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avastrasposts · 1 year ago

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Big Sky Country - ch. 1

Cowboy!Frankie x OFC

Hi!

I'm really excited to post the first chapter of my new fic after posting a little snippet of it almost a month ago! In it we meet a cowboy version of Frankie as he returns to New York to patch things up with his "maybe girlfriend", but he also makes a connection with another woman, who makes this lost cowboy feel welcome in her Brooklyn bar.

No age gap, OFC story, angsty as fuck in parts, some smut, and I'm putting poor Frankie through hell again (I love him, I swear...)

And a big shout out and thank you to @i-own-loki who made the beautiful banner!

Warnings can be found here - contains spoilers but please read if you know certain themes may be upsetting for you. This fic is dark in parts and I don't want to upset anyone.

Series Master List

Main Master list

Prologue

The Greyhound bus rumbled away down the pin straight highway, heading west, towards the darkening mountain range. The sun slowly sank behind the highest peaks, soon their shadows would touch her feet. Looking back, east, towards a past she’d left on a whim, she sighed and let her eyes drift up to the indigo sky. Big sky country indeed.

So alien to her eyes, so open to someone used to living their life surrounded by tall buildings, busy people, small trees in small parks.

Here, the open prairie gave speed to the cold wind that hurtled down from the mountain range, whipping dirt from the road, tugging at her loose hair. She briefly closed her eyes against the particles of dust, inhaled deeply, tasting it on her tongue, dry grass in the air, a hint of snow from the mountains. No way back now, the bus too far away to stop. Only her duffel bag and a phone number, hoping he’d pick up and let her in.

He pressed his thumb to the button with her name, the taxi behind him rolling away down the crowded street. The buzz from the intercom added another layer of noise to the assault on his ears.

He dropped his hand.

Waited.

Glanced down the street, letting the tall steel and glass buildings pull his gaze upwards, to the thin sliver of dirty gray sky visible above them. With a sigh he dropped his eyes down, towards the end of the long street, where the buildings seemed to merge into one solid wall. He knew he was looking west, could feel it in his bones, in the way his feet wanted to start walking towards it. Towards the tall mountain range behind his home.

He pressed his thumb against the button with her name on it again, the buzzer grated his skin. He had a way back, nothing stopping him from hailing a cab, climbing back on the Greyhound and heading west again.

But she was here. If he wanted to make this work, he needed to be here.

Chapter One

A wall of warm air hit Frankie as he pulled open the door to the bar, chatter spilling out onto the street. His shoulders pulled up to his ears, the environment uncomfortable to him and he stopped just inside the door, scanning the room for something familiar apart from the smell of stale beer in the air. This bar was the first one he saw that looked like it would maybe serve someone like him, a Texas boy, fresh off the bus from Montana. He’s pretty sure he still has horse dung stuck to the bottom of his cowboy boots, his old army duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

The door behind him opened again, cold air hitting the nape of his neck under the ball cap.

“You growing roots, old man?”

The line is followed by a man snorting and a hand on Frankie’s arm, pushing him to the side. He would snap, bite back with a threatening remark, or at the very least fix the man with his most intimidating soldier scowl. But he just took two steps to the side, his shoulders creeping closer to his ears as he tugged at his cap, the movement unintentional, a nervous habit. He knew he was out of place here, a stranger.

The young man, a yellow backpack slung over his shoulder and long hair pulled into a bun, shoved his way past Frankie, catching the eye of the woman behind the bar.

“Hey, dickwad! Behave yourself or I’ll have you barred,” she barked, her eyebrows furrowed as she jabbed her finger at the man and he raised his hands in a weak gesture of apology as he sauntered towards the bar.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he snarked, heading towards a loud crowd further in, walking away and ignoring the frown from the woman. She turned her attention to Frankie instead and looked him up and down, an appraising look, before meeting his eyes.

“You coming or going, cowboy?”

“Uuh..coming,” he managed to press out, picking up his feet and walking to the bar. He felt heat creep up his neck at being so easily pegged as a cowboy, an out of towner, swallowing down the urge to turn on his heel and bolt out the door. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and the woman behind it gave him a smile, setting down a coaster with a flick of her wrist.

“What can I get you? You look like you’ve traveled far.”

“Just a beer, thanks,” he said and she gave him a softer smile, pity flashing across her face.

“This is Brooklyn, cowboy, I’ve got twenty beers on tap and forty in bottles,” she said and he felt fatigue set in, can’t even order a normal fucking beer in this city. He sighed deeply, dropping his head between his shoulders. But the woman just chuckled in a low voice, tapping her hand on the bar just in front of him.

“Don’t despair, I’m a good bartender, I know what you’ll like.”

He picked up his head as she stepped away, grabbed a glass, and moved to a tap further down the bar. Shooting him a quick grin, she began to pull the pint, amber liquid filling the glass, topping off with a creamy white head. He watched her from under the bill of his cap, shouldn’t really appraise her, but he couldn't help it. The fitted jeans on her curves, and the faded bar uniform shirt tied at the waist instead of tucking it in, made his eyes drop down over her ass in a way a man trying to save his relationship with another woman should avoid. And she clocked him, checking her out when she turned towards him again, making him snap his eyes to his hands on the bar. Heat crept up his neck as he rubbed the small bullseye tattoo next to his thumb.

“Amber ale from a local brewery three blocks from here,” she said and placed the pint on the mat in front of him.

“Thanks,” he replied, watching the bubbles rise to the bottom of the head, “looks good.”

“One of my favorites, I’ve always had a soft spot for amber ale,” she nodded, picking up a cloth and returning to the never ending duty of cleaning glasses.

Frankie picked up the glass and took a long sip, humming as the ale slipped down his throat.

“Damn,” he said, “that’s good, that’s really good.”

“Told you,” the woman smiled at him and he gave her a quick smile in return before he took another sip.

She watched him from the corner of her eye as she moved around the bar, clean glasses getting wiped and stacked. Clearly a newcomer to the city, she’d called him ‘cowboy’ and he hadn’t protested, the boots and the duffel bag giving him away, even before she saw his uneasy eyes roam around the bar and his nervous shuffle. She’s used to assessing anyone who stepped in through the door, the loud ones, the quiet ones, the ones who are only coming to make trouble.

This man was one of the quiet ones, she doesn’t think he’s loud even when he’s in his own element, surrounded by friends.

As he took another long drink from his pint, she turned and picked up glass, catching his eyes on her. She smiled warmly at him, wanting to make him feel welcome, at least in this bar. The city outside is usually brutal to newcomers, and this one seemed to carry more of a burden than most.

“So you’re new to the city?” she asked him, moving back to his side of the bar, pushing long strands of ginger red hair back behind her ears before wiping another glass.

“Yeah, came in on the bus a few hours ago,” he replied and she nodded. He doesn’t look like he flew into the city, he’s got the tired face of someone who's spent too many hours leaning against a window, watching the Midwest slip past. But underneath the tired eyes there’s a warmth, a softness in the way he gives her a small crooked smile that makes a dimple appear on his right cheek.

“Spent two fucking days on it,” he sighed, rubbing a large hand over his face before he lifted his cap and swept his thick curls back. She was temporarily mesmerized by how they bounced back around his ears as he squashed the cap back down.

“Two days? Where did you come from, Texas?” she asked, her eyes widening at the thought of spending two whole days on a bus, but he shook his head.

“No, I think Texas is like three days, I came from Montana,” he took another long drag of his beer.

“I’m guessing this isn’t a weekend trip then”, she quipped, putting down the cloth, all the glasses done, and leaned back on the counter behind her. There’s more work to be done but the stranger chuckled softly at her joke and it pulled her in, making her smile in return.

“No, I’m here to stay with someone, my..ah-a friend, of sorts,” he said, “Gonna see if I can find some work around here, try a different type of life.”

“What do you do?” she asked, “Maybe I know someone who knows someone, that’s usually how it works here.”

“Back in Montana I work with horses, on a ranch,” he replied, rubbing his thumb over the condensation on the beer glass, “Before that, I was a mechanic, cars, helicopters, anything really, I can usually fix it.”

“That’s a pretty handy skill,” she replied, sounding impressed and he gave a little shrug, as if the ability to fix helicopters was something inconsequential, “I’m sure you’ll find work, especially if you can fix old cars, lots of those around here.”

She turned and grabbed a notepad from next to the till, “What’s your name and number? I’ll keep it on hand and ask around for you.”

“Really?” He sounded surprised as he sat up a bit straighter, “Uh yeah, I’m Frankie, Frankie Morales.”

“Nice to meet you, Frankie,” she smiled back at him and slid the notepad across the bar, “Write it down, and your number. I can’t promise anything, and I’m not recommending you to anyone, I’ll just let them know you’re looking for work.”

“Yeah, sure, of course, but anything helps,” he replied, grabbing the pen and jotting down his information.

“What’s your name?” he asked, as he passed the notepad back to her.

“Aisling,” she replied, slipping it in next to the till again.

“Do you own this place,” he asked, looking around the bar. When he looked back at her she was shaking her head.

“No, not at all, I’m just the bartender,” she said, “Give me a minute, I’m just gonna serve these guys.” She gave him a quick smile and headed down the bar to two men who had just sat down.

Frankie watched her as she took their orders, smiling and laughing easily as she pulled a beer for one of them. The men, her age, are both hanging on to her every word as she makes a joke, the blonde one clapping the other one on the shoulder with a loud howl. She winked at him and turned, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf to serve the other man. As she stood on her tiptoes, stretching to reach, her shirt rose up, a soft sliver of creamy skin exposed in the dim light of the bar. Frankie couldn’t help but stare at the glimpse black underwear peeking out above the edge of her jeans, a flash of lace, his mouth suddenly dry as his cock reacted. He dipped his head, but couldn't keep his eyes away, she swayed on her tiptoes, refusing to get the stepladder and her breasts pressed against the shirt as it rode up higher. Frankie had an image of her underneath him, all that soft flesh, warm and smooth under his rough palms, sweet smelling and whimpering.

She managed to slide the bottle off the shelf and grab a glass. Frankie peeled his eyes away, looking down at the now empty pint in his hands, pressed his thumb into the tattoo, forcing his thoughts in another direction. At the end of the bar, Aisling rang up the customers’ order and wiped down the bar before coming back towards him.

“Do you want another?” she asked, nodding towards the empty glass. Frankie considered it for a beat and then shook his head. He wanted a clear head when he went back to the apartment, he needed to say the right things to save the relationship with the woman who lived there. He already knew that not even in his head could he bring himself to call her ‘girlfriend’, he’s far from sure that’s what she is anymore, not with the way they left it.

“No, I can’t,” he said, “It was good though, what do I owe you?”

“Fourteen fifty,” Aisling replied and he tried not to cough at the price as he pulled his wallet from the back of his jeans.

She took his bills and he left her a tip on the bar that she deposited in the tip jar with a smile.

“Uhm…tell me,” Frankie said, absentmindedly tugging at his cap, “Do I really look that much like a cowboy?”

Aisling’s smile softened as she heard his nervous question, “Well…yeah, the cowboy boots are kinda a give away,” she replied, “It doesn’t exactly look like it’s a fashion choice, and the whole jeans, suede jacket, belt buckle look…” She motioned over his body as Frankie’s eyes dropped down to his jeans and belt, hidden from view by the counter.

“You’re good,” he said, a small chuckle escaping him, “You got all that just from when I came in?”

“Tricks of the trade,” she replied, “I need to know who steps into the bar and read them quickly.”

“So you assessed me as soon as I walked in? What else did you pick up on?” He was curious now and leaned forward on the counter as she laughed.

“Well, I’m cheating because we’ve been talking for a bit now. But you do look ‘new in town’ and I’d say ex-army maybe?”

“I guess the duffel bag gave it away?” Frankie smiled, glancing down at the old bag at his feet.

“No, they’re ten dollars at the army surplus stores,” Aisling replied, shaking her head, “But you sat down with your back against a corner, and I bet you can tell me exactly where the exits are and how many people are in here and which ones could give you trouble.”

Frankie raised his eyebrows in surprise at her and she shrugged.

“You’ve been scanning the room since you walked in.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” he replied, letting his eyes roam across the room again, it’s instinct at this point, inherited from years in the army, “I quit the army years ago but it’s a habit I can’t seem to drop.”

“What did you do? Mechanic?” Aisling asked and Frankie shook his head.

“Helicopter pilot, which means I had to be able to fix anything, but mainly I flew things, anything really.”

Aisling gave him a closer second look and the pieces fell into place, his quiet demeanor, the way he held himself, not exactly folded in on himself, but as if he was trying to stay unseen and not be noticed unless he wanted to be. A strong, solid body gone slightly soft with age, betrayed by the gray in his beard and hair, small white scars across his knuckles, evidence of old injuries.

“What?” he asked as he noticed her eyes scanning him.

“Just building the picture,” she said, a small crooked smile, “You know us bartenders, always trying to figure out the story of our patrons.”

“Not much of a story,” he said, tugging at his cap and hiding his eyes, “just new in town, looking for work.”

“Everyone has a story, Frankie Morales.”

He shrugged at that and fumbled for his phone as it began to ring. Aisling gave him a quick smile and stepped away to let him answer in private.

Frankie’s jaw ticked as he saw the name on the screen, Eva. He’s been expecting her to call since he left her front door. Their front door, maybe. The truth is, he doesn’t know where they stand anymore. They’d met in Florida, after a doomed mission to South America that left so much pain inside him, and a rift between old friends. She’d been a calming presence, someone who seemed to have his back when his mind spiraled out of control. But she hadn’t been enough, being in Florida became oppressive, and it wasn’t just the humid heat. The old haunts from the days he’d spent trying to numb his brain with white powder, bars and venues filled with memories of the friends he’d lost, both those who’d died and those who still lived, it all became claustrophobic.

When Herb, his sponsor at the NA, first invited him to the ranch in Montana he’d scoffed at the idea. He was a pilot, not a ranch hand. But after a close call, nearly falling back into the habit, he’d taken him up on the offer and gone out there for two weeks. Herb had convinced him by talking about the clear, cool air making it easy to breathe, the open sky making the mind feel less claustrophobic. And he’d been right. The first evening they’d sat on the porch, the mountains at their back, the open prairie in front, and Frankie had looked up at the endless sky and it was almost as if he was back in a cockpit, flying close to the stars. Nothing encroached on his mind, no buzz in his ears, nothing tugged at his memories, just the open sky and an endless horizon.

The two weeks of hard ranch work, aching muscles, blistered hands, sealed the deal. If he wanted to truly start over, he needed to leave Florida and come here.

Eva had been enthusiastic at first, pulled in by Frankie’s talk of the horses, a new foal that had just been born, the small cabin they’d live in. He’d shared the pictures he’d taken, all rustic beams, sturdy wood furniture and a hammock on the porch. It looked like a romantic western dream and that’s what they both really thought it would be. And for the first few months they were happy.

But when Frankie found peace and calm in the solitude of the isolated ranch, felt free and unrestricted, she began to feel claustrophobic and suffocated. The nearest town, a forty-five minute drive away, didn’t offer much of anything. She found work online and began to resent the life he’d trapped her in. That was the word she’d used, trapped. When the fights became a daily occurrence, Frankie felt the familiar itch of wanting to escape come back. Starting, as always, in his feet and crawling up his body until he spent more time out on the ranch than in the cabin. And for every hour he stayed away, Eva resented their life more, resented him more.

Until eventually, one late evening when he came back after five days on the trails with a group of guests from a neighboring ranch, she’d left. Only a note saying she’d accepted a position in New York with the company she worked for. A line about needing a different type of life, no invitation to come with her, to follow her, just signed /E and that was it.

He’d called her, spent hours on the phone when she eventually picked up, begged her to come back. Offered to move to a ranch closer to a bigger town, find a compromise where he could still have the peace of the ranch life, but let her live her life too. But she loved New York, after the silent cabin, she craved the noise and the tempo of the city.

Eventually he agreed to come to New York, to see her new life and maybe find a place in it. But the city was an assault on his senses after so long on the ranch. The peace that his spiraling mind had finally found evaporated as he navigated the city, the metro, her friends, the bars. His feet itched, the skin around his nails was picked raw and he felt on edge, even in the apartment, his mind never getting a chance to be quiet.

Eva called it his need for control, to always have a plan of escape, a way out. He knew it was the years in the army that had shredded his sense of safety, left his nerves ragged and too exposed to the mundane background noise of a city. Maybe he’d be able to deal with it some day, but now, he needed the silence.

After two months in Brooklyn, he left. A loose promise from both of them to maybe try to patch things up, to try the long distance thing. But when he sent a text, saying he’d returned safely to the ranch, and she didn’t reply for two days, he knew it was over. And he didn’t miss her. He had loved her at some point, he thinks. But their lives didn’t match, their needs too different. And he saw that he should maybe not be with anyone while he laid down the foundations of a new life in a new place. He needed to find a way to live with himself, in silence, before he considered sharing his darkest sides with someone else.

And then Eva called. Six weeks after he’d left Brooklyn. He could hear the heavy traffic behind her as she walked down a street somewhere, leaving a clinic that had confirmed what she’d suspected.

“I’m pregnant, Frankie, and it’s yours.”

The words floored him, sent a sharp jolt of dread through his system, his feet tingling, then his scalp. A baby. In New York. But his baby, their child. And the dread was replaced by nerves, how would they do this? Would she want to raise the baby in New York or come back to Montana? He had space for a child here, a guest bedroom with a view of the mountains. It would be a perfect nursery, he could paint it, build a crib with Herb’s help, the nearby town was a good place to raise a family when the child was old enough to begin school. Without even stopping to think, he built a new life around the unborn child.

Or hell, even New York, he’d make himself put up with New York if that was what she wanted. The apartment only had one bedroom but maybe they could move further out, get a bigger place. He could renovate pretty much anything, he was sure of it. Maybe they could find a quiet neighborhood with trees, where his mind could find peace even in the city. Without even stopping, he built another new life around his, their, unborn child.

“I don’t know if I’m keeping it, but I wanted to tell you.”

Eva’s voice had been hard, letting him know that she was doing him a favor by telling him, letting him be part of it.

“I’ll come to New York, I’ll get a bus today,” Frankie pleaded, “Let’s talk this through, a few more days won’t make a difference.”

She’d conceded, and he’d thrown stuff into the old duffel bag, left a message with Herb, and driven to the crossroads where the Greyhound stopped.

Now he was here, in a Brooklyn bar, looking down at her name on his phone as he pressed the green button to answer.

Chapter 2

A/N: And we're off! I'm so nervous, I really hope you all will love this and follow along as I explore this new version of Frankie! I hope to post a new chapter every Sunday so fingers crossed life doesn't get in the way too much!

❤

Tagging the ususal suspects: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @casa-boiardi

#frankie morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #frankie morales fanfic #triple frontier

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getouyuri · 4 months ago

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part 1 of this post is right here (aka the SFW version)

sharing some satosugu fic snippets of mine at the request of an anon ^_^ these are all NSFW snippets

18+ NSFW, MDNI

1. In which teachers and Suguru and Satoru take the day off for date night— only for Suguru to dress up in a bunny suit and ‘ruin’ their plans. (note: switches stsg, in this snippet it’s top satoru and bottom suguru)

2. In which Fem!Satoru and Fem!Suguru navigate their school days, becoming teachers and fully fledged sorcerers, and moms to four kids— and the rest of their students. (note: this is ofc pulled from the fic i also included in the other post. switches stsg, in this snippet it’s top suguru and bottom satoru)

3. In which campus genius Satoru pretends to not understand a lick of physics in order to seduce the campus sweetheart, Suguru, who offers to tutor him. They start dating and Suguru finds out that Satoru is a loser otaku into hentai, and Satoru finds out that Suguru is a nerd for the occult, conspiracies, and literature. Hijinks ensue. (note: switches stsg, in this snippet it’s top satoru and bottom suguru)

#aisha’s writing #satosugu #satosugu fic #gojo x geto #satoru x suguru

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fairybonesandstardust · 2 years ago

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fukuzawa fic or hc about him just being a daddy ( he's a whore ) and he fucks reader senseless and they're a babbling mess as their reward and the BEST aftercare ever or anything really , you'd write it and I'd devour it . ( forgive me for being horny for a 50 year old fictional man )

sorry op i don’t really write oc/reader/self insert stuff and while yes fukuzawa is a raging whore i see him more as a bottom (don’t judge i can’t help it if i’m horny for old man) but i can offer a few vague headcanons

- he’s a menace™️

- yea some of his exes had to ice their dicks the man will fuck you past overstimulation

- he gives great head

- he’s pretty quiet doesn’t really talk all that much during sex or make a lot of noise

- he is an ex-assassin the man has incredible stamina for pretty much anything

- because he’s an ex-assassin and such he doesn’t really have to like stay and recover from the you-know big O. he’s had a lot of insane training

- aftercare very much varies on his partners and what works for them.

- if you’re name begins with an M and ends with and RI he is mean af during sex consensually of course he will bully your weewee

- he has really nice thighs

- his thighs are also pretty sensitive like the inner area.

- he is incredibly breedable and fertile no mpreg tho. i will not elaborate anymore.

-fukuzawa’s not particularly big on aftercare for himself it’s not something he feels that he needs but if helps his partner or is part of their aftercare then ofc he’ll go along

-um did i mention his thighs?

- fukuzawa is VERY good at what he does you don’t go through that many divorcé’s with that many exes trying to blow up the world over you without being a incredible lay.

-fukuzawa is very flexible even if he doesn’t show it

this is a judgement free zone don’t be ashamed (i do occasionally kink shame tho /lh) . also thank you so much op 🤭 i will try to drop some of snippets from my fukuzawa drafts. thank u for indulging my lust for this man

#bsd fukuzawa #fukuzawa smut #fukufuku #fukumori #mori x fukuzawa #fukuzawa x fukuchi #fukuzawa x reader #bsd #bungou stray dogs

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mlqueen89 · 8 months ago

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It's that time agaaaaaain. Six (ish) Many Sentence Sunday!

Heavily prepping for my Jake "Hangman" Seresin/ofc fic (which will be out on or before Halloween) to line up with the timing of the first chapter. In the meantime, here's another little snippet, cause I love me some hangman/glen powell.

(i also went overboard - it's not six sentences... oops?) *jazz hands*

Let me know if you wanna be tagged when this finally comes out!

Jake leaned back, his trademark smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, his eyes glinting in the dimness of the bar lighting. “You know, Rigby,” he started, his voice low and smooth, “you can pretend all you want, but I know you want me.” Ellie raised an eyebrow, challenging him, a smirk of her own forming despite herself. “Oh, is that right?” She leaned in a little, her eyes locked on his, stepping up to his challenge with a challenge of her own. She'd been around pilots like Jake her entire life. This was the language they spoke, this was the language they understood. “How do you know that?” Jake didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifted, sure of himself as he slowly closed the space between them. His movements were deliberate, calculated, as if he was waiting for her to stop him—but she didn’t. Her heart rate picked up as he drew closer, the teasing smile on his face replaced by something suddenly more serious, more intent. If she were less stubborn, less of her father's daughter, she'd have stepped back. Given Jake the win he was looking for, but she didn't. If she could help it, she wouldn't give Jake Seresin more fuel to burn. Ellie watched as his hand lifted, hovering for a second before he gently cupped her face. The warmth of his palm sent a jolt through her, and her breath caught in her throat. Jake’s thumb brushed the edge of her cheekbone, feather-light, and her pulse quickened as she fought to swallow the lump that had grown in her throat without him seeing that she was struggling. “You’re bluffing,” Ellie managed to get out, but her voice was softer than she intended, and she hated that it betrayed the steadiness she was trying to project. She was calm and cool and sure of herself when he wasn't around, but with Jake…. Jake didn’t respond. Instead, his tongue swiped across his bottom lip, slow, pointed, and he leaned in, his face just inches from hers, his lips so close she could feel the warmth of his breath. His eyes flickered down slowly to her lips for a moment before meeting her gaze again. He wanted her to know his thoughts, wanted Ellie to see that he would take her if she said the word. He was showing her his hand, waiting for her to challenge him. Slowly, his hand slid down from her cheek to her neck, his thumb grazing over the spot where her pulse was racing beneath her skin, his eyebrow quirking up for just a moment and the smirk pulling up the left side of his perfect mouth. Ellie’s heart pounded in her ears, her head starting to swim, a soft haze setting in around the edges. She couldn't help herself as she felt herself involuntarily lean into his touch, a knee-jerk reaction, her body betraying her in ways she hadn’t expected. She could feel her heartbeat lower now, between her legs and she swallowed hard this time. She wanted him. All of him and he knew it. Knew it like a pilot knows, deep in his center, when a target locks, knew when to move into weapons envelope. He had her in the pipe. Good tone. Good tone. She was a confirmed air-to-air kill, already a splash in his sights. Jake’s voice was barely a whisper when he finally spoke, breaking the surface of the spell Ellie was under just enough. “Because your body doesn’t lie, sweetheart.” His words sent a shiver down her spine, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. Every nerve in her body was attuned to him, to the way his thumb stroked her skin, to the heat radiating off him as he hovered just close enough for her to feel it, close enough that if she wanted to, she could lean forward and seal her fate with a kiss.

#jake seresin fic #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin smut #top gun hangman #glen powell #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin #six sentence sunday #jake hangman fic #hangman x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw

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sochilll · 1 day ago

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So much Kleinsen food!!

I'm so curious about the roomies fic, since you said in the tags that's the one you just 30 pages(!!!) for, and "I've Got This Stereotypical Temper That I Cannot Shake" because that's a killer title

I've Got This Stereotypical Temper That I Cannot Shake is here! (Cannot take credit for the title alas it's from a song by The Front Bottoms)

Roomies is my newest and most like actively worked on rn lol. So basically post canon Jared goes to college and finds out he and Evan are roommates (through absolutely zero fault of Evan who definitely did not do this on purpose at all in any way). So Jared says "ok well I hate u never speak to me ever" and you know, shenanigans ensue. Was originally all Jared's POV but it's turning into a switch off cause I wanted Evan to have thoughts as well.

I'm sure everyone who's read anything I've written is well aware by now that I simply love Kleinsen first meeting after a long stretch of no contact and imagine that but also they are forced to share a 10 square foot box to live in <3 also ofc my favorite trope of Jared's never not been in love with Evan weeeeee

A snippet:

Jared was left alone in his little circle of light. He felt a little bad for the comment, but he mostly felt annoyed for feeling bad. Evan was not allowed to guilt trip him like this. He was the one that fucked up their friendship. He was the one who'd said what he'd said the last time they talked. Jared could say whatever he wanted now and Evan would just have to deal with it. They weren't friends anymore. Jared owed him nothing.

Normal and regular thing to think! I'm sure he will not change his mind!

Send a title from my WIP list and I'll explain it and share a snippet.

#thank you!!#I'm very excited for this one I think it might be the next thing I start posting on ao3 #my writing #ask game #deh

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v7lgar · 1 year ago

Note

agon u absolutely have to tell me more about the jegulus cheating au one shot..............

ahahahahh OFC!!

so it's trans reg, cis james fic basically. dear euge gave me a prompt "you came" "you called" and it clicked. so regulus and james break up three years ago and james is in a relationship w lily for two years and regulus is at the rock bottom and he doesn't have anyone to hold on so he calls james and james comes. and they talk, but things get heated and they end up cheating on lily. i already wrote the half of it and yes it has a smut but here is a snippet

#agon answers #THANKS FOR ASKING!#laurie tag #jegulus #jegulus cheating au

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radawaycunt · 2 years ago

Text

Santa Comunione

Part II // Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader

Also on AO3

Part I

Summary: Hannibal Lecter often does things just to see what happens… and seducing a holy woman is one of those things.

WC: 6.1k words

Overall Warnings: MINORS DNI THIS FIC IS 18+, Corruption, Blasphemy (?), Religious Imagery, Italy arc (Rome instead of Florence), Canon divergence, Self-Harm, Some whump, Angst, Eventual smut, religious trauma (i think?), I’m not a religious expert btw tho i grew up Catholic, mentions of wounds and scars, Ofc Hannibal has a God complex, Vague Catholicism, reader is a nun lol, lmk if i missed anything!

----

“Like a lily among the thorns,

So is my darling among the maidens.”

-Song of Solomon 2:2

The note, just like all the others, had been neatly folded and tucked into a hiding spot you were sure to find. It had become like a game at that point, even if you always knew where to look.

This time, you found it right at the base of the statue of St. Teresa, near the petrified swish of her marble skirts. It seemed significant enough to make your heart skip a beat, especially given the message.

Though he never signed his name, you’d memorized his elegant penmanship, swooping and yet also contained in its preciseness. It made the words feel more powerful, somehow. You gingerly traced your fingers over them, as if hoping to find more pieces of him there.

At first, the notes were wholly platonic. Mostly verses that were meant to inspire in some way or another, but sometimes snippets of poems found their way in, too.

Over time, they got slightly more daring, even if they were from the same source. You had always admired boldness, as he well knew. You could even imagine the sly upturn of his lips while you read them, over and over again.

Had he suspected that a tingle would begin between your shoulder blades, quickly suppressed before becoming a full shiver? Or that heat would creep up your neck and flush your cheeks?

He wouldn’t be too far off.

Something tender had been blossoming within you, but instead of weeding it out, you found yourself… nurturing it. Succumbing to it, even.

Could something like that really be so terrible? It was certainly worth the pain of the aftermath.

You tucked the note into a hidden pocket in your shift, biting your bottom lip to keep your excited grin under control.

On the days you received notes, he’d show up later in the evening to walk you home. You knew that as a doctor he led a busy life, but he always made time to see you at least twice a week.

You never asked what he was up to whenever he was absent, but sometimes you did wonder. Whenever you were together, though, you settled for simply enjoying every second of his company.

You’d walk at a languorous pace, sometimes even braving to hold onto his arm, but that was the extent of your physical contact. Without counting the time he’d patched you up, of course.

Despite how things had progressed, he was still a gentleman. He understood the importance of discretion as well as you, and that only made these rendezvous more exciting.

The last few hours of the day were torturous, especially since you kept glancing at the clock. Its slow, steady ticking seemed to mock you, so you tried distracting yourself as best as possible.

By closing time, your hands were trembling in anticipation. Still, you pretended to be busy wrapping up as you heard his patient footfalls cross the threshold.

“Almost done,” you called over your shoulder, offering a covert smile that was reserved for only him.

You went to grab your belongings before quickly re-emerging, and he pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he sighed, further driving his point across by drinking you in.

You averted your gaze demurely, guiding him out into the warm evening air. “Long day?”

“Longer than I care to admit, but suddenly it doesn’t seem to matter.”

This made you look up at him, and your eyes snagged on something uncharacteristic.

“It explains why you’ve not matched your tie and handkerchief today,” you pointed out teasingly.

He let out an amused huff, offering you his arm. You threaded your hand into the crook of it without thinking, pressing just a little closer.

“There’s a reason for that, actually,” he said. “You happen to have the matching handkerchief.”

“Oh, I do, don’t I?” You mused, pretending to have forgotten about it, even if it was in your satchel at that very moment. “I apologize, it slipped my mind. I’ll get it to you next time we see each other.”

“Will you?” He tilted his head to one side, raising an eyebrow.

You pursed your lips for a moment, frowning. Before you could pull away, he lightly pressed his arm against his side, effectively trapping your hand in place.

You let out an irritated huff, staring ahead.“So you think me a thief now?”

He chuckled. “Not at all. I was merely curious.”

“Seems like you feel that way about me most of the time.”

He studied your profile, still grinning. “Can I ask you an uncomfortable question?”

“Sure, why stop now?”

“Are you clinging to this material possession because it’s a reminder of the kind gesture behind it?”

You thought about it for a moment, unsure of how to answer. The way he posed the question made you suspect he already knew it, but he wanted to hear what you would come up with.

You opted for being honest, still feeling like you’d been caught red-handed.

“I suppose… It has brought me some comfort, the same way my rosary does. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Your cheeks were ablaze under his amused scrutiny, but you still didn’t meet his eye.

“I was hoping it was something of that nature,” he said finally, arm relaxing.

You didn’t withdraw, but your pride made you remain obstinate. “Now I must insist on returning it as soon as possible.”

“If you’re so adamant… Why don’t you come to my apartment tomorrow? I’ll be around all day taking care of some things,” he offered. “Plus, I need to see how your back is progressing. Some privacy would be nice, don’t you think?”

You weighed the offer, both thrilled and terrified at how big of a step it would be. You definitely didn’t want the madre superiora to start asking questions about the checkups, so this was the only other option.

Besides, you trusted him. He’d taken his time to earn it, despite your skittishness. With his gentle care, his steady patience, and his efforts to truly see you. The one hidden beneath layers of armor and biting remarks.

And so, the words left your mouth with little reluctance. “Yes, tomorrow works.”

——

It wasn’t until you were in front of the mahogany door, fist raised to knock, that you remembered missing a crucial part of that day’s meeting — setting up a time.

On the one hand, he did say he’d be home all day, but on the other… would he find it in poor taste that you showed up unannounced? Though to be fair, it’d be even more rude not to show up at all…

Before you let your thoughts spiral further, you decided to just suck it up and get it over with. After all, you didn’t really want to leave after making the trip all the way there.

At the first few knocks, the door creaked open slightly, but no one was behind it. You peered through the slit, only seeing the edges of a lavishly decorated living room.

“Hannibal?” You called tentatively, pushing the door further open.

No response, just an eerie silence.

You took a step inside, quickly glancing around. No one seemed to be around, and there were no signs of a break-in, which only confused you further.

You thought it might be best to leave his handkerchief along with a note explaining what happened, so you searched for a pen and paper in a nearby cabinet.

In an adjacent room, you could suddenly hear a light thud. It was quiet again for a moment, but then another thud followed, loud enough for you to confirm you weren’t imagining things.

Curiosity overrode your senses and you slid closer to the source of the sound. Just a little down the hallway, you were met with another half-open door — the bifold kind, made of wood and intricately etched glass.

Through a small gap, you could see just a fraction of what seemed to be Hannibal’s bedroom, with the aforementioned sitting at the edge of his bed. His back was to you as he gazed out the window, shoulders slightly hunched forward.

Without thinking, you started to reach for the door’s handle, but a new sound startled you — Labored breathing, interrupted only by a soft, needy whimper.

You blinked, not daring to believe what you’d heard. It had to be a hallucination; A lustful dream. Perhaps your spirit had risen while you slept and wandered the darkness to find him.

But no, the chill that went through you was as real as day. Your entire body turned to stone as you registered the placement of his hand, and how it was moving at a slow, steady rhythm.

Your first instinct should have been to turn away, make your presence known and wait in the safety of the other room. To fight against the siren’s lure of his voice in such a vulnerable, uninhibited state.

Instead, you covered your mouth with one hand, unable to tear your gaze away. A tingling sensation began in your extremities as another moan escaped him, followed by what seemed to be an obscenity in a language you did not know.

You shifted infinitesimally, trying to get a better look while remaining hidden. You gripped the doorframe with your free hand, fearing your legs would give out.

Unbeknownst to you, Hannibal had smelled you as soon as you’d walked into the apartment — soap and incense and just a hint of rosewater.

His grip on himself tightened as he noted the heady, unmistakable scent of your arousal.

How he wished that he could bury his face at the source of it and get utterly lost in you;To feel his head cradled by your thighs while he showed you what real paradise was.

His breaths began coming out in short pants, his movements becoming more frantic and desperate. His hips rolled, too, bucking up to meet the movements of his hand as he chased his release.

You could only see part of his profile, his eyes closed and his mouth slack in mindless pleasure. His hips stuttered and he made a sound like a man agonized, weak to his carnal desires. A word that sounded suspiciously close to your name spilled from his lips as he climaxed, the image searing into your mind forever.

It continued to sing in your veins as you snapped back into reality. Your heart was pounding in your ears, so loud you feared it might give you away.

Automatically, you extricated yourself away from the door and scurried back down the hall. In your haste, you failed to notice his handkerchief falling out of your pocket, right in the middle of the living room.

You shut the front door as quietly as you could, hoping no neighbors saw you making your escape. As you navigated through the streets back home, it all replayed in your mind over and over again, keeping you alight.

You kept your head down the entire way, avoiding eye contact at all costs, lest somebody see the fire in your gaze.

———

A week passed, and there was no word from him. You did not try to reach out to him, either, engulfed in an amalgamation of conflicting emotions.

Your days were spent trying to keep your mind blank, so you took on twice as many tasks. But whenever there was a lull between them, your thoughts would unerringly return to him.

Even in dreams, you were plagued by the memory of him. Most nights, you’d wake up with thighs slicked together, but you hadn’t done anything about the pulsating issue between your legs. You kept your windows open so that the nocturnal breeze might soothe your feverish skin, but it only helped marginally.

At mass, you wondered about the taste of him as you drank communion wine; The feel of his warm skin on your tongue as the wafer was placed upon it.

You’d become a real heathen, it seemed. Or perhaps you never stopped being one, not even after years of donning the costume of innocence.

Your longing was so vivid that sometimes, the breeze felt like an echo of his touch. It caressed your skin coolly, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It was in those moments that it was easiest to close your eyes and let your mind drift.

Your hand would wander, resting on your inner thigh — close enough, but still on the safe side. You could feel the heat emanating from your core, further enticing your fingers to inch closer. Possibly the hardest test of your self-restraint, but you weren’t too sure it was making you any stronger.

What made things worse, you hadn’t noticed the handkerchief’s disappearance until you’d made it back to the convent. In a panicked frenzy, you’d retraced your steps looking for it, praying that it was somewhere on the road.

But, just as you deserved, your prayers hadn’t been answered.

You’d made it all the way back to his apartment, but this time, the door had been firmly shut. It made dread pool in your stomach, and his subsequent absence only exacerbated it.

Was it really the end? You wouldn’t blame him if he never spoke to you again.

Still, you searched all the usual hiding spots for notes every day, but always came up empty. It felt like a spear through the heart each time, but you tried to bury it deep within.

Until one night, when your self-restraint was at its most fragile and you were trying to digest the idea you might not see him again, your resolve simply shattered.

Your fingers crossed into forbidden territory, and at the first tingle of pleasure, your movements became frantic and desperate. You surrendered to it, losing all other sense. It had been much too long since you had last done it, and all the times you had suppressed yourself had accumulated inside you.

Once you’d started, it was hard to stop. At the same time, the release wasn’t delayed at all. In fact, it hit you hard and fast, but it did not seem like enough. If anything, it seemed to only whet that yawning appetite of yours even further.

In the morning, you’d scrubbed your skin raw under a hot stream of water. You attempted to erase any sort of trace of the sins clinging to you, incensed by the fact that you didn’t even think it had been worth it – not at your own hands.

But how could you ever confess to such a thing? You could barely even—

“May I see it? I’ll need you to take your shoes off so I can assess the damage, Sorella.”

You stopped in your tracks, petrified in the middle of the hallway. You’d recognize that voice anywhere, but it seemed surreal at that moment, especially drifting out of one of the other nun’s rooms.

You spotted the madre superiora stepping out of said room, and you approached under the guise of benign curiosity.

Peering into the room, you saw Hannibal kneeling next to the bed. One of his legs was propped up and the sorella carefully set her swollen ankle on his thigh. He examined it delicately, his fingers featherlight on her tender skin.

A sharp bitterness coated your throat and when you swallowed hard, you felt it spreading to your stomach. You tried to control your breathing, trying to keep your grip on your mask of concern.

“Everything okay, Francesca?” You asked her in Italian, keeping your eyes on her. “What happened?”

“Tripped and twisted my ankle,” she responded in the same language, grimacing as he moved her foot slightly to look at it from another angle.

He didn’t look up, but he was still keenly aware of your presence. He smelled the soap and the incriminating scent beneath it, which made him tense a little.

The ghost of a smile barely made the corners of his lips twitch, but you weren’t sure if you were imagining things. You plastered on a sympathetic grin of your own.

“You’re in good hands, I’m sure you’ll feel better in no time,” you said through your teeth, and you thought you saw him glance through the corner of his eye at you.

“Grazie, Sorella.”

With a nod, you continued on your way, heading down to the kitchen. It was your turn to help with dinner prep, so you’d have some time alone while everyone else worked.

The old kitchen had stone walls and floors, which preserved coolness and provided relief from the heat outside. It was quiet and cozy, probably the best place for you to be in at that moment.

You started a fire on the old stove and placed a large copper pot full of water atop it. You tried to let your thoughts slip away as you washed and peeled carrots and potatoes. All the years of training yourself to go into autopilot certainly helped, but that same bitter taste was still coating your insides.

It was after a couple of minutes that you heard footsteps descending the stairs into the kitchen. You didn’t think much of it, staying focused on your task, but then you registered a tall figure stop at the threshold.

“It seems that I missed you the other day,” you heard him say. “Regardless, thank you for the handkerchief.”

Your gaze snapped up to him, eyes wide and flickering with a primal sort of fear. For a moment you could only stare, caught like a deer in headlights. He only stared back, challenging.

You tilted your head slightly to the side, resuming your task, your grip all too strong. “Don’t you have a patient to attend to, Doctor?”

“I needed to get some ice for Sister Francesca’s foot,” he explained. “Though I am glad I can also check in with my favorite patient. I haven’t been able to see the progress of your wounds for some time now…”

You shrugged, petulant. “I’m in one piece, am I not?”

There was a momentary pause in which the tension was becoming more and more palpable.

He broke the silence. “I sense you’re upset with me about something.”

“I am not upset. Merely working, as are you.”

“I see… Well, would you mind showing me where I can get the ice, please?”

“Allow me,” you sighed.

You set down what you were working on and stood up from the rickety wooden stool you sat on. Wordlessly, you had him hand you the small bowl he carried and slipped over to the freezer. You bent down a little to reach the ice, still silent as you filled up the bowl for him.

“Here you go, Doc—”

As you turned around, you nearly bumped right into him. You let out a startled gasp, given that you hadn’t even heard him approach behind you. You took a small step back, nervously glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one else was coming.

“Thank you kindly,” he said, taking the bowl back but not moving an inch otherwise.

His amber eyes held yours, incandescent once more with desire. You swallowed hard, a knot twisting in your stomach riotously. You clenched and unclenched your fists at your sides.

“Is that it?” You whispered.

He took a step closer and you backed up once more, your back pressing against the freezer. Your heart leaped to your throat — an appropriate response for a cornered lamb with almost nonexistent chances of escape.

“No, I don’t think I’m quite done here yet,” he responded, his voice equally low.

You shuddered. “What is this? What are these games you’re trying to play with me?”

He tilted his head in silent question.

“You know what I’m talking about. All along, you have charmed me. You have led me astray by the heartstrings and—and you have incited sinful ideas in my mind, tainting me!”

He had the gall to smile slyly, eyes narrowing slightly. “And how, pray tell, have I done that?”

You pursed your lips, having already spoken too much for your own liking. He smiled, a little too smug.

“No? You don’t wish to tell me?” He pressed. “I know why. You wouldn’t be able to deny that you hid behind my door, silent as a church mouse, and watched me during a most intimate moment?”

He leaned in closer, effectively looming over you. “You wouldn’t deny it, because you were taught lying is a sin.”

You let out a pitiful sound, something between a sharp exhale and a whimper. The two of you stood there in the charged silence, searching each other’s gazes. He reached down for your hand and slowly brought it up to his face, only closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply.

Then, you felt the gentle brush of his full lips against the pads of your fingers, kissing softly. You felt his tongue lightly trace your ring finger and sparks shot down your spine, threatening to make you spasm violently.

“Was this the hand you used when you thought of that moment?” He murmured.

You couldn’t react. You couldn’t move. You could barely even breathe.

He pressed one more kiss on your hand before calmly letting it go at your side. You opened your mouth, wanting to say something and yet also unsure of what it should be. He understood all the same, seeing everything he needed to know written on your face.

“Thank you again for the ice,” he said with a wink.

With that, he departed, leaving you still trying to pull your thoughts into order.

——

“Therefore, behold, I will allure her,

Bring her into the wilderness,

And speak kindly to her.”

-Hosea 2:14

His very first note. You’d read it over and over again. His words had always been clear, but you’d willingly chosen to overlook their intentions and play along.

It was easy to get away with it when it was that simple: just words on paper. The rest was merely skimming the surface, speaking around the things you actually wanted to say. Communicating subtly through gestures and lingering eye contact.

You looked up at the moon — only a sliver of light, like a winking eye. You felt like a live wire, muscles taut and a restless spirit. At that point, you didn’t think you could be subtle any longer… and you didn’t want to be, either.

And so you ran in the cover of night, only a thick coat and a sleeping shift covering you. You felt, for the first time in a really long time, the wind tousling your hair. It felt strange being so exposed, but an almost frightening sense of freedom came along with it.

What could this say about you? That all along you were beyond saving, no matter how much you wanted to pretend otherwise?

At least, you never pretended not to be easily swayed — At the first delicate word or piercing glance; The first stab of hunger, adoration, need. Easily malleable, body and soul.

You hurried up the steps of his apartment building, trying to keep the sound of your panting breaths to a minimum. Your fist connected with his door immediately, urgently, and you couldn’t even worry about what time it was or if you were being terribly impolite.

Then he opened the door, eyes wide and hair slightly disheveled. Next thing you knew, you were crashing into his arms, reaching up to bring his face to yours. You slid your lips over his in a searing, desperate kiss. Your knees buckled, but he held you up, pulling you closer.

His mouth eagerly captured your soft, dizzied whimpers, his tongue coaxing more of them. He maneuvered the two of you past the threshold, closing the door behind you.

You let your coat fall to the floor, one less unnecessary layer between you. You broke apart to catch your breath, his forehead leaning against yours. It took a moment for the two of you to register it wasn’t a dream, hands touching each other’s faces, necks, and shoulders; Solidifying together.

“Cara mia,” he rasped, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. “It has become unbearable, has it not? Trying to untangle the thorns of our affections?”

“Truly sacrilegious. Perhaps that torment was our punishment.”

“Only a cruel God creates pleasure but forces his creatures to abstain from it,” he said, his hands ghosting down your back.

His hot breath fanned over your lips, so close and yet so far. You planted a kiss on his enticing top lip, still holding his gaze, your eyes obsidian in the darkness of the room.

You’d let the serpent wrap tightly around you, hissing your darkest desires into your ear. Why, then, must you heed another God when you were becoming so devout to this one?

“Show me,” you breathed.

With careful, patient hands, he slid your night shift off your shoulders and down your arms. He kept his eyes on yours, anchoring you to the moment. The tips of his fingers traced little lines of fire on your skin. You wore no undergarments, so you were quickly bare for his appraisal, in complete contrast to his dressed form.

Almost unconsciously, you reached for the buttons of his pajama shirt. He stood absolutely still, letting you slowly uncover him as well. Once the last button was undone, you pushed it off, hands experimentally roaming over the expanse of his chest.

Then you were kissing him again, unable to help his gravitational pull. Your bare skin against his felt electric, and all you wanted to do was press even closer. He pulled you up into his arms and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you to his bedroom, gently setting you down on the edge of the bed.

He broke the kiss in order to turn his bedside lamp on, more than eager to get a better look. His eyes slid over the expanse of you, desirous to familiarize himself with every single inch. The intensity of it felt like he was already caressing you, but his hands were currently at his sides.

“There has never been a more beautiful sight,” he murmured reverently. “Not the rising sun or a saint’s statue. Not even Venus emerging from the sea.”

Heat crept up your neck and towards your face. You shifted, suddenly feeling a little prudish under his assessment. Old habits died hard, you supposed, but you wouldn’t let them overtake you.

One of his hands made contact with your leg. He caressed up your calf and stopped at the knee, slowly pushing one leg apart from the other. You sighed softly, arching in a silent plea for more.

“Yeah?” He rasped, a feline sort of grin on his handsome face.

Impatient, you reached for his hand, pulling him towards you. His lips found yours for a moment before moving to your jaw and down the slope of your throat.

His hands roamed all over, mapping out every curve, every plane, every dip, and swell. You found yourself submitting amiably to the pleasure of his touch, beating down that guilt that had been forcibly rooted in you.

His mouth continued to trail downwards, teeth grazing the fleshiest parts. He delighted in your twitching and the hums of pleasure you tried to contain. Licking around your navel, he made your whole body shudder, hips bucking.

“H-Hannibal,” you gasped.

“You can tell me if you want me to stop at any point,” he said, looking up at you.

You nodded in understanding, urging him closer by pressing the heel of your foot against his back. He chuckled, kneeling on the floor by the bed and kissing your inner thigh with a fondness that melted you.

And when you felt his breath on your slick folds, you knew you were a lost cause. You wanted to arch again but he wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you even closer, his mouth sealing over your most sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream at the initial shock of pleasure, eyes wide as saucers. Oh, you’d forgotten what ecstasy a skilled tongue could bring, but never before had you experienced one quite like his.

He was voracious but unhurried, tongue lapping at you with gusto. You trembled underneath him, burying your hands in his hair, holding on for dear life, and yet also not wanting him to pull away.

At first, your moans were restrained, kept behind your bitten lip. He knew you were holding back, trying to keep yourself away from the edge, and he simply couldn’t allow that.

“You taste divine,” he rasped, looking up at you. “I could sup on you for days.”

Your eyes met his for a moment before you quickly looked away, blushing deeply once more. You covered your face with one hand, embarrassed at being so wanton, so obscenely disheveled in his presence.

“Why do you hide, Tesoro?” He purred. “Are you afraid of showing me just how much you’re enjoying yourself?”

“I—”

But before you could utter another word, his tongue dipped into your cunt, his nose slightly brushing against your sensitive clit. A loud moan escaped you at that, and he groaned along with you.

“That’s more like it,” he pulled away for a moment to give you a sly grin before diving back in.

“Hannibal, please, I don’t think I can…” Your panting words faded into a sharp exhale as he found your sweet spot.

He was relentless now, strategically targeting the spots he discovered made you react more.

You squirmed at the lewd sounds your body made as he ravished you, but more and more you were lost in that blissful haze. The muscles of your abdomen tightened and you felt yourself steadily climbing to the peak of your pleasure.

As you got closer, you began to chase it with wild abandon, bucking your hips and grinding against his face — a much better replacement for your own hand. Your moans and hitching breaths were music to his ears, and the sight of you coming utterly undone for him forever seared in his mind.

You rode out waves of unadulterated euphoria, feeling it all over your being like licking flames. He’d only been the kerosene to that spark that had been growing inside you, and it wouldn’t be so simple to extinguish.

As you lay there in the aftermath, still panting from the intensity of it all, he kissed his way back up your body. You tasted yourself on his lips, growing ravenous at the mere thought of the communion of your beings.

“I need you,” you whispered. “I need all of you.”

“I’m yours for the taking,” he said earnestly, like a vow that he’d never break. “How do you want me?”

“Just like this,” you said with a rising fever, bringing your knees to his hips. “I want to forget where you end and I begin.”

The words seemed to unleash something within him, a sort of primal response that flickered in his amber gaze. He claimed your mouth once more as if intent on consuming you completely. His body was firmly pressed to yours, his weight a welcomed comfort. Then, you felt him push into you ever so slowly, the stretch both foreign and yet also familiar; Something you recalled from eons past, but never like this.

A lot of things felt new with him, completely reawakening you in ways you’d never thought possible. You gasped into his kiss, clawing at his back as he fully sank in. His pace was slow at first, savoring the closeness, pelvis grinding against yours. He was intoxicated with your warmth, your smell, your taste. Driven wild by it, even.

You responded with equal fervor, the two of you intent on marking each other in any way you could. Completely surrendering to just physical sensations, a mindless sort of ecstatic violence. The wolf’s arrival to its most anticipated devouring.

Soon you were pleading with him for more, to go faster, harder. He obeyed your every command seamlessly as if already understanding what your body needed. He kissed and sucked at the sensitive flesh of your neck, teeth and tongue on your pulsating artery.

You fell apart under him once more, face twisted in rapturous agony, his name on your lips. But that didn’t stop either of you, too frenzied from all the longing, all the time you had to restrain yourselves. It was a marvel, really, that you had held off for as long as you did.

He rolled onto his back and pulled you on top of him. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips as you gyrated them, head thrown back in ecstasy. He let you set your own pace like that, content with watching you continue to unravel atop him.

The rest of the night was like an opium dream, stretching infinitely and intensely. No corner of the bed was left untouched, your bodies twisting and bending and colliding in all sorts of positions.

Not once did you extricate yourself from one another, not even as exhaustion overtook you, plunging you into the best sleep you’d ever had.

———

Rolling green hills and vast plains sped past the window beside you, a few farmhouses and groups of cows scattered between. The metallic shuddering of the train dimly filled your ears, accompanied by soft conversations. Your mind was far away, beyond the idyllic visage unfurling before you.

It was the first time you’d ever been outside of Italy. It was a drastic change, one that was a little frightening, but a welcome one, too. So far, the French countryside was an appealing mystery that you wanted to uncover, and you had all the time in the world.

Your eyes then focused on your faint reflection in the window, not recognizing yourself for a moment. You were still getting used to wearing regular clothes again, especially when you showed more than you used to, even if it was all still modest. Your eyes seemed clearer, more alive, and the dark crescents underneath them were slowly disappearing.

Guilt still reared its’ ugly head from time to time, twisting your stomach into knots. But it was losing some of its viciousness, and you had help escaping spiraling thoughts and physical punishments. You’d been healing nicely, or at least you were in the process of it, anyway.

You felt Hannibal’s finger tracing down your bare arm, and you looked away from the window to face him. He smiled as your eyes met, noticing how you almost instinctively leaned closer to him. You brought your hand to his, and he looked down at the golden band around your finger.

“What are you thinking of, Cuore mio?” He asked, voice low and intimate.

His tone made you think of the way he’d recited his vows to you on that late night under the stars, when the two of you decided you could never be parted; Something only for you to share, no one to prove your love to.

“How everything seems so endless now, stretching farther than I ever could’ve fathomed,” you said, looking around you. “Nothing seems contained. I can no longer see the edges. Does that sound absurd?”

He kissed your hand, smile widening. “No, not absurd. At our crossroads, a new path made itself clear to me. There is no end in sight, but I intend to follow through.”

The truth was you could scarcely see the division between the two of you; Blurred in such a way that it was like living through each other. You felt him sitting amidst the pews of your ribcage, listening to the hymns of your heart. Your flesh was his flesh, your breath his own.

And even stranger… it felt a little too much like freedom, which he had presented to you on a silver platter.

You leaned in and kissed him softly, almost chastely. When it came down to it, you liked to savor him slowly, letting the anticipation build over time. The look in your eyes was adoring, but there was also that feverish glint that he’d come to recognize.

“How long until we’re there?” you murmured.

He chuckled lightly. “You’ve become quite insatiable, haven’t you?”

“Can you blame a poor sinner like me?”

The tip of his nose grazed yours. “Not when I am so keen on indulging you.”

The announcer’s voice came on over the intercom, listing the remaining stations. You recognized the name of your destination, at the very end of the train’s line. You rested your head on his shoulder as the two of you continued to gaze out of the window, savoring the beginnings of your new life together.

The sun continued its slow trail across the sky, its rays lengthening and bathing everything in golden light. In your eyes, this was the real Paradise, the place you’d been searching for most of your life.

And it was even more beautiful than you had ever envisioned.

---

#hannibal lecter fanfiction #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter x fem!reader #minors dni

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zeawesomebirdie · 11 months ago

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Bruise your Lover for the WIP ask game!

[for this ask game here]

Oh my word Sun you have no idea how happy I am that you've asked for this; there was one time you complimented my fight scenes and every single time I write any kind of fight since then I have thought about that comment and. Oh my goodness there is so much fighting here to show >:)

This is the fic I'm writing for a gifset that @ful-crum made (and the one that I'm always talking about, the one that just broke 20k words and I'm now on the third act of!) where Dick and Bruce fuck after a really rough patrol, sleep together, and then Bruce ghosts Dick for two months straight, only for Dick to run into him on accident in the Cave, they have another blow up fight, and then Nightwing saves Batman's ass on another disaster of a patrol

The lead up to the initial fucking was super fun to write; I really enjoy a good fighting as foreplay fic and this was also my first time really playing with blood and bruising and aggressiveness during smut. Something something, the taste of someone else's blood on your tongue when you're supposed to hate them, and etc 😌 and choreographing the fight was super fun too! There's so much potential for dynamic action when one of the characters is a trained acrobat and the other is a martial artist, and ofc the joy of slightly unrealistic sex because they're both incredibly physically fit and actually could pull off wall sex

full snippet below the cut, content warning for blood kink, fighting as foreplay, and mild smut

Another side step as Bruce spun to face him again, then their positions were reversed, Bruce stalking into Dick’s space while Dick tried to hold his ground. Bruce swung wide; Dick blocked the first strike and the second one with his forearms, but missed the third even though Bruce wasn’t trying to mask his actions in the slightest, stumbling back with the force of all of Bruce’s strength behind his punch.

If his head wasn’t hurting before, it sure as fuck did now.

Dick raised a hand to his jaw, double checking everything was in place before he looked up at Bruce’s grim smile. He was waiting for Dick’s reaction, waiting for Dick to either back down or step right up and bat. That at least was a good sign. It wasn’t often that their fights got physical, but if that’s how Bruce wanted to play it, then god damn it all Dick could play too. It would definitely feel good to land a few more hits on Gotham’s favorite pretty boy.

Just a few more hits. How often did he get the chance to really show Bruce just how he felt about him anyway? How often did Dick have the opportunity to express his affection and adoration and infatuation in a language Bruce would understand?

Dick flew when Bruce rushed forward this time, using Bruce’s shoulder as a springboard to hoist himself above and then behind his reach. Bruce spun on his heel only to be met with a fast jab to his face; he managed to dodge just enough that rather than hitting his nose, Dick split his bottom lip. Blood welled up immediately, spilling from his plump lip and trailing down as he stood there, panting, staring back at Dick, watching him as though he had never seen anything so captivating as him. After a deep breath, Dick circled slowly to the right, Bruce matching him step for step and waiting, still just waiting.

It didn’t mean anything that Dick’s innards twisted themselves into knots at the dark trail on Bruce’s chin dripping to the floor. It didn’t mean anything at all that Dick audibly inhaled when Bruce’s tongue darted out and smeared that blood across his mouth. It most certainly did not mean a thing that Dick wanted to taste Bruce’s blood, to come to know it as certainly as he knew his own, to lap it up from Bruce’s lips and never let go. This was fine, things were completely and totally fine. Dick just had to keep repeating that to himself and get focused.

Things were not fine.

Bruce moved faster than Dick could block, forcing him backwards across the Cave before Dick slipped from his grasp and tripped him. But Bruce was anticipating that, turning only enough to strike Dick across the face while regaining his footing, making Dick’s ears ring before darting just out of reach when Dick swung for him. Dick followed, his heart dropping into his stomach as Bruce feinted left then dodged right to envelope Dick’s shoulders in his arms, yanking Dick back to be flush against his chest and yet unable to strike with Bruce behind him.

Even with their suits between them, Dick could have sworn he felt the heat radiating from Bruce’s body. He had to bite his tongue to stop a moan from escaping his throat, praying that Bruce didn’t notice his hips jerking back involuntarily. A quick heel to Bruce’s shin got him free; Dick stumbled when he landed but if Bruce noticed he didn’t comment, his pupils dark and blown and still so hungry when Dick turned to face him. That sight should not have made Dick’s stomach flip over, not when they were both like this, and yet that sight was one Dick had imagined countless times over the years, losing himself to his own hand and pretending it belonged to Bruce.

Dick had to end this before he did something stupid, something like finally acting on his stupid, idiotic, childhood crush. Something like barely stifling another moan as Bruce shoved him back again, then again. Something like allowing Bruce to pin him to the wall of the Cave without hardly even bothering to resist. Why should he resist when he’d fantasized about this very act so many times over the years? Why should he resist when this was exactly what he had wanted for years now?

The back of Dick’s head cracked on the wall, then Bruce was holding him up by the shoulders, shoving his way in to be between Dick’s legs and properly boxing him in. Dick writhed underneath him, clawing at the back of the batsuit as if his own suit’s fingers had claws, but he gained no traction. Bruce just pressed impossibly closer until they were breathing the same air, close enough that Dick could’ve tasted the blood on his lips if he thought he could get away with it. He could almost smell the metallic tang of it in the air, mixing with their sweat and the scent of their kevlar and vinyl suiting, taunting him, teasing him and making his head spin with desire.

And then, all at once, he was tasting Bruce’s blood on his tongue, the heat of Bruce’s mouth on his consuming his every sense. Dick couldn’t hold back his moan, his hips grinding forward into Bruce’s before his brain came back online and he realized just what they were doing. His eyes snapped open as he shoved Bruce back, his knees buckling when Bruce dropped him and he hit the concrete hard. This was no time for hesitation, and Dick rushed forward to swing for Bruce’s flushed face. Bruce took the hit without even attempting to block, Dick’s knuckles leaving his cheek a brilliant shade of red.

#ask game #brudick #thanks for the ask!!!#sorry this is a long excerpt but genuinely this is some of my finest fight writing and it was *super* hard to find something that really #showcased just how much fighting there is in this fic

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trulybetty · 1 year ago

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wip wednesday (on a) thursday

thank you to the lovely @milla-frenchy, @nerdieforpedro & @wildemaven for the tags! 💕

I'm all over the place with my wip's - my Notion is stuff to the brim with ideas, but these are the ones I picked at random to share.

Step one: post snippets of the fics you're working on (can be a summary if there's no snippet)

what have I done | frankie x f!reader

You finally found your voice, “I'm sorry.” Frankie's face fell, and the hope that had flickered in his eyes extinguished. He took a step back, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of your apology had physically pushed him away. “I thought…” he trailed off, his voice barely audible.

chiffon: chapter 4 | dieter x ofc

Dieter winked at her through the mirror, “Wouldn't dream of it, Daff. This is my circus, and those are my monkeys out there.” Bryony rolled her eyes as the doors to the bedroom opened and Cricket appeared in the doorway, “Come on Bry, your dress awaits!”

on red cup kisses | frankie x f!reader

It wasn't the first time you'd seen him that night, but it was the first time the two of you had locked eyes. He nodded his head in the direction of Benny and rolled his eyes and you couldn't help but laugh. Before you could head over in his direction Sadie appeared pulling you with her talking about someone you had to meet. You threw Frankie and apologetic smile and in return he held up his drink in a toast to you and you hoped a promise to catch up later.

the fourth date | joel x f!reader

The evening was reaching its twilight stage, the stars beginning to wink from their velvety blanket above. As the restaurant door swung shut behind you, a warm Texan breeze, rich with the scent of late summer, gently rustled your dress. Joel's arm, draped casually over her shoulder, drew you in closer, his heat radiating over you. For a moment, you stood in the restaurant's glow, letting the peaceful night embrace you. In the distance, a car roared to life, its headlights momentarily slicing through the night. “I can't believe you did that,” he muttered, his grumble belied by the trace of amusement in his voice. The look on his face was priceless - a mix of affront, surprise, and reluctant admiration. Joel had a certain old-fashioned sensibility about him. The fact that you had insisted on picking up the tab had clearly thrown him off his game, but there was also a part of him that seemed to admire your assertiveness.

nicotine | dieter x f!reader

His lips found yours, the taste of nicotine a ghost on his lips, a habit he was still trying to kick. There was a misconception that Dieter was hasty, quick to the finish and messy, he was absolutely the opposite. His tongue grazed your lower lip, teasing, before he gently nipped at your bottom lip.

Step two: put them in a poll and let people vote on which one you should work on

Step three: Every vote is one minute you put on a timer to work on that fic (ex. 15 votes =. 15 minutes of writing)

No tags right now, I'm a little lost who's been tagged - but if you want to play along - this is me tagging you in, tag me in your wip post! ❤️

#wip wednesday #poll

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thebumblecee · 1 year ago

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Year in review - fic writer edition

I was tagged by the lovely @alrightbuckaroo a couple days back, thank you for that ♥️ and i was most definitely included by other people but I’ve not had my head in the game recently, so fuck it I’m doing it now.

Rules: share your top three/top five/however many favourite snippets/lines/quotes/paragraphs from your published fics (or wips) and don’t forget to share the link ofc!

I considered doing everything i published in 2023 but lets be real its mostly porn, so i cherry picked

I didn’t know I was starving till I tasted you

There’s a self-deprecating part of him that considers the blow to his self-esteem if he doesn’t excel at it. He’s very good at what he does but he might not be so good at what Owen Strand’s team does. He doesn’t want that bruise to his ego.

They break away from their little tête à tête and no one except Paul notices it. He was always told he was perceptive. He raises his eyebrow questioningly, but Carlos plays dumb.

Instead, he challenges Owen’s generosity with his team. “Are you sure you want to order that champagne sir? It’s $250.”

There’s a cheer from the surrounding seats and Owen laughs. “Touché.” Carlos won’t confess it but he’s a little scared to look at TK. The boy hasn’t touched a drink except mineral water all night. Basically, snatching his glass away when Carlos went to pour his wine. Privacy. Respect it.

It’s bad when his conscience sounds like Owen Strand.

Something so wholesome

TK didn’t bring it up again that night and Carlos couldn’t be more grateful. He saw the flash of hurt that went through TK’s eyes when he said he wasn’t like that. Try as he might to conceal his feelings TK is an open book when he’s being vulnerable.

It’s killing Carlos that he hurt his feelings and he doesn’t think he has the words to explain what he meant by it. He’s tried before and the other person ended up storming out and blocking his number.

His luck runs out a few nights later when TK brings it up when they’re cuddling on the couch. Carlos is lazily trailing his hand up TK’s forearm as they watch the TV. He feels contented love settling into his bones.

“What did you mean when you said you weren’t like that?” TK asks quietly and Carlos can feel his blood freeze. It was naïve to hope that TK wouldn’t ever bring that up again.

He tries to play it off in vain, “hmm? What do you mean?” TK isn’t having any of it and he breaks their spooning position to look at him. Carlos bites down on his bottom lip briefly, releasing it and exhaling.

When I’m like this, you’re the one that I want

He swears under his breath when Carlos follows him outside. He’s been avoiding him nicely until now. He looks him up at him and with as much vitriol he can muster he asks. “How can I help you, officer?”

Carlos rolls his eyes, not taking the bait. “I want to see how you are. You haven’t been answering my calls.”

TK clenches his jaw. He didn’t block Carlos’ number but he thought about it. He didn’t because seeing his name flash up on the screen every time was a punishment, it gave him a painful jolt that was too addictive to give up.

“There was a reason for that, I didn’t want to talk to you.” TK says quietly. He knows Carlos hears him because he sees him flinch.

“I’m not trying to corner you, TK, but I’m so confused about everything.” It’s too vulnerable out of Carlos’ mouth and TK can’t take it right now. He has a right to be confused and upset because TK never explained himself when he cut off all contact.

“And yet, you’ve cornered me.” He can feel a complex bubble of emotions rising within him which he doesn’t want to deal with. He quells it by focussing on anger. “So are you happy now, you can see how I am? Fine and enjoying a fun night out.”

Fun might be pushing it. The itch inside of him growing stronger with each passing moment driving him to madness.

“Are you alone here?”

“Is that your business?”

“I don’t want you making a stupid decision because you’re acting out.” It’s incredibly patient sounding and TK wants to lash out. Why is he always the one that’s lashing out and angry over everything? “Or fuck up your sobriety because you’re hurting.”

“You think I’m going to run off and use, because what? I don’t have your dick to rely on?” It’s particularly nasty but TK doesn’t care.

For if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me - joint with @mooshkat

TK looks murderous that he missed it and it makes Carlos laugh. “Not one for puzzles, princess?”

TK makes a terrible impression of Carlos’ voice mocking him but it’s so bad it’s not even offensive. The corner of Carlos’ mouth quirks at his little tantrum. He hates to admit it but there is something so endearing about TK. If he had to spend more than twenty minutes with him, however, he would put a bullet in one of their heads. Which is unfortunate since they appear to be locked in a room together.

“So, Sherlock, how do we get out to here?” TK drawls, he’s putting in a lot of effort to look bored but Carlos can see past that from his body language. He’s on high alert and Carlos is too.

Someone got the drop on him, knocked him out and tied him up. They also got the drop on TK.

Carlos doesn’t like to think himself overly vain but that’s only something a serious player could do. Which spells trouble.

—

Y’know what? It’s been a hell of a year I’ve published 193,280 words on A03 (and written many more that were never published) and I’m pretty proud of myself for that!

But now I want to see you all be proud of yourselves, im sorry if you’ve done this and I’ve missed it, please tag me in it so i can celebrate you ♥️ sorry I’ve been gone so much ily

Tagging: @spikewritesstuff @mooshkat @cowlos-reyes @paperstorm @chaotictarlos @birdclowns @lightningboltreader @wandering-night19 @carlos-tk @heartstringsduet @jesuisici33 @lemonlyman-dotcom @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad

#cee speaks #writing #911 lonestar #tarlos #carlos reyes #tk strand #year in review #i know ive tagged people that have done it before but link me to it because im here now #and i want to celebrate you #im sorry but im here now ♥️

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avastrasposts · 1 year ago

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WIP Wednesday (Thursday)

Thank you for the tag @frenchiereading !

1. post snippets or summaries of each of your WIPs.

2. create a poll with each WIP. whatever total votes you get, work on the winning fic for that many minutes.

3. send me an ask about any WIP that caught your interest if you want to.

I've got two actual WIPs that I've written things for so read more below the cut if you're curious!

Ezra returns to the bakery

“Ezra…” you say, your voice a warning, as you bend to pick up the crutch, holding out of his reach. It’s a dirty trick but he won’t get far without it. “I assure you, sweet girl, I really need to go, it would not be advantageous for you, or your business, to be seen around town with myself, or this disagreeable man. I can’t bring such misfortune down on you after you’ve treated me with such kindness,” Ezra tilts his head, looking up at you through his dark eyelashes, the ringmaster at work, using his words to bend the audience to follow his ques, to believe his illusion.

Big Sky Country - Frankie x OFC

A wall of warm air hits Frankie as he pulls open the door to the bar, chatter spilling out onto the street. His shoulders pull up to his ears, the environment uncomfortable to him and he stops just inside the door, scanning the room for something familiar apart from the smell of stale beer in the air. This bar was the first one he saw that looked like it would maybe serve someone like him, a Texas boy, fresh off the bus from Montana. He’s pretty sure he still has horse dung stuck to the bottom of his cowboy boots, his old army duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The door behind him opens again, cold air hitting the nape of his neck under his ball cap. “You growing roots, old man?” The line is followed by a man snorting and a hand on Frankie’s arm, pushing him to the side. He would snap, bite back with a threatening remark, or at the very least fix the man with his most intimidating soldier scowl. But he just takes two steps to the side, his shoulders creeping closer to his ears as he tugs at his cap, the movement unintentional, a nervous habit. He knows he’s out of place here, a stranger. The young man, a yellow backpack slung over his shoulder and long hair pulled into a bun, shoves his way past Frankie, catching the eye of the woman behind the bar. “Hey, dick wad! Behave yourself or I’ll have you barred,” she barks, her eyebrows furrowed as she jabs her finger at the man and he raises his hands in a weak gesture of apology as he saunters towards the bar. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he snarks, heading towards a loud crowd further in, walking away and ignoring the frown from the woman. She turns her attention to Frankie instead and looks him up and down, an appraising look, before meeting his eyes. “You coming or going, cowboy?” “Uuh..coming,” he manages to press out, picking up his feet and walking to the bar.

If you're curious about the WIPs, or have any questions about my writing, please send an ask or a dm! I love chatting about my writing!

#wip wednesday

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beechersnope · 2 years ago

Note

can we get any snippets of ch3 of welcome to my island? that fic is my roman empire aka im always thinking about it

yes ofc! it's definitely not abandoned but i think trying to finish this chapter before i move is futile, so i'm going to try my best to do some solid work on it once i settle into my new place

but for now here are some bits & pieces

***

“We should probably just shower together, right?” Max suggests once they walk in. George stops at the end of the bed, but she continues, only pausing once she’s reached the doorway to the bathroom. “I mean, we’re both wearing swimsuits, so. It just seems practical, don’t you think?”

George can only muster up a nod in response.

And it isn’t exactly sexy, standing back-to-back in an overly large shower still dressed in their swimsuits as they rinse all the saltwater from their bodies. But George feels Max’s presence like Jupiter’s gravity pressing down on him, nevertheless.

***

Carlos rolls a five next. “Give a random player a lap dance,” he announces with a somber frown, followed by even more overexaggerated complaints from some of the other boys.

Pretty much the same ones that had been vocally disappointed by the result of Isabel’s turn, but that doesn’t come as a surprise to George, who had seen the same group react similarly last year. It doesn’t bother him either, since they’re all friends and everything is done in good fun, but he finds himself glancing over at Max to see if it bothers her, only to be met with a perfectly blank poker face as she watches Carlos roll a twenty.

“Oh,” Charles announces with ruddy cheeks. “That’s me.”

Pierre, Esteban, and Lando all start laughing uproariously as Carlos gets up and Charles moves a chair into the middle.

“Make it real sexy, Carlos,” Esteban calls out to him.

“Oh, the Ferrari fangirls would love to see this,” Pierre adds, both of them clearly trying to get a rise out of the other two.

Charles flips them off as he takes a seat, legs spread enough to make his lap a comfortable width for Carlos to straddle him.

“Is the timer started yet?” Carlos asks Daniel as he scoots into place.

“No, one second, I’m getting the music.”

“What music?”

“Mmm, ready set go,” Daniel replies quickly. Smooth Operator immediately starts to play over the Bluetooth speakers, and Carlos immediately hops off of Charles’s lap.

“Oh, come on, man,” Carlos complains as everyone else tries to stifle giggles, the song still blaring overhead.

“Clock’s ticking,” Daniel tells him with a wave of his phone, the stopwatch on the screen showing the passing seconds. “You can always take a shot and pay up if you want to forfeit.”

Carlos tosses Daniel a death-glare before perching himself on Charles’s lap again and half-heartedly grinding down on him, the dulcet tones of Daniel and Lando joining in with the song as Charles tries valiantly not to laugh in Carlos’s face.

***

Esteban rolls a three. He’s far enough from them that George has to whisper the words ‘Assume the Position’ into Max’s ear since she can’t see the words scrawled on top of the green deck of cards from where she’s sitting. Just saying it aloud makes his skin prickle.

“What does that mean?” Max asks.

“Basically, just pretending to do whatever’s on the card,” George explains as Esteban rolls a fifteen; Daniel. “Well, if both players are already naked then it’s not pretend anymore, but—”

Esteban draws his card. “Froggy style,” he announces with an exaggerated pout.

“I get to top,” Daniel calls out.

“It is not like calling shotgun,” Esteban argues. “It’s my turn, I should get to be the top.”

“Well, I have seniority, so—”

“Daniel, man, you helped make the rules,” Lewis calmly interjects. “Roller gets to pick the positions.”

“Fine, fine,” Daniel says with a sigh. “I guess I’ll bottom, then.”

George watches as Max watches Daniel pretending to get fucked by Esteban, her mouth pulling into a slight half-smile as Daniel really hams it up, exaggeratedly moaning and shoving his hips back into Esteban’s crotch as Esteban crouches over him with his hands on Daniel’s waist. In the end, it’s Esteban who walks away the loser, hissing in pain as Daniel’s ass hits him square in the balls just before the thirty seconds are up.

“It’s a shame, that was one of my favorites,” Daniel says mournfully as he sets the card in the discard pile before returning to the circle.

“You say that about all of them,” Barbara points out.

Daniel shrugs. “Who says you can’t have more than one favorite?”

***

Unfortunately, Lando doesn’t manage to get a card that has anything to do with either stripping or drinking, instead rolling a five and pulling a card from the ‘Show Off’ deck. “Pick a body part you think is your best feature, then a random player is chosen who must kiss that body part.” Lando shrugs, his expression perfectly nonchalant. “I mean, obviously I’m gonna say cock,” he says as he tosses the discard into the pile with the others.

“Ooh, a gamble,” Daniel mocks in a low voice. “Will it pay off?”

Lando rolls a seven. Lewis gives a little wave of acknowledgment from the other side of the circle.

“Guess not,” Daniel says with a laugh. “Better luck next time, mate.”

Lewis just shakes his head and moves to kneel in front of Lando in the middle of the room. “How much effort am I meant to be putting into this ‘kiss’?” Lewis asks.

“Well, it better be more than just a peck,” Daniel chides. “The category is called ‘Show Off’, after all.”

Lewis doesn’t reply as he reaches up to pull the fabric of Lando’s swim trunks taut before opening his mouth to breathe hotly over Lando’s crotch, tracing the outline of Lando’s semi with his tongue through the waterproof material.

Lando hisses at the first actual contact. He reaches out instinctively to grab Lewis’s head but thinks better of it at the very last moment, instead bringing his hand up to his mouth and biting down between his thumb and forefinger instead.

After a few more seconds, Lewis pulls away and gets to his feet. “Satisfied?” he asks, directing the question at Daniel.

“Lando isn’t,” Daniel replies with a smirk. It earns him a nasty look from Lando as he rejoins the circle, his hand cupping his erection through his shorts self-soothingly, but Daniel doesn’t seem to notice.

***

Daniel saunters over to her with his phone out, still grinning. “Say, ‘oh fuck, oh fuck, I’m coming’,” he jokes.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, I’m coming,” Max repeats tonelessly, her expression still blank. It gets a laugh out of everyone, even Daniel, who usually hates being one-upped during one of his bits. She waits a beat, then tells Daniel, “Give me a second to concentrate.”

George watches as Max closes her eyes. It doesn’t take long for her face to change. The minute shifts in her expression closely resemble George’s memory of her in the hot tub—so closely, in fact, that he can’t help but wonder if she’s actually making herself come right there in front of everyone, without any stimulation at all.

Even Daniel seems impressed when he snaps the picture of her face, proudly walking around the circle to show everyone the result as Max calmly levels out her breathing again.

George waits until Daniel is well out of earshot before leaning over to whisper in her ear. “Did you actually come just then?” It’s technically against the rules, but George certainly doesn’t have any intention of ratting her out.

“A lady never tells,” Max says simply before drawing back again with a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips.

#my fic #wtmi #trick or treat ask game

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