#falling without a harness

[heygerald]

Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 7

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When Parker starts to let go of her initial assumptions about a man that makes a lasting impression, she starts to see that there's more to him than meets the eye. Yet, she can't help but wonder, why does he insist on acting like an asshole?

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Parker was dying.

Had to be, anyway, because her organs felt something like slushy-mud water inside her chest, and there was something pounding against her skull that made it hard to think. She couldn't remember the last time she felt like this—her own birthday, maybe—and though she didn't put a lot of emphasis on her own personal health, she was certain that this time she was dying.

Really, really dying.

"I fucking hate Colt," she muttered, cheek pressed against the cool kitchen counter as an antacid tablet dissolved in her cup of water with a looming zzz. It almost hurt to watch, and when half the tablet broke into a chunk to send a torrent of bubbles up to the surface, Parker grimaced. "...blonde bastard."

Her sentiments went unheard in the empty kitchen.

It was still early, and her body ached to return to the couch. It wasn't comfortable by any means, worn in all the wrong places with scratches lining the surface, but it was horizontal, and it didn't involve sorting through books while greeting customers. If she hadn't been so adamant about setting three alarms the night before, Parker surely would have left the bookstore locked up all day.

But, as it was, she needed money, and a Saturday was too good a day to be an irresponsible property owner. So, here she was, crying on the kitchen counter watching her antacid dissolve in hopes that it would miraculously cure a hangover.

She grimaced at the sticky dryness of her mouth.

In hindsight, that last beer probably hadn't been the best idea.

And, in further, more truthful hindsight, neither had been the beer she drank after that one in the parking lot while waiting for their Uber. It had been Dan's challenge to do it under thirty seconds, prompted further by Colt's off-key acapella rendition of We Are The Champions, and though Parker wasn't good at many things, shotgunning a beer was something she was good at.

Who was she to waste a talent?

Her stomach turned at the thought, and she was in the middle of contemplating puking all over Colt's kitchen, when footsteps approached her from behind.

"Well, you look peaky."

Parker groaned low and deep while pressing her face further against the kitchen counter. Jody offered an amused smile before moving towards the fridge. Despite yesterday, she looked good. Bouncy skin, tousled blonde hair, Colt's t-shirt that didn't so much hang as it laid against her thin legs. Oh, and the happy features of someone that were clearly not suffering from a hangover.

Bastards, Parker thought glumly, the both of them.

"Want some?" Jody asked, jug of orange juice in hand. She had the benevolence to at least look tired. Though, not nearly enough in Parker's opinion.

"D'rather have a lobotomy," Parker muttered.

Jody somehow managed a smile and a wince at the same time. "You did drink a lot," she said. The idea of drinking anything had Parker paling, and Jody quickly moved past it to add, "but it was really fun. I think everyone enjoyed it."

She wasn't particularly in the mood for conversation, but Parker supposed the more she talked, the less she had to think about making herself presentable for work, which meant the less she thought about work itself, so she did her best to tamper down her headache with a slow sip of her water.

"S'definitely better than last year's," she said. There was sunlight streaming through the kitchen blinds, and while Jody didn't hesitate to pull them up, she responded by pulling her sweatshirt hood further down over her eyes. Another inhuman noise, before, "thanks for helping plan it."

Jody beamed at the gratitude.

Though, Parker noticed with a growing self-hatred, the Englishwoman seemed to do that naturally. "I'm just glad that I could pitch in. It was a lot of fun. I've never played paintball before."

"Really? Coulda' fooled me. I think my welts have welts."

"Oh," Jody said, hiding a giggle behind her glass of orange juice. "Sorry about that."

Parker got the feeling that Jody wasn't very sorry at all. In fact, from the way Jody and Colt had tore it up on the paintball field, Parker had a strong suspicion that the woman was just as competitive as the boys were.

Waving a hand at her, she said, "don't be sorry. You won, afterall."

"Oh, did we?" she chirped. "I barely noticed."

"Hmph."

"I didn't hit you too hard did I?" she asked, actually sounding curious as she leaned onto the counter.

There was a very large bruise on Parker's back side that would argue differently, but Parker instead shook her head. It sent the room spinning, however, and she just as quickly had to lay her head back onto the counter. "Had me a little scared out there, though. If anyone on set has ever given you shit before, you should just take a paintball gun with you to work."

Jody laughed. "There are one or two," she said. From the look in her eye, it was obvious she could name them, but she didn't. Instead, her eyes darted to Parker.

"Ah," she said. "Well, you had your chance yesterday to shoot him too. I hope you took the opportunity."

At the joke, Jody seemed to relax a bit. Her mouth tugged into a crooked smile as she popped some bread into the toaster. "I tried, but he was a little harder to get than I thought he would be..."

Her voice trailed off, and Parker arched a brow. "What?"

"Er, well, I guess I was a little surprised that you invited him. We all were, I think."

Unbidden guilt crashed down onto Parker's shoulders, and she caught her face in her hands. "I know, I know, I'm sorry... It was a last minute thing. He had stopped by the store and then we were just talking and, well, I don't know..."

Jody's back was to Parker, but she peeked over her shoulder with curiously arched brows. "I didn't realize you were friends. Certainly not after that introduction on set."

Just the thought of that introduction had Parker grimacing. Worse still was the realization that somehow, somewhere in her mind, that Tom was in no way connected to the Tom she had brought alongside her last night. It was as if they were two totally different people, and the reminder that they were actually the same person had her stomach rolling.

Or, that could have been the hangover. Whatever.

Parker picked at a loose thread on her hoodie. "Was Colt upset?"

"That you brought Tom?"

"I didn't ruin the night, did I? I know that he can be a total prick, and that everyone else has bad feelings towards him from work, but... well, I guess I was hoping that everyone else enjoyed last night as much as I did. I mean, I know he's a prick, but he's at least okay to be around sometimes."

"Can you remember?" Jody teased from beside the coffee maker. It beeped as she fiddled with it, before she was puling mugs out of the cabinet. Obviously, she had been here before.

"Does Colt hate me?"

Her smile was soft and graceful. "No, he doesn't hate you. I'm not sure he could, if I'm honest. He talks about you a lot, you know."

Parker didn't think that was necessarily a good thing, but she wasn't about to scold her brother for talking about her on dates. Not when he was actually going on them and she was at home marathoning trashy reality tv.

"And, as for last night," Jody continued, "everyone did have a lot of fun. No nights were ruined."

"Not even...?"

"The Uber driver was actually quite nice about it," she said, skipping over the issue entirely. A good thing too considering the thought of last night made Parker woozy, and she certainly didn't want to relieve that car ride home. Or the two stops they had to make for her and Colt to throw up on the side of the road. "Honestly... I was pleasantly surprised."

Parker frowned. "By the Uber driver?"

"By Tom," she corrected with a laugh.

"Really?"

Jody shrugged. "Granted, I don't know him nearly as well as Colt, and he was an awfully sore loser. I mean—really awful—you should have heard him after paintball."

"Oh, I did," Parker said. "I just blocked it out."

"And yet..."

Parker arched her brows.

Jody smiled, then shrugged once more. "He wasn't nearly as bad as I thought he would be. Losing, I mean. He didn't threaten to fire anyone or sue anyone—"

"Speak for yourself," she muttered under her breath, cup of liquid antacid looking more unappealing by the second.

"And by the end of the night... well, I think he was actually getting along with some of the others. Not really well, mind you. He is still a prick."

Parker snorted. "I don't think anyone was doubting that."

"But a manageable one. It actually felt like he was hanging out with us, you know, rather than dictating on set."

Parker tried not to sound too hopeful as she tugged on her thread. "Yeah?"

Obviously, she failed, because when Jody smiled there was something conniving to it. Something suspicious twinkling her eyes. Yet, the woman didn't dig in deeper. Just moved on. "He might not admit it, but I think Colt was more pleased than he let on when Colt said he was a great stuntman. I was too. Mind you, on our last film, Ryder asked Colt if he could get a jaw implant to look more like himself."

Parker made a face. "Yeah, I heard about that."

"I think this was the first time he ever complimented Colt. In, like, a decade of working together. Can you believe that?"

She could. The guy was a prick. But also, Parker didn't want to believe it—struggled to envision that as the same guy that had come to her bookstore twice now—and so she sipped her water so she didn't have to respond.

Jody, however, noticed all of that. "Since when have you two been friends?"

"Friends? We're not—it's not—we just... know each other."

"Hm," Jody hummed, clearly not buying it. "Yet you brought him to Colt's birthday party. And apparently you talk."

"I don't plan when he come to the store," she said defensively.

That surprised Jody, and as she filled the mugs up with coffee, she said, "oh. When you said you were talking I didn't realize you meant in person. You literally dragged him to the birthday party, then."

"I wouldn't say I dragged him," Parker muttered as she accepted a mug. The coffee was low quality and definitely burnt from Colt's stupid machine, but just the smell of it had her feeling better. She cradled the steaming hot mug between her hands with a deep inhale. "What did you think I meant?"

"I thought you meant you were talking on the phone."

"Colt told you about that? It's so weird. I still have no idea how he got my phone number," she mused, chancing a sip. It burned her tongue immediately, but Parker didn't care. She was not a morning person, and didn't function this early unless she had three cups of coffee. Hangover or not. "The prick."

Jody hedged from her cup of coffee, but didn't say anything.

Parker shrugged. If Jody didn't want to rail on Tom Ryder being a prick, that was her decision. Moving on, she added, "anyways, I really did appreciate your help with the party, even if I ended up fudging the team numbers by lugging Tom along. You were a life saver with getting everyone's phone numbers."

Whatever Jody had been thinking passed over, and she smiled. "Yeah, of course. Thanks for letting me help. I know... you know—Colt's your brother—I'm not trying to, er... step on anyone's toes."

It was funny to watch her get flustered, and Parker gave the woman an impish smile as she took another sip of her water. "Colt's a big boy, and he can do whatever he wants," she said. "Besides, I think you're great. Why would I have a problem with you wanting to help plan his party?"

"You think I'm great?" Jody asked.

To that, Parker rolled her eyes, and though it had the pounding behind her temples start up again, it felt worth it. "You get enough compliments from my brother, you don't need to go fishing for them with me too."

"Me? No. I hate fishing. Detest it, really."

Parker harrumphed, but couldn't help but snicker as she took a deep whiff of her drink. "Well, if you aren't fishing, then I don't need to tell you that he doesn't act like this with just anyone," she said before taking a long sip. Too long, and it burned her mouth immediately. "Fuck!"

"Hot?"

"I thought you weren't fishing anymore," Parker muttered while wiping drool off her chin.

"I was talking about the coffee!" Jody cried in response. But then she caught the haughty look Parker was shooting her and couldn't help but laugh. The sound hurt her ears, but, god, if everything about the woman wasn't perfect. "You and Colt, honestly. The things that you say are so ridiculous."

She vaguely remembered Tom saying the same thing the night before. A smile pulled at her burnt lips. "Tom would agree. He said something similar last night."

That look returned. "You know, for not being friends you've come a long way from calling him an asshole. I thought you were going to break his nose that day on set."

Parked moaned. "Oh, not you too."

"I'm just saying," Jody defended from behind a steaming mug of coffee. She blew on it coolly, as though the answer to her question didn't matter in the slightest. "I just couldn't help but notice how well you were getting along last night. Spent a lot of time together, too."

"Shah, because some Englishwoman came and stole my brother from me," she retorted blithely. "I always knew boomers complained about immigrants stealing jobs, but stealing drinking buddies is a little vindictive. Even for the English."

"Oi!" Jody exclaimed, though it ended in a laugh. "You and Colt spent plenty of time together last night. If I recall, we were trying to get away from you lot and that ridiculous game of yours."

Parker perked. "Game?"

"Something about a cat in the woods."

She thought through the previous night's events, and when the card game came to mind, her stomach rolled a second time. Moaning, she willed herself to disappear into a universe where responsibilities didn't exist. "Ugh, no wonder I feel like I'm dying."

"It was a ridiculous game. The amount you drank was ghoulish."

Something rolled in her stomach. "We don't have to—"

"And the rules didn't make any sense. It's all about drinking, drinking, drinking—"

And yep. That did it.

Parker barely made it to the toilet before she was puking up a stomach full of last night's drinks. The bathroom floor was cooler than the kitchen counter, at least, and as she caught her breath, she vowed to never drink again. Or play that retched game.

From the doorway, Jody grimaced. "Sorry."

Parker haphazardly waved her off. "S'fine. Just do me a favor and kill Colt for me, will you? The bastard..."

Jody smiled. "I think he might already be dead."

"What?"

Jody inclined her head to the left, and Parker turned to find her brother curled into a ball in the bathtub. He was wearing his Miami Vice jacket backwards, and his bucket hat was drawn low over his eyes. He was so pale that she might have actually thought he was dead if it wasn't for the quiet groan of misery he let out.

"He's been in here for an hour," she said in lieu of a proper explanation. "Ran in here, threw up, and then passed out in the shower because it felt nice. I decided to leave him. Just seemed easiest."

Parker didn't doubt that.

"What a fucking idiot," she said instead, and though Jody didn't respond, when the blonde sipped her coffee, the smug grin she was wearing made it obvious that she agreed.

---

Two coffees, a greasy bagel, and an antacid tablet later has Parker feeling moderately like a human being. The hangover is still there—teasing the inside of her skull every couple minutes—but it's better now. More manageable, at the very least.

Of course, manageable hangovers at work don't make for good working environments, and as the door rings with the sound of a brass bell, Parker adjusts the sunglasses perched on the edge of her nose.

"Hi, welcome in," she says. Though, when she looks she realizes that it's not a customer, but instead a tween girl with far too much trouble in her eyes. "Oh, it's you."

"You could sound a little more enthusiastic about it," Melissa chides, arms jingling with the sound of too many stacked bracelets to count. She looks pretty today—she looks pretty every day—and though Parker isn't in the mood for vibrant conversation, she can't deny that it's always nice to see her most loyal customer. "I am your number one, afterall."

"Number one...?"

"Customer!" Melissa chirps with a smile as if she can hear Parker's innermost thoughts. She swings closer to the counter with dancing eyes. "I have a couple more ideas I wanted to run by you before tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Sunday," Melissa says slowly, blinking. "Hello? Does painting sound familiar to you?"

Parker pinches the bridge of her nose with a sigh. She's all out of interest in paint; the welts on her ribcage haven't been forgotten, and she can feel something tweaking in her lower back from being bent over for hours at a time.

God, she's old.

"I thought we were about finished."

"Finished? Not even close," Melissa corrects her. She settles her tote bag onto the counter. Her nose scrunches distastefully as she glances around. "We only did the walls. We still have to do the shelves. And I think those will take longer since I want to add some cute detailing to them. Have you thought about shelf liners?"

"What the hell are shelf liners?"

"You know," she gestures. "Like wallpaper, but for shelves."

"That sounds expensive."

"And totally worth it. Look," she sticks her phone across the counter, Pinterest page already pulled up, and starts scrolling. The speed at which she's doing it, however, as Parker's eyes going crossed. She sits back with a groan. "It's not that bad!"

"No, no, it's not..." she starts, then stops. "Can we just talk about this tomorrow?"

Melissa pouts. "Fine, but we'll probably need to start painting first thing, since you can't put the books back up until the shelves dry completely."

"Are we sure this is even necessary?"

"Completely," the girl says, and there's no room left for argument as she pops her hip out. "I told you this place looks so much better already, but the shelves will be worth it. It'll really help everything pop. And I have some ideas about stickers we can use to make cute signs for all the book sections."

Parker sighs. "Don't you go to school?"

"Yeah. And?"

"How do you have time for all of this stuff?" she asks, a floppy hand gesturing half-heartedly to the room around them. She doesn't mean to offend Melissa in any way, but she can't imagine that there's a teen girl out there who spends all of her time dedicated to fixing up a dilapidated bookstore. "Shouldn't you be in, I don't know, cheerleading or something?"

Melissa shoots her a tart expression. "Cheerleading is so totally dated, Park. Sexist, too. They just have skinny girls wearing tiny little skirts for the objective male gaze."

"...right."

"Besides," she continues, bracelets jangling as she pops a piece of gum into her mouth. "I love this place."

Even more bewildered, Parker repeats herself. "...right."

"Speaking of—" Melissa says, and when she leans against the counter there's a waft of vanilla and lemon perfume. Parker almost gets sick at the strength of it, and she sips her coffee with a grimace. "When are you going to hire me?"

"I already did."

"For real," Melissa asserts, digging her heels in. "You said you'd think about it, and you've had plenty of time. I mean all you do is hang out here."

"Okay, ouch."

"I want a job."

"Can we talk about this tomorrow too?" Parker whines. She knows she's the adult in the situation, but... well, she really doesn't want to be. The idea of doing math and taxes has her head spinning painfully. "I'm—I have a headache."

Melissa narrows her eyes at that. Smarter beyond her years, the girl doesn't miss much, and when she leans across the counter, Parker wishes her sweatshirt would swallow her whole. "What's up with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look bad."

"Oh, gee, thanks."

She waves a hand indifferently, and squints. "Not like that. I mean you look like you're sick. Are you sick?"

Her stomach roils, and Parker tries to hide the uncomfortable wince behind another sip of scalding black coffee. "A bit."

"You were fine on Wednesday."

"Must have caught something," she lies. The last thing she needed to do is be blamed for being a bad influence on a teenager.

Melissa furrows her brows, reaching to plant a palm against Parker's forehead. She tries to duck it, but only manages to send the room spinning a second time. "You don't feel like you have a fever."

"Twenty four hour bug I guess," she says, waving a hand as if it really was that simple. It wasn't, and when she bends down to scoop a pile of books off the ground her vision flashes white. Colt was such a fucking bastard. "Ugh."

"Oh. My. God."

She slams her eyes shut, head steepled between three fingers, already knowing what was about to come. Parker really can't handle Melissa's high-pitched tone of judgement, however, and considers just giving the girl the keys to the store right then and there. "Don't."

"Are you—?"

"No."

"—hungover?" Melissa finished anyways. She whispered the word like it was some big secret, but by the way that her eyes widened and her mouth pulled into a sneaky grin, it was obvious that the news was all too interesting to her. Especially when Parker didn't answer her right away. "Oh my god! You totally are!"

The boom of her voice had Parker's head hurting, and she let her head fall into her hands with a groan. It was a saving grace that the store was empty.

Well, not entirely a saving grace considering she needed customers, but...

"What happened?" Melissa pried. "Did you go on a date last night?"

"You think I would get black out drunk on a date?" she asked.

The girl shrugged. "I don't know, maybe it went really well."

Parker rubbed her temple wearily. "You're not going on dates are you? Because you shouldn't be getting black out on the first one, ever. That's dating one-o-one."

"Oh, whatever," she flipped a perfectly manicured hand at Parker before settling further onto the counter. It was obvious that she had sunk her teeth into the subject. The last time she done that, she convinced Parker to repaint the entire store. Hopefully, this one wouldn't be as expensive. "Not a date then. What'd you do?"

Parker sighed. "It was Colt's birthday party."

Melissa ooh-ed with a dreamy smile. "I can't wait until I can drink. Legally, I mean. Obviously I've tried beer before," she said with batted eyelashes. It seemed that she was completely ignoring the very real reality of what happened when one drank too much, and Parker rolled her eyes. "Why did you come in today? When my brother drank a lot at Christmas he was in bed until dinner the next day. Mom said he had the flu, but, like, come on."

Parker gave a half-hearted hum. Any other day a glimpse into Melissa's home life would have amused her—teenagers nowadays really did baffle her—but at the moment she didn't have the mental capacity to do much other than try not to die. "I had to open the shop."

To that, Melissa grinned. "Well, if you had another employee..."

"Oh, please, Melissa," Parker threw up a hand with a groan. "Seriously. Not today. I'm weak willed. I can't have this conversation; I'm not in the right mind, and nothing will be legally binding."

"I'm just saying!" the girl threw up her own hands with a laugh. There was something conniving about it, though. Something glittering in her eyes. "If you had another employee, then you would be able to take a morning off every once in a while. How is that a bad thing?"

"You're taking advantage of me," Parker pointed out with a sour frown.

"Actually, you could argue that I'm trying to help you."

"Hmph."

"But, now that we're on the subject," she continued, eyes flapping like Bambi as she walked a slow circle. Only, Parker got the distinct impression that she was a hen stuck with a fox, and as she wiggled her sunglasses nervously, she tried to remind herself that she was the adult in the conversation. "The store looks way nicer, and you've been getting compliments from people, and I still have a lot more ideas for what else we could do. Don't you think that hiring me would benefit us both? We could start doing work throughout the week which means you would get your Sundays back to yourself."

Parker slumped onto her hands. "Are the devil?"

"Parker," she whined, returning to the counter where she delicately propped her head on two palms, ever the essence of beauty and grace. "Please?"

The throbbing in her head hadn't gone away, and the sweat dripping down her back was as uncomfortable as it was gross. Parker had avoided every mirror in her house that morning knowing that however she looked wasn't pretty, and having someone actually pretty blinking at her made Parker feel slightly violent.

And sick.

And, well, maybe having a second employee around for the days that she was sick wasn't the worst idea out there. Not to mention that Melissa had garnered her lots of compliments over the past couple of weeks, and the store did look the best it ever had. The girl had good ideas, Parker couldn't deny that. And she certainly didn't lack a work ethic. She had been begging for a job for weeks now, and didn't once skimp on her painting responsibilities when they came together on the weekends. If anything, she was giving herself more to do every time she came.

She let out a long, self-suffering sigh. "...alright."

Melissa froze. "Really?"

"Part time, three days a week, and Saturday mornings."

"Really?"

"And I'm not paying more than minimum wage."

Her eyes were the size of saucers, waiting on baited breath, as she asked a third time, "really?!"

Slowly, Parker nodded. "Really."

Melissa jumped, squealing, and if her head hadn't hurt earlier, it was like an elephant coming through in a parade. Hand up, she said, "okay, okay, but you have to stop before I hurl. Seriously, this energy is... not a good way to start out as an employee."

"This is so sick," Melissa said anyway, unfazed by Parker's white-washed face. "I still think we should do liners for the shelves, and little gold accents, but that'll take a while, so maybe tomorrow we just start with painting this section—"

She gestured as she talked, and she talked a lot. And though Parker was only half paying attention, she hummed and nodded when appropriate. Afterall, the store did look so much better, and she could use another employee. Particularly one as clever as Melissa.

Sipping her coffee, she smiled.

Until she felt another wave of nausea.

One of these days, she swore, she would seriously kick her brother's ass.

---

Crave Cafe, only two blocks down from her own bookstore, was like stepping into a different world. The cafe itself was beautifully decorated, vintage artwork on the wall, string of pearls hanging from rope baskets in the corners, with soft LED lights in the shape of lightning bolts and cappuccinos on the wall. Discolored and misshapen mugs could be seen scattered throughout the inside, with every odd table occupied by varying individuals. Chatter echoed throughout over the sound of coffee grinders and a Spotify playlist, and though Parker was always a little sore that Crave's clientele didn't show much interest in her own storefront, she had to admit that it was her favorite place around.

Not just because the coffee was cheap, the bread always freshly made, and the general ambiance, but also because the manager, a young man named Harry, was always happy to see her.

"Don't tell me you're working again today," he said while setting about putting her order together. "I thought you were closed on Sundays."

Parker shrugged. She felt much better today, having a full night's sleep and a long shower, and though she was about to go back to more painting, she was in an arguably good mood. "Melissa's taken over the store, I'm afraid. She keeps seeing stuff on Pinterest that she's wants to try."

"Too scared to tell her no?"

"Is it lame if I say yes?"

Harry laughed, slinging a pink and yellow patterned towel over his shoulder. "I can't say I blame you. Kids nowadays are frightening. I have my own group that hangs around for hours that I'm too afraid to shoo away. When did girls get so intimidating?"

Parker followed his line of sight to a trio of teen girls. They ducked their heads at being spotted, giggles erupting from their table. "I think you're teens are a little different than mine," she pointed out with an arched brow. "Namely, Melissa isn't hoping I'll ask her to the prom."

Harry laughed at that. Parker didn't wonder why there were teen girls ogling him—he was an objectively attractive guy, white teeth, nice tattoos, good sense of humor, and the odd finger painted black, he was practically a knockoff Pete Davidson. Apparently, that was what every girl wanted nowadays. "Not that you know of, anyway," he teased while working the frother. "I'll have to come over and check it out for myself. Bet it looks nice."

She rolled her eyes with a snort. "Anything looks nicer than it looked before," she said. "I did finally get rid of that weird smell though. Score for me. Only took three gallons of Pine Sol and way too many candles. Which, I think are actually toxic but whatever. A wins a win."

He laughed again while sliding her coffees across the counter. "How late do you think you'll be there today?"

"Knowing Melissa? Till midnight. She's a bit of a hard ass."

"Perfect. I'll stop by after my shift."

"That's very presumptuous of you," she chirped, smiling. It was hard not to smile when talking to Harry. She wasn't naive enough to ignore his flirting; particularly when she stopped by three times a week for her caffeine fix. But Harry was like every other surfer in California—flaky, flirty, and trouble. Not her type in the slightest, but he was a friend, and often gave her coffee on the house. "But, if you must, bring me a bagel?"

He winked. "Anything for a pretty girl."

Parker shook her head with a smile and gathered her coffees and sandwiches up before leaving. The table of teenagers shot her dirty looks when she walked by, to which she smiled right back.

The walk back to her shop was short, stalled only when she stopped to pet a slumbering bulldog along the sidewalk. The bell overhead jingled when she entered. Despite the CLOSED sign on the door, she never bothered to lock up when they were painting. If someone was stupid enough to stumble in, she figured they would be stupid enough to fork over some cash on a book or two. And Parker would never say no to cash.

"I got the coffees!" she called when Melissa didn't immediately come to the front. Music played softly on the speakers, but the store seemed empty. Shelves had been shifted to the side with stacks of books off to the other, and the tarp crinkled under her sneakers as she walked over it. "Melissa? Hello? Did you...?"

Trailing back further proved that Melissa wasn't ignoring her, but instead in an adamant conversation.

A conversation with none other than Tom Ryder.

Parker stopped short. "Tom?"

The pair turned to her. Melissa's face was flushed, and her cheeks were split in two from the width of her smile. Her chest was heaving as if she had just been talking nonstop. Which, likely, she had.

And despite the fact that he was being mobbed by a teenager, Tom didn't seem to mind one bit. In fact, he was standing casually bent against the ladder, brows relaxed, shoulders loose underneath his expensive leather jacket. And though she expected him to greet her—like friends did—the first thing out of his mouth was, "I was wondering when you got a sense of style, before realizing that you were outsourcing to this one."

"I—what?"

Tom gestured to the bookstore as Melissa grabbed her Chai latte out of Parker's hands without so much as a thank you. "The color is much more modern, and the gold accenting really brings things together. Could use some better wall decor, but I'd bet anything nice is out of your budget."

Parker blinked. At him. Then at Melissa. "What?"

Melissa, still grinning, waved an emphatic hand at the celebrity standing across from her. "Mr. Ryder—"

"Melissa, come on, I already told you to call me Tom. We're friends, aren't we?"

She paused, flushing under his gentle comment, before tucking some loose hair behind her ear with an even bigger grin. Parker rolled her eyes at the act of it all. "Tom stopped by to talk to you, but since you were out, I let him in. He was wondering what we were painting, so I showed him what we are doing today, and then I showed him what we've done the last couple of weeks."

"Stellar, really," he chimed in. She beamed beneath his praise, and Parker swore a helicopter could have caught the brightness of her teeth from a mile away. "I think she's done a great job so far."

"I helped," Parker reminded him indignantly. Not just because he was quite obviously playing it up for the attention, but also because she was so thrown by his presence in the first place that she felt uncomfortable having walked in on them talking. "Paid it for it, too."

He acted like he hadn't even heard her. "I'll have to come back when it's finished. What design of shelf liner do you'll think you'll get?"

"I'm not totally sure. I really like the dark, forest style, with the birds and branches. But I also think that the brighter gold style would look good set against the books."

"Wait, I thought I said no to the shelf liners?" Parker interrupted.

"To which I reminded you that it would look so good," Melissa shot back. When she remembered who she was talking to, however, she gestured shyly to Tom. "Besides, he thinks it would look good too. So, that's two opinions against one, right?"

"What—he doesn't work here!" Parker exclaimed, feeling a bit like she had stumbled into the Twilight Zone. Since when did Tom Ryder have any opinion about her store besides thinking it was dirty? And since when did she care about his opinion in the first place? "It doesn't matter what he thinks."

"Should," Tom added. He looked much too smug in that moment, yet, when Melissa glanced at him, his smirk became gentler. "I mean, I do have a good eye for this sort of thing. And I'm a paying customer. Doesn't hurt to listen to your customers every once in a while does it?"

"I have the right to kick out customers, you know," she warned.

Melissa didn't like that one bit, and her voice pitched in horror. "Parker! You can't—come on. He's—you know—Tom Ryder," she said, enunciating every syllable as if Parker wasn't aware of who had stumbled into her store when it was supposed to be closed. Tom, on the other hand, pointed right back at Melissa smugly.

As if to say, yeah, I'm Tom Ryder.

Sighing, Parker pinched the bridge of her nose. Yesterday's headache seemed to be coming back full force. "I know who he is, and I don't care. And I think it's time for your break now. Sandwich?"

Melissa glanced between said sandwich, her boss, and her celebrity crush for a long moment, before accepting it with a frown. "Thirty minutes?"

"Sure."

Her mood was obviously glum as she glanced between them both once more before stalking towards the back room. She paused in the doorway. "It was nice meeting you."

Tom, for what he was worth, never missed with a grin. "Likewise. I'm glad that someone working here has a sense of style."

And just that like her glum mood vanished. Melissa smiled, blushed, and disappeared into the back room with a pep in her step. When she was gone, Tom returned his attention to Parker.

"Is that for me?" he asked. Though, he didn't even wait for an answer before he was swiping the coffee out of her hand and taking a sip. If looks could kill, it was a good thing there was already a tarp spread out beneath his feet. He furrowed his brows. "Is this an americano?"

"Yes. Mine," she snarked, grabbing it back with a huff. "Why would I have gotten you a coffee? I didn't even know you were here."

He shrugged. "Feeling generous?"

"Why are you here? We're technically closed today."

"The door was unlocked," he said, and Parker's thoughts returned to her earlier sentiments. Stupid indeed. "I do like the paint. Looks cleaner. Not so sad, anymore."

"My store wasn't sad."

"Alright, ugly."

She trailed towards the front counter with a sigh. Part of her was amused—it was nice to have someone to banter back and forth it, particularly someone like Tom—but the more sane part of her was annoyed. Only he would come drink her coffee and then insult her bookstore.

And only he would be allowed to do that. Why was that?

"Are you here for more book recommendations?" she asked, forcibly moving the conversation along as she began to unwrap her turkey, cheese, and bacon sandwich. The bread crumbled in her hands, and Parker's stomach growled at the smell. "Obviously it's a little messy right now, but I could pull a few more out for you."

He shook his head; both to shake loose fringe out of his eyes and to give her a undiscernible look. "You seem to have recovered from the party Friday night. I was pretty certain either you or Colt would be dead by now."

"And yet you didn't call," she deadpanned. "How touching."

Tom's mouth quirked at the side, and he took another long sip of her coffee. He didn't even seem to care that it wasn't his own. "Is he alright then?"

She hummed around a bite of turkey. "By the time I left yesterday morning he was sleeping it off in the bathtub. So, not really any different than last year."

"What did you do last year?"

Parker couldn't really remember, she just knew that there was a whole lot of alcohol involved, and someone set off fireworks that got them in trouble with the neighbors. "Had a poker night, I think. I don't really remember much after someone got the absinthe out though."

To that, he did laugh. Though, he shook his head and glanced away as if he didn't want her to know that he did. "I always thought that Colt was trouble, but you're no better, are you? The two of you last night drank half a cooler worth of beer."

She shrugged, completely unperturbed. Mostly because she knew he was teasing, and only slightly because she knew his partying habits would outshine hers any day. "If I recall I was asking you to drink more with us," she pointed out with a snooty look. "You were the one refusing to join in. Something about the drinks being too low brow or something."

"It wasn't the brand that kept me from drinking," he retorted. Parker didn't believe that for a second though, and when he caught the arch of her eyebrow, he rolled his eyes. "I couldn't keep up with your stupid game, alright?"

"Just admit that you're a lightweight, Ryder. I won't judge you."

"I'm not a lightweight."

"Acceptance is the first step."

"You're so fucking annoying," he said with an eyeroll. But then he was peeking at her over the counter and when their gazes met, the pair dissolved into a fit of laughter. It was a nice sound; one that she quite liked earning. Parker remembered he laughed a lot at the beach, even if she didn't always remember why he was laughing. "Whatever. You better not drink that much at my party or else I'll have you kicked out myself. Just because there's any open bar doesn't mean you need to drink everything in sight, yeah?"

Parker furrowed her brows at him. "Party?" she asked.

Tom shifted on his feet, pushing off where he had been leaning on his elbows to pluck a nearby book off the counter. Absentmindedly, he flipped through it. "My party on Friday. To announce my part in the movie. You and Colt are coming, aren't you?" he said, as if this was a conversation they had before, and not something he was springing on her out of the blue.

Her first response was to make some sort of scathing response about how she wouldn't be caught dead at one of his parties. But, Parker couldn't help but notice how he shifted on his feet, how he was avoiding her gaze.

What could someone like you ever have to be anxious about? she had asked him that fateful day in the bathroom. It was so out of character then.

But now?

Tom Ryder was an asshole, but he was also a person.

She set her sandwich down onto the parchment paper. "I didn't realize we were going to be invited. Is that alright with Gail?"

He responded with a derisive snort. "It's my party. Besides, there's over a hundred people on the guest list. She won't even realize you're there. As long as you don't dress like you normally do, that is."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His blue eyes swept over her hair, to her paint stained sweatshirt that he had now seen her wearing twice, and then to the store around them. "It's going to be an upscale party. Important people are going to be there. I can't have you and Colt running around like idiots, getting drunk, and ruining mink rugs."

"Do you have mink rugs?" she shot back.

"Of course I don't have mink rugs."

"Then problem solved," she said, waving a hand at him. It certainly didn't answer all of his points, however, and when Tom stopped flipping through his book to shoot her a glare, Parker conceded with a sigh. "Alright. We'll dress nice. I won't spill anything on my pants. And Colt will be on his best behavior."

"Good."

"On one condition."

Tom's eye twitched. "You can't be serious."

"Colt get's a plus-one," she said anyway, ignoring the knit of his brows or the pull of his mouth. He responded just as she expected, with a long suffering sigh and an eyeroll. "Oh, come on! He'll bring Jody, and no one is better at keeping an eye on him than her. Plus, you're right. We're not going to know anyone there. We'll stay in our own little pathetic poor people bubble. And if you do get annoyed with us, you can kick me out yourself. I bet you'd love that."

He sighed a second time, relaxing onto the counter. "I don't invite set hands to my house," he pointed out. Though, it was a bit of a moot point, wasn't it? Considering the fact that he was doing just that—and, if Parker had to guess—without Gail's stamp of approval. Not to mention the fact that his tone was soft. Not harsh or judgmental.

Just arguing for the sake of arguing.

Parker smiled at him. "First time for everything, right? I'll even tip off the pap. You might get some good press out of this," she teased.

And though he was playing the victim, Tom's mouth curved into a crooked smile anyway. Still, he made a roll of rolling his eyes a second time. "Fine. But seriously? Best behavior."

She wiggled her fingers at him in a mock salute. "Promise."

They stared at one another. His eyes, deep and bright, searching for something she wasn't quite sure. Her own, light and gentle, taking in everything. It never cased to surprise Parker just how handsome he was—no matter how much she wished that she was just making it up, or that his ego wasn't deserved—Tom Ryder was beautiful.

And when he smiled, she couldn't help but think he looked so much better like this than he did in all those over-touched advertisements. Here, now, he looked happy. Effortless. Real as he took another sip of his coffee. Eyes crinkled and teasing, mouth curved around the plastic lid, hair air dried but perfectly swept towards his temples.

He was—

"Hang on a minute. That's my coffee you ass!"

The ass, knowing now that he had been caught, set the empty cup back onto the counter with an empty thud, before attempting to make off with her sandwich too. And as he laughed, she was certain that she was finally starting to see the real Tom Ryder.

She kept that in mind when she let him see the real Parker Seavers, and leapt across the counter after him.

[mountain-lion-gremlin]

a good reason to leave for me:

i honestly think it would be safer for me and therians to not be in the same space sometimes haha. P-shifting isn't safe for many and it can really hurt others.

Although I would love to stay, I know that it's probably safer for everyone to no longer teach it and keep to myself about things that involve how to shift and such.

P-shifting isn't a joke and can harm people who suffer from mental issues and other things of that sort. Its just not safe to teach in a large public space. It's something only some can stomach and be safe while doing. Plus some communities that are too unregulated exist and may mess with people's reality and how they perceive it. Some are too open to allow people to start p-shifting right off the bat and it's just too dangerous that way. (including those that say "oh just wait you will shift eventually but you cant control it at all" those are even worse.)

Theres a very good reason why newer communities are very apprehensive about teaching, or telling, or allowing new people who know nothing about it just hop in and start shifting. Usually if you are coming to the "learning" community (as in, you are following steps laid out by others to understand your identity) there is guidelines, there are warnings, etc. It's just too risky to not follow these guidelines and not listen to the warnings.

Dont start p-shifting right when you find out. Take the time to start a journal. Understand that what you are getting into isn't something that will make you cool or quirky. You risk your mental health if you are not careful. You have to be born to be a p-shifter. You must first mental shift before you can even think about p-shifting. P-shifting is not easy and will take years to even get to a point where you start getting somewhere physically.

The list goes on. When someone who is teaching shifting slacks in saying these things, you can harm someone. It takes a very long time to even get to the point where you may be ready to p-shift. Some never will p-shift. You have to accept these realities too. Not to mention how some older guides, although effective, can be so incredibly risky. (Such as completely shutting out the world and being an animal 24/7. Some people just take it too far and do it too early and ruin themselves.) Its just not worth it sometimes.

Thats why I'm leaving Tumblr. Too open, not safe for neither me nor others looking in. I know I usually don't have these sorts of posts, but I just saw someone in an anon saying how unstable their reality and they were after lurking in the community and it just.... its just so hard to see. Nobody deserves that sort of mental torture. Sometimes I forget that p-shifting actually can be dangerous to some if nobody teaches how important it is to regulate yourself, check in on yourself, and remember that p-shifting isn't for the faint of heart.

It's only for those who have spent so much time over years of their journey, exploring themselves, askong questions, taking breaks, questioning themselves so many times, and checking in, to finally be able to claim that they are able to p-shift. (There is so much more to it than that obviously.) My fourth year of shifting is coming up, and after so long I might be ready to leave the online community permanently and start my journey. (of physically shifting i mean. I spend more time teaching others rather than doing the practice itself right now lol. When i say p-shifting im trying to refer to the whole process, but really talking about the mental shifting and phantom shifting etc. Sorry if its been unclear, many know the whole community as "p-shifters" when in reality "p-shifters" are only those who havw actually preformed a p-shift. I havent yet in my conscious memory so i just call myself a shifter or nonhuman.)

Please be safe. Please, if you are curious about the p-shifting community, remember that it is a mixed bag and not for everyone. As always any community can be a mixed bag, but p-shifting "learning" communities can spiral and be too lax on the warnings and importance of these warnings.

Thats all. (make sure to read all tags fully too.)

[itstimeforstarwars]

Needs to be fashionable for people of all genders to wear dresses and wizard robes for any occasion because I am fucking tired of mending thigh holes in my jeans.

[onewakingworld]

My three summers of challenge course facilitator training are SCREAMING at whatever is going on with Rory and Logan jumping off that tower

[yup-no-way]

Astro Observations pt. 3

Hi there! So here comes another astro observations post. But before I have to rant. Man…uni is kicking me in the butt (average engineering student). Like wdym I have a month till my finals and I have a research paper, 3 projects, 2 lab reports, 2 Tests and one lab exam due. And I have to start studying for my finals as well. ߹ ᯅ ߹

These observations are based on my personal experiences so don’t take it as full facts. These placements can also be influenced by other things in someone’s chart like degrees, houses and aspects. Also if u have any suggestions for what content you’d like to see feel free to let me know. English is not my first language lads so don’t drag me for grammatical errors. xoxo

Venus trine Ascended aspect: how does it feel to be life’s favourite . Like these people just have it like that. They are genuinely beautiful people and while that can manifest as conventional attractive, from my personal experience, their beauty is very unique , depending on other aspects in their chart. But whatever style of beauty they have, they embody it fully and they turn eyes wherever they go. Also these are the type of people who’s beauty is influenced by how they feel about themselves so if you practice self love and acceptance then that’s when you radiate the most.

Pluto 10h: huuuuge issues with authority figures. Mostly these people fall into 2 categories. First one, they always feel suppressed but push back therefore getting into arguments with those authority figures. Second one, they feel suppressed but don’t say anything, they prefer to lay low and not confront those issues. Overall for each case it’s a heavy placement and causes heavy friction in your life. These people also almost 100% have (or had) a lot of arguments with their parents. BUT, if you channel this energy by learning how to play the cards you’ve been dealt and manipulate situations without coming so upfront then this placement is so powerful, especially in regards to career. CEO energy. These people rlly would much rather work for themselves. I could go on hours talking ab Pluto, but I’ll leave it for another post because this planet is so interesting and people need to learn how to harness its energy better.

Lilith Gemini: worst nightmare for these people? Being perceived as dumb. They will rather be called ugly, weird etc. than being called stupid. And the best part? They aren’t stupid at all. Their most cunning aspect? Their intelligence. For some, they might’ve actually been perceived as slow when younger but worked hard just to not be associated with that imagine anymore.

4th house in Gemini: for a lot of these people, their home never felt that welcoming when young. This placement indicated a home/environment where growing intellectually/academically was very important (more important than their emotional state). Geminis 4th house experienced a lot of shame regarding their grades in their home/school or faced immense pressure to be “the first in class”. Also, this placement can be harder to navigate because due to the lack of support they might’ve felt in their environment. I wanna give you guys a big hug, seriously. You are more than your academics. Lots of love to yous xoxo

Venus trine Pluto: these people are magnetic. They are also mostly perceived way differently than they are (kinda sad tbh). So many people with this placement are hard to approach, even if they are genuinely nice people, at least once in their life, someone told them they look intimidating. This placement might not get hit on as much because of it. People tend to have fantasies regarding this collective, specifically in the house of your Pluto. For example if you have a Pluto in the 2nd house, they might fantasise about you taking them out for a shopping spree or them taking you out and spoiling you. If you have Pluto 10th house, then maybe they are very attracted to your work persona and might fantasise about some forbidden work love. You get the point. This placement is very intense but it can attract unhealthy relationships. You need to learn your toxic pattern and make sure you do not repeat it.

I hope you guys enjoyed this as well! I will be diversifying my content soon, I just had some more placements I wanted to talk about before I start smth new. Also I don’t have that many observations today since I have been focused on writing another Astro blog that is coming soon (I am so exited). Before my next astro observations post I’ll need to gather more info (aka psychoanalyse all my friends and the people around me)

Till next time xoxo

[secretl1fe0fm3]

im humbly asking for a fic with 4 & 45 anyways i adore your fics ty bb

caught on camera - billie eilish x fem!reader

prompt #4: “why don’t we film it?”

prompt #45: “what would they think if they could see you now, hm?”

warnings: smut, dom!billie, strap(r!receiving), slight degradation, dirty talk, filming kink

an: another prompt list request :3 still have over 15+ to do and i am getting to everyones i promise!! also, working on a vampire!billie fic right now and debating on doing multiple parts :P hehe we shall see, but anyways, this is filthy, enjoy!! (thank you for your request chalaghosts, i love youuuuuu<3)

18+ minors dni!!!

The hotel suite was quiet, the kind of quiet that made everything feel heavier, thick with anticipation. Billie stood a few feet away, shirtless in a black push up bra and her purple strap already snug on her hips, watching you intently.

You were kneeling on the bed, bare under her oversized tee, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. You’d been squirming under her gaze since she buckled the harness, and she knew it.

Her phone was in her hand. She tilted it slightly, thumb hovering over the screen, breaking the silence with a question that made you still.

“Why don’t we film it?”

You blinked at her, heat rushing straight to your core. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said, stepping closer. “Want you to see how you look when you’re all fucked out.”

Her words hit you hard as your thighs instinctively pressed together. You sucked in a deep breath, closing your eyes, hesitating before nodding your head in agreement.

“I—yeah, okay…”

She smirked. “Thought so.”

Billie set the phone up on the nightstand, angling it toward the mirror at the foot of the bed. The camera would catch everything at that angle, your body, your face, the way she was about to absolutely ruin you.

“Hands and knees,” she said, voice sharp and commanding.

You moved without hesitation this time, the mattress shifting beneath you. In the reflection of the mirror, you looked flushed, mouth parted, your breath already shaky. Billie climbed onto the bed behind you and spread your knees apart with her thigh.

“Look at you,” she murmured, brushing the strap against your folds, teasing you. “Dripping before I’ve even touched you properly.”

She leaned in close, lips ghosting your ear as she smacked your ass, watching the skin turn a light shade of red. “You want them to see you like this, don’t you?”

“I don’t—” you gasped out quickly, cheeks burning from embarrassment, but the wetness between your legs only seemed to grow.

She gripped your chin, forcing your gaze to the mirror. “Don’t lie. You love it.”

And then she slowly pushed in, letting every inch fill you while you clutched at the sheets, knuckles turning white.

“Goddamn,” Billie groaned, her grip tightening on your hips. “You take it so well. Every fucking time.”

She pulled the strap out before pushing in again quickly, the rhythm building with each thrust. Her abs flexed, hair falling over her face as her eyebrows furrowed, focusing on fucking you with fever. You could barely hold yourself up as you pushed back, meeting her hips with every thrust.

“See that?” she asked, nodding toward the mirror, her hand fisted in your hair. “That’s you. Taking my cock like you were made for it.”

A moan spilled out before you could stop it. Billie growled in satisfaction at the sound, her hips speeding up.

“Louder. Don’t be shy now. Let them hear how good you sound when I fuck you pretty girl.”

Your body moved with hers, every thrust seemed to hit deeper and deeper. Sweat clung to your spine as your back arched painfully, desperate whimpers falling from your lips before Billie’s voice cut through the obscene sounds.

“What would they think if they could see you now, hm?”

A sharp thrust punctuated the question. “If they saw you like this, fucked out and moaning into the mattress for me.”

You whined, your body burning as white hot pleasure started to coil in your lower stomach. Billie’s fingers slipped between your legs, rubbing your clit in firm, deliberate circles.

“That’s it,” she murmured. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

Your eyes met hers in the mirror. The way she looked at you alone was enough to push you over the edge.

You came hard, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, moans catching in your throat, body trembling as Billie kept fucking you through it, the camera still rolling.

She didn’t pull out until your legs started to shake, a sign of your overstimulation. Billie eased herself out of you, reaching for the phone on the nightstand, turning it off and tossing it onto the mattress beside you.

She leaned down, kissing your spine. “We’re watching that together later.”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a wrecked whimper as Billie pulled you into her arms, rubbing soothing circles over your hips.

“You’re gonna love how pretty you look when you fall apart for me.”

prompt list

my masterlist

[rhiannonsknife]

okay hear me out. french-canadian shauna who’s first language is french.. (unrealistic i know) that defaults to babbling out phrases and sentences in her first language when she’s being fucked by reader w/ a strap ..

Like i’m not super confident w how i’m suggesting this but .. if that makes any sense!

— 🐾

listen: i do not speak french. i actually failed french in school, and this is a mix of poorly done research, google translate, and a friend of mine who didn’t fail her classes and was actually decent at it. nsfw content. mdni.

there are plenty of things you’ve learned to love about shauna shipman in the months you’ve been dating. in fact, there are countless of quirks and habits you’ve fallen even more in love with over time.

and yet, there’s one thing in particular you’ve developed a bit of a soft spot for.

her french.

you hadn’t even known she spoke it until the first time shauna brought you home and greeted her mother in a fluent string of words that left you blinking in surprise.

from that moment on, you found yourself listening for it.

not just the casual kind, though you love that, too: the quiet mutterings when she’s annoyed, or the half translated thoughts slipping past her lips when she’s distracted and isn’t paying attention to what she’s saying.

not even the filthy things she sometimes murmurs against your skin, knowing exactly what it does to you.

(shauna will lean in close then, her breath warm against your ear, and murmur things she knows you don’t fully understand but feel all the same. “t’es si belle comme ça,” she’ll purr from behind as her fingers find your nipples under your shirt. “so douce…j’ai envie de te goûter…”)

but no, your favorite kind of french is when shauna is the one losing control.

when you’ve got her before you, on all fours or riding you so hard that the bed is creaking dangerously underneath the shared weight of your bodies. the times she is so drunk on your strap, she doesn’t even realize her brain has switched languages because she’s so caught up in you and her moans dissolve into desperate ‘putains’ or other slurred curses.

moments like right now; a rare opportunity that only comes when her house is empty, letting you be as loud as you please without worrying that her mom will hear everything downstairs from shauna’s attic room.

you’ve got the harness fastened on, its straps sitting snugly around your waist as you watch shauna’s cunt greedily taking the silicone cock attached to it, arousal dripping onto the bedsheets and your thighs. she’s bouncing on the toy’s shaft, both of her eyes shut tightly and her hands resting firmly on your shoulder. that’s what you’ve been doing for the past hours: watching in amazement as your girlfriend took what she needed from you, her low cries echoing each time the strap stroked against her g-spot.

your own body is pulsing, aching to be touched for any kind of relief as shauna whines and rests her forehead against yours. she’s no longer bouncing on your strap at this point, just rutting back and forth in short, desperate thrusts while chasing her release.

“oh,” she moans when, suddenly, you take her by the hips and spin her around, smoothly positing yourself between her open legs without losing momentum. for a second, her eyes widen in surprise, but she shuts them again once you begin thrusting your hips forward in the new position, fucking shauna deeper.

“mhm,” she whines as her head falls back into the pillows. “oh- mon dieu- yes right there! baise-moi!”

it’s a barely coherent mix of languages, the pleasure too much to tell the difference between the two. it’s the result of all these hours spent behind locked doors in her room since the moment mrs. shipman had announced that she was leaving for the night.

now that the words are practically stumbling from her lips and her thighs start to tremble, you can tell shauna is close.

“plus fort!” she begs, trying to pick up the pace by lifting her hips up and meeting you halfway. you wouldn’t deny her after all this time of agonizingly slow movements and teasing flicks of your tongue and fingers against her stiff clit. so, with the little french you have learned this far, you fuck shauna harder like she’s asked you to.

“fuck yes!” shauna’s fingers around you tighten their grip, nails scratching red marks down the length of your spine. “continue comme ça!”

as if you'd ever stop.

“yes, oh my-“ she babbles, one hand falling between her legs to work on her clit, the other holding onto you for dear life. “tu me fais me sentir si bien!”

you don’t need to know what she’s saying to understand that it feels good. shauna arches up against you, working frantic circles around her clit. this is the stimulation she’s been missing before, the one thing between her and a mind-blowing orgasm.

she is moaning incoherent versions of your name and french curses as her legs spread wider and tighten around your waist, forcing you deeper.

the relentless clenching of her walls around the strap and a breathless: ‘fuck, je jouis’ is all of a warning you get before shauna is falling apart beneath you. her body squirms on the sheets and her fingers curl to fists in your hair as she cums. shauna’s mouth hangs open in a silent scream while she rides out the waves of her orgasm, her hips uselessly grinding against the toy attached to you until she’s got no strength left in her and collapses on the bed.

you roam her sides soothingly, caressing up her ribs and across her chest while she recovers.

“are you okay?” you murmur after a while of shauna lying motionless with both eyes closed, her breathing still slightly uneven. “was that good for you?” she hums softly in response, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles. she doesn’t open her eyes just yet, just tilts her head slightly toward you.

“mmm…c’était parfait,” shauna whispers, voice drowsy. her fingers find yours on the blankets, tracing circles against your skin.

“yeah?”

“bien sûr,” she sighs, finally opening her eyes. she shifts just enough to press a kiss to your shoulder. “toujours parfait avec toi”

[ennabear]

Hiii! I just read the tittie obsessed sevika (i get her) and omfg TITTIE FUCKING?? DO YOU WANT ME TO DIEEE???. I love your writing XX

HAIII BABYYYYY hehehe i was originally just gonna say thanks and i love u but i need to expand on the loser!titty lover!sevika agenda so here’s another blurb!!!!! please don’t dieeeee i love u so much 😭😭

ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ men + minors dni

not a day goes by where sevika leaves your tits alone. the first thing she does when she wakes up is rolls over and gropes your chest, mumbling something sleepily about how much she loves your body and mind. you wake up to her with her big, warm hands pinching your nipples every morning, instantly giggling and blushing and rolling over to kiss her pretty face.

she’ll grab onto them even more as the two of you get dressed, pouting and whining when you cover them up with a shirt or a bra (or worse— both.) when you come to visit her at the bar, she’ll yank your top down like nobody’s business. staring down your cleavage without a care in the world, but shooting one of her signature deadly glares to anyone else who dares to peek.

sometimes she doesn’t even mean to stare, it’s just where her eyes naturally rest when she zones out, the curves and valleys of your tits a familiar, comforting sight. and by night, once you have her settled down and taken care of, she’ll fall asleep with one of your nipples in her mouth, forming a river of drool that trails down between them.

so when you bring up titty fucking to her? explaining to her how badly you wanna have her thick strap sliding in between your tits? she cries. happy tears, of course, but she falls to her knees and sobs into the front of your shirt, repeating something like, ���i— i just can’t… believe… that you’re mine.”

she’s giddy with excitement the whole day, it drives you nuts. partially because she’s so goddamn annoying, but partially because it turns you on so much you can hardly see straight. she has a different twinkle in her eye, something more like a red-hot flame lighting her usual innocent, sparkly eyes. she’s practically humping you when she wakes up, responding to your “keep it in your pants, sev.” with a snarky, “guess i’ll just save it for later.”

when you arrive at the bar to steal her from silco, she’s not even playing cards with her usual crowd or having a drink at the bar. in fact, she almost runs into you as you enter, eager to make her way home to you. you can feel the excitement buzzing in her veins as she walks beside you, forgoing her cape to drape it around you because the arousing heat pooling in her core is more than enough to keep her warm.

the front door doesn’t even close before she has you pinned to the wall, greedily shoving her tongue in your mouth to savor your taste. her hands slide under your shirt in an instant, squeezing your tits in her warm palms and teasingly rubbing over your areolas with her fingertips. you whimper into her mouth, pulling her closer by her belt and rubbing her toned back and waist softly.

her legs tangle with yours as you attempt to get the door closed and make it to the bedroom, the two of you clumsily stumbling over each other in a giddy, shaky mess of nerves. sevika flashes you one of her big, sparkling grins as you undress yourself, and you almost fold in two when you see her cheeks reaching her ears and her tooth gap sitting proudly in the middle of them.

“well? you gonna get strapped up?” you ask, half naked in her gaze.

“shoot. i guess.” she giggles, her sweet smile turning into a shit-eating grin.

you stumble out of your bottoms as she stumbles into her harness, buckling herself up and tightening it accordingly. you lay down in bed, squeezing your tits in your own hands while you wait for your wife to get situated. her eyes grow wide and starry as she sees you and realizes what’s about to happen, and suddenly all of her confidence is gone.

“sevi?” you ask, grabbing her attention. her eyebrows perk up, but she’s frozen in place. “you ready, baby?”

she nods, slowly crawling up to you while carving every inch of your body into her memory. once her strap is hanging just a few inches away from you, you gently yet firmly grab her hips. you can feel her trembling, probably because she’s an overwhelming mix of horny and nervous, and it makes you giggle so hard you forget your objective.

“don’t laugh at me.” sevika pouts, staring down at your tits.

one last chuckle at your sweet wife and you’re done, spitting in your hand and rubbing it up and down the length of sevika’s strap. she squirms as if she can feel it, her human hand grabbing one of your own.

“ready?” you ask for a final time.

“f-fuck, yeah…” she whispers, just quiet enough for you to hear everything she’s thinking in that small response.

your elbows nearly meet as you push your tits together, and sevika gives one full thrust before her hips are stuttering wildly. you can feel some heat and wetness dripping onto your stomach, and you groan in response to her groans.

“janna, i can feel it. i swear i can feel it. you’re so fucking soft.” she whines, big eyes fluttering at the sight below her. your heart pounds every time her hips thrust closer to you, and you think you could cum just from this. just from seeing your wife panting and whimpering above you.

at some point, she sticks a thumb in her mouth, coats it in saliva, and brings it down to rub at your nipples. her human thumb is thick and rough, it gives you all the stimulation you need. but her mech hand? it’s somehow even better. the cold metal of her point fingers has your nipples puckering harder than ever, sending a chill down your spine. the way you’re both moaning is obscenely beautiful, like a choir mixed in with the creaking of the bed and the soft slapping of your tits against one another.

your fingernails dig into her thighs as you get closer and closer, honestly not suspecting this. you mainly thought this would be for sevika’s pleasure, but you’re enjoying it just as much as she is. every time the tip of her strap peeks through your tits, you whine and squirm, rubbing your thighs together in search of some friction. sevika senses this, speeding up her thrusts and pinching your tits in her grasp.

slowly but surely, you feel that familiar sensation bubbling up in your stomach, only doubling in intensity by the second. her dark eyeliner is smudging and starting to drip down her face as she sweats— or maybe she’s crying again? probably some mix of both. you cum when you make eye contact with her, moaning and squeezing your arms together as tightly as possible.

you can’t tell if sevika cums too or not, all you know is that when you come down from your orgasm, there’s a puddle of her slick collecting on her stomach and dripping down her thighs, and that she’s slumped over the headboard as she catches her breath.

“sit on my face?” you ask from under her, still breathless but you’d gladly suffocate between her thighs.

sevika chuckles, then giggles, then cackles as she reflects on everything that just happened. “i love you so much.” she giggles, tears in her eyes as she yanks her strap off and prepares to sink down on top of you. little did you know, this would be the longest night of your life.

[heygerald]

Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 8

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. Invited along to his party, Parker spends the entire time trying to compare the Tom Ryder being celebrated with the one that she was starting to know. Oddly enough, it seemed that no one else knew him like she did.

Read the story here: prev / next

"Ho-ly shit."

Parker peeled her sunglasses off the bridge of her nose to cast a bug-eyed glance towards the looming mansion. The driveway, long and filled to the brim with parked cars worth more than her entire life savings, led up to one of the nicest houses she had ever seen. Gail's was the only one in competition, but while the producer's house had been a modern deco build with glass walls and white washed everything, this one was a Mediterranean style villa. Cobblestone led up to the front porch, large pillars jutting up to a three story foyer, with ivy sprawled over the entirety of the front half.

Holy shit was right.

"I can't believe this is where he lives," Colt muttered with a shake of the head. They were slowly ambling towards the valet parking, and music could be heard pulsing in the distance.

Parker leant between the two fronts seats, seatbelt unbuckled, to angle her head back for a better view. "Really?" she asked with a laugh. "Because this is exactly the type of place that I would picture him living."

"No way," he argued, petering up the drive. "Tom is all about fancy and new and having his face plastered on everything. I pictured him living in a Tom Cruise style mansion. Huge windows, glass ceilings, a petting zoo. That type of thing."

"Does Tom Cruise have a petting zoo?" Jody mused from the passenger seat.

"Well... probably," Colt shrugged.

Parker sighed, tilting her head to spare Jody an over the top eyeroll. "Colt thinks that all rich people have petting zoos. Something about the illegal zebra trade."

"Ivory trade."

"He watched one documentary and now he thinks he's David Attenborough," she chirped.

Her brother didn't take kindly to that, however, and planted his palm squarely into her face to push her into the backseat. She swatted him away, but the damage to her hair had already been done, and as Jody giggled into her hand, Parker tried to smooth it down. "It's Sir David Attenborough," he corrected her. Jody, amused as always by his antics, listened intently as he added, "and it wasn't just one documentary. There's a whole bunch out there about the exotic animal trade. Really heinous stuff, you know. Tom Cruise is definitely knee deep in it. He's the A-lister, after all. I bet he has one of those safari themed rooms with taxidermy endangered animals stuck up all over the walls. Rhinos for sure."

"Oh, for sure," she agreed.

They smiled at one another as Colt drew his truck to a stop. A valet appeared on both sides, opening a door for both Colt and Jody. Parker clambered out behind them—a disgruntled glare shot towards the valets that had completely ignored her—as Colt handed over the keys.

"Be easy with her, yeah? She's hard to handle if you don't know what you're doing," he said. Of course, with all the other cars surrounding them being Ferraris and Range Rovers, his pickup was the least expensive thing they had to worry about. When one of the boys coughed into his fist, Parker grabbed her brother by the elbow and hauled him towards the door. "What—it's a 2015!"

"I think they know what they're doing," she said.

"It has a wonky shift!"

"You're a wonky shift."

Colt snatched his arm out of her grasp as they approached the front door. He looked scandalized at her comment, and Parker couldn't help but return the favor by running a hand through his hair.

Of course, he had a problem with that, and as he shoved her away she could only laugh. A good thing she wasn't wearing heels; the cobblestone entry way was hard enough to walk on in sneakers, and if Jody hadn't been there to catch her, Parker may have gone face first into Tom's expensive garden. But, the blonde was there to catch her, and as Colt fixed his hair, the girls linked arms with matching smiles.

"Well, I for one can't wait to see what the inside looks like," Jody said conversationally. "I still can't believe that he invited us."

"Why not?"

Colt popped up on her other side, fringe back in place. "Because he's never invited us to his house. For anything. Ever. Like... ever. In the history of working for him. Literal years, Park. I'm not even allowed inside his trailer."

She shrugged. "First time for everything, right?"

Her brother didn't share her sentiments. In fact, as a pair of staff opened the front door for them, he almost looked trepidatious with a frown firmly in place.

Jody, on the other hand, was smiling excitedly. "First time for everything," she echoed.

Parker grinned at her. Then at her brother.

He rolled his eyes, but eventually a smile cracked through his apprehension. "Whatever. You think they have Bud Light?"

Music and chatter met the trio in a wave as they stepped through the front door. Jody was right to be excited—the inside of the house was far more gorgeous than the outside—and though the mass of people were all arguably important, respectable figures in Hollywood, all of them seemed to having good times with smiles and drinks in hands. No different than any other party they had been to before. Not really, anyway.

At the far side of the room was a fully stocked bar, waiters moving to and fro to serve the guests.

"Yeah, Colt," Parker laughed. "I think they have Bud Light."

---

Tom Ryder's house was exactly what Parker pictured it to be; a little bit Gucci, a little bit modern, a whole lot of colorful stucco decorated with oddly shaped mirrors, and an insurmountable number of pictures and self-portraits propped up throughout the room. Cardboard cut-outs of Tom in costumes from some of his most famous movies were sprawled throughout the living room, fashion shows and MTV interviews playing soundlessly on the large TVs, with balloons and banners stuck to every available space. If she didn't know better she might have thought that he was running for presidency with how many surfaces his face was plastered on.

Even standing at the bar, elbow propped on the cool marble surface, there were napkins with Tom Ryder quotes and trivia questions scattered along it.

"To see yourself on the screen is to be loved," one quote said. Another, printed, "Hollywood isn't just about believing, it's about doing."

Parker snorted, but tucked them into her purse anyway. Every quote was as ridiculous and vapid as the last. In one sense, she could absolutely picture Tom Ryder, face of the new Versace cologne, saying these things completely seriously to whatever reporter was listening. On the other hand, she also couldn't ever picture anyone saying these things outside of a movie script.

A bad one, too.

She was in the middle of reaching for the next in the pile when someone slumped against the bar beside her. She thought for a second that it was Colt—blonde fringe carefully swept away from the forehead with meticulous detail, beard trimmed neatly along his jawline, white toothed smile in place—but she had also left her brother in conversation with some directors outside by the pool with specific instructions not to move until she came back.

Besides, something about his presence just felt different.

Parker was smiling before she even met his gaze.

"I was wondering where you were hiding," she chirped.

Tom rolled his eyes. He was dressed in a silk button down with patterns of black and gold that accentuated the color of his hair, and a pair of black jeans. Last week's sunglasses had been replaced with his funky pair of yellow tinted glasses. Casual, yet she knew his outfit likely cost over a grand for the designer tags alone. "Are you already drinking?"

"Hardly," she huffed, glancing at the overcrowded bar. "I can't get anyone to take my—"

All it took was for him to wave a hand for a bartender to materialize, and Parker blinked in surprise. "Doubleshot vodka soda on the rocks, and a cosmopolitan," he said.

"Oh, I don't drink cosmos—" she started, only for the bartender to vanish before her eyes to get their drink orders started. She blinked a second time, mouth agape. "Huh. Now I know how pretty girls at bars feel."

"You think I'm a pretty girl?"

"You definitely have the attitude of one," she teased. Tom bent an elbow, turning to face her, and although they were in a room full of people overcrowded with music and chatter, there was something so captivating about Tom's attention that made it feel like she was the only person around. She cleared her throat, waving a napkin around languidly. "These are fun."

He rolled his eyes. "Gail loves that shit."

"I think this one is my favorite. To act is to be another person ," she quoted, wiggling her brows exaggeratedly. "Very insightful."

"Who invited you?"

Parker shrugged, plopping the napkin down onto the bar. "Some asshole I think," she mused. "I really only came for the chance to snoop through his house. I bet I could sell some hand towels for a couple hundred dollars each on eBay if I said you used them before."

He harrumphed. "Unlike Gail, I lock my doors."

"Spoilsport."

He shook his head with a chuckle just as the bartender set two glasses down in front of them. The cosmopolitan, though pink and delicate, had Parker crinkling her nose distastefully. She glanced up, hoping to flag the bartender back down, but the woman was gone.

The sound of clinking glass drew her attention, and Parker watched as Tom settled the vodka soda on her napkin, before taking a sip of the cosmopolitan. "I can't believe you don't like cosmopolitans."

"I can't believe you do. I feel like I read a quote of yours citing toxic masculinity as the best thing to come out of the older generation," she mused, glancing around at the mess of napkins she had made. "Pretty sure you said pink was for babies."

"I never said that."

"I'm telling you—"

"And salmon is the color of the season," he corrected her with another sip of his cocktail. She laughed, chancing a sip of her own, and though it was strong, it was fucking good. "Ask Melissa, she'll tell you that pink is very in right now."

"Oh, Christ, don't get me started," Parker groaned. The entire week had been spent getting Melissa up to speed on how to work the cash register, how to log new books, and how dreamy Tom Ryder was. Every other question out of the girl's mouth had been about the actor, and while Parker put up with a lot, even she had to put her foot down when Melissa started throwing around the boyfriend term. "She's pretty much the de facto president of Winward High's Tom Ryder fan club, you know. Now that she knows we're friends she's never going to leave my store."

He shrugged, casting a lithe glance around. "What's wrong with that? She clearly has good taste."

"Clearly," Parker deadpanned. "Her friends have started hanging around the store too thinking they'll spot you."

"Maybe they will."

She paused, straw pinched between her fresh manicure, to arch her brows at him accordingly. "You plan on coming by every Sunday to judge our progress or something?"

Her tone was teasing and light, but there was a weight behind the question. Are you planning on sticking around? she was asking without really asking.

Maybe he sensed that or maybe she wasn't as suave as she thought because in response Tom cast her a dry look. "You expect me to go to a real bookstore every time I need a recommendation?" he asked. And though it was quite clearly an insult against her little store, in another sense, it was also quite clearly not. "At least at your store I know I won't get mobbed with attention."

She huffed. "Well, you might, if Melissa's friends stick around."

Tom took another long sip of his drink before saying, "she's not so bad. And who am I to turn away some adoring fans, huh?"

"I almost forgot. You love attention," Parker deadpanned through a growing smile. It was hard sometimes to remember why she had disliked him so thoroughly when they first met—regardless of what Colt said, Tom was certainly charming. "Nice party, by the way."

He shot her a smug look. "Oh, this?"

"Oh, this? Whatever," she laughed. Her vodka soda was going down a little too easy as they talked, and with a shake of the quickly emptying glass, she had to remind herself that she absolutely could not get drunk at this function. Colt's birthday party was one thing, but this was altogether something else. "A very casual afternoon for you, I'd guess. I'm surprised you're not being mobbed by fans right here, too."

He waved a hand at her. "I've been networking all afternoon. Besides, most of the people here are advertisers or producers that I've already worked with in one way or another. If anyone wants to sign me for something they have to talk to Gail, not me. Really, it's more her party than mine with how much attention she's getting today."

Parker glanced at the large cardboard cut-out of a shirtless Tom Ryder from his movie The Puncher. She lifted a brow. "Really? I could hardly tell. You ever get creeped out from seeing your face everywhere?"

He followed her eyeline, and smirked. "Not when I look like that. I had to put on twenty pounds for that role."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding, something offended in his tone that she didn't believe him. A lot of things could be said about Tom, but no one could claim that he was lazy when it came to his acting. "I had to give up sugar for six months."

Parker blinked at him. "Seriously?"

"Alcohol too."

She glanced back at the cut-out, paying more attention to the cut of his muscles and the leanness of his body. It felt odd ogling the man that was literally standing next to her, but when she passed her gaze back over the real Tom, he seemed to be greatly enjoying the attention. Smugly, he flexed a bicep at her.

Parker couldn't help but throw her hands up with a laugh. "Alright, alright! I believe you. Not to say I'm an actor or anything but I can't believe you gave up alcohol for that role. I don't think I could do that. Not that I'm an alcoholic or anything, but, I don't know. That sounds awful."

"S'not as easy as everyone thinks. Being an actor."

She tilted her glass at him. "Well, I'm sorry I ever doubted you, Mr. Ryder. Good thing you can drink now, right?"

He blinked at her for a moment, assessing how serious she was, and when she gestured to him a second time with her glass, his shoulders lost some tension she didn't even realizing he was carrying. Smirking, Tom clinked his own glass against hers.

Together, they finished their drinks.

She wiped some spilt vodka off her chin as Tom glanced around. Despite him being the center of attention, he was right. It seemed that the party was happy to exist around him without even needing him. Though, every odd glance his way earned a wave or an acknowledging nod of the head, no one seemed desperate to interrupt his drink.

He turned to her. "Colt here?"

"Over by the pool. I think Jody was trying to introduce herself to some people from Warner Brothers when I left. You want to go say hi?"

He licked his lips, before gesturing to the bartender. "Four shots of vodka," he said. Parker lifted her brows at him in surprise. "What?"

"I thought we were supposed to be on our best behavior."

Tom shrugged with an indifferent sniff. "Yeah, well, it's my party right? Besides, I've spent all day entertaining these assholes. May as well see what kind of shit Colt has going on. I've got to talk to him about the movie schedule anyways."

Four shot glasses with lime wedges were set down onto the bar. Tom picked up two, and when Parker did nothing but blink at him, he gestured to them impatiently.

"Fuck, come on before someone does decide they want a picture."

"Why would they want a picture when they could just steal a poster?" she mused, though she did pick up the shot glasses. After stashing another wad of napkins into her purse, of course.

"Don't steal my shit, Parker."

"What—I didn't say I was going to!"

He scoffed, but there was a laugh hidden in there as well, and when he gestured at her a second time she figured there were worse ways to get into trouble then a few measly shots. Besides, he was offering. Where was the harm in that?

The crowd parted for Tom without him even having to ask, and as she hustled after him, she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have everyone worship you, but from a distance.

"Hey, listen," she said, crowding up against his shoulder. "Colt might ask you some weird questions about the exotic animal trade. He thinks all rich people secretly own zebras. Something he saw on a documentary."

"Do you really think I'd let a zebra in here? I'm allergic to them. Plus they bite."

"Wh—how could you possibly know that?"

Tom glanced at her over his shoulder with a look she couldn't quite interpret. She was pretty sure from the flatness of his brows that he was judging her, but then again, she got the distinct impression that Tom was always judging her in one way or another. It seemed a default setting for him. "I had to get allergy shots when I did that Dior commercial," he said, voice almost swallowed by the music around them. When he shrugged, she felt the ripple of muscles from where she was pressed up against him. "Besides, you ever been to Tom Cruise's house? The place is crawling in them."

That sparked more questions than she could rightly keep track of, but Tom kept on walking as though it was an entirely normal thing to say.

So, with a huff, she just followed after.

---

The afternoon sun was warm on her shoulders, but Parker didn't seem to notice from her spot on the couch. People milled all around the pool—models walking by with oversized hats to protect their skin, producers speaking behind Kardashian style sunglasses that covered most of their face, directors caught up in spirited debates about whatever they thought the best movie of the year was—yet somehow the group of four had managed to find a little spot all to themselves away from the crowd.

The patio furniture was gorgeous; a blend of wood and metal work that was just as pretty as it was functional. There was a mix of empty glasses across the table. Their shot glasses, long since empty, had been carted off sometime ago by waitstaff. In their place were crystal glasses and crumpled napkins. Jody was currently nursing a chilled glass of wine, while Colt was responsibly finishing off a water to counter all the mojitos he'd already drank. Tom had an array of fancy cocktails that he'd finished off throughout the afternoon, and beside him Parker was working on her third double vodka soda.

She could feel her nose tingling a bit, legs fluid and weightless from where they were tucked beneath her.

The whole don't drink too much from the open bar sentiment had been disregarded almost as soon as she got there. Though she wasn't trying to make an ass of herself, it was obvious that Tom wasn't the lightweight she had teased him with being. He had been steadily drinking himself through the unlimited bar, and despite not intending to do the same, every time he ordered a new drink, miraculously something would appear for Parker as well.

Not that she minded. Open bars were spectacular, and she was having too much fun to turn down a free drink.

"—so, anyway, I'm telling you," Colt was in the middle of saying, hands gestured wide and face a rosy red as he laughed. He smacked the umbrella at his side as he talked, but didn't even seem to notice. "The drop was fifty feet, and I was supposed to do it without any sort of harness."

"Isn't that a safety hazard?"

"Well, he was just dropping into the water," Tom shrugged. "That's not bad, right? Water is soft."

"Water is so not soft," Parker corrected with an incredulous giggle. "It's like hitting solid concrete! Especially from that height. He had bruises for days!"

Tom furrowed his brows. "Nah... seriously?"

"Well, uh, I mean," her brother hedged. Whatever sort of comradery that had been building between him and Tom over the last week didn't seem to negate the fact that Tom was still his boss. Anxiously, he tugged at the collar of his jacket. "S'not like falling onto pillows."

This was apparently a shock to Tom. "Seriously? You did that stunt, like, four times!"

"Right, yes, I did. I did do it like four times. But, you know, that's because the angle wasn't right and they wanted me to show less face and then there was the whole issue with my hair..." he trailed off, shrugging. "Which, totally fine. Hair is hair, I get it."

Tom thoughtfully trailed a hand through his own hair.

"But, anyway," Colt continued. Always smiling, never one to linger on bad feelings and unfortunate facts. "So, I'm sitting there, right? Totally scared shitless as everything is prepped because the night before, Parker, that asshole, had sent me all these links to a story about someone getting eaten by a shark!"

The memory came flooding back, and though she probably should have felt bad, she was too occupied by laughing at how hilarious the whole thing was. "I didn't know you were going to be in the water at the same place!" she defended with a cry. "It was a viral story! How is it my fault that a shark decided to have a surfer for lunch?"

"Oh, well, when you put it like that... I guess you could have kept that to yourself!"

The couch erupted in laughter. Partially because Colt was just as funny as he was expressive, and partially because the idea that he had been jumping fifty feet into the water but was worried about sharks was entirely ridiculous.

"Were you alright?" Jody asked.

"Who? Me?" Colt sniffed, a hand run through his own hair. He never played cool all that well, but that certainly never stopped him from trying. Parker shared an amused look with Tom. "Fine. Totally good. Not even a scratch. You know, it was a big jump too. But I did it four times and the footage came out really good. Not to brag or anything but it was the biggest jump I've done so far."

"Sounds awful."

"Very scary."

"Horrific," she continued to emphasize with him. Drunk or not, Parker wondered if Jody was ever not staring at her brother like he lit up the room. She didn't have to ask that question about Colt—when Jody was around, she swore he would walk face first into a concrete wall. "I'll add that to the list of very brave things that you do."

He made some sort of suave joke that Parker couldn't—and more importantly didn't—want to hear that had the pair leaning on each other in giggles.

Parker took a long sip of her drink before shooting Tom a derisive look.

"Isn't there a rule on set about fraternizing?"

He looked just as disturbed as she did. "Should be. Maybe I could work that into the next contract."

"I bet you have good lawyers."

"Very good."

In the same tone that Jody had used, she said, "how brave of you. I can't imagine ever leaving the house without a team of lawyers to protect me."

She was obviously teasing, and he was well aware of that. Yet, when Tom looked at her, Parker couldn't help but flush under his attention. They were pressed into one another on the couch, having been shifted closer and closer over the afternoon every time a story was told or drinks were passed out, and from this distance she could smell his cologne.

Musky and light at the same time; lemons and saltwater.

The moment passed when his face split into a grin, and just like she had been judging Colt and Jody moments before, the pair peeled forward with their own laughter.

It wasn't until an ice cube bounced off her forehead did she control herself enough to return her attention to her brother.

He had a weird look on his face; eyes bouncing back and forth between her and Tom. "What are you laughing at, weirdo?"

"Inside joke," she chirped, if only because she knew it would bother him even more to be left out. "You wouldn't understand."

As expected, Colt sat up straighter with a frown. "I'll understand. I understand everything about you. You know, since I'm you're best friend. Have been for years. Pretty much know everything about you, Park. Duh."

"You're not my best friend."

"What—what do you mean I'm not your best friend?" he hissed incredulously. Jody sipped her wine calmly, glancing between Colt and Parker as he practically leaned over her lap to argue. "Of course I'm your best friend!"

"Am I your best friend?"

Colt spluttered. "Well of course you are! You know, just behind Dan. And Johnny. And Pete has been with me for a long time, you know, through the whole... that doesn't matter. I'm your best friend! I know I am! Who else would it possibly be?"

Parker leaned closer. Jody was now angled back, trying to avoid being smacked by either of the siblings. "Doesn't matter. So why don't you mind your business?"

"Mind my—?" Colt let out a sound halfway between a groan and a squeal, and Parker settled back into her seat with a proud grin.

Honestly, he was so easy to rile up.

So easy in fact that Jody had to pat him on the shoulder, shifting between Colt and Parker so that she could console him. Parker could still make out his frown; hear his harsh muttering as well. She giggled into her straw, pleased as punch.

"And you think I'm an asshole," Tom muttered into her ear.

She smirked at him. "You are an asshole."

The same flicker of disbelief that her brother had worn flashed across Tom's face, and it only disappeared when she pitched forward in giggles.

"I swear you two are so easy to mess with!" she cackled.

He rolled his eyes, shoving her hand off his shoulder when she attempted to console him in the same way that Jody was consoling Colt. "Didn't you say something about personally kicking you out? I think I remember that being part of our negotiations."

With all the elegance she could muster, Parker stuck her tongue out at him.

Perhaps no one had done that to him since middle school, but it shocked Tom so much that he ended up coughing up his last sip of his pina colada. That only prompted her to laugh harder, of course, and even though she was quite literally laughing at his expense, the couch shook when he started laughing too.

It was nice.

And then, suddenly, it wasn't.

"Well, this looks like a good bit of fun I've just stumbled into," a cloying voice called from the edge of their couch.

Parker didn't recognize the woman watching them, but it seemed by their reactions that the other three were well familiar with her. Colt and Tom covered their laughter with coughs and large swallows of their drinks, while Jody smoothed a hand nervously through her hair. It was an immediate sort of reaction—the type kids had when the principle stopped by—and though she didn't even know her, Parker couldn't help but to fix her own hair as well.

"No, no, please, don't stop on my regard," she said, waving perfectly manicured nails at them. The gold bracelets on her arms jingled harmoniously around the diet code and rum in her hand. A striped paper straw, tainted with the equally bright red of her lipstick, swung around in the glass. "I'm so glad that you're all enjoying yourselves so much. I rarely get this glimpse of your personal lives outside of the set."

Her brother cleared his throat under her attention, a strained smile plastered in place. "Yeah, well, you know, it's a little hard to do that when you don't normally have anything to do with us outside the set," he said.

Parker's frown deepened, but the woman only laughed.

"Charming as ever, Colt! And Jody," she added, peering around Parker. The camerawoman gave an awkward smile in response. "It's so nice to see you too, my dear. I really do have quite a few people here that I think you should talk to. Lots of talent everywhere you look, really. You could learn so much just by a few conversations; it'd be so really good for your career, dear."

"Oh. Uh, of course," she nodded. "I'd love to meet anyone. I've noticed that—"

"Tom, of course, I know. Hello my darling, my shining star," she carried on as if Jody hadn't spoken at all. She responded by taking a long swig of her drink while Colt muttered something behind the curve of his hand. Parker would have paid more attention to their whispering if the woman's gaze didn't move to her next. "And who might this be?"

Tom cleared his throat. "This is Parker."

"Uh, hi," she said with an awkward half wave.

"This is Gail," he continued with another gesture. "My producer."

Oh.

Oh.

Gail the producer was not quite what Parker was expecting. And yet, in another way, she was everything that she had been expecting. Dressed elegantly in a black pantsuit, neck adorned with gold jewelry that matched the heavy earrings dangling from her ears, Gail was certainly wealthy. She had a pair of red bottomed shoes on, the type of tinted glasses that were certainly more for appearances than necessity, and her hair was in large mussed curls around her head that probably cost a hundred dollars a piece. Her makeup was spotless despite the drink in her hand, and her smile was the mega-watt type that only existed in Hollywood.

Yet, it didn't feel friendly. In fact, as Gail's gaze slipped over Parker in a torturously slow slide, she couldn't help but feel that nothing about the woman was sincere.

And that's exactly what she was starting to suspect from Tom's stories, wasn't it? That the producer wasn't so much his friend as she was in the person in charge of him.

That certainly felt true now as her smile shifted to Tom.

"Oh, this is Parker?" she asked in a high pitched voice. If possible, her smile stretched further. "Darling, so good to meet you. I had no idea that you would be joining us today—I certainly didn't think I saw your names on the guest list—but the more the merrier! Besides, I feel that I should be thanking you."

"Sorry," Parker did a double take. "Thanking me?"

"Well, you are the one that convinced Tom here to go for that sci-fi role, aren't you?" she mused, fingers carefully sticking her straw back into her mouth as she took a long sip.

"Oh, I don't think I—"

"No need to be so shy, darling! Tom told me all about it. Course, that was only after I found him reading a stack of books to prepare for the role; so dedicated this one. I had a hard enough time getting him to consider a romance movie last year," Gail continued, laughing, "and it barely took any help from you at all to get him in excited for this film. Brilliant, darling, really. I'm always telling him that he should try to expand his portfolio. And this? Well, I think this is going to be the next big thing!"

Tom took a long dreg of his drink at the comment. Parker frowned.

She hadn't done anything. It was Tom's idea to go for the audition. And hadn't Gail been telling him he wasn't right for it in the first place?

Knowing when not to be mouthy, however, kept Parker's questions to herself. She nudged Tom with her elbow, and only when he glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, did she say, "I think you're probably right. This movie will be the next big thing. Sci-fi is really in right now, you know. Right Colt?"

Her brother blinked at her like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Subtly, Parker gave him a look. "Oh, yeah, totally. Sci-fi is huge ever since, er, Star Trek got big again. This movie is gonna be a blockbuster, Gail. Definitely a game changer for, uh, Tom."

Gail hummed. "Yes, certainly. And all thanks to the star sitting right here with us. I've always said Chris Pine was nothing compared to him."

Tom gave an awkward laugh. "We haven't even started filming yet."

"Oh, hush, darling," she waved a hand at him flippantly. Parker couldn't imagine anyone dismissing Tom Ryder like that and him taking it, but his only response was to take another sip of his drink. It was empty, however, and without being asked, she offered hers.

Tom drank half of it in a single gulp.

"He's so humble, isn't he?" Gail continued cooing. "Sitting over here, all by himself. Darling, there are so many people that still want to talk to you! You can't expect to hide out all afternoon."

"Are we chopped liver?" Colt muttered under his breath, only to be shushed by Jody.

Gail didn't hear, and instead patted Tom on the shoulder with an affectionate tut. "Come on, there are a few people from Disney that want to talk to you. Big things coming already from this movie! Just think about it; this could be the next Disney prince!"

He shifted under her touch, but managed a smile. The very type that was plastered inside on every available surface. Once upon a time, it was the smile she associated with him—the Tom Ryder that everyone saw scattered across the globe—but now, seeing it just had Parker's stomach dropping.

"Fine. But I'm not singing."

"Oh, no, of course not dear. We can always have vocals brought in from someone else if it comes to that..."

The pair disappeared into the crowd, though Parker swore she could hear Gail's laugh like nails on a chalkboard. She shook the last it of her drink with a sigh, ice clinking together.

"So, that's Gail, huh?"

Colt blew a raspberry. "Don't even get me started. Once, someone got stung by a bee, and she ranted for twenty minutes at filming being held up because they needed an epi-pen. She's the only person I've ever met that's worse than Tom."

"She's the scariest women I've ever met," Jody said. Then, with a thoughtful glance around, added, "do you think there really are people here that want to meet me?"

And just like that, things went back to normal, as her brother's face lit up with a dreamy smile. "I'd bet everyone here wants to meet you."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious!" he said. Two men drifting by their couch caught his attention, and Colt cupped his hands at them. "Hey! I've got Jody Moreno over here! Waiting to be talked to! Step right up!"

"Colt!" she hissed. But she was laughing too as she tugged his hands back down into his lap. Her face was beet red when the men raised their brows at her curiously. "I can't believe you've just done that. Honestly!"

Her brother didn't see the problem, and just shrugged. "What?"

And while Jody spent the next twenty minutes swatting at him in humiliation every time he tried to pull someone into conversation with her, Parker couldn't help the way that her shoulders dropped in disappointment when every new person passing by turned out not to be the only one she wanted to talk to.

Fucking Gail.

---

Turns out, drinking from an open bar whilst sitting around the pool was a recipe for getting drunker than one intended. Parker hadn't moved from their spot on the couch in over two hours, and by the time she decided she really had to pee, her movements weren't nearly as harmonious with her thoughts as they had been.

In fact, when she stood up, she almost went careening right into Jody's lap. And though she had been considering another vodka soda the way her brother teased her was advice enough to start drinking some water. Afterall, if Colt thought she was making an ass of herself, she was a lot worse off than she thought.

So, after a wobbly trip to the bathroom where she had splashed some cold water onto her face, and an extra cold water from the bar, Parker had firmly told herself that she wasn't going to drink any more. It was getting late, anyway, and they would have to leave eventually. It would do no one any good if she threw up on the windy rode back to Colt's place—especially not when it would be the second Friday in a row that those exact circumstances played out—and the idea of having to polish her brother's truck as an apology was enough to have her start sobering up.

But, by the time she got her second water from the bar, the party seemed to have moved outside as the sunset proved a beautiful backdrop for selfies. Crowded and surrounded by cameras was not something Parker was interested in.

So, while everyone else moved outside, Parker decided to wander around inside.

It was a gorgeous house. Prettier than Gail's, she thought, because while the producer's had been that sort of minimalistic white that was taking over Beverly Hills, this one was a painting of orange and red, framed memorabilia scattered across the walls, bohemian patterned rugs soundless beneath her sneakers as she aimlessly drifted throughout. A framed hockey jersey was the only thing that felt out of place, but Tom hadn't been wrong when he scolded her interior design skills; she really wasn't one to judge, and so she shrugged it off without much thought to amble on past. There was a landing at the top of his stairs just like Gail's, one that was crowded with people and drinks, and though there was a hallway that had clearly been roped off from public access, no one seemed to nice when Parker ducked underneath the rope and disappeared around the corner.

She supposed that was something she could apologize for later, but when she stumbled across an ivy colored balcony, she couldn't begrudge herself for being curious.

It sat on the side of the house, hidden well behind an overhang of trees that blocked the neighboring houses from view. A stack of yoga mats sat in the corner, weights and endurance bands sitting next to them, and a worn rug silenced her shoes as she peered over the wall. On her tip toes she could just make out the front drive, Colt's truck parked all the way at the end, but for the most part she felt hidden from everything.

"I thought I told you not to steal anything."

Or, almost everything, anyways.

Parker snorted, but flung her purse to Tom. He caught it and one handedly started to shift through its contents. His brows furrowed together. "It's just napkins."

"Some coasters too. How do you even get your face printed on a coaster?"

"Money."

She sucked her teeth dramatically. "So that's why I don't have my face on wooden coasters. Add it to the Christmas wish-list I guess."

Tom dropped her purse onto the small table with an eyeroll, before plopping down onto the small loveseat next to it. He didn't seem amused by her joke. "This area is blocked off. There's a rope and everything to keep people from snooping."

"Is there?" she mused. "Huh. Weird. I don't think I saw that."

"Are you drunk?"

She blew a raspberry with one last view at the drive before joining him on the couch. Her drink sloshed a bit, but she hardly noticed as she offered it to him. Smiling, she said, "water."

Tom turned his nose up at her. "At least if you spill that everywhere it won't ruin anything."

"It happened one time."

"Do you know how much I pay my interior designer?"

Parker set her water down onto the table with an eyeroll, but not one that missed the dangling windchimes or the birdfeeder in the corner. "Honestly, probably plenty, but I like your house, so it's worth it."

"Oh, you think it's worth it? Thank god. I was worried it wouldn't be to your taste," he snarked. It was unusually aggressive for him, though. Like he used to talk to her. Mean and cagey, with a bite to each syllable. "I'm not sure what I would do if my house didn't get your approval. Might have to buy a new one."

"O-kay," she drawled. "That was rude. What's up with you?"

"Nothing is up with me."

"Sure," she said with furrowed brows. He huffed at her tone, sneering. Awkwardly, Parker gestured between them. "Do you want to talk about it? Or would you rather keep acting like a passive aggressive dick?"

"Better idea. Why don't you just fuck off?" he snapped.

For a moment, Parker could only blink at him in surprise. He'd been an ass plenty of times before, but he'd never been this outrightly rude to her. She thought he might change his tone, hoped that he would admit it was all just a joke, but instead Tom just sat there with a glare.

And fuck if that didn't hurt.

"Alright, fine," she stood, throwing her hands up. Surprise flashed across his face, clearly not having expected her to give up so easily, but she was a grown women; friends or not, Parker did not linger where she wasn't wanted. Grabbing her purse, she said, "if you'd rather yell at me then I'm going to find Colt. I think we're going to leave soon anyway."

She crossed half the porch before Tom scoffed.

"Seriously? That's it? Fucking great. You're welcome for the invites, by the way. I'm sure you drank your worth at the open bar so you may as well leave like everyone else."

"That's not fair."

"Whatever," he waved a hand at her dismissively. "If you're going to go then just go. Now that you're done snooping around and drinking I'm not sure why'd you want to stay anyway."

She crossed her arms at him, breathing sharply through her nose, trying to level out just which emotion she was feeling the most. Hurt? Betrayal? Stupid?

"Well, what do you want me to do, Tom? Huh? If you're going to be an ass then I'm going to leave you alone because I don't deserve to be treated like that. Especially since you know I didn't come for free alcohol," she said, voice hitching. He looked away from her with a stony silence. Parker continued. "I came to celebrate you . But it's your house, and your party, so if this is how it's going to be I'm going to leave. Which is—that's fine if you'd rather be left alone, alright, that's not a sin to need some space—but you can't talk to me like that just because something upset you."

"I'm not upset."

She shook her head. "Well you're either upset or you're just an asshole."

"You made it very clear which you thought I was."

Parker ground her teeth together, knowing that there were quite a lot of things she could say to that, but also well aware that he was baiting her. Slowly, she took a deep breath before biting out, "I'm not sorry that I called you an asshole the first time we met because you were being one. But," she continued, shifting on her feet with an even deeper sigh, "I'm sorry that I keep calling you one. Alright? It was a joke. I thought you knew that I don't really think that. Well, didn't before right now."

He said nothing.

She sighed a second time, awkwardly adjusting her purse on the crook of her shoulder.

He wasn't looking at her. In fact, he was pointedly looking anywhere but at her as her words echoed across the balcony. They could still hear music drifting from the other side of the house, the occasional crunch of tires across gravel up the driveway, the chatter of happy, drunk people from all around.

Deciding not to linger she swallowed her pride to leave.

"...alright."

She paused, glancing over at him. "Alright, you want to be alone?"

He cleared his throat, still not looking directly at her, before he gestured to her vacated seat beside him. "Alright, you can stay."

Despite his apparent humility, Parker felt her temper flare at his wording a second time.

Who did he think he was?

"Oh, how gracious of you to let me stay. Thanks."

"What do you want me to say?" he shot back, finally looking at her. There was something in his gaze she wasn't used to seeing—something hurt and angry and lonely. She couldn't understand how someone could ever feel lonely at a party thrown in his honor. Then again, Parker supposed it wasn't really in his honor, was it? Sure, it was his face plastered everywhere, but the only people that she had seen him talk to were ones asking for something. He ran a hand through his hair. "If you want to stay then stay. You don't have to be so fucking difficult about it."

"I'm not being difficult, you're just in a mood."

"I'm not—" he started to refute, tension lingering in his words, before catching himself. She watched him take a deep breath, eyes studying something she couldn't see. He gestured to the seat next to him a second time. "Just... stay, alright?"

It wasn't an apology. It wasn't even close to an apology. He didn't meet her eyes, didn't take back what he had said, didn't change his tone.

And yet for a reason she couldn't pinpoint... she stayed.

Parker took a calming breath, glancing at the picturesque sky, reminding herself of the good mood and fun she had been having moments before this conversation. When she felt her pulse return to a normal level she sat back down, purse plopped against the table with a rattling thud. Tom was playing with some frayed thread from his jeans as if she wasn't even there.

The petty part of Parker argued that was fine by her. If he wanted to play the quiet game, than she could play the quiet game.

But the other part of Parker...

Well, it felt bad for him. Which was ridiculous. He was an A-list movie star with a Beverly Hills mansion that overlooked the city hosting a gigantic party to celebrate his latest movie contract. He was constantly the center of attention, constantly being catered to, constantly having people sing his praises not caring if he treated them like he had just treated her. He had his own fan club for fuck's sake.

What did he have to be upset over?

That wasn't fair though. Parker knew it wasn't. Tom had proven time and time again that his life wasn't all rainbows and sunshine; that he didn't get to do whatever he wanted, that he wasn't the same face she saw on advertisements.

"Was it Gail?" she asked quietly.

"What?"

"You were in a good mood earlier, when you were hanging out with us. I thought so, anyway. And then she came and pulled you away and I didn't see you for a while and now you're... well, you don't seem to be enjoying the party anymore. I just—did she say something? "

He frowned, tugging extra hard on the thread. "Just leave it, Parker."

"But—"

"Please," he muttered. It was the first time she had ever heard him say that word, and though he wasn't looking at her, she was pretty sure that there was something broken beneath his golden framed glasses. "Just leave it alone."

And oh if that didn't hurt worse than his attitude.

Parker pulled a knee up to her chest, tucking her chin on it. She had worn her hair down today, silky from a blow-out that Jody had helped her with just for this occasion, and it slid against her back as a breeze kicked up. From where she had haphazardly thrown her purse a pair of napkins fluttered to the ground.

"Okay, fine, we don't have to talk about it, but this is officially boring," she said when the silence continued to stretch on. She snatched up the crumpled wad of napkins, and Tom furrowed his brow at her as she flattened them out. "Alright. When is your birthday?"

"What?"

"August thirteenth, November seventh, or January twenty-first?"

He blinked between her and the napkin. "What?"

She huffed, waving the napkin like a flag. "It's trivia. Some of them, anyways. A lot of them are some very questionable quotes that we're definitely going to discuss later. But for now we can at least we can entertain ourselves with these."

"Why did you take, like, a hundred of them?"

She shrugged indifferently. "Sticky fingers," she said, and when Tom's mouth flickered ever so slightly at the corner, she pressed on. "So, anyway, when is your birthday? August, November, or January?"

"You don't know?"

"Why would I know when your birthday is?"

He shrugged, hand dropping the thread of his pants to pass through his hair. His fringe had been mussed throughout the afternoon, clearly a sign that he did that a lot, but he didn't seem to even notice. "Because I'm—"

"Ugh, don't even finish that thought," she moaned, rolling her eyes. He really had to be joking sometimes. "I'm going to guess... August?"

Tom shifted on the couch, shooting her a strange look. "How'd you know?"

"Good luck, I guess. What does that make you? A virgo?"

"Leo."

"Ah," she nodded, pretending that was interesting news to her. Parker didn't know shit about astrology, but she had heard Melissa talk about it enough to know at thing or two. With mock seriousness, she continued, "that makes sense, I guess. Leo's are all about self-confidence and actualization. The sign of royalty. Some say that Julius Caesar was a Leo."

"Really?"

Parker shot him a look, brows arched towards her hairline. "I don't fucking know, astrology is total bullshit," she snickered, chucking the crumpled napkin at him. It fluttered into his lap, and he didn't look all that impressed at he set it onto the side table. Still, his mouth twitched again. The next napkin was stained with something pink. "What is your favorite sport? Basketball, hockey, or baseball?"

"Shouldn't I be reading the questions?"

"I'm not letting you dig through my purse, perv," she said. He looked scandalized by the comment, and when she started to laugh, Tom shook his head at her. She nudged his leg with her shoe. "Besides, they're my napkins."

"That I paid for."

She steamrolled on, pursing her mouth thoughtfully. "Well, I think basketball is a stupid sport, so not that. Mhmmm... hockey?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "...did you read these already?"

"So I'm right?" she asked, and with the grace of a sore loser, Tom pursed his mouth irritably. Parker pumped a fist in the air victoriously, wiggling her brows at him, and when his mouth crested into a smile, she waved the napkin in his face with the grace of a sore winner. "Ha! I'm starting to think we should put money down on the next one."

He forced the smile away with an eye roll. "Do you have money to bet?"

"Well... I'm sure there's a couple dollars somewhere in my purse. Colt always has at least twenty on him."

"Don't go betting your brother's money just yet, huh? These are easy questions."

"Easy?" she blustered.

"Everyone likes hockey."

"Everyone—baseball is literally an American sport! Everyone likes baseball!"

He ignored her, waving a flippant hand at her stack of napkins. Parker stuck her tongue out at him, tossing aside that question, to search for the next. Half the napkins she had stashed were ones with quotes, all of which were equally ridiculous, and she carefully set them into a pile on the table so she could take them home.

For comedic purposes, obviously. She wanted to stash them around Colt's apartment. She was pretty sure he would lose his mind if Jody thought he was secretly a Tom Ryder super fan.

Finding one that did have a question, she adjusted in her seat in anticipation. "Alright, alright, here's another one," she said. "What is Tom Ryder's favorite move? Fight Club, October Sky, or Pulp Fiction?"

Shit. She really didn't know for this one.

Parker narrowed her eyes at him, turning so they were facing one another directly, shoes wiggling as she tucked them underneath herself. He didn't give anything away; just met her steadfast through the tint of his glasses, no hints given, and when he raised a brow, she just knew that he was expecting her to fail.

"...Pulp Fiction?"

Tom made a face. "Okay, you're looking these up."

"Was that right?"

"Does the napkin have the answer?"

"What—no!"

"Well, you're cheating!"

" Ah—I'm not cheating!" she laughed just as he stretched over to grab the napkin out of her hand. The answers were on the back of the napkins, but she hadn't been looking at them. However, if he saw that, he would never believe her. So, as Tom grappled with her, shoving her free arm out of the way as her back dug into the armrest, Parker stretched as far as she could manage through an eruption of giggles. "You're going to—break my—arm! Ah!"

He was warm—always warm—as his chest pressed into hers, and when his fingers scraped the edge of the napkin, she twisted her shoulder back as far as it would go if only just to make him work for it a little bit harder.

Okay, so maybe she did like to be difficult. Sue her.

Tom pressed closer, stretching, laughing, as she wedged her knee against his chest to push. "Just give me the napkin!"

"No!"

"Because you were cheating?"

His hand skimmed the curve of her waist as he attempted to pull her entire body closer, and she shrieked from the ticklish feeling. That only had Tom trying twice as hard, aware that he was going to come out victorious, and in the energy of a little sister that never liked to lose, Parker pressed her free hand against his chest before chucking the napkin into the air. It caught on the breeze within seconds, and when it angled towards the edge of the balcony, Tom's hand tangled in her hair as he tried to grab it. Of course, she knew that was coming, and with all her might Parker wrapped her arm around his shoulder to pull him down towards her.

"No, no, no—!"

They became a tangle of limbs and laughter as he made a last ditch effort to grab the sailing napkin, and just when she thought he might snatch it, there was a rattle and the sound of a glass shattering against the floor.

They froze.

Together, they glanced down at the floor to find her glass broken in half, water seeping into the rug.

"Are you kidding—"

"Oh my god!" she shrieked, barely able to speak through the laughter racking her chest. "It's just water!"

"That's the second time."

"Both of them were your fault!"

"How was the other time my fault?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said, fulling cackling now, still pressed tightly against his chest; tighter still because every time Tom laughed he edged further into her personal space. The napkin was long gone by now, but neither of them moved besides the way his hand shifted warmly along her waist. "Maybe because I wouldn't have spilled it if you hadn't scared the shit out of me!"

Tom laughed at her accusation. It was carefree, loud, head tipped back to show the curve of his neck where a necklace dangled, the silver chain cold against her own flushed skin.

"I was a little preoccupied," he defended. "And I didn't expect someone to barge in on me!"

"I didn't barge."

"You did."

"I don't barge," she continued to deflect, crinkling her nose at the word. Slowly, their laughter died down as she swallowed. "I, you know, prance. Like women do, but I definitely don't... ahem, barge."

Whatever fire she had fueling her defense seeped away as Parker finally realized just how close Tom was to her.

They were pressed tightly against one another on the small loveseat, hair mussed from their wrestling, sunglasses somewhere on the floor. She could smell his cologne from how his collarbone was exposed to her, buttons undone, skin roiling hot and tan beneath the shirt. Parker's own jean jacket was hanging off one shoulder, her own necklace tangled at the nape of her neck, chest catching with soft laughter and something else too.

She remembered the first time she had ever laid eyes on Tom.

She had been speechless from how handsome he was in real life; thinking of him only as a thing that was flaunted in advertisements and on tv, and not as a person. Then there was when she found him in Gail's bathroom, shirt gone, chest glistening with sweat and rippling muscles. When he had called her in a rough voice, when he showed up at her store to insult it and then ask for a favor, when he had driven her to Colt's birthday party with wind blowing through his fringe as they listened to Sabrina Carpenter's latest hit on the radio, the way he glowed in the firelight.

For a long time now there had been two Toms in her life. The one she met back on day one, with a huge ego and blisteringly white teeth, that she thought was an uptight asshole, who had just lashed out at her for no real reason. And then there was the one that she laughed with, teased in a way she doubted anyone else did, sharing secrets and talking about things like sci-fi books and birthday parties while they sipped coffee and beer.

And now, as she blinked up at him with flushed cheeks, she came to the startling realization that it wasn't two versions of the same person, but one person that had developed a second skin to survive a world that didn't see him as anything other than a dollar sign.

A person who was lying above her, piercing eyes drifting over the freckles on her nose to the curve of her mouth.

"Just tell me," he said.

"Tell you what?"

He swallowed, gaze pulled back up to meet her eyes. She felt weightless, as if she was drunk, but it wasn't because of the alcohol. Tom licked his lips. "Did you cheat?" he asked.

She huffed. Her breath ruffled the loose fringe on his forehead. "No," she shook her head slowly, knowing just by the look in his eye that whatever she said was important to him. "No, I didn't cheat. I just... you told me your birthday at Colt's party, and you have a hockey jersey hanging in the hallway."

"And Pulp Fiction?"

"I don't know," she admitted quietly. "I guess... it just felt like a movie you'd like."

That look from before returned; the one she couldn't decipher, that had his eyes paradoxically darkening and opening at the same time. Maybe she had been right before. Maybe he was lonely. But as Tom looked at her, breath mingling with her own, she couldn't help but hope that he was starting to realize he wasn't.

"You know you can talk to me... right?" she muttered, licking her lips. "I mean, I know you probably have plenty of other more important people in your life that you can talk to, and I'm not trying to pry, but I just hope that you know that I'm here if—"

And just like that, Tom Ryder kissed her.

[esmeefreckles]

Mine | Leah Williamson x reader

+18 SMUT MINORS DNI

STRAP-ONS. VAGINAL FINGERING. PRAISE KINK.

“You can do it,” you murmur, your cheek pressed against Leah’s, your fingers pressing bruises into Leah’s hips. You thrust again, lazy, and enjoy the buzzing against your clit. Leah groans, long and pained.

“Please,” Leah mumbles, her eyes screwed tightly shut, “please baby, I can’t..” her voice breaks; a tear slips from her eye, falling down the side of her face and melting into her hairline.

“Sshh.” you bite her earlobe gently, tugging. “Be a good girl and spread wide for me.”

Leah shakes her head even as she obeys, her knees parting as wide as she can, the vibrating strap-on buzzing away inside her, hidden by the only scrap of clothing Leah still has on, the black side tie lacy panties you picked out just for her. You reach back and check the fit of the harness, shaken a little loose from the night’s long activities. Leah makes a noise that might be your name, begging. It’s too garbled to parse, but the intent is clear: she’s desperately pleading for mercy.

You pull out and Leah doesn’t even move, her eyes still shut. She’s shuddering without pause, twitching against the sweaty sheets. “Roll over.” you nudge her side, and it takes Leah three tries and your help to flop onto her belly, but she spreads her legs as soon as she’s settled, tries to get to all fours, and can’t. You tuck a pillow under her hips, lifting Leah up with a faint grunt, smoothing a palm over her belly gently. “What a good girl,” you soothe as you slide back in, holding Leah’s panties to the side until she bottoms out, slow and careful. “You’ve been so good already, I know you can give me one more.”

“I can’t,” Leah begs, muffled from where she’s pressed her face into the sheets. “Please, I can’t.”

“I want one more.” you put a little steel in your voice, then pause when Leah sobs, biting at the mattress. “Color.”

Leah takes a long time to answer, shaking, and you rub your hands down Leah’s flank, massaging gently. You're about to pull out when Leah finally speaks, a small, tiny whisper. “Green.” 

You hesitate, but Leah lifts her hips and pushes back, so you wind the fingers of one hand through Leah’s blonde hair, find a few tangles, and let them catch against your knuckles. You pull Leah’s head back at the same time she tilts her hips forward, snapping hard, and likes the sound of your skin slapping wetly against Leah’s, obscene. You set a pace, not as bruising as you had earlier, for Leah’s first and second orgasm, or as slow and easy as you had for Leah’s fourth and fifth, a break in the middle to make Leah come on your tongue for number three. “Hands,” you snap, and Leah winds her fingers through the bedframe.

You brace your free hand on the small of Leah’s back, then switch to underneath Leah’s stomach, your index finger slipping into Leah’s belly button, and pull her back against your thrusts. Leah’s panties roll and tug, twisting around the toy and her hips. “One more,” you murmur, draping yourself against Leah’s back and sighing at the slick skin against her chest, their sweat mixing. “One more and we’re done, baby.”

Leah moans, low and guttural. “Baby,” she says, her voice rasping like shredded glass.

You straighten and go harder, faster, your own thighs straining, your chest heaving. “One more,” you promise, “you can do it. I know you can.” You drag your nails down Leah’s spine, hard enough to leave red lines that’ll stay for at least two days, maybe three. Leah jolts under you, and you do it again. “So good,” you croons, “you’re so good for me.” Leah sobs again, her hands clenched tight, her knuckles white. “Come on, Leah. Come for me.”

You keep it up, the praise coming easily to your tongue, showering Leah with how soft her skin is, how her lips bow so perfectly, how she’s so beautiful it takes your breath away to be so lucky, how she was so good for the week before when you had her on no touch no come. 

“Remember, babe? When I ate you out for an hour and you still told me when you had to stop and take a break? You cried so pretty at the end but never asked me to stop.” Tension coils in Leah’s spine and her head snaps up, the shadows not quite hiding the bites you've peppered across her throat, one hard enough to break the skin. You remember the taste of a single drop of Leah’s blood on your tongue and drops over Leah’s back, heavy. You grind down, punishing. “Come for me,” you order, and on command Leah’s back arches, and you imagine she can feel you clenching and fluttering around the buzzing rubber buried in her wet swollen cunt. You come from that more than the pressure inside you from the toy or the buzzing against your clit, Leah obeying so perfectly, giving you every last thing she has.

Leah stays pulled like a bowstring for another five seconds, then collapses like a cut puppet, completely limp. You smother the back of her shoulders in kisses, closed mouthed, lick the sweat from between the knobs and her spine. “Babe?” Leah doesn’t make a sound and doesn’t move. “Baby.”

“Mrgh,” Leah manages. You bite under her ear and she barely twitches. “Ba--” Leah’s voice gives out in the middle of calling you. She makes a soft whine, more of a vocalized exhale than an attempt at communication.

You reach over and slip Leah’s still fingers from the bed frame. “So good,” you say again, tucking Leah’s arms against her sides, because you’re so, so blessed. “Deep breath, baby. Relax.” You wait until you see Leah’s ribcage inflate before pulling out. Leah makes another garbled wheezing noise.

Your legs are wobbly when she slides off the bed, and you can already feel the ache in your calves, your thighs, and your arms. You’ll be stiff as hell tomorrow, and that’s nothing to how Leah will feel. You undo the harness and let it fall as you go to the bathroom; that cleanup is best left to another day. You wet the softest cloth, the one you’d set out earlier, and the other, dryer hand towel. You clean yourself up quickly and when you emerge Leah hasn’t moved an inch, her legs still splayed open, facedown. You smile, you ease the panties down and set them carefully aside, where she’ll be able to find them in the morning and rub at the red indents you’d left behind.

Leah whimpers when you slide the cloth between her legs, and you can’t help slipping just one finger into her to feel how swollen she is, how tender. Leah whimpers again and you shush her, gently, pulling away. You finish cleaning her up and toss the towels aside. There’s a blanket on the floor, within reach, the incredibly unbelievably soft one Leah had bought you for Christmas and then rolled around under your first shared tree, crooked and mostly bare but theirs, shamelessly stealing it from her and refusing to relinquish it. You spread it out on the side of the bed, thankful you’d splurged on such a huge mattress, extravagant for a starter apartment, but so worth it.

“C’mon,” you murmur and roll Leah onto it. Leah goes with her movements but doesn’t seem to have the strength to help, her limbs flopping. You arrange her into a comfortable position, on her back, and by the time you’re curled up next to her and tugging another blanket over your body Leah is snoring, soft and snuffly. You nuzzle into her, sucking a mouthful of Leah’s throat into your mouth and releasing, gently, before closing your eyes and sighing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day is Sunday, and you dote on Leah, feed her the expensive sandwiches (still plain ones but supposedly to be bio and better) she likes by hand, pulling a face when Leah demands more, making her drink glass after glass of water and helping her limp to the bathroom, laying her out on freshly laundered sheets and rubbing her sore muscles with oil until she smells like jasmine and roses and is warm putty under your hands.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day after that you hover while Leah steps out of the shower, toweling off. “You’re sure you’re up to it?”

Leah rolls her eyes. “It’s just an hour long gym session baby, not a fight to the death. I only and I’m fine.” Her eyes go a little dark and teasing. “Fine enough to stay in tonight.”

You let yourself be pulled into a kiss, teeth and tongue and sparks. “In that case…” you trail off, offering, and Leah pulls back.

“Uh oh,” Leah teases, and you pinch her hip. Then you lift Leah up on the sink and spend a minute lavishing attention on Leah’s breasts, her pretty nipples, pebbled and hard, biting back over old bruises to make them bright and bold again.

“You’re my favorite canvas,” you hum, against Leah’s sternum, and Leah chuckles. “Stay,” you order, and you go into the bedroom, into the nightstand by the bed, the bottom drawer. You come back into the bathroom and can’t help your smile, Leah is perfectly still where you left her. You offer Leah the fabric and Leah takes it from your hand, puzzled.

“Are these…from…?” Leah turns her panties over in her hand, her face pensive. You bite her lip. “This is… kind of gross, baby.”

You step between Leah’s legs, your hands on Leah’s knees. You pull your shirt off and watch Leah’s gaze go cloudy, immediately fixed on your breasts. “Please, baby? It’ll be good. I always make it good for you, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” Leah says, absently.

You thrust your chest out, slightly. Leah's eyes go distinctly glazed over. “So you’ll do it?”

“Uh huh,” Leah says.

“Great!” you yank your shirt back on and snatch the panties from Leah’s hands, tugging them around her ankles and up her calves.

Leah blinks rapidly. “What?”

“Just an hour gym session,” you remind her. You tap on Leah’s hip. “Off.”

Leah slides off the counter, automatically. “What did I just agree to do?”

“Be the best girlfriend in the world.” you adjust the panties around Leah’s hips and Leah winces.

“You don’t think it’s gross?”

“Hot,” you promise, and kiss Leah again, until you’re both a little breathless. “Get dressed, you don’t want to be late.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your phone buzzes while you are in a meeting, and you have to wait to read it. Instead of a message, Leah had sent a photo, shitty fluorescent lighting, the bathroom stall of the Arsenal gym, and her inner thighs, paler than the rest of her body, dirty panties centered squarely against her. 

You groan. 

Tease you respond. 

Leah sends back an emoji, the winky face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Leah is waiting when you get home, sitting on the dining room table in the blue lacy bra that makes you crazy and nothing else. You kick the door shut and throw your bag aside. 

Leah sighs. She spreads her legs open. “Do you want to talk or do you want to fuck me?”

You climb up on the table, pushing Leah down onto her back. You lower your voice to a growl. “I think you’re mistaken in who is going to fuck who.”

“Whom,” Leah mumbles, but she’s already going pliant under your body.

“Where’s the outfit I picked out for you?” you kiss the tip of Leah’s nose, and Leah lifts a hand, the panties dangling from a finger. You snag them. “How was it?”

“Pretty gross,” Leah mutters, faintly put out. “Cold and wet and just… kinda gross.”

You bring Leah’s wrist to your mouth and kiss her fluttering pulse. “You didn’t like it at all?”

Leah sighs. She hooks her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. “I liked that you liked it.”

You suck two of Leah’s fingers in your mouth and swirl before letting them slide out, stringing drool. Leah groans and you fit your hand around Leah’s throat, squeezing gently. “I liked it a lot. Are you sure you’re up for this, babe? Not too sore still?”

“Green,” Leah murmurs, and you don't hide your delight. You flatten yourself against Leah until you’re both lying flat on the table, your weight settled possessively over Leah’s frame.

“I’ll be gentle with you,” you murmur. You tap on the underside of Leah’s jaw and Leah’s mouth falls open, obedient. You tap again and she sticks her tongue out. “Good girl.” you tuck the panties into Leah’s mouth, angling them crotch first, and press your thumb up until Leah’s jaw closes. “Suck.” Leah’s cheeks were hollow, her throat working. “Don’t stop.” you run your nails along Leah’s cheekbones, not hard enough to mark, just enough for Leah to feel the tingle, and then down her throat, a little harder. You suckle at Leah’s jugular, feeling Leah’s heartbeat against your tongue. “Show me.”

Leah opens her mouth and you prods the fabric. “Good, but it can get better. Suck.” you lean on your side, slipping an arm under Leah’s head to use as a pillow. You slip the other hand down Leah’s body to slip inside her, and Leah moans. You pinch her ribs, hard enough for Leah to yelp. “Be good,” you warn, and Leah tips her head back as far as she can, baring her throat in submission. She’s sucking so hard you can hear it, a thick wet slurping sound, and you give her two fingers as a reward. Leah puts her hips up, and you start a slow thrust.

“Mmm,” Leah hums, around her makeshift gag, and you smile when you drop a kiss to Leah’s shoulder. You fit your hips together, one hand curling your fingers just the way Leah likes it.

“Feel that?” you ask. Your panties are damp, and you start a grind down on Leah’s thigh, in time with your thrusting fingers. “Next time you’ll wear my panties, these ones, what do you think?” Leah groans, her hips jolting off the table hard. “You like that?” It’s awkward, but you manage to position yourself so you can thrust down into Leah and grind your hips down and still have a free hand. You hold it over Leah’s mouth and nose first, feeling her breath puff out hot and desperate, before sliding it down to curl around Leah’s throat. You squeeze, experimental, and Leah clenches around your fingers, fluttering. You make a note for future reference.

Leah keens in her throat, the sound she makes right before she comes. You can feel the noise against your palm.

“Open,” you order, pressing two fingertips against Leah’s lips. You slip them in, shifting the panties around until you can feel Leah’s tongue. Leah closes her mouth around your fingers and resumes sucking, and you groan. “Fuck, you’re so hot. No games tonight baby, okay? Come when it feels good.” you're close but you keep your rhythm, until Leah shakes apart, her teeth coming down on your knuckle as she spasms. As soon as Leah relaxes you slip your fingers away and brace yourself on the table, slamming your hips down and twisting on Leah’s thigh, desperate.

Leah’s hands land on your hips, helping you, and then two fingers tap against your lips, hesitant. You open your mouth and Leah presses a thumb flat against your tongue, an index finger against the sharp point of your canine. “Cum,” she says, muffled through the fabric and spit in her mouth, and you come, just like that, on command.

[fushiguruuzzzz]

Thinking about curling up in bed with your boy after a long day and he just squishes his face to your chest and sighs, knowing you’re the only thing he looks forward to on his way home 🚬

what comes from his mouth might as well be a foggy detection of echolocation to any other person, but luckily, it’s just your boyfriend. he’s got his cheek pressed against the fabric of your tshirt, eyes shut, bleached hair falling in messy tufts over the both of you. he does it again. “mmmphh.”

“KENMA,” you breathe, holding in a laugh to refrain from scaring him off. “I can’t understand a thing you’re saying.”

he lifts his face from your ribs, finally, staring up at you almost boredly. there’s a twitch to his brows that gives him away, a slight crease that whispers of his annoyance in the subtlest of ways. his narrowed eyes meet yours. “you find this funny.”

you’re half sputtering and half grinning by the time he’s finished his sentence, the knowledge that although he was correct it was in the most incorrect form of perception something that you couldn’t express. yes, it was funny, but not in the har-har, get a load of this guy way. it was in a look at my avoidant grump curled up on my chest like a needy cat, I should take a picture to remember this way. now that you thought of it, your eyes flickered to your phone on the side table.

“don’t.”

you huff.

“so you laugh in my face and expect me to let you exploit me as well?” he asks, almost playful interrogation flowing from him like honey. he could be a little sweeter if he really wanted it to apply, but you couldn’t ask for more. not when he was like this.

you brush a stray piece of hair from his face, not missing the way his expression softens at the ghost of touch. “not laughin’ at you. you’re just cute like this is all.”

the passive expression melts into pure embarrassment, and soon enough his face is a magnificent shade of pink before its being nuzzled into you again. “don’t say things like that.”

“but it’s true?” he can hear the smirk in your tone without raising his gaze.

his voice is muffled once again as he responds, “don’t care.”

“seems like you do.” you drawl, voice oddly sing-song in the quiet of the evening.

“shut up.”

a/n: missing reya hours.

[misc-obeyme]

Demon Brothers as Subs Headcanons

Almost didn't post this 'cause I'm feeling self conscious about it for some reason. So here's me being brave. I told y'all I was in a smut phase. I'm so sorry. Just gonna drop this and run, see ya.

GN!MC x the demon brothers

Side Characters as Subs Bros as Doms

NSFW MDNI

Note: There are a lot of warnings, but most of this stuff is just briefly mentioned. These are headcanons of things they'd be into.

Warnings: Dom!MC, bondage, blindfolds, gags, toys, praise, humiliation, degradation, spanking, edging, orgasm denial, collaring, begging, dacryphilia, role play, voice kink, dirty talk, biting, hair pulling, exhibitionism, shibari, food play, hot wax, breath play, blood kink, somnophilia. I THINK THAT'S IT.

Lucifer

He won’t do it until he’s comfortable with you. It takes some time, a little coaxing, and constant reassurance. You have to earn his trust if you want to see him being vulnerable. Once he’s agreed, though, you find him surprisingly compliant. He’s ready to take every order, easily falling into the role of obedience.

Once he’s fully comfortable with you, Lucifer likes to release all control. He wants to be told what to do, to surrender fully. He loves to be restrained. He enjoys watching you take the time to tie him up carefully. He’ll surprise you by requesting a gag. He likes to feel a bit helpless, like he can’t even speak to you, completely at your mercy. He appreciates a blindfold for the same reason.

Just as he wants you to give him orders, he wants you to enforce them, too. If he fails to do what you ask, he wants you to punish him for it. Lucifer has a high pain tolerance but a low humiliation tolerance. Pulling him over your knee for a spanking would be effective, but he might ask you to use an implement simply because he knows your hand won’t be enough. If he does manage to say anything about it, though, he’s blushing and refusing to look at you because the embarrassment is really the worst part. If you do punish him, it won’t be long before he’s whimpering in your lap, promising to be good and begging you to touch him.

Lucifer will swear you to secrecy. If you ever tell anyone, MC, especially his brothers, about any of the things he says and does during these times, he’ll kill you himself. These are empty threats, of course, because he wouldn’t do any of this at all if he didn’t trust you to keep it to yourself. He just feels the need to threaten you about it because it makes him feel better.

Mammon

He doesn’t have as much of a hang up about this and will readily agree to sub for you if you ask him. He’s going to be slightly embarrassed about it, but not enough for it to be an issue. And once you get into it, his embarrassment dissipates because he’s so focused on how good you make him feel.

Mammon is the one with a praise kink. He doesn’t like punishments and is far more likely to respond well to positive reinforcement. If you want to rile him up any time and any place, all you have to do is call him a good boy. He might even do things for you without you asking just to see if you’ll say it.

He also enjoys being tied up. He likes to feel that he’s entirely in your hands. He isn’t too fond of gags because he likes to be vocal. He’s always babbling the whole time you’re doing anything with him and it’s usually all begging. If you tell him to be quiet, it will be difficult for him. And anyway, it’s far more satisfying listening to him cry and whine and repeat your name over and over.

Mammon likes to be considered your property. If you want to collar him, he’s happy to wear it. He doesn’t care who sees it and if someone asks, he’ll tell them about it proudly.

While praise is his preference, he’ll be okay with a little humiliation, too. Please talk dirty to him, MC. Call him your little slut and he’ll be agreeing with you and asking for more.

He loves accessories and toys. Put that man in a harness, give him a cock ring, or one of those shiny bejeweled anal plugs. He loves to dress up for you, especially if it's in something sparkly or gold.

Also loves to be fucked. Let him sit in your lap and ride you (or your strap) and he’ll lose himself entirely. He won’t last long, but he’s also ready to go again quickly.

Leviathan

Although Levi is clearly the subbiest of subs, he’s also extremely nervous. You gotta calm that anxiety a little bit if you want him to make it through the experience without having a heart attack.

Because of this anxiety, he might not be willing to do it for a little while. He needs a bit of reassurance, to feel fully safe with you, before he’s willing to try it. Make sure you talk to him about everything ahead of time and establish some solid safe words.

Once he’s agreed, though… well, we all know Levi is the one with the humiliation kink. And not just calling him names, he wants you to degrade him. Tell him how useless and gross he is. Just make sure you give him some after care where you tell him that you don’t actually think that way about him. He won’t realize how much it matters to hear you say that until you do.

Alternatively, surprise him by praising him instead. It will shock him so much, he might start to cry. D-do you really mean that, MC?

Turns out, Levi is a bit of crier in general. It’s the embarrassment. He blushes so easily and when you make him feel good, especially in a humiliating way, he can’t help the physical reaction of tears. They’ll end up streaming down his cheeks by the time you’re done.

He’s not sure about punishment at first, but if you suggest it he’s willing to try it out. This can range from orgasm denial to spanking. He’s surprisingly receptive once he gets comfortable with the idea. He might find he prefers to be good, but occasionally he can get really bratty. So you might have to get a bit creative to bring him back in line. When you do, it flusters him so bad he doesn't do anything even remotely brat like for a long time.

Satan

Easily the most stubborn when it comes to getting comfortable enough to sub for you. It’s going to take a lot of trust and reassurance, even more than Lucifer. But eventually, you can convince him.

He will be much more receptive if you include something cute like a cat collar or even a maid dress. He likes the way you react to him and he also just likes to wear those things himself. They make him feel like he can let his guard down a little easier.

Satan does not like humiliation and will not respond well to this. He needs a gentle touch. He loves praise and a little pampering - he will be happy if you focus all your attention on him. He’ll accept a soft dom situation best. Tell him he’s a good boy, but be firm when you need to.

He has a voice kink. Tie him up and blindfold him then read erotic stories or romantic poetry to him. If you really want to rile him up, whisper dirty talk in his ear. He won’t like insults, but he will love to hear you describe what you want to do to him.

Satan also likes pain. Bite him, please, he wants to feel your teeth in his flesh. He likes the way the marks look on him, too, but he’ll insist they only arise in locations he can easily hide. He’s too embarrassed to let anyone else but you see them.

Requires plenty of after care, kisses, and praise. Take care of him well enough and he’ll even suggest it himself next time. But if you ever breathe a word of it to anyone else, he'll be in demon form so fast you won't know what hit you. Be careful because he will turn the tables on you, MC.

Asmodeus

Not even a question. Asmo is ready to do whatever you want, any time. He will sub for you without question, but don’t misunderstand him. He likes doing both and although he’s willing to do just about anything, he still has preferences.

He likes to be worshiped. He’ll indulge you if you want to humiliate him, but he thrives on being told how stunning and beautiful he is. He just wants to hear you say that he’s the only one you’re interested in, whether it’s true or not.

Although Asmo doesn’t have a problem with things that leave marks, he’s hesitant to do anything that could cause lasting issues for his skin. Just be careful with his delicate body, MC! But he’s also willing to let quite a bit slide in the name of feeling good. He does like a little pain with his pleasure and his favorite is hair pulling. Doesn’t leave a mark and it's easily fixed in the after math.

He also enjoys being on display. He always wants to have mirror sex or semi-public sex. If you’re into exhibitionism, he will agree to that readily. Let him perform for you (and anyone else who happens to be around).

Similarly, he’s happy to take orders that involve doing a strip tease or a lap dance. He likes to do role play and will dress up as anything you want. Also loves shibari, tie him up in some beautiful knots, please.

Finds punishments a little funny. He can get a little bit bratty about it. But if you seem like you’re really annoyed with him, he’ll switch to being obedient real quick. But he enjoys things like orgasm denial because oh what a rush! He sees it as a challenge. How much can he take? Far more than you’re likely anticipating.

Beelzebub

He will absolutely sub for you if that’s what you want. A very good boy who is willing to do just about anything to make you happy. He’s not embarrassed about it at all and he’s ready to dive right in.

Generally, he’ll do anything you want. Very easy, very compliant. He likes when you give him orders. He likes when you tell him what to do. He knows that if he does well, you’ll be happy with him and he likes that.

Beel likes praise, but he doesn’t have a problem with humiliation, either. In fact, it’s a little difficult to really humiliate him. He’s not easily embarrassed or flustered, he’s solid and steady, so you’ll have to work hard if that’s what you want. He likes to use a title for you, like master or whatever variation you prefer.

He considers any kind of food play a reward from you. If you involve the usual things like whipped cream or chocolate, he sees it as you doing something special just for him. And he’ll work hard to please you, even more than usual. Thank you for this treat, MC.

He can take a lot. He enjoys pain. Biting, spanking, hot wax, even choking, any of the above will be something he enjoys. He likes that he can feel both pleasure and pain at the same time. It gives him a rush and he gets excited about it, almost without meaning to. Similarly, he enjoys being tied up, blindfolded, or gagged. He likes when you’re in total control of him.

The only thing Beel really doesn’t like is edging. He’s fine with overstimulation, but edging will frustrate him. He can’t take too much of that and will absolutely devolve into begging you for release pretty quickly.

Since he's basically impossible to embarrass, he has no problem telling anyone and everyone what you get up to with him. You might have to be the one to tell him to keep it to himself, he just doesn't understand why anyone would care.

Belphegor

He likes the idea of subbing because he thinks it involves less work for him. But he is by far the brattiest sub of all the brothers. So he’s right because you’re the one with your work cut out for you. Be prepared to become a brat tamer.

He’ll take easy orders, but give him anything too involved and he’ll get petulant. Surprisingly, responds well to you being rough with him. If you’re going to be the dom, he really wants you to dominate him. He likes it when you manhandle him.

Yes okay he likes the breath play. But he also enjoys pain in general. He has a blood kink. Bite him and make him bleed. He’s gonna love any kind of vampire role play, he’ll straight up drink your blood if you want him to.

Belphie wants you to humiliate him. Tell him he’s a dirty whore, use him however you like. If you let him, he'll dish it right back to you, though.

Obviously into somnophilia. Is he asleep when you wanna fuck him? Go right ahead, MC. He doesn’t need to be awake for you to make use of him. Though if you start, he might wake up just so he can get off, too. If that happens, expect him to mouth off at you until you take him in hand.

Belphie is another one who will wear a collar all the time if you want him to. He likes strappy leather things and will gladly wear a harness or any other such items. He doesn’t care too much about blindfolds or gags, but he does like being tied up.

He doesn’t care who knows about the way he submits to you. If you want him to wear a collar, he’ll make sure it’s visible to everyone. Similarly into exhibitionism. It feels like he’s almost daring anybody to say anything about it.

side characters as subs | bros as doms | side characters as doms masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[diamonddaze01]

PEDAL TO THE METAL (series masterlist)

🏁 IT'S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO! 🏁

Welcome to the world of F1, where the cars go fast, the stakes go higher, and the drama never lifts off the throttle. Seventeen rules the grid—from precision strategies to podium glory. Whether it’s navigating a hairpin turn or a tricky love confession, the tension is always at maximum revs. So tighten your harness and adjust your visors—this isn’t just a race; it’s the ride of a lifetime.

🏁 N O T E S : this has been in the works for far too long, and i owe it to @ylangelegy for yanking it out of my head and putting it on paper. i hope you love my magnum opus as much as i love writing it <3 without further ado, welcome to pedal to the metal !

🏎️ in the cockpit: ferrari driver!jeonghan x journalist!reader

𖦹 track: humor, fluff, angst, smut

🏆 qualifying results: read the teaser here! 🏁 race results: read the full fic HERE (part i) and HERE (part ii) 🚥 sprint results: [on the record] [off the record] [bad for business]

📝 post race analysis: jeonghan's not used to someone who pushes his buttons as easily as you do, and you're not used to someone who challenges you as quickly as he does. maybe it's time to go full throttle, both on and off the track.

🏎️ in the cockpit: ferrari driver!soonyoung x publicist!reader

𖦹 track: humor, fluff, angst, smut

🏆 qualifying results: read the teaser here! 🏁 race results: read the full fic here! 🚥 sprint results: read associated drabbles here!

📝 post race analysis: a ferrari driver who loathes media day, a publicist who’s one press conference away from losing it, and enough tension to power the entire grid—because apparently, managing his PR disasters isn’t in the job description for falling for him.

🏎️ in the cockpit: mclaren driver!mingyu x strategist!reader

𖦹 track: humor, fluff, angst, smut

🏆 qualifying results: read the teaser here! 🏁 race results: read the full fic here! 🚥 sprint results: read associated drabbles here!

📝 post race analysis: when the fastest driver on the grid has a habit of ignoring orders and the loudest strategist in the paddock has zero patience for his antics, the result isn't what everyone expects. but one thing's for sure: everyone hears the team radio.

🏎️ in the cockpit: aston martin driver!seokmin x f1 vlogger!reader

𖦹 track: humor, fluff, angst, smut

🏆 qualifying results: read the teaser here! 🏁 race results: read the full fic here! 🚥 sprint results: read associated drabbles here!

📝 post race analysis: for the first time in his life, seokmin realizes he wants something he can’t just reach out and take.

🏎️ in the cockpit: williams driver! hansol x engineer! reader

𖦹 track: humor, fluff

🏆 qualifying results: read the teaser here! 🏁 race results: read the full fic here! 🚥 sprint results: read associated drabbles here!

📝 post race analysis: There were a million things you expected on your first day at Williams, but a driver waiting for you at your desk with a napkin sketch in hand was not one of them.

[streamsofmoon]

18+ | afab!reader

you're drooling; body quivering hard as vi slams into your cunt without mercy. she's pulled two orgasms from you already, each one more ruthless than the last. you swore you blacked out for a moment, your whole world disappearing behind a screen of white-hot pleasure.

it's almost too much, the overstimulation has you near choking. it's too much, and it hurts, but it hurts so fucking good.

vi's fingers slide through the slick of your folds, the sudden touch making you jump. they tease at your stretched hole, pried wide around the girth of her strap, and the sensation has you whimpering, hips twitching. then she's rubbing at your clit, swollen and wet, and you hide your scream into the pillow against your chest.

"fuck, you're so pretty," vi rambles, lost in her own pleasurable madness. "so pretty and sweet, clenching me so tight."

her name is lost on your tongue as every drive in of her hips leaves you speechless. she's so deep, she's hitting it rough and she won't stop rubbing at your clit—

your mouth falls open with a silent scream, body convulsing as you gush around vi's cock. you claw at the bedsheets, desperate to ground yourself as you threaten to slip far away.

"good girl," vi praises, still working her hips into your sopping cunt. she lowers herself until she's pressed firmly against your back, her breasts soft on your skin. her thrusts slow to a grind, the movement having you gasping for breath. "good girl."

you mewl pathetically, still shivering from the force of a third orgasm. vi trails tender kisses across the span of your shoulders, sinking them into your skin. it's soothing, calming as you regain your senses that pleasure snatched from you.

it takes a minute before you reach back to pull at vi's harness. you pull at it a few times, weak but determined, and vi hums a puzzled noise into your neck.

"you haven't come yet," you say softly, turning your head to the side so you can look her in the eye. "i...want you to ride my pussy."

vi goes quiet for a moment, and it's only a moment before she's flipping you onto your back.

you smile up at her expression; it's dangerous but also desperate and a little needy. you watch as she rips off the harness and go pilant when she grabs your thighs to spread your legs wide.

you arch your back, a perfect image of debauchery, and vi curses beneath her breath.

you spread your cunt between two fingers, already wet and aching, as you whisper, "please?" with feigned innocence.

vi has you screaming again in less than a minute.

[charliemwrites]

Bark, bark, snort, grrr

(The ex idea comes from @st-el-la-luna, absolutely brilliant darling ❤️)

Content: Voyeurism, Mild Injury, Possessive/Protective Behavior

Johnny, for all his quirks and… weirdly human tendencies, is an incredibly good sport. Particularly about letting you put him in Santa hats and wreaths, ugly sweaters and snow socks. He poses for every picture so dutifully, looks so serious and annoyed up until you plant smooches on his head or cheek and that silly lupine grin comes out.

He’s been your perfect little heater ever since the heater started to go on the fritz. It keeps shutting off or turning itself lower than it’s meant to be, leaving you shivering before you realize something is amiss. It’s not so broken that you’re willing to interrupt your solitude to have someone come fix it. But you’re grateful for a big fluffy body laying on your feet or snuggling under the blankets with you.

As the winter sets in, you tromp out with him in the snow a lot. Often use his sturdy shoulders and better footing as a crutch to navigate without slipping. He always gets fussy when you do, dancing in his feet and snuffling at your coat, urging you up.

One morning you wake up after a fresh snow, expecting that you’ll have to clear the driveway and porch - only to find it freshly shoveled and salted. It would spook you, except you’re sure Johnny would have woken you up barking his head off if it was anything to worry about.

Your mother calls about holiday plans in mid-November. You hedge around any commitments, hand buried in Johnny’s fur, saying that you don’t want to leave your precious pup at home.

The combined efforts of both your parents, your sister, and a cousin you actually like makes you cave eventually though. They promise it’ll just be family, that you can even bring Johnny. You grimace at that - debate getting him some meds from the vet…. But he’s been doing better on walks in town.

The weird assurance that it’ll “just be family” should have been a red flag.

When you arrive at your parents’ place, several gift bags and Johnny (with a bow tie on his collar) in tow, you find your ex there. On the couch. Next to your least-favorite cousin and your sister.

“What’s he doing here?” you ask sharply.

“Well, you two were engaged—”

Johnny’s ears shoot straight up as you tense.

“Yeah, and then he cheated.”

“People make mistakes. If you would just hear him out.”

“I don’t care what he has to say. And I don’t care what you have to say either.”

You drop the bags in a heap and click your tongue for Johnny. He falls in with you instantly, leaning up against your side. You get all the way to your car before you hear your ex’s voice calling your name.

You try to hurry, but there’s ice and the last thing your dignity can take is slipping right now. Luckily, you have the perfect deterrent before you ex can even get within arm’s reach.

Johnny snarls, so deep and loud you feel it in your own chest.

“Jesus!” your ex cries, coming up short. “Where did you get that thing?!”

“Johnny picked me. More than I can say for you.”

“Don’t be like that, I’m picking you now.”

“Oh, did your girl best friend lose all her daddy’s money?”

His cheeks light up neon. Huh. Got it in one.

Then he dares another step and Johnny lunges. You just get a hold of his harness but it’s enough ward your ex off a bit more.

“He’s very loyal,” you add. “Also more than I can say for you.”

“Baby, just listen—”

“An upgrade all around, I think.”

You round your car, climb into the driver’s seat with Johnny standing guard, then let him clamber over you into the passenger’s seat. At the front door, most of your family is gathered and staring. You flip off your ex one last time before peeling out of there.

The tears come after you’ve gotten back home. Johnny licks your face until you stop crying, then leads you inside. The two of you curl up on the couch together, his face buried in your stomach. You fall asleep there and dream of a man’s voice whispering love and comfort in your ear.

—

A week later, your ex shows up.

You’re out in the yard with Johnny, watching him zoom through the snow and laughing as he speeds by. Your ex must hear you because he comes round the side of the house.

And Johnny. Goes. Ballistic.

Literally, he hits your ex like a missile, taking him into the snow and snarling like something from hell. He’s got his teeth in your ex’s designer coat, ripping it to shreds. It’s frightening; you’ve never felt safer.

“Johnny!” you call. A growl. You walk closer, kick a bit of snow at both of them. “Johnny, down! Leave it!”

And he does, finally does, though not without taking a good chunk of fabric with him. Your ex, wide-eyed and pale, panting, doesn’t bother to say a word. He scrambles away while Johnny barks after him, all canine and spit.

You hum as he returns to you, fabric in his mouth, tail wagging.

“What a good boy,” you coo, taking the partial sleeve and inspecting it. Louis Vuitton, it looks like. “Very good. My perfect boy.”

You drop his prize into the snow and snort as he wastes no time peeing on it. Well, that’s gonna stay there. Forever.

“C’mon bud, you deserve a treat.”

Johnny follows you happily inside, a new pep in his step.

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Masterlist

[grabby-smitten]

Pinky promise Prt. 2

Part one is here!

Subjects: Bunny Hybrid!Xavier x Human F!Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Content: Hybrid AU, MDNI, smut, PiV, breeding, cunnilingus, dubcon if u squint, male heat\rut, reader has female anatomy, no beta and not edited, commas placed everywhere, idk… let me know if i missed anything.

A.N: I think writing Xavier is so much easier than other lads… for me, at least. I believe that he’s a total sex freak and nobody can change my mind. Enjoy! 💋

On the fifth day, you walked in to pick up the tray of his lunch. You were gonna be in and out, it was the best for the both of you or at least you believed so.

Something felt off as soon as you stepped foot in the room. Looking around you saw his harness discarded in a corner and no sign of Xavier. Panic began to creep in, the eerie silence made goosebumps run down your spine as your eyes frantically zigzagged across the room in search of him.

Without warning the door slammed closed and the loud bang propelled you away from it. There, he stood with a hand still on the door. Xavier was all sweaty and disheveled, a crazed look in his eyes clouded the soft blue you knew so well.

He suddenly crouched and as fast as lightning he was in front of you.

Xavier took hold of your ankle and pulled, causing you to fall to the floor, but before you could scramble away, his grip on your leg tensed and you were being yanked towards him. The scream you meant to release died in your throat as a heavy body dropped on top of you.

As he pinned you down to the freezing floor, You felt the cold tip of his nose travel from your temple to the side of your face as he kept sniffing. Deep intakes of breath down your neck, the softness of his lips alternating with some pecks of his tongue. Tasting? Sniffing? Savoring? You were unsure at this point, overwhelmed with all the sensations raining down on you at once.

Observing the ceiling and the crown of his head, the dizziness decreased as your mind began to understand what was happening.

“Xavier, wait!” But he wasn’t listening. Not that he didn’t want to. It’s just that he couldn’t. The beating of his heart drowned every other sound. Your scent, your touch and everything that made you— you, clogged his senses.

You could hear him constantly whimper as he moved down your body. Scenting every bit of skin that crossed his path. His hot and humid breath fanning over your body.

Once he was content with what he was sensing, Xavier took no time to remove your clothes. Almost tearing them to shreds in the process. No controlled movements, just pure desire and instinct driving him where he needed to be. He saw the clothing items as just obstacles in his path and getting rid of them was the only solution.

His wild blue orbs gazed at your naked figure, sprawled on the floor. Instinctively, the rough pads of his fingertips grazed your nipples. That same curious touch made its way down your body, leaving a tingling trail after it.

As if he had snapped out of a trance, Xavier’s hands roughly moved under your asscheeks. Positioning where he needed you, he dived right into your center.

Xavier didn’t even know where he was going. He only you were calling to the deepest part of him to own, to take and to possess. He latched onto your core, swirling his tongue around, over and down your center. No pace or technique. Desperation in each of his movements as if he didn’t eat fast enough someone would take away his meal. And none was going to snatch you away from him. Ever.

Little nibbles on your clit got you dry heaving, choking on hair. Your hand on his damp forehead did nothing to deter him from getting what he wanted. His lips surrounded your bundle of nerves and pulled, sucked. he did the same with his front teeth. Pulling, desperately tugging. His hands holding you in place so he could keep bullying his head between your legs— as if that would get him any deeper.

Xavier was messy. burying his face between your thighs, biting your hips and any piece of skin he could latch on so he could draw out those little whimpers and sounds you made every time he did so. His spit and your juices dripping from his cheeks and nose to his chin and ending up on the floor. Sticking to everything; clothes, skin, you and him… both.

You were screaming incoherencies in no time, voice hoarse from the abuse to your lower body. Your throat burned, not knowing if to release or take in air. You didn’t even know where to put your hands, not wanting to hurt his bunny ears but needing to grip something, anything.

The sounds he made as he sucked your juices were obscene, grotesque even and it filled the tiny room completely. You had come already, not sure how many times since he hadn’t stopped once. He just kept and kept getting mouthfuls of you without thinking of anything outside of your taste.

Xavier got tired of not hearing more of your cries, your thighs constantly shaking and constricting his head, quieting your songs of ecstasy. So he decided to fix that. He positioned his forearms on your legs and spread you apart as his palms kept pushing your lower belly down and in place. Instinctively, you attempted to close them but you found such a task impossible. Xavier kept a death grip on your body, his tongue never stopping and tears began running down your face as it all became too much, too overwhelming.

You could feel the internal pressure beginning to build up again, Your inner thighs sweetly ached and the warmth of your release suddenly exploded with more intensity than before, making you scream and wildly buckle your hips on Xavier’s face. But he was unfazed, just tightened his grip and moaned as soon as your newly heated liquids hit his taste buds.

“Please, let me— fuck— let me fuck a litter into you,” he breathed his words against your swollen entrance, your brain barely registered the meaning after the high, but you numbly nodded anyway. Anything for your bunny, right?

And that’s how his first rut went on and on. Your body handled to his liking, pushed and pulled. You could feel his elbows digging at your back, pushing you down as his hips inevitably rutted behind you. Face down, cheek pressed to the icy floor as his erratic breathing fanned the nape of your neck.

flipped over by sweaty and stinky palms. your leg hiked up to his chest and forcing his leaking member down your soft velvety walls again and again.

Whimpers left your lips through the whole night as Xavier used you, filled your insides with his burning ropes of white. Scalding your dripping cunt as the few drops that escaped ran down your thighs, pooling on the floor under both your still joined bodies.

his human, his first safe human. After all, you promised.

“So it’s completely normal?” You asked Xavier’s doctor through a call. “Okay, I see. So that means he’s healthy… I— no! No! I’m fine! Yeah, thanks. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Xavier looked down at the floor as you hung up the call with his doctor. Feeling a bit guilty about the whole heat thing from last night, but you seemed fine and more concerned about him than yourself.

“I’m sorry… I—“ but you didn’t let Xavier finish his sentence.

“No, no, no.” You surrounded him with your arms as you spoke, “Xav, hun, it’s okay. Didn’t you hear the doctor? It means you’re healthy and I… well, we both enjoyed it, right?”

“Right,” was all you heard from him but you have no idea the door you just opened for your bunny.

Six months later…

The languish licks were driving you crazy, but Xavier was taking his time. Head buried under your skirt as soon as you came home from work. He caught you at the entrance of your place, not even giving you a second to take off your shoes. You were pushed against the wall and your legs opened with no chance of denial.

Let’s just say that Xavier enjoyed his heats nowadays.