#his fucking jawline that could cut diamond

[frnkiebby]

his sweet little face~🎃

[drudyslut]

— summary: kook princess. kook prince. perfect match, right? wrong. you hated rafe cameron and everything he stood for. and he hated you. so when your fathers spring it on the two of you that they’d arranged for the two of you to be married, both of your worlds are flipped upside down.

— CW: 18+ only! forced arranged marriage, strong language. (Y/D/N + Y/M/N = your mom and dads names)

likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated<3

part two

❥ marrying the enemy — r.c

Y/N

I’ve always known my father had some fucked up trick up his sleeve for my life. I always knew he’d pawn me off somehow, someway. Anything to make a quick buck, right? The thought alone sends me spiraling. Makes me see red. Anger. Shame. Fear. All the emotions that swirl through my mind as I pace my father’s in-home study, awaiting the arrival of none other than Rafe Cameron and his father, Ward Cameron.

I’m not one hundred percent sure what it is my father has planned, but I do know if it involves me being in the room, waiting on Rafe and Ward to arrive for a “meeting” as my dad put it. It can’t be good.

“Please sit down and stop pacing, sweetheart. You’re making me nervous” My father says, snapping me back into the cruel reality that is my life.

I stare back at him for a moment, mouth slightly parted in shock. I’m making him nervous? What about me? And my feelings? I was happy just an hour ago. Sitting in my room, studying for my upcoming final exam, when my father knocks on my door, letting me know my presence is needed in his study. When I asked him why? He told me that the Cameron’s were coming over, and that we had things to discuss. Things that would benefit both of our families tremendously.

Letting out a deep and frustrated sigh, I obey. I plop myself onto the large black leather couch that’s sat against the back wall of his office. I chew at the skin of my lower lip, anxiously scanning the length of the room. I have so many questions. What role could I possibly play in this “family benefiting” situation? I have my theory, but I absolutely hate the thought, so I quickly shove it down.

A few minutes pass, awkward silence and tension fill the air. As I open my mouth to ask what exactly I’m doing here, a knock sounds on the door, making me audibly clamp my mouth shut.

“Doors open” My father says calmly.

I’m not sure why, but now my hands are clammy. Shaking. Anxiety has crawled all the way up my spine, making me sit up right, resting my elbows on my knees that are now anxiously bouncing up and down.

The door is pushed open, and in walks Rafe and Ward. They’re both so different. If they didn’t look so similar, you wouldn’t know that Rafe was Ward’s son. Ward is dressed in a three piece suit with a white button up underneath, shiny black shoes and his hair is done to perfection. Rafe on the other hand is dressed in a simple pair of denim jeans, a tight black t-shirt, and a pair of black and white Nikes. His hair is messy, parted in the middle and giving him the ‘just rolled out of bed’ effect.

No one can deny how attractive Rafe is though. Even I would be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed the Cameron boy’s good looks. He has perfectly plump pink lips that seem to always be drawn into a frown, his eyes are so blue, like the ocean on a cloudless day— you could drown in his eyes — a perfectly defined jawline that could cut diamonds. And his body? Lets just say the few times I’ve hung out with his sister, Sarah, and we’d be lounging by the pool, Rafe and his friends would love to come terrorize us, and I couldn’t ever break my eyes off of his perfectly sculpted body. Hard defined chest and abdomen, tanned, smooth skin. Rafe Cameron is what I’d imagine a Greek God to look like.

But he’s also got a nasty drug habit. A God complex. He truly believes he’s God’s gift to mankind, and that in itself makes him the ugliest person I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing. I don’t miss the glare he shoots my way the minute he sees me sitting on the couch. The look in his eyes is so angry, so lifeless. It makes me even more terrified of what’s about to be said in this room. He knows something I don’t, and that is terrifying.

“Thank you for having us over today Y/D/N, I know it was short notice, but Rose and I felt it’s best to get a move on things” Ward says simply, giving away nothing.

Rafe snorts, rolling his eyes as he finds a seat in front of my father’s desk. He crosses his arms across his chest, slumping into the chair and spreading his legs wide.

“Not a problem, Ward. Y/M/N and I agree, it’s time we get this process moving”

Getting annoyed with the beating around the bush they’re playing at, I stand from the couch. “What… What are we talking about? Get what moving?”

My voice sounds small and weak, pulling another forced laugh from Rafe’s chest. He turns his head, blue eyes finding mine as he says, “Oh. You don’t know?”

“Know… Know what?”

“Our parents are making-” Rafe begins but his dad cuts him off.

“That’s enough, Rafe! Sit there and don’t speak unless we say. Got it?”

Rafe grumbles under his breath, but I pay him no mind. Instead, my heated gaze is strictly on my father. His eyes have a small hint of empathy in them, but not much.

“Y/N, sweetheart. Come sit, would you?” He asks.

I try and swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat, but I can’t seem to. My entire body is frozen in fear. My mind is racing. I knew Rafe knew something from the moment he stepped foot into this room. The air is thick, and I feel like I can’t breathe, but I don’t dwell on that right now. Instead, I hesitantly make my way over to the chair beside Rafe, slowly sitting down and crossing my ankles together underneath the seat.

Ward clears his throat, “So. As you both know, Cameron Developments has been wanting to merge together with Y/L/N Industries. We think the best way to make our businesses grow and merge together into one big company instead of two working together, is by having one child from each family to be married. And since Sarah is dating John B. and Wheezie is only thirteen, that leaves me with Rafe.” Ward pauses, thinking on how to continue with his spiel. “Your brother is only seventeen, so that couldn’t work. So that leaves you, Y/N.”

I pinch my brows together. I must’ve been hit over the head with a two-ton brick because there’s no way he just said married.

“I- I don’t follow…” I say honestly.

Rafe chuckles, lolling his head to the side so his eyes meet mine once more. “They’re saying we have to get married, princess. Total bullshit, I know. But apparently, we have no choice.”

Ward ignores his son, his eyes finding mine as he takes in a deep breath. “Rafe is right. Albeit his attitude needs some adjustment, he’s right. The two of you are to be married. Your father and I have signed all the necessary paperwork, and all that is left to be done now is get you and Rafe married. As soon as possible.”

My mouth is stuck in an ‘O’ shape, shock and anger rushes through my body. I probably look like an idiot from having my mouth wide open, but I simply do not care. How could my parents do this to me? Pawn me off like I’m a game winning prize? To Rafe fucking Cameron of all people too. All for what? Money? Merging two very successful businesses into one? None of it makes sense. And it’s unfair.

My father’s stern voice pulls me from the thoughts swirling in my mind, “Sweetheart, close your mouth.”

I snap my lips shut, my eyes narrowed into slits on my father. “Daddy. You can’t be fucking serious..”

“Language, Y/N!” He snaps, and I can’t bite back the scoff that escapes me. He has the nerve to say something about my cursing rather than explain why the fuck he’s forcing me to marry… Rafe…

“I’m serious, dad! I’m not marrying him! I don’t love him! Hell, I don’t even like him! You can’t make me marry him!” I snap back.

Rafe snorts beside me. “You think I wanna fucking marry you? The prude, Kook princess who thinks she’s better than everyone else?”

I open my mouth, a sharp comeback sitting at the tip of my tongue, but Ward’s booming voice makes me snap my mouth shut again.

“Rafe! That’s enough. We’ve discussed this, and this is happening. The two of you will just have to learn how to tolerate one another”

My gaze trails back to my father. He’s sitting back in his black leather office chair, his hands clasped together and resting on his stomach. His eyes are void of any emotion. No anger. No sympathy. Nothing.

“Daddy…”

“Sweetheart, this is final. I’m sorry, but Ward is right. This is happening. We’re announcing the engagement this weekend, your mother and Rose have already started planning everything. The wedding will take place in one months time. You will become a Cameron. You both will be doing our family a huge favor.”

I shake my head, a scoff escaping me once again. Standing from my seat, I push my way past Ward and stomp out of my father’s office. I don’t even care if I’m acting like a child right now. I’m being forced to marry Rafe Cameron. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

RAFE TAGLIST: @targaryenbarbie @thelomlisrafecameron @rafegirly @f4ll-for-you @drewstarkeyslut @dilvcv @thewitchesofart @rafesgfxo @unsaidjaelinrose @abbybarnesstuff @itsmytimetoodream @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @r1vrsefx @moremaybank @rafetopia @rafemotherfuckingcameron @jade-is-jaded @lexasaurs634 @anqeliclust @presleyanswrites @carma-fanficaddict @rafescokenostril @madzzz0797 @slytherhoes @jscameron @jjsmarijuana @ijustwanttoreadlols @luversgirl @sugarcoatedstarkey @skyesthebomb @nirvanaissogood @stvrkey @vhour @emma77645 @rafeinterlude @superlegend216 @mannstarkey @digitaldiary111 @spideysimpossiblegirl @uraesthete @redhead1180 @crgirlsworld @atorturedpoetx @carolinaxvz @maybankslover @cantstoptherecs @pradabambie @slut4ani @kamninaries @biggesthat3r

rafe cameron masterlist | series masterlist | taglist form

[geminimoonbeamx]

You can blow what’s left of my right mind(I don’t mind)

A/N: As usual, I'm two days late. But here she is. Writing this his reignited my love for Pedro Pascal in ways that are hard to describe. Please read @allaboardthereadingrailroad sister story and thank her for always dealing with my fuckery. Also GBB: Great British Bake-off. duh lol

Warning: Smut, Oral(femal receiving), Drug use. The very vague, brief mention of homie hopping. Minor mentions of infidelity at the end.

Pairings: Frankie “Catfish” Morales X Plus Sized Reader

Summary: After a shitty date, you fully accept the prospect of being alone forever. One spontaneous barbeque and a joint rolled by the handsomest man you’ve ever met later and you're reevaluating that notion.

You deserve your fate, re-downloading Bumble had been an offense against your carefully routine therapy schedule. 

The date had been trash, but you could’ve guessed that. No need for a crystal ball or the stack of tarot cards that had become a staple party trick of yours in college. Another limp dick banker, six figures and no people skills. Gag. 

You ponder your shitty decision making skills, hand on your hip, as you stare down the long aisle. Fluorescent and distorted, wine or something hard? What pairs well with leftover tiramisu. You reach for your phone as it dings in your bag:

Huh.

Tequila it is. 

-------

Realtor Tom, as he’d been dubbed months ago, had finally closed on the property next door. Condo, beach front, wrap around porch. You have no idea how it could’ve taken it him so long to close on it but as you arrive, you congratulate him all the same- 

Exchanging the crystalline bottle for a heavy plate, steaming, fresh off the fire. 

It’s just something small and intimate, his celebration. 

The porch lights are dim, music hums and the grill is worked by seasoned hands as the moon shines brightly down on the crashing waves in the distance. .

It’s you and Claire and a handful of Tom’s oldest friends, military men. Brothers. All that macho we almost died together and now live in each others back pockets bullshit that you think is just a skewed version of your grandmothers book club. 

The stories they tell almost seem lifted straight off a page, carefully crafted. Pieces clearly cut away for you and Claire’s benefit. The bloody kind, you figure. A shame really, you like your gossip like you like your steak- medium rare. Raw and almost unpalatable. 

Men suck, as a whole. But former military men with jawlines that could cut diamonds? Yeah, you could stomach that. Work with it even.

The golden boy with the right dash of middle america and bright blue eyes, Will- right? He’s your usual type. 

Unfortunately not all that in interested in you though as far as you can tell. 

Pope’s darkly handsome with black hole vortex like charm, a gaping maw with salt and pepper hair. Your daddy issues are screaming-

Claire weaves and bobs through conversation with skill- honed in on a target that you don't think Benny, the little brother who likes to box, has caught on to yet. With his eager eyes and booming laughter he obviously still thinks he’s in the game. 

Her daddy issues are worse than yours.. 

“You wanna hit this?” 

It comes from beside you. Frankie’s hand is outstretched, a freshly rolled joint in between his long fingers.

“Greens? For little ol’ me? Thanks, you’re a real gentleman” You tease, grinning as you take it. It’s clean work, pretty as shit and pulls perfect. You hold his gaze, just for a moment as you suck on the end. 

You hadn't been sure about him, hours ago. Tall, lanky, donned in Hawaiian tropic and a baseball cap.

Catfish, Frankie, is a pilot. Contracted through some government agency since he retired from the military. You think he’d be a great commercial pilot, cute little helicopter flights for rich fucks over the bay, turtle island. His easy humor would win ‘em all over. You’d be his first client, he could take you out anytime. 

“Yeah, you want me to take you flying?” He grins, tips his beer. Entertaining the idea. 

“What girl wouldn't?” You counter “I mean, heights aren't really my thing but if the pilot was good enough, sure. I’d be game” 

He shakes his head, playing it cool. Yeah, whatever you want, just tell him when.

Is there certain terminology for flight head or would that just fall under the blanket statement of joining the mile high club?-

You reach over to hand the joint to Claire, the dim fairy lighting hitting her dark eyes just right. A smug, knowing gleam aimed right at you. 

The night bleeds away and the shots of tequila start to lose their sting. 

Everything is warm, the sticky Floridian heat doesn't dwindle, not at all phased by the mid October time stamp. You glow, alcohol fueled, from the inside out. You know these guys better now, these near strangers feel inner circle close, 

But maybe, it's just because you’re sitting in a circle? 

Or maybe it's because that expensive bottle you’d brought, Tom’s gift, is long gone. The sketchy little decanter Santiago brought- the one with a distended scorpion that came straight from the Motherland is getting there too. 

Clear liquor is thicker than blood, or whatever that saying is. 

Will bows out first which, surprise surprise. Who has to work on a Sunday? Tom soon after, toting a stumbling old country song singing Benny- 

“Last time I let you crash at one of my properties, I was left scrubbing who know’s what the fuck off the the three thousand dollar couch. Get your ass up” 

And then there were four. 

Pope insists that it’s in poor taste not to finish this particular bottle, bad luck. 

You know what else is bad luck- hangovers. You’re out, its been fun and real and real fun. 

You’re not expecting Claire to leave with you, because you know- the daddy issues. And the liquor tolerance of steel. 

You remind her to lock the door when she gets home, she’s on Buttercup duty in the morning too, still drunk or not. 

“I think i'm going to head out, too, man” Frankie announces, standing just after you and your stomach erupts into butterflies. “I’m too old for this shit” 

They, Frankie and Pope, exchange words in spanish. Embracing. Laughing. 

You and Claire exchange words, silently. Telepathically. All eyes and vibes. 

The verdict is clear;

Use protection. 

----------

You’ll walk him to his car you offer and he chuckles, will do you one better and walk you to your door. All of fifteen feet away. 

The night can end here and it still would have been good, beautiful even. Far removed from the horrible date, but you? 

Make bad decisions. Tequila addled or not.

 You reach for his hand, twining your fingers in between his and tugging. Staring up at him with want, bare and vulnerable, written all over your face. 

“Come home with me?” 

Frankie looks like he might say no. Like there's something on the tip of his tongue that you have no desire to unearth, something that should dictate a hard decline. Like he should utter the words that will end the night-

But he doesn't want to. You can tell. 

You tug him all the way up the the porch stairs.

Fumbling not to let go as you fiddle with the key, the moment the door swings open its like a switch has been flipped. He’s turned on. A squeal breaks free as as he crowds you in all body and warmth and close, close, close head spinningly fast. 

He kicks the door shut with the heel of his heavy boot. 

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

You don't do one night stands. 

Not because of morality or maturity or lack- but because they’re unpredictable. The few you;d had had fallen on the spectrum of either holy fuck wow, or never, ever, again, 

Frankie sits in his own bracket-

A peel of laughter breaks out of you as he runs his bearded face across your neck, into the sensitive skin behind your ear.

He’s fun, playful. It doesn't feel like a performance, him touching you. He digs his fingers in to feel. He runs his tongue across what he wants to taste- he’s not against lighting up another spliff.

 The plumes of smoke pass between your mouths in hot kisses and coughed fits of giggles. 

“That did not happen” You accuse, sprawled out on the couch. Your hair fanned across a throw pillow, silky slip of a top long gone as Frankie sits between your bare spread thighs. 

“It did- and that shit’s prosecutable in most third world countries” He informs lightly in all seriousness, the two very different tones existing harmonious as he husks it in your ear.

 Playful, all fun, until he's kissing down your chest. Wet and scorching, 

It feels good, the drag of prickly facial hair over all that soft supple skin. Hypersensitive, you arch into his mouth when his teeth catch on your nipple, just on the right side of pain. He’ll stop, the soothing lave of his tongue makes that clear.

 You knot your fingers in his thick black hair and push him deeper into your chest. 

He’s attentive, so much so that it’s almost odd. He just met you not even six hours ago and he’s treating you so nice- it must be his kink or something. Oral fixations. He doesn't want to pull away, his mouth slams back to yours after every minor disconnection. 

He has to yank his shirt over his head? Kiss- has to shimmy his jeans down his long legs? He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth the moment they’re off. You smile into each one. 

“You wanna fuck me, Frankie?” You whisper into his mouth because he’s so hard and hes rocking into you, nudging against lace“You can have it, what ever you want” 

He’s not a man who needs to be told twice, or so you learn. “Whatever he wants”, you’d offered. Thought he’d slip your panties to the side, pound into you. Condom first of ofcource, youre not that fuck dumb yet- but there he goes with that mouth again. Down, past your sternum and belly button and the round curve of your stomach and oh, there goes your panties- 

Fuck. 

He shoulders his way right where he wants to be, face first between your legs, “Right here baby, keep ‘em right here' ' because hes slim but far from weak and you’re going to wrap your thighs around his ears whether you want to or not.This is the good stuff, the kind of stuff that blocks out all the ugly shit he’s seen and the bad things he’s done. It’s white noise, peace and he goes down you like he’s dying for it. 

Fucks his tongue into you in a way that makes you whine. All men(boys not included) like eating pussy, in theory. Only a select few of them love it, 

Frankie Morales loves that shit. 

Your eyes roll as his nose nudges your clit and what’s that quote about big noses? Its messy, overly wet and yeah, sloppy but who cares. The squelch and slurps make you shiver because what the hell? You were not expecting this. You nearly lurch right off the couch when his fingers join in because wow yeah you knew g spot orgasms were a thing but this is something else completely. 

He doesn't stop until it hurts. Until your muscles burn and his jaw is threatening to lock. Until you're begging him to let you ride him, using the back of the couch to bounce in his lap in a way that's truly impressive. Your pilates instructor would be so proud of your muscle elasticity. 

The two of you are barely human Jell-o after. When you offer your bed for the night, he doesnt have the energy to decline. 

----------

The sun is bright in the sky by the time Frankie gets his shit together, clothes pulled on and out of your wildly comfortable bed. He tells you he’s leaving, kisses your cheek- even when you groan and push him away, burrowing deeper into your comforter. He debates on waking you up, on chicken scratching a note with his information-

No numbers will be exchanged, no promises of next time.

It’s for the best, less messy. He tries to comfort himself with this facts as he trudges down the stairs.

He’s head pounds with the beat of his heart and he could throttle Pope for pressing those last few shots. Too old, not young enough to deal with mornings after anymore- 

“Good morning” 

Claire stands in the middle of the naturally lit kitchen, hair tied up neatly, donned in activewear. Her tawny complexion clear and unblemished. Not a dark circle in sight. 

A panting squirming mass bum rushes him and winds around his feet . Oh, Frankie remembers you putting a dog in their room last night. 

“Good morning, I was just going to head out-” 

“Ill walk you out- we were about to go for a run anyway. Buttercup, leash” Claire’s tone is cheerful, even. There’s no waver, nothing to prepare him for what comes next.

The moment the front door opens, they spill out onto the pristine lawn, and he’s heading for his truck-

“Oh and Frankie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Say hi to your wife for us” 

Read @allaboardthereadingrailroad sister story to find out what happened with Claire, Pope and that bottle: One Night Stand

[princessmisery666]

Dangerous Dance

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader (she/her - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

W/C: 750

Warnings: smut, jealous Bucky, public sex act, fingering, bratty behavior, allusions to dangerous work.

Notes: I had mob boss Bucky in mind while writing so I guess this is an AU.  

A/N: Hope you like it @fandom-princess-forevermore

Betas: @cockslutpadalecki // all mistakes are mine.

Graphics: picture found here Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Master Lists: Bucky Barnes // All The Fandoms

Dangerous Dance

It didn’t take long to figure out Bucky had people watching her. His intentions were to protect her, after all his professional life attracted the wrong kind of people. But she’d be damned if she didn’t take advantage of it when she was feeling a certain type of way.

She didn’t care about money or expensive gifts, and she paid little attention to the power he held. All of which she’d been offered. She only craved Bucky’s time and the skills he had. So when his ‘business’ kept him away for too long, she used the watchers to her advantage. 

The dance floor was crowded. Bodies writhing and grinding, hands groping her ass, a sweaty chest pressed against her back, but it was the wrong chest. Still, she swirled her ass into the owner's crotch and had a little fun while she waited.

The air was stifling in the close quarters of the club, but she felt the shift and heard the murmurs of his name when he arrived. She didn’t need to look for him, he was in the same place he always was. So slowly she raised her eyes, a sly smirk curling the corners of her mouth while she continued to sway her hips.

Bucky was in the VIP area, the centre of the booth, a bottle of beer resting on his knee and he was staring at her. The red strobe lights made him look as dangerous as he was, illuminating the fiery desire in his eyes and it was enough to make heat pool in her panties.

He curled his finger, inviting her over. She shook her head, no. She'd pay for the disobedience later but it’d be worth it. It always was.

His gaze demanded her attention but she dared to look away, turning to face her dancing partner instead. She had to admit he was a good looking guy, a jawline that could cut diamonds, light brown hair immaculately tamed to a style she didn’t care to know the name of. She put her hands on his stomach, felt his taut muscles and bit her lip. She locked eyes with him for a moment, teasingly wetting her lips before turning her back to him again. 

Bucky was gone.

Fuck.

Had she finally pushed him too far? Was he done with their game of cat and mouse? She sighed sadly.

She wouldn’t have noticed the person pressed against her being snatched away abruptly had it not jostled her. The hand gripping her hip to steady her replaced the person so fast she probably wouldn’t have realized it was someone new if not for the metal hand that wrapped around her throat. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, doll,” Bucky gritted in her ear, but he moved with her to the rhythm of the music, reigniting the flame within her.

“I’m in no danger as long as you’re around,” she teased, jutting her ass into him further.

“We’ll see about that,” he challenged. The hand on her waist slipped lower, caressing her thigh, lifting her skirt as he danced his fingers around to the front. He cupped her sex, pushing her damp panties into her and he tutted, “You’re already wet, I’ve barely touched you.” 

“That guy was a good dancer,” she snarked. 

His hold tightened, blood rushed to her temples and he forced her to head back to rest against his shoulder. He scraped his teeth along her jaw, growling, “you drive me crazy,” before roughly pulling her panties aside and shoving two fingers into her tight cunt. 

“Shit,” she whined, eyes fluttering closed as he dragged in and out.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, scissoring and curling his fingers, taut grip still in place. “Me to finger fuck you in front of everyone, so every man can see you’re my girl?”

“Nuh-huh,” she denied, rising to the tips of her toes every time he forced his fingers in deeper. “I want every man and woman to know you’re my man.”

“Okay, doll,” he agreed and she heard the smug smile in his tone. He liked her jealousy. His pace increased, another finger breached her entrance and his thumb expertly teased her clit. She writhed and moaned, swirling her hips to match his pace. The base of the music vibrated through them both and her walls clenched, sucking him in deeper.

“It’s time to show them,” Bucky drawled in her ear, “come for me.”

Requests Info

Master Lists: Bucky Barnes // All The Fandoms

[inertflouride]

Do I wanna know?

Preface: Jake and MC break up when things don't work out well between them but MC hides the fact that she still loves Jake and is holding herself out from every guy. Just when she hears about Jake getting involved with a new hacker girl from his circle, she flips her switch.

Warnings: Sexual references, mild cussing, mild violence, 🌶

No references to any detail from the game except the character's name

Also a little soundtrack in the end. Hehe

"You wanna dance?", I ask the guy before me. He's been hitting on me ever since I walked in this pub. The fact that I didn't pay attention from the beginning was not because he was ugly, but because I was holding out myself for someone. Lies, lies, lies.

"Hell yes I wanna dance", he grins at me and takes my hand to the dance floor. It's a latino song so I can't understand much what it says but man the beats, I'll be lying if I say I didn't dance on my own accord. I have my back towards him and dance, his hands wandering up and down on my side curves. Feels good being hot, doesn't it?

I find Jessy looking at me with her eyebrow crooked up, trying to figure out who that is. I give her a wink and slide my hands slowly over my body, making the dummy dancing with me pumped up. He lets out a little laugh.

"What song is this?", I shout at the top of my lungs since the music is blasting in here and I can't hear shit.

"Oh, it's Mi Necesita. Haven't you heard it? It's quite a popular song", he replies back in my ear.

"Ah, cool", I reply back in boredom. This guy is boring as fuck like dude, make some interesting conversation or something? I legit feel my fun vibe getting sucked out of me. Argh.

He's about to say something when the DJ interrupts in. "The following song is a request by", he pauses for a second, "by our friend, Jake for his little girlie MC. Well MC, if I were you, I'd leave any man for this hot a guy, Haha. Everybody, give it up for Jake!!" and plays Disturbia by Rihanna but with reverberations and sped up effects.

I jerk my head towards Jessy who looks back at me with equal surprise. I move forward towards her but suddenly I'm stopped and found the guy I was dancing with holding onto my wrist.

"Huh? What do you want?", I ask him in bewilderment, my brows frowning at him. "I seriously DO NOT have time for you right now" and try to free my wrist but his iron clad says no.

"Come on baby, we just started here", he returns a douchy smirk and pulls me via my wrist towards himself. He traps me with his arms around me so I try to push him away with my hands on his chest.

"Get off of me, ew", I try to get him off of me. I try to find Jessy behind him, but she's no where. WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GO JESSY?

"You won't ew when I fill you in", he quips back and moves closer to me. No no no, I need to get him off of me.

"Jake-", I speak in my little voice and before I could even finish his name, someone comes behind me and pulls me towards me. "Wha-"

"You wouldn't want to touch her if you wish to stay alive", he declares flatly. I look towards this person and find a guy in a black mask and ruffled hair looking towards me. If this isn't Jake then I don't know who is. He grew some serious muscles but not in a buff way, in a lean but ripped way. Though this whole shitty persona is making him completely unlikable. He's no one to own me like he did to the DJ especially after seeing someone behind my back.

He glances at me and gives me a quick smile before his hard glare sets at the asshole.

"What are you going to do huh? I can beat you without batting my eye twice", the asshat says and winks at me.

I see Jake's jawline tightening so hard, it could cut a diamond. Uh oh, I wouldn't wish to be that guy at all. Jake suddenly moves and punches the guy's eye. He howls in pain and covers his eye with his hand. "What the fuck man, WHAT THE FUCK!", he keeps screaming in pain, his sound piercing my brain through my ears.

"Didn't you say you would not bat your eyes twice? I can see one of them battling quite furiously", Jake states flatly and puts his hands in his pockets, "I told you not to mess with my woman but you did. She's mine and nobody should not dare lay more than a finger tip on her or even look her wrong. You all get that?" and declares me his to the whole place, like he already hadn't.

'Yayy", I hear towards my right and find Jessy jumping in excitement. I seriously would never get used to her constant disappearing on me. I walk towards her and pull her ear. "Ow, what was that for?"

"You ghosted when I needed you. Where the hell did you go?", I ask her, faking anger at her.

"Somebody told me that there was a person in the bathroom calling me so I went there. Now I know who that somebody is", she tips her head towards Jake, who is looking at me. I look the other way and ask Jessy if she's going come with me to my house. "Nah I'll stay with Angela, you go have fun", the damn brat snickers and gets busy.

I move towards Jake who thinks I'm approaching him. I reach where he is standing but don't stop and keep moving, heading towards the exit. I'm about to push the door open when I pause and look back at him. "Are you gonna join me this time or still planning to just be the knight in shining armour and scram away?", I taunt him and wait for his reply, tilting my head sidewards as if I'm impatient when in reality, my heart thumps hard, just longing hard for him, for an explanation that he didn't do it.

He doesn't reply and moves towards me, looking me in the eye the whole time as he confidently strides towards me. He places his hand on my back, ushering me forward. We move outside and the cool blow of the weather makes my spine shake a little. He removes his hoodie and hands it to me.

As much as I would love to refuse it, I don't wish to make myself suffer from the cold and wear it up. It covers my dress completely, appearing as if I'm only wearing a hoodie. He looks at me and approvingly nods at my appearance. Before I could call him out for the expression he just made, a cab stops in front of us and the driver pops his head out asking, "Jake?"

"Yeah", he replies in a word and opens the door for me to sit in before joining in himself. The whole ride to 'my house', hah the audacity, goes by silent. I rest the left side of my face against the cool window of the cab and shut my eyes, the whole day's exhaustion and alcohol kicking in.

I rub my eyes and find myself propped up on my favourite bean bag. I find Jake emerging out from the bathroom, wiping his hands, wearing a black wifebeater.

"Guess who decided to show up", I taunt him, averting my gaze away from his body, "Aren't you still busy? Also that new hacker girl, haven't you already fallen for her?."

"Well, maybe I was too busy being yours to fall for somebody new?", he tells me, holding my hands in his and raising them upto his lips to kiss each knuckle of mine.

"It hurt me a lot you know. Thinking how you got together with someone while I still was in love with you."

"Yeah, I could see how desperate you were to forget me that you went for losers", he scoffs and moves towards the bar in the living room, choosing a bottle to chug on. "Please for the love of god, stop stockpiling Bacardi."

I look at him, trying to form words to say something. Anything. But nothing comes out. So I take him in, how he swigs open the bottle and chugs at it like water. I also find traces of a tattoo from the little skin exposed from his back.

"You got a tattoo?"

"Hm"

"I must say, you are so good with words. A great conversationalist", I roll my eyes, frustrated from the lack of proper replies from him.

"I'm good with my hands too. Just saying."

What the-. He did not just say that! My face burns up from his response. I get up and move towards the restroom to have a shower, removing each garment as I move. First 2 steps, his hoodie, next 2 steps, my heels, next 2 steps my dress and on the door of the bathroom, both my bra and panties.

I don't have to turn back to find out that he's seeing. I KNOW that he saw the whole thing, every fucking detail of it. I turn the shower on and get in the lukewarm water, counting my fingers on how long it takes for him to burst in.

I barely make it to 5 when the door is slammed open. "Ooh that was quick."

"The only thing that would be quick this evening. Now turn around, I have to clean every part of your body where that shitcrap touched you."

I comply with his demands, of course they weren't requests, and let him clean my body. He turns off the shower and grabs the loofah, pouring the shower gel and lathering my skin. He gently goes all the way from my back to my lower legs. The feeling, oh god, it was intoxicating.

He then reached up to my thighs, making me open my legs further by tapping on my inner thighs. I did, though the moment he started moving the loofah in tiny circles, my thighs clenched back despite my attempts to keep them apart.

"Hold onto the handrail", he commands and when I do, he squats down, holding one of my inner thigh with his fingers clenching deep into the skin, while the other hand holding the loofah manages to keep the other thigh from reuniting.

"Didn't you say that you'll be cleaning the parts he touched? I don't remember him touching me here though."

"So do you want me to stop?", he crooks one of his brows at me, mockingly questioning me. "From the lack of response, I guess you do not wish for me to proceed. That's okay then, I'll get going."

"No! I mean it's not like... Argh... It's not inconvenient to me", I try to say it in the most discreet manner but fuck, he's going to make me say it.

"What do you want me to do exactly?"

"Er, um, what you were doing before."

"Say it. Come on. I don't have the whole day."

I flush up and try to speak up but oh shit, it's gonna sound like it has to. "I- I want you to, um, continue cleaning me with the, eh, loofah"

"Hm, not bad but I'm sorry, I'm bored now. Serves you right for going after other men", he fake yawns and starts towards the door.

"Okay then, I'll find someone else to do that then if you won't", I say up, fully aware of how I'm treading into dangerous territories. Uh oh, he slowly looks back at me, his eyes squinting at me. He moves up to me and pins both of my wrists to the wall, whispering, "Do that and you'll be responsible for that man's torture ridden death."

I lick my lips, tracing them seductively as I watch into his eyes with defiance. He puts one of his knees between my thighs, rubbing it in as he says, "MC, you do not wish to play this game with me, because if I get serious, you're just going to be at my mercy and I won't stop even if you beg me to."

He lets go of my wrist and pats at my cheek as he makes his away out but before he could, I turn on the shower, drenching him completely.

He lifts me up from my thighs and pins to the wall again, this time my legs crossed around him and lightly grinding against him. His fingers clench into my butt's skin, deep, making me beg for his touch. "Just do it. Please, Jake."

He fiercely pulls back my hair and grabs my chin tightly to which I end up hissing in pain. Then he slams his lips on mine, sending wild tremors along my back. I love how his insistent lips part mine's, making me quiver so hard against this lips that I moan in his mouth which drives him crazier than he already was. He slides his tongue in, fighting with my own's in our little fight for dominance. Though I'm completely aware of the fact that I lost that battle the moment he claimed his love for me a little while back.

He steps back a little without warning, making me lose my balance. I'm about to complain when he lifts off his wifebeater, pants and everything else that follows.

"Come on now, I don't wish to hear you sneeze while I make you come", he says and wraps a towel around me, lifting me up in a fireman's lift.

I try to fake my anger, squealing with sheer delight as he lifts me towards the bedroom.

Here's the soundtrack guys, if you wanna you read with effects. Haha.

The latino song which plays in the beginning.

The song which Jake requests:

The song in the shower:

[afterglow-tommylee]

Chapter 15. The Sun Would Rise In The Jasmine Skies

Malibu California, April 19 2002

As I stand in front of the full floor to ceiling mirrors that surround the bed in our bedroom, wearing my Louis Vutton black strappy stilettos, I slip on the gold chain straps to my Christian Dior newsprint knee length backless dress that hugged my body in all the right places, and flowed from my hips in an asymmetrical a line cut. I had just finished my makeup, my classic black smokey eye looking perfectly dramatic and I couldn't decide whether to wear my curls up or leave them down. 

It was the night of our engagement party, and Tommy had invited everyone - and I mean everyone - to his club that he owned, Venus, the club that Lizzy and I had gone to the first night after I met him. 

Tommy made dinner reservations at Nostimos to have dinner beforehand with his mother and sister since they aren't able to come to the party, which is right around the corner from Venus. I was a little nervous since this will be the first time I'm meeting his mother and his sister. 

I still cannot believe that we are getting married. I have never been so happy in my entire life, and I know I keep saying it but I really thought I would never ever feel this way again. I can't even believe he asked me to marry him. Me? Really? He wants to marry me? Like man, sometimes I still don't know just what he even sees in me.

"Babe! You almost ready up there or what?" Tommy calls up the stairs with a laugh.

"Yea, yea... no, I don't know," I call gathering my dark curls in my hands and attempting to see what I would look like with my hair up, turning my back to the mirror and looking over my shoulder, then letting my curls fall to see if that looked any better. I caught a glimpse of the diamond ring on my finger in the reflection, shining so brightly in the glow of the late afternoon sun coming through the room and I looked down at it, falling in love with how it sat perfectly on my finger.

"Vhat are youz doin-guh my leetle von, you are makinz us late!" He yells up at me in his slimy greek guy accent that he does sometimes that makes me laugh uncontrollably, though right now I was just trying to concentrate on what to do... but still ended up laughing.

"Ok just...," I laughed, calling down to him. "I'm fixin my hair my love, just give me a wee bit of time," I add trying to do my terrible irish accent back to him and I hear him laugh from downstairs as I run over to my dresser, grab a few bobby pins and make a quick updo with my curls on top of my head with some cascading down, giving myself a double check to make sure it would stay, then spritz a bit of perfume - Tommy's favorite of course- and then make my way out of the room, to the open loft staircase and quickly make my way down the steps to see Tommy at the bottom of the staircase waiting for me.

He wore a white collared shirt, with only the bottom 3 buttons done up, his necklaces laying perfectly against his chest as usual, jeans with his silver studded belt and belt buckle and his red converse Chuck Taylors with a black fedora hat. He looked so incredibly handsome I almost couldn't control myself. 

He smiles at me and places his hand on his chest and I give him a confused look and then say, "What?" 

"Just checking," He says.

"Checking for what?" I ask and stop in front of him a step or two before the marble floor so that I was the same height as he was.

"Checking to see if my heart is still beating" He says, his dark eyes looking into mine. 

"Stop," I chuckle with a shy smirk.

"No way," He says and leans into me while I place my palms on either side of his face, and he presses his lips to mine,  then moves his lips to my jawline,

"Fuck, you smell so amazing, I could just... mmmm" He says leaning back into me, placing his lips to my earlobe, then that spot under my earlobe again, trailing to my jawline, then back to my lips. 

"C'mon, my love we are runnin' a wee bit late,We don't want yer Ma waitin now," I say in my terrible irish accent again once I part my lips from his and he laughs.

*****

Hollywood California, Nostimos, Hollywood April 19 2002

About an hour-ish later we arrived at the restaurant, and somehow a few photographers found out about our dinner at Nostimos and were waiting outside taking photos. The camera lights flashing made me incredibly nervous, especially since some of the photographers were yelling questions about who I was, but Tommy held my hand the entire time, giving them a subtle wave and said nothing as we stepped inside.  All I could feel was my heart pounding. I've never experienced anything like that before, like usually it was only random fans coming up to Chris and being so sweet and asking for an autograph or something but nothing like that at all. 

I'm always so damn nervous when I'm meeting a parent and all that flashing and photos being taken outside did not help at all. I remember the first time I met Chris's mom and I was a nervous wreck. I was so young and so shy that I barely said 3 words to her. Also it didn't help that Chris didn't actually get along with his mother very well and so that made it even more awkward.

"Uh, reservations for Lee" Tommy says in that deep voice to the tall blonde hostess at the front of the restaurant. She then looks down and checks the list of reservations in the little black book. 

'Sure, right this way," She smiles and leads us into the restaurant, Tommy still holding my hand as we walk closely together. 

"Does that happen a lot?" I ask, looking up at him.

"Not as much as it used to," He says looking down at me.

We finally reach the table to see his mom and his sister and they both rise as Tommy greets them so sweetly giving his mom a hug.

"Mom, this is Andi.. babe, this is my mom Vassilikki, but everyone calls her Voula," Tommy says once he lets go of her and turns to me, his mom waving at him dismissively.

"Hi," I smile shyly and she smiles back at me.

"Hello, it is very nice to meet you," She says sweetly in her greek accent, then embracing me in a hug which caught me a little off guard but I welcomed it of course. She is gorgeous, and Tommy looks so much like her. No wonder she was Miss Greece. 

"It's so nice to meet you too, Tommy has told me so much about you," I say once we pull away from each other.

"All good I hope," She smiles.

"Yes," I giggle.

"And uh, that over there is Athena," Tommy says and she just gives him a look and he laughs.

"That? Oh gee thanks," She says sarcastically, sounding just like Tommy. "Hi, it's good to meet you" She says, turning to me and embracing me in a hug as well.

"Hi, thank you, you too," I say nervously and then we pull away from each other. After a few more moments of pleasantries we then all sit down at the table with Tommy sitting beside me and his mom and sister across from us. The waitress then comes over to ask us what we would like to start with and I knew I wanted a drink to get some of my nerves calmed down. I decide on a martini and once the waitress comes back with our drinks we continue with our conversation.

His mom asks me a ton of questions, all good ones of course, how old I am, where I'm from, how I met Tommy all of which he has told her before but I guess she wanted to hear it from me. 

"... so Tommy mentioned that you're part of management?" Athena chimes in after her mom seemed satisfied with my answers.

"Mmmm... yes," I say as I finish my sip of my martini and then add " I um, have a small management company, that I run independently. I've um, worked with Alice In Chains, Pantera, Nirvana for just a little bit early on... Soundgarden..." 

"Well that's fuckin' cool, " Athena says and her mom gives her a stern look. "Sorry mom," She says and Tommy chuckles. "So you were part of that whole grunge thing huh?" She adds and takes a sip of her drink.

"Yea," I say.

"Well it's good to see that you aren't just a... y'know a hanger on," She says.

"Athena" Tommy says after he takes a sip of his drink.

"What? Dude I'm sorry, Tommy I love you but... sometimes your choices in women are like... questionable," She says and takes a sip of her drink.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He chuckles.

"Nothing," She says and Tommy just looks at her. I wasn't sure if they were arguing or if this was typical brother and sister behavior.

"So you, work in the music like my Tommy?" His mom says to me, changing the subject back to our original conversation. 

"I do. More like behind the scenes though," I say.

"You are very beautiful, why behind the scenes as you say?" She says which made me blush.

"Um, thank you," I smile sweetly at her and then add " I just have more of a talent for the business part than being up in front of y'know... millions of people," I explain and feel Tommy's hand move to my thigh rubbing comfortingly through my dress.

"And you uh, love my Tommy?" She asks, taking a sip of her wine.

"I do, very much," I say and Tommy glances at me and I look up at him.

"And you are sure you want to marry?" She asks.

"Mom," Tommy says, giving her a look. 

"What? You're my son, I need to ask questions-eh," She says in her greek accent which makes me grin to myself.

"Yes, I definitely want to marry your son without a doubt," I reassured her. She looks at Tommy and I can tell that he was giving her a hurried look, and then she looks back at me.

"Ok, then I love you too," She smiles at me and everyone laughs while Tommy shakes his head in embarrassment.

[pet1teyn]

chapter two: an invitation calls to us

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Y/N smiled as she watched her appa leave her room. She felt like a weight was lifted off her shoulder after confiding with her daddy.

But soon her attention turned to something else as her conversation with her dad was long forgotten. 

“FUCK! I STILL NEED A PARTY DRESS” Y/N exclaimed. 

Leaping up from her bed, Y/N scrambled to her bathroom to redo her makeup and hair before leaving her room.

She raced down the stairs and grabbed her keys before bolting out the door. She unlocked the door of her bubblegum pink Tesla and slid into her hot pink leather seats. Y/N put her hands on her rhinestone-studded flamingo-pink fluffy steering wheel and backed out of the driveway. 

All of a sudden, she felt her car hit something.

“FUCK MY LIFE!” she gasped. “WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST RUN OVER! I LITERALLY CANNOT PAY FOR INSURANCE. I DON’T WANNA GO TO JAIL,” Y/N wailed as she blinked her long curly eyelashes repeatedly. 

Hesitantly, she opened the door of her bubblegum pink car and stepped outside. She slowly walked to the front of her car, her tiny fists ready to punch anything that might jump at her. 

She jumped back 3 feet as her eyes laid on a peculiar sight. 

Dirty blonde locks caressed a beautiful, but unconscious, face from the man underneath her car. His features were angular, yet delicate. He had thick and straight eyebrows that framed his doe-like eyes and complimented his high-set nose. He had beauty marks on his face but instead of detracting from his beauty, they only added to it. His lips looked soft and contrasted with his razor-sharp jawline that looked like it could cut diamond.

The only thing that tainted his near perfect face was the crimson red blood running down his forehead. 

Y/N took a moment to examine the ethereal being that laid in front of her. For a moment she forgot the emergency at hand. 

Suddenly, she snapped out of her trance and began pacing in front of her car trying to think of what to do.

The beautiful man groaned and rolled over. Y/N gasped and fumbled her phone out of her pink crocodile leather handbag.

“Wait,” the man said, staring deeply into her eyes as his hand gently grasped her wrist. His voice was smooth, rich, and velvety. It drew Y/N in, like a moth to a flame, helpless in the face of subtle seduction.

“Omo!” She gasped, trying to break away from his iron grasp. But he held her there, staring deeply into her cerulean orbs.

“Were you the bitch that ran over me,” the man in front of her growled.

“I-I-I-I’m s-so ss-sorry, sir-nim-oppa-nim,” Y/N stuttered adorably.

But that only angered the man in front of her more as he yanked Y/N towards him until their faces were millimeters apart.

Y/N felt his warm breath fanning her face and she almost sighed at how nice he smelled. He smelled minty and floral, with rich lemony undertones but a strange irony tang.

Suddenly, Y/N yelped as she forcefully tugged her tiny wrists away from the strange but majestic man in front of her. She bolted back to her bubblegum pink car and drove away gripping her rhinestone studded steering wheel in fear as her knuckles turned white.

“Oh my god. What a freak. Like, he’s hot, but still weird af,” Y/N muttered to herself, chewing on her lip, as she drove to the Chanel store.

When she got there, she stepped out of her car and sashayed to the store. 

“Hello, mistress Y/N,” growled the man who opened the door for her. 

Y/N ignored him and strutted to the designer dress aisle.

“Hmmmm. How about no,” she said, tossing aside a velvet burgundy floor-length ball gown. “Too tacky.”

Y/N continued looking through the rack before giving up. There’s like, nothing good here, she thought, throwing a silk sheath dress to the floor. Suddenly, she had an idea. 

She walked over to the fitting rooms and flashed a pearly-white smile at the man in charge of it. 

“Hi there! I’m Y/N. I don’t suppose you have any new party dresses in stock?”

Y/N looked the man up and down. He was kind of hot but looked a little too young for her. Risking another glance, Y/N thought that there was something familiar about the man. 

He was tall, dark, and handsome. His black hair contrasted with his pale skin and scarlet eyes gazed at her from underneath long eyelashes. Wait a second, Y/N thought, red eyes? That freak from earlier had red eyes too!

Y/N had an idea. “Hey,” she called, “do you know anyone with red eyes?”

The man looked at her and raised a single eyebrow imperiously before looking her up and down. He scoffed, seemingly unimpressed with what he found. He beckoned for her to follow him with a wave of his elegant hand.

He led her to the back of the store, which was dimly lit but like, in a romantic kind of way. Pulling down a box from the shelf, the man gestured for Y/N to move back. He set the box down on the floor and opened it, shaking out the most beautiful dress that Y/N had ever seen. It was love at first sight.

She tugged the dress out of the man’s hands and dashed back to the dressing room, slamming the door shut behind her. Inside the dressing room, Y/N zipped up the dress and smoothed it out over her curves.

She was gorgeous. 

The dress was, of course, blush pink and made of delicate, skin tight silk with holographic glitter in an ombre pattern from the bottom of the skirt. It was sleeveless and low cut, daringly exposing some cleavage, while the mid-thigh skirt had a large slit, almost up to her waist.

I have to buy this dress, Y/N thought as she examined herself in front of the floor length mirror while running her hands down her waist.  She quickly stripped the dress off of her and ran to the counter to check it out with her daddy’s credit card. 

Finally content, she grabbed the bag and walked back to her car, not missing to glance at the strange red eyed man.

OH MY GOD, Y/N thought. THAT’S THE NISHIMARU KID OR WHATEVER WHO SKIPPED A GRADE BUT IS NEVER AT SCHOOL! Wow…he got kinda…………fine–

Dismissing her thoughts, Y/N walked back to her bubblegum pink car and drove back home. A chill ran down her spine as she recounted the events that happened earlier in the day. The face of the strange boy underneath her car flashed in her mind as she quickly tried to push it aside and focus on the party.

Y/N reached home, quickly throwing on the dress, redoing her hair and makeup and tripping over her feet as she stumbled into her Barbie pink stilettos.

Y/N grabbed her hot pink makeup bag as she fumbled through it to find her neon pink lip gloss and quickly slapped it on. Checking over her face one more time in the mirror, Y/N gave herself a satisfied glance as she swiped on her glittery pink eyeshadow.

As she closed the door to her house, she felt her phone vibrating in her hand.

“HEY BESTIE, ARE U COMING OR WHAT?!” Yuna yelled through the phone.

“STFU Yuna, I'm on my way” Y/N giggled as she flipped her hair and twirled it around her finger.

Quickly throwing her phone into her rose pink purse, Y/N walked to her car and drove off to Jackson Wang’s party. 

As she pulled up to Jackson’s house she could hear the dulcet tones of Twice booming through the house as What is Love was blaring through the speakers. 

Y/N made her way inside, slipping her body through the sweaty crowd and sashaying to Yuna, who was smiling and waving at her enthusiastically.

“HEY BITCH U MADE IT I THOUGHT U WERE DEAD” Yuna shouted over the music.

Y/N simply smiled and shrugged as she grabbed a bottle of vodka from the counter and sexily downed the whole thing and shoved the entire bottle into her mouth, ignoring the burning sensation radiating in her throat. A few drops of the alcohol dripped down the side of her mouth, but without a care, she wiped it with the sleeve of her expensive Chanel dress. 

All of a sudden, her breath hitched as her own orbs met a familiar pair of eyes. Eyes blood red and promising danger, the man who she ran over glared at her from across the room.

Without breaking eye contact, he began to stalk his way over, pushing his way through the crowd. As he drew near, Y/N felt a cold fear sink to the bottom of her stomach. Her eyes flitted through the room, frantically scanning for a way out. No luck, she was trapped. Desperately, Y/N tried to shove through the crowd.

An ice-cold hand shot out from behind and grasped her wrist. Y/N’s vision began to blur and she regretted drinking all of that vodka. She felt something sharp on her neck and before she blacked out, she faintly heard Yuna’s voice.

“Sunghoonie-oppa! Do you like my present for you? I promise she’ll be very tasty,” Yuna chirped.

Through the fog swirling through her head, Y/N could only wonder what Yuna was saying to the man as her eyes began to close. 

Y/N’s world went black, leaving only a faint feeling of betrayal.

Author’s notes:

What a plot twist🫢🫢🫢🫢🫢

previous <- masterlist -> next

[tteokdoroki]

MONEY WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS. | S.GOJO + R.SUKUNA.

ʚ♡ɞ SYNOPSIS: babysitting ryomen sukuna’s son, yuuji, has its perks— money comes easy and he lets you do whatever the hell you want...including fucking your boyfriend on duty. that’s only, of course, if you let him join in.

ʚ♡ɞ PAIRING: satoru gojo, ryomen sukuna x fem!reader.

ʚ♡ɞ WC: 3.2K.

ʚ♡ɞ RATED:   mature, 18+, mdni.

ʚ♡ɞ GENRE: college!au, babysitter!au, smut.

ʚ♡ɞ CW: please read ! heavy smut, ( characters aged to twenties ), age gap, sukuna is in his fourties, reader and gojo are twenty-one,  dom!sukuna, dom!gojo, heavy!degredation, daddy!kink, slight!cucking,  dub-con, threesomes, oral sex ( female recieving ), impact play, exhibitionism, voyeurism, orgasm denial, forced orgasm, double penetration ( kinda ), unprotected sex, creampie.

ʚ♡ɞ A/N: happy friday my lovelies!! i’m back with another wonderful commission from @pan-cakez who has allowed me to post!! this is my first time writing a full fic for JJK and it was super fun, so i hope you all enjoy!!

ʚ♡ɞ masterlist | requests | kofi

babysitting yuuji itadori was easy money.

he was a good kid, well behaved and full of energy—it had taken you years to nail a solid bedtime routine for him, although with him starting highschool...you had little need for silly cartoons and a warm glass of turmeric milk before bed. so babysitting him was easy money especially for a college student— all you had to do was keep him fed and make sure he’d done his homework.

the kid was practically old enough to take care of himself but you already knew why his father, ryomen sukuna, had kept you around for this long. 

sukuna was a dilf by all possible standards, a silver fox with a charming personality and cheeky quips that would have filled your tummy with butterflies if you weren’t already dating someone. you knew that whenever yuuji was dropped off at school, all parents stood a little straighter and smiled a little brighter to get sukuna’s attention.

not only was he built to the level of gods, bulking out any t-shirts he wore with a jawline that could cut gems rarer than diamonds— ryomen sukuna was the best boss you could ever ask for. he paid well, more than a sitter should probably earn, left money for food and sometimes booze if yuuji had an early bedtime. sukuna let you have whoever you wanted over, never a need to ask permission.

he worked late nights at his tattoo shop, black ink spiralled across his arms and his chest in all sorts of shapes, some even peeking out from between stray strands of strawberry pink hair. the times you interacted with him were pleasant, even when he looked down your top and stared at the curve of your tits mid-conversation.

not that you minded, sukuna was hot, you were hot and it meant that fresh hot cash was flowing into your bank account every week. 

you both were taking advantage of one another, you with the ridiculous money you made and sakuna with the stacks of mental porn he had from the sweet little college girl who babysat his kid.

it was a two way street. 

so you tried not to feel guilty for using this man, especially when you were filthy rich and getting fucked on his living room couch. 

“y’sure—fuck baby— you’re so fucking tight, ‘m not fuckin’ you ‘nough, am i?” your boyfriend, satoru gojo asks in a pant, as he pushes his dick, swollen and red through your honeyed folds and prods at your welcoming entrance. “y’so busy with this stupid kid these days—shit,” you straddle his lap, your arousal stained thighs pulled apart due to him spreading on the couch. you’re barely dressed—cotton panties pushed to the side and your shirt pulled up just enough so that your breasts spill against gojo’s chest. he’s hardly in a neater state than you, sweats and boxers hanging low and tucked under the base of his cock— his shirt thrown into the depths of the room, nowhere to be found. “y’sure we should be doing this?” 

satoru’s breath is warm, almost wet against your bare skin as his head drops to your shoulder to hide the rose blooms on his cheeks, silver hair ticking your chin. your hands, which had not been occupied before, walk their way up the plains of his milky and unblemished skin— aside from a beauty mark here or there. you pinch his flesh until it’s red, sighing in content when his hips jerk and nudge his cockhead into your sensitive walls, a strained whimper laying on the sheen of his lips.

he had always been a pain slut. 

smiling to yourself, your hands wander upwards, lazy circles among other shapes drawn onto the back of gojo’s neck, experimentally squeezing your cunt, running like a tap, down on your boyfriend. your hands resume their dance along to the white hairs that curl against the cusp of his neck, tugging on them. “sukuna won’t be back for hours, yuuji, so cute yet so dumb is sound asleep and you and i,” your breathless chuckle ends in a sweet moan when gojo bottoms out inside of you— his hips flush against yours and pelvis pushed  against your sticky clit. “are alone.” your pussy’s grip on him locks like a vice, lubing gojo up with what drips from your stretched hole. 

“oh yeah, you liked that, didn’t you baby? naughty, naughty, bitch,” satoru teases in a whisper, his sapphire eyes darting up to the side of your face, licking up sweat along your jawline as your body flashes with heat. his hips move slowly beneath yours, building up a rhythm planned meticulously to make you ache just for him, your cunt wet and spasming down on him again. “what about the old man? what if we get caught?” 

you’re light headed already, barely having worked for your pleasure as gojo’s girth pushes against the resistance of your drooling slit, eventually accommodating for his length like it always does—you manage to nod, lips parted in a shaky mewl. “love it toru, you know that, keep goin’,” you breathe, feeling like a rabbid college freshman as he picks up the pace, fucking into you until slow claps of skin on skin echoe throughout the dark living room. “you feel so good like that... if we get caught, let the old man watch he’s a dirty bastard ‘n he’d fucking like it— fuck satoru!” 

your boyfriend kneads your meaty ass, digging into the flesh as he drags you back and forth in his lap, the sheer length of his cock pressing against your cervix—pulsing needily against your walls. “moan my name, a little louder baby, you know i like to hear it,” a grin spreads against gojo’s pink lips, watching your face scrunch up and your head shake, your body collapsing like a temple under your arousal. “talk so dirty for someone with a mouth so pretty, bet the old man would love to stuff it,” 

satoru’s hands drop to your hips, holding you high as his own buck up to fill you with everything he’s got, giving you no room to breathe— you’re a rag doll in his lap, letting him fuck you until your pussy’s raw and all you can feel is gojo’s heavy balls against your bottom. 

“too bad, ain’t it baby? i don’t like to share,” 

responding is the last thing on your mind, especially when gojo pistons himself inside you like this— you can only take what he gives you, let his presence overwhelm you and drag you down into a dark abyss swirling with heated love.

lips drag across your collar bones, berry shades left in the wake of gojo’s poison kiss— love marks and proof in court that you are his and he is yours. you hug his head, burying your own soft lips in silver hair— closer isn’t close enough even with him, even with your bodies pressed against one another, your hips grinding in a passionate dance until your lower back hurts and you can feel the core of your boyfriend’s tummy moving with your own.

“satoru, toru, toru!” you cry, teeth clenched as he teases your bruised cervix, balls against your ass and sexes connected by milky strings of your arousal. 

he grips your cheeks between large hands, squishing them together until your eyes water and you’re gasping for air. “shut up, shuddap, shuddap—shit,” satoru groans, maybe even whimpers when you clamp down on his cock from harsh words. “you’re loud, nasty girl, you gotta be quiet…be quiet f’me okay? do you wanna get in trouble or do you wanna cum?” 

“cum,” you drawl, raunchy and breathless, letting your boyfriend take control of how you bounce on top of him— breasts brushing against his bare chest, mouth drooling as much as your abused slit and not a thought in your pretty little head. “wanna cum, toru!” 

gojo grins, arm snaking around your waist to smack your cunt from behind. “gonna make you cum, ruin the old man’s couch with your naughty lil pussy, yeah?” his skin is licked with perspiration, the will to pound you and push you over the edge driving the very force of his body as he fucks you.

you’re almost there, tasting the wisps of your impending orgasm like euphoria on your tongue. 

that is, until, keys jingle and the front door opens.

“you’re going to do what, with my couch?” sukuna speaks first, making yourself and gojo freeze on the couch itself. the father of one fills the room with an unimpressed aura, exuded from his disheveled form.

your boyfriend’s quick to move, throwing you off of his lap onto the couch and shielding your half naked body from the eager eyes of yuuji’s father as you try to calm your racing heartbeat. “the fuck old man? haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” he curses, pulling you close to him.

“satoru, wait—” 

“knocking in my own home? you’re a funny one, brat.” sukuna laughs, kicking the door shut behind him as he shrugs off his outwear— making himself comfortable at home. “haven’t you ever heard of respect?” 

your boyfriend’s body shakes annoyedly, yours still trembling with your ruined orgasm. you’re humiliated that you were even caught like this, fumbling around for anything to bring back your dignity. “s-sukuna! what are you doing back so soon?” you cringe at the high pitch your voice takes, heavy with embarrassment. 

“pizza.” the single father says bluntly, putting away his belongings, gaze locked onto your barely dressed frame. sukuna’s eyes never leave you, even as he sits on his other couch — instantly man spreading across it. you should feel gross for the way he looks at you, like you’re a piece of meat waiting to be devoured...but your tummy rumbles with desire instead. “thought we could order in, since you stayed so late, but i realise now, you had other plans…” 

“i’m sorry,” you whisper quickly, blood rushing through your ears. “we were just leaving,”

sukuna clicks his tongue as you gesture to your boyfriend to hurry up, making a noise in mock disappointment. “no, stay. after all, you do need to make it up to me.” he keeps his voice level, hiding his pleasure when you freeze.

“w-what?”

“put on a little show with your brat boyfriend here, yanno, for ruining my couch…”  your boss trails off, letting his lewd words echo throughout the quiet living room while you stop mid-search for your belongings. “or, you could let me take a crack at making you feel good,” everything sukuna says has you hot at the collar, thighs pressing together while your cunt oozes— it shoots straight to your core, making desire pool in your lower belly. you shouldn’t want this, feel turned on by what yuuji’s dad says to you— but after having your orgasm torn away from you before, you can’t help it.

you’re brought back to reality when gojo scoffs from somewhere beside you—warm hand encasing your shoulder. “old man, ‘m warning you,” the silver haired man growls, bright diamond eyes fading into dark.

sukuna ignores the warning from your boyfriend, eyes falling back on you, testing you. “i know you want me, little girl,” he goads you, calling out for you like a siren in murky waters. “i see the way you look at me, how you pretend not to notice when i touch you a little lower than i should...how you ignore me when i look up your skirts,” he groans, adjusting himself on the couch and you watch ryomen’s cock twitch from under his pants. “you want me, this dirty—nasty— old man, don’t you?” 

you feel hot underneath your collar, whimpering helplessly as your neediness to orgasm increases— you should feel shameful, especially when gojo’s right beside you. 

but you can't, not when everything sukuna had said was true.

satoru snarls possessively, shielding you as if to cover you from the eyes of the devil. “i’m taking you home,” 

“so fast, brat?” comes sukuna’s malicious chuckle as he spreads himself further, palming his hard on to the delight of your watering mouth. “are you mad because your little girlfriend acts like a whore or because you’re afraid i could fuck her better?” 

that flips the switch.

satoru chuckles darkly— sending another wave of heat down to your fluttering core. “y’know what, baby? let’s give the old man a little treat. only god knows the next time he’ll get laid,” your boyfriend decides, amusement sticking out at the end of his words. “i trust you, go on,” he whispers to you, sending you a warm look that turns your insides to mush.

“excellent,” sukuna hums, grin returning before he pats his lap. “come now pet, come sit on my cock. crawl to me.” 

your move before you can stop yourself, gravitated and crawling towards sukuna— until he manhandles you into his lap, tugging down his pants. he positions you like gojo once had, only this time, your back hits ryomen’s firm chest— giving him full access to your body. hands laced with jet black ink, then settle firmly on your hips, tearing off your panties so sukuna can grind your bare cunt against his weighty girth.

you can feel every vein press along the length of your slit, making you jolt in his grip as his hands ascend on your breasts and curves alike—pinching them raw. “you’re good at this pet, filthy even,” the father of one breathes into your ear hotly, pushing his tip through your folds and letting it bump your aching clit.

“mnno, toru—” you gasp at the feeling but can’t help but call for your boyfriend, knots twisting in your stomach. “wan’ toru too…”

“that’s it, dirty girl...call out to him while your daddy fills you up,” sukuna turns to gojo next, finally pushing into your sopping pussy and filling you up to the brim, he tweaks your nipples—tugging at the hard buds to make you wiggle your hips over his. “look at that, ain’t she a perfect fit, brat?”

“you’re sick old man,” gojo can’t help but laugh, watching you—his girl— struggle to sink down on a dick that isn’t his. sukuna is thicker where gojo is longer, fat and ballsy as he stretches out your gummy walls and hooks against your ribbed walls. you can’t help your high pitched whine as your boss starts to fuck up into you, his muscled arms hooking around your thighs to keep you spread and on display. 

god, it hurts—it hurts so good to be used like this, squirming above sukuna’s cock like a desperate little thing, fucking him back until your pussy’s foaming at his base. when you tear up, satoru finally makes his way over, cooing over the obscene slaps of sukuna’s balls against your swollen clit. “baby, ease up, you can’t take him all the way if you’re tight like that,”

your cunt creams, an embarrassing amount, at this— making the two men manipulating your body, groan deeply in unison. with a hazy head, blurry vision and limp body,  you watch as gojo sinks to his knees before your wet cunt. “toru…”

“trust me baby, daddy won’t let anything happen to you,” he shushes you, sapphire eyes locked on yours, lips now on your clit and sloppily kissing the puffy bundle of nerves. electricity jolts through your veins, tingles deep inside your sex—the feeling only amplified by the slow strokes, weight behind them, sukuna gives to your abused cunt. between gojo’s tongue flicking at your leaky pussy and the heavy cock that bruises your cervix, you become overwhelmed, spasming and drenching him in your juices until even he is struggling to breathe.

“stop that, brat—fuck off,” sukuna chokes on a moan, rolling his hips up and into yours and coaxes more simpers from you. “your filthy slut’ll cum soon if you keep that up,”

gojo breathes heavy into your swollen lower lips, entertained by the way you drip down sukuna’s balls so much that your juices run down to his asshole—you milk him so much just from having your princess pussy played with, riling gojo up as he humps the floor. “the thing about my girl, old man, is that she plays favourites,” he spits onto your hole, watching your hips jump up and squeeze sukuna hard. “daddy’s her favourite, i’m her god. i’ll make her cum before you can even spell your name,”

you twitch and sukuna speeds up, forcing his shaft deeper and deeper until you’re dumb and drooling. “wanna bet?” he asks.

“don’t need to, got her right on the edge.” 

it’s an all out war from there, satoru slipping his pink tongue against your ravaged, puffy pussy as ryomen pumps himself in and out of you— both at unruly paces. you feel hot all over, sandwiched between baritone moans and syrupy precum that smears your insides, accompanied by thick trails of saliva lost within arousal that adds shine to your folds.

shakily, your fingers curl in strawberry and silver locks of hair— yanking them tight when sukuna’s oozing tip smashes against your g-spot and satoru sucks on your clit just right. “s’too much! hurts, s’too much!” you drawl, eyes crossed, spit dripping from your mouth.

you look like a dirty slut, you feel like one too.  

“does she ever shut up? got a mouth on her that runs like a whore,” ryomen grunts through gritted teeth, focused on using his dick to abuse the pleasure button deep within your cunt— determined to make you cum first. “shut the fuck up, keep your hands to yourself and take it,” 

he growls the last part, chest burning against your back with rage as he scoops up your wandering hands and squeezes your wrists together.

“why? afraid her dirty mouth’ll make you cum before she does?” gojo teases, words muffled as he tongues where yours and sukuna’s body’s meet— tasting the mess that gathers there. “leaking so much princess, so fucking messy,” 

truth is, you can’t tell, succumbing to both men while gojo smacks at your sex— toying with your clit and sliding his fingers into you alongside ryomen’s cock— massaging your walls where the other bruises them. you’re so dizzy, between their words ‘look at this mess, you’re so nasty,’ and ‘what a dirty bitch you are,’— you’re not sure if you can last anymore.

“stop, it hurts— toru! kuna! it hurts,” you blubber, overstimulated. you don’t want them to stop, but the pain of holding back your orgasm makes you feel so on edge. “stop!” 

“yeah? then you know what to do. cum angel, cum f’me,” satoru cackles, smacking your sex repeatedly as you flinch. sukuna follows his lead, slapping your breasts as they bounce, mumbling nonsense about you cumming for him instead.

then you’re hurtling over the edge, squirting as you let go and gush over fingers and dick alike. your body is wracked with trembles— forcing sukuna to breed you with his hot seed, spewing out of your hole as you gush and gush, blood rushing through your ears. the very sight makes gojo cum too, staining his pants while white pours from your cunt along with your slick.

“fuck—!” sukuna chokes out. “fuck that was good,” 

“yeah it was,” satoru laughs breathily, kissing your shaking thighs. “but who made her cum?” 

both men look down to you, passed out and oozing cum— both of their cocks twitching to life again. “i’m not too sure, let’s call it a draw.” sukuna grins evilly.

“round two then, old man?” 

“round two, brat.”

[simplyahoe]

Hello! Can i request Kyojuro x Dom male reader with face-fucking and bondage (and edging if you feel like including it). Anyway, i love your work 😊

Tw: face fucking, bondage, edging, some aftercare

This took longer than I thought and certainly more words than I thought. Enjoy your fanfiction length madness

If this isn’t to your taste, send another request! I’m happy to write more

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————

The short walk to your house pained, but relieved you. Slow sluggish movements accompanied by the stress leaving your body, making your mind drift off. After being neck deep in work for three weeks, you could finally relax.

“I’m home”

Time seemed to slow as you entered your home. Taking off your shoes seemed to take more effort than normal. The rustling of clothes fills the deafening silence. The house is too silent.

Your boyfriend would normally be here to greet you loudly.

“Kyojuro?”

You called his name loudly into the quiet.

A muffled yelp and quiet thump was the only response. The sounds originated from your shared room, the door badly cracked open.

That explains the silence. He couldn’t hear you. You did soundproof the room after all.

Leaving your stuff in the hall, you approached the open door. Whispered curses from a familiar voice was all you heard, even when you opened the door fully.

On the bed, your beloved Rengoku Kyojuro struggled with some rope. More like struggling with some rope, while half tied up and mostly naked, which is a sight to behold.

Closing the door behind you, you took in the sight

Red and yellow rope criss-crossed his body, the Hishi Karada’s patterns of diamonds pulled down his torso and past the growing bulge of his crotch.

He at least put on the tie on lace underwear you got him for a joke(kind of). Cutting off underwear gets expensive after some time.

Was he expecting you to walk in on him like this? Or was he expecting you to walk in when he is fully tied up? Because that underwear gives easy access and removal even when fully tied up.

Sitting on his ass with his legs bent and tied with the futomomo pattern. He was currently attempting to free his left arm

“I CAN EXPLAIN!”

He waved his free hand like it would help convince you. His cheeks became a fiery red and his eyes wide.

“Kyojuro? Are you playing with yourself?”

“No! I- well, I-“

“‘I’ what?”

You kneeled in front of him, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at you. His throat bobbed as he swallows saliva, grasping at his fleeing courage

“I knew you were stressed. And I knew you would be free for the next few days. So I wanted to surprise you.” His eyes moved focus from you and he muttered past a pout “it didn’t go as planned”

“You wanted to surprise me, sunbeam? Look at you baby, you didn’t even tie your arm right” Your hands worked to free his arm

“It’s hard with one arm and it’s embarrassing” he whines, leaning against you

“Let me”

“…. Make it tighter?”

“Of course”

You didn’t even need to fight him to tie his wrists to his hips. You did have to go over the bits of his work that came out a bit loose.

Stepping away, you looked at yours and his combined handiwork. Taking a short amount of time to prepare for what’s ahead(stripping off your clothes, grabbing lube, stuff to use to clean yourselves up, and maybe getting the strapless strap on[I ain’t judging if you are afab]).

Maneuvering him on the bed was easy, he was hard and his mind was already floating in the comfort of the rope’s pressure.

You had him on his knees in front of you, nuzzling into your neck. His hot breath tickled the skin.

Your hands drift down and rub at the rough fabric of the underwear and the rope on his thighs, listening to the quiet whine that slipped from his lips. He started to move his hips, hoping to get more friction.

“Look at you. So hard already? I didn’t even do much to you. Did me walking in turn you on?”

The whine that he let out this time was much louder

You pressed kisses against his jawline, hands pressing and rubbing against the rough fabric. You moved slowly and deliberately, feeling out the smallest of details on his body.

This is the body of the man you love so much, there is so much to admire. Every swell of muscle and raised scar.

Quiet moans and sighs filled the air as you continued to trace and palm at his body. Your mouth trailing down his neck and to his chest, leaving soft bites and light kisses.

Even when he started to grind the damp fabric against your hand, your pace stayed the same. Soft and gentle

There was no point in rushing when you had the whole night ahead.

“Stop it”

A whisper, but you still caught it

Backing up and pulling back completely, your hands returned to your side as his hips chased them. He looked close to finishing there

He bit back a whine as he remembered that he was the one who called for the stop.

Fuck! I was so close! Why did I stop them?

“Kyo?”

“Stop being so gentle!”

Annoyance filled his squirming being. From the half-hearted glare and the pout, he wanted something more rough, more extreme than what he currently is getting.

“Kyo-“

“We’ve been over this, you can’t hurt me. I’ll be fine.”

You gave him a look

“Weren’t you the one crying and complaining about me being too rough last time?”

Last time, he did indeed sob into his pillow as you fucked him into the bed. Crying over how rough you were. Crying about the bruising and the bites. Especially crying about how “he can’t”

Steam poured from his ears as he gave a over exaggerated grin

“I can take it! I’m a Hashira after all! Plus! I can safeword out! So no stopping until you're satisfied or I safeword!”

Right, he always ends up crying over the rough treatment anyways. As long as there is proper aftercare, it will be fine. You are technically the weaker one in the relationship, despite Kyojuro handing over all control to you.

“Right, right. But I still need to get you warmed up-“

“Excuses!”

“Fine, if you want it rough, I’ll give you rough.”

His yelp cut off when you grabbed his head. Forcing him down your length, you purposely hit the back of his throat. Making him to gag.

He pulled mostly off for a breath and a cough before you forced him down again. His muffled cries vibrates down your length

Tears welled up in his eyes and poured down when he blinked.

Kyojuro is very ashamed that he only got harder with this treatment. While he did ask for it, he didn’t expect this. Moans easily getting muffled as you fucked his face.

He barely held his body up as you fucked his face. His arms struggled against the rope as he attempted to tear his wrists free to support his bodyweight.

Slowly, he stopped struggling and started putting more focus on keeping his breathing, which was starting to get difficult with you forcing yourself down his throat. Drool spilled past his lips and dripped down onto his lap.

“Good boy. Look at you, you can take me in fully I bet!”

As you said that, you pressed his head all the way down. His nose pressed against your stomach as a moan slipped out. You held him there for a bit, watching as his eyes started to fill with panic as he starts to struggle breathing.

It amuses you greatly when his noise level raised with each second as his throat constricted against your tip

When you finally let go, he jerked away completely. Coughs racked his body, eyes looking down and away from you.

“Is there something wrong?”

Your teasing concern made him shake his head, his thighs coming together and body turned to the side. His face and ears turning a bright red. His breathing, raspy.

You simply shrugged. One way to find out now.

Grabbing his shoulders, you easily pinned him to the bed. His eyes shined with tears and saliva dripped a bit down his throat, but you can see what he was hiding. The underwear is completely soaked, he had came without being touched.

“Awww, baby look at you” you cooed, fingers dipped past the rope, tracing his muscles “Did you like it that much?”

“No I don’t shuddap”

His words slurring as he shook his head wildly. No matter how much he verbally rejected everything you said, his body reacted positively to your touch. His back arching into your touch.

Untying the underwear, you slid it off his body, watching as his cock sprung up.

“Let’s start the fun, shall we?” You purred into his ear, grinning as he let out a moan in response “I will do whatever I want and you will take it, you are a good boy right?”

He can safeword out whenever he feels that it’s too much

You kissed his sweat covered forehead, completely loving the way he melted into it.

Wrapping your hand around his dick, you start pumping it with vigor. He whined loudly, head thrown back into the sheets shaking his head, hands gripping and pulling at the ropes.

“No……. I don’t want it….. I already came….”

Despite his words, hips bucked wildly into your hand, despite the slight overstimulation.

His second orgasm came over him quickly. With a cry, he completely tensed up, eyes squeezed shut, releasing all over your hand and his stomach. Relaxing only after you let go of him.

Collecting some of his release on your fingers. Satisfied with the amount, you prodded at his entrance. Slipping in easily, you started working him open.

“I don’t want to cum” words spoken in between breaths

You happily listened to his words. If he didn’t want to cum, then he isn’t going to.

Stretching him to satisfaction, the whine he released when you pulled your fingers out was beautiful. You quickly lined yourself up and slid in, taking care to press roughly against his prostate. His warmth welcomed you, tightening and refusing to let you go. He yelped as you thrust harshly into him. Fucking into him with a disregard to his sensitivity.

It hurts, but feels so good

The obscene sounds mixed with the squeaks and moans, bouncing off the walls. You could only thank that you are at YOUR home, not his. You would rather not corrupt his innocent little brother or get yelled at by his father.

“Cum.. cumming…I’m cumming”

Stilling in him, the whines he let out were adorable. Tears started to fall faster from his eyes. Whines spilling easily from his lips. Squirming around you.

You leaned down and pressed kisses down his neck, this time leaving bite marks and bruises as you went. Occasionally moving the rope out the way to leave some more bites.

Once you felt him relax around you, you started to move again. Hitting his prostate with punishing precision, easily working him up again. Once again stopping when he was close.

“Whyyyy? I was so close….. pleaseeeee.”

“You said you didn’t want to cum”

“Pleaseeee! Let me cum! Pleassssseeeeeee!”

You leaned in really close to him, whispering into his ears

“If you insist.”

“Please! Just let me cum!”

He nodded. His begging is incredibly cute. Then again, you did make him cum twice before edging him twice.

It’s surprising that you resisted cumming for this long.

With almost all of your stress relieved, you started to move again, this time aiming to cum with him. Maybe make him cum one more time after. Yeah, that is a good plan.

Fucking into his ass with renewed vigor, you enjoyed the loud sobs and moans. You set your hard and fast pace, ruining his thought process and rendering it useless.

So good….. more….

“You feeling good?”

He nodded, unable to form words other than the sobs

The two of you ended up cumming rather quickly. An animalistic roar ripping from your throat, as Kyojuro nearly screamed. You watched as his eyes crossed.

As his mental consciousness slowly returned, you used this as a break. Lightly grinding into him and pulling soft sounds from him.

“One more.”

“…..What?”

“One more, baby.”

And you started moving AGAIN. This time, he did scream. Yanking hard at the ropes, thrashing in your hold.

“STOP! TOO MUCH! STOP…”

Locking him still into a hug, you held him still. Rutting into him like it was the last time you will ever have with him.

“PLEASE STOP!.. I DON’T WANNA!…. STOP!”

Drawing one last orgasm from him, you chased your own for a bit, but you followed soon after. His eyes rolled back. Tears and drool slid down his face. Strangled noises escaped him as you whispered sweet nothings and praise.

“.. you are a good boy…. So strong….. My Kyojuro…… beautiful boy…. I love you so much. I promise you that”

He simply nodded in agreement. It took a bit before you managed to hear anything from the dazed man.

“…..I’m…..a..good boy…..”

“Yes you are. Now let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“Mhn”

Pulling out, you quickly started working on removing the ropes. While the ropes are made of high quality stuff, he still got rope burns from how hard he struggled against them.

You cleaned him with a towel, rubbing gently at his skin. You are going to have to carry him to the bath again, but it should be fine. You can rub in the ointments and creams later. After the bath.

You left everything not needed in the room, carrying your dazed boyfriend to the bath, helping him clean up and settle in. Being extra gentle when washing his face and adding a light massage when washing his hair.

He leaned against the side of your private hot spring, red and yellow eyes staring into you as you washed yourself.

You rinsed off the suds and looked over at him. His owl like eyes bore into you.

“Yes?”

“Did I end up complaining again?”

His voice is soft and quiet, unlike his normal way of speaking. There is a bit of rasp from how loudly he was crying out earlier, but he wasn’t speaking quietly because of that

“A bit, but I was pretty rough on you”

“Mhn”

You slid into the bath with him, arms wrapping around him

“Can we stay like this for a bit?”

“Of course” you pressed a soft kiss on his lips “we can leave when you say so”

“…….Thanks” he leaned against you, wet hair pressing poking your neck and chest

“No, thank you”

Some time passed before you said the next thing

“Next time you are stressed, you do that to me, yeah?”

“Love, no.”

[tropes-and-tales]

Honor Amongst Thieves

CW:  So many!  Derogatory terms for sex workers; talk of past abuse; murder; domestic violence; smut (PiV, unprotected; obliquely described oral sex for both m! and f! receiving), 18+ only. 

Word Count:  13,262

AN: For the lovely (and very patient!) @chemicalalice! 🌻

AN2:  Shit got waaaaay out of control.  13k words?  Get the fuck out of here, me.

AN3:  Guaranteed typos.  Word kept wanting to change “Merrimen” to “Merriment.”

When Ray Merrimen is released from prison, his girlfriend is the one who picks him up.  Holly, his on-again, off-again girl.  Started dating in high school, broke up when he joined the Marines.  Got back together.  

She says that she’s been faithful during his stint in prison, but Ray doubts it.

Ray doesn’t care either way.

He’s home for all of a week before she starts on him.  She’s waited long enough, she informs him.  She’s tired of waiting any longer.  She wants what her friends and her sisters have:  a big fat diamond on her ring finger, then marriage.  Kids.  A house in the suburbs.  The whole domesticated routine.

Ray’s not really into the whole domesticated scene, so he breaks it off.  Packs up his shit—there isn’t much, just a few bags—and moves in with Mack in his Mission Hills home.

The few bags of his effects summarizes Ray Merrimen better than any military head shrinker or prison case worker ever could:  he’s a man who doesn’t like baggage.  He’s a man who travels light.

-----

Mack’s place is fine.  Ray settles into his room, doesn’t bother to decorate.  Keeps his bed made to military precision, keeps everything neat and orderly.

The rest of the place is chaos.  Mack has tons of family, tons of friends—and he calls them all “cuz.”  He seems to know almost everyone in Los Angeles County, and that includes his neighbors.

“Old couple on the right of us,” he tells Ray when he gives him the tour.  “Retired, keep to themselves.  He’s an old con and she’s his old lady, you know?  Nice though.”

Ray nods, doesn’t say anything.  Makes note of the keeps to themselves comment.  He doesn’t want nosy neighbors tipping off police if they happen to see something they shouldn’t.

“Girl to the left of us, single.  She’s nice too.  Quiet.  Minds her own business, but keeps shitty hours,” Mack continues.  

Another silent nod from Ray.  Another mental note that the girl next door minds her own business.  A mental note of the shitty hours comment.  

Ray files it all away in case he needs it later.

-----

He doesn’t meet you—the girl next door—until a month later.

He sees you plenty before then, though:  sees you leaving your house, coming home.  Sees you dressed up like you’re going to a fancy party, sees you in all black workout gear, leggings and black sneakers and a black hoodie.  Sees you late at night, just as the streetlights are switching on, sees you early in the morning.  

Shitty hours, Mack said.  He wasn’t lying.

Ray doesn’t know what you do, but he can guess:  irregular hours, different styles of clothes.  Sometimes your hair is drastically different, and he guesses that you wear wigs.  Some days, you have blonde hair, an icy silver that is stick straight.  Other days, long auburn curls.  

Once, even pink, a short little cut that brushes against your jawline.

Ray guesses that you’re a sex worker.

Not that he cares….or judges.  People do what they can to get by.  Why should he care what you’re doing, so long as you mind your business and turn a blind eye to what he and Mack and his crew may be doing?

-----

He meets you a month after he moves in.  He and the guys are in Mack’s garage, built out into a gym.  The door is up, and they are blasting music—old school rap, metal.  Ray’s going through his reps with a military precision, and there’s a moment where there’s a throat clearing, then Mack reaching to the stereo to turn down the music.

Ray looks up and sees you.

This seems to be the real you:  the way he sees you when you’re just around your house, in your backyard.  Your real hair, your real clothes.  Just you.

“Hey, Mack,” you say, greeting the man with a smile.  

“Music too loud?” he asks.  He shakes his head, a little rueful.  “We can keep it down.”

You wave him off, your smile never wavering.  “You know you’re fine.”

Mack nods, and you turn to the other guys.  You nod at each of them, greet each of them by name.  

Then you look at Ray, and Mack catches your glance.

“This is my buddy,” he tells you, introducing the two of you.  “Ray Merrimen.  Moved in about a month ago.”

“Hey,” you tell him.  “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

Ray just nods, you nod back, and you turn to Mack.

“I’m headed out of town for a few weeks.  Mind keeping an eye on the place while I’m away?”

“You know you never need to ask, sweetheart.”

You grin at him.  “And you know that I always ask anyway.”

-----

Turns out, you and Mack trade favors, like good neighbors sometimes do.

He keeps an eye on your place when you’re out of town.  You sign for Mack’s packages when he isn’t around during the day.

Once, you stop over when the guys are in the driveway, changing the oil on Bosco’s Trans-Am.

“Hello, boys,” you call out, your usual teasing grin on your face.  You nod at each of them in turn, then look at Mack.

“The brakes on my car have been acting up.  You mind if I bring it over for you to look at?” you ask.

Mack shakes his head.  “Think you can make it to the shop?  I can put it on the lift there.”

Ray perks up at that:  he doesn’t like the thought of you in the chop shop.  Not that they leave their blueprints and guns and body armor there, but still…

“That works for me.  Tomorrow, then?”

Mack nods, then he sidles up to you, hooks an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close.  “You know what it’s gonna cost you, sweetheart.”

You laugh, feign a punch to his stomach, and Mack pulls away, pretending to be wounded.

“I know what it costs,” you say, laughing, and you walk away with a backwards wave.

Ray waits until you are inside your own house, then he turns to Mack.  “You really inviting her to the shop?”

The smile on Mack’s face disappears, and he turns serious.  

“She’s solid, man.  I trust her.”

Ray shakes his head.  “You sure you’re thinking clearly?  You can’t trust a girl just because you fuck her.”

Mack laughs at that, throws his head back and laughs.  Laughs so long that Ray rolls his eyes, crosses his arms.  The other guys chuckle, the laughter infectious, and Mack eventually calms.  Swipes at his eyes where a few tears crept out.  He slaps Ray on the back, but he doesn’t clarify what is so fucking funny.

-----

What does it cost for Mack to fix your brakes?  

Not anything sexual at all.  You pull into the shop the next day, climb out.  Reach into the passenger seat to retrieve a platter covered in foil.

It’s fucking lemon bars, and Mack helps himself to three before he even puts your car on the lift.

You wait while they work on it.  You sit on the table where, until just recently, the blueprints for the club they want to rob were laid out.  Ray studies you out of the corner of his eye:  you’re in shorts and a t-shirt, canvas shoes.  You look scrubbed-up and fresh-faced, a girl next door after all.  You swing your legs a little as you chat with Bosco and Lavoux.  

When Ray finally gives in and helps himself to a lemon bar, he catches you watching him.  You watch him as he takes a bite and chews, a little smile curving your lips.

-----

Couple months in, Ray starts to get a better feel for you.  All told, the two of you have only shared a handful of words—hey, bye—and the usual nods of acknowledgement.  But Ray learns more from the favors you and Mack share.

After the club heist, Ray catches Mack handing you a paper bag with most of his cut.  He watches as the big man bends his head to yours, giving you instructions too low and quiet for Ray to make out.  You nod at the man, serious, and take the bag to your house.

Later, Ray asks about it, and Mack shrugs.

“She launders it for me.”

Ray stills at that intel, his beer half-raised to his lips.  “She launders it?”

“Yeah, she handles it for me.  Washes it clean.  Sends some back to my family in Samoa, puts the rest in an offshore account where it draws interest and is safe.”

Ray stares hard at his friend, his perception of you shifting dramatically.  “Wait, I thought she was a hooker.”

Mack shrugs again.  “Don’t know what she does in her own time.  But she helps with this stuff.  She’s good at it.  She’s a whiz with all that computer shit, you know?”

“You trust her?  How can you be sure she’s not stealing it?”

His friend shrugs a third time, shakes his head a little.  “I know she sends the cash to my family because they get the cash, right on time, every time.  And I have the bank details for the off-shore account.  The balance is always square.”

“What’s her cut?”

Another shake of the head.  “She doesn’t take one.  Calls it ‘the friends and family’ discount.”

-----

Ray just wants to run perfect ops, plan perfect heists.

But some of his mental capacity is taken up by you now.

He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like that you are burrowing into his head.  You are, though.  He’s curious about the money laundering, about the computer shit Mack mentioned, how it shifts his perception of you.  He’s curious about your odd hours—are you laundering your own income from sex work?

He’s curious about what you are up to.  Why do you help Mack so much and ask for so little in return?  New brake pads don’t seem to make up for money laundering and whatever else you may do for the man.

Ray also doesn’t like the other thoughts about you that roll through his head:  the scent of you, when you stand close enough, the light floral scent over something sweet.  The way your legs look in your jean shorts, the frayed ends against your smooth thighs.  The way you smile at Mack and the others (and sometimes even him), the way you tilt your head and squint your eyes, the smile a little crooked.

He doesn’t like how those thoughts seem to flare up at night, and how they lead to other musings:  the smooth skin of your thighs—what would it feel like to touch you?  The sweet, subtle scent of you—what would it be like to put his mouth to you?  Would you taste as sweet?

----

A month later you stop over again, and it’s not like any other time.  You aren’t smiling and goofing around with Mack, nodding at the guys as they lift or hit the punching bag or work on one of their cars.  You are jittery this time, and even though it’s just Ray and Mack chilling with a few beers in the garage, you ask if you can talk to Mack alone.

“Whatever’s up, you can say it in front of Ray,” Mack tells you.  You glance over at Ray, and he’s never seen you like this:  scared.  He offers you a half-smile, as if to tell you that it’s fine.

You nod, after a long moment.  You take a deep breath.

“I need a gun,” you tell them.

-----

Guns.  Ray Merrimen knows guns.  And there’s something about how scared you seem that sparks something protective in him that’s been dormant for a long, long time.

He and Mack pull together options, and Ray walks you through them one night when Mack is out at the shop and Ray is home alone.  He lays them out on the kitchen table, and he tries to ignore the feel of you right beside him, studying each gun as he describes it.

“This is a Glock 19.  9 millimeter.  Reliable, best in class.  This is what a lot of cops carry.”  

He points to another.  “This is a Glock 43.  Also 9 millimeter.  Less popular because it carries fewer rounds, but for protection, you only need a few shots anyway.”

“But this one,” he points out, “is probably the best one for you.  Smith and Wesson Shield.  9 millimeter too, but it’s nice and light.  Small.  You could carry it in your purse and no one would know.”

You look at him and frown.  “I don’t need to carry it in my purse.”

Ray returns your gaze.  Frowns too.  “What do you mean?  Don’t you want to carry it for when you work?”

“Yes, but…” You trail off, hesitate for a moment.  “But I don’t carry a purse when I work.”

Ray doesn’t know that much about hookers.  Most of what he knows is hearsay, or learned from television, which is to say:  nothing reliable.  Still, don’t women carry purses?  Wouldn’t it make sense for you to carry one while you work?

You seem to sense his confusion, and you tilt your head.  “What do you think my work is exactly, Ray?”

“Aren’t you a hook…a sex worker?” he amends at the last minute, not wanting to offend.

You pull in a sharp breath, and he thinks he has offended you after all, but then you laugh.  Your laughter shifts you off balance, and you reach out a hand to steady yourself on his bicep.

“Why would you think that?” you manage to wheeze out between gales of laughter.  “My god, Ray, honestly.”

He can’t help but smile at your glee.  “You work weird hours.  And you’re always dressed up…weird.  Every time, weird hair, weird clothes.”

It sets you off into a fresh wave of laughter, so much that he chuckles along as you start to cry, and then cough from the force of it.  You let go of his arm and plop down into a kitchen chair, and he gazes down at you for a long moment—taking in the sight of your bent head, the way the hair at the nape of your neck curls.  He can just see down the back of your collar a little, at the soft-looking skin between your shoulders, and he has the brief, mad thought of what it would feel like to kiss you just there.

He shakes his head and sits down beside you instead.

“I’m not a sex worker,” you clarify once you recover.  “No judgement, though.  I did work as a cocktail waitress a few years back, but that was as close as I got.”

“What are you then?”

You don’t answer.  You cross your arms in front of you on the table and stare at the guns.  “I don’t need a gun for protection,” you offer after a long moment of silence.  “I need a gun to kill a man.”

You shock Ray with this:  the statement, and the straight-forward way you say it.  But you aren’t facing him, so you don’t catch the look of surprise on his face, and he has time to school his expression.

“That’s a different matter then, sweetheart,” he says, and Mack’s nickname for you comes out so smoothly he doesn’t realize he’s said it until it’s out of his mouth.  You turn and look at him, wary, but he gifts you a small smile.

It takes a long beat, but you smile back.  

-----

You don’t know a damned thing about guns.  It’s obvious, the way you try to hold them.  Half afraid, a loose grip, as if it’ll twist around and bite you if you aren’t wary.

Ray chooses for you:  a gun for premeditated killing is different than a gun for maybe-killing in self-defense.  He has an old Colt Python, a .357 Magnum caliber revolver from 1992.  An old model, untraceable.  A heavy gun, but reliable, and able to do the one job of killing perfectly before it’s dismantled and scattered.

“It looks old,” you comment, and Ray sidles up to you, shows the advantages of it.  Semi-automatics, he explains, spray their casings everywhere.  A revolver keeps the evidence within the gun, leaving less evidence behind.

“Smart,” you murmur.

“So let’s go teach you how to use it.”

-----

Ray does most of his shooting at a nearby range where he’s a member.  For this, though, he doesn’t want you on camera practicing with a gun.  Doesn’t want you signing in to use a .357, only to have a .357 used in a crime that can be linked to you.

He knows a place out in the Mohave, and that’s where he takes you.  The two of you leave before dawn.  He stops at a gas station outside of the county limits to get the two of you coffee and breakfast sandwiches, greasy hash browns that leave your fingers slick with cooking oil.  It takes four hours to get there, and the first hour is quiet.  Not that Ray minds—he likes the quiet.  You don’t seem to mind either; you only watch the landscape out the window, watch the dark sky lighten in the east.

It feels comfortable, the silence, and Ray notices it.  He never had that with Holly:  if he were quiet for too long, she’d ask what was wrong, and a fight would start soon after.

An hour in, you clear your throat.  He can feel your eyes on him.  

“Appreciate you doing this,” you say.

“No big deal.”

“Still…I know you have better things to do, Ray.”

He turns and looks at you, offers you a smile.  “Not today I don’t.”

-----

There’s the barest bit of small talk for the rest of the ride, but halfway there, you ask if you can turn on the radio.  Ray nods, and you fiddle with the tuner until you find a classic rock station.  Zeppelin, Hendrix, Pink Floyd.

You don’t sing along, not really, but Ray catches you mouthing along to the words when the Stones’ “Play with Fire” comes on.  Must be one of your favorites, like you can’t help yourself, yet you try to hide it—you turn away, and he catches your reflection in the window, your lips moving anyway.  He bites back a grin to see it.

-----

The place in the Mohave is just a shitty trailer where some of the guys go for different reasons.  Mack took a cousin there once, strung out on heroin, and helped him detox in the middle of nowhere.  A pseudo-hippie friend of Bosco did a bunch of sweat lodges there for a string of months.

Ray hardly ever comes out here, but it’s quiet and far from civilization.  The perfect place to practice shooting in privacy.

He teaches you the way he learned.  He has you take the gun apart to show you how all the pieces fit together.  He has you name each piece, over and over.  He makes you explain it all back to him, how it works.  He makes you put it back together, makes you run a bore snake through the barrel and charge holes, cleaning the entire thing.

You are a good pupil.  You stop him to ask questions.  You nod at what he says.

He takes you out back, a box of empties from the previous occupants—Bosco’s buddy’s sweat lodge assholes—in his hand.  He lines up cans and bottles on the rail of a fence, then has you load the revolver.  

Ray show you how to stand, how to hold the gun.  And sure, he takes advantage of the situation, stands close to you.  Stands behind you and kicks a foot between your own, nudges you to spread your legs a little more for a sturdier stance.  He’s taller than you, an entire head taller, so he takes advantage there too—takes a deep breath right above you, catches the clean, soapy scent of your shampoo.

He starts you at five yards, and you suck at first.  The gun obviously scares you:  you cringe before you pull the trigger, jerk the barrel up in anticipation of the kick.  The gun is heavy, but the kick isn’t terrible, and you get used to it.

You get better.  You are a fast learner.  

Five yards, then ten.  Then fifteen.  You miss a lot of the cans and bottles, then you start nailing them.  You catch the rhythm, and Ray recognizes the moment when you stop seeing the pistol as a weapon and start to see it as an extension of yourself.  As a tool.

This is the moment where Ray Merrimen falls in love, possibly for the first time in his life.

He’s certainly never felt anything like it, this moment with you in the Mohave.  You stand in the sunlight, the wind kicking up little eddies of dust, ruffling your hair, as the Colt gleams silver in your hand.  You look like some goddess of the desert, bright and beautiful and harsh and deadly, and Ray Merrimen—who has only loved the precision of the military, the precision of robbing banks—falls into messy, chaotic love.

-----

On the way home, the two of you stop in Barstow at the Denny’s.  You take a corner booth, and the restaurant is almost empty.  Over your waffles and his pancakes, Ray tries to draw out the situation that requires you to get a gun.  He mentions, as obliquely as possible, that he has the know-how to help plan something, that he’d help you…  

You don’t tell him anything.  You press your lips together until they are a thin line, and Ray sighs.

“Look, you don’t trust me, that’s fine.  Just…when you’re done doing whatever you’re going to do, bring the gun back to me.  I’ll clean it and dissemble it.  I’ll get rid of it.”

You stare at him a long moment, then you nod, once.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” you offer.  “I just don’t let a lot of people into that part of my life.”

“I get it.”

Another long moment where you gaze at him.  Another nod.  “Yeah, I suppose you probably do.”

He drops his voice even lower.  “You know the shit I get up to.”

“This a quid pro quo thing?” you ask with an arch to your eyebrow.

“Maybe.”

You sigh and take another bite of waffle.  You chew it, swallow, take a sip of coffee.  “Okay, fine.  Before I do anything, I’ll come talk to you.  I’ll let you know the…the shit I get up to.  At least a little of it.  Okay?”

“Fair enough, sweetheart.”

You snort at his co-opt of Mack’s nickname for you, but you duck your head too, and Ray wonders if you can guess at what he’s feeling.

*****

Life was a hell of a lot easier before Ray Merrimen moved next door.  It stayed easy as long as the guy remained his usual silent self—contained to only glowering at you, gifting you with a nod and a “hey” when you go over to Mack’s.

The whole gun situation cracks the tight little sphere of your life open:  first when Ray takes the time to give you options, then when he takes an entire day to teach you how to use the gun.  You catch him looking at you out in the desert, and you feel the tight bands you keep around your heart crack open a little too.

Ray fucking Merrimen, of all people.  

He raises a fair point at Denny’s, so you think it over.  Would it be so bad, letting someone in?  Mack could probably guess at some of your less legal activities—he certainly benefits from some of them—but no one knows your real work.

There’s something about Ray that you recognize.  A quietude that sets him apart from others, and you understand that.  The feeling of being a bit outside of things, a bit out of step with the rest of the world.  You’re alone but not lonely, but still…maybe you could reach out a little.

-----

You make your final plans, and you keep your promise to Ray.  You invite him over a few nights before the big event, and the two of you sit at your kitchen table, each with a beer in hand.  

“I’ll give you some details,” you tell him.  “And you can ask any question you want, but I reserve the right to answer or not.”

“That’s fair.”  He takes a sip of his beer and looks at you, steady.

“But whatever I tell you will be the truth, even if you may not want to believe it.”

Ray nods.

“Okay then.”  You take a deep breath.  “You know I wanted the gun to kill a man.  I’ve been looking for this man for a very long time.  I finally found him, and now I’m going to kill him.”

Any other man would laugh at you.  Or be horrified.  Ray is neither.  He nods and sips his beer.

“This guy hurt you, I guess?” he asks.

“Yes.”  You pause, weigh the words.  There’s some words you don’t like to say aloud, words you don’t even like to think.  “The usual way a man hurts any helpless person,” you offer.

That makes something cross his face, some expression like a cloud scudding over the moon, making his eyes dark and dangerous for a swift, short moment.  The expression passes, and he nods his understanding.

“He hurt a lot of others too.  When I found him, he’s…he’s currently in a position to hurt more.”

“I get it.”  Ray reaches a hand out across the table, and he doesn’t touch you, but he lays his hand, palm up.  A gesture of supplication.  Of understanding.

“I learned a long time ago that the only justice a person can get in this world is the justice they take for themselves,” you say.  “So now I’m going to take it.”

Again, it should horrify him.  Ray just nods.  Asks what the play is and how he can help.  It makes the tight control you have—over your life, over your heart—crack open just a bit more.

“You’ve already helped,” you tell him.  “More than you’ll ever know.”

“Still,” he replies.  “Walk me through it, whatever you’re comfortable sharing.  I’ll let you know if I see any trouble spots.”

You hesitate for a beat, but then you nod.

*****

Ray could have guessed at this, could have guessed the vengeance angle.  It doesn’t explain why you have such irregular hours, all the costumes and disguises, but it explains the gun.

The two of you polish off a six pack, him drinking the lion’s share of it.  He’s not drunk, but it loosens his tongue, which warms you up to him.  The reserve you held before thaws a little, and his own reserve around you thaws in turn.

You walk him through the plan without giving any specifics.  No name of the intended target, no specific location.  Ray has to admit—it’s a solid plan.  He’s impressed.  You’ve thought of every angle, and he doesn’t have much constructive criticism for you.

“I’ve killed, you know,” he tells you.  “Both for the country with MARSOC, and not.”

“I know.”

“It changes you.  It’s not something you can take back, sweetheart.”  He isn’t trying to change your mind, but he wants you to understand it.

You gaze back at him, your mouth tilted into a smile without any of its usual warmth.  You stare at him a long moment, your smile spreading until you say, “he won’t be the first one I’ve ever killed, Ray.  He’ll just be the first one I shoot.”

You don’t answer any of his questions after that.  You just smile and shake your head, politely declining.  Ray would think you’re bluffing, that you’re feeding him a line of shit, but he believed you when you promised to tell him the truth.  

Besides, Ray can pretty reliably suss out a bullshitter, and he is certain you’re being honest with him.

He thinks back to that day in the desert, shooting the gun.  How beautiful you looked.  How deadly, the gun in your hand and you aimed at the line of bottles he’d set up.

Like some goddess of vengeance.

If he thought he was going to get out of this unscathed, the warm unfurling in his chest never given a voice, Ray was dead wrong.  You’re a fucking killer, efficient and professional, and he’s never wanted anyone like this before.

-----

The night of, Ray comes over to your house beforehand.  Some of the steps you take might seem like paranoia to others, but to Ray, he recognizes the reality:  this is good, solid planning.  You’ve covered every angle.

“Here,” you tell him, handing you your phone.  “I took the lock off of it.  Just fiddle around on it tonight.  Go into the different apps, leave it on.  Run one of the streaming services on my TV too.  Actually, watch ‘Narcos,’ if you haven’t seen it.  I’ve seen it before.”

“So your phone won’t ping on any towers,” he adds, nodding at the precaution.  “And so it doesn’t looks suspicious, your phone being off, if the cops narrow on you and a span of time.  And the streaming as an alibi.”

You grin at him.  “You got it, hoss.”

You leave your own car in your driveway, lights on in your house as Ray pretends to be you.  Mack drives you to the chop shop where a different car is waiting for you.  Everything is checked out on it, Ray knows:  he’s the one who checked it.  Taillights and headlights operational.  Up to date tags.  Nothing to draw a cop’s eye for a traffic stop.

After that, Ray just waits.  He fiddles on your phone as he promised, and if he’s looking for any hidden intel on your life, he’s disappointed.  Your social media is just reblogs and bland commentary on celebrity gossip.  Pictures of sunsets and puppies.  An entire schtick to throw anyone off who you really are.

-----

It feels like an eternity, but the reality is that you return within a few hours.  You drove back to the chop shop, and Mack drives you home, and that’s that.

Ray stands up when you come through the back door, all in black.  You push the hoodie back from your face, and he can see a million things on your face.  A million emotions playing out in real time:  your eyes wide and a little vacant, your lip chapped from where you’ve been worrying at it.

“Everything okay?” he asks, cautious.  He takes a few steps toward you, his hands out in a calming gesture.

You nod.  “It’s over,” you say, your voice raw.  “It’s done.”

“How do you feel?”

You don’t answer.  You hold up your own hands, as if you expect to see blood there, but Ray knows you wore gloves.  Three pairs of them, in fact, to protect against all the evidence you may leave….and all the evidence that may have followed you.

This black gear you’re in now is not what you wore to the scene of the crime.  Ray knows all of it was burned the minute you got back to Mack’s shop.

You reach into your pocket and you hand Ray the gun, as promised.  By this time the following night, the gun will be dismantled and scattered across the county.  

“I feel weird,” you tell him.  “I thought I’d feel relief, or maybe even guilt.  But there’s nothing.  Just…keyed up.”

“That’s adrenaline, sweetheart.”

“Yeah.”

“You want to talk about it?” he asks.

You smile, but it comes out a grimace.  “You’ll probably hear about it in the news.

Something about you sparks at that protective part of him, even if you are a killer.  Even if you just killed.  You aren’t a natural born killer; you’d been hurt, and this was revenge.  But maybe he wasn’t a natural born killer either.  He had been a boy once, just a carefree kid who wanted to look at girls and cadge cigarettes from his older brother before a slick military recruiter talked him into signing his life away.

A head shrinker might point out that Ray’s protectiveness over you is a way to deal with his own lost innocence, the boy who went into the military and didn’t come out a man, but a machine.

“Come here,” he mutters, and he holds his arms out.  He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until you step into his arms and he enfolds you against his body.  You stand there, rigid for a moment, then wind your own arms around his waist.  You hug him back.

“Thought I’d feel done,” you say, and your words are muffled by his broad chest.  “Thought I’d feel complete.”

“I know.”

The moment stretches on.  You shift a little on your feet and hug him tighter, and Ray holds you tighter in response.  He’s never touched you before aside from incidental stuff, or when he took you out shooting and corrected your form.  

It hits all most of his senses at once, you in his arms.  The scent of you, that floral, subtly sweet scene underneath something sharp and dangerous—that adrenaline-laced sweat that Ray recognizes from both battle and crime.  The feel of you, solid and warm, your hair tickling against his neck.  The sound of your breathing, deep and even.

Ray can’t remember a moment like this.  With Holly, fucking was a chore, a duty.  The willpower to get hard and stay hard, more bored than aroused.  Just this—just holding you, his little killer-next-door, his goddess of vengeance—makes his dick twitch to immediate life.

You feel it.  You tilt your head, crane your neck to look up at him, and there’s no recrimination like he thought he’d see.  

There’s a question in your eyes, a dark little gleam that makes him even harder.

Ray bends his own head and kisses you.  It’s no fairy tale, no romance:  a brutal mashing of his lips against yours, of his mouth working yours open so that he can slide his tongue into you and taste you.  You kiss back just as brutally, biting his lower lip, sucking against his tongue, and Ray Merrimen’s descent into messy, chaotic love is cemented right here.

-----

You said you didn’t feel anything, which may be why you take Ray to bed.  

Actually, he takes you to bed:  he slaps your ass, slaps the side of your leg until you get the hint and hop up into his arms, one looped under your ass, the other around your back as he carries you to your room.  He stumbles on the way there, blinded by his own lust, distracted by the increasing need you seem to have.  The desperate way you kiss him, the way you grip his short hair in one hand to tilt his head and grant you access to his neck, where you lick against the pulse point, nip against the tendon there, making him groan.

He tosses you onto the bed, smirks at how quickly you recover from the bounce:  you get your legs under you, you kneel on the mattress.  You gaze up at him with eyes that are almost black, your pupils thrown wide by how turned on you are.

“Don’t you dare be gentle,” you order.  “I want to feel it tonight, and I want to feel it tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll just fuck you tomorrow too,” he drawls, and you pounce on him, a messy scrabble of your hands to get his flannel off, his t-shirt.  He’s tugging at your clothes too, hears fabric tearing but is too far gone to care.  Once he’s shirtless, you bend your head to his chest, bite hard against his pec.  It hurts, your sharp line of teeth leave indents in his skin that you run your tongue over, but fuck if it doesn’t make his cock ache with how hard he is.  

Ray reaches out and grabs your ponytail.  Grips it in his fist, and he steers your face away from him, pulls your hair until your head is tilted back.

“I gotta put a muzzle on you, sweetheart?” he growls, and you snap another bite, this one playful, at him in response.

It’s messy.  Messy and brutal, and it’s the best fucking sex Ray’s ever had in his life.  Not to be a romantic asshole about it, but when he’s tearing off your clothes and shucking off the rest of his own, he wonders if it’s because you’re cut from the same cloth.  You are both so similar.  Ray’s only ever fucked women who live on the right side of things, girls who are just the regular amount of damaged and dirtied up by life.

You?  You’re like him.  A killer.  Completely out of step with the rest of the world, but completely in step with each other.  The fucking girl next door who turned out to be the dark, shadowy version of that.

Once naked, you turn away from him, get on all fours.  No need to convince him:  he climbs on the bed behind you.

“Don’t be gentle,” you remind him.

He isn’t, but he’s not not gentle.  Not at first.  He goes slow by necessity, his pulse already in his cock, already putting him on the narrow tightrope of coming too soon.  Fuck, when was the last time he had that problem?  With Holly, half the time, he couldn’t even come, only stopped when she sighed and told him to give it up.

You’re so fucking wet.  Hot and wet, and gripping him like a vise.  Ray grits his teeth as he bottoms out in you, the end of him nudging at some part of you that makes you gasp when he hits it.  He looks down, and that’s a mistake—almost comes from the sight of himself buried in you, almost comes when he pulls out a fraction and sees how you’ve soaked him.

He builds up to it, finds the rhythm that makes you fucking sing.  A goddamned symphony of sounds, whines and cries and moans that make the blood roar in his ears.  It’s obscene, the skin-on-skin sound, the way the two of you work against each other—him riding you hard and deep, you pressing back with your arms to meet him as he does.  

“I said…don’t be…gentle,” you pant out, and Ray snarls.  Grips your hips harder and hammers into you, his fingertips pressing into your soft curves, likely leaving bruises that will bloom in the morning.

Your orgasm comes quick and hard, giving him no warning.  You arch your back like a fucking cat, the sight gorgeous just as your pussy ripples against him, just as you groan out, fuck, right there.

He rides you through it, curves his body over yours.  Reaches out a hand to wrap it around your throat, but he doesn’t choke you.  He isn’t into that shit; he just wants to hold you steady, wants to feel the way your pulse hammers against his thumb, the way those whines of yours tear out of your throat when he comes too.

-----

Who can say if it was just the heat of the moment, the adrenaline leftover from you exacting your vengeance?  

Still, you don’t kick him out that night.  He falls asleep beside you, his leg thrown over yours, and he sleeps so deeply that he doesn’t dream.

Ray wakes early, a habit from being in MARSOC and in prison.  You’ve turned in the night; you face him now.  Your face, he realizes, must always have a subtle tension in it.  Only in seeing you asleep does he realize it.  Now, asleep, you look peaceful.  Like the girl you might have been if life hadn’t hurt you so badly.

He doesn’t get up.  He only watches you sleep, and when you finally stir to wakefulness, Ray keeps his promise:  he fucks you again before dawn, and this time it is slower, and quieter.  A quiet moment that leaves you gasping in his arms, leaves him biting off your name between his clenched jaw when he comes.

-----

Whoever you killed, it doesn’t hit the news in a big way for a while.  Or, it’s hard for Ray and Mack to know.  That night, there were as many murders as there ever are in Los Angeles County, a handful, but Mack and Ray can’t know if the victim was even found the next day.  The ones that were found shot include a convenience store clerk, a low-level drug dealer, a jogger in Griffith Park, and a homeless man in Venice Beach.

You never say a word.

It’s two days after the event that there’s a big, splashy news story.  

Ray had made assumptions, but he was learning that assumptions, when it came to you, were a lost cause.  Ray had thought about what sort of man might have hurt you, might have inspired you to seek your revenge and kill him.

Best Ray could come up with was maybe a college boyfriend who hadn’t taken ‘no’ for an answer.  Or any date, really, some handsy fuck who forced himself on you.  Or maybe something darker, like a stepfather with wandering hands….but no.

You killed a priest.

The news story, at first, is somber.  Carefully contained outrage.  Father so-and-so, longtime priest, transferred to such-and-such church a few years ago.  Beloved by his parishioners.  Beloved by his fellow priests.  At first, the news story is just an excuse to editorialize about the rising crime.  How could a man of god, jogging alone in Griffith Park at dusk, be gunned down?  

At first, the news called it a random crime.  

Then the story shifts.  There’s a dismal press conference where the cops talk about leads.  Ray’s skin breaks out in a cold sweat, but the leads don’t just point to you, if they point to you at all.  

The leads point to an entire army of children this man has hurt.  How can the police narrow it down to one or two suspects, when Father so-and-so has so many victims?  Those victims grew up to be adults, those victims have parents and siblings and loved ones who may have sought vengeance on their own accord.

The story shifts a third time, recriminations against the church.  They knew, of course.  Why else did the slain priest bounce around the U.S. (with a stint in Mexico, too) every time accusations started to flare up?

You never say a word.  Not when Mack asks, and not when Ray asks.  

When the news breaks about the other victims, countless children, Ray makes an off-hand comment to you. Says something casual, a metaphor about killing a rabid dog, how no one should mourn a predator when it’s finally taken out.  

You stare at him for a long beat, and your eyes get shiny with tears before you nod at him.

You don’t start to cry in earnest until he pulls you into a hug, just like that first night, but with a key difference:  this time, he just comforts you, holds you until your tears and your shaking are spent.  Ray’s heart, he has found, is not as small and as shriveled as he thought it was.  Some soft part of him survived war and prison, like a seed that’s lain on parched land for years.  Only now it’s started to unfurl, to find purchase.

-----

You and Ray fall into a thing.  You aren’t like Holly; you don’t force him to define it.  You don’t put a fence around it, call it one thing or another.  You still keep your strange hours in your strange disguises, and Ray focuses on their next hit.

Or, he tries to.

For the first time, he finds his precision in planning is off.  He’s got another club in his sights, a rave this time, and he finds his mind drifting from the planning to you.  Instead of focusing on routes to and from the rave, he thinks about your mouth, the way it felt on his cock the night before.  The way your eyes had peered up at him through your eyelashes as you worked your tongue against him.

Instead of studying the blueprints of the club, he thinks about another night when he ate you out.  The way your eyes had gone wide when he coaxed you into sitting on him, then the greedy way you had ridden his face, using him for your pleasure.  The way you had soaked his face, the way he had felt used and fucking loved every minute of it.

Instead of coming up with a plan to handle all of the cameras inside the place, he thinks about all the intel he’s learned about you.  The two of you trade off, usually after sex, a tangle of sweaty limbs sharing inside information.  He opens up about the shit he saw in the Marines.  You open up about your rocky childhood back east.  He tells you about prison.  You tell him about your job as a process server (a giant lightbulb goes off in Ray’s head—all those costumes and strange hours finally making sense).

He tells you about his heists, past and present and future.  You tell him about your real work—that’s how you phrase it, your real work—which seems to be a sort of killer Robin Hood, exacting vengeance and stealing from scum.  How your job as a process server gives you some inside baseball with the courts.  How you see the way the rich and powerful elude justice.

How you dole out your own justice.  The sneaky ways you punish them:  sometimes just robbing them blind, sweeping out their bank accounts and running the cash through a hundred digital laundries before it lands in a handful of offshore accounts.  

Sometimes, though, you kill them.  Never the same way, never enough to clue in law enforcement that there’s technically a serial killer in their midst.  An angel-faced, girl next door who makes her crimes look like accidents or misadventures or accidental overdoses.  

The assistant district attorney who got caught with child porn?  Cut a deal and evaded prison time, ended up hanging from the rafters in his garage.  It wasn’t a suicide, no matter what the coroner said.

Other human scum, handled by you.  Hot-shots laced with fentanyl.  Subtler drugs that look like a heart attack or stroke.  A house fire attributed to faulty wiring.

You take out the worse monsters to walk Los Angeles county.  You take their money, wash it clean.

No wonder then—for the first time in his life, Ray Merrimen is distracted.  He lays out his crimes against yours and finds himself a bit ashamed.  He loves heists because it’s a game, a test against his own mind.  Can he think of every angle, can he execute it properly?  Can he read the people he is working worth?  

You, though?  You’re something biblical.  Old Testament shit, the way you kill without remorse.  He’d think you are a psychopath, but you have a warm heart for the people you care for, it seems.

You don’t scare Ray.  He’s seen plenty of death, plenty of carnage.  What scares him more and more, as each day passes, as each night seems to end with you in his arms, is the outsized love he has for you.  It terrifies him.  At first it had just been a little twinge in his chest, a spark of protectiveness that made him want to shield you from the world.  

Now it’s worse.  It’s too much.  If Ray thinks about it too much—what it means to love someone, what it means to contemplate losing them—he feels his chest get tight, his throat closing around the sudden emotion.

-----

Mack, Bosco, Lavoux…they notice that Ray is slipping.  They notice he’s distracted, and they know why he’s distracted.

Ray tries to course-correct.

“We gotta figure out a way to take out those cameras,” Lavoux says at the chop shop while they are deep in planning.  

“They all run on wi-fi,” Ray says.

“Can we get a scrambler in there?” Mack asks.

Ray points to the blueprints of the club where the rave is set to occur.  He taps one blunt fingertip against the second floor section, the nerve center where the owner’s office is and the security hub with all the cameras.

“If we could get someone in there, that night, beforehand…” he starts, but Lavoux picks up the thread immediately.

“The owner is always pulling women up there.  If we had a girl with a purse, we could tuck the scrambler in there.”

“They’d find the scrambler when they wand her at the door,” Bosco interjects.

Lavoux waves him off.  “Nah, my wife has a purse with a fake bottom.  Uses it to sneak food into Lakers games.  They hardly ever wand purses.  They just poke around in there.  If we put makeup and tampons and girly shit in there, they’ll barely look at all.”

“What about your girl?” Mack asks Ray, and it’s funny how little time it took for you to be the girl next door to Ray’s girl.

Ray knows that the guys notice his increasing sloppiness, so he course-corrects.  Or tries to.  Which is the problem with that sort of thing:  sometimes if you are drifting left, you can jerk too hard and end up too far on the right.  Which is exactly what Ray does now.

“She’s not my girl,” he snaps, irritated that they’d even think to bring you into this.  “I know someone else who can help.”

-----

The reason Ray and Holly were always so on-again, off-again is because Holly is easy.  Which isn’t a knock on her, though it sounds like one.  Holly is just easy to handle.  She believes in that love-at-first-sight, first-love, puppy-love bullshit.  Because Ray and Holly were together all the way back in high school, it’s easy for Ray to hook her back into his orbit.

The fact that he even feels a little guilty?  He credits you for that, the sharp sting of conscience when Holly eagerly agrees to help the guys.

-----

It seems that Ray can only keep complete control over one area of his life at a time.

The moment he regains control of his crew and his operation, things with you fall apart.  

It’s his own fault, really.  He hasn’t slept with Holly again yet, has kept her at a careful distance…but he can’t keep her completely away.  Holly thinks she’s back with Ray, has no idea she’s being used, but Ray has to play along a little.

He tries to keep the two of you separate.  Even if you haven’t forced him to define the thing the two of you have, Ray still knows you’ll be hurt if you knew.  Even if he explained it to you, laid out how it’s all part of the plan, you’d still be hurt.  You’d still want to be the one that helps them; you’d want to be the one who has him completely and doesn’t have to share, not even for pretend.

He tries to keep Holly away from Mack’s house.  He really, truly does.  But now that he’s back with her, he’s reminded of how close she likes to stick to him, like Velcro.  And maybe it’s worse now because he went back to her.

He and the guys are lifting in the garage, the usual metal and rap blaring from the speakers, when Holly strolls up like it’s nothing.  Like it’s no big deal.  Like she belongs there, with her man, and in her mind, that’s the fact of it.

Ray doesn’t have enough time to usher her inside when he sees your car pull up.  You park in your driveway, and you climb out of your car.  It happens like a slow-motion car wreck, and Ray—meticulous, thinks-of-every-angle Ray—can’t stop it.

You start to walk across the thin strip of grass that separates your house from Mack’s.  You approach with that same smile on your face, but it falls so fast when you see Holly.  Her arms are hooked around Ray’s neck, she’s perched in his lap where he sits on the weight bench.

Ray sees how your smile falls.  He sees the hurt that flashes across your face, quick as lightning.  But it’s there, and he sees it, and it haunts him for a long time afterwards.

-----

At first, he promises that he’ll fix it.  After the heist at the rave, after he disentangles from Holly, he’ll fix it with you.  He’ll explain it all:  how it was just a ruse, how he didn’t want to put you in harm’s way.  The club owner, after all, has groping, grasping hands.  Ray would never ask you to deal with that, and doesn’t that prove, really, how much he cares?

But as the days pass, the quiet little voice in the back of his head whispers, maybe it’s better this way.

What can he offer you, really?  He’s an ex-con, technically a current con too.  He’s got PTSD.  He’s antisocial.  His emotions have been flattened, battered down into dust.  Is he really the best you can do?

He knows he’s not.  He knows you can do a million times better.  Maybe it’s better this way.  Leave it as a clean break, let you find someone you can have a future with.

-----

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.  The fact that it hurts at all tells Ray that he’s fucked up terribly.

The heist of the rave goes off without a single flaw.  Another perfect robbery:  in, out, no one hurt.  No suspicions on them.  They check all the cash, find the lone dye pack, and they divvy up the rest.  It’s an outstanding haul, better than they expected:  the club hadn’t done a cash drop in several weekends, for fuck’s sake.

Ray and his crew take it all.

He cuts Holly loose again, and it’s a relief.  Pretending takes a lot out of him, and Ray finds himself alone again.

He could march next door and set you straight.  He could push his cut of the heist onto you, payment for treating you terribly.  The two of you haven’t exchanged a single word since you saw Holly sitting in his lap, though sometimes the two of you make eye contact when one is coming and the other going.  

You never look furious when you see him.  You only look sad.

He won’t march next door, though, because you’re seeing someone.  Mack has mentioned it in passing, how you met a friend of his cousin at one of their parties, how the two of you are testing the waters.

Ray pretends it doesn’t hurt, but the truth is, it feels like his heart is being pulled out of his chest.

-----

Ray Merrimen always has his temper under control.  Some of his buddies from the Marines, they fly off the handle at the slightest provocation.  Not Ray:  he’s cool as a fucking cucumber.  He’s his own zen center of his own zen universe.  Completely under control.

Until you.  Something about you has set him off-kilter, even now when you don’t speak to each other.

There’s a party at Mack’s, a joint birthday party for Mack and one of his cousins, and there’s so many people that Ray doesn’t see you right away.  He only notices you later in the afternoon, as the sun is starting to sink in the west, casting the entire scene in a deep gold light.

You’re in a cute sundress, sexy as hell, but you’re with your new guy.  Mack’s cousin’s buddy.  A big hulking dude, thick with muscle and covered in tattoos.

Ray instantly hates him.  He hates the way the guy seems to have a tight grip on you, his meaty paw wrapped around your waist or your wrist, never letting you out of his sight.  He hates the way the guy’s eyes go narrow and suspicious when you try to talk to other people.

Ray never for a second would think you can’t take care of yourself.  He knows the truth of who you are, and he knows that if you’re dealt any pain, you’ll deal it back threefold.  Still, there’s always been something about you that tugs at him.  That makes that dormant, protective side of him flare up.

Once the sun sets, the party turns, as parties often do after dark.  It goes from being fun and festive to….more.  People are drunk and stoned and sated after a day in the sun, and couples drift away to their cars or to shadowy corners to do what couples do.

You and your new guy drift into the house, and Ray can’t help but follow at a distance.  He’s not a pervert or a voyeur—something is pinging against his internal radar about the scene, and that protectiveness flares up hotter and brighter.

He hears the argument before he sees it:  your dude’s low voice, steadily getting louder.  Your own voice, pleading.

“I saw you flirting with that guy,” your dude says in a low growl.

“I absolutely wasn’t,” you protest.

Ray rounds the corner just in time to see the asshole raise his hand to you, sees him slap you, hard.  Your face snaps back, and Ray catches the hurt and surprise in your eyes.

Ray Merrimen, who is always as cool as a fucking cucumber:  he fucking snaps.

Your dude is big, but Ray is bigger.  Three quick strides and he’s on top of him, has the element of surprise.  Ray grabs him around the throat, slams him to the floor with a neat leg sweep, and then he’s on him:  kicking him in the ribs, in the kidneys so that he’ll piss blood for a month.  Then kneeling on his chest, his fists making hamburger out of his face.

You don’t try to stop him.  You only stand against the wall, your hand cupping the bruise blooming on your cheekbone.  

Mack is the one who hears the commotion.  Mack is the one to pull Ray off of the dude before he kills him, but it takes another cousin and Bosco to actually hold Ray back.  He’s insane with rage, wants to see the dude’s brains splattered against the carpet for daring to hurt you.

Ray makes sure the dude knows.  Waits for the fucker to look him in the eye.

“You touch her again, I’ll kill you,” Ray snarls.  “But I’ll make you suffer first.”

Then it’s commotion, as the dude’s buddy comes and leads him away in a stagger.  As Bosco and Mack hold Ray back.  

As you slip out in the middle of the chaos, disappearing from Mack’s house and returning to your own home.

*****

You wanted to move on from Ray Merrimen.  You really, really did.

It should have been an easy thing.  He had a new girl, didn’t he?  A gorgeous blonde girl perched in his lap, his arm around her waist, comfortable as could be.  You’d been stunned, hurt, but you had hid it.  Had turned on your heel and marched away, then stayed away from Mack’s place for months.

When Mack’s cousin’s friend sauntered up to you, it seemed an easy out.  What was the saying?  The easiest way to get over one man was to get under a different man.  So you did.

But maybe you couldn’t get over Ray Merrimen as easily as that.  Even if you turned off the lights, made the new guy go silent when you fucked…even if you tried to pretend it was the guy you really wanted in your bed, it didn’t quite work.

Besides, the new guy was pushy in a way you didn’t like.  Jealous, and not in a passive way.

Mack’s party sealed it for you.  A man only ever gets one chance to put his hands on you, and the moment the dude slaps you, you’re already planning your revenge.  If he hits you, guaranteed that he’s hit others.  He’ll hit others after you.  Hit them and maybe worse, and the gears are turning in your head before you realize what the sudden flurry of activity in front of you is.

It’s Ray fucking Merrimen, beating the shit out of the dude.  Kicking him, punching him.  Blood splattering until it looks like a Pollack painting.  Ray snarling and growling, feral in a way you didn’t think he had in him.

It’s chaos.  It’s madness.  Your face is hot, throbs in pain from where the dude hit you, and in the midst of the pandemonium, you flee.

-----

You aren’t surprised when Ray turns up later.  The fight must have broke up Mack’s party for good; it’s gone quiet next door, and all of the cars in the street are gone.  You are slouched on your sofa, a bag of frozen peas held against your cheek, when you hear the knock at the door.

You know it’s him before you even answer.

At least he looks ashamed of himself.  At least he ducks his head when you turn on the porch light and glare out at him.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“Why?”

He hesitates, then says, “I want to apologize.”

You cross your arms and narrow your eyes.  “Don’t.  You did that guy a favor, in the end.  Now I don’t have to sort him out.”

The corner of his mouth twitches into a ghost of a smile.  “I knew you’d handle it.”

“So why’d you beat the shit out of him?”

The ghost of a smile falls.  He scuffs his shoe against your porch in an ‘aw, shucks’ sort of way, making him seem like a boy.  

“Didn’t like seeing you get hurt,” Ray says.  “Saw red.”

“Okay.  Well, thank you.”

Another moment of hesitation, his eyes studying your face.  You notice how they zero in on the bruise, the bit of swelling, and you notice how his eyes narrow at it.

“I wanted to apologize—”

“I said not to.”

“—for everything else,” he continues.  “For…for not including you in the heist.  For using another girl for it.”

You shake your head, push down the hurt that blossomed at the mention of it.  “Don’t apologize for that either.  We never defined our thing.”

“I know.”

“So let’s just chalk it up to a fling and move on.”

Ray puts his hand on the door jamb, leans into it a bit.  He’s usually got a stoic’s face with minimal expression beyond the odd smirk or smile, but right now he looks sad.

“Can’t we talk about it?” he asks.

You sigh.  “I’d rather not.  I’m exhausted, Ray.  Let’s just move on.”

He nods at you, knocks lightly against the door jamb.  Then he leaves, and you pretend not to notice the way his shoulders seem slumped in defeat.

-----

Time passes.  If Ray moves on, you can’t tell:  the blonde girl isn’t around anymore, and the only women you ever notice next door are Mack’s sisters and cousins.

You don’t date either.  The incident at the party left you shaken up.  It dredged up some old shit that leaves you with far too many sleepless nights.  Your work suffers a little, and your real work suffers too.  You ease off the gas a little, take things at a slower pace.  Resituate yourself.  You ask Mack to keep an eye on your place and you go north for a week, to the quiet country where you can think and breathe in clean air.

When you come back, things go as much back to normal as they can.  It still hurts to look at Ray, to remember how much you had opened up to him, just to have him toss you away.  It still hurts to feel like you’ve been played, but something tugs at the back of your mind—the man looks sad every time you see him.  

You get the same sad little smile, the same half wave, and you’re curious what he would say to you if you let him talk.  

-----

You get the chance sooner than you think.  You pull into your driveway after a day spent running down a particularly wily deadbeat father who was dodging your attempts to serve him with court papers.  Your feet hurt, you have a blistering headache…

Ray catches you in the middle ground between your and Mack’s house, the grassy strip that serves as a sort of DMZ.

“Hey,” he says, taking a few strides over to greet you.

“Hey.”  You squint against the sunlight, wince at the clamor in your head.

“Wanted to tell you, your front tires are getting bald.  Wanted to offer to put new ones on for you, if you wanted.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m offering,” he interrupts.  “Because they aren’t safe.  You could lose control, have a blow-out.”

You stare at him a long moment, and he just stares back.  That same sort of sad expression, but he doesn’t try to take advantage and start talking about the stuff between you.

Finally you sigh.  “I’m tired, Ray.  It was a long day—”

“Tomorrow then,” he offers.  “Or…or I could take it and swap them out for you now.  You don’t even have to be there.”

It shouldn’t affect you.  It shouldn’t make your heart hammer the way it does, just this simple offer to help with your car.  Hell, Mack does that all the time.  But it means something:  it means that Ray still notices you, and Ray still wants you to be safe, and you scold your treacherous heart before you finally nod.

“Okay,” you tell him.  “Tomorrow then.”  Then, as an afterthought, and softer than your other words, you add, “thanks for looking out, Ray.”

“Always,” he replies, just as soft.

-----

You take your car to Mack’s chop shop the next day, but Ray is the only one there.  You realize that it’s probably intentional—the man doesn’t half-ass anything, and if he wants time alone with you, he will have planned it.

And with your car up on the lift, you’re kind of a captive audience.  Sure, you could order a car and leave, but that traitorous, treacherous heart of yours still beats with a hopefulness that you thought was long dead.

Both tires are off before he even says a word.  He bounces the worn tires on the floor, rolls them over to you to show how bad they are.  They are thin, the rubber cracked and worn down.  He pulls a penny out of his pocket and shows you how to test your treads:  if you can see Lincoln’s head when the penny is between the treads and upside down, it’s time for new tires.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

He nods, tucks the penny away.  He fixes you with that penetrating stare of his, then says, “I never slept with her, you know.  Never let it get that far.”

You snort.  “Not my business, Ray.”

“It is.  It should have been.”

“Well…”  You don’t have a witty retort, and you squirm a little under the force of his gaze.

“I know we never defined it, but I thought of you as my girl,” he continues.  “Thought of myself as yours, you know?  The whole thing with Hol…the other girl, that was just for the heist.”

Another snort.  “You could have asked me to help.”

Ray bounces the tire a little, breaks the gaze with you.  “Yeah, I could have.  Could have done a lot of things different, but I didn’t want to pull you into that.”

“I pulled you into my shit.”

“Yeah, but the heist…might have put you in the path of a bad dude.  Didn’t want to even imagine him looking at you, let alone touching you.”

You huff out an angry breath, can feel your temper ticking up a degree or two.  “So instead you ice me out, get back with your ex, and let me twist on the line for a while until I get the hint and move on?  Stellar fucking planning, Ray.  Great work.”

His jaw flexes as he bites back his own temper.  “I never said I was any good at the relationship shit,” he grits out.  “You think guys like me have healthy fucking communication skills with their girls?”

The way he says it makes you smile in spite of yourself.  Of course he’s never done the relationship stuff in a healthy way.  You haven’t either, really.  And wasn’t that the attraction to him, that you were both sort of fucked up in a way that somehow worked when you were together?

“They don’t teach you to talk about your feelings in the Marines, Peckerwood?” you ask, laying in a teasing lilt.  Just a little, just an opening salvo, maybe.

“Not in prison either.”

“My taxpayer dollars hard at work.”

He snorts, an approximation of a laugh.  He looks at you again in a long moment of quiet, then nods to himself.  Gets back to work on your car, and doesn’t venture any other comments that touch on the hurt between you…but it’s an opening salvo, just as you thought.

-----

Thing is, Ray seems to try.  Behind the cold gaze, behind the steady and precise way he is, he tries to tap into some romantic side.

It can’t come naturally to him.  You can picture him doing an internet search on romantic things, planning out a list, working through the list with the same military precision he uses for any other mission.

You’re the mission now.

You get flowers delivered to your house.  Food, mostly candy and sweets.  You wake up one morning after winds carried ash and smoke from the north to find your car washed and sparkling.  He must have gotten up before dawn to do it.

More flowers.  Expensive candy from a gourmet chocolatier.  A case of expensive wines.  A tennis bracelet once, the diamonds sparkling obscenely on your wrist when you try it on.  Diamond earrings, then emerald earrings, then rubies.  

Ray Merrimen is running through the entire catalogue of precious stones, and when he starts in on topazes, you gather up all of his gifts and march next door to return them.

“It’s too much,” you tell him.  He’s there alone, and you set the box—now overflowing—on the kitchen table.

He shakes his head.  “You deserve it.”

You look at the box, all the velvet boxes with all the jewelry.  All of them guesses, because he doesn’t know you well enough to know your tastes.  “It’s all too much.”

“So pick what you like best and sell the rest,” he tells you with a shrug.

“You can’t buy me off with jewelry.”

His mouth twists into a smirk as he studies the contents of the box closer.  “What about chocolate?”

He’s got you there.  “I ate the chocolate, asshole.  And you know it.”

-----

If you fell into bed with him the first time, it takes longer to fall the second time around.

Ray dials down the gifts, but they never stop.  He just is more cunning now.  He orders dinner from your favorite restaurant—he knows how crazy you are about the local Thai place’s curry puffs—but he orders for two.  Shows up at your door with a big bag from the Lemongrass Café, with a smile on his face.

“Hungry?” he asks, and you roll your eyes.  Invite him in because it’s a dumb question:  you’re always hungry for curry puffs and drunken noodles.

It becomes a habit, the two of you sharing dinner.  You actually, finally get a little sick of the curry puffs, so you sometimes make dinner.  Nothing elaborate, but Ray always eats with relish and thanks you when he’s done.

Dinner turns into dinner and sitting on the couch.  Which turns into the sharing of secrets, like before.  You tell him about the latest guy in your sights, a guy who is rumored to drug and rape aspiring actresses.  He tells you about his new idea to rob the fed.

“It’s just an idea right now,” he tells you.  “But I think I can pull it off.”

You ignore the warning bells chiming in your head.  Regional banks, clubs….those are one thing.  The fed?  That’s another beast altogether.  That could get Ray killed.

The sharing of secrets leads to incidental touches on the couch:  him brushing hair out of your face, you curling under his arm as he holds you lightly.  

It goes from there.  Kisses, and this time they are more tentative, more questioning.  Ray peers into your eyes, seems to look for something there.  You gaze back at him, looking for any future betrayal, and he senses it.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, over and over and over again, and you know talk is cheap and men lie, but Ray is a man who knows the weight of words.  He rarely speaks, so his words seem more precious than more talkative men.

Eventually you forgive him.  Eventually you realize that he’s being honest when he tells you about his ex, Holly, and even if he isn’t honest, you realize that you have to take that leap of faith and trust anyway.

When you finally let him back into your bed, it’s so different than before.  There’s a desperation there, but it’s not feral.  He doesn’t let you get onto all fours; he makes you turn around and face him.  Makes you lay underneath him and look at him, and even if you feel like a raw, exposed nerve under the force of his gaze, you realize how much better this is:  his broad body fucking you into the mattress in slow, steady thrusts. His hand reaching down to hike your thigh higher on his hip.  It changes the angle just enough to make the thick drag of him hit that spot inside you, the one that makes your vision wash out in a haze of sparks.

Afterwards, as you’re falling asleep, you can feel how he pulls you to him, feel the solid bulk of him curve around you.  Lying like that, so close together, you can’t tell if he’s trying to protect you in his sleep or if you’re his life preserver keeping him afloat.

Maybe both.

-----

Now it’s different than before.  Before, Ray seemed reluctant to admit that the two of you had a thing.  Now, he sticks close to you at Mack’s parties, hooks an arm around your shoulders.  Maybe it’s a little proprietary, marking you as his, but he’s gentle about it.  Doesn’t turn mean like the other dude.

He invites you around for when they start to plan the fed heist in earnest.  You meet the new guy, Donnie.  The driver.  He seems nice enough, but the entire heist feels dangerous.  When Ray is bent over the blueprints, you feel like there’s a ticking clock over his head, counting down the scant time he has left with you.

This is going to get him killed, you think.  You’re acquainted enough with death the recognize the chill as it draws closer.

You ask him one night why he needs to do it.  Ray shifts a little underneath you, turns his head to look at you.

“Well, I don’t need to, sweetheart,” he answers honestly.  “Maybe before I did.  Needed to prove it to myself, that I was better than the other assholes who tried to rob the place.”

“So….”

“So now it’s just the money.  Thirty million clean.”  He presses a kiss to the top of your head.  “Think of the life we could live.”

“So it’s just about the money then?”

“Yup.”

You twist in his arms, lift your head until you are gazing down at him.  “So don’t do it.  I have money.”

“Sweetheart—”

“What if I told you I already had money?  More than your cut of the fed heist would be?  A cool ten million sitting offshore, and a house in Panama just waiting for me.  For us, if you want.”

Ray’s expression goes from startled to incredulous.  “Bullshit,” he says.

“No bullshit.  I’ve been at this a long while, and I’ve never been caught.  And it’s all stolen from monsters, so there’s no guilt.  At least not for me there isn’t.”

Ray sits up too.  “You’re serious.”

You nod.  “I am.”  You reach out and take his hand in yours:  his hands are huge compared to your own, and your thread your fingers through his.  You can feel the tears rising in your eyes.  The panic starts to bubble in your chest, acidic and hot.  You can feel the chill of death nearby, hear the clock ticking down…

“Please don’t do this heist,” you plead.  “I’ve never asked you for anything.  I’m asking for this one thing.”

“You asked me for a gun once,” he points out with a smile.

“I asked Mack for a gun.  You just took over.”

He hums, and you continue.

“I have a bad feeling, Ray.  A gut feeling, and they are never wrong.  This heist….I think it’s going to end badly.”  He opens his mouth to protest, but you hold up a silencing hand.  “I mean, I think you’ll plan it perfectly, but there are too many variables.  Do you really know Donnie?  Can you be sure you’ll get an armored car without any trouble?”

He stares at you so long that you know he’s going to tell you to fuck off.  To shove your gut feeling, to get over yourself.

But you’ve always underestimated Ray Merrimen a little.  A lot of people do.  They see a silent man with a stern face and make assumptions, and even with your little glimpse into his inner life, you make assumptions too.  Wrong ones, it seems.

“Panama?” he asks.  “My Spanish is shitty.”

You smile, feel the first tear break free and course down your face.  “We can learn, Ray.  The house is gorgeous, though.  It’s in Bocas del Toro, overlooks the Caribbean.  The water is so blue, Ray, I swear—”

“Okay,” he says simply.

“Okay?”  You blink, freeing a few more tears, and he pulls his hand from yours to wipe them away.  

“I said okay.  Let’s do it.  Let’s go to Panama.”

“You’re serious?”

“I am if you are.”

You are.  You are serious, and it turns out Ray is too.  The heists were never about the money, really, and now that he has you, the need to prove himself to himself is gone.  Just like that, the sick feeling in your stomach fades.  The chill of death in the air dissipates.  The ticking clock stops, resets.

Maybe in another life, Ray Merrimen ends up dead.  Maybe in a shoot-out with police, maybe dead in prison after he’s caught trying to rob the fed.  Maybe double-crossed by one of his compatriots.  Who can say?

But in this life, no such thing happens:  he meets you before that path can be set in stone.  His killer angel, his goddess of vengeance who turns out to be his salvation in the end, who takes him to a paradise overlooking the Caribbean where the two of you find your peace, put your demons to bed, with each other.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas  @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​   @paintballkid711​   @mad-girl-without-a-box​   @bestattempt   @rosiefridayrogersunday​   @strawberrydragon​   @hoeforthefictional​   @greeneyedblondie44​  @leannawithacapitala​   @stardust-galaxies​  @buckybarneshairpullingkink​   

[onceuponastory]

lies - nick fowler x reader

You only ever touch me in the dark Only if we're drinking can you see my spark And only in the evening could you give yourself to me 'Cause the night is your woman, and she'll set you free

Pairing: Nick Fowler x Female Reader Plot: Y/N senses her boyfriend Nick’s sweet words are nothing but lies. Very loosely based on the song Lies by Marina and the Diamonds. Warnings: Small mentions of moaning and love bites. Nothing majorly NSFW though. Also a tiny violence mention. I HAVE seen The 355 (feel free to dm me for my thoughts), but this one shot doesn’t have any plot spoilers for the movie. I did try to make Nick just like his character in the movie as much as I could though, so if that’s a spoiler for you I guess be warned? Hahaha. Notes: My first Nick fic is here! And it’s definitely not the last one either... I hope you all enjoy it! 

“So what’s up with you, then?” Y/N glances up to see her coworker looking down at her. Y/N frowns.

“What?” Her coworker rolls her eyes and gestures towards the corner of the room. 

“Don’t act all shy. I can see you making lovey-dovey eyes at Nick. Actually, I think half of the building has noticed by now. But then again, most of the building has a crush on him too.” Y/N’s cheeks flush slightly, despite how much she tries to prevent it. Of course, given that they work in the CIA, she can’t exactly be surprised she’s been figured out so quickly. Even if they’re both more secretaries than agents. Her coworker grins and leans in closer. “If you want, I can talk to him. Put in a good word and everything.” She whispers.

“No, no, that won’t be necessary, it-” Y/N begins, trying desperately to get her coworker to shut up. Soon, a voice cuts her off. Unfortunately, it’s the voice belonging to the person she least wants to hear from right now.

“What won’t be necessary?” Nick asks, looking between them both. Y/N notices how his blue eyes scan over her body ever so slowly. How his lips part ever so slightly as he makes his way up her body. His glance sends shivers over her entire body, and his eyes soon rest on her face. He gives her a smirk, and she hates how her heart almost stops as he does so. Why must she be so obviously in love with him? Why couldn’t Nick just be a regular person and not so fucking gorgeous?

“Oh, nothing, Nick.” Her coworker grins, looking between the pair. “But I need to go get the reports, so I’ll leave you two to it.”

“No, wait, I’ll go-” Y/N protests, but her coworker simply winks and leaves. Y/N sighs. Dammit.

“Frankly, I’m a little hurt that you’re so unwilling to see me.” Nick remarks. “It’s not very nice, you know.” She can tell he’s just being annoying to try and get a rise out of her, and despite how much her heart and body aches for him, she tries her best to ignore it.

“Nick, I’m busy right now. As I’m sure you are too...if you’d ever show it.” She responds, not looking up from her laptop.

“Oh, yes, I’m sure you are. But I just came to drop something off. See you later, babe.” He hands her a sheet of folded paper, and with one last smile and a wink, he’s gone. Sighing, Y/N opens the paper.

“Come to my place at 7.30pm. Wear something nice. Nick x”

In response, Y/N shoves the note in her desk drawer, resting her head in her hands. Unbeknownst to all of their coworkers, Y/N and Nick have been in a secret relationship for the past three months. And Y/N’s happy about it. Of course, she is. After all, she’s with the love of her life: Nick Fowler, arguably the sexiest agent in the whole of the CIA, and she sees him almost every night, whilst her coworkers are stuck fantasising about him. But despite her happiness, Y/N can’t hide her feelings of insecurity. Insecurities that have been growing stronger for the past few weeks.

From the beginning, Nick had always told her that he wanted to keep the relationship secret from everyone. “Trust me, it’s just because of my job. I haven’t got a choice.” He’d tell her, peppering her jawline with kisses as he did so. Kisses that she swears made her melt and forget her worries for a little bit. And, of course, she agreed. Because, after all, he’s an agent in the CIA. Being with her could blow his cover or put them both in danger. And Nick being hurt because of her is the last thing she wants. So that’s what she tells herself on the days when she wishes that she could introduce Nick to her parents or to her friends, because god, she finally found a good guy this time. She’s just protecting them both. That’s all.

And that’s what she continues to tell herself, even when she swears that Nick finished his last undercover mission months ago, but he’s still telling her that they have to keep things a secret just a little bit longer. Even when she sees Nick making eyes at other female agents, or when he comes to her place smelling like someone else’s perfume with lipstick marks that he’s clearly tried to wipe off still smeared on his cheeks. Even when she swears that he’s getting some sort of pleasure from seeing all the women in the office, including her, falling over themselves to talk to him. She can still picture the cocky grin on his face as they follow him down the hallways or into his office. But when she’d protest, Nick would reassure her that she’s the only woman for him by whispering sweet nothings in her ear and by pressing kisses on her jawline again. And she’d fall in love with him all over again and keep quiet for a little bit longer. She knows she’s being stupid for continuing to trust him, but she swears Nick Fowler definitely has some kind of power over her...and one of these days, she’s going to break it. If only he wasn’t so damn good at using it.

But now, she’s starting to grow more and more tired of all his empty promises. More heartbroken by his lies. She wants the world to know that she’s in love with Nick Fowler and that he’s in love with her. Or at least...she hopes he’s in love with her. In all honesty, she doesn’t want to go and spend another night with him and then be a nobody the next day all over again. Sighing, she leans back in her chair, trying to think of something to do. In an ideal world, she’d throw the paper in his face and tell him to fuck off, but her heart aches at the thought of it. She loves him too much for that. But she still has to find answers, so she knows what she has to do.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That night, Y/N arrives at Nick’s place, right on time. She knocks on the door, and Nick opens it almost immediately, grinning as soon as he sets eyes on her. He’s in a sweater and jeans instead of his usual works’ suit that she’s used to seeing him in, but he’s still just as attractive as ever. Unfortunately for Y/N, however, that means her task for the evening isn’t made any easier. Taking her hand, Nick gently pulls her into the house, closing the door behind her.

“Hey, gorgeous. I missed you so much.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to her lips. Once he’s done, he begins kissing her jawline and moving down her neck. She hates how she almost moans as he makes her way down her neck. By this point, it’s like an instinct to her. “It was so tough seeing you at work today. You looked so good in that dress. I just wanted to pull it off of you. But now...I’ve got you all to myself.” He grins before his lips return to her skin.

“Mmm...no, Nick...” She whispers as he continues to kiss her skin delicately. “Stop...” She breathes, and he pulls away from her, cocking his head to the side.

“What is it?” Y/N takes a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“I need to talk to you about something.” Nick raises his eyebrows, and before she can even continue, he speaks.

“Let me guess. You want to know why we’re not official.” He scoffs. “This again? Really?” He sighs. “Babe, I keep telling you this. We can’t compromise my mission. I’ll tell everyone after it.” Y/N shakes her head.

“Oh, that’s bullshit, Nick! You’ve not been on a mission in almost two weeks! I know this because I’m the one who gave you the report from the last one! All you do is wander around the building and annoy me to see if I’ll get a rise out of it, or to talk to all the other women in the building. Again, I guess it’s to see if I get a rise out of it.” She argues. Nick stands and stares at her, his arms folded. “I just...I just want everyone to know that we’re together, that’s all!” She announces defeatedly, throwing her hands into the air. Nick chuckles, and she hates how it makes her feel. He’s laughing at her. She’s just admitted her worries to him, and he’s laughing at her.

“Babe, if you want me to cover you in love bites so everyone knows you’re taken by me, that’s all you had to say.” He smirks at her. He leans in closer, and his eyes scan over her body once again. This time, however, she only feels anger as he does so. Nick leans in closer, as if to start marking her body, and she moves back from him.

“Nick, this isn’t funny. I’m serious. I want...” She trails off, huffing as she feels tears building in her eyes. “...I just want you to want me! To want all of me, everywhere! I want to be a regular couple who has dates in public! I’m fed up of being a secret, Nick! I’m fed up of only being yours at nighttime...just, please, no more secrecy!” She begs. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts to see all these women throwing themselves at you but knowing I can’t do anything about it? Like who would believe me, huh? Who would think that Y/N Y/L/N would be able to date Nick Fowler, the hottest agent in the CIA?!”

“Women throw themselves at me? Really? Hm. I never noticed.” Nick grins, which only makes her angrier.

“Oh please, of course you’ve noticed. I can see it all written over your face. Stop bullshitting me.” She orders. Suddenly, a thought enters her mind. “Wait...is that why you want to keep us a secret? So you can keep getting all the attention?” Nick sighs, shaking his head slightly. She can tell he’s lying right away. “It is! God, I should’ve guessed it from the start.” She scoffs.

“No, you’re wrong-” Nick begins, but Y/N continues, cutting him off.

“Of course! Where would the great Agent Nick Fowler be without all his adoring fans? He can’t handle being the best agent in the CIA, so he has to have all the women in the agency falling over themselves for him too!”

“Y/N...I’m warning you.” Nick speaks, his voice lower. “Shut. Up.” But Y/N is too invested to not be quiet. 

“Or what, Nick? Have I touched a nerve?” Nick’s face slowly starts to turn into a glare. “What is it then? Can’t you handle being called out? You don’t want to lose everything because if you do, everyone will see that without all your fans and your status, you’re really just a nobody?” In an instant, Nick storms forward.

“I said. Shut. Up. Now, do as you’re told, and shut your mouth.” He hisses, sending a shiver up her spine. His blue eyes are cold, and he regards her with a glare. “And besides, you want to talk about nobodies? Really?” He begins, stepping back from her. “You really think I’d bother myself dating some fucking secretary when I could have any woman in the whole of the CIA? Yeah, I wouldn’t. You were just a fun bit on the side, babe. You’re not the first, and you definitely won’t be the last. It was nice spending time with you though, not going to lie. Actually...” He stops himself to chuckle. “I guess nowadays people call that stringing someone along.” Her heart breaks, and Nick continues to smirk at her. Y/N slaps him hard across the cheek.

“Fuck you.” She spits. Nick chuckles.

“I already did fuck you, babe. And it wasn’t that good, to be honest.” He leans in closer. “Now, get the fuck out of my house.” 

“Gladly.” Y/N turns on her heel and walks back towards the door.

“See you at work tomorrow, babe.” He calls after her. She can just picture the smug grin on his face as he says it. A smug grin she wants to punch right off of his face. Instead, she flips him off, causing him to scoff. Once she reaches the door, she turns around, giving him one last glance.

“Go to hell Nick.”

“By the way Y/N, don’t let the door hit you on the ass too hard on your way out. I’m quite fond of it, actually.” He chuckles. “After all, if I’m not able to grab it anymore, I’d at least like it to still stare at it when it’s in good condition” With a roll of her eyes, and one more middle finger directed at him, Y/N slams the door closed.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨4

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) only plot hehe

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: I’m at my tipping point, I swear. I’m dealing with everything in our household, new bed (delayed delivery yay!), cleaning, cooking, dog walking, and working. My only escape are my fics and this weekend I’m telling everyone to fuck off so I can do the writeathon... but sorry for the rant, enjoy more Clark.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Wednesday trickled by like sand in a glass. You could hardly keep your eyes open as you typed away and a double espresso shot was the only thing that saw you through your hours at the gallery. Vanessa was excited for her next event and already asking after some new pieces from you. You promised her some from your storage unit to stave her off as you held in your yawns. 

You collapsed into bed that night beside Marcus. He complained about his day until he drifted off and you followed suit shortly after. You awoke with a decision, the echoes of your boyfriend’s gripes in your head and heart. You hated how miserable his job made him, how dull your own was. It felt like there was nothing else but the almighty dollar.

You called Clark after an email to Jim, your nerves alight in anticipation of the disgruntled reply. It didn’t matter. You were done. You didn’t need to worry about the all caps messages and curt zoom calls.

“Hey,” Clark picked up, he sounded out of breath.

“Oh, hey, sorry, it’s me,” you swiveled in your chair, “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Nope, just getting in a work out,” he grunted, “you’re not bugging me if you have good news for me.”

“I think… I do,” you forced out, “I just sent in my resignation.”

“Mmm, you don’t sound… happy,” he hummed.

“I am, I think I’m just processing it,” you replied, “I said I’d let you know today so I’m letting you know.”

“Well, how soon can you be here?” he asked.

“Today?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I guess, I could leave as soon as you want me,” you said.

“I’ll send a car,” he intoned, “I’ll give the driver your number, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah,” your voice almost squeaked, “I can do that.”

“Alright, sweetheart, see ya soon.”

The line cut out and you lowered your phone slowly. You stared at Outlook and the new email icon along the taskbar. You closed the laptop and stood. You could worry about the fallout later, right now, you had to get ready for another day of painting.

🎨

It was starting to feel like deja vu every time you arrived at Clark’s house. You got out and thanked the drive, Jeremy, before he drove off. The doors opened before you got to the top of the steps and your host was already dressed in the same outfit he wore for each session. His hair was neat but his beard was even thicker than before.

“I think you can tell I’m a little antsy to start,” he chuckled, “how are you, sweetheart?”

That pet name caught in your mind again. It might just be a habit of his. Nothing more than an absent-minded word.

“Me too, honestly,” you smiled, “but I have a weird question for you.”

“Ask away,” he said as he walked with you through the foyer.

“The beard… you want that in the portrait or--”

“Oh, ha, yeah,” he ran his fingers along his jawline, “I guess I wasn’t thinking. You’re the artist, what do you think?”

“Well, erm, either way is fine,” you said, “I was just… wondering. I’m not even close to starting on, uh, you yet. I mean, right now I’m just working on the background and basic shapes.”

“I’ll let you make the call when you get there,” he said, “say the word and it’s gone.”

“Alright,” you came to the top of the stairs and he pointed you ahead of him.

He followed you as you entered and you went about filling the jar with water and resituating the set up. He sat as you mixed and chose your brush. You climbed the ladder and peered around the canvas at him. He took on the same pose as usual and you dipped the bristles into the pigment. You could make a happy life of this.

🎨

Clark shifted and cleared his throat. You rolled your wrist and glanced back over at him as you drew your hand back from the canvas. He braced the chair and pushed himself up.

“How about a break?” he asked as he shook out his arms, “back’s a bit stiff.”

“Sure,” you said, “I think I could sit down for a moment.”

You took a step down the rung of the ladder but your toe slipped and suddenly your palette was against your chest. You slid down backwards as Clark rushed over and barely kept you from toppling the entire thing over. You laughed at yourself as he righted you and looked down at your paint-streaked shirt.

“Jesus,” you muttered.

“You okay?” he asked as he kept his hand on your upper arm, “be careful.”

“Yeah, I’m-- clumsy, is all,” you carefully pulled away and set down your brush and palette.

“Come on, sit,” he pulled up the stool and planted it before you, “take a minute.”

As you sat, he stretched his arms over his head and then out to the sides. He paced around the other side of the table, long strides as he worked the cramps from his long legs. He stopped and came up to play with a brush as you leaned an elbow on the table.

“Well, I did have another offer for you,” he said, “I was thinking of waiting but might as well ask now.”

“Oh?” you raised your brows curiously.

He swished a slender brush in the air then lowered it and picked at the tip.

“I’m having a get together on Saturday, some business friends and the like,” he said as he set the brush back with the rest, “it won’t be work. You’ve earned some time off. You can even bring the boyfriend.”

“Saturday?” you pondered, “I’m usually at the gallery on Saturdays.”

“It would be great networking,” he said, “and I already told all my friends about you. They’re excited to see your work. It will almost be like a viewing and it’s only right the artist is there.”

“I could make it work,” you mulled, “Marcus would love to come back.” You snickered, “he loves this place.”

“It’s a nice house,” he said casually, “a bit big for one person… hence, the party.”

“I’ll put it in my calendar,” you stood and slid your palette closer and cleaned it off to remix the mess of paints.

“Great,” he said as he rounded the table and brushed close to you, “it’ll be nice to look at a mug besides mine, huh?”

You laughed as you squeezed out the dark paint and nodded, “ha, sure.”

🎨

The rest of your week was spent much the same. Jeremy drove you to Clark’s and you went up to the studio to continue your work between small talk and silences that grew so thick you had to break them with mindless comments. It wasn’t enough to focus on the path of your brush as the man tugged at your attention.

Marcus was excited when you told him about the party. He raved about how he needed to let loose, about how much expensive alcohol he was going to drink, and the awesome backflip he was gonna do into the pool. You reminded him, he hadn’t done anything like that since college but he swore he could still do it.

You didn’t share the sentiment. You were anxious. You were flattered to be invited but despite what Clark said, it still felt like work. His friends were going to be there and he apparently was trying to sell them on your art. 

You didn’t realise until after you hit send on your email, but you put your livelihood in this man’s hands. A man, you reminded yourself, who was little more than a stranger.

On Friday, a day you were thankfully not called to the mansion to teeter on the ladder and paint, the buzzer rang and drew you off the couch from amid your YouTube binge. The man on the speaker called back that he had a delivery and you let him up. You took the box from him, the thick silver ribbon giving away the sender even before you could read the tag.

Inside you found a black dress with little gemstones set into the fabric like stars in the sky. It was nicer than anything you’d ever owned before and a pair of silver shoes were tucked in beneath the outfit. You took the shoes from the tissue paper and something else shifted in the bottom.

You reached in and revealed a velvet box from the depths of overzealous stuffing. You opened the lid and found a simple chain of diamonds. You gaped in disbelief. They were real. The fake ones didn’t look so nice.

You phone chimed before you could even think to call Clark. It was as if he could see you. You answered and your voice warbled pathetically.

“Hi, I was just gonna call,” you touched your throat as it constricted.

“Yeah? I got the notification that it was delivered,” he said, “you like it?”

“It’s too much,” you gulped out, “really, I can’t--”

“I want you to look nice. I want you to feel good and have a good time,” he said, “I feel like you’ve been working so hard. You need a chance to just let it all go.”

“Look, I…” you were uncertain how to handle it. It was more than generosity but you felt wrong denying it as much as you did accepting it, “I’ve never had a boss buy me diamonds. At least let me give those back.”

“Boss?” he mused on the word, “I suppose, but you gotta dress the part now, sweetheart. You’re gonna rub shoulders with a lot of rich dicks like me. Pardon my language.”

“I didn’t realise it was such an upscale thing,” you put the velvet box down and turned to sit on the couch beside the large box. You played with the silver ribbon and chewed your lip.

“Sweetheart, it’s nothing, you got this,” he said, “trust me, if you can win me over, my friends will be child’s play.”

“Mhmmm,” you stared at the tv mindlessly, “Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing all this?”

There was silence and you heard him sigh then a subtle metallic click.

“Because I can. And you’re a talented artist. Didn’t all the big painters used to have patrons back in the day? You know, Da Vinci and all that.”

“Sure, I guess--”

“Look, sweetheart, I’m glad you like the dress, I gotta go.”

He hung up abruptly and you turned your phone to stare at it in confusion. You were starting to get a bad feeling and that little voice in that back of your head, that little sabotaging bitch, whispered in your ear. No, you wouldn’t let your self-doubt get the best of you this time. You either grabbed this chance or you spent the rest of your life doing menial work and painting the world as it passed you by.

🎨

Friday night, Marcus couldn’t stop rambling about the party the next day. You just couldn’t get over the tickle in your chest, the same one you got before job interviews and doctor’s appointments. You were on edge, even as you spent your stress on him, your body writhing against his as you panted and pouted. It had been a while since you fucked. All the work and the stress had just let things slip past you. Maybe with your new gig, you could get back to those early days when it was all you wanted to do.

You slept soundly. You blamed the sex and the momentous week. You got up, had a lazy brunch time meal, and beat Marcus at MarioKart several times over before he convinced you it was time to get ready. 

You pulled on the gifted outfit after fighting with your make-up and hair. You gave a little tada spin to Marcus and he lifted his brow as he tried to figure out his tie.

“Wow, where’d you get that?” he purred, “fuck, let’s be late.”

He ran his hands over your hips as you neared him and fixed his tie for him. You giggled and planted a kiss on his lips.

“Jeremy’s on his way,” you warned, “I don't wanna bite the hand that feeds.”

“Oh, and it feeds you well,” Marcus chirped, “you think he’ll let me have a spin in the McClaren?”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t. I don’t need to scrape you off the side of the road,” you took your phone as the screen lit up, “come on, he’s here.”

“Fuck, babe, really, you’re gonna make me follow you out of here with your ass looking like that?”

“Stop,” you tittered, “you know, there might be more sellers tonight?”

“Oh yeah? I guess you’ll be paying a mortgage soon enough.”

“Me?” you scoffed.

“Sure, I’ll be your sugar baby,” he kidded.

“Well, baby is accurate,” you teased as you stepped onto the elevator, “please, just behave.”

🎨

You were surprised to see Vanessa at the party but reassured to see a familiar face. Clark had been distracted by his other guests and you did your best to mingle, letting Marcus take the lead until he was distracted by another guest’s Rolex and started asking too many questions. If you did start selling art to these kinds, you suspected you’d be paying for a lot of overpriced brands. That was a worry for another time.

You stood with Vanessa and a man she introduced you to. Bruce Wayne was tall and his dark-hair was combed back neatly as he spoke over the glass of wine in his hand. You were bored of the Monet-Manet argument, one you’d heard a million times from the stubborn gallery owner, and you were at your limit of socialisation.

You excused yourself and put down your unfinished drink on a table. You looked around but couldn’t see Marcus anywhere. The last you saw him, he was with Clark but you couldn’t find him either. You frowned and wandered between the pairs and trios gabbing around the room.

Just past the bar, you looked back and still no sign of either man. You huffed and your heels clicked into the foyer and to the stairs. You’d go to the studio and sit for a moment and collect yourself. You just needed to take a breath.

You climbed the stairs slowly, the din of the party floating up behind you. You came to the top but stopped as your eyes were drawn to a pair of open doors opposite the studio. You neared and stayed against the wall as you peeked inside. Marcus admired an old-six shooter and spun the barrel.

“You got everything, man, I swear,” you hid behind the door frame and listened.

“Eh, it’s all just things,” Clark replied, “I bought that from an auctioneer down in Texas. A verified antique but it just hangs here. Not good for much but looking at it.”

“Dude, what I wouldn’t do to live here? Have cool guns and even cooler cars? Shit, you know how fucked it is that my lady is making bank and I’m over here with my dick in my hands? I mean, I’m proud of her but… I mean, if I could get paid thousands for drawing, I would’ve tried to learn.”

“She’s good. Dedicated,” Clark remarked, “she’s special. Worth more than money.”

Marcus hummed and you heard the barrel click back into the place. Neither of the men spoke as you heard something shift and Clark cleared his throat. Subtle footsteps moved around the room and you pressed yourself to the wall. You should leave and let them talk but you couldn’t help but be curious.

“Isn’t she?” Clark prodded.

“Y-yeah, but… I don’t know. I just wish I had more,” Marcus said, “I probably sound like a chump, huh?”

“You can’t have it all,” Clark replied.

“Says the guy who can buy anything and everything,” Marcus moped.

“Oh?” Clark intoned, “so… how about it then? Fifty thousand.”

“For what?” Marcus chuckled nervously.

“Her,” Clark answered.

“Her-- I… my girlfriend?” he sputtered.

“If money can buy me anything, that’s what I want,” Clark said firmly, “it’s a one time offer… whether or not you agree to it, I’m gonna fuck her.”

You skin crawled at his words and you covered your mouth in disgust and shock. You inched closer to the door to hear better as you waited for the response.

“One hundred,” Marcus said.

“Seventy-five,” Clark countered.

“That’s my girlfriend, dude,” Marcus hissed.

“And yet you’re haggling with me over her. Eighty.”

You tore yourself from the wall before you could hear anymore. You felt hollow and heavy all at once. Your eyes were glossy as you scurried over to the studio doors and pushed the left one open. You unhooked the diamond necklace and tossed it onto the paint-stained palette and rolled up your brushes.

You stormed over blindly to the easel and pushed it over. It clattered to the floor loudly but you were already out the door and halfway down the stairs. You gripped your clutch and the bundle of paintbrushes tightly as you continued on outside and the blurred outlines of luxury cars passed you by. 

You stomped up the long drive in your heels as you flicked away tears and pulled out your phone. You knew it was too good to be true. Any of it; your art, Clark, Marcus. You weren’t good for anyone unless they could get something out of you.

[wiypt-writes]

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

A Frank Adler One Shot.

Summary: It’s Frank’s wedding night… but you’re not quite ready to let him go just yet.

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut (NSFW, 18+) allusions to cheating…

Pairings:  Frank Adler x Reader

A/N: Just a little smutty one shot featuring everyone’s favourite Dirty Boat Daddy. Written for @onlyjamesbarnes 1.5k Follower Challenge. Prompt in bold. Congrats babe!!

Lyrics from Fall Out Boy- Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

Frank Adler Master list // Main Masterlist

❤️💔♥️💔♥️💔♥️💔♥️💔♥️💔♥️💔

I'm gonna make you bend and break,

Say a prayer, but let the good times roll

In case God doesn't show…

Frank had always been powerless to resist you. He was a moth to your flame, but like always, you play with fire and you get burnt.

But now, you were the one burning, burning hotter than the sun.

With a groan, you ground your hips down as you leaned back, rolling and rocking down onto him. That face, sharp chiselled jawline covered by a slightly nearer than usual scruff looked back at you, his perfect profile silhouetted against the moonlight which drifted through the curtains of the hotel room.

How could something that wrong feel so fucking right?

And I want these words to make things right, But it's the wrongs that make the words come to life.

"Who does he think he is?"

If that's the worst you've got, better put your fingers back to the keys

He shouldn’t have let you in, but you knew he would as soon as he fired you the message with his room number. Your signature knock had sounded across the plush suite he was spending his last night as a ‘single’ man in, and like a sacrificial lamb welcoming its slaughter, he’d opened the door.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I wanted to see you.” You blinked up at him. He was still in his slacks and dress shirt, from the rehearsal you’d sat through, tie discarded, collar open. He cut a stark contrast to the boat greased and oil stained, salty air cured man you were used to.

He held the door open for you, stepping back and allowing you in. Without a word you walked over to the grand windows the space provided, offering a look at the shoreline outside and below. The view was breathtaking at night, the moonlight shining off the waves as they lapped at the shore, mere metres away from where tomorrow he would take his vows.

Through the reflection of the window behind you, you could see him just as his hands gripped at your waist. You turned on the ball of your foot, manicured fingers running up his chest from his strong pecs to his collarbones and over his shoulders to around his neck, your lips quickly on his. Your tongue slipped inside, tasting a hint of scotch, a half drunk glass of which sat on the small coffee table to the right. Frank moaned against your mouth while your fingers slipped through the neatly trimmed hair of his neck.

You pushed against him slightly with your body, the back of his legs hitting the chair besides the coffee table and he took a seat, breaking your kiss.

“This shouldn’t-“

“Shhh.” You shook your head. “Just give me tonight, please.”

He stared at you with lust blown eyes, different to the playful glint he normally possessed when he used to look at you, as you thought for a second about your next move, bottom lip already swollen from his kiss between your teeth.

You knew he was a goner.

"Y/N," he managed to croak out as you straddled his lap, seating yourself over his now hard cock, the rough fabric of his dark dress pants constraining him, giving you just enough teasing friction agasint your sensitive inner thighs. His large hands slid up your thighs and under your light coloured, flowy dress as you moved your lips over his again, giving him access to your ass, finger tips grazing the barely there material of your panties.

You ground down against him, your hips rolling in a circular motion as he growled into your mouth, squeezing your cheeks with his hands. You kicked off your sandals, making a thud as they hit the plush carpet. A sound that matched that of your heart. A heart that squeezed in your chest, as if someone had wound and elastic band around its middle knowing that tomorrow you’d watch him takes his vows.

And everything would change.

Frank broke away from your lips, to lick and nip at your jaw and down your neck, tongue rolling against your sternum. His face drilled between your breasts, inhaling your scent.

Your fingers found the buttons of his shirt and plucked them open skillfully, French manicured nails raking across his chest, causing him to shudder and groan. You reached for the buckle of his belt, undoing it with little trouble, lifting your hips slightly, showing a strength in your thighs as you lifted away from him, to undo his flies. You adjusted yourself, pushing up on your knees just a little to allow the room you needed to dip your hand just under his boxers waistline, gently gripping at his dick.

“No, not here.” He growled, teeth nipping at the shell of your ear. “I want you in the bed.”

The bed. Where he would spend his first night as a married man.

It was so wrong.

Yet you happily obliged.

It was a well practiced tango the pair of you had danced over the years, and now here you were, him keening underneath you with a desperation you’d come to know well.

You could feel his cock pulsing against your walls and it gave you the chills. You held the power and control as he struggled to keep his.

With a quick movement, Frank sat up, pulling you flush against his chest, the angle hitting you just at that pleasurable spot he always managed to hit within you. His head dropped, lips and teeth gently teasing your nipple, large hands splayed agains your spine as he lavished you with affection.

You started grinding down harder, looking for that clitoral stimulation you wanted and as you found it, he moaned deeply into your ear.

“I’m close, but I don’t wanna… not yet.” His words were a plea, a plea that he wasn’t ready to end, and you knew he didn’t simply mean tonight.

But it had to. There was no way around it.

One night and one more time, thanks for the memories, even though they weren't so great

"He tastes like you only sweeter"

"Just...let...go," you purred against him.

"Oh fahk," he ground out as his feet planted firmly into the mattress and his hips thrust upward. It didn't take much, a few strong and hard drives and you were crying out his name, your head thrown back in ecstasy as you came around around him.

"Jesus, fahkk, I'm gonna fahking.... Oh fahk," he swore vehemently, his old Boston drawl thick as he drove hard into you for a final time, exploding his load deep into you, spraying your walls with ribbons of white cream.

The pair of you collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent. Frank kept you held to his chest as you both drew ragged, heaving breaths. After a moment, Frank pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, no words needed.

And you blinked back a solitary tear.

*****

I'm looking forward to the future, but my eyesight is going bad.

And this crystal ball, it’s always cloudy except for when you look into the past

One night stand

Frank had fallen asleep with you in his arms, not quite ready to let you go. But you were long gone by the time he woke the next morning, the only evidence you’d been in his room was a scribbled note on the pad on the night stand.

“Here’s to the first day of the rest of your life.”

He’d folded the note up and slipped it into his breast pocket, not quite sure why. Maybe it would keep you close to him in those moments he needed to feel you, who knows.

Who knows why any of this had started in the first place.

He watched Mary walk down the aisle first, her bouquet in her hand had been dropped as she had leapt into his arms for a hug, laughing as she told him how excited she was. He’d kissed her cheek and placed her down and she stood by his side, watching as his bride and her father started towards him.

It was then Frank’s eyes had found yours as you watched him, and he swallowed, his chest contracting.

He could still feel your eyes on him and he couldn’t get the image of you bouncing on top of his cock out of his head. He blinked as someone said his name, and he looked at the officiant, clearing his throat.

“Sorry, little nervous.” He apologised, flashing a cheeky grin before he took a deep breath.

A couple of I-Dos later, he was told to kiss his wife. So he did.

And all he could taste was you.

Man and wife walked hand in hand down the aisle to applause, and at the end they stopped and the new Mrs Adler peered up at Frank, a soft smile on her face.

“You happy?”

“Of course.” He smiled back.

“Good, because choosing me to spend your life with, well, I actually think it’s the second best choice you’ve ever made in your life.”

Frank blinked as he heard the click of the photographer's camera. “Oh? The second? What was the first?”

“Letting me into your room last night.” You grinned, your hand sliding up his tux, the diamond studded band catching the sun, glinting in the bright light.

Frank grinned at you, before he arched his eyebrow. “Time will tell if it really was bad luck to see my wife the night before.”

“Didn’t feel like bad luck to me,” you smirked, you hand gently tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as he dropped his head to kiss you, the cheers and applause once more chiming in your ears.

One night and one more time, thanks for the memories

[tommyfroggie]

Chapter Two: Why are you doing this?

Summary: A date with Tom to his favorite club turns out.. not how you expected.

Pairing: Mob!Tom Holland x Mob!FemReader {Mafia AU}

Warnings: fluff, light angst, drug use, OVERDOSE.

Word Count: 1.8K

NO CHOICE MASTERLIST

-----

This is exactly what the message said:

Hey y/n, I'm sure you've heard all about our arrangement. I can't wait to see you soon. I'd like to spend some time with you before we get married. Also, I already have your number, of course, but I dm'd you because you might have freaked out.

Even though he couldn't see it, you rolled your eyes so hard that they could have come out. Just as you were about to reply back something venomous, another text appeared from your dad.

Be nice to him, he's a good bloke.

You rolled your again, but then you decided to go along with it. What could be worse than being friendly, gaining his trust and then ripping everything off completely. You figured you'd let him fall in love with you slowly and then you'd just run away. Maybe to Vegas, forever.

So, you texted him back very politely.

Hey Tom. I can't wait to see you beforehand either, why don't we meet at the club near my house tomorrow at 8. I'm assuming you know where my house is. And, you can text me on my number :)

Maybe the smily face was a bit too much but whatever.

Great, I'll pick you up tomorrow.

You shut your phone and sighed loudly. You even tried to go to sleep but you couldn't. You were afraid he'd come in your dreams if you did.

*

As you were putting on a bit of light makeup to go, your dad entered your room, without knocking, might I add.

"Can you fucking knock?"

"You're going out with Tom?" He asked blankly.

"Well, yeah. I'm not just going to see him for the first time and marry him on the day. At least I would like to get to know him" You spat, while continuing on your face.

"Okay, have a good time" Did he seriously just say that and leave? You had put on a low cut, shiny dress, paired with your diamond bracelets, black heels and a limited edition purse.

Just then, Andrew said from your outside your door "Ma'am, a car is here for you"

"Great" You mumbled sarcastically as you admired yourself one last time in your full length mirror before leaving.

The car was a complete black, with tinted windows and of course it was very expensive. You had a collection of your own personal cars as well.

When you got in the car, you expected to see a driver but it was Tom himself. What a gentleman move. He's going to drive you himself. Poor guy is going to be destroyed when you leave him.

"Hey" You smiled.

"Hey, darling. You look gorgeous" His chocolate brown eyes scanned you up and down.

"Thanks, you look great yourself" You stuttered out. He does have a way with words. He was wearing a classy button up shirt with a maroon blazer and pants, paired with a glinting Rolex of course. All that with his slicked back hair and sharp jawline, he looked gorgeous too, in fact.

The club was five minutes away but you noticed he took a turn before it.

"Where are we going?" You asked.

"Change of plans. I'm taking you to my favourite club, you'll love it"

"Okay" You mumbled. His thick, British accent was like music to your ears.

Most of the ride was silent until he slowly crept a hand over your thigh. "Is this okay, darling?" He asked ever so softly, looking at you.

And oh fuck did that 'darling' do something to your insides. "Y-yeah" you replied and he smiled at you, giving your thigh a light squeeze.

It's funny how your motive for the day was 'Seduce and Destroy', yet somehow his charm had you wrapped around his finger already.

There was still a few minutes to reach so you just asked him the question. "This- This is so weird for me I- I never knew you were-"

"A feared Mob Boss?" He completed your sentence as you nodded.

"Heh. So I've been told. I didn't know about you either, until a few months ago"

"I always just thought you're an actor with a frog in your mouth" You mumbled the last part.

"Wowwww not you too!" He pretended to be highly offended and his boyish behavior made you laugh, which made him laugh too.

You two made light conversation for the rest of the way as he explained to you that acting was always his first interest but, he knew he had to run the Mob too. He mastered keep the two of those separate parts of life over the years. In turn, you explained to him how music was always something you loved but you also loved the Mob more and look forward to completely running soon.

You two exchanged quite a few jokes and you realized that you hadn't laughed or opened up like this to anyone in ages. You had also completely forgotten about your promises to yourself by the time you reached.

It was quite a huge place, seemed welcoming. You could hear the music blasting from inside. He surprised you, AGAIN, by stepping out of his car first and rushing to your door to help you out. Damn, he's really just being the sweetest person possible. Heh, that's not good.

You accepted his hand and gave him a smile as you stepped out. Was that a genuine smile? Fuck. But how could you not?

There was a large line outside but he slipped a hand around your waist and gave one quick look to the guard, enough for him to let you two in at once. The vibes the place gave were simply amazing. The blinding lights with aesthetic frames and teal sofas around tables were a great touch. The music playing was not your type but it was all great otherwise. You could see why he liked it.

You two sat down on one of the tables, close to each other as he ordered the drinks. "You like it?" He asked hopefully.

"Yeah. I can see why you like it" You repeated your thought from earlier. You made a mental note to not drink a lot. You had to be in your senses. As your drinks came, you both made conversation and you don't know why, but you opened up about how you've never done anything like this before, the whole dates and relationships thing, not with your hectic life.

At that, he gently took your hand and said "It's okay, darling. I'm here to teach you anything and everything. We're in this together." And my god, you melted right there. Then, maybe you lost control and downed the alcohol. You took him by his wrist and led him ro dance floor in between a shit ton of people. He licked his lips, eyes filled with lust as he watched you shamelessly grind your ass against his front, you could feel his gun on the side of his pants. He placed his hand on your waist, enjoying every second of your hips moving to the beat.

And then, he just... turned you around and pressed his lips against yours. You wanted to back away, you really did, but you just couldn't. It was like euphoria. It felt surreal. Like your lips were made for each other, oh the way they perfectly molded.

"Fuck, your lips taste amazing" He mumbled while diving his tongue in to explore your mouth as you moaned into the kiss, your hands wrapping around his neck. You didn't want to, it was intoxicating, but a few seconds later you both had to break apart for air.

He placed his forehead against yours as you both stared into each other's eyes, it was like everything else around you in that moment, stopped. And weirdly enough, a soft song was playing. You couldn't help but lean up and give another small peck on his lips as he smiled.

At this point, your mind was on overdrive. Anxiety was oozing out of you, but you hid it well. Your brain was filled with the thoughts.

'What is wrong with me?!'

'Why did I do that??'

'He's the enemy!'

'He's so fucking...pretty though'

'FUCK!'

You both didn't talk much after it and a few minutes later, it was 2.30 in the morning and time to leave. Before you two went outside, you blurted out the question. The temptation was too much to not give in. "W-Why are you doing this?" You didn't dare make eye contact with him.

He was shocked at your sudden question but he knew it needed to be answered. "I just- I fell in love with you the moment I first saw you and when I learnt you're my enemy's fucking daughter. I just had to. I had an opportunity to make you mine, so I did" He said, boldly.

His words shocked you, making your anxiety a hundred times worse. You just nodded sadly as he led you out. It was all getting too much. The person you're supposed to hate kissed you and you couldn't help but kiss back. He also admitted his love for you on the first day of meeting you and of course, you couldn't say it back. Of course you didn't love him. Yet. But there was something deep down in you. Maybe a feeling, a little affection for the British boy. You hated yourself for it. You didn't even know him yet, with his charm, he didn't even seem like a Mob boss.

So, as you were about to get in the car, "Hey, I'm just gonna to the restroom for a bit. Y-You could wait in the car"

"Yeah sure" He said as he got in and you rushed to one of the bathroom stalls in the pub, locking yourself in. Your hands wete shaking at this point. You fumbled and took out your entire packet of pills from inside you bra and flushed them down your throat. You felt the relief, but you also felt your vision blur and next thing, you passed out on the bathroom floor, foamy drugs oozing out of your mouth.

*

You'd been gone for 15 minutes now and Tom was starting to get worried. He grabbed his loaded gun and made his way back inside. He could make out which stall you were in, because of the diamonds shining from underneath.

"Y/n?" He knocked gently. When he received no response, he knocked again, harsher this time. No response again. He could tell something was really wrong. It was probably instinct. He pushed hard against the door and it broke down at once, revealing your passed out, overdosed figure by the wall surface.

"Fuck!! Y/n! No, no, no, shit!"

-----

a/n: Uh oh. That's not good.

-----

Taglist:

@livieweasley @racewife2004 @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @mn-jun @spidey-central @yoursopretty15

[descendantofthesparrow]

Commission work - Oneshot - Poly Huma x NB reader - News

Commissioner - @random-thoughts-003​

=

Oh shit…oh fuck.

Oh shit oh fuck, oh shit shit fuck.

This was not planned; this was not planned one bit. This had not been part of your calculations.

Falling in love with your captain and first mate was very much NOT on your agenda of life. Being a pirate? Yep. Plotting to leave the isle? Yep. Being non-binary? Well not at first but yep that was on the agenda.

Falling in love with Uma; Daughter of Ursula and Harry Hook; son of Captain Hook? nope, nada, never in all your years had you planned for that one.

But how could you not? Uma’s otherworldly beauty and compassion doing nothing but drawing your heart towards her. Harry's passion and fucking diamond-cut jawline drawing you into a pit of fluster and heart palpitations whenever you locked eyes with him.

And it was your luck that they were already dating, they had taken other lovers before but it never lasted long, and while you might’ve had a leg up on the others, being one of their oldest friends and knowing everything about them, you were terrified to ask about potentially joining their relationship and ruining the friendship you had built over the years.

…they didn’t even know you were non-binary, they still thought of you as ‘daughter of captain jack sparrow’ instead of just ‘descendant of’, and you wanted to tell them about that before you even thought about asking them out.

You sighed, smacking your head down onto your pillow and closing your eyes, remembering the first time you had met them when you were only 5 years old.

-

You had been walking along the docks, just beside your father's ship; the black pearl with Mr. Gibbs watching you from the deck. And as you turned on the ball of your foot to walk back to the other end you heard a voice, two of them actually, whispering.

“Is that really it?” a girl asked, the shuffling of clothes coming from the same spot as a boyish voice joined her, and it had a Scottish accent.

“Aye, the black pearl~ one of tha’ most legendary ships in existence Uma, more known than me da’s, it can sail faster than’ any ship in the world, even those old British ones me dad used to sail on”

You walked towards the voices and smiled, seeing Uma; the daughter of Ursula, and Harry Hook; the son of Captain Hook, staring in awe at your dad's ship.

“I can show you it if you’d like?” you giggled a bit as Harry jumped into the air in fright as Uma whirled around with her fists up, a glare set on her adorable face.

“Who are yeh?” Harry asked in a growly tone, one that didn’t fit his pitched voice, as he pointed his oversized hook at you.

“(y/n), (y/n) Sparrow” you chirped, grinning as Harry's eyes winded and he let his arm drop, Uma grabbing onto his jacket as she realized exactly who you were. “Now would you, or would you not like a tour of my dad's ship?”

“Yes!” Uma yelled out, pulling the disoriented Harry along with her as you turned on your heel and walked back to the ship, Mr. Gibbs smiling down at the three of you.

“Seems the little captain has made new friends” he muttered to himself as he took out his flask and took a swig, continuing to watch you as you showed Uma and Harry the ship.

-

And since that day the three of you had been attached at the hip, getting into all sorts of trouble and causing chaos all over the isle, you had been there when Mal dumped rotten shrimp all over Uma, you had been there when Harry had been kicked out of his dad's ship for not living up to hooks expectations, you had been there when Gil joined your little group and then when he drifted away.

13 years of friendship, and in all that time, you had not. Fucking. planned. to fall in love with either of them.

Well, you hadn't planned for a lot of things but AGAIN falling in love with your best and oldest friends was not on the list.

You huffed and sat up in bed, holding your little plush shark Harry had made you a long time ago to your chest, bouncing your leg as you tried to think of all the possibilities of what could happen if you told Harry and Uma your secret.

You knew they wouldn’t react harshly, there were multiple crew members like you, either non-binary or even gender-fluid, Desiree and Davis being some of them, and Uma and Harry had accepted all of them with open arms. But what you were more worried about was when you confessed your feelings.

Would they accept you or reject you, would you lose their friendship or gain their love? You took a deep breath and shook your head, patting your cheeks as you stood from your bed and got dressed. “No, I got this, I can do this” you breathed in again and tied off your boots, ruffling your hair before putting on your tri-corn hat and grabbing your sword “let's do this” you sighed one last time and left your room on the black pearl, heading down the deck and down to the docks towards Ursula's chip shop to find Harry and Uma.

You felt your heart race as you stepped into the restaurant, face flushing as you spotted Harry at the main table as Uma walked around the shop, apron around her waist and pencil behind her ear as she slid orders in front of patrons and snarled at those who demanded to be given something else. “-and I wanted a sea pony, Life ain't fair!” Uma yelled, tossing her last tray in front of a pirate and walking back to the main table, sighing as she leaned onto it.

“cap’n” you called as you pulled out a stool and sat next to her, smiling as she gave you a finger wave.

“sparrow” she muttered back, yawning a bit “I need you to run some money routes with Harry today, then help train the crew when you get back” you nodded and took a handful of fries from Harry's plate, grinning as he pouted at you.

“Kay, um, actually could I talk to you both after? I need to tell you something” Harry and Uma looked at each other, then back at you and nodded.

“Aye, no problem” Uma nodded along with his words, pushing off the table and tilting her head at you.

“Yeah, we can meet in my room after training” she patted your shoulder and turned, heading back into the kitchen to grab the ‘fresh’ trays of food for the other customers.

You took a deep breath, mentally readying yourself to tell them and taking a fish stick from Harry's plate, laughing a bit as he attempted to snatch it from you. “Hey, you can easily prevent me from taking your food it's your fault that you don’t try” Harry pouted and grumbled, continuing NOT to block his food as he passively continued to share it with you.

-

“Okay, so what did you need to talk to us about?” Uma asked, leaning back on her desk and crossing her arms and legs, raising her brow as Harry plopped into her spinny chair and hiked his boots onto the desk, smirking as she clicked her jaw at him.

“well-um, there's kinda two things I need to talk to you about” you fiddled with your fingers nervously, were you really about to do this?...yes. “Um, I’m-I’m non-binary”

Nerves bubbled in your gut as Uma and Harry stared at you for a moment before Harry’s eyes went wide and he facepalmed, making you jump from the sudden action “Sparrow” Uma cooed, stepping forward and taking your hands, giving you that smile that she reserved for her closest friends “thank you for trusting us with that, I know it takes so much bravery to tell someone something like that even your own friends but…fucking duh?” you snorted in surprise, staring at Uma as she grinned.

“I-wha?” you laughed, closing your eyes as Uma ruffled your hair.

“Sparrow, you never tried to hide it, the hair, the more masculine style, the way you lit up whenever anyone referred to you with they-them pronouns? You’ve asked about being non-binary to Desiree before too, I pay attention to you (y/n), it ain't hard to see.” You beamed at Uma as she took your hands again and gave you a comforting smile. “And I know how your mind works so just to nail it into your head, I fully accept you for who you are”

“Just gonna budge inta this fer a moment” Harry interrupted your moment with Uma and stood from her desk, walking over to you and patting your shoulders “I accept yeh fer who yeh are as well but how the fuck did it take me this long to realize yeh are non-binary…Well” Harry laughed, scratching his chin as he zoned out slightly, “I think I knew but meh brain didn’t connect the dots until yeh told us jus’ now”

You laughed and shook your head a bit, Harry was very smart but like Gil, he sometimes took a moment to connect certain dots. “Cause your stupid?” Uma answered his question with a teasing smirk, laughing as he rolled his eyes and pushed at her shoulder gently.

“So wha’ was the other thing yeh needed ta tell us?” Harry asked, raising his brow at you as you felt your face flush as you prepared to confess the other thing to them.

“Um-well…you know how you and Uma feel about each other?” they nodded, not knowing where you were going with this conversation. “Um, I-I feel the same way about both of you…im in love with you, both of you” Uma and Harry.Exe Have stopped working.

They stared at you in complete shock, Umas jaw-dropping as Harry stumbled back a bit, his cheeks blowing up in red “is- oh hades I hope I didn’t ruin our friendship but I had to get that off my chest, I loved you since I was like, 13 and I just-I just” Uma grabbed onto your hands and after you got control of your breathing, she smiled at you.

“You want to know something Ironic?” she asked, intertwining your fingers with hers and laughing, eyeing Harry behind her who was gaining control of himself again “Harry and I were just talking about asking you to join our relationship”

(y/n) Sparrow.Exe has stopped working.

“I-you-me-Harry…what?” you squeaked, closing your eyes as Uma leaned in and cupped your face. “Really?”

“yes” Uma cooed, smiling as you peeked one eye at her “(y/n) I fell in love with you a long time ago, when we were 12 and I realized you, along with Harry, had stuck by me no matter what even after being harassed for staying by my side, that’s when I realized I loved both of you, I just didn’t know if you liked girls so I was scared to say anything, but-with your confession just now, I’m not scared anymore”

You stayed quiet for a moment, your face continuing to heat up in Umas hands as she smiled at you “earth to Sparrow? You there?” she took her hands off your cheeks and waved her hands in front of your face, snorting as you shook your head and smacked your cheeks “uh, okay?”

Harry laughed a bit at your expression, melting into a soft smile as you looked at him “guess yer wondering when I feel fer yeh huh?” you bit your lip and looked to your feet, then back up at him through your lashes “well, I realized I loved yeh when yeh convinced yer dads ta let me stay on the black pearl after me da’ kicked me out, yer kindness drew meh heart ya yeh and yeh have had it since” Harry laughed softly at your teary eyes and cupped your cheeks to wipe your tears “oh Sparrow don’ cry”

“But you both love me and I love you both and it's just so overwhelming ahhh!” you half screamed as you laughed out your words, pulling Uma and Harry into a hug as they started to laugh along.

“So I’ll take that as a yes you want to join our relationship?” Uma asked into your shoulder, smiling as you nodded against her. “good”

-several months later, in Auradon-

“I can't believe it finally happened” you sighed, stretching out as you stepped onto Auradon soil for the first time, Uma, Gil, and Harry stepped out behind you from the limo. Harry squinting from the sun “we’re actually in Auradon”

“Someone turn tha’ sun off” Harry grumbled, tossing his arm over your shoulder and glaring at the sun, closing his eyes after he did “ow”

“that’s your fault” Uma chuckled, wrapping her arm around your arm that wasn’t occupied by Harry and nodding at Ben as he walked toward the four of you “hey beasty”

“Hi! Welcome to Auradon, again I want to apologize for the long wait, and I assume you all would like to go settle into your rooms as soon as possible?” The four of you nodded and Ben grinned, nodding his head towards the dorms. “Awesome, but first, FG”

You followed Ben to meet FG, where the other four vks were and Evie beamed at you, clapping her hands lightly as FG began to speak.

“Mr. LeGume, Mr. Hook, Ms. Triskelion, Ms. Sparrow” you twitched at that and Uma cleared her throat as FG looked to her slightly confused.

She looked to you for permission and you nodded with a  small smile, and Uma smirked as she looked back at FG “Mx. Sparrow” Uma stated simply, FG gasping in realization as the other vks looked as if something clicked just then.

“Oh im sorry! They/them I assume?” you smiled and nodded, glad that the fairy godmother had adjusted to it quickly and seemed to have no problem with you. FG went into a whole mini-speech about the rules of the dorms and school, then finally; “Mx. Sparrow, you and Uma will be rooming together as Mr. Hook and Mr. Legume will be rooming together, shall I show you to your rooms?”

You Uma and Harry hung back as Jay and Gil grouped together slightly and talked, Evie and Mal stepping next to the three of you “so everything makes sense now” Mal started, laughing slightly “ya know I really should’ve connected the dots a long time ago on you (y/n)…you are non-binary right? I don’t wanna assume n stuff” you snorted and nodded, Mal sighing in relief “thank fuck, I’d rather not deal with an angry Uma for misgendering you n all that”

You rolled your eyes and pushed Mal away, Uma smirking as she stumbled. “haha” Uma chuckled dryly, stopping as FG unlocked what you assumed was your and Uma’s dorm and stepping in as she gestured inside.

“Dang, it Evie did you redecorate?! I wanted to see Uma’s reaction to the pink!” Mal complained in a teasing tone, crossing her arms and pouting as Evie rolled her eyes.

“I might’ve liked it but knowing (y/n) and Uma, they wouldn’t have liked it and I wanted to spare them spending weeks of redecorating” you gave a grateful smile to Evie and flopped on your bed, humming as Uma flopped next to you and laid her head on your chest “well, we’ll let you two settle in, see ya!” Evie grabbed Mal and dragged her out of the room. Harry sidestepped them and hopped onto your other side, resting his chin on your shoulder and grinning at Uma.

“Well, we’re finally in bora-don~…im taking the both of yeh on a date tomorrow, a proper one, with good food n shit” you laughed, making Uma bounce a bit as she nodded in agreement.

“let's do it, almost five months of us being together and we have yet to go on a real date” Uma chortled out, reaching towards Harry and curling her hand into his hair, Harry closing his eyes and almost purring as she scratched his scalp. “Sounds fun, let's do it!” you cheered, throwing your hands into the air then flopping them down, resting them on your boyfriend and girlfriend's backs.

“let's go down to the docks, experience the ocean for the first time, for real” Uma hummed into your neck, smiling as yours and Harry’s eyes sparkled at the thought of it.

“Yes!”

-next day-

You watched in wonder as the sun started to set against the horizon, sitting in between Uma and Harry, Umas hand on your thigh as Harry supported your back with his arm, his head resting on your head.

“Hey (y/n)?” Uma muttered aloud, taking her head off your shoulder and waiting until you turned your head towards her to press her lips into yours. You squeaked and felt your face flush, pouting at Uma as she pulled back with a smug grin “I just realized we had never kissed~”

“Not fair!” Harry pouted, sliding his arms around your waist and pulling you into his lap “I wanted ta kiss em first!” you laughed away your fluster and turned in Harry's grip, grabbing his face and pressing your lips to his, smiling as he hummed into it and tightened his grip on you.

“there” you laughed, pulling away and patting Harry's cheeks, Uma chuckling as Harry's eyes stayed close in his daze “happy?”

“very~” Harry purred, eyes widening as Uma grabbed his face and pressed her lips to his “oaihsduiahsdioahsdia” Harry's face turned red and he flopped against your shoulder.

“I think we just heard Harry, audibly, keyboard smash” you cackled, getting comfortable on Harry's lap as Uma leaned against your thighs and grinned. “didn’t know that was possible”

“It’s Harry, everything’s possible”

-about a year later, in Auradon, around your birthday-

-the best pirates-

Seagoddess - hey sparrow what are your measurements for your underarm, the largest part of your chest, your underbust, and your shoulder width

Sparrow - why do you need to know?

Hookie - because, now give it

Sparrow - and why do YOU need to know????? And uh it's (measurements)

Seagoddess - dope, thank you, imma pick up some ice cream on the way back okay?

Sparrow - cool, why the fuck did you need my chest measurements

…

…

Sparrow - alright then fuck me I guess

Hookie - how bout later bby~? (*￣3￣)╭ <3

Sparrow - how the fuck do you do those emojis?????

Seagoddess - it’s Harry, he has hackz

Hookie - I don’t but they arent that hard to figure out

Sparrow - says the person who took three hours to figure them out

Sparrow -WITH carlos’ help

Hookie - SHUSH

You snorted at Harry's message and turned off your screen, pocketing your phone and turning your attention back to the teacher, scribbling down notes, and answered questions when asked.

“Now I want you to answer questions twenty-four through thirty-five in your algebra book for tonight's homework, Class dismissed!” you packed up and slung you bag over your shoulder, almost rushing out of the room and catching yourself on Gil, who was leaving his history class.

“Hi Sparrow~!” Gil chirped, pulling you into his side and guiding you through the wild halls of Auradon prep, humming a random tune as he did “oh, by the way, any ideas on what we’re doing for your birthday?” you snorted and looked up at Gil with a raised brow.

“What makes you think I know? And I would think you would be more informed than me? Harry and Uma are planning it all n stuff” Gil shrugged.

“they’re keeping it all a secret from me, something about not being able to keep secrets” you laughed in agreement and split from Gil to reach your locker, putting away your books and grabbing your homework books. “All I know is that we're having the party on the ship” you hummed, remembering when Ben had ordered the repair and retrieval of the lost revenge and it now rested at his private docks.

You slid your homework books into your bag and relocked our locker, turning back to Gil and letting him guide you through the hectic halls of Auradon prep once more.

-a couple of days later-

It was finally your birthday and you had spent the entire day surrounded by your friends and two lovers, Uma and Harry had hardly left your side, one hand always on you and grins never leaving their faces. You had gotten so many gifts and ate so much (fav birthday dessert), but apparently, you had one more gift left.

“Soooo why did you wait until the party was over?” you asked Uma as you stepped into your shared room, Harry closing the door behind Uma as he followed you in. “to give me my gift?”

“Because… this one’s a bit more personal” Uma hummed, setting the gift box wrapped in (fav color) on your bed and sitting next to it, nodding to it with a soft smile as Harry followed her lead. “Go on, open it~!!” Uma bounced a little in excitement as you laughed and started to rip the paper, gasping at the sight of the plain white box holding your actual present.

“a box! My favorite thing!” you joked, snickering as Uma rolled her eyes and smacked your thigh. You undid the tape holding the box together and threw off the top, digging through the paper you stopped, tears rushing into your eyes as you started at the black piece of fabric.

“Happy birthday (y/n), you’ve talked about wanting one before but couldn’t find or afford to get it so…” she gestured to the binder in your hands as you brought it out of the box, your entire body trembling as you stared at the chest piece.

“I-Uma” your voice cracked and you held the clothing to your chest, looking down at Uma “thank you”

“you’re welcome (y/n), I love you” she stood and wrapped her arms around you, Harry cooing at you and joining the hug a moment later as you reached out to him.

“I love you too! -and Harry!” you sobbed into Harry's bicep as he rubbed the back of your head “did-did you wash it, I wanna-“ Uma grinned in the middle of your sentence and nodded towards the bathroom, but you ignored the gesture and pushed away from them, throwing off your shirt and sports bra, your shirt landing on Harry's face as he laughed.

“Ha!” Uma cackled, leaning down to pick up your bra and tossing it into the hamper, watching with a big smile as you semi-struggled to put on the flattening fabric but ultimately succeeded.

“Ah-“ your voice wobbled as you looked down at your fully flat chest, the black binder covering everything “-guys~” Uma chuckled again and grabbed your shirt from Harry, walking over to you and pulling it over your head to give you the full effect “Uma~!!!” tears ran down your cheeks as you quickly hugged Uma then ran to your mirror, gasping in awe as you saw yourself “ahhhhh!!! Guys~!!!”

Uma and Harry smiled at each other before they walked over to you and pulled you into a strong hug “I love you two ahhhhh!” you cried, burying your face into Harry's shoulder as you clutched onto Uma's arm.

“We love you/yeh too” they responded back, both pressing a kiss to your cheeks.

-end~-

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[h1tmanmode]

ok this has definitely been said before but

i decided to listen to welcome to night vale, and after listening to the entirety of magnus. and being attached on season 1 specifically. the whiplash of how Protagonist treats Future Love Interest is so fucking similar yet so drastically different and its hilarious

like. jon and cecil are both hosts of a public program talking about paranormal sightings. and both have some guy whos helping them who is the EXACT opposite of their personality

and jons reaction to this, in front of a public audience is "ugh. i hate martin so much. he never contributes besides the fact he can make a half-decent cup of tea. besides that, all he does is get in the way and is a bloody nuisance. martin if youre listening to this go do something more productive. or at least spare me the courtesy of quitting. now back to a woman exploding into worms <3"

and then cecils reaction in front of a public audience is "ohhhhhgh my god listeners,, have you SEEN carlos??????? everyone agrees hes so pretty guys. cmon. hes so perfect. look at his HAIR haveyouseenthoselocks. ohmygodhessohot. his jawline could cut diamonds hes so sweet and smart and sciencey UGH. carlos if you even GRACE me with your mere presence by listening to this radio. please kiss me on the mouth. god. uh. cough. anyways listeners sorry about that. now back to the cultist group stealing our children <3"

AND BOTH OF THEM ARE SO SO SO FUNNY.