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#each strip is fifteen across

sacharinee · 11 months

Note

thinking ab peter having a bad tiring day and reader giving him face massages and body massages after they take a bath ‼️

pairing: bf!peter parker x reader

w/c: 780

a/n: hi anon!! i loved writing for this request sm so thank u for sending it <3 i did, however, completely forget to write abt the part about them taking the bath together. im so sorry 😭 but i hope u still enjoy :(( about one spider-man kiss and a ton of domestic!peter

peter knows exactly what he needs right now after a long day.

there’s only one thing in the world that could make up for having a shitty day and that’s you.

but unfortunately for peter, when he patters into your shared apartment, you’re nowhere to be found.

“babe?” he calls out.

he strips himself of his shoes and walks down the short hall to your bedroom, only to find the closet open and your work clothes missing. peter skrinks at your absence and pouts, “great.”

he ponders about taking a nap, but it’s a quarter to nine and he’d rather be awake when you arrive home.

when his stomach growls, he realizes he’s gone almost an entire day without a proper meal, save for the granola bar you shoved in his hand before he kissed you goodbye.

as he enters the kitchen, he finds a note left on the counter, scribbled in your handwriting,

“emergency shift at the hospital, back by 9 tonite. food in the fridge, love you!”

peter frowns at your note, sticks it onto the fridge, and pulls out the meal you prepared for him.

he heats up the food and chews the stale chicken slowly. he really misses you. even with your bland food and lack of seasoning, he still enjoys anything from you. you try your best for him.

when he’s finished cleaning his dishes, peter debates on showering. he wants to wait for you, to take a nice hot shower with you, and clean each other’s stress away. but he’s really stinky from work, and he’d rather just go to bed with you. so he undresses and takes a long shower alone.

—

peter’s prayers are answered when he reenters the shared bedroom dressed in pajamas.

“hi baby,” you chirp. you take off your glasses and set the book you were reading aside.

peter’s heart swells at the sight. you’re laying on your side of the bed, hair in a bun, away from your face. you’re dressed in your boyfriend’s plaid boxers and a geeky t-shirt you stole from his dresser.

the tv is playing some rerun of your favorite tv show as he crawls himself across the bed and plops himself in between your open legs.

peter nests his heavy head upon your pelvis and lets out a deep sigh. your palms run down his clad back, kneading the tense muscles.

“did you eat yet?” he tries to nod his head, “yea, chicken was good, super tasty, thanks, y/n/n” he replies.

he may or not be telling you the whole truth. you’re cooking wasn’t amazing, but he would never tell you that.

peter flips himself over, staring at you adoringly upside down. your soft hands trace his buff arms, comfort spreading throughout his skin from your touch, “what happened today, petey?”

he exhales, furrowing his brows, and squeezes his eyes shut. he juts his bottom lip out while you weave your fingers and pull through his damps locks.

“everything went wrong today. everything,” he takes a deep breath, “i was late for biochem, had a pop quiz for psych. not that it was hard but still. i forgot i had tutoring today too, so i'm out fifteen bucks. and we were understaffed for work, so that was a bust. so many mean customers in queens,” he takes a look at you, “we should move somewhere else.”

you snicker at his comment and slide your fingers over his funky left eyebrow, smoothing out the knit and massaging his temples, “yea, like where?”

you love all versions of peter, but you think this is your favorite. relaxed at your touch, devoting himself wholeheartedly to you. he’s embraced and fully engulfed by you, like putty in your hands.

“like,” your boyfriend seems distracted, voice deep, staring at you with nothing but affection, “sunnyside? maybe?” peter licks his lips and clears his throat, “just somewhere safer, nicer. for you.”

you’re beaming down at his face; your warm hands cup his cheeks while you land a long and overdue tender kiss upside down. you feel peter smile into the kiss, exhaling through his nose in contentment.

you keep your hands on his face and gently caress the soft skin as you pull away.

“that sounds nice,” your heart squeezes at the thought as he continues, “we could settle down there, have a family, you know? white picket fence and all. ‘m picturing you in your hot scrubs, bringin’ home the bacon. and i’ll be at home, taking care of the kids.”

you’re giggling at the scene as you chime in, “and we could have family dinners every saturday night, or- ooh! i could take yoga classes sunday mornings and-”

peter snickers at you, “what you need are some cooking classes.”

gasping, you flick his forehead, “you said you loved my cooking!”

1K notes · View notes

precious-little-scoundrel · 4 months

Text

Trash Magic

Big Daddy Trailer Park Cop AU One Shot

Summary: it’s 2008 and it’s the pits of recession, not that the suburbs of El Paso would notice, things have been rather shit among the rows and rows of trailers for some time now. With your dad locked up for being a little too ‘entrepreneurial’, it seems your only ally in these tough times is the town‘s scary old softy, Officer Presley, and the more than professional interest he takes in your speeding and footwear.

Era: modern but with that dumbass tumblr dusty Americana feel to it I hope?

Kudos: so many to @eliseinmemphis who was my plot guru, kept this thing alive and gave so many lines and sentences used herein.

Word count: 15k and I didn’t edit this sorry for misspells, etc

18+ and may be thematically disturbing to some please read cautions, proceed at your own risk!! More specifics below the cut

HAPPY NEW YEAR MY DARLINGS!

Specific warnings: sexual content, drug use, stripping, casual prostitution, age gap, reader isn’t a minor for such activities but only eighteen?? which is not touted as a good thing but it’s in here?? if that’s a hard no then be warned. graphic descriptions of kinda gross blowjobs and very gross blowjobs, spanking, officer Presley does take too many pills for his pain ok? driving under the influence, minors drinking, trailer trash lifestyle in general, such as I personally have had experience with, it’s rough out there folks but there’s always the good ones trying their best. Sorry I really threw Joe E under the bus. I’m not really sorry but I’m sorry you have to read about him in here. Please let me know what warnings I missed if I did. Again, could be thematically disturbing due to age, solicitation, law officers, drug use, humans not being tidy little robots.

When you were three years old you recall the smell of plastic heating in the sun, the hot smell of fresh cut grass and the cold splatter of hose water on your skin. A little paradise it seemed, that tiny kitty pool and your mama waving the hose over you with one hand, her cigarette dangling between the fingers of her other, bright warm sun and yellowing grass stretched out in large swathes between the little white shacks stacked row upon tidy row. Always the same and ready to guide you home after each little wander into the thicket behind the clearing.

That was life in the Shady Oaks trailer park. There really was only one mature oak tree and it was a live oak and the sunshine beamed right through its little leaves all seasons of the year.

By five you had a sizable jar of grasshoppers collected and had become too scared of their hoards and awful beady eyes to ever release them, fearful they would swarm you the minute you undid the lid of the mason jar and gave them freedom. You had let one out and watched it hop across the torn Hexagons of the linoleum floor before it jumped in an acrobatic feat and landed in the mac & cheese your mom was making. You never know what she did with those jars, but you were half relieved, half heartbroken at the fact they were no longer your responsibility.

By eight you knew you lived in a trailer park and spending your time collecting ants and moths for the new set of grasshoppers to eat was a peculiar and uncool pastime. As were muddy knees and torn t-shirts on a girl approaching her teenage years. But mama hadn’t been able to take the heat and the rows upon rows of mildewing trailers anymore and daddy was too busy with his “entrepreneurship” to dress you right.

By twelve you had learned that some nights daddy came home, and some nights he didn’t and you couldn’t be sure which you preferred. His drunken state was unpredictable and confusing even though he was not abusive, but his absence left you counting quarters and wondering how long your Fig Newtons would last if he stayed gone longer than a week again.

By fifteen the Dollar Store and its fluorescent bulbs leached the vitality out of you with each long day shift, school was an afterthought, and your days smelled of plastic bags and detergent. You brought that smell home to your musty trailer, seeped into the sweaty fabric of your tank top. The only thing that stayed consistent whether your daddy was home or not was the religious watching of the NASCAR races. Reruns and live, it didn’t matter, where many girls escaped into Disney or Reality TV, you did your dreaming while sitting in the ratty drivers seat of daddy’s Ford, making the engine thrum.

By seventeen, your daddy was gone for months at a time. Sometimes he’d leave the Ford and take off on the road with Benny and Gregg in Benny’s motorhome from a few rows down. Greg had the pale blue trailer with the blinds that were always smashed in the one window. He always left his damn lights on, even when he was gone and they’d glow yellow and demented between the brittle plastic. Some nights when you walked back home from town, maybe a little more plastered than you’d like to admit, you’d keep Gregg’s trailer and his silly window as a landmark to turn left in the maze of trailers.

One night the bulb burnt out. One by one the rest of them did too. The fellas, they’d all been gone so long. Next week the electricity got turned off to yours. The bill hadn’t been paid. Dollar Store wages kept peanut butter and miracle bread in your cabinets and bought you cheap tequila from Terry who lived five trailers down and didn’t care about ID’s so long as there was cash on the counter. What the wages didn’t pay for was electricity or gas money or a new car that could actually accelerate fast enough to give you that thrill you craved.

Despite your lousy education and demotivated upbringing, you had some spark of diligence and ambition residing inside you, it was stoked to a decent blaze by the awful, humid and stale air of the trailer without its swamp coolers humming at night. Not even the fridge stayed cool longer than forty eight hours and you ended up at the seven eleven eating roller dogs.

You weren’t looking for job opportunities while licking corn dog grease off your thumbs but opportunity came to you anyway. As you nibbled at the soggy fried dog and licked at the rancid oil while leaning against the auto supply shelf, you’d have to be some sorta dumb to not know that Carl was hanging around the same aisle for something besides windshield washer fluid.

Carl was a native to the outskirts of El Paso just like you, and he was a married man, married to Clarissa in fact. Clarissa who’s plastic miniature flamingo’s gracing each edge of her weedy gravel drive had a younger you thinking she was the height of trailer park sophistication. That was before Officer Presley, who lived in a spacious double wide down by Gregg’s trailer and its burnt out bulbs, got himself a Tiger figurine made outta real concrete and painted pretty as anything, its blazing feline eyes not missing a speck of paint, unlike the flamingo’s slashed ones. Officer Presley only had the one and it was assumed he was saving up for another, and he placed it by the little porch he built off his trailer door, the proximity to the structure giving it a noble sorta air that sitting statues out by the street didn’t manage.

“If you keep watchin’ me like that I’ll have to start chargin’.” you told Carl and his leering face, and took another bite, munching with the carefree manners of someone actually hungry.

“Can’t do that here.” he wheezed a laugh, then thumbed over his shoulder at the bright lights of the trucker club blazing in the dark sky through the dirty glass doors of the gas station. “But over there it’s legal.”

“You so horny you’d pay to watch a girl eat a corndog?” you were dubious, wondering just how little Miss Clarissa put out if he’d waste money on this, it wasn’t like she was busy repainting her Flamingo’s peeling eyes or nothin’.

“I’d pay for a drink for ya.” Carl offered, fidgety hands wedged in his fraying front pockets. “And you can eat another dog. You like hot dogs? They’ve got ‘em over there.”

“Nah, I need cash.” you declined, aware that you could barter for drinks and end up evicted or else make sacrifices regarding the booze and keep your tin roof over your head.

“Cash?” he repeated like a dumb parrot.

“Yeah, stupid.” you flailed your hands a little in annoyance, fully certain everyone in this run down rural suburb knew you were as broke as you are alcoholic at seventeen.

“Ok, then I’ll pay for your hot dog,” he negotiated with an oil stained finger scratching at the sore on the corner of his mouth, “And you can eat it so long as you do it how I tell ya.”

You sighed and ran your chipping nails along the plastic jugs of car oil. “So long as ya let me eat it.” you stipulate, “And you gotta pay for the show.”

“I ain’t made of money, girl!” Carl protested, “I’m buyin’ dinner, you should be thankin’ me.”

“You were plannin’ on buyin’ me a drink.” you pointed out, “Where’s that money gone?”

“Jeeze ok, ok,” Carl sighed, “I’ll pay you same as a wild Turkey would cost.”

“And a dog?”

“Yeah.”

“With chili on it?”

“Oh c’mon now-“

“-It’ll make for good slurpin.” you pointed out sagaciously

Carl groaned in annoyance and appreciation for the mental image. “Ok, a chili dog and the cost of a shot. No funny shit with the tab and you eat it how I say.”

“Does the club have air conditioning?” You asked your last stipulation.

“Course it does, it would be hot as fuck without.”

Your trailer was hot as fuck and anytime spent loitering elsewhere was greatly desired. “Ok then.” you agreed with a shrug.

By the time you’d crossed the parking lot, with Carl’s guiding hand on your lower back, you were irritable from the heat and exhaust fumes. Inside was cool and almost as dark as the parking lot except for the wild, multi-colored lights swirling around the place, highlighting the girls humping the stage floor in the middle of the establishment. One more underage addition wasn’t remotely as remarkable as the fella in the corner trying to take a bite outta a lap dancer’s boob. He got smacked on the cheek for it and nothin’ more, got his full dance anyway and as you watched her after while sitting up on the bar stool, you noticed her negotiate something similar to what you’d just done. She stayed in his lap after her dance was done and after some gesticulating and her unimpressed sighs, some agreement was reached and you watched them get up and walk to the back of the club, through the backdoor that you knew led to nothing more than miles and miles of desert.

Five minutes later a similar transaction occurred between a trucker and a pole girl. They went out back, too. Ten minutes later the first couple came back in. She went to the stage and he went out the front door Carl had brought you in by.

By that point you were slowly inserting a hot dog onto your pink tongue and swallowing a bite every three minutes or more - at least, that’s what it felt like. Carl’s directions were so slow and infuriatingly erratic that you found yourself grateful for the fact you’d already eaten a bit at the gas station, otherwise this would’ve been the cruelest tease to your belly that hadn’t had lunch and only Raisin Bran for breakfast. You chose to ignore the way his hand moved in the shadow of the bar, wiping at his jeans too many times to be passed off as sweaty palms.

A nearly fully dressed girl in cut offs eating a chili dog was hardly the most sensational thing to be watched in this seedy joint, but it was the most peculiar and no sooner had you finished the dog after a laborious thirty minutes, collected the extra drink cash and prepared to go home after declining Carl’s offer of a ride before you found yourself propositioned for the same ordeal. This big fella actually offered a drink with it and much to Carl’s betrayed horror you agreed. Carl ended up leaving, going home to Clarissa, feeling too cuckolded to continue watching someone else watch you eat meat in a casing.

In between sipping Hard Mike’s lemonade you chatted with the fella and spilled pinto beans on your bare legs from the excess. Even the bartender had stopped being annoyed, he even got a bit invested in your gig, retracting the offered napkins for the spill when another guy, a farm hand from the pecan grove down the interstate, asked to lick it off.

You charged seventeen bucks for that spit bath and felt funny as the saliva dried in the chilled bar room air. The bartender asked you if you lived in El Paso. Hesitating to give yourself away or open yourself up to a driveby, you merely agreed that you lived nearby, he didn’t need to know you lived in the Spark City suburb and walked to this tuck station grill to save fuel.

Marty, he said his name was, and Marty was pleased you lived close. In that case he asked if you’d wanna work there. You knew at the time he wasn’t offering you to bartend, your age prohibitive even in so lax an establishment. Your eyes flicked over to the long gal with her sallow skin and stringy red hair loling around the stripper pole in the glow of a green spotlight. It had to be 3:00 am by then.

“Does everybody do extra?” You asked him, plainly referencing the deals that took folks out back into the sagebrush and the backside of the club.

“You do as much as you wanna get paid for.” he admitted. “Plenty just strip.”

Just, he had said. Just strip.

Just stripping was a gross understatement for the rigorous and demoralizing ordeal of flinging your practically naked body around on stage for gaping older men to ogle each night. But it took up hours of your time not paid by the dollar store wages, and you could snooze from five am to eight when your shift began again in respectable retail. You earned a decent amount, even after having to pay Marty and the doormen a portion and even turning down a lap dance or two. The chili dog schtick kept its novelty for three nights and then you were driven to grinding against the pold like all the others, wondering if they’d all hoped to not end this way, same as you.

After a few weeks of this your piggy bank was less empty than it had been in months, hidden under the sink of your trailer behind the Comet and pulled out only to stuff in bills or else retrieve bread money, one Sunday you counted enough to pay your lease for the trailer slip. What was left would make a tiny little down payment for the electricity bill.

Or gas money for at least fifty miles or more in your gas guzzler. You weighed the bills in your hands and mournfully inspected your bruised knees. It was your off day, you contemplated going to the club in the evening as it didn’t respect the Lord’s day like the dollar store, but until then you had hours of a perfectly cloudless day to burn. Suddenly your trailer felt unbearable in its stuffy crampedness.

You tore outta your door and cranked up your daddy’s old Ford and with relief found it started with only a few tries. You tore down the road too, seeking the interstate after using that cash to top her tank off. For the first time in ages a full smile had begun to split your face. You went east, passing the last remnant of civilization that you called home and comprised El Paso’s dusty satellite cling ons. Then it was open range, nothing just mesas and tumbleweed, no one else could brag of such flat country or so wide a sky.

You floored it, the speed limit a decent 80 on its own, you went up to 120, fast as you dared push the transmission without fear of being stranded in the desert. Billboards warned of “last chance for gas, Van Horn 200 miles” followed by a possibly related: “God is coming, have you repented?”

All flew by in a unheeded blur as you cranked up the stereo and let the wind whip your hair. You covered a patrol car in a cloud of dust and saw his lights flash at you in the rearview. No chase commenced. When you leisurely drove back you noticed it was highway patrol, the sun was setting and he flashed his brights at you. You flicked them back.

“Hey officer Presley.” you murmured amused at him turning a blind eye to the speeding. Back when you had more money and made a regular habit of this amateur racing, you noticed the same benevolent light flicker and never a siren broke the still of the desert. “You ole softy.” you giggled at the thought of the middle aged officer being generous for you and only you, and wondered if he’d heard about what had become of you yet. Seems like most of the trailer park had. Favorite topic these days, right up there with when or if your daddy was ever gonna come home. Had the wives hating you during the day for the suspicion of their men wanking over you at night.

“Maybe if you could spare a single food stamp or somethin’ to help a gal in need I’d not be strippin’!” You had hollered at Ms Clarissa for all to hear and you stood by it. Buncha lousy, miserable hypocrites who did far worse behind their canvas doors.

You do go to the club that night.

You stripped down to your panties and bra and made enough to buy ice and a trip to the dentist. You packed the ice in the dead refrigerator and pampered yourself with some milk and a carton of ice cream for the filled tooth.

Next day you filled up your gas tank again and blazed a path through town, headed to the wide open and dreaming of busting your way into the male ranks of nascar drivers. You were deep into a daydream and committing a little self pity about how you hadn't been able to afford cable and were missing all the races when a siren’s blare broke your fantasy and the flicker of red lights against a pale blue sky filled your rearview. Begrudgingly you pulled to the shoulder as you cranked down your window, fiddling with the radio knobs till you could actually hear your crime when your peruser sauntered up.

“Well, well officer Presley, finally got persnickety about laws, have ya?” you observed to yourself with a grin as you watched the handsome man swagger towards you along the white line in your side mirror, tugging at his pants as he neared, trying to shimmy the article of clothing a little higher but is impeded by his belt, stopped by his sizable belly, his holster and buckle sitting under the bulge of it.

Your mouth watered. It had been close to a year since you’d seen him up close, not since last time he pulled you over, though you always took note when he was lounging outside his trailer in a lawn chair with his dog or stripped down and working under his hood. He was always built, intimidating to all the stupid rascals he kept in line along the border, but now he had become outright fat and his khaki shirt pulled apart between each button. Yet when he came up to your window, that little boy's grin was still gracing one of the most exquisite faces known to man, and his voice was tender and playful when he greeted you, just as you once recalled. You could see his sweaty hair, matted on his chest and belly between the gaps, his underarms have massive pit stains, doubly apparent thanks to the light color of his police uniform.

Your smile had something of the she-wolf in it as you greeted him, sniffing the air in hopes of catching a whiff as he leaned on your window frame, nearly crowding you from outside. “Hey Miss Lead Foot Louie,” he greeted, “you know why ya been pulled over?”

“Haven't got a clue, officer.” You stated the truth and enjoyed the way his title rolled off your tongue in a bantering way. It was easy.

Officer, officer. Somebody important and authoritative. No sir, yes sir, Officer.

His left eyebrow quirked and you wondered what he looked like at twenty five, how devastating that expression would have been before his wound and his meds and the water retention. Whatever power it may have once held, it holds nothing to that slightly bemused, slightly cynical world weariness that shows in his every expression now, that had a twitch of an eyebrow making you feel a fool in the most delicious way. “You’re goin’ seventy in a forty five, Miss.” his tone was patient even as his face suggested he’d like to tan your hide for being so reckless. “Reckless endangerment of others, and yourself,” he quoted sternly, “it ain’t no small matter and I don’t countenance it on my highway.”

Gosh, you just loved it when he laid claim to government property like highways and interstates. It helped you smile meekly at him and nod.

“Sorry officer, I got lax.” You purred, batting your eyes and you could see the heavy flap of their coal coated weight in your periphery. “I’ve seen you lettin’ me fly by on the interstate. I guess I thought…”

He leaned further into her car window, shirt gaping helpfully at his neck and allowing you a glimpse of sweaty hair, little droplets shining like rhinestone studs in the coarse curls. You leaned towards him, nipples hardening beneath your t-shirt bra as your mind started to the taste of salt. “You’re in town, miss.” he pointed out with grave disappointment for your lack of behavioral modulation, “S’one thing on the open plain, it’s another when you’re endangerin’ your fellow citizens, flyin’ through intersections, speedin’ up and threadin’ traffic when you’ve got a visible yield sign. Right there! Ain’t responsible. And I won’t countenance it.”

“Sorry officer.” you pleaded, lingering on his rank with all the sultry appreciation of a girl who lacks authority figures in her life. It made his palm itch.

He sighed and gave you a small smile, puffy, marshmallow lips set under a dark five o’clock shadow and it wasn’t even noon. “Now, how many times do I gotta pull ya over ‘fore ya start listenin’ to me?“ he asked with patient expectancy and you swallowed hard, actually feeling a small bit of guilt.

“Well,” you drew it out, biting your lip before tossing your head and beaming at him, “maybe just one last time. Like always.”

He tsked at you in reprimand but his eyes lit up with enjoyment, and that was worth whatever fine he might slap you with. It really wasn’t, not with how broke you were but gosh, you loved breaking the ice on him, reeling him in for another verbal tussle. One day you hoped those expressive hands would accidently smack you mid-wave when he was explaining something or other. You lived in hope of that day.

You watched as he straightened briefly and reviewed your vehicle, thumbing at the peeling paint on the hood near his thumb and swished at the sand on your tags. You held your breath, hoping the dust would disguise their expiration. Officer Presley just grunted and surveyed your lemoning old truck with the face of a man who appreciates nice things and doesn't see any nice things in sight. The face of a man whose patrol car was a Ford Mustang.

“You like speed.” he observed, still glancing at your tires with lip curling disdain. You wanted him to look at you like that but his face always softened when he turned back to you. It did this time as well.

“Yeah.” you breathed.

“You got a shit truck for speed, terrible drag, shit tread on your tires, bet it’s a gas guzzler, too.”

“Well yeah, officer,” you rolled your eyes at his survey, “but it’s not like I can afford much else right now so -I do this for fun. Fun’s not illegal in America yet, is it?”

He looked at you gravely then and his eyes turned sad. “Yeah I heard about the strippin’. You watch yourself now, be careful and make sure you don’t engage in no extra-curric-u-lars.” he advised sternly, peering over his tinted sunglasses at you while saying the big word, over pronouncing it with authoritative gravitas, “I’ve told Marty that means no bar tendin’ when you’re underage. And I’m tellin’ you now, that goes for solictin’, too. You understand me? Nice lil girl like you could get in a heap of trouble real fast. And I won’t countenance it.”

The rest of you perked up at the heavy handed advice, feeling smothered and also cherished that someone would give a shit, even if they were just defending laws n’ government regulations. Thinking of them as Officer Presley’s laws, as his property you were twerking on somehow ennobled your calling, made you feel like giving it a try to be good and not disappoint him. You felt grateful he hadn't chewed you out for the stripping like half the neighborhood, you’d expected some disgust.

When he finally looked at you with disdain, and you were determined that he would, it would be for something less unchangeable, a little less broke, a little more sexy.

“Yes sir, I got ya.” you acknowledged with a nervous laugh to hide your discomfort with the way he kept staring at you, reading you, it felt.

He kept at it for a few moments, chomping on that gum stick in his mouth, dexterous pink tongue lolling the stuff from one row of molars to the others and back. Most fascinating ping-pong match you’d ever seen and while he did his soul-reading, you watched his mouth.

As his jaw worked overtime, he narrowed his eyes at you, so blue they looked violet behind the tint of his lenses. “A’ight.” he decided at last and suddenly your window was bereft of his congenial bulk, you heard the rap of his knuckles on your truck roof.

“You stay outta trouble now, Missy.” he let you off with only a warning, two sharp knocks on the metal and then, “I’ll be seein’ ya.”

You watched the side mirror with investment as he meandered away, futilly hiking up his holster again as he went before he entered his squad car. He flashed his lights at you as you stayed gawking, you fumbled with the ignition and peeled out off the shoulder, moderating your acceleration upon afterthought. You’d promised to be good.

But nights at the Trucker Bar didn’t pay to be good. You had a laundry list of things you wanted and a hefty list of needs alongside it. You tried picking up a shift at the Texaco but Ashley there near tore your hair out against the beer coolers for encroaching on her shift. Everyone needed work and Spark City had never been much of a City, too little infrastructure to prosper its community in good times, much less in the pits of a recession. The Best Buy in El Paso was hiring, you read in a mail advertisement. Their wages cost as much gas it took to drive there and back.

So you got pretty good at something else, something Officer Presley wouldn’t be impressed by, or maybe he would in a moment of weakness but lord, much as you worried and panicked some times about him dropping in on the Trucker stop, meeting eyes and him just knowing you’d been doing extracurriculars, he never showed. Must not have been his scene. Not that you were sure what his scene was, you only ever saw him in his patrol car or else cleaning his guns on his trailer porch next to his Tiger figurine.

You assumed he liked blow jobs as much as the next man. But he never showed and so you got more and more lax, went out back of the bar to the Sagebrush desert and blew heavy tippers against the concrete wall, ant bites and stickers plaguing your knees. So far you hadn’t even needed to walk on over past the broken wall to the dingy motel in back and do the horizontal tango.

Moderate extracurriculars and the dancing was enough to tip your little piggy bank into having a little something to shake at the end of the day. You got yourself a haul of cereal and hot pockets that night, even splurged on milk that went rancid by the next day without refrigeration. You spent your late mornings debating how much money you had left for rent and how much you had for electricity and the viability of buying a generator instead of paying the bill. You also wanted a Blackberry phone real bad, your old flip phone a relic and on its last wheezes -maybe that’s why your dad’s calls never came through.

You were chewing off the price tag of your dollar flip flops, walking barefoot out of your daytime workplace -Dollar General- at the end of your shift when you realized there was a patrol car pulled up beside your Ford. First you cursed, then you grinned as you saw the familiar figure of Officer Presley wiping at your windshield with a bandana. Then you cursed again as you realized he was checking your expired tags.

You jogged over the burning asphalt, still tied flip flops in hand, hoping you didn’t look like shit from having taken off the Dollar Store vest without smoothing your hair afterwards. You hadn’t been good, he could be here for anything, soliciting, or for the speeding you know he caught on his radar or else the tags.

“Hey officer!” you chirped, as carefree and smiley as you could manage -and you’d gotten to be a tidy little liar at the club, insisting you couldn’t wait to have greasy, unwashed truckers in your mouth.

He turned his head slowly, hand still heavy on the windshield and observed you through those glasses again. “Don’t you ‘hey officer’ me.” he retorted, riled despite himself at the way you always said his rank like he had you locked up with frilly pink handcuffs to his waterbed. He shook his head and focused on the variety of delinquencies he had to reprimand you for. “These tags are out of date.”

“Aww,” you feigned consternation pretty decently as you really hadn’t bothered to prioritize the tags with every other dire cost pummeling you right now, “I’m sorry Elvis.” you tried a little familiarity as you drew closer, watching enthralled as a stale desert window tufted the front of his black locks of his sweaty forehead, “Things’ve been a lil tight for a while now, what with daddy leavin’. Slipped my mind.”

He pulled his hand off the windshield and his hands tried to rest on his hips but they slipped and ended up in an odd, off-kilter sorta sling on his pockets and belly, “They’re three years overdue.” his tone sounded unimpressed, you shivered despite the heat.

“Oh.” you chewed your lip and gazed at him hopefully.

“I oughta tan your hide, lettin’ you turn feral with all my concessions.” he said aloud while stippling his fingers on your rusting truck hood. His eyes dropped to the newly purchased, junk flip flops you still clutched. “Why’re you bare foot?”

“My last pair broke.” you explained, end of your shift the thong had snapped and here you were with the replacements.

“Well put ‘em on, the road’s nasty.” he grunted in aggravation, eyes dropping to your feet and widening in disgust at the welts and blisters you’d accumulated from your cheap stripper heels. “Holy shit, that’s gnarly right there.”

You felt a bit offended by that, wanting to object it was the toll of the job, sorta like fat guts came from lounging in patrol cars for a living. Figuring you were in deep deep enough shit as is without outright insulting him, you bit your tongue and chewed on the plastic connector again, trying to free your sandals.

“Oh for God’s sake, stop that.” he growled after a minute and to your bewilderment he stepped in your space and grabbed the foam footwear out of your mouth, “Gonna chip a tooth goin’ on that way, then your tips’ll go down, ya thought of that? No? No you don’t think ahead about nothin’.”

He was working himself up into a frustrated frenzy, tugging at the plastic tag, mumbling all the while about your behavior until it snapped at last and separated the flip flops. He stared dumbly at his success for a minute while you tittered. Bad move on your part, his eyes darkened and he genuinely scowled at you, something more effective than it should have been with his outdated sideburns carving lines in his cheeks.

“Turn around.” he demanded and you snapped your mouth shut, confused by his attitude and furtively eyeing your flip flops still dwarfed in his gloved hands. Who the hell wore gloves in this decade? In this century? In an El Paso suburb that was only a degree or two cooler than the surface of the sun.

You turned around.

“Hands on the hood.” he told you.

You placed them on the burning metal and wished you had gloves, angling your body away from the hot body of the truck, wincing at the heat, on tippy toes to save your feet from the asphalt. Was he gonna cuff you? He hadn’t even read you your rights and could a person even be arrested for tags? You really didn’t know and you never thought he would-

Suddenly a loud snap resounded in the empty parking lot and a white hot sting against your bottom distracted you from the pain of the hot car. You yelped in shock, hand flying to nurse the denim clad ass cheek that was burning from his smack. You glared over your shoulder at Officer Presley, ready to give him what for about him taking parental liberties until you saw his face folded into childish consternation, poofy bottom lip jutted out in remorse as he viewed the snapped flip flop in his hands.

He’d broken a shoe on you. Appreciation flared back, and you wanted to squeeze his cheeks and tell him it was ok, he could ruin the other, too.

“Aww shit, now I-I-I didn’t mean for that-“ he bemoaned, turning the ruined foam pad around and around in his hands as if there was a way to fix it when the other half was on the ground.

“It’s ok.” You heard yourself comfort the fucker who’d just spanked you in broad daylight.

“But you just finished your shift.” he muttered, and his consideration for your inconvenience touched you, “Here I-I-I’ll go buy ya another pair. Uh, yeah, c’mon.”

You skipped alongside him, trying to get him to look over at you but his face was flushed and his eyes trained on his task, picking out a hot pink pair instead of the polka dots you had chosen. “Does nothin’ for your lil sooties and brings the attention away from the polish ya got painted and instead directs the eye to the crustaceans and shit ya got goin’ on.” he referenced your calluses with a grimace and reached into his back pocket to pull out his worn wallet.

You stared at the hefty meat of his ass the entire time and almost missed it when he pulled out five dollars and put them on the register. You watched his ass and its khaki clad splendor as he returned the wallet without change and wiggled it into the tight back pocket.

At the double sliding glass doors of the front he snapped the tag there and then and squatted down with a little grunt, his knees popping audibly as he gallantly laid out your cheap slippers. You stepped into them, taking the liberty of putting a balancing hand on his sweaty shoulder.

His hand ran up your wrist and held you there a minute longer than it needed for stability. He squeezed twice and let go. You watched him heft himself up to his feet with admiration and a little pity for the stiff way he moved when he’d been stuck in one position for too long. Seemed to you so long as he was kept moving he did alright, nice and fluid and you’d seen him chase and tackle a man on foot awhile back, he’d been runnin’ like the wind then. He had it in him, just lounging in the patrol car hardly helped things.

You got the sudden and stupid urge to ask if he wanted to go swimming in the Motel 6’s pool, it would be good for his joints and your sore back and he’d be wet and maybe have his shirt off and you could-

“I got somethin’ to tell ya, it’s w-w-why I-I stopped when I saw your truck and uh, sweetie, let’s stay h-here in the cool.” he gently tugged your arm back with the pads of his pretty fingers hooked on your deltoid, pulling you back over the threshold and into the dryer sheet scented air of the Dollar General.

“What is it?” you asked him as he seemed nervous, a foreign look on him. You started to feel a little panic at the thought he might be leaving, going back to wherever he came from, done with this Podunk town and its big crime and little criminals.

“There ain’t no easy way to say this a-a-and I wanted you to hear it from me.” he chose his words carefully, eyes trained on the white and speckled tile below your feet until after a big breath he lifted his stunning eyes and gazed at you gently and in the most gallant way you’d ever been looked at before, murmuring in clear, compassionate tones, “They caught your daddy the other night -drug runnin’. Ain’t no petty marijuana charge or somethin’, it’s the big stuff. He’s gonna be put away, for a long while, in-car-cer-ated.” he specified with distinct pronunciation, “For a long while, Miss. I’m sorry to be the one t-t-to t-tell but I wanted you to know it’s true, I-I-l booked him in myself.”

“Well,” you swallowed hard, a little ashamed you’d been more alarmed at the prospect of officer Presley leaving than suspecting anything wrong with your walking disappointment of a father, “well damn.” you muttered.

“You don’t seem much surprised.” he pointed out, pulling his tinted shades down his nose to get a clear review of you, he had a red line on his nose from their weight.

“I barely know him anymore,” you admitted, “and I doubted he was gone spreading charity or something.”

“Yeah.”

“But damn -he was supposed to come back.” you felt a little angry about that part. A little childish for believing it too.

“Maybe he meant to,” he soothed, although your father’s entrenched position on the river suggested a more permanent stay, “and was doing all that sellin’ to give you somethin’ better but he was breakin’ the law and endangerin-“

“-Endangering others, I know.” you snapped at him, not because he was anything but nice, you snapped at him because he was very kind and he had a silver, shiny, sanctimonious badge on the large swell of his left peck.

The longer you stared at the badge the more you wanted to sink your dollar store acrylics into the meat of that man and try tearing -they’d probably break and it made your eyes swim with tears of frustration and you stomped out of the double glass doors into the heat of the parking lot. The sun would be going down soon and that’s when your best customers would pour into the club. You snapped your way across the asphalt on the flip flops he got you, ignoring his calls behind you as you wrenched open the squeaking truck door and hopped up into the cab.

“Really it’s fine!” you yelled at him as he came up to the window again, the concern and reproval written on his face way more heavy than you could take right then, “It’s not like I was expecting him back anytime soon anyway and -and you’ve got a job to do, ok? I get it. I get it, ok? Now I gotta go, officer.” You cranked up your engine and diesel fumes swirled around him. He batted the air in front of his face like a dainty lady would a swarm of flies and leaned heavier still on your rolled down window.

“I just wanted to let ya know.” he reaffirmed his intention, his gesticulations bringing your eyes to the gold watch around his wrist that jangled against the car metal, “Tell ya not to uh, don’t do nothin’ rash, alright? Just ‘cause he’s gone. You’re a big girl, you’ll make it. You ‘member what I said last time ‘bout extracurriculars?”

“I’d like to do you some extracurriculars.” you seethed with an angry smile and he looked taken aback, actually stepping away from the truck and his belly heaved with his offended breaths. One hand balled in a fist at his side and the other twitched, fiat palm swaying beside his thigh like he was gonna smack again. Extracurriculars -you’d like to take his no doubt chubby little cock right down to the sweaty thatched base and chew, just to earn a real spanking.

Maybe this lewd intent was written on your face but he slowly backed away from your truck like you’d gone looney, pointing his finger at you as he went, “You be good, I mean it. And that’s goes for respectin’ officers of the law.”

He was about to get into his side, looking over his car top in admonishment and you quickly made sure your truck was still in park before turning round in the seat and hanging yourself out the window, cleavage pressed against the edge to your best advantage and blew him a kiss. “I’m always a good girl, officer!” you swore adamantly and it stopped him dead in his tracks, stopped in a half crouch to his seat, that eyebrow disbelieving, “Officer Presley commissioned me to be good and I ain’t anything but!” you swore.

Took him five whole seconds to recall he was supposed to have his ass seated by then and he lowered himself the rest of the way into his car. His belly brushed the steering wheel and his legs spread themselves even in the driver's seat, it made your crushed breasts tingle. “Be-have.” he pointed that finger again and your thighs clamped shut on your seats, overwhelmed with unbidden thoughts of the long and slender digit probing inside you. How’d his fingers stay so slender when the rest of him bulked up?

You saluted as poorly as you could and watched him drive off, aggression plain in his accelerations and the way he took his turns. He shoulda stayed and spanked the other cheek, you thought, as you turned around and slumped in your seat, legs splayed and fighting a desperate urge to slip a hand down your shorts. You hoped to god he’d find some quiet shoulder of the road in the desert this evening and with a car passing every twelve minutes, tug a load out to the thought of wacking your denim booty with his belt. It would be good for his blood pressure.

Hands sticky from your own dismal release, you pulled out of the parking lot ten minutes behind him and, too scarce on time to go home first, drove straight to the club, knowing full well that you could always just strip down to your underwear.

Or less.

What with dad permanently unhelpful now, it was a fact of life that you’d have to do more than get by till he came back. You’d already accepted that awhile ago, this just confirmed it. You figured you’d need to save another stash of money, like the real professional girls did, girls like Kelcie and Shay, a little fund for renting out a motel room at night. The one a quarter mile out back of the truck stop, no harm in it except for a few bramble scratches in the dark and the odd coyote not scared off by the truckers’ loud moans out back at the blow job wall.

But for tonight you hadn’t any such stash and so after a few hours at the poll and chatting up the fellas lounging on barstools, you found the tip jar lacking and made one of those lil deals that were becoming almost as commonplace as getting your butt pinched.

This time, in the moth attracting glow of the outside light, your customer had a New York accent and while at cock level you learned from his fancy, dangling silver keychain that his buddies knew him as Joe E.

Now Joe E had a little brown cock and a small, fused ballsack under a sizable belly like most of these men in here did, and you did some of your best work on him. It was easy to do with him fitting in your mouth so easily, you pulled out every trick you’d learned at this wall, all of which he unfortunately resisted succumbing to more than the usual client. He’d pull himself out of your throat and he would grip his base, prolonging his experience and you supposed he had a right to it, he was paying money for something and he might as well do it how he liked but your jaw ached after a while. Soon your ears ached worse, exhausted and fed up with the self important monologue he kept up between the usual, self promoting stud talk that an unimpressive man in his forties likes to indulge in while paying for sex acts out back of a hole in the wall truckers club.

Joe E tasted like he hadn’t touched a fresh vegetable in years and through the overwhelming desire to puke you recognized with some pleasure that he was tipping you extra for being “like a damn vacuum down there, you pretty little dog.”

You drove home from the club, headlights on dim in the early morning and passed by Officer Presley’s double wide with intent, choosing the route you’d take if you were walking. It was dark inside but as you passed you saw he wasn’t asleep, his car was still gone.

You wondered if his doggie was in there or on patrol with him. You sighed and pulled into your own weedy drive, depressed with something you didn’t know the cause of.

You brushed your teeth, you ate cereal after remembering you hadn’t eaten, and stripped out of your clothes before crashing into bed, falling asleep in seconds despite the musty, unconditioned air inside.

It was the next morning, so near afternoon as to barely warrant it but Elvis Presley liked to take credit for any bit of effort he made and so let the record show it was still morning, when he entered the Waffle House off Moody Blvd and sat himself down in a booth and ordered his usual. It arrived at 11:56 in the morning and so it was breakfast, not lunch by any stretch of the imagination. He’d been up all night, the usual plaguing reasons and a few added to it. You, thoughts of you and tanning your hide and gripping you and you squirming over his lap made his patrols a hellish experience and he was almost glad for the distraction of the fucker without plates pulling out in front of him and making a run for it through the border checkpoint at 8:45 pm.

Now he was distracting himself with food, and if there was anything in his life to rival his appreciation of a slippery and obligin’ pussy, it was five scrambled eggs piled high on a white plate with burnt bacon to the side and waffles stacked on a companion plate. Brenda put them down with a smile and gave him a side hug that made his face brush her apron and shoulda gotten her fired by the food regulations but Elvis liked Brenda for her affectionate ways and the way he didn’t ever have to correct her about his order.

“You look tired.” she worried over him and he found a smile starting to threaten on his face, he stuck his fork in the eggs to distract himself.

“Just a busy night.” he admitted and absentmindedly rubbed at his sore knee.

“Aww you’re a treasure, keepin’ us so safe.” he patted his arm again and he fully smiled this time. “You just tell me if you need anythin’ else. I’ve got more coffee, lemme get ya more coffee, Elvis.”

“Thanks Miss Brenda.” he called to her and she giggled as she fetched the cloudy pot.

The bell over the entrance jangled and from Elvis’ chosen vantage point in a booth that faced the doors, always facing his entry that man, he saw Joe Esposito walk in, smiling like a motherfucker for a Wednesday morning and swaggering like Elvis hadn't seen the little runt do since he passed the bar back in 1980 something.

“Hey Brenda, hey EP!” Joe greeted and Elvis braced himself for a cheerful morning when all his hopes had been for some quiet and a little maple syrup glazed despondency.

“Hey Joe.” Elvis greeted his old friend, “You in town?”

“Yeah, my route’s takin’ me to Las Cruces.” Joe informed him as he helped himself to the booth across from Elvis without invitation. If he ate one of Elvis’ bacon strips, even reached for it, Elvis would be pulling out his Glock.

“How’s business?” Elvis asked as neutrally as possible, knowing that it was a sore subject for Joe who had once bragged about being destined for big things, holding it over everybody else at the high school back in Memphis. Still Elvis couldn’t help but ask, partly because it was small talk and if he could get Joe on the subject he knew the feller wouldn’t stop talking, and Elvis could then eat his eggs with minimal requirements for speech. He also took some inner consolation in the fact that all Joe’s brags had worked out about as poorly as Elvis’ dreams had.

It made for two portly middle aged men in a Waffle House booth discussing gas prices at noon.

Joe ordered just pancakes and Elvis judged the lack of meat from beneath his lavender shades and patiently asked the right questions to keep Joe smacking his breakfast with an open mouth and waxing sentimental about life on the road. It suited Joe, even if it was boringly unimportant, he was king of the road in between stops at Walmart distribution centers and out in the stretches of no man’s land the girls were cheap, far cheaper than any Times Square street walker. Joe hadn’t been to Times Square since he was sixteen but it was something he still liked to brag of and to incorporate in his life story like it was an integral part of his narrative.

“But are they fresher?” Elvis inquired, always intrigued by the subject of pussy but also harboring a deep aversion to the way most men spoke on the subject.

“Nah, not really, but that’s why ya go for the mouth.” Joe catechsied Elvis on the ways of call girls and Elvis felt his eye twitch, personally he enjoyed blow jobs as much as the next guy but to avoid the pussy all together as Joe was suggesting? It took all the joy out of the act for Elvis and he picked at his eggs morosely as he listened. He’d had such a large appetite before Joe sat down and started talking of fishy cunts and girls with throats like drainage pipes.

Joe had been to the truckers lounge, the trucker club, the strip place, whatever it was called -the place Marty ran. Elvis knew it, he tried not to react to the name, to pretend he didn’t gas up at the Texaco next door with the express intent of hoping to catch sight of you some nights. He never did, and he’d never been in. But Joe had gone in and Joe being Joe sat across from Elvis the next morning and bragged to a law officer about paying for a blow job. Which along with ruining Elvis’ appetite was offense enough for Elvis to decide to arrest the fucker, but the eloquent details of the slut who’d given it to him made Elvis see red.

Elvis didn’t really mind folks watching you, some stupid, possessive part of him was glad that all those fuckers drooled over you and couldn’t touch, same as him as he sat year after year in his lawn chair on his porch, watching you pass his trailer with longer and longer legs, prettier and prettier as the dusty days rolled by.

But to touch you? That someone else had touched you? The butter on his waffles suddenly looked wrong.

“-just fifty bucks man. Fifty bucks well spent.” Joe was bragging like he’d cheated the stock market and Elvis heard a roar in his ears that the doctors swore the pills would take care of.

You’d sucked Joe Esposita for fifty dollars right after Elvis had told you to be good and you’d blown him a kiss.

His chest hurt.

Elvis had Joe’s greasy face pressed into the syrupy plate with his hands behind his back and cuffs clanking before either the officer or the suspect even realized his intent. “Prostitution’s illegal, motherfucker, as is paying for such services in the state of Texas.”

You’d told him you’d be good. Fuck! He so badly didn’t wanna think of Joe being your first that he had to countenance speculation about you making a regular habit of this thing which was both worse and better all at once and he took out his frustration at that knowledge by trundling Joe into the back of the squad car with far more force than necessary.

It was a flimsy charge to file, Elvis knew that even before the clerk gave him the usual papers to fill out with a confused look. Wasn’t like Elvis was gonna put down your face or name, give away your crime. Without that connection the charge of paying for sex was flimsy and Joe would be released before dark. But it was nice to hear him sqealin’ and bitchin’ about his driving schedule and a buncha other ordinary begs that made Joe E sound as pathetic as Elvis knew he was.

It fortified Elvis throughout the day, kept him from going to your trailer or interrupting you at work to ask why in God’s name you would degrade yourself like that. It kept him bolstered with red hot rage until he was staked out in desert twilight on the dark side of the Texaco, headlights off and his eyes squinted as he watched patrons and girls go into the club.

This was his fault, for locking your daddy up, driving you to such lengths. He felt sick about it, shoulda known a stubborn, white trash girl like you would just reach for the next alternative this easy. Made him sick. Elvis suddenly felt nice and superior to all these men filing into the neon lit cinderblock structure, he had resisted touching himself to the fantasies that had filled his mind about you last night. Wasn’t pertinent that he had a stiffy right now, that was just the nerves and excitement of a stake out revving him up

He lit up a cigar and let Mellancamp growl over the stereo, engine off and the key turned just a little for the dash lights to stay on. He wasn’t sure when you got off work at the club, he assumed it must be some time around dawn and that suited his shit circadian rhythm just fine. He wasn’t tired as the hours went by, he was downright furious and his heart hurt and he popped a couple oxys sitting there with his busted knee throbbing and his mind a demented echo chamber.

By the time the sky was turning a sickly violet with the first promises of sunrise, Elvis had worked himself up to such a degree as to have his door flung open and one boot rhythmically tapping against the cement in his agitation, legs spread to alleviate the ache his pills had provoked in his groin even as the rest of him felt loose and untethered and decidedly deserving for once.

When you walked out the front of the club into the stale early morning air you laughed to yourself at the silliness of thinking you’d need a coat. Your little denim shorts and cherry print crop top suited just fine even in the early dark. That NASCAR jacket you’d had your eye on, the one Shay showed you on eBay, it would have to wait, the tips were shit tonight. No real hurt with that, wasn’t like it was cold. Just another something you wanted and would have to put off. You hadn’t driven tonight as the walk was cheaper and closer but you’d forgotten your pepper spray back at the truck stop and you hesitated for a moment about going back in, hating the idea of getting sucked into some sorta early morning drama from the drunk leftovers. While you were debating, a flash of white seared your vision and you staggered to a stop in the middle of the mostly deserted parking lot.

Headlights.

Well shit, now you really wished you had that spray. You thought about making a run for it, trying the nearest truck cab and praying the guy in it was less of a creep than whoever stakes out on the deserted side of the building.

“You get over here!” the approaching figure came into view, finally silhouetted by his own lights as he stalked towards you wearing a leather trench coat like some noir villain.

It would be a lie to say you breathed easier when you recognized Officer Presley’s commanding baritone.

“Shit shit shit.” you chanted beneath your breath at how riled he sounded and his right hand started making angry gestures for you to approach as he himself closed the distance with a deceptively fast gait.

“Hey, get your ass over here, I called you.” he yelled far more loudly than necessary with his massive hands already closing around your wrists, you didn’t even think to make a run for it, where exactly in the world was a kinder place to turn to than this angry law officer who always nosed in your business too much? “Get, get over here.” he repeated with a yank and tugged you stumbling over your flip flops to his squad car.

He bent you over the hood, just like you’d dreamed of more than a few times and you felt the heat of the headlight against your thigh as your shoulders got twisted back. “-solicitation,” he was pronouncing and your heart sank at the realization he had caught you after your promise, “prostitution-“ the cold clamp of a handcuff on your wrist had none of the rebel thrill you once imagined, it was terrifying and you whimpered pathetically at the thought that you’d expended his patience, that maybe your flirty banters had been one sided and he really was fed up with you.

“Officer-“ you begged with your cheek smashed to the hood.

Some guy had walked up, actually being a good citizen and concerned about the manhandling. It took one flash of Officer Presley’s badge for the guy to back away with a mere “you at least gonna read her the rights, man?”, throwing concerned looks over his shoulder. Maybe he’d been a tipper, you didn’t recall one face from another unless they were awfully ugly or skinny.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll read you your rights, you got the goddamn right to remain silent-“ Officer Presley was struggling with the other cuff and his weight on your lower back made you wheeze just as he was short of breath. He was awfully worked up, huffily trying to clasp the cuffs and slurring your Miranda rights carelessly for so staunch a believer in laws and precepts.

When he succeeded and stood you upright you craned your neck to look at his sweaty face behind you and his eyes were wild and his hair disheveled like he’d run his hands through it a million times tonight. He looked a bit obsessed with his nose flaring like that, his speech slurring and his usual decorum completely goners.

“Are you drunk?” you balked in alarm as he trundled you into the backseat, face first into leather with your cuffed hands behind you, ass stuck out the door.

“Of course I ain’t!” he howled and pushed your butt further until you righted yourself on the bench seat, “I’m your officer of the law, that’s what I am.”

“I-I-I know that, I just-“ you felt a cold sweat break out at the realization he kept all his stubborn righteousness even skunk drunk on something, “-you seem a little…impaired. For a law officer. For a law officer driving on a government road. See! I do listen, I do and I really don’t think that while you’re dr-“

“I don’t even touch the booze, unlike you.” he spit. “Nothin’ gonna get you outta this, this time you’re gonna learn your lesson!” he wagged his finger and slammed the door shut, you could hear his seething monologue through his open door as he came round and took his own seat up front, the hard plastic partition only muting it slightly. “I can’t stand, won’t stand for it, no hard times gonna make for you-“

You tugged at the cuffs on your wrists and swallowed at their security, the ole man might be inebriated but he sure knew his line of work. It made you doubly anxious at how vulnerable you were, unbuckled and cuffed in the back seat of a man about to hit the road in a blind, possibly medicated rage. Your one glimmer of hope was the fact you were the cause of that rage -and you hoped, hoped so damn hard he cared out of some sort of fondness, not anger.

“Strippin’ and blowin’ and probably snortin’ shit and you ain’t even outta highschool-“

“You turned eighteen?!” He balked, jerking the rearview down to stare you in the eyes.

“Yes sir.” you agreed meekly.

“And you didn’t tell me? I’d have gotten you somethin’!” he cried out, “Eighteen and don’t tell nobody, no mama, no daddy, and now fuckin’ with the law-“

“Officer Presley I understand you’re angry and I’m sorry-“ you tried your most vehemently ass kissing tone and scooted up to the edge of the seat, face pressed the the scuffed, forehead greased plastic divider, “I’m so sorry I had to break my promise to ya but money’s been so tight, I—ooh shit-!“

You tipped over on your side as he hit the accelerator, the wheel already turned for a complete 180 spin to leave the dingy parking lot and its flashing neon lights. You sat yourself back up and pressed your face back where you could watch his leather gloves spin the wheel, and breathe as close to him as possible even if it didn’t serve to make him notice. The plastic sorta hampered the more primal assets at your disposal. You were readying for some more protests when he spoke up, his pouty, boyish, hurt tone emphasized by his jerky merging into three lanes worth of morning commute traffic

“— why didn’t you come to me?” he cried out and you had to give it to him, crossing three white lines that smoothly while in a rage wasn’t for anyone, he had a knack, “Why didn’t you say, ‘Officer Presley, if I don’t have me enough money for’ -what is it you need money for?”

“EVERYTHING!” You screamed back, exasperated and a little scared at the blur of tail lights he wove you through.

“You’re greedy,” he surmised, “you’d rather go work at the tit shack as a lot lizard, shakin’ it for strangers and suckin’ Joe E’s cock than ask for my help. My help!” He stabbed at his chest with a gloved finger and it was quite obvious how tore up he was over that mental image, you didn’t know he knew such particulars but you could use this to your advantage, you could try at least.

“Officer Presley,” you cooed as gently as you could with road noise and a plastic divider hampering your sultry intentions, if you had freedom of movement you’d be reaching around his thick neck and tucking that one sweaty curl behind his ear where it tufted with his sideburn, “I’d have preferred it was you,” you watched closely as that sank in, the lead foot easing on the accelerator, there was a choice up ahead, left to the precinct or right to the trailer park, “but I’ve got my pride and I couldn’t just take charity from you. I kept hopin’ you’d come in, then we could both do each other a favor.”

You could hear him sniff, running a hand underneath his nose. “That right?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, forehead thudding back against the plastic and at the red light intersection he stopped and craned his neck to look at you. “Don’t take me in, not this morning, please, pleaaasssse!” you begged, “We’ve both been working all night and we’re tired and sad and- you need somebody to make you dinner before you fall asleep, don’t ya?”

It was a dirty, dirty ploy to distract him like that but you could see with searing clarity the way his eyes wavered in their glare, then softened into childlike meekness at the thought of food and companionship. “You wanna come back to mine?” he whispered, gravelly from all the yelling and his eyelids batted under the lavender shades, azure and owlish.

“I really do.” you agreed, “Mine hasn’t had any air conditioning in seven months.” you admitted and he made a wounded noise of protest for your deprivations. You’d make him see why you took to stripping, he just had to be eased into it.

“I didn’t take it outta the freezer ‘fore I left.” he realized dejectedly as he turned right -away from the station.

You took a massive breath and tried to make it go to your swimming head, relief coursing through you at getting your way. Then you tried to process what he’d said. “Oh, your dinner?” you prodded.

“Yeah. It’s frozen. Lasagna.” he mumbled.

“Well, that’s nothing me and a microwave can’t solve.” you assure, gauging how his profile had softened in the dim lighting of the cab lights but his grip on the wheel and his jittery leg were about as stiff and upset as when he cuffed you. “What could I do for you in exchange for a bite?” you whispered, the sudden stop of the car making you realize with a hitch in your breath that you were in front of his place.

“I liked you.” he suddenly spoke up with such vehemence that it would have been comedic, what with him having already given into you and taken you home, but instead it was a little heartbreaking. “I liked you but you was too young!”

“I still like you.” you hedged, “Even though you cuffed me and called me a lot lizard.” you teased.

The solicitation, the sharing, it seemed to be his chief sore.

“That’s whatchu is!.” He grouched, staring out his front windshield at the single hung lamp illuminating freshly washed vinyl. “But I’ve taken you home anyways.”

“It’s really sweet of you.” you insisted, shifting on the peeling bench seat and wondering when he’d take you out of the car. “Are you gonna let me warm up that lasagna?”

“You said you wished I’d come in?” he ignored you and went back to your previous comment, about wishing he had frequented the truck stop.

Well, well, Officer Presley - a man like all others, after all.

You smirked, sticky lip gloss feeling a little cracked at this corners as you beamed at your little victory. “Maybe I could find a way to show my appreciation for takin’ me back to your air conditioned little palace. -while the lasagna is warming up.” you clarified and heard him grunt, and shift, his legs spreading a little wider in the cramped front seat.

“Yeah?” he pressed, sounding a little winded unless you were just too quick with the assumptions tonight.

“Yeah.”

“You offerin’ to be *my* lot lizzard?” He asked and after a tense minute where you were unsure if he was about to be angry again, he tapped the glass and whispered, “A joke, c’mon, don’t you get it? It’s a joke.”

“But I would!” You insisted after laughing for his benefit.

“Hmm.” He sniffed again, “Well. Hmm.” and with that unclear utterance he opened his door and heaved himself out into the stale Texas air, hiking up his pants again in that useless habit and shutting it behind him. It seemed an eternity before he finished hiking and shifting and shaking a leg out before he came and opened your door, a gentlemanly action made necessary by the stupid cuffs, still clanking around your wrists, as you scooted out of the back seat.

Officer Presley surveyed you up and down, blinking blearily as if he hadn’t seen you fully in the dark parking lot, like the glare of his headlights wasn't sufficient to show him your little cherry tank top and denim shorts, the satin tops of your red bra peeking out of the stretched neckline. “Hmm.” he hummed again and surveyed you once more, the pull of the cuffs behind your back adding to your posture being a bit booby. “Now ‘fore you cross my threshold, I’ve got house rules.” he was swaying a bit alarmingly and caught himself on the side mirror, you chose to ignore this and give him all the deferential attention needed to cure his -jealousy? Was he jealous? Of all the men who tipped you? “First rule, no dirty feet in the house. I hate filthy carpets. I hate them.”

“O-ok.” you agreed.

“Clean feet.”

“Okey.”

“Hmm. Ok.” he closed his eyes and recalled the next, “Let’s see uh- no back talkin’! No talkin’ back, what I say, goes, in my house.”

It was a trailer, not a house. But:

“Of course! You’re the man of the house!” you enthused with a little bounce for his benefit. He was still wacky and veering so fast from niceness to belligerence you were pretty sure you’d end up a little worse for wear after this no matter what. The thought excited you.

“Ok.” he pronounced, staring at the gravel and your feet like he didn’t know what to do now. You wondered when was the last time somebody had come into his place. “I got a doggie, too. Backroom. His word is law, don’t go botherin’ him none.“

Having seen the size of the dog, even if you were inclined to be a jerk to it, you wouldn’t dare. “Gosh of course.”

“Ok.” again. “I’ll get the hose.”

He left you there, leaning cuffed against his squad car as he trundled over his singed lawn to the side of the trailer, returning with the running hose in hand.

You knew it was destined for your feet and didn’t make a fuss as the warm hose water splashed against your blisters, soothing away the dust and the sticky cocktail splashes and god knows what else.

“House rules?” he prompted as he sprayed.

It was getting quite light out now. Probably close to six in the morning. What a long night. “Clean feet, respect doggie, no back talking.” You listed.

“And make yourself useful.” he grunted as if he had mentioned that before and you’d been faulty in your retelling.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Mm, ‘cause you’re my lot lizard now, ain’t ya?” he hummed, hose pointed to the side and suddenly his face was very close to yours, his belly closer and pressed to yours.

“Y-yeah.” you gasped.

“You gonna be a useful lil helper, hmm? Let hims take care of ya while you take care of him?”

Well shit, you weren’t at all sure if this were house rules or a big sexual game. Either way you wanted some lasagna and the crisp prospect of air conditioned sleep. “Yes, officer.”

“Good girl.” he turned the nozzle off on the hose, clamping it at the mouth and dropping it to the gravel.

“You- are you gonna uncuff me?” you giggled nervously as he swayed above you, nose almost brushing yours, eyes heavy and drooping.

“Hmm,” he stepped back and hooked a thumb in his belt loop, a shit eating grin spread over his face, bunching up the apples of his cheeks and turning him into a boy before your very eyes, “nah. I think -nope. Not gonna.”

“Well- shit, officer.” You sputtered, “You’ve got some little secrets?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of how little they are, sweetheart.” he cheesed before reaching out and hooking a finger in your strap, and tugging you gently by it up his porch.

It was odd, Seeing his ceramic tiger up close. Like déjà vu, or walking into a movie, some dream playing out. If your hands had been free, you would’ve pet the head concrete reverently, feeling some sort of gratitude to the noble beast for making your girlhood wishes come true as you tripped through the screen door and into an icebox of a trailer.

He shut the door and pressed you up against it with a move smoother and more practiced than you expected from him. Maybe wrestling criminals and doing the nasty called for the same dexterity. Or maybe he’d been fuckin’ somebody else all this time, waiting for you to grow up. Maybe he’d made a whole harem out of the trailer park and you were just his last pick. The thought hurt terribly, worse yet as you knew most days he was a sweetie, a funny man, attractive and well liked, not this grumpy, pill drunk trailer Baron that smushed you with his belly and sneering face so near but never descending as a lover’s should.

“Kiss me.” you goaded, licking your lips in a studied way. The little contemplative, whining sound he made took you by surprise.

He pulled down your bottom lip with a gloved finger and checked your mouth and tongue like a damn dentist. “Listerine first.”

Of course. Hygiene.

Clean feet, clean mouth, just for him to probably put his piss dribbled cock in it.

He stepped away and methodically took off his gloves, laid them on a small, doily adorned side table by the door, and then his gun and his belt came off with a satisfied grunt that made your inner thighs tingle. The thud of his large flashlight finished this routine.

Doilies.

There were doilies and frilly curtains and the oddest assortment of cheap finery around the place. A nod to the Tuscan craze taking over places like Target and such, while having a unique spin on it you weren’t sure what to name. You took it all in as he piloted you to the bathroom and methodically he pulled out a still wrapped toothbrush and plopped a jumbo sized bottle of mint flavored mouthwash on the fake marble counter.

“You kept that in case you have a lady guest?” You teased as the clinical silence was all a bit funny.

“Yeah.” he agreed without a hint of amusement and you sobered up again at the idea of him having anybody in here but you.

He poured a large quantity of the mouthwash into a paper cup, retrieved from the tidy stack of paper cups beside the sink for that purpose. His housekeeping was an odd mix of spectrum-like meticulousness and slovenly disorder. There were three pairs of pants on the bathroom rug beneath your feet and yet the mouthwash cups were stacked as carefully as the Tower of Babel. “Swish it for seventy five seconds.” He directed very soberly, tipping the liquid disinfectant into your mouth. You almost swallowed the shit. While you swished till your eyes burned and your tongue went numb from scalding mint, he tore at the packaging for the toothbrush.

“Ok, spit.” you happily spat out the green torture liquid and grinned back at him in the mirror.

“Never had a man ask me to spit it out before.” you teased.

He fumbled the toothbrush in surprise for a minute before giving you an admonishing eyebrow. “Girl don’t. We gotta brush your teeth.”

Instead of doing the obvious thing, the honorable thing and uncuffing you, he instead took his place behind you and pushed the toothbrush between your lips, moving it as if you had no arms and were helpless. All this to keep you cuffed.

What a pervert, you thought, charmed.

It was oddly cozy even if it was more than a tad bazaar, him pressing himself to you and running his spare hand along your side as you bent over the counter, trying not to ruin the moment by slurping paste too much. It didn’t seem to bother him, he didn’t watch you brush, he just discreetly rubbed the front of his slacks against your butt and kept his hand jerking the brush across your teeth. His other hand soothingly running up and down the curve of your hip, fingers fluttering under the hem of your tank and brushing bare skin with reverent little swoops.

When you were finished he laid the toothbrush down beside his, on a folded little towel in the back left corner of the vanity next to the mirror.

The domesticity made you smile. “Look, they’re spooning.”

He grabbed your chin gently, tilting your head to the side as he leaned over your shoulder. His lips very close again. “Happy late birthday.” he whispered, “I’d have gotten you a cake. Cupcake. Somethin’. You deserve to be celebrated.”

“Kiss me?” you asked again and this time he did, at his own pace, micromanaging each swipe of tongue and press of lips but he kissed you, strongly and angrily and admiringly in turn. He pulled down your tank as he went, stretching the neck out beyond any salvaging and then your bra, unclasping it with strange proficiency and letting your top gather in a ugly bulge around your hips, stuck by your cuffs and shorts, as his hands cupped and squeezed your breasts, somehow making this appreciative mauling seem essential to the act of kissing.

You two finally separated, breathless and revved up, staring at each other with wild, half lidded eyes.

“Ok.” he pronounced and you readied for more only for him to say, “Lasagna. C’mon.”

His kitchen was far nicer than yours, but still it was a mobile home kitchen. And he was a thorough bachelor. He crooked his fingers into the plastic handle and yanked open the freezer, standing aside with a grin on his face that bode no good for you. “I’m helpin’ ya out a little,” he explained sheepishly, “since you’re hampered.” he had a way of saying it like handcuffs were a natural disability, “But I let you off scott-free in exchange for you makin’ me some food.”

“Food and other things.” you bitched, “Didn’t sign up to be a comedy act.”

“Oh that’s right,” beamed, “you did offer other things.” he bit his lip and you thought you’d won when he went right back to it, “You said while it was warming up, you offered other things, while it was in the microwave. Yeah, so go on, grab that TV dinner there, not the fettuccini one, the lasagna.”

You stared at the open freezer and then back to him and then back to the freezer. “Grab it?” you sassed, not having a lot to lose with your tits out and your hands cuffed and a law officer having fun at your expense.

“You’ve got a mouth don’t ya?”

“You’re sick.” you smiled in realization before sticking your head into the cold space, nipples pebbling against the chilled plastic, and biting at the package containing Walmart’s latest gourmet provisions.

“Uhuh, that’s it.” he sounded more pleased at the sight of you with a frosted package between your teeth than he had all this time, “Heyer doll, I’ll open the microwave for ya.” his ability to make himself gallant when he was demeaning you so thoroughly made your pulse thunder uncontrollably.

You had to jut your chin and strain your jaw to plop the heavy foil package of frozen shit into the mounted microwave -fancy mobile home owning bastard- and shove it onto its proper revolving plate.

“There we gooo!” he cooed to you and you stepped back to allow him room to shut the door. “See if you can punch the buttons with your widdle nose.” he suggested excitedly and having gone this far, you didn’t see the point in objecting, not when it made him grin like that. You managed to hit the five for five minutes but the “cook” button wouldn’t respond and after banging your nose against it many times, with many laughs shared between, he finally punched it with one of his oddly pretty fingers.

“There we go.” you echoed, finding that you were blushing the minute the hum of the microwave buzzed the air, his eyes pinned to your face.

“Five minutes.” he whispered.

It was a hint. You expected something a little lewder from a man who had you carrying out food prep like a circus dog. A man of many moods and tastes, was officer Presley. “Can you cum that fast?” you asked, turning to face him.

“That’ll depend on you.” he replied levelly, a challenge in his eyes. He still wore his glasses, somehow that made you feel filthier than all the cash favors you’d ever done. He turned a little in his stance to lean back against the counter, his wrist watch jangling against the edge of the formica, his legs widening.

You dropped to your knees, linoleum freezing against your skin and you looked back up at the ticking microwave timer. You knew what he wanted, and if you were being half honest, it’s what you wanted too. So you didn’t act too good for pressing your face to the crotch of his uniform slacks, forehead indenting the swell of his belly above you and taking his zipper between your teeth. Filled out as his slacks were, with all the stupid gathers and the still fastened button, you could only barely see veiny pink flesh behind the newly opened fly.

“No boxers?” you chided him with a smirk and the unapologetic one he gave you in return made your belly clench, as did the musky smell of him and that soft double chin he had when looking down at you. There was stubble on it blending into his throat.

You’d been right, mouthwash and sterilization for your tongue but not even a spit bath for his sweaty balls and clammy dick -the man was out of his mind. You swallowed down the natural aversion the scent gave you and nuzzled your face nearer, trying to nose the button out of its hole. All you did was succeed in brushing his pants against him and making him impatient.

“Four minutes and twenty seven seconds.” He enunciated the timer reading for your benefit and you whimpered at the impossibility of getting the button undone without hands.

“Please, I can’t undo it.” you asked for his help, tugging at your handcuffs angrily, shoulders painfully aching and only the base of his thick penis visible with its nest of curls and heavy sack.

“Then make due.” he stared down at you unimpressed and you felt an overwhelming urge to grind yourself against his boot at his disdainful expression.

Blinking away horny, frustrated tears, you held your breath and buried your face again, nuzzling inbetween the fly gap, using your chin to tug the crotch further down until his heavy, purplish pink balls spilled over the respectable khaki’s and into the cold air. A bit of hope filled you at how taut and bunched they already were, he wasn’t so cool and unaffected as he acted. You saw him reach into his pocket, digging for something as you weighed your next decision.

“Don’t you want some lasagna?” he prodded.

That made you mash your face to his pants and take both of those hairy balls into your mouth, slurping and sucking at them like a shop vac. His jangling movements in his pocket ceased suddenly before picking up again, and then he withdrew it, a sharp gasp heard above you before he stuck a retrieved cigarette between his lips and lit it. A billowy cloud of Marlborough was blown over your crouching form as the microwave hummed on and his chest hummed in satisfaction. He shoved his hand back into his pocket, knuckling along at his cock.

“That’s it.” he sighed as you mouthed at the base as best you could, tonguing at the hefty vein running along the underside, slathering as much as you could reach. He was salty and tacky to taste and his pants were growing wet from something more than your spit. He was a leaky little man, it made your smirk and smack your lips.

“Feel good, officer?” you moaned in question, just as the microwave dinger went off. “Nooo, damnit, no!” you whined at the sound, a poor loser at all times.

Officer Presley only chuckled and twisted a little to pop open the door, hissing and cussing as he grabbed the benign edges of the hot foil and plopped it into the counter, “Hey hey hey, I didn’t say you could get up, now, did I?” he chided as you shifted a tiny bit away to watch him pull off the cover and reveal cheesy red sauce. Your stomach was in knots, it was so empty.

“No.” you admitted.

He twisted his torso to snag himself a fork from the drawer beside your head, and then, stabbing the casserole with it, took both his hands down to his pants and undid the button at last, letting his pants fall to the floor as they’d been trying to do and been prevented by a belt each time you’d seen him. “Finish what you started, doll, and then I’ll give you a bite.”

You swallowed hard, saliva pooling freely in your tongue at the smell of Italian food. It would be of use. He was tapping his sputtering fat cockhead to your lips and after a tiny grunt of resistance, you gave in, opening your glossy lips and letting him slide the thick meat over your tongue, tangy and salty and pulsing like a living rod, all the way to the back of your throat.

“Fuck me, that’s it.” he nodded to himself as you gagged around him, pulling back a little before pushing back in.

You heard the slide of the casserole tray against the counter and the crunch of tin foil, looking up through bleary eyes you saw him cradle the lasagna pan to his chest, balanced on top of his gut. You hollowed your cheeks around him while watching in disbelief as he stabbed at a bite and brought the laden fork to his mouth. He groaned around the bite in enjoyment -your guess over which pleasure was gaining the upper hand. Feeling a little competitive against TV dinner lasagna, you worked his cock faster, sucking more deliberately and trying very hard to let him down your throat, pleased as his hips began to cant and thrust in time with your encouragements.

“That’s it, that’s it, my sweet little homegrown hoe.” he mumbled to you adoringly through a mouthful of pasta and it made your face glow in pleasure, chin and chest dripping with the filth of it all. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-“ he warned suddenly, pasta tossed back on the counter as he stood up straight and grabbed the back of your head, holding it still, smoldering cigarette pinned dangerously near your ear and hair as he fucked your mouth with fast, frantic pumps before a frankly preposterous amount of spunk filled your mouth and dolloped down your throat.

He petted your head as you struggled to breath again, cloying gloop coating your mouth, one hand coming up to take off his glasses and toss them to the side. He rubbed at his eyes and you realized you weren’t the only one teary eyed from the intensity of it. “Mm, reckon I gotta keep ya after that.” he decided, knuckling your cheek fondly, they were sticky to your surprise. “Want that bite?” he asked conversationally and while you’d have preferred some water to wash down his most recent gift, you nodded anyway and he stabbed at the casserole until he had a great big bite and brought it down to your mouth, smirking as your cheeks once again bulged at the mouthful.

“Thank you.” you smiled up at him and he humphed bashfully before motioning with his fingers for you to stand up.

“Wanna eat the rest of this in bed?” he asked eagerly, licking his teeth, “I’ve got a waterbed.” he added like that would convince you.

“Of course you do.” you giggled. “And of course I do - lead the way.”

He grinned and pushed off the counter, grabbing the casserole as he went. “Might even find the keys for those back here.” he joked about your cuffs before adding with a wicked little wink, “No promises, mind.”

Hope you enjoyed, I write for screams and comments and unhinged feedback. 🤓♥️

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#early post for my brit babies #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis #elvis imagine #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fan fic #elvis presley fandom #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #big daddy elvis #big daddy Elvis fanfiction #archive #trash magic

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jeannineee · 9 months

Text

Umbra et Ventus (Ⅲ)

Azriel x Reader

a/n: part 1 here. part 2 found here.

warnings: canon-typical themes, allusions to PTSD. Descriptions of blood, gore, violence. Reader was enslaved on the Continent, so there’ll be some description of that in this part.

requests are open, for headcanons or short blurbs/drabbles! Love you guys!!

“Focus, girl,” Amren hissed at you for the hundredth time. Part of you wished that your so-called power actually existed, if only to throw her ass over the nearest cliff.

The two of you had been at it all morning. You sat on the hardwood floor in the living room of the House of Wind. Amren stood across from you, repeating the same words: Focus. Breathe. Feel.

So you tried. You remained on your knees, palms upturned, eyes shut. You centered yourself, breathing slowly, steadily. Each attempt led you to a desolate part of yourself. A hollow space in your soul, long since forgotten.

And in that space, there was a kernel. A small, silvery flicker. But each time you reached for it, it strayed further. Just out of reach.

Scowling, you stood, bracing your hands on your hips. “What is the point of this?” You said to Amren. “You’ve known me for all of three days. You are second in command of the Night Court, and I am a nobody refugee. What is the point? Why me?”

Amren stared at first. Her gaze was almost terrifying, but you did not balk. Did not waver as you asked again, “What is the point?”

“The point, girl,” Amren began as she stood in front of you. “Is that your power is unlike anything I have sensed in my fifteen thousand years.”

You had to fight the urge to let your jaw drop to the ground. Fifteen thousand years.

Amren continued, “And I do not think it is mere coincidence that emissaries from the Continent show up, requesting the refugees be returned to them only days after you show up in Velaris.”

‘Them.’ Their masters. Their owners.

Your heart fell to your stomach. How had you not heard about this? You’d been in Velaris for almost two months, and yet—Madja. She’d kept this from you. To keep you from breaking any further.

You had the vague sense that Amren was speaking to you. But you couldn’t hear. Couldn’t think beyond the roaring in your head. Hundreds of half-fae and humans alike have sought refuge in Velaris. They fought and bled for their freedom, only for it to potentially be stripped away again?

Images flooded your mind, from your time spent in the slave camps of Vallahan. Half-fae and humans of all ages, broken and abused. The Overseers; faces full of wrath and disgust and hatred.

Your ears rang with the cracking of whips. The screams of the dying. Your own screams, as you were chained to that post and beaten and—

“Y/n.”

You remembered the smell of blood. The smell of rotting flesh, as your dead kin laid in the sun for days before being put into unmarked graves.

“Y/n.”

You snapped back into reality, knees almost buckling at what you saw. The room looked as though someone had ripped it apart. Now-tattered books, strewn across the floor, wooden shelves and tables in splinters.

Amren, who you were almost certain never showed any surprise, was wide-eyed as she observed you. Upon meeting your eyes, she said, “That’s one way to do it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Wind and lightning. Though you saw none of it, felt none of it. But Amren swore it surrounded you in those moments, as your mind took you to places you never wanted to be again.

Sometimes, emotion can drive one’s power, Amren had said. We’ll learn to draw it out without it.

When you demanded an explanation as to what Rhysand and his Inner Circle planned on doing in regards to the emissaries from the Continent, Amren merely invited you to the next meeting. Which wouldn’t be for another week.

In the hours after you left, you’d tried over and over again to summon your power. You failed, miserably. So, you spent the rest of your evening at the Infirmary.

At least you were good for something.

Madja left you to your own devices, allowing you to tend to several patients—faerie and human alike; most of whom needed minor fixes. Fevers, muscle pain, nausea.

You worked and worked until the events of that morning were an afterthought. Until all you had to worry about was tending to each patient, and their needs.

Just one more patient for the evening, and then you could—

“Hello,” the spymaster of the Night Court greeted with a smile. He looked tired, more than what he usually seemed. Exhausted, even.

“Azriel. Are you alright?” You internally scolded yourself as the question came out. Obviously he wasn’t, if he was at the Infirmary.

Azriel smiled again. “I’m fine. I’ve been having headaches.”

“For how long?”

Azriel chuckled. “Centuries.”

“And you’re just now choosing to be treated for them?”

“They were manageable, before.”

“How long ago did they begin worsening?”

“About two months ago.” Azriel explained everything to you: the frequency of the headaches, the location, pain levels.

You left for a few minutes, returning a small tin. Azriel quirked a brow as you handed it to him, before opening it, revealing the salve inside. “This is supposed to help?” He sounded skeptical.

“Yes. It has peppermint and rosemary; both are effective at alleviating headaches.”

Azriel still didn’t seem convinced.

“Here, let me…” You dipped two fingers into the salve. Without thinking, you began gently rubbing it into his temples.

Azriel stiffened at first, but relaxed within seconds. A small sound came out of him, almost a purr. You smiled to yourself, continuing to apply the salve. “You’ll do this every morning and night, just for a few minutes.”

Azriel nodded in response. He looked almost offended as you pulled away, as though he wanted you to keep going. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“You might also consider getting enough sleep. Lack of rest will absolutely trigger headaches,” you said.

A smirk from Azriel. “How would you know if I get enough sleep?”

You smiled. “Takes one to know one.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes raked over your form. Something buried within you sang at the gesture, but you shoved it away, clearing your throat. “Is there anything else?”

“I don’t think so,” he replied, before standing.

Mother above, did he tower over you. He stood less than a foot away, now. Close enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.

“Amren said you put on quite the show this morning,” Azriel said, his voice a bit lower than before.

“Did she?”

Azriel hummed. “The living room was no longer livable, when I arrived home this afternoon.”

Your face flushed. Azriel’s amusement increased at the sight of it. “It’s alright,” he said with a chuckle. “Amren and Cassian have torn apart entire buildings over mild disputes. You’ll fit right in.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but stopped short as one of Azriel’s shadows snaked up your arm, twirling around your hair; a gentle caress.

It was Azriel’s turn to flush. “I’m sorry.”

You grinned. “No need to apologize. I think they like me.”

Azriel studied you, the smallest smile gracing his lips. “Most people fear them.”

“There’s nothing to fear about them,” you replied simply. “They’re apart of you.”

“They are. Always will be.” The shadows slithered away, returning behind his shoulders. Azriel bowed his head in thanks. “Thank you for the salve.”

Azriel left before you could say anything more.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar headcanon #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #female reader #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #Azriel #shadowsinger #spymaster #acosf #acowar #acofas

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heartateasee · 3 months

Text

“House Call Pt. 2”

Read part one here

Kinks: Degradation, bondage, brief spanking and a bit of spitting

Word Count: 17.8K

✧✧✧

Rowan's head was tilted down, her chin tucked to her chest, as he thrusted in and out of her soaked cunt. She was draped across the bar in her kitchen, her knuckles turning white from how hard she was clutching the countertop.

"T-there," she moaned. "Right there."

Humming out in ecstasy, Rowan lifted her torso just a bit to lean her head back against his shoulder. Her head lulled to the side as she felt heart shaped lips sponging against the skin of her neck.

"That's the spot, Ro?" Harry asked, one hand wrapped around her hip with the other resting against her stomach. "I find it every time for you, don't I?"

Harry's palm smoothed its way down until it was resting against Rowan's pubic bone, and he dropped two fingers down to press the pads of them against her slick clit.

"Yes," she gasped as Harry played with her sensitive pearl.

The two of them had been sleeping with each other on and off for the past three months - almost every weekend since Rowan had booked him just for herself. Harry was actually shocked when Rowan texted him. It was only a week after they had slept together for the first time, and her message to him was so basic - just asking what he was doing.

Truth was, he had just finished stripping for a party, and was about to go to the bar for the night to meet up with some friends. Receiving that text from her made him quickly change his mind. He didn't even answer what he had been doing. He just texted back that he would be there in fifteen minutes.

Rowan slumped back against Harry completely now, her hands moving to grip to the front of his toned thighs as he continued to fuck up into her. He pinched her clit causing her to squirm a bit, nails digging into his skin.

"Open your mouth," he instructed with a tilt up of his chin.

Rowan obeyed, parting her lips for him. He gathered his saliva behind his teeth, waiting until her tongue was stretched out for him before spitting on the back of it.

"Swallow."

Again, she did as she was told, her eyes holding his as she swallowed. He smirked at her, sucking underneath her ear for a moment once he dropped his head.

"Squeezing me so tight like the little whore you are, hm?" Harry teased in her ear. "Want every last drop of me? Does that make you feel like you own me?"

The way Harry would speak to Rowan during sex turned her on even more. He knew that she liked control, she had it in every other aspect of her life, but not when it came down to this. Harry was always in control, and Rowan actually liked being submissive. She would never admit that, but Harry knew - it was so easy to tell.

But every now and then he'd let her secretly know that she did in fact own him. He hadn't slept with anyone else since this whole thing started between the two of them. When he'd go out with friends, he didn't have the urge to find a girl at the bar to take back to his bed. He was more than satisfied with what he would experience when he was with Rowan. Whether it be her cunt or her hand, he was more than happy just sleeping with her, and he could only hope that she felt the same.

"I do own you," Rowan snapped back, causing Harry to remove his hand from her hip - wrapping it around her neck instead. "You come over every time I text, don't you?"

Tonight was the only time that Harry had texted Rowan first. When he arrived at a house for a party tonight, one that had him dressing up like a Ken doll, he realized he wasn't far from Rowan at all. He took the initiative to text her before he even walked inside to start his job for the night, and he almost immediately received a response with her saying she'd be waiting for him.

Harry growled at Rowan's words, tightening his hold on her throat just a bit as her eyes slipped shut. "Not tonight though. It was me who texted first, huh?"

"Felt kind of wrong texting you considering I went on a date this evening."

Harry's thrusts ceased at her statement, and he looked down at Rowan as her eyes fluttered open.

"What? Why'd you stop?" She asked breathlessly, eyebrows furrowing.

He didn't know how to respond. He wasn't even sure what to label the feeling that washed over him when she said she had been on a date.

They weren't in a relationship. They had never been on a date. There were never any talks of going on a date. This was sex.

Just sex.

So why did him hearing her say she had been in someone else's company tonight make him feel like this?

"N-nothing," he stammered, starting his thrusts up again quickly to try and move on from this little hiccup. "It's nothing."

Rowan kept her eyes on Harry's face as she felt the building of her orgasm approaching once again. He was wearing an expression she didn't recognize, and she wasn't sure if it made her uneasy, or if it made her upset. Harry had never looked like this before.

To try and distract her from what just happened, Harry pressed his fingertips down a little harder on her clit - moving them in precise circles, the ones he knew that made her legs shake.

"Oh god," Rowan mewled, shoving her face into the side of Harry's neck for just a moment before she let her body fall flat against the counter top once more - Harry's hand slipping from her neck.

Harry used the angle to his advantage, wrapping his now free hand around the top of her shoulder, and bending his legs just a bit more to really give it to her as hard as he could.

He was angry.

That was the conclusion he had come to. Angry that someone else got to take her to a restaurant. Angry that she got dressed up for someone that wasn't him. Angry that someone else got to put their hands on her.

"Did he fuck you like this?" Harry questioned, hips snapping against her ass. His eyes looked down to see it jiggling, and he groaned when he saw just how wet she had gotten his cock as it slipped in and out of her cunt. "Where did he fuck you, hm? In his bed? On the couch? Did he have you bent over a counter like this?"

Rowan's teeth were cutting into her bottom lip as she pushed onto the tips of her toes, using the leverage to push her hips back to meet his aggressive thrusts.

"Fucking answer me," Harry demanded, his hand coming down to slap one of her ass cheeks, instantly seeing his hand print reddening her porcelain skin.

"N-no," Rowan choked out, eyes shutting tight. Her orgasm was close. She was almost there. "We didn't fuck."

Harry smirked at her confession, chuckling as he leaned down to press a kiss against Rowan's spine. "And why is that, Ro? Knew you wouldn't be satisfied?"

Rowan didn't want to give him the real answer. The guy she had gone on a date with had actually invited her back to his place, and he made it pretty known that his intentions for the night were going to end with her being in his bed. A couple of months ago, she wouldn't have thought twice about him taking her home, but tonight she just couldn't. She lied about needing to get home to her brother's dog, claiming she was dog sitting for him while out of town.

The date saw through her lie, and he had a few choice words for her before he left her on the street to find her own way home. The words didn't hurt, and Rowan didn't care.

This was only the second date she had been on since she started sleeping with Harry, and the first one didn't go that well either. That one was only a couple of weeks after this whole thing started, and when her date went to go down on her, he saw a fresh bruise that Harry had sucked onto the inside of her thigh just a few days before. He didn't call her names, but he did kick her out. He was nice enough to get her an Uber though.

"He lived with his parents," Rowan lied for the second time tonight, this time to Harry, and her mouth hung open as she was just on the brink of her climax.

Harry hummed in response, the tingling in his lower abdomen brewing. "Probably worked out better for you anyway. We both know I'm the only one who can get you off that way you want. That way you need. Because you do need me, don't you?"

Rowan scoffed, shaking her head at his arrogance as her knees began to tremble. She let out a loud moan, gripping to the counter again as she felt the beginning of her orgasm taking hold. "Oh fuck, oh fuck me, oh fuck."

Harry still applied pressure to her clit, feeling her pulsing around his shaft as his thrusts began to grow sloppy. "Such a ruined little cum slut," he murmured, taking in the way Rowan's face looked as she came - cheek pressed against the counter.

There was a glow that surrounded her when she would come, and it made an unfamiliar sensation loom in Harry's stomach when he would see it. The first couple of times he blamed that sensation on his orgasm, but he soon realized it was something more than just that.

He liked the way she looked when she would come around his cock. It was the only time he ever really saw her giving in to something and letting it take her over - surrendering to something that was out of her control.

Rowan didn't even realize she did it, but Harry would wait, and after a few seconds of riding out her orgasm, he would watch as her lips twitched up into a slight smile. It happened every single time, and every single time it would cause Harry to smile too.

Harry's eyes focused on Rowan's face and sure enough, the small smile eventually took over. That alone had Harry reaching his own end, leaning over to press his chest against her back, wrapping his arms tight around her. He groaned as he dropped his face into her neck, feeling his release filling her.

After a few seconds, they still remained in the same position with heavy breathing and sweat clinging to their hairlines. Harry puckered his lips to press a kiss to her skin as he pulled out, causing Rowan to let off her toes and stand flat on her feet. He quickly turned around to clean himself up before grabbing a dish towel, wetting it with lukewarm water.

Rowan stayed in her spot over the counter, jumping slightly when she felt Harry's hand against the back of her thigh.

"Sorry," he apologized, sponging another kiss to her leg before lifting the damp cloth to wipe the insides of her thighs.

Rowan always allowed Harry to give her proper after care, every time except for the first time they slept together that is, and he loved doing it. She could tell he enjoyed it, so she let him. She saw it as him just doing the proper thing after sleeping with someone, but he did it because he cared. Harry hadn't even realized that was his reasoning for doing so though. He too just thought it was because he wanted to do the right thing.

She did make note of the extra kisses he had been giving her tonight as that was not something typical of him. They rarely ever kissed while having sex, and they never discussed it afterwards either.

Once Harry finished, he stood up and patted one of Rowan's hips a couple of times with his palm. "You okay?"

Rowan gave him a nod as she finally pushed herself off the counter, and she walked back into the living room with shaky legs to retrieve the small silk robe she had on earlier. She pulled it back on and tied it, walking around the room to collect Harry's clothes as well.

The minute he walked in tonight, Harry was immediately removing his articles of clothing. From the foyer to the living room, he had stripped with his eyes set on Rowan as he did so. She had left the door unlocked for him, something she started doing just a few weeks after this began, and it always added a small factor of spontaneity to their encounters.

Harry joined her after tossing the cloth into her dirty clothes hamper, and he thanked her as he took his clothes from her, beginning to pull them on. Rowan nibbled on her bottom lip as she watched him, nerves swirling in her stomach.

Harry made note of the way she was staring at him, and he raised a brow. "Something on your mind?"

Clearing her throat, Rowan sat back down on the couch and grabbed the glass of wine she had been sipping on before Harry arrived. She tucked one leg under herself as her free hand fell into her lap.

"Are you busy next Friday?" She asked, ripping the bandaid off in asking the question that had been bouncing around in her brain.

Harry paused, halfway to pulling his shirt back over his body. He blinked at her before putting it on all the way, arms flexing as he pushed them through the sleeves. "Why? Are you asking me on a date?"

His tone indicated that he was teasing, but it had Rowan growing even more anxious. It wasn't necessarily a date, but she needed a date to attend an event. There was a large gala being held for her office, and several other offices in the area, next Friday. She was required to go, and she knew she needed to bring a date so she didn't get criticized for being by herself for the second year in a row.

"You wish," she commented with a roll of her eyes, taking another sip of her wine. She had expected Harry to look away, but his eyes held her face as he sat down on the coffee table in front of her.

"I don't think I have anything booked. Again, why?"

Rowan sucked in a deep breath, tapping the tips of her fingers against her glass as she stared at him. "I have a work event - a gala. I need to bring a date with me."

Harry's expression didn't change as he stared at Rowan. She then decided to keep talking as the silence was causing her skin to crawl.

"It's a really big deal - this event. It's not just my business that's going to be there. There'll be a lot of different businesses in the area as well, and it's important I make the best impression," she explained, trying her best to read him, but she couldn't. "I don't really have anyone else to ask so..."

Harry was more than surprised that Rowan was asking him, of all people, to go with her. She had made it clear during their first meeting that she didn't find him to be sophisticated in the slightest, and even though he knew that wasn't true, he never really corrected her on it.

He could be extremely professional when he wanted to be. He had been to plenty of higher end events in his life, and he was always well behaved.

"And you thought I would be the best candidate?" He asked, straightening up a bit as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Rowan groaned, looking up at the ceiling. She felt like he was making this more difficult so he could watch her squirm. She knew he liked when he felt he had the upper hand with her, and if that's what it took for him to agree to go with her, then so be it.

"Because, Harry, we know each other," she stated, tilting her head back down to look at him. "I know not that well personally, but we do know each other. I'd rather go to something like this with someone I know than a stranger. That would just make me even more uneasy."

This was the only work event that ever gave her anxiety, and it was because most of the time, all eyes were on her. She was the only woman in the field that held her particular position. All other positions such as hers were held by men.

"And I can buy your suit, and I'll even book you for the night if-"

"First off, I'm not an escort, Rowan, you don't have to pay me," Harry interrupted with a small laugh. "And I have a suit, several actually, so buying one won't be necessary either."

Rowan felt blush tinting her cheeks as she realized he had called her out on paying him for this. "So you'll join me?"

Harry sighed softly as he stared at her. He knew he should say 'no' because all of a sudden he was getting those weird feelings around her. It had been a while since had even had the inkling of these emotions, and he wasn't sure what to make of them. He knew it would probably be best to end this completely, but he couldn't.

"Yeah, I-I'll join you," he said with a nod.

They sat there and kept their eyes on each other for a while before Harry stood, slapping his hands against his thighs as he did so. "I should get going."

He never did hang around after, and Rowan was more than fine with that. It would honestly be a little weird if they were to just hang out every time they were done.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll text you the details for Friday," Rowan stated, finishing off her glass of wine. "And Harry, please make sure you're...covered."

Just like earlier, an expression that Rowan couldn't make out washed over Harry's face.

"Got it," he said sharply, heading over to the door.

Within seconds, Harry had his shoes on his feet, and he swiped his keys off the table as he exited Rowan's house - slamming the door slightly.

Rowan let out a deep breath that she didn't know she had been holding in, staring at the door that Harry had just walked out of. There was something off about him tonight, but she just couldn't make out what.

✧✧✧

Harry sat on the couch in Rowan's living room, hunching over just a bit with his forearms resting on the tops of his legs. His fingers were intertwined, and his head was hung as he waited for her to finish getting ready.

She had texted him earlier to let him know that the front door would be unlocked, and that he could come in and make himself comfortable even if she wasn't ready yet.

He had been here for about thirty minutes now, and he was growing irritated. He had arrived ten minutes earlier than she had said to be polite, but he was frustrated that she still wasn't ready. He was certain that if it was the other way around that she would be yelling at him.

Sighing, he lifted his head to run his hand through his hair before hearing heels coming down the hallway. He stood up, going to meet her in the foyer.

"Thank fuck, I didn't know how much longer you were-"

Harry's eyes landed on Rowan and they widened when he saw her appearance. His lips parted as he took her in, never seeing her so dolled up before.

"Sorry," she huffed, digging through her gold purse. She hadn't looked up yet, and she didn't even realize how hard Harry was staring. "My fucking hair was being a pain in the ass. This still isn't what I had in mind but it'll do."

Finally locating her house keys, she shut her bag and looked over to Harry. Her eyebrows raised in surprise when she took in the quality of his suit, knowing it was an expensive one.

He looked delicious.

"Don't worry," he started, clearing his throat. "I have a button up to put on under this in the car. It's just hot with all the layers."

Rowan hadn't even paid attention to the fact his swallows were on full display considering he just had a black tank top on underneath his suit jacket. She cleared her throat, giving him a soft nod before she walked out of the house with him following close behind.

She locked up the door, and then started towards her garage.

"Oh, I was going to drive," Harry spoke up, and Rowan glanced at him over her shoulder once she stopped walking.

"That's really nice and all, but we have an impression to make and-"

She stopped talking as she watched Harry press a key fob, and she saw lights flicker in her peripheral. Looking over, she saw the lights belonged to a black Ferrari California. It was everything she could do to keep her jaw from dropping when she realized this car belonged to him.

"What did you do, rent this?" She asked as they started to make their way over to the car, earning an eye roll from Harry.

"No, Rowan, I didn't rent it," he said through clenched teeth as he opened the passenger door for her. "It's mine. Despite what you think, I'm actually very well off when it comes to money."

Rowan wrapped her hand around the top of the door, turning her body to face Harry. Her sight wandered over him for a second before meeting his eyes. "You look good tonight, Harry."

Her pulse picked up when the words left her mouth considering she had never really complimented him before. The only time anything close to compliments came from either of them was when Harry would be inches deep inside of her.

"Thanks," Harry answered, giving her a crooked grin that made the dimple in his cheek pop. "You don't look too bad yourself."

Rowan felt her cheeks flush before she tucked herself into the passenger seat. Harry made sure her limbs were inside properly before he shut the door and walked around to the driver's side, slipping into his own seat.

Leaning forward, Rowan entered the address for the venue they were needing to go to for the gala before sitting back in her seat.

They rode in almost complete silence - only light music playing on the radio as Rowan stared out the window. She was wringing her hands in her lap, not at all looking forward to dealing with the inappropriate men she knew she would be coming across tonight.

Harry could see Rowan fidgeting out of the corner of his eye, and he knew she had to be extremely nervous to be doing so. Even the first time they slept together she wasn't this nervous, and that was the only other time he had seen her stone exterior cracking.

Despite his mind telling him not to, Harry reached his hand out to take one of hers - giving it a soft squeeze. Rowan jumped at the sudden contact before looking over to Harry. He stopped at a red light and peered over at her, both of them just holding each other's eyes.

After a moment, he rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand as Rowan nibbled on her bottom lip.

"Can I ask what exactly has you so anxious?" He questioned, moving to intertwine their fingers.

Rowan felt breathless at Harry's gestures. It had been years since she had held hands with someone like this, or even had someone ask what was wrong. She hid herself away for the most part from everyone - including her family. It slightly frightened her with the way she could be so vulnerable in front of Harry.

"These men..."

She stopped herself for a moment. She realized just how open she was about to be with Harry, and she hadn't opened up to someone in so long

"The men that are going to be there tonight, they're not the nicest," she explained. "They're rude - they sometimes make inappropriate comments. I've dealt with it every year for the past three years since I took this position. I'm the only woman in the area that holds my title, Harry. Every other title like mine is held by a man.

"I handle the men that I work with daily. They try to intimidate me, but they also respect me and everything I bring to the table. These men that will be here tonight, they want to see me fail."

Harry swallowed harshly at Rowan's words. The need to protect her from these individuals bubbled in chest, and he gave her hand another squeeze. The light turned green, and he began to drive again, but he didn't allow his hand to disconnect from hers.

"Well, I'll be there tonight," he stated. "And everything will be okay. Maybe if they see you're there with someone, they'll let off of you, yeah?"

Rowan wanted to believe him, but the words and gestures that had been passed her way in years past fogged her mind. She had only brought a date the first time she attended this gala, a boyfriend at the time, but he didn't do anything to help defend her, and the night actually ended with them getting into a fight.

They broke up the next day after being together for almost two years. That was the last boyfriend she had as she no longer wanted to allow herself to get hurt like she was. All of those factors from that night were what caused Rowan to build up that wall that she so easily hides behind.

It just made things easier when feelings weren't involved. There was no risk of humiliation, and no risk for getting her heart broken.

It wasn't until Harry was shutting off the car in a parking garage that she realized they were already there. She wasn't sure just how long she had zoned out because she was so caught up in her head. She blinked a few times before looking over to him as she could see him moving around out of the corner of her eye.

She watched as he shrugged off his suit jacket, and he began to put on the dress shirt. Her eyes fixated on his fingers as he did up the button, doing up all of them but the top one to ensure that his tattoos were covered. The only one that would be visible tonight would be the one on his hand, and Rowan was okay with that.

Breaking out of her gaze, she reached in her purse and located her lipstick before pulling the passenger mirror down. She smoothed the product over her lips, making sure they were evenly covered as she pressed them together a couple of times.

By the time Rowan looked back over to Harry, his suit jacket was now back on, and he was staring at her.

"What?" She asked, dropping the tube back in her purse.

"Nothing," he stated with a shake of his head before getting out of the car.

Rowan opened her door herself and had started to get out, but Harry was there quickly and took her hand to assist her. "Are you ready to do this?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," she sighed, draping the chain of her purse over her shoulder. "I forgot, we need to think of a backstory for you."

They began to walk out of the parking garage and towards the street as the venue was a couple of buildings down.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked as they stepped outside, quickly switching spots with Rowan so he was closest to the road and the passing cars.

"They're going to ask what you do for a living, and you can't exactly tell them that you're a stripper."

Harry swallowed down the feeling that was starting to brew in his chest again. It was the same feeling he experienced the other night when she told him that he would need to cover up.

It was apparent to him that Rowan was embarrassed of him. When this thing first started, he didn't care about that because it was all just physical, but over time he thought that maybe she would've let up on him a little bit. Her telling him that he needed to lie about his career just proved that she would never actually accept him completely.

And he wasn't sure why that stung so bad.

"Can't I just say I'm in entertainment or something?" He huffed, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his pants. "That could mean many different things."

Rowan looked over at him for a moment, crossing her arms over her chest as they walked. "Yeah, that should be fine. If they try to ask for specifics, you can just say that you're an agent or something - that you book people for gigs."

Harry nodded in agreement as they walked up the stairs and towards the doors to the main entrance for the venue. He opened the door for Rowan, placing his hand on the small of her back and they walked inside.

It was slightly overwhelming to say the least. Harry had never been to a professional event on this scale before, and it had even him growing a little nervous. He looked down to Rowan, and he watched as her eyes bounced all over the place.

There was clear worry behind them from what Harry could see, which caused his heart to tug a bit for her. He moved his hand from her lower back to wrap around her hip - pulling her into his side more.

"Relax, Ro," he crooned into her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You look beautiful, and everything's going to be fine."

Rowan tilted her head up to look at him, both of them watching as their eyes dropped to each others lips for just a moment, before their sights met again.

"Let's go get a drink."

Rowan took the lead a bit, and guided them towards one of the open bars. She ordered a glass of red wine for herself, and Harry ordered himself some tequila on the rocks. He would only be having a couple of drinks tonight considering he was driving.

As they turned around to figure out where they would be seated for dinner, they almost collided with one of the men Rowan had been dreading to see this evening.

"Miss Collins," the man said, taking a sip from his own drink as he eyed her.

Harry didn't like the way this man was looking at Rowan in the slightest, and he quickly made sure to pull her into his side again.

"Mr. Banks," she responded, curling into Harry just a bit without even realizing. "Good evening."

"See you've actually brought yourself a date this year," he stated, turning his attention to Harry. "You haven't had a date since the first time I met you. What was his name? Danny, Drew..."

"Dalton," Rowan corrected him, grasping the wine glass in her hand a little tighter. "But yes, it's nice to see that your eyes work, and you can see I've brought someone with me."

"Yes, Dalton. You two created quite the scene didn't you? You two arguing and then him getting up from the table and leaving. He left you here all by yourself."

Harry's eyebrows narrowed, and he glanced down to Rowan for a moment. Her expression was stoic, but her eyes showed just how much these words were affecting her.

This was the most insight he had ever had into Rowan's life. She never spoke about her past, or really anything personal for that matter.

"Hey," Harry spoke up, causing Mr. Banks to turn his attention onto him. "That's enough of that, I think. We're here to enjoy our evening. Together. So if you'll excuse us."

Harry's arm wrapped around Rowan's waist once more as he steered them away from that awful human, heading towards where all the tables were set up.

Rowan remained quiet as they tried to find their names, and once they were located, she set her glass of wine down on the table. Harry was quick to pull her chair out and assist her with sitting down before taking his own seat.

He watched as she started to wring her hands in her lap again, much like she did in the car earlier, and he reached out to take both of them.

"You alright?" He asked, tilting his head to the side.

Rowan sighed, giving Harry a small nod. "Yeah, I just...that was a bit embarrassing, but I should've known he would bring that back up."

"Did that really happen? What he said?"

Rowan removed one of her hands from Harry's to grab her wine glass, gulping down a good portion of it before setting it back down. "Dalton was my boyfriend. The last boyfriend I've had. We got into a really big fight that night, and then the next day he broke up with me. That was three years ago.

"He broke up with me not only because of the fight, but he also thought that I had changed. He thought I was prioritizing my job over him, and that I didn't care about our relationship. None of that was true, I was just extremely overwhelmed because I had just been put in this position, and I was still trying to figure everything out."

Rowan sucked in a deep breath when she realized just how much she had revealed to Harry. Looking down at her lap, she suddenly felt so ashamed. She gasped softly when she felt Harry's hand on her cheek, and he tilted her face up to meet his eyes once again.

"Hey," he said, thumb caressing her cheekbone. "Don't do that. There's no reason to be embarrassed when sharing your past. We all have one."

Rowan felt a weird tingling in her stomach due to the gentle way Harry held her face, and when she heard the softness of his tone. She didn't like the feeling.

It terrified her.

"W-what are you doing?" She asked, her voice a bit rough as she lifted her hand to move his off of her face.

Harry felt his heart drop due to Rowan's reaction, and he cleared his throat before turning away from her completely. "Nothing. Sorry."

They were soon joined by some of Rowan's colleagues at the table, and Harry downed his first drink in just a few seconds. Between what just happened with Rowan, and the fact that he was going to have to sit and listen to these men talk about things with her that he had no understanding of made his skin crawl.

"So, Rowan, are you going to introduce us to your date?" Cliff, one of the men that worked closely with Rowan at her office, spoke up in the middle of their meal.

"Oh yes, I'm sorry," she said with a small laugh. "This is Harry."

Rowan placed her hand in the middle of Harry's back, looking over to him with a smile as she rubbed the area. It became apparent to Harry that she was playing a part, and it bothered him how he realized that he wished it was all real.

"And what do you do for work, Harry?" One of the other gentlemen asked, and by the way Rowan's face faltered, he could tell it was one of the men she had been worrying about encountering tonight.

"I'm in entertainment. I work on arranging talent for different types of gigs in the area," Harry lied flawlessly, and he let his hand land on Rowan's leg to give her thigh a small squeeze.

Rowan's body started to heat up just a bit, and she grabbed her wine after letting her hand fall from Harry's back.

"Well that sounds...interesting," the man responded, and Rowan grimaced.

They were less than impressed.

That ended up pissing Harry off, not realizing just how pretentious all these people would be this evening. Rowan didn't do anything to speak up and try to defend his career, regardless of whether or not it was fake, and that irritated him even further.

"Actually, I get booked for entertainment sometimes too," he said and was immediately met with Rowan stepping on his foot from underneath the table. He groaned, shooting her a look which revealed that she was already looking at him - raising her eyebrows.

"Oh really?" He heard someone speak up, but he kept his eyes on Rowan. "And what's your talent?"

Harry looked over to the individual, a smirk landing on his lips as he removed his hand from Rowan's thigh to face those at the table completely. "Dancing."

Rowan curled back in her seat, cradling her glass of wine to her chest as she wished she was anywhere but there.

"Dancing?"

"Stripping to be more precise," Harry continued, before reaching up to unbutton some of the top buttons of his shirt. He shrugged off his jacket, and Rowan watched with wide eyes as he began to roll his sleeves up to his elbows. "I hope you all don't mind if I get more comfortable. It's getting a little warm in here."

Little by little, Rowan saw more of Harry's inked skin get revealed to those around them, and she slammed her glass down on the table. "Harry, can we go speak in private for a moment?"

"Why?" He asked, grabbing her glass of wine and finishing it off. "I'm sure these wonderful people have a lot of questions about my profession."

"Outside. Now," Rowan demanded as she stood up, grabbing his suit jacket off the back of his chair as she started towards the entrance of the venue.

Harry smirked to himself as he stood up, running a hand up and through his curls. "If you'll excuse us."

He followed behind Rowan, watching as she darted between people and tables to get outside as quickly as possible. She was furious, he could tell that much, but he was frustrated with the way she, and everyone else, went about treating him tonight.

Once they were outside, he watched as Rowan paced back and forth, both hands gripping to his suit jacket.

"Oh come on, Ro, I know you can't be that-"

"Do you have any idea what you could've just cost me, Harry?" She asked, looking over him with a shake of her head. "Openly admitting to them that you're a stripper? It's going to be so obvious that's how we've met, and I'm never going to hear the end of it!

"Do you realize that the way my company works is that if personal issues become the talk of the office, people can lose their jobs. I could lose my job because you couldn't keep your fucking ignorant mouth shut for one evening!"

Harry didn't know how to respond. He honestly didn't realize just how big of a deal this could be for her, and that she could be at risk of losing her job.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry, I didn't know that-"

"But you did!" Rowan exclaimed, feeling tears of frustration pricking at her eyes. That caused her to get even more angry, having not felt this emotion in so long. She had hidden this weak side of her away from everyone to protect herself. "You did know! I told you what to expect, I gave you a story to follow, and I told you how you needed to be dressed. Is this what you wanted? Is this why you agreed to come with me? So you could play the part for a little bit, and then turn around and just completely humiliate me?"

Now Harry was the one growing irritated. She acted like being seen with him, and not the man she wanted him to be, was repulsive. As if just knowing that people knew the truth would be the end of the world.

"How do you think I fucking feel?" Harry bit back, walking towards her. "You're so fucking ashamed of me, Rowan, and for what? Do you understand how that sits with me? I've never had someone judge me in the way that you have since I met you."

Rowan stopped pacing and looked over at Harry, the tears now streaming down her cheeks. "Why does it matter if I'm ashamed of you or not? We sleep together, Harry, that's it. You and I both knew when we started this whole thing that this was all it was ever going to be. Just sex. I never asked for anything more, and I don't want it. Not with someone like you."

Her words cut Harry to the core, and his lips parted to let out a pathetic laugh. They stared at each other as Rowan's chest heaved, and Harry tried to find the words to say.

"You're right," he said with a nod, trying to will away the gut wrenching feeling that was knocking around inside his chest. "It was just sex in the beginning. But call me a fucking idiot, Rowan, because I think I started to develop feelings for you - even though I knew I shouldn't have. I've never slept with anyone as much as I have with you without being in a relationship with them.

"I never told you that because I knew it would freak you out, or that you'd use it against me somehow, but it's the truth. And you're a bitch. You're so fucking mean, and I don't know how it happened, but I found myself drawn to you more and more every time we would see each other. I thought that tonight by you asking me here, and with the way you've been looking at me, that maybe things were changing in that way for you too. I can tell now that I was so damn wrong."

Rowan's bottom lip wobbled as she stared up into Harry's moss colored eyes that were swirling with so many emotions. She knew what he was talking about. That feeling that he was expressing was one that had started to take a hold on her as well. The only reason why she didn't dwell on it was because she knew they could never work. They were too different, and in two completely separate places in life.

"Yeah, you were wrong," Rowan finally responded, throwing Harry's suit jacket at him, which he caught just before it could hit the ground. "If I had known that's what was happening, I would've ended the whole thing weeks ago. You can't blame me for your feelings when you knew I'd never feel the same way."

The words felt venomous as they fell from her mouth, and she knew the guilt from them would end up eating her alive, but it's what she had to do.

"Now I get why he fucking left you," Harry mumbled under his breath as he pushed his arms through his suit jacket. "All you do care about is yourself, and here I was having sympathy for you."

Lifting her hand, Rowan angrily wiped the tears off her cheeks just to have new ones follow - she felt her heart ache at Harry's words.

"Just go home, Harry," she said, looking away from him and out onto the busy road as she watched all the cars drive through the city. "And don't even think about contacting me ever again."

Rowan didn't spare another glance at Harry as she went back inside the venue. She bolted for the bathroom, locking herself inside the single room before grasping the sink with her hands. A loud gasp left her as she tried to choke back a sob, her eyes shut tight while her body trembled.

Harry stared at the door that Rowan had walked through in disbelief, and he could feel that tears of his own were threatening to surface. He shook his head and sniffed loudly, walking down the steps and back towards the parking garage.

This was not how either of them expected their night to go, and they were both certain that they'd never be seeing, or even be hearing from each other, again.

✧✧✧

"Steven, please," Rowan pleaded, resting both of her hands on the desk that he sat behind. "Help me out here."

Steven peered up at Rowan over the contract he was currently looking over for a client, pressing his tongue to the inside of his bottom lip. "What you're asking me is to break employee confidentiality, you realize that right?"

Rowan groaned and walked over to the couch in the room, throwing herself down on it. "Yes, I'm very much aware, but I doubt he would get angry at you. He speaks highly of you."

It had been a little over a month since Rowan had seen Harry, and for the last three weeks she had been trying to get in contact with him. Her texts went ignored, her calls were unanswered, and when she tried to call and book him through Steven again, she was told he was taking a break.

"Rowan...I meant it when I said he was taking a break," he sighed, tossing the contract onto his desk as he leaned forward a bit. "He's been on a break for a month, and he told me that he didn't know if he was going to be coming back."

Rowan's eyebrows narrowed, and she sat up. "What do you mean?"

"What I just told you," he scoffed with a shake of his head. "Said he had some things he needed to figure out, and that he needed time to do it."

If Rowan didn't already feel like shit, this made her feel like it even more. That means that he had taken a break since the night of her gala, and that made her feel extremely guilty.

"Made me cancel all the gigs he had booked for the next month and a half," Steven continued. "I haven't seen or heard from him since."

Rowan turned to have her feet flat against the floor as she rested her face in her hands.

"Something happened between the two of you, didn't it? You're the girl he's been talking about?"

Goosebumps covered Rowan's skin as she slowly lifted her head to look over at Steven. "What?"

"He had pep in his step the last few months before his break, and when I asked him about it, he told me that he was having a lot of fun with someone. He didn't tell me who, but now I'm guessing it was you - seeing as you're here and completely distressed."

Rowan's heart was aching in her chest as she stared down at her palms, fighting away the tears that were gathering in her waterline.

"Yeah....yeah something happened," she confessed, shaking her head. "And I fucked it all up. I've been trying to fix it, but he won't answer my calls. My texts get no replies. I'm surprised he hasn't blocked my number."

Steven stared at Rowan, watching as her hands started to shake. She started to avoid eye contact with him now, and he could tell it was because she was growing vulnerable.

"I ruined everything," she whispered. "And I've realized that I-I've missed him."

It was the truth. Rowan ended up leaving the gala early that night, and she got drunk off a bottle of wine at home. She cried more that night than she had since Dalton had broken up with her. It was clear to her that she'd never be happy again. She ruined almost every chance at a relationship she had, and honestly, Harry was the closest she had been to one in years.

When she got to work on Monday, she was called to the board room and informed she was being 'let go'. All due to the scene that was caused at the gala that past weekend. She expected it to bother her more, but surprisingly, it didn't. That's when she realized that these past couple of years she was trying to live up to everyone else's expectations of her rather than figuring out who she was herself.

Thankfully with her experience, she got another job quickly, and even though she was CEO again, this office was way more relaxed. She felt more comfortable here, and it wasn't so professional. It made her come to the conclusion that things didn't have to be so prim and proper to be seen as successful. The whole experience caused her to change her tune on life.

Steven shook his head as he grabbed a sticky note pad - quickly scribbling Harry's address down on it. "Look, if he sues me, you're paying for it all," he said, waving the note out in front of him for her to take. "But I know he'll want to see you if you're being honest about wanting to fix things."

Rowan popped off the couch quickly, taking the note off of Steven's fingertip. "Thank you so much," she breathed, nibbling on her bottom lip. "I promise, if this goes wrong, I'll take the blame for everything, okay? Thank you!"

She quickly fled the office, running down the street to get back to her car. Her hands were shaking as she started up the engine - punching Harry's address into her GPS.

As she drove, Rowan rubbed the pads of her thumbs against the steering wheel out of nervousness, her anxiety skyrocketing. There was a big chance this could all blow up in her face. So many things could go wrong.

Harry could either slam the door in her face, or maybe he wasn't even home. Or if he was home...maybe he wasn't alone.

Rowan shuddered at the thought, but she knew she wouldn't be able to be that upset if he had found someone else to take her place. To be fair, she never really had a place to get taken - at least not in his mind. She basically told him that the whole thing meant nothing more to her than good fuck every weekend. While that was true in the beginning, Rowan had too felt feelings growing for Harry, but she had shoved them down.

The GPS notified her that she was close to her destination, and she noticed that Harry lived in a neighborhood not too different from her own. She parked her car along the street once it said she arrived, and she cut off her car.

She sat there in silence for a few minutes before mustering up the courage to get out. Her opened toed wedges clicked against the concrete as she walked up his driveway, and the skirt to her flowy black dress that hit just above her knees rippled in the spring breeze.

Once she was at the door, Rowan started to regret this decision. She wasn't sure if she could handle him rejecting her, even though she wouldn't really be able to blame him if he did. She'd understand, especially after the way she treated him, and the awful things she said to him the last time they had seen each other.

It was early on a Saturday afternoon, and she could only hope that he was home. She didn't see his car in the driveway, but she figured he could be like her and park his cars in the garage.

Taking in a deep breath, she raised her fist and knocked on the door three times. Her fingertips tapped against her thigh as she waited for him, fighting the urge to look down at her feet so she could keep her eyes on the doorway.

It was only a few seconds later that the front door opened, and Rowan's lips parted as she took in Harry's appearance. His curls had grown just a bit, a pair of sunglasses on top of his head pushing them back. There was a mustache covering his upper lip with scruff to accompany it along his jawline, his cheeks and his chin. He always had a bit of stubble, but she had never seen him with this much facial hair.

Her eyes trailed over his outfit, pressing her thighs together just at the sight of him. A dark gray blazer hung on his shoulders, covering up a white t shirt that had 'Enjoy Health • Eat Your Honey •' in blue letters with the illustration of a bee in the middle. A gold necklace with a few pearls lining it laid tight along his neckline, whereas his cross dangled along his sternum. His lower half was adorned in a pair of black trousers with his feet slipped into a pair of black Vans.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Harry asked, his tone so sharp that it knocked Rowan out of her trance. She finally met his eyes, and felt as if the air was getting pushed out of her lungs. "Are you fucking stalking me now?"

Rowan bit down on the insides of her cheeks, nails digging into her palms as she tried to get everything she wanted to say in order in her head. "N-no, I...I got your address from someone. You've been ignoring me."

Harry rolled his eyes, wrapping his hand around the door knob. "Yeah, there's a reason for that. And I'm sure I know who you got my address from. Seems I'll need to have a talk with Steven. Now - if you'll excuse me," he stated, going to close the door in her face, but Rowan's hand quickly slapped against the surface to keep it open.

"Harry, please, just give me five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

"Why the hell should I do that?" He snapped, shaking his head. "I'm not interested in what we had anymore, Ro...Rowan."

Harry took a deep breath when he noticed he had allowed himself to call her by her nickname instead of her full name. It didn't feel right anymore, not when things were different now.

"Okay, that's fine," Rowan said, giving him a nod even though that was a lie on her end. She was going to be devastated if he turned her down, but again, she wouldn't blame him. "But I just would really like for you to hear me out. Just please listen to what I have to say, and then I'll leave. I promise."

Harry looked down to his feet, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he processed Rowan's request. After the last conversation they had, it was almost too painful to be in her presence. The hurtful words that she had spoken to him echoed in his mind, they had been for the past month, and he wasn't sure if anything she could say would change that.

"Five minutes," he said sternly, moving out of the doorway but still keeping his eyes on the floor.

Rowan moved past him, her body almost brushing against his as she walked into the foyer of his home. Her familiar scent filled his nose, jasmine and gardenia, and he felt his heart ache. He remembered how his clothes would smell like her once he would leave her place, but all those clothes had been washed, and he wasn't left with any traces of her for the past couple of weeks.

He closed the door behind her, and once he finally looked at her again, he watched as her eyes danced over the art on his walls. It was obvious to him that she was a bit shocked at how nice his house was, some could even argue it was as nice as hers, and he was sure she wasn't expecting that.

"You have a beautiful home, Harry," she spoke after a minute, peering at him over her shoulder as she set her keys down on the small table by the door.

Harry didn't respond to her compliment as he walked by her and into the living room. He sat down on the couch, resting his hands on his knees as Rowan finally followed behind. His fingertips pressed into his skin as he tried to ground himself, but he wasn't sure what to expect from this conversation.

"Were you going somewhere?" Rowan asked as she sat down on the couch beside him, but still leaving a good distance between them. "You...you look nice."

He looked more than nice to her, but she didn't want to seem like she was trying to overdo it and kiss his ass.

"I was about to meet some friends for a late brunch," he mumbled, swiping his thumb nail over the cuticle on his middle finger.

Rowan noted that the cuticle was already scabbed over, and it made her frown when she came to the conclusion that this must've been something he resorted to when he was anxious.

"Well, I'll really just take the five minutes then," she sighed, smoothing her hands over her dress so that it properly covered her thighs. "First off, I want to apologize to you. I'm sorry for the way that I spoke to you. And I mean that starting with the moment I met you, up until the night of the gala. You never deserved any of that, and I'm sorry."

Harry's eyes flickered up from his lap and over to Rowan for a moment, quickly catching her eyes before looking away again.

"When I got into work the Monday after the gala, I was informed that I was being let go," Rowan decided to continue, her heart pounding in her chest. "And you would think that I would be upset, and practically devastated that I had lost my job, but I wasn't.

"I realized that I didn't want to work for a place that made me second guess every decision I made out of the workplace. That judged people for the way they looked, or what other people have as a profession. I already have a new job doing the same position at a more modern based company, and I'm happier than I've been in years being there."

Rowan was hoping for Harry to acknowledge anything she was saying, either with responding verbally, or giving a cue that he was following with a nod of his head, but he didn't.

"I also realized all of this because of the way that not only they treated you that night, Harry, but also because of the way I treated you. It wasn't fair for me to ask you to be someone you weren't, and I know you'll probably never forgive me for that, but it's how I truly feel.

"And I want you to know that I didn't mean half those things I said to you. Sure I was upset, and I meant that at the time, but I had no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed of you. Please believe me when I say don't feel that way anymore, and I never should've. You're...you're a wonderful person - inside and out. I know we'd get our jabs in here and there when around each other, and that we'd act like we couldn't actually stand one another. But that night you were so comforting when you saw how anxious I was. I knew that part of you existed, I could tell from the first time we slept together, and I think you presenting it so openly frightened me."

Harry looked completely away from Rowan now, staring out the window that showcased his backyard. He ran his tongue over the front of his teeth as his stomach swirled with all different emotions. He was doing his best to cope with all of them, but it was a bit overwhelming.

"Those feelings you were talking about, the ones that you felt over time for me - I felt them too, Harry. I was so scared, and you're right, I was selfish. I was selfish because I was so dead set on being the best at my career that I sacrificed having something of actual purpose with you. Towards the end of it all, I started to crave your company more often than not. I lied about that last date I went on, the guy invited me back to his place but I made up a story about dog sitting because I just couldn't do it. Not when I had you.

"I know we still don't know a lot about each other, but I would like to know more about you. I'd like to try this again, but do it the right way."

Silence fell over the two of them, the only thing being heard was the clicking of the large art deco clock Harry had hanging on his wall above the TV. Rowan gave it a few seconds, and when Harry still refused to speak, or even look at her, she made the choice that it was time for her to go.

Her heart felt heavy as she pushed herself up off the couch, biting down on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling while walking to the foyer. Maybe she had made a mistake by coming here. It was almost easier for her to just live with him ignoring her through a phone than have him ignore her when he was sitting there.

But Rowan had to remind herself that she didn't blame him for wanting nothing to do with her. It's what she deserved, and she knew that she needed to respect his decision - no matter how much it was going to hurt.

Her slender fingers curled around her keys as she picked them up from the table, and she made her way towards the door.

"I should've never brought up Dalton leaving you," she heard Harry rasp out behind her, and she stopped - staring at the door ahead of her. "That was low, and I could tell how much it pained you to retell the story that night. I was just so angry with you, and I wanted to hurt you as much as you were...as much as you had been hurting me. I'm sorry."

Rowan blinked, sending tears down her cheeks as she sucked in a deep breath. Hearing him say that she had been hurting him proved that she had squashed his spirit more than just that night, and she could kick herself for being so self absorbed that she didn't see the signs.

"And I know I'm fucking arrogant," Harry confessed, turning his head now to see Rowan's back was still to him. "Just like you had built up your wall and you were acting closed off and selfish, I do the same with my arrogance. It's a shield for me most of the time, and it's because you're not the first woman to have been ashamed of me. It happened right when I first started my job, but she made me believe it was more, and it never was.

"She had me believing that it was just me and her, but really she had a boyfriend the whole time, and I was just a fling for her sometimes on the weekend when he was out of town. I remember she actually laughed in my face when I told her that I thought we had something, and she said she could never date someone like me. So I understand wanting to make people see a different version of you - that way you can hide the real and vulnerable one away. I've done it for probably just as long as you have, if not longer."

Harry stood up, and Rowan could hear his footsteps approaching her from behind. He reached a hand out to graze his fingertips along the side of her arm, and she shut her eyes at the skin to skin contact. She was having deja vu - this whole thing reminding her of the night of her friend's party. It was when he had approached her from behind at the bar cart, and he had touched her in a similar way.

"But I found myself wanting to show that person to you, Rowan," he stated, his voice now softer than she had ever heard it before. "The only problem was that I didn't know how. It didn't help that the person that you made me see was one that I felt would laugh in my face if I told them how I felt. So I swallowed it down, but it all came to a head that night. All I wanted to do at that gala was protect you from those awful people, but when I saw you wouldn't do the same for me, I completely resorted back to who I made you think I was from the beginning."

Harry's hand traveled up her arm before he cupped it over her shoulder, and Rowan quickly clasped her hand over it, squeezing his fingers against her palm as she did so.

"If you're serious about this, then I need reassurance that you're telling the truth about being completely open with each other. No more hiding. I know we'll have things to work through, and breaking down those walls takes time, but as long as I know we're trying. That's all I need," he whispered as he moved all of Rowan's hair over one shoulder with his free hand. He slowly leaned his head down to press a kiss to the back of her neck. "Tell me that we'll let each other in, and I'm yours, Ro."

Rowan swallowed down a whimper when she heard her nickname fall from his lips, and this time he didn't correct himself. She was still so scared, and she knew it was going to take a lot of time and effort for them to get as open as they wanted to be, but god if she didn't want to try.

"Okay," she agreed with a nod, lifting her other hand to push her tears off her cheeks now that she had calmed down. "I'll let you in. We'll let each other in."

Harry moved his hands down to grasp Rowan's hips before spinning her around. The movement caught her by surprise, causing her to drop her keys against the floor. She stared up at Harry with parted lips, their eyes bouncing over each other's faces.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked, and Rowan nodded.

She moved forward to close the little bit of space that was still between them, one hand resting against his chest while the other cupped the side of his face.

"Been needing you to kiss me like this," she admitted.

Harry knew what she meant. Kissing outside of sex had never happened, and they both were aware that this was going to officially change everything.

"Well, I can't leave you needy, can I?" He asked, a bit of his degrading side still coming through, but that's only because he knew it got her to loosen up.

A soft moan rattled in Rowan's throat before Harry leaned down, connecting his lips to her plush ones. It was all Rowan could do not to completely melt into Harry with how deeply he was kissing her right away, but she loved it. His hands eventually moved from her hips to cup the sides of her neck, pressing the pads of his thumbs against her jawline to have her tilting her head back a bit.

Rowan parted her lips slightly for him, and Harry didn't waste any time when it came to rolling his tongue into her mouth. He lapped at the roof of her mouth before fluidly moving his tongue against hers. He groaned when Rowan pressed her chest completely against his, and he felt her hands as they dropped to begin caressing his ribcage through both his shirt and his blazer.

Harry's mustache brushed against Rowan's nose, and her mind immediately went to how that would feel between her legs - against her core. That thought alone had arousal pooling quickly in her underwear, but she tried her best to fight it away.

Moving forward a bit, Harry pressed her up against the door, shifting them around a bit so one of his knees separated her legs. She could feel him trying to lift it up, and she quickly broke away from the kiss, slightly squirming away.

"What?" Harry asked, eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at her.

She didn't want him to feel how wet she had already gotten. She was scared that if he knew, he'd think that she was only here for sex, and that everything she had said was just a ploy to get them to fuck again.

"I just..." she trailed off, not really knowing what type of excuse she could come up with.

Rowan watched as realization trickled over Harry's features, and a smirk twitched onto the corner of his lips. "You're dripping, aren't you?"

Just the octave of his voice dropping in such a way had Rowan's eyes rolling into the back of her skull. Her head pressed against the door as she felt his large hands moving down her body.

"Don't worry, Ro," he mumbled as his lips pressed against the hinge of her jaw. "Got me half hard already."

She gasped as she felt him rut his cock against the inside of her thigh, her fingertips digging into the indents of his ribs.

Harry's lips traveled down the side of Rowan's neck, sucking gently once he reached the apex where it met her shoulder. She could feel his member twitching against her, and she knew he was growing harder by the second.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded, kissing back up to the corner of her mouth. "No more hiding, remember?"

Rowan was tingling all over, still not opening her eyes as she was basking in the presence of being this close to Harry again. Her palms smoothed down lower to Harry's hips, and she fluttered her eyes open as she began to undo his belt. Their eyes held onto one another as she got the buckle unfastened, and she began to pull it free from the belt loops.

"I want your cock," she admitted as she turned her head to connect their upper lips. "And I want it in my mouth while your hands are tied behind your back."

Harry's mouth went dry, and he couldn't stop his body's reaction to her words - his hips jutting out to meet hers which caused their cores to collide for a brief moment. It had them both growing even more hungry for one another.

Rowan actually hadn't gone down on him before. Other than that first night, there was never any foreplay. Harry would always check to make sure that Rowan was ready before they'd have sex, and every time he found her to already be so wet and open for him that nothing else needed to be done. It was the way they wanted it back then, quick and easy. But now that they knew what this truly was, they both wanted to take their time.

"Is that okay with you?" She asked, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before letting it go with a soft 'pop'.

Knowing that Harry was just as turned on as her, Rowan didn't mind cutting right to the chase. She grabbed the sunglasses off the top of his head, tossing them on the table nearby before pushing his blazer off his shoulders so she could take in the ink she had been missing so much.

"That depends - you think your throat can handle it?" Harry challenged as she walked behind him, holding his wrists together to bind them with his belt.

"Oh, I know it can," Rowan confirmed as she pressed onto her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "Does that feel okay, baby?"

Harry's knees almost gave out on him at the pet name, Rowan never having called him any sort of nickname before. He wiggled his wrists around and gave her a nod. "Feels fine."

Rowan smirked and positioned herself in front of Harry once again. Her fingers popped open the button of his pants, and she made quick work of the zipper. Slipping her hand down to cup him through his briefs, she could feel just how hard he had gotten against his thigh.

"Oh you poor thing," she taunted, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Aching aren't you?"

Harry couldn't remember the last time a woman had tried to talk to him this way, he was always the one in control. It was never questioned, but hearing Rowan speak to him like this was absolutely doing it for him. He could feel himself leaking onto his skin, and with the lust that began to swirl in her eyes, he could tell that she felt it too.

"Need me to fix it?" She asked, her tone condescending - faking concern.

Clenching his teeth so tight, Harry's jaw twitched which caused Rowan to press her thighs even harder together than she already was. She gave him a small squeeze, causing a whine to leave Harry - a noise she'd never heard him make before.

Harry's eyes followed Rowan as she lowered herself down to kneel in front of him, pulling his pants and briefs down to hug right above his knees. His head tilted back with a groan as he felt the cool air against his throbbing erection, and a second hardly passed before he felt her tongue licking against his slit.

"Fuck," he groaned, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the door.

Their eyes were still on each other as Rowan opened her mouth and she slipped his pink tip, having it match the color of his lips so deliciously, into her mouth.

"Think you're gonna be able to take all of me?"

Rowan hummed, causing a tension to start building in Harry's lower abdomen. His mouth was slack as she ran her hands up his thighs, cupping the back of them as she slowly lowered herself further onto his shaft. No eye contact was severed as Rowan nuzzled her nose into Harry's happy trail, his tip curving just the slightest bit down her throat.

She swallowed, and it was the first time Harry had to shut his eyes as a breathy moan escaped him. It felt so good, and Harry hadn't gotten head in a long time. Rowan grinned around his cock, and she skillfully flicked her tongue up, running the tip of it up and down the underside of his length.

Harry strained against the belt, wanting nothing more than to cup the back of her head so he could get to properly fucking her throat.

Looking down at Rowan again, he hummed as he pushed his hips out a bit further, causing her to swallow around more of him - her eyes beginning to water. "Good fucking girl," he growled, running his tongue over his bottom lip. "Got you crying over my cock, hm?"

Thrusting his hips just a bit, the back of Rowan's head hit against the door, and Harry bit down on his bottom lip as he groaned. He could hear her gagging, and he watched as saliva began to drip down her chin.

Rowan was loving it though, growing so slick and sticky between her thighs just by choking on his dick. She could see the sheen of sweat glistening along his hairline, and her eyes slipped shut as Harry pushed in as far as he could. She focused on breathing through her nose as she felt him twitch - causing her to moan around him.

Her nails dug into his skin, and Harry gave a quick buck of his hips before pulling out completely. Rowan gasped for breath, water streaming down her cheeks as she lifted her hand to wipe the back of it over her mouth and her chin. Drops of arousal leaked from Harry's tip just at the sight of Rowan - her mascara slightly smudged underneath her eyes. and her lips were red and swollen.

"You liked that, yeah?" Harry tilted his head to the side, and Rowan nodded up at him. She ran her hands over his thighs, still staring at his face as she leaned down to press her lips against his tiger tattoo. "How about you let my hands free, and I'll teach you what that throat of yours can really do?"

Rowan didn't hesitate to push herself up a bit and shuffle over to the side to undo Harry's hands. Once free, Harry rotated his wrists a couple of times before he quickly shifted their position. He was now pressed firmly with his back against the door, Rowan back in front of him with her fingertips dancing over his ferns.

"Open that mouth up."

Obeying quickly, Rowan separated her lips as Harry cradled his cock in his palm. He tapped his tip against her bottom lip a couple times, and she closed around it to suck gently. Harry stared down at her with hooded lids as Rowan gripped at his hips.

"You ready, pretty baby?" Rowan hummed in response, moving her hands around to grip his ass firmly. "You pinch my hip if it gets to be too much, alright?"

Rowan showed him her understanding by pressing against his cheeks, and lowering herself on him again. Chuckling, Harry placed both of his large hands on the back of Rowan's head before pushing her all the way down in one go. A squeal rattled in her chest before she began to gag again - shutting her eyes tight.

Harry huffed out, holding her down for a few seconds before he started up his strategic thrusts.

"You know," he breathed, chest heaving slightly. "If we were still acting like we hated each other, I would make a comment about how your mouth serves more purpose wrapped around my cock than when you're actually speaking."

Rowan shifted her legs, trying to do something to take care of the throbbing happening below. Even though she knew that Harry didn't actually feel that way about her anymore, that didn't mean the degradation didn't continue to turn her on.

This time around, more tears were streaking Rowan's face, and there was spit everywhere - along Harry's cock, and over Rowan's cheeks and chin. Her saliva was running down her neck just a bit, but this sight was something Harry wanted embedded into his brain forever.

"God - you look so fucked out," Harry grunted, and Rowan opened her eyes to see him again. "But I'm not gonna come in your mouth."

Harry popped off quickly, pulling back as Rowan dropped her palms to the tiled floor beneath her - coughing while trying to catch her breath. Once her breathing had settled, she ran her hands over her face once again to clean herself up.

"Where do you want me, Rowan?" He asked, helping her onto her feet after situating his still hard member back into his briefs, both them and his pants loosely hanging on his hips.

Rowan walked forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, and Harry was quick to lift her up so she could cross her ankles against his lower back.

"Take me on top of your dresser, please," she whispered, tapping her nose against his.

She thought back to when he was in her guest room dressed as Danny, and how she so desperately wished he would've taken her on top of that dresser. Harry nodded, and he walked them into his bedroom. Excitement surged through Rowan's body when she saw his dresser was the perfect height, and that they would fit together so comfortably.

Harry was careful as he placed her down, and he went to grab the hem of her dress to pull it up, but she shook her head. "Clothes on for a bit," she said breathlessly, just pushing the garment up so he could see her thong before she quickly pulled it to the side to expose her glistening core.

"Oh fuck me," Harry said, his eyes wide as he stared down at her.

He was quickly brought back to what was happening when Rowan squirmed, and he pushed his briefs and jeans down just enough to get him out again. Giving himself a couple of strokes as his other hand gripped one of her hips, he pulled her closer to the edge of her dresser.

"Please," she practically begged, still holding her underwear but her free hand was gripping to one of his biceps.

Harry walked forward, his tip nudging against Rowan's entrance, causing her to throw her head back with a gasp. He leaned down to sponge his lips along the side of her neck - the tip of his nose running along her jawline.

"And why this scenario, Ro, hm?" He asked, voice dripping as his dominant side was truly taking hold once again. "Wouldn't have anything to do when I got you all weak in the knees against that dresser that night, would it?"

Rowan moaned as Harry began to suck aggressively at the spot right below her ear, eyes slipping shut. She gripped harder to his bicep, moving her hips up and down to have his tip running through her folds. "It would," she admitted with a note. "Yes, it would."

Harry's lips parted as he allowed his teeth to graze against her skin. "Thought so, and for that, I'm going to fuck you like I would've that night. I had all that pent up anger, and I wanted to take it out on not only you, but your tight little cunt."

A scream like moan bounced off the walls of Harry's room as he sunk himself into Rowan in one go. Her breath was then stolen from her, and her eyes shot open as she stared at his ceiling. She hadn't been with anyone since the last time she had Harry, and he usually let her get accustomed to his size, but not today.

Her pussy fluttered around him rapidly as he stretched her. Rowan's nails sunk into his skin, and she moved her other hand from her underwear to wrap against the back of his neck. Harry lifted his head to rest his forehead against hers, their heavy pants filling the room.

"God, I've missed you," she whined, tapping the tips of their noses together.

"Did you miss me?" Harry gave another thrust of his hips, Rowan's jaw completely going slack as she groaned out in pleasure. "Or did you miss my cock?"

Rowan's heart was pounding against her chest, and her skin felt like it was on fire being this close to him once again.

"Y-you," she breathed, giving him a sloppy kiss to his lips while clenching around him. "Missed you."

Harry's eyes flashed from lust to an unknown softness for just a moment, but they quickly returned to their darkened state. "Wrong answer," he teased as he brought his lips down to her ear. "Because remember I told you I'm going to fuck you like I would have that night? I'm going to fuck you even harder than I did the first time, because you're my whore, isn't that right?"

Rowan squirmed underneath him, trying to move her hips to get some friction, but Harry's hands were quick to grab her waist - stilling her. "Answer me, or I'm going to pull out, and you'll have to hear me make myself come through the bathroom door."

Rowan's eyes quickly glanced over to the door to his ensuite before looking back to him. "Yes," she agreed, giving him a few nods out of desperation. "Yes, I'm your whore, sir. And I would like for you to fuck me like it."

Again, she was surprising Harry with the names she was using, only ever having called him by his name previously. He just figured she wasn't one for pet names or name play, but he was clearly wrong.

Harry hummed while bringing his face back up to have a clear look at Rowan. He slipped one hand down her waist to cup under her thigh, pulling that leg a little further out and higher. He'd be using it as leverage, knocking his hip against her other knee. Rowan caught on, and spread that leg further out as well, but left it dangling beside his own.

"And you're going to take it, right?" He asked, beginning to slowly roll his hips. "Because you love feeling me so deep."

Rowan continued her nods, feeling fuzzy all over from Harry's partial movements. She needed more or else she felt she could surely combust. "So deep, please," she whimpered. "Want to feel you in my tummy."

With a large groan, Harry began thrusting in and out of Rowan at an aggressive and rapid pace. Rowan believed her jaw had truly become unhinged as she mewled, dropping her forehead against the side of his neck. She knew that her thigh would be bruised from his grip on it, and that her pelvis may be as well from the knocking of their hips.

Harry caressed Rowan's waist as he moved his hand to the small of her back, using it as extra leverage to continue fucking into her. His eyes fell to her breasts jiggling against the sweetheart neckline of her dress, and if this position was a little better, he'd be grazing his teeth along the swells of them - leaving love bites to mark them as his own.

"So tight," he growled as Rowan lifted her head up to look at him. Her eyes were glazed over, and her jaw was finally closing. "How are you still so tight when I've been pounding into you like this for months? Made just for me, hm?"

Rowan moaned at his words due to the fact she felt the same way. No one had filled her as deeply or as wonderfully as Harry, and she knew no one ever could. She didn't want anyone to. She only wanted him.

Him, him, him.

They could each feel Rowan's arousal spreading between both of their thighs, and it was honestly turning Harry on even more. Rowan's toes began to curl in her wedges, and her one hand was trying to find anywhere to claw onto him.

"Can you feel me, Ro? Can you feel me in your tummy?"

"Mhmm," Rowan hummed, using her hold on the back of Harry's neck to bring his lips down to hers.

The kiss was messy, their teeth slightly clashing together and their tongues just gliding over each other.

Barely being able to keep herself upright, Rowan could feel herself clenching down around Harry's length. She pulled away from his lips, resting her cheek against one of his biceps. Her eyes fluttered open, and she took in the sight of Harry's large bed behind him.

"Harry," she spoke up, pulling back to look up at him once again. "Can we move to the bed?"

His movements stopped, and after a moment, he lifted one of his hands to cup her cheek. "Is that what you want, love?"

They had never had sex in a bed before. It was always on Rowan's couch, or over the armchair, on her dining table or on the kitchen counter. On the couch it would be Rowan on top of him, but on any other surface, it was Harry's chest pressed against her back - taking her from behind.

"I do," she whispered, giving him a soft smile. "I really do."

Harry leaned down for a kiss as he pulled out, both of them groaning a bit as the loss of contact. He carefully helped her off the dresser, Rowan teetering on her legs just a bit.

"You know, you haven't stripped in a month from what I've heard," she stated, smiling up at Harry. "Do you think you still got it?"

Harry looked at her with a crooked grin. "Wanna be my first client back?" He asked as he tucked himself back into his briefs before guiding Rowan to sit on the edge of his bed. "You can let me know if my performance still meets your expectations?"

Rowan shrugged, leaning back on her palms on the bed. "Doesn't seem quite right for me to be the first client. I haven't paid you."

"It's on the house," Harry confirmed, his lips ghosting over hers as he grasped at her hips once again.

Shaking her head, Rowan rested her hands on Harry's shoulders. "There has to be some sort of transaction."

Only a few seconds later, still keeping her eyes on Harry's, she felt his fingertips creeping up her inner thigh. He pulled Rowan's underwear to the side, keeping their top lips connected. "I can think of something that's of worth to me."

Harry sank his middle and ring fingers into Rowan's entrance with ease. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat as his knuckles rubbed against her walls in such a satisfying manner on the way in, and she let that breath out once she felt the pads of his fingers right against her g spot.

This was another first. He had never fingered her before.

It obviously felt different than his prick inside of her, but Rowan was seeing stars. She never told him, but she did have a slight obsession with his hands. The way his nails looked when they were painted along with the veins that coated the tops of them. She made note of how long his fingers were, but they seemed to be the perfect thickness.

She was right about that last one. They felt so snug inside of her, and when he began to curl them, she thought she was going to come right then.

"Oh, fuck, Harry," she blurted out, feeling Harry swipe the tip of his tongue against her bottom lip. "Is there anything you can't do?"

Harry chuckled. "In terms of pleasuring a woman? Absolutely not. Always been known to give a woman exactly what she wants. I'm very in tune with the reactions of bodies when it comes to touch, to words, and to looks. But you know something, Rowan? You're the only one I know like the back of my hand."

Rowan let out a loud moan, clenching around his fingers at his words. The fact he took the time to learn what she liked and didn't like, being able to tell just by the way she looked or how her body moved had her head reeling. No one had ever paid attention to her in that way, not even Dalton.

Harry guided his fingers in and out of her for a bit, liking the bliss that was coating Rowan's face as he did so. After a few moments, he pulled them out and brought them up to his mouth to clean them.

"You stay right here, and I'll start the music."

Excitement swirled in Rowan's stomach as she continued to sit on the side of the bed, her legs hanging off the side. Although Harry's cock and fingers had just been inside of her, and he had removed both of them, she didn't even care. She was curious of what was to come, and she knew she would be more confident this time with him stripping in front of her.

The music began to bounce off the walls, and Rowan bit down on her bottom lip to conceal her smile. She recognized the song immediately from the beginning beat. Harry appeared back in front of her, taking both of Rowan's hands in his own.

"Climb on board. We'll go slow and high tempo. Light and dark. Hold me hard and mellow."

He smirked down at her, and she watched as the tip of his tongue bulged out of his cheek while he ran it along the side of his mouth. New arousal was pooling in her underwear, and she kept her eyes on Harry's face as he placed one of her hands over one of his clothed pecs.

"This feels familiar, doesn't it?" Harry asked as he moved her other hand underneath his shirt, letting her run her fingers and palm over his abs.

Rowan clenched around nothing at the skin to skin contact, especially when she could tell she was touching the butterfly inked into his skin due to the outline of her fingers through the material of his shirt.

"It does," Rowan agreed with a soft laugh as Harry walked closer to her, causing her to separate her legs even further.

He was still fully hard in his briefs and his pants, and she could tell that he had done some rearranging so that she could see it perfectly. As much as she wanted him back inside of her, she wanted this just as bad.

The teasing. The touching. The anticipation of what was to come.

"Don't have to tell you to breathe this time," he whispered, grinding his covered length against the inside of her knee.

Rowan giggled softly, causing a large smile to grow on Harry's lips. He has never heard her laugh so genuinely before, and it caused a warmth to bloom inside his chest.

"You sound so pretty when you laugh, Ro," Harry stated while moving both of her hands to rest on his hips.

Harry lifted a hand and gripped his shirt between his shoulder blades. He swiftly pulled the article of clothing over his head - tossing it to the side without a care. The cross pendant on his necklace rested beautifully between his two swallows, and her eyes trailed lower to where she could see the leaves of his ferns peeking over his waistband.

"Well, you're just pretty," Rowan blurted out without even thinking, and her neck flush with her confession.

They stared into each other's eyes for a few moments before Rowan leaned down, beginning to kiss over his chest. Harry sighed out, head rolling back on his shoulders as he felt her lips against his skin. She kissed over his patch of chest hair before making her way to one of his nipples. Opening her eyes, she peered up at Harry as she let her tongue flick against it.

Harry's eyes snapped open and he looked down at her with parted lips. No woman had ever tried to play with his nipples before. The fact that he wasn't pushing her off made Rowan feel confident, and she closed her lips around the bud - sucking gently.

Humming in satisfaction, Harry tugged his bottom lip through his teeth. He lifted his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Rowan's ear, resting his knee on the bed between her legs. She popped off his one nipple and made her way over to the other as she pressed her core against his leg - needing to relieve the throbbing that was driving her mad.

She scraped her teeth just gently against the other nipple before kissing over his chest again, smirking as she pressed kisses to his extra two nipples.

Harry let a small laugh rattle in his chest as he watched her, shaking his head. "You know, it's funny to see you kissing those when you tried to hold them against me the first time we met."

Rowan frowned softly at his words, pulling her lips away from his skin. "Harry, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean what I-"

Cutting her off, Harry delicately placed his lips against hers, and they both realized this was the softest kiss they had ever shared. She lifted her hand to rest against his cheek as they slowly massaged their lips together, Harry's hand moving to cup the back of her head.

Harry pulled away after a moment, resting his forehead against hers. "Maybe I have lost my groove a bit."

"No," Rowan disagreed with a shake of her head, tilting her chin up just a bit to press another quick kiss to his bottom lip. "This is just your groove with me."

The phrase she spoke swam through Harry's ears like a melody, and he wondered if that was the truth.

He moved his knee off the bed and wrapped his hands around the tops of her thighs. Pushing her legs together, he allowed himself to straddle her between his long legs.

"Do you want to do the honors? Or shall I?" He asked, tilting his chin down to his pants.

Rowan hadn't undressed him in their prior encounters, and the thought of it had her pushing her legs even harder together.

"If I may," she smirked, reaching out to undo the button.

She pulled the zipper down as well, having the more loose fitting trousers fall around Harry's ankles once undone. Slipping a finger into the waistband of his briefs, Rowan kissed down Harry's bicep.

"Just take them off, Ro."

Rowan didn't need to be told twice. She pulled his briefs down, and Harry shifted his legs to work them the rest of the way down before kicking them off.

Now that he was fully naked again in front of her, Rowan allowed her eyes to trail over his built and toned frame. She stifled the whimper that wanted to leave her just by looking at him.

"Fuck," she muttered, her stomach twisting in exhilaration.

Her eyes followed Harry as he lowered himself down onto the floor, immediately burying his face between Rowan's thighs. She gasped, pulling her dress up so she could tangle her fingers into his curls. His facial hair brushed against her skin, and it caused her to break out in goosebumps. Harry's teeth snagged her thong, and he moved backwards to pull it down her legs.

Remaining lowered, he raised his torso up a bit to put one of her legs on his shoulder, kissing over her calf as he undid the ankle strap of her wedge, allowing it to fall off her foot. He repeated the same action on the other leg before standing.

"Are you ready, baby?" He asked, caressing Rowan's thighs.

"Harry, please."

Harry lined himself up before sinking himself back into Rowan, pulling her all the way to the edge of the bed with his hands on her hips.

"Oh...oh my god," she panted, cupping Harry's ribcage.

With fluid motions, Harry rolled his hips, finding something so erotic in the fact Rowan was still dressed and he wasn't. Her dress was bunched up around her waist - still giving him a perfect view of where he disappeared inside of her.

"Can...can I take your dress off?" Harry huffed, still keeping up the rhythm he had established.

"Yes, yes," Rowan gasped as Harry's thumb moved to rub small circles against her clit.

Harry growled as he grabbed the hem of the article of clothing, throwing it across the room to reveal a lacey black bra. It was a bit transparent in the cups, revealing her nipples to him.

"You wear this just f'me?" He grunted, rocking his hips harder against hers.

"I did," she confirmed with a nod of her head. "I know how to get my way, and my way was seeing you today. I wanted to have something special on for you."

Arms wrapping securely around her waist, Harry moved Rowan up and towards the headboard. He shifted both of their bodies around to where Rowan was laid down against his pillows, and he was hovering over her.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, never having been under him before. Harry tried to push the doubts out of his mind as his hands gripped to his headboard, and he began to rock his hips against hers once again.

Rowan mewled out, hands skating all over Harry's body to find somewhere to latch onto - somewhere to hold that felt right considering just how hard he was giving it to her again. Her eyes wandered over his long and chiseled torso before meeting his eyes.

Both of their pupils were blown, and Rowan hiked her knees up just right against his hips. Her hands now found their home in the creases of his arms, and their eye contact didn't dare break as she moved her hips to meet Harry's thrusts.

One of Harry's hands traveled down to reach behind Rowan's back, tips of his fingers teasing the clasp of her bra. She arched her back, letting out a moany breath as Harry hit just the right spot, and he let out a moan of his own as he tore the lingerie from body.

His eyes wandered from her face to stare down at her tits as they bounced to the same beat as his thrusts.

"W-wait," Rowan gasped, clutching to Harry's arms. "Wait."

Concern immediately covered Harry's features, and he stopped all movements. He went to pull out, and Rowan quickly grasped his hips to keep him inside.

"Can...can you hold me?"

Vulnerability washed completely over Rowan as she stared up at Harry. He kept his hands on the headboard, both of their chests concaving with each deep breath they took.

When Harry continued to stare down at her, Rowan cowered away from her request. She felt foolish, and figured that this wasn't what he wanted. She thought that maybe this whole thing today didn't mean as much to him as it did her.

"Y-you want me to hold you?"

Rowan slowly moved her fingers up to wrap around Harry's wrists, removing his hands from the headboard.

"Will you? Please?"

She moved his hands down to rest on her breasts, finding that was the most logical place to start. Harry caressed the soft mounds of flesh before leaning down to place kisses along her collarbone.

"Want me close?" Harry crooned, lips running along her jawline.

Rowan let out a noise of eagerness as her nails slightly dug into Harry's back. "Harry, I-I'm not teasing. I want to feel you - all of you."

Hands moving to cradle Harry's face, Rowan leaned up to press their lips together. Harry moved his hands from her breasts to wrap his arms around her torso, pressing their chests right against each other.

The intimacy was a bit scary, but it felt so good for the both of them. They didn't need to say anything, they knew this was different than any sex they may have had before.

Rowan hummed against Harry's lips as she pulled away, moving her hands up from his elbows to grip onto his biceps.

"You feel so good, Ro," he praised her, swallowing harshly. "You've always felt so good, but this...I really like the real you."

Rowan could have cried at the compliment that he gave her. It had been so long since someone actually expressed a genuine liking for her, but that was her own fault. She hadn't let anyone see the real her for quite some time.

"And I really like the real you," Rowan agreed. "I'm not embarrassed, or ashamed of you. I want you, Harry. I want this."

Harry's heart swelled, and he gave her a large smile. "I want this so fucking bad. I've wanted you like this for so long."

"Well you have me now - for however long you want me."

"I'm pretty sure I'm always going to want you," Harry reassured her with a nod. "You're so perfect.

Rowan was sure that her smile was now matching just how wide Harry's was. "You're perfect too. So fucking perfect."

Both of them knew they were nearing their ends. Between the foreplay, and him already being inside of her previously, their orgasms were quickly approaching.

Harry started up his hard thrusts again, and Rowan tilted her head back into the pillows. He leaned down to nip at her neck, leaving a small bruise right at the hinge of her jaw.

"I'm about to come, Harry," she moaned, moving her hands to rest against his shoulder blades, nails digging down his back. "Oh fuck, baby. I'm gonna come."

Rowan gasped as she stared up at him, her orgasm washing over her beautifully, and Harry once again waited for what he wanted to truly see. It was only a few seconds until the corners of her lips twitched up, and he saw that blissful smile take over.

"You smile when you come, did you know that?" He grunted out, electric like zaps tapping all over his body with his climax approaching. "I watch for it every single time. So gorgeous, Ro."

Eyebrows raising a bit, Rowan shook her head. "I-I didn't know that. It might just be a thing that happens because of you, I think."

They both laughed softly, and Rowan moved her hands to rub over Harry's chest before cupping the sides of his neck. "Come for me, Harry," she whispered as she ghosted her lips along his jawline. "Let me feel all of you."

Harry whimpered as his orgasm began to flow through him, and Rowan leaned back to get the perfect view of his face as he did. His eyes were shut, and his jaw was slack as he continued his messy thrusts. He looked so beautiful, and she couldn't believe that she had the pleasure of seeing someone so stunning like this.

Once he completely rode out his high, Harry let his body rest on top of hers, still being mindful not to put all of his weight down. Rowan's fingers played with the soft curls on the back of his head, eyes shut as she took in this moment.

After a few seconds, her eyes snapped open and she looked down at Harry who's head was resting on her breasts.

"Harry, your friends!" She exclaimed with a gasp. "You were supposed to meet them."

Harry chuckled as he pushed himself up to look down at her. "I had an hour before I had to meet them. It's okay."

Rowan sighed softly and nodded. She would've felt bad if she had kept him from his plans.

"I'm gonna pull out."

Both of them let out a small noise as Harry did so, and he quickly grabbed tissues off his nightstand to begin wiping up the mixture of their orgasms that began to travel down Rowan's skin.

Once he finished, he threw them away but continued to hover over her - forearm propped up beside her head. Harry danced his fingertips over Rowan's cheek, tilting his head to the side.

"Do you want to come with me?" Harry asked. "Meet my friends, have some good food and a few drinks. Then we can come home, and we can do this all over again."

Rowan was a bit shocked that he asked her, honestly. She took a minute to process his request before licking over her lips. "You'd want me to go with you?"

"Well, I asked you, didn't I?"

Rolling her eyes, Rowan wrapped her hand around the back of Harry's neck to quickly bring his lips down to hers. She let them stay there for a moment before slightly pulling back. "I'd love to."

#harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles smutty fanfic #harry styles smutty one shot #harry styles one shot #one shot #harry styles ff #fanfic #fanfiction

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octuscle · 10 months

Text

CHAVTF - Smart casual

Michael and Charles were sent shopping. The dress code for the dinner was explicitly "sporty-casual". Just like for the boat tour yesterday evening. Their understanding of casual was a summery three-piece suit with an open shirt. The colleagues with whom they were teambuilding understood it to mean jeans and a T-shirt.

If their boss hadn't insisted that the two of them wear something else, they would have come in a suit again tonight. So after the last group meeting, the two had to run off and find something to wear. Both agreed that jeans and a T-shirt were not their style and that they would only need the clothes for this one evening. So spending too much money seemed unnecessary. Google showed a store near their hotel called CHAVTF with good reviews. That's where the two headed. The first impression was immediately repulsive. The store attendant was wearing army pants with combat boots and a worn-out tank top. But the two didn't have time to look for anything else. They now had to buy something for tonight in fifteen minutes.

Oi mates, the clerk greeted them. Are ya lookin' for somethin' in particular? Michael said they were going on a pub tour today and needed something suitable.

"Sure, mates! Me fuckin' name is like jack. Trust me, us'll find just the reel thin'. Dee ya also go to normal pubs? Or are ya strictly gay on the road?"

Michael said he wasn't sure. But probably mostly gay.

"Cool, that'll get ya undressed, i'll brin' ya somethin'."

Michael gave Charles a kiss and a slap on his butt and the two stripped in the open locker room.

Jack asked if they preferred jockstraps or boxers. "Jockstrap," Michael replied. "Fuckin' nothin'" replied Charles. Jack laughed, tossed them both some soccer socks and handed Michael a jockstrap.

"Cool haircuts ya got ther, mates. Is like the rest of ya 'ody anarl shorn as ya neck?" Michael laughed, holding his arms behind his head and showing off the bush under his armpits. "Nit canny, mate" Jack laughed again and came up with a pair of leather jeans for Charles and a pair of bleached jeans for Michael.

"Ya guys train hard for ya 'odies, or is like workin' on the docks enough to get a 'ody like that?"

"Nah, mate! just haulin' loads ain't enough. It takes regular 'oxin' trainin' to get an arse n' a six pack like that"

"Sure, i get it! all that 'eer in the evenin' needs to be worked off too, after all."

Mike and Chuck stroked each other's board-hard washboard bellies and French-kissed deeply.

"Hey, the place isn't closed yet. Ne way sex while i still havta work!"

Chuck grabbed Jack's crotch and told him to lock the door quickly then. He wouldn't be able to hold back much longer.

Jack tossed them both T-shirts, locked the door, and returned with a pair of DocMartens for Mike and a pair of combat boots for Chuck. And while the two of them got down on their knees to lace up the shoes, Jack got his dick out of his pants. Mike and Chuck promptly responded and began sucking Jack's balls.

"Hehehe, this like isn't the first time ya two hav done this like, huh? Dee ya guys always work together as hustlers? Or 'an ya be 'ooked separately?"

"Sure ya 'an get us separately" replied chuck. "But the other one watches n' jerks off" Mike added n' started suckin' jack's cock.

"Fuck, ya guys are mint! Why are ya still workin' on the docks anyway. As hustlers ya must be earnin' yourselves silly."

"Mate, us're just gay too. Just 'an't handle money. What us earn, us drink or gamble away."

And Mike added that cigarettes are not free. Whether he would get at least one for the blowjob.

Mike and Chuck were satisfied. Jack was always generous when they needed new clothes. And as a rule, he also found them good customers. In the hotel diagonally across the street there was such a nerd event. Some of the snobby guys would surely spend dough for a night with the two of them.

#male tf #reality change #leather tf #age reduction #chav tf #male transformation

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dawnrider · 4 months

Note

I have a prompt request! Can you do Inukag for “it was an accident” “it definitely wasn’t” ? Thank you!!

So I finally got around to this! I heard the call that fluff was needed and I aim to provide! Look what you did @brain-rot-hour...

Some post-canon domestic angst (barely) to

fluffy mc fluff!

1020 words || Post-canon || Married InuKag

The door covering of the hut flapped behind her as she stomped into the doma, removing her shoes just before stepping up onto the raised floor. She was stripping out of her clothes as she went, her mood less than sunny. There were decidedly wet plops on the flooring as each piece hit the wood.

The hanyou that followed her had his ears laid flat to his head as he peeked around the reed mat after his very stormy wife. He knew better than to say anything yet, opting to slip in silently and wait. He too was soaking wet, but he could wait it out.

Inuyasha held his tongue until she was in dry clothes, a towel in hand to dry her hair. She made no overtures to give him a towel and that was probably fair. He slowly peeled out of his suikan, hanging it up on the hook by the door. The spot he was supposed to hang it, but usually forgot. He made a point to wipe his feet before stepping any further in.

“It was an accident,” he murmured finally, ears still flat to his head as he stood and watched her dry her hair while pointedly not looking at him. He could see the increase of tension in her shoulders and neck as she heard his words.

“It definitely wasn’t,” she replied in a hushed growl. He opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. He peeled off his hakama instead, hanging those by the suikan so they would drip dry for now. In nothing but his kosode and fundoshi, he felt pretty vulnerable as he knelt down across from her. But he noticed that his change in attire and position had definitely lessened her intensity. “You know better than to swing Tetsusaiga around like that. We’re not fifteen anymore.” He bit his lip. She was right, of course. But she wasn’t taking everything into account.

“That beetle was huge, Kagome, it could have stepped on you. It’s different when regular animals get infested with a youkai. They get real big, but not much smarter.”

She pounded her fist with the towel down against the floor in a show of frustration. “You act like I don’t know that! Like I haven’t been doing this with you for more than five years now! I’m not a naive little teenager anymore, Inuyasha.”

“I know that,” he whispered. “I just… You could have been hurt. The pup could have been hurt.”

Inuyasha felt the nausea that had gripped him when the beetle the size of a house came out of the woods upon them, behind Kagome’s back and much more silently than its size would imply. He’d just reacted. Tetsusaiga was in hand, transformed, and swinging in a wide arc before he even had time to think about it. The rush of viscera had been wholly unpleasant and the only thing that had kept him from passing out from the noxious smell was knowing he needed to get Kagome clear and cleaned off.

She had been too stunned from what had happened to protest the dunk in the lake, squealing at the cold once it registered. Inuyasha tried to help her get clean, but she was too upset. So he let her do it herself, got himself clean, and then carried her home in this angry state. He wanted to bluster and yell back at her, but he was too worried about what it might do to her and their pup. Kaede and Sango had been very clear with him that he was not to upset her, especially in the later stages, as she could go into labor before it was time. So he had been holding his tongue a lot lately.

“I am pregnant, not an idiot. If you had moved us out of the way like you usually do and given me time to react, I could have gotten out of the way. As it is, you swinging that giant sword around could have been more dangerous than the beetle!”

He flinched when she did, her hand going to her belly.

A kick.

She wasn’t so far along that they needed to worry, but that didn’t mean he didn’t anyway. Inuyasha growled, standing. “I was protecting you. That’s what I do!”

“We protect each other, Inuyasha. I’m not a damsel in distress!”

“No, but you are my Mate and you are the mother of my unborn pup! I’m not going to apologize for protecting you both!”

It was Kagome’s turn to bite her tongue. Clenching her jaw, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose. “I am not upset at you for protecting me, Inuyasha. Or the baby. Of course I want us to be safe. I just need you to think first.”

Despite his irritation, he could see her point now. And he had been feeling guilty all along for accidentally covering her in bug guts…

“I will do my best to think first, then react.”

“Thank you. That’s all I ask.”

“That’s all?” he asked a little teasingly.

“And to help me get these tabi off. I can’t reach and they’re soaked and I hate them.”

He chuckled a little. “Give em here, princess.”

“Excuse you,” she protested.

“You’re lucky it’s me down here. There’s squishy bits between the toes.”

“Inuyasha! Gross!” she cried, lightly kicking at him. He laughed, tossing the tabi aside and catching her feet. He grabbed her towel and rubbed her feet dry. Then he held them in his lap and warmed them, lightly rubbing along the arches like he knew she needed. “Hm… Better.”

“The best, and you know it.”

“You’re lucky I can’t reach you from here right now.” He pressed his thumb a little more firmly into that spot he knew always hurt until he stretched it out. “Oh… Alright, fine. You’re forgiven,” she groaned, falling onto her elbows and letting her head fall back.

“Damn right.” She gave him a look. “Damn right, you’re beautiful?”

“Uh huh. Love you too, Dog Boy.”

Inuyasha’s face split into a grin. “Keh.”

#FLUFF #dawnrider fanfiction #inuyasha fanfiction #inukag #post canon married light angst to fluff #Inu swingin his sword around but not in the fun way...

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fastcardotmp3 · 6 months

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(I really wanted to have my apocalypse ronance fic done by Halloween and that's simply not happening, so have this little guy instead <3) ronance; horror filmmaker!Nancy; future fic; 1k words

Over the course of the ‘90s, a collection of unconnected but similarly themed horror movies are made and released.

Minuscule budgets and narrow theater releases, they don’t go very far at first. In fact, they don’t go anywhere for a couple of decades, only gaining traction with a DVD release and a flash in the pan of a cult following.

They aren’t sequels of each other, these movies, but they have a great deal in common to the point where in the early 2010s an online community starts connecting not just themes, but also characters whose names may not align even though their stories do, a haunted town or house or swimming pool which might as well all be the same version of Hell.

Each cover boasts a promise of fake blood and big screams but never gets across the great deal of sincerity tucked between cuts in the film strips, no, it’s up to audiences to find that.

And eventually? They do.

No one knows who N.W. Holland is, the name listed as director and writer and producer and on and on endlessly into the credits, a pseudonym from the looks of it and one which stopped being used around the new millennium if IMDb is to be trusted. They talk about them though, this mysterious figure who made four films which are considered life affirming or changing to any number of fans.

They debate gender and political affiliation and whether or not they went to film school or just figured it out on the job. They talk about the tells in their writing and try and find them in newer movies with different directors, trying to catch their mystery in the real world beyond those four films.

They seek and search and wonder and bite each other’s heads off and still all the while…

All the while Nancy Wheeler stays in the shadows.

“You have to do it.”

“No, I don’t,” she shakes her head definitively, leaning against the kitchen counter in a modest two bedroom home in central Indianapolis.

“Come on, Nance!” Robin laughs all sharp with disbelief, the sheaf of papers clutched in one hand fluttering in the wind created by her gestures. “Look at this! I mean look at it.”

“I’ve seen it,” Nancy shrugs, turns to set her mug down and give herself a refill from the carafe behind her, effectively turning her back on both Robin and this conversation.

The sound Robin makes in response is a familiar one, that sort of fond frustration when Nancy is being intentionally obtuse about something coming out in a huff of air.

“Nancy.”

“It did what it was supposed to!” Nancy says with no shortage of indignation, but she also knows, no lacking in anxious unsteadiness either. “That’s why I let you read it, because it’s— it’s a final product as-is.”

“You and I both know that isn’t true,” Robin says, gentler this time, holding those endlessly heavy pages between them like they weigh nothing.

Although, Robin has always been good at that, hasn’t she? Taking Nancy’s baggage for what it is and storing it securely and carefully on her shoulders?

Robin Buckley is a thing of wonder, the way she wormed into Nancy’s heart and life, made a cozy little home there long before Nancy herself even realized. It was like waking up, the day Nancy started to understand what they were, years behind the times as far as Robin was concerned but finally having gotten enough of the rot out of her system by way of four movies about a best friend lost too soon and the girl who failed to save her.

(The horror of the final girl, that's what the forums call it. Nancy just calls it Hawkins.)

Nancy loves her and Nancy knows her and being known in return is something she is still, twenty-five years on, learning to cope with, but it’s just.

“It’s been fifteen years since I made a movie, Robin,” she exhales, heavy as she slumps back against the counter again with her arms crossed like she’s sixteen and protecting her soft bits again. Maybe she always will be.

“It’s been fifteen hours since you wrote one,” Robin drops the screenplay on the table to her right in a punctuating smack! of a sound.

“I just had to get it out of my system,” Nancy breathes down towards her feet, even as Robin steps closer, steps into her space, steps right up in front of her, “it’s not like the others, I don’t need to say this one out loud.”

“Nance,” Robin breathes, guiding Nancy’s gaze up to meet hers with hands on her cheeks, thumbs tracing just beneath her eyes, the thin frames of her glasses. “This is the one you need to say out loud the most.”

Nancy’s eyes sting. Her arms unwrap so her hands can fall to grip at Robin’s waist.

There’s a community online who would likely agree, but it’s not their opinions which Nancy cares about in this moment. Just Robin. Just the way Robin sees it in black and white right there on the page, typed on the same typewriter she’d used on the first one in 1991.

“It’s been so long, it’s so obvious I haven’t written in so long.”

“Sure,” Robin shrugs, wiping a stray tear before it even makes it to Nancy’s cheek and smiling like there’s joy to be had here, “but that’s the point. I can see it, all that time between the last one and this one.”

“Because this one isn’t as scary?” Nancy scoffs, but Robin just holds her more firmly and leans in until their foreheads touch.

“Because in this one you forgive yourself.”

Nancy cries. She sobs, standing in the kitchen of the home she’s built with this woman, just an hour from the town where her childhood was stolen from her, but a joyful home despite it all.

She breaks down and lets herself be held on this day, because what they both know is that it’ll start tomorrow.

There is a community online that’s been searching for more stories from N.W. Holland for decades, and they’ve never found them because they didn’t exist.

One year from now, a script folded and paged through and dog eared will turn into exactly what they’re looking for, but it will take some time for them to realize.

It’s finally her story, complete in its resolution and its forgiveness, after all.

It’s only right it finally bares her name.

#dot post #dot fic #ronance #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #nancy wheeler horror writer i will never let you go tbh #happy almost halloweeeeen!

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33max · 5 months

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this might be a tough one but how does daddy deal with an overtired maxy after today’s vegas shitshow? (considering DANIEL is also probably dead on his feet)

They don’t usually share a room on race weekends. Sometimes, they don’t even stay in the same hotel, both prioritising their space if it means better racing. It’s out of sheer exhaustion that Daniel decides to crash in Max’s room after free practice two. Red Bull Racing’s team hotel is closer to the track and therefore he can face plant the bed fifteen minutes sooner than if he was to go to his own room.

They’re both grumpy. It’s been a seriously long day and they’re getting snappy with each other, annoyed by things that usually wouldn’t even be a problem. Daniel knows Max doesn’t mean it when he tells Daniel to stop fucking humming. He definitely doesn’t mean it when he tells Max to stop being such a nag. They just need some sleep.

They had both expected it to be a late night, but 5 am is a little ridiculous. Especially considering the amount of media commitments they’ve had jammed into their schedules.

Daniel feels like his eye bags have eye bags. One look at Max confirms he’s feeling the same, the way he rubs at his eyes and tries to clear his sleepy vision as they walk through the hotel hallway is a bit of a giveaway.

Max is swaying on his feet by the time they get to the door, and Daniel puts a steadying hand on the small of his back, their earlier snappy comments are completely forgotten now.

After several minutes of Max routing through his wallet for the hotel keycard, spending way too long trying to slide it out of the correct pouch, they finally get the door open and stumble through into the room.

They both throw their shoes off. Unbothered where they end up. That’s tomorrow's problem.

Daniel knows he should shower. He’s not showered since practice, neither has Max, they’re disgusting.

“No,” Max pouts, as if reading Daniel’s mind. He’s not having a shower now, not when the bed is right there. Daniel can’t blame him for that, so he simply nods, accepting they’ll just be gross together.

Daniel starts peeling off his clothes, stripping down until he’s just in his underwear. He expects Max to be doing the same, but when he looks up Max is still standing there, looking at Daniel with pleading eyes.

He’s looking at the tattoo on Daniel’s ribs, the one of Max’s plushies. The one that Daniel got for Max to show him how much he loves his little counterpart too.

Max needs caring for right now, Daniel can tell. He might be as exhausted as Max but he’s always ready to show Max the affection he needs. It’s just- he feels a little guilty for hoping it won’t take long, that Max won’t need much from him right now. Even if Max would tell him that’s stupid, that Daniel should put himself first.

“I got you,” Daniel says, taking Max into his arms and then tugging Max’s clothes off for him. It’s not sexy, it’s clumsy and uncoordinated. Max holds onto Daniel to stay upright.

As soon as they get into bed Max wraps himself around Daniel, nuzzles into his neck and takes a few deep breaths. Daniel can tell he’s trying to clear his head, to relax now that they’re away from the hustle and bustle and it’s just them.

“You feeling okay?” Daniel yawns, eyes starting to fall closed. He suspects Max is on the edge of a drop from how exhausted he is. At least if that is the case the little guy will be just as tired as Max.

Max doesn’t answer, instead he brings Daniel’s hand up to his face and sucks Daniel’s index and middle fingers into his mouth. Daniel doesn’t think he’s small, he suspects Max is just seeking comfort and is tired enough to not have any inhibitions about it.

“Good boy,” Daniel whispers to him, “Go to sleep, baby.”

He can tell when Max falls asleep because the rhythmic sucking on Daniel’s fingers slows down, and Max’s warm breath puffs out across the back of Daniel’s hand and the skin of his neck when Max’s face is buried.

The last thought that Daniel has before he drifts off to sleep is how he can’t wait for the season to be over so they can do this more often. He knows Max feels the same, he doesn’t even need to ask, he can see it in Max’s tired eyes.

#answered #anonymous #turkey dinosaurs au #writing

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bittermuire · 6 months

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Divorced rhysta angst plsss 🥺🥺

DIVORCED RHYSTA YOU SAID????

March 15th.

There are seven yellow roses on her desk.

Nesta runs her thumb over her left ring finger, where the band used to sit. She keeps it in a dish with all of the rest of her jewelry. It has little company. She wears little jewelry.

She was waiting in line at the pharmacy when they met for the first time. She’d noticed him blundering around, loitering a bit—it took him fifteen minutes to pluck up the courage to talk to her. But she’d been uncaffeinated and exhausted and he took the brunt of it.

She’d rear-ended him in the grad school parking lot when they met for the second time. She was mortified. He seemed relieved. He was funny. His name was Rhys. He taught in the physics department. She told him her name was Nesta, she taught in the literature department. What do you teach, he asked. She inspected the cars. She inspected him, hands in his pockets, sleeves of his button-down lazily rolled up. Medieval romances, she said.

She wanted tenure, so she was up til two most nights, flipping through worn copies of journals and reviews, scouring the internet.

They were serious by that time. They’d been seeing each other for about a year. She was researching, working on a book, working at coffee shops and the library, and he was sitting across from her, working with equations, working with numbers he kept like magic tricks in his mind.

Nesta’s book was on marriage in medieval romances. Ironically that was when Rhys was looking at engagement rings. They had a small courthouse wedding in January. They moved into a little house, a five minute drive from campus.

She should have seen it coming, really.

She married Rhys, after all. Dr. Rhys Irwyn. He was teaching level 300 or 400 or 500 courses called things like Thermal and Statistical Physics and Quantum Mechanics I and Quantum Mechanics II and Stellar Evolution. Gorgeous things she couldn’t touch, couldn’t conceptualize. And he was tall and handsome. He wore glasses. He wore slacks, button-downs.

Anyway—they’d been married something like seven or eight years when she saw him in the car with the TA for one of his courses. Nesta knew who the girl was. She was a pretty, bright student. Her husband was holding that girl’s face, kissing her like he loved her.

“What’s so special about it?” He laughed. “It’s a day. Neither of our birthdays, need I remind you.”

She sighed. “It’s just nice, don’t you think? March fifteenth. It sounds right. It’s beautiful.”

“Fine. It’s our holiday, then. It’s a day made for you.”

“I knew you’d understand.”

“I love you.”

“Be quiet, I’m grading.”

She didn’t bring it up for a while. Months went by. She didn’t acknowledge it but she didn’t touch him, either. He bent his head to kiss her and she looked away.

On some windless autumn day she’d locked herself in a bathroom stall, squatting, hand clenched over her mouth. That evening she handed him the divorce papers and told him to sign. They had a fight. He lost quickly. He signed them by the end of the week.

There are seven yellow roses on her desk.

Nesta checks the calendar on her desk. On her bookshelf she has a small picture of her cat. A rosary, the last gift from her mother. Edith Wharton, Virginia Woolf, Alice Hoffman. Slim volumes of poetry about ghosts, and grieving, stacked atop each other.

She stands there a moment, then grabs the stems, stripped of thorns, and throws them out.

#more nesta centric than angst im sorry #BUT i do have a 2k divorced rhysta smut fic sitting in my drafts she's pretty angsty #to anyone: let me know if you want to read that #because i don't think it will be posted here #thank you for the ask gem💗💗💗

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soulofapatrick · 1 year

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You Won’t Leave? - Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Y/N has had a fever the last few days but you’re too stubborn to let Joel or Ellie know because you don’t want Joel to leave as it brings up past abandonments

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: fainting; watching someone kill themselves due to being infected

Y/N’s POV

My head pounds with every step, nose feeling clogged and body aching. I’m sick. Like flu sick but that can’t stop us from getting Ellie to the fireflies so I’ve just been sucking up and dealing with it, keeping an eye out for any medication wherever we go. The pack on my back felt heavier than ever and it was causing me to fall behind from the pair, Ellie asking Joel as many questions as she can while Joel just grunts or replies with “pass” but it never deters Ellie.

The weather was getting colder with each passing day which doesn’t help my flu situation on top of the hours Joel wants to walk. He’s always so stoic and uptight, walking with purpose and gun within arms reach if we were to stumble upon any infected. My own gun is in my pack at the moment as I don’t think it’d be wise me shooting with the way Joel and Ellie seem to sometimes multiply in front of me.

It’s been manageable until today, I woke with almost no vision which meant I had to pretend to still be asleep for another half an hour before the stars decided to stop spinning around me. Even then all my movements were slow but Joel or Ellie didn’t seem to notice, probably thinking I was just still waking up and I just let them believe that. I still had the thermos of coffee Joel handed to me, it’s currently gripped tight in my shaky hands, as my body feels so hot and clammy and I’m sweating despite the cold air. It’s taking everything for me to not strip all my warm layers off as it might be instant relief it’ll just make me iller and I’ll be fine once I break the fever which I should do today.

I manage to struggle forwards for another hour before I have to stop and take a sip of my coffee, hoping the caffeine will help me continue on but when I lower the thermos I realise there are four of Joel and Ellie talking to each other as they wait for me. I open my mouth to speak but nothing happens as I suddenly feel like I’m walking on air, the multitudes of my companions going fuzzy, “Joel.”

------

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Elliott, my older brother, has his sleeve rolled up to reveal the distinct bite mark adorning his pale skin, he’s got tears in his amber eyes and his bottom lip is wobbling as he speaks, “It’s up to you to keep them safe now.”

“What?” My own tears burn behind me eyes as I look up at the person who had become my hero along with my older brother, “I’m ten.”

He’s crouching so he’s eye level and pulls me into a hug, I can feel the slight shaking in his hands beginning already against my back, “I know it’s not fair but I don’t… I can’t stay or I’ll hurt you.”

The pain in his voice forces an ache in my chest as he lets me go, gripping his sleeve like a lifeline as he’s right: it’s not fucking fair. I’m ten! I should be running around and playing house or football with my friends instead of watching my fifteen year old brother yank himself out of my grip and turn away from me to grab his gun or have to watch over my 2 year old younger brother.

Elliott stays facing away from me, across the room now and before I can even move my shaking legs towards him theres an ear splitting pop and Elliott just crumples like a puppet with their strings cut. I’m splattered in wet matter and my heart is pounding, I can’t move or blink as I watch his face drain from it’s normal colour to a grey one right in front of me. I begin to wipe my hands at the mess on me, wanting to get it all off me as my chest tightens and I feel like I’m going throw up.

--------

“Y/N!” Joel’s panicked gruff voice drags me back to the land of the living, my head still pounding and my body still aching but my cheeks are now wet. I groan in pain, bringing a hand to my cheeks to realise I’m crying. I’ve been crying while passed out… what the fuck happened?

“Oh thank god,” Ellie’s grabbing my other hand tightly in hers and my surrounding start coming back to me. The sky is dark now which means I’ve been out for a while and I’m laying on top of a sleeping bag with a blanket placed over me, “You scared us shitless.”

“‘M okay.” I go to pull myself up despite the way Joel and Ellie spin above me where they’re both leant over me but Joel’s large hand presses against my chest and pushed me back down. I make a sound of protest, “We’re losing time.” But Joel’s stern look has me closing my mouth.

“Right, now that you’re awake I’m going to run to the town about six miles from here and were I can buy the medication you need from a smuggler.” He tells me, and all I can hear is that he’s going to leave me. I’m going to be left alone to look after someone younger than me again and it has my chest tightening in the beginning of a panic attack. I’m shaking Ellie’s hand out of mine and gripping Joel’s arm with both, not caring if I seems so pathetic right now. I am not getting left behind again. I’m too young for this.

Joel’s honey eyes soften as he sees the panic written across my face, sighing softly and he’s shuffling until he’s laying next to me, so close his nose is bumping my cheek. Ellie’s quick to join us, wriggling under my arm and resting her head on my chest. I just hold onto them both as Joel mumbles quiet promises to me, “I’m not leaving. We’re both right here. It’s okay darling.”

“Please don’t leave me,” I’m crying, “I’m… I’m not ready, I’m too young.”

“Hey, hey, Y/N,” Joel’s cupping my cheek, forcing me to look at him, his nose cold against mine, “It’s me, I’m right here. It’s Joel and Ellie. Come back to us darling.”

Joel. Soft and warm lips press against mine that have me letting my eyes slip shut, breathing in everything Joel. The mixture of woodsmoke; burnt coffee and citrus dragging my heartbeat back to an acceptable pace while Ellie’s got her arms wrapped around me, “We’re both here. Get some rest, you need it darling.”

“You’ll be here when I wake?”

“Of course we will sweetheart.”

“Can’t get rid of us that easily.”

#Joel Miller #Joel Miller drabble #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x y/n #Joel miller x you #Joel miller x smut #Joel Miller fluff #Joel Miller angst #Joel Miller smutt #joel miller fanfic #Joel Miller fanfiction #the last of us #The Last of Us 2 #the last of us fluff #Joel tlou #tlou Joel #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us x reader #tlou x reader

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 1 year

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Rudra, Hades, Posiden, Thor, and ( RoR )Lucifer switching bodies with their human spouse.

-Rudra- He felt so light, so tiny when he woke up, lifting a hand to his face and he instantly froze, seeing the small hand and thin wrist, shooting up to find himself in a woman’s body- your body!! He pulled back his top, seeing the breasts below and he quickly turned, seeing his body sleeping soundly before shaking it awake. You rubbed your eyes, “Good morning my love~” it was your normal greeting, but in his voice and you froze, looking at yourself before you looked down at your own hands, finding you had four of them now!! Rudra panicked, “This isn’t what I thought about when Aphrodite said she was going to help us know each other’s pleasure!!!” he saw a text flashing on his phone, sent from Aphrodite last night, ‘Once you both have your fun you’ll be back to normal.’ You and Rudra looked at each other, shocked before he shrugged, trying to pin you down but you were quick to roll him to his back, grinning down at him, enjoying his flushed face, “I’m on top this time my love~”

-Hades- Was fuming, sitting in your body, glaring darkly while you were sitting beside him, inspecting your new body in the situation you found yourselves in now. Aphrodite had overheard your conversation about how to spice things up in the bedroom and she offered to make it so you could feel each other’s pleasure, and you both agreed. This wasn’t what you meant, by her switching your bodies around. You smiled down at Hades, in your body, “She said it would wear off as soon as we have some fun. Shall we leave work a bit early today to handle this?” he scowled a bit, folding his arms under his chest, looking down as it pushed them up a bit before he grabbed them, “Are these always so heavy?” you laughed lightly, explaining that certain times of the month they hurt and he scowled, angry that you were in such pain. He relented in leaving for the day and you grinned, picking him up princess style, making him flush as it was supposed to be the other way around, “This is fun- I can see why you do it!”

-Poseidon- Disoriented after sleep, he got up and went to grab his trident, finding it not where he had left it on the side of his bed, arm waving around for a moment before his vision cleared, finding himself on your side of the bed. He sat up, yawning deeply, looking over at you, expecting to see you on his side and he froze, seeing his own body there. He looked down, seeing a pair of naked breasts and instantly shouted, “What the hell!?” you shot up, looking around, “What-what?” you looked over at him, seeing your body and you both drew a blank. Poseidon instantly stood, grabbing his phone and called Aphrodite, who was amused to hear your voice while you stood up and was admiring this new body in a mirror. He threw his phone across the room, coming over at you were flexing, “I’m so tall now! This is amazing!” he grinned at you joy, trying to manhandle you to the bed, “Aphrodite said she wanted us to try new things, and the only way to fix this is to make love to each other.” You pouted lightly, not wanting to give up this new body just yet before you were able to push him down easily, “Wait here! There’s something I want to do first!” you got dressed and ran out, shocking him, but you returned about fifteen minutes later, holding your stomach from laughing so hard. When he asked you what you had done as your stripped you just grinned, “Played a prank on Zeus, I ran to him and found him alone, so I hugged him and called him ‘my brother’. When he was standing in shock I told him that nobody would believe him before I ran back here.” Poseidon had a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh, thinking that you were such a gremlin to do something like that.

-Thor- You were the first to notice, after you banged your head on the doorframe, holding your head, “That hurt!” you paused, that wasn’t your voice and you looked down, seeing Thor’s body instead of your own. You drew a blank, turning back to the bed and you saw your own body sitting up, asking you if you were okay. Thor, in your body, heard the sound and he instantly froze, seeing his own body across the room, holding his forehead in pain. He looked down, seeing your body before he looked back at you as you were holding your cheeks, acting just like you, “How did this happen?!” Loki heard the shouting and walked in, seeing you looking stone faced while Thor was panicking, like you had switched bodies and you covered Thor’s naked body like a maiden which made Loki laugh so hard he couldn’t breathe and felt like throwing up before you shoved him out and returned to Thor on your shared bed. Loki messaged you both a few minutes later that it was a common spell meant for pleasure, so you could feel each other’s pleasure, and as soon as it was over and you took a nap, you would be back to normal.

-Lucifer- He was groggy when he got up, stumbling to the bathroom to shower before he got ready for the day, leaving you in bed to sleep a bit longer. As he washed his body he instantly froze, feeling a pair of breasts on his chest and he looked down, letting out a cry of shock before his hands clapped over his mouth, hearing your voice. The bathroom door slammed open, revealing his body, “What happened?” you saw your body shower and you looked down, jaw dropping over as your hands came to cup your face, “What happened? Why are we in each other’s bodies?!” Lucifer came over, hugging you, but your arms barely fit around him as he pouted up at you, as you grabbed a towel to dry him off before you returned to his room, immediately going to his shelves of books, looking through several before he was able to confirm it was a minor body swapping spell and it was easy to reverse. He tried to snap his fingers, but then face palmed as he realized he wasn’t in his body, he had no magic, and you had no idea on how to make it work as you scratched your cheek lightly. He looked some more before snapping the book shut, “There is the old-fashioned way to change back! Y/N I need you to fuck me!” you flushed, holding your cheeks and Lucifer was dumbfounded, seeing himself look so bashful before he joined you on the bed.

Omake~ as soon as you wake up and discover you’re now a man you-

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror rudra #ror hades #ror poseidon #ror thor #ror lucifer

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buckrogers · 18 days

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Sit With Your Ghosts A While by @buckrogers

Note: So, I initially started writing this while the celebration for 10 years of TWS was going on thinking I'd submit it, but then I found myself not really feeling the cohesion in the pieces, but I do still like them/it as vignette snapshots into Steve's life before Bucky's return/the events of TWS really kick off. So since it's just sitting there rotting away in my drafts, I figured I'd post it on my blog for what it is. Rating: Maybe just barely PG if you squint. Pairing: Steve/Bucky, Steve/Peggy allusions again if you squint Words: 1122

Steve's made a point not to talk with ghosts.

Not even ones in the shape of people he misses, the ache of their absence stretching out, unspooling endlessly before him.

It was a deal he made with himself after his ma had passed and everywhere around him, he could still feel her. Her presence lingering the way someone’s did when they'd just put their coat on and stepped outside.

Hey ma, he'd wanted to confide, to press comfort across that divide that had never seemed so distant, not to Steve, not after so many nights toeing the line between himself; hauled back at the precipice only by Bucky's fingers, curled around his thin wrist. His breath puffing hot against Steve’s skin, where he'd fallen asleep on watch.

You don't got to worry. You rest easy, okay.

II.

Sometimes, though, when the nights feel long enough - he lets the ghosts in.

He dreams of Bucky's bare back, the curve of it, the notch of each vertebra in his spine when he bent forward to unlace his boots that Steve had desperately wanted to reach out and trace but never dared to because it meant crossing that threshold, taking all that deep pressed longing Steve had woven into himself over the years and turning it loose, making it something tangible that they’d have had to figure out how to deal with back before either one of them had a clue.

About a lot, but especially about that.

I wanted to, he tells those eyes, when he conjures their likeness in the dark, caught in some complicated expression, a twist of frustration; all that banked affection he knew Buck held inside him bleeding through.

I'm sorry I didn't - I'm sorry I couldn't –

I should’ve reached further.

The ghost at the foot of his bed stays silent, expression unreadable in the early dawn light.

III.

He wakes to silence.

The hum of appliances. The kick of the radiator turning on. The near constant thrum of traffic outside his window.

The stutter-step of his own existence that feels so out of sync with all he remembers, like a lingering sourness in his mouth. It's a chemical burn, he can feel it peeling away layers, stripping him down the more time that passes.

Steve isn't sure what would be found if they dug right to the core of him.

Something frozen, he estimates. Frozen as the arm he pictures reaching for him from the bottom of a ravine, even after all this time.

IV.

There's a nurse living across the hall from him.

She puts herself in his path just frequently enough, wearing scrubs and balancing a basket of laundry on a hip that he lingers over whether to ask if she has time for coffee. It seems a simple enough gesture, one that speaks to the soul of a nurse’s son.

Bucky would’ve known how to go about it.

He'd’ve slipped into warm smiles and bedroom eyes without missing a beat. You gotta lay it on a little sweet, Stevie, chest puffed full of that ridiculous bravado that should have been too much but somehow swam perfect in the lines of his suit, twinkled in those grey blue eyes. Just enough to make 'em want to come back around for more but not so's much they get attached.

He can see Bucky at fifteen, at eighteen, cocky and assured, throwing wide grins over his shoulder at Steve.

Trouble is, he also sees Bucky as he was after Azzano. The dark circles gouged under his eyes. The haunted quality of the smiles he'd throw out, doing his level best to pretend everything was the way it used to be. Just fine pal, just fine.

Steve remembers the intensity of his eyes on him, after Peggy had walked out of the bar that night, wrapped in victory red.

He doesn't ask, in the end.

His smiles remain painfully constrained. Caged within the safe parameters of neighborly chitchat.

"Hey, Cap."

Rumlow's broad shoulders fill the doorway, members of the S.T.R.I.K.E team milling about behind him, waiting without being too obvious about it. They've changed out of their tactical uniforms, and Rumlow looks alarmingly casual without it.

"Taking the boys out for a post mission drink. Come take a load off, big guy."

Steve pauses with his hands on the locker door. He turns over the ramifications, searching for hidden pitfalls. There’s nothing. His smile almost stalls but finds a gear at the last minute. "Next time, fellas."

"Sure,” Rumlow taps the wall twice. “Next time."

He's not sure even he buys it as the truth.

VI.

"Surely you have better things to do with your evenings than spend them here."

Steve squeezes her hand gently. "What? And miss out on seeing my best girl? Not a chance."

Peggy’s eyes gleam at him, she’s having one of her good days. They’re focused. Sharp as a tack. "Hm,” she speculates openly and sets her hand over his. There’s a life lived in the lines on it, the fragile folds around her knuckles. "I have missed you so terribly."

"Well,” he musters, smiling to dampen the hurt, “I'm here now."

VII.

He finds himself pulled like an ocean tide to the museum, cap low over his head; hands tucked in jacket pockets, letting the sight of old friends looping on screen wash through him like a balm to the sleepless nights, the creeping awareness of moving with his back turned on time. It was a thought he'd had before, that he couldn't readjust himself to point in the right direction anymore; his true north was fixed.

It remained doggedly pointing behind him, like a shadow. (Like a ghost).

Tangled up in memories of Brooklyn summers and a familiar sly voice calling to him but stubbornly, firmly out of reach.

There's still enough here, wandering through a monument to his past; studying reels of old footage, that tether the hook beneath his rib; that call out to his bones.

Steve winds up staying a while.

VIII.

He dreams of monsters, swarming through a tear in the sky. Sees Tony Stark falling, endlessly plummeting toward the ground.

When he pries off the iron mask, Bucky is staring up at him, repeating his name and rank.

His lips are blue.

IX.

Fingers of dawn creep over the horizon, chasing down the sound of his footsteps.

There’s a solitude to running at this hour Steve appreciates, the world hushed at the precipice of the day, before all the ghosts are vanquished from their respective corners and put away to be dealt with later.

He doesn’t take his with him, but he knows they’ll keep.

Maybe, just maybe – he’ll sit with them a while, too.

#my stuff #things I write #otp: but i knew him

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theweirdgoodbyes · 2 months

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never asked me once about the wrong i did: chapter 1

“Po’, po’ thing,” his granmere would lament from her rocking chair, gazing at him with those same eyes he sees in the mirror, “He already dead.”

His mama would hush her, whispering in a hurried Creole that Merriell can’t quite understand. He thinks Mama doesn’t teach him more so she can say what she wants around him, secret things he’s not old enough to understand at seven years old.

It’s Sunday after church, and everyone has made the walk to Granmere’s house which has long become too small to fit them all. They strip off their nice church shirts and hang them on the hook at the front door, a habit Mama drilled into them by the time they could walk and one of the few times all seven of her boys listened. They then make their way across the house to where Granmere sits in her rocking chair, smile across her ancient face. She sits and rocks, accepts each boy with a kiss on the cheek, a squeeze to their arm or bare belly, a tsk followed by, “Oh, po’ baby. Anna Mae, you ain’t feedin’ my boy.” By the time Merriell reaches her, he can see her expression change. The smiles fades, those pinching fingers stop their search for flesh.

“Oh, baby,” she says, reaching for the cross around her neck. It’s an old thing, as old as her and the dirt below their feet, made of crude wood. She rubs it and shakes her head, “Po’, po’ thing.”

Merriell doesn’t try to hug her anymore, and doesn’t tell anyone how much it bothers him.

Their jobs begin after greetings, shuffled into a boiling hot kitchen with the rest of the cousins, sitting Indian style wherever they can find a spot. Picking beans, chopping the sausage, whatever task Granmere has delegated to her brood takes up the next hour. Mama and the aunties bustle around the kitchen while Daddy and his uncles sit outside and smoke their cigarettes. Merriell liked Sundays for the most part, aside from Granmere’s unrelenting gaze and worried quips. Daddy didn’t drink on Sundays, so he knew the only beating he could get was a sharp rap on the knuckles for sneaking bites from the pot before dinner.

“They talkin’ ‘bout you,” Llewelyn says, a finger slick with the grease from the sausage pointing at him before motioning to Granmere and Mama, “‘bout what you did.” Llewelyn knows more Creole than the rest of them combined, on account of being the oldest, a fact he made sure they all remembered.

Merriell lowers his eyes, focusing on picking out each pea from the pod he’s cracked. He counts as he goes, a habit he’s picked up to keep him calm during these very accusations.

“Mama says it not on me,” he mumbles, the same answer he always gives. Mama says it was God that took Vernon, born minutes after him with Merriell’s umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Mama says God took him straight to Heaven, that he was too good to be on Earth with the rest of them. Merriell always wonders if he was left behind because he wasn’t all that good. He tries to be a good boy, he really does. He listens to Mama better than any of his brothers, and always does his chores without fussing. But he’s not always a good boy. He steals candy from the store by their house, and chases their old fat cat under the porch only to poke at him with a stick while he hisses and yowls. Merriell wonders if God can see him waiting each night for their neighbor Mr. Leconte to come home, sitting on the stoop until he passes by. He always gives Merriell a wink and a wave, something that gets his heart thumping hard. Even at seven, he knows that alone makes him wicked.

Next to him, little Eugene, the only cousin younger than him, pipes up in his soft voice.

“My mama say don’t say that.”

“Your mama ain’t my fuckin’ mama,” Llewelyn spits back, sticking his knife into the next link of sausage. Eugene shrinks back, leaning closer to Merriell. Twelve years younger than Llewelyn’s fifteen, he’d always been scared of the older boy. “We all know it’s true. Ain’t you listen at church? Killin’ a sin. Don’t matter none what Merriell do for the rest of his life; he goin’ to Hell.”

Llewelyn stands with his plate of chopped sausage, handing it off to Auntie Lorraine before exiting the kitchen. He’s about to go stand with Daddy and the uncles, satelliting the outskirts, hoping for an offer of a cigarette and to be included in the menfolk talk.

Merriell keeps staring at his peas, picking away. His mind is far, far away from Granmere’s kitchen. He’s nearly counted to 50 when he feels Eugene’s small hand on his knee. He doesn’t look up.

“I don’t think it, Mer,” Eugene says, barely above a whisper. The threat of Llewelyn coming back, angry at being sent back to the kitchen with the little ones, looms over them. “You’ll be in Heaven with us.”

Merriell doesn’t say anything. He keeps picking his peas, counting, wondering if when he gets to those pearly gates in the sky, they’ll be shut tight.

Omg, hello everyone. This is the first stab at fanfic I’ve take in quite a while. Overall what I post here will be my first drafts, I will likely be posting it at ao3 upon its completion, but please enjoy this humble chapter in the meantime!

#hbo the pacific #the pacific #hbo war #merriell shelton #snafu shelton #fanfic #sledgefu #sneaky Eugene Roe cameo #band of brothers #Maddie writes

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trinarysuns · 1 year

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Earthspark theorycrafting time

Okay okay it's time for my favorite part of new TF content which is: wild extrapolation of what little we know into a house of theoretical cards which will no doubt be wiped out by the next episode to drop. Spoilers for the first 10 episodes of Earthspark abound after the cut, obviously.

So, without further ado: something is rotten in the town of Witwicky.

We don't know much about the war. Not why it was fought, or what exactly happened in it, or how it came to end—only that the spacebridge connecting Earth and Cybertron was destroyed, and according to Alex's simplified G1-esque retelling, Megatron just went "hey maybe Optimus has a point that we should stop fighting and preserve what's left of our race" and teamed up with the Autobots to end the war.

Just Megatron. Not a single other Decepticon. Not even ever-loyal Soundwave followed his lead. Even if we accept that the retelling is a highly sanitized and manicured version of what actually happened (like the thing about how Bumblebee totally disappeared forever), it's a very strange thing, isn't it?

We'll come back to this.

In any case, Cybertronians have been on Earth for thirty years. Megatron has been cooperating with Optimus for fifteen of them. The Decepticons are implied to have been in bad condition by the end of the war (Soundwave, malfunctioning in starvation, and a cassette exploding inside him. Rumble or Buzzsaw, presumably. RIP.), and rogue Decepticons are still scrambling to feed themselves in the present day.

In the very first scene of episode 1, Swindle and Hardtop are lured into an Autobot trap baited with a few (rectangles???) of energon. Sure, it's stealing, but they're not actually doing anything wrong here but trying to feed themselves. Still, it's made clear their choice is to fight and flee or surrender and go to prison forever. No third option.

Swindle escapes when the chase is interrupted by spiderbots, but Hardtop is captured. Optimus notes the spiders aren't of Cybertronian make and wonders if this has anything to do with rumors Decepticons are going missing (yes).

Later, Dot Malto comes across the convoy's wreckage. Elita-1 and Optimus arrive, only to inform Dot that the park ranger job she thought she had—the one she moved to Witwicky specifically for—was a lie and that she's actually working for the secret US military agency GHOST. As you might guess, Dot does not like this.

Interestingly, she says she doesn't work 'for the Autobots' anymore. It's not the military she has the most problem with, but them. This may or may not have to do with the much-later-referenced battle of the bay, in which the Autobots did a lot of architectural damage and she was badly injured. Either way, whatever trust was once there is broken.

Then of course Megs makes his entrance. Dot's resentment for Autobots doesn't extend to him—curious, given that in Alex's G1 story they were 'heroic Autobots' and 'evil decepticons', and Dot was a soldier there to see it all firsthand.

Megs and Dorothy are immediately and obviously old friends, and both of them on better terms with each other than with Optimus. Heck, they have names for each other no one else uses. Human buddy acquired!

Megatron: GHOST isn't a perfect ally, but Optimus believes they'll help our kind make a home on Earth. Dot: Optimus always sees the bright side. Even when there isn't one. Megatron: Don't be so hard on him, Dorothy. Clearly we've had disagreements, but when I joined the Autobots to end the war, I saw that Optimus always does what he believes is right. No matter the personal cost.

Note, not 'what's right'. 'What he believes is right', no matter the cost. Cut to Dot frowning down at the ominously-shaped GHOST logo on the overturned truck. Hmmmm.jpg.

Meanwhile, the abducted Hardtop is being stripped for parts by the evil Mandroid (okay, his name's actually Dr. Meridian. Did you remember that off the top of your head? No you didn't. Mandroid it is).

Mandroid commands the spiderbots (arachnamechs), hates Cybertronians in general and wants them off Earth, is the one who's been disappearing Decepticons, and has just welded Hardtop's arm onto his own shoulder. Hardtop, as you might guess, is not happy to be here and says when Swindle shows up they'll beat him up. This isn't gonna happen, but we'll come back to that later.

Meanwhile, after a spiderbot battle, the Autobots find out about the new kids but don't know exactly who or what they are. Optimus says he'll contact GHOST to take Twitch and Thrash to HQ for safety (he doesn't question why the truck turns up like three seconds later). Optimus promises to keep them very, very safe, and Dot tells Mo they can trust Optimus, even though we know in general that she doesn't.

Surprise, the truck driver is Mandroid and the robot kids have been abducted. Who saw that coming? Two scenes later, Optimus has to come over like 'oops GHOST has no record of that truck, they could be anywhere, my bad'.

Wow, could it be? Maybe blindly trusting Optimus Prime all the time isn't a great idea? 🤔

Meanwhile, Mandroid is interrogating Twitch and Thrash on their origins, and when that doesn't provide much intel, straps them in for dissection under a very large and many-pointy-limbed device (with a laser on it too, naturally).

The autobots show up to rescue them. When the spiderbots aren't enough to repel them, Mandroid summons some Decepticons to help fight the Autobots off: Skullcruncher, Shrapnel, Hardtop, and Bombshell. This is where we get our first clue about what's going on here, but only if you know the Transformers Lore™. Again, we'll come back to this later.

Elita-1 (fighting Hardtop): Your heart's not in this, is it? Elita-1: Brain, either.

Then Bee shows up to help, as it turns out he didn't disappear forever (surprise!). In the end, all the Decepticons are captured.

Hardtop: Honest, I don't know what came over me. I'd never fight you, Megatron! No matter what side you're on!

And then there's this odd little moment. Blink and you'll miss it, because it continues into a cut where Megatron helps Dot down from his shoulder. In response to Hardtop's words, Megatron shoves him, then... Looks at his cannon.

Hmmm.jpg x2 🤔

This segues into family time and Dot insisting Twitch and Thrash stay with them, which Optimus is glad to hear. Also he doesn't want GHOST to know Bumblebee is alive. Seems like he doesn't fully trust them either.

...And now that we're out of the ep 1-2 two parter I can skim over most of the rest of the episodes, as, for better or worse, Earthspark is in large part the 'kids and robots petting cows and family game night' show with larger events happening in the background somewhere.

A few significant moments:

-Optimus, Elita-1, and Megatron hang out all domestic-like in the secret GHOST base under Dot's ranger station, presumably. You know. The one with the Decepticon prison in it, where they're all kept until, as OP says, there's a better option available.

-Alex insinuates he used to know Dr. Meridian during the war, and presumably was another science team guy before he retired to teach.

-Swindle breaks into a GHOST convoy to steal an energon scanner that could give him a lead on finding Hardtop but can't get through the forcefield, so scams Mo and Thrash into helping him. When the kids' parents find out:

Dot: You're different from Swindle! Cons weren't born into that life, they chose it. And anyone who wears that badge? Can't be trusted.

Mo: They aren't all bad. Right, mom? You're friends with Megatron.

Dot: That's different. Megatron has truly changed.

Has he, now? But again, just him and no others. And depending what kind of Decepticon backstory we're dealing with in this continuity, saying all Decepticons are evil and chose to be so is a hmmm.jpg x3. What's our IDW1 (or even TF:P) proximity here?

-Some random GHOST trainee almost shoots a kid

-The kids fall into a pit trap and Optimus gets some extremely ominous framing

-Optimus Hides the kids from GHOST inside his trailer, inside the GHOST base. Because Optimus Prime makes bad decisions.

Dot: Cheesy footage of Autobots helping humans build a bridge. Not very subtle. And what exactly does GHOST do with the Decepticons you catch? Optimus: That's classified. I'm sorry. Dot: Bots and humans working together is wonderful, but why the secrecy? And the hard sell? You sure you're on the right team, OP?

-Megatron refuses to use his cannon against the cassettes for 'childish pranks'. Optimus calls them criminals. Bee shows up with restraining bolts to mode lock the cassettes and Megs is disgusted.

Megatron: I will never touch those... Things. Optimus: A means to an end, Megatron: safely transporting our quarry to GHOST. Megatron: Optimus, does it not concern you that our human allies control where Decepticons live, and what form they take? Even in times of so-called peace? This is not freedom.

It's enough to start an argument between OP and Megs about the way the Decepticons are being treated, in which Megatron says I gave you my fealty to save our people, which is a very interesting choice of words. Fealty, as of an oath of service and obedience to a liege lord. This is not an equal bargain.

Later, battling Soundwave, Soundwave repeats his own words to him. This is not freedom. He calls Megatron traitor—and Megatron, about to fire, stops and looks shocked: as if the idea that to the Decepticons he is a traitor is somehow a new thought.

Add another hmm.jpg to the pile.

Later on, Skywarp and Nova Storm show up intent on stealing Optimus' arm for Mandroid. Hardtop's wasn't good enough, apparently.

Optimus: They want my left arm like their lives depend on it!

And you know what? When the two of them fail in their mission and Mandroid says he'll dissect them, they don't even try to fight that small squishy human. Wow, weird. And when we find out the terran bots were created via an artifact left behind by Quintus Prime, his squiddy little logo certainly doesn't resemble an upside down spiderbot at all. :)

But now we come to the really interesting part. Dot and Megatron are captured by Mandroid and the following conversation ensues:

Mandroid: Let me begin again. Conversation is difficult, after my time in the war.

Dot: You served too?

Mandroid: My contribution was scientific. I was drafted by GHOST to toil in their robotics laboratory. After a year of laboring on projects I detested, Decepticons attacked San Francisco. Dot: Yeah, I remember. I led an infantry platoon at the battle of the bay. Mandroid: Then perhaps you remember the Autobots' friendly fire destroying buildings. My arachnamechs dragged me to safety, saving me the only way they knew how. I came away with... Souvenirs.

You know what I think?

I think it's real suspicious that Hardtop went from wanting to kill Mandroid to doing his bidding without seeming to even understand why. I think it's suspicious that all those other Decepticons did too—they might stick around for fuel, sure, but not to protest even under threat of dissection?

Why did Megatron turn his back on his loyal army in such a way that none of them followed? Why did they go to ground rather than attempt switching sides? When did it become clear that there would be no switching sides, only life imprisonment for those who surrendered?

But not for Megatron—who has sworn fealty, who 'has truly changed' who is tame and obedient. The sole exception.

Remember episodes one and two? Remember who one of Mandroid's tame Decepticon squad was? Bombshell. You know what Bombshell's whole thing is in the lore? Mind control. Do you know what other two motifs are strongly associated with mind control in the Transformers lore?

Spiders.

Needles.

The biggest hmmmmm.jpg imaginable 🤔

I think maybe the emberstone wasn't the only thing Quintus Prime left behind. I think GHOST found whatever that bit of lost technology was during the war, and Mandroid reverse engineered it into the arachnamechs and the 'projects he detested'. You know who recognized who Quintus Prime was without even thinking about it? Alex, who once worked with him.

I think one day Megatron was captured, bolted to a table in a dark room, and came back different. I think Optimus was too happy about that change to ask too many questions, and GHOST would have done the same to the rest of the Decepticons if not for losing Dr. Meridian in the battle of the bay—and with him, all his research. Mandroid doesn't care about turning the Decepticons peaceful anymore, only using them as a means to the end of Cybertronian destruction.

Now all GHOST can do is capture Decepticons and lock them up until there's Optimus' 'better way': until they can reverse engineer Mandroid's work and shadowplay the rest of them into good little productive citizens... And hope their hold on Megatron doesn't break before then.

Never trust a mech with his needles in your neck. :)

#transformers #megatron #optimus prime #earthspark #maccadam #earthspark spoilers #this is really long sorry #meta

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idesofrevolution · 1 year

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These Boots Are Made for Rockin’

Cory took a deep breath as he turned the corner, eyes tightly shut. Passersby likely stared with aloof confusion, but he didn’t care. This was the moment he’d dreamed of for almost fifteen years. Broadway, Nashville: the dream strip of country music nightclubs, southern apparel, moonshine, whiskey, and instruments. The gentle hum of twangy ballads tickled his ears, played by talented singers in the honky tonks along the street. It was now home. And as he opened his eyes, that dream was now reality.

The street was bustling, even in midday. Tourists, buskers, musicians, and surely a few stars strolled past entranced in their own worlds they’d taken for granted. It took everything for Cory to get here- or rather it had cost him everything. Not that he minded. The move, to him, represented the beginning of the life he’d always dreamed he would lead: becoming the man he fantasized in his head. With his first steps, they were the first steps toward that goal.

Walking slowly, he made his way down Broadway, aimlessly enjoying the ambience and palpable culture. Not that he was oblivious to his surroundings; this was his reconnaissance mission for today. Looking for prospects, opportunities, or a cheap souvenir for his new apartment. The latter became his focus, as there on the corner sat a clothing store. His first intention after all was to fit into the community, so dressing the part was the primary objective. As he walked up to the front doors, pulling the door open, the scent of leather, cedar, and smokiness flowed out of the open door. He took a deep breath, entering the wide open store. The two story atrium was filled with racks of denim, flannel, and rhinestones for the more flamboyant of folks. This was heaven. Surely he’d be able to find the authentic Nashville look here.

Pushing past rows of bootcut jeans and plaid button ups, suspenders and denim jackets, he stumbled upon the footwear department. Shelves wall to wall, filled with the freshest and most pristine of cowboy boots. Each gave such a different vibe. One pair had intricate embroidered designs up and down the tall funnel of the boot, another was fastened with harnesses upon thick rubber treads. Finding the right pair would be quite the task, as he stared nervously down the long aisles.

“You need some help, friend?” Cory spun around, startled at the sultry low voice from over his shoulder. Standing behind him was an employee, and the precise man he’d want to emulate. Muscled below his tight button up shirt, messy hair below a leather Stetson hat, tight bootcut jeans of heavy denim and topped off with a pair big well worn cowboy boots. He oozed a sense of stereotypical Southern Masculinity, stoic and unfazed by the world around him. “You lookin’ for a pair? I can help you find one if you like?” His twangy accent paired with a deep, low timbre nearly made Cory breathless for a moment.

“Uh, yeah. What’s the price range here?” The man raised a confused eyebrow at Cory, until it was clear on his face that he was helping an ‘out of towner.’

“Well, most boots like these go for a few hundred at least. That’s mostly what we carry.” The man put his massive boot onto the seat next to them, worn heavily but precisely what the doe eyed customer was looking for. He clutched at the wallet in his pocket- knowing full well that a few hundred was far outside his budget. Immediately taking notice of the flushing of Cory’s face, the man smiled. “Here, I think I have just the pair for you.” A glimmer of hope. Walking toward the back of the store, past the elaborate embroidered boots and jean jackets, the duo came across the clearance section.

“So these are our vintage pairs. They’re recycled… kinda. So since a lot of them were pre owned they tend to be a lot less than our newer models.” As he looked up and down the racks, finally the man stopped and pointed to the very last pair on the wooden shelf. They were clearly well loved by their previous owner, the glimmer and luster of any shine on the brown leather had long since been washed away with heavy use. The tips were scuffed, the heel and soles were annihilated… but for whatever reason, they seemed to beckon out to Cory. “My guess is they’re gonna be a bit big on you, but no harm in seeing if you like em! Give ‘em a try and I’ll be back to check in on you.”

The associate walked away, the click clack of the Cuban heel of his boots would soon mirror his own footfalls. Gingerly grabbing the left boot, he pryed the boot open a bit more, seeing the size marked US 14. That was almost twice his own shoe size. Taking a deep breath, he was prepared to let out a sigh of defeat… perhaps it wasn’t meant to be. That is, until the subtle scent hit his nostrils. It started as just the slightest hint of old leather, perhaps a smidgeon of tobacco… but just that little whiff was enough to encapsulate Cory. Looking around to ensure that no wayward glances would catch him, he brought the boot to his face, closed his eyes, and inhaled.

What was subtle from a short distance quickly turned strong as he took in the scent from the source. Hidden beneath that candle like quality was the unmistakable odor of foot musk. His eyes clamped shut, Cory envisioned in his mind’s eye what the original owner of these books would look like… some southern stud, handsome and rugged, a confident swagger in each step: the man he was destined to become. He opened his eyes and plopped down onto the small bench, removing his cheap Walmart sneakers and eagerly slipping his foot into the boot.

Unsurprisingly, his feet were minuscule in comparison to their cavernous confines. They certainly did not fit. Yet, looking down at his feet within them, the electrifying power he felt from simply sporting them, the idea of his own feet soaking up some of that incredible smell… it was a done deal. He’d stuff some cotton in the toes to help them fit, never mind the appearance to any objective bystander that they were clown shoes on this lanky dudes feet. Preparing to walk to the checkout counter to finalize the purchase, he tugged on the soles to pry them from his feet. They would not budge. Confused, he yanked a bit harder at the heel… no dice. His feet were so small compared to these boats… how could they be stuck?

His body began to ache, as if he’d run a marathon just a moment before, his breath became bated and shallow, his legs wobbly and unstable. A wave of incomparable exhaustion crashed over him like he’d never before experienced. A small moan escaped from his mouth as he felt his feet begin to spasm within the boots. Quiet cracking sounds began to emit from within them. Cory began to panic, feeling his toes slowly move to fill out the entirety of the boot. Gasping and groaning at the dull but pulsating pain, the sensations began to climb further up his legs. He watched in horror as his ankles slowly crept out of the bottom of his jeans, the firm material slowly growing tighter and tighter as his calves and thighs swelled and grew beneath it.

His core and chest became seized by a tightness he could compare only to a heart attack, watching his shirt slowly compress against the increasing size of his lean abdomen. The sounds of snapping stitches and ripping fabric echoed in his ears, nearly drowned out by the hastening beats of his heart growing stronger and louder. His arms convulsed, stretching and contorting into impossible angles at the joints, while pinpricks of black slowly began to rise from beneath the skin.

In his mind, Cory imagined himself in a sort of medieval stretching machine he’d read about in his studies years before. Every part of his body was being pulled outward, downward, side to side… while it was painful and incredibly difficult to endure, within the recesses of his subconscious, the dulcet, twangy sound of plucked guitar strings began to overtake him. The sound soothed him in a desperately needed respite from the cracks and creaks emanating from his bones. The music grew in intensity, the guitar growing in crescendo and tempo. It was becoming a comfort, a release, a passion… while it soothed his mind, his body was finally nearing its final state of metamorphosis. The formerly strained, constricting fabric of his cheap clothes began to loosen and change. His shirt turned dark; the sleeves had retracted into a comfortable tee shirt, casual but striking. His jeans stretched downward, the pristine denim flaring out into a bootcut style, flattering his long, toned legs.

Cory couldn’t help but mimic the struts with his calloused fingers, expertly performing the riffs as if his Stratocaster was in his hands. His head began to sway and crest to the beat of the song in his mind, letting his lengthening hair gently caress the side of his face and beard as he played. All thoughts exited his brain. The music had overtaken him. The need to rock. The need to perform. The need to write his soul in musical form became his only goal, while the remnants of who he once was slowly drifted away.

….

The employee strutted back to the clearance section, wondering if the strange little guy had made his decision. He’d been back there for quite some time, and the boss lady reiterated the “no loitering policy” to him once again. Turning the corner, he was surprised. Who stood before him was clearly not who he’d helped before. The tall, toned, bearded stud confidently posed in front of the mirror in the worn boots he’d shown the prior customer. Guess he wasn’t interested after all.

“They sure are beauties. Hard to find someone who fit them, they’ve been here quite some time.” The man turned, a smoldering grin shellacked upon his face.

“Yeah, man. I’ve been needin’ a new pair. These are perfect.” His twangy southern drawl tickled the associate’s ear. The customer turned to him, that bright, confident smile beaming as he looked him up and down. “Hey. I got a gig after this down the street if you’re not doing anything after your shift. I’ll get you the first round?” He suavely slid closer to the associate, the salty sweet scent of tobacco and masculine sweat wafted from his inked skin. How could he say no? Smiling, he tossed his arm around the associates shoulder. “Maybe afterward we could stop by my place, if you’re interested.” Winking, he strutted toward checkout. The associate blushed, catching his breath. Most definitely he’d be taking him up on that offer.

#male transformation #body transformation #original #transformation #musk #boot transformation #southern #country #tattoos #gay transformation #mental changes

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