#Fuck it I'm calling it somethin like

[localguy2]

Been writing for an AU for a while and it's basically:

"Mr.E fight goes 50/50, both Zane and E end up at the bottom of the canyon, and because of this SoG and Hunted get altered (mainly Hunted)"

What I'm trying to say is, the guy making this post is using the Mr.E fight as an excuse to bring Echo Zane into the ninja team (not immediately) and have him interact with his other brother, and the author in question is trying to make thier entire dynamic "I've had Echo/Zane for about 5 minutes, but if anything happens to them I'm killing everyone in this room and then myself."

Oh also Zane has a meltdown when he learns Jay and Nya haven't told him or any of the ninja about Skybound (and echo and all the shit involved)

So uhhhh, if you have any questions ig, ask away lol

[softshuji]

Any men out there wanna pretend to be my bf to get my parents off my case about marriage? I am so so serious right now.

[wizardnuke]

hhbh

[boxwinebaddie]

NINAAAAAAAAAAAA? DO YOU HAVE ANY MORE KYLEYB CONTENT? I LOVE HIM

nOOOOOOOOOOOONICA!

-- and do i EVA, dollface!

( edit: the spelling across the board is non-existent. so sorry. you are morally obligated to be nice to me; i have a tumor. also, my apologies for yesterdays post -- it is gone now *shudders at memory* --

i was very manic and upset and the jerseykyle in me that gets angry, really, really is convinced she can kill god...i do think that's still true, but it was very chaotic and embarassing to be like that on the dash.

but if you are worried about the tumor i am trying to have a ( bad ) sense of humor about, again, it’s benign, noncancerous, very, very small, to the point where it requires no surgery or radiation treatment at this time ( i do have a radiology appointment for another brain scan on the 26th so please keep me in ur thots if you can ) and i just have to cope with a lot of gnarly side effects.

i love you and hope you heal. <333 -the u.n.

so...i wrote this weird ~'thing'~ ( i'm not sure what else to call it ) because i was having a very loose and silly-goosed ( but as always, wonderfully and graciously soul-warming ) converslaytion in the dms

with dearest, darlingest teria ( whose work you should not only read and whose art is not only more immaculate than the piss-and-moan-a-lisa, but whose advice, council and conversation i enthusiastically urge you to enlist because she is truly, a little bit of heaven on earth )

and, i don't know, i was doing the silly kyley b voice for shits and giggles in my texts and...it never...left my brain ( is THAT what gave me the brain worms? ) and i had to write my weird ~'thing'~, which is my boy, THE BUOY, kyley bi-atch! talkin’ to the new kid and givin’ them some street-wise, beat-the-shit-out-of-you-poetic advice.

( if you want it...it's down at the VERY BOTTOM -- everyone say hoooola cuervostan ;) xxx -- of this post...i got weirdly passionate talking about kyley b and jersey in general, so you can read all of that if you WANT...but i'll leave the screenshots after everything, so you can scroll down easily and reach it; also...gender neutral, i promise, just girl-scout-squirrely-whirly nicknames, haha. )

cue a future me leaving this here where i left off:

*unfreezes tv screen and a feral past nina springs to life*

also, i am...so sorry in advance for this, bc, okay, look...

-- does he sound like ball bustin', good fa' nothing pauly d, soprano mobstaH? yeah...yeah he sure does, aND WHATTABOUTIT, BETCH?! ( i'm just kidding, you guys; mwah ) but like...is that not The Vibe?

like? he is not supposed to give your rough and tumble ol buddy nino down at the jewish-italian pizzeria who looks like he would rather fkn blow his brains out that take 'ya ordah' ( but loves his ma and his kid brother, and the counter guy got fkn shived, so there he is baby baby;

-- the worst man on planet earth...

…and The LUVH Of My Loife! )

...who repeatedly calls you 'toots', but he's not really hitting on you, he's just trying to size you up ( also, i love you pre-(ed)isordah jersey, the BIGGEST and the baddiest, baby! ah-baddabingbaddaBOOM! )

and he...( quite literally ) wants you to stay the fuck away from him and get the hell out of his shitty city, and, he is THE KYLEY B, BAY-BEE! he's the curliest, cuntiest, coppa'-ist ( do naaaught, howeva, group him in with the bootlickers, or he'll make you lick his...just so HE can call /YOU/ one...like...he is my BF, do you understA-- )

hooOOoo

( i am sorry; he is...my favorite mwob-buoy-bawhss xx )

but...on the inside, underneath it all, really is...just...a fine and truly beautiful specimen, the meaner he is to you, the more you like him...and...you accidentally fall in love with him ( oooY geVAULT! )

that is...in fact, what sweet, sweet stanley marsh did ( he is a genius and a visionary and I RESPECT THE FUCK OUT OF THAT SCARY BOY CRAZY CRUNCHY KALE SALAD KIIIIIIING; like, he really played The Long Game...AND WON!!! HE FUCKING WON, BABEY!!!! like

i have this pre-rm, childhood headcannon, that ( one, because he was trying not to say stan's name or acknowledge him -- very interesting to me because that is the strategy stan employed when he pubically gave kyle the jersey nickname, because he knew he could not remain detached/unemotional if he said kyle's name --

that babyjk when he lived in south park regularly just called stan 'bambi' or 'sug' or 'masug'; short for 'masugganah' or crazy in yiddish

because rm!santanastan...

( which is what sharon called him, for the band and just to respect his chosen name, in spanish, without alerting randy's suspicions...i will start crying, i should talk abt the south park era of the rm fbs more )

was just this insane boy with gigantic fucking gold fish, cartoon dear eyes who would approach him when no one else would even DARE, was like obsessed with him and thought he was the bees knees.

so, because the reader, reminds him a lot of stan...he starts using those little nicknames and i wanted you to know the rm!origin. yes, he does still call stan 'bamb' and 'sug' ( which is cute, because as a nice pet name he likens it to 'sugar' sometimes, aw ) to this day

and i think, almost did it or actually one time with raven of crimson dawn and stan's gigantic fucking sugar glider eyeballs lit up and kyle was HORRIFIED because oh my god, that was a Stanley Marsh ONLY nickname and i used it on this fucking CELEBRITY MAN...like y'know actually bestie, you are a fucking genius; that's Your celebrity man.

BUT BACK TO BACK TO KYLEY B, BAAAAAAAAABEY!

who is the red-(H)ead-BIC of NUEW JOISEY, kid!

like my best description is that he's this fast-twalkin, street rat, night life, mortal ( but not really; he basically thinks he's god ) kombative, fucking feral, ruthless palooka-pummeling, curbstomping, pavement leveling, street-fighting piesa' literal gutta trash, or sort of like if luffy from one piece was a mad swole ( emphasis mad, he's pissed and humungous, holy shit ) scary freckled ginger new jersey pirate king

who ( bc i love a visual ) is typically out there, rocking:

a way too tight ( to the point of it almost being threadbare and rolling paper thin; he looks good tho; he's my lil diamond in da ruff ) worn out, extremely stretched out, skin-tight, faded and distressed

( that's fraying and unspooling in several along the mom-mended and barely held-together seams --sounds like a metaphor for something -- with the distracting curly font almost nearly peeled and cracked off ), probably heavily stained ( with blood...and whatever meager, worm-infested brain matta splattered on his shirt when he was bashing some bigshot's big stupid head in with a tire iron --rip; sorry ma -- _ sun-bleached from scorching nj summers that it's almost...brown ) black affliction tank top

some huge, torn-up, baggy, aggresively rhinestone-studded, heavily sequined ( k.b, it's already so hard to see and street hardened, police siren, rough around the edges radiance is already blinding me, please have mercy [ never not once ] ) mike 'the situation' influenced, uper quintessentially 2012 jersey shore adjacent ( in that they're very loud, vibrant, in your face, tacky and obnoxious ) faux americana, tattoo parlor-popularized, badly screenprinted, ed hardy jeans ( eyeconick! )

the M-o-s-t ( sigh ) hideous ( and i do mean fucking hideous, sheila broflovski is fashion blind; but she is so beautiful and kind, she is forgiven in every way ) men's size thirteen ( jersey has frighteningly large, monster-sized clown feet ) highlighter green-orange-purple basketball shoes you've ever seen

-- purchased, with love, from the sale rack of ross dress ( where they were collecting dust; no one wanted those things ) and her widely amassment of store credit from...numerous previous returns ) by none other than, my favorite beehive-styling, cherry-red, new jersey haus-wife, legendary broflovski matriarch ( she really runs that whole fucking house like the navy; choke gerald )

Miss Sheila Broflovski...

the only person who is not scared of the notorious k.m.b. kyley b and routinely, while they're out in public, ft. a baby-faced, mean-mugging kyley b jersey acting all big and bad, will pull him down by the tag of his tank top, go 'you've got some schmutz on your face, bubbula!'

hold down this gigantic, vicious, snarling, menacing, thick as brick, hard as titanium, six foot tall, juvenile detention center frequenting, frightening concrete wall of an eighteen year old boy who looks like he could gut you with his stare alone, like he's a cute, cuddly teddy bear, hawk the loudest, wettest, gnarliest lougie into a schmatta she fished out of her purse and proceed to volently scrub a tiny spot of 'sahwasce' her son's face while he squirms like a feral cat; i love her. )

and the crowning jewels ( or jewels really; not sure if they're real, but they're big and shiny, which is what matters ) duel-ery, which i call that because…

he literally weaves his way through the back-door inner-city system of crime in new jersey through info he mercilessly squeezed out of a coupla peabrained Gabbagoons, uses what little information he could decipher out of those fkn weasel's pathetic wheezes to deadpool square to wherever their bosses lair is…

makes them regret they were even born, beats them with in AN INCH of their sorry life, leaves them lying in a pool of their own gross blood, stamps a big, blingy 'B' on their forehead and browses the shattered, blood-soaked display case and five-finger discounts ( but really, if you just won a major battle or boss fight; clearly, you deserve kind of reward or compensation, right, guys? and by his logic...you're not rlly stealing what quite morally wrong, but rightfully...belongs to you )

...whatever the largest and most impressive ( or not, tbh, sometimes he's like 'ugh, really...a toe ring? that's your big come up?' ) piece of jewelry they're wearing is, sterlizes it, and flexes it it on his body and on the streets as silent, but deadly warning to all other 'so-called' king pens and 'unstoppable' underground crime lords that

'oh, that guy YOU were scared of? i beat the piss outta him, he cried like a fucking baby, he bled like a stuck pig and is lying in the fucking sewer like a half-dead rat. and if you fuck with me; you'll be next ) and scare legit 60 y/o robert deniro level frightening men, who have been running the game since the crimson dawn of time…

-- Into SUBMISSION.

...at like...seventeen or eighteen years old.

LIKE HE IS A FUCKING LEGEND IN NEW JERSEY. they still whisper about him TO THIS DAY and have to look over their shoulders before they do...like he was that fucking Terrifying when he was out there.

and i need you to know that he is H-U-G-E. like the incredible hulk HUGE. he's not like, this scrawny, gangly, sniveling little ginger vanilla wafer cookie rolling up on you...he is like, this six foot two, gigantic size thirteen shoe wearing, slim-jim-ripping, gum and fist snacking,

NFL FOOTBALL FIELD PLAYER WIDE, like not just some measly, tiny-itsy bitsy football player -- oh, no; you wish -- he is STACKED AND JACKED, he is ten times wider than the widest receiver...he is the WHOLE DAMN FOOTBALL FIELD BITCH, fkn might-o-chrondia ( because he is the new jersey powerhouse of the concrete and hard titanium juvenille deliquient cell, which shakes when he walks, bro. )

tldr; KYLEY B IS FRECKLY, JEWISH, GINGER, NEW JERYSIAN 'THE THING' FROM THE FANTASTIC FOUR, COULD VERY EASILY BODY YOU, OR VIOLENTLY DISMEMBER AND KILL YOU AND MAKE THAT SHIT LOOK LIKE L-I-G-H-T WORK. AND I MEAN THAT.

but...he actually, believe it or not, does...Kill People?

which, i honestly want to say, is stanley marsh's gentle 'post-mortem' pacifist influence still lingering around him like the sweetest ghost.

because, honestly, i think a lot of those people deserve to fucking die, not just for being extremely fucking cruel to jerseykyle for literally just existing, for how he looks of all things, his fucking APPERANCE!

( it's the teacher in me, but child and adolescent bullying, particularly in school settings, really makes me viciously angry and very, Very fucking sad because it causes soooo much psychological damage to the victim, who most likely did nothing to warrant such incessant and merciless taunting -- that was probably perpetrated because he was whip-smart, and therefore a fucking nerd, much significantly larger than other boys, wore glasses, a 'funny', loud, cartoonish voice...

( which is simply...a dialect and manner of speaking that he literally developed from growing up in new jersey and from his mother teaching him how to talk -- that shouldn't at all diminish the weigh his words carry or the meaning behind them; which, minus...a little...or a lot, of potty-mouthed sailor swearing -- which, again, only fucking happened because he was so viciously bullied, he had to adopt a harsh, slangy, malicious vernacular -- is often extremely profound, academic and reflects a very introspective perspective )

and because he's immunocompromised, had to report to the nurse's office frequently throughout the day to prick his finger and check his blood pressure for his diabetes and is often, very, very sick -- which i guess makes other kids view him as weak, but most damningly was that...he didn't fit into the mold ( or, uh, most traditional size ranges, sheila only bought him clothes from the 'big and tall' men's section of most department stores because he was so Large in stature,

like he could not squeeze into child-sized...anything; meanwhile ravenstan has itsy, bitsy baby feet and could probably slide his non-existent ass -- you are so sexy king, i love you, you needed a flaw -- into a pair of the largest sized black pair of skinny jeans they got on the racks of the junior girls section of target...like, he could and he would look damn Good too! like go AWHFF king!

HES SOOO BAD! i need to focus, but before i do~

btw; rs definitely sent jk a picture to laff. he was like damn, i am sorry it won't load; will you send five more from different angles? HELP )

but, anyways, my lifetime horny writer girl max security prison sentence aside ( and pending ), he just wasn't traditionally thin or tiny or conventionally attractive or healthy like most other boys or children and general were..so the other kids, probably ring-leaded by the most convention of the bunch, othered him, dedicated making every single day of his life miserable and made his life a living hell...

...just to have a little 'fun' at recess and laugh.

FUCK. THAT.

because, i don't know, bullying like that, creates what are usually painful lifelong feelings of self-inferiority, very difficult to remedialize through therapy and selfcare, social emotional issues with expressing yourself/emotions in healthy positive ways, militant self-isolation

and ALL of that happened to jerseykyle...and on top of just never hearing 'i love you' from his father, that hate he received from the outside world, forced him the keep everything inside and it's why he couldn't tell ravenstan he loved him, because basketball is just a game,

...but it never FUCKING ended and he could only alternate between being defensive or offensive, there was never a bell that sounded to tell him he could stop playing and that it was over, and return to 'normal', that was his normal, because, from all his overwhelming negative experiences with vulnerability, if he stopped treading water, every shark on planet earth would smell his blood in the water...

and spill it everywhere. :(

NINA, DID YOU HAVE A POINT? AND WERE YOU EVER GONNA GET THERE? i...think so? i think the point is that, these are bad people that kyley kg fucking b was putting the hurt on...and the point is, i think, is that because, like i said, he considers himself a 'debt collector' and seems like a villain because of his vicious disposition,

is really more like...

a misunderstood antihero than anything?

he's kind of like a red robin hoodie, if you will, because he goes after rapists, child molesters, guys who hurt women/animals/the weak, power-hungry bastards in suits who use that power for evil and take it out on those who are stricken with poverty, like, he is a violent criminal...but he takes out even More violent criminals.

hot boy shit!

and yeah, he does do it sort of vaingloriously sometimes, for street cred, to wear people's status symbols on his hand and placate that hurt place in himself by being scary and ferocious and making motherfuckers pay for what they did for him and how they treated him...and with all that blood in his eyes, he gets blind to the ethical portion of what he's doing...but, subconsciously...

he's doing it...

— For GOOD.

and killing people, the notion of it, not only made stanley marsh, punk rock pacifist prince, violently, violently sick, but it's also, one, too messy, a lot on his hands ( already quite heavy with his heisted and thieved jewels and video game loot ) but...i don't know? he really loves his mom, you know? batshit insane as that woman is, he loves her to death...and does spare bad-guys because of it. because everyone has a mom and not everyone's mom is kind and lovely like his, but they could...and he's sending their kid back home to them...

...in a [ BOX ].

it just...it didn't sit right with him ( he acts unbothered by the idea of murdering people...but, unless he had to, like if it was going to kill someone else and the only way to fix it would be to kill the thing about to kill them, he could do it, and again...he could do it easily. )

he also acts simultaneously above the 'laur' and studies it in school, but ultimately...what happens to this fuck-ups after he fucks them up...is not up to him. whether they live or die, that is. he gave them what was coming to them...and the rest is up to someone else.

and i won't get into it too much ( A LIE; but i have like 74937403 other blurbs about this in my drafts, i should not ferally release all that insanity in here ) but it's interesting...because rm!jersey, loses a lot of that subconscious 'good' in the process of being 'bad'.

because, after his drastic kyley b transformation into ivy league jersey, he, for the first time, is being noticed in a 'positive' way by people on the outside and he's getting 'positive' attention from them, and he feels...for once, powerful — even though, really, he's essentially rendered powerless and is chained to the approval of these people and destroys himself every moment of everyday...to be in a pretty, and small, and palatable package for them...

( yes, i want k*ll myself. )

but he BECOMES the very EVIL that he was hellbent on destroying and starts doing EXACTLY what those people did to him. and because he is so unhappy and morose and hurt and devastated, he finds outsiders, weak people, but mostly, just looks...happy? :((((

…unbothered, merely existing...and decides to psychologically debase and torture every drop of happiness from that individual, to make his self esteem better and make him feel like, good, i am so much better than that miserable worm, squirming away, squinting at the light it once basked in...

now it can be as insufferable and small...

— As I Am. </3

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. BROTHERS, THIS SHIT MAKES ME SO SAD. I AM SOOOOO UPSET LOL.

NOOOOOO--

and they're both brutal, kyley b and jerseykyle ( who, really, do need that distinction because they are...VERY different ) jersey, one, is far worse than kyley b, i don't CARE if he could twist your intestined into rope and hang you with them...the things that jerseykyle can say, as the most beautiful man EVER, Using That Voice,

looking at you with the most disgust and contempt and unworthiness you've ever felt and completely debase you in a couple crisp, dififnued, academic words...and not touch you a single time, bc you're pathetic and beneath him...you can heal a broken bone in a couple weeks...but your mind? your heart? your self esteem?

your once…wealthy, healthy feelings of self worth?

when jerseykyle reduces you into ash with his eyes, when your body was a temple and he burns it down, like somehow, it will make his stronger where he feels weak and helpless or like it will some how vindicate stanley marsh...it is very, very, very difficult to make that rubble into a city again. like...that man will RUIN YOU LIFE.

( pleaaaAasee kiss me!!! pICK ME CHOOSE MESHSJ )

but jersey is scary in a very...bone-chilling, below-freezing, self-pleasing, self-destructive ( but in a more subtle, seemingly artistic, less 'unhand me, you big brute, ya no-good palooka' kind of way...

and, instead, it's this twisted, muted, shadowy…

...oh wow, you...really are the devil in a fresh pressed suit, college student siren who leads boys to their untimely demise, and drains them of their lifeforce in his bedroom they way he would a dry glass of wine or a cheap bodega cigarettes like in a tasteful, snake charmer kind of way...a dark academic, sleek, chic, fuck-and-succubus way )

like jerseykyle is a very pretentious, jane austenatcious, bond villian type of self-destructive...that revolves around mentally preying on the weak/innocent...because he hates himself and wants literally everyone to hate themselves more than him...so he can like himself.

and when he guts you its, in a mentally incapacitant, poisonous, cruel and insidious way, in a...classically trained, philosophical, fashionable, was...in the way a thorn on the most beautiful rose you've ever seen would gut you...or a delicate antique letter opener...might slash your palm open and gash you and bleed you dry...

whereas kyley b was a faaaar less tasteful or restrained ( in that sense but jersey is still unhinged ) destroyer of worlds...he was very hands on, ( jerseykyle will not touch you unless he has to, he'll only punch you if you will not shut the fuck up and touch you as little and impersonally as possible to sleep with you…which is ironic, i know )

kyley b is a very fast and loose, wild animal, loose canon, carnivorous 'i'll slice ya and dice ya and put ya on ice ya' and beat you until you are bloody and unrecognizable...but on the inside...

he's just this...Frightened Little Animal. :(

who hurts you because he is scared you will reach for him, and when you put food in your palm, bites it because he's scared it's a trick.

aaaaaaaaaaaaah....idk he is my special little man.

okay, shutting the fuck up now HERE IS YOUR SNIPPET:

( edit: LAMBORGHINI MERCY, ITS LONG; LO SIENTO! )

GOOD LUCK, BAMBI. </3 ;-;

( just a...branch in my eye. ) i also was worried about the nicknames being a little too...'fem...inine-ish?' which, i glawhSSED on earlier, but wrote this little extra dialogue as an example using all the little satana stan nicknames ( aw ) because i am gonna be honest, it's gender neutral and not personal, he'd tell you, straight up -- my man always keeps it one-hunna and 100% kosh, ketzele; --

something like:

'ya can throw daisy chains ova a pile of cowshit aaaaaalll you want, masug; but no matta how ya dress it up, when alls said and done; and all those pretty flowers keel ova' and die...all your fine exteria design... fuck: what's cityslicka for 'useless, fancy schmanchy holy crappola' uhhh...your...dainty lil'tle 'floral achootrama' or whateva';

gesundheit.

...means fuck awhll in new jersey, 'cause the freakin' se-wer systems! ( manure, really ) like all the people, are all totally wasted, loaded and gunked-up with broken needles, instant spray tan and crushed up cred cans; wow, golly gee whiz, dory. so...you mean to tell me...my whole life...is all a buncha crud, huh?

o-oh, no, shit i might cr--

HA! gotcha, sensodyne! cause one man's trash...is another man's treasure...and you better get comfy and rest your goddamn laurels on one on a street corner where a prostitute isn't going to give you freakin' hepatisis mauling ya for struting your stuff on her turf...

cause this, outta townie...

— is your new home sweet home. ;)

...wonderful little joint, ain't it? you should see when it's all lit up with gang violence...that'll really jumpstart your heart, sug. it's, uh, kinda like fireworks...if they were fucking HORRIBLE and KILLED YA.

so...and i'll talk real slow, because i'm not sure i speak malibu freakin' barbie: h-e-r-e....in...hoebroken, ( that's where we are...in case you forgot, bamb; don't look so scared, honey; the junkies will only give ya little nibble; not too many teeth there otherwise. or, uh, oxygen flowin' to the ole cranium, they're basically harmless! uh...not him. staaaaaaaaaay, the hell away away from him, sug. aY, YOUSE! SNAP CRACKLE POP! KEEP YOUR FKN DISTANCE OR I'LL CAP YA BI--

basically; v.i.p., just between you...and me, there's crap...on crap...on --wait! could it be--oh no, just more CRAP lined from the rock bottom of nj all the way up to the ny-sea to shining sea skyline ( might be our fault, but the fuckin' big city biddies and hoity-freakin-toitys out there can hoof it a little; by that, i mean horse shit; fuck 'em. uh, no offense, bam. ) i shot that one outta the park a little, ball-point is:

it's backed allllll the way...TA HELL. which, might even be kinda, uh, nice...well, compared to this fuckin' trash compacta. so take a good, long, whiff sweetheat everybody's shit stinks...even yours, princess.

--ooh. es-Specially, yours.

ever heard of a shower? you r-e-e-k."

hEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP THATS MY BOOOOOOOOOOOYFRIEND! look at him!!!! I MISS HIM EVERYDAY; KYLEY 'IF YOU AIN'T MAKIN' MONEY, TAKE! YA! BROKE! ASS! OUTTA! HOE(BOKEN)! BEFORE I BREAK IT SOMEMORE, BREAK IT SOMEMORE...(B)-I T C H!"

like and suuuuuuUUubSCRRIIIBE~

-uncle nina, the gay kyley lGBea(t)in'theshitouttayaBETCH agenda

[karmaphone]

went thru eye of eden again and it only let me spend light on a few corpses despite having tons of light by the time I reached the sand so I only got 4 candles which I immediately spent on something I didn't want bc I wanted to see how much the thing above it on the tree was and it was like 200 goddamn candles

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

.

[bi-writes]

hiiiii I'm new to your page but i would like to ask you what would've happened if simon mail-ordered a bride?

mail-order bride

you stare down at the address on the card, blinking as you reread the house number and look back up at the cottage in front of you. the numbers match, but you just need a few more minutes before you knock on the door.

you're not holding too many things. you have one suitcase with the entirety of your belongings at one side, the cat carrier sitting on top of it. on the other side, you hold a bundle of papers. your immigration papers, all shiny and new, your birth certificate, and your new british passport.

when you look back down, you swallow as you read over your name. it's odd, to see something new in the section labeled SURNAME.

Riley.

you've never met him. this isn't legal, it can't be, to have all of these things. he must be someone important. someone they value. or maybe, they are just too afraid to say no to him.

the front door opens, and you freeze on the spot as you see someone duck their head to step outside. they're wearing a mask, covering their entire face except for their dark eyes, but it's hitched up over his nose as he holds an unlit cigarette between his lips.

he stares as he sees you at the end of the steps. he frowns, looking you up and down.

"weren't supposed ta be 'ere for a few weeks."

your eyes water a little, but you only manage a shrug.

"i-i..." you meet his eyes. "i-i couldn't stay there any longer. i didn't have anywhere else to go."

he tucks the cigarette back behind his ear, slipping the mask off. it reveals a tousled mess of short blonde hair and a terribly scarred face. his eyes dart to the little carrier sitting next to you when he hears a soft meow coming from it.

"said no pets."

your lip trembles.

"please," you whisper, and his lip twitches as he fights off a scowl. you imagine he must not have much practice in hiding his emotions. he comes down the steps anyways, coming closer, and you pick up the carrier as he snatches the suitcase off the pavement, making his way back inside. you follow him, naturally.

when you close the door behind you, you're surprised at how quaint it all is. nice brick fireplace, a soft carpet (no shoes allowed is what he snapped at you), and wonderfully furnished to make the place cozy, warm, lived-in. there's throw blankets and accent pillows. there's pictures on the walls, paintings, yellow corner lights to give everything a soft glow. the kitchen is beautiful, with lovely colored tile and wooden cutting boards, a drip-coffee setup in the corner and worn cookbooks stacked neatly by a stainless steel toaster. there's herbs growing in little pots sitting on the windowsill above the sink, and there's a cast iron pot decoratively resting on the stove.

it's spick-span clean. there's no specks of dust or splatters left over from bacon grease. there's papers pinned to the fridge, lists to remind him to buy whole milk and sliced bread and call about the internet bill being charged twice again.

you set the carrier down on the couch, unzipping the top. a little curious black head pokes out of it, and you reach in and pick the cat up under its belly and drop it onto the floor. immediately, the cat spreads its front paws, claws sticking out as they begin to knead the carpet and use it as a personal scratcher, the prick, prick, prick sound enough to draw the giant man out of the bedroom with a hard frown on his face.

he points at the thing and shakes his head.

"keep tha' thing off the fawkin' counter," he snaps at you. he purses his lips when he sees you still standing there, afraid to even move. he comes closer, the cat scurrying off, and he yanks your coat and scarf off, going to the hang them up by the door. "can unpack tomorrow. need t'make somethin' ta eat."

you move immediately towards the kitchen, hoping he keeps a stocked fridge, but he puts out a big hand and stops you, stepping in front of you.

"the fuck are y'doin'?" he asks, and you blink up at him.

"you said to make dinner...s-sir?"

he tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes.

"y'listen t'this," he murmurs. "women don't lift a fuckin' finger in this house, y'hear?"

you nod, and he reaches up and palms your throat, cupping your jaw.

"and my wife doesn't call me sir," he mutters. "it's simon."

you soften a little. "i-i'm sorry, simon."

"don't apologize," he grits his teeth. "did nothin' wrong."

when a fresh set of tears comes down your face, he wipes them away with ease, calloused thumb swiping over your cheeks and quieting you. he puts something into your hands, a velvet box that he must've gotten when he went to put your suitcase away.

"y'r a riley now, yeah?" he murmurs, and you tilt your head at an angle, and your foreheads brush together when he bends low to speak to you. "act like it."

you lean up on your toes (he's so fucking tall), and you kiss him softly beside his mouth. when he moves his head, your lips brush against each other, but he pulls back to make his way to the kitchen. you hear the gas stove light up, and a few minutes later, there's a familiar smell of onions hitting hot olive oil.

you take a seat on the couch, smiling to yourself, wiping your eyes as you curl up there. you flip open the box, sighing shakily when you see the rectangular diamond and matching gold wedding band. when simon comes back in to give you a mug of tea, you take it with your left hand, and his eyes flicker when he notices the new jewelry there, so pretty, so new.

mine.

when he pads back into the kitchen, the cat blinks up at him slowly, green eyes bright as they sit on the counter.

simon walks past it, saying nothing at all.

[azzo0]

"Katsuki!" You called from the bedroom, lying on your stomach as you read a romance novel. You'd just seen a line you read a handful of times in other romance novels. It was a line that managed to make you smile like an idiot, with butterflies dancing in your stomach.

"What?" He yelled from the living room, where he repaired one of his gauntlets.

"C'mere for a sec," you got up with the book, and Katsuki walked into the room shirtless with a little grease on his chest and arms. Even better for your request. 

"What the fuck? You just called me in, and now yer pushin' me away?" He knitted his eyebrows when you pushed him out of the room.

"Katsuki, can you do this?" You handed him the book, and he took it, looking down at the page in confusion. 

"A lot is goin' on here, sweets. I'm a hero, not an actor." He said, cherry eyes scanning the page. 

"Oh, come on! I'm sure you can do this one." You pointed at the line, and he brought it closer to his face, reading it out loud, his eyebrows raising amusedly. 

"I looked up from my work when I heard the door open to see William. He stood in the doorway, one of his hands on the header above him. "Hey," he greeted-" Katsuki stopped to look at you, "I don't see what you want me to do? Stand in the door and say hi?"

"No, no. You're supposed to do what William did," you explained, demonstrating what you meant by showing him, even though your hand wouldn't reach for the header, "Get it?" 

"Hah? What's so special about it in the first place?" He asked, flipping the book shut and giving it back to you. 

"It's just sexy, okay?" You huffed, "I've read similar lines in many other books, and I just wanna know what it would be like when you do it."

"Fine," he grumbles, "Stand inside."

You happily skipped inside while he stood outside. He took a step closer and stood in the doorway. He brought his hand up and held the doorframe, thick bicep flexing in the process, revealing a few blond hair in his pit. He leaned closer to you, snaking a calloused hand to your back, roughly pulling you closer.

"This what ya wanted, hm?" He whispered into your ear, sending tingles down your spine. He smirked at your flustered state and snuck a peck to your lips. 

He chuckled at your stupor and turned around to leave. He glanced back, a triumphant smirk on his lips, "Let me know if there's somethin' else that William dude does. I can do it better than him anyway~"

[nanaslutt]

have this idea stuck in my head for days

tojis obviously would be very opposed to the idea of subbing but hear me out, when you ride him and it just becomes too much, he would definitely let out little whimpers and be so embarrassed :((

I am SO into this.

Contains: fem reader, switch?reader & toji, dom!toji, nipple play, riding, backshots, soooo much dirty talk, daddy kink (i had to), lots of pet names for reader, pullout method used (shocker), praise, degradation, established relationship, toji is whipped for reader, face slapping, squirting, passing out during sex briefly (he stops)

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

Your thighs are burning from supporting the rapid pace of your bouncing. Chastizing your aching legs silently, calling them ungrateful in this current situation.

Toji never let you take control. He hardly let you even ride him, and when you did he he often set the pace for you by fucking his hips up into your cunt. Toji like the dominance he had over you, loved seeing you go drunk from his length alone. There was nothing inherently wrong with his preference. Sex always being very satisfying with him.

But could couldn't deny that there were times when you wanted to see his facad fall apart. Growing wetter at the idea of him submissive underneath you.

You tried proposing the idea to Toji, but he shot it down down faster than you could even finish getting it out your words.

"There is no way I'm gonna be your bitch, sorry sweetheart." He delivered the news to you shortly, ruffling your hair in the process.

You argued back, "Cmon Toji, 's not like I'm gonna fuck you with a strap or something." Pouting when his large palm finished messing up the hair atop your head.

Head turning to stare at you with lidded eyes, disbelief plastered on his face at the mention alone of you fucking his ass with a fake cock.

Arguing back and forth for a while before settling on a compromise you could get behind. "Jesus christ girl, if this is so important to you, ill let ya ride my me or somethin."

You smiled, triumph filling your body at his proposition, "but if you don't fuck me right, I'm taking over." He stated flatly, making you roll your eyes at his overconfident tone.

Bringing you back to the current situation. Toji's large frame was sprawled out on the matress beneath you, large cock snug in your cunt as you bounced up and down. The pace you set didnt even come close to his usual speed, but you were just getting started.

You were so determined to make him eat his words, and show him how good submitting even just a little, could feel.

Pausing your bouncing for a second, his rough voice cut through the hot air, "Already done?" he smirked, tone having i told you so, laced all throughout it.

You lean back, hands bracing right above Toji’s knees as you plant your feet on the bottom of his abs, resituating yourself.

just you wait old man.

You stayed silent, giving him a small smile as you started thrusting your hips against him, sliding his hard cock in and out of your walls.

The new angle made his breath hitch, your cunt feeling so much tighter in this position. Toji's tip was being forced up against your tummy when you fucked his cock into yourself.

Trying not to lose yourself at the feeling of him directly hitting your sweet spot, realigning your brain to focus on your goal.

He licked his lips, jaw opening slightly, groaning unabashedly at the feeling of you deliberately clenching your cunt around him.

"Feel good daddy?" you teased, confidence filling your voice when his eyes repeatedly rolled back in his head. The older man’s hips fighting the urge to fuck into up you, trying to respect his pretty girlfriend’s wishes for the time being.

"Sure does cute thing, makin' me feel so fucking good." Grabbing the entirety of your ankles in his palms, using them to ground himself.

You catch him off guard, leaning forward swiftly and hooking your feet on the insides of his thighs, grinding your hips deliciously against his pelvis, providing your clit with mouthwatering stimulation in the process as it bumped against his hard pelvis.

"Fuuuuuck," he grit his teeth at the arousal knotting under his abs, his cock being rubbed against your walls delectably, making him feel lightheaded.

You braced your hands on his pecs, scratching your nails over his stiff nipples intentionally.

His reaction even catching himself off guard as he fucking whimpered. Body jerking when you repeated the process a couple times. His big hand coming up to cover his mouth, face turning crimson under his fingers when you picked up your hips again, pulling out till the tip was just inside before slamming them down roughly.

"H-aah," He breathily moaned, "You like it when I play with ur nipples daddy?" you whined with a smile, fingers coming up to the pretty pink buds, rolling them between your fingers.

His hand pressing harder over his mouth doing little to conceal his whimpers. You never would have guessed he was so sensitive here, never letting your sly fingers get close enough to test it.

“Can feel you twitching inside m-me” you moan out, pace of your hips finally matching the one he’s used to.

Watching his eyes repeatedly roll back in his head while he tried his best to suppress the whines that threatened to fall from his lips, making your clit fucking throb.

Abandoning one of your hand toying with his nipples to grab at his wrist, pulling at the hand covering his mouth, “Toji ‘s okay, w-wanna hear you.”

He feels the tips of his ears heat up, embarrassed that you had to comfort him like this. Usually having to be the one to console you when you were struggling to adjust to his length. He didn’t appreciate this reverse in your respective roles.

Dropping his hand onto you thigh and gripping hard, making the veins in his hand pop, he looked away from your eyes, “S-shut up.” he groaned, lip tucked snugly under his teeth.

Not letting his words get to you, thoroughly aware he wasn’t used to letting himself feel like this, you spoke again, “Sounds ur makin are getting me so f-fucking wet.” you praised.

Veins popping in his forhead at this as now you sounded a little too much like him, “That’s enough of that,” he quickly flips you over, roles falling back into their rightful place as he started pounding his cock into your cunt from behind, pressing the weight of his hard body against your back.

“Think you can talk to me like i’m some submissive slut? huh?” he growled into the shell of your ear, tongue darting inside, licking around in your ear.

“Tojiiiiii,” you whined at his mean hips, disappointed he had cut off your fun. Still fairly happy with the progress you made in allowing him to get used to being more submissive around you if he wanted, but still missing the slightly more domineering position you held moments ago.

“Cant believe you made me embarrass myself in front of you like that.” thinking back to moments ago when you quite literally had him whimpering under the assault of your hips and sneaky fucking fingers.

“Gotta put you back in your place,” he whispered darkly into your ear.

“N-not fair,” you moaned in retaliation, voice getting cut short as he painfully forced his cock deep into your walls, kissing your cervix with the deep angle.

“I think you had your- fun” he emphasized the last word with a thrust, “want me to admit it felt good when you rode my dick, huh? thag what you want?” Deep voice moaning at the feeling of your cunt constricting his dick like you were trying to milk him for all he’s worth.

“Think it was pretty obvious when you made me fucking whimper.” he spat, biting down on your hear and pulling it between his teeth before letting it go.

Leaning his body up and taking a strong hold on your hips, gripping them hard enough to almost guarantee to leave nasty bruises.

Toji pulled you back on his dick, your fingers gripping into the sheets for dear life as he fucked you like he had a personal vendetta against you.

And right now he did.

“God this little pussy is sucking me in so good.” his scared mouth forms a grin feeling you gush around him.

“Toji ‘s too m-uch” wining at the stretch of him still. Trying and failing to warn him of how close you were.

He pulls your hips back against him harder, shutting you up. “Nahhh you can take it.” he replies.

“Fucking- take- it” fucking his words into your body with each thrust, massaging your walls expertly with his girth. Your cunt pulsing around him unexpectedly as your orgasm crashed over you suddenly.

Transfixed with the cum squirting out of your pussy while he fucked got through it, “Oh yesssss, squirt all over me baby,” he encouraged, helping the cum spray out of you by rubbing his fingers back and forth across your clit,

“Fuuuuuck, oh-my-god” your voice squealed through it as little spurts of your arousal kept dripping out around his length.

The sheets underneath your body were fucking soaked, not having time to feel bad about it before you black out, limbs collapsing limply against the sheets, losing consciousness and the intensity in which you just came.

“Ahhh shit, heh” toji giggled, stopping his thrusts and burring his cock deep inside you before he leaned over your body. He slapped your face with his rough fingers a couple times before your eyes rolled back into place in their sockets.

Gaps and whines finding your tongue when you came to, tears falling down your face at sheer intensity of your orgasm. “You okay sweetheart?” he asked, keeping himself still, buried to the hilt while he waited for your answer.

Giggling when you nodded, stupid head unable to form any coherent words. “Attagirl, thought I killed ya’ for a second, that woulda’ been a new one.” laughing at his sick joke, while he kissed the side of your face.

“Think ya can keep going?” he asked, concern peeking out through his words.

Hearing you whimper out a quiet “mhmm” next to his chiseled face, he got back into position, pushing your back down into a mean arch as he started his pace up again.

“So good to daddy baby, promise i’ll make it quick.” staring down at you with admiration in his eyes as he thrusts recklessly into your cunt.

Words being a lot more literal that he thought, as he was only a couple thrusts in and already started feeling his balls tighten. Feeling the cum traveling through his dick, getting ready to give his load to you.

“Nggghh, gotta stop suckin me in like that, makin me think you want me to fill you up.” he groaned when your overstimulated pussy tightened, protestesting at his cock’s incessant thrusting.

Mind barely registering his words but your sweet voice slurring out, “yessss gimmie ur babiesss, cum inside me tojiii” anyways.

“Dangerous words doll,” he laughed feeling his cock react strongly to your words, “Maybe another night tho, pretty head doesn’t seem screwed on just right, right now.” much to your dismay he was pulling out soon after.

Jerking his cock quickly, hot ropes of cum decorating your ass while he groaned into the air, moaning your name full of pleasure while he came down.

He tapped your ass a couple times, signaling you to relax, body immediately obeying as your arch dissipated, flattening against the bed on your stomach, groaning at how sore your pussy felt.

He collapsed down on the bed next to you, pulling your abused body onto his sweaty torso, cradling you in his arms.

Feeling toji softly kiss your head while he whispered praises into your ear, mind slowly drifting off into what would be the best night of sleep of your life.

When sex got rough with toji and you fell asleep right after, much like now, he always made sure to wipe you clean. Never failing to wake up under his soft sheets, sticky mess cleaned off your body, slick between your thighs gone without a trace like it was never there in the first place.

Toji might be a rough man, not great with words, appearing intimidating and gruff to most, but he loved you and you really felt it with the little things like this that he did for you.

Rhythm of his stroking lulling you into dreamland, waiting until your breaths to evened out before he spoke, “felt kinda good to be under yer mercy like that, kid.” mumbling his confession into your hair before he situated you into the sheets next to him, standing to gather the supplies to clean you up while you slept like a baby, completely oblivious to his words.

[endlessthxxghts]

Breakfast

Husband!Joel Miller (no outbreak) x afab!Reader

Summary: Your usual Saturday morning routine with your husband takes a turn, for the better. W/C: supposed to be 1k as per my celebration rules, but... it is now 2k... Oops... I’m sure y’all don’t mind😚. 18+ MDNI: Implied age gap (8 years per request hehe<3). Feminine pet names. Oral sex (reader recieving). Implied domesticity kink. Slight overstimulation, multiple orgasms. Soft Dom!Joel. Dom/sub undertones. Joel being a check-in king (safe word system in action, we love good communication). P in V unprotected. Breeding kink (y'all should expect this from me from now on LOL). ONE (1) USE OF "DADDY" (I had to, I'm not sorry). Sweet sweet aftercare.

A/N: This is in response to this request made by @survivingandenduring for my 1k follower milestone celebration. I remember you being one of the first to accompany me on my journey, and now that we're here together celebrating something I'm so humbly honored to experience, it feels so surreal. I love and appreciate your existence so so very much. Thank you.💚 I hope y'all enjoy!! (Pics for aesthetic purposes only)

MASTERLIST || L'S 1K CELEBRATION

Saturday mornings are your favorite. They’re lazy. They’re warm. They’re spent wrapped completely in the arms of your husband, Joel Miller. Whether it’s your lips or your limbs tangled in between the sheets—Saturday mornings are for you and him. 

So when you woke up this morning to the other half of your bed colder than usual, you woke up with a frown. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you pull yourself to the restroom to brush your teeth and wash your face, not bothering to change out of your sleep clothes since you made Joel promise you that you guys weren’t going anywhere today.

“Darlin’?” His Southern twang calls out. 

“In the bathroom, baby,” you respond, rubbing in the last of your face cream. 

With a soft knock to your door, he’s entering, a crooked grin at the sight of you. You can’t help the grin that breaks across your face—no matter how long you two have been married, the bashfulness of two teenagers crushing on each other will never go away. 

“Good mornin’, beautiful,” his gruff voice rasps, walking up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, his lips ghosting the sweet spot below your ear. 

“Good morning, handsome,” you reply, leaning your body into his large, warm form. 

“Come back to bed,” he whispers, his face burying itself deeper into the crook of your neck. 

“Where’d you go?” You ask, not particularly liking the fact that you didn’t wake up with him this morning. 

Joel turns you in his hold so you’re facing him now. “I’m sorry, my love, I thought I’d be quicker than I was,” he tells you, catching the tone of disappointment in your voice. “I went to make you some breakfast,” he admits. “Nothin’ fancy, I just- I wanted you to eat.”

You narrow your eyes at him, flashing him a small smirk. “What’s your motive, Miller?” 

“Uh-” he stutters, not expecting that from you. “No motive, baby. What, a man can’t make sure his lady eats?” An exaggerated offensiveness evident in his inflection as he speaks. 

“Please,” you giggle. “Every Saturday, like clockwork, I either wake up with your tongue, cock, or fingers inside of me,” you state matter-of-factly. “Why breakfast now?” you ask, your eyebrow quirked up, his signature look. You cross your arms over your chest for good measure. 

Damn, you’re good. And damn, he’s so fucking in awe of you. “Fine,” he relents. “The last few times… after we’re done… you get super jittery and lightheaded. Like your blood sugar is low or somethin’. I dunno, I just, I don’t wanna be pulling so much energy from you, especially on an empty stomach.”

Your jaw would be on the floor right now if it wasn’t attached to you. Oh. My. God. You knew what you were getting into, marrying a Southern gentleman and an older one at that; and you knew just how considerate a lover Joel Miller was, but it never fails to leave your heart—and your pussy—fluttering at how attentive your man is. You are so damn lucky. 

Going back to the room and settling on the bed, Joel climbs up beside you and feeds you your breakfast—one of your absolute favorite combos: a greek vanilla yogurt, your favorite granola, and chopped up fresh strawberries. You make this almost every morning, but something about him making it just makes it taste a thousand times better—leaving your body energized for what was next to come… because shit, did you need it. 

“Joel,” you sob, tears falling from your eyes as they fight to stay open. 

He lifts himself off your cunt, bottom half of his face shiny with your arousal. “Gimme one more, darlin’, then I’ll give you my cock,” he tells you, his heavy breath fanning across your spent center. 

“Joel, I-” you whimper, “I can’t.” Your hips bucking into his face says otherwise. He taps your hip three times. Safe word? He silently asks. One tap for green, two taps for a yellow, three taps for red—an immediate stop. Your hand nearly ripping his curls out of his head softens, tapping his neck once as you attempt to gain your breath back, soft whines blessing his ears. 

He nips the inside of your thigh before he speaks again. “You can,” and then he’s diving back in, tongue breaching your entrance as his nose rubs perfectly at your clit, hurtling you towards your third orgasm of the morning. 

“Oh, fuck-” you nearly scream, head pushing into your pillow with your eyes clamped shut, back arching off the bed. Joel throws his arm across your lower belly, keeping you down and open for him as he licks you through your high. 

Finally, he relents with a satisfied smile, placing a chaste kiss to your clit. “Knew you could give me another, my darlin’ girl.”

“Mmm, baby, please,” you say, reaching for his jaw to bring his face to yours. Not yielding to your touch completely, he brings himself up slow—the tip of his nose dragging up your naked body, Joel placing open-mouthed kisses up your belly, up your sternum, all the way to your lips, your arousal lingering with his own flavors in a deep, needy kiss. 

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he says into your lips, nipping your swollen lip before pulling away to let you speak. 

“N-need you,” you breathe, desperate. You bring your hands down to his boxer-clad bulge, your fingers causing him to twitch. 

Joel tuts, pulling your hand away and bringing it up to the side of your head, his large hand holding it down. “And I need you,” he says, biting your lip again, “to use your words, baby. C’mon,” he urges. Outside of the bedroom, you are very outspoken—this morning’s interaction as evidence—yet, when you find yourself a writhing, moaning mess underneath him, all words are stolen from your brain, all the breath is stolen from your lungs.

“Please,” you start, more determination this time. “I need you inside me, Joel, please fuck me.” You hike your legs higher up, your thighs hugging his waist as you shift your hips, your wet center rubbing against him. 

“Such a good girl f’me,” he praises, sitting up to guide his boxers down, leaving you with a complete unobstructed view of his tanned and toned naked body, his soft tummy turning the pupils of your eyes into hearts. He’s so fucking sexy, and, well fuck, you just said that out loud. 

Joel blushes, leaning back over you to kiss your forehead and your lips before he’s lining himself up with you, his sensitive tip breaching your entrance at a slow pace, his girth thick enough to stretch you every single time in all your years of marriage. 

Your eyes slowly shut as he kisses at your neck. The depth he’s able to reach as he slowly pumps in and out of you, the pubic hairs at his base rubbing against your clit, his deep groans making butterflies erupt in your belly—everything is utterly consuming your body, forcing your already sensitive body to your fourth orgasm of the morning fairly quickly. 

Joel is rocking at a steady pace, one hand underneath your lower back while his other cups the back of your head, his fingers rooting themselves into the base of your hair and applying a slight pressure, knowing the sensation drives you absolutely wild. The moan that floats through the air is enough for Joel’s cock to twitch inside of you, threatening to release at any moment. With all his strength, he lifts his head up from your neck to hover above your own, reveling in the furrow of your brows and the needy gasps coming from your throat. 

“Darlin’,” he rasps. 

“Mhm,” you squeak, unable to form any words. 

“Look at me,” he tells you, hips speeding up. He knows he’s only making it harder for you. 

Your eyes slowly peel open, but your eyes immediately roll back, the pleasure making your mind go numb. 

At your action, Joel is slowing, his hips coming to a near halt. That gets your eyes open. “J-Joel? Baby?” you call, your voice quivering with frustration. You were getting close. 

“Need those pretty eyes on me, darlin’,” he explains, his hips only starting back up because of your eye contact. 

“Y-yes, baby, okay,” you reply shakily, wanting to do anything for him to continue. 

He moves in and out of you again, incorporating a delicious slow grind with every push in. The pleasure is too fucking much, and your eyelids are slipping again even though you’re trying with every ounce of your strength to keep your gaze fixed on him, you fail. 

Again, his hips come to a painful stop. “Darlin’,” he warns. “You stop, I stop.”

“I-” you cry. “Joel, I can’t.” Tears pool at your waterline. 

His hand comes to your face, his thumb catching the runaway tear. “You can, baby, and you will.” It isn’t a request. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, keeping Joel as close to you as possible, his breathing keeping you grounded as you attempt to keep your eyes on his. Satisfied with your attempt so far, Joel starts moving, and this time, he completely lets go. Thrusting into you not too fast or not too slow—and he’s going hard, every push would make you slide slightly up the bed if he weren’t holding onto you the way that he is. 

Your eyes flutter, not shutting completely but not staying open, and Joel makes a warning sound, his mouth spewing filth to keep you focused on him. 

“Need to see those pretty eyes while you flutter ‘round me.”

“Don’t you wanna be filled? I know you want it—crave it.”

“Keep them eyes on me, babygirl. I’ll give you what you want, just lemme see you.”

“Fuck, Joel, please-!” you scream, your hips thrusting on their own accord, your climax shattering throughout your entire body. 

“Thaaat’s it, baby, atta girl,” he moans out, the sensation of you sending his eyes nearly to the back of his head. “Fuckin- give it to me, baby, just like that.” 

“Sh- shit, baby, fuck-” you cry, “please, Joel, please.” 

“Please what, baby? Use your words,” Joel rushes, chasing his own release as he pushes you through yours. 

“Please- please cum inside me, daddy, fuck- needa feel you,” you sob, your fingers gripping onto his back muscles, leaving bright red scratches in their wake as he rails you into the mattress. 

“Yeah, baby? I’ll- oh, fuck-” he whines, his balls pull taut, his tummy muscles clenching, and within seconds, he’s cumming inside you, the sticky warmth covering every inch inside of you, leaking out of your entrance as he continues his movements, slowing himself down to a stop. 

You two lay there for a moment, your chests heaving against each other. Joel places a kiss to your nose, then your lips, then he’s lifting himself off you, heading to the bathroom. You hear him start a bath. 

He comes back after a minute, guiding you to sit up and make your way to the bathroom. He kisses your shoulder. “You alright, darlin’?” 

You nod your head yes, a content smile across your features, eyelids heavy. He pulls your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, making you look at him. His signature scowl, the playful version, is on his face. Those damn words, baby, he’s telling you. 

“I’m more than alright, baby,” you finally verbalize. “I love you.” 

“I love you more, baby,” he kisses your cheek. “My darlin’ girl,” another kiss to your forehead. “My beautiful wife,” your other cheek. He continues on like that until he’s peppered your face in kisses, consuming your body with a love quite like no other. You’re a giggling mess by the time it’s over, begging for him to give you a second to breathe. 

Only then when you two settle against each other in the warm, bubbly water, does he ask his burning question. 

“Did, uh… did the breakfast help you?” 

You take a moment to register how your body feels. It feels light. Not light as in lightheaded or weak—like previous weekends. No, you feel light, warm, content—you feel energized, like you can take on the world right now despite the fact that your legs are still made of jello. You feel good. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Helped a lot.” 

“Good,” he replies in success, kissing the top of your head before he starts massaging every part of you he can reach. 

End note -

I love you, you beautiful humans 🫶🏼

Also, please check out the links highlighted in red on my pinned post to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help 🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

divider in middle of fic made by me, vine graphic at top & bottom made my @/saradika-graphics

@pedrostories

[moonlight-prose]

I saw that prompt list you reblogged and so if you’re looking for logan ideas i really liked:

10) finding their partner’s sex toy/toys and making them play with it in front of them

Love your fics btw too!!! 💜💜

hunger

a/n: oh my brain went to mush at this one. like actively i've lost brain cells and am currently scrounging to find more. this is basically me being a horny bitch for this man. (possibly cause i'm ovulating). but that's okay. we're all here to do the exact same thing!

summary: things are set into motion the second logan opens your drawer. suddenly you find yourself the center of a show with only one audience member.

word count: 1.7k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, hints at oral (f receiving), cigar smoking, voyeurism, dirty talk, he's so filthy i blushed writing this.

Accidental was far from the word he'd use to describe the current situation. He'd rather say it was intentional. At least that's what it felt like when you sent him to your drawer for a pair of clean boxers you stole from him in the first few weeks of dating. Logan was used to the act. Finding his flannels strewn throughout your closet—his leather jacket draped across the foot of your bed like a fancy throw blanket.

He felt it before he saw it. The soft silicone feel of something small—an uninteresting object he normally would have overlooked. He pushed it out of the way at first, mistaking it entirely for the little portable charger you usually keep by the bed.

Only for it to roll to the side, the button hitting the drawer. A loud buzz drew his attention close within seconds. His hand grasping the small vibrator and flicking it off with a smirk. A look he wore when the choice to fuck you into the mattress solidified in his mind.

"Hey what's taking so long?" You stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel—water droplets streaming off your naked body, forming a small puddle on the hardwood floors of your shared bedroom.

He close his fist around the small device when he stood, holding the clothes you were waiting for. Logan watched you smile, reach for his hand, and stop short as his other palm opened—revealing the black little toy you only kept for emergencies.

For nights when he was called on a mission that might land them in deep waters for days on end. You never minded—it was part of the job after all—but telling Logan that you fucked yourself in your spare time to ease the thoughts of him that plagues you...wasn't an easy conversation to have. Yet there it was. Staring directly at you; taunting you with the knowledge that he found it before you could locate a better hiding spot.

"Got somethin' to tell me bub?"

Your mouth dried at the sight of his grin—nostrils flaring as your scent sharpened in the air. Thicker than before; the tell tale sign that you weren't angry or irritated. But interested in where he might take this.

Before you could snatch it from his hands, he tossed the clothes back into the still open drawer. His smile on deepening at the sight of your swallow—the steady thrum of your heart now a quick flutter under your chest. There was no hiding how you felt with him. Not when he was so in tune with your body it nearly scared you.

He could smell the pool of slick that began to form in between your clenched thighs. The sharp breath you sucked in giving him enough confirmation to keep going. You wanted this—him. And though he could never understand why, he rarely questioned it.

So he nodded towards the bed, dragging the chair you kept at your desk over to sit a foot away from where you were perched. Your hand still clutching the towel and eyes stuck on the vibrator in his hold.

Logan lowered himself with a sigh—legs spread and body relaxed as your eyes trailed down his stomach to the thick expanse of his thighs. Last night you were perched on one, reduced to a whiny moaning mess as he dragged you along the rough denim. Watching you work yourself into a high that left you immobile.

His head tilted, gaze dragging down your body, tongue swiping out to wet his bottom lip. "You aren't gonna need the towel bub," he rasped.

"I don't know what we're doing."

"Don't you trust me?" You nodded quicker than you expected. "Then drop it and spread those pretty legs for your old man."

A soft whimper barely legible above your gasp echoed in the room. Logan heard it as if you pressed it directly to his ear. You scooted back on the bed, the towel now forgotten and dropped to the floor. He shifted at the sight of your feet pushed against the soft comforter, your cunt on full display for him to view.

"There we go," he murmured.

Your hand slipped down, sliding through your slick for barely a second before he was clicking his tongue. "That's not what I want."

"B-but you said-"

"I said spread 'em. Not touch your pretty little clit."

"Logan," you breathed, fighting the pull that demanded you find some sort of relief. Even if that came in the form of your own touch.

He merely lounged in the chair, smiling at how you battled with yourself in order to be good for him. Oh how he loved the sight of your brows pulled together—need eating away at the very core of your body. If he was a better man he'd let you choose what to do.

He'd follow your lead.

But that remained something he never excelled at.

"Don't worry. She'll get the attention she needs." He leaned over you, placing the familiar device between your breasts—a kiss quickly snuck against your nipple that peaked under the wet heat of his mouth. "I'm real interested in how you use this sweetheart. Show me?"

The breath escaped you with a punch to your stomach as he settled back in his previous spot. You glanced at him—heat spilling beneath your cheeks—and felt a wave of slick drip down to the bed at the sight of him pulling a cigar free. He cut the end off, stuck it between his teeth, and flicked the lighter on with practiced ease.

This was a show and he remained the only audience member.

"Go on," he mumbled, smoke unfurling past his lips. "Be a good girl."

With a shaky breath, you gingerly picked up the vibrator and turned it on. This was second nature to you now. Laying in bed with your legs spread as you listened to the buzzing sound that would bring you your desired orgasm. You'd been here before. You would no doubt be here again.

Only this time Logan paid attention to every minuscule movement. He clung to the way you slid your hand down and pressed the end of it to the very top of your clit. Almost as if you were the best fucking program he had the privilege to watch.

Instead of the rush of sweaty embarrassment you almost expected. You were greeted with a boost of pride at the sound of his harsh groan. The chair creaking under his weight as he shuffled to find some relief for his growing cock.

"How's it feel bub?" he breathed, inhaling another drag from his cigar.

You sighed, high pitched and needy. "Good."

"Yeah?" He shifted again when you slid the vibrator through the lips of your cunt, a moan spilling past your parted lips. "Fuck. You normally take your time with it?"

Nodding, you dragged it back up to your clit, teasing yourself with small circles. "F-Feels better like this."

That familiar tug in your gut began to grow the longer you held it against yourself, building quicker than before. You knew it was on account of him watching you. Licking his lips and white knuckling his cigar to keep from sliding his tongue through your slick. You had half a mind to beg him. To see if you could get him to break.

The minute you slipped it down further and plunged it into your tight walls was enough for him. He snapped with a feral grunt. His hands working the belt buckle of his jeans—a whisper of his zipper being tugged down—before his cock sprang free. The tip red and shiny with precum.

You moaned at the sight, legs trembling as you pumped the vibrator clumsily into your cunt. "Touch yourself," you gasped, stomach going taut. "Please. Need to see you baby."

"Fuck sweetheart. Gonna make me cum like a fuckin' teenager." He spit loudly into his palm, slicking up his cock with a heady moan.

"P-Pretty," you slurred.

"Look whose talkin'," he huffed. The cigar now clamped between his teeth.

The intensity of his gaze only grew when you replaced the device with two of your fingers. Rapidly working them in tandem with the buzzing on your swollen clit. Sparks shot down your spine, heat clamping tight around your stomach. What time you thought remained now worked its way to an eviscerating crescendo.

"Your creamin' around your fingers bub," he grunted, the wet slap of his hand blending with the echo of your cunt. "Want to lick you clean after this."

Your walls fluttered, heart leaping to your throat. "Can I suck your cock?"

A ragged moan filled the empty spaces that lay between. "Can't say no to you."

"Logan," you mewled. "'M gonna-"

He snarled, abruptly sitting forward, hand still working his cock in rapid strokes. "C'mon. Cum for me. Give me a show."

The string holding you together broke in two, flooding your body with bliss and turning your vision blurry. His name was a broken cry torn from your throat—hips canting up into your touch as you pushed the vibrator harder against your clit. Until the pleasure began to seep into pain. A whimper echoed in the room when you pulled away, legs falling to dangle off the bed—body now entirely spent.

The soft press of his lips against your knee jolted you slightly; the nerves under your skin still sensitive. He dropped to the floor, eyes latched onto the way your entrance fluttered, cum now forming a mess between your thighs.

"Made such a pretty mess for me bub."

You sighed, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips. "You like it?"

Wet open mouth kisses trailed along your inner thigh, his nose pressed to the curls above your center. "I fuckin' love it," he sighed, inhaling your heady scent with a groan.

"It's yours."

You gasped when his tongue slid along your cunt, thumbs spreading you to reach every fucking inch. "Yes it is." He pressed a kiss to each lip, sucking them into his mouth as if he was kissing you. "All fuckin' mine."

[writersdrug]

no thoughts just waitress!reader showing up for shifts like nothings wrong after the date situation

just keeping it calm and professional. working her shifts efficiently and no longer bantering/flirting with ghost, who would rather reader melt down and tear into him than putting up the walls around herself hehe

Ok I'm combining some asks here that had some different ideas - I got so many of you guys demanding reparation for making reader cry 😭 here's the comfort chapter! (Still a tad angsty at the beginning)

Ghost had finished your tips for you that night. He had half a mind to slide a hundred in your payout folder as an apology for ruining your date... but what good would that do? That would make you quit for good, if you hadn't already.

He lays in his bed, eyes stuck to the ceiling, still in his jeans and black shirt. He wishes he could snuff out the guilt that sits heavily in his gut. He wonders what you're doing - probably crying, possibly making a half-assed voodoo doll of himself and stabbing his chest with a dull steak knife, because that's all he feels right now.

He gets up early the next day after a rough three hours of sleep. He lumbers down the stairs to the office - Price is there, sorting out cash and working on the next supply order. He looks at Simon, who's rubbing his eyes and looking worse for wear.

"Mornin'." Price says, turning back to the monitor. Ghost grunts in response, dropping himself onto the couch behind Price. His head aches from the lack of sleep, thoughts circling in his mind about how to apologize to you. He can imagine you won't want to talk to him - or, if you do, it'll most likely be profanities wedged between insults. He'd love for you to berate him right now, and make him feel like he got what he deserved.

Price sighs. "You sleep alright?"

"I've had better."

"Nightmare?"

"... yea, somethin' like that."

Price huffs. "I'm workin' front of house today." He says, grabbing the bag of tips and standing up. "Goin' down to drop these in the safe, then I'll help you stock up."

Simon opens his eyes, looking at Price with confusion. "You?"

Price nods. "Dove called out sick. Sounded like she's got the lurgy."

That delivers the final blow to Simon. He knows you're not sick - you're avoiding him now. All plans to apologize are now out the window, and the more time passes, the harder it'll be to do it.

"You've only got yourself to blame, Simon." Price says, heading down to the restaurant floor.

He curses under his breath as Price leaves. How he heard about what happened - he could only assume it had been from Soap. He drops his arm over his face and groans. He wants to call out himself, but then they might as well shut down the entire pub for the day.

Should he try phoning you? Would you answer, let alone allow him to get more than five words out? What would he say? "Sorry I ruined your date, I was jealous tha' ya got a life outside of the pub." There is no variation of an apology that feels like it would be enough. He made you cry, for fucks sake. That was a punishment in and of itself, but he still had to own up to what he'd done.

He sighs loudly; his body feels heavy as he drags himself off the couch, trudging down the stairs. He still has a bar to run.

It had to have been the longest shift of Simon's life, and he even wrapped things up a bit earlier than usual. He didn't have the gift of your incessant chatting or being able to tease you to make the time pass. Price was a solid companion in front of house, but there was hardly a conversation to be held - even with the usual bar crowd. The patrons had a look of confusion for the majority of the night, wondering why Soap wasn't popping his head out of the kitchen to chat every once in a while - and why the hell the owner was serving tables, and not the chipper, spunky waitress.

When Simon had locked up for the night, he noticed your bike was no longer in the alley. Johnny must have dropped it off on the way back to his place.

Today isn't much different - at least, not for Simon. He's still suffering from a lack of sleep, he's irritable (he had a spat with Johnny in the morning, over something he can't even remember), and his work ethic is suffering. He's not worried about slicing bar fruit; it'll give him something to do later, when he needs it. Maybe the rush will kick him back into shape.

He stares at the dishes on the edge of the bar - they're all in need of a good polish, but he finds himself stuck on staring at the bar fridge. There's nothing else he needs to stock up on - it's packed completely full with wine, champagne, and cans of beer. He gently kicks the side of it with his boot. He should be checking the to-go boxes, helping Soap with setting up the condiments and soups, making sure the tables all had full salt and pepper shakers. That's what you would be doing. But, you're not here, and neither is Price. He can only hope tonight isn't as busy as the previous night, otherwise he'll have to close some tables. Which would make customers mad. Which would make Price mad. Which would-

Suddenly, he hears three loud bangs against the back door. He freezes, the sound triggering a Pavlovian response. He immediately looks up to the kitchen window - Soap opens the door, and you come jogging inside. You greet him with a smile. He asks how you're feeling, and you say "much better".

He doesn't know what to do with himself, but he just stands there like an idiot as you hang your bag and jacket on a hook. Stands there as you push your way into the restaurant, barely sparing him a glance as you scurry by him. Stands there as you run up the stairs, two at a time, diving nose-first into your chores so you can avoid Simon.

He can't speak. Should he? What can he say? "I'm sorry," for starters, but it isn't that simple. He thought you might have quit, and was preparing his heart for the worst. But now, here you are, running back and forth through the pub and setting up your tables - and it feels like you've never been farther away from him.

In all honesty, you can't bring yourself to talk to him either. You're feeling just as ashamed with your behavior two nights ago as he is about his own. Why the fuck would you expect someone - let alone your boss - to do your chores so that you could run off and have fun on a date? Not only that, but you'd made a scene; you felt like you had half-assed the ice bins in your scramble to get them cleaned, and then you sobbed in the middle of the restaurant. The cherry on top, however, was when you called Price yesterday and told him you had a cold, calling out of your shift. It was a cowardly thing to do, and you could tell he wasn't buying your story.

But: bills need to be paid, rent is due, and you can't lose this job. So you sucked it up and came in today - Simon is easy enough to ignore, separated from you by the bar.

At first, the quiet bartender was relieved that you had showed up for your shift - he wouldn't have searched for a new waitress if you had quit, instead choosing to deal with the consequences of his actions. But he's quickly getting more and more irritated with the silent treatment you're serving. You only talk to him when necessary: a simple "thanks" when you grab your drinks and run them to your tables. You busy yourself between rolling silverware, (over)stocking napkins and condiments, and even going so far as to spray the menus down and scrub them with a rag. You spend more time in the kitchen with Soap; each peal of laughter shared between the two of you is another arrow in Simon's chest. He's stuck behind the bar, listening to woes spilling from drunken lips, forced to watch you flit around and pretend he doesn't exist.

You can't keep this up forever.

Still, you do for most of the night. Even when your shift is coming to an end, the kitchen closed while you close the tabs for your remaining tables, you don't cave and sit at the bar with Simon. You sit at the farthest table from him, the farthest chair, in fact, skimming over your tip receipts - and talking to Soap (who was only able to sit with you since you had helped him knock out his tasks).

Simon's never been as angry with Soap as he is now - and the worst part is he knows it's not justified. He's watching from behind the bar, polishing glasses so hard they might wane into cups. He wants to talk to you. He will talk to you before the night is over. He doesn't expect forgiveness, but he expects that you'll at least let him offer an apology.

One of the regulars at the bar looks to whatever Simon is glaring at, chuckling quietly when he sees you. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Stuff it, Mike." Simon grumbles.

Meanwhile, you walk back from closing out your last table, plopping back in the booth with Soap. "What are you doing after this?"

"Sleepin'." he replies instantly, tossing back an onion ring. "Been dealin' with a grumpy bawbag since early this mornin', and I'm beat."

You glance over at the bar; Simon's back is facing you as he organizes the beer glasses. You really should apologize to him... you just couldn't figure out when the right time would be. He'd still be working by the time your shift ends, and you don't even know if he wants to speak to you at this point.

"Is he mad at me?" you ask, tapping your pen on the table.

Soap sighs. "I'm not goin' t' be the middle man, Bonnie." he says, looking at you intently. "If ye feel like somethin' needs to be said, go talk to 'im."

You groan, leaning back against the seat. "It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"It just isn't! He's already pissed at me, and he probably thinks I'm a slacker. What good is an apology?"

"Ye won't know 'til ye talk to 'im, hmm?"

"What if he fires me?"

Johnny barks with laughter, and you frown. "I'm being serious."

"He'd never fire ye." he says, getting up out of the booth. He stretches both arms above his head and lets out a grunt. "In fact, he was throwin' a fit yesterday n' today 'fore ye came in. Bitch took it out on me."

You winced. "I'm sorry-"

"Save it fer 'im." Soap interjected. He left you at the booth with the onion rings and your tips, disappearing into the kitchen. You huff, hunching back over your tips and scribbling through them.

Deep down, you know Soap is right. If anything, you could just apologize to Simon. If he chooses to be grumpy about it, so be it. You've got tough skin... still, you can't stand the thought of him being upset with you - not because of your work ethic, but because you liked him. A lot. And you wanted him to like you back, even if it was in the most platonic way.

But that didn't change anything. An apology was due, and you were going to give him one before you left tonight.

You grabbed an onion ring and popped it in your mouth, grimacing when you realized they were cold. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Simon making his was across the floor to your booth.

Great. Guess the apology is coming now.

He stops at the edge of the table, wiping his hands in a rag. You pretend to punch numbers into your phone's calculator, but they're all random - you just want to look like you're busy.

"May I sit?" he asks, tucking the rag into his back pocket.

You mumble out a "sure", still not looking at him. You hear his large frame slide into the seat across from you, polyester squeaking underneath his weight. You continue to do random equations on your calculator, letting a thick blanket of tension settle between the two of you. You can feel his stare burning into your head, his arms folded over his chest... and you notice that his mask is in his hand. You finally look up at him.

It's not the first time you've seen his face - you've caught glimpses of it when he smokes in the alley, or when he eats whatever Soap throws under the warmer for you and Simon. But this time, he's not taking it off to be convenient. And, dear god, you're just now paying attention to how scarred, rugged, and handsome he is - but now's not the time for those kinds of thoughts. You feel like he's reaching out an olive branch, showing a possible vulnerable side to himself. So, you place your pen on the table and lean back.

He stays quiet for a moment longer, trying to figure out how to start this. He wants to make sure that you know he's here to apologize, not to ask for forgiveness. From his silence, you assume he's waiting for you to go first.

"I'm sorry about Tuesday night." you say, eyes dropping to the table. Simon's astounded that you're the one apologizing, but you continue. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, and I'm sorry for trying to dump my job on you."

He feels worse, now. Was that even possible? He was expecting anger, insults - a detailed, frustrated explanation of what you did last night since you did not go on that date. But you're the one saying sorry? You think you're to blame for all of this unspoken aggression? Oh, you really do confuse him, sometimes...

"You don't need t' be sorry, luv." he says, gazing at you with a softness you'd never seen before, not in his brown eyes, at least.

"No, I do." you say, nearly pleading with him to let you be apologetic. "I was being a brat, and whether you usually do the ice bins or not, I shouldn't have expected you would do them without asking." You push your pen on the table, doing your best to convey your feelings. "And yeah, I was late for my date, but... well, he sounded like a dick, anyways."

Simon chuckles, watching you stare at the table. "Well, I owe you an apology, too. I jus'..." he sighed heavily, running a hand down his jaw. "I don' even know. Guess I was bein' lazy, or... I got jealous tha' you've got a life outside of this pub. Feels like you belong here."

He immediately regrets saying that - it sounds way too possessive and... just straight up weird. But you smile, taking comfort in the fact that he still wants you here. That this was the whole reason behind the mess.

"Soap called you a bitch. Said you were an asshole all day."

Simon scoffs. "Yea... 'm pretty sure Price would tell ya the same. And he wants ya back, too. Couldn't stand waitin' on tables, he was tryin' t' trade places with me all night."

You laugh. The world seems alright again - not perfect, but good enough. It might take a night of sleeping the tension away before you're fully back to your normal self, but this is a leap in the right direction. You look at Simon, into his brown, steady eyes, as they stare right back at you.

He breaks the silence. "I really am sorry for ruinin' your date."

You smile softly. "Thank you, Simon. I forgive you."

And just like that, the weight of his guilt is lifted away. The lingering sourness remains, a reminder that he had made you cry. But you had forgiven him, which was more than he was hoping to get tonight.

"Are we better?" you ask timidly.

He nods once. "Better."

You smile - you slowly slide your stack of receipts to him, biting your lip. "Cool - can I have my money?"

Just like that, his smirk drops - but you know it's all in good humor. He huffs, snatching the stack from the table and scoots his way out of the booth. "Always got money on the mind, eh?"

"I've always got rent on my mind." you retort, following after him with the bowl of onion rings. You plant yourself at your usual spot on the end of the bar, right near the POS where Simon cashes out your tips. He tries to hurry up, assuming you want to dip and go home after such an intense conversation. He slides the mask back over his face and punches his code in, trying to edit your tips into the system as quickly as he can.

"Simon?"

"Hm?" his response is instant, turning around to look back at you. You've got your phone on the bartop, and your back and jacket on the unoccupied seat next to you.

"Can I stay for a drink?"

He's melting on the inside, only held together by his own skin. He sets your receipts down and opts to do them later, right before whenever you decide to leave. He won't miss on an opportunity to have you stay longer.

"Course, luv. What's it gonna be?"

"You know how to make a cosmo?"

He chuckles, grabbing a glass from the shelf behind him. "Sure do."

[bunnys-kisses]

Hey bunny please can I get some Belgian waffles with a mince pie and a lemon slice with a margarita and a espresso shot (with Ghost) Ps: you’re one of the best COD smut writers fr

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! i accept for all kinds of fandoms, so please don't hesitate to check it out! thank you! as for this lovely anon, thank you for the submission!

belgian waffles ("i cum in that every night.") + mince pie ("i'm not jealous.") + lemon slice ("i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making.") + margarita (unprotected sex) + espresso shot (dirty talking) served by simon "ghost" riley (call of duty)!!

cw: smut/pwp, unprotected sex, jealousy, dirty talking, possessive!simon, creampies, wife!reader, (semi)dom!reader, cowgirl position. mentions of cheesecake

simon loved his missus. oh, there was no other woman quite like you. you and simon had be married for two years now and he still hadn't got tired of you. when you laughed, he smiled. something he thought he'd never do after the life of suffering he had. he believed his heart still beat because you loved the sound of it.

you were his wife, the lovely mrs. riley. and it took years of suffering for simon to realize that if he loved something. he had to hold is close. and with you, you were the closest to him.

which was why he was a little protective over you.

"simon james riley." you said with your arms crossed, "you are the most possessive man in all of this country. hell, maybe this entire continent! and don't think a cheesecake is going to make it all up to me."

simon slumped his shoulders a little, "love, please."

you crossed your arms tighter and eyed your husband, "simon. you told my male co-worker, quote, 'i cum in that every night'. you jealous fuck!" you threw your arms up.

simon attempted to defend himself by saying, "i'm not jealous.", he was a ghost on the battlefield. he handled more dangerous missions than the average special-ops soldier. he was battled bruised and scarred. but yet, under your stern gaze, he felt very human. where most assumed that the hulking size of mister riley meant he wore the pants in the relationship, it was quite the opposite, mrs. riley was the head of the house.

"simon. please. you know that i love you more than there are drops of water in the ocean." you dropped your arms, it was impossible for you to stay mad at him forever. he was your beloved husband. you got closer to him on the couch and dropped into his wide lap and took his square jaw in your delicate hands, "there's no need to get possessive of me."

he sighed and wrapped his strong arms around you. you held onto his face and guided it to yours. you kissed him on the lips and he eagerly kissed back. when he pulled him he cuddled you closer in his grasp and said, "it's not. it's them. i've seen every shade in a man. if somethin' happened to ya, love. i'd never be the same. i'd be a real ghost then."

"then don't make me send you to the afterlife because you keep telling people how much you finish in me." you said, shaking your fist at him. it wasn't totally serious, but it also wasn't totally joking. you knew simon worried, there was a reason you had your location on all the time when you went out.

you knew your husband had seen so much hurt in the world. the kind of pain that you couldn't wrap your head around. you had seen the scars from his father, caked into his skin. jagged and rough. even though they were buried under tattoos, you could still make them out. your husband's life had been rough, so you couldn't stay mad forever.

you placed your hands on his broad chest then gripped onto the front of his well loved navy blue shirt. you leaned towards him and gave him another kiss, "thank you though." you had to admit.

he raised an eyebrow and looked at you curiously. you were about to bite his head off and now you were thanking him?

"for wanting to protect me. i know it's only second nature for you." you patted his chest before you got up from his lap. you held out your hand to him, so small compared to his, "i know you love me, simon. even when you drive me up the wall with your... brash comments." you slumped your shoulders a little, "it feels nice to know that someone out there loves me."

he got up and took your hand. his hands were so rough and dry. they were like polar bear paws compared to yours. then again most things on him were bigger compared to you. he pulled you close to him and wrapped a strong arm around your waist. he looked down at you said said, "anythin' for you, lovie. you're my wife. i made that promise to ya, and i intend to keep it. don't like liars and men who don't look after their women." then let you out of his grasp to lead you to the bedroom.

you gave him a slight push onto the bed and he was already taking his shirt off. there was something about your husband being dominant that was a turn on. but, sometimes you wanted that control. and simon was more than happy to hand it over. like as he got undressed without you even having to ask. his strong body was exposed to you from his thick tattooed arms, to his dirty blond happy trail, to thighs that could crack someone's neck. he was so physically imposing compared to you. but you held his invisible chain.

you stood there with your hands at your hips, feeling simons' gaze along your body. you asked him, "are you going to be a good boy for me, si? be the boy i know you can be."

you watched that thick neck swallow and his cock stand a full mast. you giggled, the answered your question. you felt his gaze intensify on you as you undressed. exposing your curves to the man you married. you heard him shift on your squeaky bed.

once nude, you got into bed and straddled your husband's waist. he laid back onto the bed and watched you get on top of him. your pussy rubbed against his hard cock and you let out a soft noise. but when you sank down on his impressive length, he was the one making all the noises.

"shit, love. holy fuck. shit! shit!" he groaned as he buried his hands into your hips. not enough to harm you, but enough to feel closer to you. his words were silenced by your lips, tender and sweet against his.

"i'm sorry, what was that, si? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making." you giggled, lips close to his. he could feel the jump in his pulse. you took him in for another kiss and moved your hips against his. his cock hit in all the right areas and it made him pant heavily.

his eyes could've rolled back into his head, "nothin', love. i'm sorry. i'm sorry for scarin' off your co-worker. i just, i just want to make sure you keep bein' my woman. my life."

you took a hold of his face as you moved up and down on his cock. you peppered his face with kisses as you moved, going across every scar on the flesh.

you moved against him, the friction made him see stars. oh, you were perfect. even with your size difference, you still took him so well. he was honoured in all honesty. you worked so hard, he remembered having to give you the dimensions of his cock so you could find a toy close enough to its size to practice on. while that wasn't a story told at your wedding, it did get him through a lonely two weeks in austria. knowing you were back home riding silicone to make yourself better for him (as if you weren't perfect).

he held onto your hips and let you work against him. he could feel the pounding in his chest at the sight of you. and you were the same way. you placed your hands on either side of his wide chest and moved up and down his cock.

big scary man reduced to pathetic moans and soft words by his wife's body. it would be cute if it wasn't so pathetic.

"see what happens when you're a good boy, simon? you get all this and more. your wife's pretty cunt. i know you drool for it every day. kick off those boots, get out of your mask and starting hunting to get a taste of me." you purred in his ear. it made him feel fuzzy all over.

you felt your heartbeat in your throat as you kept moving. you clutched onto the covers and really put your back into it. his cock hit so perfectly, it made you see star behinds your eyelids.

it felt so, so good. it lit a fire in you to make you two reach your orgasms. he watched your body work with him, rutting against him. it left warmth in your belly, and pooled into your limbs.

"i love you." you said.

"i love you too. fuck i love ya." he groaned as he felt the shudder of pleasure through his body.

such a rough man that would fold so easily for you. you rose and dropped your hips at a quicker pace. simon's pants were heavy as he watched you climax. as you arched your back and gasped into the air. your body went tense and it made simon finish inside of you.

cumming in your pussy settled a beast in simon's blood. that he had marked his beloved from the inside. it made a little something rise him that was settled when you slowed to a stop and rested your head against his shoulder. his cock was semi-hard and still nestled inside of you. you sighed contently.

"you are the most possessive man in this country, si."

he wrapped his arms around you as you let your bodies cool down. both breathing heavily from the after shivers of pleasure. he said softly, "yeah, love. but, only because you're my whole world. only a fuckin' idiot would lose you."

you looked up at your husband and kissed him on the lips, "well then, mister riley. i think there is an apology cheesecake in the fridge waiting for us. or at least me, since you bought it for me." it had slipped your mind earlier, but now you craved something sweet.

simon cupped your ass for a moment before he kissed you. anything for his loving missus. the woman of his life <3

[dvchvnde]

“Ah’ll protect you, bonnie.” He says, and you want to cry. Suddenly. Viciously. You want to scream, to rage, because that's not the problem. That's not the point.

You're trapped here with a man who calls you his wife, for fuck’s sake. How can he not see the issue here?

“I'm not your wife—”

His hand tightens into a fist. “Ye hit yer head pretty hard, hen. Don't know what yer sayin’.”

“I know what I'm saying and I'm saying I'm not your fucking wife—”

He slams his hands on the table, silencing your cries. The swell of his anger is swift, deafening. Forewarned through the recession of the tides showing the murk of the seabed below. What comes next is—

"Ye hit yer head, doe. Hard. Don't ye remember?" It's phrased like a question, but you know that anything you say right now will be ignored. There's a fever in his eyes. Rogue waves.

—a tsunami.

It's brutal. Devasting. "Ye hit yer head when ye tried tae—tae—do somethin' foolish, aye? Because ye don't know better, doe. Ye don't know what's best fer ye. No' like ah do. Ahm tryin' tae take care a'ye, bonnie, but yer making it really difficult—"

You nod slowly. "I—I hit my head. I'm—I'm sorry—"

[envy-of-the-apple]

older reader?? SAY NO MORE

you're a confident, popular, charismatic lady in your 30s. you catch a pretty, barely-not-teenage gojo at a bar about to get roofied and rescue him.

you're neither a paragon of moral virtues but apparently you do still have some maternal instincts because you take him aside, help him sober up, and give him a stern but well-meaning lecture about watching drinks, staying safe, etc. maybe he gets a headpat and a caring look while you do this.

that's where you thought this would end but to gojo had absent parents and is starved of all forms of affection, including maternal, so he absolutely cannot let this end here and he will exploit his prettiness, his pitifulness, AND your maternal instincts to the max.

if wires get crossed and he manages to get you to bang him (and hopefully feel so guilty about taking advantage that he can get you to stay with him) then even better!!

omgggggyou know me so well-

(Warnings: manipulation, guilt-tripping, large age gap but both characters are 21+, implied non/dubcon, implied drugging)

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Bad Night

When you open your eyes, your head is pounding.

Last night is a blur, but you get the big picture. You drank too much, and you brought someone home.

He's a cuddler, pressing you against his bare chest, a long arm wrapped around your naked body. It'd be a cute way to wake up if you weren't so sweaty and already in a bad mood.

You're debating on how to kick him out when he shifts behind you. He yawns, one hand reaching up to draw circles on your waist.

"You wake up pretty early."

It's not a stranger's voice. You know him.

You turn your head, almost afraid to look. He gives a sleepy smile.

"...Satoru?"

"Mornin'." Taking advantage of your shock, he gives a quick peck on your lips.

It's a jumpstart for the memories of last night to kick in. Satoru had invited you out, you had a bad day at work and you took the offer, you took shot after shot, one thing lead after another and then-

Shit.

"What's wrong?" He asks, and you doubt you're managing to hide the horror off your face all that well. His usually carefree attitude melted into concern.

"Feeling' alright? I wasn't too rough last night, was I?"

When you open your mouth, the only thing that comes out is a strangled 'I'm fine'.

"That's good." He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. "I was worried I hurt you or somethin'. Last night was perfect, by the way. Everythin' I dreamed of, baby."

Baby. You want to throw up.

"Oh, you must be hungry." Satoru frowns, clicking his tongue. "Uh, wait here, I'll go whip somethin' up."

Another kiss, this time on your cheek, before he's sliding off your bed. He's naked. You squeeze your eyes closed when he starts to put on his pants. You keep them closed until the door shuts behind him.

What the fuck did you just do?

You know what you did. You just had sex with someone more than a decade younger than you. You can't even remember it, but the evidence was all around you. Your panties laying crumbled on the floor. The ache between your legs. The bitemarks on your chest, your legs.

You fucked up.

Satoru was by chance You weren't supposed to talk to him, let alone meet him. You were at the right place, at the right time. You happened to catch smug asshole putting something in the oblivious kid's drink. You happened to grab it right before Satoru could, before dumping it on the asshole's face.

Looking back, it wasn't your finest moment. You nearly got the police called on you, but ever since that day, Satoru clung onto you like Velcro. He didn't leave you alone for the rest of the night. You thought your lecture would have embarrassed him enough to leave, which kid wants to be scolded by a thirty-year old? If anything, that might have sparked his admiration for you.

He was determined. Before you knew it, Satoru was everywhere. He spammed you with texts everyday, when he couldn't call. He'd constantly invite you to places adults way past their college years should not be going. Despite your absolute refusal to visit his dorm, you found yourself reluctantly letting him into your house, picking him up from parties when he was too drunk to drive. He'd told you things he'd never told anyone before.

You knew what was happening, you weren't stupid. And unhealthy infatuation. Young, starved for attention, eager to please. You saw the signs, you tried to set boundaries, but you thought you could help him somehow. Your savior's complex grew too big...you thought you could help him.

And then, you ended up sleeping with him.

It wasn't illegal. You knew he was over 18, at the very least. You still feel nothing but nauseating disgust. When you looked down at your hands, they felt dirty.

You needed to fix this, somehow. You needed to tell Satoru that this was a mistake. Rip the band-aide off, nice and clean.

You ignore the crumbled clothes on the floor: your flimsy dress, Satoru's shirt. Instead, you go to the closet and pull out baggy pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt. You needed to hide as much skin as possible. To preserve the remnants of dignity you had left.

You stayed in the bathroom for ten minutes, practicing what you were gonna say over and over again. I'm sorry, it was a mistake, I was drunk, I took advantage of you, it's not your fault. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

When you step outside your sanctuary, you smell something that makes your stomach growl.

Satoru's standing over a sizzling pan with a smile on his face. He knows his way around your kitchen because he's been here before, doing homework on your countertops. You feel sick all over again.

"Hey." He pouts when you inch closer. "I told you to stay in bed, didn't I? Silly." He reaches over, pinching your cheek in affection.

You swallow and you finally manage to steel yourself.

"Satoru, we need to talk-"

"And done!" Satoru cheers, setting down a plate. "Hungry? You gotta' be, right? We did a whole workout last night." You cringe at his choice of words, wishing he'd stop mentioning your biggest blunder.

When you don't move, he picks up some food with his fork, hovering it close to your lips.

"C'mon. At least try it." He urges. "I promise it's good. Please?"

You look into his baby blue doe eyes. Wide and earnest and eager. When you accept the offering, he glows.

He feeds you like this, one forkful at a time. When you ask why he isn't eating, he just shakes his head.

"I don't think it'll stay down." He admits. "I'm so happy, it almost feels like I'm dreaming."

You clear your throat. Hopefully, you can steer this conversation into something more productive. "Satoru, about last night-"

"Did you like it?" He suddenly asks.

"What?"

"Last night." He says with a sheepish smile. "Did-did you like it? Was I any good?"

You stare at him, utterly bewildered. "I-"

"It was my first time!" He blurts out with clear impulsiveness, and your heart stops. "I-I was pretty nervous. 'Had no fuckin' idea what I was doing, but it looked like you liked it. Right?"

He looks at you with those wide eyes, filled with genuine sincerity and you want to throw yourself off a ledge because not only did you not remember having sex with him, you don't remember taking his virginity.

You were a horrible person.

"It...was a nice night." You mutter quietly.

He beams again, it does nothing to assuage your guilt.

Fuck this all. You needed to put a stop to this. You needed to stop stringing this poor kid along. You needed to be the bad guy.

But, like always, Satoru makes the first move.

He rounds the countertop, coming to a stop by your chair. Satoru kneels to the floor, taking your hands within his owns. If it were anyone else, you would have melted.

Not him. Anyone but him.

"I meant what I said yesterday." He quietly says. "I know you still think I'm young, but I'm 22. I'm more than old enough to treat you the way you deserve to be treated." Oh God. When you turn away, he's reaching out, placing a hand on your cheek. You're forced to stare at him.

"Thank you for giving me a chance." He smiles. "I-I always thought you'd never see me that way, but then you said you liked me too and-"

"Wait wait, hold on." You interrupt. "What?"

He suddenly looks unsure, his gaze darting around. "At the bar last night. I confessed, and you said it back."

That doesn't sound like you. If anything, when you're drunk, you're annoyingly honest. You've never seen Satoru as more than a kid how could you have said that to him?

But he can't be lying. Not with those eyes. Eyes that were suddenly starting to fall like dying stars.

"Oh..." He trails off. "Did you not mean it?"

He handed you your chance on a silver platter. It was a mistake. I was drunk. I've never seen you like that. I took advantage of you.

You can break his heart, here and now. You take in a breath.

"No." You smile. "Of course I meant it. I...really really like you, Satoru."

His smiles returns and he's leaping up. You can't stop him from kissing you, but he's quick, flitting away just as quickly to give you a hug.

"I'm so glad." He whispers. "I'll make you happy, I promise. I'll do anything for you."

You pat his back, still in a daze.

Satoru is smart. He's a physics major, he's got to be smart. You just need to pretend to date him for a while before he realizes that you're too old for him. Then, he'll leave you for someone his age.

He'll snap out of it eventually, right?

[weixuldo]

Who's your Daddy?

Older!James Kelly x f!reader

(SORRY FOR BEING GONE SO LONG OMLLLL- i’ve never written anything other than starwars lol- but I hope this is enjoyable. I also havent ever written fauxscest and I wouldn't say i'm really into it, but I feel like it fits the character lowkey)

One of James' customer mistakes you for his daughter and you actually play along...James isnt thrilled

warnings: dead dove do not eat?, Fauxscest, age gap, orgasm denial, just regular schmegular smex, name calling,

________________

 “Fuck Jamie!” you squealed as DILF!James Kelly harshly bent you over the old camaro that had been sitting in his shop for the past two weeks. 

His strong tattooed hand had your nicely curled hair in a strong grip as he smacked your ass with the other. “You wanna act like a child so bad, then I’ll treat you like one” he said as he continued to spank you. 

Earlier, James had been finishing up a job on an old Ford pickup and was negotiating payment with the owner when you skipped out from inside the shop wearing shorts and a tank top.

In James’ “office”- really just a room with a chair and desk that he’d toss papers on (or eat you out on)- he had a bowl of candy just in case a client brought around their kids. James never really knew what to do with kids, but you told him having a candy jar would make him seem less scary.

Of course he had one the next day.

But clients never really brought their kids around the shop so you got to enjoy the majority of the candy. Today you were feeling the cherry lollipop and twirled it around your mouth as you scampered out to see what James was up to. 

As you walked out you saw James broad back facing you as he stood with his arms crossed towards a gruff man with gray hair. They looked like they were talking shop- how boring.

You sighed and were about to go back inside when the gray haired man noticed you. 

“Kelly, you never mentioned ya had kids?”. 

James was taken aback- kids? 

He turned to see what the man was looking at when his icy eyes landed on your tantalizing form; it was nearly 97 degrees and humid as fuck- why the hell did you look so good?

He subconsciously licked his bottom lip before remembering the man’s comment; he turned back just about to protest when you skipped up to him and threw your arms around him. 

“He’s never mentioned me?” you said with a fake pout. 

“But dad- I thought you were proud of me? Why don’t you tell your friends about me?” 

James was too stunned to speak- sure, you’d occasionally call him “daddy” in bed but he never thought that act would leave the bedroom. His left eye twitched as he looked down at your doe eyed expression. 

“Haha- I’m sure yer Dad’s proud of ya kiddo- probably just wanted to hide you away cause you’d have all the boys riled up” the gray haired man chuckled as James fought to keep his frustration at bay. 

“Is that why daddy?” you asked innocently. 

James was pissed

…

and extremely turned on.

But he was really bothered that his client was obviously checking you out right in front of him. He clenched his jaw once more before straining out an answer. 

“Yea thats why, sweetheart. I’d hate to have to get the shotgun out of the shed for something other than hunting” he falsely smiled. 

You hugged him once more before heading back inside “Well I’ll let you two keep talking- Thanks for choosing my dad’s shop” you smiled at the man before your boyfriend. 

He shot back a bright grin “Not a problem darlin’, I’ll be sure to come to yer Dad’s shop from now on haha”. 

James clenched his fists at his sides, he could feel himself losing his composure.

The man finally paid James and added a little extra and told him to “buy somethin’ nice for that daughter of yer’s”. 

Oh- James would definitely not be buying you something nice after the little stunt you just pulled. 

“She's a looker Kelly, better keep an eye on her'' the man commented once more before hopping into his newly fixed truck. 

James just nodded as he counted the money the man paid him, “Yea, i’m always lookin at her- especially when she's bouncing on my cock”. 

The old man’s eyes almost popped out of his sockets; “Pardon?!”. 

James finally met his eye once more with a smug look, “Yea, she’s not my daughter- that’s my girlfriend”. 

The man just sat with the truck held in reverse as he tried to replay the whole interaction. 

“And I’m gonna fuck her raw for that shit she just pulled- Thanks for the tip and have a nice day” he said before shoving the cash into his pocket and shutting the garage gate. 

You had taken a seat at James’ desk as you mindlessly scrolled on your phone. You thought it was funny to play with him like that but you didn’t think it would get him too worked up- so when you heard him call for you to come out to the garage your body buzzed with nervous excitement. 

He had called your name harsher than he normally would so you could tell he was feeling some type of way but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what… were you about to be lectured, yelled at, or fucked? 

Maybe all three heh

James was standing domineeringly with his feet slightly parted and arms crossed tight as you entered the garage. 

“Yesss? What’s wrong Jamie” you answered innocently. 

He clicked his tongue and cut his eyes, “you know damn well what you were doing”. 

You pouted your pretty lips and shook your head, “I don’t really see anything wrong with joking” you said smugly. 

Annnd now you’re here, bent over his camaro with him ruthlessly plunging his thick cock in and out of you.

James’ veins popped as he tugged at your hair with one hand and angled your hips up with the other. He was panting like an animal as he forcefully thrusted into you, heavy balls slapping against your swollen clit. 

“Fuck, please! Jamie- Slow down!” you cried as you grounded yourself on the hood of the old car as your boyfriend hit it from the back. 

“Jamie?” he questioned, squeezing your ass harder.

“James!” you managed.

He let out a low chuckle that made you even wetter than before, “you wanted to call me dad so bad earlier, what happened, doll?”. 

You could hear his stupid smirk in the way he spoke, you wanted to say something but all that was coming out were pathetic whimpers and moans.

You felt him shudder as you clenched your gummy walls around his throbbing cock- “s-shit” he cursed under his breath as he slowly pulled out until just his tip was left in you. 

Your eyes were already brimming with tears-but when he stopped his movements, the tears started to flow. Your poor pussy ached for him to slide between your folds- once he started, you needed him to finish. 

It was almost criminal how empty you felt without your boyfriend’s dick inside of you. You began to whine the longer he held still. 

“You think you’re so slick, little brat” he growled as his rough palm made contact with your bright red ass cheek for the umpteenth time. 

He leaned down to whisper in your ear and you felt the cool silver of his cross chain as it slid down your arched spine. 

“Who am I” he asked with a dangerous lilt to his voice. 

“James” you cried again, you knew that was the wrong answer but you needed him to keep going.

Without warning he plunged into you and bottomed out as your eyes rolled back in pleasure. But just as fast as he was in, he had resumed the previous position. 

“Incorrect” he said before pulling completely out. 

You whimpered before he flipped you around so that you were staring at his flushed face; God he was perfect. Looking down between the two of you- his hard cock was completely coated in your combined juices and twitched as he stood over you. 

He grabbed your hips and lined himself up with your aching core once more before shoving himself in with an abrupt snap of his hips. You gripped onto his forearms as you yelped. 

“Who am I” he asked once more, his voice low with lust. 

“D-Daddy” you cried in humiliation as you shied away from James’ watchful eyes. 

He halted his movements and leaned closer to your ear, “Almost. What did you call me earlier, doll?” he said with a devious smirk. 

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, “...dad”. 

“What was that baby? Didn’t hear ya” James taunted. 

“DAD!” you wailed as you dug your nails into your older man’s forearms. 

“That’s it, Sweetheart” he smiled as he quickened his pace. 

You moaned as his sloppy thrusts jiggled your breasts around for Jame’s viewing pleasure. You felt your high approaching fast. 

“Fuck- I”m close- I” you cried as James continued diving deeper and deeper into your sopping cunt. 

James bit his bottom lip and pulled out as fast as he had been fucking you; leaving you with a disappointingly empty feeling. You gasped at the loss of his massive member and your eyes shot open to see why your boyfriend felt the need to pull out. 

There he was in all of his glory; brow adorned with sweat , face flushed, brows drawn together, and lips parted. Soon you felt his warm ropes of cum spilling onto your stomach, you whimpered at the wasted seed and your lost orgasm. 

He finished stroking himself with a shudder and squeezed out the rest of his spend onto you with a low groan. 

“W-why?” you almost cried as your boyfriend began to clean himself off. 

“Good girls wouldn’t cum from their dad’s dick-” he tossed you a towel from the hanger on the wall, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson, little one”. 

“Once you’ve had time to think about your actions and clean up- maybe I’ll consider letting you cum” he said before leaving you alone and empty in his dim office. 

***

lol I hope you enjoyed :)