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sillygoose067 · 1 month ago

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Wrong Bag, Right Time

Lewis Pullman x Reader

You’re already regretting your decision to book the late-night flight by the time you step off the plane. Your brain is a thick fog, your legs are stiff, and your eyes are burning from a barely-there nap sandwiched between two chatty seatmates. The fluorescent airport lights feel like a personal attack as you shuffle through the terminal, clutching your carry-on and weaving through a sea of bleary-eyed travelers.

You follow the signs to the baggage claim, your body moving on autopilot, ears still ringing from the jet engines and the tinny airline announcements. You lean against a cool, steel column, rolling your shoulders back as you wait for the belt to start rumbling. Around you, people are already gathering, faces drawn and eyes darting every few seconds as the carousel creaks to life.

Bags start thudding onto the belt, one after another — a parade of black, navy, and occasionally neon roller bags that look like they’ve been through multiple rounds of airport roulette. You squint, eyes scanning the blur of luggage as it slowly snakes its way around the conveyor.

Your suitcase is black, a standard roller bag with a scuffed corner and a strip of faded, decorative tape around the handle — a last-minute attempt to make it easier to spot in the chaos. When you finally catch sight of it, you push through the small crowd, reaching for the handle just as a kid with a Spider-Man backpack nearly trips over his own shoes, forcing you to dodge sideways to avoid a collision.

You grab the suitcase and wrestle it off the belt, feeling the reassuring weight of your overpacked essentials as the wheels clatter onto the tile. It’s a little heavier than you remember, but then again, you crammed it full of work documents, laptop accessories, and enough backup phone chargers to power a small tech convention.

Dragging it toward the exit, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the glossy airport windows — hair mussed, eyes smudged with exhaustion, and your blouse slightly wrinkled from a restless sleep against the plane window. You sigh, mentally promising yourself a long, hot shower the second you get to your hotel.

The shuttle to the car rental lot is packed, every inch of space claimed by tourists and business travelers with the same dazed expressions you’re sure you’re wearing. You brace yourself against a pole, your suitcase tucked between your knees as the bus lurches into motion, bumping over the uneven tarmac.

By the time you reach your hotel, you’re practically running on fumes, dragging your suitcase through the lobby and into the elevator with a series of clumsy, exhausted jerks. You fish out your key card, nearly dropping it twice before you manage to swipe it through the reader and stumble into your room.

Your heels come off first, clattering to the floor with a dull thud as you toss your bag onto the bed. You flick on the bedside lamp, the warm glow instantly making the small space feel a little less sterile.

The water from the shower is scalding, and you let it beat down on your shoulders, eyes closed as the steam fills the small bathroom, fogging the mirror and making the tiles beneath your feet slick. You let yourself stand there longer than necessary, feeling the tension slowly drain from your muscles, the ache in your lower back gradually easing.

Wrapped in a thick hotel towel, you shuffle back into the main room, hair dripping onto the carpet as you flip open your suitcase, ready to dig out your comfiest, most threadbare shirt and collapse into bed.

But when you peel back the top layer of clothing, your fingers don’t hit neatly folded blouses or the sensible, corporate slacks you’d meticulously packed. Instead, you pull out a rumpled Led Zeppelin tee, its soft, well-worn fabric clearly belonging to someone who’s spent years living in it.

You blink, holding it up, the faded graphic stretching across the front like a relic from another lifetime. Confused, you dig deeper, pulling out a small mountain of band tees, a denim jacket with fraying patches sewn into the sleeves, and a battered leather notebook, its cover creased and edges worn.

Your pulse quickens as you flip through the pages, finding half-finished sketches, messy notes in looping cursive, and the occasional smudge of ink where someone clearly wrote in a hurry. There’s a faint, musky scent clinging to the pages, a mix of worn leather and old cologne.

“Wait...” you murmur, setting the notebook aside as you reach for a thick stack of papers wedged against the side of the case. It’s a printed script, the title bold at the top and someone’s lines heavily highlighted in yellow.

You glance back at the open suitcase, your mind racing, heart thudding against your ribs as you fish out a small, laminated luggage tag tangled in the zipper. It flips over in your hand, the plastic cool and slightly warped from years of travel.

“L.P.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” You sink onto the edge of the bed, the towel slipping from your shoulders as you stare at the mismatched pile of someone else’s life spread across your hotel sheets.

---

Across town, Lewis Pullman hauls his suitcase up the narrow stairwell to his apartment, one hand gripping the railing as he leans into the climb, every muscle in his legs protesting the final stretch. He fumbles for his keys, and finally shoulders his way inside, the familiar, comforting chaos of his one-bedroom coming into focus as he kicks the door shut behind him.

He toes off his boots, letting them fall wherever they land, and drags the suitcase into his cramped living room, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch. The streetlights outside cast thin, golden strips across the walls, and his refrigerator hums steadily in the otherwise silent space.

He flips open the suitcase, too tired to even think about organizing, and reaches blindly for a clean shirt. Instead, his hand lands on something stiff and sharply pressed.

Lewis frowns, pulling out a neatly folded stack of dress shirts, their collars crisp and perfectly creased. He blinks, eyebrows knitting together as he digs deeper, pulling out tailored slacks and a leather-bound planner with a small, discreet logo embossed on the corner.

“What the...” He flips the planner open, eyes skimming over tightly packed meeting notes, detailed itineraries, and a color-coded calendar that looks like the work of someone who genuinely enjoys spreadsheets.

He reaches for a thick, intimidating-looking folder marked “Confidential” in bold letters, his heart sinking further as he flips it open to reveal a stack of professionally printed documents.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” He lets the folder drop onto the floor, running a hand through his already messy hair as he stares at the unfamiliar contents of what is very clearly not his suitcase.

Somewhere out there, someone is currently rifling through his tangle of band tees, scribbled notes, and, worst of all, his heavily highlighted script for a new gig he'd just scored.

---

You stare at the suitcase spread open on your hotel bed, the pile of band tees and creased notebook sitting there like a physical reminder of the chaos your life has just become. You should do something — call the airline, maybe, or at least try to figure out who this L.P. is before their missing luggage becomes your permanent problem.

But you’re exhausted. The kind of tired that settles deep in your bones, turning your thoughts into molasses and making even the simplest task feel monumental.

You let out a long, frustrated sigh, rubbing your eyes and glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It’s already pushing 1 a.m., and the idea of trying to navigate a customer service call right now feels like a special kind of hell.

“Alright, fine,” you mutter to the empty room, tossing the vintage tees back into the suitcase and flipping the lid closed. You’ll deal with it in the morning, when your brain is at least somewhat functional. For now, you just need sleep.

You crawl into bed, still vaguely damp from the shower, and tug the covers up to your chin. The mattress is firmer than you’d like, the pillow a little too thin, but it doesn’t take long for the steady hum of the hotel air conditioning to lull you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

---

Across town, Lewis drops onto his couch, head thudding against the worn armrest as he stares up at the cracked ceiling. The folder of mysterious corporate documents is still sitting on the coffee table, its thick, embossed cover practically daring him to open it again.

He considers getting up, maybe flipping through the papers for a hint about who his mystery bag-swapping stranger might be, but the thought alone makes his eyes feel heavier. He’s not exactly equipped for a late-night detective mission right now, not with the remnants of jet lag still clinging to his brain like a wet blanket.

“Tomorrow,” he grumbles, kicking his feet up onto the armrest and letting his eyes drift shut. He’ll deal with it in the morning, when his brain isn’t actively trying to shut down.

---

The next morning comes far too quickly. You wake to the sharp, insistent chime of your phone alarm, the sound cutting through your foggy consciousness like a knife. You groan, slapping at your phone until it goes blessedly silent, and roll onto your back, staring up at the bland, popcorn-textured ceiling.

It takes a moment for the events of the previous night to come rushing back — the wrong suitcase, the unfamiliar band tees, the mysterious L.P. luggage tag. You sit up slowly, rubbing at your eyes and trying to shake the lingering cobwebs from your brain.

First things first: your own suitcase. You’d had the foresight to slip an Apple AirTag into one of the side pockets before your flight, a small, paranoid part of you always worrying about exactly this kind of mix-up.

You grab your phone, opening the Find My app with a flick of your thumb, but the screen just loads into a frustratingly empty map, the little green dot stubbornly refusing to show up. Too far away, probably. You grit your teeth, already regretting not springing for the upgraded model with the longer range.

You tap the call icon and put the phone to your ear, bouncing your knee as it rings.

“Thank you for calling Apple Support. Please hold while we connect you to the next available representative.”

You resist the urge to groan, your fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the hotel comforter as the tinny hold music crackles in your ear.

---

Across town, Lewis is having his own version of a chaotic morning. He’s halfway through his second cup of coffee, hair still damp from a hurried shower, as he flips through the stack of neatly printed documents that had been sitting in what he thought was his suitcase.

Every page is packed with dense, professional text — contracts, meeting agendas, and what looks like a series of legal documents with a name scrawled at the bottom in neat, looping handwriting.

“Alright,” he mutters to himself, leaning back against the kitchen counter as he taps the name into his phone’s search bar.

Results flood the screen, a frustratingly long list of people with the same name scattered across LinkedIn profiles, news articles, and random blog posts. He scrolls through the first few pages, trying to find anything that might match the person he accidentally luggage-swapped with, but it’s like looking for a needle in a very, very crowded haystack.

He blows out a breath, tossing his phone onto the counter and rubbing the back of his neck. His manager is going to kill him when they find out about this. Still, he can’t exactly let a stranger hold on to his scribbled notes and half-finished script forever.

“Alright, screw it,” he says, grabbing his phone again and pulling up his manager’s contact.

“Sam, hey, I’ve got a situation,” he says as soon as the line connects, pacing a tight circle in his small kitchen. “No, it’s not like last time. I just... I might have swapped bags with someone at the airport, and I have no idea who they are, but they’ve got my script. And my stuff. All my stuff.”

There’s a long pause on the other end, the kind that usually means Sam is resisting the urge to throw his phone against the nearest wall.

“Okay,” Sam finally says, his voice a carefully measured calm. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to take the bag you’ve got and head back to the airport. There’s a decent chance the other person will do the same once they realize they’ve got the wrong bag.”

Lewis sighs, glancing at the stack of neatly folded dress shirts and leather-bound planner sitting innocently on his counter.

“Yeah, alright,” he mutters, grabbing his keys off the hook by the door. “I’m on my way.”

---

Meanwhile, your Apple Support call finally connects, a cheery voice on the other end promising to walk you through the steps to locate your missing suitcase. You glance over at the still-open bag on the bed, the crumpled script catching your eye.

Maybe it’s time to finally figure out who the hell L.P. is. You grab the thick stack of papers, flipping to the cover page and skimming the title. Your eyes widen as the name Lewis Pullman jumps out at you, the pieces suddenly falling into place.

Lewis Pullman. The actor. Bill Pullman’s son.

You stare at the script in your hands, heart thudding in your chest as the full weight of your accidental heist hits you.

“Oh, no,” you mutter, sinking back onto the bed. “What have I done?”

---

Lewis taps his fingers against the steering wheel, jaw tight as he stares at the congested freeway ahead. The morning sun glares off the windshields around him, turning the LA traffic into a slow, blinding crawl. He glances at the passenger seat, where your neatly packed suitcase sits like a silent accusation, the crisp corners and tasteful leather trim a stark contrast to the chaos he’s used to.

By the time he finally reaches LAX, the nerves in his stomach have twisted into a full-on knot. He parks and hauls the suitcase through the labyrinth of terminals, the weight of his mistake pressing down on his shoulders.

The airport is buzzing with activity, the steady thrum of engines and the chaotic clatter of luggage creating a backdrop of controlled chaos as he heads for the airline counter.

The attendant at the lost and found desk looks up, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow as Lewis approaches, his suitcase clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

“Hi, I... I think I accidentally swapped bags with someone on my flight last night,” he says, his voice coming out a little more strained than he intended. He sets your suitcase on the counter, running a hand through his hair as he tries to sound less like a sleep-deprived mess. “This isn’t mine. I’m hoping the person who has mine will come looking for theirs, too.”

The attendant nods, typing something into the computer and giving him a weary, knowing smile — the kind that says this isn’t the first time someone’s stumbled in with the wrong bag and a panicked expression.

“Just leave it here,” she says, slapping a tag on the handle and sliding it onto the cart behind her. “If the other person comes by, we’ll let them know you dropped it off.”

Lewis hesitates, fingers still wrapped around the handle, his brain fighting a ridiculous urge to hold onto the bag a little longer. He gives it a final, reluctant nudge, watching as the cart wheels it away and disappears into the maze of behind-the-scenes airport chaos.

With a deep, tired sigh, he turns and heads back to his car, hands shoved into his pockets as the sounds of the bustling terminal fade behind him.

---

Meanwhile, back in your hotel room, you’ve entered the frantic, mildly horrifying phase of a full-on internet spiral. Your laptop is balanced precariously on the edge of the bed, multiple tabs open on Lewis Pullman.

You grab your phone, pacing the small stretch of carpet between the bed and the window as you pull up his IMDb page, half-hoping there’ll be a contact button you can just click to resolve this mess. But of course, there isn’t. The closest you get is a list of his past projects and a handful of magazine interviews that all seem to paint him as the down-to-earth, quietly intense type.

Finally, after what feels like a small eternity of frantic googling, you stumble across what you think might be his manager’s number, tucked away on an obscure industry listing. You dial it, hands shaking a little as the line rings, each passing second making your pulse thud harder against your ribs.

Voicemail.

You hang up, your breath coming out in a short, frustrated huff as you toss your phone onto the bed. You’re tempted to try again, maybe leave a message this time, but something about the whole situation already feels too much like a scene from a bad rom-com, and you’re not sure you can handle the embarrassment of leaving a rambling, half-panicked voicemail for a guy you’ve never even met.

Finally, you decide to cut your losses and head back to the airport, clutching Lewis’s battered suitcase like a lifeline as you weave through the bustling lobby and make a beeline for the lost and found desk.

An attendant is sitting there, her expression unimpressed as she types away at her computer. You clear your throat, shifting your weight nervously as you set the bag on the counter.

“Hi, I think I accidentally swapped bags with someone on my flight last night,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I just... I just want to leave this here, in case they come looking for it. It’s got a lot of their stuff in it, and I’m, um, really hoping mine is still somewhere in the system.”

The attendant glances at you over the top of her computer, her expression a mix of boredom and mild curiosity. She slaps a tag onto the handle of the suitcase and adds it to the same cart Lewis’s bag disappeared on earlier.

“We’ll call you if we find anything,” she says, already turning back to her screen.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you scribble your name and number on the form she slides your way. It feels weirdly final, like you’re closing the book on a strange, mildly mortifying chapter of your life.

---

A few weeks pass, and the whole suitcase fiasco slowly slips into the background noise of your daily routine — a bizarre, slightly embarrassing story you’ll probably share with friends over drinks someday.

But then, just as you’re starting to convince yourself that you’ll never see your meticulously packed suitcase again, your phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?” you say, balancing your phone against your shoulder as you fumble with your laptop.

“Hi, this is LAX Lost and Found. We’ve located your suitcase. You can come pick it up anytime this evening.”

---

You arrive at the counter a little breathless, the memory of your original suitcase still a fresh sting as you approach. But just as you step up to the desk, another figure rushes up beside you, his sneakers squeaking against the polished tile.

“Hi, I’m here to pick up my suitcase —” you both start, your voices overlapping in a messy, tangled echo.

You glance at each other, both of you wide-eyed and a little winded, and then immediately look away, the awkward tension settling like a heavy fog. He’s tall, a little scruffy around the edges, his hair tousled like he’s run his hands through it one too many times. There’s a brief flicker of recognition in his eyes, like he’s trying to place you, but then he quickly looks down, rubbing the back of his neck as if he’s suddenly aware of how tightly the air feels around you both.

The attendant rolls her eyes, bending to grab two identical suitcases from the back, her movements sharp with barely disguised exasperation.

“Here,” she says, shoving both bags onto the counter with a loud thunk. “I assume you two know which is which this time?”

You and Lewis both reach for your respective bags, pausing to double-check the scuffs and ID tags, even unzipping the top a few inches just to be sure.

When you both exhale in relief, catching each other’s eye for a split second, his mouth opens, closes, and then opens again, like he’s trying to catch the right words before they slip away.

“Uh, hey,” he starts, one hand gripping the handle of his suitcase, the other half-raised in a tentative gesture. “I, uh... just wanted to say thanks for, you know, bringing my stuff back. I know that, uh, it probably... wasn’t the most convenient thing.” He lets out a little breathy chuckle, eyes dropping to his shoes for a second. “I mean, I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t.”

You let out a small, relieved laugh, the lingering tension breaking like the first crack of a smile after a long, awkward silence.

“No, it’s fine. I... kinda panicked when I realized what I had. Almost didn’t want to touch anything, but, uh... yeah.” You bite your lip, feeling a little of the same nervous energy radiating off him.

He nods, his shoulders relaxing a bit, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, like he’s working up the nerve for something.

“So, uh...” he hesitates, his gaze flicking back up to yours, the corners of his mouth twitching in a hesitant, lopsided grin. “Maybe we could, I dunno, grab a coffee sometime? Or, uh, dinner, if that’s... less weird?”

You blink, a little caught off guard by the sudden offer, but the earnest, slightly flustered look on his face makes it hard not to smile.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding before you can second-guess yourself. “Dinner sounds nice.”

“Cool, cool,” he says quickly, letting out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a silent cheer. He fumbles for his phone, nearly dropping it as he tries to unlock it with one hand, his cheeks turning a little pink. “Uh, here, just... give me your number and I’ll... yeah.”

You chuckle, tapping your info into his phone as he watches, his eyes crinkling at the edges when you hand it back.

“Alright, well... I’ll text you,” he says, stepping back with a little half-wave. “Thanks again. Seriously.”

You nod, your heart doing an odd little flip as you watch him turn and weave back into the airport crowd, his suitcase rolling behind him, the wheels clattering against the polished floor.

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crushribbons · 4 months ago

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thanks, peg J

summary: Dr. Michael Robinavitch needs help building a shelf.

cw: 2.7k words, fluff, my actual husband is an actual doctor i should probably know more/anything about how hospitals work, vague age gap (reader/oc is in her 30's), vague to graphic depictions of injury/illness, fem!OC/reader.

a/n: paging dr. daddy :) <3

(gif cred)

She pulled her stethoscope off her neck. “Oof. Sounds like a ball of a Friday night. Is it from Ikea?”

“The Ivar,” Robby specified with a nod and shrug. He looked back down at the patient list from their shift, which couldn’t have been ending at a more merciful time. The last man she had examined had spat on her. And what else should she expect?; she’d diagnosed his pain as a small kidney stone passing through his urethra and written a prescription that would all but eliminate the discomfort. If that wasn’t deserving of a loogie to the face, she didn’t know what else would be. Robby let out a sigh that sounded exactly like the exhaustion tugging her eyelids down.

Nurse Dana swept by them, her fleece jacket already three-quarters of the way on. “Don’t take too long on those autographs, kids, or night shift will just let you keep right on rolling.”

A raspy little laugh slipped past Dr. Robby’s lips and the corners of his eyes crinkled the way they always did on the rare occasions someone could tug a genuine smile out of him. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if the lack of breakfast and the bag of Ritz crackers she’d scarfed down for lunch were the only things making her light-headed.

“Yes, ma’am,” he called after Dana. The charge nurse raised her hand without turning around and wiggled her fingers at them while darting out the double doors that led to the waiting room and exit before anyone could stop her. Robby turned back to the doctor next to him and handed her the clipboard he’d just finished signing about two hundred times.

Her hand grazed his, and the level of attention she paid to how warm and rough his fingers felt made her grit her jaw in frustration. It was her first year as an attending, how could she be letting something as ridiculous as a workplace crush get to her? She realized it had been a while since she’d spoken, and that Robby was pulling his own coat and backpack from underneath his desk.

“Need any help chasing down the million nuts and bolts that are guaranteed to burst out of the little bag when you open it?” she offered jokingly. Robby’s eyes flicked to her too fast. She felt her hairline heat up, worried she’d overstepped.

None of the attendings did anything outside of work together; the work hours were long enough to get their fill of each other without feeling the need to add alcohol or food to the mix. Some of the students and residents would occasionally hit bars after their shifts, and though she had no desire to join them, it made her miss the relative lack of responsibility of med school. Dr. Robinavitch, in particular, never broached the topic of his personal life at work, so she tried to do the same. There were too many patients to see and too much to accomplish to bother checking if the attractive ER chief with the puppy-dog eyes had plans for the weekend. No matter how much she wanted to.

He let out another chuckle, though this one was without humor. "Don't tell me you got nothing better to do than that," he said. "On a Friday night."

"I'm, uh, still finding my way around Pittsburgh." It was true. Her residency in California had spoiled her, and she found the stark greyness of Pennsylvania off-putting. She rarely ventured from her apartment for anything other than work and necessary grocery shopping.

He regarded her for a few seconds. His gaze felt heavier than it should have, as if she had some symptom that didn't line up with her lab results. She remembered what Dr. Santos had muttered to her on her first day at the Pitt when she'd caught the new doctor staring a little too long at Robby typing his notes.

"I know. He's crazy hot, right?" Trinity had pinched her elbow and embarrassment had made her stutter nonsensically. Then, to top off the humiliation, Trinity had started swaying her shoulders side to side and singing under her breath, "I will be your father figure, put your tiny hand in mine..." The younger woman was known for being abrasive, but, shit, she was a perceptive little fucker, too.

"I'd be a fool to turn down help wrangling Ivar. Ikea furniture is my Achilles heel," Robby was saying when she snapped back to the present. He seemed hesitant. He couldn't tell whether she'd been joking or not, and, frankly, she couldn't either. "But I couldn't ask you to–"

"You'd be doing me a favor," she cut in quickly. He would, in more ways than one. "If I sit on my couch with my cat for one more weekend, I think they're gonna start letting me collect Social Security."

A genuine laugh! Her stomach flipped upside down at the sight and the sound. Both were warm and inviting and made her want to kiss each of the individual lines on his weathered face. "Then by all means, please."

Oh, wait. Was this happening? Was it, actually? Nerves gnawed at her while she finished handing off the patient list to the night shift. What was it? A date? A friend helping another friend put a shelf together? A coworker helping another, older and more senior coworker who intimidated the hell out of her put a shelf together?

As Robby departed through the same double doors Dana had dashed through, he turned and pointed significantly at his phone, and she pulled hers from her pocket to see that he had texted her his address. Nothing else, just the address, dashed out in Robby’s usual efficient and minimalistic tone. He hadn’t even included the city and zip, but he didn’t need to. Living further than 15 minutes away from the hospital seemed like something a less dedicated physician might consider, but she knew that Robby didn’t really live at the address he’d sent her, anyway. He lived in all the exam rooms and hallways surrounding her, their sanitized scent pricking at her nose one last time before she stepped into the waiting room and the few remaining rays of sunlight waiting to greet her outside.

The door opened on her second knock, or, more accurately, before she could even finish it. Goddammit. She should have taken more time to consider what an off-duty Dr. Robby might look like.

“Hey,” he said, a genial smile lighting up his tired face.

“H–mm, hi,” she replied. She tried to hide a swallow.

Robby stood aside and let her pass through the front door of the aged but charming brownstone. The long hallway was lined with dark wooden panels that creaked when she walked over them. She tried not to feel him following behind her, the scent of some musky shampoo or body wash drifting off him. She also showered directly after a shift. Too much hospital.

A line of hooks held various jackets and sling bags, and a haphazard pile of worn sneakers sat beneath them. “I gotta get a rack for those, or something,” Robby muttered from behind her, noticing her sightline.

“You should see mine. The floor of my closet is a nightmare.”

She walked into the living room and couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. It was sparsely but cozily finished, an overstuffed couch and matching loveseat positioned atop a plush rug that hugged her feet taking up most of the space. And, of course, a veritable disaster of boards, planks, plastic bags, and ripped cardboard in the middle of all of it.

“Yikes.”

“Thank you, again, for helping me with this,” he said, and came to stand beside her. “Why is it that I can perform a trach in my sleep, but the assembly of Swedish furniture is my downfall?” He scratched the back of his neck, the white t-shirt he was wearing showing off far too much of what was usually hidden beneath a few layers of thermals, scrubs, and hoodies. Her hairline started to feel hot again.

She cleared her throat and made her way over to the pile of shelf. “For what med school costs, they really should be teaching us the essentials like this stuff, too!” He didn’t respond, making her look up at him. He was watching her again, with that sort-of-absent-but-always-thoughtful x-ray vision. She wished he’d stop.

“You really got none of the cynicism and all of the optimism out of your residency, didn’t you?”

She flushed and looked back down at the ground, unsure if he was making fun of her. “It being basically on the ocean didn’t hurt. Lots to be optimistic about in northern Cali, it’s so beautiful.”

Robby shook his Midwest-born-and-bred head. “Damn hippy.” His voice was gruff, but his dark eyes were sparkling and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders dissipate in a giggle. He crossed the room and through an arch that led to the kitchen. “I ordered some Chinese for dinner, hope that’s alright,” he called back to her.

The tension returned tenfold and her heart began doing somersaults in her chest. Dinner? This included dinner now? Sure, it was time for dinner, but she hadn’t wanted to be so presumptuous as to suggest adding food to this friendly favor she was performing. Robby returned laden with white paper takeout boxes and a handful of napkins and chopsticks. “Like lo mein?” he asked. She nodded.

“Yes, but you really didn’t have to get anything for me! That’s so nice,” she gushed, trying to reign in the attraction to this man and behave as if he was just any other rugged, kind, intelligent guy she might come in contact with. She was so screwed.

He pressed the box of lo mein into her hand with a pair of chopsticks. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for helping with this,” he shrugged. “Hopefully, you still have an appetite after that bike accident from this morning.” The memory of the young man’s torso torn open and spilling out onto the operating table sent a nauseous wave from her head to her stomach, but she quickly compartmentalized it, as she’d learned to do long ago.

“Why do people even buy motorcycles,” she muttered rhetorically.

“Uh, because they love visiting you so very much,” he returned with a wink that made her miss her mouth with the chopsticks.

Two hours later, the shelf was only two-feet tall and missing three of the nine screws it had required so far.

“Peg L, peg L, peg L,” Robby said through gritted teeth, “where the fuck is peg L?”

She held the instructions centimeters away from her face, hoping the proximity would illuminate its solutions somehow. “Peg L goes into plank K. We just placed plank H.” He stopped running his hands along the carpet to search for the missing peg L and looked up at her with a speck of encroaching insanity peeking through.

“I’m out of order?”

“Miiiike,” she laugh-groaned. “Did you already use peg G? We need J right now!” When he didn’t answer, she glanced up from the “simple” instruction packet. A sleepy kind of flush appeared on his face, and he pulled the reading glasses off to massage the bridge of his nose and–hide it? Then, he sighed.

“God, no one’s called me just…Mike in forever.” It was a complete sentence, a complete statement, a complete story, and he was done talking about it, but it made a million questions bubble up in the back of her throat. She ignored them.

“You’re at work too much,” she almost whispered. Why she was no longer scared of stepping over some professional, coworker boundary, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the way he had accepted her help with such a domestic task, or the fact that they were seeing each other in something other than scrubs for the first time (the loose, perfectly worn-in jeans he was wearing would surely be appearing in her dreams that night), or maybe it was because their legs had been pressed together for the last half hour as they tried to decipher the mysteries of Ivar. Whatever it was, Robby–Mike, felt it, too. He stared into her eyes before averting them to the floor and mumbling,

“Yeah. I know.” He put the glasses back on. “So, peg J.”

“C’mere, ya little Swedish asshole,” she agreed, and they resumed pawing around the rug to try and find the screws that, as predicted, had spilled from the package as soon as Robby had ripped it. She tried to avoid brushing against his hand as well as she could, until her fingers bumped into a tiny piece of metal, and she snatched the screw from the ground. Carefully consulting the instructions, she looked from the page, to the screw, to the page, before shouting, “Oh my God, I found it!”

His hands were cradling either side of her face in a second, and then he was kissing her. The part of her brain that handled compartmentalization clocked in at lightning speed and swept all her confusion into the bin so she could focus on nothing except his beard scratching her, his warm hands cupping her jaw. Well, well before she had gotten her fill of him, he pulled back and blurted, “Awesome! Good job, let’s put it in.” He plucked the screw out of her hand like the conversation had just been on pause, scooting over on his knees to the feeble half-shelf.

She sat in complete shock until Robby, without turning to face her, said, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

“Mike.”

“You just looked–and I, it’s been…I’m really sorry.”

“Mike.”

He was attempting to twist the screw into place with his fingers so he didn’t have to come get the screwdriver from beside her. “I overstepped. It won’t happen again. If you want to take it to HR…”

That was enough to jumpstart her brain again, and she burst into laughter, forcing him to finally spin around.

“HR? Really?” She made a phone out of her pinky, fist, and thumb and held it to her ear. “Hello, Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center Department of Human Resources? Yes, I’d like to file a report against one of your doctors.” She was having a hard time stifling her laughter. “Dr. Michael Robinavitch. Yes, the hottie from the ER, that’s correct. He really laid one on me—"

It was Robby's turn to cut her off, and he did so by rolling his eyes and snatching the instructions out of her other hand. "Hey!" She dove after them but decided instead to drag him in by the collar of his shirt for another kiss. They both held each other tightly, Robby's hands wandering, respectfully, under the hem of her shirt. When she tugged a handful of his hair, he grunted in annoyance.

"Watch it. Don't have much of that left."

"You've got a lot for an old man." She regretted it as soon as she said it, even though he had already alluded to it. His head dropped and apologies bubbled up and out of her lips, assurances that that's not how she'd meant it, that he was the most attractive man she'd met at the Pitt, but he waved them off.

His glasses were sliding down his nose again. He cleared his throat and pushed them back up. "Are you okay with it, then? I mean, I know I'm not..." Her heart ached when he trailed off, nervously scratching the back of his neck again.

"Very ok," she whispered. She reached for his hand and took it. He was fiddling with a screw that she plucked out and tossed to the side. "I'm 31, you know, Senior Elder Doctor Robinavitch."

Robby smiled, clearly in spite of himself. He tucked a piece of hair that had fallen into her eyes behind her ear. For a minute, they just sat and looked at each other, matching each other's lazy smiles. "That's it. Didn't want to have to do this, but you're fired."

"Okay now I want to take this to HR."

masterlist

#being RESPECTFUL with this one cuz the tag is still growing :)#i'm not off hiatus just dropping and running lol!!!#this show is so effing stressful i have no other recourse but to stare at Him #the pitt x reader #dr. robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #doctor robby x reader #laneywrites #noah wyle if you see this i am free thursday night please reply if you are also free thursday night #trying a new (lazier) aesthetic w this one and it feels good feels organic xx

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alohajix · 3 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐚𝐩𝐞

Description: she said she wasn’t nervous. She said she'd never done this before. But then he walked in—and made her forget every lie she told herself. The Casting Tape — you only need to watch it once to come back for more.

Warnings: this one-shot includes explicit sexual content, including fingering, oral sex (M/F), face-fucking, rough grinding, dirty talk, praise kink, light choking, spanking, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), and graphic language. Readers +18.

Words count: ~ 7K.

I understand you guys really enjoyed “First Time for Everything”. So here’s a new one-shot I've been working on for a while, featuring pornstar!harry once again.

please enjoyyy💕

*****

I almost didn’t walk through the door. It looked too normal from the outside—just a nondescript black building sandwiched between a vape shop and a custom auto wrap place. No sign. No logo. Just a metal door and a tiny keypad. I stood there for a full minute, staring at my reflection in the door’s narrow glass panel, wondering what the hell I was doing. My fingers fidgeted with the zipper on my hoodie as I debated bailing. But then I remembered rent. And how many hours I’d spent reading that post.

“Paid casting opportunity. Professional, safe, filmed. No pressure to continue. Just be yourself.”

So I buzzed in. A soft click, and I stepped inside. The air was cool, sterile, quiet. A short hallway led to a room that looked more like a YouTube set than anything porn-related—white walls, gray backdrop, soft box lights aimed at a plain black leather couch. A camera was already set up on a tripod, its little red light blinking lazily like it was waiting. There was no one else in the room, just a low table with a water bottle and a clipboard. I approached it like it might bite.

“Hey there,” a voice called from behind me—low, male, casual. “You can grab a seat. We’ll start in a second.”

I turned to find a guy with a headset leaning against the doorframe, sipping coffee. He looked more like someone who worked in tech support than adult film, and he barely glanced at me. That helped a little. I gave him a tight smile and sat down on the couch, tucking one leg under the other. The camera stared back at me. I wiped my sweaty palms on my denim skirt.

“You go by your real name or a stage name?” the voice asked.

I hesitated. “Stage name.”

He chuckled. “Smart. What should we call you?”

“…Lola.” I don’t know where it came from. I didn’t even know anyone named Lola.

“Cute,” he said. “Alright, Lola. We’re just gonna ask you a few questions. Keep your eyes on the camera, speak clearly, be yourself.”

I nodded once. The camera light turned solid red.

“Tell us how old you are and why you’re here.”

My voice came out a little too fast. “Twenty-two. I—uh—I heard about this through a friend of a friend. Thought it might be… interesting.”

“And have you done anything like this before?”

I forced a smile. “Not professionally.”

He chuckled again, friendly but disinterested. “Good answer. So—this is a soft casting. No pressure to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We just want to see how you come across on camera. If it feels natural, maybe we’ll try a short chemistry test.”

My stomach flipped. “Chemistry test?”

“With a partner,” he clarified. “Clothed or not. Touching or not. Totally up to you.”

I swallowed hard. “And who’s the partner?”

“Hey, man,” the guy said suddenly, glancing over my shoulder. “You mind stepping in for a quick test?”

I didn’t hear footsteps. I felt them. Slow. Heavy. Purposeful. And then I heard his voice.

“Yeah. I’ve got time.” I turned. And immediately forgot how to breathe.

He walked in wearing a black T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair tucked under a gray beanie, tattooed arms on full display. Calm. Comfortable. Like he belonged here. And when his eyes met mine—green, curious, knowing—I had to look away before I gave something away.

I knew who he was. Everyone who’s ever dipped into amateur porn knew who he was. He wasn’t just a pornstar—he was the pornstar. The one known for making people cry in the best way possible. The one who ruined girls for normal guys. The one I may or may not have watched the night I sent my application in.

“Hi,” he said softly, voice like silk. “I’m Harry.” Of course he was.

I tried to remember how to smile. “Hi.”

He looked me over—slowly, respectfully, but definitely. His gaze dragged from my hoodie to my bare thighs, then up to my lips before meeting my eyes again.

“You okay to keep going?” he asked. “Or just here to talk?” His tone was soft. Patient.

I bit my lip. I should’ve said no. I should’ve kept it simple. But the way he was looking at me… “Let’s try,” I said quietly.

His mouth curled into a half-smile. “We’ll go slow.”

He sat beside me on the couch, leaving just enough space between us that it felt intentional. His thigh brushed mine every time I shifted, and I wasn’t sure if it was on purpose—but I hoped it was.

The camera was still rolling. “You nervous?” he asked, his voice low and almost amused.

“A little,” I admitted. “You’re not exactly a nobody.”

He smiled at that—soft, slow, like he was letting the compliment soak into his skin.

“Well, I’ve done a few of these,” he said, tilting his body slightly toward me. “So if you want to stop at any point, you say the word. We good on that?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Safe word or something?”

“We can use red. If you want to pause, say yellow. But honestly? Just talk to me. I listen.”

God, that shouldn’t have made my stomach twist—but it did. His hand landed gently on my knee. Just a touch. Nothing dirty. But the weight of it made my heart skip.

“Can I touch you a little more?” he asked.

I swallowed and nodded. “Yes.”

He slid his hand up my thigh, slow and deliberate, until his fingers curled around the bare skin just beneath the hem of my skirt. His pinky brushed the side of my underwear. He didn’t move further. He just… held me.

“See? You’re already shaking a little,” he said, voice soft like a secret.

“I’m not,” I lied.

His thumb moved lazily across my thigh. “You are. That’s okay, though. Nervous is normal. But you look good nervous.”

I smirked despite myself. “Is that your line?”

“No,” he said, leaning in just a little. “That’s the truth.”

His other hand reached up, fingers playing with the zipper of my hoodie. He didn’t pull it down right away—he just watched my face.

“Can I?”

I nodded again. “Yeah.”

He tugged the zipper down, slow as hell. I didn’t wear a bra on purpose—I’d told myself it was about being comfortable, but I’d also known what kind of job this was. I’d wanted to feel like I was ready for it, even if I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. He pushed the hoodie off my shoulders, revealing my thin tank top underneath—white, ribbed, tight. My nipples were already hard beneath the fabric.

His eyes dropped for half a second. “Fuck.”

“What?” I teased.

“You’re hot.” His voice dipped lower, rougher. “Didn’t expect that.”

I grinned. “You didn’t look me up before this?”

He leaned closer, lips near my ear. “Didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Fuck. That got to me. I shifted in my seat, squeezing my thighs together, and his hand didn’t miss it.

“You get turned on easily, don’t you?” he murmured.

“Only when someone says shit like that.”

He chuckled, and it vibrated straight through me. “Alright then. Let’s see how much you can take before we even get your clothes off.”

He turned to face me fully, his hand now resting between my thighs, thumb pressing lightly at the crease where leg met hip. I was still covered, but it felt dangerously intimate.

“Look at me,” he said. I did.

His hand moved to my waist, sliding under the hem of my shirt. His palm was warm on my bare skin, fingertips grazing my ribcage, tracing just under the curve of my breast. His thumb brushed upward, catching the edge of my nipple through the fabric—and I gasped, barely holding still.

“Sensitive?” he asked, eyes still locked on mine. I nodded, biting my lip.

He pinched lightly—just enough to make me jerk—and then soothed the spot with his palm.

“You’re already breathing like you’ve been at this for an hour.”

“Maybe I just like the way you touch,” I whispered.

He grinned again. “Yeah?”

His other hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers sliding into my hair as he leaned in. “I’m gonna kiss you now. Okay?”

I nodded. “Please.” And then he kissed me. Slow. Firm. One hand holding my jaw just right while the other teased under my shirt. His lips moved against mine like he had all the time in the world. He tasted like mint and something just a little bit sweet—god, it was unfair how good he was at this.

My mouth opened for him on instinct, tongue brushing his as he deepened the kiss. I whimpered before I meant to, and he smiled against my lips.

“There it is,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

He pulled me onto his lap. I didn’t even realize I’d moved until I felt his thighs beneath mine, the stretch of my skirt riding up, the thick press of him already hard beneath me.

“You wanna keep going?” he asked, hand splayed on my lower back.

“Yes.”

“You wanna keep your clothes on for now?”

I nodded again. “Let me stay like this.”

He gave a slow, approving nod. “Smart girl.”

I started to grind—tentatively, testing—and he held me tighter.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His hands stayed on my waist, guiding me. My panties were soaked through already, and he hadn’t even touched me properly. His cock pressed up against my center through both layers, and the friction was delicious.

“Feel what you’re doing to me?” he whispered. I nodded. “Good. Don’t stop.” I didn’t.

I rocked against him slowly, rhythmically, trying to match the pace of his hands, trying not to let my moans get too loud. But the fabric was slick, and I was clenching around nothing, desperate for more. He leaned up to kiss me again, slower this time, while grinding back into me with little thrusts of his hips.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered. “Using me to get yourself off. All clothed. So dirty, baby.”

God, baby—the way it rolled off his tongue nearly made me come.

“I wanna see you fall apart,” he said against my lips. “But not yet. Gotta take my time with you.”

I whimpered, hands clutching his shoulders. “Why?”

“‘Cause I want it to be unforgettable.”

I didn’t mean to drop to my knees. It just happened. One second, I was straddling him, moaning into his mouth, and the next, I was slipping down between his legs, hands trailing over his thighs like they belonged there. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t say a word—just leaned back on the couch and watched me with that slow-burning smirk, his chest rising and falling like he already knew what I was going to do next.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice husky.

I nodded as I settled between his thighs, reaching for the waistband of his sweats. “You’ve been hard since I got here.”

His brow ticked up. “And you think that means you get to do something about it?”

I looked up at him, tilted my head innocently. “I know I do.”

He grinned. “Cocky.”

“I learned from the best,” I said, tugging his sweats down just enough to free him. And fuck.

I’d seen it before—on screens, in videos—but nothing prepared me for the way it looked up close. Thick, long, already leaking at the tip. Veins along the shaft. His entire body was unfair, but this? This was just cruel.

I wrapped my hand around him slowly.

“You gonna stare at it all day, or you gonna do something?” he teased.

I licked a long stripe from the base to the tip, just to shut him up. His breath caught.

“Mouth open,” he murmured. I obeyed, letting my tongue hang out as I stroked him slowly. He was heavy in my hand, warm and twitching, and when I finally took him into my mouth, I moaned like it was for me, not him.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, his head tipping back. “You’re better than half the girls I’ve filmed with.”

I pulled back just enough to say, “That supposed to make me feel special?”

He looked down at me with a grin. “It should.” Then he shifted his hips forward a little, his hand slipping into my hair. “Hold still,” he said. “Let me fuck your mouth a little.”

I whimpered, nodding as he gathered my hair in his fist and guided me back down. His thrusts were slow at first, controlled, testing. He pushed past my lips and onto my tongue, letting me feel every inch. I hollowed my cheeks around him, drool already sliding down my chin. The angle made my throat ache—but I didn’t care. He watched every second.

“That’s it,” he praised. “Look at me. Eyes up. Fuck—just like that.” I moaned around him, and he groaned in return, gripping my hair tighter. “You like this?” he asked. “Being used a little?”

I blinked up at him, spit trailing from my lip to the base of his cock. “Yes.”

“How filthy are you, baby?”

I swallowed him deeper before answering. “Wanna choke on it.”

He smirked, that filthy edge sharpening in his eyes. “Greedy girl.”

He held my jaw and started to fuck into my mouth harder, sloppier. My mascara was running—I could feel it—and my knees were going numb, but I didn’t care. Not when he was groaning and panting above me, thumb wiping spit from the corner of my mouth.

“Open wider,” he growled. “Let me all the way in.”

I did. He pushed in until the tip hit the back of my throat, and I gagged—but he didn’t stop. He stayed there for a second, watching the tears spill down my cheeks before pulling back with a wet, obscene pop.

“Good girl,” he breathed. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” I blinked up at him, dazed and wrecked, lips puffy and slick. “You want me to come in your mouth?” he asked.

“No.” He raised a brow. “I want more than that.” He stared at me for a beat. Then he reached down, grabbed my arm, and pulled me gently to my feet.

“Take your clothes off.”

I hesitated, chest heaving. “All of them?”

“All of them,” he said softly. “Want to see what kind of mess I’ve made.”

I peeled off my hoodie first, even though it had already been unzipped. My tank top followed, sticky with sweat. Then my skirt. Then my panties—soaked, clinging to my thighs. His eyes drank me in.

“You’re soaked.”

“You made me like this.”

He stood up—slow, deliberate—and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth, then my neck, then lower, until he was kneeling in front of me.

“You ever squirt before?” he asked, voice low.

I swallowed hard. “No.”

He smirked. “Might today.” Then he leaned in and dragged his tongue across my inner thigh.

He didn’t go for my pussy right away. Instead, he kissed every inch around it—my thighs, the crease of my hip, the patch of skin just above my mound. His hands wrapped around my legs, holding me steady as he took his time. The anticipation had my stomach fluttering, my cunt clenching around nothing, desperate to be touched.

“Please,” I whispered, shifting.

He looked up at me from between my legs, his lips shiny with spit. “Yeah?”

I nodded, breath shaky. “I—I need—”

He slid one finger up my slit, slow as hell. “You need this?” he asked, teasing my clit with the lightest touch. “Or my mouth?”

“Both.”

He grinned. “Good answer.” Then he dove in.

His mouth latched around my clit like he’d missed it, like he owned it. His tongue flicked and sucked, alternating between slow pressure and fast strokes that made my legs tremble. I cried out, one hand gripping the back of the couch, the other tangled in his hair. He moaned against me when I tugged, and I felt it vibrate through my whole body.

“F-fuck,” I gasped. “Harry—”

“You taste so sweet,” he muttered between licks. “Could stay here all day.”

He pushed two fingers into me while his tongue kept working, curling them just right. My back arched off the couch, a moan ripping from my throat so loud I was sure the mic picked it up.

“That’s it,” he said. “Let them hear how good I’m making you feel.”

I was already on the edge, too fast, too intense—and he knew it.

“You close?” he asked, sliding his fingers faster, deeper, hitting every nerve ending I had.

I nodded, gasping. “Yes—yes—fuck, don’t stop—” He stopped. Pulled back. Fingers still inside me, but barely moving. I whimpered. “Why—”

“Cause I want you to come on my cock, not my tongue.”

“Fucking mean,” I whispered.

He smirked. “You like it.” I hated how right he was.

He stood and kicked off his sweats fully this time, leaving him completely naked—tall, lean, toned. Tattoos stretched across his chest, down his arms. His cock was heavy and thick, standing up proudly, still slick from my mouth. He grabbed a condom from the table behind him—but I stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“Don’t,” I said softly. His eyes locked on mine.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I’m clean. On the pill. I want to feel all of you.”

His jaw clenched. “Fuck, you’re gonna ruin me.”

He climbed back onto the couch, pulling me into his lap again. This time, we were both naked. Skin against skin. He lined himself up with one hand, the other gripping my waist.

“Take it slow,” he murmured. I did. I sank down on him inch by inch, gasping at the stretch, the burn, the way he filled me up so deep I thought I might break.

He kept eye contact the whole time. “Look at you,” he said. “Taking it so well.”

I whimpered when I bottomed out, thighs shaking.

“So fucking tight,” he growled. “You weren’t made for this, were you?”

I moaned. “Maybe I was made for you.” That broke something in him.

His hands gripped my hips, and he started to move—slow thrusts upward that hit just right. I rocked against him, chasing friction, rolling my hips as he fucked up into me.

“Say my name,” he ordered.

“Harry.”

“Louder.”

“Harry.”

“Tell me how it feels.”

“So fucking good,” I gasped. “You’re so deep—fuck—it’s so good.” His hand came up to my throat, not squeezing, just holding.

“You’re gonna come like this?” he asked. “Like a needy little slut in my lap?”

I nodded frantically. “Yes—please, I need it—I need to come—”

“Then come.”

I shattered. The orgasm hit like a wave, crashing through me in pulses that left me crying out his name, clinging to him, hips still rocking even as I trembled. He held me through it, whispered praise into my ear.

“Good girl,” he breathed. “So fucking good for me.” But he wasn’t done. He flipped me over onto the couch, face-down, ass up. “Not finished with you yet,” he growled.

He slid back into me easily, grabbing my hips and fucking into me hard now—rough, deep, animalistic. My cheek pressed against the cushion, mouth open as he pounded into me.

“You want it rough?” he panted. “You want to feel how hard you made me?”

“Y-yes—fuck—yes—”

He slapped my ass, hard. “Say you love it.”

“I fucking love it.”

“Say who’s fucking you.”

“Harry—Harry’s fucking me—please don’t stop—”

He leaned over me, one hand tangled in my hair, the other holding my throat as he fucked me from behind. Skin slapping, breath ragged, everything filthy and perfect.

“Gonna come on you,” he groaned. “Wanna see you dripping.”

“Yes,” I begged. “Do it—please—come on me—”

He pulled out just in time, stroking himself fast before spilling hot all over my lower back and ass, groaning through gritted teeth. I lay there, trembling, dripping, wrecked. Breathing like I’d run a marathon.

He exhaled a long breath, letting it hang in the quiet between us. The only sound now was the soft hum of the camera still rolling. The red light blinked steadily, like it had witnessed every filthy, raw second of what just happened. Harry sat back, eyes scanning over me like he wasn’t sure if he was done yet—or just trying to memorize how I looked. Wrecked. Flushed. My hair a mess. My thighs still trembling.

“Stay there a sec,” he said, voice a little rougher than before.

I blinked up at him, cheek still pressed to the couch cushion, and nodded. He disappeared for a moment and came back with a warm towel. He didn’t rush—just knelt beside me, gently wiping me clean, taking his time like he actually cared. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just good at playing the part. But something about the way his fingers grazed my skin, soft and unhurried, made my chest ache.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, gaze flicking up to mine.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just… that was a lot.”

A slow grin pulled at his mouth. “Good lot or bad lot?”

“Really good.”

He handed me the towel and stood up to grab water bottles. When he tossed one to me, I caught it with shaky hands.

“You looked like you’ve done that before,” he said, sitting down beside me again—close, but not touching.

“I haven’t,” I replied, twisting the cap off. “Not like that.”

He raised a brow. “You sure?”

I smiled. “Trust me. I’d remember if someone ever made me feel like that before.” He went quiet, watching me sip.

“You ever actually plan on watching the footage?” I looked at him. At the blinking red light still recording.

“I kind of want to,” I admitted.

He nodded slowly. “I’ll show you mine… if you come back and film another one.” I stared at him, half smiling, half stunned.

“You saying that to everyone who comes through here?”

“Nope.” He leaned in just slightly, voice lower. “Just the ones who moan my name like they mean it.”

I laughed, flushed, and shook my head. “You’re dangerous.”

He smirked. “Only on camera.” I didn’t believe that for a second. But I wanted to find out.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #pornstar!harry #masterlist

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darklordofthesimp · 5 months ago

Text

Anything IX

The 9th instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

Like the characters? Read their fics below!

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: I'm back for good this time cos I bailed out of my trash job of 6 years hello mferssss

Warning: Graphic Language, Graphic description of violence

You’d been thinking about your past more often than usual, especially on the nights that you lay staring at your ceiling. Saint told you that it was a sign that you’d begun to move on. The villain that had consumed your thoughts was now a tentative ally and you’d been left with history seeping through the cracks.

You were almost grateful.

Almost.

You thought about your career before the incident, about the missions that went impossibly wrong. Death, grief, sorrow, hatred, and guilt, they weren’t things that you experienced alone. Shared pain eased the blow- you weren’t the only one suffering and, in a way, that provided comfort.

However, the mission that truly plagued you was a mission so highly classified that there were only four people who still knew of it. There were only four people who survived it.

“You and me, Birdy.

We’re dead.”

You sat up in your bed, mind kicking into overdrive. The dim light on your wrist indicated that it was well past midnight but your blood was electrified.

You’d been so preoccupied with what had happened to you that you’d stopped thinking about what you’d done. Why had someone tried to kill you, you had to have done something. You had to have known something.

“We’re dead.”

You pulled your duvet from your body, the cool air washing against your skin to make it prickle. Winter was, by far, the worst month to live on base. The heating units in your block were terrible and outdated with the empty promise of upgrades. You slid into your slippers and ventured into the hallway, palms rubbing up and down the length of your arms.

Your feet were on auto-pilot as they led you to the door of the last person you’d expect to seek out. There was no light seeping out from beneath cracks and you couldn’t hear a sound from inside. He might not have even been home, it was a Saturday night after all- no one was in. Not even Simon, and that was saying something.

You shifted your weight on your heels, wincing when the floorboard creaked under the pressure. It couldn’t hurt to knock. Or it could, you supposed. You had no idea why you were here, knocking on his door at 2am in the morning was unhinged behaviour.

You took a step back from the door, another creak betraying your position. This was a dumb idea. You could talk to him in the morning like a normal, functioning human being would.

The door swung open suddenly, forcing your heart into your throat.

König’s hulking silhouette filled the frame, shadowed and imposing. He barely fit through the door as he stepped into the corridor, the dim warmth of the ceiling fixtures washing over his figure.

You quickly realised that he’d been asleep as you took in his visage. Sleep tousled hair, a vulnerable gaze, König stood before you shirtless in long tracksuit pants. You forced your eyes to remain fixed to his face as he looked you up and down.

“Birdy?” He rasped, scrubbing his face lazily with one hand, the other resting on his hip. “Why are you lurking at my door?”

Indignant heat crawled from your neck and into your cheeks. “I wasn’t lurking, I was about to knock.”

König narrowed his eyes, silently telling you that he knew you were lying. You changed the topic, crossing your arms defensively.

“I just wanted to talk about something, I didn’t realise how late it was.” You cast a glance down the hall where you’d come from. “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, we can talk in the morning.”

As you turned to leave, hot with embarrassment, König sighed.

“Birdy.” He called.

You peeked at him tentatively from over your shoulder.

The man opened his door and gestured inside. Your breath hitched in your throat, the room behind him was dark. That jade gaze watched you tiredly but with intent. He wasn’t going anywhere with you, this time you would have to come to him.

“Are you sure?” You asked quietly.

You received a nod in reply.

With a sharp breath and squared shoulders, you wandered cautiously into the lion’s den. Your bare skin brushed against his waist as you passed him, sending a thrill down the length of your spine.

A floor lamp turned on behind you, flooding the room in a warm, sensual glow. You barely heard the door click shut, you were too busy taking in the room before you. It was nothing like you’d been expecting, furnished and decorated with a surprising attention to detail.

The room smelt lightly fragrant, as though incense was lit frequently enough to linger. You caught sight of candles on the desk to your left, ‘cedar wood and myrrh’. That would do it.

The corner of your lip quirked upward at his library/gaming corner. A dark wood shelving unit housed a plethora of his books and a gaming console, then a flat screen mounted in the centre. Bean bags were neatly organised atop a dark rug, you figured they would be more comfortable for him than an inevitably too small couch.

A game was still playing on the screen, the character standing inactive in their own world.

“Were you playing?” You turned to look at König, who seemed very suddenly uncomfortable.

“No,” he cleared his throat and cast his gaze to the floor. “No, I fell asleep while playing.”

Your eyes were drawn to the bed last.

“That’s a big bed.” You don’t know why you said it.

“I’m a big guy.” Was the reply.

The bed was tall, something you would have to climb onto if it were your own. There was a large, dark wooden headboard pressed against the back wall, framing the bed like it was the main feature of the room. Dark silk pillows adorned the matching silk bed sheets, and you could only imagine how comfortable they would be on your skin.

You turned to face König who had put a shirt on somewhere amidst your gawking at his home.

“I didn’t think your room would be so…” You trailed off, gesturing at the space around you.

“Delicate?” He offered, self deprecation ringing through his tone.

“Nice,” you finished. “I was going to say nice.”

A small smile finally graced his lips, the first one you’d seen all night. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have thought he sounded self-conscious about the space he’d designed.

“I spend a lot of time here,” he shrugged as he offered you a beanbag. “I wanted it to be… nice.”

You took a seat, sighing as the tension in your body dissipated instantly. König stretched those long legs out as he got comfortable atop his own bag across from you.

“Why don’t you get out more, there’s plenty to do around here,” you mused.

König chuckled darkly, “people don’t like me very much around here, Birdy.”

The mood dampened at that, the energy in the room shifting. His green gaze had lost the softness that you’d almost grown accustomed to, becoming guarded instead. You wish you’d just held your tongue.

“What did you want to talk about?” König asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

You swallowed thickly, bracing yourself for another shift of his attitude- this time to anger. You weren’t afraid of his frustration, not anymore. God knows that you’d seen enough of it directed at you to know that you were physically safe. Despite that knowledge you still hated seeing it with every fiber of your being.

“I want to tell you about a mission I did a while back,” you said shakily. “Then I want you to help me figure out whether it might be connected to everything that’s… happened.”

König’s eyes narrowed, darting to the door and back. He stood to his feet quickly and you flinched as he brushed past you. You turned to look over your shoulder at him, surely he wasn’t walking out of his own room.

“I thought we agreed to drop it,” he growled beneath his breath and you weren’t sure whether he was talking to himself or you. He was rummaging through his desk irritatedly, muttering as he worked. “Of course you didn’t drop it. Why would you? Let’s all die together!”

Soft music began to play and you raised your eyebrows as he placed a speaker against the door.

“What, are you setting the mood?” You snarked, settling back into your bag as he returned to his. He shot you a withering glare.

“It’s so that no one hears us as you, once again, try to get us killed by talking about this on base.” He hissed, propping himself up.

You rolled your eyes at him but you knew he was right. It would be more suspicious if the both of you had gone on an excursion into town together, you’d have all eyes on you. There weren’t many places for you to approach him about information but it seems all the places you have were wrong.

“Tell me about the mission,” he sighed though his nose. The frown lines on his forehead softening as you nodded.

“This mission was, and is, highly classified. You cannot tell a soul about this.” You warned, watching him earnestly. It was König’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Yes, I will try my hardest to not tell all of my best friends in the 141.”

You shot him a withering glare.

“Fine,” he groaned. “Obviously I will not tell anybody, Birdy.”

You nodded, satisfied with his response, before launching into the details of the mission.

“Alpha 1-1 to Bravo 1, SITREP, over.”

“Bravo 1 in position, green status, over.”

“Bravo 1, maintain position. Payload incoming. Alpha 1-1 out.

You drew a deep breath, taking in the view a final time beyond the scope of your rifle. You’d perched up on the high ground, neatly hidden between wiry bushes and dirt mounds. The U.S forward operating base, its entrance, and the arterial road in, were all at your mercy.

Your mission was to provide cover for a high value payload and offer additional defense to the U.S FOB while it received. For a black bag operation it was deceptively simple. Then again, you had no idea what the payload was. You’d been told that the objective was to protect a Shadow Company squad while they “delivered the milk.”

You weren’t important enough to be privy to more than that.

A dust trail in the distance indicated the payload’s approach and you set to work. Thermal imaging provided you a clear picture of the incoming convoy as it cleared the crest. To your alarm there were only three vehicles before you, for such precious cargo you thought that there’d be a larger security detail.

There was a civilian blocking the route ahead of them that you’d raised concern about prior. U.S soldiers had been dispatched from the base to remove him but were thus far unsuccessful. Your stomach tightened as the convoy slowed to a halt 350 yards from your position.

As one of the Shadow members dismounted their vehicle you couldn’t shake your rising paranoia. You felt the hairs on your arms raise and your skin prickle- a sniper’s sixth sense. You turned your sights to the crest the convoy had appeared from.

There was something very, very wrong.

You watched the crest carefully, praying that you were paranoid.

But, you never were.

“Sierra 1, contact rear, near ambush!”

No sooner than the callout had left your lips, the incoming vehicles opened fire.

Chaos erupted the way it usually did in war. The screams, the callouts falling on deaf ears, the gunfire- it all blurred, really. The only thing you could truly hear was your own breath. Every inhale was steady and your heart followed in suit, a steadfast sniper was the most accurate.

And there was a reason that you were the best.

One by one they fell. Amidst the cloud of moon dust and the flurried movements you could see everything, and everyone, as clear as day. The floor was littered with bodies, men from both sides ironically meeting the same end.

A blinding flash forced your eyes shut as your scope lit up. The explosion rocked the earth beneath your stomach and you knew then that the fight was lost. An RPG blast had ended it all in an instant, obliterating the men you were protecting. Limbs, shrapnel, and wreckage were all that remained of Shadow Squad.

Your teeth were clenched tight enough to cramp your jaw. You couldn’t get a shot with the enemy operators hidden behind the cargo.

“Bravo 1, don’t let them take that fucking payload!”

Shepherd's voice was desperate, a growing hysteria that you’d never heard from him before.

“I don’t have a shot,” you ground out through your teeth.

Between Graves and Shepherd barking half-baked orders down the line, there was little coherency.

The mission objective was a monumental failure and an unjustifiable amount of lives had been lost that day, along with the payload. There was only one survivor of the ground assault, a blessing in itself. Dipaolo had been knocked unconscious in his vehicle after the RPG explosion and assumed dead by the enemy.

You had tried to talk to Dipaolo briefly while waiting for your transport home. He’d been mumbling to himself dazedly in the back corner of the medical room for hours when you approached him.

“Dipaolo?...” You trailed off. The man had lost his entire squad in one hit, he’d woken up to their blood on his face and their limbs scattered across the dirt. No amount of experience can give you the right words to say to a man like that.

His hazel gaze met yours, distant and tired.

“What have we done?” He whispered.

Your tongue dried in your mouth and you could only stare at him in response. You’d failed is what you’d done. You’d failed this man and his men and you couldn’t protect them.

“We’re so fucked,” he shook his head. “We are so fucked.”

“What-” you’d barely choked out the word before he grabbed your wrist roughly. You yelped as Dipaolo pulled you in close, the smell of sweat and blood on his skin. He reeked of death.

“Do you know what we’ve fucking done, Birdy?” The Shadow hissed through gritted teeth as you tugged uselessly against his grip. “Do you know what we just fucking gave them?”

“Let go,” you rasped. Panic began to rise in your chest when his gaze turned hysterical.

The door behind you flung open but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the man before you. His grip tightened as he flicked his sights to the medics entering the room.

“Do you know what we’ve done, Birdy? Do you know what we gave them?” His words blurred together desperately. “We’re fucked! You hear me?”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Relief flooded your chest as the returning medic inserted himself between you and the crumbling soldier. “Let’s just back up for a second.”

You ripped your arm from his grip and immediately turned to leave, your skin burning where you’d been detained. You tried to tune out Dipaolo's screams as you left the room but this wasn’t a battlefield and you had no rifle- you heard it all.

“We are dead!” The Shadow’s voice broke from behind you. “You and me, Birdy, we’re dead!”

König’s face was stony as he leaned back into his seat.

The silence following your story was heavy and your mouth was dry. You couldn’t remember the last time that you’d spoken so much in one sitting.

“Birdy,” König mused, “when was that mission?”

“A while back, a few months I’d say,” it was a rough estimate. “I’d have to check my dates.”

König shook his head, green eyes flashing with alarm. “How long did it happen before our… incident?”

You blinked slowly, taking in a deep breath. Your heart dropped to your stomach and it was as though König knew what you were going to say before you said it.

“It was the last mission I had…” you trailed off shakily. You felt like you were going to vomit.

König’s eyes hardened as he voiced the realization that you had both come to.

“It was the last mission you did before I was sent to kill you, Birdy.”

#konig x reader #könig cod #könig x reader #könig call of duty #König #konig modern warfare #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig cod #modern warfare 2 #mw2 x reader #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty #anything verse #anything cod

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kawasakiromanoff · 24 days ago

Text

Come Home

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Mercenary fem!Reader

Summary: You finally come home from a long mission with Yelena to free another widow from the Red Room's control, littered with bruises from a drawn-out fight. After tending to your wounds, you and Natasha share a soft moment in the silence.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, non-graphic wounds, mentions of blood.

Word Count: 833

AN: First ever work on this blog! It's a short one, but I'm finally getting back into writing after half a decade away from it :>

The slamming of the door, something that would have had Natasha reaching for the pistol strapped under the coffee table in her youth, signalled nothing more than your irritated return as she paused the movie she had been watching. Before she got the chance to put the remote back down, a pair of arms wrapped their way over her shoulders, your chin coming to rest on the crown of her head, as a long sigh winded its way out of your lungs.

“How was Canada?” She spoke, tone gentle as to not disturb the quiet moment that had formed between the two of you.

You muttered an incomprehensible answer, shifting to bury your face in crimson hair, hands holding tighter as she swivelled in your grip to face you fully. A short breath left her lips as she took in the bruise over your left eye, her gaze raking down your face, down to a hand-shaped splatter of blood covering your throat, the red hue tainting the collar of the ancient, grey, SHIELD issue shirt you sported.

She stood wordlessly, grasping a hand that she now noticed was equally spotted with blood, and led you to the kitchen, gently shoving you onto one of the barstools that rested against the kitchen island while socked feet padded over to the bathroom in search of the first aid kit that the two of you kept well stocked.

Nat peeked her head around the corner of the doorframe as she heard muffled curses, looking back at your perched form to see you struggling to lift your bloodied shirt over your head, arms flailing in sleeves that bunched around the biceps. With a low chuckle, she silently shuffled over, kit in hand, before setting it down on the counter and reaching out to slow frantic movements.

“Let me,” she muttered, hands slipping up bruised skin to life the shirt from your form, revealing scrapes and bruises from a violent life led, “What happened here?” she questioned, fingers skirting over a particularly nasty bruise over your ribs.

“Y’know, you guys could’ve warned me that the red room taught you how to kick like a goddamn kangaroo. That widow almost sent me off of the damn roof with that one” you chuckled, brushing your hand over the aforementioned bruise as you watched her open the zipper and pull out a tube of ointment and a couple of rolls of bandages.

“Kangaroo? Really? I would’ve taken you for more of a Jackie Chan girl, honestly.” She mused, popping open the cap of an antiseptic bottle to clean out a particularly nasty gash on your arm.

You shook your head with a smile, gritting your teeth at the sting of antiseptic before glancing back up at her, meeting a thoughtful gaze.

“You got her though, right?” She worried, eyes flitting back to your battered torso, guilt clouding over her features for a moment before she schooled them, unrolling a roll of bandages to cover the gauze pad she’d placed over the wound.

You nodded, leaning back against the counter as you spoke. “Yeah, Lena caught her trying to head down the fire escape and freed her.”

She hummed noncommittally, focused eyes raking over her work. Bandages wrapped around your ribs, bruises with ice packs held over them with cold fingers. “You should’ve let me help you, then maybe you wouldn’t-”

“Hey. I knew what I signed up for when you and Yelena asked me to help free the rest of the widows. And god knows you’ve already got your hands full with all the Avengers shit you’ve got going on. I can deal with a few bruises and scrapes here and there if it means keeping the world off your shoulders, Nat.” You spoke, hands sweeping to rest over hers.

“Plus I’m pretty sure Yelena would kill me if I took away our sister-in-law bonding time.” you said with a grin, head lowering so you could meet guilt-ridden eyes.

“She would kick your ass.” She mumbled, a small smile growing on her lips.

“So hard.” You chucked.

“So hard.” She echoed, eyes finally rising to meet yours, as you sat for a moment, just taking it in with quiet shared breaths.

Natasha leaned forward, a wordless message catching between you as you echoed her movement, foreheads meeting as you both let your eyes flutter shut, silence enveloping the room as you share breath in a rare quiet moment with the ruthless work that you two did.

It had been a long time since the two of you were in your shared apartment for longer than a few days, with Natasha flying out to the compound to attend to her Avengers duty, and you being sent out every time a new widow was found, but in the rare moments of peace like this, it was all you and Natasha could do to hold onto each other and reassure the other that you were, here, present, and you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #nat x reader #natasha romanova #natasha romanoff x reader #natalia romanova #natasha romanov

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ryiju-muunie · 10 months ago

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reader works at a strip club and choso falls in love with her? hes a reguilar and she always igves him private dances? she gets excited to see him? what if another customer tries to get too handsy and choso kicks their ass then takes her into his car and they get freakkyyyyyyyyy??

Let me ride UR Disco Stick!

18+ viewer discretion is advised

fem!stripper!reader/regular!Choso Kamo Warnings: attempted SA [nothing graphic], semi-violent, strip club AU, love at first sight, Choso is crazy down bad, semi-public masturbation, cumshot, car sex, somewhat exhibitionist, semi-public sex, breeding kink, lap dance, fluff, fondling, sitting cowgirl position, sexual tension, creampie, hands-free ejaculation/orgasm, Word count: 5223 DESC: Ever since Choso stepped into Cherry Girls, he was captivated by you.

REQUESTS are OPEN!

ASHRAF ALANQAR'S GOFUNDME. IF YOU HAVE OVER 1000 IN YOUR BANK ACCOUNT DONATE 1-5 DOLLARS.

NOTES: My friend is helping me with ideas so if this gets crazy blame her tbh. And ALL I've been listening to is City Pop, so take that in mind when reading

Choso wasn’t the type to step foot in strip clubs. He wasn’t even a very sexual guy, never one to masturbate unprompted or take time out of his day to watch porn. So he had no clue what made him pull over that Saturday night as he drove into the city, windows done and light music wafting into his ears. He wasn’t sure why Cherry Girls, of all places, caught his eye. The bright pink LED lights flashed in his peripherals, making his head turn just a bit. The sign was in the shape of a cherry, illuminating the city life. It was nice, in between a few dull buildings. It lit up the night and made him smile as he drove past. It was about 10 PM when he walked up, one hand in his black skinny jeans pocket and the other on his ID. He had seen a few movies to know how it would go.

He had just left a gathering with friends from college, nothing unusual. So the man's outfit was more casual than he’d typically dress. Black pants and a tighter black top, without any sleeves. It had some logo on it that he was unfamiliar with, but he wasn’t disappointed in how it framed his chest. To say he was scrawny would be a disservice to his body, molded perfectly to accentuate his muscles. He was built, but not intensely so.

Kamo’s hair was also different that night, instead of up in his usual style he had opted to wear it down around his face. Usually, it would be up in smaller puffs. Something cute that set his look apart from the rest of his peers. Approachable even. Without that, or even a touch of purple eyeshadow, he looked like a douchebag. Maybe it was the resting bitch face or that constant awkward smile that made him look unapproachable. But with the makeup and hair? More of a cutie-patootie!

After the man was let in, he was bombarded with pink lights and waves of perfume. It was an elixir, how it drew him in. LED lights shined on a stage in the center of the building, that’s what his eyes focused on. Anyone else would take a moment to scan their surroundings to take it all in, but he was stuck. He couldn’t stop staring at that stage and the perfectly thick legs that graced it. It was you. Your body was barely contained in thin straps and buckles. Curves spilled over each piece of fabric in an addictingly attractive way. You were addicting. His eyes trailed to your face as his body moved him to sit at the first seat available, drinking you in. You had a round face, completed with perfect features. They fit you in ways he didn’t know were possible. Facial harmony? Whatever it was, you had it. Your hair framed your face in a style he wasn’t sure the name of, with a few bows to make it come together. Gorgeous. You were utterly gorgeous.

How was it that an angel was walking among humans and he was just informed? And it was strange, from the first time he had seen you, he felt a rush of arousal. No woman had made him aroused by their face or their movements. As you glided up the pole, he was throbbing. Your head leaned back as your face did all the talking, your lips painted in red. They fit your face and contorted in a way that made you appear to have said something, without anything being uttered from your mouth.

Choso wasn’t the type to set foot in strip clubs, and he wasn’t the type to masturbate in public. But he was seriously considering it at that moment. His erection poked through his jeans and strained the cloth. He exhaled a shaky breath and pressed his palm into the center, trying to wain it in some way. Yet, that was a mistake. It was sensitive and god that touch felt good. What would your touch feel like? What would your dainty hands do if they got the chance to touch his erection? How would they wrap around his cock and how would they satisfy him? And your mouth; How would your lips suck his tip and how would your tongue lick his slit? Just these thoughts alone were sending pleasurable shivers up his length.

Bouts of pre-cum were staining his boxers and god he was so close he could feel it. If you could just touch him; If you could just breathe into his ear. Something, just anything from you would be enough. His breath hitched and his eyes closed, head leaning back into his seat. Kamo was inching toward a climax he wasn’t even sure would be possible just imagining you. How would your pussy feel between his fingers, wet and sloppy on his dick? How tight would you be and how bad would he have to stretch you out before he could take all his length? Your hips would be perfect anchors for his hands as he would plow up into you, from behind, or even from on top. Love handles would be good too, he’d take anything. Just to graze your ass with his boner and grind until he found relief.

And then it was too much, Choso felt himself spill over the edge in a hot burst of emotion. He gasped and opened his eyes to see your face grinning at the audience as you turned. Cum poured in spurts from his tip, warm and sticky into his underwear and coating himself in white. It was so hot, he gripped the seat beneath him and tried to hide his noises. But it was so hard to even sit still. A low growl, almost a whine, escaped his lips as he bit down, grinding his teeth. With his back arched, the male began to pant and pray no one had heard him.

As he came down from his high, he had to come to terms with exactly what happened. You had just made him cum without any touch at all, without even knowing it. It was one of the best orgasms he had ever had, from his mind alone. He needed more.

Getting a private dance was easy, the details being a bit fuzzy in Kamo’s mind. All he could focus on was sitting in a lounge chair in a small, yet desolate room. It had soft red walls with low lighting that made everything seem darker than it actually was. Maybe it was to further the arousal building again in his lower abdomen. Again? He wasn’t sure how, but he was finding himself becoming hard again just at the thought of you. Was this what it was like to be down bad? Down astronomical?

His thoughts got interrupted when you entered the room, lacy black set making his body turn on fire. A lump in the man's throat formed when you spoke in your angelic voice, “Choso, right?” You introduced yourself, turning a bit shy when you saw his very large erection forming in his skinny jeans, “Excited huh?”

He couldn’t speak, well it felt like it. With a loud swallow, the male attempted to form some coherent words, “Y..yeah. I guess you could say that.” Embarrassment filled his face in the form of a pink stain, blushing his cheeks and dabbling his nose. Was this what it felt like to pay for a woman to give him attention? For thirty minutes you were all his, and all he could do was stare as you moved your body.

“It’s okay. I know it’s your first time too,” you cooed, closing the door with your hip as you continued softly, “I’ll be gentle…” That tone, it was better than he could have imagined. If you didn’t stop soon he knew he’d be in deep shit. Choso’s hands tightened on the armrest as you approached, putting a hand atop his. Something about your eyes was telling him to relax and he wanted to listen. He wanted to give in and let you have your way with him for as long as you wanted, until you were tired of him. Until he was completely and utterly yours.

He let go of the armrest and you smiled, “Good boy. I’ll take it slow too,” your voice was music to his ears, so the raven-haired male let himself close his eyes for a moment to compose himself. Your perfume, a mix of chocolate and cherries filled his nose. It was sweet and pleasurable. He didn’t realize you were getting closer until his eyes fluttered open. Kamo felt his breath hitch when your face was mere inches from his own, lips forming a pout.

“H-Hey…” He breathed out, and you smiled.

“Hi, handsome,” your breath was sweet too, like candy. Before he knew it, you seated yourself on his lap, hovering over his obvious boner. It was hard to avoid, but you managed to keep your distance. This was getting too much for him and it hadn’t even begun. Your smell, your presence, it was going to make him spill over the edge again and again if you let him.

“You can touch me, baby,” you smiled through white teeth, leaning back and pressing your hefty breasts together, hands lightly thrumming on your own skin, “Tell me your fantasy.” This was different than anything he had ever seen in a movie. Was he supposed to touch you? Was this how you always operated in the club or was he special? God, Choso hoped he was special just for you.

“I want,” Choso’s voice stuck to his throat thickly, as he attempted to form words, “You…” And there it was, an opportunity to touch you. He didn’t take it for granted, placing two hands gingerly on your love handles. They were as soft as he had imagined, ever more so. Then his palms trailed to your hips, squeezing just a bit to see some kind of reaction. You bit your red bottom lip and inhaled just a bit, something he noticed and something he couldn’t help but drink in. You were intoxicating. He was practically drunk already and close to staining his underwear in pure white bliss.

“I want you,” the customer began again, focusing his eyes on your face with a sense of determination, “To ride me…” And he let out a small moan when you leaned into his touch, your clothed cunt grazing against his erection. That was enough and he groaned, trying his hardest to keep it in but he couldn’t, orgasming there on the spot in hot bouts of pleasure. He inhaled and whined lowly, throwing his head back and squeezing your hips to keep himself stable. Pleasure and orgasmic joy ran through his cock as his swollen urethra cried out hot cum into his jeans.

Your face looked a bit shocked at his actions, clearly understanding what had happened. But you didn’t seem to mind. Instead, your hands made home on his chest and rubbed small circles with your palms, fingers stretched out, “You want me, huh?” Your voice was teasing, almost rubbing salt into the wound. But he didn’t hear it. He could feel the throbbing in his ears getting louder and the throbbing in his pants started up again. What was going on with him? Never in his life had he come that much, especially without some form of physical stimulation.

“I …” Choso’s mind blanked when his eyes refocused onto you, leaning toward your touch. This was so overstimulating to be with you here, it was … nice in a way. All his senses could do was focus on you and your touch. Your beautiful and amazing touch. He needed to savor this for as long as he possibly could until his time with you was up.

The man wasn’t sure how long he stayed with you seated atop his lap, but it wasn’t enough. When he left, he couldn’t help but think about your touch. It was heavenly, so heavenly he couldn’t stop but get aroused again. This time it was more of a burn than anything he had felt before. It was a fiery sensation burning in his cock as he sat in his car. It was different than the last times because it was an innate hunger deep inside his lower abdomen. It was different because he had to touch himself or he might’ve just dropped dead then and there.

Your face, he could see it contort in pleasure as he unzipped his pants. And your warmth, he could feel it when he snaked a hand around his length. This was nice, closing his eyes and feeling your walls clench around him, as his hand stroked himself slowly. Teasingly, tauntingly. He wanted to savor this newfound pleasure for as long as he physically could until he had to go home.

Kamo could feel your face press against his shoulder as you rode him, whining for more. You’d be needy, no matter how much game you talked. He could tell you’d beg for him to fuck you and you’d cry as he pounded you. He’d like that, to fuck you nice and good, huh? He’d make you beg for it, and make you ride it with your hands forced behind your back until you sobbed. He’d make you his, mark you with his mouth until you were covered in hickies. All over your thick breasts until your nipples were sore from his tongue, practically bleeding from how much he’d abuse them with his teeth.

He could hear you whine, basically, he could hear you crying for him. He’d fuck you good. He’d be the perfect boyfriend, too. No matter what you wanted, the man would get it for you. And meals? He’d cook! You didn’t want to clean? He’d clean! Choso would be your house husband if he could just be yours.

When he came, his cock was throbbing. He was milked beyond belief, leaking slowly into his palm as he gasped. Guttural groans filled the air he arched his back to the sensation. It was so good, and it would’ve been better if it was your hands. If it was your pussy, squelching as he made you, his.

And he was going to make you, his.

Choso didn’t want to admit it, but he was going to come back every Saturday until he married you. Was it too forward to already think of vows or what colors would be prominent at your wedding? Probably! Was he doing it anyway? Absolutely!!

The first time you saw him again, you did a double take. Now he knew he was going to be going to the club, so he had time to get ready. He spent an hour doing his hair in his signature puffs, then his eye makeup in purple and red, followed by some eyeliner. Just one line from his eyelid down to his cheek on either eye, followed by tight-lining his eyes. He felt a bit overdressed, but those insecurities faded when he saw you. You were in a light blue lingerie set, something that accentuated your skin tone. And, it didn’t cover much. His eyes wandered for a moment as he found himself a seat at the front, by the stage.

The man wasn’t expecting much from this, but he hoped to have a private room with you again. Something to see you and feel you. Maybe this time he’d be able to compose himself long enough to fondle your breasts, or even squeeze your ass. Just seeing you in your glory, walking around to talk to guests was making him feel a certain type of way again.

It was quickly stopped by a man who approached you. He was taller and probably more intoxicated than anyone else in the building. The way he walked indicated he could barely even hold himself up, but he had one goal in mind. Getting to you. Maybe Choso was being jealous, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the man. The way he strutted to you and grabbed your arm, shouting something slurred in your direction, it angered him. How dare this man? What nerve did he have to think he could ever talk to a woman like that? Spouting such bile to someone as beautiful and amazing as you? He continued to pull at your arm as you shook your head and pulled it back, grabbing a drink from a nearby tray and throwing it to his face.

No one was coming quick enough. Why weren’t the bodyguards handling this? Why wasn’t someone doing anything?

Kamo stood and dusted his pants off. He hadn’t wanted to get involved in an outfit he liked so much, but for you, he’d do anything. He was hooked on you, your voice, your scent, your hair, your everything … all after one day. So you shouldn’t have been surprised when he walked up to the much taller man and socked him in the jaw. There was a very high chance that could have gone south, or completely missed. But somehow, his balled-up fist plowed the guy in the head, enough to make him stumble. Of course, it wouldn’t have knocked him over. But he was aiming to disorient enough to get you to the back or somewhere safe.

“Choso?” You spoke, grabbing onto his arm, “You… really didn’t have to do that.” Before he could respond, the drunken man attempted to tackle Choso down. Thankfully for him, you grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the way. He stumbled forward and looked at you, smiling thankfully before turning his attention to the drunken man who was not giving up any time soon. Maybe punching him was a bad idea.

“Um,” he pressed his lips together, before forming a very awkward smile, “Will you marry me?” The drunk was busy grabbing a chair to throw, giving the two of you a few seconds before disaster. And of course, with the adrenaline, he wasn’t thinking.

“What?!” You whipped your head to him.

“Come to my car?” He said instead, offering his hand to you. The most he could do was offer you a ride home and hope security would take care of the issue. And a part of him really hoped you’d say yes for selfish reasons. He wanted you to trust him and let him in, and maybe then your relationship would blossom. Maybe then, you’d kiss him. It was farfetched as hell to imagine he’d get anything more than a handshake out of this, but he wanted to hope.

You took his hand and let him swiftly lead you to his old beat-up Kiya, parked quite a ways away, “Um. You didn’t have to do that.”

Kamo shook his head to dismiss that thought from your mouth, “I wanted to. No one else was going to protect you.” With a smile he clicked his keys, seeing his car light up a few spots ahead, “We can just wait in here until they kick him out, uhm, you know.” Your face lit up in a way he hadn’t seen before. Something sweet about it. It was a mix of relief and happiness. Your lips pursed together into a pout and your face began to redden. To Choso, it was adorable. He wanted to take you and hold you in his arms, vowing to protect you from the world and anyone who dared hurt you. Maybe that was extreme. But he would give his right arm just to hold you for a minute, pressing you close against his chest and closing his eyes, as he smelt your hair.

“Thank you, Choso. You didn’t have to,” was all you spoke, quiet and soft. It was a change from how seductive and snarky you could be, and he liked it more. It was a more genuine side to you, and the man wanted to see more of it.

He led you to his car, turned it on, and opened the back door for you to sit. He just assumed you’d prefer the room in the back rather than the small seats up front. Sitting beside you, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence as you looked out the car window. It was nice for a moment, to smell your perfume and to see you look comfortable. The way your body molded to the seat as you just sat there, your stomach bunching together in rolls, and how you leaned against one arm. You were cute. You were amazing.

“Um,” Choso broke the silence after a moment, watching your head turn to him. Your eyes scanned his face and you smiled, awaiting his next words, “Are you cold? I could give you a spare jacket…?” His voice trailed off when you pressed your glossy lips together.

“I could come closer to you?” You asked, tilting your head to the side and letting a few loose strands from your hairstyle fall across your forehead. Without being able to think if it was appropriate, Kamo reached forward and gently pushed some of the hairs away from your face, just so he could see all of your beauty in the moonlight. He hadn’t fully registered what you said until a few moments later when a red blush trailed up his temples. You wanted to sit next to him? You wanted him? It was hard for the male to imagine that the way he felt about you could ever be reciprocated. He didn’t speak but instead nodded. A smile, wider than before, pulled at your full lips as you scooted closer. Your big thighs stuck to the leather seats as you crawled toward him, sitting down right beside him. Your plush hand fell atop his and your eyes met.

Was this intimacy? Was intimacy more than simply fucking each other, but instead feeling a deep, soulful connection? Choso, in all honesty, had never felt a connection to someone so soon and so intensely, without knowing them. You were different. In the way you carried yourself and how he was beginning to see your mind too. It was different. Of course, your beauty captivated him. But you had something special to you hidden beneath the jewels of your flesh. Your warmth was comforting to him as you leaned your side against his. Hands on hands and skin on skin. That was what the raven-haired male liked. He needed you. He needed to make sure you were okay, and if you were, that was all that mattered.

Slowly, as the evening progressed he found you inching your way closer to his body until you were practically on top of him. Your arm weasled its way around him and pulled the man closer, letting you be one. His arm found its way around your shoulders. Without saying anything he pulled you in and let you rest. You were in control of the situation. Anything you wanted to do him he would comply and follow to any extent you wanted him to. If all you wanted was his warmth and his arm, he’d give you both without hesitation.

And slowly, you sat up and stared into his eyes. There was another look there than what he had seen the last week. Rather than a calculated lustful look, designed to make any man's knees weak, it was genuine. It was longing in a way he hadn’t seen in anyone in so long. You stared at him like he was a treasure you wanted to take apart and search with delicate hands, terrified of destroying. You looked at him with wide eyes, full of desire. But it was a desire to get closer, closer in every sense of the word. You wanted to be in him, on him, with him, near him; Intellectually and physically, mentally and emotionally. Were you as crazy down bad as him??? Honestly … yeah.

Choso uttered your name, low in the base of his throat, before he leaned in. It was slow and methodical and god, he wanted to cave and force your mouth onto his. But he wanted to savor this moment as much as he could, even if it meant putting himself in agony. Your lips met slowly, molding together in harmony for one slow second before you opened your mouth. Inviting him in, you kissed delicately and placed your arms on his sides. He wasn’t sure what to do, but followed your lead, kissing as you did. Your heads turned in opposite directions, opening up for more room to explore with your tongues. The intensity grew, as did the burning desire in his pants to feel your pussy. To feel you, live you, breathe you, he was going insane. Just touching your hair, trying his hardest not to mess it up, was sending hot arousal down his cock into his swollen head.

Deeply and passionately he kissed you as if the world would collapse unless your lips were on his. Deeply he swallowed you whole, just by pressing his mouth onto yours. If you weren’t the one kissing him he would have never wanted to kiss again. His hands found home on your hips and slowly pulled you onto his lap with practical ease. His arms wrapped around your waist and he seated you on his erection. It was so hot to feel your warm, wet, and clothed pussy against his groin, desperately beginning to grind for release. But Choso didn’t want you two to just bump and grind. He needed to be inside you or he was actually going to drop dead.

“Please…” Kamo whined, breaking from the kiss to stare into your eyes with his grey orbs, eyelids hanging low and lashes brushing against his cheeks, “Let me fuck you… I want to.. Mmm.. I want to touch you so bad..” His large hands squeezed your hips again, harder, with more drive. If he wasn’t going to be inside you why would he even live??

You nodded your head quickly and went to work. It was easy to free his cock from his jeans, then his boxers. All you had to do was unzip and pop it out. He was a bit shy to show himself to you, but your wide eyes and slacked jaw proved to him you seemed to like it. The man wouldn’t have considered himself huge but on the bigger end of the spectrum.

He ran his fingers down your front, thumbing your laced pantie set as they trailed further to your core. Just a few more inches and he’d be touching your pussy. If only he could live in it. His index and middle gently pried away the fabric so he could lay eyes on your perfect cunt. Even if it had discoloration, moles, or hair, or it wasn’t what he had seen on porn … he didn’t care. It was yours. Choso had been dreaming of this day for so long [1 SINGULAR WEEK]. He dipped into your wetness, rubbing one small circle just to see your sensitive reaction. Your breath hitched in a way he hadn’t seen before, your muscles clenched in your jaw and your hands rested on his shoulders. Beautiful. You were utterly beautiful.

He pulled your undergarments to the side and lifted you up a bit, attempting to position you in the somewhat dark parked car. You helped a bit, grabbing a hold of his length and stroking up a bit in a teasing motion. Choso stuttered in his movements and slowly lowered you down. He was going to cum from pure impact alone. He already knew he wasn’t going to last long, but your pussy was making it damn near impossible. Tight walls enveloped his cock, covering it like a warm and soft hug as they stretched to accommodate his girth. Wetness spread down his member and for a moment he swore he could’ve felt you pulsate above him.

“Choso,” you spoke impatiently, grabbing a hold of his face and pulling him in, “Please just … kiss me or something.” That was all you needed to say for him to take it from there. His lips met yours quickly, taking peck after peck until his head turned to the side and took in your bottom one. He wanted to do so much in such little time, but he couldn’t be everywhere at once. Big hands took your love handles and rocked you back and forth a bit, just making sure you were adjusted to his penis before he began to thrust you up and down. Kamo wanted you to bounce and cry on his cock until you were nothing more than a blabbering mess. He wanted you to choke on his cum after he face-fucked you, making you swallow every drop. He wanted to do so much in such little time.

He lifted you up just a bit to get a good angle, as he fucked into you. Tight and squishy, and warm and like melted honey on his length. You were so hot, your noises, your face, your fucking pussy. God, it was harder for him to concentrate on kissing you as he was fucking you. Your kisses were needy and incessant as was his urge to breed you- my god. He couldn’t help but barely hang on as white-hot bliss was building deep in his lower abdomen. The male's hips thrust forward, hitting your swollen spot. He could tell he was fucking you oh so good because your lips were trying to catch up with his. Your grip on his shirt got tighter and for a second he swore you were clenching around him tighter than you had before.

“H-Harder.. Mm..- hhah.. Cho-Cho..Choso..” You whimpered, pulling back from the kiss to rest your head on his shoulder. He wasn’t holding back anymore, groaning out as he was beginning to ride out his slow high. The man inhaled and gasped, grunting forward as you moaned. Your moans were perfect. They were music to his ears, making him spill almost instantly. Within seconds of pumping into you, he was fucking his seed right back inside your pretty cunt. He could imagine it, giving you a baby. Making you a pretty mommy as many times as you wanted. He’d never get tired of cuming into your hot pussy and painting your walls milky white.

Choso continued until he heard you cry out and arch your back, biting your lips and trying not to scream. He knew you were cumming then. He was past the point of sensitivity to feel anything, so he continued to fuck you good. All he wanted was to please you and make you cum. Your walls clenched around him as he touched your G-spot, violating it with his cock-head. You came and groaned, biting back another cry as the pleasure crashed throughout your body.

It stayed like that for a minute as he slowed his humping down to a stop, letting you keep a nice seat on his lap. All the two of you could hear were the sounds of your heavy breathing, mixed with the low hum of his car air conditioner.

This is the perfect time to propose, “...About what I, um, said earlier…”

#jujutsu kaisen choso #choso kamo smut #choso x you #choso smut #choso x reader #choso kamo #jjk choso #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk smut #smut #x reader smut #ryiju-muunie writing

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lazyjellyfish300 · 14 days ago

Text

𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆 𓍼ོ 📸

🍧 synopsis: your first trip to Korea with your husband, Shiu, has some spontaneous drunken shenanigans that start in a bar and wind up in a photobooth of all places.

🍧word count: 4.4k

🍧cw: MINORS DNI, x FEM WIFE!READER, drunk semi public rough sex, smut, p in v, dom ish dynamics, naughty pictures, creampie, cum, teasing, fingering, alcohol, fluff

🍧 a/n: for @unintentionalseductress hot girl summer event, thank you so much for having me & letting me participate with some smutty goodness with my hubbies. 🍧☀️ my kento piece is on the way, stay tuned. 💕 sun dividers @/saradika-graphics , sparkles by @/anitalenia

The balmy summer breeze caresses you like a blanket as you walk through the streets of Seoul, the sky a muted tangerine with notes of fuschia and dandelion, neons signs slowly flickering to life as the sun sank lower and lower on the horizon like a watercolor painting.

A playful squeeze on your hip shakes you out of your reverie, and you smile as you gaze at your husband, Shiu, both of you a couple drinks in as you scoped out your next bar hop of the evening.

"What's the vibe, dollface?" Shiu asks as he wraps you closer to him.

"Mm..something small, more intimate after the last club." You beam at him, a subtle undercurrent of mischief bubbling underneath your irises.

"Ooh or maybe a little dive bar with some appetizers we can share?"

The smirk he wears is tender, a rush of affection fueled by the alcohol and your endearing sentiments.

"Yeah, we should get some food in you, sweetheart." He agrees, letting his arm hang off your shoulders so your fingers can interlock.

"And mango bingsu for dessert? Can we, baby?"

His heart warms at your mention of one of his favorites that you quickly adopted as your own ever since he introduced it to you.

"Whatever your heart desires, angel. I mean, it's your first time in Korea. I'm just along for the ride." He sways his hip to softly bump into yours, tucking a kiss into your hair as you both stumble your way towards a more laid back looking establishment.

----

The lights are dim, illuminating a reddish glow, and the small bar is somewhat crowded, patrons making mildly chatty conversation with an occasional guffaw, indie tunes pouring from a local band on stage.

"Sit anywhere you want, we'll be right with you." A passing waiter calls out.

You and Shiu throw each other devilish grins, minds ever in tune and led by the booze as you head directly to the darkest corner of the bar that the space allows, and slide into a booth, not letting go of each other's hands and leaning in close across from each other as you sweep over the drink menu.

"Honestly, I think just want another Soju." You hum, closing the menu definitively.

Shiu tsks, reaches over and takes the menu from you with his free hand, opening it in defiance.

"You want the night to be over already?"

"I like em." You shrug.

He smiles, leaning his chin on his hand to look at you and you can't help the sweeping sensation that always caught your heart in a stutter.

His thin gold chain and his casual black linen shirt, top two buttons undone with a peek of hair you knew trailed underneath to his belly button. A warm pulse echoing between your thighs knowing just to the left of his loose collar was a blooming patch of maroon you graciously blessed him with last night...

"Gonna eyefuck me some more or answer my question, angel?"

"Hmm?"

Shiu just chuckles, the lovelorn haze in your eyes is unmistakable, the humidity kissing your hair, how adorably loopy you get when you're just a couple drinks in. Add in the spontaneity of vacation and the absolution of summer, and this vision of you could shatter all the others he's witnessed by miles.

"I said: why not get one of those sugary concoctions you love, dollface? That way I'm not carrying you out of here over my shoulder before the night's even begun." Shiu repeats, pouring you a generous class of water from the carafe that sits in the middle of your table.

"Soju is cheaper, honey. I'm saving your wallet for once." You wink at him as you take a lengthy sip.

"Heh, well, that's a new one."

"So rude."

"It's the truth." He smirks, leaning closer.

"I miss Stella." You pout your lips, changing the subject.

Shiu raises his eyebrows unexpectedly. "You just FaceTimed her, dollface."

"Let me call her again. Give me your phone, honey."

Shiu huffs and shakes his head but grins warmly as he hands over his phone to let you call your beloved basset hound that was being looked after by Megumi and Yuji back home.

"Hi, Mrs. Kong!" Yuji greets cheerfully on the other end.

"Yuji. You've known me for almost a decade. Call me by my first name."

"Oop, yes, Mrs. Kong. Sorry, Mrs. Kong!"

You shake your head with a chuckle, figuring you'll save it for another time. "Is Stella there?"

"Yeah! She's watching SpongeBob with Megs!"

"Hiii princess!" You coo as Yuji switches the angle to show Stella curled up next to Megumi on a beanbag.

Her nose takes up almost the entire camera, sniffing in curiosity at the sound of your voice.

"Are you having fun, angel?"

"Course she is. She's being taken care of by the best two dog sitters in Tokyo, dollface." Shiu cuts in.

Stella perks up at the sound of Shiu's voice and you hand him the phone.

"Give em hell, Stella cakes. Your mommy and I miss you very much."

Stella wags her tail in acknowledgement and Shiu smiles as he hangs up.

"Hello, what can I get you folks?" A frazzled waiter asks as they come to a stop in front of your table.

Shiu orders a beer, and you turn to the menu, clicking your teeth.

"Ummm...sex on the beach and dakgangjeong to share, thank you."

"Course, I'll be right back with that."

Shiu leans back, squeezing your hand as the waiter saunters away. "Knew you'd get that one."

"Well, we are on vacation." You answer, withdrawing your hand and crossing your arms while he gives you a look of feigned hurt. "And you offered, so might as well."

"Nahhh." He leans closer, as if to try and earn a taste of your sweetness you stubbornly ripped away. "I know you. Your sweet tooth never lies, angel."

"Leave me, my overpriced lattes, and midnight sorbet pops alone."

Shiu lets out a hearty laugh. "Baby, I hate to be honest with you, but those milkshakes you call lattes can hardly be referred to as such."

"You're living in a glass house. Don't make me bring up the cigs." You point a polish coated finger at his smirking face in friendly fire. "You have your stuff and I have mine. Fair is fair."

"Hehe...fair is fair." Shiu hums, raising the white flag.

"Fair." You smile, satisfied with his concession and lean close to him again, taking his hands in yours as the waiter strides up to your booth.

"Your drinks, sir and madam. And the dakgangjeong."

"Thanks, man." Shiu leans back as he allows the waiter to place your drinks in their respective places and your plate of dakgangjeong in the middle.

"Holy shit." Your face scrunches up when you take the first sip of your cocktail. "This is strong as fuck."

"It better be." Shiu hums, exhaling in satisfaction after a heady taste of his beer. "Gettin' our money's worth."

"I guess, but Jesus Christ..." You attempt to stir the elixir with your straw, hoping the ice will somehow soften the burn. "It's like 8 parts schnapps and vodka to 2 parts juice."

You decide to turn your attention to the chicken instead. You barely get your chopsticks ready before Shiu shovels in a huge bite.

"Shiu!! Honey, that's mine!" You scoff, nudging him under the table.

"Taxes, angel. You know this by now. Besides, who's payin'?" He winks, charmingly unapologetic as ever in that annoyingly endearing way.

You give him a pout as you scoop a piece of the chicken into your mouth, chewing bitterly and he grins in victory.

"That's what I thought."

"Noo, at least save me that piece. That one has the most sauce."

"Heh, alright, alright. Fair enough. Open up."

An expression of warmth gradually breaks on his lips as he holds your hair back while you take the bite he's feeding you with his chopsticks, warming internally at your puffy cheeks with a little bit of sauce that smudges in the corners of your lips.

"Good?"

"That's the best chicken I've ever had in my goddamn life."

"Well, have some more, dollface. It's all yours."

He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, wipes your chin with his finger and leans back in his seat, studying you while you eat and occasionally sweeps your surroundings in undercover vigil, absentmindedly tapping his foot to the beats from the stage.

The alcohol is loosening him, but "only by a little" he would scoff and tell you if you were to point it out, insistent on his ability to hold his liquor.

You dab your lips after you're finished eating, reapplying a coat of raspberry lip oil, peeking little glances of him from your makeup mirror as he lets little musical hums thrum from his lips along to the familiar song that's playing in a display of hidden talent only you had the privilege of being privy to.

He catches a glint of your smile, bringing his attention back to his North Star, cradling one of your hands in his with the other on your thigh underneath the table.

"How are you, Mrs. Kong?" His eyes drift to the freshly applied shine on your lips, plump and glimmering despite the dim light, kissed and left sinfully delicious by the concoctions that were steadily settling in your veins by now, no doubt.

"Good." A lazy smile smooths the full pout of your lips and his eyes wander to the ravishing dip of your cleavage over your black tank top as you lean a little closer and yours roam over the sensual shadow of his in kind.

"Buzzed, are you?"

The question tumbles sweetly from your lips with an undercurrent of seduction, and you can't help but slip off one of your sandals, sliding the delicate arch of your foot along his calf.

"Hm..." Shiu's head tilts and his smirk loosens along with the slow shift of your demeanor and the not-so-subtle message under the table that was beginning to cause the rest of the world around you to reduce to an idle haze.

"Yeah, a bit..." His breath catches, just for a moment as he swore your lips fell just a little bit open as the signet of his pinky ring danced a bit closer to your inner thigh.

"You?"

"Mhm..." The lilt of your tone is more slurred and your eyes droop under the weight of something steamy and pleasant as the night settles around you, the sun long deserted out of the sky by now.

"I feel...relaxed."

"Good." He whispers. His thumb massages circles where the flowy material of your skirt gathers around your thighs, and you slowly uncross them.

There it is. That green light that stood in front of the flame that never extinguished between you, the one in danger of boiling over when paired with the irresistible mist of imbibement that could sink its claws into you like an aphrodisiac.

"Ahh, you like this, don't you, sweetheart?" His voice tremors to a husky purr. "Yeah you do, baby..."

"Shiu. We're in public, darling."

"Like that's ever kept me from touching what's mine." He breathes, leaning closer. "Come here."

"Mm?"

He smirks. He knows damn well you heard him, you're practically begging for him to touch you right now in every language besides your words, using your sweet little gimmick of playing innocent just so you can hear him say it.

"Come here and sit on my lap. Don't make me say it again."

And you don't need to be told twice, after that. You smile, biting your lip as you stumble on wobbly legs, then slide into his side of the booth. He leers and pulls you closer, hand gliding to your hip to tuck you in against his body while the other one made a discreet ascent up your skirt.

"Shiu..."

"Finish your drink." He slides your glass closer, eyes locked straight in front of him at the busy scene of the bar and fellow patrons who were blissfully none the wiser. "Lemme play with you..."

You curse his fingers that know you almost too well by now that could navigate your body in the dark, grazing and dipping along your inner thigh, the sleek metal of his rings leaving a delicious cooling sensation along your sensitive skin, teasing the silky gusset of your panties, until he applies just a little bit of pressure, slowing stroking you up and down starting from clit to hole.

"Always so responsive with a few drinks in you, sweetheart." Shiu remarks, low against your ear as he nips your lobe, flexing his fingers in a more subdued manner as you curl your back.

"Not even fightin' it either..."

You can hardly concentrate on finishing your drink, your eyes flutter under his ministrations and you swallow back a sigh as he rubs you through your panties under the table, his chest at your back and his eyes staring straight ahead like nothing was happening, peeled for any prying eyes like he'd break someone's wrist for even glancing in your direction.

"Shiu, fuck...can't keep quiet like this."

The music from the stage grows louder, the dark atmosphere, his fingers, the thrill of being pleasured like this so discreetly yet openly all at once has your inhibitions flying out the window.

"You can. We've done worse, angel." He grins as your body betrays you almost subconsciously, gently grinding against his palm. "See?"

His fingers stop their long strokes against the smooth cotton that's damp and slick by now, four of his fingers gathering in graceful little circles above your clothed pearl. That's when you recognize it, that damn rhythm, that warm, persistent thrumming.

"Fuck, Shiu...I swear to God." You look around frantically, burying your face in his neck as you stutter your hips that so badly want to roll, knowing if you moved just right, it'd remove the pesky barrier keeping you from the real thing.

"Don't make me cum...someone's gonna notice."

"Notice what? My beautiful wife cumming like a slut on my fingers? Let em."

"No, mmmpphh...Shiu, really, please..."

"Then finish your drink, dollface." Shiu breathes coyly. "And we'll leave so I can fuck you properly."

You whimper, fighting a scowl as you downed the rest of your drink like liquid fire in an act of desperation before every stranger in the bar would hear what you sound like coming undone in your husband's lap, his fingers ceasing their seductive tempo in a moment of both relief and disappointment at the loss.

He winks at you, eyeing his handiwork of you panting with a lovely drunken glow around you with sweat kissed wisps of hair, warm cheeks, and messy lips.

Shiu tastes his fingers with a show of pride, pulling you out of the crowded bar and leaving cash for your tab on the table.

------

The Han River is radiant under the summer moon, peacefully stalwart, barely rippling against the wind that grants brief reprieve from the humidity as it settles into the sensual serenity of the night.

Shiu pants as he kisses you like you contain the last drop of oxygen that depletes from his lungs the longer he stays connected to you. He fondles the globes of your breasts like he could imbed himself inside your ribs by touch alone, slipping drunkenly into indigo shadows in a lust-blown haze along the river's pier with you that thankfully remained deserted with worshipful, seeking hands.

His mind's on fire and the booze won't allow him to think. He needs to take you.

Now.

Here.

And postpone any worry of getting you back to the hotel after he's done.

He pauses, opening his eyes, briefly descending from the cloud he was floating away on with you to look for somewhere private, moaning as you sink your teeth into his bottom lip when you slowly notice what he's looking at: a random, empty photobooth on the far side of the pier.

Without another word, you both slip in, one after another, giggling as you crouch to avoid bonking your heads in the comparatively smaller space.

It's mostly dim, save for the adorable light up screen with dancing cartoon Sanrio characters, but most importantly it's quiet and secluded as you shut the curtain behind you.

He looks at you and you're already biting your lip before he's on you again, rubbing and rolling tongues, sucking your kiss-bitten lips as he pulls and straddles you across his lap like muscle memory.

"Fuck me, Shiu... Right now."

Before he can free his cock, the menu on the screen loudly blinks to life, playing a blaring music box tune that makes you both jump in alarm. You look back at the dancing graphics and then back at Shiu, before breaking out in a fit of tipsy laughter.

"This thing's not gonna shut up unless we take some photos, huh?" Shiu gives your ass a squeeze as the obnoxious music plays on an endless loop that was honestly making it hard to get in the mood again, the bright flashing letters impatiently waiting for you to make a selection.

A playful flicker lights up your expression.

"Why don't we, darling? This could be fun."

Shiu smiles back, reading your mind before depositing some cash into the coin slot.

"Hell, why not?"

He sighs as he puts an arm around your shoulder, both of your eyes cloudy, drunken, dizzy warmth splayed across your cheeks in your reflection as the screen graphics danced and got into position to take the first shot.

You fix your hair and manage a soft smile that blooms to the tender apples of your cheeks, leaning into Shiu, left hand with the sparkly rock on your ring finger shimmering like a fallen star on his chest while he rests his cheek against your head.

3.....2....1...*Click*

You always had that rather inconvenient habit of looking drop dead gorgeous even when you didn't mean to. You turn your head against his cheek, staring up at him with those starry eyes, playfully pouting your lips in silent invitation.

Shiu almost misses it, hypnotized by your reflection in front of him until he sees you turn and quickly meets your lips with his own, melting together as the kiss becomes more ardent, the passion making a swift return as you release that first wanton sigh as you take a breathy inhale against his warm mouth.

3.....2....1.... *Click*

You giggle as he bites down on your bottom lip and his resolve teeters on the edge of no return into the dark river that gently lapped just outside the bottom of the pier.

The fact that you enjoyed, and even giggled when he bit you and marked you, how trusting and loving you were, how the soft sculpture of you still turned to silk beneath his touch without fail reminds him why he will die inside of you and why you needed to live in his blood, and him in yours.

But this act, this sacred entanglement with one another that only perfected itself every time you fell into it together, would simply have to do for now.

He soothes the sting he left behind with his tongue, messily glossing and licking his way back in little circles until your lips magnetize together again, your breasts spilling out of the thin cloth of your tank top as he pulls it down, pleased to discover your nipples were already bumpy in pert little peaks from the incessant teasing ever since the flaming sun dipped low in the sky, sucking on your left tit while he used his free hand to grope and smack your ass.

....*Click*

"Ohhhhh, Shiu. Just like that, baby..." you sigh as he makes a sticky mess of your nipples, lapping the sweet buds with languid licks of his tongue, looking directly in your eyes as he possessively nips them with his teeth, just hard enough to leave a delicious flicker of pain.

"Fffuck, please don't stop..."

"Tell me you love me, angel..." He purrs as he seals his attention to the left with a gentle suckle between his lips before moving to the right, rolling your warm cunt against his cock as a form of worship, freeing himself from the waistband of his shorts, that uncut tip glistening from the pearly swirls of trickling precum.

"Ohh, I love you so fucking much, Shiu..." You whisper as you can't think straight, gently lolling your head to the side as he rubs between your folds, sliding the silky tip in such a soothing manner, it almost came close to the real thing, your knuckles curling in passionate knots around the fabric of his shirt.

"I can't fucking get enough of you..."

"You never will, baby. I'll make damn sure...I fuckin love you more..." He whispers, thumbing your sweet little clit as he holds your lustful stare.

"I'll never stop til you're bleeding out of me. Keep moanin so pretty like that and I'll make you cum."

And he pulls you right back in.

Shiu smells like sin, but he tastes divine, crisp and sweet, the tobacco all but a ghost from the cigarette he smoked earlier. You both thirst with a greed that could be better described as all-consuming, devotionally unsated. All bets are off now that you've found yourself locked in this cozy little space.

*Click*

"Shiuu, need you inside me..." You whine as he keeps rubbing his cock against you and smearing the sticky glaze from your pussy, feeling his fat tip teasing entry to your dripping little hole in slow repetition, only to slide back in between the lips of your drenched cunt, whimpering in defeat.

The booth deposits the first strip of photos and the annoying music picks up again. Shiu doesn't bat an eye as he leans forward with you still in his lap to deposit more cash.

"Get this thing to shut up, yeah?" He chuckles.

"Turn around, dollface. We might as well get our money's worth."

"Shiu..."

"Trust me, sweetheart." He promises as he turns you around, reaching under your skirt and hooking a thumb over your panties, pulling them to the side and pumping his cock to stifle the ache for friction with a husky groan as he got a good look at your beautiful bare ass.

"Be a sweet girl for me and I'll give you my cum."

He nudges inside you like a warm, perfect glove, giving his hips one little shove to gently nuzzle that smooth spot against your walls that always made you cry out so sweetly.

You clench and pulse your pussy around his cock as your hips seem to move on their own, but he brings a careful hand to your throat, the other cupping your breast.

"Ah, ah, hold still. Look at the camera, sweetheart."

You stare in awe with an overwhelming surge of arousal at the ruined sight of you on screen, sweetly wrecked with a lustrous, summer evening glow, knowing just below the lense your husband twitched and filled you balls deep, slick seeping around you in the warm area of your connection.

"Smile for me."

3...2....1...*Click*

"Fuckin beautiful..." He purrs into your ear, twitching his cock inside you on purpose, just a lingering taste of the reward of his thrusts you were truly craving.

"That one...I'll put on my desk. The guys at the office won't know your sweet little cunt was wrapped around my cock the whole time."

"Shiu...c'mon, please. Fuck me, please." You clench and his cock thumps inside you again.

"You're so fuckin needy and I love it." He rolls your nipple between the buds of his fingers, eyes focused straight ahead before he moves his hands to grip you in place, keeping you full and leaking around his cock.

"Smile, baby. We're not done..."

3....2.....1... *Click*

"Shiu." You defy him, using your walls to clench and slowly roll in his lap every time your hips oscillate up his cock, before sinking back down with a soaking plap.

"Fuck." He jerks you forward with your hands braced against the wall in front of you, going full speed as he fucks you without restraint.

You go dumb on his cock as he pumps and loads you, in and out, in and out, precise and just right as the slicky rivulets of both your arousals let him slip and lewdly pulse against your soft soaking clit, deep and sloppy as your eyes roll back.

*Click*

"Shiu, fuckkkk."

"Fuck, I know, baby. I'm gonna cum too."

3...2...1.... *Click*

You keen and he growls as a torrent of cum squirts and coats your tightness. That third image of you permanently captured with your tits out, bent over as Shiu filled you with both of your jaws agape.

Shiu chuckles as he rubs your clit just to torture you one more time, catching webs of cum and slick as he smeared a generous coat over your tongue, and down your chin.

*Click*

-----

The curtain to the photobooth opens and you enter the walk of shame. There are certainly more people on the pier now since you went inside.

You don't know, and frankly don't fucking care how many are looking at you right now as your face burns and you keep your head low, elbowing Shiu who just smiles and silently apologizes with another kiss, tucking you into his opposite side and securing your jacket around your waist to protect you from any prying eyes.

Truth is, he's not sorry.

He's not sorry for half of the photos coming out unpresentable.

He chuckles as he looks at them with you, fresh cigarette between his lips as he rips off the ones that were far too lewd, tucking them in his pocket for safe keeping.

"I'll make sure to put these where your mom can't find em when she visits, dollface."

He's not sorry for loving you so openly and never taming the fervency of his fire that he unloaded on you in that damn photobooth.

He's not sorry that his cum is dripping out of you the whole time you walk back across the midnight crowded streets of Seoul towards your hotel.

He notices a shaved ice truck parked on the corner and pulls you towards it, and, like the phases of the moon, you follow him with that ever present smile on your face and a kiss stolen from the infinite supply you harbored for him on his cheek.

No, Shiu's sorry at all. But best believe he's still getting that mango bingsu he promised you to make up for it.

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milla-frenchy · 8 months ago

Text

October 31

2k2 | Joel Miller x fem reader x Tommy Miller | ao3 | masterlist Summary: you go out to meet your two fwb for Halloween, a perfect evening for urban exploration

Warnings: 18+ mdni. noncon by manipulation, glove kink, mask kink, mfm, degradation, oral (m), piv, creampie. Age gap unspecified

a/n: thanks for the ask, @megangovier 😘❤️ I took some liberties and turned it into something a little different. I hope you’ll like it 🙏❤️

This is written for @mermaidgirl30 's Halloween writing challenge Thank you for the event 🎃👻

Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing, ily 😘🫶 dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏

October 31.

Your favorite day of the year. The day of costumes and night outs in such a special atmosphere.

You had just left Joel Miller's house, after going to see his daughter Sarah. She was a really lovely kid, curious and funny, and you had stayed in touch, even if she didn't need a babysitter anymore. She would have loved to come with you tonight, but you couldn't take her. You and your friends had been doing urban exploration for a few months, and tonight you were going to explore an abandoned hospital that you had spotted. You couldn't take the responsibility of taking her, and you knew her father would never agree anyway.

Not to mention that you were going there with your two friends with benefits, Randy and Cotton, and you didn't want to give up on an outing that could lead to something spicier.

You had agreed to meet at the old doctors' entrance. The sign was still there, above the door, even if it was only hanging on one side. Your two friends were waiting for you, behind the front door, dressed as Ghostface: masks, capes, black shoes and gloves. One of them had the famous fake knife, and the other - a shotgun which he leaned nonchalantly against his shoulder.

“Very original,” you laughed when you entered the building. “Are you gonna ask me about my favorite horror movie, too?”

They chuckled, the sound half muffled by their masks, and you walked down the hospital hallway. When you passed the first door, they signaled to you not to make any noise, a gloved index finger in front of their mouth, at the same time. You were always silent when you visited a place, to be sure to hear every possible noise.

The place was very run-down, littered with debris. You reached for an electrical panel and flicked it without much hope, but the lights came on. Some were broken, some were flickering, but you could see a little better than with your flashlights. A wheelchair was in the middle of the hallway. A lot of equipment had been broken.

At the end of the corridor there was a staircase that led to the upper floors. Cotton walked past. You knew it was him because he was the shorter one. You followed him, Randy closing the way. He caressed your ass with his gloved hand as you walked up, making you giggle. You swayed your hips to tease him and he squeezed your ass cheek. You could have sworn you heard him mumble something, but you couldn't clearly hear what escaped his lips.

You kept exploring, and reached the top floor. The rooms were less damaged, but the lighting didn't work there and you had to use your flash lights to illuminate your way. When you reached the last room, Randy approached you and brushed your cheek with his gloved hand, then your neck. Squeezing it lightly between his fingers.

“I’m glad I told you about my glove kink,” you breathed in his ear. “It’s a perfect day to please me with it.”

He groaned, his other hand gripping your ass and pressing you against his already hard cock.

“Well, well… someone’s in the mood…” you smiled.

Your other friend came closer, pressing himself against your back. He was hard too. Randy grabbed his crotch in his hand and palmed himself slowly. He tilted his head to the side, pressing the tip of his knife to his temple. With your ass against Cotton's cock, you were breathless as you were watching your friend, in this costume, touch himself. Then he took your hand and placed it on his length. He was so hard that you already couldn’t wait for them to fuck you, however they wanted to.

They had brought a voice distorter and he turned it on, for the first time since you were here.

“Blow me, sweetheart,” he said, without hesitation in the voice distorted by the device. You were a little surprised by his confidence, but it suited the character after all. He took his cock out as you knelt down, knees in the dust, and licked the tip that he was holding towards you. His scent was stronger than usual, but it was turning you on. You rounded your lips around the tip, greedy to taste him there, in that place, head already boobing, his strong precum flowing down your throat. Everything was arousing you: the place, the situation, the darkness. Part of you was a little worried that another group could still come in, but you knew your friends were there to protect you.

When the second cock appeared in front of you, you were surprised. This was new. The three of you often fucked, but your friends never got this close to each other. You released the cock in your mouth with a pop, your face rose to the two of them, and you smiled. You didn’t wait and sucked the tip. You were horny as hell.

Your first friend - Randy - put his hand on the back of your head, and pushed you further towards the cock in your mouth. You moaned and slid your hand under your Halloween costume, then into your panties. Unable to resist the primal need that enveloped you. He kept pressing on your head to take the other cock deeper in your mouth. Cotton was pushing further too, until his tip hit the back of your throat. Randy held you in place, saying “look at that, ain’t she a good girl?” in the voice distorter.

“Yeah, that’s a really, really good girl…turning into a perfect slut for these cocks,” the other replied in the device.

You whimpered, his cock in your mouth. He released you and you felt that your fingers were covered by your wetness. Turned on by their attitude, their confidence.

“Fuck me, I need it,” you asked with a desire in your voice.

“Come here,” Randy ordered. “Wanna feel this slutty mouth again.”

“Fuck… you’re turning me on like never before, when you speak to me like that,” you breathed, turning to Randy.

“Yeah, we learnt our lesson,” Cotton added as he positioned himself behind you. He pressed the back of your neck to make you lean forward towards Randy’s cock which he was holding close to your mouth. Randy brushed his gloved finger against your folds then pushed it in slightly. The new sensation of the leather inside you made you whine, just before the cock in front of you nudged your lips. You opened them, eager to have his taste in your mouth again. His thickness. Behind you, Cotton caressed your folds and your clit, before pushing in two fingers, still gloved. The feeling was overwhelming. Then he pulled his hand away, and you moaned at the loss.

“Our little whore needs more,” Randy chuckled, balls deep in your mouth.

“We’re gonna give her what she wants. She’s gonna take-” he said, suddenly thrusting his cock in your core “-what she needs.”

“Fuck, Cotton?!” you exclaimed as you pulled away under his roughness, just before Randy went back in, almost forcing you on his cock.

“Shut up and take it. And don’t stop blowing me. Oh fuck, your mouth is so good, baby.”

They were passing the device around, using your body, moving it forward and backward depending on when the cock was thrusting in your pussy, and when the other was sinking into your throat.

“Fuck, man, she’s so good.”

“Told ya she’d love being fucked in here.”

You freed your mouth, just long enough to say “so you talk about me when I’m not there? To decide how or where you’re gonna fuck me?”

“Yeah,” Randy replied, before sliding his cock between your lips again. “We talked about this night a lot, baby.”

“Mmmm…,” you hummed against the shaft fucking your mouth.

“Damn man, that was such a good idea.”

They high fived above your back, the clap ringing in the silence of the room, before you heard moans and growls again, and skin against skin.

They used your body, groaning more and more, telling what a slut you were, taking both of their cocks there. You pulled back just enough to remove the cock from your mouth, jerking the shaft covered in your saliva.

“Aren’t you afraid that we’ll make too much noise? That someone could come here?”

“Don’t worry sweetheart. Even if someone comes, there’s no way they’d touch you. This pussy’s ours, and only ours right now.”

Randy shoved his cock into your mouth again, stopping you from responding.

“Fuck, her mouth’s heaven. Did you think you’d get spit roasted, baby? Taking two cocks in here?”

“uh hu,” you mumbled, mouth full.

“You wanna switch, man? I wanna fuck this cunt.”

“Yeah! Lemme feed her mouth again.”

They turned places so quickly that you didn't have time to straighten up, and they immediately stuffed you full again.

“Oh damn. Her cunt’s fucking soaked...”

“Yeah, I spread her wide. Huh, baby?”

Randy’s gloved hand brushed your clit, surprisingly softly as his other hand gripped your hip tightly and he kept thrusting in your cunt.

“You’re gonna come, baby? You’re gonna come while we use you like a fuck doll, filling your two slutty holes?”

“Mmmm,” you mumbled again, as Cotton held your cheeks tightly in his hands, moaning louder and louder, until he stilled, cock buried in your mouth, and his cum spurted against the back of your throat. He held you in place, panting, breathing heavily, until you pulsed on Randy’s shaft, moans muffled by the thick cock still in your mouth.

Cotton didn’t let go of you, until you heard Randy breathe heavily. He fucked you harder, faster, hands firmly buried in the flesh of your hips.

They both held you until he came too, long jets of hot sperm filling the bottom of your pussy.

They finally released you, mouth and pussy filled. You thought that it was the best October 31st of your life.

You smiled blissfully as you got up, and placed a kiss on the covered cheeks of each of them. Cotton gave you some water from his backpack, before you walked to the ground floor, then to the parking lot. They waited for you to leave, waving at you when you looked at them. The knife and the gun in their other hands.

The next afternoon, you went to see Sarah to surprise her. You told her about the hospital, without mentioning the final part, of course. While she was preparing lunch for the two of you, you asked her for the Scream DVD you had lent her. You wanted to watch it again that night. She told you to get it back from her father's room.

"I didn't know your father liked horror movies?"

"Me neither, actually," she replied with a shrug. “He told me he wanted to watch it. It surprised me too.”

You went upstairs and entered Joel's bedroom. He had a TV on the dresser, and you approached it to get the DVD that was probably there.

A backpack on the floor caught your eye. A Ghostface mask was sticking out of it. A lump formed in your stomach, but you didn’t really understand why. Halloween had just passed. What could be more common than those masks? Even your friends were wearing them last night.

Though, curiosity got over you, and you grabbed the backpack and put it on the bed then opened it wider. You took out two masks, leather gloves and two long black capes.

Your instinct made the ball in your stomach double in size. You went back down, trembling.

“Did you spend yesterday’s evening with your dad, Sarah?”

“No, he had some work to do with Tommy. He came home late.”

You smiled mechanically before grabbing your phone, and frantically searched for Randy’s name.

“Did you get home safely last night, after the hospital?”

“What are you talking about? I sent you a message telling you we couldn't go?”

Your hand clenched your phone when you hung up, your body frozen. You remembered the evening before, hearing Sarah’s father come down the stairs from her bedroom, walking into the dining room. You remembered you heard him on the phone “Tommy? Yeah, everything’s ready.”

You remembered the moment you left the Millers’. after taking your phone that you had left on their dining room table. Unattended.

An icy feeling ran down your spine, when you remembered all that.

You thought about the looks Joel Miller gave you sometimes. You thought of last Sunday, when Sarah had invited you to lunch. Tommy Miller had opened the door for you, his gaze sliding over you up and down without any discretion. Then the look he exchanged with his brother.

You barely had time to open the front door and threw up in the driveway.

“Something got stuck in your throat, sweetheart?” Joel asked you as he got out of his truck, after parking.

Tommy chuckled, joining his brother in front of you. Their posture seemed all too familiar to you, suddenly. The same smirk crossed their faces.

You threw up again.

Thank you for reading 🙏

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