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stranger-writer · 5 years

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A Bowers’ Bet

Hello all you beauties out there! In celebration of the release of It Chapter 2, I thought i’d post this since it’s been sitting in my drafts for awhile and what better time than now to indulge in the guilty pleasure that is known as The Bowers Gang? Let me know what you think!:)

Summary: When Henry and Patrick make a twisted pact on who can steal Derry High’s most inexperienced student’s virginity first, they think it will be their most exciting game yet. But what happens when one starts to develop feelings, while the other is determined as ever to win, no matter what or who is standing in their way?

A Bowers’ Bet Part 2

“Fuck, I wish you could have seen the tits on this one. They were a nice distraction from her whiney fucking voice. You should have heard her. ‘Oh Patrick, please, fuck me. Patrick your cock is so big. Patrick I want it harder. Patrick tell me what a dumb fucking bitch I am,” Patrick shrieks in his best attempt at the girls high pitched voice. As if humiliating his girls when they were alone wasn’t enough, Patrick felt he always needed to talk about the intimate details to his three best buddies later.

“Well maybe that last part is what I was thinking but still, it was making my fucking dick go limp, so I made sure to not only shut her up then and there, but tried to make her lose her voice to spare everybody else who has to endure it constantly in the best way I knew how,” he sneers, his cheshire grin growing from ear to ear as he was reminiscing on the beautiful fear that flashed in the girl’s light blue eyes. It was an instant look of regret, but Patrick relished that sudden realization, knowing it was way too late to back out since they were already bare and on their knees for him because lets face it, he is never one to show mercy. Getting involved with someone like Patrick was like playing with fire, sooner or later you’re bound to get burned.... literally.

Vic and Belch let out an awkward laugh, trying to appease Patrick as Henry gave him the biggest eye roll of the century. Henry couldn’t stand listening to Patrick’s play by play of which girl he fucked, how they fucked, where they fucked, and everything in between. Even though he would never admit it, Henry was secretly jealous of Patrick because of how much action he constantly got. Patrick noticed Henry’s annoyed expression from the unamused scowl on his face.

“What stick is up your ass today huh?” Patrick questions, calling Henry out in front of the whole group.

“Nothin’ you asshole, I’d just like to talk about something else other than hearing you go on and on about fucking the living day lights out of Macy Hartfield.”

“Alright then,” Patrick mocks, interlocking his fingers together as he sets them down onto the lunch table. “Enough about me. Let’s talk about you. So tell us Bowers, what girls have you been fucking lately?”

Patrick knew Henry wasn’t getting any, but he just enjoyed pushing his buttons way too much.

“I get plenty of pussy thank you very fucking much, sorry not everyone goes for the school’s biggest come dumpsters,” Henry scoffs, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed.

“Oh Henry, you’re so cute when you’re jealous. Why don’t you just accept the fact that I can get any bitch in this place on their backs for me. Or preferably, their stomachs.”

Suddenly, a very awful, terrible idea comes to Henry’s malicious mind. “You want to bet on it?” he challenges, putting his elbows on the table.

Patrick squints his eyes slightly, a sly smirk forming on his mouth as he licks his lips in great anticipation.

“What kind of bet we talkin’ about here Bowers?” Patrick asks with his voice low, scooting his chair as he leans in closer to Henry, feeling extremely intrigued.

“I’ll give you two weeks to make the school’s Virgin Mary want to fuck you,” Henry challenges, grinning widely as the scheme that was brewing in his head began, making his eyes light up with excitement.

Patrick chortles before he responds. “And who might that be?”

Henry literally couldn’t stifle the smug grin any longer, until he finally points his finger to the far right corner at a girl who was sitting by herself with papers and books scrawled out all over the table.

“Her.”

Patrick follows Henry’s directions when he notices the lovely brunette with the glasses, sitting alone but looking very much occupied with some sorts of school work. Her name is Juliet and she was known for being one of Derry High’s brightest students. Juliet could be described as bashful by most, but is very sweet and genuinely loves being able to help people, no matter who it is, any way she can. Unfortunately, having brains and a pure heart leaves her with the ultimate stereotypical label of being “inexperienced” and way too innocent to ever be as promiscuous as the other popular girls in school. Patrick observed the way her clothes fit a bit too loose around her small frame and how she was wearing a lavender cardigan with long sleeves even though it was hot out and how her long dark brown hair fell into loose waves in front of her face.

Although underneath the clothing and square framed glasses, no one had ever really took the chance to realize how beautiful she was. Juliet had light freckles that speckled across her nose, voluptuous pink lips that could make any boy imagine what it’d feel like to kiss them, and her eyes were a hazel color that could be almost hypnotizing. As Patrick observed her, he noticed every detail of her in an instant, making him smirk in satisfaction because Juliet was everything he desired; attractive, fragile, and weak.

“Oh you’ve got yourself a deal Bowers,” Patrick agrees, already having a hard time tearing his eyes away from his new found possession. “But how about we make things a little more interesting?” he grins, turning back so he’s facing Henry. Suddenly, Patrick gets an even worse idea.

“You have to try to pop her cherry too,” Patrick smirks.

“What the fuck you mean Hockstetter?” Henry fumes, becoming clearly irritated that his evil scheme wasn’t going according to plan.

“Whoever fucks the girl first wins,” Patrick declares.

Henry glances over at Juliet once again, now despising himself for picking her because the only reason he had in the first place was because she literally had “virgin” written across her forehead.

"Whats wrong Henry? Scared?” Patrick taunts, throwing his hands behind his head as he stretched his tall legs out in front of him.

Henry Bowers’ reputation and ego was too important to him than to have his gang thinking he was a pussy.

“I ain’t fucking scared, you’re on,” Henry smirks, biting his lips as the two boys shake hands.

“Well how are you going to prove if one of you have sex with her?” Vic intervenes, bringing up a fairly good point. I’m sure Belch and Vic wouldn’t put it past Henry to make up some elaborate lie if it came down to it. He would do anything to not kill his incredibly large ego.

“Trust me, when four eyes misses a day of school because she can’t walk, you’ll know why. But if you need actual evidence I can gladly bring in the bloody sheets. I’ll be keeping them as a souvenir anyways,” Patrick chuckles, looking at the girl once again, his thoughts running wild with every little dirty thing he had planned for her.

Henry shakes his head in disgust, “What the fuck? No, we’ll just have to trust each other’s word, but let’s make one thing clear Hockstetter. You can’t force her or scare her into fucking you. The whole point is to actually have her fall for one of us.”

“You guys are both way over your heads. You’ll never get a girl like that to fuck either of you scum bags,” Belch laughs before chugging down the remainder of his chocolate milk.

“Oh just you wait,” Patrick states biting his bottom lip, staring blankly yet intently at Juliet. He rises up from his seat before leering down at Henry, smiling wickedly. He briefly glances at Juliet once more before his beady eyes go right back down to his best friend. “Let the games begin Bowers.”

Patrick turns and coolly starts to stalk his way over to her table, taking his sweet time with every slow stride as he begins getting closer to her. He reaches her table and it’s like his looming presence is impossible not to notice as Juliet slowly lifts her head up. Her big, doe, eyes widened a bit as her insides churned slightly when she realized who was standing in front of her. Even though Juliet wasn’t defined as a cool girl, it didn't mean she lived under a rock and never heard all the insane stories about the deranged boy.

“Hey there pretty girl, mind if I join?” he nods, motioning to the chair beside her. Patrick doesn’t even give the poor girl an option to respond as he slides the chair out, causing a high pitch screeching sound, before sitting down beside her. He sat so close that their shoulders and thighs were touching making her feel a little uncomfortable, but of course Juliet would never have the nerve to tell him to go away. Patrick takes no time before he begins analyzing her so intently, she feels as if he was staring right into her soul.

“Hey Patrick,” she greets with a soft smile. Patrick just continues to stare at her, completely taking her in. Juliet then realizes what he must need from her.

“So let me guess? Mrs. Evan’s algebra homework? Or maybe Mr. Beasley’s English outline?” she questions as her nose scrunches a little bit in a teasing manner. The way she said it was not cocky, but cute and her delicate voice had a certain soothingness to it that even Patrick couldn’t ignore. He breathed in, inhaling her pure, innocent, scent feeling so tempted to just touch her. To feel her. It was strange, Patrick suddenly felt ticked off that she was so used to boys only wanting her for her brains that she automatically assumed he was only talking to her to jot some math answers down.

“You’re so accustomed to people only wanting to use you for that little head of yours aren’t ya?” he grins as his eyes raked down her body unshamefully.

“Sometimes,” she responds while tilting her head a bit. “And your so accustomed to everyone being petrified of you. Aren’t you?”

Patrick was a bit taken back that she wasn’t stuttering under his intense gaze, how she wasn’t staring down at the ground in uneasiness, or how she wasn’t fidgeting, desperately hoping he would just go away.

“I guess you could say that,” Patrick answers, somehow scooting even closer to her. He takes his long fingers to her collarbones and lightly traces over them as he begins to toy with her necklace. “Tell me,” he demands in a husky tone, his voice almost sounding an octave deeper as he continues to ask, “Are you afraid of me princess?”

She studies his face quizzically for a second before she chuckles,“Well I suppose that depends.” Juliet grabs his hand and places it back onto his lap. “Do I have any reasons to be?”

“Depends,” he mocks her as he drapes his arm around Juliet’s chair.

“On?”

“If you’re willing to go out with me this weekend and find out for yourself.”

Juliet knew Patrick Hockstetter was an intense and strange person, but she figured many of the rumors about Patrick must be false or extremely fabricated. Although, who would even possess the vile imagination those stories held?

“Hmmm, I don’t know, sounds a bit risky,” Juliet swiftly remarks as she begins to gather all her papers in place to put in her folder. Patrick doesn’t move as he watches her intently, his tongue gliding back and forth on his teeth as he begins to ponder what to do with this girl who he seriously underestimated. Juliet seemed to be poised and confident, which actually intrigued Patrick more, but he knew he needed to change that real quick.

“You’re probably right,” Patrick responds quirking an eyebrow up, making Juliet stop what she was doing and look into his eyes. “I mean it would be so easy to lure you in my room, tear your clothes off with a knife and cut that sweet tan skin of yours as I take those glasses off so you wouldn’t even be able to clearly see what would be coming next.”

Juliet freezes, appearing a bit stunned at Patricks intense words. Her eyes couldn’t help but widen a bit as she unknowingly begins to peer at Patrick in fear.

“Or there’s always dinner and a movie. Your choice,” he smirks as he begins to chuckle, making Juliet exhale a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding in. She began to awkwardly laugh with him, but there was a daunting way he said those words that made her feel like he was not kidding.

She begins piling her belongings in her book bag rather hastily now, desperately trying to conjure up how to turn down Patrick graciously.

“I’m really sorry Patrick, but I’m going to pass on both choices,” Juliet states while standing up and putting her bag over her shoulder.

This made him angry, but he knew he had to keep his cool to get her where he needed. It’s as if she was a mouse and he was the deadly trap waiting to snap down onto her neck to crush her. Usually his dangerous charm worked on every girl he wanted in his bed.

“Well you haven’t even listened to option three yet,” he says as more of a demand, standing up so he was hovering over her tiny height, blocking her from walking past him.

“Listen Patrick, I’m sure you’re a very...uhm..uhh” Juliet was stumbling on her own words, having a hard time figuring out if she had actually heard anything good about Patrick at all. She huffed and took a breath before she restarted and continued, “I’m sure you are a very nice guy, but I know your ways and I’m not falling for any of them.”

Patrick belts out in a laugh before he responds, “Oh please sweetheart, enlighten me.”

“If I say no, you enjoy it because you like the challenge of persuading me otherwise. If I say yes, you get what you want faster.”

Patrick ducks his head lower to get eye to eye level with her, smirking profoundly. “Sounds like in either situation you’re stuck with me.”

“Well you haven’t listened to my option yet,” Juliet persuades, gently pressing her hand against his chest so he would back away a bit. “Patrick, please, let’s just pretend this encounter didn’t happen today and we can just go on like we have been.”

Patrick snickered quietly, making Juliet become more internally frustrated.

“And here I thought you had me all figured out there princess,” he sneers before he states, “But there’s one thing you left out.” Patrick grabs her by the neck firmly as he moves his mouth to her ear when he slowly murmurs,"When I want something, I fantasize about it all day long. I think about it so much I drive myself crazy thinking about how much I need it. How much I want it. How much I fucking crave it.”

Patrick begins combing through her long strands with his bony fingers before he continues. “So basically,” he states, gripping her neck slightly harder, “When I want something, there’s no going back.”

Juliet briefly closes her eyes in frustration before he moves to face her, releasing his grip on her neck and gently grabbing her chin now. “Understand?”

“Patrick, you’re just wasting your time okay? I’m really sorry, but I just don’t want to go out with you and I never will.”Juliet became shocked at her harsh words towards the boy. She has never spoken to somebody like this before. It’s like Patrick’s transparency was contagious.

“Bet I'll change your mind,” he winks and with that, he releases her and turns to walk away into the crowded lunch room towards the door, leaving Juliet confused with his sudden mood change. All she is left with is his famous last words that she would never know the double meaning of until it’s too late.

Henry was livid having to witness Patrick and Juliet’s interaction at lunch today from afar and knew if he wanted to beat Hockstetter at his own game, he had to think not only hard, but fast. He knew absolutely nothing about Juliet, other than the fact that she was a goody two shoes who has never been touched before. He had to talk to someone who could give him at least some information about what the girl liked or disliked, and Henry knew exactly the person to ask.

Eddie Kaspbrak. Henry has seen them in the library numerous of times and that was because Juliet tutored him whenever he needed help with math which was very often.

As soon as that bell rang, Henry darted down the math hallway in search of the kid’s dorky face. Finally, he spots him heading into the boy’s bathroom. Perfect, Henry thought to himself.

He waits outside the stall Eddie is in until the door swings open. The skinny boy sees the infamous Henry Bowers right in front of him and his facial features go from relaxed to petrified.

“Tell me everything you know about Juliet,” Henry demands, cutting right to the chase as he props his hand up on the bathroom stall. Eddie’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. Wait, no swirlie? No atomic wedgie?

“Why?” Eddie questions. Part of him was purely just curious and another part of him was concerned for her. Henry grabs him by his perfectly ironed, red collar as he brings his face closer to his.

“That wasn’t a fucking question loser, tell me what you know about the girl.”

That makes Eddie’s bottom lip tremble as he begins obeying Henry’s command, babbling every single random fact he knew about innocent Juliet.

“Uh, s-s-she loves books, especially poetry, she loves animals, she’s really good at playing the piano, she likes flowers a lot, and uhm-”

“Uh huh, keep going,” Henry urges on, wanting to hear more.

“Uhm Juliet typically doesn’t go for you know.... grungey looking guys...”

“What the fuck are you saying Kaspbrak, that I’m some sort of grease ball?” Henry hisses, gripping the boy’s collar harder.

“N-no! Not at all! Y-You’re a very handsome guy Henry! Please! Don’t stick my head in the toilet again,the last time my mom took me to the hospital because she thought I caught a virus!”

Henry closes his eyes briefly, trying his best to not beat Eddie’s face in before asking,“Is there anything else Kaspbrak?”

“That’s all I can really think of right now.”

Henry releases the boy’s shirt, motioning his head towards the door, signaling that Eddie was free to go. He starts to wheeze before scrambling out of there, leaving Henry with not a whole lot of knowledge about Juliet, but enough to plan his next move.

Patrick was leaned against the front of the school’s building, waiting for Juliet to come out of her last class of the day. He was hoping the scheme he conjured up with Vic earlier would go exactly as planned. Asking Belch was an option too, but Patrick felt he would go and rat on him to Henry.

The last bell rings, meaning school was out of session as all the kids swarm out of the building. Ben Hanscom came slowly walking out with some sort of project in his hands and headphones over his ears, completely delirious to the fact that Patrick and Vic were waiting for him.

Vic saunters over to Ben, yanking the headphones off of his head, making him turn around. Patrick witnesses as Vic tries stalling Ben as much as possible until he sees Juliet exiting through the double doors.

Finally a minute later, he catches her walking out, the slight breeze blowing her hair and skirt a bit. He smiles to himself and begins to rush over to Vic, whispering in his ear, “There she is.” Suddenly, Patrick runs quickly behind a tree not too far away.

Vic glances over and waits till he knows she will have the perfect view to see what he’s about to do.

Juliet is a couple of inches away from them, and that is when Vic decides it’s the perfect time to strike. He shoves Ben hard, almost making him fall straight to the ground before smacking his project out of his hands, making the entire thing fall apart into dismembered pieces onto the ground. Juliet immediately stops in her tracks, frowning at the malicious act towards the new boy, which makes her get down to help pick up the destroyed assignment.

Patrick suddenly comes “rushing” forward.

“What the hell is the matter with you Vic,” Patrick snaps as he gives a fake smack with the back of his hand onto Vic’s shoulder. “Leave the kid alone. Here buddy, let me help you,” he apologizes, getting on his hands and knees to clean up the mess, along with Juliet. If there was one thing Vic realized in that moment, it was that Patrick was taking desperate measures to get Juliet’s attention and approval.

Ben just stands there, puzzled, completely and utterly lost as to what is happening. Patrick has never done anything but torture the poor kid since he moved to Derry. Ben and Juliet stare at Patrick, totally stunned at witnessing him being nice. It’s sad that the boy was so insane that observing him do a humane act was seen as astonishing. Juliet was quite surprised that he stood up against his own friend to defend Ben Hanscom, but that was another thing about Juliet, she believed that regardless of who you were, everyone had just a little bit of good in them. Unfortunately, Patrick was too far gone, and she would figure that out soon enough.

The two of them finish up piling the styrofoam remains on top of the cardboard. Patrick stands to his feet, handing it over to Ben. “Here ya go fella.”

Ben has his mouth slightly agape as he stares at Patrick with a complete blank stare on his face. He slowly grabs the deteriorated project from his hands, feeling actually frightened by the eerie smile on Patrick’s face. Hockstetter thought he was coming off friendly, but it was like a wild bear trying to disguise itself as a bunny rabbit. Ben quirks an eyebrow up before he says, “Uhh, thanks I guess.”

“Run along now,” Patrick orders, not being able to constrain his true self for too much longer. Ben senses Patrick’s familiar hostility return in his voice before he quickly walks away as fast as his chubby little legs can away from him.

Patrick offers his hand out to Juliet, thinking that was a “gentleman” thing to do. She glances up at him reluctantly before grabbing his hand as he pulls her light weight up off the ground.

“Thanks. That was..... that was really sweet of you to stick up for him like that,” Juliet states in disbelief. Patrick was feeling overjoyed that he was getting the exact reaction he wanted out of her.

“Well what can I say? Can’t judge a book by its cover right?” Patrick taunts, using what she loves as a way to make her feel guilty. She immediately looks down to the ground, her stomach fluttering with nerves that only a person like Patrick could cause. He sensed this and it made him feel more powerful every time she showed any act of uneasiness.

Suddenly, Henry and Belch come out of the building, immediately spotting Patrick, Juliet, and Vic in an instant. They step down the stairs before making their way towards them.

“Juliet, right?” Henry asks her, pretending to play cool and not give her the slightest clue that she’s all he’s been thinking about the entire half of the day.

“Yes,” she smiles, her perfectly straight teeth on full display. When Henry sees her face to face, he can’t help the sudden, uncontrollable, rapid beating of his cold heart. Christ, he thought. If she just ditched the glasses, wore some tighter clothes, and had more confidence, she would blow all the girls at Derry High out of the water.

“Here. I found your book. It must of fell out of your bag when you were walking in the hallway or somethin’,” Henry shrugs, scratching the back of his head as he hands Juliet her copy of Hamlet.

Henry was just as big of a schemer as Patrick was. Juliet’s book didn’t accidentally just fall out of her back pack. Belch was the lucky one in the bunch who had Chemistry with her. To help Henry out, Belch stole the small book out of her bag when she was too preoccupied working on the lab they were assigned. Henry now had the perfect excuse to go up and talk to her, plus it was also extra brownie points that he was doing something kind like going out of his way to bring it back.

Her eyes immediately beam when she lets out a little gasp. “Oh! You have no idea how crazy I was looking for this. It was so strange,” she giggles. “It was like it totally disappeared. Thank you Henry,” she states, studying him, not understanding how the school’s most notorious bully would give a care in the world about a lost book that belonged to someone else. He noticed her observant stare and she didn’t want to offend him so she continues on and says, “Honestly. I never would have found it.”

Patrick and Henry didn’t realize how they both came up with a similar scheme to get the girl’s attention. What’s even worse is that Juliet didn’t notice either.

Belch is biting his lip from holding back the mischievious grin on his face before him and Henry quickly glance at one another clearly amused. Henry would never admit how he loved hearing her say his name. Patrick rolls his eyes, hating that Henry just had to swoop in and ruin his plan with a fucking book.

“Wow, how kind of you Henry,” Patrick sarcastically remarks before grabbing the girl’s hand. “Let’s go Juliet, I’ll walk you home.”

“That’s okay,” Juliet rushes, pulling her hand away from Patrick instantly as if he had some kind of disease that she could catch just by touching him. “My mom’s in the car down there waiting for me.”

“See you guys later,” Juliet waves before turning around and walking toward’s her mother’s car. When she hops in, her mom is quick to question what she briefly just witnessed.

“Why were you talking to those delinquents Juliet?” she scolds. Her scarlet red lips twisted into a grimace.

“I lost my book and Henry was just returning it to me mom, that’s all it was.”

“I don’t want to ever see you around them again, do you understand me? They’re nothing but trouble.” Juliet’s mother glares at the four boys before putting the car in drive.

“I understand,” Juliet mutters while opening up her book, deciding that was a good way to not have to talk about the Bowers Gang any further. When she opens it up to where her bookmark laid, a little slip of paper comes falling out onto her lap. Her eyebrows knit together before she grabs the note and begins to unfold it. It reads:

Juliet,

You’re so pretty, it makes me sick

I really mean that, I’m not trying to be a dick

I ain’t good with words, but I can kind of rhyme

Will you go out with me this Friday? I think we’d have a good time

Please say yes, it would make me so happy

Sorry, I know this poem is really fucking crappy

-Henry Bowers

Juliet puts her hand over her slightly open mouth, covering the stunned expression on her face. No boy has ever done anything like this for her and never in a million years would she think the Henry Bowers would be the boy to do it. Juliet quickly glances over at her mother to make sure she hasn’t noticed anything before quickly folding the note back up while biting down the suppressed grin she so desperately wish she didn’t have to hide. Unfortunately, little did Juliet know those “heartfelt” words were used to leer her in and now she has officially fallen for the deceiving trap that Henry has perfectly set up.

For just a moment, there was a small voice in the back of her head that was telling her it was a bit strange that the two boys who have never given her the time of day have suddenly sparked an interest in her. Unfortunately, she simply brushed it off, knowing that the whole gang was notorious for collectively hitting on girls. Although, Juliet began to feel a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was so much more to at least Henry Bowers than what her mother, the town of Derry, or even Juliet herself made him out to be. And that was her first mistake.

#bowers gang #Henry Bowers #henry bowers x reader #patrick hockstetter #patrick hocksetter x reader #it fanfiction #it 2017 #Owen Teague #the bowers gang #it 2019

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grisdidthis · 4 years

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CHAPTER ONE: FIRST SIGHT

AKA, blessed fucknuggets, why do these fools feel the need to put themselves through high school, my sources tell me that the US school system isn’t all that to begin with, what gives?

PREVIOUS ENTRIES

(Warning: this got long. Looooong. Hence, cut, so that I don’t murder your dash like Edward doesn’t murder Bella in this chapter.)

Welcome to the first entry of a live-read that no one asked for, in which I’ll go through the first chapter of Midnight Sun, i.e. a retelling of the first Twilight book from Edward Cullen’s POV. Not to be confused with Grey, a retelling of the first volume of a Twilight fanfic with the serial numbers filed off, or the Life and Death edition, a retelling of the first Twilight book in which Bella Swan is genderbent into a dude called Beau, who utters the immortal line “I knew I must look like a gorilla on a greyhound.” Which still tickles my humerus to this day.

I’ve waited for this novel to drop so long that at some point I’d stopped waiting. If by some freaky turn of chance you stumbled on this without knowing about the hoopla surrounding the publication, here’s a Wikipedia link. The gist is that the first few chapters of the WIP got leaked, the author got upset, the book got shelved until ??? and no further information about it was forthcoming until a while ago, when out of the blue arrive the news that it’s getting released in August.

My first thought was “Oh, yay, something actually NICE is happening this year!”

My second thought was “Please let it be good, so that I can laugh outrageously at [name redacted] for mocking my enjoyment of this series!” And. Look. I know what’s said about Twilight with regards to its literary merit and Stephenie Meyer’s abilities as a writer. A lot of it is admittedly accurate. However, the metrics by which I measure the value of a book are a) did it entertain me? and b) did I gain anything by having read it? And yeah, those are personal and subjective items, but objectivity is a lie, Jesus enjoys using toasters to take selfies, and if ten years ago I hadn’t been looking for a place to post my 50k+ epic Renesmee-centric fanfic, I wouldn’t have met the people who are currently my best friends.

Which is to say: I’m too attached to this series to give a fig what color the prose is. Deal.

And yet. Me hoping that Midnight Sun would be good, in a way that people who don’t have my level of emotional investment might acknowledge, wasn’t… that farfetched? Because the last book Meyer released before this one, The Chemist? Is an improvement on all her previous work. A huge improvement! It’s competently written! The characters read like they were intended to be flawed, messy people.

The main romance isn’t the kind of fucked up that Bella and Edward’s is, where you can pen treatises on why they’re omg so unhealthy. It’s the kind of fucked up where five seconds after meeting her love interest, the protagonist drugs him unconscious, kidnaps him, sticks a urinary catheter up his ding dong, straps him to a table and tortures him for information until the guy’s ex-CIA identical twin drops a plane on the barn they’re in and crashes through the ceiling all “HANDS OFF MY BABY BROTHER YOU DISCOUNT MATA HARI!”

Then they all make friends and go on a road trip together because a shady government organization is after them.

That’s not a fucked-up relationship that you write an essay analyzing the fucked-up-ness of. It’s something you stare at, stunned and, if you’re me, torn between thinking “Holy shit, this is so my brand of heroine!!!” and “How much crack was Auntie Steph on when she wrote this?” And it’s beautiful. I want ten more like it. So my hopes for Midnight Sun are tempered by the knowledge that, being a retelling of an established narrative, it can’t go all-out with the batshit. But I’m still optimistic that some part of it will give me that warm “Awww, you’ve come a long way from where we first met, author! Good on you!” feeling.

Now let’s (finally!) get started on the chapter proper.

…oh wait there’s an author’s note.

…uhm. Yeah. My dreams. About those. *fixed stare at faraway bonfire* Actually, let’s not talk about those and just move on to Edward Not Liking High School, thank you. Yeah. That’s good.

Edward Cullen doesn’t like high school. Edward doesn’t like that people think. Edward doesn’t like that the human student body is beside itself with the arrival of some new chick. Edward thinks his adopted siblings are super basic. (Rosalie = shallow, Emmett = simple, Jasper = psycho two seconds away from jumping off his chair and going on a rampage.) We don’t get to hear his utterly unbiased assessment of Alice, because she butts in and starts a one-sided telepathic convo about how Jasper is two seconds away from jumping off his chair and going on a rampage. You know. Normal sibling stuff.

WHY DO YOU PUT YOURSELF THROUGH THIS HASSLE, WHY!

(Let me take this opportunity to share my pet crack theory that Carlisle Cullen is secretly the most twisted, evil vampire in all of vampiredom, and that the sending the young ones to high school bit is something he does solely because he gets his evil fix by feasting on the emotional toil it inflicts on them. Also why he’s a doctor; he can ignore the call of blood, because being surrounded by the pain of patients and their loved ones already keeps him fed. I mean. He was chilling with the Volturi way back when, and Aro gives off a handsy vibe. No way he didn’t get his mind read in every which way, and if that happened - if he were reaaaalllyyyyy that nice, why would he still ping them as a threat of any kind?)

(This has holes in it, I know. And clashes with my other pet crack theory, which posits that the whole immortal child/Let’s Catch Them All: Cullen Edition was in fact the fallout of a Very Bad Italian Breakup, with Aro being the pissy ex who wants sole custody of the kids.)

Whatever. It still makes more sense than them going through “the inert state between active periods” when. My dudes! College is right there. Some places you can even sit out 90% of lectures and still get your diploma if you don’t feel like faking one, so Jasper would be all set! And you can pick different subjects! Diversify! Why must it always be med school rehashes, there are other worthy professions! And whole fields that are useless for getting-a-job purposes, but still interesting and enriching for those who have the luxury to pursue them. Let Emmett do Viking Studies, for fuck’s sake!

This amuses me much more than it rightfully should. I’m a child.

The Cullen clan tries to pep talk Jasper into not getting his murder on. Jasper is like OMG WILL YOU GUYS LAY OFF, while Edward is busy doing his judgy Edward thing and thinking to himself that Jasper should accept his limitations, that it’s a bad idea to have him at school at all, blah blah bleh, and you know what, I’m with you there, Ed.

Although we all know that this is just setup for the irony that will ensue as soon as Bella the Delicious klutzes her way into his line of smell.

Oh yah! Enter Bella. Edward can’t hear her thoughts. Jessica Stanley is a b-word. Edward wonders whether not being able to butt into the new girl’s head may be a red flag for vampire Alzheimer. Biology class next! The teacher is a man “of no more than average intellect” and, lord. It’s lucky that Edward is the mind reader in the family, because imagine if it were one of the others and they had to put up with listening to him bitch about the world at large, nonstop, at all hours of the day. And night, since these guys don’t sleep. Angela Webber is the only soul in the whole school whose thoughts have the Edward Cullen seal of approval. I feel sorry for her. I also feel this weird sense of hey, this all seems familiar in senses other than being a retelling, have I been here before?

Wait.

WAAAIIIIIITEEEEE.

*googles for the old version*

*runs first chapters through copyleaks*

*kubrick stare* MEYER, YOU LAZY SO AND SO, HOW COULD YOU!

*slams head on desk*

Well. At least I know what I’m in for. HONESTLY! It’s been. It’s been THIS MANY YEARS since the leaked version appeared, and that was a first draft, how in the… she’s way better than this, now! Was this novel produced in a terminal state of $#%CARING#NOT?&FOUND?! Is half of it just going to be the same old thing with a thin veneer of polish? I’m.

*sigh* You know what, I’m okay. We’re just going to call this first part a re-read. It’s been ten years, so I remember not a whole lot of the specifics, so at least I won’t be bored. BUT COME CHAPTER 13 I EXPECT TO BE SWEPT OFF MY FEET, DO YOU HEAR ME?!

Biology. Bella walks in right past a fan and gives Edward a throbbing throat boner. How awkward. Then she goes and sits right next to him and saucily tosses her hair around like he’s not actively plotting her murder and that of the rest of the class. The cheek of the thing!

Fortunately, Bella’s tasty ass is momentarily saved by a stiff breeze.

…I think we may have found the solution to Jasper’s control issues. The Cullens just need to start carrying air freshener around and spray the murder out of him every time he starts looking peckish. It would look weird if anyone else did it, but since they’re all pretty and rich, it’s more likely that the trend will catch on and cause Febreze sales to skyrocket.

Anyway. We’re not done victim-blaming Bella for…

…at least another couple of pages, but at least Edward gets his head out of his ass long enough to recall that hey, vampire! Oxygen is optional! But he still spends another lot of words grumbling about what a hassle it is to be forced to hold his breath in order to dampen his murderous urges. This is why you are a virgin, Edward. No, I don’t mean the planning the assassination a classmate’s assassination, plenty of serial killers still manage to get laid heaps, consensually, even! It’s the fact that you’re this much of a buzzkill that’s the issue.

Live, laugh, love, you dumbass disco ball!

Yep, he’s still on about how he’s going to kill her, totes kill her, he feral dangerous vampire, rawr. The miracle of adequate indoor airflow only got him to railroad a quartet of brain cells into thinking up smarter ways of snuffing Bella out. Now he wants to lure her to the forest. No, he’s going to kill her at home! He hates her! No, he hates himself and is projecting!

So he flees to his car, plays some calming music, breathes in and out and thinks about his family and how disappointed they’d be in him if he were to help himself to a Swan shake. Well, I’m nobody to shit talk anyone’s self-soothing routine. I’d probably throw in a truck of food + a bath, but he’s had 100+ years to figure out what coping mechanisms work for him, so let’s just let him do his-

Edward.

EDWARD.

…do you actually think this is an appropriate time to start a ginger-off with some random desk lady? Yes, we know you’re the One True Redhead To Rule Them All. (Though Kvothe from Name of the Wind may beg to differ, and I don’t know who would win that fight.) I mean, really? You pull this crap when you just barely talked yourself out of a murder? And then you call her eyes flat! What!

One of my favorite comic book series, Y the Last Man, features a scene where two characters discuss what it is that truly binds people together. One of them presents the argument that stronger bonds are formed not by shared love, but by shared hates. By which they mean not a kiss-kiss-slap-slap, enemies-to-lovers relationship dynamic, but like… you, being someone who really hates coleslaw, having a partner who likewise hates coleslaw, with whom you can indulge in tireless verbal roastings of coleslaw and who will never get tired of your complaining, because the fire of their loathing burns every bit as hot as yours.

I’ve always felt that this concept resonated with me deeply. And if you apply it to Bella and Edward, by its standards, they have the real deal. Go through the namesake chapter in Twilight-the-book, and you find Bella thinking similarly judgy thoughts, being irked by the same shit that no one normal would bat an eye to, going “Ugh!” and “Gah!” at everything that makes Edward wince internally. So their love will be eternal for sure. Perhaps not in an epic way. They’ll live boringly ever after, until they’re ancient and onion-skinned and lurking at passerby humans through the geraniums on their windowsill, exchanging “Holy crow, I can’t believe she bought a hydrogen engine car just to show off!” / “Awful! She should know that thinning the deer population so that they produce less flatulence is the most sound way of controlling toxic emissions!” And then probably gazing at one another like idiots for an ice age or two.

Edward wants to be moved out of Biology class. Goes back and forth with the desk lady, who obviously wants to tap that, because of course she does. Every hot-blooded woman within spitting distance must crave his alluring icicle, even as he mentally eviscerates every minuscule detail of their appearance.

Except Bella, because she’s soft, translucent, deep-eyed and edible. And, I mean. You can complain all you want about “you’re different from anyone else I’ve ever met, you’re SPECIAL, better, more beautiful, more everything!” being a dead horse of a trope so old and beaten that by all rights it should have turned to smelly glue, but. That pony is still kicking. And by kicking, I mean selling. And it sells because being made to feel special, even if it’s happening by proxy while you’re immersed into the thoughts of a fictional character, is nice. Readers enjoying that experience and seeking out fiction that provides it shouldn’t be considered so… mock-worthy as I’ve seen it be, in discussion of works that feature the trope prominently.

Which doesn’t mean that it wouldn’t be nicer if Edward’s narration were focused solely on elevating Bella, instead of also viciously kicking down everyone in the vicinity. Man, we get the message, okay? You don’t need to act like you’ve swallowed a Simon Cowell before coming in for school.

I swear, it’s almost a relief when Bella interrupts, heralding the triumphant return of the throat boner. Edward’s thoughts about the people around him are actually LESS gratuitously bitchy when he’s contemplating how to best murder them.

At least this time he is able to extract himself from the situation and flee speedily. (Which… in Biology, what exactly was preventing him from asking for a bathroom break? Or just saying he was feeling poorly and getting the fuck out of there?)

He meets the sibs. Only Alice has any clue of what is going on because visions, and she doesn’t explain anything to the others, who just stand there baffled while Edward decides to get his shiny ass in his shiny Volvo and run off to Alaska. Probably because it would ruin the serious mood of the scene if she told them and Jasper started doing happy cartwheels at the prospect of no longer being the only fuckup in the family.

END CHAPTER. Same time tomorrow, hopefully, and I’ll TRY to be less longwinded. Try.

#TWILIGHT #MIDNIGHT SUN #EDWARD CULLEN #GRISREADSMS #MIDNIGHT SUN SPOILERS

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foramomentonly · 4 years

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Nail In My Coffin, Part 2

Part One

Summary: Alex and Kyle are fashion designers on a Next In Fashion style reality show. Michael is their model. Dom/sub elements. Prompt courtesy of @signoraviolettavalery .

Author’s Note: I will most likely be adding more parts to this AU, though not necessarily chronologically. I’ll tag it Malex Fashion AU.

This chapter is unofficially, gleefully titled “Project Fuck Me.”

Sorry it took longer than expected. After 1.5K words these two still wouldn’t fuck and smut is hard, y’all!

Read on AO3

Alex rarely freaks out, but when he does Kyle is there.

After his heated exchange with their new model, Alex spirals just a little. They’ve been working towards this goal—creative independence, stability, even a modicum of success—for years. They’ve encountered so many obstacles, some they can never overcome—the show might bill itself as diverse, but the fashion industry as a whole is not, and they’ve both felt the effects of systemic racism on their work and brand. They’ve made personal sacrifices, holed up in their studio so many late nights neglecting partners, work obligations, and family. Alex will never forget that Kyle was in the studio when he got the call saying his father had passed. But Michael’s warm honey eyes and the way his body went liquid under Alex’s touch and command left Alex buzzing down to his fingertips, and he feels a choking weight on his chest at even the thought of denying Michael his attention and care.

He tells all this to Kyle right there at their work station, Kyle again bent over a sewing machine making alterations and Alex leaning casually beside him against the large drafting table, murmuring low. Kyle is blunt and level-headed, as always.

“It’s not ideal,” he admits, “but it isn’t like either of us has never had a fling with someone we were working with before. And you’re nothing if not an expert at compartmentalizing.”

“I thought that was a bad thing,” Alex deadpans.

Kyle shrugs.

“Maybe not in this situation.”

Kyle looks up at Alex fretting, and his eyes go soft.

“Look, man, I trust you,” he says, “and there is nothing you alone could do to tank this for us.”

Alex doesn’t respond, but the clench of his jaw releases and Kyle can tell the storm has passed.

It helps that Michael kills it on the runway and they easily win the challenge. When they’re asked to choose a model for the next round, Kyle requests Michael without even a glance at his partner.

***

Alex watches Michael from across the studio as he hangs their newest pieces on a rack and arranges accessories. He’s holding court with a few models who just arrived, killing time while their designers finalize alterations and hunt down accent pieces. This week is a streetwear challenge, neither Alex nor Kyle’s strong suits, and Alex created this design—drop leg overall shorts, mesh crop top with a faux turtleneck, military jacket, and combat boots—to play off of Michael’s cocky, easy masculinity. His presence on the runway is built into the design, and Alex has a plan to put Michael in a calm, focused headspace. But first his model needs to get his chatty ass to Alex’s station.

Alex continues to stare in Michael’s direction until Michael senses his gaze, turning his head slowly over his shoulder. Michael raises a suggestive eyebrow at Alex when he meets Alex’s eye, but the designer merely glares first at Michael, then at the model’s platform set up behind his work station. Michael barely makes an excuse to his group before turning on his heel and striding Alex’s way. Alex puts on his most authoritative face, the one he used in the Air Force when he needed to pull rank, and he watches Michael approach with what can only be described as a giddy swagger, all hips and shoulders, his hands shoved in his front pockets. He skips onto the small platform and smiles down at Alex. They face each other for a long moment, Michael's grin disappearing as he raises a hesitant brow.

"Clothes," Alex says simply, and Michael's tee shirt is on the ground before Alex can even finish his command. Alex licks his lips, and Michael trips over his boot and almost topples over as he rids himself of his jeans, shoes, and socks.

"Careful," Alex chuckles mildly.

Michael is down to his briefs and he steps forward to take the garments off the rack.

"Stop," Alex spits sharply, and Michael freezes, shuffling back to neutral with his head low. Alex steps into his space, reaching for the clothing.

"It's better if I do it," he says softly, "there’s a lot of layers."

Michael trembles.

Alex takes the main piece off the rack and readies the garment, unfastening the clasps and buttons. He squats at Michael's feet and wraps a hand around his left ankle, encouraging him to lift his foot. Michael responds immediately and Alex guides his left, then right foot into the legs of the pants, rising slowly in front of Michael as he pulls the lower half of the design up his long, lean body. There are buttons on both sides, and Alex fastens them with nimble fingers, eyes boring into Michael's. Michael breathes heavy, uneven, his whole body a live wire.

"This okay?" Alex asks softly.

Michael blurts out, "Green," and Alex smiles. Traffic light safewords it is.

"Good," Alex breathes, and Michael's eyes go dark.

Alex is surprised how easy it is to find a balance between his work and the scene. Michael responds instantly to Alex's slightest touch, raising his arms when Alex takes his wrists and lifts them into the air, tilting his head back slightly while Alex adjusts the faux collar on his shirt. Alex is only distracted once, caught up in the rhythmic bob of Michael's throat, his Adam's Apple working under the thin fabric. He cups Michael's neck, knuckles brushing his unruly curls, and lays his thumb lightly on the knob, the gentlest pressure. Michael whines.

"Yellow," he says, and Alex immediately pulls back, looking into Michael's eyes.

"You've got work to do, Captain," he says simply, and Alex nods, pulling in a deep, steadying breath.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

Michael’s breath hitches, eyes bright and proud, and Alex smiles warmly, adds, “So good for me,” just to watch Michael squirm at the praise.

Michael is perfectly pliant the rest of the process, resting his feet one after the other on Alex’s thigh so that he can lace up the intricate boots, eyes never leaving Alex’s face as he stands inches away, smoothing and tugging and adjusting his design on Michael’s body. Alex listens to Michael’s steady breath, glances at his warm, focused gaze, and smiles.

"All done,” he murmurs, hands on Michael’s shoulders. “Now let's get you pretty, sweetheart."

Alex slides a warm, dry hand low on the small of Michael's back. He keeps it there, pressure light and steady, all the way to hair and make-up, where Kyle is waiting for them. Michael sits perfectly still as Alex discusses he and Kyle's preferences with the make-up artist, tilting Michael's chin up with a knuckle and running his index finger gently across a cheekbone. The technician is too focused to notice the way Michael gazes up at Alex dreamily, the way he leans into Alex's touch.

Alex finishes his instructions and she's off, occasionally requesting that Michael turn his head or close his eyes. She misses how Michael grows restless and agitated the more she directs him, but Alex and Kyle don't. Alex lays a casual hand on the back of Michael's neck and squeezes gently, and the gesture seems to soothe him. Kyle looks sideways at Alex, but says nothing.

The designers sign off on Michael’s look and walk him to the runway set’s makeshift backstage, where the other models and designers are exchanging final notes and instructions. Kyle wishes Michael good luck and escapes quickly to the designer’s lounge where they’ll watch the models walk on mounted flatscreens. Alex offers Michael one last steady smile, gaze traveling up and down the length of his model’s body searching for lingering discomfort or distraction after his unease in hair and make-up. He finds none.

“When you’re done showing off for me out there,” Alex says casually, a wicked smirk pulling at his lips, “hang around for a bit. Might as well help you get out of those clothes, too.”

He turns and walks away to the sound of Michael’s breathless, “Please.”

***

The workroom is finally nearly cleared out, only a few straggling models and designers making plans for an after party at the hotel bar. Alex intentionally arranged his, Kyle, and Michael’s post-runway interview to be the last of the evening and hustled Kyle away easily, so no one questions why he and Michael are lingering an hour after filming has wrapped. Michael is still in Alex’s design, his make-up smudged and caked where he perspired under the blazing runway lights and then cooled in the green room during their interview. Alex pulls a wipe out of his bag and passes it over.

“You want to clean up, sweetheart?” Michael gazes at him imploringly, but Alex shakes his head, side-eyeing the lingering group. “I can’t, not yet. You have to do it yourself.”

Michael pouts at a burst of laughter from the stragglers as he wipes his face roughly. Alex bites his lip, stifling a grin; he hadn’t anticipated waiting this long for privacy, but Michael’s sulk is equal parts endearing and arousing. They don’t end up waiting long. Plans arranged, the group finally calls out a lukewarm goodbye to Alex and a more genuine one to Michael, and then they’re gone, the thick double doors of the studio slamming shut behind them.

Alex immediately steps into Michael’s space, gripping his chin with one hand. He’s managed only to make a mess of his face: mascara streaked across his temples, liner smudged, lips bruised but still glossy. His curls were fluffed and then sprayed for effect, and now they’re chaotic and look rough to the touch. As Alex continues to crowd his space, eyes cataloging his features possessively and Michael’s face firmly in his grasp, Michael’s lips part and his breathing accelerates, pupils dilating. Alex tsks softly in the back of his throat.

“Look at you,” he purs, “so wrecked and I’ve barely touched you.”

“So touch me,” Michael challenges, voice gruff.

Alex lets his thumb travel up Michael’s chin and pull at his full bottom lip. Michael’s mouth drops open farther and Alex slips his thumb in, groaning softly when Michael wraps his tongue around it and sucks greedily. He’s so turned on, the low, hot pulse of control he’s felt all day ramped up by his own desire for this impossibly gorgeous man. But for all that Michael seems eager to take things further, Alex is desperate to check in. He pull his thumb out gently and cups Michael’s cheek, leaving a trail of wet across the side of his mouth.

“Color?” he asks, and then, “How far do you want this to go? Be specific.”

“Green,” Michael says, “so green. And I want you to fuck me. Captain.”

Alex lets out a ragged breath, pushes his fingers into the crunchy curls at the nape of Michael’s neck, and drags him into a kiss. It isn’t gentle or timid; it’s starting in the middle, all teeth and tongue and hot breath. Michael shoves his hands under Alex’s shirt to feel his overheated skin and the twist of muscle as he moves, dragging biting nails down his back. Alex holds him in place, setting the pace of the kiss, but letting Michael play. He pulls away when Michael maneuvers himself between Alex’s thigh and grinds his hard cock against him.

“Nuh uh,” Alex says, “we’re not there yet.”

He steps back fully and Michael whines.

“I promised I’d help you out of those clothes,” he teases. “Have you changed your mind?”

Michael shakes his head.

“All right then,” Alex says, “stay still for me. I’ll do all the work.”

Alex circles him, considering his options and dragging it out a little. He finally comes behind Michael and slips the jacket off his shoulders, close enough to bite down on the meat of his left shoulder and neck with his teeth. Michael hisses and he soothes the bite with a wet kiss.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Alex whispers, breath hot against his ear, “I got you.”

He undresses Michael maddeningly slowly, teasing him relentlessly. He glides his finger tips up Michael’s ribs as he rids him of his shirt, traces his collar bone with soft, parted lips as he unclasps the bib of his overalls. Once Michael’s chest is bare, he places hot, wet kisses down the broad expanse of it, stopping to suck and bite at each nipple. Michael whimpers and when Alex looks up he sees his bottom lip is bitten swollen and red, but he stays perfectly still.

“So good for me,” Alex breathes, unhooking the final buttons and pushing the shorts down Michael’s body to pool at his feet, taking his briefs with them. With Michael’s hard, lithe body finally bare before him he feels lightheaded. Alex leans in and kisses him again, hands low on Michael’s hips, stealing the oxygen straight from his lungs. His hand sinks lower and he palms Michael’s right cheek, index finger slipping down his crack to press against his dry hole. Michael gasps and bucks, pressing himself against Alex’s hand. Alex lets himself explore, circling and rubbing the tight muscle, sliding even lower to press at his perineum. Michael’s cock is leaking, pre-cum staining Alex’s jeans.

“Alex,” Michael groans, and hearing his name sends a rush of heat straight to his cock.

“Bend over the table, sweetheart.”

His command is breathless, but Michael obeys instantly, scrambling around Alex and draping himself over the large drafting table, forehead pillowed by his forearm. Alex grabs the small bottle of lube and condom from his bag and presses himself flush against Michael, the rough fabric of his jeans scratching against Michael’s bare ass and legs. He sets the condom on the table and pops the top on the lube, coating a single finger and pressing and rubbing between Michael’s spread cheeks. He takes his time, working his finger in up to the first knuckle, then the second, until he’s pumping the whole digit in and out slowly, pressing down as he drags out. Michael’s hips work in time with his finger, and he’s wiggling and huffing restlessly by the time Alex coats another finger and works it in, too. He peppers kisses to Michael’s low back as he works, whispering praises into his damp skin. When he starts scissoring his fingers, spreading Michael’s hole and testing the give, Michael moans.

“Come on,” he huffs, “want you so bad.”

“Want you, too, sweetheart,” Alex breathes, quickly coating a third finger and working all three into Michael’s hole. “You should see yourself right now. Stretched and taking my fingers so well.”

Alex rests his cheek against Michael’s back, sliding deep into him and pressing, searching until he hits the spot that makes Michael cry out.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck.”

“There you are,” Alex smiles and bites gently at Michael’s ass cheek.

“God,” Michael gasps as Alex continues to work that same spot, drunk on Michael’s groans and the way he’s fucking himself on Alex’s hand.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Michael babbles, “I swear. Wanna feel it.”

“Okay,” Alex says, stretching his fingers wide one last time, and pulls out, leaving Michael whining. He finally opens his jeans, tugging them down over his cock and groaning loudly when he’s finally free. His underwear is soaked, and it’s a bit uncomfortable to tuck them beneath his balls, but he’s not ready for the conversation they’d have to have if he took off his pants entirely. He rolls the condom down his cock and slicks himself, rubbing his thumb around Michael’s hole and pressing in to keep him open as he preps himself. He lines himself up, bending over Michael’s back and wrapping an arm around his waist. When he pushes just the head of his cock in, Michael growls and pushes back against him, taking him in fully.

“Shit,” Alex cries, hands gripping Michael’s hips. “Oh, god, I’m not gonna last.”

“Me either,” Michael replies, voice slurred with pleasure. “Please, Alex.”

Alex slides the hand on Michael’s waist down to wrap around his cock, relishing Michael’s hiss and the way he clenches around Alex’s cock. He pumps his hips at the same rhythmic pace as his strips Michael’s cock, his free hand snaking up Michael’s back and into his hair.

“You feel so good,” Alex pants, pausing to grind deep and work his cock against Michael’s prostate. He rolls the head of Michael’s cock in his hand, fingers sticky with pre-cum.

Michael throw his head back and comes without warning, his cock pulsing in Alex’s grip. He’s still and breathing evenly as he comes down, but Alex doesn’t move, kicking himself that can’t see Michael’s face from this angle. He scratches fingernails gently across his scalp and rubs his back soothingly until Michael shifts back, pressing weakly against him where Alex is still inside him.

“Gonna finish what you started?” he mumbled, sounding sated and a little loopy.

“You okay there?” Alex asks with a laugh, caressing Michael’s cheek when he turns his head to look back at him.

“Will be when you come in me, Captain,” he says, and bites at Alex’s palm. Alex huffs and pulls almost completely out, pressing in slowly to test Michael’s sensitivity. He groans, but leans into it, goading Alex on with a soft, “Yeah, come on.”

Alex works back up to a steady pace, but he’s been hard and aching for so long, and Michael is a sight beneath him, hair a mess and back twisted to stare shamelessly at Alex with hazy eyes. His hips snap faster and he loses his rhythm as he chases his own release, digging blunt nails into Michael’s shoulders to hold his loose body steady. He comes with his eyes locked on Michael’s, mouth dropping open and a choked off moan on his lips, working his hips lazily as he shudders through the aftershocks.

Alex presses his forehead to Michael’s back, kissing the knobs of his spine and pushing his own sweaty hair out of his face. He pulls out slowly, but Michael still hisses, and Alex gets a look at his swollen hole before Michael stands and turns around, pressing his naked body against Alex’s fully clothed one to nuzzle against his neck.

“You were so good,” Alex praises, arms immediately wrapping around Michael, one hand snaking again into his hair, “so good for me.”

Michael laughs against his skin.

“I could tell.”

Alex’s grip in his hair turns to a tug as he pulls Michael’s head back, and Michael grins smugly.

“You’re still a mess,” Alex chastises, taking in the make-up still smeared across Michael’s face, the nest of his curls, and the cum beginning to dry on his stomach and chest.

“I’m your mess now,” Michael says, and though his eyes are bright and playful, his tone is sincere.

“Yeah,” Alex says steadily, brushing a curl out of Michael’s face and watching a genuine smile spread across his face, “you are.”

#malex fashion au #malex #rnm #rnm fic #malex fic #dom/sub elements #kylex brotp #alex manes #michael guerin #kyle valenti #my fic

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dusk-realm · 5 years

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Chrysanthemum [Chapter 11: The First Incident]

Tagging: @featurelengthfics @thedungeonsbat @severussnapesupporter @southsiderepresent @pan-lokistan @gbatesx @a-slytherin-sin @wangmangagavroche @theblackdeath87

Visit my masterlist here.

Before someone comes and calls me out: yes, we are inserting ourselves into the story. Yes, I’ve taken literal chunks of the original book and pasted them or paraphrased them in order to merge them with my own writing. No, I’m not intending to plagiarize anything or pretend that the enterity of the text is mine when it clearly isn’t. And yes, you will see more of this in the future as well.

A/N: the app keeps messing up the draft, so if you see many errors in terms of format, spacing, etc, I sincerely apologise, but I couldn’t fix it.

──────────────────

October brought to Hogwarts chill breezes and an air of coziness with it. The disempowered sunlight gave place to the soft lighting of candles and torches, which produced the deepest, darkest shades in the intricate furrows and decorations of the castle, creating new contours and strange shapes in the statues and carvings that enticed the imagination.

(Y/N) spent more and more time in the library as Pansy Parkinson grew insufferable, and more often than not, the girl would stock up with diverse snacks for the day and rush back to her hideout like a little vermin, just to not bump into her fellow Slytherins.

On the other hand, Neville had been difficult to see as well lately. (Y/N) learned that Severus had punished him with not letting the Gryffindor out of the classroom until he could brew the Sleeping Draught perfectly, which resulted into a great deal of batches wasted.

Still, after having been released for successfully brewing a cauldronful of the potion, Neville’s guilt overpowered him and he refused to pair up with (Y/N) again, at least in Potions.

Halloween was around the corner, and the castle was being dressed up with exuberant decorations: live bats hanging on the ceiling and even the walls, giant carved pumpkins… and some even speculated that Dumbledore had hired a troupe of dancing skeletons.

‘Severus?’

‘Mm?’

It was October 30th, and she was spending time in the professor’s company while he programmed the upcoming classes. (Y/N) had chosen the Potions classroom as her new favourite spot to do her homework. It was a safe place, and she could help out Severus as soon as she finished. She enjoyed sitting in the same place she had for class, in the middle rows. Her desk was a bit messy with books, parchment and an unfinished essay.

‘I was wondering… is there any way for students to access the Restricted Section? Like, can Prefects go there?’

Severus smiled a bit to himself, lifting up his head. He had been hyperfocusing so much on his task that he hadn’t realized that he was completely slouching over the paper.

‘Is this about that book again?’ He inquired with a smirk.

(Y/N)’s cheeks lit up with a pinkish tint of embarrassment. Severus was sure sharp, but he didn’t use to be that straightforward.

‘Maybe…’ She admitted meekly.

Well, there was something that just appealed her about that book. Maybe it was just the fact that it was forbidden, but the books available for everyone just weren’t enough to satisfy her avid curiosity.

‘You don’t have to become a Prefect to borrow a book,’ Severus explained softly, ‘a signed note should suffice.’

‘Ah…’ (Y/N) lowered her head again and continued scribbling in her parchment. Severus, however, did not return to his task. Instead, he observed his student, wondering why she wouldn’t dare to ask for a note but, at the same time, she would be willing to become a Prefect, with everything that it entailed, just to read a book.

The professor reached out for a small piece of parchment and wrote:

I, Professor Snape, hereby allow the student (Y/N) (Y/L/N) to borrow a copy of Moste Potente Potions.

Then, he signed the note and stared at it for almost a minute before standing up and gently placing it in front of (Y/N), on top of her parchment.

‘What’s this?’ She squinted her eyes before reading it and lifting up her head, wide-eyed, to her professor, who watched her quietly with a strange look.

‘A-are you sure? Can I have it? For real?!’

Severus nodded with the faintest of the smiles tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched (Y/N)’s (E/C) eyes lit up and grow wider and wider.

‘Of course,’ said he in a soft voice, ‘you have read far more complicated books at home, you can surely handle that one too.’

(Y/N) bolted off the chair and latched on Severus’ waist in a tight squeeze.

‘Thank you!!’ She squirmed with her cheek pressed against his chest.

Her protector embraced her tightly, preventing her from seeing how glittery his eyes had suddenly gotten.

‘You may be able to check it out before curfew if you hurry up.’ Said he. (Y/N) enthusiastically picked up her belongings and storming out of the cold dungeons, but not without thanking him again and almost yelling him good night.

The joyful days soon turned dark after by the end of October, after the first incident happened.

Everybody found out at the same time: having the Halloween feast come to an end, the whole school left in mass the Great Hall with full bellies to go to their respective dormitories for the night. Even (Y/N) had been enjoying the dinner, as she took the chance to drop by the Gryffindor table to go see Neville after a good while.

But then, the multitude’s hustle died down as it arrived to the passage. Three people were already there; Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley.

The crowd pushed forward to be able to catch a glimpse of the gruesome scene- there was a message written on the wall that read:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

And just underneath it, Mrs. Norris, Mr.Filch’s loathed cat, hanged from her tail, stiff as a board and with her eyes open.

Then, (Y/N) saw Draco Malfoy elbowing his way to the front of the scene while shouting:

‘Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!’

(Y/N) had never liked that kid. He was the heir of a rich pure-blood lineage (everyone in Slytherin knew about the Malfoys), and, being aware of his privileged status, the kid had grown into an insufferable stuck up brat that everyone wanted to please just to not upset him.

Soon arrived Mr. Filch, probably summoned by the fuss Malfoy caused,

‘What’s going on here? What’s going on?’

After that, he actually saw the scene, with his cat hanging off the torch.

‘My cat! My cat! What’s happened to Mrs. Norris?’ He shrieked. His voice made (Y/N)’s stomach twist with guilt, even though she had absolutely nothing to do with the matter. The caretaker wasn’t and individual you could just get along with; he wasn’t charismatic or nice in any sense, but the Slytherin couldn’t help feeling bad for him. Filch turned to look at Potter with bloodshot eyes:

‘You!’ He screeched. ‘You! You’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her! I’ll kill you! I’ll —’

‘Argus!’ Dumbledore arrived, followed by McGonagall, Lockhart and Severus, and in a matter of minutes, every student was sent to bed, except the three suspects. The uproar moved to the Slytherin Common Room, where the sons and daughters from the most ancient wizarding families seemed a bit too excited about the issue, and other less privileged argued that this had to be something Harry Potter had done.

(Y/N) sensibly retired to her dormitory without participating in the conversation, but she did not sleep that night.

The incident was still present in everyone’s mouths even days after. Filch had been seen scrubbing the wall and warding the crime scene in all his misery, while he attempted to blame and punish any student that showed too much happiness.

The young Slytherin chose to continue with her usual life and spend most of her time in the library, reading her new favourite potions book. She was completely absorbed in every single word, with her nose barely an inch away from the paper, an ugly posture she had unwillingly acquired from her mentor.

The library was quite crowded for being just a regular Wednesday, but (Y/N) was too busy taking notes of the random stuff that attracted her attention to actually have a look at her surroundings.

What she did notice, though, was that Ron Weasley was sitting at the same table as her, but at the opposite end, in the very end of the library.

God forbid your Gryffindor ass comes too close to a Slytherin, (Y/N) had resentfully thought.

The red-haired was measuring up his essay for History of Magic when Potter arrived.

‘I don’t believe it, I’m still eight inches short. . . And Hermione’s done four feet seven inches and her writing’s tiny.’ (Y/N) heard the former complain.

‘Where is she?’ Harry asked, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but eavesdrop.

Soon after, Granger reappeared from in between the shelves,

‘All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out,’ she said, sitting down next to Potter and Weasley, being the closest to (Y/N), yet without acknowledging her presence. ‘And there’s a two-week waiting list. I wish I hadn’t left my copy at home, but I couldn’t fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books.’ She sounded so ridiculously irritated that (Y/N) had to physically restrain herself from cackling, although the corner of her lips still curled up in a telltale smile.

‘Why do you want it?’ Potter asked his friend.

‘The same reason everyone else wants it,’ said Hermione, ‘to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets.’

(Y/N) even stopped pretending to read in order to catch every detail possible, but Hermione said she didn’t remember the story.

Pity, (Y/N) thought, but she didn’t have much time to turn it over as the bell rang, signalling the beginning of the next lesson.

‘Who can it be, though?’ Hermione said in a quiet voice, as though continuing a conversation they had just been having. ‘It has to be a Slytherin, that’s for sure… I’ve thought that maybe…’ But she didn’t dare to finish the sentence.

‘Maybe..?’ Echoed Harry, raising his eyebrows.

‘(Y../N)?’ She finished with a strange expression, as if the simple thought of it caused her some sort of physical pain. Ron let out a little chortle at the suggestion.

‘I mean, what do we know about her, really? Nothing! And she’s smart enough to act and not get caught…’ The girl explained.

‘Smart? She’s the age of Fred and George, Hermione, and she’s in our class!’ Ron argued.

‘But,’ Hermione continued, bending closer to the boys and lowering her voice, ‘she has improved a lot, haven’t you noticed? Plus…’ At this point, she was barely whispering. ‘Neville told me that she doesn’t have parents. Wouldn’t that make her the only Slytherin heir? What if… she failed on purpose because she was… well, waiting for something?’ She locked eyes with Harry with a guilty expression, as though she didn’t want to even suggest that the heir of Slytherin had been waiting for him to come to Hogwarts.

‘Well,’ said he, ‘you’ve got a point there. And she speaks like Snape...’

‘What does that have to do with anything?’ Ron frowned.

‘He’s the Head of Slytherin, Ron. What if they’re working together? He has to know something. C’mon, it’s Snape.’ Harry remarked.

‘I don’t think it’s (Y/N), she doesn’t look like the type. Who’d want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts? Let’s think,’ said Ron in mock puzzlement. ‘Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?’ He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced.

‘If you’re talking about Malfoy —’

‘Of course I am!’ said Ron. ‘You heard him — ‘You’ll be next, Mudbloods!’ — come on, you’ve only got to look at his foul rat face to know it’s him —’

‘Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?’ said Hermione skeptically.

‘Look at his family,’ said Harry, closing his books, too. ‘The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he’s always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin’s descendants. His father’s definitely evil enough.’

‘They could’ve had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!’ said Ron. ‘Handing it down, father to son. . . .’

‘Well,’ said Hermione cautiously, ‘I suppose it’s possible. . . .’

But how do we prove it?’ said Harry darkly.

‘There might be a way,’ said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. ‘Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We’d be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect —’

‘If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won’t you?’ said Ron irritably.

‘All right,’ said Hermione coldly. ‘What we’d need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it’s us.’

‘But that’s impossible,’ Harry said as Ron laughed.

‘No, it’s not,’ said Hermione. ‘All we’d need would be some Polyjuice Potion.’

Harry, Ron and Hermione walked toward the Library in formation. The recipe they needed was supposed to be in a book called Moste Potente Potions, according to Snape (and Hermione), and although it was bound to be in the restricted section, Hermione believed that she might be able to convince Madam Pince to let her consult it really quickly for their Potions Homework.

Their request, however, was quickly and firmly turned down by the librarian, who gave the trio such a nasty glare that could very easily scare off a hippogriff.

‘What are we going to do now?’ asked Ron as he plopped down at the same table as the other day. He was specially bummed out, and so did Harry, who sat down by his side.

‘There’s still a way...’ Hermione sighed, sitting down in front of the other two.

‘Which one?’ Inquired Harry.

‘We need a signed note from a professor.’

‘But who’s going to sing it?’ Asked Ron, ‘“Hard to see why we’d want that book, really, if we weren’t going to try and make one of the potions.’

‘I think,’ said Hermione, ‘that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance. . . .’

‘Oh, come on, no teacher’s going to fall for that,’ said Ron. ‘They’d have to be really thick. . . .’

And so, the trio went to the thickest professor they knew, Professor Lockhart, who was so full of himself that he didn’t bother looking at which book he was signing a permission for.

However, their plan didn’t go quite as they planned.

‘Sorry, this book has already been checked out.’ Madam Pince had sternly said after barely taking a look at the note.

‘I can’t believe our luck.’ Protested Harry as soon as they had left the library.

‘And now what?’ Ron asked, giving a little kick to the floor.

‘This is incredible…’ Hermione breathed out. She leaned against the giant wooden doors, staring up to the ceiling. ‘Who could have taken it, though? Not someone from our year, that’s for sure. That book is way too advanced to-’

‘Excuse me,’ a soft feminine voice interrupted her rambling.

‘Oh, hi (Y/N), sorry.’ Hermione hurriedly moved away from the door and let the Slytherin girl enter the library. She was carrying a bunch of books and other stuff.

(Y/N) had to twist her body into a weird position in order to not drop anything she carried. Her body was fully turned toward the three Gryffindors, and she smiled awkwardly. When she turned around again, Ron peeked above her shoulder out of nosiness, and clutched Harry’s robes in shock.

Hermione had also caught a glimpse of the moldy book on top of the Slytherin’s pile and let out a gasp.

On the cover, the title read, quite clearly: Moste Potente Potions.

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sambergscott · 4 years

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10 Writer Questions

I was tagged by @b99peraltiago, thanks adele :)))

1. What’s your favorite genre to write?

fluff. 100%. pretty sure i've only ever written 2 or 3 angst-y things ever (the real world is so stressful idk why you’d want to consume media that’s equally stressful but maybe that’s just me)

2. Do you pull inspiration from real life, or do you pull things from other books/fanfiction you’ve read?

both! get a lot of inspo from throwaway lines on the show or other tv shows too like my fic where jake and amy find out they’re pregnant like jim and pam

3. Do you tend to write one-shots, short stories, or longer things?

one shots are my thing. i did write a 18 chapter angst-y case thing on my bones ff.net a couple of years ago but i much prefer writing missing scenes/shorter one shots that people can read quickly and easily (it’s what i prefer reading too, i almost never read fics with loads of chapter sorry)

4. Do you prefer to write description or dialogue?

dialogue a million times over. sometimes i wish i could just write the dialogue and draft somebody else in to write the in-between bits for me

5. Favorite fic/book of all time?

my favourite books are the shopaholic ones by sophie kinsella. she’s my favourite writer EVER. the only downside is that i find it hard to read other books now bc i never like any of them as much as like hers :/// (pls release another book sophie)

favourite fics: decaf ginger and lemon tea, holding back the flood by the lovely @johnny-and-dora, oh my love, it was a funny little thing, all the way home i'll be warm and (i'm not just saying this bc i like her but) literally everything @fourdrinkamy has ever written

(there are so so so many good fic writers on here and i love every single fluffy jake and amy one-shot, there’s too many to mention but they’re all in my fic rec tag)

6. Favorite trope?

friends/co-workers to lovers (applies every single couple i like oops)

7. Are you the kind of person to work on more than one WIP?

i might have a couple of ideas in my head but i can only write one thing at a time. normally in one sitting - if i leave a wip and come back to it, i usually lose all steam and end up scrapping it

8. How long have you been writing?

since i was a kid!! i used to write lots of little stories when i was really young & also came up with whole ass movie scripts to act out with my bratz dolls lmao. my school teacher used to laugh at me because whenever we had to write stories in school i'd always find a way to mention liverpool or steven gerrard #obsessed

9. Do you tend to write more in the morning, afternoon, or evening?

it’s mostly evenings tbh but whenever i get inspired i have to write then and there (if i can)

10. Do you prefer to post and update your WIP chapter by chapter or wait until it’s 100% complete before sharing it?

don’t really do multi-chaps but chapter by chapter. i might write a couple in one go (like with my missing scenes series that i've kind of forgotten to update in forever) but when I finish something i like to get feedback straight away

i feel like everyone’s been tagged in this already but if you haven’t and wanna do it, then go for it :))

#my writing #tag games

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parkjmini · 5 years

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history | pjm

➳ park jimin scenario

you didn't come to see your friends, I know you came for me. I like your dress, but you fit better in my wrinkled tee. We moved on to newer things, but we got history

➳ word count: 2156

➳ genre: angst/fluff ig

a/n: hey yall, ik ive been pretty MIA. im trying my best to find time to stay active. college rlly sux, but this is based off of the song, history by rich brian, it’s a really good ass song and it reminded me a lot of jimin. and i had this in my drafts ever since October so im glad i was able to finish it on my birthday and to release it as a birthday present for myself and everyone else that i finally released some content.

You were more than an ex-girlfriend to Jimin. You were his whole world for a brief moment of his life. If anyone were to value you anything less, he would not hesitant to defend you. You and Jimin dated in sophomore year of high school, almost being destined as high school sweethearts, almost.

Long distance had become strenuous for the both of you, mainly you. Jimin didn’t stray far from your hometown, but you had traveled miles away. It wasn’t until your second year of college when things were becoming clear that you two were not working out.

Phone calls slowly became a hassle. You never really came back home for the holidays, so Jimin saw you a lot less. It was simply two separate lives and no matter how much Jimin wanted to stay together, the relationship had been taking a toll on you.

Jimin was definitely more emotionally stable than you were. He didn’t have to move far from home for college, so his support system was still close. His best friends, Taehyung, Hoseok and Jungkook went to the same college as him. He didn’t need you as much as you needed him, physically.

You were thousands of miles away from your family and friends. You went to the college of your dreams, but you had to start over. So being in an old relationship in the next chapter of your life was hard. You were meeting new people every week your first quarter in school, but every happy face felt fake. There was no familiarity and the loneliness ate you up by the end of your second quarter.

Seeing Jimin through your screen only made you miss him more. Hearing his voicemails made you cry harder. You’d always think you’d adjust, eventually, but you never did. And admitting all that pain to Jimin was the hardest thing you had to do.

The breakup was not bad, but it also was not the best. You knew you couldn’t stay friends with Jimin, because you were still madly in love with this man and so was he. To move on, you had to avoid any contact with him and that didn’t sit well with him. He was too stubborn to move on. He kept telling you that he’d wait for when you’d come back for him.

Those were not the words you wanted to hear. Jimin respected your decision to break up, but it was his own to decide whether or not to move on. Frankly, you thought he’d give up on you the moment the second quarter started. It was college, and you were never the one to hold him back from having fun and going to parties. The boys went to parties practically every weekend, some were for the sake of meeting new people to hook up with.

As much as his friends did those things, Jimin remained incredibly loyal to you. No other girl could compare to his girlfriend and if someone were to make a move on him, he’d stop it immediately. He’d text you when he got back to his dorm after every party, drunk or sober (most of the times, he was drunk). He didn’t hesitate to brag about his wonderful girlfriend to his entire hall. Jimin was all about you, it had always been like that for him.

So it was no surprise when he reacted the way he did during the breakup. Jimin swore that he’d come back for you one day. You meant everything to him and he knew you like the back of his hand; he knew you better than yourself. You two had a history that no one else had.

Jimin was coming down for the long weekend with the boys for a close friend’s weekend long birthday extravaganza. It had been six months since you two last spoke, but the mention of your college caused his heart to shake.

“I highly doubt we’d see her at the party. Namjoon told me that he has never bumped into (y/n).” Hoseok waved off Jimin’s nerves before Namjoon greeted the boys with open arms and a big grin.

“My favorites, I’m glad you were all able to make it down here for my big birthday bash.” He wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s broad shoulders and bumped at Jimin’s arm, “lighten up. You won’t see her here tonight.”

“And what makes you so sure about that?”

Namjoon shrugged nonchalantly, “you’ll be too drunk to register her face if she does show up.”

His statement earned several laughs from the boys, but Jimin could only roll his eyes. He really debated on simply going home and skipping this weekend trip because now, he was too close for comfort. He was on your territory and he wasn’t sure what to do if he saw you again.

Six months was not enough time for Jimin to fully move on. He slept around with a few girls, but you were always in the back of his mind. Whenever he closed his eyes, your sweet smile would flash in the darkness. He would have reoccurring dreams about your shared memories. He’d hate to admit it, but he really missed you.

But your words rang in his ears whenever he would selfishly indulged in your past, “I don’t want to see you for a very long time, Jimin. I just won’t be able to do it. I won’t be able to move on if we stayed friends.” He wanted to uphold your wishes because you still meant so much to him, it was the least he could do.

Jimin entered Namjoon’s huge house, the scent of alcohol and weed filling his system and music traveling through his pulse. There were occasionally greetings from a few mutuals and smiles from pretty girls, but Jimin went through the house without much defeat.

Jungkook was lost in the crowd after passing by a group of girls. Namjoon was bombarded with hugs and birthday wishes. Jimin headed towards the standing bottles of alcohol, pouring himself a cup full of something dark. He sipped his drink, scanning the house as he leaned against the kitchen island.

He finished his drink with impressive speed, not entirely aware of the rate he was consuming. The moment he turned around to pour himself another cup, a voice caused him to freeze. “Can you also pour me one?”

He had thought the alcohol was tricking him into believing the voice belonged to you, but when he turned around... he knew it wasn’t the alcohol messing with him. “(y/n).”

You blinked back at his stunned figure, equally as shocked. He admired how good you looked. He had to stifle in a laugh at your revealing, black dress. It hung loose around your shoulders and wrapped around your middle --- the dress he bought you for your guys’ 2nd anniversary.

He wasn’t sure what to believe at this point --- the fact that you’re actually standing in front of him after such an extensive time or the fact that you still wore the things he bought you.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was just above a whisper and your hand automatically went to twirl the necklace around your neck. It had a small pendant of the first letter of your name and your fingers instinctively went towards it whenever you got nervous.

Jimin set down his drink, “I’m close friends with Namjoon.”

“No way. My friend has the same writing class as him.” You tried to act normal, like you didn’t bump into your ex-boyfriend at a party. He looked exactly like how you left him, maybe a bit more tired and gray. Oh how you missed his soft, plump lips or how strong his arms felt.

As much as you wanted to forget about him, he always resurfaced in your mind at the strangest times. You could be studying and he’d pop up. You’d be clubbing with your friends and you’d think he was across the room. You still held onto him.

“It was good seeing you again, (y/n).” Jimin said before he handed you a cup of your favorite mix.

“Wait---” The words were flowing out of your mouth before you could catch them. “---Do you want to dance?” You couldn’t see him go anymore.

His eyes lit up and he smiled, something that always ran chills down your spine. “You want to dance with me?”

“Why not?” You smiled back and finished your cup before hitting the crowds of drunk, dancing people. You had gotten really close to Jimin, to the point where your chest was against his.

You could tell he was holding back, like he was trying so hard to respect your space still. But you blinked back up at his sad eyes, and noticed they were filled with love and wonder. And almost every memory you two shared came crushing down, wrapping you in nostalgia.

Grabbing his hands, you let them rest on your waist and his eyes widen at your bold action. Maybe it was the alcohol doing all the work, but you really wish he’d stop holding back. You always remembered Jimin to have huge restraint and patient. He was strong willed --- stubborn --- and was reserved. But once his boundaries were gone, he was something amazing.

“Why are you holding back, Jimin?” You asked before you could process the question. An evident pout appeared on your face and his hands dropped from your body.

“I can’t, (Y/N). I refuse to give you all of me just for you to hurt me again.” He whispered and walked off the dance floor. That was one of the biggest blows you’ve ever felt. You hurried on after him, trying to find a needle in a hay stack.

It was difficult, everyone blended with one another and you weren’t fully sober to play Where’s Jimin. You spotted a frantic Jungkook being mauled by girls left and right, so you hurried toward the crowd. You grabbed Jungkook by his collar and dragged him out of the sea of desperate girls.

You two stood outside of the house and Jungkook took several deep breaths before thanking you for saving him, “now, what do you want?”

“Where did Jimin go?”

“Why do you care where he went?” He said leaning against the stature of the overflowing building. The stern look on his face caused much intimidation and it was as if he had forgotten all the great memories you two had shared as friends.

Sighing, you racked your brain for any reasonable explanation besides that you want to see him. It was selfish of you to not consider how Jimin still felt about you, but you had been restraining yourself from viewing his social medias and even thinking about him at night. It was as if something went off when you did see him, you simply wanted more.

“Because I want to apologize to him for what had just happened. Please.” You were on the verge of tears and Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“Follow me.” He grumbled and started walking up the stairs to the second floor. He walked past several doors in the hallway before reaching the end. He knocked a specific pattern and the door cracked open slightly. Jungkook gestured for you to enter and whispered, “don’t hurt him anymore. That is all I ask of you.” Jungkook walked away as you entered the big room.

Jimin sat on the edge of the neatly made bed, back facing you. “Whatever it is, Kook, I don’t want to hear it right now.” His voice was hoarse and raspy.

“Jimin, I’m sorry for pushing you out there like that.”

His body turned stiff, like a thief caught in a crime. He cleared his throat, “it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine. I was never considerate to how you felt, and I want to change that.” The bed shifted with you weight pulling the mattress. Jimin’s warmth surround your left side and it hurt for you to remember how safe you felt in it.

He was hesitant to reach for your hand, but you grabbed his to reassure him. “I’m still so in love with you.” He admitted. His thumb ran across your knuckles. “Every time I see you, I feel nostalgic. There is no one in the whole world that knows me like you do and that means something. You will always mean something to me.”

And you blinked at him with words unspoken. Your heart was shaking in the palms of his hands. A part inside of you felt okay with that, like if were to let anyone ruin your life, it would be him.

Jimin picked up your chin. Looking into his glossy, red eyes, he read every bit of you and searched for the one sign he needed. Then he saw it, the familiar small twinkle in your eyes, and he knew exactly how you felt.

#jiminnetwork #jimin scenarios #jimin scenario #jimin #park jimin #jimin imagines #jimin imagine #jimin smut #bts #bts jimin #jimin bts #bts scenario #bts scenarios #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop scenario #bts smut

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those-wings · 5 years

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They’ll Never Take Us Alive pt. 6 - Rosie

Synopsis: Being the sister of Captain America was easy enough when you were children. Follow him and Bucky around, try to keep him out of trouble, bug him, etc. As you grew up Bucky became so much more than just your older brother’s best friend.

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (eventually), torture elements later on, and some heavier themes that i will put disclaimers on when the time comes. so please 18+ and read with caution.

A/N: Yet another chapter that has kicked my ass. Between work and being tired from work I feel like I don’t have time to breathe anymore. HOWEVER one of the busy seasons is over so I should be okay from a month or two before I have to spend all my energy on a store that I hate again.

Chapter 6: Rosie

Masterlist

The next morning was the beginning of the worst day of my life. Steve was gone when we woke up. He had long gone to the draft office to receive his orders. In the meantime I went with Bucky to the train station. Neither of us said anything, we just walked side by side in silence.

When the train station came into view I felt my stomach drop to the ground. I grabbed at Bucky’s hand, trying to make sure he was still here, if only for the next few minutes.

Every step twisted my insides around harder, harder, and harder.

The inside of the station was busier than normal for seven in the morning. There were tons of soldiers on the platform, all dressed in the same suit as Bucky and saying goodbye to their family. I looked around, wondering how many of them would return and how many would become forgotten casualties of war.

“Doll?” I turned back to look at Bucky, searching his face for something that resembled confidence. For one of the first times ever, I couldn’t find any.

“Be careful,” I breathed, releasing air that I didn’t know I was holding. He pulled me into a hug so tight I could barely breathe. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his chest.

And we stayed there until the train bell rang.

He let go of me, then tilted my chin up to look up at him. I could see the fear he was trying to hide.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.” Then he leaned over and pressed a kiss to my lips. One that wasn’t nearly long enough.

I watched him board the train with the others. Once he popped his head out of the window, I stepped over to him and squeeze myself into line with the other girlfriends. He reached out to me, and I took his hand.

“I love you, doll.” The train started to move.

“I love you too,” I called over the loud squeal of the wheels.

Neither of us let go until we couldn’t reach anymore.

I watched the train as it became a speck, and then still until it was completely out of sight.

Taking Steve to the station wasn’t any easier.

It was only a few hours later. They had given Bucky a day to get ready, but Steve only had four hours.

The train station was just as busy as it had been earlier that morning. It was still all soldiers and their families, but this time there was a totally different atmosphere. Everyone was awake enough to process what was happening. They were all awake enough to be worried about what their future held. Aware of the fact that some of them were not coming home.

I pulled Steve into a hug, which he gladly returned.

“Please be careful,” I said. While I was worried about Bucky, I was terrified for Steve. He was little, and frail, and his habit of not being able to back down always worked against him. He reassured me, or at least tried to. He said he would be fine. That he was going to come home. That everything would be fine.

That didn’t get rid of the sinking feeling in my stomach.

That didn’t get rid of the fear.

Against everything in me that screamed to not let him go, I said my goodbyes. I gave him a tight lipped smile as he boarded the train, and I waved as he leaned out the window. Once he was out of sight, once he was far enough away that he couldn’t see me, I started to cry.

They were both gone, and I was so sure I knew how this was going to end.

They weren’t coming home.

It took less than a week for me to get lonely in our house.

I hated the chairs across the living room that Steve and Bucky would play cards at. I hated the two empty chairs at the dinner table. I hated the two empty bedrooms. I hated the empty side of my bed. I was more than happy to actually go to work, because it kept me out of the house.

I was a secretary for a small time lawyer, so it wasn’t much work to be done. The phones hardly ever rang, and with no paperwork I rarely had a distraction. I caught myself staring out the window on more than one occasion, especially at the poster that went up across the street. It was curious timing that it would go up around the same time that my spirits had dropped so low I was barely there anymore.

The poster was yellow, with a girl in work clothes showing her biceps off. It said “We can do it!” I was here alone for now, but maybe I could help bring them back sooner. I could do what the politicians recommended, collecting scrap metal, victory gardens, all the stuff I was sure was a waste of time. Maybe I was wrong. If there was a chance it would be my boys home I was willing to try it.

That is how the rest of my incredibly long week went. Helping the war effort.

It had been six days since they left when I received two letters in the mail. One from each of them.

The one from Bucky talked about how his training was going, how he was adjusting to being a soldier. He told me the meals were terrible, which was to be expected. He was still in boot camp, which was much farther than the one Steve had been at. He told me that he was going to Europe soon, and that he couldn’t wait to come home. He said he missed me and of every picture anyone had shown him I was still the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

Steve’s was quick. Simple. He said it was strange to be somewhere so different, but he liked it. I enjoyed the challenge of proving himself. I knew he would. He said there was an agent there that he really liked. A girl from England, Agent Carter. The second half of his letter seemed to only be about her, sounded like he had a thing for her. Not that he would do anything about it, the poor boy.

Reading their letters was everything I had wished it wouldn’t be. They reminded me how alone I was right now.

First thing the next morning I was up, writing letters back to them. Struggling not to write about the hole in my very being, I lied through a lot of it. That I’m fine, I’m holding up well. I’m not just sitting around being sad. That I had read at least too books since they left, when in fact I've barely been able to start one.

Slipping the letters into envelopes I flipped them both over to address them. I would have to get the stamps when I went to the post office to mail them.

There was a knock on the door.

It was probably just someone collecting money for the war effort. Grabbing what little change I had, I opened the front door.

There was a woman there, so pretty I could barely look away. Brown hair, bright red lips, and pretty brown eyes. And an officer’s uniform.

And next to her was my brother.

Steve wrapped me up in a hug, which I happily returned.

“What are you doing here?” I breathed out. I looked between him and the woman willing one of them to give me an answer.

“Steve has a procedure today, and he requested that you be there,” She answered, then seemingly reading my mind finished with: “I’m Agent Margret Carter, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” nodding, I looked back at Steve with a whole new set of questions.

“Procedure?” He nodded, but didn’t answer right away. Calculating what to say.

“We have to leave, or we’ll be late,” Agent Carter said, looking at the watched wrapped around her wrist. “We have time to talk in the car.”

Grabbing my keys and purse, I followed them to the car that would take us to who knows where, to do who knows what.

tags: @the--sad--hatter @colie87

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #Winter Soldier #winter soldier x reader #marvel x reader #they'll never take us alive #bucky x oc #bucky barnes x oc #winter soldier x oc #mine

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agustdef · 5 years

Text

Here & Now - Chapter 11

Pairing: Yoongi x OC

Genre: Fluff; Chill romance

Word Count: 1,885

Warning: None.

Banner Marker: @dee-ehn

The moment the clicking sound started up again I slapped my hand against my table, gaining everyone's attention. My eyes narrowed on Lexi, the reason for my sudden annoyance.

"Click it again, Lexi. Do it," I challenged.

Lexi dropped the pen the moment the words left my mouth. Her eyes went wide as she stared back at me, the rest of her body frozen. When she finally glanced around the others were also glaring at her, all of us tired of her incessant noise making. She took a chunk of her curly do and used it to cover her face, probably out of embarrassment.

Why she was clicking a pen, no one knew. She wasn't even using it, all her edits were being done via her laptop.

"And I think that means it's time for a break," Alex said, breaking the silence.

Everyone finished what they were working on and then there was a series of cracking bones. It sounded horrid, but it felt so good.

My brain felt like mush as I took a moment away from the chapter I was writing, but I knew it wouldn't last for long. It had just been some time since I'd been able to sit in an environment where everyone was working and I felt like trash if I wasn't productive like them. That was the purpose of our monthly meet-ups. Be around people we like and get work done. Any work. Though most were writing and revising things.

"Can I just burn the whole draft and hope that from its ashes a better one will emerge?" Max asked.

Goodness, how I wished that writing worked like that.

"If you manage to figure out which kind of magic allows for that please share with the group," said Spencer, whose voice was muffled by his hands.

Alex, who'd disappeared after announcing break, returned with everyone's chosen beverage. When she sat down my hot chocolate I almost downed half the drink before I felt the burn. I needed the placebo effect it had on me and my energy levels.

"Or you could write it and stop switching to that secret tab for that convention you keep saying you're not going to," Alex said.

Max gasped, hand against their chest in a dramatic fashion. It got a laugh out of everyone. We knew they'd been doing that for weeks now, claiming that they couldn't spend any more money and it was a waste. Yet, if you ever glanced at their screen the webpage would be right there, the mouse hovering over the buy tickets button.

"At least I wasn't switching between my draft and six other tabs, like someone I know." Max's gaze fell on me.

I scoffed, waving them off. "I was working thank you very much. I had some writing stuff to do and then some work stuff came to mind. I am allowed to multi-task."

"You had two docs of writing open and one weird looking program open, which I assume was for music. So, what was the second doc for, Kennie? Do share?" Max leaned in closer as they spoke, trying to peek at my screen.

Using my hand I pushed their face away and then darkened my screen so they couldn't see. "Nothing for any of you to know about. When it's time you'll know. I don't need y'all hyping me up and then I end up getting hyper-focused on it. I'm enjoying the carefree nature of writing it without pressure."

"And you don't want Ara to find out," Lexi added.

"And I don't want Ara to find out. So silence all of you." Even though I spoke to the group my gaze fell on Alex.

Her brow raised as she stared me down. "Why? What did I do?"

"You ratted on me last time when she asked you, don't think I forgot."

Like a fish her mouth opened and closed, her face screwing up as she became flustered by my words. I could even see a hint of red peeking underneath her brown skin.

"I... What? Do you expect me to lie to our precious agent? I could never lie to Ara. She's too precious. I refuse this. This is slander," she managed to choke out.

My eyes narrowed on her, though she no longer met them. She was avoiding them and every time she did look into them she quickly looked away.

Leaning in close I made sure she was looking directly at my face. "You sold me out for food."

Again she didn't seem to know what to say, but then she just shrugged. Dropping all attempts to make herself seem pure.

Lexi, Max, and Spencer just watched us and laughed. And then we all just sat in silence for a while, no one interacting unless to show someone a thing on their phone or to ask a random question that just popped into their head.

It was nice.

"I start work again tomorrow," Spencer huffed.

In the corner of my eye, I saw Lexi suddenly sit up. "Didn't your vacation just start?"

He shook his head. "It's already been a week, they go by so quickly. I feel like I just started to relax."

"The one time I got to take a two-week vacation was glorious. I miss working at that company," Max said, joining in on the vacation sadness.

"What are vacations?" Alex asked.

"Seconded," I said.

Without having to look up I knew they were all staring me down.

Max smacked their lips. "Um, ma'am you take them frequently. What do you mean?"

I rolled my eyes and turned my head towards the group. "Ma'am, I haven't had one in months. A few off days do not count."

They were silent and then Max gasped, looking at me with wide eyes. "Wait. Was your birthday the last vacation you had?"

Nodding my head I sat back and released a deep sigh. I didn't mind my constant working, because I had a flexible schedule and off days, but when I sat and thought about it a vacation would have been awesome.

"You need to get it together," Spencer said, while the others hummed in agreement.

Before we could go any further though my phone rang and though the immediate urge was to silence it, the ringer belonged to Marcus. So, sighing I picked it up and answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Sorry, Ken, I know now is supposed to be your creative outlet time or whatever it is you called that thing," Marcus rushed out.

"It's fine. We're on a break. What's up?"

"I know we aren't meeting for another round of offer eliminations for a few days, but I wanted to let you know that I got another revised contract for Def Jam, though they haven't made many changes." He didn't sound too enthused about it.

"Okay, just email it to me and I look over it again. I feel like I know what they gave in on and what they're going to ignore."

He sighed. "You're probably thinking the right things."

A small laugh escaped me. I'd shed some of my stress over the decision and found amusement in the way some of the labels were handling my acquirement. Most had no problem giving into my major concerns, but some of them just refused to budge; which made things easier.

"Was that it?" I asked just as my laptop notified me he'd sent it.

"Yeah. Wait, no. Did you finish going over the BigHit contract? I know it was a shock, but I'd prefer we get back to them sooner rather than later. I know I said we have time, but not that much time. It would be best to get it to them quickly so they can give it back."

For a second I froze. I'd had the contract for well over a week and for the last few days had been avoiding it. I couldn't explain why, but I chalked it up to the fear of change and left it at that.

"I..." I paused, chewing on my lip. "I, um finished it two days ago."

"Really?" Marcus asked, sounding shocked.

"Yeah."

There was a brief moment of silence and then I could hear him release a deep exhale. The man knew how to read me. "What's wrong with it?"

I glanced around the coffee shop, avoiding the eyes of my friends who were engaged in their own conversations. Looking at one of them always made me want to spill my guts out and I needn't do that.

But life didn't work how we wanted and Alex raised her brow at me as she stared into my soul and I broke.

I pushed back a stray strand of hair from an attempt at a braided crown and sighed.

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong with it. Well, okay. There are things wrong with it, but they're small things. Most of it is great and some of it beyond what I would ask in respects to my pay and control over projects outside of the company. Like too good. Like someone has been relaying some of my issues with the other offers to their legal team, and I've only complained to you, Hals, Yoongi with Joon in the room and my mother. And I wouldn't put it past 3 of those people. Or they're magic," I rambled.

"Or, perhaps - going to pitch a wild idea here so be ready - they see your worth and would appreciate working with you," Marcus reasoned.

I knew I was being a tad outlandish with that second claim, but my mind sometimes worked in weird things. Especially things that felt too good to be true and the offer was peak too good to be true.

"Send me the revisions and I'll look them over. And if you want we can go over it together before I send it in. You know I want you to make the best choices for you and if talking it through is necessary we can. I don't want you overthinking and regretting choices later."

Marcus was annoying as hell, but a freaking angel. He knew me well enough to know that sometimes I needed to be coddled. But he also knew when I needed a kick in the ass and how to do it while keeping things professional. Honestly, his professional agent side differed greatly from his personal life chaoticness.

Taking a deep breath I nodded. "Uh, do you have time tomorrow? I should be less weird then and we can do the usual quick run-through before you send it off."

"Yeah. Just email me the attachment and give me time before 2:00 pm for us to meet."

"Okay. Thank you, Marcus. I'll get that right over to you."

"Later," he said and hung up.

Without wasting time I pulled it together, got the email ready, checked my calendar and told him an 11:00 am meeting would work before sending it off.

I went to put down my phone and rejoin the group talking, but then it vibrated. The lock screen showed it was a message from Yoongi in the group chat with Joon.

Why are there pictures of my hands in here? Is this normal? Do you two have this fetish too?

I laughed so hard I snorted.

#min yoongi #yoongi #suga #min suga #original character #oc #sugaxoc #yoongixoc #producer!oc #writer!oc #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic

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le-petitmort · 5 years

Text

My ye olde time machine of smut writing

***I used to write smut with a friend of The Peep and mine, and this little piece was the very first one we put together. We went on after this trial effort to write a book series worth of material as two other characters, which was never published. Nor ever will it ever be, because it devolved into a dirty words vocabulary contest which required the reader to have a dictionary available as they read and diddled to the various scenes. That would only work if humans had three hands. Also, the whole editing books thing is too time consuming and neither of us wanted to fuck around with that or getting a literary agent or just about anything to do with anything other than writing smut.

It’s sure nice to see the growth in my writing though over five years.***

****Pardon the typos. This was some quickly done rough draft shit written on the internet for other people who were only trying to get off.***

Chapter I: The madam comes calling (Dez with Finley Strong)

March 8, 2014 at 7:53 AM

Dez Dickerson

A dominant without a submissive is like a car without its engine. It hadn’t taken long, and I was back on the prowl, if you will. The desires needed to be quenched and there was only one way to quell the thirst. It’s how I wound back up at the sex club under that fantastic Mexican restaurant I’d visited so many times before. I took a stroll through, checked out the rooms and tried my hardest to enjoy the goings on. Maybe I’m getting old? Is twenty-six too old or too young for this sex club shit? The place reeked of desperation with the vibe of a holiday vacation. Touristy dominance, Disney submissions. I walked the steps upward into the restaurant stopping to speak with Lorena, the Amazonian proprietor of the establishment who came bedecked in her six-inch spikes, too tight corset and barely there mini. No, I was not interested in Lorena. For fucks sake, she was a domme, there was nothing in it for me. The conversation did prove worthwhile though. Yes, I’m not looking for a commitment. Yes, I’m open newbies and experienced. Would I be opposed to her referring trusted individuals to me? No. Lorena sent me on my way with a promise that I would hear from her soon. The call came the very next day and here I was now, in the loft awaiting the appearance of one Finley Strong. Quite the name for a submissive. Would she prove her surname correct or would she succumb like a flower, wilting under the heat of my presence? Only time would tell. As I heard the clank of the steel outer door slamming shut I tried not to smile as if I were a lion being served fresh meat. Lorena had instructed her well. Walk into the big main room, stand at its direct center, wait. I heard her stilettos click across the grey concrete and halt accordingly. As I strode out of the kitchen I wasn’t disappointed. She stood tall and straight, eyes forward and chin raised with that touch of an overtly defiant attitude. Good show girl, we’ll break that soon enough. The question is how. How does she want it broken? Does she even want what I come to expect as natural? The agreement with Lorena called for giving them what they needed, not necessarily what Dez felt they needed. At least that’s how the bitchy Mexicano had stated it to me. Once in my clutches those tides could change, rolling back out to sea and redefining our meeting like the openness of the sea. Feel her out, do right by her. That was the last words of wisdom from Lorena, who certainly didn’t want to hazard to guess what was held in the mind of Ms. Finley Strong. Feel her out I did. One circle around and I was reaching out, two finger lightly touching at her hip, tracing over the small of her back as I walked, stopping in front with my fingers pressed at her mid-section. If I could say one thing about her, besides recognizing her striking beauty and fiery eyes, is that she was immaculately put together. I let my hand drift upward through the skin bared valley between her two succulent globes, the covered tips aroused to a point. Tasty. At least I imagined them to be quite tasty, once I was afforded the opportunity to partake of her sans clothing. I drew a single finger up her neck feeling her slight gulp as I went straight for her chin tipping it higher. Finley’s eyes remained forward to the same spot on the wall she had been fixated on. Resolve. That in itself shot a lightning bolt to my cock. “I’m Dez, but I’m sure you knew that already. When you’re allowed to speak there are a few rules. The name…Dez…is how you refer to be. I don’t play the sir or master game. Simply Dez. Get it memorized now.” A drop of my hand to her shoulder, letting it slide down her arm then falling over her curvaceous body until I was leaning forward cupping her ass in my palm. Her breath poured against my neck, heated and heavy. “Lorena made it apparent that you had a wish, some hunger you needed to feed that you’ve either been denied or have been denying yourself. A release as it were. Which in itself should be the ultimate goal when you’re with me. Release. My release.” I let go of her magnificent backside and stepped away, firmly in Dez mode one hand lifted brushing over my beard. Yes, she was definitely going to do I thought to myself, if for nothing other than the fact she had as yet shown not one emotion. Finley Strong appeared the type who demanded it be brought out of by a fierce hand. That…I could accommodate. “So, here’s where this goes Ms. Finley Strong. You tell me what your limits are and why you’re here. I will decide if I like what I hear.” I smiled at my fine use of homonyms. “None of that do whatever you want Dez shit, I don't go in for that. Open your mind to Dez. If you intrigue me in a way that separates you from the herd, I will nod towards the door. That doesn’t mean leave. That means get your ass to the entryway, remove every stitch of clothing and reenter. You will walk across this great room and follow that hallway to the first door on the right. Enter, walk to the X on the floor and kneel, open and presented. Make very certain your thighs are wide and inviting, hands clasped tightly behind your head. Back arched, those fucking tits jutting in anticipation. Got it? Go on now…with the talking. It’s the last time you’ll be saying much of anything.”

Finley Strong Well shit, she hadn't expected that. Fin had already forgotten about the seemingly insignificant conversation with Lorena two weeks ago; Lorena hadn't. They rambled on about their sex lives over margaritas--as they often did. One too many and Fin was spouting off something to the effect of 'I just want someone to tie me up and fuck me proper.' Apparently, that had stuck with Lorena, because Fin was the first person on Lorena's list when just such an opportunity presented itself. Hello opportunity, insert Dez Dickerson. Fin hung up the phone, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips, a slow ache sitting steadfast in the pit of her stomach. Nerves? What the fuck should she be nervous about? Finley thought as she plucked a pair of black skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder sweater out of her closet. Because it was so completely out of character for Finley Strong. She ran a brothel for fucks sake. Which, in itself didn't necessarily dictate a personality with a propensity for maintaining control, but it did enhance every domineering quality Fin already possessed. In all honesty, she had been hard wired to run the roost. It had been that way all her life. And now what? She was going to relinquish most, if not all, of that to a perfect stranger? Fin shook her head and shimmied into her jeans, stepped into a pair of ass-jacking Louboutins and headed to the address Lorena provided. She already had fucking instructions, Fin thought with a smirk, and it hadn't even really begun. You got this, Fin. Piece of cake. Piece of pie. Perhaps the thing that worried her the most was her ability to let go. . .or lack there of. When it came down to it, was she going to be able to submit? Oh sure, the concept seemed simple enough, but when you got down to the nitty gritty, Fin feared she would have to fight herself every single step of the way. Turning a control freak into a sub wasn't going to happen overnight. Don't talk back, be obedient, leave your attitude at the door--all of which seemed like impossible tasks at the moment. Exhaling deeply, she brushed her mahogany locks out of her face, yanked the steel door open confidently, and sauntered into the main room, standing as instructed with her eyes locked on a single point in the wall. The nerves had gone, Fin had constructed her wall, the stage was as good as set. She stood straight shouldered, chin tipped up, eyes never moving from the original point. Yea, she fucking wanted this--she knew it the instant she felt that tingling sensation in her fingertips. The second Fin saw him walking towards her out of her peripherals, her pulse quickened. If she had a 'type,' Dez Dickerson fit that mold perfectly. Tattoos, check. An air of 'I don't give a fuck' masculinely unkempt demeanor that screamed 'I am who I am, if you don't like it, kindly fuck off,' check. But the nail in the coffin was his fucking voice. Low, smoky, direct, unwavering. Like warm honey dripping over every inch of her skin. The small of her back arched just slightly as his fingertips etched their way along her skin, her body instantly responding to him. Finley slowed her breathing and firmly instructed her body to get its shit together. At least as of now, Fin was in control of the way her body reacted--not him, not yet. Eyes straight forward, she listened intently, expressionless, his hands exploring as he pleased, finally resting on the curve of her ass. He knew exactly what he was doing. Every touch calculated, perfect by design, expertly placed to optimize pleasure. Fin knew one thing for sure, if this endeavor continues, he was going to play her body like a fucking flute. . .and, at the end of the day, there was nothing she could about it. And then came his questions. They had caught her completely off guard for whatever reason. What are your limits and why are you here? The first inquiry was simple: there are no limits. But the second, well, that one required a little more inward exploration. Jesus, every primitive instinct inside her was chomping at the bit to shove him against the wall and fuck him senseless. That's what she wanted. Yet, she remained silent for a moment, still contemplating her answer. That's not why you're here, Fin, she reminded herself. I want you to tie me up and fuck me proper, was the next answer that popped into her mind. Well, fucking duh, Fin. She wouldn't be standing here right now if that wasn't eventually going to happen. I want you to own my body in ways I've never imagined. Okay, she thought, that's going somewhere. Why are you here, Fin? It was something more than an orgasm. The myriad of response all led to one thing: control. In every thing she did, Fin had to have control. It was an exhausting endeavor, yes, but relinquishing control to her meant something more than a rest from decision making. She had never just /let go/. She had never experienced the imperforate feeling of subjugation. The freeing of awareness that comes only when you've surrendered everything--mind and body--to another. For the first time her eyes met his. She studied his facial expressions and mannerisms. Those fucking eyes, Finley mused. They look right into your soul, straight to your very core. Her emerald orbs held his stare for a moment before she spoke. "No limits." She paused to emphasize her seriousness with the first answer. "And what I want is to let go. Completely. To the point that it terrifies me." Make what you will of that, Dez Dickerson, but it's just about the most honest answer you will ever get out of Finley Strong.

Dez Dickerson

The first two words out of her mouth set me off like a firecracker on the Fourth of July. Either she was looking for chastising or she had no clue about my opinionated manner on all thing dom/sub. Two fucking words, that's it. I sucked in air through my flared nostrils, filling my lungs until I thought they would burst like a balloon. No limits. I exhaled out a furious rush of breath, my hand lifting and grasping at back of Finley's neck, wrapping my fingers tight as I prodded her towards the corner. "Keep your mouth shut, unless asked to speak. One hand up high on each wall. Lean forward balanced on your toes. I want that ass pointing for me. Calling for my hand." I took a step back, drinking in her form. The way her back arched in a perfect curve, a striking contrast to her straight as a board legs. the cascade of her dark hair a barrier shielding her facial expressions from me. One step forward and I was pressing my jeans covered bulge against the crack of her ass. Just enough to make her wiggle with heady anticipation. I wrapped my arm in front of Finley and began unbuttoning her shirt in the most painfully slow manner, my cock pressing harder at her backside. "No limits, huh?" I barked it out, closing in on her ear as my fingers worked at the buttons. "That isn't something you should ever say to a dominant. A lot of crazy people in the world." With her shirt now hanging loose I moved to the side. One glancing blow of my hand to her ass. "No limits?" My palm cracked downward again, an shocked audible umph of air came blasting out of Finley. "So what you're saying is that I could do anything to you that I want. I could put a collar on you right now. Make you walk around this loft like a dog. Make you bark for me. Is that what you want Ms. Strong." I lowered my hand swift and merciless on those tight as a second skin jeans of hers. A yank back at her shoulder and in on motion Finley was off the wall and shirtless. "Scat Finley...piss. You just told me those things were fine by you. No limits." I pushed her flat palmed against the walls, both hands to her stomach. Rising them higher I cupped Finley's pert round tits, my dick back to grinding on her. Yes, this was all a change of plans from my status quo. No strip down in the entryway and get to the play room today. No limits meant Dez changing things up. Maybe that's what I needed, something different, something extraordinary. I took my thumb and forefinger over what I imagined to be the pinkest areolae, taking each budded nipples for a twist and pull, both now pointing like the tip of an arrow, as if I was commanding it to happen. Which I most definitely was. "Interesting Finley. You have given me the go ahead to lock you in a cage and bring you out when I want to. Hell, I never have to let you leave this place. No limits. I could decide to own you now. Would you prefer I call you pet or bitch or what?" I kept up the manual torment on her right breast as my other hand dropped to her jeans quickly unbuttoning and dropping the zipper. My hand slid inside and over her thong, a tap tap tap of finger like her snatch was a dewy drum head. "Kick off the hooker shoes and strip down." Finley hesitated, the kind of apprehension that said is this guy for real or what the fuck have I gotten myself into. Which ever it was I wasn't in the mood for a dawdling submissive. "Now! Or else I'm going to go grab a sharpie and write "Dez's pokey ass slut" on your forehead. I can do that. No limits. You said it yourself." I wasn't waiting on her to get moving, I tugged at the band of her pants, puling them down as I heard her shoes rattle off the wall. "Good girl. Daddy likes your newfound listening skills." There she was nude before me and I wished I could see the look on her face. I would soon enough, for now I lived with my imagination and the vision of her body heaving in a combination of heart racing, breath fighting for more air, nerves edged and unsure of what would happen next. "Hands back on the wall, get up on those toes. You're getting twenty to the ass. Instead of counting them out for me like a good little sub I want you reminding me...no limits...after each one. Boom, I dropped the first one, then the second like a thunder clap. Each one in succession with a response from Finley as her uplifted ass turned a pretty shade of crimson, the imprints of palm and fingers on full display. Finished, I fisted at her hair, a rough pull that spun Finley facing me. I leaned down eye to eye, my mouth close enough to almost capture her trembling lips. I let my voice drop deep, gravelly and domineering. "Lucky for you Ms. Strong I do not believe in the theory of no limits or else this could have gone terribly wrong. Do not ever...ever..say that to any man. That's your first lesson for today. Are we clear? And don't even think of calling me daddy." I let go of her long tresses and watched her head fall. "Eyes back up. You need a safe word also. It will be..." I had to think on that for a moment. That word I purposely wanted to be slightly off the wall. "...Toyota. I will be getting myself water, because this will be a long night. While I do that I want you marching to the play room...reciting your safe word loud enough that I can hear it. Get that sweet little ass in front of the St. Andrew's cross in there. Keep reciting your word..." I dropped my eyes over Finley. "...get one hand working over those perfect tits the other strumming that tense, ready clit I haven't had the pleasure of tormenting yet." I gave a crooked smile. "I'm assuming that pussy is wet and wanting right now. Probably throbbing in need of being filled. That'll happen soon enough." I turned towards the kitchen and made an abrupt spin back to Finley. "What are you waiting for. Get going. Now."

Finley Strong

She had set him off. Like a pile of fucking dynamite a mile high. As unintentional as it had been, something sick and sadistic inside Finley was mildly pleased that she had triggered him so quickly. Fin’s jaws clenched instantly when his hand wrapped around the back of her neck, one of her hands palmed the wall as instructed as she teetered on the tips of heels and arched the small of her back as deeply as she could. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She chanted, squeezing her eyes shut at the feeling of him pressed against her. His hand expertly unfastening each button of her blouse. Her mind was spiraling, reeling at the anticipation. Of not knowing what in the fuck he was going to do next with her poised like a damn show pony. . .and no limits. What in the actual fuck had she been thinking by saying that? In her naivety, she had meant it. And then the pit in her stomach resurfaced, nerves eating at her insides like a ravenous plague. The carefully devised wall she had constructed was being torn down, brick by agonizing brick, Dez Dickerson there with a sledgehammer beating the shit out of it like it owed him money. Finley sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth at the first smack; the second had pulled soft whimper from her lungs. Immediately, she pressed her lips together, swallowed hard, and fought every urge to shake her head disgustingly at herself. Damnit! Fucking damnit, Dez Dickerson, you’ve made your point! She was an absolute amateur for saying ‘no limits.’ Her eyes snapped open, his curt tug on her shoulder snapping her back to reality. The reality that this was his world—and she, quite obviously, had no fucking clue what she had gotten herself into. Then back to the wall, both hands this time. A chill ran up her spine the first time his skin met hers. Parting her lips, Finley slowly inhaled and held her breath. Yes, even the slightest of contact sparking a deep aching fire inside her. His fingers coaxing the peaks to perfect hardness. Her back bowed, pressing herself harder into his hand. Jesus, she thought, like a fucking flute. Before she even had time to digest one perfectly placed hand, the other was buried between her thighs. Shit, Finley cursed as her knees gave way slightly under the pressure of his finger. Get your shit together, Strong. Now! Her mental reorganization had caused a seconds delay. It was happening so fast. No sooner had one command been given, then he was barking the next order, all while his hands mind-fucked her body into submission. Now! He barked. With two indignant kicks, she heaved her eight hundred dollar pumps across the room to smack against the wall. So help me, Dez fucking Dickerson, I will shove that goddamned Sharpie. . .her thought trailed off with the rest of her clothing. Two rapid movements and there was nothing left to hide her flesh from his eyes. Hands back on the wall. Fin’s eyes searched the blank canvas as if it had some unspoken answer written in the cracks, her jaw still clenched tightly, lips pursed, mentally preparing herself for the impending twenty lashes. One. The sound of smacking flesh echoed off the walls like an audible aphrodisiac. “No limits.” She spat in a seething whisper. Each subsequent smack eliciting an even louder “No limits.” Each subsequent smack striking to her core. Part of her was wildly turned on by the way his hand felt on her ass, the lingering sting intoxicatingly erotic. Her fingernails dug into the wall, as the other part of Finley fought every urge to spin on her heels and introduce his cheek to her palm. With each swat Finley found herself letting go twenty times until finally, the last stinging slap was followed with an nearly inaudible “No limits.” Point made again, Dez, she mused, the tender skin on her backside now hot and undoubtedly a lovely shade of crimson. A gasp slipped past her lips as her body was twisted like a top around his fist in her hair. Her green eyes staring daggers into his the moment they were finally face to face. Her pulse raging at this point, but her expression stoic and unwavering, her upper lip curling slightly at the instruction to avoid calling him ‘daddy.’ When he barked for her to look up, Fin’s gaze remained steadfast on his face, studying him, half-heartedly listening to what he was telling her to do, rewinding what the fuck had just happened in her mind and playing it in slow motion. You’re trying to break me. To the extent that, to Dez Dickerson ‘no limits’ was an absolute abomination to the dom/sub world, she got it. Yesterday’s Fin would have promptly grabbed her shit and walked out that door butt-ass naked just to prove a point—you’re not going to break me like I’m some wild fucking horse. But today’s Fin knew better. Because, in the end, that’s exactly what he was going to do. That didn’t mean Finley Strong wasn’t going to put up a little bit of resistance. Okay, probably more resistance than he was interested in dealing with. Finley stood there, staring at him walking into the kitchen, wondering just how much Lorena had told him about her. She was quite confident that the next thing that came out of her mouth was going to get her another twenty licks or worse. Finley waited until he turned back around to face her. She strode through the main room and into the kitchen, standing close enough to him that their toes touch, her eyes capturing his. “I know you didn’t give me permission to speak. And perhaps this will be the last time I ever break that rule, but you can lay off the humiliation bit. I get it. You’re teaching me a lesson. I’ve never done. . .” She stopped herself from completing that sentence, confident that one, her ‘no limits’ response made it painfully obvious she hadn’t done this before, and two, he, in all likelihood, didn’t care. “Just. . .That’s my limit. I’m not here for you to humiliate me. I understand there are varying subjective definitions of humiliation, but I think you get the jest. Unless you get off on having me bark like a dog or scribbling rubbish on me like I’m some insignificant piece of trash. In which case, this is probably not going to work out.” With that, Finley spun on her heels and padded towards his play room. “And yes, my pussy is wet and wanting right now.” She called back over her shoulder to him. “Toyota!” Fin shouted as she rounded the corner, cupping one delicate breast in her hand, her index finger and thumb coaxing the peak to a hardness, a pulsating throb setting in warmly between her thighs as she envisioned his hand as the maestro. “Toyota!”

Dez Dickerson

My admiration for Finley Strong would be off the charts, if she could just keep her trap shut. This was one of those rare situations where I would, in fact, break from my beliefs and jam a ball gag into her pie hole. Well, not really, I hate that shit. I must be allowed to revel in her gasps, moans and groans. Every last one of them I deserved. Yes, I will admit, she was under my skin to even make a gag a passing thought. "Toyota." I could hear it clear as a church bell chiming in a belligerent tone from her voice as I filled my jug to the brim and headed towards Finley. For the second time tonight I had a change of heart on the direction of our encounter. This time it was the crux which had fallen like a brick out of a wall from my plans. No, I had something a little better in mind for Ms. Strong. I wanted full access to her skin. Every minute curve and line that defined that magnificent, majestic body. Of course, once again I would also make each inch pay for her obstinate ways. Fall out of line and get in my face? That would come at some cost. Pain to pleasure. Earn it Finley. Entering the room I listened as she kept up her mantra, which now seemed less a safe word and more a commercial for mid-sized Japanese cars now made in America. Yes Finley, I will pound you like a Tundra being driven through a mud bog. I will make your engine red line and your tires smoke. "Enough." One simple word as I headed for the closet, grabbing a twisted bundle of rope before strolling to Finley. "Arms out, palms pressed in prayer." One hand encircled her tiny wrists, the other began the arduous task of winding the cord to perfection down her slender forearms. Her skin was vibrant and milky and my head wandered to afterward when I released Finley from her binds. The flow of blood would return full force through her veins, each ply of the rope now defined as valleys and peaks in her skin. I was feeling in a peculiar, driven to chat mood today which may be attributed to my seething anger from Finley having the audacity to confront me. Compensation. "Point taken regarding humiliation, however that is far removed from the realm of anything that would ever happen in the confines of my home. Those were...for instances." The twine was set and I ran a loop inside being certain I wanted to keep Finley well restrained. "I have a tendency to provide my point of view in an over the top style. I have always felt the strongest statement, no matter how it is taken, best proves my point. Suffice it to say, should you run across a less than accommodating dominant..." I broke my eyes from my craft and captured hers "...a shady and selfish fucker. I don't want you allowing yourself to be used. That isn't what this is about. Ever." One last cinch and Finley Strong was under my control. I looked up at the ceiling and pulled her out and away from the cross. A new device had been installed and now was as good a time as any for some usage. I had replaced the old strappado which connected to a reel on the wall with an electric hoist. Yes, I was moving into the twenty first century, forsaking manual labor for ease of use. Besides, this way I could grab the controller and have my choice of how high I wanted this lil' ol' smartass. I grabbed the controls, lowering the hook and silently raising Finley's arms straight above her. Attaching the hook to her bind, I hit the button and watched Finley rise until her toes were en pointe, the tips barely able to keep her steady, but low enough that there wasn't undue stress on her limbs. Just enough to make Finley think. To think what next and to remember who was running the show. "This is the part where that safe word comes in handy. Don't try to be too willing. Too up for anything. If you at all get uncomfortable, I want to hear it. I'm not here to ruin you. At least not in that way. I'll save that for the fucking." I lurched off towards the closet, digging through the baskets and grabbing a flogger. The right flogger. I needed to remember that she wasn't experienced, only here to give this piece of the lifestyle a try. I gave the instrument a spin in my wrist as I approached Finley, a sudden swing forward and I brushed over her taut belly, which sucked in hard at the touch accenting her curvaceous hips and protruding tits. "I want three deep breaths and heavy exhales from you Finley." I kept the flogger spinning, the black tendrils a waterfall against her ivory skin, which was now flaired with rouge brush strokes and developing a noticeable sheen. I'd have her sweating it out good momentarily, of that I was sure. "Your mind must be clear of all other thoughts. Focus. Let your gasps of pleasure ignite you into a pyre." Eloquent motherfucker. As the third breath rushed from Finley I started in, doing the counting myself one to one hundred, watching her struggle, then relax. The thought of her pussy getting worked into a fervor, dying for a frenzied explosion of exquisite sensation. "One hundred." I tossed the flogger to the floor and stalked the couple steps to Finley. My hands wandering and massaging, tempting her to writhe with delight. I dropped low, my tongue tracing the bubble of her ass, which now was heated, thoroughly covered in my marks. My hand forced between her thighs, cupping her pussy in my palm like I was holding her aloft. My middle finger dipped, stroking between her folds before diving deep, buried to the hilt. I flicked down hard on the spot I knew would bring a flowing gush of wetness from Finley and I gave my instructions. "I know what this is going to do to you. I know you will melt like a cube of if ice to my touch. I want to hear it. Tell me every detail of what you feel. But most of all. Do. Not. Let. Yourself. Come. That crashing orgasm is the one thing I own in all this. Don't disappoint me Finley."

Finley Strong

Those few seconds she waited for him in the playroom seemed like an eternity. The chanting of her safe word didn't help either. It reverberated off the walls as if it were a mocking reminder of his impending arrival. Finley wasn't sure just how much trouble she had gotten herself into by insubordinately invading his personal space. Perhaps that was the most nerve wracking part--the unknown. Strike that, it was the combination of the unknown and lack of control to dictate the next step. The sound of his footsteps behind her made her skin prickle with goose flesh. And as insubordinate as she had been with him two minutes earlier, her body was similarly disobeying her with each passing second. Finley's back arced responsively to his presence, her safe word becoming nothing more than soft sigh. "Enough." He barked from behind. Immediately, Finley shut up and ran her tongue across her lips nervously before pressing them together as she steepled her fingers and pressed her palms together in front of her. Her eyes followed his hands meticulously working the rope around her wrists and forearms, the sensation of restricting the blood flow to her hands causing her fingertips to tingle. Finley listened intently as he spoke, her green orbs tracing the barely visible curves of his lips until finally he paused in his monologue and met her stare for a second. Those eyes. . .they in themselves could wrestle a strong woman into submission. Her stomach sank, and the whole fucking room was silent except for the hypnotic sound of his voice and the rhythmic twisting of rope to flesh. Her body lurched forward slightly as he tugged on the last cinch--her mind absolutely clear. And that was it. No more Finley, or at least no more yesterday's Finley. She tipped her head up, her dark locks spilling over her shoulders and down her back, tensing her body as her arms were pulled taut above her head, the tips of her toes barely grazing the floor. Goodbye to the attitude formerly known as Fin. With a sighing moan, Finley adjusted her wrists to a comfortable position and looked down to find that Dez was no longer in front of her. She squeezed her eyes closed, tying to pinpoint his location in the room only to be awakened by the wisp of leather to her torso. One deep breath in, slow exhale, as instructed. The leather against her skin eliciting a plethora of responses from her as her muscles tensed with anticipation for the licks to get progressively harder. Oh yes, Dez would have his pound of flesh. Another deep inhale, the exhale so painstakingly slow that the sound of her breath echoed in her ears. Clear your mind, Fin, he said clear your mind, she repeated in her head, nodding to him slightly as an acquiescence to his command. Final inhale, exhale. Smack! Fin's body tensed, every muscle tightening. Smack! Her hands balled into tiny fists. Smack! Fin's toes curled as she exhaled slowly, a soft moan riding on her breath. By the forty-second smack, Fin had stopped counting. She had closed her eyes, hands still in white knuckled fists, but her body gave way, relaxing, absorbing the sting of the tassels, her mind wandering to the memory of Dez's hands. Rough, calloused, aggressive, but most of all, fantastically possessive. Smack! Finley cried out his name. It had been totally inadvertent, but it was the first word that came to mind. Jesus, those hands, Fin introverted once again, picturing his fingertips slipping past the cusp and dipping deep inside her. Smack! A low whimpering sigh escaped her lips. "One hundred." Fin's eyes fluttered open. What? No. A hundred? The warm feeling of Dez's tongue along her ass caused her to gasp and tense again, the stinging burn deliciously countered by a soothing wetness. And then his hand, Fin's lips parted but not so much as a peep came out as she tried to decipher if it was real or just her imagination playing her again. As she felt a finger slip into the wetness of her desire, curving perfectly, Finley moaned and let her head hang, her dark tendrils cascading down her torso. The anticipation of which nearly being enough to send her over the edge right then and there. No, this was most definitely real. She pulled her head up when he spoke again, trying to wrap her mind around his instructions while she her fought her body tooth and nail not to climax. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Finley tried to find his eyes, as if to ask for permission to answer his request to tell him what she felt. Melting like an ice cube was a fucking understatement. "M-may I speak?" Her lips finding it hard to form the words; stopping your body from coming when it was so close to fruition was like stopping a freight train with one hand. "I feel overwhelmed?" What the fuck, she hadn't meant for that to come out as a question. "L-like my entire body is going to explode. I um," Her mind raced, all of her thoughts now just jumbled nonsense swimming around in a murky abyss. "I um, God, I want to come, but I don't want to disappoint you. . ." She stopped herself from saying anything else for it would have been nothing more than rambling gibberish. So much for great detail, Dez, her green eyes looking down at her feet that were now perfectly arched.

Dez Dickerson

Overwhelmed? Darlin' we're just getting this dog and pony show started. I'm going to overwhelm you tenfold before this night is over. Get that hot little body quaking, those knees shaking to the point that you have nothing left in the gas tank. You'll be begging me to keep you stable, mind and body, and at the same time you'll be begging for more pleasure. Overwhelmed? I want you addicted to the process. To know the perfection of your own personal freedom. "Then don't disappoint me." I could feel her walls clench with involuntary rhythmic contractions, like she was about to let loose with a torrential pinnacle that would culminate in a whimpering climax. Her ass pressed back against my hand yearning for more. My thumb sliding over her wetness until it was rubbing over Finley's back door. A press against her opening and I was in, circling against the tight ring in her back side. My free hand went to grip her hair, ripping back to expose her neck. Head lowered, a lick of the the exposed skin, a nip, another lick back down. I caught the tight skin between my teeth and tented it, eliciting a yelp from Finley. All the while with hands raising the stakes, alternating motions, speed, pressures to both entrances. I caught a glimpse of her emerald eyes rolled back, mouth agape in a show lust filled enjoyment. Another look at those captivating eyes and I had my next move. My digits dropped from Finley and her body slumped as much as it could given the way she hung like a rag doll. I stalked to the closet and rummaged through my wares. I was back in a flash and Finley was none the wiser as to what came next. A dollop of lube to my finger and I was slipping back inside the warm sanctity of her ass. A second finger and I was getting her loosened, prepared. She wasn't fighting me now, rather ceding herself over to me. Groans being her only responses. It was as if Finley knew I would provide what she needed and it was no longer in her best interest to fight in an unneeded show of pride. My other hand grasped at her ass checks spreading her wider to my advances. Then I gave myself a smirk. "I really love the color of your eyes Finley. I think you need an accessory to match them." My long fingers slid fast from her ass and POP, I slipped an emerald jeweled ass plug seated deep and snug inside. Finley's body shot forward in an arc of semi-resistance to the intrusion, her voice piercing the room with a surprised moan. I latched onto her hips steadying her as she settled back in. "Green's one of my favorite colors." I did a bend down admiring the anal accoutrement. "You had a damn fine ass before. Now it's...it's simply fuckable Ms. Strong. Well, fillable...for now...would be the better word." I gave a little laugh as I raised my shirt up and over my head, flinging off to the side, pouncing on Finley, spinning her towards me. The granite slab of my chest pressed against her pillowy breasts. My fingers splayed through her locks palming the back of her head. A lean lower and I captured her mouth. A dart of the tongue past her puffed lips and I met hers. Hesitant at first, I felt Finley sigh against me. Her tongue giving a devilish swirl over mine as if she had succumbed to the last temptation. This is what I had strove for, Finley to make her own move. Show me how fucking bad you want it girl. Her mouth was doing just that. Mere words could not describe the fire that was burning, the ache that was throbbing inside Finley Strong. I dropped a palm cupping her ass, fingers pressed and twisting at the toy stuck full inside her. Enough teasing to work her up to the next level. The pain of my own molten member engorged and leaking was all I could take. I broke from Finley and moved across the room. Full view for her as I took my hand to my belt buckle. Snapping it open, unbuttoning my jeans and dropping them down the sinewy length of my legs. My dick sprang to attention catching Finley's eye. For my part I could only smile at her response. I took my sweet time walking back, my cock leading the way until I had the hoist control in my hand, lowering Finley flat footed. Unhooked, I grabbed her bound wrists and led her towards the tan bricks of the wall. At first I had her facing the bricks, her waist under my control. My feet kicked between her separating Finley wide. My palm went between her legs, five hard greedy slaps to her waiting entrance. I reached for her rope cover arm, spinning her facing me in a wicked pirouette. Smack, smack, smack. My hand bore down hard between her legs. Finley seemed lost to it all now, breathing jagged and body unsteady. A hot little fiery mess. In a swift motion my fingers were corseting her waist. A lift and her lithe form and tulip stem legs wrapped around me. I banged Finley off the wall and her tied arms dropped around my head, resting on my shoulders. I pressed her back against the bricks my mouth on hers, adjusting the bulbous head of my iron hard tumescence so that it was rubbing against the slick wetness of her excitement. Sliding up I hit her rigid, responsive clit, flicking my head back and forth across it, feeling her shimmy in response. "This is the part where I fuck you silly. Remember the rule Finley. No coming until I say so. It's going to be mind shattering when I allow it." That was it. One thrust and I was between the stretching walls of her body, bottoming out at the place where she most ached for engulfment. Her private satin flesh a receptive, desperate dark haven of all Finley Strong's urges.

Finley Strong

There were a million different things crashing together in the most elaborate way imaginable. For Finley, she had always been the “dom.” Perhaps not to this extent, but she was was used to running the show. If she wanted it, she took it. She fucked and was fucked when and how she said so. But now, Jesus fucking Christ. Her body was being pulled in so many directions that she hardly had time to comprehend what happened thirty minutes ago. Stop. Stop right now, Fin. Stop thinking and react. Let. Go. His goddamned hands worked her over, her hips bucked against his fingers, her breath hitching in her throat as he circled a pressure point from behind. Finley's hands gripped the rope and pulled herself up slightly, parting her thighs for him, one knee cocked to the side. The hard hand in her hair and teeth to her neck were it, she wanted to jump out of her fucking skin. Spurs to a rodeo bull, was more like it. Finley gasped a hissing breath, turning her face to Dez in an attempt to capture his mouth, but he and his magic fucking fingers were gone. With a heavy sigh, Fin’s body went limp for a second. In the second following, her body lurched forward; the penetration from behind catching her off guard. Her muscles went taut, and then relaxed, her mind trying to wrap itself around everything. With choppy breaths, Finley spiraled and writhed, concupiscent as she drank in every erotic sensation coursing through her with a raging fervor. He had done it, with seemingly effortlessness, Dez had unraveled Finley Strong from the inside out. When their lips melded together, Finley sighed heavily against his mouth, her tongue meeting his and twisted around it, tasting him fully for the first time. She leaned into the kiss, and pressed her mouth onto his hard, almost aggressively, trying to take as much of him in these brief seconds of contact that she could. His hands reached around to her ass and oh-my-god--the weight of her body proving to be a momentary hindrance as her knees gave way. Still fixated on his mouth and the way his tongue traced every contour of hers, Fin captured his bottom lip and raked it between her teeth as he pulled away. Licking the rest of him off her lips, Finley released an exaggerated exhale through her nose. Let me down, Dez, so I can rip you apart. She was ready. Dripping wet, ready, and insatiably hungry. He had teased her to the point of delirium; revving her up such that nothing existed outside the world of fucking Dez Dickerson's brains out. She had been docile for a round or two. Even asked for permission to speak. He quite literally spanked it out of her, Fin couldn't deny him that, but she could feel the finale nearing, the anticipation was unbearable, and she was going to eat him alive or die trying. He lowered her down and walked them over to the wall. With her palms flush to the bricks, Finley bent over, ass in the air, for him. Wasn't it all for him? Her skin trembling under his hands as she counted the seconds that mockingly lingered on. Each calculated move by him devised to elicit a very particular response for her. . .and it did. Every. Single. Time. Finley rested her forehead on her hands, moaning uncontrollably at the deliciously electric feeling of the smack of his hand between her thighs. A vibrating cadence rocked her shoulders forward, Fin tapping her head against her hands a few times, ardently contracting her velvety walls and biting her bottom lip, trying with unimaginable strength to keep quiet and not come. Fuck, she was so close. . .dangerously so. Don't come. Don't come. Don't you dare fucking come, Finley Strong. Spinning her like a top, Dez's hands lifted her up, Finley giving little to no resistance as her back slammed against the wall, her arms falling to drape around his neck like a noose while she vised his body with her legs around his waist. Jesus Christ, yes, Finley thought, a desperate sob exuding off a sharp breath, the feeling of his hardness slipping between her dewy lips, pressing farther up with exacting precision to message her throbbing clitoris caused her body to tremor uncontrollably with desire. Yes! At the sound of the word 'fuck' rolling off his lips, Finley's bound wrists tugged at the back of his neck as she looked up at him from behind her thick lashes with bedroom eyes. God damnit, I get it, just fuck me already! And before she could even finish the thought, with one artfully executed thrust he was buried deep inside her. "Oh my fucking God. . ." Finley whispered, her head hanging for a moment before she whipped it back up and, with a forceful yank, possessively took his lips with hers again. Raw, sweaty flesh to flesh. Rolling her hips into his, Finley held his mouth to hers with her wrists behind his neck. Her thighs tightened around him as his hands slid down the small of her back with hard fingers finally digging into the taut muscles of her ass. She arched and bowed her back, grinding her hips against his like a python slipping through turbulent waters. "Dez. . ." She moaned, his name like a fucking incantation. Curving her hips up as she leaned back, Finley pressed off his pulsing cock, almost sliding off him completely, then bucked against him, slowly lowering herself down until he was completely entombed in her milky wetness. Finley's breath hiccuped in her throat, each becoming more shallow than the last. She leaned the back of her head against the bricks and rode each of his deliberate thrusts with matching enthusiasm, small whimpering sighs transforming into cries of ecstasy. The shortness of his breath only spurring her on as she rode the prelude of her climax almost as hungrily as she rode him. I want to see it, damn you, Fin cursed him. I want to see it in your eyes, that wanting. . .that telling elation as the pupils of your eyes dilate. Give it to me, Dez. Give it to me.

Dez Dickerson

Much consideration must be given to Finley Strong, even now as she rides me like a rodeo bull. I’m blasting another fast and frantic frenzy as her hips hinge loosely in response, her quim devouring my tool like a salacious sheath. We’d avoided the chit chat upon her appearance at the loft, but I had learned enough about her from Lorena. Finley’s eyes became hypnotic as I caught a glimpse while rocking her with a measured, insistent rhythm showing the disregard one only holds for a those that can handle themselves in such a situation. She was more than capable, I knew that coming in. Lorena had intimated her profession, that Finley was a madam. For many that would be a judgmental moment. A madam? A whore? Not me, no interest in that. Actually, maybe a great deal of interest because it meant one thing. Whether or not she had prior experience with a dominant she knew how to handle herself accordingly. First on her agenda in any skin on skin scenario? Wild, uninhibited recklessness with the sole purpose of providing pleasure. As a madam how many women had been under her tutelage? Countless I’m sure learned this arch in groaning protest she provided. Others I’m sure had caught on to the way that protest abandoned to longing. With a grind Finley crushed down against me and those viridescent pupils brimmed with ecstasy, prodding me to give a slice of the power over to her. That’s her job, she knew no other way. With a rutting grunt I slammed upward lifting Finley in my final culmination. We moved in total harmony, her pressing down to meet each thrust as if it were the last. Undulating and rippling against me our mouths met fierce and relentless, her's as sweet as sugar. This is the sliver of time when you have to decide if holding out is better than relenting to pulsating waves of pleasure. With her breathing forced from her lungs deep shuddering and desperate I mounted my last stand resigned to defeat like Custer at Little Bighorn. Was it defeat? To admit that it wasn’t necessary to make her beg for that orgasm she was teetering on the brink of. Just the sound of my name gasped and falling from her tongue was serendipity. The most pleasant of surprises. Our open mouthed clash of tongues fell away impeded by the need to suck in every last lungful of air as spasms of delight began to rocket through us. It began. “Come with me.” Not my usual insistent demand for her orgasm. I felt Finley lose control, that first cry of deliverance as she convulsed in a chain of spasms, milking from me the pulsing life that flooded her like hot molten lava. My weight leaned driving her one last time against the wall, breathless and dizzy as we rocket through the universe. As fast as we started, we ended. Finley clung to me her heart pounding a beat against me that slowed to a murmur as consciousness was regained. My fingers still dug in at her ass raised her, my relieved cock firmly held in her care. I stepped away from the wall carrying Finley off to my bathroom. It always goes the same. The one thing that will never change. She had allowed me to bring her to a new plateau and now was the time to show some gratitude. I rested her thoroughly worn out ass on the cool of the granite counter. Dipping down and out her arms were now in front of me as I silently released her from the ties. One hand leading the other in a smoothing massage over each curve of rope indented skin I asked if she was ok. Satisfied, I took her hand, sliding her off the counter and spinning Finley facing the mirror. Once again my hands touched at her back assessing each mark, trying to provide a different relief than we had encounter minutes earlier. Fingers once again at her ass I jerked the plug from Finley stealing a startled gasp. I reached inside the shower running the multiple jets, letting the heat rise as I turned back to her. A lift of her chin, a brushing kiss, another question of her state. I wasn’t sending her home fucked up and unsure of what had just transpired. I could only imagine the call from Lorena. The crazy spanglish cursing me for not doing my due diligence, assailing my manhood and honor. Whisking Finley into the stall I set her in the midst of the rushing, pulsating and misting water, the soap in my hand built a lather that washed over her weary, but perfect body. “When we’re done in here it’s your choice on whether you leave or not. I’m not rushing you off.” I smiled for emphasis. “I usually build up a hell of a hunger so I’ll be making something to eat. Feel free to stick around. If you like.”

Finley Strong

When Lorena had described what was supposed to transpire with Dez Dickerson, Finley had to admit, she had sort of unintentionally brushed it off as a sport fuck. Oh, Lorena went into great detail about his um, proficiencies. The tragic part was Finley switching on her selective hearing as Lo fawned over the greatness that is Dez. Yea, yea, tie her up, spank her tight little ass, and a roll around in the hay for some mid-day cardio. Nervous, yes. Questionable ability to meet his submissive expectations, absolutely. However, her incorrigible cockiness had, quite honestly, diluted her. How sadly mistaken she had been. So utterly naïve that it was almost laughable—in more ways than one. Because as their bodies moved together synchronically, feeding off each other like ravenous, visceral animals, grinding into one another with this tenacious tempo, one thing was unquestionably obvious. . .he had owned her unlike any one else had before. Plain and simple. Owned. “Come with me.” Her eyes heavy and glassy with desire peered up at him as if she had misheard. Three simple syllables was all it took, and, as if Dez had flipped a switch, Finley came crashing violently to a climax, crying out his name once more while aftershocks surged through her body in explosive waves. She leaned into his chest, her elbows bent over his shoulders pulling him hard against her as her fingernails dug into the sinew of his back, and drove her hips into his until she felt the warm rush of his release. Panting like a thoroughbred crossing the finish line at the Preakness, Finley rested her forehead on his collarbone planting wet lipped kisses into his hot, salty skin, the haze of an earth-shattering orgasm steadily set into her tingling fingertips. Finley descended into him as he walked them to the bathroom, her head bobbing slightly with each one of his steps as she relished the warmth of his body against hers. The cold granite revived her somewhat, heavy eyelids pressed together while he unwrapped her with almost delicate hands. The lulling hum of rushing water in the background creating this sort of serenity that she hadn’t expected. Gently, she was placed on her feet and turned to face the mirror. Even now, the slightest contact of his fingertips to her back prodding at her, apparently, insatiable appetite. Finley watched him, studying him, scribbling little notes about his mannerisms into her subconscious. What a fucking anomaly he was. A walking, talking, breathing Rubix Cube. A slight tug, and Finley was fully cognizant by the time the hot water rippled down her body. Silently, Finley let his soap lathered hands attempt to wash away some of the reminiscence of the this indescribable day. Smiling at his offer, Finley just simple shook her head in the negative and let her fingertips wander over his slippery skin, following every curve and edge of his arm beneath a cascading waterfall, basking in the afterglow of amazing sex and in how pleasantly surprised she was with him. In between musing over his remarkably perfect physique and the soapy playground for his hands, something in Finley snapped. Her fingers dropped from his arm, she stood curtly on her tip-toes and placed a soft kiss on his lips before stepping out of the shower, suds still dripping down her legs. “I hope this isn’t the last time I see you, Mr. Dickerson.” She said as she ran a towel quickly over her body, making it appoint for her eyes to meet his before her next sentence. “I had an amazing time.” Mind-blowing, mountain-moving, earthquake colliding with a tornado kind of amazing time, she was begging herself to say, but couldn’t pull herself to form the words. “Amazing.” She repeated, hoping that would provide him some sort of reassurance when her body language was screaming otherwise. What the fuck are you doing, Finley? Stop. But she couldn’t. With a nimble step out of the bathroom, she blew him a kiss, and trotted to the living room to gather her clothes. A few more seconds, and half-dressed Finley was almost out the door. Stop! This time listening to herself, and dashed to the kitchen, scouring the area for a pen and paper, finding only a crumpled up receipt on the counter. Taking her lipstick out of her handbag, she scribbled her name and number on the back of the receipt. How fucking cliché, Finley. Jesus Christ, could you be any more Cracker Jack? Why don’t you just hang your panties on his doorknob on your way out? As asinine as she felt, Finley couldn’t bare skipping out without leaving her number. At least some indication that she wanted what happened today to happen again. Perhaps it was the fact that he had shown her something life-altering today that freaked her out. He had so expertly pulled from her every possible emotion a person could ever feel in one afternoon. Without even knowing she was doing it, she had revealed parts of herself that she had sworn she locked away in some dank swampy corner of her subconscious. She told him she wanted to let go, and he had given her that. . .and so much more, most likely without even knowing that he had done so. Her body was still reeling from it and probably would be for the rest of the week. Dez fucking Dickerson, with his mysterious playroom and awe-inspiring cock. A smile crept over her lips as her red soles clicked against the concrete. It would be interesting to see just how long it would be before Fin was itching for his fix again. Soon. . .very soon.

Dez Dickerson

I am a creature of habit. As with anything in my life I perform the role of dominant within a framework, rarely straying outside the box. She appears, I do my assessment of her, I provide what she came for, I take care of her after, I give the choice to leave on her terms. So mechanical in nature. Her and she is how it had always been, having placed that priority for as long as I could remember. A priority that was the definition of who I am, what I’d been taught and truthfully was all that I knew. Why deviate from a course that had thus far proven successful? Finley had opened my eyes. The way she picked up her things leaving silently into the night. The quiet retreat may have been her own version of creature of habit. I could only assume that being a madam she lived by the rule never get too close, this isn’t what we are about. Pleasure and pain was the name of the game, not some forced romantic illusion. Did it come as a shock upon entering my kitchen to find her name and number scribbled on the back of a receipt? Not at all. Finley Strong didn’t seem the type to go on a one time exploratory excursion to Dezville. Would I call Ms. Strong again? I had an impetus to place myself into a new frontier, no longer setting the expectation for when and how a submissive would return. A direct beeline towards a new style, which I hoped would begin to redefine me, broadening my horizons and leaving the potential to open my eyes to what could be. Isn’t that what a journey of personal growth entails? As for Finley? Yes, I would call her again. There wasn’t a need to question that.

©DB/MP 2015

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titusreno · 6 years

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titus and reno

new first chapter draft idea

Reno

The sun was in my eyes as Benja launched his elbow into my solar plexus. His mask was sagging down the side of his face with sweat, the nylon snake eyes staring unnervingly at me, hollow with shadows. Behind him, the trees rose up from the swamp that had swallowed the old neighborhoods of Cypress Hills. I could hear the cry of seagulls and the thrum of cicadas. I stumbled backwards, trying to catch myself before I fell against the rough pavement of the road. I wrapped my arms around Benja’s neck and shoved hard with my knee into his stomach. He hadn’t expected it, and he lost his footing enough that I was able to hook my arm under his throat and spin him backward, moving fast enough that my momentum carried him. Benja was bigger than I was, but I had enough leverage that it just barely worked. I kicked him again in the chest as he fell backward, landing on his ass. I followed him down, grabbing for his mask and just barely getting it up over his eyes. I tried to let out the kind of howl that Benja did when he was competing, deep and guttural. I bent over him with my knee in his chest, pressing his face into the pavement. I could feel his breathing, fast and ragged. Benja coughed and looked up at me.

“Okay, fuck, time. Uncle. Whatever.”

Behind me, I heard Pancake laugh. He and Rustler were sitting at the edge of the practice ring, smoking, their legs extended just over the yellow line on the pavement.

“Was that your frog yell, Reno?” Rustler asked.

Benja laughed. “He’s learning from me, he’s gonna yell. I’m gonna teach him to yell. It’s cool.” He sat up, rubbing the blood from under his nose with the back of his hand.

“You aren’t mad that he’s stealing your thing? Your whole trademark?” Rustler let out a long puff of smoke. The smell carried over to me, pungent and green.

“You might wanna work on a kind of loud ribbit,” Pancake said. He snorted and tried to approximate the noise a frog makes.

I helped Benja up.

“I’m gonna get you back next time,” he said, reaching up to yank the frog mask off my head. “But that was pretty fucking good. You stepped it up since last time.”

I laughed. “That’s because you nearly killed me last time. I had to protect myself.” We walked over to where Rustler and Pancake sat. Overhead, the clouds moved faster and faster over the edge of the horizon, leaving the late afternoon sky a thin, dirty blue. The double electric fences at the edge of the facility reflected the light back in large flat gleams of yellow. I had to squint to see anything. “When am I going to fight you, Rustler?” I thumped him on the back as I sat down.

Rustler grinned, in the slow, half-lidded way he has. His eyes are darker than most other people’s at Auxie Mautlin, and his hair is almost as long as mine. He’s strong and about as beautiful as any of us here get. His legs are half the size of my torso. “You may need to wait a little. You get a little bigger or I get a little sicker. One of the two. If you wait about six months you’ll be able to pulverize me.”

“Don’t say that,” Pancake said. “You have at least a couple years.”

“Dude,” Rustler said. “Don’t bullshit. I’m eighteen already.” His voice was still measured, but his tone shifted a little. “You know I don’t have that long.”

“I bet you’re still gonna be the strongest Fore for a little longer, though,” Pancake said.

“Well, let’s hope.” Rustler offered me his joint, avoiding Pancake’s eyes. I took a hit and passed it to Benja, whose nose was still bleeding.

It isn’t a total taboo to bring up the worms when you’re hanging out with friends. Obviously, we all have them. But talking about death is something else. I remembered Rustler’s friend Foz, who was the biggest Fore when I first came to Auxie Mautlin with a selection of other piggos from my work camp. He had won sixteen matches my first year in the dorms, before the boils under his skin got larger and he started having seizures and was removed to the late-term infirmary. We don’t know how long he lasted after that. We aren’t allowed to visit the hospice units—they’re three miles away.

I got infected when I was two or three, which means I probably have longer than Rustler and definitely longer than Pancake, who had the worm in him already when he was born. They take about sixteen years to start affecting your central nervous system in a serious way, though some piggos start getting headaches at age fifteen.

“Do you guys wanna go take some K-po with me in Caldegot?” Benja asked, after a couple minutes of silence where the only noise came from the seagulls and the sound of the distant gymnasium, where the letlets were still having their phys-ed class.

Pancake laid back on the pavement. “Nah, I hate the stuff it makes me see. It’s all like, purple dripping. Like every time. And those weird stars. It makes me feel all weird and out of it.”

Benja looked at me.

“I haven’t ever taken it,” I said, which was true. I’d had hits off joints that Rustler got from the truck driver that brought the cricketbev and frozen chicken, but never anything else. K-Po was newer, rarer. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was. “It’s like LSD, right?”

Rustler laughed. “It’s just fertilizer.”

“No, man, it’s real,” Pancake said. “You do really see shit.”

“No, I know,” Rustler said. “But it really is just fertilizer. Potassium, you know. Potash. It only works because potassium makes the worms in our guts release weird chemicals. It does it to anyone with the worm. If we were healthy, it wouldn’t do anything.”

“Is that true?” Pancake said. “I for sure thought it was like, a party drug someone snuck in.”

“Pancake, you’re a dumbass,” Rustler said. I couldn’t tell what his tone meant. Pancake looked a little hurt, but he might have just been out of it.

“I wish I knew where they got it,” Benja said. “I guess it’s from the garden sheds. But those are locked down. It’s some girl in Caldegot. She’s got like a total monopoly.”

“It can’t be Kacky,” Rustler said. “I thought she got sicker.”

“No,” Benja said. “Her name’s Jenny.”

“Huh.” Rustler stretched and stubbed the joint out on the pavement. “Well, you know, whatever. I’ll go over there with you if you’re going. Reno, you wanna see some weird purple stuff with us?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to eat fertilizer. “Does it do anything to like, hurt you? Do you get like hungover or strung out or anything?”

“If you take too much,” Benja said. “But we won’t. You have to stay in top shape if you’re going to be able to beat Fib.” He punched my shoulder hard. I flinched a little, but less than I used to when I first was training with him. Benja tries to act tough and rowdy all the time, like he’s so strong he doesn’t know his own strength. I guess sometimes I do too.

As we walked over to Caldegot, I felt the sweat prickle uncomfortably down my back and run down my face. My hair melted against my ears and the back of my neck with sticky intensity. January isn’t the hottest season, yet. That’s still July and August, when temperatures can get into the middle hundred-forties and we all have to stay in the underground dormitories where the air conditioning gets pumped in through dry metal vents. But January is hotter than it was when I was born. I’ve heard that in the part of the country where Auxie Mautlin is, it used to get down to ten degrees in winter just a hundred and twenty years ago. There would have been snow. In the history classes we take, they show pictures of it. Once Mrs. Y showed us a picture of Queens, New York during a blizzard in 2015, the old cars buried in feet of snow, a bicycle completely cemented onto the sidewalk by mounds of shellacked ice. Now, January is hot, and it gets hotter every year, but they don’t let the older piggos go inside for gym because it is still supposed to be winter. When we ducked into Caldegot through a side door, the rush of cold air made me breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

The old dorms at the edge of Auxie Mautlin are different from the ones on the south side of the facility. The south dorms used to be a community jail, so they’re built with thick, bunkerlike cement and heavy doors. The Caldegot and Armistad dorms are just big brick buildings that used to be warehouses, and are almost three hundred years old. They remodeled them inside with the same fabric walls and florescent lighting as the other dorms, and they still have checkpoints and cameras, but they’re lower security than the Bertol or Musk buildings that the letlets live in. I was lucky to get in Armistad when I moved last year. It’s easier to get out to the roof or sneak to matches. I’ve heard older Fores say that things used to be stricter, but the facility is getting harder to staff and the older minders care less and less what we do. I guess that’s good luck.

Jenny’s room, a triple on the third floor, was already full of people when we got there. At least three of them were girls I knew from class. I hadn’t seen Jenny before except from a distance. She was oddly sinewy and sharp-looking, with long hair plaited into two braids that fell across either collarbone. Her uniform was opened to her belly, and I could see the faint sweat gathered at the top of her stomach. She was wearing one of the regulation bras, but pulled down a little, and I could tell that some of the boys were looking at her chest. She sat on the edge of her bunk bed, counting out small packets of something wrapped in brown paper towel. It felt so shady that I almost left then, but Benja moved to sit down next to one of the younger Caldegot girls and raised his eyebrows at me, so I moved inside the door and stood there.

Jenny looked at me. “You with Benja?” Her eyes were as black as Rustler’s. I figured she must be from the Arizzy worktown. I didn’t know any of those piggos very well.

“Yes,” I said.

Jenny nodded. She looked over her shoulder at the bunk above her and craned her neck. “Titus, get three more sets going,” she said. For the first time I noticed the scrawny boy in the bunk above her. He was hunkered down, portioning powder out into the paper packets. His dark hair was almost as long as Jenny’s, and fell across his face. His uniform shirt was open in the same way Jenny’s was, exposing an expanse of pale brown-pink skin that went down to his belt line. He grunted in response to Jenny’s command. Then, in a single long, lazy motion, he wrapped what looked like three packets of the orange powder. He tore each packet off after pouring the fertilizer—or whatever it was—onto the paper, and folded them into little squares. He licked the edges of the squares to make them stick, then looked up directly at me with a strange, unreadable glare. He was so delicate-looking that for a second I wondered if I was wrong about him being a boy.

“Here,” he said, and tossed one of the packets at me. I caught it and looked to Benja, who reached his hand up for his packet. Rustler, who still stood next to me, laughed, maybe at my expression. He ruffled my hair. I would have bristled if we hadn’t all just smoked together. I knew he was trying to be friendly.

“Reno here is going to be taking K-po for the first time today,” he said to Jenny. “Let him know what to do so he doesn’t make a fool of himself.”

Jenny looked at me closely, then nodded. I felt like I was being assessed. She stood up and brushed off her pants briskly. “Do you know what I do here?” she asked me.

“Um,” I said. “I guess I’m not really sure. You give people fertilizer to eat?”

One of the Caldegot girls snickered. The scrawny boy on the top bunk tensed, and I wondered if I might get myself in trouble if I sounded like I was insulting her business model.

“Well, yes,” Jenny said flippantly. “It’s fertilizer. But it is very important, cool fertilizer, because it lets the worms in our bodies show us things.” She smiled at me. Her canines were sharp, like Rustler’s or Pancake’s. Fighters do that to make themselves scarier. “The hallucinogens that the worms release are remarkably consistent. Right, Pozzlin?” She looked at the girl next to Benja.

“Yeah,” Pozzlin said. “You always see the purple planet.” She turned to me.

“The purple planet,” I said. I had heard people say it in classes. I assumed it was an in-joke in some clique that I wasn’t in on. There were a lot of those kinds of things. Everyone had their groups, their own special language.

“It’s like, a theory, right, that we all see the same waterfalls and birds and stuff—the stars and the sky with two moons and all that. And it’s a theory that that’s because it’s the planet the worm comes from. And it looks like it does because it’s an alien planet. It’s not just an acid trip. And sure it’s all like wavy gravy and you see like paisley and stuff too and colors move and distort, but you always see the same kind of cliffs and oceans and always two moons in the sky.”

Pozzlin let that sink in, smirking smugly at me. Benja was playing with a strand of her hair, and she didn’t seem to mind. I looked around the room for confirmation. People nodded.

“It’s like, maybe crazy,” Benja said, “but it’s like, it is sort of interesting. It’s true that you always see the same stuff. And it looks alien.”

“And we know the worm is alien,” another girl with long tight braids said. “It came here on a UFO.”

“A ship,” Benja corrected her. “A ship with a dead mummified humanoid alien on it. If you’re gonna say it, you gotta say the full crazy thing.” A few people laughed. When the doctors first announced that they were able to confirm the thing about the dead humanoid, back when I was still a letlet, everyone had taken bets on whether or not it was true. It was accepted fact now, but it still sounded crazy. Especially because the pharma companies and the state agencies had been insisting for years that the worm was a mutation of a tapeworm that had been bothering pigs for eons on Earth.

Jenny nodded and looked back to me. “So, it’s fun, right, and it is fun. But the real reason I do this is to get as many people as possible to document, to write down, what they’re seeing. Because I think it really might be the world that the bug came from. And if that’s true, it’s data. Important data.”

“Question,” I said. “How would that work? The hallucinations being like, a message. That’s like. Telepathy, right?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Jenny said.

“Do you think the worms are trying to send it to us?”

Jenny shrugged. “Fuck if I know. That’s why we’re out here. More data the better.”

“Hey Jenny,” a boy I didn’t know said from a corner. “You could get more data if the stuff was free, you know.”

“I have to make a living,” Jenny said. Her voice was mild but firm. “I don’t see you guys sneaking into the garden sheds at night to get this shit, so I can charge whatever I want. And it’s more affordable than it was when Kacky was here.”

I looked over at Benja inquiringly. I didn’t have that much to trade for shit. He shook his head and waved me off as if to say I have this one.

A girl laughed. “Bottoms up for science,” she said, and tipped her orange powder back into her mouth.

“Not yet,” said another girl. She looked at Jenny. “Is it okay to start?” The orange sun filtered down through the window and I felt for the first time how warm the room was. I was sort of thirsty.

“Cheers,” Jenny said. “I’m going to put out the paper and markers in the middle of the floor. When you come back up, draw or write what you saw, okay? Nobody leaves without at least one detail.”

“How long does it last?” I asked. “Like twenty minutes,” the boy sitting on the top bunk said. I looked over at him and he stared back, unblinking, for a second, before he gave a small grin, as if he had just remembered that it might be a nice thing to do.

I saw Rustler raise his hand and dump the powder into his mouth. After a couple seconds, I did the same. I felt someone watching me and looked up to see the scrawny boy on the top of the bed staring me down. When he caught me looking, he looked away. I noticed that he wasn’t taking any K-po. For a second I thought about saying something to him, to try to ask a question or seem cool. But I wasn’t sure what to say. And then my vision started to swim. It was so instantaneous that I sat down against the door heavily, in shock.

At first it was just colors, and this sense of weird peace bubbling up in my stomach. I felt for a second like looking at the scrawny boy on the top bunk and telling him that I wanted to kiss him—which was weird, though I realized that I sort of did. But then I sank deeper, and the colors started to condense and drip and I started to see real pictures. The room in front of me completely vanished, and my hands and arms felt dense and numb and like they were made of fragile glass.

I saw four figures walking on a moonlit landscape, tall and strangely stretched. I couldn’t see their faces, but I knew they weren’t human or piggo. I felt a cold sensation in my gut at the strange trancelike way they walked, and I tried to turn away, but I couldn’t. I was stuck watching them until they vanished over the edge of the horizon. Then my vision danced again, dissolved into colors, and melted into a new scene. I was on a hill, looking out at a sky of strange stars and a red sun. There were flat plains of weird plants, and spires stretching up that might have been stone or vegetable. I couldn’t tell. Spinning above me were two flat blue moons, and under my feet was an ocean of clear water. When I looked at the ocean, I moved toward it, into it, falling down from the hill so fast that I stretched out my hands to catch myself, sure that I would be dashed against the ground, that the pink rocks at the shore would tear me apart. But they didn’t, and I landed in the water. Worms swam around between my toes, the light shimmering off their opalescent bodies. The sensation was still peaceful, sensual. It took several minutes before occurred to me that these were the worms inside me. The ocean rose up under me and I got cold, as if it were really there. The sky went yellow, blue, deep pink, red. I felt a little nauseous, but somehow was having a really good time.

And then I started to come out of it. The ocean stopped feeling cold and I could feel the hot sweaty dorm room and the bodies on either side of me. The moons above me splintered and vanished, and I felt the floor under me for several minutes before I opened my eyes. As I did, I realized that the boy –Titus—was still staring at me from the top bunk. I felt too dizzy to sit up, and closed my eyes until I felt the world settle. When I sat up again, Titus was gone. Around me, other people were already awake again. They were writing and drawing with the markers that Jenny had provided. As the light stopped hurting my eyes, I looked around and realized they were all drawing basically the same things I had seen—everyone focusing on different aspects of the scenario. Jenny approached me and gave me a pen and a marker and a piece of paper that I realized was someone’s old medical form.

“Draw on the back,” she said. “Emotional woo woo stuff is fine for writing but try to draw as literal as you can.”

I’m not a very good artist, but I tried to draw the hill and the two moons. I tried to describe what I saw. I didn’t want to put any more effort into it than anyone else, but I felt profoundly changed and—I guess disturbed—by the whole thing, and suddenly it felt very important that I be honest and try to actually talk about what it had been like. I thought, well, maybe this is a real thing, a real project.

#titus and reno #writing

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bearfeat42 · 7 years

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Playing with Fire, Again. (Part 1)

(So I realized that I haven’t been putting up my fiction on here for a while. That’s because I moved most of my stuff to Ao3. It just gets me more hits! But because I’m still working on this one, I thought I’d post a draft of the first chapter. This isn’t its final form, and when I’m done writing and re-writing the whole thing, I’ll put it on Archive.)

Alpha dug his fingertips into his knees, his legs shaking a little. He sat on our couch, and I could feel his breath heighten.

‘So since you’re back from the Popestar tour…’ Omega said, pointing at his paperwork.

‘Omega?’ Alpha heaved.

‘You could help me out with the administration and financing of-’

‘Brother?’ the Fire ghoul squealed. Omega sighed.

‘Your girlfriend’s tongue is in my ear.’

I grinned and dove my teeth into his earlobe. I kept my eye on Omega, who looked at us from over his glasses.

‘And?’ My ghoul said.

‘Is this… is this not super awkward for you?’

Omega said nothing, but kept staring at us from over his glasses.

‘Did you guys plan this? Is this happening again?’

‘Are you uncomfortable?’ I whispered to him. I saw goosebumps appear on his jaw. He looked at me, a little nervous.

‘Kinda.’ He said.

‘Do you want her to stop?’ Omega said. He took his glasses off, which disappointed me a little. He looked so good in them.

Alpha looked at me again. His eyes stood innocent, as if I didn’t know better, but I saw a shift as I slowly moved my hand over his thigh.

‘I don’t want her to stop.’ Alpha whispered. I bit my lip.

‘Then tell her that.’ My ghoul replied. He stood up, collecting his paperwork. Alpha held his eyes on me.

‘Don’t stop.’ He said softly. I quickly pressed my lips to his.

Alpha’s kiss was great. It always was. It had been real and heartfelt from the start. I wondered why that had never changed, and why it had been like that since the first time we met. I pulled his hair as I crawled into his lap.

‘Can I… can I ask you…’ Alpha started, slowly pulling away from me. I caught his lower lip between my teeth.

‘Hnnngh!’ he moaned. I released him and he grabbed my shoulders before I could set upon him again.

‘I want to talk about this for once!’ he said. I rested my hands on his chest, and listened. I liked tormenting him, but not for real. I wanted him to be down with all of this.

‘Listen.’ He said, and he looked around to see if Omega was listening to him too. My ghoul had placed his paperwork on his desk and walked around the couch, his glasses still in his hand.

‘I…I want to establish some rules, if… if we are apparently still doing this’

‘Why wouldn’t we be doing this?’ I said, and the men looked at me.

‘Well…’ Alpha started. ‘Because you have a relationship now. I only hooked up with you because you told me you were “nobodies girl”.’

Alpha looked at Omega. ‘Have you two talked about this?’

My ghoul carefully placed his glasses on the coffee table in front of him.

‘No, we have not discussed this.’ He said. ‘But we’re on the same page, I think.’

‘And what page is that?’

‘We want to play with you sometimes.’ I said. I ran a finger down his chest. I saw the corner of Alpha’s mouth twitch, but he remained serious.

‘Play with me?’ his voice got lower. His eyes darker. I hooked my finger into his V-neck.

‘Would you like that too?’

His eyes shot from Omega to me. He cleared his throat.

‘You know I like that.’ He said softly. I moved my fingers into his neck. He smiled.

‘I just want to know that this won’t cause any problems between you two. And between us.’ He looked at Omega. ‘We only play when all three of us are here.’ He said. ‘I think that should be our one rule. That should keep this all honest and transparent.’

Omega put his glasses back on. ‘Why would this be anything more than it is?’ He said. ‘Is something going on?’

‘We both know sex is never just sex, brother.’ Alpha deadpanned. ‘Unless that is what we agree on right now. You play with me and that’s it.’

‘We play with you and that’s it.’ I echoed.

‘That’s it.’ Omega said.

Alpha smiled, relieved. ‘Good.’ He said. ‘We needed to have that conversation.’ Omega stood up again and walked into our bedroom.

‘Why?’ he yelled from over there. ‘Were you afraid of catching feelings for my girl?’

The Fire ghoul looked me in the eye, his light blue suddenly not so innocent any more, his grin menacing and dark. ‘Certainly not.’ He said. ‘She isn’t really my type. It would just suck if she would fall in love with me, you know? Because that would be a way more obvious thing to happen.’

‘You sweet talker.’ I replied, and I pulled his ear. I scraped my nails over his scalp. If I’m not your type, why did you come on to me in that hotel bar?’

That devious grin again. ‘You looked bored.’

‘I was.’

‘Also that dress you were wearing…’

‘I was wearing pants.’

I grinded down on him, feeling my own desire burn. I saw it reflected in his eyes. But I stood up, and left him sitting there.

‘Why don’t you take off your clothes?’ I said. I noticed how my voice got lower.

‘Why don’t you take off mine?’

‘Hmmm.’ I replied. ‘That’s not how this works. When I’m back I want your naked ass on this couch.’ I left him there, but as I turned I could hear how he stood up and dropped his shoes.

‘Omega…’ I moaned. I wrapped my arms around him and rested my cheek against his back. ‘We’re waiting for you.’

He placed a hand over mine, but he continued looking through his drawers.

‘Babe?’ I said. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Don’t worry about it. And it’s “Sir”.’ He grabbed my wrist and pulled my hands from him. My heart skipped a beat.

‘Take that off.’ He looked at me over his glasses. I obliged. Happily, languishing. He wove his fingers into my hair as I opened my jeans.

‘Keep going.’ He mumbled against my lips. He was so close. He smelled so good. I peeled my trousers down over my ass, but he kept me up. I tried lifting my leg, but he pushed me to our closet.

‘What is taking you so long?’ he hissed. My eyes rolled back in my desire for him. He pressed his crotch to my leg and moved his hand over my pussy. I opened my lips to receive his kiss, but nothing came.

‘Sorry, sir.’ I breathed. A finger stroked me, pushing my panties between my folds.

‘You know you are keeping our guest waiting.’

‘Sorry, sir.’

His fingers clawed more firmly into my hair. Then he let go. Hands shaking, I managed to take off my jeans and my shirt. I unhooked my bra, and he stepped back, his eyes on me. I felt so naked when I bared my breasts to him. I hooked my thumbs into my panties, but he turned and walked away, as if he was unimpressed by me and how I stripped down for him.

I changed my mind and unhooked my fingers from my underwear. I walked back into our living room, finding Alpha on the couch. Naked, like I had told him. He looked up at me as I stood before him. His admiring gaze made me feel warm.

‘Be a dear and take these off, will you?’ I cooed. Smiling, Alpha ran a finger over my abdomen, hooking it under my waistband.

‘Use your teeth.’ I said.

He grabbed my waist and moved towards me, his hot breath om my skin. He kissed my stomach.

‘Move it.’ I said, but it came out so unconvincing that he paid it no mind. He pressed another kiss to my skin, right above my panties. Then, I felt teeth. It took him some time to get them behind the waistband, leaving wet scratches on my hip. But then he got hold of it, and pulled it down. He kneeled next to the couch to be able to drag it down to my ankles, and I stepped out of them. He looked at me, my underwear hanging from his mouth, a twinkle in his eyes.

‘Good.’ I said.

‘Spit that out!’ Omega stood next to me, holding two glasses of wine. I wanted to take one from him, but changed my mind just in time. “Sir” would offer one to me.

Alpha let my panties fall to the rug.

‘Sit.’ Omega said, pointing to the couch. He placed the glasses of wine on the table. Alpha sat down on his spot again, and Omega grabbed my shoulders, turning me towards his brother. To my surprise he then handed Alpha one of the glasses.

‘You’re not allowed to come.’ Omega ordered.

I grinned. ‘I think he knows that by now.’

‘Not him.’ He said. ‘You. You’ll come only when I let you.’

#fics #Playing with Fire #Ghost fanfiction #Alpha #Omega #OFC

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afangirlsplaylist · 7 years

Text

Behave

Author: afangirlsplaylist

Rating: Explicit

Chapter: 1/1 Word count: 3,252

Summary: Prompted by THIS. AU - Link has come out and he’s finally sick of the sexual tension his hot and supposedly straight best friend has been putting him through. It’s about time for some follow through.

Warnings: Smut and everything that goes with that, Dub-con (sort of), D/S undertones, a little alcohol drinking.

Notes: Not a huge amount of plot for this one. Wrote this one shot as a warm up for the serials sitting in my drafts. 1000000% fictional.

Read it on archiveofourown

It wasn’t a big deal when Link came out. Rhett knew his friend too well to be overly surprised and the crew wasn’t fazed. Stevie practically celebrated the news, high-fiving a blushing Link when she heard.

Of course telling the Mythical Beasts was a whole other story. There was a fair amount of expected backlash, but it didn’t surprise them to find that the majority of fans were supportive. The shipping niche of the fandom, in particular, were very vocal about what the two of them could do with the information, the increase in suggestive comments making Link a little fidgety with discomfort. Rhett himself had seen enough screen caps of the two of them floating down the Tumblr dash on Jen’s computer to have questions of his own, although he was never conceited enough to voice them.

Given the tension, he supposed he could’ve been a little more sensitive to his friend’s feelings. He could’ve reigned himself in several notches during the touchier wheel endings or bit his tongue when the urge for innuendos arose, but he didn’t. His playful nature won out every time, resulting in Link sitting squarely in his lap for another wheel ending that didn’t call for it.

“Why did I have to be on your lap for this?” Link grumbled.

“Because you’re my patient Link.” Rhett joked. “I gotta save your life.”

The room erupted in light chuckles but Link’s died quickly, his body freezing in place as Rhett adjusted his knee and unwittingly rolled his crotch a little more firmly against his ass. Shooting him a deeply serious look, Link quickly slipped off Rhett’s lap and reclaimed his seat, tugging at his collar to compose himself.

“Welcome to Good Mythical More.” Link plowed on.

It wasn’t long before Rhett was able to dismiss the small moment, as Link was the picture of innocence throughout ‘more. He steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them as if he was carefully contemplating what Rhett had to say, speaking very little himself. It was one of the many times in their lives that Rhett would miss the dangerous glint behind the polite facade, the kind that would usually result in a fight.

Signaling to Stevie that they had enough footage, Link called a cut on the episode, already halfway across the room before he noticed Rhett wasn’t following. “You coming?”

Rhett raised an eyebrow but followed, his long legs walking quickly to keep up. “You in a rush to get to lunch or something?”

Not bothering to reply, Link held the door open for Rhett as they reached their office, letting him go ahead.

They had barely heard the lock click on the door before Link reached up and grabbed Rhett by his hair, pulling him down for a sharp, wet kiss. Startled, Rhett didn’t have time to respond, still feeling dazed as Link pulled away from his mouth.

“That’s for grinding on me.” Link said with satisfaction.

“I don’t rig the wheel man. What are you doing?” Rhett argued.

Link simply answered his excuse with another kiss, this one so rough and enthusiastic it made Rhett flail, clawing at Link’s shoulder until his body stilled and he gave into it. He knew he could push Link off at any time, but there was something about Link’s talented lips and the fierce look in his eyes that stopped him.

“Look buddy roll.” Link drawled, peeling his lips off Rhett’s again. “You’re my best friend - but keep playing with me and I will fuck you.”

“You wouldn’t - “ Rhett cut himself off with a gasp as he felt Link reach down and squeeze his dick through his jeans.

“I wouldn’t what Rhett?“ Link growled.

“Okay.” Rhett squeaked. “I’ll stop.”

Humming thoughtfully as he considered that, Link’s hand began to playfully paw at the front of Rhett’s pants with teasing rubs. "You gonna behave and stop starting something you can’t finish on camera?”

Biting his lip, Rhett fought to resist the small moan that threatened to escape as he spoke. “I’ll behave.”

“Good.” Link smirked, promptly releasing Rhett’s crotch. “You wanna take our lunch break in a half hour?”

Thrown off by the change of topic, Rhett blinked. “Yeah sounds good. I’m just… Gonna go to the bathroom.”

Link made no comment but his grin widened wickedly as Rhett hurried out of the room, determined not to let Link see the bulge that had begun to fill out his jeans. Thankful to find his path free of employees, he threw open the door of the nearest bathroom, peering around the empty room and open stalls until he was sure he was alone.

Taking a cubicle, he palmed himself roughly through his jeans until he couldn’t handle the pressure anymore, finally shoving them down along with his underwear. Sighing in relief he wrapped a hand around his girth and stroked himself feverishly, dry humping his fist until there was enough precum to slick up his hand.

He tried to pretend he wasn’t replaying what had just happened in his head multiple times, and he tried to pretend it wasn’t his best friend that had reduced him to a horny teenager. He also tried to pretend that jacking off in the studio wasn’t turning him on, and that he wasn’t imagining Link’s slender hand on his cock rather than his own. He failed on all counts.

Cumming with a quiet grunt, he pressed a hand to the wall for support as his knees buckled and his ragged breathing slowed. Usually, he would bask in the glow of the moment, but this time he cleaned off and left the room hastily. It was as if by immediately destroying the evidence of the event itself he could make it so it never happened, along with the feelings that came with it.

He avoided Link’s gaze when he returned to their office, focusing a little too intensely on his screen. It didn’t help matters when Link proceeded to take their lunch break to enjoy a banana, a fruit Rhett knew his friend didn’t even like. He glared every time Link’s tongue lingered on a piece of the fruit as if every taste Link took was sending a bitter sample of his own medicine back at him. Link looked at him as if daring him to say something about it, but Rhett didn’t give him the satisfaction.

It was typical of their relationship that they didn’t say or do anything more about what had happened after that. In fact, the only acknowledgment either of them made was the effort Rhett put into keeping things from getting too awkward or touchy on the show from then on. Somehow he actually managed that for several episodes, but it was inevitable that he’d eventually slip up again, just when he’d almost forgot about Link’s warning.

They were both shirtless for a challenge when he’d brushed his hand over Link’s chest, flicking across a nipple for a brief second. Fortunately for him, the camera angle completely missed the dark shadow that fell over Link’s face, and the mic missed the way Rhett’s breath hitched as he realized he may have screwed up.

But then Link seemed to shake it off, at least until the watchful cameras were turned off and the set lights went dark. It was then that he felt Link rise from the desk and move behind him, gripping his shoulder.

“I’m coming to your place tonight.” Link said, his voice dangerous and low enough for only Rhett to hear. “Send everyone home and get in your car.”

It didn’t occur to Rhett to ignore him or take offense to being ordered into his own car. He simply did what Link wanted, encouraging the crew to follow Link’s lead out of the studio. It took him a surprisingly short time to lock up after that, as he questioned why he was so eager to get to whatever was about to happen.

He found Link leaning against his car in the car park, totally engrossed in his phone and looking for all the world as if he’d known he wouldn’t be kept waiting long. He grinned and gave nothing away as Rhett approached, killing all chance of immediate answers. He was still tight-lipped after they’d slipped into Rhett’s car.

They drove in that silence for a while, letting the hum of the engine fill the quiet until Link finally spoke up. “So what’d I say the other day?”

Momentarily confused about what Link was talking about, Rhett was very quickly reminded when he felt a hand trailing a path over his thigh.

“What did I say, Rhett?” Link repeated.

“You told me not to tease you.” Rhett gulped, gripping the wheel tighter.

Link nodded in satisfaction. “I told you what would happen if you did too.” He added, now rubbing his hand along the top of Rhett’s waistband

Between that and Link’s hot breath in his ear, he had to will his blood not to rush to his dick when Link started kissing up and down a spot under his ear. He struggled to focus on the road as he surrendered to his throbbing need, and had just started to enjoy the sweet torture when Link’s hands and lips were off him again.

“I’ll deal with you when we get to your house.” Link promised.

Lamenting the fact that he couldn’t turn and wreck Link’s face with his mouth for that, he may or may not have pushed the speed limit in his hurry to get home. He was still a turned on mess by the time they’d pulled up at his house, bounding out of the car like kids getting out of bed on Christmas day.

They never bothered to invite each other inside whenever they visited each other’s houses anymore, so Rhett followed Link in, barely making it off the very public doorstep before Link commenced his assault.

They made out enthusiastically for a few minutes, their awkward dance of lust leading them to the lounge. Rhett almost tripped as Link pushed him onto the couch, shoving him back into it when he tried to lean forward and capture Link’s mouth again. “Stay there.” Link warned.

He found pleasure in the disappointed moan that escaped Rhett’s mouth as he left the room, sauntering towards the kitchen. To prolong it he purposely took his time pouring two shots of whiskey, watching Rhett’s gaze flicker between the amber liquid and his body when he re-entered the lounge.

Balancing both glasses in his hands he walked over and draped his legs either side of Rhett’s thighs, sinking onto his lap. As he skilfully downed his own shot in one he was very aware that Rhett’s lusty eyes were glued to his neck, following a spot of whiskey dripping down his throat. Leaning forward, he placed a hand behind Rhett’s head and brought the other shot to his mouth. “Drink up.”

Noticing Rhett’s hesitation he decided to reassure him

“You’re gonna need it for what I’m gonna do to you brother.” Link said huskily. “I won’t let you forget anything.”

Rhett shivered a little but obediently opened his mouth, allowing Link to tip the shot in. His lips were still wet with whiskey when Link swiped his tongue across them, tasting the alcohol and desire.

“Damn Link.“ Rhett groaned. “You always been like this?”

Link laughed, putting the empty glasses aside before settling himself in his lap seat more fully. “You know that night in college when Gregg was away for the weekend and I went out without you? I came home with a guy that night and you know what I did?“

Link leaned in and whispered the next words in Rhett’s ear. “I fucked him in my bed while you were sleeping.”

Rhett’s eyes widened at the dirty language issuing from his friend’s mouth, holding onto every foul word.

“I had to gag him with my shirt and hold him down to keep him waking you up.” Link continued.

Letting out a pained whine, Rhett’s hands flew out to Link’s ass, grabbing at it needily. “Gosh, why couldn’t you wake me up?”

“You jealous I fucked some other guy?” Link asked, rocking his ass against Rhett’s large hands. "Or are you upset there are things you didn’t know about me?”

Rhett’s only answer was to palm Link’s cheeks harder and mouth at his neck like it was an oasis he’d found in a desert. The delicious feeling of Link grinding against his now painfully hard lap was officially the greatest torment he’d ever experienced, giving him some relief but never enough. He almost screamed when Link slid off his lap until Link started to tug the zipper of his jeans down.

Stepping out of his jeans so he was standing in only his shirt and briefs Link stepped forward, silently inviting Rhett to pull him out the rest of the way. Rhett took the hint, hooking his thumbs in Link’s waistband and easing the briefs down. Even as he pulled out his prize Rhett felt himself blushing and looking away, as if seeing that part of his friend suddenly felt indecent.

“You wanted to touch.” Link scolded, grabbing Rhett’s hand and bringing it to his cock. “So touch.”

His cheeks still a little pink, Rhett took in his first sight of his friend hard and warm in his hand. It was strange to think that the hardness he was feeling was all for him, almost as strange as the response he could feel straining against his own pants. It would have been a little frightening if the man he was feeling it for hadn’t been Link.

Feeling bolder, he wrapped his hand more firmly around Link and started stroking, getting used to the feeling. “You’re big.” He noted.

“You aren’t the only one of us that can be big.” Link teased.

Rhett squeezed him hard enough to make him yelp for that comment before tender stroking his thumb over the tip to make up for it.

“Take your shirt off.” Link said lustily.

More than willing to do anything that might give him some relief, Rhett ripped his shirt up and over his head, before returning to his task without missing a beat. He knew he must have been doing something right judging from the sounds he was drawing out of Link’s mouth, so he stroked harder and faster. Spotting precum leaking from the tip he unconsciously licked his lips, inching his mouth closer. This didn’t go un-noticed by Link, who pushed himself closer until his cock was almost rubbing on Rhett’s lips.

“I want you to look at me when you suck it. Need to see you.” Link said, need finally trickling into his voice.

Staring up at the sincerity on Link’s face Rhett obliged, looking him in the eyes as his tongue snaked out to meet his cock. He began with little licks and kisses as he got used to the sensation, which quickly turned into french kisses and light sucks on the head. Eventually, he managed to take some of the length down his throat, bobbing his head just a little.

“That’s it.” Link keened, affectionately stroking Rhett’s hair and letting him take in as much as he could handle. “You’re so good.”

He threw his head back in ecstasy at the sight of Rhett sucking him off, taking him in deeper and deeper until he was almost deep throating him. The visual was just about as good as the feeling of Rhett’s mouth itself, the tight heat bringing him close to the edge. When he felt the pleasure getting too much he placed a hand on Rhett’s chest, nudging him off.

“Lay back baby.” Link breathed.

Rhett slowly lowered himself onto his back before Link was on him again, moving his hands down Rhett’s body to stroke his lower stomach. Rhett tried to move further up the couch to force Link’s hands’ closer to where he wanted them, but Link dug his nail into the sides of Rhett’s waist to keep him in place.

Link sat on his heels to unbutton and throw off his shirt before giving Rhett what he wanted him what he wanted, sliding Rhett’s jeans off. Moving up to kiss some of Rhett’s anxiety away, he trailed his hands and mouth all the way down to Rhett’s thighs, easing them apart with his hands.

“I don’t want to stop but I gotta get you lube.” Link warned.

“Use your mouth." Rhett begged, pressing a hand against Link’s to stop him leaving.

More than happy to do that Link sucked two fingers into his mouth, running them against the leaking slit of his cock for added measure. He brought them to the cleft of Rhett’s ass and carefully inched one past the ring of resistance, enjoying the feeling of Rhett’s body writhing beneath him.

Working the finger in and out until it slid in easily he added a second, waiting for Rhett to adjust before he started fucking him with them. “You gonna admit you’re gay for me?”

Rhett opened his mouth for a smart retort before Link’s finger slammed against his prostate, killing all coherent thought.

“Yeah you are.” Link drawled, twisting his fingers and slamming into the spot again.

Sensing when Rhett was open enough for him he pulled out and licked at his fingers, serving the dual purpose of tasting Rhett and slicking them up further. Looking down at the open hole waiting for him he pumped his cock a few times before positioning himself between Rhett’s cheeks. “You ready?”

Rhett’s responded by wriggling forward, desperately trying to close the final inches between their bodies. Link took pity and lifted Rhett’s legs to rest either side of his waist.

“I don’t want you to fake being macho, if it hurts you have to tell me. I’m serious.” Link warned.

"Just do it already would you?” Rhett whined.

Pushing forward, Link inched himself inside, watching his length disappear until it was buried completely. The sudden pain and fullness were unlike anything Rhett had ever felt before, so intense that he almost didn’t notice Link easing out of him, preparing to start moving.

Clutching the couch’s armrest Rhett braced himself, half expecting to be pounded into oblivion once Link found his rhythm. He was surprised when Link took him deep, loving and slow, their bodies sliding smoothly across the fabric of the couch with every thrust. It was far more intimate and punishing than anything Link could’ve done by taking him fast, hitting parts of his body and soul he didn’t know existed.

"More. Please.” Rhett pleaded, his long arms failing to grab onto Link’s hips.

“Sssh, we’ll have that some other time Just take this.” Link said gently, rocking his hips in a way that Rhett could feel somewhere near his stomach.

Sliding out as he sensed their approaching release, Link got his hand around Rhett’s cock, stroking him until they both came like they lived their lives - together and fiercely. Rhett came hard over his stomach when the sensations got too much, while his noises sent Link over the edge with him. They were still taking shaky, gasping breaths when they fell into each other in a spent mess.

“Love you.” Link mumbled.

Rhett waited for a second, expecting the ‘brother’ he was used to Link tacking onto the end of that sentence, but it never came.

“Love you too.” He said with a smile.

Notes: *blushes and covers face* well that was dirty.

#rhink #rhink fanfiction

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