#about their possible new dynamic it's ripping me apart inside

[yes-asil]

New game with emphasis on guns, somebody's bound to get shot

[bunnywritesjunk]

My King

Series summary: Your parents signed you up for an Alpha Omega Match company when you were eighteen. It took years for them to find your match, but you meet the giant austrian man. Will he be a good partner?

Chapter summary: You get a call from your mother regarding your match. You are nervous to meet them, but they turn out to be a pleasant surprise.

Pairing: König x Fem Reader

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Never use this abbreviation without the slashes it is an indigenous slur) 18+ MDNI (no others for this chapter)

Word count: 4.1k (damn thats a lot for me)

Genre: Mostly Fluff a little angst here and there.

A/n: Yo Yo Yo whatup. New fic dropping. This one is black/poc coded but anyone can read. I haven't seen any poc coded cod fics just yet (if you know any send them my way). If you do not like Omegaverse fics please do not read. Also I tried making a cute little mood board, i think it sucks but I tried my best. Konig art credit. (I couldn't find the art credit for the girl). König and reader are neurospicy. I got inspired to do an Apex Alpha König from @ghostlythunderbird go give them some love please. Also this is kinda what I imagine him looking like.

Next Chapter

Chapter One:

His back ached as he climbed the few steps to his door. The passage back to his home was uncomfortable. All König wanted to do with collapse on his bed. The duplex he resided in was decent, the little old woman who rented it to him was very sweet. König had a hard time getting anyone to rent to him. His status as an Apex alpha was concerning for most people. They believed him to be violent and inconsiderate. His landlord is an omega that lives with her alpha mate. König managed to convince her. She thought he was sweet and kind. He opened the foyer door that lead to both apartments. He glanced at the mailbox, wondering if he should wait until morning. Begrudgingly, he took out the small mailbox key and fiddled the metal box open. He grabbed the plethora of mail and closed the box gently. The box was filled up quite a bit as he had not been home in a couple of weeks. 

Heading up the stairs he filed through the mail. Most were junk coupons and magazines, some were credit card sign-up letters. One envelope caught his eye. It had no company name just a large white manila envelope addressed to him. He opened his door and stepped inside placing the mail and his belongings on his couch. He ripped open the envelope and took out a thin book. It had the circular logo of the AOMO, the Alpha Omega Match organization. 

König started at the cover his heartbeat sped up the longer he thought about it. He signed up for the program after a particularly hard mission he had in KorTac. He left and joined the 141 and decided he wanted an omega. A lot of the men in the 141 had partners they could come home to. König wanted that. Most people were too afraid to be in a committed relationship with him. König often settled for one-night stands with betas but it left him feeling empty. He opened the packet to the first page.

'Congratulations!' The first word read. His heart beat harder the more he read. 

'We have found you a match!' König's heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest. 

'In the plastic wrap, we've provided a fresh scent sample from your potential match. If you like the scent of your match, please send us a scent sample from you as soon as possible.' 

König gripped the packet and leaned over the table, putting his weight on the table. He took a deep breath, he felt a mix of fear and excitement. When he signed up he was not hopeful for a match. He assumed his situation was too complicated for them. He flipped through the packet before reading the rest searching for the scent sample. A plastic bag fell out onto the table. It was sealed and had a verification sticker assuring its authenticity. König picked up the bag carefully. It had a square of white fabric inside it. He took his hood off before opening the bag gingerly. The scent instantly made his knees weak. This Omega had a warm and spicy scent. Coconut and sugary vanilla with hints of sandalwood. König stuffed his nose into the bag inhaling the deep rich smell of this Omega. 

König sealed the scent sample wanting to savor it. He opened the packet back up to the first page. It said once he mailed his scent sample and was approved by his match, they would arrange a meeting with him and his match. There was more information about this Omega and their family along with the reasoning for them picking them. They informed him that this omega was a twenty-six-year-old female. Her father is also an Apex Alpha, he is retired American military. They did not provide a picture of any matches because they wanted the connection to be based on instinct rather than looks. Her mother is an Omega that works as a teacher. There is not much else about the Omega but, König is hopeful. He reads the instructions to send his scent sample. They provided a kit with a form envelope, a small square of fabric, and a plastic bag, almost identical to the one he received from his match. 

'Wash your hands, and rinse any dirt off of your scent glands.'

'Then remove the fabric from the plastic.'

'Rub the fabric on your clean scent glands for 20-25 minutes.'

'Seal the fabric thoroughly in the bag provided .'

He shed his vest and protective gear, the last thing he wanted was for her to smell dust and gunpowder on him. König tried to quell his excitement as he followed the directions. Rushing to his bathroom and then back to his dining room. The fabric square was slightly smaller than his palm. He cupped the crook of his neck, sandwiching the fabric between his hand and his neck. He rubbed gently filling it with his scent. He read the rest of the packet as he rubbed. The rest was mostly semantics about the company and its policies. He combed it a few more times trying to memorize every piece of information about his Omega. 

König smiled gently, he shouldn't think of her as his yet. She smelled so good, too good for him. He smelled the cloth every once in a while to ensure his scent was potent enough. When he was done he placed it in the bag and sealed it. He filled out the form and packed the pre-paid envelope neatly. He grabbed his keys and left his apartment to go to the mail drop-off on the corner of the block. He needed to send it today, he wouldn't be able to sleep if he didn't. He walked back to his apartment having long forgotten about his back pain. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You looked at the list on your phone pushing your shopping cart. Buying the week's groceries had fallen to you this time as your mother was dealing with state testing for her students and your dad was on a hunting trip. You maneuvered the isles expertly collecting the items on your list. As well as some extra sweet snacks you like to indulge in much to our mother's chagrin. You were about to put a pack of Oreos in the cart when your mom called.

“Hello?” You answered but all you can hear was excited screeching. You held the phone away from your ear until she quieted down. 

“He accepted you!!!” She screamed. 

“What? Mom, you're too loud.” 

“The match company! The match they picked liked your scent.” She giggled. 

You were slightly stunned. Your parents signed you up for the AOMO when you were eighteen. You weren't that on board with it but you let them. You know they only want the best for you. You kept sending scent samples every year but they never got back to you about anything. Now, six years later they show up with a match for you. 

“I just got the call, they're sending a scent sample for you right now it's gonna get here in a few days.” 

“Wow...” That was all you managed to say. 

“Now I know this wasn't your ideal way to meet someone, but just please be open-minded sweetheart.” 

You sighed. “I will. I'm finishing up at the grocery and I'll head home.”

“Alright, I'm gonna be home soon too, bye sweetie.” 

You hung up the phone and stood in the aisle. You placed the pack of Oreos in the cart and moved to get the rest of the items before checking out. 

When you arrived home your mother was there waiting. She squealed and hugged you before helping you take the grocery bags inside. 

“I am so excited for you! I have heard so many good things about the AOMO. I bet whoever they picked is gonna be great.”

“Let's hope.” You say. 

The next few days went by quickly. You dove into writing your next few chapters to take your mind off of the match. The sequel to your best-selling fantasy novel was underway. Your days consisted of writing, planning, engaging with fans, and talking to your editor. You typed out the outline for the next few chapters when you heard a knock. 

“Come in.” You said. 

Your mother walked in holding a large envelope. “Guess what came today?” She said excitedly. 

 Your heart thumped with anxiety. She placed the envelope on your desk.

“I’ll leave you to it, let me know if you like them.” She sauntered out of the room happily. 

You picked up the envelope and opened it pulling out a packet of information. You flipped to the first page. 

‘Congratulations!’ It read. 

‘The match we have chosen for you wants to meet you. Once you contact us with your acceptance of their scent, we will arrange for them to meet you and your family with the chaperone of one AOMO agents to facilitate. The two of you will go on a date and get to know each other before deciding whether to move forward. If you do not accept the scent, we will put you back in our database to be matched with someone else.’ 

In the middle of the pages, there was a plastic bag with a white cloth in it. You picked it up and sighed. You doubted you would like the scent. Most alphas were off-putting to you, either way too strong of a scent of they smelled like dishwater. You opened the bag casually and took a whiff. Your inner Omega preened at the musk that erupted from the bag. 

“Oh my…” You inhaled deeply. 

This Alpha…smelled good? He smelled like chocolate and dark roast espresso. There were some hints of fresh baked bread and cinnamon. You caught yourself before you got lost in his scent. You sealed the bag up and took a breath. Maybe, this would be a good experience for you. You scanned through the rest of the information looking over what little they provide about this Alpha. He is a male Alpha, non-American but they did not specify what country. The only other thing they said about him was that his demeanor was shy and that he is military. The instructions said to call the number if you wanted to meet him. You reached for your phone a little too eagerly and dialed the number. A woman’s voice answered.

“Hi, you’ve reached the Alpha Omega Match organization how may I help you?”

“Hi, um I got an Alpha’s scent in the mail, and I want to meet him.” You said awkwardly.

“What’s your name and date of birth?” You told her, nervously. 

“Please hold while I transfer you.” 

The light piano hold music came on, you fidgeted with your sleeve. 

“This is Kara, how may I help you?”

“Oh hi, I got an Alpha’s scent in the mail and I would like to meet him.”

“Alright, let me get your file from reception she’s sending it right now…Ah got it. Oooh ok great I am your agent that will be facilitating this meeting. Your parents will want to meet him yes?”

“Definitely.”

“Ok so, what we will do is you and your parents will meet me at a public space of your choice then. I will bring you to meet the Alpha first, then your parents. We like to keep parent meetings brief as they tend to try and challenge the Alpha. I will have you know, this Alpha is an Apex like your dad. That is one of the reasons we chose you as his match, you have experience with an Apex. Will you be comfortable with all that?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Your head was reeling from all this information. Great, I see you guys are in New York City which is one of my favorite places to visit. Do you have anywhere in mind to meet?” 

“Um, we could do the Highline, there’s food, and it's pretty.” 

“Oh, that’s a great idea let me write it down here. How does September ninth at noon sound to you? A weekday so there are not too many people.” 

Your heart jumped, that’s in two days.

“Uh, sure.” 

“Alright, I will send you a follow-up email regarding our plans all you need to do is confirm. Your match will be notified, and his flight will be booked as soon as we receive confirmation. Do you have any other questions?” 

“No not at the moment.” 

“Ok, don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any concerns. I will see you in a few days.” 

“Bye.” 

You put your phone on your desk and walked out of your room. Your mother was standing a few feet away from your door. When she noticed you, her face lit up.

“So? How was the scent? Are you meeting them?” 

You smiled and nodded “Yup, in two days.” 

She squealed and captured you in a bone-crushing hug.

“I can’t wait! Let’s go tell your father!” She practically ran down the hall. 

You walked to your living room where your otherwise stoic-looking dad was watching TV. 

“Tell us about them, sweetheart.” Your mother said. Your dad turned the volume on the TV down and looked at you expectantly.

“Well, I don’t know much but, I know he’s not American and that he might be shy…He smells good.” 

“That’s important, I hope you wouldn’t pick someone who smells like shit.” Your dad chimed in. 

“He’s also military, and an Apex.” You added quickly. 

Your mother gasped quietly, and your father raised his eyebrows.

“Now that’s intriguing.” Your mom said smiling.

“You already booked a meeting with him?” Your dad asked. You nodded. 

“You should’ve asked me first.” He pinched his nose bridge in annoyance. 

“Well, he’s my match and I wanted to meet him.”

“Apex Alphas are dangerous. I would know.”

“Oh, please honey it’ll be fine.” Your mother ridiculed him.

“It’s my choice, Dad. You guys are the ones who signed up, I finally got a match, so I want to see it through. If it doesn’t work out, then I’ll call it off.”

Your father growled lowly. “Fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your mother insisted to dress you in a cutesy outfit, so you let her have her moment. She dressed you in a dark floral dress that hugged your curves just right. She added dainty jewelry along with your protective collar. You didn’t usually wear it but again, she insisted. She did your hair half up half down. Your dad was waiting by the front door with your mom’s purse in hand. 

The train ride there was silent, your mother looked utterly content while your father was peeved about this whole situation. You arrived at the station and walked to the Highline. You got a text from Kara telling you what she looked like and where she was. She was wearing a dark blue pencil skirt and a white blouse. She stood up as you and your family approached. You stuck your hand out to shake hers.

“Nice to meet you guys, come sit.” She said motioning to the bench she was on. 

Your father stayed standing while you and your mother took a seat next to her. 

“So, there are some things I want to go over with you all and then I’ll talk to you privately and do the official meeting ok?”

“He’s here?” You said in an almost panicked tone.

Kara chuckled. “He is here but I left him to wait somewhere out of sight for now.”

She continued. “His name is König, he was born in Austria. When we did his psyche and personality evaluations, we found that he has neurodivergent tendencies, like you. Our matches with people that have a similar way of communicating have gone well.”

“Wait, neurodivergent?” Your mom chimed in. 

“Yes, your daughter did show signs of some behavioral abnormalities, but she is high functioning.”

“I told you that Mom.” You say giving her a deadpan look. Your mother looked down and gave a small ‘hmm’. Kara continued. 

“He does struggle with social anxiety so please be patient with him. Other than that, he currently lives in Amsterdam, if you choose to go forward that is where you will live.”

Your dad finally spoke “Is Amsterdam safe for people like us?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Oh yes, Amsterdam has many people from different places and backgrounds. It is one of the most popular immigration and tourist countries, don’t worry.”

“Alright, how about you come with me, and we’ll get your meeting started.”

Kara led you away, you turned and did a small wave to your parents your mom smiled back at you warmly. 

“So, I will be in contact with you the whole time. If you want to go just say the word, I am never going to be more than a couple minutes away. Honestly, I don’t think you’ll have any issues with him.” 

She led you to a restaurant below the high line, it had indoor and outdoor seating. There were a lot of people laughing and drinking. Your heartbeat sped up as you scanned the crowd. The scent of food entered your nose. Everyone’s scent in the dining area mixed into an indescribable concoction. Among the borderline overwhelming smells, you got a hint of something familiar, espresso. 

You scanned the large room trying to pinpoint where it was coming from or if you were just imagining it. I dark figure near the corner of the room caught your eye. He looked way too large for the chair he was sitting in. He was looking down at his hands, dirty blonde hair covered his forehead. He was wearing a black cloth mask along with a form-fitting black shirt. As soon as you walked in he raised his head. You looked away pretending you weren't staring at him. Kara led you straight to his table.

“This is König.” She gestured to him. 

He stood up to shake your hand still keeping himself hunched at the waist to appear smaller. You shook his hand and smiled as you introduced yourself. He nodded and said a small 'hmm' to acknowledge you. 

“Alright, I'll be near. Have fun.” Kara left swiftly.

You sat down in the chair across from him as he did the same. A wave of anxiety came as you did, not knowing how to break the ice with him. You picked up the menu and scanned it.

“Did you order yet?” You ask.

“No, I was waiting for you.”

“Well thank you, what looks good?” 

“The Steak frites look pretty good.” He glued his menu.

“I'm excited for dessert, they have chocolate cheesecake.”

He chuckled and it made your stomach flip.

“You like sweets?” He asked.

“Very much.” You smile at him. 

The waitress came over and asked if you wanted any drinks. König looked at you, waiting for you to order first. 

“I'll try the elderberry gin and tonic.” You said.

 Konig was about to order when the table next to us erupted in loud laughter. He jumped slightly before answering the waitress. 

“I'll get the house Lager.” He said. 

The waitress left to grab the drinks. The adjacent table was still very loud. The group of friends hollering and screaming obviously day drunk. Konig had his head slightly turned away from them in an attempt to lessen the noise. It was subtle but you could tell. You reached into your bag and brought out a pair of foldable headphones. You turned on the noise cancellation and gave them to him. He looked slightly confused. 

“Put them on.” You encourage him. 

When he did the noise muffled and the restaurant was much quieter. You could see the tension in his shoulders ease by the second. His scent sweetened

“Is that better? Can you hear me ok?” 

König swears he could've kissed you right then and there, but he settles on a nod. 

“Thank you, Leibe.” 

“No problem.”

The waitress came by with the drinks and asked if the two of you are ready to order entrees. You ordered the fish and König ordered the Steak. While you waited, you two had a pleasant small talk about his flight and how he is enjoying his visit. He hesitated to take off his mask at first so you focused on your menu to give him the space to be comfortable with you. You glanced up and took in his face. He was beautiful, he had scars on his face that added ruggedness to his chiseled features. König noticed your scent amplify as you gazed at him. His inner alpha pushed him to be closer, to know more about you.

“So, you're in the military?” 

He nods. “I work for a military contractor. Do you work?”

“Sort of, I'm an author so I work from home.”

“That is nice, are you published?” König was secretly very happy he'd get to have you at home all day. 

“Yes, I am. I'm working on my sequel right now. Do you like to read? Or, do you read in German?” 

He chuckled. “I have not had much time to read lately, but I will now.”

“Well, you have to buy my book of course.” You giggled. 

König nearly fell off his chair at the sound. This Omega was everything he wanted. He prayed to whatever god was up there that you felt something with him. By the time the food came you both fell into a comfortable rhythm. He asked about your childhood and hobbies. It was a change of pace, most Alphas are very self-centered, but he is putting effort into getting to know you. The food came out and you both ate. He offered bites of his food for you to try which you happily returned the favor. By the time you finished your food, you hadn't noticed how much time has gone by. Kara texted you to check-in. 

'Hey, so I saw things were going well so I let you guys talk for an hour and a half but, your parents are getting antsy. Are you guys ready to see your parents?' 

“Oh, Kara is asking if we're ready to see my parents.” 

König fiddled with his fork. “I'm ready.” 

He paid the bill and you both left the restaurant. You took in the full size of the Alpha you matched with. He was no less than a giant. He held the door for you but stopped before he walked through. 

“I forgot something, I'll be back.” He walked back into the restaurant. 

Kara walked up to you. “How did it go?” 

“I...really like him...”

“I know, that feeling is scary. I think you guys are a wonderful match.”

König came out holding a small to-go box. He handed it to you, you could tell he was smiling under his mask. 

“What's this?”

Inside the box was a slice of chocolate cheesecake and a fork.

“We forgot to order dessert.” 

You were stunned, you didn't think there could be Alphas that were so thoughtful. Your inner Omega soared, this Alpha was courting you so well. 

“Thank you, König, that's really sweet.” 

“Ah, here they are.” Kara said. 

Your parents walked up to the three of you. Your mother had a surprised but happy look on her face. Your father kept his deadpan face from earlier, not a good sign. 

“Wow, sweetheart you caught a big one!” Your mom chuckled. 

“Parents, this is König.” Kara said. 

Your mother introduced herself and your father as he stood there sizing up the taller Apex. 

“Alright, let's keep things brief parents do you have any questions for König?”

“Well, as long as she likes him I don't.” Your mother said. 

“Can you protect her?” Your dad asked putting some venom behind his words. 

“I would never let anything happen to her sir. You have my word.” König answered without hesitation. 

Your dad nodded and looked at you. “You like him?”

“...Yeah I do.” 

“Alright then, that's all that matters.” 

“Well, I think it's safe to say that the match is made. I will contact you for the next steps. Parents, let's let them say goodbye.” Kara led your parents away.

You turned to König. “Thank you for meeting with me, I had a really good time.” You saw a faint blush at the top of his mask. 

“I also had a good time, liebe.” 

“What does that mean?”

“Ah...it means love.” 

“Oh well...” You motioned for him to come bend down close to you.

When he got close enough you pecked his cheek. 

“I'll see you soon, love.” 

[chronically-ghosted]

bloody kisses — part three: cinnamon girl boy

pairing: shane morrissey/tim rockford rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 10K content: vaguely takes place in the 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, self-doubt, shame, worries about aging, heavy petting, oral (male receiving), first time giving head, gag reflex training, assplay, doggy style, protected p in a, discussions of dom/sub and top/bottom, bad family dynamics, hints of poverty, discussions around divorce, tim's internal battles, dominant!tim, bratty!shane, nasty dirty talk (anyone who identifies my favorite line gets a gold star), lmk if anything has been missed! dividers: @saradika-graphics a/n: i wanna cry @perotovar let me play with their beautiful blorbos and i had so much fun. i've never written m/m before so they took a HUGE risk on me - thank you so much for trusting me to treat them well!

series summary: shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

series masterlist

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(from @chronically-ghosted: if you liked my humble take on this, you can find my masterlist here!) ♥♥

Russet streaks of late afternoon light filter in through the vinyl slats over the grungy carpet when Shane opens the apartment door. He shuts it with a sigh, locking it behind his back, before tipping his head against the frame, closing his eyes, and taking a long inhale. On the exhale verging on a sigh, he tosses his keys onto the ripped and faded black couch to his right before trudging into the linoleum kitchen. 

There’s a note on the counter:

Gone to visit Barry’s kids in New Jersey. Be back on the 10th. Money for food is on the fridge.

Shane’s dark eyes flit to the M magnet that Samantha left here the last time she visited from Maine. Even their father came that time. 

He snorts resentfully when he sees it: twenty bucks to last him two weeks – thanks Mom. 

Chances that she left him anything in the freezer are lower than the chance he’ll be able to stretch this twenty till Friday. 

Shane slips off his leather duster and tosses it over one of the precarious bar stools. He snatches up the half empty packet of cigarettes from the scuffed living room table, takes one out, and lights it. He flops into the cracked leather, stuffing fluttering out of the cushions on impact, one of the metal springs stabbing him in his flat ass. Head against the ridge of the couch, Shane lazily puffs out smoke rings, his lips pursed, up to the ceiling. 

There’s about a dozen – maybe even twice as many – feelings in his chest right now, all bubbling and curling and spitting and scratching at his insides. Some of them are good – most of them are great, actually (god he can’t remember when he last felt this fucking ecstatic about anything) but some of them . . . some of them scare him so much he can barely breathe. 

Call, Tim had said, in his soft, low voice, the smell of sweet syrup still in the air, the plates with pancake crumbs sitting in the sink behind him. Call, if you need anything. 

The detective’s card sits in the left pocket of his duster. 

Shane shakes his head, a grim smile on his face. Can I call if I’m just fucking lonely without you?

He sips at the cigarette a bit, following the hazy trail of smoke as it wafts around the room. His eyes fall on the cracks of his life, this apartment he shares with his mother and her boyfriend. Stacks of newspapers by the bookcase that’s missing a few shelves. A cereal bowl he left by the window two days ago when a few friends invited him out to go check out Maxxx’s new stereo system. Takeout boxes and beer cans. Unfolded laundry in a plastic bin, the edges cracked and torn off. A few pictures when he was a wiry kid, then a wiry teen. He has a few good memories with Samantha, when he was fourteen and she was seven. That was the only time in his life when anything ever made any sense.

When she’d ask if he’d play her a s–

Shane’s eyes narrow at his bedroom door. Without looking, he snuffs the cigarette out in the nearest ashtray and stands up. Barry knows what would happen if he went into Shane’s room without Shane’s express permission – mother’s boyfriend or not – but Shane locks up every time. He keys open his bedroom door and finds everything as he left it. But that’s not what has him moving down onto his hands and knees, laying flat on his stomach to get a long arm under his bed. With a bit of searching, Shane’s face breaks open wide in surprise as he fingers curl around the long wooden neck. Slowly, Shane crawls back and with him comes his old acoustic guitar. 

By the line of dust on it, it really had been several years since he played this thing, but turning it over, the rightness of it settles into his hands, his hips, his bones. This is where it was always meant to be. 

Seems like I’m finding all kinds of rightness out of nowhere. 

He strums once. The strings are horrifically out of tune, but the thoughts swirling around in his brain make him smile. Fist under his chin, he props his head up on the guitar’s body, contemplating. 

He can still smell the sugar from breakfast and Tim’s aftershave from after breakfast. His heart squeezes without his control . . . and his ass twinges. Heat roars up his entire chest and he has to curl in on himself, rolling onto his back, to keep from exploding, a big stupid grin all over his face. The last twelve hours flit across his memory, each moment better than the next. 

Call, if you need anything, Tim had said.

I need you to tell me what to do now. Am I the same person? Do I want to be? If I left all of this and everyone behind, who would I be tomorrow? Would you keep me around then?

Do you even really like me now? 

He takes his hands down from his eyes, sighing and staring up at his popcorn ceiling, not unlike Tim’s. 

Beneath his right hand, his metal bracelets clatter with the wood of the guitar. 

Samantha. 

Samantha likes him, or at least used to. She loved some version of him. Little sisters are always supposed to love you, but maybe he could find that version again. If it’s still there.

Shane sits up and begins to clean his room.

Night comes and the light from the Morrissey apartment stays on a young man gathering trash and throwing it away. 

Tim hasn’t been this on edge since the four or five times he’s tried to quit smoking. He sits in his car, rain pouring down, heating set on low for an early November evening, and he thinks about all the ways this can go wrong. He stares up at the second floor of the tenement apartment, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel. 

Like file folders, he sorts his worries from least to most earth-shattering.

Shane is vulnerable right now. There is no one else in his life he can turn to with questions, and he had been left to fend for himself on and off since he was fifteen (Tim has pulled up his file only half a dozen times for follow up work on the shooting and Shane’s rap sheet often catches his eye). Of course, he wants nothing more than to be the person who Shane comes to with questions or concerns, or fuck, even just an ear to listen to. But, at his age, Tim is all too aware of what a situation like that could do to him. 

He’s already in too deep and he fucking knows it. 

Earth-shattering worry number two: he is a cop and he has booked this kid more times than he can count. Just for petty stuff and he was never the one to press charges – always the DA looking for an easy numbers game to boost his image before the elections. Tim fucking agonized over that and not just in Shane’s case – these kids weren’t in need of help, the attorney’s office said, they were problems that needed to be put down. So how fast would the DA’s head spin around and explode if he showed up to the policeman’s ball with the “Satanic Temple” on his arm, nevermind just another man? While that would be a sight Tim would cherish until he died, he can’t ask anyone – especially someone as new to all of this as Shane – to handle something like that. 

Which brings him to his final worry, the big concern that has him nearly start up his car and drive off, to call Shane on a payphone and apologize for not being able to ever see him again. Tim’s old. He’s fucking old and Shane shouldn’t have to carry decades worth of baggage when the kid’s got a fucking trunk of it himself. He’s old and a has-been and Shane has the rest of his life ahead of him. 

Of course, this is all assuming Shane would ever want something more with him and this isn’t just sex for him. But maybe that’s all it should be. Both of them dirty little secrets to each other that can fuel Tim’s fantasies until his cock finally stops working (which is probably pretty fucking imminent), and something that Shane can laugh about with his partner some day. 

With a sigh, Tim watches a figure move around behind dirty windows on the second floor. 

The only way Tim would walk away now is if Shane told him to take a fucking hike. And that’s a really big problem.

He turns off the car, grabs his tan raincoat, and heads towards the apartment building.

When Shane opens the door, Tim wonders if he had a stroke and is seeing things that aren’t really there. Shane still has all his earrings, his rings with his unusually jet-black hair, but the duster is gone. Shane has answered the door in a black sleeveless shirt, with faded but roughly-intact jeans, and bare feet. He looks –

“Laundry day.” Tim’s eyes snap up and Shane frowns petulantly. “‘S laundry day . . . n’ this is all I had.” His fingers around the doorframe tighten. “You gonna come in or just stand there and make me look like a fuckin’ rat?” 

Tim is very much aware of how much he looks like a cop even in plain clothes, and the tie with slacks isn’t helping. But he can understand why it might make things difficult for Shane to be seen with him.

But, fuck, if he only knew . . .

“Sorry.” 

He steps across the threshold and Shane shuts the door behind him, sticking very close to the wood to give as much space between the two of them as possible. The rain patters in the silence as Tim tries not to stare too much, but that pattern-picking part of his brain can’t help but lurch into overdrive. 

The apartment is empty. That’s the first thing he clocks. The second are several black garbage bags by the front door and the distinct smell of Pinesol in the air, sitting only faintly above the stench of cigarettes. Tim’s eyes fall to the cracked patio door, then the ashtray that has three very freshly stamped-out cigarettes in the bowl. Either two of Shane’s friends just left or –

“You want, um, something to drink?”

Shane moves swiftly from behind him to the kitchen and Tim’s gaze latches to his back. His ears are by his shoulders and Tim gets a brief flash of the borderline fear in those dark eyes before he disappears behind the wall.

“No, uh –,” Tim clears his throat and takes off his coat, then his holster, laying both flat on the counter that separates the living room from the kitchen. “I’m good. Mind if I smoke though?”

Shane returns, a beer can in his hand and slides into the plastic chair on the left side of the chipped table beneath a sickly, hanging fluorescent light. He cracks it and takes two long pulls before putting it on the table with a thud. He picks up his own packet and Tim thinks he might see a tremble in his hand.

He’s not sure if he feels vindicated, even elated, that Shane might be as nervous as he is, or just terribly awkward. 

“Make yourself at home.” Shane indicates the chair across from him with a jerk of his head before he lights up. The chair squeaks on the linoleum as Tim pulls it back and gingerly sits down. He stabilizes his elbows on the table to keep his hands steady as he takes out a cigarette from his own packet and lights it against his mouth. 

The heady rush of smoke combined with the fresh scent of rain soothes something and he forcibly tugs at his own courage.

“So, um, how’ve you been?” Fantastic start, Rockford.

Shane lifts those thin shoulders, eyes skirting the edge of the table. “Good. Went, uh, to see X the other day. He’s getting better. Says the hospital should let him out soon.” 

“Good. That’s good.” 

The room is so quiet, he can hear the paper burn and curl from the smoldering end of the cigarette between his fingers.

“And you? You've been – um?”

“Yeah, I’ve been good. Xavier – sorry – X’s testimony was really useful for identifying the shooter and establishing a timeline. Should be a pretty open and shut case.” 

At that, a wry smirk curls across Shane’s face. He looks at Tim with something that might be described as a teasing grin as he knocks loose a line of ash. “Probably the last and only time X is gonna be helpful to the police.” 

Tim responds with his own grin. “Wouldn’t expect anything different. Where’s the fun in easy cases?” 

They both chuckle, eyes on anywhere but each other. And yet the tension has cracked, just a bit. Enough to let Tim lean back in his chair and breathe out a long, relaxed plume of smoke. 

“But, uh, you called because you wanted to ask me something?” 

Shane’s ink-wet eyes glance up at him and Tim feels the knot beneath his chest bone throb. 

“Oh – yeah, right. Um, I was thinking about something you said over breakfast the other day . . .” Tim’s heart swells; he thinks about that morning all the fucking time too. Soft golden light and harsh black hair, spread across his chest. “And I was wondering if you still talk to your old friend in the NYU music department.”

That is not the question Tim had been expecting.

“John? Who works at the guitar shop on 7th?” 

“I’m not thinking of going to school,” Shane adds quickly, the tips of his ears going red and Tim has to make an effort to keep his eyes on Shane’s face. “I still think school is a fuckin’ racket made for rich people to make themselves richer and maintain authority over –,”

“Yes, I still talk to John from time to time. Why?” 

At this, Shane shifts in his seat, eyes low, shoulders rigid with tension. He taps his thumb on his knee uncomfortably. 

“Iwanajob . . .”

“Sorry?”

Shane scrunches his nose (the band around Tim’s chest tightens – god, he’s so fucking cute) and huffs.

“I want . . . a job. At the guitar shop . . . and I was hoping . . . you could introduce me to your friend. John, or whatever.” He adds sullenly as if Tim hadn’t just said his name twice. 

The buzzing awareness that is always present at the back of Tim’s mind suddenly clicks on. Like a camera taking film, he looks around the room. The trash bags. The tidy apartment. Fucking laundry day.

“Oh,” he says flatly. “Why, uh – why that place?”

Shane stiffens imperceptibly again. He’s got that “caught-in-a-trap” look about him – the kind his suspects get when they’re about to confess something, willingly or otherwise. Shane’s wide eyes glance over Tim’s shoulder as if he had pointed a finger. Tim turns and is rail-roaded again for the second time since coming here.

“Is that yours?” Tim stands, leaving the cigarette in the ash tray, and crosses the room, careful not to touch the shining guitar on its holder but getting as close as possible to examine it. It is a beautiful guitar, the body waxed and the silver of the tuning pegs bright in the low light. It takes Shane a second to answer.

“Yeah.” The admission is breathy, a release from a too-long-held inhale. Tim thinks his voice wobbles a bit but he dare not turn around to see what’s on Shane’s face. “I used to play a lot. I loved music as a kid, thought I was pretty good. Samantha loved it when I wrote songs for her. When we got older, she’d sing along with me.”

Tim clocked a white note stuck on the counter when he walked in, but he was too far away to read it. The way Shane said her name, Tim gathers that she’s not an ex, but someone closer. However, his file never mentioned any Samantha, so she must not live nearby or be someone he sees frequently. 

When we got older . . .

Tim straightens up and looks at Shane. “Is Samantha your sister?” 

Shane stares at him wide-eyed for a minute before shaking his head, smiling faintly. 

“I hate it when you fucking do that.”

Tim’s stomach knots. “Do what?”

“Figure me out as soon as you look at me. Yeah, dude, Samantha is my sister. Half-sister anyway. Mom and Dad tried to do the whole divorced parents who get along thing for a while, but it didn’t last. Now I don’t see her unless she can get the car for the weekend. But she says she won’t come if she’s not invited and I . . . it’s been a while since I’ve seen her.” 

Tim nods, the sick knot in his stomach melting into butterflies.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. Just . . . curious, I guess.”

Shane watches him silently as he rejoins the table. The chair squeaks again. Tim lights another cigarette when he knows he shouldn’t but Shane’s smile has him trembling. 

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” 

Tim swallows. “Can’t help myself do what?”

“Be curious,” Shane says softly, something unreadable and expansive in his gaze. For a second, he looks a decade older and a millennia wiser. He lifts his voice, louder, deeper when he continues. “Guess that’s part of being a cop.”

“You know, technically, I’m a detective, right? Not on patrol, only handling specialized cases.” 

Shane sucks the last bit of his cigarette, his eyes bright with mischief. “A-Cab, Rockford. I don’t make exceptions.” 

Tim wants to kiss that smirk right off him. He squeezes his own knee briefly before leaning into Shane’s space, the corner of the table separating them, to tap out his ash. He relishes in the way Shane’s eyes skitter up his forearm to his shoulder. He’s not the first to be intimidated by Tim’s size, but he is the first that Tim would gladly overwhelm with it. 

“Seems like you did the other night,” he replies, his voice throaty and scratched. It’s not entirely intentional – Tim’s mouth has gone shockingly dry. 

 This time, Shane’s entire face flushes pink and Tim grins. Old dog still got some tricks, don’t he?

“I’m just fucking with you, kid.” He chuckles. “Relax. Your secret is safe with me.”

He hears how that last part sounds and bites his tongue in regret. Of all the things Tim wants Shane to know, assuming he thought their time together was a mistake is definitely not one of them. He does not want Shane to think he is something that Tim wants to keep a secret. 

But by Shane’s unabashed intake of Tim’s forearms, chest, and curls on his hairline, he probably didn’t need to worry too much. 

It’s been years since he was so shamelessly checked out and it makes his heart pound. He wouldn’t dare return the ogling but, fuck he wants to. Last time, it had been all about Shane and making Shane feel good, which he would do without question again and again and again. But he is desperate for an exploration of Shane’s body as much as he knows it needs to be an exploration for the both of them.  

Or it would be, if he could get a goddamn grip. Last time - probably only fucking time, you sleeze. 

“I k-know–,” Shane’s voice cracks and the blush flares again, only briefly this time. He clears his throat and sits up a bit in the chair. “I know that. I know. It’s just . . .” Shane sucks on his cigarette nervously, his cheeks hollowing, like he’s warming up to something. Something sour rolls down the back of Tim’s throat, his stomach clenched, but years of training keeps his face as smooth as stone. Those dark brown eyes, as gentle and fluid as mercury, stare up at him and Tim knows he’s such a fucking goner.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Tim nods. Rolling his bottom lip into his mouth, Shane leans forward, drumming out another line of ash into the glass tray. He straightens against the back of the chair as he tugs one knee to his chest, expression wary, and wraps a skinny arm around his shin. 

At the last second, Shane drops his gaze and instead decides to interrogate a dirty spot on the table.

“When I first met you,” he began slowly, “you wore a wedding ring. But now . . .” 

His eyes flicker to Tim’s left hand, third finger, absent of any jewelry, sitting on his thigh. 

Tim thinks of the first time he saw that irate seventeen year old punk in the station. He had a ripe black eye and an annoyingly smug smirk on when the officer on duty chucked him roughly into a holding cell. 

“That’s perceptive of you.” He flexed his hand into a fist, once, then twice, then met Shane’s stare ahead on. Tim has to hastily swallow a deep lungful of smoke to smother the sudden uptick of his heartbeat. “You’re right,” he says, stiff, on a throaty inhale. “I was married until about five years ago.” 

A large knot visibly slips down Shane’s throat, his cigarette tilting dangerously between his fingers, ash hovering over the carpet. 

“Hm, and to a . . .”

The way his eyes go wide, Tim wants to bury a kiss into that agitated pulse on Shane’s throat, but instead, he just nods slowly, avoiding sudden movement that might startle the wild animal ready to bolt across from him.

“Yeah, Shane, to a woman.” 

Shane continues to tear into his own lip. He retreats before Tim’s eyes – crosses his arms on top of his knees and leans his head back. He stares into the rain outside, the beer at his elbow long forgotten. This isn’t the answer he was hoping for. 

“Oh,” he says. 

Tim leans forward onto his elbows, entering into his space again, but this time more hesitantly. Shane’s bare foot is inches from Tim’s fingers. 

“Shane.” 

“Hm?”

“Look at me.” 

With a steady hand, Shane flicks the end of his cigarette with his black thumbnail, ash falling, and with a very level gaze, he returns Tim’s watchful eye. His face is so blank he barely has any features.

“What?” 

“I’ve fallen in love with women and men.”

The impenetrable ice in his eyes melts and Shane frowns. “You can do that?”

Again, Tim nods, this time a faint smile on his face. How easily he forget how fucking clueless this kid is and how fucking cute his obliviousness makes him.

“But I’ve only slept with women before, am I–,”

“It’s not about who you’ve slept with, to a certain degree. It’s who you are attracted to.” 

“So there’s more than just being gay?”

He wants so badly to reach across the edge of the table and take Shane’s hand. Soothe him. Feel those rough calluses against his skin again. He can feel the heat of his own cigarette coming painfully close to the backs of his fingers so he tamps out the cigarette in the glass bowl, Shane’s eyes watching him the whole time.

“There’s a lot of things, sweetheart,” Tim says softly, the nickname slipping out as it had before, in his own apartment with Shane in his lap. He hopes that sweetheart sounded casual, a nickname more than a reflection of the hot knot tightening in his groin. “But at the end of the day, it comes down to what feels right to you. How you see yourself. You might have to spend some time figuring it out, asking yourself some hard questions, but you’ll get there.”

Shane nods, again swallowing the words that are so clearly caught in his throat. He switches the cigarette to his other hand and stares out the window at the rain. Tim’s mouth dries up at the sight of his long, exposed throat. 

“Is that why it didn’t work out between you and your . . . wife?” Shane asks quietly.

Tim runs his gaze over the piercings in Shane’s earlobe, the delicate bones within the cartilage, then to his set jaw and, finally, over his plush, pouty lips.

“No.” He can hear how hoarse he sounds, how wrecked, but having Shane in front of him again, all those feelings, all those basic urges he denied for the past few weeks come roaring to the front again. He of all people should have known suppression and repression never, ever work. “We were just different people. It had nothing to do with the fact that I also fuck men.”

He watches Shane tremble, the skin on his bare arms suddenly electrified. Slowly, with a shaking breath, Shane twists out his own cigarette, pushing it down roughly with two fingers. 

The thing that has been circling Tim’s mind – like a rabid dog tearing out chunks of his ability to think straight – slides out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“What have your other partners told you?”

Call it twenty years on the force.

Call it a finely tuned bullshit detector. 

Call it whatever you want, but in that moment before Shane opens his mouth, Tim knows he just considered lying to him and Tim’s heart plunges into his gut. He loathes the idea that Shane might lie to him, lie to him about being queer or an aspect of himself he still has questions about. Having someone older and more experienced than him in life alone at Shane’s age would have made all the difference to him as a young man and more than anything, more than his stupid cock, that’s all he really wants. He wants to be there for Shane because no one, not even his own family, has ever told him he means a damn. 

And you mean so much to me already.

Then Shane lets out a shaky breath, the crease in his brown carved deep, but one glance at Tim and it melts away. Without warning, he stands up right and for a split, wonderful second Tim thinks he’s going to crawl into his lap again.

But Tim realizes he’s waiting for something.

With a voice that comes from a very small place, Shane mutters, “there hasn’t been anyone since you.” 

He blinks up at Shane for one second, and then two, and his words register, click in, and everything else fades away. Tim’s on his feet with his finger snagged through one of Shane’s belt loops before common sense or patience can catch up with him.

“Is that right?” Tim purrs as he takes the curve of Shane’s neck in his massive palm, the other going to waist, and Shane instantly gasps at the touch. But that initial elation hardens and he glares at him. Tim is distinctly reminded of an annoyed puppy. 

“Don’t sound so fucking pleased,” Shane snarls through bared teeth. His black nails dig into Tim’s forearm, a warning and a plea. “It’s not like I think about you all the time or anything.”

His eyelids droop when Tim squeezes the back of his neck and Shane lets out a low moan. Tim drops his head against the other man’s forehead. The boy smells like cloves and cinnamon and definitely pot and it’s going to haunt Tim’s memories forever. He closes his eyes and resists the urge to nuzzle that bare cheek. 

“You’re all I think about. Every minute, every day,” Tim hums, “I can’t stop thinking about you and all those little sounds you made when I fucked your ass.”

Another sound, a better one, squeaks out of him – one of protest and desperation and carnal need – and Tim’s control snaps in his hands. 

The hand on Shane slides to the back of his head and Tim all but shoves those pouty lips into his mouth. 

It’s just as fucking fantastic as he remembered. 

Frantic. Needy. Tim kisses him like it’s his job to lick clean the cigarette smoke embedded on Shane’s tongue, on the inside of his mouth, the split cracks in his dry lips. His fingers tangle into that starkly black hair, the strands faintly damp, and his other hand slips to his low back. At that, the boy pulls back enough to let a whine escape from his open mouth before Tim yanks him against his chest. He feels Shane grow hard against his thigh and all the blood rushes out of his brain. 

Briefly dizzy, Tim stumbles forward, his hands catching the table behind Shane’s hips, pinning the younger man between him. He nips at Shane’s neck, trying to get the world to stop spinning.

“Fuck me, baby. You’re going to give this old man a heart attack.” 

Shane guides him into his mouth, his fingers clawing gently at the scruff of his beard, a slower, softer repeat of how Tim had initiated. Warm air puffs across Tim’s beard when Shane retreats, eyes searching for something he needs to find on Tim’s face. 

“Actually,” he breathes softly, “I really do think about you all the time too.”

Tim has never been more grateful for the rough grip on his cheeks because that’s all that’s keeping him from sinking to the ground on wobbly knees. Shane takes another kiss before his hand slips into Tim’s meaty paw and tugs him into the living room. He guides him back to the couch and, with a not-too-gentle push, shoves Tim down against the cushions. The detective goes without resistance.

The pale light from the rain beyond the window and the fluorescent glow behind him etches Shane in a soft halo. Brightness in Shane’s eyes tells him that the man is running on instinct alone – and that’s perfectly fucking fine. Whatever – anything – Shane wants, Tim will gladly offer it up. 

But when his hands drop to Tim’s belt buckle, the rush of heat up his body leaves him almost catatonic. 

“Mhmm, f-fuck, sweetheart, wait a second – d-don’t wanna rush things if you’re not –,”

The sound of his zipper tearing open is like a gunshot and there’s no denying the raw hunger that smears the edges of Shane’s eyes to a dangerous black.

“You have to walk me through it.” He sounds awe-struck.

He sinks to his knees and Tim considers he might actually die on this fucking couch. The heat radiating from those black-tipped hands that run up his thighs has Tim moaning in the back of his throat. He wants to curl that beautiful hair around Shane’s elegant ear – what would he say if Tim told him he has an elegant ear – but he’s using all of his energy to not immediately come when Shane tugs his pants down his hips, just enough to palm him through his boxers. 

As if the sensation of a half-hard cock surprises him, Shane’s lips split apart, eyes locked onto the wet spot beneath his hand. Tim swipes his bottom lip with his tongue, knuckles white as he grips the cushions, watching with aborted breath Shane stroke him gently. He grits his teeth.

“Tell me you want this.” Tell me I’m not forcing you into anything too fast because I’m fucking obsessed with you.

“I want this.” Shane shuffles closer, his hand dipping down to cup his balls, the scent of his cloves hitting Tim again, and Shane quietly gasps as the cock beneath his hand hardens more and more. “I wanna s-suck your cock.”

Tim grunts, his legs opening wider, sliding low into the cushions and now Shane hovers over him. Here is where with other partners in recent years, Tim would lock up. There’s gray in the curls at the base of his cock and his tummy hangs out a bit more, no matter how much he runs. But Shane doesn’t seem to register any of that. His mouth is still open in raw fascination, as if showing off how fucking deep he’s going to take the cock inches from his face. The sight splits heat between his groin and his heart. Tim is not going to fucking rush this. He’ll let Shane touch whatever he wants for as long as he wants even if it makes him come like an overeager teenager. 

Suppressing that peak of heat at Shane’s touch, Tim digs his fingers into Shane’s mop of hair like he’d been wanting to since the kid first offered that drink. At his immediate touch, Shane’s eyes roll back in his head and Tim takes that as an opportunity to scratch at his scalp, with a slight tug at the end. 

“Oh, fuck, please lemme me suck your cock.” 

Shane’s breathing hitches when Tim loosens the grip on his hair, runs his thumb down his temple, scuffs his cheek, and then drags that puffy bottom lip down. He looks absolutely ruined, eyes misty and shoulders slumped forward, and Tim has barely touched him. 

“Take me out, baby,” Tim murmurs, “and I’ll tell you what to do.”

Wide eyes never losing their nervous light, Shane dips his hand below the elastic waistband (why didn’t he put on better underwear?) and cups him, slowly dragging his shorts lower as he pulls Tim’s cock into the light. 

Tim has to remember to breathe. Fuck, it’s so hot in this fucking room. With trembling fingers, he tugs the knot of his tie away from his throat and unbuttons his shirt down to his ribs, as Shane runs an experimental grip up and down the length of his cock. Tim hisses as heat flares brightly and a little too fast. 

Shane’s eyes flick up to his face. “Sorry, too dry?”

Without waiting for a response, Shane cups his hand beneath his mouth and spits, a giant, slick glob. It might be the hottest thing Tim has ever witnessed with his two eyes. Shane’s hand returns and Tim’s eyes flutter shut as he groans. 

“S-s-shit, baby, that’s really good.” 

Tim wants to open his eyes, to see Shane’s face, to get a glimpse of what is going on in that beautiful head, but he can’t drag himself out of the lusty haze long enough. 

And then, after several slow, long pumps that have him harder than he can ever remember being, Tim feels Shane’s palm twist just as his thumb swirls the head and swipes the leaking tip. Pleasure roars up his spine and his hips jerk off the couch. His eyes snap open and find Shane not proud, but surprised. His mouth opens again in glee.

“I fucking love that too,” he murmurs, his hand moving a bit faster now. “Love it when they play with the tip.”

“Mhmm, hmm.” 

As Shane finds a slightly hurried rhythm with his strokes, Tim is greedily storing away images and sensations in lockbox after lockbox in his memory. Has Shane’s hands always looked so thick?

“You can try whatever you want.” Tim murmurs, his gaze jumping between the hand around his cock, Shane’s mouth, and that hand with the black nails against his thigh. “If you like something, I’ll probably like it too.” 

Shane wets his lip, his eyes darting to Tim’s face as if looking for permission. Tim nods, his heart pounding in a completely different way than from exertion, and has to breathe into his stomach as Shane parts his lips and lowers his mouth to his cock. Inch by inch, he takes him deeper and deeper, his hand falling away to Tim’s other thigh, as he sinks closer to those gray-streaked curls.

Tim is genuinely caught on the knife-edge of pleasure and pain. Exquisite pleasure saps his entire body of energy, every grunt and sigh bursts of tiny releases, but with every inch into Shane’s warm, wet mouth, his tongue a rough glide on the underside of his cock, it becomes harder and harder to not buck his hips and god, does he fucking want to. He wants to grab Shane by the back of the head, hold him steady, and fuck that mouth like it’s the last fuck of his life. But he won’t, he can’t – Shane isn’t ready for that and quite honestly, neither is he, despite how the arousal of that mental image floods him with hot satisfaction. He’s going to tear apart this couch with his bare hands, though.

Shane gets about halfway and then chokes and Tim is yanked out of the dream in a panic.

“B-baby, are you okay?” 

Shane splutters and nods, the back of his hand coming to his lips, as if trying to hide his smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaks. “My gag reflex is shit though.” 

Tim sighs with relief and a strangled orgasm. He’s so hard it hurts but he doesn’t give a fuck. “You’re doing fine, sweetheart. Better than fine, actually.”

Tim meets his eyes as they go dark and hungry with a flash of that spitfire that Tim only ever saw on the other side of a metal interview table before. 

“Guess you’ll have to train up my reflex, then.”

“Yeah?” This kid has no idea what he’s playing with. Shane kneels between his spread legs, hands gently rubbing the meat of his thighs, those dark eyes swirling almost maliciously. Tim pinches Shane’s chin between his thumb and curled forefinger, thrusting that belligerent mouth up. “You gonna listen to an authority figure for once in your goddamn life?” 

“I’ll try my best,” he pouts, his neck arched back. 

“Blow on it.” Tim commands. “Start from the bottom and go to the top.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tim’s cock visibly throbs and Shane hasn’t even opened his mouth. But then he does, leaning forward when Tim releases his chin. He blows a quick burst of air around Tim’s curls, before opening his mouth wide and breathing heavily, wetly, warmly around the base of the cock in front of him. Then, as he was told, he lifts up and to the very top of that leaking head. 

“Take the tip – just the tip – and suck on it, gently at first.”

Shane does as he is instructed, his eyes never leaving Tim’s face or losing that maniacal glint, and he sucks, making a similar face (Tim assumes) as when he’s slurping up ice cream. Shane sucks harder and a loud, lewd moan rips out of Tim’s throat. 

“Now take it all in, as much as you can. Then swallow.”

Shane dips his head, mouth gliding down his veiny shaft, spit slipping out of the corner of his mouth, going down and down and down until he breathes sharply through his nose. Tim, clutching at sanity as it sprinkles through his fingers, watches the sharp planes of Shane’s shoulders and back churn and roll as he lifts his head up and down. He wants to loop his fingers through those black curls so badly.

“I’m gonna touch you now, okay?” Shane grunts his approval, the blush of air against his groin sending a bolt of pleasure up Tim’s spine, and he soothes his own tattered nerves by digging into Shane’s hair, scratching a bit like he had before. But then he loosens and just lets his hand rest contentedly on the back of his head. 

The drumming beat of rain and Shane’s wet mouth is a narcotic. The sight and sounds and smells of it all makes his brain melt, deep desires usually chained down by his restraint snapping and popping free like fireworks.

What’s he going to feel like when Shane can take all of him?

How long and how often does he have to do this to train him up?

Could he come home after working a twelve hour shift to Shane crawling onto his knees and sucking him off, just like this? Like this, in perfect domestic bliss –

Out of nowhere, Shane swallows and Tim has to claw into his own thigh to keep from coming right then and there. 

“Oh, fucking Christ –,” he yelps. As if encouraged, Shane tries to go a little deeper, swallow a little harder, but he gags again. When he lifts his head, his eyes are wet and Tim wonders if it's possible to black out from being so aroused. 

“Sorry,” Shane mutters, wiping his mouth again. “Your cock is so fucking big. It felt big in my ass but this –,”

Tim’s eyes slip closed. “Shut the fuck up. You can’t – can’t say those things.” 

He breathes heavily, the pounding in his heart only slightly stronger than the blood pounding in his cock. But Shane is suspiciously quiet.

Tim opens his eyes and finds a curious expression on Shane’s face as he stares at Tim’s cock. No, not his cock, a bit below –

Shane turns and tugs the low, tattered table behind him closer. He puts Tim’s foot against the edge, and then does the same with the other. The haze in Tim’s brain won’t let him piece it together until Shane dips his head, tongue already out.

“Whoa, whoa, baby–,” he grasps Shane’s shoulder and he stops. “I can’t ask you to do that. I don’t want to push you too far tonight.”

Shane rolls his eyes, flatly annoyed. “I’ve eaten ass before, Tim. I’m not a blushing fucking virgin.” 

Tim can actually feel the second that sweat breaks out across his hairline. “A-are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I actually know what I’m doing there. I mean, an asshole is an asshole, right?”

He isn’t sure if he likes how fast Shane has grown in confidence, or if it’s the sexist thing he’s ever seen. Maybe he’s the one not entirely ready.

“Y-yeah. Alright. Fire away, then.”

And with that first kitten lick, Tim finally comprehends just how fucked he is. He knew he was, but it’s not until Shane masterfully rims the edge of that ringed muscle does he know, with clear certainty, this kid is going to ruin him.

Shane’s hand curls around Tim’s shaft, his tongue prodding his asshole, and Tim makes a loud, open-mouthed moan that hits the quiet air of the apartment and shatters.

Within seconds, he’s hurling towards a release so violent, his thighs shake. Shane pumps him slowly, his mouth making everything wet and drippy, his eyes eagerly catching every twitch and moan Tim makes. 

When Tim feels his balls draw up, dangling over the precipice, he snatches Shane by the hair and yanks him back. Again, Shane makes a sound like an irritated cat.

“C’mon,” he huffs, his face red as if he had mitigated his breathing. “Lemme do this.” 

Tim swallows everything – his tongue, his orgasm, the desire to lick the brat right out of Shane’s pouty mouth – and shoves it all down as far as it will go. He’s left sweaty and panting, holding Shane by the flat of his hair at arm’s length. He swallows again and sits up, that airless high settling. Shane scowls petulantly

“You still want me to fuck that ass, right?”

His glare cracks in half. Those swollen lips part and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Then you fucking listen to me when I tell you to stop sucking cock. Got it?”

Shane nods more insistently, tongue swiping fast against his bottom lip. “Y-yeah.” 

Tim lets go and resists the urge to correct him to how he addressed him before, but fucking Christ, one thing at time.

“Which one is yours?” Tim nods towards the two closed doors across from him. Wordlessly, Shane points to the one farthest from the living room. “Show me.” 

Tim barely grunts as he stands up, his knees dangerously unsteady, his back twinging from the low position on the couch and the fact that there’s more padding on a highway road than inside of those cushions. 

Again, just as he thinks he might tip over, Shane takes his hand, intertwining their fingers, and leads him through the door. 

The sun had set on an already dark day, so in the burgeoning twilight, Shane’s room is a collection of shadows and blue outlines. Beyond the vinyl window slats, the rain pours harder than ever, muffling the sounds of cars on the street and the blunders of other people in the building. With the door closed, the air is warm, but not uncomfortably so, more like a soothing hand against his sweaty neck. The pleasant scent of incense is unmistakable, a far cry from any other smell in the apartment. 

The effect of it all, standing in Shane’s room, alone, is . . . isolating.

“It’s not much,” Shane murmurs, as if he worried Tim would find something about his space distasteful. “But I did clean up.” His eyes grow wide as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Not that I thought, or even expected that this – that you’d –”

Tim brings their locked hands to Shane’s cheek and gently, sweetly kisses him on the mouth. For a man so confident in his ability to drive his partner insane with his tongue up their ass, the boy quivers beneath a soft touch. Tim pulls back and finds blurry, unfocused eyes. 

“What do you want to do tonight?” Tim hums and strokes an errant curl back from Shane’s cheek. 

“This.” Shane says immediately. “This feels so fucking good.”

“Where do you sleep?” Tim asks, quietly, letting the words slow to a rumble, his free hand gently cupping the boy’s neck. The bed is unmissable, but he wants to give Shane as much control as he needs. Beneath his hands, Shane’s breathing stutters for a moment, before biting down on his bottom lip and leading Tim to the haphazardly made-up bed. He sits, big eyes staring up at him, at their bound hands, before releasing his grip and lying back on the bed. He scoots up, nestling that all black hair against his gray pillow.

“Here.” His voice is strangled, choked, his fingers twisting together as he picks at his nails. “Right h-here.” 

“Is that why you look so good right here, baby?” Tim slides the tail end of his tie out of the knot and off his neck. Shane licks his lips, transfixed, as Tim continues to unbutton his wrinkled shirt. The bit of clothing falls to the floor and Tim nearly matches Shane in a white sleeveless shirt. Black and white, punk and cop. There’s poetry in there somewhere.

Tim continues to undress; shoes first, then socks, and finally his slacks. Shane gets a little jumpy as he crawls up the bed. 

“Are you comfortable?” 

“Yes.” Tim raises an eyebrow at the jeans confining his hard cock. “No, sorry, n-no – I’ll take them off.” 

Tim gives him enough space to unbutton his pants, then sloppily jerk them off. He flings them over by Tim’s and Tim grins. He settles back down with Shane nearly underneath him and gently strokes his cheek. Everywhere he touches on the boy, it’s warm. Women aren’t like that, usually, and in turn, it satisfies something deep inside of him. Tim thinks of the tender warmth of the heated skin of a deer after it’s run a long distance. 

“You still want it, baby?” This he asks honestly and without the grungy purr to his voice. 

Again, without hesitation, Shane nods, but then stops. His chest swells like the words he wants to say are caught on the back of his throat, his nails gently biting into Tim’s chest, so Tim presses thoughtfully into the arch of Shane’s jaw, encouraging him. His doe eyes darting across Tim’s face, tension coiling up in his thighs, Shane says,

“I want it from the back this time.”

Oh, fuck. 

With half of a groan and half of a laugh, Tim dips forward and loosely bites Shane on his ear. “You really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?” 

Shane giggles as Tim’s nips slowly turn to open-mouthed kisses. He sucks sharply on the thrumming pulse of his neck, and Shane groans, his whole body writhing to be closer to Tim’s mouth, his skinny arms going around Tim’s broad shoulders. 

“Do you mind?” Shane asks, breaking apart for a moment, his lips brushing Tim’s mustache. “I know you did it last time and if you wanna, um, I mean I can try but –”

Tim grins through the smile pressed onto a corner of that sweet mouth as he sits up on his knees. He smooths a hand up through the faint trail of hair just above Shane’s waistband, then up his ribs, stopping to thumb a hard, pink nipple, before kissing both of his cheeks. 

“No, I don’t mind. I will never, ever mind when you ask so nicely.” 

“But one day – you w-want me too, right?” 

Ribbons of meaning hang over that question, their soft tassels hard to grab before slipping through Tim’s grasp. His brow furrows, his hand resting on Shane’s hip. The boy stares up at him like he hangs the moon in the sky.

Those ribbons drag forward new questions of their own, questions he can’t ask himself, much less out loud. They all clatter and fall into one big heap in his mouth and he can’t untangle them right now, not while he has Shane looking like that, but one slips through before he can stop it.

“You wanna do this again, with me?” The question lingers in the air like smoke, as gentle and insistent as the rain outside.

Shane’s fingers curl around Tim’s wrists. He smiles. “Yeah, of course. I . . . like you.” Blush trickles up his neck and into his ears, but he keeps his grip. “If you wanna keep me around, I mean.”

His voice goes small, from somewhere he never lets anyone see. Just as Shane’s eyes jerk off him, shame hot in his gaze, his body going rigid, Tim leans down and kisses him, the softest kiss they’d ever shared. The scent of cloves comes again as Shane offers his tongue and Tim takes it. 

They kiss in the cover of the rain, in the shelter of the space that is entirely theirs, for one eternity and a half. When Tim opens his eyes, he is someone new, someone changed. Someone he doesn’t recognize and that’s a wonderful thing.

“I’ll take you like you want,” he says softly. Beneath his chest, skin to skin, he can feel Shane’s heart pounding. He hopes Shane can feel his. “But I wanna see your face for a bit. Is that okay?” 

Shane nods and kisses him as he tries to pull away. Tim smirks and rubs Shane’s hip bone with his thumb.

“Remember what I said about preparing? Have you been doing that?”

Shane bites his lip as if caught doing something particularly filthy. “Yeah, I’m up to three fingers now.”

Fucking hell. Be cool about this. 

“Good, baby. Do you have lube?”

Shane rolls his eyes, that blush now blotchy on his throat. “Duuuh. I don’t know why you think I’m some bl–”

“– ushing fucking virgin. I heard you the first time.” Shane narrows his eyes playfully and Tim cannot wait to spank that smirk right off him. “Then go get it.”

Shane wiggles out from between Tim’s legs and crawls over to the bedside table. He digs around a bit before pulling out a box of condoms and a blue bottle. He tosses them at Tim like he’s throwing laundry detergent, before hovering for a moment. Lips between his teeth, he stiffly slips his underwear off and down the floor. His bracelets clink as he moves and Tim can tell it sounds like an air raid siren to him. Naked, he crawls back to bed and settles beneath Tim flat on his back.

“For someone who is so bothered by authority,” Tim begins and just as Shane frowns, wrenching his mouth open to argue, Tim sits back between his thighs and folds his knees up, spreading him wide. Whatever retort Shane had dies on his throat and the only thing left is a soft whine. “You are such a good boy. I didn’t even have to ask you to get naked for me.”

Shane’s cock, exposed for the first time all night, twitches on his stomach. He squirms as Tim picks up the bottle and clicks up the lid with his thumb, his other hand resting briefly on the arch of Shane’s foot. 

“I’m gonna start with one again, but move faster into two this time, okay? Then we’ll see if you’re lying to me or not.” Resistance flashes in Shane’s eyes at Tim’s smirk, but the boy stays silent. 

But that defiant look melts away to aching bliss when Tim drizzles the lube between his cheeks, and then Tim’s own fingers. His other hand curls around Shane’s knee and squeezes, grounding them both. 

“Probably should have gotten a towel,” Tim mutters and the sound Shane was going to use to reply fractures and crumbles, oozing into a throaty moan when his asshole spreads apart around a single finger. 

Maybe it’s his age, or maybe he’s never had his asshole played with in a way he likes, but Shane is so fucking sensitive. He’s twitching and gasping after a few strokes, black nails curling into the bedsheets. His eyes are squeezed shut, not from pain or discomfort, but from trying desperately not to come. Tim recognizes that look; he wore it himself fifteen minutes ago. 

Shane’s cock is trickling all over his stomach by the time Tim adds a second finger. And true to his word, it goes in without much resistance, much to Tim’s delight. This means there can be a bit more fun than just aimlessly prodding. Shane lets out a high moan when Tim’s fingers change angles. 

“What the fuck are you doing down there?” Shane pants, sweat peaking at his hairline. He moans again before Tim can answer, his back arching off the bed. 

“Searching.”

“For fucking what? I–,” Shane’s eyes snap open, horror and heat etched in the dark rims. “You can’t touch that, it’s not fair. You’ll make me come.”

Tim kisses his knee as he adds a third finger, grinning when Shane’s head thumps back against the pillow. “I think that’s the whole point of this, sweetheart.” 

Shane whines his answer; Tim speeds up his thrusting, giving up for now. 

“You’re doing so well, darling, so well. You did so good to prepare for my cock.”

Shane fists the bedsheets, his thigh muscles tightening. Tim thinks he can’t actually comprehend his words, until he wrenches his jaw apart. “Just your cock. I did it for your cock, Rockford, no one else’s. Don’t - don’t want anyone’s cock but yours in me.” 

This is just cock-drunk babble, tongue loose with whatever nonsense fills his mouth, his brain no longer in control.

Right?

Either way, Tim slips his fingers out with practiced precision, easing on the condom, then squirting his cock and Shane’s exposed hole with lube in one go. If Shane has noticed anything, his blissed out expression doesn’t change . . . until he feels the tip of Tim’s thick head expand his asshole.

His stare locked onto Shane’s blissed out face, Tim pushes forward, using Shane’s knees as leverage. 

The boy honest to god chokes. His cock spits up his chest. 

“Ohmy god . . .” 

Tim goes slow enough he knows it won’t hurt, his fingers opened him enough that the lube only adds to the pleasure, but he’s not entirely worried about that right now. He wants him stupid and babbling again.

“This cock, sweetheart? This is the cock you’ve been making room for?”

Shane whines, lips white between his teeth, nodding vigorously. Tim rubs his hip soothingly and Shane’s face breaks open with a loud gasp. His eyes snap down to where he swallows Tim inch after inch.

“You’re so much bigger than my fingers. Holy fucking shit. I forgot how big you are.” 

“But you like that, right?” There’s a collective sigh of relief as Tim finally is flushed against him. Huffing like a wounded animal, Tim pushes the mop of hair back from Shane’s sweaty forehead. “You like how I fuck you, don’t you?”

Shane nods again, as Tim grips his waist and he wraps his fingers around Shane’s forearms, his bracelets tinkling softly, as he settles in for what he can’t even possibly imagine.

“You’re damn fucking right I like how you fuck me.” Shane rasps out. “Wouldn’t let you do it if it didn’t rock my fucking world.” 

“I’m gonna go a bit faster than I did last time. You say stop if it gets to be too much.”

“I know what a safeword is, Rockford, I’m not –,”

Tim rolls his hips forward, knocking a surprised breath from Shane. He stabilizes a bit better with his knees and then picks up a rhythm, slow but deep.

“If you say blushing fucking virgin one more time, I’m putting you over my knee and spanking you.” 

But words fail him.

They fail Tim too, eventually, when rings of heat stack, one upon the other, up his spine. Every time Shane’s asshole clenches around him, those rings drop lower, closer to his groin. 

It feels too fucking good. 

The rhythmic chime of Shane’s metal bracelets clinking together can barely be heard over the rain outside, and the peaks and valleys of the heavy moans piling up in the room.

Shane’s flattened hand against his head board, he grinds his hips down, forcing even more resistance than just his tight hole. 

“Fuck,” he whines high and loud, Tim tightening his grip on his waist as he all but bounces Shane on his cock. “Oh god, I can’t – I can’t –,” 

Tim’s skin is so hot he wonders if he’s giving off steam. He’s sweating from his forehead, his neck, the backs of his knees, a slick wetness spreading across his groin every time he slams that cute little ass back against him. Not another single word of derision has passed Shane’s lips in what feels like forever, his mouth switching rapidly between grinding his teeth and dropping open when Tim brushes up against something nuclear. 

If Tim is steaming, Shane is melting. Every muscle in his body is weak, knees around Tim’s hips to give him better access. Cum rolls in white streaks off his stomach and onto the rapidly shifting sheets. 

Tim knows if he just breaths on the that pink cock, it’s all fucking over – so he slows, and pulls back out of him. 

A Shane with a functioning brain would have demanded an explanation but the gooey mess of a boy in the bed only lifts his gaze. 

“Turn around,” Tim pants. 

“What?” 

“You wanted me too . . .” Tim spins his finger, squeezing the base of his cock with his other hand. “Turn over.” 

“Oh, right.” Despite that almost sleepy murmur, Tim can hear the disappointment. At the head of the bed, a shaking hand swipes away one pillow then the other and Shane buries his face in the mattress.

His ass is already pink as Tim spreads his thighs, his knee nudging his right leg to bend, and lines up. But Shane is murmuring something into the sheets. 

“… stop.” 

Tim freezes, one hand around his cock the other flat against the bed by Shane’s hips. 

“You want me to stop?” 

Shane lifts his head enough to look back and whine. “Don’t — don’t stop.” Crackling with unspent energy, Shane rubs his face against the sheets like a cat. “Please.”

Tim grins as he lines himself up again, his free hand coming to Shane’s thigh when the cockhead spreads his cheeks. 

“Don’t worry, darling, I’m not gonna –,”

Tim stops moving. It’s long enough and unusually fraught enough for Shane to lift his head in confusion, Tim’s cock barely in.

“What happened?” 

Tim is staring, struck dumb and mindless at the sight of Shane’s lower back.

“You’ve got two dimples here,” he murmurs, the growl in his voice thick and rough.

“Yeah? So?”

Without warning, Tim yanks Shane onto his hands and knees by his waist. The sudden movement is rough for his loose muscles and he yelps. 

“Fuck – what’s got you all fucking twisted up now?”

Tim is no longer entirely himself. His shoulders seem broader, nose sharper, mouth firmer. His eyes have been eclipsed by black as one by one, he puts his hands on Shane’s hips, and then twists his thumbs to fit into the divots of his dimples as he, achingly slow, pushes back into Shane’s abused hole.

“You’ve got fucking handles built in, baby.” Tim murmurs and heat radiates from where they are connected, Shane’s skin flushed with red and goosebumps. The sensation jams the signal to Shane’s brain. 

Behind him, Tim kisses his back almost lovingly.

“I’m definitely gonna wreck your shit now.” 

On the first tug, the one that snugs Tim’s groin right up against his ass, Tim knows he only has seconds left in him. 

These strokes are brutal, fast, and short. Whatever sounds tears itself from Shane’s throat is the prettiest thing Tim has ever heard. His mouth goes wet as he watches Shane’s shoulders and back go loose again and on another day, he’s going to clench his fist around that mop of hair and pull until Shane begs him to stop.

Another day. But not today. 

Tim focuses on the things he can control to elongate that enormous orgasm that rattles his teeth. His thumbs in the perfect little divots of Shane’s back; he pushes down, increasing the pressure higher up, and actually hears the cum squirt out onto the bed, followed by a groan that shakes Shane from head to toe. He focuses on his breathing, the short huffs out his nose, mouth closed shut but tiny mhm mhm mhm’s escape anyway. He tries to focus on the glint around his pelvis but that makes things worse. 

He focuses on – fuck, what can he focus on? – Shane hasn’t made a noise in –

“Shane, baby, are you okay?”

He gasps out as though electrified. “I’m trying so hard not to come, I don’t want it to fucking stop, but you hit my g-spot three thrusts ago and I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Tim can’t help but chuckle. He rubs a warm palm up Shane’s spine, then gives his neck a reassuring squeeze, before leaning forward and draping himself over Shane’s trembling frame, never slowing those fast, rough thrusts. He noses his ear as his hand slips around the cock leaking profusely onto the sheets. 

“You can come, but it has to be loud and messy.” 

Just half a stroke down and Shane comes with a cry that paints the inside of Tim’s brain permanently. And he keeps coming, gasping, wet and whining. Over his shoulder, Tim feels a dribble against his knee and that, combined with all of Shane’s delicious fucking sounds, knocks free Tim’s own release, the swell and burst far away from his control. Shane’s elbows are trembling by the time he slumps to the side, trying and mostly failing to avoid his own cumstain. Tim drops behind him in a haze. 

He’s already sore, every muscle tightened then released over and over and over again. He can’t inhale properly and he’s got a stitch in his side. There’s a pulsing all over his body and he isn’t sure if that’s from coming so hard he nearly shot off the condom, or his heart pounding like it’s about to explode. His skin is wet and sticky and he’s hungry but exhausted and he would hate all of this if he was alone, but . . .

Weary down to his bones, the breath settling in his chest and the fog lifting slightly, Tim puts a hand on the narrow waist in front of him. Fingers join his, wrapping together, as the frenetic energy of the room slows to a crawl, each moment plodding along in front of the next like fat water droplets. 

“. . . good, that was good,” Tim slurs to no one in particular, his eyelids flickering open and shut. “You’re . . . s’good.” He knows they should talk, but he’s past speech, or rather anything coherent, his consciousness slipping beneath the churning dark waves of sleep.

The smooth back in front of him, shiny with drying sweat, shakes in a dizzy, silent chuckle.

“Go to sleep, old man.”

Tim knows he should be offended, or he thinks he should, if he could comprehend language right now, so instead he settles into the warmth and the darkness. Soon the only sound he can hear is the rain pattering against the window and Shane softly snoring before reality winks out.

+

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

With Grace, Bow

Commissioned by @turbulentscrawl

Rated Mature (to be safe) | Warnings: Drunkenness, Student-Teacher dynamic, googled Italian (sorry in advance)

Ao3

Antonio Paganini, you have known him for a few years now being roommates and all. He is an interesting person, one with skeletons in his closet and a demon at the door. You were nervous around him at first, unsure how to start a conversation with him. It was upon the mutual interest in music that he started speaking with you, he was the one who approached you while you were trying to play the violin. It was the first time you had ever seen him look so at peace, his face always has sadness written all over it. 

In that moment you saw a man in love with his craft and willing to share it. The closer you became to him the more you found pieces of a man in need of succor. Something inside of that man is broken beyond repair, or maybe it was ripped out of him leaving a void of emptiness. Antonio Paganini is the greatest violinist to ever exist! Yet, he seems so very far away, somewhere dark with a ball and chain keeping him in that abyss. His melodies are sad if one listens carefully like the cries of a trapped bird with clipped wings.

Being gentle with him is an option, one you took but quickly learned he needed a firm hand against his backside at times. The dynamic between you both shifted one day when your mother had sought out her ‘lost child’... You were thrown out by your father when he found out his child wanted to go into the arts rather than business. You have a talent and you were firm about using it to enrich the world!

Your father called you delusional and kicked you with nothing but the shirt on your back.

When he was ‘dying’ he begged you to come home and got your mother involved to try to get you to come home. You sent to him one sentence in a letter: I will come home when you are cold in the grave. 

And well, he is very cold in the grave and you inherited half of the wealth from your other sibling (who is currently going to medical school, also against the shared father’s wishes). 

With the money you have, you are glad to pay the violinist his due! A better apartment, and a new violin (only to be used once you have progressed past using the novice one).

Yet, you know it is not enough for him to be comfortable to just teach you, he needs to be out there like a bird fresh from the nest… Only he… Maybe it is not your place to judge but he acts also pompous when you find him a place to perform.

You thought you were helping, helping get used to flying but all did was land you in the current position of being livid, the livid that is mixed with hurt and self-disappointment.

As you stand in front of the man playing, you do not watch and clap at his performance, no, you just feel sorry for the fool. Your fool, your teacher, someone you know not to look up to but admire. There are few people gathered around him watching in awe of his performance, few have even dropped a few coins or dollars in his violin case—the fact he can play while drunk is a testament to his skill and muscle memory.

Still, you are very cross with the sight. Has lost his mind to be a drunken fool in public!? Besides the possibility of being arrested for public drunkenness, he should be at that performance you were hoping to see him in.

“Antonio!” He stops as you stand in front of him, “What are you doing!?” Quickly stopping his arm from moving and pulling him out of wherever his mind was.

“My friend!” Throwing his arms open, you dodge the violin bow before he leans forward, drunkenly draping over you, “Where have you been?” His words are not as clear as he may think. He stands up suddenly with a smile wide on his face. “Join me! Oh, where is your violin?” Is this man serious!?

“In the hall wondering when you were taking the stage.” Crossing your arms and with furrowing brows, you are going to ignore that last question with a wave of your hand.

He shrinks a bit as your tone makes it crystal clear you are more than disappointed with him. With the group looking on at the potential unfolding drama, you grab his violin case, closing it. “Home. Now.” He can carry his violin on the way.

“Evening.” Curt as Antonio is dragged behind you as you take him by the hand, the crowd leaving with nonsense grumbling. “I can’t believe you would do this!” Say under your breath. The Violinist is rambling, you are not paying attention to him, then you stop when feel his weight getting heavier to pull. “Antonio?”

He drapes over you, his hair smooth against your face as laughs the way you hate, self-deprecating. You know Antonio can be a mean drunk, you have seen it at a pub one time a fight he was not in the wrong for but the viciousness he showed was not called for. Now he acting affectionate, needy like a cat, and you wish you could give it to him. But you are mad! You remind yourself that your teacher has fucked up because of his damn pride.

“It's cold.” His arm wrapped around you, his face rubbing against yours and you swear if he was not holding his treasured violin, you would push him into the snow!

“Of course it's cold!” Glancing behind you then realizing, “Where is your coat?” He only dressed in his performance coattail suit. The burn of your cheeks hidden by your scarf, he cold but you are not giving him anything! Stupid winter, stupid snow, you want to cry in frustration. Drunken idiot! Wintertime is the best time to get booked for performances! During the holidays everyone loves to see Christmas plays, musicals need musicians! And the orchestras always need the best of the best.

“I gave it to a poor lad I passed by,” Dragging out the last word, “Poor thing.” He has no idea that nothing he is saying makes sense.

“What am I going to do with you…” Exasperated.

The trek home was long because Antonio was comedically dramatic and you were worried about him falling over. At least the brisk way partly sobered up the man but God above you needed some patience. He stumbles inside first, you take his violin and gently place the poor thing on the table in the living room— You pray the instrument is not worn from being in the cold for so long. The case is placed next to it.

The violinist stumbles around talking about needing a brandy. You scowl before grabbing his arm and tossing him on the couch, he looks confused but remains in that spot as you take off your coat, scarf, and gloves then place them in the appropriate area. This gave you time to name the many reasons why you should not murder Paganini.

“Don’t be rough, alunno.” Being tall, he looks silly on the couch with one leg on the other cushion and his other leg stretched out on the floor. Antonio holds his head before slumping further until he lies completely out on the couch.

“Pride before the fall, maestro. Pride before the fucking fall!” He turns around slightly as you are going on one of the lectures. Yes, the dynamic between the two of you is teacher and student but feels more like an old married couple constantly bickering. 

“I'm sorry.” He sounds pitiful, not in a cute way, drunk and sad. Rare given he usually is the violent type. “Don't be upset with me.” His hand reaches out for you as you go to him. “Mi alunno.” You remove his shoes, each one drops to the floor. Antonio sits up to caress your cheek, “Scusami tanto.” Slipping into Italian knowing how charming it sounds to you.

Not now though.

“No. No, you messed up! I waited for you! Do you know how scared I was? Thinking how maybe something happened to you along the way! They demanded compensation for the embarrassment and I had to cover for you!”

Yes, you are yelling at him! Rightfully so.

“Scusami tanto.” Deeper his head is on your shoulder as the hand on your cheek moves to your neck, his thumb rubs against your throat, “You do so much for me.”

“I do… Happily.”  Because he is just an old bird who is struggling to fly and keeps falling but you are there to catch him no matter what. Love does that, makes people stupid and helpless.

“Alunno,” His breath is hot on the other side of your neck, “(Name).”

“Not while you are drunk, maestro.” You lay him down under before laying on top of him. The couch is small but it somehow works, “I'm still upset too.” Playing with his hair.

He holds you–No– He clings to you like a lifeline, his hands latching onto your body as he seeks both your warmth and comfort.

Tomorrow he will get a proper earful while recovering from a hangover, then he will have to make up for the performance he missed.

There is pride, he should have been paid better than the chump change they offered.

There is greed for he wants more and they do not deserve his skills.

There is wrath which in this case is the righteous anger you should have.

There is sloth, he is not lazy he just refuses to do more work than he needs to do for something like that performance (he wonders how well did you do? He did say you were ready to perform if you practiced more).

There is gluttony as he drank enough to have him act shamefully.

There is envy towards you that keeps him with a roof over his head, and food in his stomach, and you allow him to do what he loves and does best. He wishes he could give you more but his debt to you by now is far too great to ever repay you.

And finally, there is lust. The sin the demon feeds the most on while around you, his student. You love him, it is clear in all your actions. The one night you shared over too many glasses of wine, the messy kisses, and the way you would moan both his title and name had him struggling to hold back that demon edger to devour you.

He is a sinful man, flawed, broken; but even with all those things he has enough virtue to do right by you.

[askourweavetalecharacters]

Welcome!

How did you stumble across this thing!? I thought this would be undiscoverable… I digress.

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…

You… you have no idea what the hell a "WeaveTale" is? No, no, don't Google it, you won't find it right away… NO, it's not the organization "WeaveTales," that was a total coincidence. Let me explain.

WeaveTale is one of those AUs that alters the direction/events/story of the original game. Think of what Handplates or Endertale did, but on crack, and potentially several other stimulants. Essentially, at some point before/during the events of the original game, a massive, dimensional scale calamity occurred that mashed, threw, ripped apart and fused ~90% of all timelines in their universe. This event is known as "the merge." Many, many bizarre things happened collaterally in the aftermath; past characters were brought back to life, new characters rose from the ashes, etc. Namely, anybody & everybody now has the ability to traverse through the barren husks of timelines, frozen in time. This means that multiple of the same character can be in one timeline at once. That is very, VERY important, so keep it in mind for later.

The worlds inside of the timelines remained relatively intact (aside from some layout changes for some reason), however the vast majority of the inhabitants were violently thrown across time and space, ripping them away from the ones they know and love. Unfortunately, in such a scenario, most character's psyches dwindled fast and hard, spiraling rapidly into madness. It's a genuine rarity to come across more than a handful of rational, coherent individuals. They all USED to be normal… but they lost everything.

… but what if characters from the same timelines found each other? What if characters found solace in befriending individuals from different timelines? What if… it didn't have to be so hopeless?

WeaveTale is centered around a found family who met and bonded after the merge, having nobody other than each other. Some are characters from UNDERTALE, others are entirely original. All timelines in this universe, while having the same characters & events of the original game, have unique and varying backstories for all characters who inhabit them. No two people will have the exact same origins, even if they're literal identical copies of one another.

3 of my closest friends and I have crafted WeaveTale over the past 6 years through a Roblox UNDERTALE roleplay game (the one by siqk). Initially beginning in late May/early June of 2018, it's blossomed into something beyond what our wildest dreams could have possibly predicted. We're very, VERY passionate about this, so we're more than happy to spread the word of this silly little family. Speaking of…!

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THE (MAIN) CHARACTERS

SNOWEY DREW THEM ALL, CHECK IT OUT HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In this blog, you'll be able to ask my characters and my friend Snowey's characters absolutely ANYTHING you want to. Fair warning: The family dynamic and relationships are fucking WEIRD.

(Here's a question that EVERYONE responded to. It sums up all of their personalities pretty well.)

MY CURRENT CHARACTER LINEUP

(NOTE: These characters may not be the only ones to appear. I have ~89 characters. Most of them are total jokes and incredibly minor, but there's a select few who I may bring in for some cameos. The main lineups also may expand over time, assuming this blog gains ANY traction whatsoever. Also, if you stumble across a post with a character(s) not listed here, such as one like this, feel free to ask that character questions as well! These are just the main-est of the mains.)

PUNS

Puns is the nickname of my Sans. He comes from one of the few timelines that was untouched by the merge.

He's a lot more "grown up" than UNDERTALE's Sans, now having actual responsibilities and whatnot.

Funnily enough, despite his nickname, I don't think Puns ever tells any jokes…

CHARMX

Charmx is the nickname of my Chara, who comes from the same timeline as Puns.

Yes. Charmx. I stole Karl's old username. Back in 2019, I called her "Charmx" as a joke, and for some reason it stuck as a legitimate nickname… sorry Karl.

Charmx was brought back to life by the merge, her aging permanently stunted. Imagine being twelve FOREVER. And not even being able to DIE! Christ…

She's Puns's adopted daughter, having not seen the Dreemurrs in a long time. She's also the adopted sister of Chara Comic (who is played by Crow and isn't currently included in this particular ask blog), and the sister to Shitpost, who we'll get to in a bit.

DAVE

Dave is a demon from hell. Yes, you heard it right, THAT hell. He's 16 thousand something years old, and his purpose in hell was to punish rapists and the like.

Having gotten bored one day, he thought it would be hilarious if he possessed a random Asriel and used him as a vessel to fuck with people. Satan, thinking it was a terribly stupid idea, punished Dave by trapping him in the Asriel's body. Here's exactly how that went down. Dave definitely regretted his decision for a while…

He used to be, well, a huge dick. Entertaining to chat with, but still a dick. After befriending, befucking, and bedating Shitpost, he mellowed out a lot and is now a very friendly, happy guy.

GA A STAR

…

Uh… how do I… explain this…

So back in ~2017 or so, I was playing Vexchan's UNDERTALE roleplay game, and I thought that the 3D Gaster morph looked absolutely ridiculous. Comical, even. So naturally, I wanted to make a Walmart brand version of Gaster using the morph as a joke. I think that, originally, I was gonna name him "Gumpler" or "Gooster" or something along those lines. However, the filter for the roleplay names in that game was fucking ATROCIOUS, so it got censored. And then the next idea I had got censored. And the next. And the next, and the next, so on & so forth. Finally, in my rage, I slammed my fingers down onto my keyboard and mangled together "ga a star," the ONLY name that worked. I went with it, and it stuck.

At some point in late 2018, I decided it would be fun if I brought over a couple old characters of mine from Vexchan's RP over to WeaveTale, which included Ga a star and also Dave. Because there isn't a terrible Gaster morph in siqk's game, I had to compromise and use the Riverperson morph, as a lot of actual Gaster roleplayers did back then due to there not being a Gaster morph in that game at all. So now Ga a star wears a cloak (not shown in his sprite), which is… uh… "enterable."

I don't know how to describe Ga a star as a character. He initially began as a joke, and has evolved into… a stranger joke. But he's part of the family, and I couldn't imagine him not being there. Do not expect coherent responses if you ask him anything. He takes over me whenever I play him or write as him. It's The Lard.

PAPYRUS

Puns's brother. Need I say more? It's Papyrus!

No, seriously, there isn't a catch. He's literally just a regular Papyrus, who I play as accurately as I can.

He's a cool guy.

SNOWEY'S CURRENT CHARACTER LINEUP

SHITPOST (Yes, that's her "actual" name.)

Shitpost is a very, very fascinating… total dumbass. I call her that in the most loving way possible.

Initially made back in 2018 as Snowey's self insert, she has changed DRASTICALLY from what she once was, now being a completely unique, awesome character.

She's Dave's girlfriend, having started dating him back in 2020. When Shitpost is around, Dave's braincells are cast down to the seabed with all the other forgotten things. He loves her a little too much.

Shitpost is also the adopted sister of both Charas. Puns isn't her dad though; they're just good friends.

OK MAN

Having been based on a Roblox glitch in 2018, Ok man is… some dude. We don't know much about him.

He looks like the typical Roblox noob; he's yellow, green and blue. However, he has a big "ok" on his chest, "written" in black. That's how he got his name. Ok man.

Ok man is weird, stubborn, mysterious, and sometimes annoying. And I fucking love him. He's a strange man, and I love having him around.

He throws one hell of a punch…

FLOWEY

Much like Papyrus, he's literally just Flowey. There isn't much of a catch.

Snowey plays him really well, too.

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With all of that out of the way, I feel I've gotten the point across pretty well. I don't really know how these ask blogs even work, honestly… but I think I've got it.

Here's some relevant links:

Incorrect WeaveTale Quotes My Deviantart Account (contains in-universe journal entries & other stuff) Snowey's Deviantart Account Crow's Deviantart Account Chara's Tumblr Blog Chara's Twitter Charmx's Twitter Puns's Twitter Dave's Twitter Ga a star's Twitter Papyrus's Twitter Shitpost's Twitter Ok man's Twitter Demirramon's Textbox Generator

[blackleatherjacketz]

Forbidden Fruit: Chapter 5

Alistair x Female Reader

Summary: Jack saves you from a vicious vampire attack and you discover you might be more entangled than you thought.

This Chapter: Alistair pleads his case to you over a candlelit dinner.

Warnings: NSFW, Mature Content, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Hair Pulling, Kissing, Bondage, Mentions of Sex and Cunnilingus, Kidnapping, Coercion, Jealousy, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Alcohol, Vampirism

Word Count: 2.4k+

Tags: @skittle479 @acutecupidity @bullet-prooflove @sadndnboii-reads @avatarofseshat

Read the rest of the story HERE!

Time seems to stand still as street lamps blur into traffic lights, whizzing by in a dull electric hum as you try your best to memorize the route your captor is taking you down. The other armed men in the car refuse to look at you or answer any of your questions as they drive you down a confusing combination of streets and alleyways until they reach their final destination. An old Italian restaurant on the outskirts of town stands alone in the middle of a parking lot, its weathered exterior falling apart in decrepit disarray as the black SUV comes to a complete stop.

One of the men rips off your rosary before forcing you out onto the pavement, the barrel of his gun pressing cold between your shoulder blades as you step over potholes and tufts of grass to get closer to the building. You can only imagine what lay ahead, your mind racing through every horrific scenario possible as you keep your eyes peeled for any shards of glass that might pierce your bare feet. You try your best to control your breathing, already jumping to the worst case scenario of Jack being dead or bleeding inside as the building seems to grow in height as you approach it. Only once you walk through those doors, you don’t find him tied to a chair or hanging from a meat hook in the freezer like you had feared. Instead all you find is Alistair, clean and confident as the first day you’d met him, dressed to the nines.

“You almost got away from me there, little lamb,” he breaks the deafening silence, proudly sitting at the head of a table in the middle of the deserted restaurant. It’s decorated with candles of varying length, each of their flames reaching toward the ceiling as their golden white hue reflects off his iridescent skin. His eyes remain cold and dark, hungrily scouring over you as the man who brought you here obediently steps away, holstering his weapon with a wave of Alistair’s hand. “Gave me quite the scare.”

“Where’s Jack?” You ask, noticing the other large men guarding every exit of the desolate dining room. You’re just now beginning to fully realize that you’re in way over your head; the news of your relationship with Jack and his Lycan nature paling in comparison to the stakes you’re being presented with at this very moment.

“Where’s Jack?” He repeats mockingly, picking up the bottle of wine in front of him and pouring it into the empty glass closest to you. “You know, you look a little paler than usual. You must be famished from all that running around you’ve been doing behind my back, and now all you can ask me is ‘where’s Jack’?” He fills the cup up to the brim, the scarlet liquid spilling over the sides and racing down the stem before he sets the bottle back down beside him. “You’re beginning to sound ungrateful.” His eyes lock onto yours with that last word, pulling you in like they had so many times before. “We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

“No.” You mutter as you weigh the pros and cons of stalling, running, or putting up any semblance of a fight before realizing that it would be all in vain. You know now that you wouldn’t make it ten steps to the door without a bullet in your back or his teeth in your neck, so you decide that your best bet is to play along. “We wouldn’t.”

“Good!” He exclaims, pushing the glass closer to you with a grin. “Now that we’re on the same page, why don’t you have a drink with me and maybe we can talk about Jack after you’ve eaten.”

You sit down hesitantly at his table, scooting your chair close enough to see the light blue veins highlighted by the flickering flames of the candles as they slither their way up his face and hands. More vibrant than you remember from before, they almost seem to glow in this hazy dreamlike ambiance as he nods toward your plate, urging you again to partake.

You recognize this meal from the night before, this exact table setting, now that you think about it. It’s almost as if he had replicated it piece by piece from the smallest details of the brand of wine to the very type of meats, fruits and cheeses stacked onto your plate. You can only speculate that he must want you to consume these specific things in order for their flavors to start coursing through your veins by the time he eventually drinks from you again.

Your last meal.

“To us,” he toasts with a raise of his own glass, the pewter goblet disguising its contents as he patiently waits for you to follow suit. He pauses as you reluctantly pick up your flute, watching the remnants of the fermented drink drip down your fingers and wrist as you carefully bring it up to his level.

“To us,” you repeat, your dry lips trembling with your expanding knowledge of him before the Merlot splashes over your tongue and down your throat.

“How does it taste?” His elbows practically creak against the old wood beneath the velvet tablecloth as his lips slowly part, mirroring yours to mimic the act of your consumption.

“Good,” you admit, taking another sip before setting the glass down as it stains a purple ring onto your napkin. If you’re going to be stuck here in this situation, you might as well take in a little liquid courage in the process.

“I would certainly hope so,” his smile widens as he leans in even closer to you, stirring up your complicated attraction to him. “I know how much you like it.”

“I want to say thank you,” you pause, taking yet another sip of the dry wine as it warms your body from the inside out, tingling its way into your extremities.

You can feel your desire for him grow with each subsequent drink you take, his sharp features more pleasing to the eye as they remind you of what brought you into his bedroom to begin with. It would be easy enough to fall under his spell again, and nearly impossible for you to tell if you haven’t already been entranced once he opened his mouth, but you force yourself to stay on track.

“But why did you bring me here? Why are you doing all of this?” Your questions are cut short as the space between you begins to shrink, your heart racing as he bends forward across the tabletop.

“Did our time together mean nothing to you?” His eyes dart over your face and neck, lingering on your pulse for a minute before he looks back into your eyes. “The feelings we shared, the breakthroughs we had?” His voice becomes shaky as his cold, slender fingers brush over your knuckles. “I know it meant something to me.”

The dense fog that surrounded your recent memories finally lifts as soon as he touches you, completely clearing the way for you to look back on them with ‘sober’ objectivity. Images of his mouth between your thighs, your hands in his hair and his name on your lips start piecing the whole picture back together into one deviantly cognizant mosaic. You recall every sensation he’d put you through, a tantalizing mixture of pleasure, patience and pain; leather and chains holding you back as you allowed him access to the most elusive parts of you. Ecstasy beyond your wildest dreams had ripped its way through your core, forcing your arms and legs to pull on the elaborate restraints tying you down, all under seemingly safe and voluntary conditions.

You look up at him from across your macabre candlelit dinner, these carnal truths visibly floating to the very top of your consciousness like algae on the surface, clearing the murky waters of your mind as he continues to touch you.

“There it is.” He leans back in his chair, smirking victoriously as he removes his hand from yours. “You know, from the very first second I saw you, I knew exactly what I wanted from you.” He stands up, casually waltzing in a circle around the table before stopping just behind you. “And you knew exactly what you needed from me.” He places his hands onto your shoulders, taking his time to massage your aching muscles before bending down to whisper into your ear. “What you deserved.”

“And what is that?” It takes everything you have not to turn your head, not to give in to the spine tingling sensation his lips feather into your skin.

“Freedom,” he answers, weaving his fingers up into your hairline. “From all the shame and fear that surrounds your generation’s archaic ideals of pleasure.” He grabs onto your locks, tugging downward so your chin juts toward the ceiling as he practically kisses his next words into the delicate skin of your jawline. “Freedom from abandonment and doubt, from the everyday monotony of this pathetic mortal realm.”

“Then why did you make me forget?” You manage to ask even though your breath stifles, his tightening grip on you bringing your body to very the brink of excitement.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s all coming back to you by now.” He smooths his other hand loosely around your neck, his thumb brushing over your bite mark in an almost loving manner.

“Not about us.” You swallow against his palm as it encases your throat, your body’s arousal response battling against its own fight or flight instinct. “Why did you make me forget about Jack?”

He immediately lets go of your hair at the mention of his name, quickly pulling away from you. “You don’t need my help forgetting about someone who’s hardly ever there in the first place, now do you?” He straightens his posture, slowly walking across the room toward the closest boarded up window. “Someone who can easily let weeks go by without hearing your voice, seeing your face, or touching your skin? Without so much as a word exchanged between you two? Where do you think your beloved Jack is right now, huh? Running away, again?”

“He said that he called me, that he texted, that he tried to tell me where he was, but he…”

“And you believed him?!” He cuts you off, his tone suddenly sharp and hectic as madness paints the entire width of his eyes completely black. The veins in his face seem to fill with blood, a deep purple against his pallid complexion before receding again back to their usual azure tone. “I would never do that to you!” He advances on you again, pointing toward his own chest to further prove the weight of his words as he bares his teeth. “I would never abandon or forget you, never let your needs go unmet while your mind races to wonder where I could be or what I could be doing.”

You stare at him, silent, as the seesaw of fear and attraction he always manages to balance on nearly tips the scales into sheer terror. He’s never shown you this side of him before, at least not that you can recall, his demeanor always practiced into a feigned display of being cool, calm and collected even in your fits of passion. You wonder how much of your time together was performative, how much work he’d put into becoming what he thought you wanted.

“No matter,” he takes a moment to calm himself down, bringing the whites back into the rims of his eyes. “I can see that you’re going to make this more difficult than necessary.” He pauses and walks back over to you, taking the arms of your chair and turning you to face him before getting onto his knees. “Do you really think someone like him can give you what you want?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, his hands on your knees barely keeping them still as they shake in anticipation of whatever torrid emotion might strike him next.

“Eternal devotion.” He offers, tears miraculously filling in his eyes as his chin begins to quiver. “Can you even imagine it my love? An eternity together…” He cups your cheek as he studies your features, his concoction of sorrow and anger pooling at the bottom of his eyelids until they start to stream down his face. “Someone like Jack can’t even give you a full week of his time, but I can give you so much more than that. I can protect and provide for you until the end of time, give you anything you could ever want. I would steal for you, lie for you… kill for you, my darling.”

Even though he addresses you directly as he caresses your face, he seems to be looking past you somehow. His desperate gaze gives you the hollow, sinking feeling that he’s merely using you as nothing more than a vessel, as if he’s almost looking right through you. As impossible as it is to predict what he’s capable of in this state, you do what you’ve always done in dangerous situations: you fawn.

“Okay,” you nod, agreeing to whatever plan he has set up for you while still holding out hope that Jack is on his way.

“Okay?” He smiles, nearly pinching your cheek as the tears drip off his face and splash onto your lap. “I’m so happy to hear you say that,” his tone changes again, the sadness in his expression disappearing as soon as it had come on. “Now eat up, you’re going to need your strength.”

[dfroza]

to see (through baptism eyes)

“… but you are different now; you have been washed clean, set apart, restored, and set on the right path in the name of the Lord Jesus, the Anointed, by the Spirit of our living God.”

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 6th chapter of the letter of First Corinthians:

Here’s another troubling issue. If you have a grievance against another follower of Jesus, do you have the audacity to bring that brother or sister into the civil courts rather than submitting yourselves to the authority of God’s people? Don’t you know that His people are destined to judge the world? If you have the authority to judge the world, can’t you handle these small matters and render a better judgment than the civil courts? Further, don’t you know that we are destined to judge the heavenly messengers? So if we are to exercise authority in the heavenly realms, can’t we take care of the conflicts that arise in this life? To put it another way, if you are asking the courts to adjudicate your mundane conflicts, aren’t you placing your problems under the authority of judges who have no standing within the church? My words should embarrass you. Is it possible that you have no one among you with the wisdom to mediate between two siblings? So one brother sues another brother in public and drags the dispute before outsiders who have no allegiance to Jesus?

The truth is that these public lawsuits cause all of you to lose and lose big. Wouldn’t it be better to be ripped off or defrauded? In fact, you are guilty of ripping off and defrauding your own brothers and sisters, not the other way around.

Do you need reminding that the unjust have no share in the blessings of the kingdom of God? Do not be misled. A lot of people stand to inherit nothing of God’s coming kingdom, including those whose lives are defined by sexual immorality, idolatry, adultery, sexual deviancy, theft, greed, drunkenness, slander, and swindling. Some of you used to live in these ways, but you are different now; you have been washed clean, set apart, restored, and set on the right path in the name of the Lord Jesus, the Anointed, by the Spirit of our living God.

I can hear some of you saying, “For me, all things are permitted.” But face the facts: all things are not beneficial. So you say, “For me, all things are permitted.” Here’s my response: I will not allow anything to control me. Another chimes in: “Food is for the stomach, and the stomach is for food.” I suppose so, but a day will come when God will dispense with both food and the stomach. The body is not meant for sexual immorality but for the Lord; the Lord is over all, and He cares about your body. God has raised the Lord Jesus from death, but He won’t stop there. His dynamic power will raise us up from the grips of death as well. Don’t you realize that your bodies are members of the Anointed One? So should I take the members of the Anointed One and unite them to a prostitute? This illicit union should never take place! Don’t you understand that when your body is joined with a prostitute, the two of you have become one body? For as it says, “The two come together as one flesh.” But when you are joined with the Lord, you become one spirit with Him. Run from immoral behavior. All other sins are disconnected from the body, but sexual immorality is a sin against your own body. Don’t you know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who comes from God and dwells inside of you? You do not own yourself. You have been purchased at a great price, so use your body to bring glory to God!

The Letter of First Corinthians, Chapter 6 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

In the same way that some seek to reduce Christianity to a philosophy or a set of ideas, others seek to reduce it to a set of rules for living. If true faith is only about eating certain foods, abstaining from others, and avoiding certain practices, then willpower must be more important than the Spirit of God. But following stringent rules is not that easy. Actually, living by willpower is hard—some might say impossible. Paul is preaching about an alternative to a life governed by rules and restrictions, and that’s a life of faith that embraces grace. What Paul is about to describe is a life of freedom that surpasses a life of rule keeping.

Today’s paired reading from the First Testament is the 33rd chapter of the book of Exodus:

Eternal One (instructing Moses): The time has now arrived. Leave, and take all the people you have led out of Egypt with you. Go to the land I promised to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to whom I said, “I will give this land to your future generations.” I will send a messenger to guide you, and I will force out the Canaanites, Amorites, Hittites, Perizzites, Hivites, and the Jebusites. Travel to the land that flows with milk and honey, the land of your inheritance. However, because you are such an incredibly stubborn people, I will not be going with you. Otherwise, I would completely destroy you during the journey.

When everyone heard the dreadful news, they began to grieve and stopped wearing their jewelry to remind them of the calf made from their gold earrings. You see the Eternal One had instructed Moses, “Give the Israelites this message: ‘You are such an incredibly stubborn people, therefore I am not going to travel with you. If I allowed Myself to travel with you for only a moment, I would completely destroy you. Stop wearing your jewelry so I can figure out what to do with you.’” So the Israelites took off all of their jewelry from the time they left Mount Horeb.

Moses used to take a tent and put it up far away from the camp. He referred to it as the meeting tent. Everyone who sought the Eternal One would go out to the meeting tent, which was located well outside the camp. When the people heard that Moses was going out to the tent, they would get up and stand at the entrance of their own tents and watch him until he had gone inside. When Moses entered the tent, the cloud pillar descended to the tent’s entrance, and the Eternal would talk with Moses. When people witnessed the cloud pillar standing at the meeting tent’s entrance, they would stand and bow in worship at the entrance of their own tents. The Eternal spoke with Moses face-to-face, just as a friend speaks to another friend. After they were done, Moses would come back to camp but his young assistant Joshua (Nun’s son) would remain behind.

Moses (to the Lord): Look, You tell me, “Lead these people!” but You haven’t yet told me whom You will send to accompany me. Yet You tell me, “I know you by name, and you have gained My trust and blessing.” If I have gained Your trust and blessing, reveal Your way to me so that I can truly know You, and so that I may gain Your favor. Remember that this nation is Your covenant people.

Eternal One: My presence will travel with you, and I will give you rest.

Moses: If Your presence doesn’t travel with me, then don’t lead us away from here. How will the people know that I have gained Your trust and blessing if You do not travel with us? Isn’t it the very fact that Your presence travels with us that distinguishes us from every other people on earth?

Eternal One: I will do what you have said because you have gained My trust and blessing, and I know you by name.

Moses: If Your presence will go with us, then let me see Your glory!

Eternal One: I will cause all My goodness to pass before you, and I will declare My name, the Eternal One, before you. I will show mercy to whomever I choose to show mercy, and I will demonstrate compassion on whomever I choose to have compassion. You cannot see My face, for no one can see Me and live. Look, there is a place next to Me on the rock where you may stand. While My glory is passing by you, I will place you in a large crevice of the rock and hide you beneath My hand until I have completely passed by. Then I will remove My hand, and you will see only My back. But you won’t be able to see My face.

The Book of Exodus, Chapter 33 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

The golden-calf incident creates a deep rift between God and His people. For their safety, God refuses to travel with them to the land of promise; instead, He sends His messenger to guide them. The people’s response to God’s threatened absence is to mourn and refuse to wear their jewelry and fine clothes. The meeting tent and the congregation tent reflect this rift too. The congregation tent is to be God’s unique dwelling with His people, so it is located right in the middle of the camp. But now there is another tent, the meeting tent set up a long way from camp, far from the contagion of evil spreading there. From time to time, God and Moses meet there to talk; and Joshua stands watch over this intimate encounter, for only Joshua and Moses are not imperiled when the rest of Israel violates God’s directive and worships the golden calf. Moses speaks with God and does his best to get God back on good terms with His covenant people.

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for friday, may 24 of 2024 with a paired chapter from each Testament (the First & the New) of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about trusting over our lives:

Do you understand that in God's sovereign design and plan for creation, He breathed out a part of his very heart, soul, and strength to create you in his own "image and likeness," a reflection of his own self-existence and reality? This is the essential blessing that each of us has been given; this is the basis of awe. Rene Descartes' awareness of the inner witness of the soul: "I think therefore I am," echoes the אֶהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה, "I am that I am," within our hearts. The LORD is the "God of the spirits of all flesh" (Num. 16:22) for "in Him we live and move and have our being" (Acts 17:28).

The moments of our lives, the ups and downs of our goings, the length of our days - and especially the purpose and end of our existence - are all in the hands of God, as it says: "In you I put my trust, O LORD; I said, 'You are my God; my times are in your hands" (Psalm 31:14-15). A person may "devise his own way," but it is the LORD that directs his steps.

If we consider our lives apart from God, however, all we see is wretchedness, limitations, shortness of days, and the absurd specter of death at the end of it all. Life always seems too short; the days fly past us like a dream, soon we are “cut off” and gone. When the moment of death occurs, many are lost to its eternal significance...

On the other hand, when we trust that our lives are under God's providential direction, and we realize that our Heavenly Father "numbers the hairs on our head," then we can quiet our hearts and abandon ourselves to his care (Isa. 46:8-10; Psalm 103:19). As it is written: "Those who trust in you know your Name; for you do not forsake those who seek you, O LORD" (Psalm 9:10). And as the Apostle Paul preached to the Athenians, "God, who alone is Creator, the Lord of heaven and earth, has given life and breath to all people, and from one man has made every nation of people to live on the earth, having determined prescribed times and the boundaries of their habitations" (Acts 17:24-26).

For the believer there is no greater comfort than to completely trust that the LORD will work "all things together" for our ultimate good (Rom. 8:28). “Whoever lives and believes in me shall never die” (John 11:26). Yet there is a veil. "God has made every thing beautiful in his time, and he has set eternity in people's hearts, so that no one can find out what he has ordained from the beginning to the end" (Eccl. 3:11). So while we know only “in part,” as through "a glass darkly," we believe that the LORD goes before us and will always be with us (Deut. 31:8). And one day we shall see him "panim el-panim," face to face (1 Cor. 13:12). "Beloved, now are we the children of God, and it does not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as He is; and everyone that has this hope in Him is purified, even as he is pure" (1 John 3:2-3).

Χάριτι δὲ θεοῦ εἰμι ὅ εἰμι - "by the grace of God I am what I am" (1 Cor. 15:10). This is a radical axiom that should be foundational to our faith, namely that nothing occurs in our lives apart from God's will for our ultimate blessing. From small matters to big, from the seemingly insignificant to the momentous, from what seems hopelessly undone to the sheer miracle and glory of existence itself -- categorically everything, in every conceivable world, is under the sovereign hand of the One who works all things together for his glory and for our good. Amen. Yeshua "upholds all things" (φέρων τε τὰ πάντα) by the word of his power. "All things were created by him, and for him, and in him all things hold together" (ἐν αὐτῷ συνέστηκεν). Our Lord is the "Magnetic Center" of all reality, its beginning and its end.

How could it be otherwise? For who can overrule the will of God our Creator and the LORD over all? “From eternity to eternity I am God. No one can snatch anyone out of my hand. No one can undo what I have done” (Isa. 41:13). "For the Lord of hosts has planned, and who can frustrate it? And as for His stretched-out hand, who can turn it back?" (Isa. 14:27).

Therefore do not be afraid. "For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope" (Jer. 29:11). As Yeshua said: "Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom" (Luke 12:32). Hallelujah! For the Lord our God, the Almighty, reigns!

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

========

Psalm 9:10 reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/psalm9-10-jjp.mp3

Hebrew page:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/psalm9-10-lesson.pdf

5.23.24 • Facebook

from yesterday’s email by Israel365

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

[fleuraimer]

COULD YOU LIVE WITH JUST A TASTE | CEO!Harry Styles x Fem!Reader (1)*

“We’re going on a date, get dressed.”

Excited pitter patters sound on hardwood floors, Moose waddling up to his mummy to sniff at her feet and circle around her ankles in a greeting before trudging back off to his doggy bed in the living room. Y/N closes her front door, kicking off her heels in the direction of the shoe mat to the left of the door while she halfheartedly mumbles, “Hi, Y/N, how was your day? Aw, it was fine, Evangeline, thanks so much for asking, how was yours?”

Evangeline (Gigi for short) rolls her eyes at her best friend’s dramatics, her perfectly manicured hand coming to rest pointedly on her hip, the shine of her pearl shimmer, almond acrylic nails glinting in the orange glow of their shared apartment.

“Hi, Y/N, how was your day?” She sighs, as if the question is so taxing, so exerting, that it’s almost too troublesome to ask in the first place.

Y/N smiles at her shitty attempt of amendment.

“What’s this date you’re on about? Because I’ve got a date with our tub in about thirty seconds if you don’t start explaining yourself.”

Gigi takes a step toward Y/N, reaching out for her hand, which she takes, and pulls her into the living room as she begins, “So, you know that guy I was telling you about? Niall? Anyway, went for drinks, things went great, you already know all that.” Y/N nods her head in agreement. “Well, what I didn’t tell you, is that we actually started talking about you.”

She arches a curious brow, “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

NSFW. SMUT. 17+. MASTERLIST.

PAIRING—CEO!Harry Styles x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT—28.6k

WARNINGS—depictions of high stress & anxiety. allusions to past toxic/abusive relationship. d/s dynamics. spanking. spitting. slapping. chocking (i think??). (heavy) edging/orgasm control ( f receiving). vaginal fingering. oral sex (f & m receiving). rimming (f receiving). allusions to anal fingering. unprotected sex (wrap it up). overstimulation. squirting. (heavy) praise kink. (mild) degradation kink. dumbification kink. sir kink. (heavy) daddy kink. use of pet names and derogatory nicknames. subspace. after care. pls lmk if i missed anything!!

ADDITIONAL TAGS—sadist!harry. that’s it. that’s the tweet.

“I’m so fucked, mate,” Niall groans into his hands, and Harry knows what he means.

“Yeah,” he nods once, finally looking at the untouched plate of food in front of him.

Me fucking too, Niall.

Flashing fluorescent lights. Small, suffocating cubicles with blaring blue light from the desktop computer. Stacks upon stacks of paperwork and plain manila folders. The smell of burnt coffee, stale baked goods, and pathetic longing for freedom swirling around the air, creating a scent so nauseating, it’s difficult to keep your thoughts from pounding against the inside of your skull and the acidic bile from rising up your throat.

This place is a prison, Y/N knows it. And yet, she continues to show up for her shifts, every week day, from 7:15 am to 6:20 pm, without fail. In fact, she doesn’t think she’s missed a single day of work (not including vacation days), seeing as she hasn’t been sick in so long.

Mindlessly does she dig her fingers into her keyboard, calculating numbers and ratios, finalizing assignments, looking over statements. Her eyes follow each character along the screen, trailing downward as paragraphs grow, shifting backward when errors are made. Tediously, she reviews agreements and contracts, looks for loopholes—tries to find the biggest profit possible, for the worst people possible.

If her mother didn’t live outside of New England, and, subsequently, nowhere near Y/N, she’d physically—violently—rip her a new one for forcing her to attend law school. Working at a law firm at the prime age of twenty-two is never how she envisioned herself as a child (to be fair, she never envisioned herself anywhere particularly realistic as a child, but that meant it was always far better than this).

This reality—this dull, gray, meaningless reality—is what her mother wanted for her. A stable income, a sturdy roof over her head, unexciting, boring days, filled with boring tasks, boring people, and a boring job. She wanted for her daughter what she had for herself, because she was content with her life. Liked it, even. And Y/N was far too sweet to make decisions for herself, always trying to please others, always fixing everyone else’s problems for them, her mother’s words (and maybe her thoughts, too). How could she even begin to think of herself and her goals when she was so busy helping everyone else? So, her mother decided for her, with no prior warning.

At the time, Y/N saw no harm. She’d make her mother happy, find herself in a rich industry that keeps many comfortable throughout their entire lives, and got to help people for a living. It didn’t sound like such a nightmare at first. She hadn’t thought of how tight her “office” space would be, hadn’t thought she’d be defending the guilty instead of the innocent, hadn’t thought that the men and women fighting for justice, to better their communities, were actually the ones who committed most of the crimes.

She hadn’t accounted for their cruelty; their snobby attitudes, and obnoxious, boastful conversations. She hand’t thought the women would be so mean, so belittling, and the men so sleazy and degrading. She hadn’t thought the building she’d be working in would be so dingy, didn’t know that if she turned down a dark corner, she could see something she wasn’t supposed to see, that her heart would stop and soul crack as she watched the shadows fuss about aggressively. She didn’t know she’d see such an important person like that getting cornered, assaulted, and that when she’d go to help, to try and make it better like she always does, she’d be pushed away. Shunned.

“Mind your business, little girl,” the mean lady had spat at her. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

That was just twenty minutes ago. Since then, Y/N had been quiet, stoic. She knew she wasn’t at fault—she didn’t even do anything, let alone something wrong! And she tries to understand that it’s difficult to let someone else see something like that happening, to have a stranger witness such a defiling act. Even still, the back of her eyes hold a faint sting and her throat bobs periodically, the thick lump moving up and down, too.

All she wants is to go home, run herself a warm bath, and then cuddle up close to Moose, her brown labrador, and fall asleep for twelve hours straight.

Christ, she’s so fucking happy it’s Friday.

———

“We’re going on a date, get dressed.”

Excited pitter patters sound on hardwood floors, Moose waddling up to his mummy to sniff at her feet and circle around her ankles in a greeting before trudging back off to his doggy bed in the living room. Y/N closes her front door, kicking off her heels in the direction of the shoe mat to the left of the door while she halfheartedly mumbles, “Hi, Y/N, how was your day? Aw, it was fine, Evangeline, thanks so much for asking, how was yours?”

Evangeline (Gigi for short) rolls her eyes at her best friend’s dramatics, her perfectly manicured hand coming to rest pointedly on her hip, the shine of her pearl shimmer, almond acrylic nails glinting in the orange glow of their shared apartment.

“Hi, Y/N, how was your day?” She sighs, as if the question is so taxing, so exerting, that it’s almost too troublesome to ask in the first place.

Y/N smiles at her shitty attempt of amendment.

“What’s this date you’re on about? Because I’ve got a date with our tub in about thirty seconds if you don’t start explaining yourself.”

Gigi takes a step toward Y/N, reaching out for her hand, which she takes, and pulling her into the living room as she begins. “So, you know that guy I was telling you about? Niall? Anyway, went for drinks, things went great, you already know all that.” Y/N nods her head in agreement. “Well, what I didn’t tell you, is that we actually started talking about you.”

She arches a curious brow, “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

They both settle onto the couch, momentarily taking a silent second to themselves to get comfortable in their spots.

Gigi pushes back wild bundles of golden curls from her face before continuing, “He’d brought up that he had a friend who is like, fucking miserable. Like, drinks scotch regularly, call girls, lonely, rich guy miserable. So, I told him I had a friend who was also miserable. Like, chronic overthinker, people pleasing, overly kind, pathetic miserable.”

Y/N scoffs, “Gee, thanks.”

“Oh, hush,” Gigi shushes, grinning like a mad woman. And in that very moment, Y/N knows she’s absolutely fucked. “Now, here’s what’s gonna happen next; you’re gonna freshen up, get changed, and then you’re driving us to Oki Sushi House so you can go on a double date with me, Naill, and his super rich, CEO, miserable best friend.”

“Excuse me, I’m driving us where?”

Gigi soughs excessively, “Don’t act slow, Honey, it’s not cute on you.”

Y/N’s eyes narrow into glaring slits, which only serves to make Gigi glow with pride, the confrontational little shit.

“Gigi, Oki Sushi House isn’t in your pay grade, let alone mine, what makes you think-”

Gigi sighs, again, loudly and obnoxiously, “You’ve never dated a man before, and it shows.”

“You literally know my ex boyfriend, fucking lived with him for a year and three- that doesn’t even make any sense, Evangeline!” Y/N stresses, eyeing Gigi carefully, seeing if maybe her eyelids look a bit heavy, or if the whites of her eyes are red, because she’s gotta be smashed to be saying they’re going on a date at Oki fucking Sushi House, right?

“He who shall not be named is not a man, he’s a whiny child who likes to whore himself out even though he can’t last longer than ten minutes.” Gigi lifts her right hand up to her line of view, inspecting her smooth cuticles and shimmery nails, the soft narce of them contrasting against her warm, caramel brown skin elegantly. She blinks a few times before looking back to Y/N, her expression now deadly serious. “That’s not the point, the point is, I’m fucking sick of seeing my best friend mope around like a sad puppy all the time. And if you insist on being miserable, I think you should at least be miserable with someone else. Frankly, Niall’s friend seems like the perfect candidate.” She pauses to take a breath, make sure she’s not pushing too many buttons. She sighs out, “So, I’m taking you out, and you can’t say no.” Pausing once more, she rethinks her words. “Well, not that you would ever to begin with, but- Whatever! You’re coming, so, go get ready.”

Y/N watches with wide eyes and a gaping mouth as Gigi stands from the couch and heads toward her bedroom. She racks through her brain for an excuse, fumbles for any single thing that could possibly get her out of this, but she already feels so guilty even thinking about flaking on Gigi. Evangeline is right, she would’ve never said no to begin with.

Still, it doesn’t stop her from blurting, “Gigi, there’s a dress code! What the fuck am I supposed to wear?”

Gigi stops in her doorway with a huff, placing a hand on the door frame as she looks back over her shoulder and croons, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about another thing, Babe, I’ve got it all covered.”

Before Y/N can sputter out anymore protest, the soft click of Gigi’s door shutting echos throughout the apartment. She desperately looks to Moose, who’s lying lazily across his plush bed, having silently watched their entire discussion, which only gets her a head tilt and soft whine of confusion. She sighs and falls back into her spot on the couch.

Well isn’t this just fucking great.

———

Y/N takes her time in the shower (if it makes them late, Gigi can only blame herself for it. She never gave Y/N a time to be ready by, after all). She soaps up her entire body in gentle, caring strokes, allowing herself this time to be alone and settle into her own being. She’d felt so burnt out lately, moments in the shower, like this, seemed to be the only time she could relax, decompress from all the stress of the day. From all the stress of her life—of everyone else’s life—that she carries on her too very small, very shaky shoulders. They ache to the touch, as if she’s truly carrying heavy boxes on her back, but she knows it’s just the stress.

It’s just the stress.

She washes her face and hair, shaves away the prickly hairs that tickle her fingertips, and exfoliates the newly smooth skin. When she’s out of the shower, she grabs the cotton t-shirt lying on her drying rack and wraps her hair in it (the softness of the material is better for your hair than a rough towel), finds her place in front of the sink, and pulls out her face moisturizer, toothpaste, toothbrush, floss, and mouthwash.

She pads into her bedroom when she’s finished smearing cream into her face and brushing her teeth (which was really to make sure she didn’t have bad breath), and nearly misses the darling gown draped across her fluffy duvet, a pair of green strappy heels and a shinning set of jewels to match.

The note that rests on top of the dress ultimately grabs her full attention. Her eyes scan the flimsy piece of paper quickly.

Dear Y/N,

don’t worry about where I got it from, I’m not gonna get in trouble. Be ready by 9:20.

— Gigi xx

The note more than likely meant Gigi had stolen this dress from the set of her last photoshoot, but models had pretty privilege, and people with pretty privilege can do whatever the fuck they want.

She sets the note back on top of the dress she’s positive costs more than their rent, checks the time to find that it’s 8:45, which gives her the perfect amount of time to prepare herself (turn herself into a picture perfect porcelain doll) before her date.

She starts with dotting serums to her freshly cleaned skin, then moves to her vanity, priming her face before splotching areas with makeup. She blends her foundation in tentative strokes, treating her face as a canvas, handling her blank space with the care of an esteemed artist. Strategic with placement, intentional with color, subtle in some places, enchanting in others, but glowy, soft, overall; a dewy, warm look that makes her look sort of ethereal if she’s honest. She ends with a final swipe of strawberry flavored clear lip-gloss across her lips and a thin layer over her eyelids, then moves on to hair.

She removes the t-shirt from around her hair, huffing as it falls into a messy heap she’s not keen on dealing with. She quickly settles on an up-do, brushing through strands thoroughly before tying and pinning groups into place until she’s satisfied, a few precisely placed wisps framing her face.

She stands swiftly, unfurls the towel wrapped around her body, and picks up the pearl satin dress lying on her bed. She’s delicate with her touch as she slips into the silky material, quickly moving onto her shoes when she catches the time out of the corner of her eyes, lacing up the beautiful ribbons as fast as she could. She rushes to hook her dangle-y earrings into place before snapping the smaller studs into her various other ear piercings. She settles on two rings for one finger, a gold band and another with a hefty gem sparkling in the center. She slips both on before snatching the diamond bracelet and necklace off her bed and putting them on. She steps in front of her full length mirror to give herself a quick once over, before realizing that the necklace must be on backwards (either that, or she just knows how to style this outfit better than it originally was). She twists the jewels around so the longest part of the necklace in hanging down the center of her back, turns back to her bed to grab her tote, and then rushes out her bedroom door.

When she steps out, she sees Gigi with her hand on the wall, leaning down with her left foot kicked up to put on a red heel. Said heel matches her corset and skirt duo, with a string of pearls sitting nicely along her collarbone, and gold jewelry resting in other places. She’d opted to leave her hair down, her aureus curls fall in gorgeous bundles around her head, large like a lions mane, beautiful like the petals of a flower.

“’Bout time,” Gigi mumbles, snapping Y/N out of her reverie. “Change of plans, the boys sent a car, and it’s here… So, c’mon.”

Y/N isn’t given the time to process that these boys (Men. Y/N doesn’t understand how Gigi can call them boys but also grill her for never having “never been with a man”, but she’s too lazy to push) are rich enough to send a car all the way out to Brooklyn to Oki Sushi House, out in NoHo, not that she expected it, she’d just come to take Gigi’s ridiculousness in graceful stride.

Y/N tags behind Gigi as they make their way down the hallway and to the elevators. Corny music serenades them on their ride down, pulling unbelieving snickers and giggles from the two women inside, just like always (who still used fucking elevator music?).

Y/N isn’t sure why she was expecting some grand reveal, she knows that the doors leading into her apartment building are glass, and surrounded by large windows. Even still, she’s utterly taken aback by the site of a sparkling, clean black Rolls Royce sitting in front of the awning, a man dressed in a perfectly pressed navy suit and chauffeurs hat standing next to the backseat door.

She looks to Gigi with wide, disbelieving eyes, but she’s only met with a coy smile and dangerous flicker in her best friend’s eye.

“Lead the way, Babe,” Gigi offers, though, if Y/N were to decline, she’s sure Gigi would put up a fight.

For this reason, she takes the first step forward, and continues until she’s in front of the chauffeur, breathing bated, skin warm, thoughts swirling.

“Evening, Miss Moretti, Miss Y/L/N.” He addresses both of them with curt but welcoming nods. “My name is Levi Dover, I’ll be your driver for the night.” He opens the door, momentarily shocking Y/N before she remembers the back door is supposed to open in the opposite direction of the front, and gestures for them to step inside with a white gloved hand before offering it to Y/N for assistance.

She sheepishly places her palm into his, and he guides her thoughtfully into vehicle, moving on to Gigi when Y/N lets go of his hand to settle herself into the back.

She hadn’t expected their to be a partition separating the front of the car from the back, nor so much space, but she supposes the night will just be full of surprises.

“Would you calm down?” She suddenly hears Gigi chuckle softly, her pretty hand coming to grab her own. Their fingers intertwine, and Gigi stares at Y/N with such care and intensity she doesn’t dare look away. Gigi’s second hand grabs Y/N’s as well, before bring both their joined hand together to rest in the middle of Y/N’s lap. She exhales softly.

“I know I was kinda, like, forcing this on you earlier, but if you really don’t wanna go, we don’t have to.” She smiles reassuringly, warming her best friend’s heart, and sending platonic zips of gooey love to her soul. “I don’t want you to think you have to do this, but… I do think you should. You and Mace—” she squeezes Y/N’s hands at the use of his name, and she squeezes back as her throat closes up slightly. “—have been done for months now, and I’m not saying you should throw yourself back into something serious, but messin’ with some hot, rich CEO couldn’t hurt, right?”

Her words make a smile tug at the corners of Y/N’s mouth, and she fails terribly to suppress it.

“Doesn’t sound awful…” she finally admits, and Gigi huffs out a laugh because of it.

“So, you’re okay? You do actually want to go?”

“I do,” Y/N nods immediately, because it’s true. She does wanna go, she’s just— “Nervous, I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t be, there’s no need,” Gigi soothes, squeezing her hands once more. “If things go to shit, you know I’ll be there to protect you, yeah? I’ll never leave you alone.”

If the circumstances were any different, Y/N would’ve started crying by now.

“Thank you, Evangeline.” It’s all she can manage, she’s not good at accepting help. But she’ll accept Gigi’s, she’s not sure she’ll make it through the night without it.

Fuck.

———

Harry had a headache. His back hurt, too, and his tummy was upset from too much coffee and too little food. But there was no time for a nap to soothe his pounding head, surely no time for a back massage, and absolutely no time for fucking dinner of all things. He had a business to run. Or, businesses. Styles Magazine, Pleasing, TPWK Foundation, H.E.S. He was fucking stressed. He needed a drink but he didn’t have time.

There was never any fucking time.

His glasses do little to stop the blue light of his computer screen from irritating his sensitive eyes, they feel strained and heavy the longer he forces them to keep reading emails and correcting spelling errors for his own. He’d taken four Tylenol twenty minutes ago, but they did dick all to ease his never ending pain.

He sighs from deep in his chest, leaning back in his large desk chair as he removes his glasses from his face and pinches at the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezing shut.

He shouldn’t call her. He should not fucking call Cami.

…Shit.

Harry snatches his phone off of his desk with a grunt, his face set in a scowl as his face ID unlocks, and then he’s scrolling down his list of recent calls until he finds who he’s looking for. His thumb hovers over her contact for a long moment. This is stupid, they broke up for a reason—she broke his fucking heart. His thumb cramps up the longer it stays put, the longer he wonders if this benefits him or her, if it ever actually makes him feel good, or if she just tricks him into thinking it always feels so fucking good he can never stay away, like the bloody siren she is.

Who cares?

Harry will deal with the repercussions of his actions after the fact, being so tactful all the time is fucking draining.

He lets his thumb fall onto the screen. This is dumb.

The first ring.

This is really, really dumb.

The second.

Really fucking dumb.

Third.

So fucking-

“Coucou.”

Oh.

Oh. Oh, fuck. Shit, fucking shit!

“Amour?”

Amour.

Harry let’s out a shaky breath, “Cami-”

“Mate, what the fuc-”

Niall halts in his spot in the door when Harry’s eyes lock on him immediately, something dark behind the seafoam green. His nostrils flare as the muscles in his neck protrude.

“I have to call you back,” he mumbles stoically into the receiver.

He can hear the confusion in her voice—the irritation—as she begins to protest, “Harry, you can’t-”

“Chéri,” he warns coolly, and the line suddenly goes quiet. “I’ll call you back, later.” He swiftly hangs up the call.

Niall eyes him suspiciously, finally entering the room. “Who was that?”

“No one,” Harry grumbles back.

“Was it Camille?’

“Niall.”

“Harry.”

They eye each other for a long while, silent, brooding on one end—miserable—caring, concerned on the other—empathetic.

They both decide to avoid the conversation.

“Get ready, we’re gonna be late,” Niall finally announces, slipping into the suit jacket that had previously been draped over his arm.

“Late? Late for what?” Harry asks, his eyebrow raising.

“For a date, idiot.”

“What fucking date, Niall?” He sighs.

“The one I told you about two weeks ago, you know? The night I came back from the golf range and told you that I met the love of my life? Nah? No bells ringing? Well, I’m happy to tell you that the double date we planned for us, you, and her friend is happening, tonight, in, specifically—” he raises his wrist to check the time. “—thirty two minutes.”

Harry’s face scrunches in discomfort. “I’ll pass.”

Niall smiles, laughing sarcastically. “Ha, ha, very funny. Get up, you sad fucking man.” He walks to the couch sitting off to the side of Harry’s office, grabs the emerald green suit jacket that’s lying across it and tosses the expensive suede material at Harry. “We’re leaving in five minutes.”

He leaves before Harry can find a rebuttal. He groans and his head falls back against his chair, his headache now ten times worse. He rises from his seat and slides on his suit jack, pulling both sides together before buttoning the jacket and fixing his sleeves. He sighs heavily as he makes his way to his office doors.

It’s gonna be a long fucking night.

———

“Welcome to Oki Sushi House, do you have a reservation?”

Y/N lets Gigi take the lead on answering any questions, taking this time to get familiar with her surroundings.

The restaurant is set in low lighting, adding significantly to the elegant, luxurious ambiance of the establishment. Long hanging lights lining the dark wood beam ceilings, large floor to ceiling, tinted windows along almost every wall. An orchid and a candle set upon the center of each table, cutlery that looked more expensive than her finest pair of diamond earrings. She felt out of place, like a fraud. She didn’t do these things, these extravagant, lavish nights out to spend audacious amounts of money. Y/N is an introvert a best, and home-body (hermit) at worst. She doesn’t try new things unless someone else wants to, because her friends always have something new to do, so she’s okay not doing anything when she’s alone. She just wishes most of her alone time wasn’t spent in a small 8 by 8 cubicle that got hot and made her sticky within the first hour of sitting down.

She wishes she could stay home in her alone time, file through her thoughts, figure out what she truly wants for herself, because after living for everyone else her entire life, she has zero fucking clue what she wants for herself.

Funny, her mom was right.

“C’mon, Y/N,” Gigi mutters, nodding for Y/N to follow her and the hostess to their table. Y/N takes careful steps, aware that the heels she usually wears are not this tall and she could easily slip and break an ankle at any moment. One foot in front of the other, thoughtfully placed steps to counteract her inherit clumsiness.

Y/N’s so focused on making sure she doesn’t slip on the pristine tiles beneath her and eat shit that she doesn’t notice they’ve gotten much closer to their table. She doesn’t notice the two grown men dressed in perfectly tailored suits slow their conversation until their mouths are shut and their staring ahead of them. One at Gigi, and one at her.

She doesn’t see the way his jaw clenches, doesn’t see the way he shifts in his seat, or how his hand twitches on the table. But she certainly feels his eyes on her. She feels them trail over her shadowy face that’s slightly blocked because she’s looking down. She feels them fall to her collarbone, taking in the glitter she’d intentionally placed there as it sparkles in the light. She feels them trace down to wear she’s clutching the sides of her dress delicately, cinching it mindlessly at her waist. She feels them bore into her figure, feels the heat of his gaze sear through her, as if he’s trying to find out what she could possibly be hiding under that lush gown.

When she lifts her head, she finds she standing in front of a table, two men standing before her, the one to her left a light haired brunette with light, ocean blue eyes, wearing a soft rosé colored suit, that compliments Gigi’s set exquisitely. The other man, to her right, or, directly in front of her, rather, is a dark haired brunette with enchanting, captivating seafoam green beauties, wearing an emerald suit that makes the seafoam of his eyes pop gorgeously. He’s gorgeous, so gorgeous, in fact, that Y/N finds she’s having a hard time breathing all of a sudden.

The man to her left speaks up first, “Y/N, it’s nice to finally meet y’love, heard lots of stories.”

“All good things, I hope,” she laughs softly, mustering up the best smile she can.

“Course,” he nods back, offering a smile of his own, and the pearly white flash of his teeth is enough to ease some of Y/N’s nerves.

“Ahem,” Gigi clears her throat, garnering the attention of the table.

“Evangeline,” Niall greets, something flashing in his eye at the sight of her. He rounds the table almost carelessly, a hand that was once stuffed in his pocket into his pocket reaching out for Gigi’s.

Before Y/N could distract herself any further, a deep, soft drawl grabs her attention.

“Evening, Darlin’.”

Y/N’s head twists to find the person addressing her, and she finds the the man who was once stand in front of her was now standing beside her.

“Name’s Harry.” He offers her his hand, which she hesitantly takes. She knows exactly who this man is, it’s hard not to! Being a world famous designer and business man didn’t call for much privacy, as it turns out, and it’s hard to mistake the guy who was caught making out (very, very messily she might add) with Em-fucking-Rata in Tokyo, Japan, after his runway show, for anyone but the man himself.

She was going to maim Evangeline.

“Y/N, s’nice to meet you,” she mumbles back, her cheeks flushing the longer he cradles her hand in his. She hopes to all things good and holy in the world that he doesn’t notice.

Harry smirks charmingly, his eyes never leaving hers as he replies, “Pleasure’s all mine, Sweetheart,” and brings the hand he’s been holding in his up to his mouth to press his lips delicately against the back of it. Y/N’s breath hitches, and she’s just now realizing how pretty and pink his lips are, let alone how soft they feel grazing against the back of her hand. He’s got a cross tattoo in the juncture between his thumb and forefinger, and it makes Y/N wonder if there’s anymore tattoos hidden underneath that delicious suit of his.

“I- um,” she flounders for words, and Harry basks in her adorable speechlessness. “Has, um, Niall? Has he told you anything about me?”

“M’gonna be completely honest,” Harry starts, the puff of his chest and tone of his voice making Y/N brace for the worst. But, it never comes. No, instead he pulls her to his side and placing his hand on the small of her bare back as he guides her to her chair, dragging it out for her as he confesses, “I tend to block out whatever that dim bloke says, because, more often than not, it’s complete rubbish.”

Y/N giggles softly before she can stop herself. Her cheeks flush, and Harry’s eyes light up. Her laugh could quite possibly be the most beautifully enchanting thing he’s heard in his entire life. Now that he’s heard it, he can’t be certain if he’ll ever be able to go without hearing it again.

“He can’t be all bad, if you keep him around,” Y/N jests in return as Harry makes his way back to his seat, unbuttoning his suit with one hand, the hand with the cross tattoo, while settling into the chair.

He shrugs, “He has his moments, but he’s been so…him the last few years.”

Y/N raises a curious brow, placing her clutch on the table, “How long have you two known each other?”

“Since junior high,” he utters, as if friendships last so long all the time.

“Really?”

“Mhmm,” Harry nods, his eyes flicking to Niall and the heart eyes he’s sending Gigi. He subtly rolls his eyes in amusement before looking back to Y/N. “I only keep him around because he knows so much, otherwise I’d have to kill him.”

“Ah, yes, murder cos’a secrets, that seems just,” Y/N hums, leaning back in her chair. Harry catches the way her shoulders relax a bit, the way her brows don’t immediately furrow at his prolonged silence. She’s in her element.

He cants his head to the side, “’That seems just’, you a lawyer, Darlin’?”

“I have a law degree, and I passed the bar, but no, I just work at a law firm,” she sighs, tone suddenly dejected.

“You don’t sound so pleased,” he presses on.

“Well, I never said I wanted to get a law degree, or pass the bar, or work at a law firm, did I?”

Harry smirks down at his lap softly before he looks back at her, “Touché.” He signals for a waiter, waits all of fifteen seconds, and the hostess comes rushing toward the table.

“Mr. Styles, what can I get for you?” The hostess, Tiffany, asks kindly, a warm, inviting smile gracing her lips that Y/N knows is a practiced perfection, but she still appreciates it.

“Start us off with a bottle of Freixenet Prosecco, please and thank you, Tiffany,” Harry instructs, his tone respectful but authoritative, not mean, but confident and assertive, leaving no room for miscommunication.

“Of course, Mr. Styles, I’ll be back with your wine shortly.” Tiffany spins around and quickly makes her way to the kitchen, leaving mainly in fear of somehow upsetting the man asking for prosecco.

“What do you want to do?” Harry continues right where they left off, as if he hadn’t requested them a beverage mere seconds ago, and it’s confusing, but mainly endearing, charming, that he’s so interested in her, or at least good a pretending he is.

However, she finds herself at a loss of words. She doesn’t know what she wants, she just knows she doesn’t want what she has. And, when you put it like that it sounds really fucking stupid and selfish, but it’s true! She’s so bored with her life, and maybe for once she wants to live for herself instead of somebody else. She just isn’t sure how the fuck she’s supposed to do that.

“I’m, well, I’m not sure,” she utters softly after a few quiet moments, looking down at the tablecloth to distract herself.

No, Harry thinks, look at me.

“I guess I’m so busy I’ve never really thought about it,” she shrugs, perking back up at the sound of Tiffany returning with their wine.

Harry knows that part of that is true. Despite what he may think, he does remember Niall telling him about Gigi, their date, and her friend, Y/N. He remembers he said she worked long hours five days out of the week, that she woke up early and went to bed late, and that she rarely did anything but work on weekdays. He also remembers he said she was a people pleaser or— Well, doormat, more like. Told him how so many people at her job were cruel and snobby, how her friends always asked her to pay for them, or how she spoiled them with sweet gifts for no reason only to get nothing in return. He remembers he’d said she was the type of person to take care of a sick friend, to buy a meal for a homeless person she passes on the street, to run into a burning building, risk her life, if it meant she could save someone she loved. He remembers he’d said she sounded like a right sweetheart; a pretty flower, surrounded by a garden of big, nasty weeds.

Harry didn’t care to take the date seriously when he was first told about it, but know that he’s here, he thinks he’d like to get the chance to pick out some of those weeds.

The bottle has been set on the table in a chilled metal bucket for a few minutes now, and Y/N has found herself mixed into Niall and Gigi’s conversation, though she’s not entirely sure how she became apart of it in the first place.

“Golf is romantic!” Niall whines.

“S’not… like, at all, Niall,” Gigi repeats for the umpteenth time , shaking her head. “You’re as cute as you are stupid,” she mutters.

“Hey!”

Y/N bites back a smile, “Gigi, play nice.”

“Oh, boo hoo,” she pouts mockingly.

Niall huffs childishly, “I do run multiple companies, you know?”

“No, I run multiple companies,” Harry snorts, finally adding his two cents. “You’re COO for a reason.”

“Fuck you,” Niall grumbles, and Harry and Gigi share a knowing smirk.

“He’s a baby,” Harry whispers to Y/N once Gigi’s easily lead Niall into a new topic of discussion (the fucking lovesick idiot).

“He’s a character, definitely,” she laughs softly. Harry goes for the wine, pouring each flute with the perfect amount before settling the bottle back in the ice bucket.

“You ever had prosecco?” He queries genuinely.

“I don’t recall, no,” Y/N frowns, her brows furrowing and nose scrunching softly as she tries to remember a time she’d had prosecco. In all honesty, she very well could have, but most of her alcohol exposure came from frat parties with hard liquor, so she seriously doubts she has. “What’s it like?”

“Smooth,” Harry starts, eyeing his flute carefully, like he’s observing a piece of art, and, for the price, it may as well have been. “S’crisp, an’ fresh, not too bubbly, but certainly not flat either.” He raises to glass to his lips, and Y/N follows the sight, dazed, as the pink of his tongue peak out from between his plush lips. He hums at the first taste of its sweetness, taking a thoughtful sip before setting his glass back on the table. “Go ‘head, try it, Sweetheart.”

Y/N wants to try it, she does, she just wants him to keep speaking to her like that more.

“S’it yummy?” She questions. Harry doesn’t think she realizes she’s pouting, and he could fucking kill her for it.

“S’so yummy, Darlin’,” he drawls, a hint of something filthy in his tone that you’d only notice if you were listening carefully, and Y/N was listening very carefully. “Tastes like peach, and apple; pear, and honeysuckle. Y’gonna love it, Sweet girl, promise, just try some f’me, yeah?”

Y/N could fucking melt. She’s never had someone treat her this way before, never felt coddled in a way that was good and not constricting, desirable and not suffocating. And, while it’s scary and groundbreaking to think about, she’s too intoxicated by him and his golden aura to overthink it. His presence, the comfort and calm he radiates like a furnace makes her weak—defenseless—and she has no choice but to fall into his rose hued, sunshine scented trap.

She takes an experimental sip from her flute, and when the first drops of wine hit her tongue, spring blooms inside of her.

Harry hadn’t been lying, the prosecco is smooth. It glides down Y/N’s throat like warm cider would, even if it’s chilled. The bubbles fizzle and pop on her tongue in a way that almost makes her want to giggle, but she can’t when peach is slicking across her lips and pear is coating her mouth. She can’t possibly do anything else but enjoy the way honeysuckle warms her tummy and apple drips down her throat, just as he’d said. She’s in heaven, Y/N is absolutely certain. She’s never been much of a wine girl, but now she’s starting to believe she just didn’t know enough about it.

This prosecco is good, so good, that she’s sipping away more contents than she should be. Harry doesn’t mind, though. He thinks it’s sweet, cute, even, how she likes it so much—how she’s so desperate to get more she’s about to start dripping it down her chest.

Harry stands from his seat subtly, grabbing a cloth napkin from the table before side-stepping closer to Y/N, placing the napkin under her chin just as prosecco begins to spill from her cup and miss her pouty lips.

“Easy, Darlin’,” he croons.

She gasps softly at the feeling of cold liquid and pressure against her chin, and Harry’s free hand comes to take the flute away from her.

“Messy thing,” he mumbles, wiping away drops of sweet honeysuckle and peach. “Gonna have to drip feed you from my cup, Sweetheart.” He smirks above her, the hand beneath her chin nudging her to look up. He chuckles at the sight of her moony doe eyes. “Hmm, you hungry?” Y/N nods. “Hmm?”

“Yeah,” she soughs, voice dreamy.

“Yeah? What’re y’hungry for, Sweet girl?”

You, she thinks.

Harry quirks an amused brow, “What was that, Baby?”

Baby.

Oh fuck.

“Menu!” She squeaks out through a whimper, unconsciously leaning into his touch. God, what is happening to her?

Harry snickers at her weak attempt of cover, but he’ll let it slide this once.

“Oh, you want the menu, why didn’t you just say, Darlin’?” He teases (so maybe he didn’t let it slide completely).

Harry drops the napkin back on the table, and lets his thumb shift up to her jaw, trailing up, up, up, until it gently brushes against the plump flesh of her glossy, pouty lips. He signals for another waiter with his free hand, but he doesn’t look away from Y/N, nor does he speak, and she does the same. Lost in those eyes, in the painting of ocean waves, the foam that washes up on the shore, sand that looks dewy and soft to the touch, waves that look kind and friendly. Lost in such an intense beauty the words he utters to Tiffany when she finally arrives are muffled to the point Y/N can’t make out a single word. She doesn’t care to, doesn’t want to, if she’s honest. She’s much more content staring into the eyes of the most captivating man she’s ever met.

He pulls down on her bottom lip, watching closely as it snaps back into place when he releases it.

Her breath hitches.

“Anyone tell you, you look beautiful tonight?” Harry mumbles, eyes flitting between her eyes and down to her lips, then back up again.

“No,” she whispers back, because it feels wrong to speak any louder than a gentle wisp of wind in this moment.

“You look beautiful tonight, Y/N,” Harry declares smoothly, his eyes falling down to her sitting figure. “Fucking breathtaking, Darlin’.”

Y/N feels her cheeks at the compliment, and she has to look away from the intensity of his gaze.

“Thank you, Harry, you’re very sweet,” Y/N says, voice low and un-accepting of his words.

Harry doesn’t like that. He hates that she feels like she has to find a reason for his compliment, hates that she only thinks he’s said to be sweet, not because it’s true.

He knocks at her chin once more, forcing her eyes to him.

“I mean it, Y/N,” he insists. “You’re captivating, don’t let people make you feel any different, ever.” Even if she doesn’t hear his words right now, he hopes that if he gets the chance to keep telling her, she’ll hear his words someday.

Y/N’s never felt so adored. So seen. She never thought anyone would see through her facade and satisfy her forever unspoken needs, wants, and desires, never thought someone would ever care enough to try. And here Harry was, looking at her like she’s something precious, cradling her jaw like she’s the sweetest creature he’s laid his eyes on. And when he says stuff like that, that she’s beautiful, fucking breathtaking, captivating… she thinks she just might be.

Harry Styles was going to be the death of her, she’s sure of it.

———

Y/N eventually settles on—after a long 15 minute internal debate that ended with Harry finally suggesting her two of his favorite dishes—the Mackerel Sashimi and Tamago Sushi Platter, paired with a bottle of Chateau Margaux 2009 for the table to share (Harry said something about the cherry and raspberry notes being mouthwatering, and Y/N thinks it’d be foolish to doubt him after her first dance with Freixenet Prosecco). She didn’t bother herself with focusing on prices, knowing it would completely sour her mood (she saw that at least three wines were over one grand in her frantic scanning of her menu). Her wine flute is empty, only golden droplets of prosecco left behind, and an equally empty, perfectly dry bordeaux glass waiting to be filled to the brim with ruby red liquid.

She’s only half aware of the conversation swirling around her, body too loose and brain too floaty, a warm tickle in the pit of her tummy, keeping her distracted.

Maybe she’s already had a bit too much to drink…

She thinks she hears Niall inquiring about her job—or maybe it was how Gigi and her first came to meet each other?—and she wills herself to respond as polished plates covered in luxurious cuisine are placed in front of herself and the rest of the table.

“M’sorry,” she hums, placing a hand across her collarbone in earnest. “Could you repeat the question?”

Niall shifts in his seat, making a move to grab his chopsticks as he repeats, “Asked how you liked livin’ here, in the city, love.” He offers a slight smile to the busboy who fills his glass with rouge before cradling his sushi between his chopsticks and lifting the dish up to his open mouth, chewing as he waits for Y/N’s answer.

“Oh,” she chirps, smiling down at her plate of food. “It’s lovely, honestly. I mean, the sirens and rats aren’t ideal, not to mention the subway—” she shudders slightly at the thought of her last adventure down there. “—but, I… I really do love it.” Niall chuckles softly, nodding through her response. “Plus, it’s not too different from where I grew up, so…”

“Where’re you from?”

“Pittsburgh,” she says smoothly, a lilt of comfort to her voice.

The naivety of her tone reminds Harry of a time when he felt the same way about this city, fresh out of Oxford, ambitious and a cocky little son of a bitch who thought he’d conquer the world of businessmen. He’d gotten what he wanted, but sometimes he wonders if any of it was worth it.

Were the six years of Uni level schooling worth it?

Were the sleepless nights filled with shite whiskey, dull Marlboro Golden’s, and faceless bodies worth it?

Were the cherished kisses, and hushed promises, and endless hours of love and devotion; loyalty and adoration; sacrifice and kindness…

Right now, sitting in front of Y/N, listening to the way she speaks about her love for New York City, telling stories of the little trips she’s taken with friends, watching the way her eyes glimmer in the low light of the restaurant, and hearing the passion and sincerity in her tone, Harry’s starting to wonder how he ever thought any of this wasn’t worth it.

She’s got him wrapped around her pretty little finger like some pussy-whipped bitch, and the most skin he’s seen is her fucking back. Christ, he feels like Niall. He’s known Y/N for all of two and a half hours, was forced to hang up on his ex-girlfriend not three hours ago because of this date in the first place. If Camille is a siren, then Y/N is a deity. She’s an otherworldly, enchanted goddess who’s been sent down from Olympus to lure Harry into a honey sweet, sticky altercation, Harry’s convinced. There’s no other explanation for why he feels so hooked on her soft-looking skin and pink glossy lips so early on. No reason he should already be so addicted to the way she looks at him, the way she silently pleads for more, without even knowing. Without even fucking trying.

He doesn’t know what the fuck is happening, he thought he’d have more resolve than this, thought he had more self-control than this. But every flutter of her lashes and flicker of her pupils proves Harry wrong. So wrong.

He needs to get a fucking grip, settle his nerves and muzzle the thoughts swirling through his head—pleasant streams now filthy swamps—before he says something that’ll get him in trouble. In deep, warm, velvety trouble that smells of daffodils and waterlilies, and tastes of rich caramel and the sweetest milk.

Lord have mercy.

Harry’s so caught up in his head he nearly misses the ladies excusing themselves to the restroom, sliding out of their seats before pushing them in and turning away from the table, muttering amongst themselves as they saunter toward the loo. His eyes follow Y/N until she’s out of sight, borderline glaring at the way her bare back shines in the lighting, smooth looking, sparkling diamonds trickling down the middle of her spine, and Harry can’t stop himself from imagining what it’d be like to press his hand into the small of her back as he—

“I’m so fucked, mate,” Niall groans into his hands, and Harry knows what he means.

“Yeah,” he nods once, finally looking at the untouched plate of food in front of him.

Me fucking too, Niall.

———

“I’m so fucked, Y/N,” Gigi groans into her hands once she’s finished gushing over Niall, leaning her tailbone against the sink behind her as she caves in on herself.

“There are worse guys to fall for,” Y/N snickers from her place beside her, but she keeps the part about how she knows exactly how she feels to herself. “Just take things slow, the rest will fall into place.”

Gigi peeks out from behind her hands to glance at her best friend, playfully jabbing, “It’s a wonder you’re not six years into marriage with how prudish you are.”

Y/N feels her eyes roll, “Well, excuse me for wanting to settle down with someone instead of ask strangers if they’re clean or not for the rest of my life.”

“Touché,” Gigi smirks, pushing off the sink to stride to the bathroom door. “C’mon, need to get back so I can make sure you don’t ruin your chances of getting laid tonight.”

Y/N wipes up some smeared gloss from the corner of her mouth before turning to face Gigi, her face pointedly flat. “Hilarious,” she chortles sarcastically before her face drops and she’s exiting the bathroom while Gigi basks in the aftermath of her playful, unnecessary confrontation.

“You love me,” she mumbles to Y/N as they make their way back to the table.

“I tolerate you,” she corrects, shivering when she locks eyes with Harry from a few feet away. His expression is enticingly dark, and it makes her thighs clench beneath her dress. Her tone is breathy as she continues, “There’s a difference,” her feet carrying her toward the table without instruction from her mind, like there was a pull between her and Harry she’s helpless to deny.

For once, Gigi keeps her mouth shut.

“Glad you’re back,” Harry spouts, his words both mindless and perfectly calculated, slippery, easy to slip off his tongue, and the cringe he’s bracing himself for (from her and himself) never comes. Instead, Y/N pauses where she stands, her lips slightly pouting and her eyes rounding out, and she looks so cute it hurts. Her brows pinch together, lashes fluttering over the apples of her cheeks, reacting as if he’d just professed his undying love for her, not expressed that he’s pleased she’s returned from the toilet.

Y/N never thought she could be this easy. She wouldn’t say she’s particularly hard to get, but she likes to think it takes more than someone telling her they’re happy with her presence to get her to want to fall to her goddamn knees.

Yet here she is.

“Missed me that bad?” She teases when she finally recovers, but it’s too late, Harry knows what he does to her.

“Niall’s not the best company, Darlin’.”

“Sod off, Styles,” Niall scoffs, shoving Harry, but he doesn’t budge. He sulks, and Harry smirks all sexy and charming when he starts complaining to Gigi.

“Do you two ever stop bickering?” Y/N picks up a piece of sushi as she waits for Harry’s answer, not bothering with the chopsticks. She knows she’ll only serve to make a fool of herself.

Harry bites back a smile as he watches her eat, amused by her choice of medium. “We haven’t stopped bickering since sophomore year, high school, and we probably won’t until we retire.”

“You’re silly.” She lets out a tiny peal of laughter, flitting a tendril of wispy hair away from her line of view.

“I’m silly?” He echoes, a perfect brow arched in curiosity.

“No— I mean—” Y/N stammers, tripping over her words to find an explanation. “You’re not silly, I just… It seems silly to waist such a valuable friendship fighting all the time, that’s all.” Her voice is low, timid, scared at the possibility of upsetting him.

“That’s sweet, Darlin’,” Harry soughs gently, bordering a coo. “Don’t have to worry, though, s’all fun an’ games ‘til one of us gets fuckin’ slammed.” He’s not sure if he means with alcohol or work, but either way, Harry briefly thinks of how Niall reminded him of this date, then visibly shakes the thought from his head. “He knows I care about him,” he states firmly.

The conviction of his words makes the pool of admiration filling Y/N’s glossy eyes overflow, spilling hints of fuzzy warmth down her body, joints feeling pliable and soft. “I don’t doubt it,” she whispers in return, eyes falling back to her plate as she starts on her next piece of sushi.

Harry inhales sharply, his eyes focusing in on her plate of food. He kicks his chin in its direction “How’s y’food?”

She glances up at Harry, her eyes sparkling with delight. She chews with a new haste, eager to keep him from waiting.

“S’delicious, Harry, thank you,” she smiles once she’s gulped down her mouthful, cheeks tinting when Harry’s eyes chase after hers the moment they flicker away from him.

“What for, Sweet girl?” He seems to croon, nearly pulling a raspy, needy whine from Y/N’s throat.

“You told me what to order?” Her tone suggests she’s unsure of herself, like she’d been mistaken somehow.

Harry chuckles, “S’nice of you, Sweetheart, but I barely did a thing. Should be thankin’ the chef, I reckon.”

Y/N shrugs, unconvinced. “Still,” she mumbles.

Harry can’t help but feel endeared by her persistence.

There’s a sudden shift in the atmosphere between them, and, for better or for worse, they both feel it. And they both take it in stride.

“May I be frank, Y/N?” Harry suddenly asks.

Her spine straightens in her seat, “Of course…”

“I’m wondering what made you come out here to night,” he tells her, face scrunched in intrigue.

“How do you mean?”

He nibbles thoughtfully on his bottom lip, choosing his next words carefully. “Please forgive me if this offends you, but you don’t strike me as the… lavish type, Sweetheart.”

Her face of realization is probably cuter than a baby panda, Harry thinks, but she manages to make just about everything so goddamn cute.

She’s silent for a few moments, contemplative, before blurting, “Do you want the truth, or the ideal?” She looks up, into his seafoam eyes, her own wary. When Harry’s eyes soften just the tiniest bit, rounding out in the familiar way hers so often do, and gently mutters The truth, please, Darlin’, she sighs out a breath through her nose before pushing on. “I’m not the lavish type. I’m not any type, really. All I do is work, there’s no time for anything else.” Harry schools his features into staying the same, but his heart swells and breaks in two all at once at her words, because he understands. “I haven’t been on a date since I broke up with my ex—” she pauses to give herself a second to recoup. “—and he— w-we broke up months ago.” She exhales a shaky breath, that sounds strikingly like a sad little whimper, her eyes are welling up, stingy, she thinks she feels her fingers start to tremble, and…and Y/N doesn’t understand why she’s getting so emotional! Harry’s got some sort of truth serum swimming in his irises, there’s no other reason why Y/N would be spilling her very heart and soul out onto the table. She’d expected a dinner, not a therapy session.

“Gigi dragged me here, but I would’ve come if she forced me to or not,” she continues after a few composing breaths. Her eyes meet Harry’s, tingles zipping through her spine when she sees how intently he’s listening to her, hanging off her every word. “And I’m…pleased I did come,” she admits, feeling her cheeks warm. “I’m glad the date was with you—that I met you—instead of some creep because I— I’m positive I never would’ve left the house again if this went sideways,” she sighs dramatically, aware her statement is wildly untrue, but unsure of how else to convey the significance this night holds—the significance that Harry holds.

The silence that follows weighs down on Y/N the same way a bad grade loomed over her head when she was in UNI; ever-present and crippling. It hangs in the air for what feels like decades, but can only be two minutes, maximum. And just as she’s scrambling to apologize—just as she opens her mouth to spew out words she can only hope salvage what she’s ruined—Harry finally gives up a response.

“That sounds pretty ideal to me, Y/N.” He speaks gently, reassuring her of all her internal worries in one simple phrase. She shouldn’t be surprised, Harry’s proven to be a kind gentleman throughout the entire night, but that doesn’t stop her. It doesn’t deter the shock value any as he smiles at her, not smirks, but smiles. Her stomach twists at the sight of two dimples denting his full cheeks, winking sweetly at her. And it’s gone as quick as it’s there, like his muscles haven’t moved in such a way in so long that it feels unnatural, but it stays in her mind, as beautiful and dazzling as the real moment, not faded and foggy like other memories.

Y/N can’t really explain why she says what she says next, perhaps a demon possess her being for less than thirty seconds because even with the phrase swimming in her brain they know she won’t say it on her own, not without a little push. All she knows is that she does say it, with too much apprehension, her voice shy.

“I— I really wanna kiss you, Harry.”

Her cheeks heat and her eyes go wide as she says it, like she can’t believe she really has. She waits for Harry to scoff, to let her down easy, tell her he was only being polite and that it would do her some good to be a little more subtle in the future. None of this happens.

Upon hearing Y/N’s full disclosure, Harry does virtually nothing. Virtually being the operative word here; his eyes, seafoam green in color—something Y/N is slowly coming to adore—and deliciously vivid, shift. Expand. His pupils shoot out wide, blackening a generous space in the very middle of his eyes. And while Y/N undoubtedly misses the soft green creeks she’s becoming so familiar with, she can’t deny that this is perfectly enticing.

“Yeah?” He mutters, so soft, before clenching his jaw so slightly Y/N is almost inclined not to notice, but the simultaneous heave of his chest gives him away. “Are you?”

Is she?

Y/N looks to the side, weak from the way Harry stares straight through her and straight into her soul. She exhales, answering like she’s forgotten she’s the one who started this. “Pardon..?”

Harry smirks, she can hear it as he asks, “Are you going to kiss me, Sweetheart?”

Fuck him for making it sound so goddamn black and white.

Thighs clench under the dining table, shaky hands coming to clutch the beige tablecloth hanging from the edge. Y/N feels slightly dizzy, maybe it’s from the reality of the question, or maybe it’s from the thought of his bubblegum pink, pillow-plush lips pressed tightly to hers, molding them together until they can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

“I—I,” her breath hitches, tripping up her tongue as it tries to form words. “Yes.”

When she looks back at Harry, she finds that he’s shifted from his original position, now leaning back in his seat as opposed to in close to the table, his left arm crossed over his chest, the fingers of his right hand plucking thoughtfully at his full bottom lip, looking right at her, and—

He knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

She can see it, in the glint of his eyes, in the way he’s fighting back an arrogant, condescending smirk.

“Yea—”

“But not h-here!” She rushes to stammer, to regain some control of the situation. She feels like she’s unknowingly given it all to Harry. And it scares her.

Harry lets the smirk he’d been halfheartedly trying to hide bloom at full force, so pleased that his dimples pop out with this one, and Y/N’s positive she could com—

“Where then, Darlin’?” His tongue wraps the words up in a tantalizing caress, the sound of his voice holding a lilt of deep, charismatic rasp.

“Take me— I— Harry.” The plea feels heavy as it slips off her tongue, and something dark glimmers in the center of Harry’s eye.

“Take you where? C’mon, talk to me, Sweet girl.”

She gazes at him, looks into his eyes and begs him not to make her do it, not to make her say something so suggestively dirty. She hopes that she’s being obvious enough. For once, she hopes that the way her emotions betray her and smear loudly over her expressions is painstakingly clear. But the only thing she sees is sick, cruel enjoyment of her embarrassment.

She chokes down a whine through slurring, “Takemetoyourhouseharry.”

“What was that?” He purrs, eyelids heavy. “Stop mumblin’, Sweetheart.”

Y/N’s grip on the tablecloth tightens, slick pooling in her panties, forming an uncomfortable wet patch that she slides through with every shift of her hips. And she can’t stop squirming.

“Take me to your house, Harry,” she repeats slowly, delicately, and the implication of her request makes her feel dirty, as expected. But, unexpectedly she can’t find it in herself to give two shits. In fact, she thinks she’d be absolutely, ridiculously, disgustingly filthy if it meant making Harry happy. “Please.”

“Oh, Baby,” he coos, condescending and coddling in the most tummy twisting way. It makes a heat pool there, spreading throughout her body, heavenly sparks and splashes of divine warmth traveling up to her heart and down between her legs, quickening the pace of both beats. “Beggin’ f’me in a sushi house,” he tsks, biting his bottom lip when the flush of her cheeks grows worse. “What m’I g’na do with you..?”

Y/N is unsure if the question is rhetorical or not, her mouth opening and closing around phantom responses, her eyes clear with lust, and confusion, and fear. A fear that she’s never known, one that stirs in her soul with the promise of something… something. A fear of what kissing Harry means, of what it can lead to. Fear of what being with him can do to her. Fear of what he can give her, fear that she won’t be able to live with just a taste, that her heart will never be full without it.

Fear, that Harry fucking eats up.

It tickles him pink with amusement because, honestly, there’s nothing to be scared about (right?). What a silly thing, scared over absolutely nothing—Harry would rather kill himself than lay a hand on most people, let alone her—it makes Harry that much more excited to see her relax, decompress, unfurl, for him, when he—

“Let’s go, Darlin’,” Harry eventually exhales, buttoning his suit jacket before he stands from his seat, side-stepping to push the chair under the table. “No time to waste.”

Y/N straightens up in her chair, shoulders opening and chin lifting, her eyes frantic. “What about the bill?”

He nods to Niall, “He’s got us, don’t worry.”

Her gaze hesitantly finds Niall, but only for a moment, far too embarrassed to linger for him catching her stare. “Are you sure?”

“Go on, love,” Niall says suddenly, as if he’d been privy to their discussion the whole time. The thought makes Y/N’s stomach churn. “More than happy to cover your meal, and if it means I have to cover his, too, then so be it.”

She musters up a smile, mildly unconvincing, before offering Niall a small nod and standing from her seat. Harry outstretches a hand to her, and she gingerly places her palm in his, her other hand reaching for the table to grab her tote. She stands up straight, and is once again met with the knowledge that Harry is possibly a whole foot taller than her, her neck craning to allow their eyes to meet, waiting patiently for his next instruction.

Instead of vocalizing his request, Harry opts for tugging on the silky-soft hand in his, gently urging Y/N out the fancy double doors they’d entered not three hours ago and onto the sidewalk outside. Her body curls into his, desperate for warmth as the chill of the night air nips at her bare back. She shivers, which Harry seems to notice. When he lets go of her hand, Y/N nearly deflates, the beginnings of something cold and shadowing settling over her fragile heart. But that warmth that’s so easily becoming associated with Harry creeps back up and melts away all the icky cold that’s made her face drop and emotions muddy when he slips his arm around her waist, tucking her tightly into his side.

“Shakin’ like a leaf, Baby,” he whispers into the crown of her head, and she shivers again, though she’s unsure if the cause is the cold or his voice.

“Sorry,” she squeaks out, meek.

Harry seems to snort out, “What’re y’apologizin’ for, Darlin’?” When she offers up zero response, he chuckles, giving her waist a sure squeeze. “Aish, you’re silly, y’know that?”

Y/N only smiles into his chest, her cheeks tinting, and very briefly does it strike her that maybe things are moving a little quickly. The thought gets buried under a mountain of nonsense immediately.

He pulls her to the valet and (presumably) calls for his vehicle. They wait a measly two minutes, filled with fleeting looks and wayward smiles, before his car is pulling up. The 1972 Ferrari Dino is bright yellow and tiny; if Y/N weren’t aware that the car probably cost more than the two large minivans she had growing up, she’d have half a mind to awe and coo at its adorable size.

Harry pulls her toward the passenger seat before she can allow herself to gawk inappropriately any longer, and she feels kind of…weightless as he escorts her. She doesn’t know why, she doesn’t know how, and she doesn’t know what has caused this pleasant feeling (though she has a sneaking suspicion it’s Harry), but it’s comforting enough that it makes that fear she had at the dinner table lick at her spine, reminding her to be careful, to never be too trusting.

Because anyone can hurt you, but the only people who can break you, are the people you trust.

Harry’s free hand comes to open up the car door, and he dutifully guides her into her seat. Y/N ducks under the roof and slides in, settling into the expensive leather of her chair, cold but smooth against the expanse of her back. She expects Harry to close the door and mosey over to the driver’s side, but, instead, he leans inside, too. His left hand grabs her seat belt, and as his warm breath puffs out, sweeping delicately over her collarbone, he pulls the belt over Y/N and buckles it into place. His left hand moves from the belt to the frame of the door, his right settling on the center console, and then he’s close, so close. So close that their noses graze. So close that their lips a mere inches apart. So close that they’re breathing the same air. It makes her dizzy in the head, eyes frantically flitting from his own seafoam green pair and his bubblegum pink, plushy, oh-so-kissable lips.

Y/N is silly enough to believe Harry’s gonna kiss her. She knows she’s impatient and she knows she’s the one who asked to wait until they got to his house, but Christ, she wants to feel his lips on hers, she wants it so bad. And he’s so close, it’s difficult not to think about his lips when they’re right there. But when she leans in, shoots out to seal their mouths together, Harry shoots back, away from her advance.

He tsks, “Greedy.” The utterance is so soft you could miss it, but Y/N hears, and it makes her brows pinch and bottom lip jut out (and thighs clench, but, she’d never admit that to Harry). His nose nudges hers, and she’s positive it’s intentional, but the second she goes in, Harry, once again, pulls away, smirking at the way her once practiced pout turns into one of true defeat. Call him a sadist, but he likes watching her get so desperate for him. “Be good,” he mumbles condescendingly.

Y/N huffs—she hasn’t done anything wrong! But, nevertheless, she doesn’t try kissing him again, not even when he inches in closer. Close, close, close, close enough to brush his lips over hers, cruel enough to suckle on her bottom lip and make her sit there and whimper like some pathetic damsel, scared of the big bad wolf here to gobble her up. His lips are softer than she could’ve ever imagined, but she sits there a lets Harry torture her with nothing but whines and whimpers to vocalize her displeasure, determined to be good for him.

He hums contentedly, pulling back slowly. “Taste sweet, Baby.”

The admittance is enough to make Y/N’s eyes cross in the middle, and she just barely refrains, opting to whine something delicate from her chest instead. Harry huffs out a deep breath in return, staring intently in her eyes. Or maybe, he’s just lost in them, he’s not too sure.

“You’re a fuckin’ temptress,” he grunts, his grip on the center console tightening to the point that veins pop, the green and blue in stark contrast to his beautifully ivory skin. Y/N holds her breath, and doesn’t dare look away from Harry, infinitely curious as to his next move. Though it brings her some disappointment to find that it’s to back away, completely. He ducks out of the passenger side and stands up straight as he shuts her door, and even though he’s only going to the driver’s side, she still misses the warmth of his proximity.

He’s back inside the car, on the opposite side, in less than five seconds (literally, Y/N counts). He wastes no time starting the car and merging onto the street, and if Y/N sees the meter of speed increase far past the limit when they reach the highway, she supposes their going so fast nobody will catch up.

———

The car ride to Harry’s home is silent. Y/N spends her time wondering what Harry could possibly be thinking about, and Harry spends his time wondering if his original plan of action is the best way to go.

He had a way of…breaking his partners in. When Harry finds himself in compromising situations, he follows a simple set of steps. He’ll assess the person of interest, determine if they’re worth his time or not. Then, he pushes buttons, tries to get an understanding of what turns them on and off, and if it’s compatible with his specific skill set. He can only infer so much, however; the only time Harry really gets to understand his partner, is in the moment, between the sheets. That’s when Harry began to push boundaries, not just buttons. And his partner’d either crumble or submit.

Harry is eager to find out how Y/N will behave, but he holds certain apprehensions. Playing with such a delicate creature—imposing on a still meadow that’s been undisturbed forever—it’s a dangerous thing. He wouldn’t mind watching her crumble or submit, but seeing her shatter is what he’s scared of.

Big buildings and little bodegas pass them by in blurs, and Y/N stares absently out of the window as they pull closer to a skyscraper. Lights blend in iridescent swirls and loops until they finally come to a stop beside an awning similar to the one over the entrance of her own apartment. Though, the red velvet of the carpet leading into the building and the stark royal blue of the awning give away that Harry’s residence is a tad more affluent than her own.

She refrains from gasping mawkishly as the car is put in park and Harry exits the vehicle and makes his way toward the passenger side door. He opens it, leans inside to unbuckle Y/N’s seat belt (without the added dramatics of before), and then holds out a hand for her as he stands up straight. Y/N sheepishly takes Harry’s hand, and he guides her out of his Ferrari and onto the sidewalk. He hands his keys to the valet, and then pulls Y/N into the lavish lobby—it seems more like a hotel than an apartment building—leading her straight to the gold two door elevators. He pushes the shiny button to call for a lift, and the elevator to the left dings immediately (unsurprisingly, seeing as it was nearly midnight). They step inside, Y/N desperately trying to settle into the silence. To not jump to any conclusions and be okay with standing in silence. Yet, as soon as the doors close, her mouth is opening to spew nonsense.

“Harry, I—”

“Shut up.”

Y/N shuts her mouth quickly, and although there is no bite or malice to his words, she still stiffens at the phrase. Harry notices, his eyes softening, and he steps in front of her, pushing her into the wall behind her and crowding her space.

“Excuse my bluntness, Darlin’; I’m not used to dealin’ with such a precious thing like you.” His free hand moves to cradle her cheek, his thumb going to stroke sweetly right under her bottom lashes and over the apple of her cheek, making her eyes flutter and mind go fuzzy. Her eyes round out and she sags into his hold. Harry smiles at her, the craters in his cheeks sending a happy spark through Y/N. “Precious thing…” he repeats, somewhat mindlessly, leaning in to graze the very tips of their noses together in a puppy’s kiss.

Her hands find purchase on his firm belly, fingers curling into the soft, expensive polyester-silk blend of his suit jacket. She pulls him closer by her grip and moans out something soft that makes Harry feel light and giddy and dopey and— No, no, no he needs to stay focused! He’s got a plan that he needs to follow, he needs to be in control, at least for tonight.

The hand once fondly holding her cheek goes to grip roughly at her jaw, his fingers denting the soft skin of her face. The pink of his tongue peaks out as he licks his bottom lip tentatively, eyeing her fervently.

“Minx,” he whispers to himself, but Y/N still hears, and her grip on his jacket tightens because of it. “Gonna have to start behaving yourself from here on out, start followin’ some rules…” he pauses, searching her gaze for any objections, but continues when he spots none. “Gonna be good for me, right?” Y/N nods, disregarding the fact that the first part of Harry’s speech accused her of being bad somehow, because she’d done nothing wrong. “Gonna do as your told?” He asks, and she nods again. “Gonna let me do what I want t’you?”

“Anything you want.” Her lips part and the words rush up her throat and spill out of her mouth before she can stop them, but they affect Harry in a way she wouldn’t have thought even if she did plan on saying them. He nuzzles into her neck, nipping, sucking, biting areas of soft skin before tonguing over the wounds to soothe them. He leaves two marks where her neck and collarbone meet, and one more behind her ear, before the elevator dings and he’s tugging Y/N off of the wall and into…his penthouse. The only reason she knows right away is because the elevator literally leads into the fucking penthouse, there’s no lobby or front door.

Y/N almost trips over her feet trying to take it all in, but Harry’s hand is around her waist before anything serious can happen. He pulls her into his chest, eyes her, the way she’s breathing so hard from having almost fell, how she looks around like she doesn’t remember where she is with bambi like eyes. Her chest rises temptingly with every breath she takes, and when her eyes finally stop on him, the once frantic optics now calm and rounded out, Harry’s knees threaten to buckle. The sight of her, so pleasant and pretty and soft, in his arms, it does things to him. Warm, lasting, giddy things Harry forgot he knew how to feel. So many things that looking into her captivating eyes is overwhelming, too overwhelming, and the next thing he knows he’s leaning in to finally kiss her.

But, for once, Y/N is the one to pull back, her eyes seemingly having left his and found purchase gazing somewhere off behind him. Harry’s brows cinch in the middle (he’s positive he looks the spitting image of Y/N when he’d done the same thing to her) but the second protests form on his tongue, Y/N is slipping out of his grasp and walking almost mindlessly to his vast floor to ceiling windows.

Out the clear glass is a sky high view of Northern Manhattan, the buildings and city streets buzzing with life. Smoke and laughter, heard even all the way up there, swirl through the air, building lights twinkling like the stars that look so real from up here. So bright and close, like if the window weren’t there, Y/N could reach out and grab one. She’s tempted to, getting unreasonably close to the glass of the large window, but she doesn’t touch. The only indication she’s so close is her breath hitting the glass, fogging it over, but she doesn’t notice, too entranced with the view before her.

Harry has half a mind to keep being pouty, but watching the wondrous curiosity spread across her face at seeing the vastness of New York City at such a large scale for the first time, it makes pride puff at Harry’s chest, and he’s too cheeky about it to stay upset. He follows after her, noting the way her hands wave in front of the glass, close to touching but not quite, like she’s looking through the glass of an exhibit, not a window. He creeps up behind her as she heaves out a big sigh, her breath fogging the window, and his right hand comes up to the glass, fingers tracing in the shape of a pretty heart.

Y/N jumps at the sudden presence behind her, but the image drawn in front of her, though quickly fading because of the AC, makes her own heart flutter, warm with affection and anticipation. Harry keeps moving closer until his front is firmly pressed against her back, his free hand falling to find purchase on her hip. He takes the hand on the glass and instead grabs her jaw, tilting her head to the side harshly. His teeth dig into his bottom lip when Y/N lets out a small whine because of his light manhandling—she’s aware she shouldn’t make it so easy, but it’s been a while—but before he can distract himself any further, his lips slide across the column of her neck, sucking delicate purple and pink and red splotches all over, going over the ones he’d made in the elevator. And, honestly, he’s feeling a bit mean, so he decides to bite over some of them too, getting the cutest fucking squeaks out of sweet Y/N. He doesn’t soothe any of the wounds with his tongue, instead kissing a sloppy trail up to ear, nibbling gently at the lobe. His fingers grip at her jaw tighter, turning her face to meet his and finally, finally connect their lips in a tongue-twirling, spit-smearing kiss.

Y/N mewls startlingly at the press of his mouth to hers, her top lip cradled between the soft pillows of his two. His lips are softer than she could’ve ever imagined, the plush a soft cushion with every click and smack they share. Their noses bump as the kiss grows with ferocity, breathes turning heavy and hands pawing at any chunk of flesh they can reach. When her tongue just barley slips past the seal of her lips to lick over his gingerly, tainted with great care, Harry just about loses it.

Something deep rises from his chest and out of his throat, perhaps a grunt—fucking growl more like—slips out, then the hand around her jaw is dropping down to her hip and he’s spinning her around to face him. She’s getting pushed into the window, and his lips are back on hers the instant her back hits the glass, the cold of it a stark contrast to her flushed, burning skin, and it causes a shiver to run down her spine. Harry’s arms snake around her waist, yanking her body into his until their fronts practically mold into one, chest to chest, the silk of Y/N’s gown brushing her just enough to make her cry out softly from the stimulation, her hands flying from where they once sat limply at her side to the lapels of Harry’s suit jacket. Her fingers curl into the expensive material, nails scratching harshly against it while he laves the flat of his tongue over hers, indulging completely in the taste of her and letting out a whimpery groan because of it.

Y/N is unsure if she’s ever heard something so beautiful in her life. She wants to hear it again, really badly.

As the kiss goes on—shortened, heavy breathes through noses that bump with every little shift and tilt, desperate to get the perfect angle, to get deeper, to feel more slick warmth, to taste more heavenly sin—Y/N gradually starts to slip into Harry’s hold. Her weight sags into his, arms looping around his thick neck to tug him down closer (he’s obnoxiously tall compared to poor little Y/N, her back sure to be sore in the morning with the way he’s got her bent backward for his kisses, and if her head weren’t so fuzzy, she’d muster up the strength to complain about it—she absolutely would not—but she can’t deny it’s something she likes about him, a lot), soughing all dreamy into his mouth when he pulls back with a soft click to start nipping at her lips, mainly for the benefit of giving her a breather. Harry’s hands slide down her hips to her thighs, lifting one leg after the other around his waist so he’s holding her up, the window behind them aiding in support.

With Harry holding her up, Y/N is just his height, barely, but she appreciates the relief of pressure to her back. Heavy pants from both ends bleed into one, the very air they breathe one in the same; chests bump together faintly with each heave. Harry doesn’t shut his eyes when he leans in this time, too enthralled with the sight of her. His eyes, heavy-lidded and blown wide with lust and curiosity, remain directly on her as he brings his mouth back to hers, lips barely grazing in a tantalizing, forbidden liaison she can hardly resist.

She should fucking expect it, Harry’s cocky, son of a bitch smirk as he shrinks back from her advance to seal their lips. She’s tempted to roll her eyes and say something a little snappy (not as if she could say something more offending than ‘fuck you’—which she also just wouldn’t do), but something in her gut tells her Harry wouldn’t take kindly to that, and she’s trying hard to be good for him.

“Harry—”

“Rule number one,” Harry begins, swiftly cutting off the needy whine sure to come from the girl clinging to him like a lifeline, and finally further elaborating on the ominous rules he’d briefly mentioned in the elevator. “When we’re playin’, you call me ‘Sir,’ and you don’t call me anything else unless I say you can, is that understood?” Y/N nods, big bambi eyes boring into Harry’s with a level of trust that should be concerning seeing as they’ve just met tonight, but she can’t find it in herself to have any aversions or apprehensions when it comes to Harry. “Use y’words, Baby, y’gotta talk t’me.”

“I understand,” she says immediately—like a puppet getting its strings tugged and pulled on—the assurance falling out of her mouth before she’s really thought it through, but it doesn’t matter, because when she does process it she’d still come up with the same answer.

A perfectly plucked brow arches up on Harry’s forehead, eyeing her expectantly, and the longer he waits, the more she can physically see his patience wearing thin. She’d be happy to quell his discomfort, but she doesn’t know what he wants from her! God, give a girl a hint before you—

“Sir.” The word slips from her mouth in a single breath, airy and light as it wafts into Harry’s face. “I understand, Sir.”

Harry’s relaxed brows and easy smirk give away that he’s pleased with her, and Y/N basks gratefully in that knowledge.

Christ, she feels like a puppy who’s been given a dog treat.

“There, knew you could be good for me.” His smile is easy, glowing, even, and his gaze fond. “Rule number two, we use the color system when we play, and you have to respond when ask what you color is.” Y/N nods in understanding, the action jerky but adorable, challenging Harry to fight off heart-shaped irises. “Green means good, yellow means we need to take a little break and talk things out, and red means stop, yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” With that, Harry’s hooking his arms in the bend on Y/N’s knees and hoisting her up so her drippy thighs are cushioning his ears. “Pull up your dress,” he speaks coolly, leisurely but demanding, like he’s got all the time in the world and he’s certainly not unwilling to make them use all of it up. Her fingers bunch against the soft silk of her dress, the dainty rings—a single gold band on her pinky and a gold band with a heart shaped pink jewel in the center on her ring finger—complimenting the pearl fabric of her gown. Harry watches impatiently as the skirt scrunches up, up, up until all of her is revealed. His nostrils flare when he sees nothing covering the smooth skin of her pelvis, his seafoam eyes trailing low enough to catch her poor clit swollen peaking from between her folds. His eyes nearly roll to the very back of his skull, and something akin to a frustrated grunt rips from his chest before his head is stuffed between the two plush cushions on either side of his head, his chocolate curls tickling her tensing tummy as he fits the whole of his mouth over her drooling cunt, his tongue slipping and sliding through her with a fervor Y/N has never experienced.

“Holy shit!” She cries loudly, one hand shooting out to fist at Harry’s hair and the other up to cover her mouth. He grunts gruffly into her—her nails digging into his scalp and leaving a delicious sting behind—the vibrations causing a shudder to sliver up her spine. She whines, her eyes crossing slightly as she bites fruitlessly into the back of her hand while Harry claws at her outer thighs and focuses his ministrations on her clit. He glides his tongue teasingly over the delicate pearl, short, grazing swipes that leave the back of her eyes stinging and her hand hurting from how hard she’s biting into it. Her breathing is far past the point of bated and bordering concerning as his lips lock around her little bundle of nerves to suckle gently. Her head knocks back into the window, she swallows thickly and her chest heaves when the pressure of his mouth against her only begins to grow more prominent.

Her belly feels warm, the coils and twists within tighter than she recalls them ever being before, and yet, somehow, it’s still not enough. The hand between her teeth falls to grip Harry’s bulging bicep, and only now does she allow herself to observe to sheer amount of strength Harry must have to be able to hold her above him so effortlessly. Her legs dangle uselessly over his shoulders, his thick, beefy, veiny arms wrapped tightly over the thick of Y/N’s thighs, his grasp allowing him to tug her back to his mouth any time she tries to squirm away from the stimulation.

“S-sir,” she stammers shakily as Harry’s mouth moves down, his tongue dipping inside to taste her fully. The groan Harry lets out when her essence hits his tongue is downright nasty, pushing himself closer, until his tongue is stuffed as deep as it can go and his nose his pressed firmly to her sensitive clit. Her head rolls to the side, like the weight of it is too heavy to keep upright, her lashes fluttering and pants audible. “Fuck, feels s’fucking—” She chokes violently on the rest of her words when Harry flattens his tongue against her, running it up to her clit so tortuously slowly the constant sting behind Y/N’s eyes finally turns to real tears. Real, fat, pathetic tears that roll down her puffy, rosy cheeks in waves; pleasurable, insatiable waves. When his tongue finally reaches her achy clit, Harry’s tightens his grip around her thighs and pulls her into him roughly, popping of very briefly to demand, Look at me, Baby, before he’s flattening his tongue back out and nodding his head up and down. His tongue, wet and soft and thoughtful as it glides over her cunt, stays gentle with its strokes, building to the crescendo of their symphony suspensfully, smugly.

Y/N feels Harry’s smirk before she sees it, her sense of touch hyper aware compared to her sense of sight, blurry around the edges and speckled with dazzling stars. When her vision does even out, however, the sight of the bottom half of Harry’s face covered in his spit and her arousal, stuffed between her thighs, almost shuts it right back down. She’s entirely unsure of how she manages to not faint with the sight and feel of him combined, but she does, even as his hand slides up her front, over her tummy and sternum before tugging at the neckline of her gown, her tits spilling over, nipples pebbling instantly as the cool air washes over her newly exposed skin. Harry hums appreciatively at the sight from between her thighs, his hand coming to massage and grope the soft mounds of flesh. His fingers dance across her chest and his tongue twirls along her pussy, deft, calloused palms dropping down roughly against her perky breasts, the loud resounding smack! echoing loudly throughout the corridor.

“Ah! Sir!” she whimpers, the sad cry going straight to Harry’s cock. He grumbles into her, moving to stuff his tongue back inside of her while he delivers a sharp pinch to each of her pouty nipples, before delivering equally as sharp slaps to both her tits. The pain tickles a part of Y/N’s conscious she wasn’t aware she had. It licks deliciously at her spine, and nags her thoughts until it’s all she can think about. Until the tears are falling harder and her bottom lips is bitten cherry red and she’s whining out, “Ngh— More! I wan— Please.”

Harry, happy to see her voicing her desires without being prompted, easily obliges to her request, giving out three more viscous slaps to her burning tits. The harsh contact has the desired affect, slick gushing out of her clenching hole and into Harry’s mouth tenfold with every hit he delivers. The reaction makes Harry’s cock twitch, his length plump and leaky, neglected.

Harry’s mouth moves to trial kisses and love bites along her inner thighs, pulling halfhearted soughs and obscene whines from the precious thing held above him. “Y’taste s’good, Darlin’,” he groans into her flesh, nipping at the soft plush and letting out a satisfied rumble when he sees the purple-ish, pink mark left behind. His eyes find hers, hair mussed atop his head, eyes wild and vibrant and lust-swamped. Y/N can barely make out the greens of his eyes, but she can’t tell if it’s because his pupils are blown wide or her eyes are just too bleary. “Think I’m g’na eat this pretty cunt ‘til I’ve had my fill,” he mumbles to her, biting back a smirk when her breath audibly hitches. He tilts his head to the side, looking far too boyish and smug for Y/N’s heart (or pussy) to handle. “Y’like that idea, Sweetheart?” His voice holds a rasp it hadn’t just seconds prior, and she envies Harry for being able to control and contort the mood in such a way. “Like the idea of my tongue in your pretty pussy ‘til I’m fuckin’ drenched in you?”

“Yes,” she exhales heavily, the single word rushed out, like Harry would retract the offer if she didn’t agree quick enough (highly unlikely). “Yes, please. Please, Sir.”

“Good girl, such good manners,” he croons, mouthing over her thigh from the bend of her knee to the juncture between her leg and pelvis. And then his tongue is laving over her again, slurping and sucking and licking and kissing. He submerges himself into her until she’s the only thing he can see, feel, hear, taste. Until the only thought in his brain is the taste on his tongue and the woman it came from. “God, I wanna fuckin’ ruin you…”

Harry’s admittance is so gentle, Y/N is positive she wasn’t truly meant to hear it, but she does, and the “Christ,” she sobs out softly because of it is somehow raunchy and delicate at the same time. She curls into Harry, her hands gripping tightly onto his curls once more. Her hips start to move on their own accord, swiveling and grinding down against Harry’s tongue in frantic, needy juts and bucks, but Harry doesn’t mind. In fact, he quiet enjoys the feel of her humping into his tongue, all caution thrown to the wind, the worst of her depraved, whorish fantasies come to life. And as much as he does enjoy it—her clit bumping his nose perfectly over and over, his tongue covered in her juices, face soaking in it; her pretty, unfairly divine pussy smothering him into breathlessness—he does have a plan that he’d hoped to follow tonight.

Harry grips her thighs tight enough to still her hips, dipping his tongue inside of her twice before licking up and swirling his tongue around her puffy clit, achy and throbbing and begging for relief. She whines something nasty and incoherent at the feel, and he sucks for one, two, three seconds; waits for her breath to halt and body to tense; for her legs to start sharking and mouth to fall open in the perfect ‘o’, for her walls to clench desperately around nothing and her eyes to cross violently through the middle; waits for the last second before the peak of their symphony… and noisily pops off of her clit with a smirk. The pained gasp Y/N lets out is loud and slightly startling, and Harry enjoys it way too fucking much.

She’s slipping down the window and landing on hardwood floors before she has the chance to even think of protests, let alone get them out. Her legs wobble when her feet meet the ground, and she keeps her eyes to the floor to spare herself from the seeing the cocky smirk she knows Harry is sporting. Her cheeks burn as she tries to steady herself, righting her dress over her thighs and chest, but Harry’s arm is hooking behind her knees and back, and he’s lifting her bridal style. She squeals cutely and tucks herself into his chest as he lifts her up, her arms instinctively wrapping tightly around Harry’s neck. His eyes land on her, her fucked out, dreamy expression that sends a desperate twitch to his cock. His jaw ticks slightly as he begins to walk to what Y/N assumes is the bedroom, fingers digging deep into her soft flesh, but Y/N knows that by this time tomorrow she’ll be standing in front of the mirror, admiring each mark tainted on her skin like strokes from Van Gough’s brush.

Her suspicions are confirmed when Harry uses his foot to kick in a door at the end of the corridor to the right. The bedroom they enter is massive, with a huge California king sized bed in the center of the room, a large flat screen television mounted above a brick fireplace, two night stands with stand alone lamps atop each, and an en suite. The windows are floor to ceiling like the front of the penthouse, with some fancy remote hooked off to the side that controls the electronic blinds. The tones, much like what she’d briefly gazed at before, remain ominous; dark, charcoals and black, dusty browns and grays that Y/N would never, ever choose for her own home, but finds herself not minding in Harry’s home.

She’s thrown onto the bed before she has any more time to take in her surroundings, huffing gently as her body bounces with the force of her landing. Harry knees onto the bed as he shucks off his suit jacket, and Y/N shuffles to settle onto her knees and meet Harry half way. Desperate hands meet hot, sweaty bodies as they push fabric from each other. Harry makes quick work of her dress, tugging on each loose strap draped over her shoulder, pushing hastily at the fabric when it pulls at her ribs, and she helps him along by kicking the offending garment off and to the ground. Y/N’s shaky fingers work with some difficulty to unbutton Harry’s dress shirt, but she supposes the struggle was worth it, because when the last button is popped free, she shoves his shirt off his shoulders and nearly drools at what seems like the miles of ink swirling across his skin. She whimpers before she can stop herself, hands coming up to trace over the ridges of the moth sitting gorgeously along his stomach.

Harry is beautiful. It’s not as if the knowledge is new or different or surprising, but seeing him—all of him—all the sculpting and carving it took to create the human before her, it makes her step back and realize just how beautiful he is. Inexplicably.

“Sir,” she mumbles absently, her eyes trained on the soft firmness of his torso. The lines of his abs are hard to miss, and oh-so-lickable, and the ‘v’ leading straight down to the very prominent tent in Harry’s slacks makes Y/N’s thighs clench. She exhales an overly shaky breath, eyes trained on every twitch and shift of his body. She completely mesmerized by his beauty, so caught up in the uncharacteristically godly physique the Gods so charitably bestowed upon him, that the force of Harry pushing her so she falls back onto the bed and shoving her legs up laterally so they’re pressed down to her chest shocks her more than it should.

Harry basks in the sight of her naked skin, draped only in the diamonds that pulled her look together so elegantly for dinner. He thinks he’d like to buy her a couple more, perhaps with a charm or two, an H and an S. But, then again, maybe he’s getting ahead of himself.

He’s got her exactly where he wants her, spread out for him in every way, hair splayed out in a halo-esque array and arms thrown up beside her head, restless fingers scratching at the ridiculously comfortable Pratesi sheets beneath them (not that she’s in the right head space to take notice of their lustrous). His lips meet her navel in a supple tangency, wandering across the freckled expanse in cherishing pecks and velvety smears, until he’s low enough that he can feel the warmth of her cunt near his face once again.

Y/N’s head lifts impatiently from the mountain of pillows below it when she feels Harry stop, deep lines etched in between her eyebrows and across her forehead, its folds and gaps resembling a sort of trenching of the skin. The poor thing looks so distraught—her lashes clumpy and mascara runny, tear-streaked cheeks red and puffy, like her eyes, which are fraught with panic, desire, and just a tad bit of annoyance—Harry couldn’t possibly stop the condescending croon that falls from his mouth when he sees her.

His face contorts into a frown of its own, mocking her displeasure. “What’s the matter, Baby? Why the long face?” His lips brush her flesh enticingly with every word he speaks—something Harry is acutely aware of—the tantalizing sweeps causing Y/N’s back to lift slightly from the bed, but Harry’s hands quickly find the back of her thighs, forcing her back down until she’s sinking into the mattress and nearly sore with the way Harry’s got her folded up like a pretzel.

“More, please,” she whimpers weakly, her hands coming up to rest on top of his, and if her fingers slip through his and squeeze tightly, neither her nor Harry mention anything about it. And maybe Harry’s fingers squeeze back, but no acknowledgement is exchanged.

Harry bites his lip at her sweet begging, hard enough to inspire the fear of drawing blood, but not enough to tear his attention away from the glowing deity beneath him. And though he remains unsatisfied with her answer—knows that if he really wanted to he could drag this out more then he already plans to and make her spell it out for him—he’s far too riled up to prolong the inevitable that much more. So, with some semblance of mercy, he drops down to slip his tongue back into her with any further probing.

Y/N somehow finds it in herself to be embarrassed—now, of all times—at how exposed she is, so open and vulnerable for Harry, and Harry alone. The thought of it makes her dangerously muddy in the head, and yet in thinking about it too hard she’s worked herself up so much, too much, and now her cheeks are burning and every little sound she makes sounds so screechy and annoying to her, and— Jesus, when did she get so puffy?

Harry, ever the observer, grips onto her hands tighter, pulling her focus back to him, and even with his face sticky and hair messy and eyes dark, he manages to look so soft and kind when her gazes at her.

“Look at me,” he whispers to her gently. She settles almost instantly when their eyes meet, breaths evening slightly and her shoulders dropping (she hadn’t even realized they’d tensed up). Harry thinks he’s got eyes the shape of hearts as he watches her submit for him. Submit to him. “Good; good girl, don’t look away…” His mouth slides onto the back of her thigh, lips intentional with each press and peck delivered, caressing silken flesh that he’s slowly becoming addicted to. “Rule number three, y’look at me when I’m makin’ y’feel good, got it?”

“Yes, Sir,” Y/N whines, nodding once for good measure. Harry doesn’t make her (or himself) suffer any longer, his moves to fit his head between her thighs, fixes his grip to make sure he’ll stop any potential squirming, and buries himself in her.

His tongue finds her clit first, licking incessantly at the oversensitive, swollen bundle, until the hands that are settled over his squeeze hard. Harry chuckles into her, his smile felt with every slide and swipe given to her achy pearl. She mewls lewdly, thinks she feels drool spilling from the corner of her mouth but she can’t be too sure, her lashes sweeping prettily along her under-eye, lids struggling to remain open as the seconds tick by, as Harry wraps his lips around her clit and sucks gently, rolling and pinching and nipping, his tongue coming out now and again to give saccharine kitten licks that make Y/N’s tummy tense with indescribable pleasure. The way his mouth moves against her is sinful; the twirls and intricate patterns laved over her petals; the cruel suckles that are far rougher than needed; the gentle, thoughtful strokes of his warm, wet tongue; all of it, everything he does. It’s so consuming that all she can feel is Harry, all she can hear, all she can see, all she can think about. He’s everywhere, taking up every inch of her space, completely crowding her until the only thing in her head is HarryHarryHarry.

She’s so overwhelmed with the sensation of him that she doesn’t registered his long, thick fingers slipping from hers and dancing tentatively toward her leaky hole. She doesn’t feel the calloused tips prodding at her vulva, spreading her out for him; doesn’t really feel them running over her clit, even if she shakes and moans out cutely all the same; she just barely feels them dip inside, but they’re rushing back out as soon as she takes note of it. She does, however, register Harry’s pause, the way he pulls back with pursed lips, swollen and red, and spits right on her cunt. He watches, mesmerized, as it spreads over her, slicking her further (though it’s certainly not necessary), before it trickles down, down, down to her second, untouched hole. His bottom lip is back between his teeth, as if it belongs there whenever he’s gazing at Y/N, and his thumb moves to prod gently at the puckered entrance.

Y/N gasps at the sudden contact, but surprises herself by almost melting into the mattress because of it. She’s never taken herself as someone who’d be into exploring… that. In fact, she can’t say that she’s given it much thought at all. There was no point, it always seemed so odd; why put it there when there’s a perfectly wet, snug, reasonable hole already at your disposal? With Harry’s thumb lightly pushing at her, eyes surveying her expression for any trepidation, her hole winking with every soft pestle he gives her, she thinks she finally sees the point.

“Want me here, Darlin’?” Harry mutters when he catches the way her eyes glaze over from his touches. “Want my mouth, right here?” He pushes forward to emphasize his words, a pitchy cry leaving Y/N when the tip of his thumb slips inside. She’s too wound up to answer, physically and mentally, they both know it. But the drone of incoherent pleading, jumbled words strung together in incomprehensible sentences; God, watching Y/N struggle to appease him like he’s some sort of king does wonders to his ego, which is dangerous in and of itself.

“Wan’ i-it, please, Sir! Wan’ y-your mouth… d-down there.” Her cheeks flare with heat, a crinkle in her forehead as the words, so inexplicit, fall from her lips. Harry wants to laugh at her timid demeanor, finds it sort of silly that she’s acting all coy now when not ten seconds ago his tongue was pressing perfectly against the swell of her clit, lulling and rolling the swollen nub deliciously. Instead, he lowers back down and wordlessly replaces his thumb with his slick tongue, prodding at her hole, licking in tight, controlled circles that make Y/N’s tummy spark with flames of rapacious desire. Her nails, hands restless against the back of her thighs, claw deeply into plush flesh, staggered breaths racking through her pleasure-stricken body, causing her to thrash against Harry’s grip futilely. Scarlet sprouts beneath her nails, small specks smudging together to create a sizable stain of blood on her supple skin.

Harry tuts softly at the sight, “None of that, Baby. I’m the only one allowed to ruin you, yeah?”

“Yes, Sir. M’sorry,” she whimpers, caused by both his gentle reprimand and the prospect of his words, of what he’s going to do to her.

“Hush, nothing t’be sorry for…” The last end of Harry’s sentence ends up muffled, his tongue too busy forming feather-light patterns over her cunt. He nurses on her sensitive pearl, spit pooling through her folds as he sloppily sucks and slurps at it. He groans when there’s a light scratch to his scalp before a sharp tug, leaving behind a pleasurable sting that makes him a bit dizzy. Y/N’s fingers yank on soft strands of hair as Harry strums her delicate cords perfectly, the crescendo of her pleasure growing with each flick, twirl, and suckle of his tongue.

When Harry’s fingers ease back inside of her, thick and long, the stretch delicious and depth otherworldly, Y/N convulses into him, her lashes fluttering rapidly as her hands run through Harry’s chocolate curls, pushing him deeper into her while her mouth gapes and words sprinkle out disjointedly.

“I- oh, oh f-fuck! Ha- Sir! G’na… I’m…” Her breathes stutter jaggedly, rough interruptions to her confession, but Harry understands her all the same. He’s tempted to give in to her. How could he not be, when she’s moaning for him and yanking on his hair, trying to shove him as close to her cunt as possible, desperate to find release from him. He’s positive the sweetness of her essence would only intensify tenfold, that her plush thighs would tremble and her hands woulds squeeze and scratch at his scalp while her bambi eyes crossed dumbly in the middle and her cute, raspy voice would echo throughout his entire penthouse. He, honestly, wants to give in to her, doesn’t think he can stop himself from it.

But… the thought of her, desperate and sweaty, begging for him cock wantonly, not in the shy way she’s been referring to such explicit things, Harry wants that more. He’s got to break her first, though.

So, he pulls back. He fights against the force of her grip (which is deceptively strong for such a delicate, tiny thing) and leaves a final flick to her throbbing clit before he’s so far from her center that the warmth of his breath can no longer be felt against her. He feels slightly guilty for his cruelty at the pained cry Y/N let’s out, the way her eyes scrunch shut in frustration and devastation at another lost orgasm. He almost apologizes and finishes her off when her eyes open again and he sees them glossy with tears.

Her heartwrenching hiccup of, “Kissie, please,” erases any other thought from his head than doing just that, however.

Harry lets his weight fall into her, her legs coming to wrap securely around his trim waist with her hands clutching tightly to his shoulders, and he kisses her. Eases in, pets his tongue over her bottom lip and waits patiently to be invited in (which does not take much time at all), then licks into her mouth leisurely, lulls his tongue over hers in a simple way that she can keep up with, but still filthy enough to make her head muggy with desire. His lips are supple as the move against hers, his hands gravitating toward the dip of her hips, tracing lethargic figures into her deft skin.

Y/N curls into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers threading through his thick strands of brunette hair, scratching softly at his scalp as she moans and bleats into his mouth between kisses. Her brows furrow as the taste of him—mild and sweet, like vanilla buttercream—soaks her tongue, flooding her mind with daydreams of rough hands cradling her face as if she were a porcelain doll, lips lissom as they kiss across her cheek bones—one placed to her nose, two for each of her eyelids—before capturing her mouth, nipping and suckling until she’s breathless.

She doesn’t have the brain capacity to be upset when Harry finally pulls away from her, and he doesn’t give her much time to be, either. He flips them so she’s on top, her hair all mussed from the sudden change.

Settling into their new position, Harry takes a moment to appreciate the glow of her aura in his bedroom. This deity, with her soft body and adorable smile, bright as the north star, surrounded by heaps of excessively expensive charcoal grey Italian sheets, rusty oak décolletage, and midnight black walls, caging her in. It’s a wonder she manages to be so vibrant and precious in a space such as this, but Harry thinks he likes that about her, maybe a little too much.

“Up y’go, Pet,” He murmurs after a beat, the nickname new and mostly mindless, but the way Y/N shudders and digs her nails into his chest makes him file it away for safe keeping, and notes to try out more… mocky names later.

Even if Harry’s choice of title works Y/N up more than it should, she still manages to fix him with a confused stare at his request. Her lips, kiss-swollen and a vibrant rosey-red, morph into a frown and her brows pull together in the middle; what could he possibly want her to more up for?

Harry offers a faint belly laugh at her reaction, the muscles of his stomach tensing and relaxing with each unintentional bleat. His hands move to brush along her ankles, fingertips dancing gently over her calves, toward her thighs, then gripping hard and shifting her forcefully upward, mutters, “Y’so cute, Darlin’,” but gives up no explanation to quell her confusion. And she doesn’t bother voicing her concern, too curious to find out what he has in store. No, instead she makes his job easier and crawls up until his hands halt her actions.

A shutter of a breath shakes up and out of Y/N’s throat, his eyes transfixed on the emerald obs burning through her soul, her thighs spread and pillowing each side of Harry’s head. Her fingers curl around the lip of Harry’s headboard, scrapping the intricately carved wood as his own fingers skip up her thighs and curl into her flesh and—

Oh.

Oh.

———

“Oh, my God!”

“You’re okay, Baby.”

Harry’s fingers glide easily in and out of Y/N, his nose nudging perfectly against her clit with every shift of her hips. With his had that’s gripping her thigh, he tugs Y/N farther into him, closer to is insatiable tongue that laves over her petals, poking into her beside his he fingers. His curls tickle her flesh when he shakes his head from side to side, his spit mixing messily with her slick as he massages it into her cunt. She’s dripping onto his chest, discharge practically flowing out of her like a river. The strokes of his tongue and fingers are gentle but firm, eliciting sounds from Y/N she wasn’t aware she knew how to make. His fingers are so thick and long, hooking to push against that spot every single time he fucks them into her.

So much is happening, so much, and it’s consuming everything that she is. She can’t muse over his ministrations because if she does she’ll realize he’s playing with her fucking flawlessly. It doesn’t make sense the way his skin against hers sends little zaps up her spine and a swarm of butterflies to her tummy. It doesn’t make sense the way his eyes seem endless; she’s certain if they weren’t so preoccupied she’d being staring into them for hours. It makes absolutely no sense the way his hands mold to her body, how his lips kiss her just so, how he’s so… right.

Harry pulls back, tonging across her inner-thigh, his teeth nipping just to make her squirm. His voice is raspy as he drawls, “Look at that, y’pretty pussy’s all messy,” and Y/N thinks that a mouth attached to a face like his shouldn’t be able to say such obscene things, for her overall well-being. “S’tight, too, Sweet girl, she can barely fit my fingers.”

“Mmph,” Y/N huffs, her thighs starting to tremble when Harry pecks her clit repeatedly, just pressing soft kisses on her achy pearl.

“What’s tha’?” Harry’s smirk is telling, not one of his words or actions is unintentional, he knows exactly what the fuck he’s doing.

God, she could strangle him.

She whimpers, her lashes fluttering while she struggles to hold his eye contact. And Harry’s proud of her, truly, because he’s ripped away two more orgasms (and about to rip away another), he’s been relentless in his (mild) humiliation, he’s marked her up and thrown her around like the pliable doll she’s allowed herself to become, and pretty little Y/N has taken all of his cruelty in stride. Fat, glistening tears are the only thing that give away her frustration, that and her cute, pitiful moans and bleats of pleasure. She’s sweaty and tired, her skin is flushed, her hair is sticking to any patch of skin it can, and her makeup had started melting long ago. Yet, Harry thinks this is probably the most beautiful state he’ll ever see her in.

“You’re such a good girl, Baby, you know that?” He brings his free hand up to grope her chest, deft fingers going to tweak and twist her puffy nipples. Her chest arches into his touch, her plush bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Takin’ everything I give you, yeah?”

Y/N drops a hand from the headboard to push Harry’s damp curls away from his forehead, delicately mewling, Y-yeah, as her eyes trace his features.

“Yeah, been so good for me, Darlin’.” His fingers slip from her then, and she cries so prettily at the loss, feeling brutally empty without them. He shushes her instantly (“I know, I’m sorry. It’s okay, Sweet girl, you’re okay.”), placing both his hands on her waist and carefully moving her to settle on her knees in front of him as he moves to do the same. His lips find her collarbone, smearing sweet kisses and stifling her whimpers, “Shh, Sweetheart, you’re okay, aren’t you?” The kisses trail up, her neck tingles in their wake, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. He pulls back, cradles her tear-streaked cheeks in his big hands, his thumbs soothing her puffy under eyes. He waits for the fluttering of her lashes to settle, for the glaze over her irises to clear and her pretty eyes to focus on him, before whispering, “What’s y’color, Darlin’?”

“Green,” she says, breathlessly, but without hesitation. It makes Harry smile, her bravery, to give herself up to him so completely, even if she doesn’t fully comprehend that yet.

He leans down the short few inches between them to connect their lips in a peck that’s chaste but intimate all the same. The noses bump as he tilts his head, both sighing deeply as their mouths slot and tongues glide when the kiss open up for more.

More. She wants more. She wants him.

Y/N’s hands find purchase on Harry’s pecs, her palms pawing at his firm, sticky skin as the move lower, as slowly and subtly as she can manage. But Harry notices, of course, he does. No matter how stealthy she may think she’s being, Y/N’s hand shake violently against his skin, quivering in a way that works his ego up far too much.

“What’cha doin’, Darlin?” He smirks, his hands falling from her cheeks to grasp her wrists.

Y/N pouts up at him, her eyes silently begging. “Sir,” she whines, the single syllable drawn out. Her hands move lower, even in his grip, until her fingers curl into the lip of his belt. Harry arches a brow at her, but Y/N is stubborn in her silence, and persistent in her silent pleading. After a few long, tense moments, he gives in; she’d been so perfect otherwise, hadn’t she?

“You wanna play with me now, is that it?” Y/N’s eyes widen slightly, and that glaze from before is back in an instant, her head bobbing up and down robotically in agreement. Harry smirks, and that dark glint from before at the restaurant is in his eye once more, glowing in the moonlight. “Go on, then, Pet.”

Y/N makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers, even with her trembling hands, shooing the garments to the floor as soon as they’re off. His cock, stiff as a rock, dauntingly long and thick, slaps against his firm belly when it’s free of its confinement. The tip is flushed a deep, ruddy pink, smeared with pre-cum and bleating more pearly droplets. Her mouth waters as his heady aroma hits her smack in the face, and she inhales deeply before nuzzling into him impishly.

Harry gasps, his eyelids gaining more weight, his hands coming to brush her hair out of her face and into a makeshift ponytail. She rubs him into her face unabashedly, slobbering sloppily onto his stocky length. Her lips pout against his head, coating them in his slick, her tongue peaking out to give him an experimental lick.

He coos at her hesitancy—he can’t contemplate her total 180 in demeanor at this moment—fixing his grip on her hair before gently nudging her forward.

“Go ‘head, Baby, keep bein’ good f’me.” She goes lax against him at his request (demand), allowing her lips to part, finally submerging herself in his essence. Harry soughs delightfully at the first touch of her silken tongue against his stiff prick, laving coyly over his leaky slit. “Tha’s it, good girl,” he praises, bringing a hand down to cradle her jaw and ease her closer to him, her lips wrapping tentatively around the tip.

Y/N’s eyes flutter to a close, her thoughts trickling out of her ear like a waterfall—a big wave that wipes out all in its path. She feels her limbs liquefy, the signals her brain is so used to sending, firing away a mile a minute, suddenly cease all action. It’s… quiet as her mouth lowers to take more of his cock, weighted and smooth on her tongue. She sucks gently, her head beginning to bob up and down, her hands coming to squeeze tightly around his girth, twisting and pumping what she hasn’t yet worked into her mouth. Her movements are careful, and convicted; the pace she’s set is sinful, tormentingly slow, her grip just the perfect mix between cradling and suffocating, and her mouth… she’s soft, and warm on the inside, not to mention unbearably slippery.

She hums when he eventually reaches the back of her throat, finds that her nose is much closer to his navel than she’d originally thought when she opens her eyes again, her hands dropped to fondle and squeeze his full, heavy balls. Spit slips from the corners of her mouth, pooling to drip from the point of her chin. She chances a look up at Harry, her thighs pressing and rubbing together harshly at the sight she’s met with. His hair—chocolate-y and fluffy, luscious with spirally tendrils—falls beautifully over his forehead, casting a devastatingly captivating shadow over his face. His eyes hang low with uncharted desire, his cheeks flushed a healthy rouge that makes him look pleasantly boyish, and his grip on her hair and jaw tightens, turns more forceful with each suckle she gives to him.

His hands guide her along his length, until he’s nestled deep in her snug throat, his soft patch of pubic hair tickling her nose. Harry groans as the vibrations of her gentle humming rack through his entire body, his hips stuttering, jamming his cock further down her mouth.

She gags around him, whimpering as her hands shoot to his thighs, her nails scraping down his tough skin, piercing his milky flesh.

Harry grunts roughly, “I’m- shit! M’sorry, Darlin’.” He loosens his grip, letting her pull back to inhale greedy gulps of air. “You okay, Baby?”

His thumb comes to stroke her bottom lip, wiping away the slick spit that still clings in a string to his aching cock. His jaw ticks as he tries to ignore its constant throbbing, but Y/N—with her teary, red-rimmed eyes and glossy, swollen lips—certainly isn’t making things any easier.

“M’okay, Sir,” she mumbles once she’s returned her breathing to normal, and she wastes no time in taking Harry back into her mouth, relaxing her throat for him as much as she can and easily allowing him to slip inside until he can’t reach any farther. She sighs deeply through her nose, her eyes incessant, holding his bleary gaze as she just… holds him there.

Spit pools on her tongue, swashing on the underside of his prick, and she happily massages it in, paying special attention to the thick vein that runs from the base of his cock to the frenulum, deliberate as her ministrations remain delicate. Her hands slide from the front to the back of his thighs, and she takes Harry by great surprise as she pushes him closer to her, encouraging his accidental thrust.

“Oh, fuck,” he sighs, releasing his now sloppy grip on her hair to regather the soft tufts, and he feels her giddy smile of anticipation around his cock, sees the cheerful flash in the sparkle of her eyes as he rears his hips back cautiously, hears the absolutely disgusting gag that rips from her throat when he shoves himself back down, and he marvels in it. His whole body warms as he watches his cock disappear into her mouth, bulging prominently at the base of her throat, and he fucking eats it up. He gradually builds a steady, brutal pace, sure to leave a bruise on the inside, and a satisfying ache to her jaw. Tears prick at her waterline with every violent nudge he delivers, she swallows around him, squeezing his tip as her eyes squeeze shut when the first tears falls.r

Harry collects it on the pad of his calloused thumb, swiping the salty liquid away. “Relax, Sweetheart,” he offers halfheartedly, too consumed by every sensation she brings him to give up much else. Loud wet noises fill his vast bedroom as he drills himself into her soft mouth, the affects going straight between both of their thighs. Y/N swears she feels him swell against her tongue, but she’s no better, her inner-thighs sticky and hot. He throbs when she begins to fight back against his strokes, trying to once again hold him in her mouth, but Harry can tell—immediately—she wants the challenge, wants him to rough her up, use her. “I said, relax.”

He drops both his hands to grasp her jaw then—makeshift ponytail be damned—and forces her mouth open and head to still. He works himself into her at his desired pace again, her muffled pleas falling on deaf ears. Groans slip from his mouth easily, his slit dribbling pre-cum down her throat that Y/N sucks down insatiably.

“There we go,” he soughs, his head lulling to the side.

Her spit glides evenly along his length, throat contracting like a vice every time she gags, and he feels dizzy, the warmth in his body sending waves of heat up that cloud his mind. Her struggle against his grip is still so very evident, but it’s fruitless. Harry’s grip is far too strong, too taken with the feeling to release her, keeping her in the perfect position to defile her tongue, sliding in and out with a practiced ease that makes her tummy stir with something ugly.

Harry glares down at her when her hands push against his thighs again, delivering a practically bruising thrust. She whines, her brows cinching, and she pets her tongue over him more vigorously in defiance.

He hisses, yanking his prick out of her mouth. “Cut it out,” Harry glowers, his gaze hard. Her bambi, fuzzy eyes suggest his words flew right over her head, and her advance to envelope him once more proves that. “Oi! What’d I just say?”

Her face falls slightly then, her head bowing as her chin tucks into her chest. The tears that had been pricking from a place of pleasure no stem from a place of regret. She hadn’t meant to push too far, only to please him—all she wants to do is make him feel good, as good as he made her feel.

She sniffles, “M’sorry, Sir.”

He kicks her chin back up, his gaze still undoubtedly pointed, but there’s a faint cloud of softness that was not there mere moments before.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Darlin’, you need to listen to me, okay?” Harry’s voice is no louder than a mutter when he speaks to her, admiring her clumpy lashes and makeup streaked face. His thumbs begin to brush at her under eyes—he finds that he quite likes doing that—and he presses a kiss to the tip of her nose when she gives him a gentle nod and, Okay, Sir. “I’m here to take care of you, Baby, so let me.” He turns her head back to him when she looks to the side, suddenly finding the large windows much more interesting than Harry in this moment. “Y’were doin’ so good before,” he whispers, pulling her in by his grasp on her jaw. “What happened, Sweetheart? Where’d my good girl go?” He bumps their noses together, giving her three chaste nips to the mouth and nothing more. She whines (at both his lack of full kiss and choice of words), and Harry shushes her, “Bad girls don’t get real kisses, Darlin’.”

And that—that—would absolutely not do.

The stinging from those pesky tears has now turned to a thousand stab wounds, the salty droplets pooling at her waterline faster than ever before. They drip freely as she scrambles closer to him, desperate to fix her mistake. Her mouth guppies unknowingly, the savory of her tears tainting her tongue. She flounders helplessly over her apologies, vowing to be better, to be good.

“I’m sorry, M’sorry, didn’t mean to be bad, promise,” she babbles, her view of him obscured and wobbly. “Please, I’ll be good.” Her hands grapple at his shoulder—and his settle in the dip of her waist—arms slinging around his shoulder, clambering most inelegantly into his lap. Her voice breaks through her confession, “I just wanna be good f’you, Sir.”

“Okay, it’s okay,” Harry nods, falling slowly into the mattress, guiding her to rest completely on him, chest to chest. He wipes uselessly at her tears, pulling damp hair from her sticky skin and twisting until it sits squarely at the back of her head. He reaches to the left with his free hand and tugs open a drawer, rummaging through the contents before pulling out an elastic band. He punches the drawer shut before thoughtfully tying up Y/N’s hair, allowing the cool breeze from the AC to grace the back of her neck.

“Thank you, Sir,” she mumbles into his chest, the tears slowly subsiding.

“You’re very welcome, Darlin’,” Harry smiles. His hands, purchased on her waist once again, squeeze periodically, and her breathing matches both the beat of his pulses and the thrum of his heart. Harry allows them both this moment of reprieve—though they both know they’re far from finished for the night—his face nuzzled into the bend of her shoulder, occasionally sniffing her floral aroma.

Neither of them confront their simultaneous thoughts of mild apprehension. Neither call out the fact that they’re practically strangers, that they’d met possibly six hours ago, at best, and that the level of intimacy they’re sharing right now is unusual, if not highly inappropriate.

Neither of them bring it up, even though they probably should, because there’s also a part of them that knows doing what their doing is okay…it’s needed.

Harry is still painfully hard when he starts to sense Y/N growing restless. Her thighs shift at his sides, tensing ever-so-slightly. She nuzzles farther into his chest, moaning something airy into his chest.

“Sir,” she mumbles, pushing back just enough to capture his eye. She tries her luck at pleading silently, though she expects Harry’s impatient brow lift.

“Talk to me, use your words, Baby,” he whispers, offering her hips another squeeze, not in time with her breathing.

“Please,” she whimpers, frowning down at him.

That disappointed glare she’s come to dislike so (she fucking loves it) returns, his grip on her waist becoming more forceful. “Use your fucking words, Y/N. Don’t make me say it again.”

Her pout is clear and mind-numbing, her eyes glazed and pleading, but she’s not dumb enough to push Harry any further. No, she wants to be good for him, no matter how humiliating it is doing so. So, she drops her gaze to her lap, fiddles nervously with her fingers behind his neck and very, very hesitantly mumbles, “P-please, please, f-fuck me, Sir.”

Harry’s mouth is on hers as soon as the words tumble out of her mouth sheepishly. His hands slide up the expanse of her back, pushing her closer to him, willing her to collapse in his embrace, to crumble or submit, as she had before. She mewls sweetly when his tongue breeches through the seam of her lips and pets at her own, shoulders tensed in that way only an otherworldly, severe kiss can make them. Somewhere in all the mess of spit and tongue and smooching, Y/N finds herself settled on her back, Harry fit snug between her quivering thighs, soft padding softening her careful descent.

He reaches for the same drawer that he’d produced a hair tie from, moving kiss trail of kisses down to wisp up and down her neck and along her collarbone. He bites here and there, sucks deep purple bruises that make her toes curl and eyes threaten to come to a permanent close. His fingers fiddle loudly inside the drawer, until he’s snatching out a little foil packet and shooting back from Y/N, like her skin suddenly burns to the touch. If not for the obvious show he makes of placing that condom between his teeth and ripping away (in an uncharacteristically, unnecessarily sexy way), Y/N might’ve thought her skin did burn to the touch.

His eyes don’t stray from her as he rolls the rubber onto his thick cock, giving himself one, two, three readying pumps—that make his tip dribble out copious amounts of pre-cum, an amount that could be borderline concerning—before inching those few inches closer and experimentally nudging the head against the hood of Y/N’s clit.

Harry had gathered within the first ten to fifteen minutes of their meeting that Y/N was perhaps an oversensitive person. And, even still, the way her entire body wracks with near painful-looking shudders makes his head spin and cock jump. He sighs softly, rutting his hips into hers, smearing his pre-cum into her petals and poor, puffy clit over, and over, and over, and over again. Until her bottom lip quivers and those big, fat, pitiful tears are back—the ones he likes—and she clenching and unclenching her fists in the sheets relentlessly.

“Ask,” Harry demands.

“Ask me for what you want.” Y/N knows, logically, that Harry is speaking to her. There’s no one else in the room, who else would he be speaking to? But, his tone is so flat, so bored, and his eyes don’t stray an inch from his thick length smooshing her pussy. She doesn’t feel like she’s being spoken to so much as being spoken through, as if she’s just a pretty object at his disposal, a toy to be played with, a means to an end. It makes something near crippling slither up her back, twisting around her spine and shrinking her down to an itty bitty, tiny whiny ball of anything. Anything Harry wants her to be.

That near crippling feeling doesn’t render her fearful like it usually does—unfortunately, she’s very familiar with a strikingly similar crippling feeling—it makes her feel safe and cared for, looked after, cherished, even. And that does make her fearful.

“In, I wan’— I— Please, inside, please,” she blubbers, pawing desperately at his hips to yank him into her when the sheets can no longer hold her over.

“Hmm…,” Harry hums, so absently, tapping his tip on her pearl, barely reacting when she folds into him at the faint pressure. “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to, Sweetheart. Could you be more specific for me?”

Y/N wants the mattress to open up and swallow her whole.

She frowns and squeezes her eyes shut, suppressing a groan in her belly, and works up the courage to say the words aloud. Because she has to. She has to, for herself, even more so than Harry (even though she really, really wants to do it for him, too).

“I wan’ yo— y-your cock inside, please, Sir. Inside my… my pussy.”

Harry smiles—she can’t see it, but she feels the warmth of its glow against her burning skin. Which is why the perpetual sting that lingers on her right cheek takes her by such surprise. It wasn’t a slap—God, no, she was much too precious to be slapped—nor was the actual contact overtly painful, but it’s…shocking! It’s shocking but it’s not really… bad either. It certainly wasn’t how it felt when Mace—

No. No, Y/N doesn’t want to think about that right now, she doesn’t want to think about him. She wants to think about Harry and his pretty cock and his big, beefy arms, and his pretty hair. He’s got pretty eyes, too, doesn’t he? Pretty lips, pretty lashes, pretty tattoos. Pretty, pretty, pretty. Harry is so pretty.

Harry snorts, cradling her cheek and soothing the buzz and red print of his palm, “That’s not what I said, Dummy.”

“I’m—” Her mouth snaps shut—had she truly said that aloud?—her gaze a little hazy around the edges, her thoughts moving a little slower, her body feeling a little heavier, but undeniably relaxed, pleasant. And she thinks maybe Harry notices—he notices everything, doesn’t he?—leaning closer so his body is shielding hers, covering her body like someone would barge in and see them in such a vulnerable state. He shifts his hips down, using his free hand to guide his now concerningly hard prick into her tight snatch. He slips the head into her with a soft pop, chocked gasps rising out of both of their throats at the first taste of solidarity. He doesn’t move, he schools his hips to a halt and strokes gently at Y/N’s slightly rouge cheek.

“What’s your color?” There’s a soft shift in his eye. Y/N’s positive she sees the seafoam of them more clearly, in this small moment of reprieve. But, that could just be her hazy mindset.

“Green,” she responds immediately.

Harry nods, his eyes flitting back and forth between her own, carefully deciphering her body language as well as verbal, before they trail down to her collarbone, and her chest; the soft, pert peaks of her pouty nipples…

The seafoam is gone as quick as it came.

His eyes find her lips, her eyes, her lips, then her eyes again.

“C’mon, Darlin’, ask. Ask Daddy, properly, for what y’want, okay?”

And that…

Y/N thinks she likes that. A lot.

“Will y’put y’cock inside me, Daddy… please?” Y/N says, softly, with a subtle shyness, but un-hesitant, direct. “Deep?” She tacks on quickly, aware Harry is likely to humiliate her for not being specific enough.

Harry doesn’t punish her with anymore games (if she thought that was punishment, she was in for a real rude awakening some day), he slips his cock into her warm, snug hole in one swift motion—she’s more than wet enough to take it—falling into her so that the weight of their centers mix together in a lovingly suffocating manner.

“Good girl,” Harry praises, and Y/N keens, melting under his weight, falling into his hypnotizing gaze, submitting to his titillating ministrations. “Good fuckin’ girl, Baby, squeezin’ my cock in this tight, pretty little pussy.”

“T-thank you, Daddy,” she whines, her lashes fluttering and entire body shuddering—violently.

Harry smiles, kissing her nose as he pulls all the way out, the leaky head of his cock grazing her messy pussy lips, her hole pulsing, clenching over and over around nothing. And being the cruel, sadistic, asshole-y man that he is, he sweetly admits to her, “You’re so cute, Baby,” while stuffing his cock in her cunt to the hilt.

“O-o— Oh!” She cries, her eyes rolling back, back arching off the bedding and into Harry’s chest. “Deep, deep, Daddy.” She flops back into the mattress as he starts a consistent pace, his perfect cock-head pushing into that spot with every precise stroke. “Y’cock is r-real deep, Daddy,” she whimpers.

“Yeah?” He pouts, mocking her ruined expression—mascara streaks and tear stains, smeared lip gloss; dried spit, wet spit, clumpy lashes, big, fat, cry-baby tears. His cry-baby. He tells her as much. “Daddy’s cock is real deep? S’deep in y’little belly, huh, Cry-Baby?”

“Ngh!”

“Yeah, s'deep in my dumb little cry-baby, ain’t that right, Sweetheart?”

Y/N’s thighs can only tighten around Harry in response. She mewls stupidly, drool slipping from the seam of her mouth gradually, her eyes getting too heavy to keep open. She thinks… she thinks she’s gonna close her eyes. Yes, she’s gonna close her eyes and feel the way Harry’s cock glides through her, fucking into her pussy so smoothly, filling her up so completely. Only, that sting on her cheek is back the minute her eyes so much as flit downward, let alone close (his strokes do not falter, however).

“Answer y’Daddy when he talks to you, Dummy.”

“Yes! Yes, y’so deep in my pussy, Daddy!” She squeals, curling into Harry chest, her head tucked in the bend of his neck, hands clawing into his shoulders, breaths fanning fervently across his collarbone. And Harry lets her, figures he’s put her through enough for the evening, that she deserves to bask in the pleasure the way she needs to.

“Atta girl,” he encourages gently, leaning back to sit on his haunches, rolling his hips into hers, filling her cunt and pressing into spots she didn’t know existed before tonight. She feels every vein along his thick cock as he works himself inside of her. An embarrassing ring of arousal has gathered at his base, the near translucent white tainting his tufts of pubic hair.

His hands slide down to the junctures of her thighs, his thumbs soothing circles into her flushed skin, bruised and marked up with Harry’s insatiable want for her. Y/N falls back against the pillows in a heap of jelly-like limbs, melting into the soft Italian sheets like a deflating soufflé. She struggles to hold her eyes open, but she keeps her gaze on Harry, in all his chiseled, tattooed, sweaty, beefy glory. Vision blurry around the edges, weightless and floaty sensations flowing through her body, as if produced like a chemical compound from her body—constant, unwavering, endless—vital to her survival and posterity. Her hands fell—like limp spaghetti noodles—to the pillows on either side of her head, and her fingers wiggle unconsciously, mewls and sad little whimpers trickling out of her mouth, and… and… Christ, he feels so good. Daddy feels so, so, so fucking good. And yet, somethings off.

Somewhere through the big cloudy haze of pleasure and greed in her mind, Y/N just thinks it could be… better. Not to say that Daddy was doing bad or anything—Gosh, no, he’s so close to perfection it could hurt—of course, not! It’s just that something was missing, she knew it, could feel it in the core of her soul.

“Mmph, Daddy…,” she soughs, watery and pitiful, her head lulling to the side on its mountain of pillows, eyes squeezing shut and face tucking into the bed of her elbow. She nuzzles there, breathing shallow, shuddery breaths out through her mouth erratically.

“Speak up, Baby’,” Daddy gripes gently, his soft tone and strokes of his thumbs across the juncture of her thighs a direct contrast to his brutal, bruising thrusts. His hips fit like puzzle pieces between the plush of Y/N’s two marshmallow-like thighs, scattered with Daddy’s marks. “Ask Daddy for what you want, don’t make me tell you again.”

She wants to, she does! But she doesn’t know what she wants in the first place, how’s she supposed to open her mouth and explain it to Daddy?

She whines, “I’m—Feels… feels…”

Daddy’s grip tightens—oh, he’s so strong—tugging Y/N flush into the base of his cock, buried to hilt inside her snug little cunt, her clit winking at him from beneath its hood.

“Feels what, Darlin’? Spit it out,” he encourages, eyeing her bundle of nerves. His thumb finds the overused pearl, rolling it underneath the calloused pad in messy, frantic swipes. Up and down. He moves his hips languidly, makes it look proper easy, cock-head kissing her cervix, faint pubic hair tickling her soft mound and swollen labia, causing shivers to erupt through her body. His cock takes up all the space inside of her—she’s positive she’d genuinely tear in half if he attempted to stick anything else up there—molding her cunt to him, ruining her pleasure for anyone other than him, while he ruts and humps, fucking into her deliciously. In and out.

The thumb over her clit picks up speed.

Up and down.

Daddy subtly decreases his pace, until he’s jamming his cock into her entirely stretched out, sloppy hole in rough, pleasurably painful strokes.

In and out.

Up and down.

In and out.

Upandowninandoutupandowninandoutupandowninandout.

“Feels—O-oh, my fucking—” More pressure is added to her clit, his free palm pressing into her bulging tummy. “Feels d-disc-connected, D-daddy. Wan’ it… I wan’ it off.”

Daddy offers her an expectant brow, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, sweat droplets sliding down his temple, along his back, all over his chest. “Y’wan’ what off, Cry-Baby?”

“The c-condom,” she cries desperately, muffled in the flesh of her elbow. “Off, Daddy! Wan’ it off! Off, off, off!” She blabbers the single word repeatedly, trying to get Daddy to understand—didn’t he understand? Didn’t he feel it too, the disconnect? Didn’t he know that without that pesky, useless little rubber, they’d both feel so much better?

Daddy—like the damned angel he is—shushes her incessant whining, the hand pressing on her belly coming up to swipe away the salty tears falling down her rosy, makeup stained cheeks. He takes her mini tantrum in stride, even if his heart is beating a mile a minute and his thoughts are running on overdrive.

How can she just fucking say that? And then go and act like a baby lamb that hasn’t yet seen the male genitalia? It makes no sense!

“Okay, okay, shh; calm down, Cry-Baby,” he chuckles softly, delicately sponging kisses across her collarbone and up her neck; over her jawline and along her full cheeks, flushed and warm. “Look at me, Darlin’; Listen to Daddy for a tick, yeah?”

Y/N, through her dangerously laboured breathing—her chest is heaving excessively high—and blurred vision, turns her head to focus on Daddy—on his golden, milky skin, and fluffy, chocolate-y brown locks; his adorable button nose, and his deep, seafoam eyes.

“What’s your color, Baby?” Daddy whispers to her, his words hitting the corner of her mouth, lips pressing a soft peck there.

“G-green, Daddy, really, really green.”

He smiles at her, leaning back just enough to catch her eye, “Tha’s nice, Sweetheart.” His hips have come to a halt, keeping her full and satiated for the time being. “Now, Daddy wants to make sure you really want what you’re askin’ for, Darlin’,” he prefaces. “You g’na regret havin’ Daddy’s bare cock in y’cute little pussy in the morning?”

Y/N grapples onto him fiercely, “No, Daddy! Promise I won’t! Wanna feel you—y-your co-ock—inside me. Raw.”

Daddy’s cock twitches enticingly.

“Y’sure?” He checks once more, cradling her cheek in his palm. She nods enthusiastically, her eyes silently begging, and, for once, it seems to work. “Are y’clean, Baby?”

“Yes, I— Yeah.” She nods her head decisively. “I got tested after I broke up with—with my ex and I haven’t… been with anyone since.”

“Okay,” he answers easily, not letting her thoughts of him remain. It’s not about him, it’s about her. Her wants, her needs, her desires, her pleasure. “M’clean, too, Darlin’, get tested annually.” Y/N nods again, but the information is going through one ear and out the other at this point. Daddy keeps talking, and she’s not really listening so much as she’s admiring the sound of his voice, not intentional in her rudeness, but no effort is made the stop it. The gorgeous dip of his cupid’s bow plagues her mind, the way his lips morph around each word that slips from between them, the shapes they create, the baritone of his timber. Not until something along the lines of, Dumb Baby, wan’ my fat cock so bad y’not even listenin’ t’me, slips out of his cherry pink lips does she find herself (half-way) present in the moment.

He carefully slips his cock from her cunt, left gaping without him there to keep her full, clenching and unclenching desperately around unsatisfying air.

“Daddy!” She squeals, squirming beneath him, itching to be filled once more.

Daddy’s jaw ticks intimidatingly, “Shut up,” he grunts, and she finds her mouth snapping to a close. He grabs both her hands, yanking her up from the bed—her head whips up in a subjectively unattractive manner that she’d prefer not to dwell on—and flipping her onto her stomach. She falls face first into the pillows with a small oof, no reprieve given as two rough hands are back on her hips, raising and stuffing a pillow beneath them so she’s face down, ass up, her fingers scratching restlessly at the sheets. “Givin’ my cry-baby what she fuckin’ begged for...” She whimpers, but he pays her no heed, grabbing one of her hands, tugging it from the sheets and placing it on his slippery cock. Y/N instantly gets the hint, pawing around to his base before blindly hooking her pointer and middle fingers in the lip of the rubber around Daddy’s prick and ripping it away.

Daddy groans when his cock audibly slaps against his firm belly, a mixture of mostly his pre-cum and her arousal smearing against his giant moth tattoo and lower abdomen. “Impatient thing…” He hums when her hips shift from side to side, gripping his stiff length in his vast palm and giving himself a few generous pumps, more pearly droplets of pre-cum pooling at the tip. He knees forward on the bed, painting the head of his prick through her sloppy pussy lips with a deep sigh of contentment, “Fuck.”

Y/N exhales harshly, “Oh, Jesus.” Her exclamation is almost silent due to the pillow her face is currently nuzzled in, her mouth dry and airy with the taste freshly washed silk pillow sheets. The head breaches ever-so-slightly, stretching the beginnings of her hole wide open. Each groove of Daddy’s monstrously thick, devastatingly long cock is felt as he slowly—incredibly, terribly, intentionally slowly—eases himself into her snug, slick hole. The breath in her lungs is viciously forced out when he bottoms out inside of her, the ridges and curves of his prick molding to her cunt, his length stretching her to near-breaking point, and—Holy fucking shit, had his cock always hit this deep?

This is different, better—Y/N was surely no virgin but Christ if he didn’t make it feel like it was her first time again every time he pushed into her. He’s deep enough that, at the very least, it feels like his dribbling cock-head is nudging at her throat with every thrust, and the only thing keeping Y/N’s fuzzy brain from believing that feeling is real is that she’s seen and felt Daddy’s pretty prick with her own two eyes and two hands (plus her drooling mouth), and even she knows he’s not that big. Yet, wet, chocked whimpers and whines, cute little uh uh’s that breach through the loud slapping of skin, punch past her vocal cords with every jarring rut of Daddy’s hips.

Y/N reaches back, hands pushing against his hips, trying to soften his hard blows. She gurgles protests into the pillow she’s stuffed her face in, chocked, muffled grunts that she manages to make sound adorable rather than animalistic, much like Daddy’s sound. His are rough—he’s rough, in every sense of the word, in every possible way he could be in this moment. His fingers dig harshly into the full flesh of her hips, half-moons indented under the pads of his fingertips.

He notes her trembling fingers at his stomach—a rickety wall keeping the extent of his forceful entry at bay—his brows pinching together in the middle at the sight.

He tuts, his thumbs rubbing tingling patterns into the dimples of her back, “Wha’s this, Darlin’?” She shivers under his grip, her fingertips tickling his happy trail. Muffled sounds air throughout the room—explanations, no doubt—lost in the steady mantra of their thighs connecting, skin slapping together with a dramatic, emphatic smack! every time.

Eventually (because the sight of her flailing and helpless and desperate for him was just too nice to not bask in), he throws her a bone, spreading his calloused fingers through her scalp before threading them into the soft stands, and yanking her head up from the pillow.

“Daddy,” she gasps immediately, hands pressing more firmly into his abdomen, trying to keep herself steady against his hard strokes.

“Tell Daddy what’s the matter, Sweetheart,” he encourages, his lips at her ear, tickling the shell, nipping to garner a reaction. And a reaction he gets, the poor petal convulsing into his hold, her back molding to his chest, arms flailing to the sides fruitlessly. Like a pliant, perfect little doll, she melts into him.

“Can y— I…” she gulps down greedy breaths of air, trying to make up for the oxygen being forced out of her lungs by way of Daddy’s massive cock. Her cunt screams for reprieve, puffy and sensitive, flushed red, and in desperate need to breathe. And yet, it screams for the exact opposite simultaneously. Wails from somewhere deep, with such passion it’s impossible to ignore, ‘Please, please keep him here forever… Fuck's sake, don’t you ever let him leave.’ And, even if Y/N wanted to, she doesn’t have the strength to withstand the plea, to not give in, so completely.

She can beg, and grovel, and plead, however, and (clearly) she’s not above doing just that. So with a fucked out pout and crocodile tears elevating her performance, she sweetly—with that devastatingly soft, precious watery lilt to her voice—asks Daddy, “Slower? Slower, please. It’s—,” she hiccups when he halts inside of her, releasing her scalp and securing one of her beefy arms around her mid-drift. Y/N has to physically stop herself from swooning when the muscles bulge against her belly. “S’sensitive, Daddy,” she manages to choke out, concluding her sentence.

Daddy hums, “Poor thing, pretty pussy must be all achy, huh Baby?” His thumb strokes just at her navel, tickling the supple skin, erupting flutters in her stuffed tummy.

God, there was no room for flutters right now.

She sniffles cutely, “Yeah, Daddy. Hurts.”

“Daddy has been a little mean, hasn’t he?” He mutters into her neck, sponging mind-numbing kisses from the point of her jaw to her chin, smacking along the side of her neck to her shoulder, still balls deep and stationary. “Ate y’cunt to my heart’s content but I didn’t let y’come, did I, Darlin’?”

Was this a test? Fuck, please don’t be a test.

She hesitantly shakes her head, the heaving of her flushed chest having subsided some, but the viscous pounding against her ribcage remains. “No, Daddy,” she mumbles, trying her best to remain calm, to not to get too excited. This is the first time either of them have vocally acknowledged the fact that Y/N has been on the receiving end of pleasure for nearing two and a half hours, and not once has she reached the peak of release. “Haven’t let me come yet.”

“Hmm, you’re right, Sweetheart, I haven’t.”

It’s the way he soughs them, his words. It’s the dramatics of it all. Y/N knows, she knows, that Daddy is going to be a menace about his next move, whatever said move may be.

He obliges her request, shifting his hips back—slowly—letting his cock slip out, soaked to the base with their mixed arousal, until just his flushed, swollen tip is left. His thumb still pets delicately along her navel, attempting to soothe any aches but it does quite the opposite. So, needless to say, when his hips press forward again—slowly—filling the empty space between her slippery thighs, it’s fucking overwhelming.

Stars spot her vision, she shakes as Daddy finds a pace to satiate her. Leaden, leisurely, but the force behind his thrusts does not cease. She bleats unintentionally with each harsh rut, mouth agape and puffing out hot air. Her walls clench around his cock like a vice, sucking him in and eager to keep him right there. She feels every twitch of his cock at this angle, nestled snugly in her stretched hole.

“You’re all drippy, Sweet girl,” Daddy says suddenly, the hands not pressing at her stomach trailing down to cup the full of her cunt, fingers parting to accommodate for the intrusion of his prick. He grinds the heel of his palm his her puffy clit, oversensitive from his sadistic affections, digging into the plush numb meanly. Which, as expected, only makes her drip more.

“It’s— S’your fault, Daddy,” she whines, nudging her hips back to try and match his pace. Her attempts are sloppy, desperate and uncoordinated, but Daddy lets her. Thinks she deserves it, after sitting quiet and pretty for him and his cruel mercy for God knows how long, only the sad tears running down her cheeks showcasing her protests.

He hums mindlessly just to give her a response, but he’s too preoccupied with pleasure to do much else. He finds his hands pushing against her back, forcing her into an arch once more, pulling a pitiful little mewl from her. They explore the expanse of her body as she stretches out for him, like a cat settled in a spring sun-patch in the warm grass, tickling along her sides and across her shoulders, brushing her hair to the side while he bends down to kiss over her sweaty flesh.

He pecks down her spine, putting an end to her futile grinding and pulling her onto his cock on his own, happy to take over and just let her feel. When he straightens back out, getting a view of her all spread out for him in full again, it’s like he’s seen it for the first time.

Daddy stares unabashedly at the movement of Y/N’s body—how her flesh dips under the pressure of his fingertips, the way her neck strains to push her face farther into the pillow with every brutal jab he delivers, her perfect heart-shaped ass and the shudder-inducing ripples that run through it like waves. He sears into his mind every detail of her being, all the freckles and beauty spots, the blemishes he’s positive she’d scrutinize herself for when looking in the mirror, but he can’t possibly imagine why. How? It didn’t make much sense in his brain, when those blemishes were not blemishes but enhancements, birth and stretch marks, stories of growing pains and maturing.

Her story, written in the most stunning calligraphy, spread wide open, to be read, by him—how could he not stare?

The feel of her cunt clenching sporadically around him, squeezing around him as if a pulse, that pulls him from his daydreams. He keels forward, grunted curses blurting from between his lips, his hips finally starting to stutter in their intense pace.

Daddy’s tired, has been since dinner (despite how world-shatteringly handsome he looked(s), Y/N could (can) spot the heavy, deep, dark bags under his eyes from a mile away), but he won’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop, not before she’s squeezing him to his breaking point and creaming around his fat prick, at the very least.

So the fingers of his right hand dance away from her hip and between Y/N’s slick thighs; they find her swollen, pearly little button, and push down until Y/N’s careening again,,st him and she’s (somehow) leaking more than before by ten-fucking-fold.

“That’s it, Darlin’,” he croons in her ear, sponging delicate kisses along the slope of her neck and shoulders. He fights to keep his composure for just a little longer—she’s so close, he can fucking feel it. “Does that feel good, Baby?”

Y/N, through her muddled thoughts of utterly blind affection and devotion, nods her head fervently, muffled, gasped babbles of affirmation slipping from her tongue.

“Feels— Jesus, it feels good, Daddy, feels so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” He questions, his voice raspy and teasing as it has been the whole night, but there’s a lilt to it, a certain ringing of curiosity, asking, pleading for her admission to be true.

She hums pathetically, “Mhmm,” her hands flying to his meaty thighs, nails digging inside to pull him closer, push him deeper, give her more, more, more.

Daddy knows—don’t ask him to explain how because he can’t; he doesn’t know how he just know that he does—from the added desperation in her unconscious movements, her swelling sounds, an air of intensified obscenity surrounding them. It’s as clear as the South Pacific, she’s gonna fucking crumble.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” he goads, pulling himself up, still petting tenderly at her sticky clit, his free hand moving from her hip to tangle up in her roots. He tugs roughly, appreciating the unintentional whimper that falls from her lips, as he wills himself to hold onto their rough act for just five more minutes. “Daddy’s makin’ y’feel good? Good enough to come?”

“Please,” she whines, her hands still clawing at his thighs, far past the point of caring. His implication rings in her head like a fucking prayer, she needs it so bad. “Need it, Daddy,” she admits aloud.

He smirks, “Yeah? Y’need to come, Dummy? Cream all over my cock like fuckin’ whore?”

“Please!” She all but screams, her hesitations and caution thrown to the wind. They’ve been at it for hours, and she hasn’t come once, she’s just a little fucking desperate! “Please, let me come, Daddy, wanna come so bad.”

“Hmm, Daddy’s little Cry-Baby wants t’a come…” he seems to distantly acknowledge, tone laced with indifference. His grip on his soft tendrils of hair tightens, using the leverage to yank her on his cock. “Go head then, Sweet girl, if y’need it… Come on Daddy’s cock like a good whore.”

As expected, Y/N crumbles, breaking like a dam beneath him; wilting against his ministrations like a flower shedding its petals. She gurgles into the sheet—Daddy let her hair go in favor of grasping at her hips again—locking his cock in her cunt, stopping her from trying to squirm away, her head sunken like deadweight, her hands twitching and useless beside it. Her arousal pours out like a waterfall, squirting across his abdomen, the butterfly there shiny with slick.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she repeats mindlessly, fisting at the bedsheets, drooling into them.

He works her through it earnestly, tugging her back into him harshly, pushing in to the hit and grinding desperately into her g-spot, doing anything to prolong her pleasure that she so wholly deserves.

“Good girl, Baby, good fuckin’ girl,” he huffs, landing a resounding smack to her pert ass. “Keep coming, Sweetheart, don’t fucking stop.” As if his words are the whispers of a thousand angels, a command from God themself, she works herself right back up and squirts all over him.

“Oh, fuck!”

“Fuckin’ soakin’ my cock, Darlin’, I’m… S-shit.”

The noise of her sopping, drippy pussy echoes throughout his bedroom humiliatingly, enhancing her high, like his attention is a concentrated drug.

Daddy grumbles and groans, whimpers and moans, falling over her once more, blocking her from the cold and enveloping her in heat with his whole body.

“M’g’na come, Baby. You’re g’na make me fucking come.”

“Oh, please,” she cries, weeping pitifully into the juncture of her elbow. “Wan’ y’to come, Daddy, wan’ it… it…” she gasps and chokes into her flesh, attempting to finish her sentence but she can’t think—hasn’t been thinking—when his cock is pistoning into her special spot over and over and over again.

“Want it what, Cry-Baby?” he guffaws shortly, directly in her ear, as if her struggle’s amusing. “Wha’ d’you want?”

“Wan’ it… inside,” she manages, shaking bellow him. “Don’t— oh, Christ, Daddy.” She tries to compose herself, turning her head to the side to finally inspire proper airflow. “Don’t pull out.”

It’s almost comical to think he’d last any longer, the stutter in his hips should be a sheer indicator that he’s hanging on by a singular thin, extremely fragile fucking thread. Nevertheless, when he shudders into her figure, his nails piercing the flesh of her hips, his thrusts ceasing, his cock nestled to the fucking hilt inside of her, and he finally spills into her, Y/N’s can’t help but be surprised by how quickly it all transpires.

“Shit, Baby! Oh… oh, my fucking God…” He grunts, loud and long and deep, right in her ear, his guppy-lips tickling the very shell. His cock pulses with every spurt of milky white come he shoots into her, coating her silken walls completely, and he just keeps coming. There’s so much, filling her to the brim and then some, contents beginning to leak out and smear over their joined bodies, and it keeps fucking coming. He keeps fucking coming.

“Daddy,” Y/N whimpers, shuttering, her voice gurgled, tongue drowning in drool.

“I know, Darlin’,” he husks breathily, his grip on her waist finally relenting, speckles blood slushing beneath his fingertips. Y/N can’t find it in herself to care, though, to feel hurt or genuinely used in any way, not with the way he regards her with so much tenderness. Not when he’s gently cooing in her ear, even through the intensity of his world-shattering orgasm, “Daddy knows, Sweetheart, M’sorry.”

He smears the crimson away, almost lovingly. He sponges kisses across her sweaty upper back, moving his hands to massage her tense shoulders. He whispers sweet nothings in her ear as his high finally begins to wane.

But he’s so tender, and caring, even if just in his touch—she hopes it’s more than just that—and he knows when to be mean, and degrading, and he feel so fucking good.

It embarrassing, to say the least, when she melts into the bed and squirts on his cock, again. He doesn’t even have to do anything; no teasing thrum on her clit, no rough rut into her poor pussy. He just sits there, cock plugging her full of his come, stretching her out to the brink and keeping her fucking stuffed, and she gushes over him.

“Fuck, Baby,” he gasps suddenly, as sudden as her release, springing up from his hunched position like he’d been electrocuted. He pulls back, dragging stiffly and slickly against her clenching walls, and pushes back in, slowly and delicately, trying to imprint the mold of her cunt to his cock. “Just couldn’t help it, huh, Cry-Baby?” he chortles, fuzzy in the head and sluggish in his movements, but still present enough to tease, obviously. “Felt too good? Y’sloppy little pussy felt too good?”

“Yeah, Daddy,” she whimpers, back to nestling into her arm as aftershocks rack through her body, small spill and trickles leaking from her abused cunt.

He tuts softly, “Dumb baby…” but he doesn’t reprimand her further, swirling his thumbs in the dimples of her back, gently bringing her back down.

Daddy stays stuffed inside her fluttering pussy while she regulates her breathing, until her flesh doesn’t immediately burn to the touch and the subtle twitches have subsided. He maneuvers his limbs and manhandles her own so his back is pressed to the headboard and she’s settled comfortably in his lap. He guides her to melt into his chest, her head slipping into the juncture of his shoulder and neck.

He suppresses a giggle when her lashes tickle his bobbing Adam’s apple. He bites back a smile as his fingers card through her tangled curls, pushing to flail wisps out of her eye-line, off of her sticky, sweaty forehead. He pecks over her forehead, across her brow bones, the slope of her nose… All the while stroking delicately along her hairline, coaxing her to stay exactly as she is, happy and sated and floaty.

Not until she shifts, pulling her knees to her chest, whining uncomfortable at the slush that resides there, does he make a move to leave fucking nirvana. He shushes her thoughtfully, wrapping a hand around his half-hard length to guide it from her weepy hole. Crocodile tears slide down her cheeks—rationally, in the deep recess of her coherent mind, Y/N knows she’s literally crying over nothing—but Daddy takes it in stride, silencing her cries with a kiss that makes everything quiet.

She clambers around, both uncaring of the mess between their thighs, so they’re pressed chest to chest, lips locked searingly, tongues delving and licking and tasting, until they’re both breathless, panting into each other’s mouths, bleary eyes fanning over moonlit features frantically, desperately. A lull of pleasant silence befalls them, only pure touches and supple kisses to fill the atmosphere.

“Gotta clean y’up, Sweetheart,” Daddy eventually mutters, a kiss pressed to the hinge of her jaw while he wraps her legs securely around his trim waist and her arms ‘round his shoulders, walking them both to the en suite loo.

Things move in a muddled haze for a long time. A rag is taken to the sloppy mess between her thighs, her whimpers of sensitivity and irritation met with sorrowful kisses and consolations (“Daddy’s sorry, Baby…I know, Darlin’, M’sorry… So sensitive…”). She’s given sweet fruits to nibble on as Daddy prepares them a bath: Rich mangoes and plump cherries, tart strawberries and crunchy grapes. She sips idly on a glass of cold water from the sink counter, feet kicking back and forth, gently raddling the drawers and cabinets below.

Soon, she’s lifted from her place perched on the counter (sweet treats in hand) and slipped into perfectly warm, sudsy, lavender hued and scented water. She smiles at the realization, fruit long forgotten, sat on the ledge of the tub, as her fingers pop the bubbles while Daddy slips in behind her.

His arms wrap around her middle, pulling her back into his firm chest, soft pants splaying across her neck and collarbones. She shivers, but sits back easily, finding immediate comfort in his rivet embrace.

“How d’you feel, Sweet girl?” he prods softly, his fingers back to tickling across her hairline. The feather-light sensations make Y/N bite back a giddy smile, although, she can do nothing but let the rampant butterflies in her tummy run wild.

“M’happy,” she says, no forethought given, no stuttering hesitation, because she was, wasn’t she? In a tub with a man who’s just, quite literally, rocked her entire world, being dotted upon like she’s some sort of princess… How could she possibly not be happy?

Her confession, however, seems to shock Daddy the slightest bit. She can’t imagine why (looking back, she had been a bit blunt about it, but not much else could be expected from her in such a headspace), isn’t it obvious the way he makes her feel? His voice makes her shiver, let alone his touch, she doesn’t think she’s been very subtle about that.

“Yeah? I made you happy, Baby?” His tone is airy, almost unconvinced. She doesn’t like that, doesn’t like that he’s unsure of how wonderful he is.

She scuttles around to face him, that captivating seafoam back in his eyes, once again drowning her large, vivacious waves.

“Y’makin’ me happy, Daddy,” she mumbles back, eyes wide and pure, and a timid, sweet smile spread from cheek to cheek to match.

And Daddy—God, it should honestly be illegal how attractive he is—does this stupid little half-frown, half-smirk that makes Y/N’s lashes flutter and cheeks flush, urging her closer by his grip on the cinch of her waist. He brings the tips of their noses together in a devastating puppy’s kiss, eyes flitting back and forth.

“You’re precious, Sweetheart.”

He doesn’t let her get a word in, doesn’t let her praise him any further, his lips sealed to hers as soon as he’s finished fawning her. She’s the one who deserves all the praise. The sweet nothings and dotting acts of service, grand gestures and devoted affection. Unique flowers, no roses or daises, because she’s much too special for something so simple. She deserves one-of-a-kind jewelry and clothing, the highest end technology, handbags, and makeup, the most expensive cars and houses— he doesn’t fucking care. She deserves the world. And he wants to give it to her. So badly.

He’s so fucking fucked.

[ivyglow]

Mine | Anthony Beauvillier

A/n: this idea came after we had a very sexy- I mean- Angry* Anthony pushing Sidney Crosby. Barbie and some anons send the good energy and so althought it took me forever here it is *cheers*. A huge thank you for @barbienoturbby​ for sending me some specific ideas (sharpies, choking etc hehehe), putting up w my random messages in the middle of the night or being a insecure bitch, ILY BARBIE! Huge shout out to @sebs-aston​ for proofreading this so fast *you’re amazing, liv!*.  PS. More than ever I’m gonna need your feedback because I’m an insecure bitch and this is my first time writing smut (freddie was thigh riding, I don’t consider it too much). So please just lmk if you like it or hate it <3 

Word count: 4k

Warnings: smut, mention of chocke, spitting, oral -female receiving- and all those dirty stuff. 

Summary: after getting angry on the ice, you decide to make Anthony angry in bed too. 

You knew Tito was a dom in bed as soon as you met him: he helped you to sit and to get up on your first date, and he led you to your car with his hand on your lower back. One month into getting to know each other, you were planning a gathering with his friends and he was the one to assign everyone with a task. Some days he would use fewer words and stick with hand gestures or eye contact to tell you what he wanted or what he was silently saying. 

So when you two had sex for the first time and he was on top, you were not surprised, you also weren’t surprised when he asked how would you feel about hair pulling, choking, and tying. And, well, you’d never tried any of this, so you were honest with him, knowing that honesty was the key to make things work. He promised to go slow, and he watched you intently while he did everything just to make sure you were comfortable. You can still remember how it felt when he first stretched you, how your heel went to his back to accommodate his waist better, how this movement gave him the perfect angle to go all the way until the end. 

You also remember the hickeys he left on your skin, mostly on places where your clothes could hide, but some you knew he purposely made for people to see. And people saw, indeed and also heard. He got a noise complaint twice because his old bed would scratch and bang on the wall, and that wouldn’t be a huge problem if it was anyone else, but it was Anthony, a hockey player, at that point -your boyfriend-, and he had the stamina to go for hours. A chug of water, maybe a fruit snack, and less than twenty minutes later he was ready to go again - or he would use these twenty minutes to get you off with his mouth and fingers. So the noise complaint was very much expected. 

Now six months into the relationship, this wasn’t a problem anymore. Tito bought a new bed, and even talked with a friend about the possibility of getting soundproof walls. That’s why you were drinking your water and eating one of his energy bars while watching the game. The dynamic after games was usually very sexual, it didn’t matter if he was on the road or at home, you would find a way to get off, either phone sex or spicy pics. He never left you to your own hands. 

The Isles were playing against the Penguins and you knew he was pissed off because of their losing streak against that team. That made him angry with some specifics players too. When he got home last night, you just cuddled together and went to sleep, he was tired and fuming because of their loss, and he probably heard a handful by his coach. Because of those losses, you knew he was going to skate his way around the ice tonight more than ever, and, especially, that he was angry. 

You were laying on his couch when the game started, the Isles skating around the ice in a way you would have bet was a premonition for another loss, but ten minutes in things started to go differently, and that was the exact moment when you sat and gripped Beau’s shirt before an amazing shot hit the Pens’ net. They kept the rhythm on for the next two periods, although they were pretty much stressful- a handful of times you caught yourself holding your breath or cursing. The last two were also a stage for your boyfriend’s anger. He was pissed in a way you’d never seen before on the ice, and when Sidney Crosby pushed Pulock, Tito had had enough and shoved the opposition’s player on the ice. Torn between finding it hot or funny, you chose the latter letting out a loud laugh. Yet, when another exchange of pushes happened between the Pens’ superstar and Beau you sure felt the heat taking up space inside your body and you shifted on the couch. There was another goal and the game kept on providing stress and anxiety for the fans, but you were stuck on the scene your boyfriend had just put up. 

He was usually like this in bed, but not that much on the ice, and seeing that happening outside the four walls left you with a lingering warmth inside your body, and not the cute warmth you usually felt when he cooked for you or told you how much he loved you. But the warmth you got whenever he bent you on the kitchen counter or held your hand tight while going down on you. 

It was past midnight when you heard the door open and close, the soft click making your heart beat faster. He was home. You heard the thud of his bag on the floor and his steps bringing his scent closer to the living room where you were sitting on the couch wearing only his jersey and his favorite lace.

“Hey you, winner,” your voice echoed in the dimly lit apartment and you could see his lips curling in a small smile.

“Hey, babe,” his lips found yours on a quick peck and you looked up for more contact, but Anthony was already walking to the kitchen. 

“Are you ok?” you asked, barefoot padding the floor until you reached the stool.

Your boyfriend was already busy cutting some bananas in a bowl, “Yeah, just a little stressed with the game and hungry,” he answered.

“But you won,” you stated in confusion. 

His eyes scanned you for a second before going back to his task. The silence was everything you needed to know: he really was not in the mood for long talks after the episode, but you were a woman on a mission and you knew exactly what to do to get Anthony riddled up. 

“You guys had a great game…” you began, cautious with your words and actions, hands reaching for a banana on the fruit bowl. “How was playing against Sidney Crosby?”

You saw how his eyebrows raised slightly before pouring honey on his bowl and whipping his fingers with his tongue. You knew the action wasn’t supposed to be filthy, yet you’ve been dating him long enough to know that he knew every action of his could be seen as sexual at some point. 

“It was normal, he’s a normal hockey player like any of us,” his tone is nonchalant. 

You suppress a grin, “he’s not like any of you, he’s Sidney Crosby. Just last night he reached his thousandth game,” Tito’s now chewing on his fruit and you can see how the motion seems tighter after your words, still you keep going, “he’s like a superstar! I would love to meet him any of these days…” you trail off busying yourself on biting the banana you just peeled off. His eyes trained on how your lips wrap around the piece of fruit, your tongue purposely darting out. Your boyfriend chooses silence again and you huff rolling your eyes. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he queries, eyes on his bowl, jaw still clenched tight while biting another piece of his fruit. You dart your eyes in another direction while biting your banana again, this time without so much care on giving him a hard time. “I asked you a question, y/n,” his tone was sharp and his voice low. You shake your head. 

He grabs his water bottle before chugging half of the content, “Cat got your tongue? I swear I just saw you poking it out while eating that banana to provoke me,” he tauntingly  gives you a defiant look. 

Anthony motions for you to come to him and you follow his orders willingly, eager to finally have your way with him. You’re within arm’s reach when he tugs you closer, making you stumble in the middle of his big thighs. In a blink of an eye, you feel the sting on your butt cheeks, his big hands finding it again one more time before grabbing your chin. “You can’t even wait for your man to eat,” it’s a low grunt and he seems more annoyed with your playful smile, and you see the perfect opportunity to tease him a little bit more, “You could eat something else, there’s nothing stopping you…” 

With that Anthony seems to lose his judgment before swinging your body on top of the counter, “you’re being such a brat tonight” his hands grab your butt squeezing it hard, “that’s not how you get the things you want” 

“No? Then why are you about to fuck me?” you mock him knowing damn right that this would only make him go harder on you. 

“Crisse,” (holy shit) his French accent makes your pussy throb. You loved when he talked in French to you.

His big hand pushes you back in a swift motion, the same hand spreads your legs for him, and it’s only a second before you’re fully laying on the counter. Still wearing only a lace thong and his jersey, you know the former is about to be ripped out of you. Anthony drags his fingers from the bottom of your belly to your breasts before gifting you a devilish smirk as soon as he notices you’re not wearing a bra. 

“You think Sidney Crosby is the superstar, but you know damn well I’m gonna be the reason why you’re seeing stars tonight,” he whispers before sitting on the stool and kissing up to your thighs. His lips are sticky from the honey and because they’re cold it sends chills running through your warm body. You stretch your arms to reach his hair and he hums grabbing your wrists harshly, “no hair pulling for you tonight,” his murmurs hit your skin and you let out a small whine. 

In order to play with your sensations, you see him taking a long gulp of his cold water. You know it will make his mouth colder and slicker, and you know he’s only doing it because he’s planning to spend a long time between your legs.

And that he does.

You sigh when his lips finally reach your pussy, the shock it causes is good and you can’t help but close your thighs in an attempt to bring him where you are really yearning for his lips. Nevertheless, that’s not what he has planned for you, and he drags his mouth between your pussy lips long before finally wrapping his lips on your clit and humming in pleasure. 

“Oh fuck,” you let out a whine when his fingers reach for your nipple and twist it hard. His wet tongue flickered on your clit and he dived in deeper, making you feel all of him, from his stubble that was starting to grow to his full lips, you could feel it all.

“Anthony,” you try to form a sentence in the exact moment he pushs one finger inside of you, but your voice comes out as a prayer. A plea for more. 

You were a sinner for him.

“You taste so good,” it’s a pleasure mumble and it comes just before his palm strikes your butt cheeks in a firm slap. “I could spend days here, bébé” 

“Anthony,” you try again and this time he laughs with his lips still wrapped around your clit. The vibrations send shivers through your whole body, your toes curl and you try to reach for his hair again before his hand holds both of your wrists. 

You’re close and he knows it because he adds another finger and curls it. It’s a ‘come here’ motion and from another dimension, you were almost able to hear him whisper the same words in French. 

“Give it to me,” he demands, and you do as said just as another finger hits your right spot. For some seconds the kitchen’s ceiling turns black with dots and your vision goes blurry. Toes curling, the pitch on your belly button finally making its way out just like the curses and moans that leave your mouth. Most of them being his name and how good he makes you feel. 

You’re not even done with your high when his big hands grab your ankles bringing your body to the edge of the counter and making you sit. “Open your mouth,” he demands. 

You moan, eyes rolling back from pleasure, “put your tongue out for me, má chérie,” his hands, now holding your jaw, tighten around you. There’s a whimper of bliss and you part your lips wide bringing your tongue out just like demanded before he spits on your mouth. 

“See how good you taste?!” Anthony hums and you swallow it before poking your tongue out again and licking from his glistering chin to his lips. The action fuels a passionate kiss and it’s seconds before your weak legs wrap themselves around his waist bringing him closer. Your core finds the bulge on his pants and you whimper feeling aroused again. 

Your boyfriend is fast to grasp the underside of your thighs bringing your body close to his before making his way towards the bedroom. You take your time licking and kissing his neck and jaw until your body hits the mattress and he’s unbuckling his belt.

“Take it off” he commands, unbuttoning his dress shirt. You’re fast to obey taking off the jersey you’re wearing, now you’re fully naked in front of him. 

“Hands,” you put both of your wrists together and he fastens his belt around it tight. 

From the way his eyebrows were slightly up to his lips parted, you knew he was about to give you another orgasm, you knew that he wasn’t done and he wouldn’t be any time soon. 

“Do we have a safe word tonight, bébé?” his full lips find your jaw and neck and he nibbles on your ear before sucking harshly on your neck again. 

His purpose is to mark you, not only where people can see, but also where they can’t. Just like your waist is being held with such fierceness, you know it’ll leave prints there. You hum a yes dropping your head to the side so he can have more access to your skin, “use your words, you know I need to hear you say it,” he whispers now bringing his mouth to your nipples and biting it lightly. You whimper, “our safe word is blue.” 

“Perfect,” you can feel his smile on your skin and when you reach for his hair with your hands tied, he pushes them up. His strong arm swings on top of your belly and he takes his time on your breasts before making his way lower. There’s a pitch bubbling on your belly again just with the idea of it and he gives you mischievous grim kissing and licking your thighs. 

“Beau,” you whine already feeling your legs weakening again.

“I told you I was hungry, you were the one who suggested the meal,” the funny remark is accompanied by a flicker of his tongue on your cunt. “Now I’ll only stop when I’m satisfied.” 

You curse closing your hands and trying to bring your waist up. He shakes his head, “huh huh, that’s a bad girl attitude,” he spits on your pussy and you moan loud, “and you know exactly what we do to bad girls in this house, don’t you?” 

You nod and he chuckles.

“Words.” 

“I know, sir.” 

“Now, there’s my good girl,” he praises finding your clit and holding it carefully between his teeth, “now give it to me just like you suggested,” he murmurs before diving on your pussy, his tongue gentle and slow, in contrast with his solid arm pinning you to the bed and his rough behavior. 

It would be a long ride and you would feel every step taken, because each one would bring you closer to the inevitable. You felt urgency though; you wanted him to fuck your brains out already. But Anthony took his time, and you knew he was being good because he let you cum in the kitchen even after you provoked him. When his point finger entered you, your eyes couldn’t focus and you knew you were closer, yet instead of giving you a release, your boyfriend took his kisses to your thighs grinning at you one more time. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he speaks under his breath, eyes trained on your pussy. Yet you don’t feel ashamed, because it’s Anthony, and he knows you like the back of his hands, he knows what to do to make you comfortable and he knows how to make you feel good. He would praise and love your body rightly, so you let him. You spread your legs wider and gave him a lopsided smile. 

“Please,” you plead again that night; however, he follows your request this time. 

Anthony dives in again, licking and spitting, flickering his tongue and using his fingers. Giving you what he got and what he knows you like. Your body is fast to answer, your waist trying to go higher to find his mouth, your toes curling, your head shooting back and your eyes rolling. 

He got you there. Fast.

And he made sure to ride you out of you high, this tongue not the least careful with your sensitive bud, while cleaning you up he kept licking it lightly. Full lips brushing it with dedication. 

“Now I want you on all fours,” there’s a dirty smile on his glistering lips and you hold back another moan with the image of Anthony sitting between your legs, face glowing with your cum, “allos y,” (c’mon). You turn your body, holding your hands before supporting your head on the pillows, ass up for him.

There’s the noise of a slap and the sting on your butt cheeks, right before a soft kiss is placed on top of the surely red mark. His hands roam around your body and you shiver when he grabs your hair. “Crisse, tu as l'air si chaud,” (holy shit, you look so hot) Anthony slaps you booty again and finally slips his finger at your entrance feeling your wetness pool around. You’re already ready for him again and he seems pleased with the realization. So pleased it doesn’t take long for him to slip inside of you hitting just the right spot. Your body shots upward and he holds you by your waist keeping your butt bent. 

“Anthony,” you moan loudly when he starts moving ruthlessly inside of you. There’s something hot about how his body is being aggressive and you are taking it all, how his hips are almost knocking your body down, “right - fucking - there,” you whine and he keeps going, this time grabbing your hair and making your body lean towards him. 

“Whose name are you screaming tonight, bébé?” he mumbles bending his own body on top of yours without completely letting go of the position. 

“Yours,” your answer between groans. 

“Let me hear you” 

And you do.

You say his name out loud and clear, and you’re almost sure the neighbors are going to hear it. Yet you do it again and again while the sound of your voice is mixed with the noise of his skin hitting your skin and his feral grunts. He’s big and hard inside you and every time he goes out to get inside again you can feel your pussy stretching out to accommodate him. 

“Beau,” you moan and he chuckles leaning his body down to kiss your back. You see from the corner of your eyes when he finds the black marker on the top of your drawer, you can almost see his head working on ideas, and then he’s grabbing the sharpie you were using to write on your sticky notes earlier today. 

His body is straight up again and his movements are now slower, as he unclasps the marker and you feel its cold material hit your skin. There’s a long up and then down movement, you’re almost sure it’s an M, and then there’s a harsh line of an I, you can hear his grunts louder and he stops himself for a second before shooting his body towards yours again. The sharpie finds your skin again, this time to draw an N, you knew he was doing it big, not only for his eyes, but for you to feel and to know exactly what it was as he wrote the last letter, an E. 

You roll your eyes when he closes and throws the sharpie somewhere in the room before leaving another one of his blows on your butt cheeks. Anthony swings his arm around your torso bringing you up to him, your back hitting his solid chest, “you’re mine,” and that’s what it takes for you to come undone on his still hard cock. Your whole body trembles and your vision goes blurry again, there are tears in your eyes, and this time your moans turn into screams of satisfaction. 

He keeps fucking you through your high and you curse dropping your head back on his shoulder. His hand sneaks in front of your body to touch your sensitive clit, and you hold it sinking your nails on his skin. “Oh fuck,” he grunts drawing his finger deeper. You’re not sure if your body can’t take so much pleasure.

“Let me ride you,” it’s a prayer, a plea, a cry, and you can feel his lips on your neck before your bodies are turned and you’re on top taking him deeper, touching new spots. 

“That’s it, bébé,” he praises you and you roll your hips using your last energies. His hands find their way to your thighs and his short nails dig on your skin bringing you impossibly closer. There’s a deep grunt from him and a small whine from you. It’s hard for your eyes to focus, and you use your body to pin his down and your tied hands find his neck before squeezing it. His hips shot up under you and you scream, tightening your grip on him and squeezing his dick inside of you. 

You can feel another knot on the pitch of your belly, but this time it feels different to recognize this new sensation. That’s when you notice the wetness under you dripping onto his cock to his belly button and in the bed. 

“Fuck,” he moans, “Oh shit, you’re squirting,” his big hands go to your back and he keeps shooting his hips up to meet your pussy, “that’s it, bébé, give it to me once more,” and you’re squeezing him one last time before giving both of you a mind-blowing orgasm. Your body tumbles on top of his and this time things go pitch black instead of blurry. You can still feel his hot body under you and his rapid heartbeat, but your body is fluttering and there’s nothing in front of you. There’s only his body. There’s only your boyfriend existing under you with his cock still deep inside of you. 

It’s seconds before his caresses on your back become some kind of poking, “y/n?” 

“Huh?” you mumble, your voice raspy. He chuckles.

“Fuck, you passed out,” he sounds proud and you giggle. 

“That was the best sex we’ve ever had,” you confess without finding the strength to move your hands and caress him back, but Anthony keeps the tip of his fingers moving softly around your body, “I think I should talk more about Sidney Crosby, huh?” you joke and his hips shot upward making you moan Anthony’s name. Although he just came, he’s still hard and deep inside your soaked pussy.

“What were you saying?” he questions with a smug grin. “I think you were saying something about a certain player, Sidney Crosby maybe?” 

You arch your eyebrows, “who’s Sidney Crosby? I only know Anthony Beauvillier,” and he laughs at your answer before kissing your lips softly. You know there’s gonna be a time for water and a fruit snack later and then he’s going again, because he’s never done until you’re completely wrecked, the only name able to escape your lips being his. 

Taglist: @smit41 @mybrokenshitthoughts @linasobsessions @hoiyheadharpies @barbienoturbby @barzysandmarnersbitch​ @elitebarzal​ @fallinallincurls​ @starswin​ @sortagaysortahigh​​ If you wanna be added to my taglist you can send my your user in here

If you want to read more of my works here’s my masterlist and if you want to support my writing hit the reblog and like button <3 feel free to send me a pm or an ask telling me what you thought about this piece!

[byuntrash101]

PARAPHILIA - Part 1

Pairing: Dom!Baekhyun x You

Genre: EstablishedRelationship!AU, slice of life, smuttt

Tags: strong dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, rough sex, degradation, name calling (slut is used a lot), deepthroat, body writing, toys and more~~

Raiting: +18 (more like 21+ 🤪)

Word count: 3.5k

Summary: Apparantly, the new intern has a crush on you. And it's making your boyfriend Baekhyun jealous... Very jealous...

A/N: First chapter💃!! I’m excited to show you this project! Never hesitate to give me feedback my asks are always open and seeing your reactions make me SO happy💖! I hope you’ll enjoy!! -Cat😽

Tag list: @lovebuginlove @ohh-baekhyun @bobohumyonlyboo @smolbeanmika @making-me-blush @wooya1224 @yixing-jaehyun @f4ncyvelvet @lalalala-lav @deligxt @xofanfics @byunsugar @dixnysustae @to-all-the-stories-i-love @artisticcgroove @myexoobsession ​ @geniusloey

Tell me if you want to be added/removed

PARAPHILIA masterlist | General masterlist

Paraphilia #1 : SADISM, Inflicting pain to others.

W R O N G   F E E L S  R I G H T

"Aaaah" you say as you feel the hot tea on your tongue. It's jasmine green tea, your favorite. You sit there in the dining room enjoying the warm sun of the afternoon. It's so relaxing, so nice after a stressful week of work. The new intern is very nice, but god is he a handful. He's just always full of energy but at least he is willing and wants to learn properly. But forming him is quite tiring. So enjoying this quiet time here is nice.

"Babe can you come over here?" you hear the voice of your boyfriend resonate from upstairs. You sigh and frown, annoyed. But you still decide to go see him.

He's in his office, probably playing the piano or practicing his singing skills. He was in there since early morning. You never questioned his wacky sleep schedule. Like he always says: "inspiration doesn't wait". You knew that from the beginning... He's an artist.

You push open the door and he's there on his computer frowning. What's wrong? You ask yourself as you pick up right away that something is off. You walk closer and see he's on your Facebook profile.

"Who's that?" he asks without a glance to you, pointing a finger to the picture of a recently added friend.

"It's Taeyong the new intern, I told you about him" you say in a chuckle. So that's what's wrong with him. He's jealous, you think smiling.

"How do you find him?" he still doesn't look at you.

"Huh? I mean he is pretty smart which makes things easier, but overall, he has a lot to learn it's only normal when you are fresh out of school. I mean when I started, I-" but Baekhyun interrupts you.

"I don't mean it like this! Do you think he’s... attractive?" you can't help but laugh at the ridiculous question. Finally, Baekhyun looks at you but it's only to shoot you a death glare. You stop and bite your lips trying not to laugh again.

"I mean... Of course I can't say he's ugly but I-" Before you can continue your boyfriend rips the black bob off his head and throws it on the desk. He immediately brushes back his blond hair, running his fingers through it. You flinch. Shit, he's actually upset about this.

"What about this?" he switches to another tab on the computer. This time it's your Instagram page. He clicks on the most recent post. It's a selfie you posted last week when you went out with Baekhyun, you liked your makeup that day and thought it was instagramable.

"What about it?" You genuinely ask. Your boyfriend sighs, frustrated.

"TYdragon95, is it his username?" Baekhyun asks, his tone has changed from cold to angered, you swiftly look at him, he's clenching his jaw.

"Yes I suppose so, he was born in 1995, so yeah probably..."

"Yeah of course it's him... he liked every single one of your pictures..."

Baekhyun proceeds to scroll to the other photos and it's true. His username is under every single one of them.

"Well, no, he didn't like the pictures where we are together..." he says in a cynical tone. You stand there next to him, silent, what could you possibly reply? Baekhyun chuckles coldly.

"He's probably, right now imagining you under him, his hand in his pants..." he whistles between greeted teeth. You laugh nervously.

"Hyunie, don't be stupid... he's just a guy I work with" you say fidgeting with your fingers. You know this mood. You know how angry your boyfriend can get.

"Really? Huh?" Baekhyun says, finally getting up from his chair. He stands right in front of you, only a couple centimeters (1in) separate the both of you. You are intimidated. He's so much taller than you...

"Baekhyun, please" you say in a pleading tone while taking a step back. Baekhyun steps closer.

"Baby girl do you like him?" he says in a low husky voice, sending shivers down your spine. Once again, you step back and he steps closer. You step back again, and he follows you, making you backup against the cold wall of his office, almost falling on the drums on your left.

"Baekhyun don't be ridiculous... I-"

"FUCKING ANSWER ME!!!" he yells throwing his palm on the wall next to your face. Your breath is hitching your throat.

"No Babe! Of course, not. I only love you" you say your voice trembling.

"Is this true?" his tone is somewhat softer. He leans in, inching his face close to yours.

"Yes..." you say softly, almost whispering.

"Maybe I have to remind you who you belong to"

You feel goosebumps in the nape of your neck. You know exactly what he means...

"Go in the room and wait for me there" with that he removes his hand and you quickly leave the room without daring looking at him. Without any detours you go straight to your room and sit on the king-sized bed.

You feel a familiar tingly feeling rise in your lower stomach. You don't even have time to think that your hand travels on its own to your crotch. As soon as your fingers press on your core the door slams open.

Baekhyun chuckles coldly, looking you up and down.

"You little slut you couldn't even wait for me, could you?" he walks quickly to you and yanks hard on your arm to make you stand. You wince in pain.

"What do you say?"

"I'm sorry daddy." You whimper. Suddenly he flips you over and makes you lay over his lap with your butt up. Without much consideration he roughly pulls up your t-shirt dress. His hand rests delicately over your clothed bottom as you are still wearing your baby blue laced panties. Gently, he strokes your butt cheeks with his thumb.

"Baby girl, you need a little reminder that you belong to daddy and daddy only. So, I have to punish you, you understand that, right?" he says as he slowly pulls down your lace panties. You simply nod quietly.

"So, baby girl I'm going to spank you 15 times and you will say thank you to each one of them. Understood?"

"Yes daddy" you say, already bracing for impact.

You feel his cold hand lift up from your skin. Then you hear the loud noise. Full force spanking your tiny ass. Lastly, you feel the pain, make you scream at the very first strike. It just started but already you feel the tingly feeling in your lower stomach grow.

"I didn't hear you baby"

"Thank you, daddy." You whimper.

"Good girl" Right away he spanks you again. You scream again, already your butt is burning. You can't help but to moan in between each scream. You feel each nerve of your sensitive skin.

"Thank you, daddy"

Baekhyun spanks again until he reaches 15. Your ass is raw,  the pain feels so good, you bite your bottom lip trying to refrain from begging him to fuck you right now. Because you know daddy doesn't like being told what to do, especially when he's angry.

He puts you back up and makes you sit up on the bed. He stands in front of you as he unbuckles his belt.

"Now you're gonna suck daddy off, to make up to him" right there he rips out his fat cock in front of your very eyes. You can't help but gasp and the beautiful sight. He was so hard, precum pearling at the tip. It made your mouth water in anticipation.

You look at him with hungry eyes and just nod while opening wide. Baekhyun smirks.

"Good girl" he says, pinching your nose and slowly pushing himself inside your tiny mouth. He doesn't stop at the first resistance, instead he pushes harder, making his way past the back of your throat. You feel the burn with each inch as he grunts loudly. You can't breathe anymore, not through your nose and certainly not through your mouth.

Without a warning Baekhyun starts to rapidly pump himself in and out of your mouth making your eyes water. You feel tears roll down your cheeks as you try to gasp for air. Baekhyun doesn't stop and skull fucks you even deeper, tearing your throat apart. You try to push him away, but he doesn't budge. He just moans louder using your face as his personal fuck toy.

Finally, he pulls out allowing you to breathe. You loudly gasp for air. Coughing, you look up at your boyfriend. He still looks pissed.

"Fuck babe, that little slut mouth of yours is fitted for my cock, isn't it?" he says trying to catch his breath pushing his blond hair back. You cough still trying to pull yourself together.

Without warning, Baekhyun leans in and his  hands reach for the collar of your dress with one powerful and swift move he rips it off your body leaving you in your baby blue lace bra only.

"Take that off for me" he says pointing at the bra as he passes his oversized hoodie over his head. You look in awe at the muscles of his back and abs moving to mesmerize you. He looks so good, he's lightly sweating from pleasuring himself with your mouth. He's stark naked in front of you, you gulp loudly, anticipating but also fearing what's to come.

"Lay there" he commands pointing a finger to the bed, you do as you're told and lay with your arms resting to your sides. Baekhyun then gets up and walks to the dresser. He opens the fourth drawer. You know what he stores in this drawer, you squirm in apprehension.

When he turns back to you, he's holding a red marker and two, no, three nipple clamps.

"Baby girl, you know you've been bad, right?" You look at him with scared eyes but nod. He sits next to you.

"This one is for allowing another man to think about you" he says as he clips the clamp on one of your nipples. You bite your lip at the delicious pinching sensation.

"This one is for daring to even say his name in front of me" he places the second clamp on your other nipple. You gasp. It feels so good, your watery eyes fill up with tears again.

"And this one is for reminding you who owns you" he places the last one on your untouched but very anticipating clit. This time you can't help but to scream and grip the sheets as the pain spreads through your core. Baekhyun looks down at you with a satisfied smirk.

"Hmmm baby, you look so pathetic squirming like that." He leans over you. "Does it hurt, baby?" he purrs as a cold smile spreads on his lips. You looked up at him, pouting and eyebrows knitted together and nod.

"Baby girl, it's only fair for you to be treated this way because you were very bad you understand, right?"

You nod, the tears finally streaming down your face. Baekhyun smiles in satisfaction again, he loves to see you in this state, wrapped around his fingers. He controls you, he owns you. 

Then, he takes the red sharpie out. He takes off the cap and writes on your body, first right under your collarbones, then on your lower stomach and finally on your face.

"Go ahead and get up to go see how beautiful you look."

You get up and wince in pain again as the gravity pulls on the clamps. You walk up to the full length mirror. Baekhyun wrote "cocksleeve" across your chest,  "my cunt" right over your pussy and finally "daddy's slut" on each of your cheeks.

"Aren't you pretty?" You turn back to him. 

"Yes, thank you daddy" you meekly answer.

You want to walk back to him, but he puts his hand up and stops you.

"Not so fast, baby girl. The punishment isn't over yet. You are not allowed to walk back to me... Get on all fours and crawl to me like the bitch that you are"

You feel the humiliation rush to your cheeks and spread to your body. But you obey anyway, you do as you're told. Your knees against the cold hard wood you approach your sadistic boyfriend.

"Good girl, now. Crouch and tell daddy how sorry you are" You feel the tears well up again.

"Daddy..." you start with your voice trembling, avoiding his eyes. "I'm sorry. I will never upset you again." 

Silence follows, you lift your head to look up at him and without a warning he slaps you across the face, almost making you fall. You rub your cheek.

"Gotta have to do better than that" he replies with the harshest tone. Now you are just sobbing.

"This little slut is sorry daddy. She doesn't deserve a daddy as perfect as you. I am nothing more than your personal fuck toy and a mere toy should only serve her daddy and no other men should be allowed to lay eyes on it. Daddy I'm sorry for being a dirty whore I will make it up to you I promise."

Baekhyun chuckles, visibly satisfied to see you dragging yourself down like this. You can't help but to let your eyes trail down his perfect body to his cock... He is harder than ever.

"That's right baby you are my pathetic little slut" he says gently stroking your still burning cheek.

"You know what baby? Daddy wants you to hurt as much as you hurt him by allowing this man in your life." He harshly grabs your face.

"So, you're going to stand up and you're going to show daddy how your pretty little face twists in pain" he says with a large, wicked smile.

You stand up.

"Jump, lemme see the clamps bounce."

You do as you're told and bounce yourself up and down. The weight of the clamp on your clit is unbearable and you just frown deeply in pain.

"Good girl now pull on the clamps on your nipples"

You pull on them harshly, the joyous pain makes you roll your eyes back and you can't help but to let a soft moan escape your lips. Baekhyun reaches down and starts to pump his hand around his big cock. He looks satisfied, nothing arouses him more than seeing you cry like this.

"Twist them"

You moan louder, it's difficult to contain your excitement as you feel your arousal coating your inner thighs.

"Good girl" he says with an evil smirk.

After a while, your body is red all over, complementing even better the matching sharpie.

"Now lay there you slut" Baekhyun says as he gets up the bed. You lay on your back and wait for further instructions.

Baekhyun gets on the bed over you and places himself at your entrance. Rubbing his tip against your slick folds.

"What a pitiful slut that you are getting this wet from being humiliated" he says smirking. And with that he violently pushes himself inside you in one go. You scream in absolute bliss, almost cumming to this one single thrust.

"Fuck, baby" Baekhyun moans.

He starts to move rapidly, you feel the familiar knot in your stomach form. He goes full force right away, making your fringe jump with each powerful thrust.

"Baby what are you?" he pants.

"I'm your slut daddy"

"Good girl" he says, grinding his teeth, rewarding you with more powerful thrusts and more overwhelming pleasure.

"You like daddy's thick cock don't you, slut?"

"Yes, I love your big cock daddy, it feels so good in my tiny cunt" You whine, feeling the knot getting tighter. The three nipple clamps jumping all over the place as Baekhyun fucks you deep and hard.

"No one can make you feel good like daddy,  do you understand?" he says struggling, moaning in between each word.

"Yes only daddy's big cock" you bite your lip trying not to cum as Baekhyun hasn't granted you permission yet.

"Good girl. You are daddy's little slut. Daddy's toy. Daddy's personal cocksleeve. Nothing more. Your only purpose is to pleasure daddy and make him cum with your tight cunt." Baekhyun grunts, pushing himself deep and fast inside you.

The dirty talk is too much for you, you feel so good and the humiliation of being reduced to a mere object sends you over the edge. You scream and moan as your legs shake into an uncontrollable and divine orgasm, your sensitive little pussy deseperately twitching around Baekhyun's thick cock. 

Your high hasn't even worn out yet that you feel Baekhyun's not-so-delicate hand slap your face. The burn in your cheek makes your eyes roll back as the setlling pleasure of your orgasm makes your mind go blank.

"I'm sorry daddy" you say half moaning, half sobbing, gagging on his slender digits.

"You slut, you came without daddy" he shoves his long fingers deep inside your throat. You instinctively suck on them as tears run down your cheeks again.

"You're such a bad girl" Baekhyun says, whipping his fingers out of your mouth to immediately pull harshly on your hair. You scream in both overwhelming pain and unbearable pleasure.

"Daddy I'm sorry" you say again, moaning as Baekhyun keeps on pounding into you, still pumping his fat cock in and out of you at an alarming speed. Stretching your tiny pussy beyond repair.

"Shut the fuck up slut" Baekhyun says as he repeatedly slaps you in the face, smudging the sharpie over with your tears. He picks up the pace again. Going even faster, destroying your pussy in the process. You moan in pleasure, feeling the knot tightening again.

"Daddy please slow down I'm going to cum again" you sob.

"I said shut up" he says clapping his hand over your mouth muffling your moans. Baekhyun has a really hard time containing himself. He feels like he's going to burst any second. As soon as he removes his hand you speak again.

"Daddy please I'm-" but you can't finish.

"Shut the fuck up I said you fucking  bitch" he grunts.

Baekhyun circles his hands around your narrow neck. Pressing his fingers on your throat and your artery to keep the blood from reaching your brain. Finally, you are silenced, you can't speak anymore, not even moan. You can only concentrate on the immense pleasure Baekhyun makes you feel. He grunts loudly pumping in and out of your exhausted tiny cunt. You feel like the knot will come undone at any second now.

"That's it baby! You like when daddy chokes you, right baby? " Baekhyun says clenching his jaw.

Slowly your vision clouds up and you start to feel lightheaded. Like you are high on the most enjoyable and addicting drug: rough sex with your boyfriend Byun Baekhyun.

"I'm going to mark this cunt now baby. I'm going to make it all mine. I'm going to cum inside of you".

Seconds later, you feel thick ropes of cum painting your walls and filling you up as Baekhyun releases himself inside you with powerful thrusts. His hair is stuck to his forehead, he breathes heavily as he wears a relieved expression, his eyebrows deeply furrowed and his jaw lossely hanging open.

As you are about to pass out from too little oxygen, the delicious feeling of being pumped full of hot cum sends you over the edge and you reach the most blissful orgasm ever.

"Yeah that's it baby girl, cum for me, cum for daddy" Baekhyun says with a carnivorous smile.

Your legs shake all over as you see stars from being chocked. This sensation is a whole new level. Never in your life you felt something this intense. It's heaven. You ascended to heaven.

As Baekhyun slows down he releases his brusing grip around your neck, and you can finally gasp for air. As you catch your breath your vision comes back to normal and the high fades away.

Baekhyun collapses next to you, visibly exhausted and satisfied. You scoot closer to him and rest your head on his glistening chest. He starts stroking your hair.

"Baby?" he asks, hesitant.

"Yeah?"

"You... love me more, right? More than him..." he says timidly. You can't help but smile Athos sheepish expression. You look up at him amorously surprised by the the complete change in his attitude. There's no more anger in his eyes as he cutely pouts.

"No babe, I only love you. You are my one and only" you say softly kissing him. He looks back at you smiling before closing his eyes.

PARAPHILIA masterlist | General masterlist

[holylulusworld]

White wolf & his omega

Summary: On an endless mission to take out people for Hydra the assets scent’s you, the one thing he never thought he’ll be able to find – his true mate.

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton

Warnings: ABO, ABO dynamics, angst, scenting, comforting, protective alpha, fighting, violence, blood, bad use of Russian language, true mates, mentions of claiming, kidnapping

A/N: Final sequel to: White Wolf - Part 1 & Her White Wolf - Part 2

Wrapped in your alpha’s arms, sleeping peacefully you mumble his name in your sleep. Bucky is still wide awake, not due to nightmares or the guilt he still feels but to look at you. He’s calmer close to you, especially when he can look at the claiming mark he left during your first heat together.

He was still afraid the asset, the dark man inside his head, will show when he gives in to his primal instinct, but you had faith in him, your alpha.

Bucky nuzzles your neck, purring low when you whimper his name, moving closer to his warm body. Winter came fast and you are not used to cold, ice, and snow. You only lived in warm places so far which means experiencing a winter with frost and snow is new to you.

“Cold,” you scoot closer to Bucky, hiding your face in his chest whilst you press your body as close as possible to your mates.

“It’s warm, doll. You’re such a cute little frostbite,” Bucky smirks, watching you narrow your eyes at your mate. “Let me warm you up, Y/N.”

“You should sleep too, alpha. I know you got up to add more wood to the fire and that you cut more wood in the middle of the night,” you wrap your arms around Bucky, nuzzling your cheek into his chest. “I love you for caring about me, but I care about you too.”

“I promise to sleep when you hold me like this a bit longer,” you inhale the warm and calming scent of your mate before you close your eyes, holding the alpha in your arms. “Love you too, Y/N.”

“No, it’s cold outside, Bucky,” you whine, not wanting to leave the cozy house you call your home for almost eight months. “Let’s stay inside and forget about food, please.”

“Doll, we need to get more supplies and boots for you, my cute omega. You can stay here, and I’ll drive to town to get all we will need,” Bucky watches you scrunch up your nose before you shake your head. Since your alpha claimed you six months ago you are glued to his side.

“I don’t want you to go alone. Last time you needed three hours and I was so worried,” you grasp your boots and coat. “I’ll come with you, alpha. Just a minute, I need to get my scarf and hand gloves.”

“I’ll wait at the truck for you, doll. Do not worry, Y/N. I will not leave without you,” Bucky laughs when you run upstairs to get your scarf and hand gloves.

“We’ve got ladies toiletries for my doll, new razor blades for me to shave,” Bucky crosses all the things he found off his list. “Shampoo, toilet paper, shower gel, and a new loofah for my girl.”

You nod, leaning into Bucky’s embrace when he wraps one arm around your waist. “Got you a new base cap too, alpha. One in black and a blue one.”

“That makes two, Y/N,” you nod, pointing toward the shelf with sweets. “Sweets, got it, Y/N.”

“We got canned food, potatoes, and my magazines too. You said something about beer and water.” Bucky smirks, pointing toward the shopping cart. “My alpha already got it.”

“I did, doll. Now let’s check the list before we pay,” looking at the list you hum with every article Bucky crosses out. “We forgot your body lotion and socks. My girl needs warm socks.”

“I’ll get the body lotion, you will grab the socks,” pecking your lips Bucky hums, not wanting to admit he hates to let you out of sight.

“Body lotion, uh-after shave lotion for my alpha, cherry lipgloss and a soft flannel for Bucky and me,” looking at the things in your arms you hear a snarl behind you. A younger alpha looks at you, a dirty grin on his lips.

“What brings you out here, sweetie?” He purrs but you take a step backward, not caring he wants to talk to you. “Don’t be shy.”

“I’m claimed and my alpha is with me,” you try to spare the young alpha’s life, knowing Bucky could kill him if he tries anything. “If you excuse me now, I got to go back to my boyfriend.”

“You did not answer my question, bitch.” The slap the man gives you hits you by surprise, causing you to stumble and fall onto your butt. A grin on his lips the alpha steps closer, towering over your shaking form and you do what your instinct tells you – screaming for your alpha.

“Omega,” it’s a matter of seconds before Bucky is by your side to help you up. He’s shoving you behind his back, giving the smaller boy a warning snarl. “Get out of my sight and away from my omega, boy.”

The soldier would’ve just killed the boy but Bucky, he tries to spare an inexperienced alpha’s life. The problem is – that boy ain’t smart.

“Why don’t you go for tea, gramps. I bet,” the alpha dips his head to look at you behind Bucky’s back, “your omega prefers a younger alpha.”

“Stupid,” the clerk shakes his head, offering to bring you away from your alpha but a deep growl leaves Bucky’s lips, and the kind beta steps away, nodding at your alpha.

The boy still doesn’t get he’s in trouble, even dares to step toward you until he finds himself pressed against the wall, Bucky’s metal fist around his throat.

“I warned you. That’s my omega, my girlfriend. Did your parents do not teach you manners?” Now the boy sniffs, choking on the word ‘sorry’. “I should kill you; rip you apart limb by limb.”

“Alpha,” your soft voice calms Bucky, holds back the anger threatening to let your alpha lash out. “Let’s pay for our things and drive home. It’s getting late and cold,” you place one hand onto Bucky’s arm, hoping he will let go of the boy.

“You’re right, doll,” Bucky drops the now whining alpha to the ground, turning his attention back toward you. “We should head out before it’s too dark to drive back.”

“So much snow,” you watch the snowflakes fall outside the window, looking at every flake with curiosity. “I never thought snow would be that pretty…”

“…and cold,” pecking your neck Bucky snickers when you punch his chest playfully. “I mean it, Y/N. Snow is cold, wet, and will let your tiny toes fall off.”

“You’re awful, Bucky,” you grin when he hands you a pair of fuzzy socks, the ones he bought for you. “I’m sorry that I screamed for you. That guy, he scared me. I…I saw a flashbacks of the men at the room you brought me to that day.”

“Never apologize for seeking my protection, ‘mega,” Bucky nuzzles his face into your neck, smiling as you wrap your arms around him. “I will always protect you.

“I know, I just don’t want…” a loud knock disturbs your intimate moment with your alpha. “Who could come here at that time of the day? No one knows we live up here.”

“Stay in the living room, take the phone from my jacket and if anything happens, call Steve. Simply press the buttons I showed you,” your heart starts to race at Bucky’s words. “Don’t be scared.”

Bucky turns to walk toward the door while you do as he said. Hiding in the living room, you press the phone to your heart.

Scared something could happen to your alpha you glance out of the window to see four cops surround your alpha.

You can hear his gruff voice, he seems to argue with the eldest cop before he shoots Bucky thrice. Gasping you dial Steve’s number, praying he will come in time to help his friend.

“Steve, we need your help. Here are  cops, but they do not act like cops. I’m scared. Bucky told me to call you if anything happens, please…” You sniffle when Steve tells you to hide somewhere safe. “I can’t, Steve. I need to see who they are.”

“Y/N?” Steve storms into the cabin, gasping as the whole house looks like a battleground. “Sam, Nat, look upstairs. Tony, Clint, I need your help downstairs.”

“Does your friend still wear his arm?” Tony smirks, getting his phone out. “If he does we can trace him. Let’s say I let someone put a nice little transponder at his shiny shoulder.”

“I don’t know if I shall punch or kiss you, Tony,” laughing Sam looks at Tony who seems to consider Steve’s offer. “We need to find Y/N first. The last thing she said was that they dragged Bucky away after one of them shoot him.”

“Is there a chance she’s still around? Maybe Y/N hides somewhere?” Natasha looks around the house, shaking her head. “We shouldn’t have left them on their own, Steve.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? I wanted normal for him and her. I had hoped we can keep Bucky and his omega out of this world for a while,” Steve sighs, listening to an odd noise coming from the kitchen.

“Kitchen, Capsicle. Go left, I’ll take the right side,” Tony silently walks into the kitchen, nodding at Steve who tries to find the source of the noise. “Sound like a wail or sob, Steve.”

“Shit,” Steve nods before he opens the supply cabinet to find you curled inside the cramped space. “Y/N, it’s good to see you.”

Whilst Steve helps you out of the cabinet, running one hand soothingly down your back Tony nods at his friend, pointing toward his phone.

“A house in town, Steve?” Confused Steve looks at you not understanding why the police should bring Bucky to a house in town. “Don’t get me wrong, I am glad it’s not Hydra, Rumlow, or the big bad guy hiding in the dark but, I would like to know what’s going on.”

“Y/N, did something happen? Is there a reason for them to take Bucky?” You nod, recalling what happened at the store. “Tell me everything.”

“We drove to town for supplies. Bucky was busy getting warm socks and I wanted to get the rest from the list. There was a young alpha, he scared me. I fell and Bucky wanted that guy to leave me alone, but the boy wasn’t smart. Bucky had his metal hand around his throat, but I calmed him, and we left,” you are shaking now, looking up at Steve. “Do you think that’s the reason they shot Bucky?”

“That’s fishy, Steve. If the fight was the reason to come here, why the destruction and violence. You said Bucky only talked to the men, right?” Nodding you look at Sam, feeling fresh tears well up to your eyes.

“We will find out soon enough. I suggest Steve, Tony and you go to town. Y/N and I will pack the most important things. Clint can check the surroundings and make sure no one sneaks toward the cabin to attack us unprepared,” Natasha holds out her hand, giving you a warm smile. “Steve got this, Y/N. He will bring your alpha back, promised.”

“Tell me where the money is, bastard,” the man barks, punching Bucky’s face but the alpha remains stoic, unmoving. “The money!”

“I know they have a lot of it. Look at the car that bastard drives and the girl he has. No one would live out here in such an expensive house, driving such a car without money.” The boy from the store grins, lying through his teeth.

“Money?” Bucky spats blood onto the floor. He’s twisting his metal fist in the handcuffs, hearing the familiar crack of breaking metal. “Or is it the fact you tried to touch my omega and I had to push you a little,” the boy turns pale, looking scared at the men kidnapping your alpha.

“Omega? This is about some pussy, boy?” The eldest man barks, slapping the back of his sons head. “You said we can make fast money. Hell, I stole a police car and their uniforms from my laundry.”

“They have money, the omega is just a bonus, for me,” before the men can react Bucky rips the handcuffs apart, using the chair he was handcuffed to moments ago to knock the eldest man out.

“No…this can’t…” Bucky smirks when the boy finally realizes whose omega he dared to threaten. “The…the winter soldier?”

“James Buchanan Barnes, to be correct. But my friend prefers Bucky,” Steve bursts through the door, followed by Sam and Tony. “I guess you have this under control, Buck?”

“Is Y/N safe?” Worried Bucky looks at his friend, praying you were able to hide until Steve arrived.

“She’s safe with Natasha and Clint,” Tony answers your alpha’s question. “How about we give you ten and wait outside?” Bucky dips his head, glancing at the three remaining men.

“Give me five…”

“Alpha!” Wrapping your arms around Bucky you sniffle into his chest. “I was so worried about you. I thought it’s Hydra,” you cry now, looking up at your alpha.

“I guess the cat is out,” Tony looks around the cabin, sighing deeply. “That boy, he recognized the winter soldier. We got to get the hell out of here.”

“We have to leave,” Bucky whispers, lifting your chin with his index finger. “It’s not safe here any longer, doll. I promise to protect you.”

“They shoot you,” carefully touching Bucky’s chest you sniffle. “Are you hurt?”

“It was a sedative dart. I think they used three until I felt dizzy. I’m sorry, I got careless, omega. This will never happen again,” Steve clears his throat, pointing at Clint who carries your bags toward one of the cars.

“We will bring you to the headquarters and see where we go from here,” Bucky nods, thankful his friend kept you safe.

“I don’t care where we live as long as I can stay by your side, white wolf,” you peck Bucky’s lips, sighing when he returns the kiss.

“Guys, I’m glad the white wolf found his omega, but we need to get out of here, like yesterday,” Tony insists, smirking when Bucky growls at him.

“We should go, alpha,” holding out your hand you lead Bucky toward one of the cars. “I packed all our things, including the fuzzy socks…”

“My girl needs her fuzzy socks,” you nod, letting your alpha wrap one arm around your shoulder. “I only need my omega, doll.”

“…and I only need you, Bucky…”

All works Tags

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Bucky Barnes/Sebastian Stan Tags

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[bloodycassian]

Dynamic - Azriel x reader - reader invites Az into their apartment.   Part 2 of this fic.

Azriel squinted against the light, willing his shadows to protect him from the harshness of it. He faintly wondered what your light could do against his shadows in a fight. The thought of it chilled him to the bone.  He brushed it off quickly, flying high above the house of wind. The cool air lifted him, rushing under his wings and setting his soul alight with the feel of it. He could have howled with the welcome relief it brought. He closed his eyes, letting the sweet warmth of the sun on his wings comfort him. The comfort was needed after the hours of helping put the library together after the attack. There were a few broken balconies, but thankfully that was about all the damage done. Rhys would have it fixed by morning. The healing of the Priestesses would take much longer. He wished he didn't have to think about it. "I heard you found something under there." Rhys' mental voice rang in his head. He blew out a breath and turned, heading back to the house. "Be right there." He thought back to his high lord. The curtains swayed softly with his arrival. "Make a shield." Azriel said, opening his mind to Rhys. He needed the information to stay private. He doubted the priestess understood who you were. What exactly, you were. And what it meant for the world. "Interesting." Rhys muttered, flipping through Azriel's memory. The glow you presented and the click of realization when it hit him what you were. "A new Guardian... How peculiar. And the glow...?" Rhys asked his spymaster, folding his hands behind his back. "The glow is normal, different than legends say but they are supposed to...emit that light." He tried to hold back the shudder. "Very interesting." Rhys muttered, Azriel could feel his presence receding. But not before he felt the violent thoughts pop in. "No." He said quickly, too quickly to sound normal. He felt his cheeks heat slightly. Rhys grinned at his brother. "You know me better than that, Az. I just need to consider all the options." Azriel's jaw clenched. He bit back the snarl that wanted to rip out of him. "And what of that beast below?" He asked, chaning the subject. "It held no information. Just a power hungry monster." Azriel concluded. Rhys sipped his wine, then sighed. The shield pulled away, and Rhys' power rumbled above. He tapped his fingers on the glass, considering. "Go find our guardian...and be nice. We need all the information we can get right now." Rhys turned from his brother, his steps landing with small echos on the floor. Azriel's footfalls left no sound as he headed back for the balcony, thoughts toiled. He was torn. He didn't feel like being nice. "Az," Rhys called just before he took off. "Dont fake it. Light will show all true colors." Azriel said nothing as he leapt off the balcony. + At your apartment, you felt the landing of an Illyrian before a knock at the door. You sighed, regretfully stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around yourself. "You should really bathe, that thing smelled like rotten fish." you scolded, leaning on the door jamb. He did not smile. That brooding presence only served to irritate you. You didn't let it show. "We need to talk." He ground out. He tried to sound as friendly as possible given his betrayed mood. He glanced over your shoulder at the inside of your light apartment. The shutters were drawn, but enough natural light painted the inside to make it welcoming. "So demanding, dont you ever just... relax?" You swung the door open, waving him inside. "I think I have a right to be demanding when you hide shit from us." He followed you in, tucking those wings in tight. His scent blossomed in the front room, filling the space. He still smelled like battle. Like sweet sweat and cool forest breeze. And the shoes- you made a face. He looked down and groaned, slipping them off and tossing them back outside. You went to your room, towel swishing behind you. "I didnt hide anything...I just-" You picked through your clothes, trying to find something casual but not sweatpants. "I didnt say anything." You rushed getting dressed, knowing he would have picked apart half the apartment if you didnt hurry. "And that's called hiding shit." He called from the front room, you could hear him opening cabinets. Snooping. You smiled to yourself. He couldn't read you so he had to read what he could see you supposed. You couldnt blame him, really. Centuries of those shadows telling him everything about a person and he runs into you who repels him? It would be maddening. A harsh pounding at the door made you jump. The realization of who it was made your stomach flip. You swore, hurrying back to your room to pull out the gold marks you needed. "What the hell-" Azriel hissed, his body tense. You shushed him loudly while you dug through your closet. He peeked around the door to the inside of your room. Your sheets and blankets a mess, the chocolate on the night stand stale. He held back his comments. He followed when you shoved past him with the cloth sack of gold marks. You placed a hand on his chest, stopping him where he was before he could follow you out. You placed a finger over your lips, and he nodded. You felt a thrill go through you at the perfect silent communication. You greeted the landlord, who was red in the face. Azriel listened quietly inside, eyes grazing over the mostly bare walls. The apartment looked like it had been bought with all the furniture and artwork already in it. The only personal touches seemed to be the various blankets and the different weapons mounted on the wall by the dining table. It looked staged. Not lived in. Besides the bedroom. Nervous laughter called his attention back to the front door. To you wiping your hands on your pants. "You haven't paid your rent?" He asked, voice flat. As if he hadn't been snooping and drawing his own conclusions about you based off your apartment. "It slips my mind, alright?" You blew out a breath and let the tension ease. "I may have thrown your shoes in the garbage." You admitted, going to the kitchen to wash your hands of the slime that had gotten on smeared on your palm. "What?!" He asked, expecting you to be joking. From the scent on your hands he doubted it. "My landlord..." You paused to dry your hands, sighing. "Would increase my rent if he thought two people lived here. And those were obviously not mine." "So what did you say?" He crossed his arms over his chest, very aware of his bare feet on the cool wooden floor now. He cursed himself for not paying more attention to the conversation outside. "That some drunkard must have left them there last night." You pulled two glasses down and searched for a good bottle of liquor to share with him. You sure as hell needed a drink. After the fight at the library and recovering the priestess' - giving them the reassurance that it was safe again. Most of them left for the day, going to their rooms. Clotho promised to let you know if they needed anything. The shadow of fear stained her face as well though. More guilt to add to the bucket. You downed your drink in one go. The fire it brought to your throat and stomach was a welcome distraction from the guilt trying to bring you down. He sipped his slowly, observing you. "Are you buying me new shoes?" "You're Illyrian- just fly." You shrugged, filling your glass again. He laughed for the first time that day.

[multiplefandomfics]

Kidnapped

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!reader

Warnings: Dubcon, smut, A/B/O dynamics, age gap, underage, forcefully induced heat, mind control, hypocrisy, breeding kink, knotting, trauma, hydra

Words: 3615

A/N: Hi guys, so this is my first attempt at ABO. I’ve read a lot of those so I hope I’ll get this right. So don’t be too hard on me. And now enjoy.

Omegas had become almost extinct. More and more kids were born who turned out betas and the rest were almost always alphas. So maybe it is easy to understand that when you turned out to be an omega at the age of 17 your value to your mother suddenly skyrocketed. 

Your other siblings were all betas but you were suddenly special. The first heat your body put you through was a terrible strain on your body and took a lot of strength from you. A whole week was spent in delirium between fever and hallucinations. Your mother, a beta herself, had no idea how to help you and asked your family’s doctor for help.

He was very interested in you and your presentation and handed your mother a number to call. 

A week later two very polite men who looked like they had fallen out of a 1940s crime movie, stood in front of your door. 

“Mrs. Y/L/N? You have contacted us to take a look at your omega daughter?” the taller of the two asked.

“Yes. Please come in. We are in desperate need of advice. Her first heat was so terrible and I don’t know what to do if this gets even worse.” The men followed your mother to the livingroom and took the seats offered to them. 

“Our facility is very well equipped and we are very skilled in dealing with young omegas. We would be able to monitor her closely and give her the right suppressants to quell her natural heats.” one of them explained. 

“So you would take her with you?” your mother sounded sceptical. “Would we be able to see her? And when would she return home?” she asked.

The men shared a glance before continuing “She will be able to call once in a while and we will try our best to get her hormones in check and her home quickly.” the man ensured her. 

Your mother hesitated and the men noticed so they changed their tactic. 

“Mrs. Y/L/N. Your daughter is suffering badly and it will only get worse. We are the only ones who can actually help her. There aren’t a lot of experts in the field of A/B/O dynamics left. We definitely are your best shot. And if it helps to convince you, we can pay you handsomely for taking your daughter and giving her a shot at a normal life. How does 250.000$ sound?” your mother almost choked on her tea. “You want to pay me a quarter million dollars for her? You think I would sell my own daughter?” she was enraged, jumping up from her chair. “I want you to leave my house immediately.”

“Consider our offer for a moment please. We could help your daughter and learn from her case and you could finally sell off the mortgage to this house. We know that if you don’t take our money now you will have to move out soon. Do you want to move into a 3 room apartment with 4 children?” They knew a lot about your family which irritated your mother but she also quickly understood that they were right. 

After your father had died in Afghanistan 3 years ago it had not been easy for your family.

As a single mom of 4 and just a part time job at a dentist's office she worried greatly how to make a future for them. The money from the strange men would take a lot of those worries away from her. 

“Maybe you are right. She will come back to us quickly, right?” she asked to quell her guilty conscience.

“Of course, Mrs Y/L/N. She would be back in no time at all. We are very successful in what we do.” the men knew they had her in their grasp. 

“Alright then. I will go upstairs and explain everything to her and then I think it is best when you take her immediately.” she got up and went upstairs.

A few moments later they heard yelling and then crying from upstairs. But suddenly it was quiet. 

Another few minutes later you stumbled down the stairs, cowering behind your mother who held a duffel bag with some of your clothes and personal things. 

“Hello Y/N. How are you feeling?” the taller man smiled at you.

“I’m okay, thank you. So I will go with you?” she asked back. “And you can help me with my biology?” You seemed very innocent to the men and they were sure that you had no idea what your intended purpose was in this world. 

“Indeed we will make you more comfortable with your presentation. You will be able to return home quickly.” they ensured you too.

“Alright then.” you gave in. “Tell Joe, Lea and Maya that I love them and I will see them soon.” you instructed your mother and she nodded with tears in her eyes.

The men lead you to their car. The whole ride was silent. You looked out the window and saw landscapes passing by. The driver took so many turns that it didn’t take long for you to be completely confused and you had lost your orientation. 

The journey seemed to take forever and at some point you closed your eyes and fell asleep. 

You awoke disoriented and confused. You were laying on a bed in a sterile white room without a window but an adjoined bathroom. You sat up slowly to take in more of your surroundings. When you had decided to venture out further you noticed that the door was locked. You were trapped. Panic rose in your veins. What did that mean? Was this a kidnapping? 

Just when you were about to have a mental breakdown the door was unlocked and a man you had never seen before stepped inside. 

“Hello Miss Y/L/N. How are you feeling?” he asked you.

“Y/N is fine. I’m okay but why was the door locked?” you asked hesitantly.

“We didn’t mean to startle you. It was to your own protection. The compound we are currently in is comparable to a labyrinth. We just didn’t want you to get lost. Someone is going to come by later and give you a tour of the rooms you need to know. I am here to check out your vitals and ask you some questions. Is that alright with you?” He seemed nice enough.

“Ehm, yes it’s alright, I guess.” you sat back down on the bed while he took a seat on a chair. 

“Very well, how long ago was your first heat?” Those kinds of questions seemed very personal but after all they wanted to help you.

“My first heat was about 2 weeks ago. It was awful. Hurt so much and lasted about 6 days.”

“Good, that is interesting information. Have you been intimate with a male before?”

You swallowed thickly “No never.”

“So no potential alpha around?”

“No.”

“Good, good. Is someone in your family an omega?”

“No, I am the only one as far as I know.”

“That is quite rare. Normally this is hereditary. I will take your pulse, blood pressure and temperature now.”

After the doctor had left someone came and took you to a room where you were served some dinner.

The night you spent tossing and turning. So many thoughts coursed through your head until you fell asleep of exhaustion. 

You were rudely awoken by the cold neon lights being turned on. They ripped you out of a nice dream and you inwardly cursed them for it. 

“Good morning Y/N. Did you sleep well?” the voice of a tall blonde female doctor- or agent, or whatever, you were still not sure where these people belonged to- reached your ears.

“Good morning. I had some trouble sleeping. I felt somehow on edge. Probably the new surroundings.” you shrugged.

“That is possible. I need you to get dressed. Breakfast is ready and then we will start with your training and testing of different medications.” she smiled and you did as she asked.

Breakfast consisted of fruit and porridge and then they took you into the opposite direction of your room. 

You were led down multiple corridors until you reached a doctors room. 

“Hello Y/N. Please remove your shirt and lay down.” The doctor said. She was the first person in this organization who smelled different than the others you had met. Everyone else had a neutral scent other than her and it wasn’t a perfume but you couldn’t place it and let it go for now.

“So you are an omega.That’s why they brought you to me. I presented as an omega too when I was 16 years old. My biology dictated my life for years and that’s why I am quite happy that we can make it easier for you before it gets too bad to handle.” that explained the different smell.

“I don’t want to sound rude, but you are not on suppressants right?” she shook her head no. “I thought you smelled different. So that’s one of my superpowers as an omega?” you joked.

“Indeed it is. Do you have any more questions?” she saw your hesitation. “Don’t be shy. You can ask me anything.”

“Ehm… well during my first heat… I felt really hot and I had those very explicit fever dreams and then my body produced this… fluid out of my… ehm… you know.” you pointed toward your groin.

“Yes, I know what you mean. When you are in heat your body longs for a mate. Preferably an alpha to satiate your natural urges. The slick that your body produces is only a natural lubricant to make it easier for the alpha to slide in without hurting you.” she explained.

“So my only purpose in this world is basically to mate and give a few children to some alpha?” you asked unbelievingly.

“Not necessarily. We could find the right meds and suppressants for you and you could live your life alone until you decided it was time for a family or not. Your choice.”

“I like the way that sounds. So when do we start?” you asked exited.

“We will start right now. I am going to administer your first shot of a medication which will make you feel better.” 

She put on some latex gloves and prepared a syringe with a clear fluid.

“Alright, don’t move now please. I will give this right into your upper arm muscle.” said done. It stung a little but if that actually worked it was definitely worth it.

“All done. I will bring you back to your room now. These meds need some time to settle and you might feel a little uncomfortable later.” 

When you had arrived at your room she sent you inside with the words -“Someone will have an eye on you the next few hours. I will see you soon.” and locked the door behind you again. For your own protection they had said…

Before you had time to think about all of this your head hit the pillow and you were fast asleep. 

The next time you woke up you were in terrible pain. Your abdomen was cramping and your throat was bone dry. That could only mean one thing: the heat was back. But that should have been impossible. It wasn’t due for another 2-3 weeks. But here you were, sweating, hurting and in desperate need for something you weren’t ready for.

You didn’t even get the chance to get out of bed before the door flew open and two men grabbed you to pull you behind them. You were too weak to fight them when they pushed you into another cell which looked almost the same as yours. Only in that one someone was waiting for you.

The moment you were pushed into the room his eyes shot toward you, almost hidden under his shoulder long brown hair. His nostrils flared as he took in your potent scent.

“Omega.” he breathed and his pupils dilated.

He looked downright feral so you shrunk into the corner next to the closed and locked door. Though he really tried to hold himself together. You knew that he wanted to give into these primal urges the omega in you tried to push you to, too. 

Suddenly he wiped the hair off of his face and you had a first clear glance at his handsome face. And to your amazement you recognized him from your class trip to the Smithsonian Museum in Washington D.C. the year before. 

His name was James ‘Bucky’ Barnes and he had fought in the 107th infantry in WWII. He had also been Steve Rogers- or as most people know him, Captain America’s- best friend and later part of the Howling Commandos. The only thing that didn’t add up here was the fact that he was supposedly dead since 1943. 

But you were so sure that the man standing before you was not a ghost as much as you were sure that he was not the same man who had gone to war in the 40’s. 

“James?” you whispered. He cocked his head so he must have heard you but he didn’t know what to do with your question.

“You are James Barnes born on March 10th in 1917. You don’t remember?” you asked in a louder voice.

“No.” he tried to sound secure but you could hear his voice slightly wavering. 

You wanted to help him so you took the risk and stepped closer. It might seem strange, standing in front of this intimidating hunk of a man, and feeling safe. The pain in your body had also almost disappeared. 

“What do you remember?” you asked him. He seemed really nervous by now, always trying to scent you.

“Pain. Missions. Training.” was all he said and you felt really bad for him.

“I am sorry to hear that. Do you want me to tell you everything I can remember about you? Maybe you will gain back some memory. And maybe you can tell me who these people are and why they forced me into heat early.” in that moment another terrible cramp invaded your lower abdomen and your legs gave out. But before your body could hit the ground his arms caught you and he carried you to his bed.

“Mhh omega you smell delicious. Can barely hold back.” he mumbled into the crook of your neck and you felt it too. The tall alpha seemed to somehow soothe the ache inside you but it wasn’t enough. 

In that moment you just let the omega in you take over. You started pulling frantically on his and your clothes until they were lying long forgotten on the floor of the dusty room.

“Need you ‘mega. You’re mine.” he growled at the sight of your boobs.

“Alpha please make it stop.” you whimpered and he growled louder at you calling him by his presentation. 

You let your biology completely rule you and followed your instinct. Crawling onto your hands and knees pushing your face into the pillow and your ass in the air. 

“Good omega. Presenting for your alpha.” his approval made you mewl.

He was quick to get behind you. In this state there was no foreplay needed. 

His right hand grabbed your buttcheek. It was soft and warm. When the index finger of his left hand followed your spine from the neck down you shuddered at the cold metal. 

“Tell me ‘mega, have you ever been with an alpha?” he asked while stroking a flesh finger through your glistening folds.

“No alpha. Haven’t been with anyone.” the realisation that you were a virgin let him hesitate for a second.

“Mhh I’m gonna make that virgin pussy feel so good. You want my cock ‘mega?”

“Yes, alpha please. Make the pain stop.” you begged him.

He took that invitation and slowly pushed the head of his massive length against your opening. “Relax ‘mega. I won’t hurt you.” his pressure got harder and then he slid in. The pain was intense for a moment until he slid in further. It felt like your channel was made for him. 

“Fuck doll you’re tight. Squeezing me so good. Gonna breed you ‘mega. You want that? Me filling you with pups.” he groaned and your channel squeezed him tighter in confirmation. 

In that heat of the moment none of you cared that this might be a bad idea.

He sped up his thrusts and your moans got even louder when he hit that magical spot inside you. 

“Feels so good.” you mewled.

“Come ‘mega! Come for me!” he commanded and something that had waited for his okay snapped. Your pussy clamped around him and he pushed in that bit deeper. His knot popped and he filled you with his cum all the while pulling you up with his metal arm across your chest and biting into your neck hard enough to break the skin, laying claim to you.

When you both had come down from your highs he rolled you over to lay on your side. He was still locked snug inside you and that would probably stay like that for a while. 

“You wanted me to tell you why they brought you here. The answer is for this exact cause. They want to keep me- or rather my alpha- in check. And they want to find out if the serum can be inherited.” he suddenly spoke up after a long pause.

“And do you want them to do that?” your question seemed to shock him a little.

“I didn’t expect that question. No one has ever asked me what I thought. And no! If we have pups I don’t want them to be treated the way I was. We would never know what happened to them.” he said sadly.

“Then let’s get out of here.” His knot had finally gotten down which gave you enough room to turn around.

“How? I may be able to vanish on my next mission but I won’t be able to take you with me.”

“Then play the part. They don’t know that you remember who you are. So when you get out of here the next time you get help and get me out later.”

“And who do you think would help me? A murderer.” he let his head hang low. 

“Steve Rogers. He was found a few years ago and has most recently been working with a group of people who call themselves The Avengers. I know you have the possibilities to find Steve and get him onto your side to help. Until then you will have to pretend you are still the brainwashed assassin they created because if they notice you will be put on ice or erased again.”

“I gotta admit that does sound like a plan. I will try everything in my power to succeed. I promise that I will get you out of here. Unscathed. You are my omega now. That means something to me.” he kissed the top of your head. 

“Thank you- Bucky. Is it fine when I call you that while we are alone?”  you asked him.

“Yes sure. I love when you say my name.” and then he gifted you with one of his rare smiles. 

The next few days were spent almost the same way. Until your heat was down. They took him away from you and you didn’t see him for at least 6 weeks. Hard to keep track of time without daylight.

They had brought you back to your room and you didn’t see any of the old doctors you had seen before your forcefully induced heat. They probably thought you would attack them. 

In week 7 they finally found out that their plan had worked. You were indeed pregnant. Oh, how you wanted to tell Bucky but everytime you asked for him they shut you down.

More weeks passed by. They didn’t tell you anything. Not even about the baby. 

By esteemed week 22 you were able to feel the pup kicking in your tummy and you were talking to him or her. You missed Bucky more and more. Up to the point where you thought they had wiped him again and he had failed your mission. 

One night you were awoken by chaos outside your door. Before you could get up the door bust in and in the frame stood Captain America himself. The relief you felt in that moment could hardly be measured. 

“Captain Rogers. I’m so glad to see you.” you expressed your feelings.

“Good to meet you Y/N.” he smiled at you then spoke into the comms inside his ear “I’ve got her. Room 503. She’s fine.” then he came over and insisted on carrying you out of the building. 

Somewhere on the way to the Quinjet you met Bucky again.

“Bucky! You`re alright! Oh, thank God. I missed you. And I’m pregnant. We did it.” you beamed at him.

“You’re alright too. I love you. Let's get you home.” he took you from Steve’s arms and carried you inside the jet.

A few months later you and Bucky moved into an apartment with your son and daughter.

[kylosgenesis]

Teardrops on fire

Synopsis:

Steve Rogers is the last Alpha of the an almost extinct Lycan pack. With only less than 100 members left. Steve must produce an heir to ensure the species survival and reduce the chance of attacks from others. Omegas are rare, and betas have a hard time producing children. Steves reality is finally setting in as his obligation of producing an heir faces a major set back.

Reader is the last suitable omega to mate with Steve, due to the fear of her daughters fate in the pack, her mother kept her hidden from the pack after her own exile. Only her mother, and Bucky's family know of her existence. Bucky is Steve's right hand man, and the packs best warrior! He and the reader developed a friendship and bond over the years, but age forced them to become distant.

What happens when she presents and her first heat cycle comes? Her body is in excruciating pain and a strong fever quickly overcomes her body. Facing the fear of her daughters possible death, her mom calls on the only person who can save her at this point, Alpha Steve! Bucky and the alphas friendship will be tested. The reader will be faced with her love for Bucky or her duty to the pack.

Warnings: Mentions of death , A/B/O dynamics

Chapter 3: Leave a light on

Bucky and Steve packed a suitcase of supplies, they both knew it was a race against time at this point. Her body would become weak without the pheromones of an alpha, her changing hormones wouldn't be able to adapt for her body's transition into her designation. Her own body would become her worst enemy right now, and if they didn't make it in time she could die in a pool of her own slick and sweat as her body struggled to accommodate the change.

That was one of the reasons omegas became so rare! Over the course of thousands of years their bodies began to change.Even with an alpha, sometimes the transition was too much on their bodies! Not many would make it. The omega’s that did were meant to be the strongest women the packs had to offer, their wombs strong , healthy, and ready to accommodate an alpha.

There was an old wives tale that would travel around the packs about a perfect mate, a bond so strong that would turn two souls and bodies into one. Soul that have been meant to be together since the beginning of time, like a puzzle piece waiting for it’s perfect match .Always calling for each other! One way or another prevailing.

People stopped believing in those kinds of stories a long time ago!

“Steve,Is that everything?” Bucky was loading up the bags into the truck. His mother and Katerina had headed back to the cabin, hoping to get a head start and try to explain to her what would be going on. I believe so! We still don't know what we're walking into… Steve furrowed his brow with his hand. His free hand on his lower back. “Hell Buck! I don't even know what i'm supposed to do! Hey I'm Steve, you don't know me but i'm here to take you away from everything you've ever known… also I kinda have to mate with you to save your life.``

“I know it doesn't sound like the best plan! But it's all we can do right now.” Bucky wanted to reassure his friend, tell him it was all going to be alright. Deep down he himself was feeling uneasy. He wanted to crawl out of his skin. Why did their nature have to be like this? He felt like they were not that evolved from animals when it came to heats. She was probably scared, he wanted to reassure his friend that she would be okay with him.

Bucky remembered leaving her all those years ago. It broke his heart! Deep down Bucky didn't even want to see her. He couldn't live with the look of disappointment she'd give him. Or worse what if she wasn't disappointed, what if it was like the years didn't go by between them. How could he handle seeing her gentle eyes, knowing he couldn't return the same look back.

It wasn't even a question anymore! Any dream involving her he's had for the past ten years had to be thrown away! He had to forget her smile, her laugh, her smell! She was never meant to be his and now more than ever he had to put his pack first.

Bucky gave Steve a reassuring smile and motioned to the truck, they were losing daylight and they both had a long night ahead of them. Both lost within their own thoughts!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She felt like she was being torn apart!

Yes, she's had some bad cramps during her cycle, but this pain was different! If felt like she was being completely ripped apart from the inside. She felt weak and both terribly hot and freezing at the same time.

She had this strong feeling to just stay in bed at the back of her mind, but she just couldn't let herself waste away in bed waiting for her mother. Her mom had called winifred after this morning, within the hour they were both gone! They said they'd be back my sundown with some supplies and someone who might help her. As the pain intensified she readied herself to go get some things that could help alleviate her. She remembered her mom taught her this recipe with mint, nuts, and berries, back when she had first gotten her period; many years ago. Sometimes when she was out fishing or hunting and she felt her body start to feel strange, she'd look for those, and boil some water for a tea. It provided instant relief for her, and she'd go back to her day like nothing happened.

Gathering the strength and courage; she walked out of the comfort of her cabin for a quick trip to get those three things. If only she could just have that tea ready, it would make the time waiting for her mom to get back bearable.She knew the woods like the back of her hand, she'd done it countless times where she knew where everything would be.

As she trekked further and further into the woods! She remembered she'd spotted a new mint bush a few days ago, with the old one in the opposite direction she decided to just to just go with her memory and find that one.

Even though she knew these woods by heart, her pounding head and aching body made it a struggle for her focus long enough to orient herself.

She stopped to catch her breath and suddenly felt aware of the heat taking over her body. In the distance, the sounds of the running current of the creek, screamed for her to just get in to find some relief. All she wanted was just to dip her feet in and feel the water run beneath her feet.

The icy water prickled through her skin and it showed her more than the heat did, eventually her body and mind relaxed and she just closed her eyes for what felt like two seconds.

Suddenly the floor beneath was overtaken by a current, she was too weak to swim or fight .So she just let the current run its course; dragging along her weakened body.

In just an instant! She was harshly dragged away from the little bit of forest she knew!

She woke up hours later in the darkness!

The current had dumped her near the bank.

She could tell it was still territory, but it was all unknown and new to her. She definitely did not have the strength to follow the stream, so with what little strength she had, she started a fire! She laid down next to it hoping that morning would come soon, and give her the strength she needed to return home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they exited the car they could smell her, but it was lingering and faded. Bucky’s senses were on fire! That smell drove him insane. It awoke every muscle in his being, he’s partially glad that it wasn’t fully her, just the lingering trace of her scent.

He couldn’t do that to Steve. He had to mask his face, pretend she didn’t smell like air after you’ve been holding your breath for ten years.

“Where is she ?” Steve was worried, not only was this his omega, but she was a part of his pack now. His Alpha nature led him to worry about her, even if he didn't fully know her or understood her yet.

All Steve knew is that he felt drawn to her! He needed to protect her and care for her! Seeing the small cabin was like a punch to his gut! He couldn't believe that there were people in his pack living like this.

The roof needed work, the inside was just enough to be considered cozy, but not comfortable!. It was all patched together! He understood that it was the best that they could do with the circumstances, but his heart was swelling with pride at the idea of bringing his omega to his home. For her to finally know comfort, and not want for anything, he'd take better care of her than his own self. Her smell told him everything he needed to know about her, it was like she was made for him, and he was made for her,

Steve looked to Katerina and back to Bucky.

He couldn't understand how this place had been here for such a long time without him knowing about it, Steve remembered his dad's cruel nature. It wasn't beneath him to cast out a pregnant woman to fend for herself, but why hasn't she tried coming back once his father had died. Steve would have let them back! He knew why she was scared and distrustful of him. He probably reminded her of the person who took her life from her.

As the sky grew darker it became impeccably evident that something had gone terribly wrong. Bucky knew it! He had a bad feeling sinking at the pit of his stomach. No experienced hunter, like herself would be out past sundown. The woods become too dangerous and unforgiving even to experienced people.

Bucky taught her to know the woods. She could track.! If she’s out there she’s probably injured and in a bad situation. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ Clint, Nat, you guys will take the northern side of the river, there's a lot of territory there so I trust you guys will be okay as a team!,” Steve was guiding them to a spot marked on the map, he drew a circle through the section with with finger the over caressing his chin in thought.

“Tony, you will cover the west end on the river… over by this side” Bucky said over Steves planning and was pointing Tony to his designated research area.

Bucky and Steve had gone into a full missing persons mission. They had mapped out the territory and had called the strongest members of the pack. Most of them were a part of the packs defense team. They were all loyal to Steve and led by Bucky as the commander of the pack's small army.

Bucky’ s mind was not at the best place! He was slowly becoming more feral with desperation. “What if an outsider smelled her and crossed territories?” The thought was just too dangerous to entertain and Bucky kept going!

After hours of searching, the search party grew cold, hungry, and tired! Steve was called off the search party as the weather grew harsher, he was worried about his pack. They had families to tend to, and needed rest.

Steve was going in by himself, and Bucky wasn’t about to let his best friend do it alone. Going in just by themselves would be a risk, but they both knew how strong they had to be! They could rest later! She was all that mattered right now!

He wouldn’t stop searching till he had turned every rock on the territory! Every little corner if this damn reserve would be searched! He would find his ... Steve’s mega.

Bucky was the best tracker in his pack and even neighboring packs. If anyone needed anybody or anything found, Bucky was the best in the business. He was strong, determined, and could be ruthless with deserters who would try to run away from the pack after stealing or injuring a member!. Nobody had made it past the territory without Bucky catching them first.

They called him the Winter Soldier! While others found the harsh temperatures, and unforgiving terrain hard to navigate and specially survive; Bucky seemed to read the wind and knew how to use the weather to his advantage. He was the best there was.

If he could not find her he might as well never find anybody else in his entire life. He count fail her. He needed her!...She needed him!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her whole body ached!

She couldn’t get up from this one. She knew she’d only survive a few hours, maybe a day or two without food, and in this weather. She just placed herself inside a hollow trunk, and cradled her body to preserve as much heat as possible. She was thankful that the fever was a bit of a heat source, but cursed at the cold chills it gave her. Soon her body relaxed and she wondered what death would feel like.

She thought of her life.

Her mom.

It hurt so much when she thought of him! As she thought of him, her heart was agonizing in longing, but her body was slowly responding. Her fever had subsided, and she tried stepping out of the trunk. She stumbled and lost her footing, but just as she was about to collapse near the now extinguished fire, she felt a pair of strong arms break her fall.

She thought she was probably dead now!

Looking at her, where the most piercing blue eyes she’d ever seen! His hair now at his shoulders, and a beard forming around his face. He looked different than her mind had imagined him all these years. She allowed herself to relax in his arms, and her eyes filled with tears as she passed out; surrounded by his smell , and waiting for this delusion to be over.

They said death had a way of making people feel comfort, and happiness before the light at the end. But this seemed so real! she wasn't scared of dying anymore, she was scared he wouldn't be there if she woke up again.

Tags: @austynparksandpizza @connie326 @nerdgirljen @exposition-belongs-somewhere

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

General Hux x Female Reader

A/N: Not much happens, well it does but it’s a bit of a filler as we bleed into the TLJ. Hopefully you’re enjoying the different take. After this we delve a bit more into Kylo and RC and their dynamic.

Warnings: Ilum dies, we hate the Resistance, Hux is pissed, Kylo is nearly dead, it’s not been beta read and I probably could have fleshed it out a bit more but I’ve been staring at it for weeks and not changed a word so…..enjoy.

Word count: 3843

Read Chapter 7 here on AO3.

He needed to concentrate but he could still feel the touch of your thigh in his hand, the smoothness of your heated skin, the way your muscles had tensed against him, the feel of your body as you flexed against his and your back arched forcing the cries out from your throat….. “General?” His body sighed slightly, the sound of his title pulling him back to look at the screen before him. The X-Wing was being tracked by the sensor droids on the base and Hux watched its flight path for a moment.

“Should we send out our fighters?” Asked Colonel Datoo.

“No. Track the ship back to where it came from,” Hux looked up smugly. “They will lead us right back to their hidden base and we will snuff them out at their very core. Keep me updated.”

“Yes, General.” Hux strode away, so cocksure with the strength of the shields around the base. The Resistance could send all their….now depleted….fleet out here but nothing could get through the shields. He adjusted his cuffs as he walked, looking ahead from under the visor of his cap as staff and personnel scurried out of his way. He was heading to your quarters, he didn’t know what he was expecting, all he knew was he’d had a taste of something from you and he instantly wanted more. He knocked on your door trying to ignore the nervous flutters in his stomach, tugging at his gloves in an effort to stop them betraying how anxious he really was. A frown marred his features and he opened the door, finding your room empty. His eyes were drawn to your bed where the dress you’d been wearing today was laid out on the covers, a noise from the refresher made his head snap to the side and he suddenly realised you were possibly naked, showering in the ‘fresher. I should not be in here….the thought crowded his mind and he began to back out of the room when the door opened to reveal you, wrapped in a towel. Your hair wet and glistening, droplets ran down the bare skin of your shoulders and he swallowed feeling incredibly unsettled that he had just let himself in like this but seeing you at such a moment set his body alight and he could feel the telltale embarrassing blush creep up his neck. He dragged his gaze away from you to stare unseeingly out of the window, his hands gripping each other so tightly it began to hurt.

“I—I came to tell you the ship was of no consequence.” He took another step back towards the door.

“Is that all?” Your sultry tone halted him and he dared to sneak another look at you, the towel was held together just above your breasts with one hand, it sagged down around your shoulders and when you walked towards him your legs appeared through the gap in the fabric. He watched you approach, his heart beat erratically and all the air left his body. For such an intelligent, quick thinking, steadfast man he was constantly surprised with the way you effortlessly stole all his faculties. He stepped forward towards the window, his disquietude suddenly getting the better of him and he had to move.

“The Resistance can throw whatever they like at us, the shields will hold.” He was pleased to observe his voice was strong even though his insides had turned to liquid at the sound of your towel falling to the floor. The rustle of your dress made his heart thump, it sounded loud to his ears like the sounds of troopers quick marching through their drills and he mentally counted each beat, trying to gain control over his body once again.

“Armitage?” He turned sharply, to see the bare skin of your exposed back, your hands clutching the dress against you in an effort to hold it up. You looked at him over your shoulder, the subtle lines of your back flexing with the movement of your neck. “Can you fasten it for me?” He stepped forward, seemingly under your spell once again pulling his gloves off knowing the supple leather would hinder his movements. He held his breath, gently pulling the fabric together, highly aware of the way his fingertips skated over your soft skin. His eyes travelled up the line of your spine, drinking in every tiny detail he could, the way your neck corded, the slight pull of your shoulders as the dress got tighter with each thread of the cord. He heard you inhale just before he pulled the cord tight, your body jolting slightly at the motion and you almost fell back into him but his hands splayed against the curve of your waist to steady you.

“Is…is this acceptable?” He asked softly.

“Yes,” you breathed. He lifted a hand not being able to stop himself, leaning forward he breathed you in deeply trailing a fingertip down the captivating curve of your neck. He dipped his face closer to you, feeling you press into him, letting his lips ghost over the delicate skin just under your ear, his fingers beginning to encircle your neck as you tipped your head back. His other arm snaked round to embrace your waist, the soft folds of his coat enveloping you. His hand tensed against the underside of your jaw and he felt the ripple from your throat as you swallowed, Hux’s body responded almost immediately, the heat that had been simmering inside him roared to life taking all of his self control not to rip the dress free of your body and take you in anyway you’d let him. His eyes closed in a mixture of relief and disappointment as his comm sounded, shattering the moment. He let you pull away, hating the way your warm body left the feel of his hands, his back straightened up and he cleared his throat.

“I should go.”

“Yes General, I can imagine you’re quite popular right now,” there was no hint of annoyance in your tone, more admiration and acceptance for his position and what he’d just achieved. He stepped up next to you, looking down at your slightly bowed head, an echo of the confidence he had earlier crept over his body and before he knew what he was doing he gripped your face firmly with one hand, pulling your lips to his in a hungry kiss. A soft moan spilled from you and he released you, refusing to look back or he’d never leave your room.

You gently sucked your lips into your mouth, relishing the lingering taste of him, wishing you’d had more time together. But you understood he was needed. He had just done something catastrophic, an action that had torn the very fabric of the Galaxy in proportions the Empire could only dream of. He couldn’t abandon it now. Your dress dragged along the floor, the coolness seeping through the soles of your bare feet as you paused by the window. You knew enough about the rankings within the army and the next for Hux would be Grand Marshal, a position that gave him ultimate rein over the navy as well as the army. In your eyes he should be there already, the man was a technological and strategic genius, from what you’d been told anyway. You father had done his research in Hux before he handed you over on a silver platter, you weren’t angry anymore though. It was probably the best thing your father had ever done for you.

“Where is the droid?” Hux asked haughtily as he kept up with Kylo’s long strides. “This elusive BB unit that I am beginning to think doesn't exist!” He had returned from Takodana in Hux’s mind, empty handed.

“The girl has seen the map, we don’t need the droid.” Hux wanted to roll his eyes but he had first hand seen Ren pull buried information from people’s minds, they didn’t always recover. But what was one Resistance girl? Kylo paused at a closed door and Hux knew the prisoner was behind there. “She’s all I need, all we need.”

“She better be.” Kylo stared at Hux through the mask for a few more beats before disappearing into the interrogation room. He glared at the door before turning smartly and heading back to the control room to check on the Resistance ship. He refused to have everything fall apart this time and was determined to keep on top of it.

“Report!” The Colonel stepped up next to Hux.

“We tracked their reconnaissance ship back to the Ileenium system.”

“Good,” Hux smiled smugly, Starkiller didn’t need the cool down period that the Death Star had and he puffed out his chest slightly, hands clasped firmly behind his back as he turned to the Colonel. “Charge the weapon, we can rid the Galaxy of their filth once and for all.”

“Yes Sir! Begin charging the weapon!” Hux looked out at the snowy world laid out before him, the energy from the sun was drawn into the planet and he mentally took himself through the stages of what would happen. It was working better than he could have ever dreamed.

“I must report to Leader Snoke.” He turned abruptly and began to head to the Assembly chamber. As he neared he could hear voices and his skin bristled at the fact Kylo Ren was already in there having an audience with Snoke. Hux pushed the door open quietly.

“She’s strong with the force, untrained, but stronger than she knows!” Hux sighed at the whining tone to Ren’s voice but he noted the fact this new prisoner was force sensitive, extra measures were going to need to be put in place so she didn’t escape.

“And the droid?” Asked Snoke angrily. Kylo paused and Hux chose this moment to step forward, full of self satisfaction that he had the opportunity to drop Ren right in it.

“Ren believed it was no longer valuable to us.” Kylo turned his furious gaze onto the General, Hux held his gaze as he stepped up to the stage, getting across he wasn’t intimidated by the force user at all. “That the girl was all we needed. As a result the droid has most likely been returned to the hands of the enemy. They may have the map already.” Kylo dipped his head and Hux smirked, his chest filling with elation that he had finally pointed out Kylo’s mistake.

“Then the Resistance will need to be destroyed before they can get to Skywalker.” Hux looked up almost bursting with pleasure that he had already started solving that.

“We have their location. We tracked their reconnaissance ship to the Ileenium system.” He stated gleefully.

“Good. Then we will crush them once and for all. Prepare the weapon.” Hux turned to face Kylo, his lip curling seeing the hatred burning from the taller man’s gaze. He didn’t care, he was about to obliterate the Resistance, blow them out of existence, rid the Galaxy of all the scum it was riddled with. He daydreamed as he marched down the corridors, finally receiving the promotion he had wanted all this time, no, the promotion he deserved. If it wasn’t for Hux the First Order wouldn’t be the incredible machine it is today, he was the one who had streamlined his fathers training techniques with Phasma’s help. He frowned slightly wondering where Phasma was, but he had told her to watch over you…he shrugged to himself. No doubt she was keeping you company.

He reentered the control room, noting with satisfaction the weapon was charging very nicely, the light outside had begun to dwindle, throwing long shadows across the snow and rocks as the very essence of the star was sucked into the core of the planet. No one else in the Galaxy had the power that Hux had at his fingertips, not Ren, not even Snoke, not anyone.

“General!” He turned to see a trooper had entered. “The prisoner has escaped.” Hux clenched his fists as pure unadulterated fury swept through him. Yet again, Ren had brought some lowlife into the clutch of the First Order and yet again he had let them escape!

“Double the patrols, alert all battalions I want her found!” He yelled his finger jabbing violently at the floor. “How long until the weapon is ready?” He half shouted into the room not caring who answered him.

“About 20 minutes Sir.” Hux rolled his shoulders slightly. Not a lot could happen in 20 minutes. Everything was going to be fine. He twisted his gloved hands together as he watched the sun diminish more and more but he couldn’t shake the almost overwhelming anxiety that was there waiting, at the edges of his mind. He was on the verge of something catastrophic for a second time today, a life changing moment for the Galaxy but more for the First Order, for him. Ridding them of all opposition was a dream no one else had achieved, until now. And he was going to do it. The echo of his fathers voice rang in ears, all the things he’d ever said to him, all the behaviours he’d beaten into him, all the words he’d berated him with all came to this moment.

“The hangars have been locked down.” Hux nodded in acknowledgement once again looking round at the screens and seeing there was only minutes left. Nothing could go wrong. The Jedi girl will be killed, the Resistance are going to be wiped out….

An alarm went off, one Hux hadn’t heard before but he knew exactly what it meant. He looked at the screen, frowning heavily that this was even happening, it wasn’t a test or a system error.

“Er, General, did you authorise the lowering of the shields?”

“No I certainly did not!” He snapped.

“Main planetary shields have been dropped, not localised but right across the board.” Hux spun round in disbelief making the technician wish he’d never opened his mouth.

“Cause? Possibly external?”

“It doesn’t show here sir.”

“Get the technicians down there at once!”

“Resistance craft incoming!” This wasn’t happening….

“Dispatch all squadrons! Take out every attacking craft no matter the cost.” If the Resistance had no disregard, then neither did Hux. “When this is over I do not want to see a single X-Wing aloft.”

“Yes, General.” Activity in the control room increased but all Hux could see were the X-Wings flying in and bombing the thermal oscillator, they were trying to destroy it. Hux turned to the officer with one final order. “Engage seekers.” He saw the hesitation cross the young man’s face and annoyance flared in Hux.

“But sir, in an atmospheric skirmish the seekers will have a hard time distinguishing between our fighters and those of the enemy.” Hux glared at him with a steely gaze before turning back to watch the appalling spectacle before him.

“There is no time to worry about collateral damage. Give the order.” Alarms rang out around him as he watched the futile attempts of the star fighters, did they realise what they were risking? Of course they did. Yet another show from the Resistance and their disregard for the lives of everyone here. Officers and technicians alike stared out in abject horror at the reckless acts of the Resistance fighters as they came over for another pass. Hux looked up, seeing the first wave of fighters intercept the X-Wings finally. Hopefully this infuriating inconvenience would be over soon.

It was mild at first, the tremors that ran through the ground and tickled the underside of your feet. You stood, your eyes drawn to the explosions happening over the ridge. A furious battle was happening in the sky, TIE’s and X-Wings battling for dominance, twisting and turning in the battle to survive. Fury swept through you, the audacity of the Resistance really knew no bounds, but what did they think a few X-Wings would do?

You stumbled, your hands flying out to support yourself against the transparisteel, a bright orange glow erupted and you couldn’t draw your eyes away from the large plume of smoke that rose from the site. A wound ripped the surface of the planet and the ground heaved again. Your mind flew to Armitage, you had no idea where he was, you didn’t know your way round but you knew everyone on this base had to leave. You remembered what he’d told you about the inner workings of the base, if the containment field failed everyone within the gravity pull of this planet was dead. You left your room, desperately trying to think of where Phasma could be, the comlink she’d given you was back in your room. You debated turning round, but your balance was tipped, slamming you into the wall and you knew you couldn’t, it was too late. The rough rock sliced your arm drawing tears from your eyes as you carried on stumbling towards the hangar your ship had landed in, but as you stepped through the door the cold wind blasting in made you lift your hands to protect your face. The engines roared to life as the ship lifted off the ground.

“No! Stop!” Your voice was drowned into insignificance and all you could do was watch your last hope fly into the dark sky. The hangar shuddered around you, rocks shifted loudly and you knew you couldn’t stay inside. The air was biting and aggressive on your skin, you weren’t in the right clothing to be out here at all, your blood red dress was like a stain on the snow. Maybe someone would see you but every ship you saw either exploded or screeched away, no one was looking for you. The ground shook, trees bowed and screamed in protest as a deep orange glow appeared between the trees. You peered through the snow, sure you saw movement and you headed towards it hoping they could help you. The nearer you got to more obvious it was this person was injured, you rushed forward as they fell onto all fours, his dark head of hair bowed in distress.

“Kylo!” Your shivering hands were on him, coming away slicked with blood. The cut to his face was deep, blood was smeared all around the wound before freezing on his skin.

“You’re cold,” he huffed, his eyes closing as he fought the agony he was clearly in.

“I-I kn-know!” He reached for you, enveloping you in his arms but leaning heavily, using you for support. “I d-don't know w-where to go!”

“You need to keep moving.”

The ground rocked violently under your feet, you tried to support Kylo but his massive frame sagged heavily against you, his blood bleeding into the material of your dress. The snow and freezing temperatures were making your feet feel numb and you stumbled. You both fell, Kylo grunting in pain as you knelt next to him trying to stop the tears from falling.

“I’m s-sorry,” you whispered. His gloved hand cupped your face, his expression tight as he fought the pain that rippled through his body.

“They will find us,” he managed to say through gritted teeth. “He is coming.”

“They w-will never f-find us!” You sobbed, looking up and seeing the red lava erupting from the centre of the planet, the pressure becoming unstable as cracks appeared all around you. Heat blasted you in your face, whipping your hair back and you hunched over the injured man in a last wild effort to protect him. Your heart was pounding, there was no way out, no escape from the inevitable doom that bore down on you. Your heart fluttered wildly as you thought of Hux and how you weren’t going to see him again, not feel his hair under your hands, his body against yours. You couldn’t stop the tears from falling, didn’t want to stop them as you wept for your life that was ending all too soon.

Kylo murmured your name, his thumb wiping away the tears already freezing on your cheek and brushing some stray hair from your face. Your gaze was pulled from the dying planet down to his wide hazel eyes, the world falling away around you creating a bubble where it was just you and him. Your panic trickled into nothingness the longer you stared at him, tracing the line of the gash marking his fair, freckled skin with your eyes.

“The world is falling down,” you whispered, not sure how you were managing to hear yourself so clearly as your end came racing towards you.

“I know.”

“We can’t get out.” His hand tightened against the side of your face, his eyes searching yours.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to die like this,” you sobbed. He pulled you into his chest and you buried your face, fisting your hands tightly in his tunic as you held onto him. You tried to ignore the increased vibrations from the ground below, the deep roar as the lava spewed high into the sky, the ripping and tearing of the trees as they bowed under the pressure. The sound of the earth cleaving crashed around you and a scream left your mouth as Kylo gripped you.

Suddenly pressure wrapped around your middle, pulling you off Kylo and you automatically fought, reaching for him until you saw who was pulling you up. Hux carried you to the ship, watching over his shoulder as the troopers helped Kylo up and followed you onto the ship. Hux’s eyes were wide as he bellowed orders, fear laced his tone but his hands never left you. His fingers were digging in painfully to your freezing skin, it wasn’t until you started shaking, your teeth rattling that he finally looked down at you. Were you dreaming? Is this what death felt like? It couldn’t, because it hurt. He didn’t say a word, his eyes magnetising to yours and for the first time you saw they were red rimmed and shining with tears. You barely noticed the blanket he pulled over your shoulders wrapping you up tightly before he pulled you to him, holding you against his chest where you could hear his heart galloping erratically. From where you were sitting you could see the surface of Ilum through the cockpit viewport. The earth heaved until finally it exploded, the blinding orange glow lighting up the entire ship, just as the white sliding lights of hyperspace sucked the Command Shuttle into light speed. The silence was deafening, broken only by your ragged breathing and Hux’s heart pounding into the side of your face. You’d survived.

You turned your head to see Kylo slumped in a seat with Phasma, her helmet off as she tended to his wounds as best she could. Pain crippled him, you could see it in the way he held himself, in the rise and fall of his chest, it shone out of his gaze as he looked at you. But only you saw it.

[dfroza]

“Don’t you know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who comes from God and dwells inside of you? You do not own yourself.”

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 6th chapter of the letter of 1st Corinthians:

Here’s another troubling issue. If you have a grievance against another follower of Jesus, do you have the audacity to bring that brother or sister into the civil courts rather than submitting yourselves to the authority of God’s people? Don’t you know that His people are destined to judge the world? If you have the authority to judge the world, can’t you handle these small matters and render a better judgment than the civil courts? Further, don’t you know that we are destined to judge the heavenly messengers? So if we are to exercise authority in the heavenly realms, can’t we take care of the conflicts that arise in this life? To put it another way, if you are asking the courts to adjudicate your mundane conflicts, aren’t you placing your problems under the authority of judges who have no standing within the church? My words should embarrass you. Is it possible that you have no one among you with the wisdom to mediate between two siblings? So one brother sues another brother in public and drags the dispute before outsiders who have no allegiance to Jesus?

The truth is that these public lawsuits cause all of you to lose and lose big. Wouldn’t it be better to be ripped off or defrauded? In fact, you are guilty of ripping off and defrauding your own brothers and sisters, not the other way around.

Do you need reminding that the unjust have no share in the blessings of the kingdom of God? Do not be misled. A lot of people stand to inherit nothing of God’s coming kingdom, including those whose lives are defined by sexual immorality, idolatry, adultery, sexual deviancy, theft, greed, drunkenness, slander, and swindling. Some of you used to live in these ways, but you are different now; you have been washed clean, set apart, restored, and set on the right path in the name of the Lord Jesus, the Anointed, by the Spirit of our living God.

I can hear some of you saying, “For me, all things are permitted.” But face the facts: all things are not beneficial. So you say, “For me, all things are permitted.” Here’s my response: I will not allow anything to control me. Another chimes in: “Food is for the stomach, and the stomach is for food.” I suppose so, but a day will come when God will dispense with both food and the stomach. The body is not meant for sexual immorality but for the Lord; the Lord is over all, and He cares about your body. God has raised the Lord Jesus from death, but He won’t stop there. His dynamic power will raise us up from the grips of death as well. Don’t you realize that your bodies are members of the Anointed One? So should I take the members of the Anointed One and unite them to a prostitute? This illicit union should never take place! Don’t you understand that when your body is joined with a prostitute, the two of you have become one body? For as it says, “The two come together as one flesh.” But when you are joined with the Lord, you become one spirit with Him. Run from immoral behavior. All other sins are disconnected from the body, but sexual immorality is a sin against your own body. Don’t you know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who comes from God and dwells inside of you? You do not own yourself. You have been purchased at a great price, so use your body to bring glory to God!

The Letter of 1st Corinthians, Chapter 6 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 7th chapter of the book of Jeremiah:

The word of the Eternal came to Jeremiah.

Eternal One: Go now and take a stand for Me at the entrance to My temple. Proclaim there My message. Tell all the people of Judah who enter these gates to worship the Eternal to stop and listen to the word of the Eternal. Tell them this is what I, the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies and God of Israel, have to say:

“Change your ways and stop what you are doing, and I will let you live in this land. Do not rely on the misguided words, ‘The temple of the Eternal, the temple of the Eternal, the temple of the Eternal,’ as if the temple’s presence alone will protect you. But if you genuinely change your ways and stop what you are doing; if you deal with each other fairly; if you don’t oppress foreigners, orphans, and widows; if you don’t shed the blood of the innocent in this land; and if you don’t practice the self-destructive worship of other gods; then I will let you live forever in this land I promised your ancestors long ago.

“But instead, you are clinging to lies and illusions that are worthless. Do you think you can steal, murder, commit adultery, swear falsely, make offerings to Baal, and chase after other gods and still expect Me to protect you? Do you think all it takes is for you to run back to Me in this house, which is called by My name, and say, ‘We’re safe now’? Does this somehow make it all right to do these vile things in front of Me? Do you think this house, which is called by My name, is a den of thieves? I see what you’re doing.

“Go and take notice of what happened in Shiloh, the place where I first met your ancestors in the tabernacle that bore My name. See what I did in response to the wickedness of My people, Israel. Now, because of all the evil you have done, and because when I spoke to you time and again you never listened, and because when I called your name you never answered, watch what I will do to this house which bears My name, this sacred place I gave to you and your fathers. I will do to this temple, where you have put your trust, what I did to Shiloh all those years ago. I will throw you from My presence, just as I did to all your kinsmen in the Northern Kingdom, the descendants of Ephraim.”

(to Jeremiah) Don’t pray or plead for these people. No matter how badly you want to come to Me on their behalf, don’t bother. For I won’t hear such cries from you. Can’t you see what’s happening in the villages throughout Judah and even in the streets of Jerusalem? The children gather the firewood, the fathers tend the fire, and the mothers bake the bread for the so-called queen of heaven! The people pour out drink offerings in honor of other gods as if to spite Me. What they are doing doesn’t hurt me; it only hurts them, to their own disgrace. Now hear what I, the Eternal Lord, declare: “The heat of My anger will pour out on this land, on man and beast, on the trees of the field and the fruit of the soil. My wrath will burn through this place and not be quenched.

This is what the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies and God of Israel, has to say:

Eternal One: Treat your burnt offerings the way you treat other sacrifices. Go ahead and eat the meat yourselves. I won’t have any part of it. When I freed your ancestors from slavery in Egypt, burnt offerings and sacrifices were not something I required of them. I wanted them to trust Me and obey My voice. In those early days, I told them, “I will be your God, and you will be My people. Follow Me every step of the way into a life that is good.” But they didn’t trust Me. They didn’t obey My voice. They refused to listen to Me. Instead they followed the plans of their own stubborn hearts. Each step was a step backward, not forward. From the time your ancestors left Egypt until now, I have shown them the way to a better life. Day after day, I sent all of My servants, the prophets, to speak the truth. But did any of them listen or pay attention? Did they change their ways? No, they only hardened their resolve to go their own way. Each generation has done more evil than the generation before.

(to Jeremiah) This is how I want you to speak to the people—say it all, don’t hold anything back—but they won’t hear you. Your voice will call throughout the land, but no one will answer you. And so you will say to them, “This is the nation that dared not obey the voice of the Eternal, their one True God. This is the people who would not be taught.” Truth has died and disappeared from their very lips.

Shave your head and throw your hair away, for it is time to mourn.

Climb the hills and grieve for the darkness has gone too far.

The Eternal has rejected His faithless people;

He has forsaken this generation that has stirred up His wrath.

For the people of Judah have done what is plainly evil right in front of Me. They have brought their revolting idols into My temple! They have desecrated this place that stands in honor of My name. They have built shrines to other gods at Topheth, the garbage dump in the valley of Ben-hinnom, where they sacrifice their own sons and daughters and burn them in the fire to dark and pagan gods. I never taught them to do such unspeakable evil; it never even crossed My mind. But I tell you this: the days are coming when that place will no longer be known as Topheth, or the garbage dump in the valley of Ben-hinnom. But it will be called the valley of Slaughter, for they will bury the bodies of those who sacrifice children there until there is no more room. The remains of these wicked people will feed the vultures of the sky and wild animals of the earth because no one will be there to scare them away. I will silence the sounds of laughter and joy from the villages of Judah to the streets of Jerusalem. Even the joy of a wedding will not be heard in this land of ruin.

The Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 7 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, September 7 of 2023 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about our vital need for healing from our Creator, namely, that of spiritual death:

The biblical Hebrew word for healing is "refuah" (רְפוּאָה), from the root "rapha" (רָפָא), meaning to repair, restore, or make healthful. Some of the sages have said that the root letters indicate the meaning or essence of healing itself, namely, confessing the truth of God.

This can be seen when we consider that the letter Resh (ר) refers to the head (i.e., rosh: ראשׁ), or that which is first -- suggesting thinking and the will to do teshuvah (Psalm 90:2-3) is primary; the letter Pey (פּ) refers to the mouth (i.e., peh: פֶּה), that is, to speech, confession, and prayer; and the letter Aleph (א) refers to faith in the LORD (i.e., ehyeh: אֶהְיֶה), the One and only true God who is the Master of the universe (Exod. 3:14).

So we can see how the Hebrew word for healing is connected first with changing our thinking by doing teshuvah, confessing our sin, and trusting God for life, as it says, "confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed" (James 5:16), and "I considered my ways, and turned my feet unto Thy testimonies" (Psalm 119:56). Refuah shleimah (רְפוּאָה שְׁלֵמָה), or a complete healing, is ultimately found when we turn to God with all our hearts and find shalom (שָׁלוֹם), as it says, "the Torah of the LORD is perfect, returning the soul" (Psalm 19:7).

The Hebrew word for sickness (i.e., choleh: חוֹלֶה), on the other hand, comes from a root (חלה) that stands for blocked (חָסום) or profane (חל) learning (לִמוּד) regarding matters of the Holy Spirit (ה). The LORD comes to seek and to save those who are lost, saying "I am your Healer" (אֲנִי יְהוָה רפְאֶךָ). Therefore confess your confidence that he forgives all your iniquities and heals everything that blocks you from his blessing. Amen.

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

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Psalm 103:3 Hebrew reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/psalm103-3-jjp.mp3

Hebrew page:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/psalm103-3-lesson.pdf

9.5.23 • Facebook

from yesterday’s email by Israel 365:

Many people today suffer from the cult of productivity. All too often, we tie our self-worth to how productive we are. Our lives become all about doing instead of being. This anxiety comes from a healthy ambition to maximize our potential. We all want to make the world a better place, and there’s lots of work to be done. But when we take this to the extreme, we never feel happy with ourselves because there is always more work to be done.

As people of faith, we are called to work hard for six days but then to rest on the Sabbath. On the Sabbath, we are meant to feel like kings, to feel entirely content – as if we have everything that we need. On the Sabbath, we strive to taste a little bit of the ultimate serenity of the world to come. This is why Jewish tradition refers to the Sabbath as a microcosm of heaven itself.

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

September 7, 2023

Esteem Him

“He was despised, and we esteemed him not.” (Isaiah 53:3)

In this, our third consideration of Isaiah’s Suffering Servant passage (Isaiah 52:13 to 53:12), we learn that people looked down upon Him whom the Lord will exalt. The expression “for he shall grow up before him as a tender plant” (53:2) likely refers to a sucker limb. These scraggly sprigs grow straight out of the side of tree trunks. Homeowners find them annoying enough to pay tree services to cut them off. That’s just what the world did to the Savior (53:8).

“As a root out of a dry ground” (53:2) lies poised to trip an unsuspecting pedestrian, so the religious people alive at the Savior’s first coming saw Him as a danger. “He came unto his own, and his own received him not” (John 1:11).

At the same time that “we hid as it were our faces from him” (Isaiah 53:3), the Father esteemed Him by giving Him a new title. Irish Hebraist J. Alec Motyer did well to translate Isaiah 53:1 as “Who believed what we heard? And Yahweh’s Arm, to whom was it revealed?” The title Yahweh’s Arm refers to His Servant’s abundant strength.

Isaiah reveals tension between Yahweh’s high esteem for His strong “Arm” versus the people who “esteemed him not” (Isaiah 53:3). What led His own, especially the religious Pharisees, to despise the same Servant who “shall be exalted and extolled” (Isaiah 52:13)?

Was it not pride? Like the Pharisees, our pride persuades us that we have no need of God, that we need no correction or rescue. Pride even keeps us from seeing our own pride! Humility is the remedy, for “I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit” (Isaiah 57:15). With humility, we can see our need and esteem Him. BDT