Ok but I really want Neopolitian to come back in Volume Four.
I could imagine Ruby just kind of walking around in the woods by herself, just lost in thought, and then the camera looks over her shoulder and we just see Neo just standing behind her, their face just completely deadpan. Ruby does that anime thing where she knows someone is behind her and heel turns to face them.
And Neo is just. Standing there. Her parasol isn’t even on her shoulder, it’s just kind of dangling from her hand, the spike digging a little into the dirt. Ruby, not trusting this at all, draws her weapon, but Neo still doesn’t move.
And then, Neo reaches into her pocket and takes out her Scroll before extending it forward for Ruby to take. Ruby, after a moment hesitation, carefully takes it and looks at the screen.
It’s open on a messenger app, and in the typing field is this message:
“He’s dead because of her. I want in.”
And when Ruby looks back up at her, Neo is clearly holding back tears. “You mean Cinder?”
Feat. Pansy and Ginny, here to prove once again that opposites attract
Pansy: Ginny. Against my better judgement, I am rather fond of you.
Ginny: [looks down, bites lip] I just wish you were there.
Pansy:[rolls eyes] That face isn’t going to work, you know.
[This is, of course, a better tactic.]
Ginny: I’ll take care of it.
[Weasley shoots, she scores!]
[OOC: Aaaaand we’re back! Apologies for the hiatus, but wouldja look at that, we still have queer witch content for you <3 Tune in next week for more, & keep sending in pairing requests–we swear we’ll get to them ASAP! Feat. the always extraordinary @youvegotenoughnerve, per usual]
@mary-waitforit-lou: Maybe a From Hate to Love au, at first they can’t stand each other and then…
I asked for prompts a few days back and immediately felt the need to write this one. It’s a classical trope that I feel can be quite interesting. I received a couple of other ideas, that are already in store - some are meant to go later into my existing works. Thank you for inspiring me!
Scalpel & Needle (Part I)
“I’d be bloody thankful if you didn’t come into
my OR like some kind of unwanted saviour and start to order me around!” Claire
snarled, ripping off her surgical cap, her curls exploding in the air after
sudden liberation, her hair bobble tearing with an audible “pop!”. “I didn’t ask for your help!”
“The patient was crashing.” Jamie tried to
explain, remaining eerily calm in spite of the angry woman facing him, looking
like a rattlesnake ready to pounce. “Ye couldna possibly deal with all those
bleeders. I thought a second pair of hands…”
“I already had a second surgeon!” She hissed,
pointing at the frightened young resident who had sought refuge against the
wall, clearly wishing to be swallowed by it – and away from the two galvanized
surgeons. “I was in control, using the technique I prefer! But you decided to
come and show off, like some goddam star!”
“I was only trying to help, lass.” He grunted,
gripping his fists. His blue eyes were dark and dangerous, tumultuous seas
waiting for ships to wreck on their waves. “It seems to me ye have a bit of a
problem admitting when ye need help and it’s perfectly…”
“Oh, you bastard!” Claire roared, advancing to
face him – even though he had the clear advantage of his imposing height.
“Don’t you dare call me “lass”, as
you do to the young nurses, melting them away to do your biding. Stop pretending
you know the first thing about me! You just want to please the board, so
they’ll give you the most challenging cases!”
“I couldna care less about the board, Doctor Beauchamp.” Jamie said through
clenched teeth. “Ye should be thanking me that the patient isna heading to the
morgue - instead ye’re yelling at me like a mad banshee, because I wounded yer
Claire’s cheeks were throbbing with heat, her
chest constricted with a fury she couldn’t even begin to understand. She raised
her index finger and poked him on the chest, wielding it like a dangerous
dagger. “Stay the hell away from me and my OR, Fraser. I mean it!”
bas! Fine!” He roared, raising his hands in exasperation. “I won’t meddle
again, as much as I think ye might need it. Ye blind woman, stubborn as a
mule…” And he reverted to clipped Gaidhlig,
grumbling in a low voice as he strode down the hallway.
“Claire!” She heard the voice of her friend, Geillis
Duncan, gaping at her with her mouth noticeably ajar. Claire was panting, her
vision almost blurred from anger, as she contemplated James Fraser retreating
with a cold satisfaction. “What’s this ruckus all about? Is something amiss?”
“Just my esteemed
colleague, James Fraser, being an insufferable prick.” She glared at the other
people surrounding her, frozen in contemplation of the spectacle, silently warning
them to return to their own business. “I really don’t know how someone can be
as egocentric, misogynistic, smug…”
“Well, don’t hold anything back, darling.”
Geillis laughed, gently pushing her by the arm to a nearby resting room. “Yer
feud with the man is becoming legendary. There’s probably people placing money
to bet on yer next fight.”
“Someone has to show him he’s not even half as
impressive as he fancies himself to be.” Claire puffed, filling a glass with
cold water from the machine in the corner and drinking it down.
“Most people think him charming, Claire.” The
nurse pointed, sitting on the small couch – a myriad of unidentifiable stains
garnishing the old fabric. “A verra capable surgeon, kind and concerned with
his patients, humble but with a sharp mind, and a brilliant sense of humour.”
“Damn Geillis, don’t you hold anything back either.” She rolled her eyes in disbelief.
“One would think you very enthralled by the man.”
“Everyone – well, every lass and probably John
Grey too – kind of is.” The redheaded girl gave her a mischievous smile. “That
is one hell of a ginger fox, Claire. How can ye not want to ride that…”
“That’s quite enough, thank you!” Claire hawked
and tried to tame down her revolting hair with her fingertips. “I happen to be
immune to whatever spell he has been casting around here.”
“I just don’t understand why ye hate him so
much.” The nurse looked at her with studying eyes, slightly biting her index
finger, her nails a gaudy shade of pink. “Are you trying to conceal the fact
that ye actually find him attractive?” She said in a soft voice. “I know that
after Frank it’s hard for ye to…”
“Don’t.” Claire said in a serious voice, the
shadow of a smile gone from her face. “Don’t say that. This has nothing to do
with Frank. I just don’t see what you see, that’s all.”
“Alright, I’ll let the subject go – for now.”
Geillis stretched herself like a cat and grinned, preparing to resume her work.
“Drinks tonight at Leoch’s?”
“Sure.” Claire nodded absentmindedly, already
studying her next patient’s chart. “I’ll meet you there after I finish my
“Behave until then, ye hear me!” She warned
Claire, leaving her alone to face another surgery.
Claire opened her locker, blood pulsing rapid
inside her vessels, so much so she felt the tidal waves of blood on her
temples. Like she had foresaw, a lonely envelope was there, a bit crumpled
after being pushed through the small gap. With shaking hands and a smile of
anticipation, she opened it.
“It has come to my
attention that you had a rough day. I’m sorry to hear it. I thought I would
make it a little better – but this time I’m borrowing the words of a wiser man.
«My struggle is harsh
and I come back with eyes tired at times from having seen the unchanging earth,
But when your laughter
enters it rises to the sky seeking me
And it opens for me
all the doors of life.»
I hope to see it again
soon. I shall miss your laughter every second you hide it away.
With l Yours,
It had started six months before. On a day when
night had forgotten to go away, leaving everything immersed in shadows, rain
pounding over the roof like a furious fist banging.
She had lost a patient that day. She recalled
it vividly, because it had been the first since she had moved to Edinburgh. Not
only that – it had been a young woman, with the same hopes and dreams that she
had, heart broken into a million pieces but still hopeful. Losing her had been
like losing a piece of herself, an entire world shattered away under the lights
of the OR.
Claire accepted the sympathetic words of her
colleagues, the gentle hands that touched her back, assuring her that not every
battle was meant to be won. But she had lost – so brutally, so completely, so painfully. She walked to the locker room and
bolted the door, allowed herself to cry on the floor, to sob until her heart
had melted and gone away.
When she opened her locker to retrieve her
things at the end of her shift, she had found a sketch there, pencil on paper
like the tears on her cheeks. Someone drew a hand – elegant fingers with a thin
wrist, which eerily reminded her of her own – holding a scalpel. And touching
her palm underneath it, as if the fragile scalpel had been too heavy to hold on
her own, a second hand helped her to hold it. The touching image – it had
brought tears to Claire’s eyes – had been signed in a crooked handwriting. “Scalpel”.
The drawing had been on her nightstand since
that day, a reminder that someone out there truly understood – knew – the loneliness of her work, the
hardships she endured and how much she needed a presence to hold her when her
strength failed her.
The second gift came a week after that – a pressed
blue flower, perfectly preserved, clearly saved for quite some time between the
pages of a book. Claire inhaled it, hungry for the perfume and words still
trapped in it. A short note came with it – “Will
you make a home for it with you? Scalpel”.
After a few weeks – time in which she had
received poems, caricatures and photos of landscapes – she decided that her
secret friend – for the mysterious person clearly meant to forge a relationship
with her through those small tokens – deserved an answer.
She had scribbled it at home, sitting at her
desk – the pressed flower next to her, on top of an organized pile of paper –
and left it lodged on the door of her locker, where he’d certainly find it.
I’m not sure why you
think me deserving of such kind attentions, but I have to say you seem to read
my mind! Not only I find everything you give me fascinating, but you seem to
guess when I’ll need it the most. If someone ever told me I’d have a secret
correspondent, I’d laugh and swear them insane. But in truth I find great
solace in you and cherish every thought you spare me. Thank you for being a true
friend – the more selfless kind.
P.S. – Of course you
know my real name, but it seems only fair that the both of us would have secret
code names. I’ve been told to be sharp as one - and equally resourceful.”
their correspondence became two-sided. A week hadn’t gone by without a sign
from him and Claire realized they were incredibly close – intimate, even. She
had tried to suggest for them to meet and talk in the cafeteria – at least for
him to reveal his name, so she could put a face on the person that meant so
much to her. His answer had been concise and clear: “One day I’ll tell you everything. But not yet.”
Claire placed the note on her pocket, where her
fingers could brush it – touching it, savouring it through the next hours. She
headed for the pub to meet Geillis – blissfully unaware of Scalpel’s existence - wondering how one could be enamoured with a man
made only of words on paper.
The diplomatic missions were one of the things he liked best about being a paladin. Right after, you know, piloting a giant mechanical lion robot in space. Seeing other planets, helping forge bonds that would outlive him by several millennia. Protecting people in a way that would last. Feeling like it all mattered. The inevitably cute alien chicks were just one of the bonuses.
Hey! So I see a lot of stuff where Mica is this unbelievably brutal assassin and I was wondering if you shared this idea? And if so (or if not) what your thoughts were on her?
definitely! RL Mica is a badass so Mica the mercenary is my favourite
version of her in the FAHC world.
who had an excellent upbringing, had the kind of family line that’s
too wealthy to ever go down for all their white collar crime, who
could so easily have become a spoiled princess, could have accepted a
silver spoon life full of luxury, but was never prepared to settle.
Never willing to get by on anyone else’s accolades, to give up her
own ambition, to follow the path anyone else sets out for her.
who was always told she was too soft to make it big in crime, too
sweet to survive the cut-throat underbelly, too gorgeous for the
dirty work. Mica who relished in proving everyone wrong, who worked
hard to become something worse than they’d ever imagined, who is
unrelenting until she is not only a known mercenary but one of the
bigger names in the business. One of the baddest reputations, the
kind not even kingpins want to cross, the kind even the Vagabond
treats with reverence. Until no one would dream of talking down to
her, of accusing her of riding coat tails or getting lucky, of being anything but god
who gives up none of herself to get there – doesn’t fold to
expectation, doesn’t trade out her designer clothes, give up
manicured nails or perfect hair. Who doesn’t lose her sense of
humour, her breezy attitude, finds no reason to brood about a life
full of death when she’s the one who chose it. When her services are
in such high demand she can charge whatever the hell she likes. When
she’s so undeniably good at what she does not a single target has
managed to evade her, adapting her methods, approach and appearance
with a skill even the infamous Dollface admires.
who has a sharp mind and a sharper tongue, known for her infallible
plans and her utter refusal to take anyone’s shit. Mica who did her
time being underestimated, who let them all laugh at her designer
heels, her pretty curls, her tailored clothes until her actions
proved her more than worthy of respect. Who will no longer settle for
anything less than respect. Who has turned on any foolish enough to
forget, any who think enough zeros on a pay cheque entitle them to
say whatever they like, behave however they like, who never seem to
see the inevitable coming until there’s blood on the floor and a
stiletto at their throat.
who worked alone, constantly on the move and strictly a freelancer,
at least until the FAHC. Until she catches sight of their frontman in
some bar, eyebrows raising when he flat out abandons some kind of
meeting to come talk to her, flashing a bright grin that almost belies the cold dark look he uses to instantly silence the complaints of his angry companions. Mica
laughs when he offers to buy her a drink, knowing he didn’t even buy
his own, knowing exactly how this interaction goes, fingers already
dancing across the knife hidden beneath her clothes, resigned if
faintly disappointed. Imagine her surprise when she realises Gavin is
just fond of defying expectation as she is, that he is friendly, is
charming, yes, but all that enthralment is focused on her
professional abilities. On winning her attentions because of her
skill, her reputation, the varied stories of her exploits invoking
boyish glee rather than the standard lecherous approach.
the same with the rest of his crew, once he convinces her to come
meet with them about some job, all those ruthless criminals with
more respectful civility than most law abiding citizens, who
understand full well the kind of skills it takes to pull off the work
she does and wouldn’t dream of trying to belittle her. The Fake’s are
a crew unlike any she has worked with, a crew who seem to work
flawlessly together without the usual exercises of a shifting pecking
order, free of power plays and loaded commentary. A crew who knows how
to play with the Vagabond without losing any fingers, who’ve danced
with Dollface and kept their tongues. A crew who actually understands
the meaning in fun, who think is neither requires nor
prohibits abject cruelty, who aren’t afraid of a little blood. Who
aren’t afraid of a lot of it. Who call a massacre a good time and
never fail to gush over her more creative hits. Add Ramsey, a leader
who never thinks his requests are beyond her abilities, who offers
aid and additional compensation for the seemingly impractical but
never assumes she isn’t capable, and there’s really no reason for
Mica to turn down the jobs she is offered.
she works with the FAHC, takes regular jobs for them, a happy alliance, a
contractor on the payroll with no end in sight, but no matter how
much it might seem like she has she doesn’t actually join the crew.
Not for lack of interest, not like they haven’t asked a million
times, but at the end of the day she has worked too hard for herself
to ever fold into someone else’s hierarchy. Mica who will never bow
to anything, to anyone, who crafted her own crown, a legacy built
from the ground up, and refuses to be toppled from her throne.
i wanna say that they’ve transcended hurt and experience only love and peace for the rest of their lives but unfortunately…. allison…. is a bitch bless her
basically I think allison can be harsh when she’s upset and she tries to make sure that shit never touches renee but sometimes it does and she likes it when she can upset ppl bc it makes her feel strong again? but she also can’t stand renee hurting so it’s this constant discord. (but also renee pulls away so much to protect people and it hurts allison to see her go, sometimes.)
who is emotionally stronger?
they’re both absolute warriors lemme tell you. remember when allison’s boyfriend died and she pulled her hair back and got to fucking work?? remember when renee’s life was a vicious cycle of abuse and she took up a bible and started smacking ppl around with it?? BOTH of them could be sifting through their emotional baggage at 5 and kicking ass at 5:30 tbh
who is physically stronger?
renee,,,,, could kill you with her hands tied behind her back
she spars and LIFTS she is gentle and small and she has a six pack and she carries her gf to bed
who is more likely to break a bone?
I can’t imagine anything getting the best of renee even like.. the ground… but also allison walks in towering heels 24/7 and has yet to bust her ass so maybe they’re both superhuman?? I feel like maybe renee would take things too far and break a pinky when she’s scrapping with andrew and probably dead-faced set her own finger and leave every fox……. shaken
who knows best what to say to upset the other?
Allison can rip out every follicle of your hair if she’s in the mood, she’s neil with crystal earrings, just bc her mouth is all perfectly applicated peaches & cream doesn’t mean it’s not filthy
she never uses renee’s past against her though. never.
who is most likely to apologize first after an argument?
I think renee is a LOT more willing to admit when she’s in the wrong, and her life is pretty much a balance of redemption and honesty so I think she apologizes very earnestly and seriously and allison basically snorts and tells her it’s forgotten and goes in for neck kisses
allison is a liiiittle too proud to apologize but when she knows she’s done BAD and when they’re alone & intimate in their apartment allison will come in crying and bare-faced and apologize and apologize and apologize
who treats who’s wounds more often?
renee is scrappy and allison hates it but she’ll sit down for hours making sure every bit of renee is seen to, and she’ll neatly cover up renee’s bruises like she did for neil, quiet and sweet and methodical like she rarely is
who is in constant need of comfort?
yikes it’s always both w our foxes man
I think allison’s loss is such a fresh wound in her mind and it’s so constant. She still feels so brutally undervalued for her talent and her ingenuity and her strength, and like. that gets bad. Renee’s loss runs deeper and harder and she can’t even think about it, most of the time. She’s making constant amends, but no matter how many times she prays before bed the nightmares still come. (so does allison, lighting sweet smelling candles and brushing renee’s hair back and kissing her face)
who gets more jealous?
TOUGH bc I think renee projects this very ‘i’ve transcended human emotions and am an eternal sweetie with clothes knit from bible verses’ but she’s still very human and her girlfriend is very very hot and if one more man touches allison without her permission renee will take his hand off :))
who’s most likely to walk out on the other?
who will propose?
I think allison would and I think she would spend 1 million dollars trying to make it unforgettable even though they could be collapsed on the court after a game and renee would say yes? they could be in bed or walking with their arms linked or having their weekly chinese food with dan and matt and renee would always say yes
(she proposes when they’re on vacation, at some european cathedral with streaming stained glass so renee can feel as close to god as allison feels to renee, and every pew is filled with a different colour of flower and a choir sings something ancient and sapphic ok bye)
who has the most difficult parents?
THIS QUESTION DOESN’T WORK FOR FOXES HOLY FUCK THEIR PARENTS ALL SUCK TAINTS THAT’S WHY THEY’VE UPGRADED TO SUPER DAD DAVID WYMACK
who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public?
it’s pretty equal on the PDA front they’re very affectionate ppl
like I imagine Allison w her hands in the pockets of her designer bomber jacket and renee slipping her hand in too and smiling like fucking summer just rolled in early and hung up its coat
who comes up for the other all the time?
you know that post where allison calls renee ‘exy’s cutest goalkeeper’?? yeah.. picture that…. all the time
who hogs the blankets?
you’d think allison bc she enjoys the height of luxury at All Times but it’s renee actually she nests it’s what she does
I think bc she’s so comfortable that she subconsciously lets herself take more than her fair share
who gets more sad?
allison is more outwardly sad, and it manifests itself in a shade that’s almost angry, almost nothing at all
she hates that she never got to see what seth could have been and she hates that her parents don’t love her and she hates the sight of her own face sometimes
renee doesn’t let the darkness in but when she does she spirals, hard, and she can’t even feel worthy of the cross she wears or the friends she keeps
who is better at cheering the other up?
allison is such a whirlwind that she can crush sadness under her stilettos tbh like if renee can’t quite get her serene mask tied at the back allison will come in with truckloads of food and a brand fuckin new rhinestone cross (it was the early 2000′s… leave them be) and Dan in tow, and they talk around renee until she feels herself enough to pay attention and actually… smile a real smile
renee is a soother and she knows how to fight bad moods off, so she can calm people down, but allison can pump them up
who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?
i feel like renee is more likely to just look very wryly and fondly at allison if she says something ridiculous, but allison would be more of a slapper
who is more streetwise?
LMAO uh renee. next
who is more wise?
renee has that kind of all-knowing aura about her like I bet she knows the weirdest shit. Allison is smart in a very straightforward, brisk, I know how to fix this or work this out way, but renee just. knows things
who’s the shyest?
also hilarious allison will stare a stranger down until they cower and die and renee is the most soft-spoken kiddo on earth
like it’s more of a self-imposed restraint than shyness but the fact remains that allison is an extrovertTM and renee is always going to look calm next to her
who boasts about the other more?
allison thinks renee is the best thing that’s ever happened and she will show renee off the same way she shows off her wealth tbh bc renee is PRECIOUS to her anyway
who sits on who’s lap?
renee sits in allison’s for height reasons, and bc allison buries her face in her hair and calls her baby when she does and it’s this whole spectacle
she has chell over for a pesach seder and sends chell off looking for the afikomen but never actually hid it just to fuck with her, so chell ends up wandering all over aperture science looking for a piece of broken matzah that never even existed
recruits neo nazis for testing just so she can brutally murder them
carves a magen david into the wall with a laser
gets into heated debates on how to spell hanukkah hanuka chanukah hannukah
refuses to make latkes for chanukah because Potatoes
quietly sings hebrew songs to herself when she’s anxious or sad
puts a mezuzah on the entrance to every single test chamber
says the hamotzi over cake
retells the story of exodus at pesach and names neurotoxin as one of the plagues
reblog and add ur own jewish GLaDOS headcanons if u wish (and gentiles feel free to reblog!!)
Now here's a question for adult Pisca: should she meet up with mommy and mommy again, what to do~? Does she freeze up? Does she let them live, unable to kill them (again)? Or does she end their potential suffering? :3
I have thought about this!
And truthfully, that’d be the only thing in life strong enough to break her shell she’s built.
She’d completely revert back to when she was 9, shaking mama and ignoring all the blackened skin coming off, just telling her over and over that she needs to wake up, you’ve got to mama, they’ve gone now, we can go home-
It’d take a strong set of people to drag her away from just.. calming walking to them, like nothing’s wrong, and someone even stronger to snap her out of the total shut down
She’s never fully faced what happened, which is partly why she’s so good at her trades. As long as she was always busy learning textiles or cooking or mechanics or dead lifting or solar surfing, then she’d never have to face what happened. And it was working!! … Mostly
I think deep down, she knows they died a long, long time ago. But she doesn’t want to believe that they can never come back, because then what hope could there ever be in this universe?
There is not enough love for her on here and I don’t know why. I love Alice but Kristolyn is a fan-freaking-tastic Heather Duke. She brought so much zest to the role that made it different from Alice or Shannon’s portrayal. While Shannon (and the original script) made Duke the most sympathetic, Kristolyn makes her the funniest and the most vibrant. I love all the Dukes but I think we should pay more attention then we do (which is none) to Kristolyn. Also I saw her in the Liquid Plain and she was fantastic. She is an incredible actress and I hope she gets the respect she deserves
Just did an assessment test after applying to be a dispatcher. It was all math and spacial reasoning questions and im fully expecting an email from them taking back their offer to have me in for an interview. I havent felt this stupid since I was in highschool.
// In which Y/N and Justin engage in kitchen sex //
*Warning Mature Content*
“Babe, please stop cleaning,” Justin hummed as he came around the corner and made his presence known. I glanced up at him for half a second before continuing to scrub the counters. The house, especially the kitchen needed to be perfectly spotless and Justin knew that. For him to suggest that I stop before I’ve finished is ridiculous.
“You know I need to finish this up,” I sigh and re wet the sponge to clean the island counter. A heartbeat later, I felt Justin press up behind me. With one hand around my waist and his lips to my neck, he tried to seduce me while I continued cleaning.
“Wouldn’t you rather come upstairs and take a shower with me?” Justin grumbled in my ear and punctuated his question the roll of his hips. Any other time, I would’ve complied with his wish but now, was not the time.
“Justin, my mother is going to be here in less than twelve hours. You already know she doesn’t approve of us living together when we are not married and she’s suspicious of your intentions anyway. She will come and will try to find any reason to be petty. If this house isn’t spotless and if we do not act right, she will be brutal. So you can go take a shower but, I will be cleaning until I am finished with this kitchen,” I gave him the rundown and slipped from his grasp so that I could grab the broom. I swept over his feet on purpose, forcing him out of the kitchen with a grumble under his breath.
Half an hour later, I finished sweeping, putting up the dishes, and cleaned all the cabinets before moving on to cleaning the oven. Sighing at the amount of stains prevalent in the oven I sprayed the cleaner on it. Just as I was about to scrub the burn food away, a breath of air was knocked out of me as my hips were swung back to meet Justin’s familiar bulge.
I quickly looked back to see Justin in only his boxers, water driplets running off his hair and down his toned torso. Lust burned in his eyes as his eyes made his way up from my ass to my face. “Justin, what are-”
“Tell me to stop,” He challenged before trailing open mouth kisses down my exposed neck. I let out a soft moan and crooked my neck so that Justin could reach more of me. At my compliance, Justin’s hand worked its way into my sweats. Another puff of air escaped my lips as Justin swept up the wetness I produced and used it to embed his finger into me. Trapped between the counter and his body, I ground my hips against Justin’s rigid bulge as his finger worked he open.
Justin groaned lowly and ground his hips against mine. A moment later, Justin pulled out and this time pushed two of his thick fingers into me. His two fingers bounced in me with a fast rhythm while his thumb slowly circled my clit. At my breathy gasp, Justin removed his other hand from my hip to my breast where he pinched and tugged at my nipple. My body shuddered against him as my pleasure started to pour in.
“Cum for me then get on your knees,” Justin groaned while rubbing tight, quick circles on my clit. Trying to both squirm to and from Justin’s touch, I rocked my hips enjoying he feeling of Justin’s fingers in me and his hard dick pressed against my ass. When Justin thrusted his hip as the same time that I rocked back, his fingertips pressed against a part of me that made me see white. I rolled my hips sporadically against his fingers as my orgasm washed over me. I barely had a second to recover before Justin pushed me to my knees.
Justin stepped out of his boxers and stood in all his glory, before me. I hummed appreciatively at the sight of Justin’s hard dick, already dripping in pre cum, pressed against his toned chest. His dark eyes met mine as he pressed the head against my lips. I quickly took the hint and opened my mouth to accommodate him. I tried to grip his thighs in order to give me leverage but as soon as my hands met his legs, he swiped away at my touch. In the next second, he gripped my hair and used only that to guide himself down my throat.
A couple of heavy tears rolled down my cheek as I took him down my throat. He wiped away the tears without pity and began to thrust shallowly, my head bobbing down even farther. My nose brushed against his chest with every thrust of his hips. I mewled out at the feeling of his hitting the back of my throat making him fuck my mouth even faster. And just when I felt his heavy dick twitch in mouth, he pulled out me with a pop and helped me to me feet.
“Bend over and hold the counter,” Justin hummed once he remove my sweatpants, leaving me in my thong and t shirt. Justin rubbed me slightly over the drenched lace before moving it to the side to give my clenching core a kiss. I whimpered in want when he pulled away from me and suddenly pushed into where I needed him the most.
He stilled in me and let out a grunt before attaching both hands to my hips. much like my hair, he used my waist to pull me back onto his throbbing dick. “You like when I use you, huh? When I make your body do all the work?” He rasped into my ear. I let out a moan, confirming his accusation.
“Answer me baby,” He held my hips in place, his dickhead the only thing inside of me. I whined and tried to get more of him in me but he merely chuckled as he held me in place.
“Please, Justin,” I tried to rock backwards again and was scolded with a sharp smack to my ass. My back arched in surprise as a soft pant left my lips.
“Please who?” I could hear the smirk on his face through his cocky tone.
“Please, Daddy,” I begged through gritted teeth. Justin didn’t nothing for a moment and then it all hit me, literally.
My desire came true as he plunged himself deep into me before pulling out and repeating the process. I wailed out in ecstasy as he pounded in, hitting my niche with every thrust. I lost my grip on the edge the counter and laid out as Justin hammered into me frivolously. Noticing that I could no longer support my arms on the counter, Justin squabbled up my hair again and yanked it back towards him. I had no choice other than to lean against his wet chest as I felt myself convulse in pleasure.
“Fuck,” He groaned out as he slowed down the tempo so that he reached farther inside of me. I felt my breaking point coiling in my stomach as Justin took the time to work me open and us both over the edge. “Are you going to take my cum baby? Tell me how much you love my cum in you,” Justin grunted as he sped up and drove his throbbing dick inside of me.
“I love your cum so much, Daddy. Fuck, when you drench me in your cum it feels so good. I feel so full already, just the thought of your cum in me gets so fucking wet. Cum for me, Daddy. Fill me up,” I shuddered out as my second orgasm exploded inside of me. Justin pounded into me with short tight thrusts before shooting his cum into my pulsing walls.
Justin shuddered against my back, mouthing against my neck as he rode out his high with little thrusts. He let out a content sigh before pulling out of me with a pop. With my upper body leaned over the counter, I laid there out of support as my weak legs shook, this responding to my pleasure.
“So how about, you come up to bed with me and I’ll call the cleaners over here to finish up the job before your parents come?” Justin suggest, snuggling into the crook of my neck again.
Delinquent AU: Hana is all sorts of terrifying but it takes the rest of the mafia a while to catch onto that. Tsuna and the rest find it hilarious and not just because Hana's collection of hotwired vehicles is taking up garage space.
aaah Hana totally makes stealing cars her Thing ™ and it’s ridiculous.
Liberties taken with the Lamborghini Venano–it looks lethal and so Hana would want it, but there are like ten in private hands so. We’ll say it had a somewhat less limited run.
The thing is, people treat Hana like she’s not even there, sometimes. Which, sure, gets annoying. They look at her, hair tied back, reading glasses on, court suit precise and pristine, and they think Tsuna’s made a mistake.
Still, it always makes Hana smile, that “we can take her” look on people’s faces when she sits in on meetings. She never gets it back home. Either people back in Namimori have a better understanding of what that fuck off looks like, or Italian men are just stupid.
(Given what Bianchi’s had to put up with over the years, Hana would bet a small fortune on the latter.)
“Hana,” her Boss says, breaking through her contemplation of the idiocy she now lives with, “One more thing.”
She turns to look at him properly, already sighing with exasperation.
“As nice as the new Maserati is,” he says in a monotone, eyes laughing, “didn’t I ask you to stop walking out of people’s compounds with their very expensive cars after the incident with the Veneno?”
That elicits a reckless grin. People should not boast about their expensive cars and even more expensive security systems in front of her. It makes her fingers itch. Mafia men are terrible at not pushing her buttons.
And at security.
(Paulo Albani raged at Tsuna for four days over the loss of his Veneno, and Tsuna just raised an eyebrow and lit another cigarette. Eventually he offered the Albani boss a tour of the garage, and commiserated with the man over the price of good cars, standing in front of Hana’s new, emerald green Lamborghini.
She took Tsuna out in it that night, and they drank wine and laughed themselves sick.)
“It’s not stolen, Sawada,’ she says. “It’s Kyoko and Haru’s wedding present.”
Tsuna raises an eyebrow.
“I didn’t know that either of them needed a cherry-red GranTurismo.”
Hana waves a hand dismissively. Why is Tsuna bothering her with this? She has six cases to review and he also wants her to do something for her actual job. One more sports car in the garage does not merit this kind of interrogation.
“I’ll have it repainted soon, but I gave Tonio and the rest of the crew a month off after the Venano had to be taken care of so quickly.”
Tsuna leans back in his chair. “Ah. Well then, go on, have fun, try not to bring back any cars covered in blood spatter this time.”
It’s obvious he’s joking–the Corvette is one of Tsuna’s favorites. She always tells him not to drive it around when he’s under investigation, but he likes the way it makes cops twitch.
(Hana sometimes thinks that all of them are just the products of their misspent youth.)
She bares her teeth at him.
“Just for you, Sawada,” she says, and leaves his office before he says anything more.
Her bat is waiting outside the door, and she picks it up, careful of the nails as she swings it over her shoulder and heads for her garage.
Tsuna didn’t make a mistake with her.
He made a monster.
She clenches her free hand into a fist, feeling the heavy silver of the ring on her hand. She smiles to herself, and then gets, as Kyouya puts it, really pissed off.