tight irritation pinching his features.

“So we are staying for dinner?” Mike grinned. Harvey blinked flatly at him before reiterating: “Go.”

You watched Mike duck through the crowd, heading for the dining room.

“Were you not going to stay for dinner?”

“I’ve gotta eat some time. Come on,” Harvey nudged your arm with his, “Buy me a drink.”

“It’s an open bar.”

“Good. Then it won’t break the bank.”

The press of Harvey’s warm hand to your lower back was far more steadying than it should have been, and it managed to dampen the enraged fire in your belly.

“How’s that good faith deposit doing, anyway?”

“I threw 98% of it into an HYSA.”

“Smart move.”

“I should’ve made moves like it sooner.”

“Better late than never.”

“I guess.”

“...You don’t have to stay for dinner.”

“We’re going to.”

“On either side of me as well, I’m flattered. I wasn’t planning on having guard dogs this evening.”

“As long as you don’t try to keep us on short leashes.”

“Depends on whether you plan on doing more barking or biting this evening.”

“I’ve barked enough for now.”

“Biting?”

“If you play your cards right, sure.”

You didn’t bother to hide your open shock at the blatant implication, but when you looked at Harvey, you found him giving you a surprisingly warm smile.

“Looks like speaking with Steven has put a little pep in your step, Mr. Specter.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“What did?”

Harvey leaned heavily against the bar, focus set elsewhere as he tried to catch the bartender’s eye.

“You and I both know that this is going to be a long road. I like a good fight.”

“You don’t say.”

“It’s important to me that you’re ready for it, too.”

You nodded a little. “It may also be prudent for us to keep that fight directed at Steven, and not toward one another.”

Harvey took the two proffered champagne flutes, passing you one and holding it up to cheers:

“I’ll drink to that.”

It wasn’t perfect right away. You and Harvey still butt heads from time to time. On the purchases that the judges ruled that you were able to move forward with, you disagreed over terms—purchase price, contingencies, negotiations. But the knots unpicked sooner and sooner, and you reached resolutions faster. Mike hardly had to intervene anymore. Harvey gave Jessica status updates openly, and you abidingly ignored the smug, self-satisfied smiles that she gave you as you left her office.

With the service and tenancy contracts, the two apartment building sales that aren’t mired in paperwork still chugged along slowly. You knew that it was protocol, but it was excruciating. You felt ill every time you got an email from Mike or Harvey, expecting correspondence that spelled disaster. Every little bit of good news only brought marginal relief.

You spent most of your days in your apartment, packaging clothing or jewelry that you’d sold online. You got your packages sent off by five in the evening, and the rest of your night was your own—though it often ended similarly. Your logical mind often gave over to your emotions in the evening, and you allowed yourself to slip into quiet, depressed oblivion. The methods varied—slurping down two packets worth of dollar-pack ramen, and chasing that with a few bottles of beer as one of your favorite shows played in the background; curling up in your bed and staring at the ceiling at 8 PM, and laying wide awake with your mind racing until the sun came up; hunting through property listings online and plotting a comeback that felt like it would never come.

You never had visitors. Aaron was so entrenched at work that you only got the odd text from him. Your former friends seemed to have further aligned themselves with Steven after his triumphant speech at the gala—during which he had gone out of his way to omit any mention of you from his historical record. You had avoided seeing much of Jessica outside of the office, certain that she would council you on a good divorce lawyer, or encourage you to begin dating, or level another lecture about the stupidity with which you had bungled your last marriage.

For as well as you knew she meant, you didn’t have the time or patience—and some little part of you, some stupid, naïve part that knew well enough that the war was already lost, was convinced that Steven would change his mind.

It was unlikely, considering the magnitude of his cruelty over the last couple of months, and further exacerbated by your actions before the gala. Steven would not let you back into his arms, his home, or his heart. You didn’t truly want to be let back into his arms, or his heart, but you missed his home. You had taken such care in the planning, the curation, the furnishing, the upkeep. You were proud of it. You had been happy, and comfortable, and so goddamn foolish.

Now you were tired, and lonely, and you spent so much of your day feeling stupid.

Sometimes, when the wind blew just a little too hard and rattled the flimsy windows, you let the sound of it cover your sobs against the paper-thin walls that connected you to your neighbor’s apartment (you’d learned just how much sound bled through when you first became privy to your neighbor’s light argument, which had then turned into a full-on shouting match. They’d sounded like they were in the same damn room with you, wall be damned).

It was one such sob session that you managed to hear someone knock on your door. You sniffled, shifting on your bed. You were certain that the sound was from next door, or that you’d misheard the rattle of the window. But when you heard the second, insistent round of knocks, the source couldn’t be mistaken. You sniffled, setting your beer aside onto the bedside table crowded with empties and pushing yourself off of the bed. You swiped haphazardly at the tears on your face as you walked over to it, calling out, “Alright, for fuckssake!” When a third round of knocks rapped against the door.

You threw it open, finally, wincing at the invasive flash of the flickering fluorescent hall light. You weren’t sure what was worse: the flickering, harsh strobe, or Harvey’s stunned confusion.

It may have been a tie.

“…What is it?” You mumbled.

“Have you been crying?”

“Little bit.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Getting there.”

“…Get dressed.”

“What?”

“Get dressed,” Harvey insisted, nodding over your shoulder. “We’re going out.”

“Harvey, I’m really not in the mood,” You sniffled.

“We won’t go far.”

“Then why are we going at all?”

Harvey opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by a sudden crash! and the swell of yelling voices from next door. His eyes darted toward it before he nodded.

“I’m not listening to that all night.”

“Who the hell says you’re going to be here more than five minutes?”

Your heart stuttered as Harvey’s hands planted firmly on your hips, steering you back into your studio before he nudged the door shut with his foot.

“Get dressed. And hurry up.”

You weren’t sure what it was—his touch, his firm insistence, or your own distaste for your screaming neighbors—but you turned around and began dutifully rifling through one of your remaining trash bags of clothing.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a diner around the corner.”

“A diner? How down heel of you, Mr. Specter.”

“I can appreciate the simple things.”

You snorted, straightening with a pair of jeans and a sweater. “Since when.” You glanced guardedly toward him before you nodded him toward the door. “Turn around.”

“You can afford better than that place, you know.”

You didn’t answer him. Instead, you shoved a handful of cheese fries in your mouth and leaned back to chew with laborious slowness. You expected Harvey to fill the silence, but he didn’t. He just watched, and waited, and stared at you until you swallowed. You nudged the plate toward him, offering: “Want one?”

You avoided his openly chastising gaze, tired of the fact that it was the only look you get from most of the lawyers in your life these days.

“You have that good faith deposit.”

“I told you where it went.”

“The brownstone payment is on the edge of clearing escrow. Look for somewhere else to live.”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Steven isn’t going to weasel into every potential deal and hold it up.”

“Forgive me for my skepticism, but I don’t exactly have many friends in this city anymore.”

“...Are you planning on going somewhere else?”

You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t crossed your mind. There were cities here you could rebuild your life and your practices, places where you were sure Steven wouldn’t bother to try and strike down your attempts to rebuild your life.

“Maybe,” You admitted. “I liked Cambridge.”

Harvey’s lips twitched with a gentle, regretful smile. It was his turn to reach out and swipe a few fries and chow down.

“Realty up there is pricey,” You added. “Could make a polite killing on student housing.”

“How does one make a polite killing?”

“Decent rent and coin-operated laundry. Maybe some paid parking, a few overpriced but conveniently placed vending machines.”

“Redbull?”

“I was just thinking about snacks, but you know what, Redbull isn’t a bad idea.” You reached out, picking up a fry and drawing it through the splodge of ketchup remaining at the edge of the plate. “Why did you come over?”

“I wanted to let you know that the inspections are finished.”

“On which?”

“The properties that you didn’t know about.”

“Anything stand out?”

“A foundational issue on one of the apartment buildings, but it doesn’t cost enough that it should’ve stopped work.”

“What about the others?”

“Nothing that popped as catastrophic.”

“You have the print-outs?”

“In my car.”

“Why are they in there?”

“I was going to offer to take you for a drink, but you seemed to beat me to it.”

You scoffed, shifting in your seat. “Don’t get all high and mighty on me, Specter.”

“You do that often?”

“What, drink?”

“Yes.”

“Are you accusing me of having a problem?”

“I’m asking if you do that often.”

“Once in a while.”

“New for you?”

“Relatively.”

Harvey eyed you critically for a few moments before he nodded. “Call me the next time you want to have a drink.”

“So you can talk me out of it?”

“So you at least don’t do it alone.”

“I’m usually not in a talking mood when it happens.”

“We don’t have to talk.”

“Oh, please. As if you don’t love the sound of your own voice.”

“Call me anyway.”

You were quiet for a moment before you nodded. “You know, the thought of you dropping by may just be an effective suppressant.”

Harvey’s smile widened a little. “Do you want to put the other houses on the market?”

“I want to walk through the apartment buildings myself before I go through them.”

“What about the ones in the Hamptons and the Cape?”

“I’ll drive up.”

“And Gstaad?”

“A little trickier.”

“Could bill it.”

“I doubt it.”

“You could, under discovery.”

“This would not be covered under discovery.”

“How would you know that?”

“I’m sorry, remind me who used to quiz you for the bar?”

Harvey scoffed softly, averting his gaze to the diner counter. “Well, this may surprise you, but a few laws have changed since then.”

“And this may surprise you, but not only am I aware of that, I’ve also been pretty deeply entwined with lawyers since then. So I’m pretty comfortable making that assertion.”

“And this? You think I’m not billing for this?”

“Oh, I hope you are. I hope you bill for every second that it took you to walk up the steps to my apartment. I want Jessica to pay for my cheese fries. You know why?”

“Because it would kill her?”

“It would drive her nuts.”

“I can’t wait to give her the itemized total.”

“I await the enraged phone call.”

“You don’t have to walk me back up, you know."

“Sure I do. Gotta work off those fries. Besides, I’m billing for this until I officially drop you off.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging Harvey’s shoulder with yours. Your depressed, tear-ridden, sobbing buzz had worn off over the course of dinner, and you didn’t think that the mood would creep back in once you were alone again.

“I’ll walk through the apartment buildings tomorrow and see if I can get up to the Cape at some point in the next couple of weeks. The pictures and notes from the inspection look promising. If I dip into the good faith deposit, maybe I could get the Cape Cod house fixed up and sold before the summer.”

“Or you could keep it as a rental property.”

“Mm.” “You always liked the Cape in the winter…For some reason.”

“I kinda like when it’s all grey and gloomy…and quiet.”

“Be a good base for your Cambridge operation.”

“Oh, please,” You chuckled. “It’s not even close. The red line doesn’t exactly go all the way to Hyannis.”

The two of you slowed as you neared your landing, listening closely.

“...Think the coast is clear?” Harvey murmured.

“For now, at least.” You fished into your pocket for your keys. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Sure. Remember what I said.”

“I will.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

Anything. That was new. You nodded, gaze set on your keys as he turned to go back downstairs.

“...Harvey?”

“Yeah?” He stopped just a few steps away, and you had to scrounge up your courage to turn and look at him again.

“I don’t, um…” You swallowed thickly. “I’m gonna wanna talk about it.” You watched Harvey’s face shift with grim understanding.

“I don’t want to litigate that.”

“Isn’t that your job?”

“Not like this.”

“Not tonight,” You reiterated, “But…Sometime. Please.”

Harvey’s jaw went tight, but he gave you a short, firm nod before he turned away. You watched him round the corner, and listened until his footsteps faded and the front door opened downstairs.

The apartment buildings weren’t anything special. Stripped of most of their insulation, and with several of the windows already removed, the wind that pushed through them made the buildings sound like they were breathing. It was eerie, and chilly. You tightened your coat around yourself as you went from floor to floor, eyeing damaged pipes, areas where someone seems to have come in and rooted around for copper wiring, and the billowing plastic that marks off some doors that have been removed.

The paperwork on this building listed the purchase date as nearly a year ago.

A year ago, you and Steven had been discussing expanding your current operations. Maybe he hadn’t gotten sick of you yet. Maybe he’d bought you the buildings as a present and stopped work when things turned sour…Whenever that had been.

There had been signs, sure, but Steven always had been temperamental.

You pushed the thought away as you drew in a deep breath, turning toward the stairs. It wouldn’t do to overthink this just now. If needed, you could panic looking at the Hamptons, or Cape Cod…Or Gstaad, if you ever found a way to get to Gstaad.

You reached into your pocket as your phone buzzed, drawing it out to find an incoming call. You groaned, stomping your foot petulantly before you raised it to your ear.

“Jessica, I’m a little busy—”

“I need you to come into the office.”

Your fingers tightened around your phone as your palm began to sweat.

“What happened?”

“I’d rather discuss this in person.” “Jessica.”

“Come to the office.”

She hung up without another word. You swallowed thickly, lowering your phone and watching her call blink and then disappear. If she wasn’t willing to discuss it over the phone, whatever it was had to be very, very bad.

“Cheese fries?”

“Jessica,” You groaned, “Come on, there is no way that that’s why you called me here.”

“No, it isn’t. But I’d like to remind you that you should remain fighting fit and cheese fries are not the way to do it.”

“My life has fallen apart and dipped into a moderately humiliating place. I think I’m allowed to have a few cheese fries. Why did you tell me to come in.”

“I have someone that I would like you to meet.”

“I’m not going to start dating anyone now.”

“Well, we can attack that another time. This is for your defense.”

“Harvey’s on that.”

“Your divorce.”

“You know that I can’t afford a defense right now.”

“I don’t mind getting a start while you get the pieces in place.”

The man’s voice caught you off-guard, and you turned to find a man leaning in the doorway. Your brow furrowed a touch as you took him in—the long lean of his body, the neatly fitted charcoal suit and sky-blue tie, the curl of his dark hair, the twinkle of his warm chestnut eyes, and his small, intrigued smile.

“Well that’s very kind of you, whoever the hell you are, but I don’t exactly have anything on the board right now.”

“The fact that you even have a board is encouraging.”

“...This metaphor is beginning to exhaust me.”

“This,” Jessica stepped past you to gesture the man deeper into the room, “Is David Alford.”

“Alford?” You repeated. “Like the plea?”

“No relation. What would you know about an Alford plea?”

“I know of it.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, I used to date a lawyer.”

“Lucky guy.”

“I don’t think he’d agree with you, as evidenced by the fact that he is no longer my boyfriend.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

You shook his hand lightly, still wary from the ambush.

“Look, Mr. Alford—”

“David, please.”

“—I don’t know what Jessica’s told you about my situation—”

“She didn’t have to tell me much. Forgive my bluntness, but your name has come up in our circles over the last couple of weeks.”

“Well, forgive my bluntness, but it’s not my circle anymore.”

“It could be again.”

“Are you going to get me a circle back in the divorce?”

“I’m gonna get you whatever the hell you want in your divorce.”

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, unable to help yourself.

“O-kay,” You lowered your hand.

“Why don’t I see what we can do about getting some coffee,” Jessica offered. “You two talk.”

Your brows furrowed as she waved the two of you more deeply inside. Jessica, at least pretending to get coffee? Damn, she really did want the two of you to talk. You gave David a polite smile as you lowered yourself to sit.

“I’m sorry she dragged you in here.”

“Wasn’t much of a drag. My office is a block away.”

“Well, then I’m glad you haven’t come far for nothing.”

“Nothing?” His brows jumped as he sat beside you. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not currently looking for a divorce lawyer.”

“You need one.”

“That is beyond the point, Mr—”

“David.”

“...Mister David,” You bit out pointedly, and fought back a wave of annoyance at his amused smile. “I’m not sure how much Jessica has told you, but there are a lot of things up in the air right now. I’ve socked away some money for my defense, but not enough.”

“How would you know what’s enough?”

“...Let’s pretend that I don’t know anything about the law, or the legal quagmire that I’ve gotten myself into. Let’s pretend that all I know about my soon to be ex-husband’s business is that he has a lot more money than I do. The two of us went into our marriage with about 600 bucks and a dream held together with tape and spit. I have watched, and I have helped my husband build up his business for the last eleven years. I have signed contracts, I have signed purchase orders, I have signed mortgages, I have signed deeds. Even if I wasn’t paying attention to what I was signing, I would know that Steven has amassed a lot of cash, a massive legal team, as well as a significant number of holdings—in both our names. He has a lot of power in this equation, and I do not. Whatever comes down the pike, it is going to be a protracted legal battle. If I was optimistic, I would figure that this would take about a year, but I’m not, and I know that it could take a few.”

David’s dark eyes darted fascinatedly across your face before he offered: “But you do know a lot about Mr. Hayward’s business.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Because it was your business, too.”

You averted your gaze from him as that washed over you. His acknowledgement made your heart knock hollowly against your ribs, and it took all of your strength not to slouch dejectedly in your chair.

“...Yes,” You agreed. “It was.” “I understand that you’re discouraged. I would be, too, a lot of women are in your position.”

“Exactly what position is that, Mister David.”

His smile flattened with nerves, and he let out a huffed, joyless laugh.

“I mean, having been served—”

“A piping-hot plate of out on my ass?”

“If that’s what you’d like to call it—”

“I call it that because that’s what it is, not because I like it that way.”

“I understand. Look,” David shifted in his seat, twisting to face you a little more. “I think that regardless of when you get your pieces in place, you have a real case here. I think I can get you half.”

If you had a touch less decorum, you would have jumped out of your seat and screamed—both from the excitement, and the certainty that David Alford was out of his mind. Instead, you blinked twice, and once you managed to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, asked:

“Half?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“There is no way.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I don’t think I would, because I’m almost certain that’s impossible.”

“Well, it certainly would be before.”

“What exactly has changed?”

“You didn’t know me. You do now.”

You smiled in spite of yourself at the brash, almost fearless way that he said it. As skeptical as you were, you knew that this was exactly what you needed: someone as bold, confident, and fearless as—

“What a cozy little conference this is.”

You turned back at the sound of Harvey’s voice, smiling a little. “Looking to join the fun?”

“If I can hazard a guess at Jessica’s matchmaking, Alford is the one joining the fun.”

“Specter,” David greeted, pushing himself out of his seat. “Haven’t seen you at the squash courts recently.”

“I’ve been trolling the back nine,” Harvey offered, shaking David’s hand. “Nice to see you, Pleas and thank you.”

Your brow furrowed at the term. “What?”

“It’s what some of the guys at the club call me. You know, my name—”

“Alford pleas and thank you.” You scrubbed your hand across your brow. “God, that’s dumb.”

“We can’t all be queens of quip.”

“You poor things,” You shot back scathingly. Harvey shot you a wink before turning back to David.

“So, David, whaddaya say?” Harvey plied. “You filling the gap?”

“Yeah, I’d love to fill ‘er in.”

You didn’t miss his innuendo, nor the speculative, open, sweeping gaze that David leveled at you. Your brows inched toward your hairline, stunned at his brazenness. Surely you hadn’t seen it right—

“Coffee?”

Your focus was broken at the sound of Jessica’s voice, and the sight of a coffee tray being wheeled in behind her. You let yourself be busied by it. You focused on your coffee, made it the way you liked, and let Jessica and David and Harvey talk about what you could reasonably expect out of the divorce battle.

Reasonably, as if this entire situation hadn’t been insanely unreasonable.

But you let yourself sit, and listen, and save your speculation for the train ride home.

You must’ve read his look wrong, or misunderstood. He didn’t mean it like that.

And even if he did, finding that look intriguing was incredibly appropriate. But it didn’t matter! Because he didn’t mean it like that.

…And even if he did, it was probably just something that he tried to bring you on board. But it didn’t matter, because he did not mean it like that.

…

Though if he did, it really wouldn’t matter, because it would be grounds for him to be disbarred. Nothing was going to happen…Even if you did find him attractive, and found his blunt approach and self-assured nature very, very hot.

But you were not going to fuck him.

“Don’t fuck him.”

You had expected the warning to come from Jessica, but to hear it from Harvey of all goddamn people made you gape at him in shock. He just gave you a knowing look before he turned back toward the beer that he was opening.

Your urge to have a drink that evening hadn’t been strong, but it had been there, and it had made you think of Harvey’s offer from the day before. You hadn’t expected such a quick response to your simple text of ‘Beer?’, but he had turned up a mere half hour later, a fresh six pack in hand. He had shrugged off his jacket, tossed it on to your bed, and walked over to your kitchenette—where he proceeded to say the most heinous thing.

“Excuse me?” You finally managed.

“You heard me.”

“I don’t think I did, actually, not properly, because it sounded like you just gave me an order that you had no business giving.”

“I have plenty of business.”

“No—”

“Don’t—”

“No no no, you do not, not here, and not like that.”

“I’m just saying,” Harvey turned from the counter, planting his hand on the cruddy formica, “That I know—”

“Do not say that you know me.”

His expression darkened, and you watched as he drew in a deep breath. “I know him.”

“...He has to be good, or Jessica wouldn’t have pulled him on to my case.”

“He’s a good lawyer, but he’s a scuzzy asshole.”

“I know the type.”

“You think I’m a scuzzy asshole?”

Your gut dropped at the hint of anger seeping into his tone.

“I meant Steven.”

Harvey turned away, hand curling into a fist and knocking lightly on the counter.

“Just…Be careful with him.”

“You are the last person that has any right to lecture me on the care that I ought to take with the men in my life.”

“I’m not lecturing you—”

“No, you’re warning me off, like a little kid that’s playing too close to an electric fence.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fine by me, as long as you don’t fuck David.” “Alright, you know what,” You pushed off of your bed, striding over to your door. “Get out.”

“We’re not done talking about this.”

“Yes, we are. Get out.”

“We’re not done until—”

“We’re done when I say we’re done!” You began to yank your door open. Harvey was across your small space in a moment, palm flat against the door as he shoved it shut behind you.

“And what the hell gives you the right to decide that?”

“Because it’s my turn!” You barked. “I get to decide when we’re done now.”

“It stopped being your turn when you stormed out of my office.”

“Then make the damn decision yourself and get the fuck out of my apartment!”

“If you want to ruin that man’s career and your chances of getting anything that you want out of your divorce, you go right ahead.”

“I am not going to fuck him, and I’m not going to get him disbarred, you ass.”

“Good.”

“And I deeply resent the implication that I’m so sex-starved and desperate that I’m willing to fuck anyone who gives me any goddamn attention.”

“I did not—”

“Yes, you did, you did the second you opened your mouth. By rights, if that’s your view of me, I should’ve tried to not only fuck Mike, but you, of all people.”

“I never implied that you were sex starved, but if you were, you could do a lot worse than Mike—”

“Oh, really—”

“And a helluva lot worse than me.”

“Oh, please! There is no way that I could do worse than you. There are dictators that I’d sooner fall into bed with.”

“If all you’re cutting out is the bed, I can work with the rest.”

You could’ve slapped him. He was close enough, and you could just imagine it—the way the flush of red would look spreading across his cheek.

“What makes you think I’d ever allow you anywhere near me again, Specter?”

“I’m pretty damn close now.” He shifted closer, stopping as the tips of his shoes brushed your socked feet.

“Against your better judgment.”

“You want to put me in my place, sweetheart, you go right ahead.”

“Don't call me that.”

“Why not.”

“Don’t you dare call me that.”

“Give me a good reason not to.”

“You haven’t earned it back.”

“Any idea of how I might do that?”

You bit him. You grasped his tie, tugged him in, and sank your teeth into his lower lip. You expected an argument, but Harvey just groaned, grasping you by the hips and shoving you back against the door. You released his lip, groaning as he swept his tongue into your mouth. Your hand unwound from his tie, breath leaving you in harsh puffs as Harvey’s smearing kisses trailed down your jaw to your neck. You arched up into his touch as his hands slipped under your t-shirt, palming and squeezing whatever skin he could reach. You reached down, hands fumbling with nerves and heat as you worked off his belt.

Every time your mind began to race, Harvey managed to quiet it, with his teasing tongue, and nipping teeth, and grasping fingers. For all of his big talk about getting David disbarred, Harvey suddenly seemed to not give a damn about his own career—

You whined as Harvey yanked down the cup of your bra, knuckles toying with your pebbling nipple. You palmed his hardening cock through the soft fabric of his trousers, thrilling in his moan, and the press of his hips up against your touch. His fingers snaked beneath the band of your sweatpants, sweeping against your clit before swiping slower.

“You’re already so goddamn wet,” He growled, easing a finger into you. You pressed into his touch, gritting your teeth as he goaded: “You like pissing me off this much?”

“Condom?”

“Left pocket.”

You reached into his pocket, brushing against his cock as you drew out the foil packet. Why wasn’t it tucked somewhere discreet, like his wallet? You pushed the thought away as you ripped the foil packet open with your teeth. Harvey let go of you just long enough to shove his pants down around his thighs, then push your sweatpants.

“Turn around.”

You passed him the condom before doing as you were told, leaning heavily against the door. You expected a stretch, but slick heat pressed between your spread thighs. Your mouth dropped open in a moan, eyes squeezing shut as Harvey lapped and laved your slick, heated skin. You reached back, fingers scrabbling to grasp the neat coif of his hair.

“Harvey, damnit,” You gasped. “Just fuck me already.”

He groaned in dissent, giving your lips one more sucking kiss before straightening fully. You felt one palm smooth over to your thigh, and saw the other rest against the door as he eased into you. Your lips parted with a gentle whine at the pleasurable throb of his cock stretching you. You planted your hand on the door beside his, steadying yourself as you adjusted.

He didn’t give you long. Harvey drew back before his hips snapped sharply. You pressed your cheek to the door, skin growing clammy between the flimsy particleboard and the hot panting of your breath. The harsh slam of his hips forced your body uncomfortably against the door. You let your eyes slide closed as Harvey’s hands covered yours, drawing them just above your head as he intertwined your fingers. The door rattled in the frame with each thrust. You whimpered as Harvey pressed his face into your neck, felt his hot breath and the rumble of his groans against your skin.

Your thighs ached, and your heart pounded, and your cunt throbbed, and goddamn it felt so fucking good.

The swell of your orgasm rose and crested sharply, and you didn’t bother to hide the shuddering of your moan, your grip tightening on Harvey's hands. He followed close behind, hips pounding and juddering before he slowed. The two of you stood still for a few long moments, listening to one another’s panting and coming down. Harvey carefully extricated your hands from yours, drawing away and leaving you half-bare and chilly against the door.

“...I need a beer,” Harvey muttered, voice hoarse.

“You left one on the counter.”

“You want one?”

“Yeah.”

You reach down, tugging up your sweatpants as you gently peel yourself back from the door.

“It’s probably going to be lukewarm,” Harvey warned.

“I don’t care.” You drew in a shaky breath as you walked back toward your bed. You’d already sworn that you wouldn’t let him into it. You lowered yourself to sit beside it, looking at the door as the swirl of confused thoughts shifted back to the fore. You watched Harvey tie off the condom and drop it into your trash bin. You tracked his movement—from cleaning up, to doing up his pants, to washing his hands. You didn’t bother to hide your open speculation as he opened another beer, then took the two up. You drew your legs together, biting your lip as your slick cunt pulsed.

Harvey lowered himself to sit beside you, holding a beer out and lightly knocking his against yours before you each took a drink. You winced a little at the taste. You should’ve listened to him—the taste of lukewarm beer was not appetizing. You saw Harvey reach up out of the corner of your eye as he loosened his tie.

“...What was that about getting someone disbarred?”

“Shuddup.” There was no heat to how he said it, and that was probably why it made you snort a laugh.

“Harvey?”

“What.”

“Did you come over planning to fuck me?”

“What?”

“Why was there a condom in your pocket?”

“I had a date.”

Your brow furrowed as you took that in.

“...When?”

“Tonight.”

“Why aren’t you there?”

“Because I’m here.”

Harvey Specter broke a date. Harvey Specter broke a date for you. You leaned back against the bed again, biting the inside of your cheek to quell a wide grin.

“Don’t read into it,” He added.

“I’m not reading into anything…Apart from the fact that you seemed pretty sure you were going to get laid.”

“I was.”

“Arrange for that, did you?”

“No need to arrange anything. I’m just good like that.”

“Well. Can’t argue with that. For the record—”

“What.”

“You really have no say over who I do and don’t fuck.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“...You going to the Hamptons next weekend?”

“Yeah.” “How are you getting up there?”

“I was going to take the train.”

“I could give you a ride.”

“You already have.” You cast Harvey a knowing smile, grin widening as he shot you a sidelong, unimpressed glance. Your smile turned to giggles as Harvey seemed to smile in spite of himself.

“You really think we could stand to be in the car with one another for more than twenty minutes?” You prodded.

“If not, we could always pull over and work out our differences.”

“Pfft. No other weekend plans?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t promise a rain check?”

“Didn’t specify when it might happen.”

“Mm. And why would you want to come with me?”

“Steven could be watching those properties, waiting for you to turn up. You could benefit from having back up.”

“You make it sound terribly sinister. Have you figured out how to bill Gstaad yet?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Keep me updated.”

“Sure.”

“I don’t mean for, you know—I don’t want a vacation.”

“You’ve earned one.”

“Whatever, I just don’t like to put something on the market without doing a walk-through myself.”

“I understand.”

You leaned back against the bed a little more heavily, gaze wandering toward the door, where a little bit of your makeup was smeared from the press of your cheek.

“...Harvey?”

“Mm?”

“Can we talk about it?”

“The sex or the other thing?”

“The other thing.”

“I’ve already had one fight with you today. I don’t think I have the capacity for two...Do you?”

You shook your head.

“Some other time,” He promised.

“Sure.”

You had seen the paperwork and the inspector’s notes, but to see the house in the Hamptons was a whole other story. The long gravel driveway was lined with a horse fence on the left, and a plain wood fence on the right. You didn’t bother to hide your open, stunned stares as you passed the stables. It was hardly the first time you’d seen a home like it, but it was unfathomable that Steven seemed to have not only put the house in your name, but completely forgotten about it.

Harvey pulled the car into the neatly manicured lot.

“Do you want to start in the stables, the house, the pool, the tennis court…?” He shut the car off, waiting for your reply. You shook your head.

“I only care about the house,” You admitted.

“So we won’t be walking the expansive lawns? I brought my sneakers.”

“Do I even want to know how expensive those sneakers are?”

“They’re worth more than your apartment.”

“I’m willing to believe that.” You climbed out of the car, eyeing the inspector’s report as you rounded toward the front steps. You turned from the paperwork to take in the house’s appearance more clearly. It was…Ugly. The large, L-shaped, gray-brick building had the modernistic development of the fast-casual apartment buildings in the city, with some of the gauche touches of your penthouse, like the expansive floor-to-ceiling covering nearly the entirety of the bottom of the floor. You could see a balcony on the left side of the house, and another around the other end of the L.

“...This is different.”

“It’s criminal,” You muttered.

“Are you saying that because he forged your signature, or because it’s ugly as sin?”

“Both. Come on.”

You walked up to the front door, punching in the code that the realtor had given you to get the door open.

The foyer was as flat and uninspired as the outside of the house—white marble floors, grey walls, and sterling silver furnishings. You grimaced as you looked around.

“Are we doing a complete walk through of this millennial grey gulag?”

“If you’re going to hate it, you can wait in the car,” You offered, glancing toward Harvey. “Apparently there are fifteen bedrooms and nine bathrooms, and I don’t know how much of your cute commentary I can deal with today.”

“Seemed to handle it fine in the car.” Harvey turned left before you could say or do anything else, and you followed him, looking down at the property’s map.

“This place oughta have one of those fricking mall maps with a star labeled ‘You Are Here’,” You grumbled.

“Now who’s making cute comments.”

–

“My feet hurt,” You groaned, plopping onto a boxy, stiff-cushioned couch.

“You’d think after the last couple of months of living in that walk-up, you’d be in better shape.”

“You’d think.”

“It’s all those cheese fries.”

“Oh—shut up.”

“So, what do you think?”

“I think we throw it on the market for 18 million and I forget that it ever existed.”

“Why list it in your name, though?”

You shrugged, looking around. “Maybe it was in both our names when he bought it and the outcome was such a disaster he decided to leave my name on it. I think he designed it.”

“Really?” Harvey’s brows rose as he looked around.

“Oh, god yeah. Steven can be smart, but he’s never really had any design sense. I wound up taking charge on some of our early flip projects because he just didn’t have the eye for it. He always tried, but I kinda wound up following behind and fixing his messes. If I had to guess, he bought this place to show me that he really could do it, and he just…Can’t.”

“Do you think Cape Cod and Gstaad will be the same?”

“Doubtful. The report for Cape Cod said that the house was originally built in 1950…what. Four?”

“Something like that.”

“It looks like he gutted it like he did the apartment buildings and realized how much of a project it would be. Gave up on it.”

“And Gstaad?”

“Work out how to expense the trip and we can talk.”

Harvey chuckled, wandering closer. “Should we christen it?”

“Christen what?”

“This house.”

“How?”

Harvey’s brows waggled salaciously, and you laughed, pushing yourself off of the couch. “Oh no, Specter. No way—”

“Why not?”

“You wanna christen every room? You don’t have the stamina for that—And I don’t have the patience.”

“What about just in here?” He curled his arm around your waist, drawing you closer. “On that stupid couch, over the piano…How about up against the windows?” His voice dropped to a murmur. “There’s no one around for miles.”

You rolled your eyes despite your amusement.

“If you said that with the Kubrick stare, I’d think you were going all Jack Torrence on me.”

“Heeeeeeeere’s Harvey.”

“Ugh! God, let’s just go,” You pushed out of Harvey’s arms, heading for the door. “It’s kinda creepy being here, you know. Like Steven’s watching.”

“The house can’t be haunted, he’s not dead.”

“He is to me.”

–

“When are you planning on going to Cape Cod?”

“Mm…Probably next week.”

“Driving up?”

“Taking the train.”

“Again with the train.”

“I don’t have a car and I’m not going to rent one.”

“Are you staying overnight?”

“No.”

“You’re going to go up and back on the train in one day? That is a long day.”

“I can handle it.”

“You’d be more comfortable in a car.”

“Yeah, obviously—Eyes on the road, Specter.” You reached out, poking his cheek as he glanced over at you. He batted your hand away lazily before turning back to the road.

“Why do you always insist on doing things in the most difficult way possible?”

“Because in most cases, the most difficult choice is also the most cost-effective. Efficiencies can be cruel, Harvey.”

“Cruel is an understatement.”

“I can handle a day on the train.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so, thank you.”

“Stubborn.”

“...Do you wanna come up when we get back to my place?”

“What for?”

You tipped your head to the side, waiting for Harvey to glance over before you teasingly waggled your brows.

“Oh, so now you want to?”

“I wanted to then! But I couldn’t do it if I felt Steven looming over me. C’mon, Specter,” You reached out, gently teasing your nails along the back of his neck, and grinning as he shifted slightly in his seat. “See if you can get me any more out of breath than walking up six flights of stairs.”

“Hey, there you are! Jessica needs to—What’s that face for?” Mike’s concern fell away at the sight of Harvey’s self-satisfied smile as he stepped off of the elevator. Harvey gave a dismissive shrug. What the hell was he going to tell Mike? That he’d spent the weekend somewhere other than his place? That he had fallen asleep with her, and remembered how serene it used to be to wake up with her? That they’d hardly left her cruddy apartment—hell, they’d hardly left her bed?

“Nothing. What were you saying?”

“Jessica needs to see you.”

“Right now?”

No sooner had the words left his mouth did Jessica step out from around the corner, drawing him up short.

“Yes,” She insisted firmly. “Right now.”

Harvey had the strange sense of a child being marched to the principal as she led her way to her office. She shut the door behind the two of them, striding past him to her desk.

“Can this wait?” Harvey hedged. “I’ve got coffee going cold on my desk.”

“Well then, I’ll make this quick. Did you have a nice time this weekend?"

That should've been his warning. It was a solid leading question, and one that, on any other Monday, he would not have hesitated to answer. His eyes narrowed slightly, before he decided—Yes, she must have known that he drove to the Hamptons. Someone would have told Jessica: Mike was still in the habit of offering updates when he thought they would be helpful.

"Yes," He finally answered.

"Was it a productive trip?"

A second warning. Jessica was a strategist, and Harvey knew that any lawyer worth a damn didn't ask a question that they didn't already know the answer to. Still, he chose a carefully middle-of-the-road answer:

"She was happy to go through the home herself, set a listing price. Hopefully we can get it on the market and on its way as soon as possible.”

Jessica took that in thoughtfully, lips set in a placid smile.

"Were there any outstanding features?"

A third and final warning, but Harvey couldn't help but lean into it:

"Are we talking about the tennis court, the pool, the stables, or the thousand lawns?"

Jessica let out a tepid, flatly amused, "Hm," Before beckoning him closer. "Well if those all caught your eye, it would explain why you missed the cameras."

Harvey froze in his step, blood running cold. There was no way—Cameras? His gaze dropped to the laptop that she turned to face him. The black and white footage was grainy, but clear enough. Harvey watched as he wrapped his arm around her, drawing her into his chest. He could still feel the heat of her body, and the plush slide of her sweater beneath his fingers. He could see the gentle, adoring way that she gazed up at him before she nudged him away, leading the charge out of the house.

‘It’s kinda creepy being here, you know. Like Steven’s watching.’ He didn’t know how, but she had felt it.

"Where did that come from."

"I'll give you three guesses."

"Let me explain—"

"Explain what!" Jessica slammed the laptop closed, rounding the desk with self-righteous strides. "Explain what idiotic idea led to you putting on a show?"

"We didn't know that there were cameras."

"How long has this been going on?"

"We only went to see that one house."

Jessica's expression darkened as she shook her head.

"Don't play dumb with me, Harvey," She warned lowly. "How long have you been sleeping with her."

It hit him low in the gut. For a moment, he was too stunned to speak.

"She told you?"

"No, she didn't tell me. She didn't have to. It'll be plain as day to anyone who sees that footage."

"That’s not true, we were just—"

"Just what?"

"I was teasing her! It didn't mean anything."

"If I call and ask her, she'll say the same thing?"

He was certain of it. "Yes."

"Would she swear to it under oath? At a deposition? In court?"

His surety faltered, and his mouth worked wordlessly before he pursed his lips tightly. Jessica shook her head again.

"I am not the only one with access to this. Luckily for you—for both of you—she still has a friend or two on the inside. Aaron Delaney sent this to me before he deleted the original. He works closely with Steven, and has access to a few property accounts. He got an alert on his phone that someone had used the keypad to open the door."

"Has Steven seen it?"

"He isn't sure, but I'm not willing to take that chance. Louis will be taking over the Hayward case, and Mike will be assisting him."

"No, Jessica, that's not happening."

"It is, because I'm telling you that it is. You should be relieved. You never wanted it in the first place."

"Things are different now."

"You're damn right they are! What the hell were you thinking? Both of you?"

"Let me see this case through."

"If you see this through and Hayward does have access to this footage, you could be disbarred. You're going to hand the files over to Louis by the end of the day. He is expecting them. Mike will bring him up to speed and assist him until this mess is cleared up."

Harvey lowered his gaze to the floor as Jessica stepped around him, opening the door and waiting beside it. He curled his hands into fists in his pockets as he strode resignedly from the office.

"And so help you," Jessica warned as he passed, "If I hear that you are holding Louis up in any way."

Harvey only made it a few feet from the office before he pulled his phone out of his pocket, hurriedly dialing her number. It rang once...Twice...Three times...And went to voicemail.

"Damnit," He hissed, lowering the phone to redial. "C'mon, c'mon..." It rang once, "Pick up." Twice...

"Hey you."

"Where are you?"

"What do you mean?" She laughed, "I'm on my way to see Jessica for our check-in."

Fuck.

"How close are you?"

"I just got off of the elevator. Why?"

Harvey whirled around, eyes desperately searching for her through the gaggle of associates, paralegals, and lawyers going about their business.

"She knows."

"What?"

He could hear her frown. Harvey took three steps toward the elevator bay before he saw her come into view—and lock eyes with Jessica. He saw her body go tense, before her shoulders sagged with dejection.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Hell," She sighed before hanging up.

"I'm not going to even begin to approach what you may have been thinking—"

"Jessica—"

"—Putting not only your future, Harvey’s future, and the future of this firm in jeopardy."

"I wasn't thinking."

"Clearly."

"We didn't even do anything at the house!"

"That doesn't make the slightest bit of difference."

You slid down in your seat as Jessica paced in front of you, her pace and turn reminiscent of a caged tiger.

"I did you a favor and this is how you repay me?" She finally stilled, nailing you with a cold gaze. You folded further under the crush of her look, so similar to the disbelief that she had leveled you with at her apartment not too long ago.

"I'm sorry."

"You should be." Jessica strode around her desk. "Your case has been reassigned to Louis Litt. Mike will stay on, provided you haven't fucked him, too."

Christ. "I made a mistake, alright? I told you I was sorry, and I meant it," You insisted. "Don't bring Mike into this when he hasn't done anything wrong."

Jessica bristled as she lowered herself into her seat.

"I don't want you associating with Harvey until this is over."

"Oh—Come on."

"If this footage were to come out, Harvey's conduct and ethics will be called into question. He'll be dragged into your divorce proceedings. Is that what you want?"

Your stomach churned uneasily as you considered it. You knew she was right. You shook your head a little, trying desperately to swallow past the lump that was forming in your dry throat.

"Louis and Mike will be in touch."

"Okay." You turned, heading for her office door, and stopping just before you opened it.

"...Is now a bad time to remind you that bringing Harvey onto my case was your idea?"

The chilling glare that she leveled with answered for her: Yes. It was a very bad time to remind her.

“You slept with—”

“Shut the door and keep your voice down,” Harvey warned stonily. Before either of them could move toward his office door, Donna hurried into view, reaching for the handle.

“You don’t wanna hear this?” Mike’s brows rose. “You of all people?”

Donna waved him away, offering, “Intercom,” Before she shut the door. Harvey sighed heavily, lowering himself into his chair.

“What happened?” Mike stepped closer to the desk. “I’m just—You two hate each other.”

“Thank you for the reminder. I forgot about that.”

“Harvey, c’mon,” Mike shook his head as he tried (and failed) to keep from smiling. “What happened?”

“I went over to hang out.”

“At her apartment?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, and? Instead of hanging out you…Let it all hang out?”

“Get out of my office.”

“If that was at her apartment, what happened in the Hamptons?”

“Nothing happened in the Hamptons. The footage just…We got close, that’s all.”

“That’s not enough to disbar you.”

“Because you’re the expert on being disbarred? It’s enough to call my ethics into question…And Jessica’s right, no one needs that headache right now.”

“So I’m stuck with Louis because you got close? Where’s the Specter spirit? No way are you going to watch this one from the sidelines.”

On any other case, no, he wouldn’t. Harvey would insist on backseat driving. But on this one…He grimaced, dropping his gaze to his desk.

“I want regular updates,” He insisted. “That’s all.”

Mike nodded slowly, conceding: “Okay. But I’ll be ready when you change your mind.”

"I'll come over."

He sounded so positive about it—like nothing had happened, or changed. You eyed the remaining trash bags, trying to scrounge up the conviction of an excuse.

"I don't think that's a good idea right now."

"Why not?"

You know why. You shifted your phone from one hand to the other, tucking it between your shoulder and your ear as you reached out, gripping a bag to make it crinkle loudly.

"I've still got some sorting to do."

"I'll help you."

"Not tonight, Harvey."

"...She's not in charge of us, you know."

You tipped your head back against your wall, closing your eyes. "She's actually very much in charge of you."

"At work."

"I know, but I just..." You winced. "I think she's right. We should lay low for a while. If Steven did see that video before Aaron sent it to Jessica, we're both going to have a whole new mess that we're stepping into."

"I'm ready for it."

"...I don't know if I am."

His silence on the other end made you want to crawl out of your skin. "I can only fight one battle at a time, Harvey—And right now, I'm barely managing the big ones."

"Fine."

You knew that fine coming from him. It wasn't fine. It was I'm shutting down. It was I'm finished with this conversation. It was I'm finished with you.

"Harvey—"

You lowered the phone from your ear as the line cut off, watching the inevitable flashing and darkening of his contact. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. How, after all this time, was Harvey Specter still able to make you cry?

You became solitary again. Life narrowed. You saw Aaron a time or two, but he was so busy either working or gathering intel that you were hardly able to keep up with him. For as much of a lifeline as she had been, Jessica was still pissed, and you hardly spoke more than you needed to. Mike was a dear, checking in to see how you were doing, but most correspondence led inevitably to discussing closings, proceedings, contracts (and you couldn’t blame him for it; he was only doing his job).

Louis was…A lot. He was very eager, that was clear, and had been working hard to push the sales of the apartment buildings and the home in the Hamptons through. David and his firm were digging into discovery, and were making headway.

But you had so little life outside of your divorce. Most of your pieces were sold off, so you hardly had any day-to-day tasks to keep you busy—and everything in New York was so goddamn expensive. It felt like you spent $50 just stepping out your front door. There were days when you simply didn’t. It was cheaper to stay in, and quieter (so long as your neighbors didn’t have a screaming match that day).

Your life was four walls, a cruddy bed, rickety furniture. You spent too much time awake when you should’ve been sleeping; too much time reminiscing when you should have been moving on; too much time dwelling on the time that you spent with men in your life that probably wouldn’t spare you another thought.

Walking back into the firm was uncomfortable. You’d avoided it for as long as you could, but Mike insisted that there were a few documents that absolutely had to be seen and signed in the office. You’d made it an entire three weeks without so much as getting anywhere near the building. You found yourself avoiding even glancing in the direction of Jessica’s office. It was alright, though—Donna was a smiling, comforting presence the second you stepped off of the elevator.

“Find the place alright?” She teased.

“I did, thank you. I’ve only been here a dozen times in the last couple of months.”

“It’s been a few weeks. We thought you’d forgotten where we were.”

You smiled tightly. You were certain that she knew everything that had gone on—she was the eyes and ears of the place.

“You know, it’s the funniest thing,” You drawled sarcastically, “I kept coming to the right building and getting off on the wrong floor.”

“Happens to the best of us. C’mon.”

You frowned as she led you away from the usual conference rooms, and even further away from Louis’ office. You couldn’t imagine where the heck she was taking you—and your confusion deepened as she opened the door to a room lined with files. She nodded you inside, a knowing smile on her lips as she warned:

“Two minutes.”

Two minutes? Until what?

“Thanks, Donna.” Harvey’s voice made you freeze, and you could do nothing but watch Donna close the door behind herself. You looked down at the floor, your hands wringing as you heard Harvey come closer. You felt him stop close behind you, close enough to feel the heat of him.

“...Are you going to look at me?” He hedged softly.

“No need. I know what you look like.”

He sighed softly, stepping around to stand in front of you. You watched as his shoes and pant legs came into view.

“...And you’re just going to look at my shoes now?”

“They’re nice shoes. Look expensive.”

“They are.”

“Figures.”

“I’m sorry.”

You looked at him fully, finally, stunned. You were surprised at how drawn he looked. Sure, his suit was impeccable, and his hair was frustratingly perfect, but you could see tiredness around his eyes.

“You’re going through hell right now,” Harvey went on, “You don’t need me to pile on to that. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

You nodded slowly as you took it all in. “Well. We should never have, um…” You cleared your throat, averting your gaze again. “It was stupid.”

“You regret it?”

“It’s not worth risking your career over.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Harvey closed the space between the two of you, and you had to force yourself not to lean into him the way you wanted—the way you’d missed for weeks.

“Harvey,” You warned softly. “I can’t keep playing tug of war with you like this. I’m already at the end of my damn rope.”

“I know.”

You closed your eyes at the feeling of his palms sliding warmly over your arms, trailing down until he could gently intertwine your fingers.

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” He promised, “Until we’re on the other side of this, and your business with the firm is closed out.”

“And then what?”

“And then I’ll give you hell.” You spluttered a laugh, unable to help it. Harvey chuckled softly, his nose nudging yours gently.

“I should go,” You warned softly. “Louis will come looking for me.”

“Donna will keep him at bay.”

“She said two minutes. It’s been at least three—” You hardly had time to finish your protestation before Harvey kissed you. You swayed into him, lips slipping tenderly against his as he used his grasp to draw you flush against him. You wiggled your hands from his, curling your arms around his shoulders to keep close. You startled at the two knocks on the door, and smiled as Harvey groaned in irritation.

“I should let you go,” He mumbled. You nodded, murmured,

“Probably.”

But neither of you rushed to move.

“I'm sorry to see you go. I've enjoyed our time together."

You sort of believed it, given the pinched, almost pained look that Louis leveled you across the desk. And, for all of your work with him over the last three months, you'd gained a sort of affinity for the man...Even if he was a little intense in a way that sometimes confused you. You smiled, taking up the final few documents that you would need for your record.

"I appreciate that, and thank you for all of your hard work, Mr. Litt. It's been..." You weighed your words carefully, "Interesting."

"For me, too. Reach out if you need anything else—doc review, mover recommendations, tickets to the ballet. Anything."

"Tickets to the ballet? I'm impressed." You held your hand out, smiling as he stood and pumped it enthusiastically. "Thank you again."

You were hardly four steps out of Louis' office when you found yourself flanked in the hallway.

"We should celebrate," Harvey insisted.

"And how would we do that?"

"Dinner at La Belle Vache."

Your brows rose as you glanced toward Mike.

"’The beautiful cow’?"

"Harvey's idea."

"With a restaurant name like that, it would have to be."

"Hey, that is not fair! I could be posh."

"It wouldn't suit you, Mr. Ross."

"Is that a yes or a no to dinner?" Harvey plied.

"When?"

"You busy tonight?"

"If I told you I had plans, would you believe me?"

"Not for a second."

"Well, I do."

"Cancel 'em."

"It's with my divorce lawyer."

"And here feels like a good stopping point for me." Mike wheeled around, striding back in the direction that he came.

"What the hell does David want with you after hours?"

"Deposition starts next week. We're drilling testimony."

"As long as that's all he's drilling."

"Watch it, Specter." You reached out, jabbing the down button on the elevator before turning back to Harvey. He pouted contemplatively before offering: "What about this weekend?"

"I think I could swing this weekend. Is dinner on the firm?"

"It's on me."

"Do you think..." You trailed off, glancing toward Jessica's office, "That the powers that be will approve?"

"Honestly?" Harvey lowered his voice,"I don't give a damn. It's been months. Your business here is wrapped. If Jessica wants to give me a good reason why I can't see you, she's welcome to try—but it won't work."

You bit the inside of your cheek to quell a smile as you reached out, gently straightening Harvey's tie.

"Very forceful, Mr. Specter."

"You like it?"

"It's kinda hot." You turned back and stepped onto the elevator as it chimed.

"This weekend," You finally agreed. "Invite Mike—He's earned several dinners."

"He sure has."

The doors began to close, but Harvey darted in, catching them before they could shut all the way. He darted in, pressing a swift, warm kiss to your lips before he drew away again. You grinned as he stepped back, allowing the doors to close.

"As long as that's all he's drilling."

The memory of Harvey's teasing warning was on your mind throughout your time with David, and you found yourself fighting back smiles all evening.

"Do you have any plans for the weekend?"

David watched you from beneath his lashes as he asked, and where that look had intrigued you once, you knew better. You gave a short, firm nod, and insisted: "I have a date."

Your battle with Steven was far from over. You still had forgery cases pending, and your divorce case had hardly begun. But things felt a little lighter these days.

You had a direction, you had cash flow...But you didn't quite have the plan that you once did. You had told Harvey months ago that you were considering moving to Cambridge. It hadn’t completely ceased to be true, but it wasn’t your only consideration anymore.

There were moments when you could see the glimmer of a life to carve out for yourself: a smaller real estate firm with a few employees—maybe Aaron, if you could lure him away from Steven; a more comfortable apartment than where you were now, but you could live with where you were for a few more months as you got things in order; and, at the very least, a friendship with Harvey. You didn’t know if what the two of you were doing would be sustainable, and you weren’t sure whether either of you really wanted to know—but after all this time, you thought that maybe the two of you deserved another chance.

“Impressed?”

It was a fair question, but you were doing your best to school your expression. You didn’t want Harvey to know outright how much you did like his apartment. It was nothing less than you expected—large (though not quite in the palatial way that your old penthouse was), tastefully decorated, with a gorgeous view. You knew why Harvey had brought you up, of course, but now he was just showing off.

Dinner had been its own round of grandstanding. You and Mike had watched, bemused, as Harvey had gone out of his way to pronounce all of the dishes in a French accent to the clearly not French (but feigning awe) waiter (who you were sure had to deal with this multiple times a day). Harvey had also taught you and Mike a thing or two about wine—or he had tried to, until Mike seemed no longer able to help himself and corrected Harvey on multiple facts about the Rhône valley in the south of France.

It had been a far more pleasant evening that you had expected to have, and far more jovial than you’d had in a long time. Mike and Harvey were close; you and Harvey had a history; you and Mike had become friends over the course of your time working with him. When Mike had insisted that you all had to do this again sometime, you believed that he meant it. And when Harvey had invited you both up for a nightcap, Mike had politely declined with a smile and a shake of his head, offering:

“I think I should let you two have some time to do…Whatever it is that you need to do.”

You hadn’t been entirely sure what he’d meant, or what Harvey had told him. You were almost certain that he would’ve been told why Harvey had been taken off of your case in the first place. And sure, now and again, over dinner, you and Harvey had caught one another’s eye, maybe shared a smile. Maybe he’d rested his hand on your knee a time or two, given it a squeeze—because he could. Because the two of you were close and on even footing for the first time in a while.

“It’s…” You trailed off, shrugging. “Certainly an apartment.”

“Oh, please,” Harvey scoffed, taking two wine glasses down from the cabinet. “You’re impressed.”

“It’s nicer than I thought it would be.”

“You’re dazzled.”

“I like the kitchen.”

“You’re helplessly turned on.”

“‘Helplessly’ is pushing it.”

“So you admit that you’re turned on?”

You rolled your eyes, no longer bothering to fight your smile off.

“Maybe,” You offered, settling onto the couch and kicking off your shoes. Harvey joined you moments later, passing you a glass of wine and gently clinking his against yours before you each took sips. His gaze remained heavy on yours, and he leaned in for a gentle kiss as soon as you lowered your glass. You hummed, raising a hand and cupping his jaw. You leaned back just a touch, smiling as he crowded closer, dipping his head to brush kisses along your neck as his warm palm gently smoothed up your thigh.

“...Harvey?”

“Sure, I can show you the bedroom.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head a little. “Can we talk about it?”

He groaned, forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder. “Why do you always insist on ruining a perfectly good time?”

“Like when?”

“Like when we were in the Hamptons.”

“You thank your lucky fucking stars that I put a stop to that.”

“Yeah,” He grumbled, leaning back. You watched him swirl his wine in his glass.

“Please,” You pleaded softly.

“...I didn’t write the note.”

Fuck.

“Okay.”

“I wrote a note, but…Not that one.”

“Who wrote that one?”

“Scottie.”

“...Okay.”

“I couldn’t find the one I’d written, she insisted that I couldn’t leave you with nothing.”

“Well, she was right.”

“Yeah.”

You that that sink in for a moment before you pressed: “Why did you leave?”

“I had doubts.”

“About me?”

“About us. You know how my parents were, you know…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You know what I saw.”

“And you thought I would do that to you?”

“I was afraid of it.”

“If you were afraid of it, then you thought I was capable of it.”

“—And when you got married to Steven so quickly—”

“Oh—!” The heavy, stunned, indignant laugh was pained as it left you. You pushed off of the couch, standing and walking out of Harvey’s reach. You heard him sigh heavily behind you, chased by the clink of him setting his wine glass down as he muttered, “This is why I didn’t want to talk about this.”

“Do you know why I got married so quickly?” You whirled around to face him.

“Because you loved Steven?”

“I never said that. I thought I loved him a bit, sure, but I was afraid that this,” You waved a finger between the two of you, “Would happen again. I thought he would leave. I was afraid that I would spend my entire life being left. So when Steven showed me the slightest bit of attention, I latched on. We eloped. He wanted a big wedding, but I just,” You waved your hand around, “I couldn’t do that a second time. Any of it. I didn’t get a new dress, neither of our families were there, because I knew that they would all watch me, and him, and they’d be thinking it: Is it going to happen again?”

“You’re saying your entire life with Steven was my fault?”

“I’m saying that I made a choice, and that what happened with you was a factor—Not a fault, a factor. And why!” You let out another harsh hysterical laugh as tears welled in your eyes, “Why didn’t you just talk to me? What did I do then to make you think that you couldn’t talk to me?”

“I wasn’t ready!”

“And we could have talked about that! What made you think that I wouldn’t have been alright with moving the wedding back, or going to counseling with you, or whatever you would have needed to get us there?”

“You wanted to get married.”

“I wanted you, Harvey! I would have waited, I—” You turned away, sniffling heavily as tears slipped from your eyes. “Fuck. Ugh.” You raised your glass, draining it before striding over the counter, desperate to put some more distance between the two of you. You set the glass down and yanked a paper towel off of the roll, swiping at your under eyes to clear away any running mascara. You blew your nose as well before balling up the tissue and lobbing it toward the trash can. You heard Harvey’s approaching footsteps, and you pulled in a deep, stuttering breath as he rested his hands on your shoulders.

“...There’s no way for me to take back or change what I did.”

“Would you if you could?”

“Yes.”

“...Okay.”

“Do you believe me?”

“I don’t know.”

He sighed, pressing a kiss to the back of your head as his hands soothingly rubbed over your arms. You sniffled again, swiping away a stray tear before resting your hands on the counter.

“You changed the way that I love, Harvey,” You shook your head. “For better or worse, whether you meant to or not, you changed it.” You glanced back toward him. “I can’t get those bits of myself back. You took them from me.”

“I know. I took them from both of us.”

You nodded, slowly letting yourself lean back against him. His arms curled around your middle, and you heard a soft, almost relieved groan leave him. You let your eyes close as he pressed a kiss to your temple. The two of you stood there in silence for a few moments, allowing yourselves to settle.

“...Stay tonight?” He murmured after a few moments. You nodded, smiling as his hold tightened on you again, as if wary that you would change your mind.

He had a few more smile lines. His hair still mussed the same; he still made little mumbling noises as he slowly rose from sleep to consciousness. He was still a furnace to sleep beside, and he still held you through the night. It was almost a relief that none of that had changed.

Waking up in his arms made you feel like it had when you were younger: safe, and loved, and wanted. You hadn't appreciated it when you'd had it just a few months ago, but you were desperate to catch on to every little bit of him now.

You were never going to be able to turn back the hands of time—to go back and warn him, or yourself, or someone that your first wedding day would be a disaster, that it would set you off on a path that you could never have anticipated for yourself. Discussing what had happened hadn't truly healed any of your old wounds.

But as the sun began to creep over the Manhattan skyline and seep into Harvey’s bedroom, you felt closer to peace than you had in a long, long time.

Harvey snuffled, nuzzling your shoulder as his fingers curled in your borrowed nightshirt.

“You awake?” He mumbled, the same low, gravely murmur that you had once loved, and missed.

“Mmmhm.”

“Want coffee?”

“Yes.”

He yawned widely, pressing his face into your shoulder and warming your skin through the fabric. “Bagels?”

“Sure.”

“‘Kay.”

Neither of you made a move to get either. Instead, you combed your fingers through his hair, closed your eyes, and listened to the steady rise and fall of his breathing as you both fell back asleep.

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#Harvey Specter x Reader #Harvey Specter x You #Harvey Specter/Reader #Harvey Specter/You #Harvey Specter fic #Harvey Specter imagine #Bad Faith

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bro-atz · 13 days

Text

bittersweet

in which: you and minjae had a messy break up, and he just wants to come over and get his stuff back.

pair: ex boyfriend!minjae/afab!reader

word count: 1.8k

content: smut, a lot of arguing, tension (both angry and sexual), a little rough and aggressive, oral sex, fingering, safe sex, completely consensual!

rated: R | nsfw — minors do not interact

watch out series: junmin, minjae

You scowled when you heard the doorbell ring. You knew exactly who it was because you weren't expecting anyone else, and you were livid that he had the audacity to show up in front of you again. Using all the force you had in your body, you swung the door open, your ex standing a couple feet away from the door with a similar scowl on his face and a box of belongings— your belongings— in his arms.

"Listen," he started first. "I just came to give you your stuff back and grab my stuff."

"Sorry, I threw it all out already, Minjae."

You actually didn't, but he didn't need to know that.

"What the hell?! Even my sweaters?!"

"No. Those I burned..."

Minjae's eyes hardened. The two of you dated for years, so he knew when you were lying. You shouldn't have even bothered starting shit with him.

"Really? You're just going to continue with the lies, Y/N? Typical," Minjae scoffed before forcing his way into your apartment.

"Why do you even want your shit back, Minjae? Didn't you say you wanted nothing to do with me anymore?"

"Shut up!" Minjae spat. "I want my shit back because it's mine."

Minjae started rifling through different parts of your apartment, grabbing various items he had left behind. You followed closely behind with your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, making sure he didn't take anything that wasn't his.

"You afraid I'm going to rob you or something?" Minjae asked with slight malice as he eyed you staring him down.

"Well, I wouldn't put it past you since I don't trust you."

"You don't trust me?"

"Yeah, I don't trust you!" you raised your voice. "Because the second we broke up, you immediately slid into my friend's dms!"

Minjae stood right in front of you, the two of you locking eyes. "I didn't "slide" into her dms," he said in a dangerously low voice.

"Oh sure, because inviting someone out for coffee is just a platonic thing," you rolled your eyes.

"Well, it's not just a romantic thing, either! It's just freaking coffee! How'd you even know about me messaging her?"

"She sent me the screenshots, dumbass! Did you think she wouldn't?!"

"Jesus Christ, I just—" Minjae cut himself off. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose while saying, "You know what? I don't want to get into it."

Minjae turned around, but you turned him right back by grabbing his arm. He snatched his arm away as you said, "No, let's get into it! Did you really break up with me because of me or because you wanted to be with her?"

"For the last time, I wasn't making a move on her!"

"Then why'd you do it?!"

Your face was right in front of his at that point. The two of you were angrily huffing and puffing, and finally, something snapped. Minjae grabbed your face and kissed you roughly, your teeth nearly clashing. You clutched the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. He ended up walking you backwards so that you were pressed up against the wall.

The two of you were breathing heavily as you locked lips over and over again restlessly. His hands quickly worked on removing the loungewear you had on while you went straight for his waistband, your hand diving into his pants and underwear.

"Shit," Minjae hissed against your lips the second he felt your fingers rub along his length. "Your hands are fucking cold."

"Shut the fuck up," you breathed out. "My cold hands seem to be turning you on."

"Dammit, Y/N, do you really have to take everything negatively?" Minjae complained as he moved away from you slightly. "I never said I didn't like it."

"Just stop talking," you groaned both in frustration and pleasure because Minjae's hands gripped your breasts and kneaded them.

"Make me," he taunted you.

At first, you thought about kissing him to shut him up, but you knew that no matter what you did, he was going to run his mouth. You managed to slide down the wall and drop to your knees, your face near his crotch while your hands pulled at the waistband of his pants and underwear. As soon as you heard Minjae inhale— presumably to run his mouth— you took his cock into your mouth, pushing your head all the way down until you choked on it.

"Fuck," he breathed out euphorically. "Oh fuck..."

It only got worse for him when you kept gagging on his dick as you moved, and to be perfectly candid, he was so ready to cum, but he didn't want to cum— he didn't want to be the first to cum.

Holding the back of your head tightly, Minjae moved you off his cock and tugged your hair so that you would stand up again. He moved the hand on your head to your neck, his fingers pressing lightly into your neck.

"I think," he whispered into your ear as his hand brought you closer to his face. "We should take care of you first... Don't you think?"

Next thing you knew, Minjae had you pinned on your bed, his hands briskly stripping you down to nothing before slipping out of his shirt and pants. He pushed your legs up and planted them firmly behind your knees. He kissed you roughly and feverishly over and over again as rubbed his cock over your clit. You grabbed his shoulders and dug your nails into his skin as you tried to get him to stop teasing you and just fuck you already since you couldn't get the words out with his tongue in the way.

Your impatience didn't sit well with Minjae. Well, he loved it, but he didn't want to satisfy you just yet. Rather than his cock, Minjae rubbed two of his fingers along your folds before aggressively thrusting them into your cunt. Just to hear you cry and moan loudly, he stopped kissing you, a slight smirk on his face.

"Oh fuck," you cried loudly, your whole body shaking with the intensity of his fingering.

You screamed and flung your head back the second Minjae's fingers rubbed just right, making you cum all over the bed; but he was definitely not done just yet. Leaning over to your nightstand where he knew the condoms were, he grabbed one. He barely gave you time to recover as he rolled it on, but he immediately pushed his cock into you.

"You better hold on," he told you in a low voice. "I'm not going to go easy on you."

Minjae lowered himself and pushed his face close to your neck. He left a faint bite mark when he felt you hold the back of his neck, your nails scratching his skin. He gripped your waist, and he started actually fucking you. His ruts were slow at first, but they were filled with insane power that had you seeing stars with your eyes squeezed shut. You bit back a moan, but he fucked that moan right out of you when he suddenly sped up. His hips hammered against yours, his speed rapidly increasing but his power holding steady.

You screamed profanities as you felt the pleasure build up and rip through your body since Minjae was just not letting up. You creamed around his cock, your legs and arms shaking as you came. Tears slipped out of your eyes as Minjae still continued as if he was an insatiable beast. You were granted a slight moment of relief when he pulled out, but that relief was quickly taken away when he turned you over, pulled your hips up, and shoved his cock back inside you.

"Minjae— Fuck! Oh fuck!"

Truth be told, Minjae was so fucking close. He was close, but he didn't want to cum just yet because he really missed the way your cunt felt around his cock.

You were able to breathe properly when you felt his pace slow down slightly and his power slow down significantly. He moved his hands from your waist down to your ass. His hips rolled into yours, and you were finally able to hear the sound of his strained breathing now that the sound of his waist hitting yours wasn't reverberating in the room. And, since you had a better grip on reality now, you clenched your cunt, and you heard Minjae inhale sharply before letting out a tiny groan.

Minjae finally pulled out so he could removed the condom and fuck his fist. He was going to cum on your back, but you turned around and took him into your mouth quickly. The tips of his ears turned pink when you did so, but the look on his face hardened, and he smirked. He held the back of your head and ordered in a quiet voice, "Don't spit it out. Just swallow it."

You nodded, and Minjae finally came. He groaned loudly as his load filled up your mouth, his eyes fluttering as he turned his face upwards. When he returned his gaze to you, you did as he said and swallowed.

"Fuck..." he whispered while petting your head. "You... Fuck."

After a beat, the two of you separated. You got off the bed first and grabbed your pile of clothes before quickly wearing them. Minjae put his pants back on, and while he searched for his shirt, you stopped him.

"You, uh," you hesitated, worried that what you were about to ask would lead you two to another argument. "You never told me why..."

"Why what?" Minjae asked with a sigh.

"Why'd you text her...?"

With another sigh, Minjae finished getting his clothes back on. He ran his fingers through his slightly damp hair and said, "I just wanted her to check in on you after we broke up."

"Then... Why'd you ask her to go to a coffee shop?"

"So I could give her your stuff to give to you."

You chewed on your lower lip and nodded. Your mind reeled, and your heart kind of sank. You stood motionless as Minjae gathered the rest of his things, your heart sinking further and further. With his belongings still at your home, you kind of had hope that things would work out between you two, but that didn't seem to be the case anymore.

When Minjae finished getting his stuff, he started walking to the front door, but you stopped him.

"Minjae, wait," you said in a small voice. "I..."

Minjae turned around. There was a look on his face— not quite sad, but not annoyed either. He looked... Conflicted. He kept quiet as he waited for you to speak.

"Can we at least give us another try? Please?"

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lemonsprite · 1 year

Text

𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 || 𝐂𝐚𝐥 𝐊𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐆𝐍! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: Cal was injured while on his mission through Kashyyyk

Word count: 764

Warnings: Description of injury (it's not that bad tho)

“Easy Cal- easy.” You wince, placing your significantly injured companion against the cold marble of Greez’s shower.

The shower itself wasn’t big, nothing was on this ship. Everything was supposed to be tiny to help fit as much as they could on the small Mantis. Normally you liked the comforting squeeze, but now you couldn't help but loathe it as you tentatively place a shaking hand over Cal’s wounded stomach, softly applying pressure as your free hand digs around the small bathroom, blindly searching for a medkit.

Cal laughed weakly before coughing up more blood. “I think you’re more worried about me than I am.” He teased, looking up at you with those sparkling green eyes despite the blood that flowed loosely down his side.

You frowned at him, not finding his joke funny as your hand finally grasped multiple bacta patches. Setting the healing bandages down right next to you, you get to work taking off Cal’s poncho as quickly and painlessly as possible before pulling off his jacket, the fabric sticky with blood.

Cal made no motion to stop you as his upper body was left bare. Without his shirt, you could see the full damage of his trip to Kashyyyk. Deep slashes (probably from a Wyyschokk your mind supplied), ran all across the length of his torso, bruises scattered here and there were already turning an angry purple, and most if not all of Cal’s pale freckled skin was covered in thickly caked mud.

You cringed at the sight, tossing Cal’s dirty clothes somewhere behind you, before standing up.

“I’m gonna wash you off…” You said hesitantly. “Is that okay?”

Cal nodded without saying a word, his breaths coming out slow and ragged.

Wetting one of the clean towels folded neatly on the counter, you returned to Cal’s side, looking nervously up and down his body wondering where to begin.

The young Jedi in front of you laughed weakly once more, grabbing your hand and bringing it towards him.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes before beginning to wash his wounds, clearing all the gory, aching cuts of mud.

“What the hell did you get up to out there?” You asked, referring to his mission, your hands still working fervently to clean his torso.

“There was this big albino Wyyschokk,” He replied, rolling slightly onto his side so you could better tend to his back. “Damn thing got me good and BD ran out of stim canisters, and by the time we got back to the Mantis my wounds had already…” He trailed off, his eyes drooping with fatigue.

“Hey Cal, stay with me.” You frowned, snapping your fingers in front of his eyes. “Keep talking.”

Cal smiled softly at you, his eyes warm with fondness.

“The plants there were beautiful, I would love to take you there sometime.”

You blushed at Cal’s suggestion, his offer sounding almost like the suggestion of a date. Shaking your head, you dismissed those thoughts, continuing to clean the other's wounds.

“As much as I’d love to see the scenery of Kashyyyk, I’d rather not be attacked by a man-eating foliage.” You joked.

Cal chuckled, his laugh morphing into more coughing as you put down your rag, reaching for the bacta patches. Despite his multiple wounds, Cal couldn’t seem to stop smiling at you, practically purring with contentment as you smoothed the bacta patches adhesive side down over the deep lacerations.

“I don’t understand how you’re able to stay as calm as you are right now…” You thought aloud, your hands gently running up and down his torso, making sure the patches were all safely secured.

Cal sighed, melting into your touch. “I know I’m safe when you’re next to me.” He smiled.

You blushed at his words, your gazes looking everywhere but at the other.

“Cal Kestis, are you seriously flirting with me when you are on death's door?” You asked, throwing a glare at him, yet you both know you didn’t truly mean it.

“And if I am?” He smirked, sitting up further against the wall. The bacta patches were working fast, the color was already returning to Cal’s face.

You opened your mouth to respond but nothing came out, your brain short-circuiting.

Cal laughed weakly at your expression, moving his hand to gently place on top of yours which still lay on his bare chest.

“I meant what I said about taking you to see the scenery.” He smiled. “Except maybe not Kashyyyk’s…”

You laughed quietly. “I might just have to take you up on that offer.”

#cal kestis #gn reader #cal kestis x y/n #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x gn reader #star wars #star wars jedi fallen order #star wars jedi survivor

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betustamorla · 5 months

Text

(Updated 01-07) Arkham Batman Beta reader/editor/consultant wanted

Genre: Drama, family, romance, hurt/comfort, action, slight canon divergence (in ages of the characters mainly)

Main characters: Jason and Helena

Pairings: Jason Todd/Helena Wayne (past/future), Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Tim Drake/Barbara Gordon, Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle (past)

Summary: Batman left Gotham to his proteges, no one knows if he is still alive. It's up to them to pick up the pieces, help each other, and sort their lives before big trouble threatens Earth.

Estimated length: 90,000< words.

Progress: 60,000< words.

Plan of finishing the first draft: End of July. First chapter release plan date: 31 of October

First scene sample:

This Arkham Knight was very troublesome, he was as dangerous as Batman, no, he was more dangerous than Batman, he was ready to kill, even eager to. Huntress touched her side, and a stinging pain answered her, but nothing to worry about for now. Her breathing was accelerated, her senses wired thin, her gaze fixed on the man in front of her ready to respond at his slightest movement.

"Move aside." His modified voice seemed to hiss.

"Sorry, but I don't feel like it." Of course, she had to goad him more, as if things weren't hard enough already.

"My business is with the Bat."

She felt slightly confused at his seeming reluctance to fight her, but she squashed it to the back of her mind until she could be in a safe environment to ruminate. "You're endangering a lot of people with this... business of yours. So no, I won't be moving any time soon." She said flatly.

"That's too bad." It seemed like she had reached the limit of his patience. He lunged again at her. She dodged and threw a kick to his abdomen, he blocked it with his elbow, by instinct she flipped back, it was the right thing for his fist to fly inches from her face.

Still, she knew she wouldn't win this fight, her strength lay in the careful preparation of traps and sigil of her prey, even if she was a good fighter she wasn't, well, Batman. Now that there was some distance between them she started shooting bolts towards his legs, he dodged those easily and shot his grappling gun toward the nearest building and pulled upwards.

"Oh no, you won't!" She quickly changed her bolt to an explosive one and shot to where the grappling gun had hooked. He fell again into the roof they were on, rolling to minimize the impact.

"Now you really pissed me off," He growled and charged towards her.

Again they danced in a mix of punches, kicks, and dodges before he finally gained the upper hand and slammed her against the floor, stars danced in her vision, and his hand wrapped around her neck, cutting her air supply. Helena struggled, but to no avail, as he was at least fifty pounds heavier than her, but she had tricks up her sleeve, in fact, very literally. When pulling her wrist upwards a high voltage discharge would shoot on whoever was the unfortunate recipient of its full power would end up knocked out, which in this case was the Arkham Knight. She wasn't surprised when after receiving the electrical hit, he backed off but did not faint, the armor probably was designed as hers; to withstand the worst of such dangers.

"You have some tricks don't you?" He laughed, and she didn't like the sound of it. "But I think you won't have one for this." He gripped her by the neck again and pulled out a vial, unluckily, Helena wasn't fast enough to move out of his reach. The glass shattered between his fingers, and the contents immediately volatilized and turned into a gas. She didn't have any other option but to breathe at least a little, but guessing what it was, she knew it was more than enough to make its nasty effect kick into work.

She was shoved back, falling into her back, coughing at the acrid taste the fear gas left, her heartbeat quickened when the faint blurred sound of a familiar melody started to ring in her ears followed by a voice she thought she would never hear again.

“Here again my dear Angel?” The honied voice seemed to whisper against her ear, then a chuckle, and there, looming over her was the white-masked figure with amber eyes.

“You’re dead.” She breathed and gritted her teeth.

“Of course. You killed me. Remember?” Then his hand reached for her chin and turned her face towards one side and her heart stopped and seemed to come to the back of her throat at the same time. There in a chair tied with barber wire was Jason.

“Help me!”

“Stop. Stop. Stop.”

“Just kill me already.”

“Jason!”

She nearly choked. Get a grip, Helena, this is a hallucination! She felt her suit starting to slow down her increasingly accelerating heart, she knew that the fear gas she had inhaled was but a small dose, and yet it was messing this much with her head even with the Bíos pumping through her system already. This new formula was very, very dangerous, the whispers of Jason still lingered in the background, sometimes interrupted by the explosion that was imprinted like a hot iron in her body and mind.

Then she felt the burning sensation of electrical currents run through her body to counter the other poison in her veins, the burning sensation of it made her gasp. But now she was able to take a coherent look at her opponent, he hadn't taken this opening to attack her, to end her, making her believe again that he didn't want to kill her. He was just standing there, looking at her. The knight was tense as if waiting for something, she was completely clueless at what it could be but she would use this to her advantage.

~•~•~•~

Jason watched as the gas kicked into action and she crawled away, then her breath hitched and she shook her head. Whatever it was, she didn't want to hear, she clapped her hands to her ears and closed her eyes, it would be so easy to kill her now… To put the broken body of his daughter in front of him, would break him like nothing else, he was sure. But he couldn't even bring himself to lift his gun and point at her, he didn't want to kill her, she had been- What?

It didn't matter, he had better things to do. He turned and started to walk away when he heard her breath his name.

“Jason!”

He clenched his fists, they had abandoned him to that fucking clown, they had replaced him and she had left, forgotten completely about him. But something was pulling in him to go and shake her, to tell her he was right here, that he wasn't a damned nightmarish apparition. He took in a shaky breath and cocked his head to one side, stretching his neck; an anxious tick he had developed. That was enough to strengthen his resolve to keep going on, she was just a part of his past that would disappear along the Bat. Bringing her to Scarecrow and making Bruce see his only daughter be tortured by her worst fears would be even worse than death for him.

Jason turned to her again, she was silent now but her respiration was agitated, she was very still, which was odd for someone with fear gas in their system. He walked closer, pulling his gun out. Maybe he should just blow her head up and throw her dead body in front of her father. The echoing of laughter surged in the back of his mind and the scar on his face burned like the same day the hot iron had sizzled against his skin.

The illusion broke when Helena launched herself at him, he was so unprepared that he tripped and fell on his back with her on top of him.

“Don't you ever dare to do something like that again asshole!” She hissed and punched his helmet hard enough to make his vision rattle a little. How she had fought off the effects of the gas he had no idea nor was interested to know right now, he curled his arms and then threw her off him. She rolled like a fucking cat and pulled her whip out.

“Oh fuck.” He muttered as he rolled out of the way of the crackling weapon. Maybe she was tougher to get than he had originally believed, at least she was more so than his replacement. Jason knew that whip wasn't just any normal leather thing, it seemed to be made of some metallic alignment, as if on queue the whip came down again, he dodged again though not fast enough as it graced his armor over his shoulder and the fucking plate had been sliced a piece off. Fuck, if that thing could slice off part of his armor it probably could slice his arm off as well, no wonder she hadn't used it until now. The no-killing rule was just as strictly embedded in her as her father. That thought made his anger burst.

Why? Why did they refuse to do what was needed to protect? To save people from fuckers like the Joker? If only Batman had killed the Joker the first chance he got he wouldn't had-!

He snapped and lunged at her quick enough to avoid the arch of the crackling shit and barrelled into her, she flew back at least a couple of meters landing painfully on her back. Disoriented enough to become too slow to react in time to make space between them to gain the advantage of her weapons, which were long-ranged tools, up close Jason was completely in control. He took full advantage of it, he punched her in the gut making her double over even with the armor mitigating some of the power from the hit, he didn’t pause, consumed by the red haze that felt so good to let loose. He pulled her head down to connect with his rising knee, she probably would have passed out if not for the face-guard over her forehead and eyes, Jason hit her back with his elbow making her go down.

She was wheezing for air.

“Is it hard to breathe? Don’t you feel like you’re drowning? Like some cold hand is closing around you and pulling every last bit of life in you?” He remembered how it felt, to be hit over and over again until you couldn’t even seem to make your lungs work.

She coughed and choked- No, she was laughing. She was laughing.

Had she gone mad?

“It’s not so bad, you know.” She gasped and spat at his feet.

All the burning anger seemed to die out, leaving an empty cold feeling. His arm seemed to move on its own, grasping her by the nape of her neck, he started to lift her and she struggled uselessly as she still was too winded to gather her strength or wits. They were at the edge of the ten-story department building, it was at least a 30-meter drop from there to the cold concrete below. Time seemed to freeze, he took in her smaller frame, she seemed so small and frail compared to him, she always had…

Jason! Will you wait for me?

Then he pushed her, the back of her legs hit the small barrier of the edge and then she was gone. He stood there a moment then he heard the sound of crashing metal meters underneath. His heart felt like it stopped for a second.

~•~•~•~

DM if interested/curious or repost/share if you think someone else might.

Check some of my previous works

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iambutmortal · 9 months

Text

Watch Me Burn

Chapter 3

Summary: Lucien Vanserra, Godkiller and disgraced prince, is more than content on his own. He doesn't need his family, or his wife, or his former friend. Hasn't needed them in years. But when villages start being attacked by a force he thought he'd destroyed years ago, he's forced back into their company to retrieve the mysterious firebird and save his kingdom from ruin.

Pairing: Elucien

Word Count: 2.1k

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Authors Note: Remember when I said daily ish updates and then didn't update for four days. Well clearly I shouldn't be trusted with deadlines. And as always, for the amazing @labellefleur-sauvage for the @acotargiftexchange

Present

“Hello, wife.”

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Elain said, rising slowly to her feet. Her dress was cut low, showing off the swell of her breasts. In spite of himself, Lucien felt his gaze drawn there, before he tore it away to focus on Elain’s smirking face.

Oh she definitely knew where he was looking.

“So town reeve,” Lucien said, clearing his throat. He shifted slightly to hide the evidence of the blood flowing to his cock. “That’s new.”

Elain tossed a silky, golden curl over her shoulder. “You took so long I had some time to persuade Kouemos of my leadership skills.”

“With your tongue or your magic?” Lucien taunted.

Elain stalked towards him, placed one hand on his chest and shoved. “I don’t need magic to get people to love me.”

Lucien’s chest burned where she touched him, and he caught her hand up in his, holding it safely away from him. “No, only to keep them around.”

Elain looked like she wanted to spit on him. She wrenched her hand out of his grasp. “I didn’t summon you here so you could insult me.”

“What happened to the old Lord, Elain?” Lucien asked, not one to be distracted. “What was his name, Nolan?”

“Nolan’s been dead for years,” Elain said. “A unicorn rode through town and his heart gave out from shock.” She snorted. “Spent fifty years building walls to keep magic away, and it was his fear that took him out.”

“Lord Graysen then, what of him?”

Elain stiffened. “Joined his father in the ground a few months ago. Not long after I showed up.” She tilted her chin up, daring him to challenge her.

“Attagirl,” Lucien said, leaning closer until his mouth was practically pressed against her neck. He loosened his grip on his sword, letting it drop to the ground. “The knife work I showed you pay off?”

“No,” Elain growled. “I don’t need your help.”

“Except now,” Lucien smirked, sliding past her and plopping on the bed. He propped his boots up onto the white bedspread, just to watch her nostrils flair in irritation as he smeared mud on it. “Finally come across a problem you can’t solve by growing plants?”

Elain walked towards the bed and slapped him. Lucien laughed, his cheek stinging. Elain looked ready to hit him again, but before she could, Lucien wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap.

Elain’s long legs bracketed his thighs, and she surged forward to kiss him, biting down hard on his lower lip. The taste of blood hit Lucien’s tongue and he groaned, reaching down to drag Elain’s pink dress up around her hips.

At the same time, Elain grabbed his belt buckle, working it open and pulling out his now fully hard cock. Elain ran her fingers over it, and Lucien bucked his hips up into her hand.

Elain pulled away from the kiss long enough to give him a smug smile, before sinking down onto his length.

“Fuck,” Lucien groaned.

Elain ground her hips against his and Lucien gasped.

“Something wrong, your highness?” she asked, eyes wide with mock ignorance. Like she wasn’t deliberately driving him out of his rutting mind.

“You know I hate that term,” Lucien growled, gripping her hips tight enough to bruise.

Elain gave him another rough kiss, a clash of tongues and teeth. “Not when I say it.”

Lucien grunted in response.

In the five years since he’d left Auden, they’d run into each other on occasion. An occupational hazard. And every time, they ended up in each other’s beds, coupling for a few rough bouts of love making. They were both under no illusion their marriage meant they had some special claim on the other, but it did confer some benefits when they ended up in the same spot.

Or, at least, Lucien assumed they had on such claim of loyalty. He may have no interest in women outside of Elain, no matter how often opportunity presented itself, but he’d long decided he was happier not knowing if she felt the same way. And he’d resolved not to tell Elain about his own duty to his marriage vows. Better to keep some things private.

Above him, Elain’s full lips parted as she sucked in air. Her breasts swayed with each rock of her hips, and Lucien reached a hand up to grab the neckline of her dress, yanking it down. It tore easily under his touch, and Lucien half wondered if that wasn’t intentional. Some quirk of the fabric Elain had chosen to exploit.

Lucien took one erect nipple between his teeth, nipping at it lightly, and Elain practically screamed.

“Something the matter, your highness?” Lucien asked, releasing her breast with one final, hard tug.

Elain scowled and reached a hand between them to finger her clit. “Only that I have to do everything myself.”

Lucien grabbed her wrist, and pulled her arm away from where their bodies joined. “How quickly you forget, princess.”

“Forget what?” Elain asked, batting her brown eyes. In response, Lucien thrust his hips up, making sure to hit that spot deep inside her he knew had her falling apart in seconds. Sure enough, Elain’s eyes rolled back as she groaned, her core clenching around him.

“Do I need to remind you again?”

Elain hesitated and Lucien tugged up on her wrist, pulling her body taunt.

“Do I?”

“Please,” Elain whined, and Lucien slowly dragged his hips down before slamming them back up. Elain’s breath hitched, they way it always did before she fell apart completely, and Lucien winked as he found that spot a third time. Elain broke apart around him, her cunt squeezing his length, sending release barreling down his own spine.

A few quick, short strokes worked them both through their climaxes. Lucien dropped Elain’s hand, checking her wrist for any signs of bruising.

“I’m fine,” she said, pulling it away.

Lucien sighed, letting her go. He wrapped an arm gently around her waist, pleased when she didn’t immediately remove it. “Why did you call me here, Elain?”

“The Wild Hunt is back.”

Lucien sat upright so fast Elain had to brace herself against his chest to keep from falling off his lap. “Fuck.”

Elain grinned ruefully, fingering the fabric of his shirt. “Turns out we didn’t take care of it as well as we thought last time.”

“Fuck,” Lucien repeated. “Are you sure?”

“The signs are all there–people going missing, livestock slaughtered, churches burned. And it’s all happening along the borders.”

“Fuck.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it,” Elain said, rising off him and brushing down her skirt. “I thought it would be something talked about in your network.

Lucien reached down to close his pants back up. “I’ve been avoiding the border.”

“I figured,” Elain said, pulling one of countless leather clad tomes off her bookshelf. “But the attacks have been spreading out over the past couple months, going deeper and deeper into Auden.” She opened the book, letting it fall open to a specific page, and turned around to show it to him.

Lucien looked at the rough sketch of a bird engulfed in flame and quirked his brow. “The firebird? That’s a myth.”

“I thought so too,” Elain said. “Until one of Eris’ soldiers went up Mount Vasilisa and came down raving about the whole mountain top being on fire.

“So Eris thinks this firebird can stop the Hunt?” Lucien chose not to ask why Elain knew so much about what his brother’s troops were up to.

Elain pointed to a line in the book. “The firebird can break any bonds that tie. Including the ones that tie the Wild Hunt to the earth.”

“And Eris decided to send us to go get it,” Lucien supplied.

“Preferably before the meeting of the King.” The meeting once every ten years where the monarchs of the continent’s kingdoms got together and pretended they didn’t want to kill each other. This time Eris had been chosen to host, and Lucien had been planning to be far, far away from Auben by then.

“That’s in a fortnight,” Lucien protested. “It takes half that time just to get to the mountain.”

“Then it’s a good thing Eris picked the town below it to host the meeting,” Elain chirped.

“Eris just thought of everything, didn't he.” Lucien bent down to retrieve his sword from where he’d dropped it. “Next time you see my brother, tell him to ask me in person if he wants me to do his dirty work.”

Elain crossed her arms, pushing up her still exposed chest. “So you’re not coming then? You’re just going to leave?”

“What do you care?”

Elain took a step between him and the door, blocking him in. “Is Auden not my country now? Am I not its princess?”

“If you consider yourself that,” Lucien conceded. “Although how far you’d get being married to the cast out seventh son Godkiller…”

“Who’s still the brother of a King. And the son of another. And both their land is being destroyed right now.” Elain raised her chin, somehow managing to look down at him despite being nearly a head shorter.

Lucien glared at her for a long moment before sagging in defeat. “Tell Eris there’d better be a large sack of gold waiting for me when we get to the bottom of this mountain.”

Elain’s triumphant grin was practically fox-like. “I’ll make sure to tell him his brother’s sense of familial duty remains just as profit motivated as ever. Now give me your shirt, since you ruined my dress.”

Lucien tugged off the sweat soaked linen and offered it to her. She pulled it on, and opened the door.

Jurian, his ear pressed against the wood, nearly fell on the floor.

“It’s you,” Lucien said, voice utterly impassive.

“I told you to stay away,” Elain hissed.

Jurian scrambled to right himself, squaring his broad shoulders and pasting a broad grin on his face. “Good to see you again too, Lucien. It’s been, what, five years?”

Lucien nodded once in recognition. “Been keeping yourself busy?” He asked more out of politeness than any genuine interest. He couldn’t find it in him to care, not about Jurian.

“Oh I’ve been around,” Jurian said, waving his hand. “Playing in taverns, working my way through all the finest cities.”

“Bursting the eardrums of everyone in this castle with your music,” Elain muttered, and Lucien chuckled in spite of himself.

“What was that?” Jurian asked, pretending not to hear.

“Elain gave him a pretty smile, one that made Lucien’s heart pull a bit. Why did Jurian get to see them but not him. “Oh, nothing.”

“Good,” Jurian said, giving Elain an equally simpering look. “Because I’ve so been enjoying your hospitality for these past weeks, and I’d hate for anything to taint that.”

Lucien’s brow shot up. Weeks?

“Turns out me and Jurian can get along when we have certain common interests to motivate us,” Elain said sweetly, reading Lucien’s expression.

“Great,” Lucien mumbled. He eyed Jurian, looking for any indication those common interests included something of the more carnal nature. Jurian winked at him, but knowing Jurian that could mean any number of things. “And do those common interests extend to Mount Vasilisa?”

“Yes,” Jurian said, at the same time Elain said, “no.”

“For the last time, you’re not coming,” Elain snapped.

“I think you’ll find my particular talents very helpful,” Jurian said, gesturing to the lute strapped across his back.

“Sure, if we need to scare someone off,” Elain shot back. “They’ll run away with their ears bleeding.”

“Useful when we need to take care of the firebird’s guards,” Jurian said.

Elain turned to Lucien. “Tell him no.”

Lucien eyed the bard, taking in the fine tunic, and hands with a few more calluses than one would expect from a musician.

“He can come,” Lucien said.

Elain huffed and stormed past Jurian, down towards where Lucien knew the castle stalls were. Jurian made to follow her, but Lucien grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close.

“If you do anything during this to put us in danger, if you breathe a word of this, I’ll flay you alive and string your guts from the nearest church steeple.”

“What about your wife,” Jurian protested. “Not worried she’ll stab us all in the back again?”

Lucien tightened his grip. “I’ll worry about her. You worry about yourself. Got it?”

He could see Jurian swallow. “Got it.”

#elucien #elucien fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfiction #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra

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mandrakebrew · 11 months

Text

Show Me the Place Where your Words Come From

Words: 1,424 Rating: General Content Warning: oc x canon

In retrospect, Dr Palmer should have counted themselves lucky that the city's library had a couple books on Hungarian. One on learning the language, and another on it's history. They asked the librarian if any others were checked out, and none were. So they checked out what was there, and headed out.

Their next stop was the bookstore they frequented. The store didn't have anything, but Palmer asked the owner if he could get them some books on the language, and some magazines and catalogues too, if possible. The owner said he'd try.

After they started gathering resources, they realized a slight problem. One of their commanders bad habits was snooping around. Their home was no exception. They'd caught him once, and found some items of theirs moved around in their drawers. If they wanted the surprise to actually be a surprise, they'd have to get clever.

Fortunately, at least for this instance, they grew up in a home where they needed to keep things hidden, so it was a well developed talent. Putting them inside something with a lock wasn't a good idea. Might as well put a big sign that said 'Look in Here!' above it. Palmer could ask Para-Medic to keep them at her place, but having to explain what they were doing made them want to avoid that option.

Drawers, and cabinets were also a no go. Putting them under their mattress was almost laughably bad. However…

They slid themselves under the bed, pushing some boxes out of their way. They took the knife they keep in their pocket and cut a slit almost a foot in length into the fabric under the box spring. Then they placed the books onto the wooden frame inside.

The hiding spot worked for two years.

Palmer found a couple co-workers who were native speakers as well. Which was fortunate since they pointed out just how bad the doctor's pronunciation was. Those conversations were had when Palmer was sure Skull Face was nowhere in the building. Quickly silencing a conversation with someone when he walked in the room would never look innocent. They'd have to spoil the surprise, otherwise their commander would assume the worst of the situation.

Alas, it got spoiled not because of Skull Face's snooping, or having caught Palmer in a hushed conversation, but because the doctor couldn't help getting distracted.

They'd wandered into their bedroom after taking a bathroom break from studying. They noticed their books no longer fit on their bookshelf, and were decided which ones to get rid of. They got so focused on this task that they failed to notice the sound of the front door opening.

Eventually, they remembered what they'd been doing, and returned to the living room. Only to find their commander sitting on the couch, looking at the study materials spread about the coffee table.

Palmer now only slightly regretting giving him a key and telling him to come over whenever he wanted.

The commander had his back to them, and didn't seem to know they'd walked back into the room, so they stayed quiet. Skull Face currently flipping through one of their notebooks. He then traded it for one of the catalogues Palmer had. They got it for translation practice, and to see pictures of Hungarian homes.

They took a few more moments simply to watch, enjoying the novelty of sneaking up on him for once. Eventually they walked around the couch and into his line of sight. “I meant for it to be a surprise.” They explained.

If Skull Face was startled by their sudden appearance, he didn't show it. “You're learning Hungarian.” A statement, not a question.

“Yeah, I just thought…” Their commander was their lover, yes, but he was also their friend. One of, if not the only, person they could truly be themselves around. He made them feel safe for once. While they both shared knowledge of English and German, the doctor felt it was unfair they could never speak in his mother tongue. They knew nothing of it, and he'd lost most of it growing up. Another tragedy from a long list in Skull Face's life.

“I wanted us to be able to speak in your mother tongue, not just mine.”

“How long have you been working on this?” His voice had gone quiet to the point they almost missed what he asked.

”Két év, gondolom?“

The commander just stared at them in response. Did they say it wrong? Was their pronunciation off again? Did he not understand what they said?

Before they could ask anything though, Skull Face cleared his throat. He dropped the catalogue he'd been holding onto the table.

“Excuse me, there's something I need to attend to.”

”What? You just got here.“

”Yes, but I just remembered it.“ He responded as he got the door. He still had his hat and jacket on so he quickly left the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

Palmer started wringing their hands. Did they offend him? Was this whole thing an overstep? A mistake? Should they try to call him later tonight or wait until work tomorrow to talk?

Palmer looked at the materials on their table. They should probably put those away now.

As he walked back towards his home, Skull Face tried to process what the hell just happened. He wasn't used to it, people just being kind him, at least not without some hidden hook. Not since his childhood which he now barely recalls. This though, goes beyond kindness. They spent all that time… Doing something for him?

Skull Face was a man of action, he was rarely swayed by talk. It was too easy to say one thing and then act another. So being told the words, “I care about you,“ or ”you're important to me,“ didn't mean a whole lot to him.

Actions however, were harder to ignore. There was hard evidence in front of him that the doctor cared about him.

He cleared his throat again, and breathed in sharply. His vision began to blur, and his eyes stung. Skull Face shook his head and started walking faster towards his home.

They didn't speak again until lunchtime the next day. Palmer could barely focus on work, absentmindedly doing paperwork. The morning had been calm was well, making it drag on even more.

Finally, they heard a knock on the door. “Come in,” If it wasn't their commander, the doctor was going to have an anxiety attack.

”Afternoon, Doctor,“ Thankfully for the doctor, Skull Face opened the door and came inside.

”Ah, Commander,“ They forced a smile, trying to keep control of their nerves.

”My apologies, for the interruption last night.“

”It's alright, I'm sure it was out of your hands." Him needed to go do something was an obvious lie, they knew that. In fact they were sure Skull Face knew they knew that.

They moved the conversation away, "Anything interesting happen this morning?“ They'd complain about their day, but they knew better than to complain about a slow day in the medical field.

”I had a meeting with the major, not much else.”

“Oh? Anything you can tell me?”

“It's confidential, I'm afraid.”

The doctor made a fake pouting face at him, before letting it drop, ”Ah well, I trust you know what you're doing.“

The XO wondered if they meant 'you' as a collective. Or just him.

There was a tense silence after that, before they both spoke at the same time, the elephant finally being acknowledged.

”Doctor-“

”Listen-“

The both stop again, then the commander gestures for Palmer to continue.

”I didn't mean to upset you, if that's what happened.“

Upset? Is that how they took his reaction? Then again, how else were they supposed to take it?

”You didn't,“ He paused, ”I appreciate the thought.“

That's a relief, though they were still confused as to his… Theatrics.

They'd been so caught up in worrying that they'd damaged their relationship somehow, they never considered that his reaction might be a positive one. But the more they did think about it, the more it made sense. He'd gone so long without kind gestures that he'd simply didn't know how to respond. An abused dog that cries out when pet.

”Szívesen, commander.“ They smiled at him. ”Now that's it out in the open, maybe you can help me study.“

”I'm still learning it myself, you know.” He reminded them.

“Well then, we can help each other study.”

An excuse to spend more time with the other, not that they really needed one.

A/N: Két év, gondolom = 2 years, i think Szívesen = You're welcome

#HERE TAKE IT I'M SICK OF LOOKING AT IT #mine #my writing #ship: phantom lovers

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andydrysdalerogers · 1 year

Text

The ABCs of Nick Vaughn - "H"

Pairing: Reader x Nick Vaughn (Before We Go)

Summary: Children its time to learn your ABCs. And Nick Vaughn is here to teach you the lessons. 26 glimpses in the world of you and Nick Vaughn

Warnings: S-M-U-T!!!! (under 18 please leave the chat!) descriptions of sexual activity including some themes of BDSM, loss of virginity, fluffy bits, pet name etc...

A/N: The new upload will probably be Sundays and Thursdays. Have fun kittens!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Previous: G - Glasses

ABC Masterlist - Main Masterlist

H - Hair

From Nick’s point of view...

One of the little things that intrigued me about her was her hair. It was constantly changing. Different colors, different styles each day, different lengths, just not short. No, she preferred to keep it on the longer side for one reason only.

I love to play with her hair.

At first, I just watched, she would brush it out after a shower, swinging it around as she danced and cleaned, placed curls in it for a night out. Her hair was her pride. It changed with her moods.

She currently had purple streaks, her job never batting an eye at the color changes. But I could tell she was getting bored with it.

“Should I cut my hair, Nicky?” she asked, climbing out of the shower.

“How short?”

“Like to my chin.” She faced me, motioning to how she wanted it as I unconsciously make a face of disagreement, making her snort in laughter. “I’ll never cut my hair that short love, you know that.”

“I know, but if you want, I could get used to it.”

She shook her head. “No, I like it when you play with my hair. Can’t do that if it’s short.”

“Yeah? Well, c’mere and I’ll brush it out for you.” I patted the bench next to the bed. I watched as she towel dried it, a soft smile on her face. She looks so beautiful like this, natural and raw. She sits in front of me and I start gently combing out the wet tangles. She hums in contentment and the sound goes straight to my groin.

This is my favorite time of day, just us, domestic and in love.

“Will you do this for our daughter in the future?” She blinks up at me as I still my hands.

I lean down and kiss her softly. “For you and my girl. For all of my kids with you.” I smile as I kiss her again. She twists slightly to deepen the kiss. I ran a hand on her neck and into her hair to hold her in place. I can smell the lavender floral scent from her shampoo, and it makes me sigh in happiness. I maneuver her to straddle my lap so I can get both of hands into her silky hair.

Her response was a soft moan, probably because she could feel my cock getting harder underneath her. Her hips moved slightly, and I could feel her core getting hotter. God what I wouldn’t do for this woman. I just want to grip her hair as I pound her from behind.

So I do.

I use her hair like a lasso to keep her in place as I thrust deep and hard into her. She moans loudly as her body lurches forward, but I keep her in place. She knows to say her safe word if its too much. I can feel how much she likes it; she wants me to keep going, she wants to drain my balls with her pussy.

This woman will be the death of me as she cums and triggers my own. I let go of her hair and ease her down. I ran my fingers in her hair and massaged her scalp. My precious girl.

Definitely not cutting it ever again, she whispers. I chuckle as I kiss the crown of her head.

Tag list:

@patzammit @slutforchrisjamalevans @jennmurawski13-writes @firephotogrl74 @texmexdarling @tinkerbelle67 @atoosa22

#andy's shenanigans #andy's hea #chris evans #the ABCs of nick Vaughn #nick vaughn x reader #chris evans fanfiction #nick vaughn smut #nick vaughn x you #before we go au #chris evans fic #chris evans smut #chris evans au

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 2 years

Text

HEART'S REDEMPTION - CHAPTER 31

*Warning: Adult Content*

The Rockbridge Municipal Airport is a small affair, hardly big enough for a midsized aircraft to safely land and generally used only for small, privately-owned planes.

The Walkers arrive slightly ahead of them, having driven with the reckless speed of folk who know their local roads like the backs of their hands.

Ian Foley pulls his truck alongside Maria Walker's station-wagon and Jack Walker's old Dodge and cuts the engine with a sigh.

Beside him, Sam Asato sits with a little frown bending the sweet bow of his lips and Carlos Martinez has been obnoxiously jiggling his leg the whole drive.

They're all a bit on edge but Carlos seems especially frayed.

Ian realizes that, of all of them, he's the most vulnerable.

The Walkers are a tight-knit clan and Sam and Ian are bound on some level Ian can't even explain but Carlos is something of a loose thread.

If he has other friend, or any family besides Toni, he hasn't spoken of them.

"Hey," Ian says, reaching past Sam to touch Carlos’ shoulder,

"Whatever happens, we've got your back, Carlos. Don't worry."

He turns with a startled look and then smiles crookedly.

"Thanks, man. You're a good guy."

Giving his shoulder a final squeeze, Ian’s turn away, popping his door open with another sigh.

‘People keep telling me that, well, Sam and Carlos do, at least. Maybe one of these days I'll believe it. Hell, maybe someday it'll even be true.’

As the three of them join the Walkers where they stand near the end of the runway, the low hum of a distant engine reaches us on the air.

A moment later, a small plane comes into view over the valley's eastern edge, coming in on a gradual descent.

As it approaches, Ian recognizes it as a little Cessna 185 and watches with admiration as the pilot brings it down for a perfect landing, slowing and then taxiing to a halt in a designated spot.

Finally, the cockpit opens and the pilot helps Antonia Martinez to the ground and hands her a pair of small duffle bags.

She slings one over each shoulder, gives the pilot a friendly salute and then turns and walks towards us.

She wears faded jeans over brown work-boots, a white tank-top and a long-sleeved, black and white checked shirt tied around her waist.

She looks a few pounds thinner than the last time they saw her, the well-defined muscles in her shoulders and arms standing out with lean definition under her light-brown skin and as she approaches Ian sees dark circles under her eyes and a line of worry etched between her full brows.

If he'd had any doubts that her worry for Carlos was genuine, Ian doesn't doubt it now.

She's clearly had a rough few weeks.

Carlos steps forward to greet her as she approaches, hands at his sides and a nervous tension in the straight line of his back.

She walks right up to him without glancing to either side, without sparing the rest of us a look and stops less than an arm's length from him, fixing him with an intense stare.

For a moment no one breathes and then she smacks her hand across his face, the slap landing with a solid crack.

Ian hears Sam gasp and starts to step forward but he sets his hand on Sam’s shoulder and shakes his head.

Ian’s intuition says Toni has a lot of feelings to get through and anger was just what came out first.

He’s proven right when a second later she drops her bags and launches herself into Carlos's arms, squeezing so tight Ian can almost hear his ribs crack.

"You stupid little son-of-a-bitch," she sobs.

"How could you leave me like that? Do you know how worried I've been? I thought you were dead or something! I thought you were fucking dead by the side of the road somewhere, you little shit.”

"Auntie..."

Carlos pats her back and returns her embrace, choked by emotions of his own.

"Why, Carlito? Why'd you do that?" Toni asks, releasing him and grabbing his face between her hands, rubbing the red spot on his cheek where her palm had struck him.

"You know why, Tía," Carlos answers quietly, reaching up to gently grasp her wrists and draw her hands away from his face.

"You used me. You used me to do something bad. You made me hurt somebody who didn't deserve to be hurt and you treated me like one of your weapons or a tool. I couldn't let you do that to me anymore. And I'll tell you right now, I'll give you another chance because I love you and I miss you, Auntie but if you try something like that again... I'm gone for good."

Toni meets his eyes without blinking, though her own eyes are bright with tears and nods.

"I understand, Carlito. I know what I did was wrong. I'm sorry and I'm here to make it right, if I can."

With that, she steps away from him and finally looks at the rest of us, scanning the faces of the Walkers and finally letting her gaze come to rest on me and Sam.

She approaches and Sam shrinks closer to Ian’s side, though, between them, Ian thinks that he is likely the more dangerous, if he wished to be.

"I owe you an apology," she says, without preamble.

Her style is forceful and direct and in that, at least, Ian likes her.

"I'm sorry for trying to kill you, Mr. Foley and for trying to steal your demon. It was wrong of me."

Sam is about to protest that Sam isn't 'his' demon but he stops himself in time.

For one thing, the Walkers don't know that Toni is talking about Sam and for another, Ian senses Sam go still at his side, as if that's exactly what he expects Ian to say and he's bracing for a blow.

"Apology accepted," Ian says instead, letting her choice of words go unchallenged.

It's not that she's wrong, after all but if Sam is his demon, then Ian is equally his man.

The way she said it makes him sound like something that can be bartered or exchanged, bought and sold, a commodity of her trade.

She nods and starts to turn towards the Walkers but Ian clears his throat and angles his one apologizing yet.

Frowning, she turns back and gives Sam her attention, regarding him with reluctant curiosity.

"You're not what I expected you to be," she says.

"I'm sorry for what I did."

As apologies go, Ian has heard better and wonder whether Sam will let the lackluster attempt pass or demand something better.

Sam lets it go and Ian does the same to his breath, not having realized until then that he was holding it.

"Help us figure out what's going on here, and how to stop it, if you can and that will be apology enough," Sam says.

She gives him a small smile, the hard lines of her face softening a little and nods.

Next, she greets the Walkers, who give her a wary welcome and fill her in on more of the details of recent events.

She listens without interrupting, giving nothing of her thoughts away.

Ian realizes that he’s hopeful they can count her as a friend because he sure doesn't want her as an enemy.

When the tale is told and they're all on the same page, more or less, we set out across the tarmac for the far edge of the airport and the wild, rough land beyond.

Jack and Elliot Walker lead the way, finding a series of game trails that take us in a meandering but easy course to the site of the burned car.

The scene looks much as it did the last time we were here, which, Ian realizes with a little shock, was only the day before.

It feels like a long time ago.

Toni walks forward to examine the wreck without hesitation, sniffing the air, bending to scratch at the ground, kicking the twisted lumps of ruined metal that was once Inez's prized Sun-liner.

She kneels and scratches at the charred paint with a blunt nail.

"It was yellow and black, you say?" she asks, tilting her head and squinting at Inez, who nods.

"Well...I can tell you one thing," Toni goes on, pushing herself to her feet.

"Whoever did this is one fucked-up piece of shit. No one who wasn't would do something like this to such a beautiful car."

"No shit," Inez laughs.

"I rebuilt that baby from scratch."

"You did?" Toni asks.

"Sure," Inez returns.

"No reason a woman can't work on her own car."

"You're preaching to the choir, sister," Toni laughs, "and talking to a mechanic."

Several of the Walkers brighten with interest at this and as much as Ian loves some good cylinder-based talk, he hasten to refocus their attention on the problem at hand.

"Can you tell what happened here?" Ian asks.

"What kind of ritual was performed?"

"What makes you think it was a ritual?" Toni asks keenly.

Ian hesitates but Sam steps up before he can decide what or how much to divulge.

"I got an impression, the first time we were here," he says.

"This symbol..."

He kneels and scratches it in the blackened dirt with his forefinger, an oblong oval, taller than it is wide, with a horizontal bar through the middle.

"Hmm." Toni studies it with an intense but not surprised, expression.

"It's 'theta,'" she says.

"A letter of the Greek alphabet. It has a few meanings, one of which is 'death.' From what I can tell, this is a death-summoning, a ritual that calls death or a death-god, to a targeted individual. Ancient magic. Lots of variations across cultures," she goes on, leaning into the frame of the car and sweeping her fingers through the ash.

"Usually there's some sort of anchor, though. Something that marks the targets, so the death-magic can find them. We need to find it and destroy it before some poor fool picks it up. Whoever touches it becomes bound to the spell, marked as a target, and the magic won't give up until they're dead."

A sick feeling slithers its way up from Ian’s gut.

"What does it look like, this anchor thing?" he asks.

Toni shrugs, still leaning into the car.

"I don't know. Usually something small. In some circles a sachet is traditional, in others, a bone of some kind. Pebbles, stones—doesn't really matter, as long as it's small enough for the victim to carry around."

"Would this work?" Ian asks, pulling the little black marble from his pocket with an effort.

It's almost like another will is fighting his, urging him to keep it hidden.

Toni turns and her eyes go wide.

"Yeah... that would work. Where did you find it?" she asks, with a tone that suggests she's hoping I'll say something like, 'a gift-shop in Florida,' or 'I won it in a round of strip poker.'

Instead, Ian can only nod towards the car.

"In there. Among the bones."

"And uh... how do you feel about it?" she asks.

"You wanna let me hold it for a while?"

"Not really," Ian admits and then realizes that he’s already slipped it back into his pocket without even knowing what he had done so.

"Well, I'm not gonna lie," Toni says, staring at me with a frown.

"You're probably already fucked. But at least we'll have a good chance at catching this bastard in the act."

Ian hears Sam's little fierce-kitten growl and feel his hand reach for and close around his.

Glancing down at him, Ian sees that his skin has darkened several shades and is now distinctly more gold than ivory.

Ian catches Sam’s attention and shakes his head and he slowly turns pale once more.

Antonia Martinez is right.

Ian is in deep shit and he is already, undeniably, fucked.

‘But I'm not worried. Sam says he's a demon, that he's the literal spawn of some unknown hell and maybe that's the truth.

As far as I'm concerned, though, I've got a goddamned angel on my side.’

What earthly magic can stand against that?

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musemelodies · 4 years

Text

I guess it’s a good time as any to talk about Walter’s past relationships ‘cause to quote...whoever coined this phrase, (I wanna say John Mulaney), there’s a lot to unpack here. Despite being older than Zeke, Walter hasn’t been around nearly as much as him, but he’s been around and has quite a few stories to tell (some of them even true) sooo...I don’t know how to close out this introduction so I’m gonna let this guy do it for me:

John Mulaney, folks! Let’s give him a big hand!

A n y w a y...

Picture it: Las Vegas, 1932. A much younger (and less jaded) Walter had a grand total of one animated appearance so far, a crowd scene in one of those Bosko and Honey pictures and he was keen to put his name out there. After hopping a bus from Burbank to Vegas, Walt was trying his hand at stand-up when he found himself sharing the stage with--oh, I’m sorry, I've just been informed by Walter's legal representative that I’m not at liberty to tell that story. Or call him Walt. Insert tired as heck Disney joke here, but yeah...let’s fast-forward a bit, shall we?

Much of the thirties was a hectic experience for Walter, having gone from a random extra to the main antagonist of the Slappy the Slaphappy Squirrel series. I’ve just been informed that that’s one and only time I can speak that name so there it is. (Don’t worry, one of these days, I’ll write a deeper thing about their relationship ‘cause that’s a novel on its own.) He didn’t really have time for romance, let alone a serious relationship or at least that’s what he told the press to get them to go away. Sometimes he was a wingman for Zeke and Marie, other times he was sandwiched between them, and Zeke asked him to be the best man when they tied the knot. Unfortunately for him, Marie chose a certain squirrel to be the maid of honor. They may or may not have danced together. His memory’s a bit fuzzy on that one.

Whenever Walter was questioned about his relationship with Slap--his costar and if there was anything going on between them, his answer was to throw a bomb at them. If he was in a good mood, he might’ve made a snarky comment about it, but most of the time, he reached for the bomb. Even if he did have those feelings--and he didn’t, don’t look at him like that--it would’ve seriously hurt their careers. After a producer caught him sneaking out of his costar’s dressing room (he was just there to drop off a bomb, honestly), he was yanked into his office and immediately reprimanded.

He was given a long speech about professionalism and protecting the brand or something to that extent. He spent more time shielding his face from the man’s spit-filled rant than listening to him. At any rate, Walter denied having anything to do with his costar, other than what the script called for and what the audience expected from him. If they wanted slapstick, he’d give them slapstick, but as her fame quickly eclipsed his and he spent more time in traction than in the spotlight, he began to grow bitter. Not as much as in his later years, but still...

With the arrival of the war, Walter joined the air force with Zeke and had even less interest in finding The One, though he did take up the sax. They both played for the company and later, after the war was over, the Toontown Philharmonic. After Zeke complained that the latter was too square, they took to the Ink and Paint Club and played backup for various stars, including the one and only Red Hot Riding Hood.

To say Walter had hearts in his eyes was putting it lightly. He and Red struck up a strange, but genuine friendship with a lot of mallets and banter involved and slowly, but surely, it lead to something more. He loved her sense of humor and how she didn’t take any shtick from anyone and the way she just lit up the room. As cheesy as it sounds, those were some of the best days of his life.

For a while, Walter even considered popping the question, but as the Tex Avery era was coming to a close and Red was longing to see the world, she gently broke it off with him in ‘55. Walter wanted to go with her, but she insisted he stay in Burbank. He still had a future in cartoons and maybe she would make a comeback someday, but in the meantime, she had to see what life was like beyond the showbiz scene. After giving him a smooch, she bid him goodbye, dropping him a postcard a month later. It took Walter some time to come to terms with it and even now, he still wonders what might have been. They still kept in touch over the years, though and he’s happy to call her a friend. <3

The sixties brought on a period of uncertainty. Theatrical shorts were no longer a big draw and Walter had taken to doing stage work and bit parts in B-movies and the occasional commercial, just to keep himself busy and pay the bills. It seemed like everyone he knew was either hitched or getting hitched and he felt like he was missing out.

Enter Wilhelmina Wolf, a studio teacher whom he met through Sid. She was a nice enough gal, a math whiz, and knew her way around a good joke. After six months of going steady, they got hitched and the following year, Wilhelmina gave birth to three beautiful pups. The early days of their marriage weren’t bad and he loved being a father, but after a time, he and Wilhelmina had almost nothing to say to each other, save when they were arguing. After a while, they called it quits and received joint custody of their daughters. From then on, they stayed with their father every other month and he doted on them to make up for the drama.

From the end of the sixties and throughout the seventies, Walter didn’t play the field too much. He continued to do stage work and starred in a rather cheesy and short-lived superhero series with his oldest costar. He was still adamant that there was nothing between them, despite feeling a weird and distinct pain every time he saw her with that white-haired schmuck from Jonny Quest. Maybe it was indigestion. Yeah, it was most likely that.

By the time the eighties rolled around, Walter was starting to age (and so was his routine) and though he wouldn’t admit it, he was lonely. His daughters were growing up and his career was in limbo and he was yearning for something (or somebody) to make him feel young again.

At Zeke’s urging, he went out with a fox named Vanessa Volpe, an aspiring actress and model who was twenty-six. She was gorgeous and she was quick to sink her claws into him or rather, his wallet. She had him on a string for about a year, all it took was a cute expression and a purred request, and Walter would give her the moon. Half his pals were green with envy and the other half were green with disgust, but not as much as his kids. His youngest daughter refused to speak to him and wouldn’t participate in the wedding. His costar showed up and cracked plenty of hard-hitting jokes about the happy couple. Three months later, Walter came home to find Vanessa messing around with their next-door neighbor (who also happened to be an up and coming director) and, well, that was the end of that.

Walter’s love life was pretty uneventful throughout the nineties and well into the new millennium. Considering he was significantly older and bitter and deeply wrapped in his denial, the idea of getting into a relationship didn’t appeal too much to him. However, out of sheer spite towards his costar and having nothing better to do that night, he went on approximately one date with Candie Chipmunk and it was excruciating. Halfway through it, he ran screaming out the door.

So that’s where Walter’s at as of today. As for the future, who knows??

#no more mr. nice wolf! (walter)#headcanon!#(relationship things)#(cut for length and slightly not safe for work content)#(only slightly though)#(only slightly)#(there's other relationships that i didn't get to on here but another day another ramble ✌️)

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leggerefiore · 2 years

Note

LEMME BANG ALPHA HYBRID INGO- PLEASS😩😩😩

▲NSFW Alpha Frosmoth Hybrid Ingo HCs▼

ur wish is my command

cw: monster fucking, eggpreg, 18+ content under cut, AFAB reader

● He's so big that he worries about hurting you. You're a tiny human, while he's an oversized moth with the ability to freeze things at will. It will take some convincing, but eventually Ingo will come around to attempting sex with you. Of course, he prefers you to be on top as it seems safer, but both of you quickly realise his ovipositor is much too big for that. He's blushing at the discovery.

● His cycle comes around and seems to make things easier. Pheromones are thick and heavy in the air, while you bury your face deeper into his fur to get a stronger effect. He groans at the sight. His instincts are trying to desperately control him and demand he fuck into you senselessly and stuff you so full of his precious eggs that you can't possibly carry them all around. He can't let himself, however; he refuses to do anything that could possibly hurt you.

● You lie back against the mess of blanket Ingo arranged as a makeshift nest, and a thick, heavy fog is in your brain from the potency of his pheromones. Ingo double checks that you're agreeing to this before he brings as hand to work you open. It's nowhere near the size of his ovipositor, but it's better than nothing. You throw your head back with a loud groan leaving your throat as he spreads you as wide as he can. You cum soon after, which leads Ingo to feel safe enough to move on.

● You watch as his ovipositor unsheathe itself with intrigue. It is wide, long while covered in a type of fluid of some sort and something you so desperately want inside you. The moth hybrid grows more flustered as you spread your legs for him. “Ingo, you can stop holding back,” you tell him, “I know you'd never hurt me.” It was all the permission he needed. The ovipositor is positioned at your entrance before it carefully pushes in. You moan at the delicious stretch it gives you, wider than anything you had ever taken inside before.

● As the warmth of your walls come around him, his hesitance stops. Instinct takes over as he ruts the length in and out of you. You are weeping from how good it feels, grasping at the alpha hybrid fucking you. Ingo presses his lips to yours and turns it into a deeper kiss. Your tongues meet for a languid, hot dance, but eventually, you pull away to nuzzle your face back into his neck fur. The pheromones make everything feel better. Ingo hums a deep rumble to relax you. His movements become harsh and rough; they send you into another orgasm, walls spasming on the alien object inside you.

● Ingo groans, fucking you through the sensation. You cry at the overstimulation, but everything keeps happening, and you love it. You're not sure how many times you come before you feel him still with the ovipositor pushed flush to your cervix. You whine as a sphere travels down the length and presses to your final barrier. The frigid chill of it all has shivers down your spine. He grins his hips into yours before a fluid sprays inside you, the shock, force and weakened muscles from your orgasm all the egg to slip inside.

● You keep your face buried into his fluff as more travel. A second presses into while your body attempts to resist the inhuman egg, but another gush of fluids lets it in. They're bigger than the usual eggs bug hybrids provide, just a bit small than a tennis ball. He presses a gentle hand on your stomach as a third, fourth, and fifth follow into you. Ingo's primal urges rescind slightly as he feels his young settle inside you. You're just moaning from the entrance of the eggs. They keep coming and your stomach distends from the size and amount of them all. Cushioning fluid follows, swelling you further.

● You've lost count once again, by the end of it, his ovipositor retracts and brings more sounds from you. A bit of the fluid leaks from you, but none of the eggs move. They're all settled deeply inside of you, providing a slight chill that never leaves. Drool escapes out the side of your mouth as you bring your own hand down to feel your swollen stomach. The skin feels a bit taut and if you apply a slight amount of pressure, you can feel one of the eggs. Ingo removes your hand after you press down more than he feels comfortable with. He lays down beside you, further cooling you, and wraps his larger form around yours. The older twin hums as you lull off to sleep, stuffed full of the alpha's young.

#ingo x reader #ingo/reader #pokemon ingo x reader #pokehybrid au #ingo.ima #nastystuff

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taleasnewastime · 3 years

Text

Merry Kissmass

Summary: Thunder and Lightning, very, very frightening, well, that statement has never been truer than now. Sat in a cabin in the middle of the woods, in the middle of a storm, alone. It’s the worst decision you’ve ever made, why didn’t you just go to that spa as a Christmas treat? Why did you come here? And just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse there’s a banging at the door. Pretty sure it’s a murderer, you stupidly see who’s there only to be met with a dimple filled smile, and a very large, very damp man. Well, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Genre: Pwp; smut; fluff; Christmas fic!

Word count: 10.3k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, nipple play, oral (f receiving), protected sex, soft dom Namjoon, multiple orgasms, aftercare, basically a one-night stand, there's a storm and reader gets nervous about it.

BCCxFI advent calendar prompts: Hot chocolate & aftercare.

Authors Note: The first Christmas fic and it’s the first because it’s only very loosely Christmassy. I also apologise for the slightly cringe title, and the length (10.3k for pwp? If you squint there is a plot, but not much). Anyway, as I said, this is my first Christmas fic that I’m posting this year. Inspired by the above prompts from the Christmas advent calendar from BCC. Go read all the other amazing authors works too, I’ll be trying to read as many as I can and reblogging them on here and on my fic rec’s page. Happy reading!!

You jump at the flash of lightning and mere seconds after a crash of thunder. The storm’s getting closer. Rain lashing against the windows, contradicting the noise of the warm fire crackling in front of you. The power cut out hours ago, and though the generator kicked in, you lit up as many candles as you could find, determined to not be left in the dark if the power goes out again.

Why had you thought it would be a good idea to rent a cabin in the middle of the woods? Never mind renting it alone. At Christmas of all times. If it was snow falling against the windows it would be picturesque, especially with the Christmas tree in the corner, but the rain and storm makes everything eerie. Why hadn’t you thought that of course your bad luck would mean there would be a storm while you’re here? You should have gone for that spa retreat, or even that hotel in the middle of the city; you’d take anything over this right now.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the fact you are in the middle of the forest, miles from any civilisation; a fact the website boasted and had seemed like a good thing until now. Wrapped tightly in a blanket, candles lit, you can only stare at the crackling fire, and try not to jump every time the thunder bangs overhead. Again, the lack of Wi-Fi and TV seemed like a good thing before, you’d just crack open a book, you’d thought, but you’d given up your book as soon as the thunder started shaking the cabin. You’re not normally scared of storms, it’s just in this darkened room, surrounded by trees that will surely fall any second, the cabin shaking with every bang of thunder; you can’t help but feel jumpy.

Still, you try to put details of every horror film you have ever seen to the back of your mind, try not to imagine how this would be cinematic gold. Try not to think that all that needs to happen now is for your phone battery to die, the power needs to cut out completely, and a knock needs to sound at the door, a killer stood waiting for you.

Yep, all totally unhelpful thoughts.

There’s another flash of light, the trees outside the windows are illuminated in a stark white. Then, before the trees even disappear into darkness a loud bang of thunder sounds out.

You pull your knees tighter to your chest, wrap the blanket more securely around you, as if either will help protect you. But this doesn’t feel safe. Your small getaway from your crazy, stressful life, and yet you feel like you’ve just ended up in a worse situation. This is supposed to be relaxing, yet you don’t feel relaxed in the slightest.

You’re starting to wonder if you’ll even be able to sleep tonight when a loud knock sounds on your door.

“Fuck,” you mumble, as you jump higher out the chair than when the thunder sounded. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss thoughts of a horror happening to you. Maybe, rather than dismiss the thoughts, you should have thought up ideas of how to get rid of a mass serial killer if they came knocking like they currently are.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Loud, more urgent knocks sound at your door, each more terrifying than any of the crashes of thunder you’ve heard tonight. Whoever they are, they’re not deterred by you not answering straight away.

You turn in your seat, head looking over your shoulder so you can try and better see who’s there. It’s not as if you expect to see the outline of a man with an axe in his hand, but you at least expect something more than the complete blackness you see. No indication of who is there, apart from their continual knocking.

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves as you push your feet to the floor. You have none of the urgency that the person at the door has, instead shuffle your feet in the right direction, drawing out the inevitable.

The cold hits you like a wall when you pull open the door, some of the rain flies into your face even with the wooden awning above the door. But what’s most surprising is that you’re not met with a face, but more a chest. Your hand still on the handle, your draw back a step as you crane your neck to look at the giant of a man. Still, you don’t get much of a better view. His black raincoat is pulled tightly over his head, the little light not helping to get a good look at his features.

“Sorry, I just saw the light and hoped someone was home,” his voice is softer than his size would suggest, and the words come out in a rush, showing his nerves; you wondered if he practiced what he was going to say before you opened the door to him. “I’m a bit lost, and my phone’s died, and I’m not from around here; just staying in a hotel in Fort William. I don’t know if you could point me in the right direction or if you have a phone I could borrow or if you know somewhere close by I could stay for a bit? Maybe just until the storm passes?”

Your earlier fears seem to dissipate with every word that comes out of his mouth. His size is the only thing that fits with the imagine you had drawn in your mind, but everything else is completely opposite. His stuttering voice, and nervously twitching fingers. And as your eyes adjust to the dark outside you start to see how even though he’s wearing a rain coat it’s completely soaked through and his body is shivering with cold. Either this man is doing a good job at convincing you, luring you into a false sense of security, or he is definitely not a serial killer.

“Fort William is the other side of the mountain; you’ve come down the wrong way. And I’m afraid the next closest sign of civilisation is a few miles away.”

The man seems to sag with each word you tell him, and your heart pangs for him a little more. It’s no surprise when you step further away from him, opening the door wider so that there is a space big enough for him to walk past you, but through the dark you can clearly see the shock on his face.

“You should come in and get dry,” you say as if to make clear your thoughts.

He hesitates, and you wonder if he’s now considering that you may be a serial killer. You wouldn’t blame him, you had just been thinking the same about him. But it’s only a moments hesitation, and then he’s stepping past you. All six feet of him.

You close the door, almost instantly heating from the lack of wind and rain. Turning, you catch the man taking his coat off, watch as he holds it dripping in his hand, looking around for a place to put it.

“Here,” you hold out your hand and his head whips to you as if he’d already forgotten about you.

You take the coat he holds out to you, hang it on the back of a chair and then turn to look at him again.

He seems to take up the whole room, you hadn’t thought the space was small until now. Even though he was wearing a raincoat, it didn’t seem to stop the rain from getting to his top, the material sticking to the broad, solid planes of his body. You swallow the lump that forms in your throat as your eyes rake over his defined body. The man clearly works out, the hike up the mountain was probably a walk in the park for him.

You move your eyes upwards, glad when you see that his eyes aren’t on you. He hasn’t caught you staring at least. Your cheeks heat nonetheless.

But even if you are no longer looking at his toned body, the sight which you are met with isn’t much better. His short blonde hair sticking at odd angles makes him look boyish, but the way he runs his hand through it twists your insides. His face seems to have been sculptured by the same gods that sculptured his body. Dimples making him look innocent, wide dark eyes drinking everything in, his nose smooth and perfectly formed.

He may not be a serial killer, but the effect he is having on your insides by just standing there might kill you anyway.

“Do you want a shower?”

The words slip out of your mouth of their own free will, and you only realise what you’ve asked when the mans gaze falls on you. You stutter, body becoming stiff and your eyes dart around the room.

“I mean, on your own, of course. I mean you probably assumed that. But in case it wasn’t clear, I was just asking if you’d like to use the shower. It will probably help warm you up. And I’m sure I can try and get you some dry clothes.”

You should shut up, should probably have never opened your mouth in the first place, and the smirk that is clear on the mans face only makes you stutter more. He thinks you’re a moron, you think you’re a moron. You should just turn around now and walk out this cabin, it will definitely be less embarrassing than what you’re currently experiencing.

“A shower sounds good,” he says smoothly, amusement clear in his tone.

You’d smile back, but there’s a flash of light and you tense in anticipation for the bang. The amusement in his eyes seems to dim for a second as you jump. You felt embarrassed by how scared of the storm you are when you were alone, but now, with witnesses, you feel like a child.

“Ok?” You try to ignore the fact you just jumped at a crash of thunder, though it comes out more as a question than statement.

The smile widens on his face as you continue to stand in silence. It takes you way too long to realise that you should be showing him the way to the shower, should be giving him a towel, should be finding those proffered dry clothes.

You heat under his smile, face feeling like it’s on fire, the coldness from the storm completely gone.

“It’s just through there,” you point lamely in the direction of the bedroom where the only bathroom is.

His gaze follows where you point, but he doesn’t move, just stands looking. It’s you that first springs into action, though you move slowly, feet shuffling on the floor as you edge around the opposite end of the sofa to the man. You hear rather than see him follow you and try to ignore the desire to glance behind you.

The bedroom isn’t big, enough to fit a double bed and wardrobe in, and the bathroom is even smaller. It’s a thought you have as you come to a stop by the bathroom door, you would have just stepped in, but looking at it now you know there won’t be enough room for the two of you unless you want to stand chest to chest with him. The thought causes you to shuffle nervously, as if this man is capable of hearing your thoughts.

“There are clean towels in the cupboard,” you say, eyes trained on the bathroom, not wanting to see if the cocky, knowing smile is still on the mans face. “I’ll have a look for some dry clothes while you’re in there.”

“Thanks,” he says, finally gaining your attention.

The wide smile remains on his face, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks. You both stare at each other for a beat or two, before you realise and look away. You don’t miss the light chuckle that leaves his lips.

“I’m Namjoon by the way,” again, your attention is drawn back to him. “We kind of skipped the introductions back there.”

“Oh, yeah,” you stumble, suddenly realising you both still have no idea who each other is. “I’m Y/N.”

“Well Y/N, thank you for the tour. I won’t be long.”

He flashes you one last devastating smile before slipping past you into the bathroom. He closes the door before you can even mumble a no problem, instead you whisper it to the door.

You stand there, looking at the door, way longer than you’d want to admit, before you finally walk away. You try to find some sort of clothing that will fit his body, which is hard. You’d only packed a small bag for the few days you’re here and there were no lingering items in the closets. You managed to scrape together some large jogging bottoms and a large top you normally wear to bed. It feels weirdly intimate to leave the small pile outside the bathroom door, and then even more weird going to sit by the fire, just like before, but this time you’re sat waiting for someone.

You can hear the noise of the shower on top of the rain lashing against the window. You still jump every time there’s a rumble of thunder, but you feel more relaxed now you know someone else is occupying the same space as you.

Though, maybe you shouldn’t feel relaxed. He could still be a serial killer. You still don’t know who he is. He may have just wormed his way in here. This could have been his plan all along, and you’ve fallen hook line and sinker.

You’re being silly. If he was going to kill you, he would have done it now. Who has a shower pre killing someone?

The water in the shower stops. You can hear the shower door opening, can hear him stepping out and so obviously picking up the towel to dry himself. It feels way too intimate, sat here listening to a man who is naked in the room next to you and who you don’t know. You try to not imagine that body without any clothes. Try to not imagine the beads of water running down his body. But it’s hard. So very hard, when all you have to look at is the fire in front of you.

You try to not to listen as the bathroom door opens and you hear him picking up your clothes. You’re so focused on trying to ignore the man that you don’t notice when he comes to stand in the doorway.

He clears his throat, dragging your eyes from the fire you look at him.

Your mouth nearly pops open. He’s stood, leaning against the door frame, looking at you as if nothing is abnormal. But he has obviously forgotten that he hasn’t put a top on.

Your eyes rake up and down his chest. Moisture still clings to his skin. The low light of the room only casts greater shadows on every damn ab on his body. It feels like he’s shoving his smooth, tanned skin in your face even though he stands unmoved meters away from you. It feels like the best TV show you’ve ever seen. You can’t look away.

But you do, because you have to, because you don’t know this man. When Namjoon clears his throat again, you heat, and look back at his face.

Amusement dances in his eyes, his lips are pulled back into a big enough smile that dimples form in both cheeks. He caught you watching and he is pleased enough to give you a long, undisturbed view. You hate him, but also love him for it.

“The top didn’t fit,” he holds the offending item up in his hand.

Of course it didn’t fit, you think, you’re built like the hulk, what would fit you?

“I’m not sure I have much else,” you say instead. “My coat? Possibly a hoody, but I doubt it’s bigger than that top. Maybe a blanket you can drape over your shoulders?” Literally anything, you think.

You feel like you’re pleading with him. As if begging him to take the damn blanket, that you can’t keep your eyes off his chest for much longer.

But your pleading eyes clearly aren’t obvious enough for him at such a distance. He shrugs, turns to place your top back in the bedroom before making his way over to you.

“It’s warm enough in here, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

He has to be joking. Not about the heat, you suppose it is hot in here, but he can’t really be expecting to sit next to you like that? It may be fine for him, but it won’t be fine for you.

As if to spite of you, or perhaps because he’s enjoying the attention so much, he sits in the empty spot next to you. You move, push yourself as far away from him as possible, and still it doesn’t feel far enough.

“Well, let’s at least hang your top up somewhere so it has a chance to dry,” you leap to your feet mere seconds after he’s sat down. “And maybe a hot drink? Coffee? Tea? Help you keep warm? Are you sure I can’t tempt you with that blanket?”

You’re threating, fumbling around the room as you move to get the damp clothes he’s dumped in a pile on the floor. Pull a chair over so you can hang the top as close to the fire as possible, spread it out so that the heat can get to every inch to dry as quickly as possible. As soon as that’s done, you move to the small kitchen, no more than a few cupboards and a hob and kettle.

No TV, you can feel Namjoon’s eyes following you. You avoid looking at him at all costs.

“You really don’t have to do any of this. The heat and shelter already feels like too much.”

You hum as you pour water into the kettle press down to turn in on and then finally face Namjoon. There’s another flash of lightning and you still jump with the clash of thunder, still embarrass yourself in front of this beautiful man.

“So tea or coffee?” You attempt to gain some sort of composure back.

“Got any hot chocolate?”

“Uh, sure they should have something here.”

You twist away from him, open the cupboard where you found the tea and coffee earlier, start to move things aside to look for hot chocolate.

“Is this not your place then?”

You laugh lightly before twisting your head enough to talk over your shoulder while still looking through the cupboard. “It’s supposed to be a holiday, if you can believe that.”

“At Christmas? Not home with family?”

“No. I will be on the day, but I hate being alone at home in the run up so always try and get away,” you say. “And what about you? Lost on a mountain, I’m assuming you’re also away?”

“Ah, well, I am with family. I just decided to walk today, and no one else wanted to come, so I went alone. I can kind of see why no one else wanted to come now though.”

You chuckle before seeing a purple tub near the back of the cupboard. You stretch onto your tiptoes, reach so that the tips of your fingers just about grasp the rim. You have to wiggle, but you manage to get it and as you pull it closer you realise your suspicions were right, it’s hot chocolate.

Beaming, you twist with the hot chocolate in your grasp as if it’s a trophy, lifting it proudly to show Namjoon. You don’t miss the way that Namjoon’s eyes flick quickly from your ass up to your face, his cheeks dusting pink when he realises he’s been caught in the act. You heat too, the smile on your face dropping and your eyes unable to meet Namjoons. You’ve literally just been wiggling your ass in Namjoons face and he’s clearly not been holding back on taking in the view.

“Found some,” you say with a lot less enthusiasm than before.

The kettle pops and you twirl back to look at it, now completely aware of your back to him and having no idea where his eyes are. It’s not like you’re wearing anything revealing, in fact, in this storm, it’s almost the complete opposite. You’re also no longer wiggling your ass is his face, yet you’re still awkward as you pour out your drinks.

It all feels too quick, this task that you had hoped would keep you at a safe distance from the shirt-less man and now it’s done. You stir the liquid in the mugs for too long in an attempt to come up with some way out of having to sit back down next to him.

“I’ll have a look for marshmallows,” you mumble into the quite room as you go back to looking through the cupboards.

This time you try not to wiggle your ass. Bend down to the lower cupboards to look through those first, move aside the few tins you find there and as if luck would have it there’s a small bag of marshmallows.

“We’re really getting lucky tonight,” you say as you stand back up and look at the small print on the wrapping. You’re only vaguely aware of Namjoon letting out a deep hum as if in agreement. “Let’s just hope they’re not a year out of date.”

“They’re still white, so that’s a good sign,” Namjoon teases.

You scrunch your face in disgust and then find what you’re looking for.

“We still have a year on them,” you say before plopping a few in each mug.

You’ve reached the inevitable. You can’t put it off any longer. Picking up the mugs you turn to Namjoon with what you hope is a neutral smile, no indication of how your heart is pounding inside your chest. You don’t know why you’re so nervous, but then you also know you can hardly look him in the eye with his chest out for all to see.

He looks unbothered as you slowly walk towards him, his eyes watching every step you take until you’re stood before him. He holds out a hand to take the mug off you and just as his hand encompasses it there’s another flash of lightning. You tense, Namjoon chuckles as his other hand quickly reaches out for the second mug, by the time the thunder rumbles and you jump Namjoon has the mugs safely in his grasp.

“You’re really scared of the storm, hey?”

You take your mug back off him as you heat and focus on sitting next to him while also leaving a reasonable gap between the two of you. Your silence seems evidence enough, though with the way you’ve been jumping around the cabin all night you doubt he was expecting one anyway.

“I was going to thank you and also apologise for crashing in on your holiday, but maybe you actually need someone here to help calm you down?” You can hear the amusement in his voice, but you can’t look at him to see if it’s in his face too.

You don’t answer, just wrap your hot chocolate into your hands and take a small sip. It’s still scolding hot, but you swallow the liquid down. You feel tense, from the storm and because of the man next to you.

“It’s kind of romantic in here, with all the candles.”

You shoot him a questioning look, is he trying to suggest something? But he looks like he has no idea how his words could be interpreted. Just sits happily sipping his hot chocolate, eyes wide as they take in the room.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to risk being left in the dark if the power went out.”

He huffs a small laugh as if the fact doesn’t surprise him.

“Come on, even you’d be scared if you were left in here in the pitch black.”

“I don’t know, the lightning really helps light things up,” he beams at you while you just roll your eyes. “I’m joking. It is kind of creepy.”

“Thanks,” you huff the word out before taking a sip of your drink.

“You have, uh, a bit of,” he points his finger at his own lip, indicating something that’s clearly on your own.

You heat, turn away from him as you wipe a hand across your mouth. Looking back at him you still feel hot and awkward.

“Is it gone?” You ask.

“Uh,” he pauses, and then as if he’s decided it’s ok, he reaches a hand out and runs his thumb along the corner of your lip.

You heat even more, eyes widen. Seriously, what is this man doing to you?

His finger lingers, his eyes boring into yours. It’s intense, and yet neither of you break the gaze, Namjoon’s finger lingering longer than necessary.

“Got it,” he whispers, his hand dropping, spell breaking.

“Thanks.”

You both look at the fire, continue to sip at your hot chocolates as a silence and tension falls over the two of you.

“It’s good hot chocolate,” you cringe as the words leave Namjoon’s lips.

You hum, taking another sip of your drink. You’re nearly done, drinking it so quickly in the awkwardness for something to do. You’re nearly at the point where you’ll have no distraction, no way to avoid talking, nothing to keep your eyes off Namjoon.

“So go on, what’s your Christmas day traditions?”

You take the last gulp of your hot chocolate before looking at Namjoon, notice his glass is already empty and on the table. You place yours next to his before putting your focus on him. You can do this.

“My Grandma comes over. My sister, her partner and kids come too. It’s kind of a lot, but also just wholly Christmas, you know?”

He hums, nodding with a small smile on his face. “So just you?” You raise an eyebrow in question and he goes on to clarify. “I mean, you know, you’re here alone?”

“Oh,” you flush. “Yeah, just me. And what about you?”

“What my traditions are, or whether it’s just me?” His lips turn up at the corner, amused, and you heat a bit more.

“Uh, both?”

“Well, we still have stockings, and unfortunately we have to open them in my parents’ bedroom,” his face twists as if in disgust and you giggle. “But, yeah, the same as you by the sounds of it. Just a lot of people and a lot of food.”

You smile at him finally relaxing in his presence, he’s nice. You hardly notice he hasn’t answered all your questions until he starts speaking again.

“And yeah, it’s just me.”

You hum, nod your head awkwardly, try to keep that natural smile on your face. You look around the room, searching for anything else to talk about. But the lack of heat from that hot chocolate gets to you the same time a loud gust of wind blows against the house, the fire waving as if the air has gotten into the room. You shiver, not much, but enough for Namjoon to notice.

“Are you cold?”

You look, wide eyed, back to Namjoon. He’s shirt-less and he’s asking if you’re cold? It seems the wrong way around, like you should be asking him that question. What’s he going to give you to heat you up?

“Uh, this may be really bold of me, but I may as well,” you watch him, waiting to hear what has gotten him so unsure. “But, uh, don’t they say body heat helps?”

You continue to stare at him blankly. Is he really suggesting what you think he’s suggesting?

“It was just a suggestion,” he whispers, cheeks tinted pink as he looks away from you into the fire.

Fuck it. You move, shuffle across the small gap between the two of you. You become less sure of what to do when you’re in touching distance of Namjoon, all that smooth, exposed skin making you question whether he really wants you cuddling up to him.

You’re too focused on his chest to notice the arm that wraps itself around your shoulders and then it not so delicately pulls you into him. Your face squashes against the chest you’ve been admiring all night and you feel more than hear the deep chuckles escaping Namjoon. You push away from him, only get far enough so that your face isn’t pushed into his chest, and though it’s an improvement, you still feel a little disappointed.

“Better?” Namjoon mumbles almost into your hair.

You shuffle a bit into him, get comfy and then hum.

“Are you sure?”

He’s aiming for something you know and you can also guess what it might be. The two of you have not been the most subtle about your feelings tonight, and now, one barrier broken, you can’t help but feel Namjoon’s confidence has grown.

Your heart hammers at the thought of what might be about to happen. Half with excitement, half with nerves. Are you really going to do this? It’s been a while since you’ve been intimate with anyone, been a while since you even wanted to be intimate with anyone. And although it’s only been a few hours with Namjoon, you can’t help but think fuck it. It's Christmas after all.

Taking a small breath, you look up at Namjoon.

His face is so close now, you can see the scattering of small moles over his face like a constellation of stars. You can almost count the lines of colour that make up his eyes, can see each individual eyelash and memorise the way they flutter against his skin.

Neither of you talk, you just drink each other in. Eyes flick between eyes and then you look down at his mouth. It's as pretty as the rest of him, pink and soft and smooth.

You’re not sure who moves first, but the next thing you know you’re kissing.

The kiss starts out soft, as if both of you had never done it before, scared that you are doing it wrong or that you are going to somehow scare the other person away. But it doesn’t take long for you to settle into it.

You can feel how his lips curve into a smile as you push your bum off the sofa to try and get closer to him. His hand comes down to your hip, pushing you back down, but before you can whine, his body is following you. His other hand goes to the back of your shoulder, supporting you as he keeps on pushing, forcing you backwards.

You gasp as your back hits the arm of the sofa, and Namjoon takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your gasp turns into a moan; he tastes like chocolate and marshmallows and something you have never tasted before, something wholly him.

He shuffles around, the sofa is hardly big enough for the two of you to sit on, so now lay on it you struggle to see it working. But Namjoon must be a cleaver man, or simply desperate enough to make it work, as he seems to easily slot himself between your legs.

Now he has total control of you. Lay under him, you give in to his every move, let him dive in deeper to you, let him jostle you into the position he wants, let him do whatever he wants to you.

He seems satisfied with it, his chest coming to rest on top of yours. You feel the growing bulge in his pants, and groan at the feeling. You’d only just started kissing and yet that is how affected he is? You don’t know if he’s embarrassed, or if he just wants to slow things down, but as he draws his hips away from yours, you can’t help but chase him. You want to feel him again, want to feel him in you, but for the time being just feeling him between the many layers of clothes is enough.

He chuckles even as his hands grab your hips, stopping you from moving.

“There’s no need to rush,” he says against your lips. “We’ve got all night.”

You nod in agreement even if your head is disagreeing with the statement. You may have all night, but that didn’t mean you shouldn’t rush, what was the point in going so slow, you could do all of that later, if you had so many hours, why not make the most of them?

Your thoughts are silenced by Namjoon’s lips reattaching to yours. The moan that releases itself from your throat causes his lips to turn up at the edges.

“So responsive,” he pulls away again, but this time places his lips on your jaw, kissing your skin as he starts his slow retreat down your neck. “Can’t wait to see if you’re this responsive everywhere.”

“You’d be able to find out sooner if you put a bit more speed into it.”

He chuckles, only frustrating you more. His lips continue down your neck, and when you groan and try to arch up into him, his hands tighten where they sit on your hips, stopping you from moving. You go to groan again, but a flash lights up the room, and then there’s a loud rumble of thunder. You stiffen and don’t realise that Namjoon’s lips have stopped.

“You really are scared of it,” he chuckles but when he realises you don’t return the joke he becomes more serious. “It’s fine, just a little storm.”

You soften as his lips reattach to your neck, this time sucking on the spot, his teeth nipping causing a small sharp pain. His tongue proudly licks the spot that has no doubt bruised.

“It’s not a little storm,” you whine, despite the pleasure that continues to course through you. “You weren’t here earlier when the whole cabin was shaking. I seriously thought a bolt of lightning was going to hit the place and it was going to go up in flames.”

Namjoon doesn’t chuckle this time, just lets out a low hum as his fingers work at the hem of your top.

“Either that or a tree was going to fall on the place. I mean, a tree could still fall on us,” you continue as Namjoon pushes your top up and off your body. “How are you not even affected by that?”

“Because there are other things I’d rather focus on,” he mumbles as his fingers fumble with the clasp of your bra. “Maybe I can help distract you too.”

Your bra falls off you and he does exactly as promised. His lips going to your peaked nipple, tongue circling the skin before lightly sucking. You hum out a low moan, head falling backwards on your neck as if to help him have more access.

His one hand stays on your hips, keeping you from moving too much, while his other hand goes to your back, pushing you up into him. His lips kiss their way around your breasts, tongue swiping at your nipples, teeth lightly grazing your skin.

“You’re way too good at this,” your voice comes out breathy giving away how much you’re enjoying yourself.

Namjoon doesn’t respond, presumably way too into his task. When you let out a small moan and try to arch up into him though you can feel a smile on his lips. The hand on your hip moves, coming in front of you, his palm rests on your stomach while his long fingers dip under your pants.

“Fuck,” you whisper to the ceiling when you feel Namjoon’s fingers swipe through your folds. He doesn’t press down hard, just tests the waters, but it’s enough to have you arching further into him.

Namjoon lets out a low hum, his tongue still working its way at your chest, his finger has found its way to your entrance though, that obviously being enough to finally get a response from him. He doesn’t dip his fingers in, just circles the hole applying light pressure.

You moan, half pleasure, half frustration. Try to wiggle yourself towards him as if that will be enough to get him to push his fingers inside. The only thing that happens is he draws away. His fingers stay where they are, less pressure but still there, but his mouth finally releases your nipple. He pushes himself up enough so that he can look down at you. His eyes rake your body as if taking every inch of you in, linger on your chest as if admiring what he’s achieved there.

“I though you said you were going to help distract me,” you tease and are rewarded with a large toothy smile.

He’s still looking at you with that dimple filled smile, innocent, as if butter wouldn’t melt, when you feel his finger apply more pressure to your core. You twist involuntarily, but Namjoon holds you exactly where he wants you.

“Is this not distraction enough?” He sounds cocky, knows exactly what he’s doing to you, can feel exactly what he’s doing to you. You hate it, like he’s holding some sort of power over you, but you also love it, this sweet, innocent looking guy, being so confident and domineering over you.

“Namjoon,” you whine his name, wiggle your hips into his hand again. He lets out another low chuckle, eyes crinkling at the corners, before you carry on. “Please. Namjoon, don’t tease me.”

His fingers finally dip into you. His eyes flick between yours, watches as you moan out at the feeling of his fingers inside you. He twists his hand so that his thumb can press against your clit, his fingers moving in and out of you. After so little, it feels like a lot.

He continues to watch your face as it scrunches in pleasure. Continues to push his fingers in and out of you. Continues to circle your clit. Continues to create so much pleasure in you.

You continue to wither under him. Continue to arch up into him. Continue to moan out in pleasure. Continue to want more from him.

You feel Namjoon dip towards you, your eyes closed, barely having the functionality to open them. His fingers continue to work in you as his head comes a breaths distance from yours.

“I really want to taste you,” he whispers it like you’re in a room full of people and he only wants you to hear.

“Yeah?” Your voice is louder, breathier, unable to control much of anything in this moment. “I’m so close.”

He hums, pleased, and then his lips drop onto yours. It’s not the most elegant kiss, it’s light, Namjoon having to do most of the work, sucking your bottom lip in between his and then he’s gone again.

“Can we go to the bed?” You can’t concentrate on the question in this moment, and Namjoon seems to understand that as his hand slowly comes to a stop. “Y/N. Can we go to the bed?”

It still takes you a second. From so much pleasure to it all slowly ebbing away with the stopping of his movements. Namjoon has to repeat the question a third time before it fully registers.

“I want to taste you, and the sofa’s too small,” he emphasises.

You shake your head. You should have probably gone to the bed ages ago, then it would have meant you wouldn’t have had to stop suddenly like this.

Pushing your hands on his chest you get him to back away. He hesitates, waits by the sofas edge for you to stand and lead the way. You happily step in front of him, find it amusing that he’d showered here not long ago, has literally just had his fingers in you, and yet he looks so timid now.

“Uh, will the fire be ok?”

You outwardly laugh at that, keep walking to the bedroom and say over your shoulder, “it’ll be fine.”

By the time you get to the edge of the bed and turn around he’s stood in the doorway. You keep your eyes on him as you reach down and shimmy out of your pants, now completely naked in front of him. Namjoon takes a large step towards you, and then a smaller one so he is almost stood flush to you.

“I was looking forward to doing that,” his voice sounds deeper.

“Well, you can take your own off instead,” you keep his eye contact which is hard because his gaze is so intense. “Unless, you were also looking forward to me taking them off for you?”

There’s a beat of silence. His eye searching yours and you’re pretty sure you see his throat bob as if he’s just swallowed something large.

“I’d rather just do what I was talking about earlier,” his voice is level despite all the emotions you know he’s feeling.

“Ah, so now you want to speed things up?” You smile up at him.

He rolls his eyes at you, a large smile on his face as he bends enough to slip his trousers and pants off. You glance down enough to see the big, veiny cock that springs out. You look away before he catches you, unable to take any taunting about you checking him out. Your face heats up with the possibility of what might happen tonight, where the cock may end up. You kind of want to just skip everything and get straight to him putting it in you, but you also really want him to eat you out.

As he said earlier, there’s plenty of time.

“Before we do anything more, do you, uh, have a condom?” He asks.

“Fuck,” you curse, looking away as if in thought.

“I’m happy to not go that far if that was a massive assumption, it’s just –”

“Namjoon,” you cut his rambles. “That’s 100% what I was aiming for. It’s just, I don’t think I have anything. I mean I did come here thinking I was going to be alone.”

He itches the back of his neck. “Right. Sorry about that.”

“Are you really apologising right now?”

“Well, I just don’t want to assume.”

“You’ve really had your fingers in me and are still apologising for crashing my evening?”

“Some girls realise later than you’d think that they don’t want to carry on,” he shrugs and your heart swells at how thoughtful he is. You’ve had it before, have literally had a guy inside of you when you decided you didn’t want to carry on and he was less than happy. Namjoon though acts as if there is no problem, would do anything to help you feel comfortable.

“Let me check my wash bag,” you say, stepping away from him to go to the bathroom.

You know there’s no condom in there, it’s not like you take a spare wherever you go and you know you didn’t pack any for this trip. You really didn’t expect some hot stranger to be banging on your door.

You hear Namjoon shuffling in the bedroom as you silently search.

“We can, uh, just do other stuff. It’s ok,” Namjoon says.

Your heart drops a little, you were so excited to have him in you. But then, oral would still be good, you’d still have a good time. You give one last hopeful look around the room as you continue to hear Namjoon shuffling around the bedroom.

You spin back to the room empty handed. You hadn’t expected to find anything, but the fact you didn’t still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Why hadn’t you just packed a safety condom? Well, at least you know for the future.

“I couldn’t find –” You cut yourself off when you see Namjoon knelt on the floor, hands searching through his pile of still damp clothes. “What are you doing?”

He looks up at you as if only just realising you’re there. He tugs at something, takes a second but holds his wallet up at you in answer. His eyes go back down to look at it as he opens it up.

“I have a feeling there might be one in here,” he explains.

You watch as he opens flaps and pockets. It doesn’t look like a big wallet but there seems to be limitless space inside it, like Mary Poppins bag or the Doctor’s Tardis. Both of you are silent in anticipation as each compartment comes up empty. And then, just as you’ve given up hope, he draws out a packet, his dimpled smile looking up at you.

“Really?” You scoff. “In your wallet? Please tell me that’s not years old?”

His smile falters and his eyes dip back to the wrapper in his hands. “It’s in date. I’m not that gross.”

You hold out your hand, requesting the packet to double check his fact. You really don’t want to risk an STD or worse pregnancy. But his facts come out correct, still have a few years on it in fact.

“Marshmallows, condoms; we’re getting lucky tonight.”

He doesn’t react, annoying because you thought it was a semi good joke, at least worth a smile. But he just snatches the condom back off you, throws it so that it lands on the bed and then places his hands on your shoulders, manoeuvring you towards the bed.

He’s keen, you respect it, allow him to get you to the beds edge and then climb onto the bed.

Lay on your back you watch as he follows suit. He climbs up onto the bed and moves so that his face is level with your knees. He looks down at you, drinks you in and you resist the urge to close your legs. He doesn’t stare for too long though, shuffles forward until he’s in a comfortable position and then uses his hands to open up your legs.

You look up at the ceiling, unable to watch what he’s doing. He’s looking at you with such wide eyes, as if he loves the sight, but still part of you feels self-conscious. You know if you watch him now you might chicken out.

You clutch the sheets in your hands when you feel his long fingers run back through your folds. He doesn’t enter you straight away, you know it’s probably because you’ve dried up a bit from the condom fiasco that he has to get you back in the mood before slipping back in.

What you don’t expect is to feel his mouth on you. You arch up off the bed, scrunch the sheets tighter in your hands. He starts at your clit, sucks and then swipes with his tongue before moving down. His tongue teases your entrance the same way his fingers did earlier. He circles then prods and pokes at the hole before slipping his tongue in.

“Fuck,” you sigh.

One of Namjoons hands goes to your waist holding you down as you squirm in pleasure as his tongue dips in and out of you. It’s not as deep as his fingers, but the sensation is so different and brings just as much pleasure.

He hums out, letting you know how much he’s enjoying himself, the vibrations going straight through you. His tongue leaves your core but remains touching your skin as he works his mouth back to your clit. His fingers take the place of his tongue, and again you lose control of your body, twisting and arching with pleasure, relying on Namjoon to keep you pinned where he wants you.

His teeth lightly nip your clit the same moment his fingers reach a particularly sensitive part of you and you curse as your hand flies to his head. Your fingers rake through the short starts, lightly pushing his head into you. He’s showing no sign of giving up, but you feel like you need to keep him where you want him.

“Fuck, I’m so close. Please, fuck, keep going.”

Namjoon hums, the vibrations once again causing pleasure to course through you. You curse again, squeeze the sheets as you feel your release approaching. Namjoon’s fingers continue their relentless pace, his tongue continues to circle your clit, mouth sucking lightly. It all becomes too much, the feeling bubbles low in your stomach, your hips buck as if chasing the release and then the feeling implodes all through your body.

You make some possibly very unattractive noises, close your eyes as if to better cling onto the blissful feeling coursing through you. Namjoon slows his fingers down, helps you ride out the feeling before completely pulling out and then swiping his tongue through your folds as if to gather up your release.

He pulls himself up onto his elbows, looks at you with that shit-eating grin he’s been wearing all night, the only difference now is there are hints of you all around his mouth, sweat glimmering on the rest of his skin. You’ve literally just come and yet the sight you’re met with makes you clench around nothing.

“Uh, so that was fucking amazing.”

His grin widens if possible and then he makes a slow assent up your body until his face is level with yours.

“And you tasted exactly like that – fucking amazing,” he chuckles, clearly pleased with himself.

“Good to know,” you say before putting a hand on his shoulder, aiming to push him away but he does budge a centimetre. “I was going to attempt to find that condom you so carelessly threw over here.”

“You don’t want a taste?” He smirks at you, pouting his lips out as if in invitation.

“Uh, not particularly, no,” you say, a tad grossed out as you push on his shoulder again, this time he takes the hint, laughing as he rolls to the side and wipes a hand across his mouth.

While you make yourself useful, attempting to find the condom, Namjoon just watches you. You feel rather than feel the packet, snatch it up and flash it in the air so he can see it.

“Do you want me to put it on too,” you raise an eyebrow at him.

“While I’d love that, I have a feeling you’re being sarcastic.”

He grabs it off you, expertly tears it open. You heat as you watch his hand pump his cock, it still looks just as big and just as keen as before. That anticipation from earlier returns, that same bubbling of nerves yet excitement. You want him bad, so, so bad. And yet you’re also nervous.

Namjoon rolls the condom down his cock, you watch every centimetre, every inch that the material covers. You hardly notice when Namjoon finishes and turns to look at you, don’t see the smile drop slightly off his face, don’t realise that every thought going through your head is written on your face.

He moves towards you, leans so that he can twist his body to yours. When you look at him he attaches his lips to yours, keeps on moving so that you have to lean backwards, falling onto the bed. You smile more easily when he leans down with you, his lips still on yours, his leg swing over you so he’s straddling you.

“Like I said, we can go slow,” he mumbles on your lips.

You don’t reply, can’t reply, as his lips consume yours. You fall into it, forget everything but his lips against yours. You drape your arms around his neck, run your fingers through the short strands at the nap of his neck.

You kiss for a while, tongues running along tongues, hands running along skin, lips moving against lips. And then you feel his hard cock on your thigh as he pushes his hips closer to you. He lets out a moan at the contact and grinds down into you with more purpose. You hum, move under him to try and get some benefit from this for yourself.

He gets the idea. You can feel his arm move so that he can put his hand between you. Grasping his cock, he moves it so that the tip lands on your clit and then when he moves it glides through your folds, ending at your entrance before moving back again to your clit.

“Fuck,” Namjoon says as he pops his lips of yours, breathing the word into your mouth as he continues to move his hips into yours. “Fuck, fuck, we can go slow I promise, it’s just, fuck.”

You giggle but lift your hips off the bed so that Namjoons cock slide even further, even deeper in your folds. He lets out a guttural moan.

“It’s ok,” you soothe. “It’s just, I guess it’s more, you know, it’s been a while.”

Namjoon hums while still grinding down into you. You’re not sure if he just doesn’t care or if he is so out of it he’s not properly heard what you said. You risk it being the second, pluck the courage to repeat yourself.

“Namjoon,” you run your fingers a bit harder along his scalp and the combination is enough for him to slow his movements enough and to pop onto his elbows so that his face is above yours and he’s looking into your eyes. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he says and when he’s met with silence, he realises you’re waiting for proof so carries on. “It’s been a while. I don’t care. Unless you do that is? I mean, it really doesn’t matter.”

“Ok, I just thought you should know.”

“Ok, well, are you ready, or shall we slow down some more, or shall we stop completely, or?”

You bite back the smile, though you’re not sure why. But just the fact that you hardly know each other and yet he’s so willing to stop everything for you. He isn’t forcing it, doesn’t feel like there’s an expectation because you’ve reached a certain point.

“No, I’m ready,” you smile at him and are rewarded with another dimple filled smile in return.

“Ok,” he breathes.

“Ok,” you whisper back.

His hand moves back down between your bodies, his eyes never loosing contact with yours. It feels so intimate all of a sudden, a different tension in the air between the two of you. You feel his tip run through your folds but this time he completely stops when he reaches your entrance. He waits, staring deeply into your eyes and when you nod your head he seems to take that as some sort of permission to carry on.

It feels a lot even though he has hardly entered you. You try not to let it show on your face but you know Namjoon must be able to tell, still he keeps pushing in until his hips are fully flush with yours. Only then does he stop.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and you giggle, loving that he keeps cursing as if he can’t handle any of this. “You’re so fucking tight.”

You flush, heat up at the suggestion. You’ve literally just told him it’s been a while and here he is saying that. Namjoon either cottons on or realises because his eyes widen a little and when he talks the words come out a little rushed.

“It’s good. It’s so fucking good. It feels amazing,” you know that’s what he meant, know he didn’t mean anything against you. “I really don’t think I’m going to last long.”

You huff a laugh, run your fingers along the nape of his neck, down the small bumps of his spine.

“You can move if you want,” you whisper. “Unless you’re going to come that fast?”

“You really are going to be the death of me.”

He leans down but you see the smile on his lips before they meet the skin between your shoulder and neck. You’re about to retort when he stops you with the movement of his hips. He drags all the way out of you only the plunge back in. It’s not hard, is somehow soft even though the movement is so large. He’s allowing you both to get used to the sensation.

It takes a few strokes but then that pleasure from earlier starts to build up within you again. He’s still moving slowly though, still dragging all the way out and then just as slowly dragging back inside. His breath fans across your skin, one of the only indications that he’s enjoying it, that and his massive erect cock that’s inside you.

“You can speed up. If you want.”

He grunts, lips kissing your neck in more of a slobber than a delicate kiss. His hips do exactly what you offer. They speed up, have a bit more bite when his hips come into contact with yours.

Your lips pop open but no noise comes out. Your eyes are wide as you look up at the ceiling, and yet you can hardly see anything, you can just feel Namjoon in you. It’s as if every part of you is concentrated in that one spot.

There’s another grunt and Namjoon’s hips increase their pace. The thrusts become shallower but harder and his hand runs down your side until he reaches your knee, pulling it lightly so that it bends until your foot is flat on the bed. It changes the angle that he hits inside you and it feels almost euphoric.

That’s when your voice comes back. Moans start in your throat and escape through your mouth. The noise spurs more from Namjoon, small grunts puncture every thrust he does. Your moans, his groans, the noise of his balls slapping against your ass and the noise of his hips hitting yours; the only noises that fill up the room.

“Are you close?” Namjoon breaks the silence. “Please tell me your close. Because I’m so fucking close.”

“I – uh – I’m close,” you struggle to get the words out.

Namjoon doesn’t reply, just shifts, his rhythm suffering as he pulls the hand still attached to your knee up. You let out a gust of air, not expecting the movement. But Namjoon continues to manoeuvre you. He pushes your knee down onto the bed, still bent, but now yours legs spread wide.

He starts his pace again. Drags out of you and then snaps back in, reattaches his lips to your neck, works at sucking and licking spots there.

You moan. Get impossibly close to your release. Can tell Namjoon is close, his hips stuttering into a more unsteady rhythm. But he holds out, clings on as if waiting for you to come first.

His hand travels along your leg, from your knee inwards. You feel the light, slightly sweaty touch brush along the inside of your thigh. Finally, it reaches its destination. Harsh, hard circles are drawn onto your clit. You moan, arch up into Namjoon and then out of seemingly nowhere your orgasm takes over you.

You grind your hips up into Namjoon. Chasing something you’ve already achieved but want to extend the feeling. You can hear Namjoon cursing, can feel his hips sputtering into you still. You’re not sure if he’s come himself or if he’s still chasing it. You become selfish, not caring about him, just focusing on your own pleasure.

All too soon the feeling dies, but something lingers, a smaller less intense feeling, but something full of pleasure and happiness all the same.

Namjoon pulls out of you, but you stay lay slayed out on the bed, unable to move. He doesn’t say anything as he rolls off the bed, you’re unsure how he can move right now, how his legs are able to support his weight. You can’t even speak any words asking where he’s going.

He disappears, but not for long. You hear rustling, are sure he’s discarded of the condom and then hear water running. When he comes back he places a glass of water on the bedside table and then sits on the edge of the bed. He pulls the covers back and helps you under them. You feel a bit like a baby, but you also kind of relish in him looking after you.

“Stay,” you whisper out, feeling the need to clarify that’s what you want in case he was unsure even after what you’ve just done.

He chuckles before slipping under the covers after you, pulling you into his side. You still feel weak, still feel unable to use any of your limbs.

“You should have some water, maybe go to the toilet.”

You groan out a noise of complaint. And Namjoon lets out another low chuckle, his arms tightening around you.

“Well at least tell me you’re ok.”

You crane your neck up, the only movement your capable of. You look into his eyes and he brushes some damp hair off your forehead.

“Namjoon,” his lips twitch into a smile at his name leaving your lips. “I – that was incredible.”

He smiles more freely at that and then leans down so he can brush his lips on your forehead.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers.

“Christmas isn’t until next week,” you frown.

“Yeah, but I already know I’m not going to get a better present than that.”

You roll your eyes, shake your head, before moving into a more comfortable position. Namjoon shifts under you, getting comfy with you still in his arms. There’s a flash of lightning, you hardly notice it or the rumble of thunder that follows.

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duskholland · 4 years

Text

Settle || Mob!Tom Smut

summary ↠ distance may make the heart grow fonder, but you’d spend every day by tom’s side if you could. warnings ↠ a bit of angst, and this is just.... so fucking smutty.... pwp but make it 8k of smut... 18+ minors dni !!!!!!!!!!! extended nsfw warnings below the cut <3 word count ↠ 11.7k. a/n ↠ lads... lost my mind I’ve lost it. the mob!tom energy has been absolutely overwhelming for the last month, and this has been a long time coming. thank you esquire. thank you gq. thanks tom too, I guess, even though his handsomeness is a double-edged sword. also thanks to chloe for motivating me to write this lmao. this was a lot of fun!! softness sweetness debased animalistic crazy stuff. we love to see it. lmk what you think !! <3 ***this is a part of my mob!tom series – a collection of oneshots set within the same universe. you don’t need to read the other parts for this to make sense!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

extended warnings ↠ praise kink, breeding kink, cockwarming, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, crying, biting, spitting, oral + fingering (fem receiving), unprotected sex (the long-awaited return of cum-dumpster!reader), minor d/s dynamics ft soft!dom!tom, possessiveness in the dirty talk, and I wouldn’t say it’s degradation but there is some patronisation lmao. this is intense loving passionate consuming smut, esp the second section. pls practice safe sex irl x

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧ *:･ﾟSETTLE･ﾟ:*✧

Tom is wrapped around you, his rich scent overpowering each one of your senses. He consumes you. He becomes you.

With your face buried in the crook of his neck and your legs swung either side of his thighs, you’re clinging tightly to him. One of his hands rests beneath the shirt on your back, the tips of his fingers slowly stroking up and down your spine, and you can feel the firm press of his nose against the side of your head. His face nestles against your hair as he holds you to the warm skin of his neck. Every few minutes, Tom pulls away from the documents and spreadsheets resting on his desk and litters the side of your temple with short kisses.

There’s a persistent throbbing between your legs, but it’s worth it. Tom’s cock is buried inside you, his length enveloped by your silky heat. You can feel him, bearing in on every intimate space of your cunt. In your aroused state, you swear you can make out the lines of his bulbous head and the curves of his veins as they press up against your sensitive walls. You’re pulsing—every slight movement made by either you or him causing you to gasp softly and cling closer to your boyfriend.

“God, darling,” Tom murmurs, accented voice hanging low and heavy. He strokes over your back again, and you hear him click his ballpoint pen. When he tosses the heavy metal object back onto the desk, he sits back in the wide office chair that the two of you are precariously balanced on. You aren’t scared of falling off—you’ve done this before, countless times. You know that he’s got you. “So fuckin’ snug, aren’t you?”

You pull away from your boyfriend’s neck, sucking in a rough breath as you sit up to face him and receive the lightest of friction against your g-spot. As your teeth dig into your lower lip, you take a few moments to admire his ensemble—light white shirt, unbuttoned and hanging open, a delicate silver chain dangling over the golden expanse of his chest. He’s got his rings stacked over his fingers, and the bright metal pieces catch in your hair as he smoothes a hand across your cheek.

Tom smirks at you, his deep brown eyes flooded with lusting appreciation. With one hand on your face, the other slowly slides down your back, drifting over the loose shirt that covers your figure until it disappears between your legs. You cry out as his index finger reaches down to play with your clit, still wet and sensitive from his exploration earlier. He’d opened you up on his tongue before sheathing himself inside you.

“You just got so tight, angel,” he murmurs, voice raspy. “Do you like when I show you a bit of attention?”

“Yeah,” you whimper. You can barely keep your eyes open as he continues to toy with your bud. It’s hard to push down the temptation to start riding him, but you know that’s not the point of this. As much as you crave release and the opportunity to fall apart whilst being encompassed by Tom, there are other objectives at play. “I’ll miss this,” you admit. “I’ll miss you.”

“I know, my darling.” Tom’s expression briefly clouds over, some of the heat leaving his eyes. He rolls the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone, a gentle pout curling across his lower lip. “I don’t want to leave you.”

You lick your lower lip, pushing back the hot lump of emotion that simmers in your chest. All week, you’ve felt apprehensive for his departure, anticipating today with unease. Tom is a good businessman, and usually he’s able to control his own empire from the comfort of his West London mansion. For so long, he’s been near you, lingering close, never trailing too far from your side. But there’s uncertainty in the air, and they need him out in Manchester for a few weeks to whip the boys back into shape. Until the supply issue is resolved, he’ll be away—away from you, and your bed, and the life that you’ve constructed so precariously together.

In this world of drugs and darkness, nothing is certain. You fall asleep beside Tom each night thankful that he’s safe, he’s here, he’s content. You know plenty of people who haven’t been afforded such a luxury. Your boyfriend has enemies who seek revenge and retribution, and their greedy eyes follow him from every direction. They’re like wolves, every single one of them—suppliers, rivals, the law—waiting in the shadows, preparing to pounce at the first sign of weakness.

You shouldn’t love him. He’s not a good man. Tom has told you as much repeatedly—in his deprecating words, in the underhanded dealings that go on around your dinner table, through his violent actions against opponents. But he loves you, and he is a good man, to you, and maybe that’s all that matters. Maybe you can take the pain and the darkness, because it affords you a glimmer of light in the form of your boyfriend. Tom holds you at the very centre of his universe, and as he cups your face in a gentle hand and coaxes you in for a sweet kiss, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your life may be characterised by uncertainty, but there is no doubt in the way that he loves you, so recklessly and fiercely. He gives you everything that he has without hesitation.

The kiss grows deeper, and you moan into Tom as he presses his tongue into your mouth. He’s still rolling your clit beneath his thumb, and you reach up to grab fistfuls of his hair. When he’d pulled you into the office earlier and begged you to spend time with him, it’d come with the caveat that you need not distract him from his final pieces of work. He seems to have abandoned that decision now, as he ruts up into you when you groan into his mouth.

“Sweet love,” he purrs, voice darker. Tom squeezes your cheek, the cool metal of his ring pressing to your skin as he holds you tightly. He releases your face a moment later, fingers shifting to your waist as his lips grace over the tender part of your face. “God, I’ll miss you. Miss this fuckin’ cunt.” He kisses down from your cheek, shifting back and towards your ear. You release a wispy moan as he finds your tender spot, sucking harshly against the skin then soothing the ache with his hot tongue. “So perfect for me.”

“You’re perfect,” you murmur, mind slow. Tom holds your hip slowly and encourages you to move, and both of you release sounds of enjoyment as you begin to ride him. Your entrance aches, stretched wide around his girth, but as his finger rubs persistent circles across your bud, it soothes into pleasure. “Fuck, Tom… You fill me up completely. You’re in so deep.”

“I know, darling,” he murmurs. When you toss your head back and start to move faster, he’s quick to attach his lips to your neck. “Tightest little thing,” he adds, voice scalding against your ear. “I know I’ll be dreaming of you, angel. Every single night.”

You cry out as he helps you shift slightly to the side, optimising your pleasure. As the crown of Tom’s cock rubs up against your back wall, you shudder, breath hitching. The sounds of your heat, so wet and silky, being fucked repeatedly as you come down on him again and again spurs you on. It grows wild quickly, Tom leaving your neck and sitting back in his chair just to watch you ride him so perfectly. His eyes are dark and passionate, and his gaze so intense that it’s as if he’s trying to burn the memory to mind.

“I don’t think I can hold it,” you admit, eyes threatening to roll back. After sitting on his cock for fifteen minutes, you were already riled up. Now, you’re on cloud nine. Pleasure has your toes curling, the muscles in your thighs tensing and straining as you cling to the back of Tom’s head and tug on his curls. “T-Tom.”

“That’s it, gorgeous. Say my name.”

His ring digs into your side, spurring you on. As the cool metal nicks at your skin, the coil in your stomach tightens further.

“Oh,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut. No longer able to see Tom’s handsome face, you’re left only with the sensations, pulsing out from your centre. You’re on the verge, inching closer with every time Tom pulls you back onto his cock. He works you open, thrusts into you deep, leaves you gasping.

“C’mon, pretty baby,” he murmurs, hot lips moving forward to press at your neck. “Make me cum. I know you want it, don’t you?”

A throaty groan travels past your lips as you know exactly what he’s talking about. You’d stopped taking birth control a week ago, and though both of you know that the chances of you falling pregnant so soon after ending those hormones are slim, the possibility is there. Sex now feels dangerous, the extra weight to it filling you with arousal and excitement.

“Yes,” you whimper. “Please.”

Tom nips at your ear, the bite of pain making you moan.

“Go on,” he coos, voice sweet, sultry. “I’m going to fill you up, darling. Give you something to remember me by.” His hand slips from his waist and travels to your lower stomach, resting there. “Right here,” he adds. “Do you want it, love? You need to work for it. Cum on my cock, mm? Let me feel how desperate your tight little pussy is for my cum.”

Tom snaps his hips up to yours, and a few moments later, you peak. Your climax burns through you, your walls clamping down around his length in a way that makes him groan loudly. You open your eyes to watch his face seize up, freezing with pleasure and enjoyment as his jaw tenses and his eyes squeeze shut. You feel his cock pulsing as you continue to move over him, lost in the pleasure that spirals out from your cunt and your clit. His pants are laboured too.

When you come down from it, you settle in his lap, sweaty palms grasping at his face. Tom pulls you closer, wrapping you up in his arms as he presses his forehead to yours. His nose bumps against yours, tip warm. Every part of him is warm.

“I love you so much,” he says, voice serious. “More than you could ever imagine, Y/N.”

You smile. “I love you too,” you whisper.

Tom pulls back from you to pepper his lips across your face, dusting every inch of your skin with his mouth. You’re still connected at your centre, and you know the moment you stand, you’ll feel the evidence of his love dripping down your thighs.

“I—”

A rough knocking sound bursts into the room, hard knuckles drumming over the office door. You jump, and Tom’s brows crease. He brings both of his hands to cover your ears and kisses the tip of your nose before sitting up a little straighter.

“What the fuck do you want?” he hollers, voice terse. He’s muffling the volume with his palms, but you still wince, and he kisses your nose again in penance.

“Sir, we have to go. The men are waiting—”

Tom’s face ripples with irritation. You watch the vein stand out in his neck, fading only when his eyes sweep back to your face. He deflates as he brings his lips down across your forehead.

“I’ll be two minutes,” he barks back. “Now piss off. I’m with my girl.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tom peels his hands away from your ears, then rubs each one of your earlobes with the soft pads of his thumbs. “Sorry about that, my darling,” he mumbles, shadows covering his features. His teeth dig into his lower lip as he sighs. “I need to go.”

You feel your face fall, and break eye contact when the intensity of his gaze grows too much. “Okay,” you mumble.

“Hey.” Tom grasps your chin between his index and his middle finger. “I’ll come back to you,” he promises. You know he can feel your reluctance to let him go, can see it on your face without you having to verbalise it. You wonder if he’s been able to tell how unsettled you feel about the whole ordeal, and if maybe that’s why he’s let you be more clingy this week.

“What if you don’t?” you breathe out, unable to keep it in. You blink a few times, trying to hide the watery film of tears that shakes across your eyes. “What if something happens to you whilst you’re away, and you don’t come home?” You reach down and grab at his shirt, clenching your knuckles around the crisp material. “Tom, you are my home. I don’t know what I’ll do if—”

“I’ll come back, baby.” He kisses you softly, a few fingers brushing up beneath your chin and tilting you to him. “I always will. I promise. I’m a man of my word, so you know that’s true.”

You manage a thin smile, heart aching even as Tom cups your face in his hands. “I love you,” you say finally. “And I’ll be waiting for you to get back.”

Tom nods. His cheeks are still flushed, and his hair is a mess, but the fire in his eyes is undeniable. When he deposits a light kiss to your cheek and then lets his lips brush you against your earlobe, you know that he’ll be back. You know he’d never fail you.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A month passes. You miss Tom desperately.

For the first three weeks, you manage to control the sadness in your chest. Finding distraction in your job and your friends, you’re able to forget about the giant Tom-shaped hole in your heart. He lingers on, though, his love persistent even in his absence. Despite finding certain ways to limit your anguish, like daily calls, and soaking your wrists in his cologne each morning, the time only worsens your heartache. You’re miserable without him.

In the fourth week, it reaches the point where you can no longer pretend you aren’t aching for him. You miss him in a way you’ve never felt before, his absence from your home like a sharp spire ever-present in your chest, burrowing deeper every lonely morning. Tom can’t ease you, doesn’t know himself when he’ll be able to come home. The job he’s had to do has spiralled, with mutinous men and delayed shipments, and it’s in too precarious a position for him to leave and come back to you. When you’d suggested visiting, he’d immediately wiped that option from the table, citing the acts of violence and uneven atmosphere as too great a risk to take. You understand it, but you miss him, and it permeates every part of your life.

It’s late Tuesday night, and in a fitless trance, you find yourself walking up to the third floor of the mansion. When you’d moved in, almost a year ago, Tom had tried to make you feel as comfortable as possible. In his efforts, he’d installed an art studio for you to use. The gesture went in tandem with his greatest gift to you so far—your very own art gallery, right in the centre of London. The studio is a large room, framed with huge windows which overlook the sprawling estate. Tonight, all you can make out is the dim driveway and the crescent moon, hanging thinly in the sky.

After turning on some music and slipping on your painting apron, you take your place in front of your easel. As you stare at the blank canvas, your fingers shift up to absently run the line of Tom’s ring. It hangs on a chain around your neck, silver and bold. You hadn’t realised that he’d left it with you until you’d reached into your pocket the day of his departure and found it sitting there. You know the matching ring stays wrapped around his pinky finger, and it brings you a sense of comfort to trace the smooth band and feel connected to him, even in a small way.

You decide to paint Tom, trying to coax him to life from your memories. Shades of gold and brown take form over your canvas. With every brush stroke and flick of your wrist, you feel lighter, some of the ache lessening.

Hours pass, interrupted only by the ringing of your phone. Biting back a small curse word as you feel your concentration shatter, you put your paintbrush down and tug your phone from your back pocket. Your frown fades as you see Tom’s name, flashing on the screen besides an image of his face.

“T,” you greet, the relief in your voice obvious even to you. “Hey.”

There’s silence for a few moments, then his voice crackles down the line. “Hi, darling,” Tom speaks. “It’s not too late to talk, is it?”

You glance up at the ornate clock sitting on the wall. The feature is grand and solid gold, matching the themes of the rest of his house. Tom likes decadence. His luxurious touch is evident in the patterns of red, black, and metals that cling to each article of furniture. When you see that it’s 2am, you blink a few times, shaking off your surprise as you realise how much time has passed since you’d started to paint.

“It’s okay,” you reply. “I’m painting.”

“Ahhh.” You hear the rustling of sheets, and you imagine Tom in bed. He’s probably bundled up in sweats and a hoodie, sprawled out across his mattress. The house in Manchester always runs cold, and you’ve heard his complaints consistently for the last few weeks. The image of him resting up against the headboard, pouting from beneath a pile of blankets makes you smile. “What are you working on?”

You smile into your phone, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “You,” you tell him. “Just your eyes at the moment, and the outline of your hair.”

“Me again?” Tom speaks, and his tone is like soft velvet, gentle and crushing at the edges. “I’m flattered, darling.”

“Mmm.” You fiddle with his ring. “I’ll need to dedicate a wall to you in the gallery. You’re my favourite muse.”

Tom chuckles. “That’d be an honour,” he says, voice dropping in volume. “It’s a privilege to be loved by you.” His voice twangs sadly, and you feel yourself frowning.

“Are you okay, baby?”

He’s quiet for a few moments. You find yourself biting your lip.

“Yeah,” he says, voice thicker. “Long day.”

“What did you do?”

He sucks in a harsh breath, air catching on the back of his teeth. “Can we just talk about you for a minute?”

Worry furrows your brow. “Okay,” you say, drawing out the syllable as you scramble for words to fill the gap. “Today I visited your mother.”

“Oh?”

“She wanted me to show her how I made those biscuits, from your birthday last year?” You pause until he makes a noise of recognition. “Ended up staying there for a while, had some tea. Gossiped about you.”

Tom snorts. “Learn anything good?”

“Only that you were just as much of a terror as a child,” you reply. “She sent me photos. I’ll text them to you later.”

It’d been a sobering experience to see Tom so animated and innocent as a child, but you don’t tell him that. So much as changed since he was seven and running through a field with his brothers. He has lost more than you could ever fathom.

“Did she show you the one with my head half shaved?”

You laugh. “Yeah,” you say, smiling against the phone. You’re holding the device tightly in your fingers, clinging to it almost desperately. “I can’t believe Harry did that to you.”

“Well, I did piss him off,” Tom reasons. “I got him back, anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah, darling. Put a bunch of, like, millipedes and creepy crawly things in his bed.” Tom pauses to laugh, his voice lighter. “He hated me for about a year after that. Tried to kill me with his eyes every time he saw me.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re a nightmare,” you respond. “I’m seeing him at the weekend, and Sam. I can’t wait to get their perspectives on the demon you used to be.”

“I’m still a demon now, darling.”

“Yeah.” You lick across your lower lip, mind briefly darkening. He can be particularly devilish, whenever the mood strikes. “Love you, though.”

“And I love you.” Tom’s quiet again for a few moments, and when he speaks, his voice is gentle, “I love how much you like my family. It’s really special to me that you get along with them.”

You suck on your lower lip. “Of course,” you reply. “I love them. They… They feel like my brothers too, sometimes. Is that weird?”

“No.” You hear rustling again, followed by a soft grunt as he tries to find a better position to lay in. “Darling, family is everything to me, you know that. It’s a joy to see you fit in with my family, and I know they love you like a sister, too. Mum’s always saying how she sees you like a daughter.”

You glance up at your canvas, the shapes blurring with unshed tears. “She said that today, actually,” you murmur.

“Exactly.” Tom’s voice is passionate, alight and engaged. You can feel his strain. “You’re family.”

The air between you stills, and you wonder if he knows that you’re on the verge of tears, if he knows how grateful you are to him for inviting you into his life and letting you touch each piece of him without hesitation. The intricacies of his soul have gone so long unfelt, but he’s let you handle them, let you dust them off and admire them.

“Show me your art?” Tom adds, voice slightly thicker. “Please?”

“One sec.” You swallow down the hot lump of emotions that press at the back of your throat and pull your phone away from your ear. After briefly tousling your hair, you tap at the screen and enable the video setting. You flip the camera so it’s facing out in front of you, the canvas being framed by your phone screen. “This is what I’ve been doing today… Over there are the ones from the last few weeks.”

Tom spends a few minutes on a virtual tour of your studio, cooing soft words of endearment as you talk him through each piece. He’s tired, his voice often interspersed with soft yawns and grunts of fatigue, but he blows away all suggestions of disconnecting. Your tour takes you all throughout the house, showing him the slight alterations you’ve made to a few pieces of furniture in his absence. You end up in your bedroom, showing him the new blanket you bought for your bed.

“I want to see your face,” you whine, finally settling in bed. You’re laying on his side, head resting on top of the pillow that smells of him. Tom had watched you change into pyjamas, witnessed you brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed. All you’ve had is a black screen. “How am I supposed to sleep without seeing you, Tommy?” You pout at the blank phone, trying really hard to get him to yield. It’s 3am now and you’re delirious with fatigue, but you’re craving him more than ever.

“I don’t look nice, though,” he complains. “I look ugly.”

You practically recoil at the words. You hope he can feel the ferocity in your gaze as you glare at your phone’s camera.

“You don’t,” you say. “You never look anything short of handsome.”

Tom chuckles. “You’re too kind,” he says, “but really. I got beat up a bit. My face is all…” He makes a sound of nonchalance. “Well.. It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to know the gory details.”

Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead at the word gory. “Show me,” you ask, voice softer. You snuggle further into bed, pulling the sheets further around your figure and trying to pretend you’re being hugged by your boyfriend instead of the feather down duvet. “Please, baby. I’m worried.”

Tom sighs. “Okay, but before I show you, you have to promise not to freak out.” As he sees your widening eyes, he adds. “Exactly! Don’t freak out! I’m fine. Can’t even feel it, the amount of painkillers I’m on. I’m alright.”

“...Okay.”

A few moments pass, and you hear him curse as he clumsily presses at the screen. When your phone lights up, showing a depiction of your boyfriend’s face, you have to bite back a gasp. Bruises cloud his left cheek, deep shades of red clinging to his cheekbone. There are scratches, too, riddled with scabs and lined with pink skin. The most obvious and upsetting sign of his injury however is his nose.

“Did you break your nose again?” you ask, voice soft. The skin beneath his eyes is bruising, and there’s a dark mark across the bridge of his nose.

“No, thank god,” Tom murmurs. “Just got hit on it.”

He’s laying in bed too, and you turn onto your side and prop him up on one of the pillows so it’s as if he’s laying beside you. With a dark burgundy hoodie pulled over his head, obscuring his curls, he looks pale and tepid. His cheeks are sunken, and it’s not just from the injury. Tom seems exhausted.

“Are you okay, apart from that?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay, Tom?”

He offers a weak smile. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” His voice fades with each iteration. You watch as Tom bites his lower lip, then reaches up to press his fingers into the tense lines of his pebbled forehead. “Just tired, darling. It’s been a busy week.”

“Come home,” you say, sleepy and wistful. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I can’t, my darling,” he mumbles. Tom’s eyes look at you sadly. “Things would fall apart.”

“You’re falling apart.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Will you?”

Tom’s quiet for a while, and you watch him swallow. He gives you a tense nod, lips pulled into a frown. “I have to be.”

His words hurt you, but you know you shouldn’t push it further. Not with his eyes glassy and his chin twitching.

“You don’t,” you say softly. “Come home.”

Tom hums. His eyes are like two diamonds, holding the weight of the world, of a life so recklessly lived. His gaze skitters across your phone, and he arches a brow when he sees you stifle a yawn. “Goodnight, darling.”

You wish you could hold him, or touch him. You wish you could get anything more than the static and the empty bed.

“Night, Tom,” you whisper. “Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams to you too, baby.” Tom puckers up his lips and blows you a kiss. You return it, lips tweaking into a soft smile. “Love you more than anything.”

Your voice feels thick as you echo the sentiments. “Talk tomorrow,” you murmur, tired. “Love you.”

“Bye, bye, bye.”

You’re the one to disconnect, unable to take the imminent heartache that comes with being the last to say goodbye. Tom fades, and you let your phone fall over.

The pain returns, pressing into your heart. It’s raw and cold, and it makes you shiver. A few tears soak into the pillow that smells of him, cool against your hairline.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You wake up the next morning, slowly at first, then all at once.

It’s light in your bedroom. Your sleepy mind wonders if you’d forgotten to draw the curtains when you’d crashed out last night. As you bemoan the bright light that hurts your closed eyes, you slowly twitch awake. Feeling an ache in your arm, you try to move, only to find something rendering you incapacitated. You frown in your tired haze, trying again to move, just to stay exactly where you are again. Your brows furrow next, and you slowly rouse to consciousness as you try to work out what’s going on.

Your heart rate spikes as you realise there are two arms wrapped around you. Warmth envelops you, pressing into your back, your legs, your waist. You jerk awake, panicking for a moment before you feel his lips on your shoulder, and smell the familiar scent of him.

“Shh, darling. It’s me.”

Immediately, you roll over, twisting in his arms until you’re looking at him. His eyes are soft, hair a mess, and he offers you the gentlest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Tom?!” you exclaim, voice catching in the back of your throat. “H-How— but—?”

Both of Tom’s hands go to your cheeks, and he pulls you in for a blinding morning kiss. You sigh as warmth fills every part of you, his lips washing away the angst and the sadness you’d felt just hours earlier. You moan into it, a soft rumble, and curl into him. As you run your hands over his bare form, you appreciate how his muscles are firm and supple beneath your fingertips. You map him out attentively, touch dipping into the shades of his muscles as you try to imprint him to your memory again.

When Tom breaks the kiss, he presses his lips to the tip of your nose. As his warm breath fans out across your face, he stares at you, eyes gentle. Keeping one hand on your cheek, Tom lets the other drift down. When he reaches your neck, he tugs at the chain you keep looped around your throat, his nimble fingers going to play with the ring on the end, still there, hanging between you.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says slowly. He pulls on the chain and brings you in nearer, kissing you again, softly. “We said goodnight, and...”

Your hands are in his hair, gently stroking the mane from his face. It’s longer now, thicker and brighter than before. You push it away and look at his features. The bruises don’t seem as pronounced now, and you think he must’ve spent time in the sun. Light freckles dust the bridge of his nose, slanted and wonky but perfect nonetheless.

“Hmm?”

Tom licks his lips. “I couldn’t stay away any longer. I left it all to Haz.” Again, he steals your lips in a kiss. He follows up the action with several more, light dustings in quick succession. He tastes minty, and you wonder how long he’s been cuddling you. “I don’t care if we lose Manchester. I don’t care if we lose everything.” He swallows seriously. “I can’t lose you.”

“You were never going to lose me,” you whisper. You brush your thumb across his unscarred cheekbone. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But I missed you,” Tom whines. He drops his face, lips drifting down to suckle at the base of your neck. You giggle as he leaves tickling kisses all over your skin, mouthing at all the spots that make you laugh until he’s found his way up to your lips. With a hand on your jaw, fingers on your chin, he guides your face to look at him. “Time away gave me a lot of time to think,” he adds, voice drifting lower. A shadow of a doubt passes over his face. “I spent a long time pondering.”

“Yeah?” If he wasn’t holding you so tightly, you’d be concerned. Instead, you continue to muss your thumb across his cheekbone, gazing at him adoringly. “What were you thinking about?”

“Hmm. Well…” Tom lies back, sitting up with his elbow digging into the pillow as he turns to rest on his side. You mirror his position, stretching out your legs beneath the covers as a small yawn slips past you. “I realised that you’re the only person who makes a nice cup of tea. Even I can’t make one as well as you.”

You smile softly. “Don’t let Harrison hear that.”

He chuckles. “He’d be a bitch about it.” Tom’s eyes slide over your figure, gaze soft. You hum in quiet agreement, and he sucks in another breath. “I realised that no one else loves my friends like you do, and the same with my family.” Tom reaches out, hand slithering beneath the duvet until he finds your waist. His fingers are smooth, without the jewelry that usually adorns them. His calloused fingertips roll across your hip, and everything about the moment feels bare and authentic. “I love you now, and I know that I’ll love you forever.”

Something inside your chest clicks, and you find yourself looking at him a little differently.

“Where’s this all coming from?” you ask, looking at him, eyes wide.

“My heart.” Tom pulls you a little closer, and you think you see him swallow nervously. “C’mere, angel.” He turns and lays on his back, gently coaxing you to straddle him.

You settle over him, laying on top of his bare chest. He’s in boxers, and they rub up against your shorts as you shift around on top of him. Tom’s hair presses into the white pillow, wild and messy, but not unlike a halo. With the late morning sun highlighting his worn face with golden stripes, he looks ethereal.

“Darling,” he murmurs. “Gimme a kiss.”

You bend over, and Tom greets you with a warm open-mouthed kiss. He doesn’t seem to care that you’re tired and groggy as he reaches out to cup your cheek, the other hand resting on your hip. You smile against his lips as his fingertips dip beneath the material of your shirt, rubbing light circles to your flesh as you sit up eagerly and press back in. His kisses feel like droplets of fire, setting off small chain reactions with each press of his lips to yours.

When you pull back to admire him, the chain around your neck goes swinging. Your eyes widen as you hear the thump of heavy metal colliding with Tom’s chin, followed by his soft grunt.

“Oh,” you exclaim, immediately feeling your face fall. “I’m sorry, baby. I always forget about the ring on the end.” You bend over to kiss his chin, then sit up straighter, hands absently travelling along the chain. The metal feels familiar beneath your fingertips, and you sigh softly. “I haven’t taken it off since you left,” you admit. “It was nice feeling connected to you, and the ring you left—”

The words die in the back of your throat when you reach for the ring and feel two instead of one, looped side by side on the chain. Confusion twitches across your face as you look down and inspect the piece of jewelry.

Tom’s ring is still on the chain, silver and bold, but sitting beside it is a dantier ring, the band thinner. It lacks the brash family crest that Tom’s harbours so proudly, and has a diamond as its centrepiece. Your fingers go to it immediately, and you find yourself trembling as you pull it closer to your face, inspecting the perfect cut of the sparkling diamond. It’s a large jewel, but it isn’t too flashy, and the ornate twisting of the band is beautiful.

You look back to Tom, who’s watching you with his lower lip pulled between his teeth. Nerves shadow every one of his features, and it’s such a rare look on him that it takes you off guard.

“Angel,” he says slowly, reaching out to take one of your hands. “I love you. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together… I want to grow old with you by my side, and wake up to you each morning. I want to watch our kids muck around in the back garden, and I know… I know I’m not supposed to want these things. I don’t deserve them, and I’m being incredibly selfish even having you here with me right now, but I love you, and nothing will ever change that.” Tom squeezes your hand. “You’re the only woman in the world that I’d ever be able to love like this, and it would be the greatest honour of my life if you married me.”

You’re quiet for a few moments, processing his words. Entranced, you shake off his hand and reach up, tugging off the chain that hangs so heavily from your neck. You unpick the clasp and the necklace falls open, depositing both of the rings into the palm of your hand. They sit there, side by side, and you feel a tear skate down your cheek.

“Tom,” you say, voice thick with tears. “I’d love to marry you.”

The rings press into your palm as he hurries up to kiss you, smiling against yours lips. Tom’s nose nuzzles against yours, and when he pulls back, you see his eyes are red too.

“Thank fuck,” he murmurs. “I was so worried for a second that you were going to say no.”

Your laugh is light and vibrant, and you hold out your hand for Tom to pick up the engagement ring. As he slides the engagement band up your finger, you take his ring, chunky and heavy, and tenderly press it up his finger, joining it with his fourth finger instead of his index. You bend over to kiss the rise of his knuckles, then pull back as you feel him do the same to yours. Through blurry eyes, you bring your hand towards you and admire the gem as it sparkles there.

“In what world would I ever say no to this?” you muse, after a few moments. “I want to be with you forever, Tom. You know that.” Tom’s still looking at his ring, at where it joins at his knuckle, but he glances up when you drift nearer. “I came off birth control.”

His eyes darken slightly. “I know.”

You hold his face in his hands. “You’re silly,” you say. You peck his cheek. “I need to brush my teeth,” you decide. You know exactly where this is going, and you want it to be perfect.

Tom pouts, but he helps you up from his lap. He watches you walk across the room, and his gaze stays on you as you keep the door to the en-suite open and start to brush your teeth. “Miss you, darling,” he calls out. You roll your eyes, but your heart beats a little faster. “You look ethereal.”

When you’re finished in the bathroom, you hurry back to bed. You find your way back into Tom’s lap, sinking into him to share a fresh kiss. “Tell me more about what you want with me,” you continue, voice darker.

With a determined smirk on his lips, Tom flips you. You release a huff of air as you find yourself laying on the mattress, head on the pillow, with him suspended above you. He plants a forearm on either side of your head and gazes down at you fondly.

“I want to settle down with you,” he says slowly. “Maybe start to divide my assets, give a little bit more power to Haz. I want to focus on you.” He pecks your lips before continuing. “I want to watch your gallery grow into the most successful place in London, and I want to be by your side at every opening. I want a big white wedding, with the cake, and the confetti, and the best honeymoon that’s ever been had. I am going to spoil you rotten.”

“You already do a very good job of that.”

“I’ll kick it up a level. I’ll have to. You’ll be my wife.” Tom’s face darkens. His hand shifts down to rest over your lower stomach. “We’ll need to wait for a lot of those things to happen, but there’s one thing that I want that we can start working on right now.”

Your mouth goes dry, and you feel the space between your legs throb. You tilt your head to the side as you stare up at his handsome face. “And what would that be?”

“Our heirs, darling.” He smirks when you whimper, warm fingers dipping beneath your shirt until he’s able to touch the flesh of your belly more directly. “I’m gonna fill you up with my babies, angel. Fuck you really good. ‘M gonna keep cumming until you’re full of me, then fuck you full again.”

You moan as he drops his face to your ear, suckling hard marks against your skin. “Fuck,” you murmur, burying your hands in his hair. “That sounds so obscene.”

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you? You’re my dirty little thing, hm?” Tom bites at your neck, teeth nipping you and making you shiver. “I know you want me to cum in you so much that it drips down your thighs for hours after I’m gone. You want me to make a mess of your pretty cunt.”

“Please, Tom,” you whimper. You feel hot and bothered already.

“Eager, darling?” Tom sits back and gently reaches for the hem of your pyjama top. You bring your hands above your head as he gently tugs it up your arms, throwing it off to the side without thought. He crawls back over you and seizes your breasts in his hands, his metallic ring like a cool shock against your skin. When he nibbles at your nipple and follows up the action with a lap of his tongue, you whimper.

“Don’t be a tease,” you beg, squeezing your thighs together. “I need you, Tom. Haven’t been with you in so long.”

He looks up at you, tit held between his lips. Tom winks as he gives the bud a noisy suck, then pulls back to address the other. He keeps his thumbs busy, and as he moves away his mouth, he replaces his touch with the pad of his fingers, swirling his spit around your skin with ease.

“There’s no rush,” he announces. He keeps his hands on your breasts, kneading softly and stimulating your nipples as he knows you like, but his mouth starts to move. Tom trails light kisses down your form, keeping his eyes on yours. He observes you through darkened eyes. “Don’t whinge,” he adds, the tips of his teeth sparkling ravenously. “I’m going to fuck you so well you’ll cry, but not yet. Let me enjoy this.”

His promise makes you squirm, and Tom takes advantage of the fact your hips are off the bed and tugs your shorts and panties down your legs in one fell swoop. As you part your legs, you invite him closer, biting back a frown as Tom settles between your thighs but pays your legs attention instead of your centre. Your folds are slick already—you can feel them wet, hot, pulsing with more urgency the longer you spend watching your boyfriend’s muscles flex as he draws his lips across your figure.

Tom teases you, drawing out the moment until you’re quivering. His lips draw down to your shins, his whole body sliding down the bed until he’s just out of reach. You lean back against the pillow and try to enjoy it, revelling in the warmth that he dusts across your bare skin with each small kiss. Tom traces love hearts up your legs with his fingertips, drawing large ones over each one of your knees before tracing over the outline with his tongue. As his spittle cools over your skin, Tom finally parts your thighs.

“Such a pretty sight,” he moans, taking a moment to admire your glistening cunt. You think he’s going to dive straight in, but then he smirks, and you know that was just wishful thinking. Instead, Tom nuzzles his nose against the soft flesh of your inner thigh and goes back to kissing.

He’s needier now, moving with fervour. Sucking harshly, you know he’s marking your inner thighs, drawing an arrow towards your centre with a line of bruises. He delineates his journey, marking out the precise route he needs to take up to your sweet lips as if leaving instructions.

“Tom, please,” you moan. He’s so close to you that you can feel his hot breath coming out across you. He looks up at you and throws out a wild grin, his eyes bright and his smirk as bold as ever. “Please stop teasing me.”

He hums softly. “Okay, my darling,” Tom murmurs. You release a deep sigh of relief. “But only because I can’t go another second without tasting my pussy…” His thumbs gently move along your petals, light with his touch and teasing you until your cunt clenches around nothing. “You don’t mind if I’m a little rough, do you, angel?” He blinks up at you innocently. “I tend to get a little bit lost in you, but you know that by now, don’t you?”

“It’s okay,” you say. “Give me anything… ‘m aching for you.”

Tom’s devilish smirk makes you wonder if giving him complete control was a good idea, but the thought goes flying from your mind as he nuzzles his face closer and finally indulges himself. Moaning loudly as he tastes you, his lips gradually envelop your clit, hot tongue lightly glancing off the engorged rise of the bud as you cry out. He’s wet with you, letting his tongue make your slit all messy.

Tom brings two slender fingers to your lips and parts them in a V. His nose brushes up against your clit as he slowly moves down. As the thick muscle of his tongue presses against your dewy entrance, he emits a low-pitched moan.

“God, darling,” he purrs. “Tastes even sweeter than usual.” As the vibrations of his words thrum over your cunt, you shiver and grab at his hair. One of Tom’s hands grabs at your inner thigh, pushing it up and opening you wider until he’s able to move deeper. You gasp as both of his thumbs shift down to hold your lips apart, tender petals parting easily.

As Tom slides his tongue into you, your eyes roll back in your head. You squirm against the sheets as wetness drips between your cheeks, a mix of your heat and his spit as Tom devours you. He moans against you, dragging his tongue against your tender walls. The sensations of his smooth muscle twisting against your sensitive pussy makes you shiver, and when he adds a thumb to your clit, you cry out loudly.

“Tom, oh fuck.”

He traces around your bud with a light finger, teasing the edge of the bud with his fingernail. Impatient and needy, you rut down against him, a choked sob bubbling up in the back of your throat. Your chest is heaving, your nipples perked and erect, and your fingers shake as you hold him to your heat. Tom seems to go deeper with each thrust of his tongue, moaning as he makes you messy, leaving no part of you untouched.

You call out a quiet warning, blind with lust and on the verge of tears. “‘M gonna cum,” you mewl. “Feels too good.”

He hums aggressively against you and dives deeper with his tongue, touching your clit until you peak. The feeling of your walls clenching and contracting against his face makes you whine, rutting down against him as you ride it out. Tom takes it, stays pliant as you grind onto his tongue, continuing to stimulate your passage until your back arches from the bed and you break into a hot sweat. When Tom pulls back, he’s quick to replace his tongue with two fingers, and the moan you release is garbled and excessive.

“T-Tom,” you cry out. He curls his index and middle finger into you with ease, his fourth dropping down to rest between your cheeks. You can feel the metal of his heavy silver ring, cool against your skin. “S’too much.”

He finally looks up at you after an eternity admiring your heat. His eyes are wide and feral, his chin coated in your juices. You whimper as you see streaks of white cum clinging to the early morning shadow of his chin. Tom grins inquisitively as he thrusts his fingers faster, your heat so slick and open that the movement draws out loud noises.

“I don’t think it’s too much, darling,” he mumbles. “I think you’re being my good girl, hm? We’ve barely started.” He drops his lips and nuzzles further between your legs, looking up at you with your clit held loosely in his mouth. He gently laps across the rise before releasing it and pressing a light kiss to the engorged bud. “I’m going to make you cum so much you forget your name, lovie. Gonna show you how much I appreciate you today and for every other day of our lives.”

You like the sound of that, and your cunt throbs persistently as Tom curves his fingers up and his fingertips brush against your ridged g-spot. As your hips threaten to spasm from the bed again, Tom sits up and shifts his arm, so it weighs down your lower stomach. “More,” you decide, hearing your heat prickle as Tom speeds up his fingers.

He adds his ring finger, and you cry out as the smooth band of metal presses up against your entrance. The contrast of cold against the ravaging fire of your hole is almost orgasmic in itself.

“Pretty little pussy,” he muses. “Need to stretch you out for my cock, da’ling. Haven’t taken me in so long, I don’t want to hurt you when I stuff you full.”

You’re so wet. You can feel the flat of Tom’s hand coated in your arousal, hear your heat as he fucks you. You try to pay attention to him, but you find yourself slipping when he drops his lips back to your bud and starts to suck on it. As Tom traces incessant circles over your clit, he alternates between long laps of his tongue and more focused kitten licks. Your desperate fingers curl around the silky sheets as you recognise that he knows your cunt well, and he’s learnt the right angle and depth that he needs to travel to in order to get you to the edge. He’s persistent and ruthless in the pursuit of his objective.

You peak for the second time as he curls his fingertips up against your tender g-spot, moaning around your clit under you’re crying out. Your eyes burn with tears as you call out his name, voice clouded by curse words and desperate sounds of enjoyment. You’re loud, thrashing in the sheets until he has to reach up and press you into place, not moving as he continues to stimulate you through it. It feels unending—an eternal tunnel of throbbing pleasure, your cunt squeezing his digits until it’s almost too much.

When you grow too sensitive, you tell him as much, and Tom pulls back to reach blindly for your hand. He finds it, then separates from your mound. His fingers slowly slip from your aching cunt, causing you to gasp, but he softens it out by kissing over the knuckles of your other hand, then your lower stomach.

“Perfect, angel,” he coos. Tom pushes your legs shut again, being careful not to hurt you as he crawls on top of you. He squeezes your hand as he continues to kiss all over your stomach, hips and chest, retracing his tracks from earlier until he finds your nipples. You moan as he laps at both of them messily before moving up to your face and kissing you intensely. His tongue tastes of your juices, your arousal sticking to his tongue. The tangy hue sticks to your own mouth, and you moan as you taste it.

“God, I love kissing you,” he murmurs against you, voice rumbling into you. Tom gasps your face with his clean hand, holding you tightly. “Could do this for the rest of my life.”

You’re hungry as you chase him, body tired but craving more. As Tom starts to roll his hips against yours, the press of his length to your centre makes you excited.

“I can taste myself on your tongue,” you admit. The blend of you and him makes you feel ravenous.

“Really?” Tom sits up, his face flickering with enjoyment as you start to grind up against his hips. He circles his waist against yours, both of you enjoying the little pleasure until you find the capacity to nod. “You’re nice, aren’t you?”

You lick your lips, watching the way he stares at you. “Yeah,” you say. “Tastes of you, too.”

Tom reaches up, and with the hand still covered in your juices, he feeds three fingers into your mouth. You moan around them as he imitates thrusting motions, smearing your cum over your tongue. There’s a metallic twang as he pushes deeper, his ring brushing up against the tip of your tongue as he fucks towards your throat. The taste makes you shiver.

“There you go, clean me up,” he coaxes. He presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose before hovering above you. Tom’s eyes, dark and hungry, shift down to your lips, and he raises a brow. “Such a pretty mouth. Wish I had time to fuck it, too, but shit… I need to be in you, darling.”

When he pulls his fingers from your mouth, you feel empty. Your tongue is light—too light. A pout settles over your lips.

“Why are you frowning?” Tom adds as he sits back on his shins. You sit up a little straighter, strength regained as you watch him move around and shed his boxers. You almost moan as you watch his cock spring free, tall and flushed red. You’ve missed it. You’ve missed him.

“Feel empty without you,” you respond.

Tom slides over you again, and you part your legs. With ease, he slots himself between your thighs, his throbbing crown resting against your clit as your wet lips envelop the rest of his member.

“Well, you’re going to be very full soon,” he murmurs, looking up to kiss your jaw. He waits above your lips, quirking a brow. “Open, then, if you’re so needy.”

Your teeth catch your gnawed lower lip before you follow instruction, opening your mouth for him. Tom presses one of his hands against your shoulder as he leans up. He rests a thumb to your chin and looks down at you, eyes glimmering with mischievousness as he puckers his lips and hums. A moment later, Tom spits into your mouth, his dirty spittle falling onto your tongue. He groans at the sight, and you reach up to grab at his broad shoulders as the heat of the possessiveness rolls over you. Tom chases his action with a deep kiss, his fingers rolling back down to pull up your thigh and open you for him.

As he enters you, it’s a smooth movement. Everything flows together—your tongues, your bodies, your hearts. Tom’s able to guide himself inside you almost seamlessly, and you’re so aroused already that the stretch is comfortable.

“Fuck,” you gasp, falling back from his lips.

“Oh, god,” Tom groans. “That’s it. Fuck yeah.” He kisses you again as he slowly pulls out, sliding back into you with ease. His lips are hot as they rest on yours, unmoving as he gets lost in the pleasure.

“You’re so big,” you whimper, eyes rolling back as he continues to thrust into you. Tom’s building it up slowly, rutting deeply against your heat as his member explores your walls. It’s a little clumsy before he establishes a rhythm, his groove coming back after a few weeks apart, but when he gets it right, it feels otherworldly.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, dropping his face against your shoulder. You bury your hands in his hair, fingers tensing around his strands when he bites at your skin. “Love of my life,” he coos. “Love this pussy more than life itself. Love you more than anything.”

Overwhelmed, you hum, the sound twisting into a gasp as he grinds against you and the crown of his flushed length hits your sensitive spot. “God, yeah,” you agree. “Feels so good, Tom. Go deeper.”

He obliges you for a few moments before his rhythm fades, and he stills with his cock stuffed deep within you. Your fingers play with his hair as you feel him kiss your shoulder, then follow up the action with a lap of his tongue.

“I want you on top, darling,” Tom grunts, words smearing against your neck. He’s panting, hot breath making your skin wet. “Need to see my beautiful wife.” You clench around him, and you feel him chuckle into your shoulder. “C’mere,” he coaxes. “I’ll help you up.”

It’s dizzying to readjust, but as soon as you’ve taken your place in Tom’s lap, you feel better. You’re impossibly close, able to watch his face constrict with pleasure every time you lower yourself on him. He’s got his head thrown back against the headboard, half-closed eyes watching you, ringed-fingers digging into your hips.

“Tom,” you whimper. “Feels so good.” Your eyes are rolling back, your body trembling as he helps you move. With each bounce down, Tom ruts his hips up to meet you, and when you shift slightly to the side and lean forward, his tip brushes up against your spot. Arcs of electricity zing through your centre, adding layers to your enjoyment.

“The way that you look right now should be breaking the law,” he says, voice held tight. Tom grabs one of your tits in his palm, roughened thumb toying with the nipple until you squirm. “You’re stunning, angel. All mine…” he drops down to kiss at the base of your neck. “Mine forever.”

“Y-Yeah, ‘m yours,” you stammer, voice hitching as his index finger trails back down to your bud. It knocks you off balance how quickly your third high threatens to surge across you.

Tom sees it on your face, growls as he feels you clench around him. “Come on, darling. Give me another one.” His greedy fingers continue to move your hips as the others play around with your clit. The bud tingles, stimulated beyond anything you’ve felt before, but the ache makes it better. “Always the prettiest when you cum, angel. Make the prettiest sounds too. Go on, my love. Let me hear you sing for me.”

It takes a few moments for you to peak, and when you do, you go loose in Tom’s arms. It ripples over you like a blur, your limbs feeling equal parts boneless and taut. Everything fades, pulled back to the bare primal motions of orgasm, warmth spreading through your entire body until it consumes you.

No sooner have you finished your release does Tom scoop you up in his arms and press you back against the mattress. He continues to drill into you, moving roughly against you, grinding his hips into you. Both of you are sweaty, and the space between your legs is sticky from all the aroused fluids that you’ve released, but he doesn’t care. He buries himself in your heat, losing himself in the feelings as you claw at his back, unable to comprehend the pleasures of overstimulation on a scale as intense as this.

“You’re okay, yeah?” Tom says, pulling away from your neck to stare at you. You’re slack-jawed and panting, but you nod. He likes to push you, and you like being stretched to your limits, but he never does it cruelly. He’s always attentive as he picks you apart, slowly breaking you open until you’re shattered into pieces that only he can reassemble. There’s love behind everything he does with you.

“Yeah,” you manage, voice broken. Hot tears of enjoyment pool in your eyes, a muffled groan leaving you when Tom reaches for your thigh and tugs it open roughly. You curl your leg around his back, allowing him in completely, and as you gain that familiar friction back against your g-spot, you melt against the sheets.

“You know what I’m going to do, angel?” Tom grunts. He’s heavy on top of you, body a blur as he fucks you harder, faster, deeper. “I’m going to get your initials tattooed on my ring finger, so you’re there even without the ring.” He stares down at your face, love swirling in his frenzied eyes. “I’m going to—fuck, I’m gonna fuck you so good for the rest of your life, darling. I promise you that. Yeah.” He nuzzles at your cheek, hot breath panting across your skin as he drops his voice to a gritty whisper. “I’m gonna love you, cherish you, fucking adore you… Gonna put a baby in you.”

“Holy shit,” you mutter.

Tom slows his thrusts, his hips stammering in a way suggestive of the way he’s near a peak and wants to put it off. With an intensity that you’ve never seen before, he reaches down, balancing on his strong arms until he’s able to rest his hot palm against your lower stomach. He presses against your skin as he thrusts into you a few more times, slowing but burying himself deeper.

“Can you feel me?” he says. “I’m in so deep, darling. I can feel everything. Such a wet pussy. So greedy.”

“Yeah,” you whimper. “You’re so big, T. I can’t think about anything else.”

“Mmm, good, ‘cos you’re the only thing I’m thinking about right now.” He dances his fingers across the soft skin of your stomach, contrasting the gentleness as he drops his head to the crook of your neck and nips at your skin. “Can’t wait to fill you up,” he admits roughly. “Thought about it every night I was away.”

“Yeah?” You brush your hands through his sweaty hair, tugging as he drives a little deeper.

“Fuck yeah, baby. Go on, touch your clit.” Tom waits until you’ve done as instructed to continue with his musings. “Thought about how you’ll look, belly all swollen with my cum. I love those pretty whimpers you make when I pull out, and my seed pours down your thighs. Can’t wait to fuck it back into you until you’re crying.”

“—oh god,” you whine.

“Mm, yeah. I felt you clench then, darling. I know how much you like the idea of taking fuckin’ everything I give you.” Tom presses firmer against your lower stomach, accompanying the action with a particularly hard rut. “You’re gonna feel me here, lovie, right in your womb. Gonna stuff you to the fucking brim until there’s no chance you aren’t pregnant. Gonna fill you with my babies, give us the heirs we both deserve.”

“Please,” you beg, voice broken. It’s overwhelming in the best way, your bud rebelling as you toy with it. But you’re persistent, matching the deep rolls of Tom’s hips as you feel another climax stir in the pit of your stomach. Everything feels so fluid and wet that it’s hard to tell where you stop, and Tom begins. He’s tangled up so completely in you that he has become part of your existence. “Please, Tom, I want it.”

“What do you want?” Tom teases. He’s a devil, looks up to smirk at you. You can feel how badly he wants to snap into release just from the way he’s controlling his thrusts, but he isn’t going to cave until he gets exactly what he wants. “Use your words, gorgeous girl. I know you can do it.”

He’s in so close, lips on your cheeks, chin, nose, and lips. His heat envelopes you, clouding your brain. With each nudge of his tip deeper against your walls, you get closer to losing it, clinging to the firm muscles of his back like it’s your only lifeline.

“Give me it all,” you choke out. “I want it, Tom, deep in me. Want you to fill me up with your cum.” His curls are sweaty as you reach up to fist your trembling hands in them, entirely at his mercy. “Wanna feel you lose yourself in me.”

“Mmm, okay, baby,” he groans. His voice is broken, thick and tired from exertion. He kisses you roughly, all tongue and teeth, the noisy meshing sounds of your lips mingling with the chaos of his hips slapping down against yours. “Oh fuck,” he pulls away to say. “Oh fuck. Oh—”

With a heavy grunt, Tom finally spills. He releases a loud groan, hips snapping forwards with an animalistic force as he drives his cock deeper, shaft pulsing as your walls squeeze around him. You cry out, cumming for the fourth time. Your climax feels like the main attraction, as if every other orgasm has merely been part of the buildup. You push up against him, breasts pressing into Tom’s chest as your eyes screw shut, tears cascading down your cheeks as pleasure burns through you. His name pours past your lips like a prayer until it’s all that you know, all that you care to know.

It ends, and you’re trembling. Intense aftershocks rock through you, and you feel Tom kiss all over your cheeks as he coos soft words of endearment into your ear. His lips become wet, and you realise that blissful tears have skated down your face.

“Lovely girl... Best girl…” He’s gentle, tender. You jump, opening your eyes suddenly as Tom slips from you, causing your aching walls to spasm. He looks up at you, lifting a questioning brow as he reaches down towards your clit. “Finished?” he asks. When his fingertips lightly make contact with your bud, you wince. Everywhere aches, and it’s nice, but it’s enough.

“Definitely finished,” you choke out.

“Okay, okay… sorry, love.” Tom gently pulls back, flashing you an apologetic smile as he kisses your inner thigh. He shuffles around, eyeing the sight of his cum leaking from your hole, and you watch him shudder. “Fuck….” You can feel it slowly dripping from your entrance and clench your walls just to see his reaction. Tom groans, chewing his lips and continuing to stare until you shiver. He smoothes a hand over your thigh. “Sweet thing,” he whispers. “I’ll bring you some water.”

It only feels like he’s gone for a second, and you realise you’re drifting, ecstatic and loose-limbed. Tom is suddenly behind you, delicately hauling you into his arms. He sits against the headboard and pulls you into a tight hug from behind, kissing over your shoulders as you whimper softly. You can feel the soft fabric of his sweats as he settles you in his lap.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs. He presses a glass of water into your hand and helps you take a sip. As the cool liquid soothes your throat, you relax into his hold. “Love you, love you… Love you so much.”

He’s so warm against you, holding you tight. Your eyes still feel wet.

“Love you too,” you say. Tom takes the glass from your hand and puts it down on the bedside table, and you turn in his arms to kiss him. Your lips feel puffy and sore, but the ache is worth the relief of feeling your fiancé’s mouth gently press to yours. You sigh as the tension leaves your shoulders, draining away as he loves you, and holds you.

“Am gonna clean you up, now,” Tom mumbles, voice soft. You look at him, curious until you feel a warm cloth pressing against your thighs. You part your legs, turning back in his arms and snuggling further into his grasp as he delicately runs the material over your centre. “Sorry, darling,” he says as you wince. He’s so gentle, but it still aches in a way that hurts.

“What time is it?” you ask, mind running slow.

Tom throws the cloth aside, then reaches out and grabs one of the thick furs that sits on top of your bed. “3pm.”

Your eyes widen. “What?” you murmur, brows creasing. “What time did we wake up?”

“Around midday.”

“Wow.” You smile softly as Tom tucks you both in, covering your shivering form with the blanket. You reach up, leaving your left arm above the fur and reaching out to take Tom’s hand. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

He laughs and tangles your hands together. Tom’s palm is warm against yours, and his other hand curves around to fiddle with your new ring.

“Indeed it does, darling,” he coos. “I had a lot of fun. Did you?”

“Always.”

You watch him play with your ring for a while, his lips moving over your sweaty neck. You’re still hot and exhausted, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He holds you tight all the same, not caring that you’re messy and still quivering from the aftershocks. Soft sentences of adoration pour from his lips as he holds you.

“After this,” Tom says, voice slow, “I thought we could have a nice bath… maybe drink some champagne, have some dinner… then I want to hear everything you’ve been up to for the last month, and maybe we can celebrate some more.”

You nod softly. Turning in his arms, you sit up to face him properly, dragging the large blanket with you and draping it over you both as you straddle his lap and rest your arms over his shoulders. The bruising is still on Tom’s face, but he looks more handsome than you’ve ever seen him before. There’s a golden glow to his face, a certain lightness that you’ve never seen before. You reach down and take his hand, bringing it to your lips and ghosting your mouth over his ring.

“I love you so much,” you say, looking up at him from behind his hand. His smile is like the sunrise. “Thank you for everything you do for me.”

“Oh, darling.” Tom pauses to kiss you, smiling against your lips. “Don’t you know the pleasure is all mine?”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

will i burn for this ? perhaps. but it’s worth it. thank u to my lord and saviour mr mob!tsh... i love u.

lmk what you think......? +++ if you want to see any more specific scenes from my mob!tom x reader universe?? any other milestones you’d like to see? lmk! <3

mlist + taglist are through the link in my bio <3

thank you for reading!! <3<3

#tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #mob!tom smut #mob!tom #mob!tom holland smut #mob!tomfic #smut

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kokonoisgf · 3 years

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Home - Kazutora Hanemiya x reader

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MINORS DNI - sexual explicit content - 18+ content

+ really wanted to publish something for his bday <3 I love Kazu a whole lot, he deserves the universe ugh- this is smutty with fluff and a tad of angst <3

+ soft kazu, slight angst at the beginning, “princess”, “baby”, “angel”, blowjob

+ stay safe and drink water! I love you <3

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Lazily laying on his bed, the dim lights emanating from the street lights reflect through the large windows. Sounds of passing cars - driving hastily to places far beyond Kazutora’s reach, buzzing through his ears. Sandy-colored orbs gazing at the ceiling in doubt with à mixture of fear of yet another year passing him by. He’d be 28 this year, gaze drifting to the clock by his bed flashing in a neon color: 11:58. The sound of rain slowly eases his mind to rest. Truth be told, he never cared about his birthday, dark thoughts rummaging in his head at how he always spent it by himself in juvie, years after years. For him, it was like any other day, it wasn’t like his existence required to be celebrated. Somehow, even the sky seemed to cry, as the clock struck 12, thunder roaring outside, à flash bursting through his dark room.

A long-drawn-out sigh escapes his parted lips, one hand thrown over his head as he ponders his past, nightmares, and shadows of it creeping through his vacant room. Letting his hand fall by his side, he stares at the ceiling with lazy eyes, before a knock at his door stir him out of his spiraling misery. “Huh,” His voice is soft, filled with a pinch of confusion. His eyebrows perk up before making his way to the entrance. With one hand on the handle, he slowly opens the door revealing who could possibly be outside at such a late hour.

Before he even has the smallest chance to react, that said person jumps into his embrace, his eyes widening tenfold. It’s you, it’s really you. Your umbrella clumsily laying on the floor, where a neatly placed bag filled with ribbon is standing by it.

“Happy birthday Kazu!” You coo, your embrace only tightening as his scent overflow every pore of your being. Shock is apparent on his face, taking à good 5 seconds to process this, as he shakily wraps his arms around you. It’s embarrassing really, but he feels like breaking down; crying because he knows you’ve remembered. Even though to him, his birthday is just any other day, to you it’s something important. It hits him like à tidal wave, washing away his previous thoughts and worries leaving only pure bliss.

“Y-Y/N” He stutters, mind in a daze as you press feather-like kisses down his neck. “You remembered..” His voice is soft, like glass, shaking slightly as if to hide the fact that he was crumbling right under your touch. Pulling away just slightly to get a better look at his face, one of your hands slowly caress his cheek as you tiptoe capturing his lips in a chaste kiss.

“Of course, it’s an important day after all” A single tear fall from his eyes, cascading to his mole and down his cheek. He looks at you with such love you could melt right there. Slowly, you wipe it away, as he leans down to press his lips against yours once again. The kiss is passionate, time seems to stand still, Kazutora trembling like a leaf under your spell. Tongues twirl together as you wrap your arms around his neck, itching one leg to wrap it around his waist. He feels himself unravel already, cock straining against the loose material of his grey sweatpants, twitching from your mere kisses. Gasping for air, he makes quick work of bringing your belonging insides before peeking at the gift, you snicker grabbing his hand “This one’s for later, I got a special one for now”

Guiding him to the leather couch in the corner of his living room, you’re quick to nestle between his legs, looking up at him with doe eyes. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead, gulping down excessive saliva, gaze flickering between your lips and your twinkling gaze.

“Is this okay Kazu?” You whisper, one hand softly caressing his inner thigh, head cocked to the side. His sandy orbs zeros on your lips, the way his name falls oh so gently from your mouth. “Y-Yea please-” He begs slightly, mindless please slipping from his lips. His cheeks are flushed with embarrassment, desperately chasing the feeling of your mouth enveloping his cock. His long locks are tied up in a bun, two caramel-colored strands framing his features, god; you swore he was prettier than any work of art you had ever laid eyes upon.

Humming, you make quick work of his pants and underwear, his dick slapping against his stomach as he bites his lips, the cold air of his apartment sending shivers through his spine. He’s been ridiculously hard ever since you jumped into his arms, your scent engulfing him whole. Cock leaking, the tip is engorged and flushed red. One prominent vein runs under it, a delicate finger coming to trace it, as he curses under his breath. He’s so sensitive, feeling all his pent-up emotions and needs curse through him.

“I love you so much baby a-ah-” He's cut off when your parted lips press a messy kiss to the head of his cock, the sweetest smile covering your face, conveying more than any words ever could. Inch by Inch, you ease hi length into your mouth, pulling whimpers and pleads from the man above you. He hisses at the warmth your mouth provides around his dick, one hand tangling itself in your locks.

“So desperate for my cock yeah? F-Fuck- taking me so well-” He knows the answer to his question full well, as your tongue eagerly laps at his length, hands slowly caressing his thighs. You had craved him, craving the feel of his cock kissing your throat and painting it white all day. A shudder runs through him at your neediness, gaze flickering to your mouth accommodating his cock so well. The rain still tumbles echoing through his small studio, mixing so deliciously with the squelching sound of your mouth wrapped around his cock.

“So good to me princess-” Kazutora lets his head fall back against the couch, chest heaving as his hips stutter, release coming incredibly fast. Biting hard enough to draw blood, he feels the coil in his stomach unravel, a gasp of your name cutting through the rain.

“Fuck angel am’ gonna cum-” He warns, though a bit too late as his cock twitch inside your mouth, nails digging into the leather of his couch leaving small crescent moons, proofs of the bliss pulsating through his veins. Brushing à strand of your hair away from your face, his gaze imprints the sights in his mind as he desperately ruts into your warm mouth, chasing his orgasm like a starved man. It’s not too long before thick ropes of cum coat your tongue and throat as you eagerly swallow. A series of rather loud moans fall from his parted lips, eyes shut tight, orgasm washing over him. Eyes rolling in the back of his skull, one hand over his forehead, strands of hair sticking to his forehead, his gaze is glued to you. You pull away with a satisfying ‘pop’, looking at the man above you with heart eyes; Parted lips, flushed face, you make your way unto his laps straddling him, as he eagerly wraps his arms around you, bringing you into the warmest embrace. Nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck, he inhales your scent; you smell like home.

Slowly you untie his locks, watching every strand cascade down his shoulder, your heart almost leaping out of your chest at the sight. Excitement rushes through your veins as you hand him the small gift; a giddy smile covering your features. Diligently, he unwraps it, fingers working slowly as if afraid to break its content. As it slowly paints itself before his eyes, a silver key shines under the dim light of the living room's lamp. Blinking, his gaze flickers between your smile and the key, noticing a folded sheet of paper underneath. Picking it up, he reads its content :

The message reads in small cursive letters: “for our new home.”

At this moment, the rain slowly comes to a halt and Kazutora swore he was the happiest man in all the universe.

☆ ☆ ☆

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nsheetee · 4 years

Text

Awaken

Pairing: chenle x reader Genre: friends to lovers AU, fluff, mature content Length: 6.4k Summary: When Chenle invites you on a last minute trip to his family’s home in China, you’re excited at the prospect of a small vacation and about spending time with your crush. Surprisingly, Chenle’s extended family is there as well, and a series of events quickly awaken something new in both of you. Warnings/Details: female reader, explicit sex (breeding kink, unprotected sex [please stay safe], creampie) disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. the characters and events are not a reflection of reality or meant to offend in anyway.

“What do you mean you can’t come? We were talking about this literally last night, and not even 12 hours later, you can’t come?!” Chenle practically screams into his phone as he stuffs random pants and shirts into his open suitcase. “Explain yourself, Park.”

“My mom suddenly wants me to come home.” Jisung sounds apologetic and slightly timid, “She said she’s cooking dinner tonight for our family and if I’m not at the table she’ll cut my tongue off. I know she won’t actually do it, but... I don’t want to test it.”

Chenle sighs, sounding bothered by this predicament, but Jisung knows his best friend isn’t going to be that sad about his absence. It’s not like Jisung has never been to Chenle’s house in China, and although he loves the place, he knows this won’t be the last opportunity for him to fly there. When Chenle sighs once more, this time just to be annoying and show how irritated he is, Jisung speaks again.

“Don’t be like that. You love visiting your family, just think of it as an opportunity to spend more time with them.” Jisung hears Chenle fall onto his bed on the other side of the line.

“I do love to visit, but my whole family is either younger than nine or older than thirty-five. I just want someone that’s my age to be with me if I feel lonely.” Jisung pouts at that. Chenle is an outgoing person and loves to be around the people he’s comfortable with, so hearing that he gets lonely without his best friend makes Jisung’s heart hurt a bit. However, an idea suddenly pops into his head.

“Hey, you actually do have another friend our age, and I bet she would love to go to China with you.” At the mention of a ‘she,’ the only ‘she’ both Chenle and Jisung know at the moment who would want to hang out, Chenle sits up straighter on his bed and his heart rate speeds up.

“Oh, ___?” He tries to sound nonchalant, “I’m not sure. She would be meeting my family, won’t she think that’s weird? And what if she feels uncomfortable? It’s not like she can just go home—”

“There are lots of what if’s, Chenle. All I know is that she finished her finals and is on break, and probably deserves a small vacation for her hard work.” Jisung pushes, suddenly excited that he can’t come on the trip if it means Chenle can get closer to you. “Just ask her. I promise it won’t hurt.”

“If she says no, it will hurt my pride. So, that’s a lie.”

“Chenle.” Jisung replies flatly.

“Fine, fine, I’ll ask.” Chenle plays with the hem of his shirt, thinking about how nervous he got over this trip just by adding you into the equation. With some last goodbyes and a promise that Chenle will update Jisung about everything that happens this weekend, the call ends. Chenle fidgets through his phone, procrastinating calling you, but when every single app is checked and there is only the phone icon staring back at him, Chenle sighs and finds your contact, pressing the call button.

After meeting you through Jisung, you and Chenle quickly became close friends. You’re both easy-going, prefer staying up late at night, and okay with being lazy at home, so hanging out together is easy to do. It also doesn’t hurt that you’ll eat literally anything Chenle cooks, boosting his pride tenfold when you praise him endlessly for his cooking. Actually, one night at his house after he made dinner and you shared a bottle of wine on the rooftop of his house while looking at the night sky, wishing the light pollution didn’t erase all the stars, that’s when he figured it out.

You’re important to Chenle. So, so important.

He knows he has feelings for you, and that he cares about you deeply. He is aware of your presence whenever you’re in the same room and gets that longing feeling in his stomach when your attention is taken away from him. There is no doubt that Chenle is in the middle of falling head over heels for you, but he always feels the need to keep a few steps back.

He walks on a tightrope, on one end is friendship and on the other is love, and he’s stuck in the middle. You’ve given him hints of attraction and subtle nuances in your words that could possibly mean you have feelings for him as well, but nothing concrete enough that gives Chenle the confidence to walk further along the tightrope.

Maybe, just maybe, this trip can bring you two closer to the end of this balance beam.

“A trip?” Chenle hears excitement in your voice after he explains what happened with Jisung, and he feels hopeful, “That sounds like fun!”

“Great. I’ll pick you up in three hours.” Chenle feels giddy and nervous at the same time, his leg bouncing up and down to portray all of his feelings.

“Oka— Wait. Three hours?”

“Bye!” Chenle abruptly ends the call before you can ask anything else or change your mind, throwing his phone to the other side of the bed. He takes a few deep breaths and then stands up, continuing to pack his things. This time with more skip in his step that’s fueled by the promise of your presence with him for the whole weekend.

It’s already nearing 6pm when you arrive in Shanghai. You follow Chenle closely as he leads you through the airport, looking really confident about every turn he makes as he weaves through the busy and tired looking people. However, you’re both thrown off your path when a large window on your right catches your eye, the night view of the city of Shanghai making you stop in your tracks and swerve to take a closer look.

Your hands smudge the clean windows as you lean in and stare at the enormous city, the sparkling lights and tall buildings look like you just took a flight to the future, not just a few hours south.

“It’s pretty…” You trail off, not really talking to anyone in particular. Chenle, who followed you to the window and also stares at the view from beside you, smiles at the comment.

“You like it?”

“It’s amazing…” You sound like you’re in a daze, which makes Chenle smile wider.

“I should show you the view from the balcony in my room. It’s ridiculous.” Chenle nods and gives the view one more glance over. His words bring you back to reality, making you shiver.

In Chenle’s bedroom… where so many things other than watching the night sky can happen.

You heat up in embarrassment at the dirty thoughts, yelling at yourself in your head for thinking like that when Chenle probably meant it in the most innocent way.

“We should probably get going..” Chenle seems completely oblivious to your predicament, yawning as he turns around and continues walking through the airport. You follow him, lightly biting the inside of your cheek as your previous thoughts fly through your mind again.

The Shanghai airport is crowded, almost over-crowded. After traveling further through the airport, it gets hard to follow Chenle’s leather bucket hat that bobs through the sea of people and you have to grip onto his backpack so that you don’t lose him. He feels the sudden weight on his bag, turning around to see you struggling.

His hand finds yours, making you release the grip on his zippers and instead intertwine with his fingers, turning to look forward and once again leading you to baggage claim. Your hands start to sweat and you feel embarrassed, but Chenle doesn’t seem to mind as he squeezes your fingers softly and glances back at you to make sure you’re okay. He doesn’t let go of your hand until your luggage arrives, and when he does release your hold, you feel very cold and empty from the lack of Chenle’s touch.

“Mom, I’m home!” Chenle yells into his house, dragging his suitcase behind him and taking off his shoes, “I brought a friend.” You both leave your things at the door and Chenle hands you some slippers, then you follow him through the house in search of his mother. You find her in the kitchen, stove on and several pots and pans cooking food at once.

“Chenle!” She exclaims after seeing her son, and then her eyes fall on you.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you.” You politely greet her, slightly unsure of what her reaction to you will be.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be bringing your girlfriend here.” She laughs gleefully and leaves the stove to come closer, almost jumping on the tile floors over to you.

“Oh, we’re n-” You begin, but Chenle cuts you off.

“Jisung couldn’t come, so I brought ___ here instead. I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh, it’s perfectly fine,” She smiles, which makes you relax a bit, “You’ve never brought anyone here other than Jisung, I was beginning to think you don’t know anyone other than him.”

It’s your turn to laugh, covering your mouth as you glance at Chenle to see him roll his eyes with a sour look on his face. Before he can retaliate, his mom cuts him off.

“Well, since you’re here, could you set the table? I’m running late on dinner and I need extra hands. Get out eleven plates and those high chairs we keep in the closet.” She quickly makes her way back to the stove after warmly rubbing your arm, moving faster than your eyes can follow as she adjusts spices and stirs.

“Why so many?” Chenle asks.

“Your aunts and uncles are coming over today.” At that information, you turn to face Chenle with an unsure look painted on your face.

“Is it okay that I’m here?” You step closer to him and whisper, “If you’re having a family dinner, I don’t want to intrude.”

“Of course it’s okay. Don’t even worry about it.” Chenle gently grabs your shoulders and turns you around, forcing you to walk out of the kitchen and back into the foyer. You collect your luggage and head upstairs.

Chenle’s house has an impressive three stories with several bedrooms, an office, and a lounge room in the top two floors and the rest of the important rooms on the first floor. You didn’t see much of the backyard, but you caught sight of several trees that surround the house, making the area more private. Considering this place is close to the city, you’re amazed at how all of this belongs to Chenle and his family.

His room is on the third floor, and you take a look inside when he sets down his things on his bed. The balcony he mentioned earlier is covered with long white curtains and his bed is wide, taking up a good chunk of space. On the other side of the room, a TV hangs on the wall and there are several gaming consoles hooked up. Overall, a normal guy’s room.

“You’re next door…” He mumbles and leads you to the room next to his. The layout is a mirrored version of his room, only the balcony is replaced with large windows and the room is more generic looking rather than lived-in like Chenle’s. You set your things down and glance out of the window; you’re met with the canopy of trees that grow in his backyard.

“And your bathroom is right here,” Chenle’s voice brings you back to the room, showing you inside the bathroom, “And if you need anything, my room is right through here.” He opens a door in the bathroom to reveal his room on the other side. You nod and walk over to the bed, plopping down on the soft covers.

“Your house is amazing. I feel like I’m staying at a fancy AirBnB… but I don’t have to pay for it and there’s a family staying here too.” You both laugh at that, but your comment has you questioning your stay here some more.

“You’re sure it’s okay for me to be here? I don’t want to take your time away from family.” You bite your lip and look up at Chenle, looking for his honest answer. You’d hate for Chenle to not spend all the time he can with his family while he’s here, considering he can’t visit often.

“I am 100% sure that you’re okay to stay here. I think everyone will l-love you.” Chenle clears his throat after his stutter, hoping you wouldn’t question his sudden nerves surrounding the topic of love.

“Okay.” You nod and rub your hands over your thighs to rid yourself of anxiety. You only keep asking because you hate to be an intrusion. But if Chenle is sure that your presence here is okay, then you’re going to enjoy this vacation to the best of your abilities.

“You get settled, I’ll go help my mom. I’ll get you when dinner is ready.” Chenle turns around to leave the room, but you stop him.

“Oh, I can help. It’s the least I can do, and it seems like there’s a lot to get ready.”

“But you’re a guest—”

“I don’t mind.” You smile and leave the room first, looking over your shoulder as if to beckon him to try and stop you. Chenle doesn’t, partially because he wants to spend any second he can with you, even if it’s just setting the dinner table. But he also doesn’t stop you because that would mean grabbing onto your hand and pulling you back, and Chenle almost had a heart attack at the airport the first time he did that. Thinking back on it, the action felt natural but it still startled him, and he can’t get the feeling of how your soft hands feel in his own out of his head.

“Hey, wait up! You’ll get lost.” Chenle calls out and quickly follows you out of the room.

Chenle’s family loves you. In fact, Chenle thinks they love you just a little too much.

From his mom cooing at you as you help Chenle properly set the table to his aunts and uncles endlessly talking about your hobbies and school, it seems like you’re the life of the party tonight. However, that’s not what catches Chenle’s eye.

As he’s carrying some drinks to his dad and uncles who decided to sit outside after eating, Chenle passes by the living room to see you and his nieces and nephews playing. You’re reading a book to one of the younger kids while the others are coloring next to you and constantly showing you their art, seeking your approval or ideas on what they should draw next. Chenle’s two older nephews are playing tag around the table, and overall it’s just a whole ruckus. Chenle only has a chance to glance into the room for a second before continuing his trip outside to deliver the drinks.

As he’s coming back in, he’s startled by his older nephews who took their game of tag out into the hallway, almost running into Chenle.

“Woah, woah, woah. You shouldn’t be running in the hallway, get back in the living room.” Chenle ushers the boys back and once all of them are in the living room, he shuts the doors completely to keep anyone from going back out. His eyes land on you, you’re in the same position as you were before, but now you look up at Chenle and give him a warm smile while patting the spot next to you.

Chenle sits with his legs crossed while facing the same direction as you, looking over his niece's artwork and complimenting their scribbling, and then leaning back against the couch to mirror your position.

“I guess it’s more fun to play with the kids than with the adults?” Chenle asks, making your attention move from the TV screen where a kid’s movie is playing to meet Chenle’s eyes.

“Don’t you find it fun to play with kids? I think there’s never a dull moment with these guys.” You laugh and motion around the room as if to make your point.

“So, you like kids?” Chenle asks.

“Yes, a lot.” You nod, watching him look away and nod at your words. “What about you?”

“My nieces and nephews are… a bit too wild for me.” He admits, “But I like kids. I would like to have my own kids in the future.” Chenle speaks without really thinking about his words, just talking to you about anything is nice. When he realizes what he said at the end, his eyes glance over at you to gage your reaction.

“Same here. There’s some special sort of happiness that comes with having kids. I see it all the time on mothers’ faces, and I always wonder what it feels like. I bet you can’t really find that kind of feeling anywhere else in the world.” You muse, and Chenle quickly agrees with your sentiment, involuntarily gulping as the thoughts in his head rampage.

Could you get anymore perfect for him?

You look down at your thigh, for some reason not being able to look at Chenle in the eye. “I think… You’ll be a really good father, Chenle.”

Just from your simple words, Chenle’s heart begins to pound in his ears and warmth spreads through his chest. He watches you shyly look up at him, not being able to do anything but stare at you for fear of his body moving without his control.

“Can you please read again.” His youngest niece breaks the staring contest between you two with her question, pulling your gaze away from him. When your attention is on his niece, he quietly slips out of the room and stumbles up the stairs to his bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

He paces around his bed, his hands running through his hair as he tries to figure out

what just happened. You said you like kids. You said you would like kids in the future. You also said you think Chenle would make a good father. Are you purely giving him compliments or… could you be hinting at something else?

Why does Chenle feel like his heart might explode any second if he keeps thinking about you. On second thought, he looks down, his pants might be the thing that explodes. Chenle sighs, slightly embarrassed that he got hard by just thinking about you.

You looked so cute playing with his nieces and nephews, so kind and genuinely warm hearted to them that it melted Chenle’s heart. He wants to see it again. He wants to see you reading a book to them and changing your voice for every character, listening intently as they tell you story after story, rubbing their backs gently as they color.

Chenle wants to see you like that with his kids.

His own thought scares him a bit, and he sits down on his bed while trying to calm his breathing. He’s even more surprised at the shot of pleasure that runs through him at his own idea. He feels his stomach turn pleasantly at the thought of a little you and him running around, you showing your love to both Chenle and your child.

Warmth grows in Chenle's heart; he wants it so bad.

He can imagine the picture so clearly in his head that it hurts him to think about it, since he knows he’s far from that point in his life. That doesn’t stop him from getting turned on, though. He digs the heel of his palms into his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to think of something —anything— else. Why is it that whenever you’re around, he can’t think of anything, but whenever you’re not around, he can only think of you?

‘It’s useless’ he sighs, scooting up on his bed and moving his bedsheets away.

Sitting against his head board, Chenle grips his sheets in one hand and his other slides down his stomach, tickling him slightly, and over his crotch. Swallowing thickly, he closes his eyes and focuses on his warm hand stimulating his member. He can’t help but let out a soft sigh at his own teasing, but soon has had enough and quickly pushes down his pants and boxers to let his dick spring out. Using some precum that glistens as it runs down the side of his dick, he starts pumping his shaft, eventually getting fully hardened.

His wrist turns every time he reaches the end of a pump and he slides down the headboard as his eyes flutter from the pleasure. Chenle is good at staying quiet thanks to the years of practice in his full house, but he can’t help the whines he emits every so often when his fingers move over his tip.

But soon, Chenle turns frustrated. He’s doing all the things he knows his body likes, but his orgasm is just too far away still. He becomes impatient, starting to shift his hips around and rub his length faster as sweat builds on his forehead, but it only hurts his wrist and makes him itch for his orgasm more.

Every time Chenle thinks of you while getting off, he feels a bit guilty.

He hopes you don’t mind it, but you hold a place in his heart and Chenle is very attracted to you, it’s impossible to think of anyone else when he’s in this position. So, Chenle takes a breather, and when he continues his stroking, he thinks about your tiny hand replacing his instead. His eyes immediately roll to the back of his head and he finds it hard to keep himself sitting up.

Chenle’s head is tilted back, his jaw dropping open bit by bit as he moves on to thinking about your warmth mouth around his cock, the way your face would look as you glance up at him and kiss up his thighs before sliding his member through your lips again.

Chenle has to shove the duvet he has been gripping into his mouth to stop the moan that almost leaves his throat, his eyes screwing shut as he imagines how good your wet pussy would feel around his dick, sliding in and out as you chase your own release. He loses composure when he imagines what your pants and moans would sound like in that situation, what your nails would feel like gripping onto his shoulder for dear life, and what the flesh of your hips and waist would feel like under Chenle’s hands as he drives you harder onto his cock.

Chenle eventually starts thrusting his hips up into his hand, desperately chasing his high to the very highest peak. Chenle has thought about you many times while jerking himself off, but this time around, the thing that makes him tip over the edge is the thought of his cum shooting into you. He lets himself fall into the pleasure, seeing stars at the thought of his seed filling you up. He milks himself as strings of cum land on his thighs and pants, going to the very last stroke until it almost feels painful.

He limply falls over on his bed, breathing heavy and ears slightly ringing from the intensity he brought upon himself. When the feeling goes away he opens his eyes and listens to the sounds of the commotion downstairs, his mom and aunties playing with the kids, and the cars that drive by outside his balcony. When he looks over at the bathroom door, his heart drops all the way to his stomach and his head turns fuzzy from panic.

You’re right there.

Maybe you think he doesn’t see you, half hidden by his bathroom door, but he sees your hand resting on the handle and he hears your heavy breaths all the way from across the room. A part of him wants to dig himself into the covers and never come back out, but he pushes that embarrassment away so he can think clearly. You’re just standing there, no doubt just saw him come, why aren’t you leaving?

“___,” Chenle calls out, his voice lower than you expected and making you flinch behind the door. “Come here.” He says it softly, but in a demanding tone, so you open the door all the way and look at him. A mess of sheets surrounds him and his hair sticks to his forehead from sweat, all of this is illuminated by the dim moonlight coming from the balcony. Taking small steps to him, you don’t know what to do with your hands or where to look, but Chenle makes it easy when he pulls you down on the bed next to him.

“Did you like what you saw?” His question startles you, “Tell me the truth.” He adds on. You nod, a question of your own coming to mind.

“Why did you say my name when you were doing… that?” Chenle’s eyes widen, not aware of your name slipping through his lips. “Tell me the truth.” You say back at him.

Something in Chenle tells him that things won’t be the same way between you two after tonight no matter how he tries to amend this situation, so he thinks he might as well take it as far as you’ll let him.

He leans into you slowly, lips sliding past your cheek and teasing the skin there, stopping to whisper into the shell of your ear. “Because I was thinking of you, why else?” He likes how you shiver, he likes seeing the goosebumps on your shoulder from his words. Scraping up as much courage as he can, he leans all the way in and places a hot kiss below your earlobe. He waits for you to push him away, but you only grab onto the front of his shirt for leverage, so Chenle continues. He presses slow and open-mouthed kisses down your neck, almost too slow, until he reaches your shoulder where he bites down gently, raising a sharp gasp out of you.

You push him away and look at his eyes. Chenle is afraid that you’ll tell him to stop because this surely means he screwed up, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the next words that come out of your mouth.

“Tell me what you were thinking about. I’ll make your dreams into reality.”

Chenle’s jaw drops slowly at that, looking over your face for any signs of a joke. But fire burns in your eyes and the hand that’s holding onto his shirt pulls him in, lips crashing together in your very first kiss.

It’s hot, the room and the kiss and the way your hand falls down to chest and stomach to reach his dick, once again twitching from just the slight sting your nails give him as they travel across his body, not to mention the way your tongue slides into his mouth, exploring every corner. The kiss is wet and messy, but neither of you care right now.

“Was it like this? Hm?” You pull away while tilting your head, somehow looking innocent as you start to pump his dick, the same way he did not too long ago. Chenle shakes his head, pushing on your shoulder to get you to sit on the floor. As you slide onto your knees Chenle grips the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head, wiping his hands on it, and throwing it behind him, not caring about how dirty it will be after.

When he looks down at you between his legs, your little hands moving his pants and boxers all the way down his legs, he thinks he must be dreaming. It has to be fake, you look too good with his spit covering your lips and your hands spread out on his thighs, looking up at him curiously as if to ask for what he wants next. This has to be a dream, but when he feels your soft hair bunching up in his hand and the first touch of your puffy lips on his sensitive tip, he knows this is anything but a dream.

He’s all too excited when his hips push up into your mouth and his hand tightens in your hair. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he can’t help how good you’re making him feel. His toes curl, his mouth releases little whimpers and pleas filled with your name, probably the most vocal he has been in his entire life.

You don’t mind the roughness from him, you like it actually, the wetness building in your core proof of that. The sight above you, Chenle’s head tilted back and the outline of his abs flexing every time your tongue swirls around his dick is more than enough to get you heated, desperate for some friction between your legs. Just when you think Chenle is going to cum, he pulls you away from him, surprising you.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, suddenly afraid you did something wrong. He groans, his eyes squeezing shut hard enough that the dimples under his eyes come out. He lets you stand up, but grabs the back of your thigh to pull you closer to him.

“I should be good to you, I can’t let you sit on the floor and suck my dick all night, as much as I would like that.” That makes you chuckle a bit. Chenle smiles, moving your shirt up and peppering kisses over your stomach, right above your waistband. You remove your shirt, feeling Chenle’s hands play with the buttons and zipper of your pants.

“What’s next?” You ask after he slowly slides your pants off of your legs and throws them behind you. He looks at you, his eyes conveying how nervous he feels by your question. He’s not sure how you would feel about the next part of his fantasy.

“Can I come in you?” He asks so fast that you almost don’t register his words, but when you do your eyebrows quirk up. When you don’t say anything, Chenle continues, “I know this is kind of wild for our first time together, but I promise I’m clean and—”

“Sure.” Chenle shuts up at that, his eyes wide as he tries to read your face through the lack of good lighting. “I trust you. Do you trust me?” When Chenle nods, you climb onto his lap, your lips meeting again in a softer kiss than before. You grip the strands of his hair in the back of his head as you gently sit down on his thighs. Chenle immediately grabs your hips and pulls you flush against him, chest to chest and hips against hips so that you can feel his dick pressing against your center, raising a strangled gasp out of you.

Chenle takes that moment to slide his tongue in your mouth, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you against him while his other hand moves your hips against his own. His dick rubs against your center, the slickness that has seeped through your underwear making Chenle shake with pleasure. He kisses down your neck and chest to leave hickies on the top of your breasts while continuing to grind up into you, starting to feel obsessed with how you sound every time his dick rubs against your clit.

You’re in the middle of taking off your bra when his hand that was moving your hips moves to your front as he runs two fingers over your covered slit. It surprises you and you let out a moan, forgetting about your bra and covering your mouth to stop yourself from getting any louder. He moves your panties to the side and slides one finger in to test the waters, you clench around him instantly and sigh in relief at how he curls his finger in you.

“Relax,” He mutters and removes your bra all the way for you, his hand once again finding a palace at your waist to steady you on top of him, “I got you. You’re safe with me.” He mumbles against your shoulder between kisses as you get adjusted on top of him. Your nails that were gripping into his shoulders relax a bit, and he adds a second finger to stretch you out some more. Your shaky breath tickles Chenle’s ears when he does so, but eventually you start grinding down on his fingers.

Chenle takes a moment to watch you grind onto his hand, your eyes shut as you’re completely lost in your own pleasure. You even look pretty like this, how is that fair? Chenle can’t help but express his feelings in the form of kisses over any part of your skin he can reach. You’re pretty sure he has kissed everywhere by the time he pulls his fingers away, making you turn your attention on him.

“Are you sure this is okay?” He gives you one last chance to back out, but you nod your head in agreement, your head cloudy from pleasure and your whole body begging for him to fuck you already. He nods too, guiding his dick into your hole and letting you slide down him inch by inch. Every move downward sends his mind blank and his stomach tightening, watching how he disappears into you and twitching from how tight you are. You keep clenching around him and it’s driving him completely insane. He leans back on his hands, breathing deeply to keep himself under control.

When you’re sat all the way down, Chenle takes your hand in his and intertwines your fingers together to place your hand against his cheek. You’re not sure if he even realizes he does this since his eyes are still shut in pleasure, but the gesture makes you smile a bit.

When Chenle thrusts up into you, your smile drops. Fuck, that feels good.

Chenle releases your hand and instead takes a hold of your hips keeping you steady as he thrusts up into you in a steady rhythm, drawing out unstoppable groans and moans from both of you, not caring about who’s hearing you two. His hips slap against yours with every move, sending you closer and closer to your high as you hold onto each other. When he stops for a moment, no doubt tired from all of the work, you continue to roll your hips against his.

“Ah—” He groans at your movements, “Oh my god, ___, don’t stop.” He moans. If you thought Chenle’s singing voice sounded heavenly, then you think the voice he used to moan your name might be out of this world, filled with so much feeling and lust that you don’t think he can even register what he’s saying anymore.

You feel your orgasm approaching all too fast, and when Chenle’s hips start to move again, you think he might be close too. That’s when you lean into his ear, the same way he did to you when he started all of this just a while ago.

“Come in me, Chenle.” You beg him, and his hips move faster, the grip he has on your hips so tight you’re sure there’s going to be bruises. You can’t think about it right now, though, as his cock moves in and out of you mercilessly and your name tumbles out of his lips once again.

Your orgasm breaks open throughout you, spreading like a wildfire through your nerves. You’re sure you can feel Chenle all over you and all around you as you come, pleasure filling you up from your head to your toes. As your muscles flutter around him, Chenle lets go too, white and hot springs of his sperm shoot into you. He continues to fuck it into you, slowing down when he feels both of you almost topple over from fatigue.

He slowly lays down in his bed, careful when he rolls you to the side. Sliding his dick out, he watches his white seed flow out of your pussy and down your thigh, his lips opening in awe and surprise at how much he likes the sight.

“Are you okay?” He asks, suddenly realizing the redness around your hips and waist from his own hands.

“Oh, I’m great. I’m wonderful, actually.” You sigh out, your eyes closed as you are still trying to get over the orgasm Chenle gave you. Your words make him chuckle, a bit of cockiness peaking through.

“Huh, I guess I’m that good, yeah?” Chenle makes sure to send you a closed lip smile, and you peak an eye open to hit him gently against the arm before retracting and falling limp again, both of you not able to control your bubbling laughter.

Chenle always imagined what the other side of the balance beam would look like— how it would feel like. Now, as he looks at your messy hair, your shining skin under the moonlight, and your quiet mumbles about random things as you cuddle under the blanket, he thinks it may feel just like this.

Later, after you and Chenle cleaned up a bit and got situated under the covers with you laying your head on his shoulder and him tracing stars, hearts, and the Chinese characters of his name on your back, Chenle gets a phone call.

“Hey, how are you? How’s it going with ___?” Jisung asks on the other side. Once you hear his voice, you perk up and tilt your head to look at Chenle with a raised eyebrow.

“Everything’s good, really good, actually. How’s your family?” Chenle asks back, stopping his tracing for a second to flick your forehead gently, making you slightly scowl at him.

“Good, my mom didn’t cut my tongue off, as you can probably tell.” Chenle lets some air out of his nose in the form of laughter at Jisung’s joke.

“So, why did you call?” Chenle hums into the phone, burying himself closer to you under the covers.

“Don’t you remember? You said you would update me on anything that happens while you’re over there. Did something happen?” Jisung asks and Chenle can’t contain his smile as he answers.

“Park Jisung, I’m so glad you couldn’t come this weekend.”

“What? What does that mean—”

“I’m hanging up now.” Chenle ends the call, throwing his phone somewhere on the bed and wrapping his arm around you, cuddling closer to you and finally falling asleep.

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

Text

The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 3)

Summary: Reader earns her nickname, and Spencer sinks to a new level of sin. A/N: Here, take your first dose of smut 💊 ✨ Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Drinking, alcohol, masturbation (male) Word Count: 5.3k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

——————————————————

If I had to pick my favorite thing about working for Spencer Reid, it would probably be something that most people wouldn’t expect. Sure, it was nice to be able to work with a human encyclopedia, and he was definitely very nice to look at, but neither of those things contributed to my love for my job.

It was the sense of belonging. An overwhelming feeling of serenity that existed, flowing freely beneath the surface like a network of roots twined together. I never felt out of place when I was with Spencer — which couldn’t be said for basically any other time. Especially not now.

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays because it’s just absurd. You harass your neighbors while dressed in a costume and they reward you with something sweet (or, in some cases, change). As I’ve grown older, not much has changed aside from the creativity and length of the costumes.

... and the sweet treats being replaced by the bitter sting of alcohol.

“You do realize that guy was hitting on you in there, right?” my friend shouted from less than a foot to my right.

“He was just being nice.”

“Yeah... in a bar,” another girl chimed in, “On Halloween.”

I tried to remember the face of the man they were talking about, but my memory of his eyes blended into the flashing lights of the club. Even if I wasn’t drunk, I knew it would have been hard to remember him. Because the truth was that he wasn’t the person I wanted to see when I closed my eyes.

“Leave her alone. She’s trying to stay pure for her professor,” my friend snickered.

Despite the treachery, I still caught her before she almost pushed us both straight off the curb in her drunken state. But it wasn’t her opinion I was worried about, because at that point, I was certain she would remember none of it by the time class rolled around come Monday. It was our other acquaintance that I responded to, with a very squeaky and unreliable, “I am not doing that!”

“Yeah, what she wants isn’t pure at all,” the mess on my shoulder droned. That was enough of a reason for me to drop her, although it really resulted in both of us barely staying on our feet on the somewhat crowded sidewalk.

“Stop! It’s not like that!”

“Sure it’s not.”

Then, something else caught her attention. Knowing her, I figured that it was either a man in a scandalous costume, or it was a two for one drink deal plastered in front of a bar. I assumed it was the latter, because as soon as she finished talking, she grabbed hold of our hands and yanked us against the brick wall of the next bar.

“So you wouldn’t mind if, theoretically, Professor Reid saw you in your costume?” she asked.

I like to think that I am a relatively smart girl. After all, I had made my way to graduate school, and Spencer seemed to think that I wasn’t a complete hopeless idiot. But in that moment, I couldn’t understand why on earth she would ever think to ask me that.

Running my hands over the fuzzy pink bodysuit I was wearing, I tried to picture his reaction. As soon as I tried to look down, however, the two floppy bunny ears affixed to the hood dropped over my eyes.

“I-I mean, I guess not…?” I mumbled, my face growing hot from something other than the alcohol, “I’m wearing it in public, so...”

But then she said it — the most terrifying two words I’d ever heard in my life.

“Okay – good.”

My eyes shot up immediately, trying to follow her eyes through the crowd of drunk, costumed people. By the time that I spotted him, somewhat thankfully dressed in normal clothes, I was powerless to stop it.

“Dr. Reid!” My friend’s voice rang out into the night, “Dr. Reid, come over here!”

The moment our eyes met, I knew I was fucked. Totally, completely, and utterly fucked. A clever little grin filled his cheeks as he quickly spotted me trying to hide under my hood.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I shrieked, but he was already on his way over.

“You said you didn’t mind!”

In a panicked whisper, I bit back, “I didn’t say call him over here!”

When he grew closer, though, I corrected myself. Because it was not just Spencer who was walking over. There was someone else with him. Another man, just as tall and just as beautiful as Spencer, but with a dark complexion and an even more wicked smile.

As for my company, they had already scattered into the bar behind me, leaving me with a wordless, dumbstruck look on my face that was very poorly hidden behind bunny ears.

“H-hey Prof— Dr. Reid,” I managed to get out.

“Hey,” he answered in a tone I’d never heard before. A slightly guarded, very entertained but mostly awkward stretch of the vowel.

The man beside him, however, was quick to question.

“Who’s this?”

As I said before, I like to consider myself a relatively bright person. But the alcohol that night had been both free and strong. So, when I was asked by a handsome man who I was on the Devil’s night, I answered honestly.

“I’m a bunny!” I cried, bringing my hands together over my chest and turning to present the small pink pompom affixed to my lower back.

“I can see that,” the stranger replied through a genuine chuckle. But while the action was amusing to at least two of us in the conversation, Spencer looked mortified. It wasn’t necessarily negative, though.

I couldn’t be sure, of course, considering that I had already consumed more liquor that night than I had in the past month, but something told me that Spencer was less humiliated by me, and more worried about how blatant his response to my answer was. Because when he spoke, he did so through a smile.

“She’s uh... my teaching assistant.”

“Teaching assistant, huh?” his friend repeated, clearly amused.

There was almost a challenge to the title. Something about the way he said it setting my heart into overdrive. Unable to control my own treacherous tongue, I continued to dig myself a wonderfully sized hole to jump in to.

“I’m also very good at hopping,” I said.

Once again, the better company of the two laughed. Spencer, however, covered his smile with a hand that brought attention to just how red his face had grown over the course of a few seconds. I was so distracted by it, lost in the way I could still see upturned lips just from his eye shape alone, that I failed to acknowledge the other man for a suspicious length of time.

“Well hey, don’t let me get in the way of you two catching up. Reid, I’ll go tell the hostess we’re here, so the others know where to go.”

With a firm pat on the shoulder, the man almost turned to walk away. But before he could, I drew him back again.

“Ooh, is there a party?”

Spencer, finally able to speak again, rushed his reply.

“No, it’s nothing.”

It was obviously not nothing, though. Judging by the toothy grin that his friend flashed, it was a very big not-nothing.

“Did he not tell you?” he asked with an incredulous, mischievous tone, “It’s his birthday.”

And it was, by far, the most insulting, scandalous news I’d heard that night. Enough to elicit a sharp gasp and hand reaching out to grab his wrist in a way I knew I shouldn’t have.

“You didn’t tell me it’s your birthday!”

My mind was racing, kicking myself for having not figured it out sooner. I was trying to recall the monthly staff newsletter, but then quickly remembered that I usually relied on Spencer to summarize them for me.

“It’s not my birthday,” he explained with a sigh, “It was a few days ago.”

His friend seemed pleased by my response, although he clearly saw it dwindling. My heels had already dropped back down with my hands that fell away, signaling a very different emotion than the excitement from seconds prior.

“We’re meeting up with some people for drinks and dinner. You want to come?” he asked, trying to convince me before it was too late.

But the moment had passed, replaced by loud, insecure ranting that insisted that Spencer wouldn’t have avoided telling me his birthday unless he didn’t want me to know. That meant he either didn’t enjoy making a fuss out of his birthday, or he didn’t want me to, specifically.

“Uhh...”

“Don’t answer that,” Spencer cut in, swiftly raising a hand to dismiss the other man whose name I finally learned. “Thanks Derek, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Suit yourself,” he mumbled back. But Derek, in all of his disappointment, didn’t fail to draw out one more flustered laugh from the two of us who remained as he gave a tiny half-wave and sang, “Goodbye, Bunny.”

Spencer’s neck craned back, never once leaving his friend until he had safely entered the restaurant. Once he was sure that he was safe from ridicule, or at least observation, his entire demeanor changed.

“I’m sorry about that,” he offered, but I couldn’t accept. If anyone had been a bother here, it was me (and my friends).

“No, I’m sorry I bothered you!” I rushed.

The silence stretched between us, an unsettling reminder that we rarely interacted outside of work. That he’d never known me to party, and I’d never thought of him doing something as routine and normal as celebrating a birthday. It shouldn’t have been strange, but it was.

Perhaps that feeling was what drove me to continue, proudly stating, “I promise that I will have all your work ready first thing in the morning.”

It wasn’t until Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth opened in a strange, lopsided grin that I’d realized I made a mistake.

“Um...” he spoke through laughter, “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“I’m very motivated?”

Thankfully, he saw the humiliation and was happy to offer me a graceful escape from my humiliation. “How about I give you until Tuesday, instead?”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best, huh?”

I gladly took it, staring down at my heels as I tried to find anything else to focus on. Anything that wasn’t his eyes that seemed even more powerful after dark. But true to the magnetism I always experienced in his vicinity, I was drawn back into golden irises full of an emotion that made my heart beat twice as hard.

“Where did your friends go?” he asked. I didn’t trust myself to answer, so I just threw my thumb over my shoulder and towards the bar behind me. I didn’t turn away from him then, too scared to acknowledge that I would be leaving him soon. That we would go our separate ways again and I would have to wait until Tuesday to drown in the honey of his eyes again.

Sure enough, Spencer gave a solemn nod and cleared his throat before mumbling, “Right. You should probably go find them, so they don’t get worried.”

But I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay with him, the rest of the world be damned. I wanted to feel his eyes on me longer, especially when they started to wander my figure that I’d secretly hoped he would see.

I could pretend to hate my friend for calling him over all I wanted, but when I slipped into the costume hours earlier, I’d wondered what he would do if he saw me like this. And now that the answer was in front of me, torn between the exposed skin of my thighs and chest, I wanted to experience it for as long as possible.

With my fingers on the zipper to try and calm my heart, the inebriation manifested in soft giggles as I replied, “I think I’m pretty safe with you, Professor.”

Spencer didn’t need to vocalize his disagreement. I saw his contention in the form of wayward eyes falling to my hands that fiddled with the tiny piece of plastic keeping me covered. When they trailed back up the zipper teeth to meet my eyes again, they were filled with a hunger that took my breath away.

Unfortunately for us, though, our smitten haze wasn’t shared by anyone else in the vicinity. Especially not the drunk pack of men who passed, completely unaware of the amount of space they took up on the sidewalk. I don’t even remember one of them running into me, but I definitely remembered what followed in extreme, vivid detail.

Spencer caught me, quickly and more gracefully than I thought him capable of moving. His arms were locked around me, not only preventing me from face planting on the concrete but causing me to press my face directly against him.

Before he had a chance to say or do much of anything else, I placed my hands on his chest and tore myself away from the warmth of his embrace. Because I was already drunk enough on the alcohol — I didn’t need to be any more inebriated from him.

“S-See? You caught me!” I squeaked.

I didn’t miss the fact his hands stayed on my waist even with the added distance, his fingers subtly digging into and stroking the plush fabric. I didn’t try to stop them, either.

“Are you going to be okay? Should I take you home?”

I knew it wasn’t how he’d meant it, but my inner voice still pleaded, Yes, God, please, yes! My outer voice, however, clung to reason and respectability.

“No! Don’t miss your birthday dinner!” I insisted, but he didn’t look convinced. “I’m fine, seriously. I just suck at walking in heels.”

Any part of me that would have normally been offended by his insistence that I couldn’t handle myself while drinking was quelled by my desire to keep his hands on me as long as possible. Although there was enough space for my arms between our chests, I swore I felt his fluttering heartbeat against my fingers. I thought of hummingbirds.

Resigned to my stubbornness, Spencer took a moment longer to stroke patterns through the pink fabric wrapped around my waist before he sighed, “If you say so.”

“I do!” I giggled, leaning closer like I might convince him not to leave at all, “So you better listen up, mister Professor man.”

The look he gave me was sweet, honeyed bliss. But even that seemed minuscule in comparison to the way his hands slid over my sides, making their way over my shoulders and gently brushing the errant bunny ears back out of my face. He left them there, too, with a barely-there caress of my face.

“You look cute,” he said, like it wouldn’t break my heart.

Shier than he’d ever seen me before, I somehow managed to still look him in the eye as I answered, “So do you.”

It was a good thing I’d been paying attention, too. If I hadn’t been staring into his eyes, I would have missed the flash of chaotic playfulness that appeared just as he glanced down at the space between our chests.

I wouldn’t have been prepared at all when he dropped one of his hands from my face to the zipper of my costume. Not to say that anything could have prepared me for the way it felt to have his knuckle brush against the skin just below the lace bralette that had been meant to protect my modesty.

Before I could even comprehend the delicious friction of our skin, it was gone. Spencer pulled the zipper up to my chin, releasing the plastic in favor of grabbing hold of my chin once more.

“Be careful with that zipper,” he instructed, “I don’t need you getting hypothermia this early in the semester.”

Unsure of how else to respond, my body responded on instinct as it stammered, “I-I promise.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, and my autopilot continued.

“Double promise. Promise squared.”

“Okay. You have my number so... call me if you need anything.”

I absently nodded, but Spencer accurately concluded that I hadn’t actually processed what he’d said. When he let go of me, he took the time to smooth out the bunched up fabric over my shoulders. I tried to convince myself that he was just interested in the soft fluff, but it was hard to ignore the hunger that’d only grown stronger. The darkness that rivaled the moonless hallow’s eve.

“I don’t mind giving you a ride home if it means you get back safe,” he said with a deathly seriousness strongly contrasted by the flippancy that followed. “Otherwise I’ll have more work for Tuesday.”

I was grateful for the shift, because it made the loss of his hands hurt less. My chest filled with laughter that quickly burst from me with frantic, messy words.

“Of course! The work. For Tuesday. Okay! Thank you!”

“For what?” he also said through laughter.

“I— don’t know.”

Spencer turned away from me, looking behind him at the obligations that would tear us apart. I wondered if he, too, was busy contemplating how well it suited just how different we were. How two establishments side by side could house such different things. How we were frequenting opposite ends of the spectrum.

Whatever he was thinking about, however, it didn’t break his spirits too badly. Because before he sent me on my merry way, he flashed me the goofiest little bouncing peace sign before he sang, “Hop along, little bunny.”

So I did, turning back to my life and letting him return to his. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes following me until the darkness of the bar swallowed the space between us.

Still, I didn’t need him to be there to remember how it felt for his hands to roam my body like familiar territory. I saw that look in his eyes every time that I closed my own and remembered how it made my legs shake like weak stems bending to the wind.

I decided then that it wasn’t the worst thing in the world that he’d seen me in my costume. In fact, I think he quite liked it.

——————————————————

There are few things more relentless than Derek Morgan. Death and taxes, perhaps. When it came to mocking me, there wasn’t a single missed opportunity. Even at the darkest hour, I trusted him to be consistent and predictable.

That was precisely why it made no sense that I had made it through an entire dinner and drinks outing with the team without him mentioning what had happened. Not even once. I almost let myself be relieved. Perhaps time spent with a child that can talk back did him some good, I thought. But when the time finally came for us to take our leave, I realized my mistake. He wasn’t holding back out of the kindness of his heart.

No, Derek wanted to wait until there was no escape route. He wanted to have me trapped in a car hurtling down a highway before he spoke the words that he’d been waiting to say all night.

“So... Bunny.”

“Her name is (y/n),” I quickly corrected. Unfortunately, Derek wasn’t in a merciful mood. Although there was a notable smirk on his face, his next words were uttered with a hefty dose of skepticism. A warning that it was a subject that ought to be approached with a critical sincerity.

“Her name is Trouble. That’s what her name is,” he said, shaking his head.

“She’s just my teaching assistant,” I said like I might actually convince myself, though we both knew that I wasn’t going to convince him. “It’s fine.”

“Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

But that time, it was me who issued the warning.

“Stop,” I ordered, meeting his eyes to find him hiding his genuine concern under jokes that weren’t really jokes at all. “I respect her. She’s very bright and she earned her position.”

“I never said she didn’t. I know she’s probably smart, but I also saw the way you looked at her.”

The words felt like a blow to the stomach — yet another reminder that my affections for her were so thinly veiled they might as well be scrawled across my skin. He didn’t need to be a profiler to notice that I was fond of the girl, but it certainly made it worse.

Because he knew that I was lying when I muttered, “You don’t need to worry about it.”

He knew that I was lying, but he still asked, “Why’s that?”

“She’s...” I started, pausing while the word tried to form on my tongue. The word that had haunted me ever since those damned girls mentioned it. That short, simple little noun that had taken a cursory affection and turned it into full blown lust.

“She’s a virgin.”

Derek’s brows jumped up his face, his jaw dropping the same way mine had when I first heard the news. Then, just as I had, he put the pieces together and realized that it should have been a foregone conclusion.

“Trouble with a capital everything,” he half laughed.

But this wasn’t a joking matter, and I really wished that I could make him believe that. That definitely wouldn’t happen, though. Not when he looked up to see me hiding behind my hands, sinking into my seat like it would get me out of the conversation.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s obviously waiting.”

It was the wrong thing to say. I should have seen his response coming from a mile away. But I didn’t, and so I was forced to listen to his childish giggles that were followed with an even more lighthearted crooning.

“Yeah, waiting for the right professor to come teach her the lesson on the birds and the bees.”

“Cut it out.”

Without even looking, he astutely observed, “Kid, you’re blushing.”

“Yeah, because you’re talking about me fuc–”

The word never made it out, getting caught between my teeth as I bit down on my tongue damn near hard enough to make it bleed. I wished it would. I wanted the iron to drown me and rid me of the sinful things it sought to do, instead. Opting for a more… distinguished explanation, I eventually stammered the rest of the thought.

“You’re talking about me... deflowering my significantly younger employee!”

“You can say fuck, Reid,” he deadpanned, “I think you’re old enough now.”

“I don’t want to. It sounds too... crude.”

I didn’t expect him to understand. How could he? He’d only seen her when she was at her most provocative… by far. Part of me envied him, to be able to sequester her innocence and view her as just another girl.

But she wasn’t like anyone else. She was an untouched bloom, a magnolia of unearthly shades. A beautiful blossom that had broken through the concrete walls I’d maintained for so many years. A tantalizing taste of the life outside that I refused to let in.

A fucking tease.

“Too crude for little miss innocent bunny?” Derek cooed, and it was so uncomfortably close to my thoughts that I couldn’t help the way I snapped back.

“Are you done?”

As we pulled into my parking lot, Derek just waved off my hostility, recognizing it as nothing but misfired shame and anguish at the thing I wanted being out of my reach.

“Yeah, I’m done. I hope you had fun, even with the teasing.”

I chose not to dignify the second half of the statement, climbing out of the car like I couldn’t step away from the conversation fast enough. But of course, I knew that only made my guilt more apparent. My culpability was clear and conclusive. There was no argument to be made.

“You know I’m right!” he shouted just before the door shut. A final reminder, one last cautionary call for the beast inside of me to keep itself hidden lest I allow myself to sink my teeth into something pure.

“Goodnight!”

Few things changed when I reached the confines of my apartment walls. Fantasies had only devolved into a vividness that was borderline frightening. How easily I could get lost in visions of her, only promising my return in exchange for my imagination agreeing to become a reality that I would get a chance to experience.

But that wasn’t fair to her. She was just a girl doing her job with an astounding amount of patience and understanding for her hopeless romantic of a boss. For a moment, the guilt became so overwhelming that I let it win. I managed to swallow my newly acquired memories well enough to navigate my nightly routine without wishing she was there every step of the way.

Wishing that she would call me. That she would grant me the excuse to return to her, to touch her as freely as I had earlier. I imagined a world where, upon arriving to her destination, she invited me in.

As I collapsed on my bed, I wondered if she would have preferred the privacy of my home. A place far enough away from other students and academics to finally see me as something more than a superior. Something attainable in a way she never seemed to be.

Just as I closed my eyes to give in to the dreams, my phone buzzed. The sound set off every nerve in my body, all of them very poorly coordinating to allow me to grab the device and turn it on to reveal her name.

“Hey Professor! I just wanted to let you know that I got home…”

I’d never opened a notification so quickly, but I should have waited. I should have paused and taken the time to notice that what I was opening wasn’t just a collection of letters and symbols.

It was a set of pictures.

Pictures of her.

“Safe and sound and zippered up. No hypothermia for this bunny tonight,” she tagged onto the end, “Sweet dreams!”

How could I ever dream of anything but her? How was I meant to turn off my phone now, knowing that she was there; her drunken, lustful stare on display? I only tore my eyes away from her face long enough to notice her surroundings. I took extensive, painstaking notes on the color of the sheets on her bed and the way the zipper I’d tugged at to control myself from taking her had fallen away again.

I could feel the softness of her skin against my knuckle again. I heard the way her breath nearly broke at the force with which she sucked in air at the feeling of me touching her. How hard she pressed herself against me, how her back arched when I held her and how she never even tried to stop my hands from finding new places to rest.

They worked diligently now, too, trying to keep her awake and with me for as long as I could, but also wanting to free myself of obligations so that she wouldn’t notice how long I’d stared at the pictures she’d sent.

“Goodnight, little bunny,” I sent before adding, “I’ll be counting rabbits instead of sheep tonight.”

As if to reward my efforts, another picture flooded my screen. Her face was scrunched up in an adorable innocence, half covered with her hand but still effortlessly beautiful.

I stopped myself from responding again. I forced myself to stop, to prevent treacherous hands from calling her and begging her to let me come to her. It wasn’t fair — it was manipulative, downright evil, even — to take advantage of her inebriated state to hoard any insight she might provide.

But she’d already sent these… So, would it be so wrong to indulge in her? By touching my own body to the thought of her, would I taint her? Did I care even if it did? Maybe it was for the best to plant the seed of impurity now, to strip her of her power over me.

But deep down, I knew that I would still want her. I would still wish that the hand that sneaked beneath the sheets belonged to her. I could almost feel it as my hand traversed familiar territory. It would be new for her, and it would be new for me to feel the delicate, unmarred skin of her palm slowly sliding down my stomach. Her fingers bashfully brushing through soft curls at the base of me, still too nervous to hold me the way I needed her to.

Her face would be buried in my shoulder, with dew from her breath wetting my neck and raising the hairs on my arms. I would take her hand in mine and guide her to wrap her trembling hand around my cock.

Just like I was doing to myself now, with my other hand still holding the phone displaying the image of innocence. My hand wasn’t as soft or inexperienced as hers would be, but as long as my eyes stayed on her half-lidded gaze staring back at me, I could pretend.

I could hear her panting my name— my real name, Spencer— in my ear, praising the feel of silky skin beneath her fingertips. She would whisper about how she wanted to feel it elsewhere, too. She would beg for me to replace a hand for her most precious place.

That damned angelic girl showing her hand on the zipper would beg me to steal away her innocence. She would unveil herself slowly, knowing that I needed the time to memorize every inch of her skin as it was seen by another for the first time. Seen by me, and only me. The vision would be for my consumption and indulgence.

I wanted it. I wanted her.

My stomach tensed as I pictured the girl staring back at me straddling my hips. I stroked myself harder, faster, letting my thumb trace down her body on my screen.

If I stole it from her, would it be mine?

Would she be trapped as I was, only able to feel anything when I was with her? Would she dream of me? Would she cherish each and every memory of my touch and play it back in her mind? When she felt the urge to break and burn, would she picture my hands lighting the match?

If I ruined her, would she be mine?

I pictured the girl on the screen with tears in her eyes, her mouth stuck open in a silent scream and her hands clutching desperately to mine. I imagined how tightly her body would grip me as I fucked her. How hard it would fight the intrusion of my sinful touch. How I would hold her down despite the resistance until she gave in to me. Until I broke her, thoroughly and irreparably.

She would be mine.

That was the thought that took me over the edge, all energy that was not delegated to my hand feverishly stroking my cock remained with my other hand to hold her picture in front of me. It never even wavered, never once shaking and risking losing any clarity. Even my eyes refused to close all the way.

She would be mine.

The warm, sticky mess of my desire coated my hand and stomach, but all I could think was how it would feel to mark her as mine. To feel the excess drip back down my cock as she collapsed against my body. To know that she would never be the same, never be wholly herself again. That she’d let me inside of her soul and that when I left, I hadn’t left empty handed.

She was already mine.

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| Part Four |

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