#Functional Bags for Men

[chefjbonilla]

Discover the L1585 Troop London Classic Messenger Bag (Large)

Are you looking for the perfect combination of style, functionality, and durability in a bag? The L1585 Troop London Classic Messenger Bag (Large) is designed for those who seek a versatile, robust, and stylish bag for everyday use or even short trips. Let’s dive into what makes this bag an ideal companion for your daily adventures. External Features The exterior of the Troop London Messenger…

[gastonluga]

Best Crossbody Bags for Men | Functional Crossbody Bag

Upgrade your daily essentials with our handpicked selection of the Best Crossbody Bags for Men. Explore functional designs tailored for style and functionality.

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles Masterlist

1. Please Let Me Live || Vil Schoenheit

You get isekai'd into the worst novel you've had the misfortune of reading because apparently your life is a cosmic joke. Now all you have to do is not act like the character you've possessed and it'll be fine, you think?

Your fiancé being Vil Schoenheit makes it a little harder to behave like a human being with functional braincells, but hey, atleast he likes you, you think?

2. Villain System vs World || Riddle Rosehearts

You have a guilty pleasure: trashy villainess stories. So when you die a frankly, humiliating death, and end up in one of the worst ones you've had the pleasure of reading as the villainess, you're in denial. Then the villain system shows up. Well, there goes your second chance at life So what do you do now? Do villainous things and cause as much chaos as you can, of course. And maybe, just maybe, bag the male lead, Riddle Rosehearts while you're at it.

3. I'd Rather Date the Male Lead's Dad || Lilia Vanrouge

When you end up in your best friend's favourite but absurd novel about breaking a fae prince's curse as the heroine, you didn't expect to get attached to his little family too. Even more unexpected? You fell for the male lead's dad, but hey it looks like he likes you too.

4. Accidentally Falling for a Fae Prince || Malleus Draconia

When you get dragged into a novel which ends with the heroine in a polycule with the most annoying men in literature, as the heroine herself, you decide that you're gonna skip town. ...Only to trip over the fae prince, Malleus Draconia.

5. Not Another Royal Mess || Azul Ashengrotto

As a proofreader who gets isekai’d into a cringeworthy novel as the villainess, you decide to take revenge on the heroine and male lead for their awful story. With Azul—who just wanted to sell you a magic rock—pulled into your chaos.

6. Love Triangles and Royal Rumbles || Leona Kingscholar

When you get isekai'd as the male lead in the novel where your favorite character, Leona Kingscholar is the second male lead, all that's left to do is rewrite the romance!

7. I Want To Retire! || Idia Shroud

You write a novel that reads like a dumpster fire and while trying to delete the draft, you accidentally get isekai’d into it.

Now, as the villainess, you have to get Idia Shroud on your side as well as survive high society. You have your work cut out for you.

8. Stealing the Plot for Drama || Jamil Viper

The book you've been looking forward to turns out to be a piece of crap, and you have the bad luck of getting pulled into it as the villainess.

So you decide to steal the main character's show, just for sport with the help of your fiancé, Jamil Viper.

9. Falling for the Sun in a Cold Empire || Kalim Al-Asim

You lose everything you've worked for after a freak accident and end up getting transported to the novel that you read when you were a teenager.

As the villainess. It's time to rebuild yourself, one step at a time with a little help from Kalim Al-Asim, your betrothed.

10. My Consort Calls Me Shrimpy || Floyd Leech

You get isekai'd into a novel where the perfect Empress got absolutely wrecked by the plot, and now you have to juggle a bland heroine, 15 weird consorts, a traitor and a delightfully unhinged eel who’s oddly good at solving your problems.

11. Get Me Out of Here || Rook Hunt

You’re isekai’d into a trashy novel and stuck as a tragic side knight character. All you want is survival, but your boss is Rook Hunt—a poetic, eccentric duke.

Now you’re caught in his chaos and, worse, you kinda don’t mind.

12. How to Ruin a Plot || Jade Leech

When you end up as the villainess in a story that's hellbent on making her suffer for no reason, you decide to make the main characters suffer just for catharsis. Good thing that your fiancé, Jade Leech seems to like chaos as much as you.

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.

Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.

“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?

“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.” Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves. 

Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur. 

Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches. 

And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.

A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.

“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen. 

She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste. 

“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it. 

“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”

Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”

Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break. 

It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him. 

Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”

“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”

“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”

Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids. 

Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard. 

He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse. 

There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed. 

Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold. 

In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand. 

Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh. 

There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet. 

There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off. 

Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock. 

Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires. 

“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”

Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”

Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too. 

He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though. 

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny. 

He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”

[nouearth]

red right hand.

pairing. henry cavill x male reader.

word count. 7.3k.

summary. if there was one thing to give your dad credit for (other than helping create your very existence), it was that he has an insanely hot best friend. it was a universal admiration your neighborhood shared with one another. though, how many actively feasted upon their fantasies regarding that hunk of a man? probably only you, because mr. cavill was more than a crush, he was an addiction. and on one summer day, mr. cavill realized that so were you.

content warning. college!reader, dad's best friend!henry, neighbor!henry, age gap, blowjob (r!giving), degrading, throat-fucking, choking, gagging, spitting, kissing, humiliation, body and muscle worship, rough-play, size difference, dirty talk, verbal, praising, size kink.

The warm wind fanned the sweat off your forehead when you slid your window open. The ledge stained your fingers with particles of dust. Grimacing at the fuzz and simultaneous stickiness, it also provoked a storm of laziness as steel reminders from your dad got caught up in the commotion: CLEAN THE HOUSE.

CAR MAINTENANCE.

STOP ORDERING TAKE-OUT AND COOK.

SORT THE ATTIC.

TIDY GARAGE.

CHECK STOVE IGNITIONS BEFORE LEAVING THE HOUSE.

LOCK THE DOORS.

Ya-dah, ya-dah…

Honestly, how could you check-off any of these tasks with this heatwave currently going on? You were sweating bullets, been sweating enough to bathe in your own salt for days now—which you technically were already doing. It was summer, the long-awaited season after the agony of allergies. A temporary relief to your studies as well, until the humidity hit you like a truck and made you realize that living back in a dorm wasn’t so bad. 

At least the building had a functional air-conditioner. 

“Uh-huh, yep.” Your dad’s voice was going in one ear and out the other as you rummaged through your cabinets for a snack. Cereal; stale. Canned meat; too heavy. Potato chips; not heavy enough. “Dad, you know you’ve gone on business trips before, right? This isn’t the first time I’ve been alone.”

“I know, but I’m just making sure. It’s a new house, and I’ve been watching these true crime documentaries about men leaving clubs and—“

“Well, the first mistake was going to a sketchy club in the first place…” You muttered, peering into the fridge, and then lingering, because refrigerator air has never felt so cooling against your skin. You duck your head to puzzle yourself into the cold box, dumbfounded that the heat had gotten you irritated enough to claim a bag of deli meat as your bunkmate for the time being. The sound of your dad’s frustrated sigh on the other line curled your frown into a smile, and you laughed, “I’m a big boy. Stop worrying, and go enjoy—Ow!“ You bumped your head against the door on your way out.

“How can I not worry when you just referred to yourself as a ‘big boy?’ Not even a man?!” You never realized how theatric the man was. It was like his presence never left the house, exaggerated hand movements and all wafting the smell of his homemade meals whenever he would scold you in his favorite place: the kitchen. You smiled at the fond memories.

“Good point—“ Though they were made at your old house, you were sure that once he’d returned, your dad wouldn’t be opposed to creating new memories of scolding your ass off on whatever trouble you’d get into. If you do, that is. You’ve grown since then, finding yourself too tired to socialize.

“Remember, spare key’s in the birdhouse. There’s a compartment at the side of it. Hopefully birds haven’t evolved enough to pick it open.”

“If they have, they’d be picking at our locks right now to kidnap me and probably feast on my body.” Luckily, the fridge was stocked before your dad had left. You crucified him for being overly-prepared at times, but for this month, it was an exception. You picked at a slice of deli meat and cheese, and stuffed it down your mouth.

“Not funny, (M/N).”

“I’m kidding, Dad. Lighten up! I know you’re nervous about presenting, but they invited you to talk to an audience for a reason. They like you. Just be yourself, and remember not to speak so fast. Have some water on standby too.” And speaking of the devil, you gulped down a glass of iced water to cool down your body as your dad chuckled in your ear.

“I know, I know, thanks.” A muffled sound on the other end filled the silence, sounds of people passing and cars honking passing through your ear. “Alright, my ride’s here. I’ll call as soon as I get to the hotel, okay? You better answer—Oh! I forgot to tell you! Henry’s coming over later to look at the car.”

“Henry—Oh, Mr. Cavill? He’s in the neighborhood?” The name rattled a familiar feeling inside of your stomach. Something rather warm, suddenly ravenous when you thought about the last time you saw him.

“Actually, he was the one that told me about this house! He lives down the street. But tool’s in the garage if he asks for them, okay?” 

“Y-yeah, okay. Got it.” You hadn’t seen him many times. Only when you’d come home from semester breaks, yet the mere mention of his name had you flustered as if he was a long-lost friend or something. 

“Okay, gotta go. Love you, and remember, lock your doors! Bye!”

“I will! Bye…” Your phone blinked back to your previous app after ending the call.

You knew he was your dad’s best friend; a divorced father and a bachelor unsurprisngly made a match in heaven.

He was someone that shared your father’s interest in tabletop games and comic books. A replacement for yourself you thought earlier on, but he was way more knowledgeable about those interest than you ever were. You grew up on your dad’s nostalgia. For Mr. Cavill and your dad? These memories altered them who they would be in the future.

He was a friend that would help your dad out on building projects, like that birdhouse he had mentioned. He was a charming man that built the PC you currently use after hearing you complain about the previous laptop you had. And best of all, his looks were as abundant as his kindness. Standing over six feet tall, with a chiseled face that matched an equally sculpted body; he’d been a little crush since you first met him, being the only man who was capable of rendering you utterly speechless.

And in present, the only man who had the power to tighten your briefs and shorts with only a passing thought of his body; muscular and athletic in all the right places. If only your dad could somehow muster up a beach day before summer ended. Either way, the image of his bare body excited you, the blood flow immediately rushing south in agreement. Your dick kissed your shorts at the thought water cascading off his hulking body like meltwater over an ice shelf, freezing you in your place to not-so-subtly gawk.

“Jesus…” Your body couldn’t catch a break, could it? With the ramping heat and the constant sweating, your erection only added fuel to the bonfire that was the pores of your skin. Your cock pulsed madly within the constraint of your briefs, teasing yet begging to be released, to be sheathed from its slick, because it knew you had the key to its relief.

Or rather, Mr. Cavill did.

It was pathetic. You’d been at this for a year now. As much as you were unfamiliar with Mr. Cavill’s disposition, it was certainly the opposite regarding his physical appearance. Though it hadn’t exactly occur to you when this crush of yours had been tiptoeing along the lines of obsession. 

Wait, was it an obsession..? No, no, it was just a crush. 

You hadn’t done anything wrong. All you had done was browse through his social media—he did follow you, and you mutually pursued—and stalked—no—scrolled through his posts. Thank god, he was an avid poster. Pictures of his selfies, his knack for grilling, his love for his pet dogs, his pride over his geeky hobbies, his friendship with your dad and mutual buddies—all of these pieces attributed to allowing you to get to know him more as you were rotting away on campus, missing life back at home. Like clockwork, looking at his feed brought a sense of comfort, a hope that maybe you could be part of his life as well.

“God, what I’d do to ride that mustache…” You blurted out your thoughts, hyper-aware that you were alone in the house. You’d been waiting for this. You’d been surrounded by your roommates 24/7, and then once break started, your dad wanted to insert himself into your schedules as much as he could before the next semester starts. 

As much as you loved them, you needed space. A space bigger than the privacy of your own room. You deserved the whole house to yourself after enduring months of agony from overdue assignments; stress from bickering roommates that led to chaos within the dorm. You haven’t jerked off properly in months, often resorting to a quick session that comforted you on the occasions you’d have to pull multiple all-nighters to get a project done.

You needed relief.

You needed pleasure.

“Fuck,” Your eyes had been fixated on Mr. Cavill’s social media feed as you stripped yourself free of clothing. On one hand, it helped your body cool off from the heat building in the house. On the other, you felt vulnerable, like someone could walk in on you any second, and god, was that a turn-on. 

A grid of his life displayed happily before you, and your thumb scrolled aimlessly in pursuit of multiple pictures ingrained in your brain that had your cock throbbing in your palm. You laid flat on the couch, earbuds fit snug in the canals after briefly switching apps to play your favorite porn in the background of your search. Your stomach sunk deep when the man began moaning in your ears. Hot like the blistering sun outside; you can imagine Mr. Cavill breathing against you like that, as you took his cock in like the video you had playing. Your balls pulled when the man grunted, “Right there,” and you couldn’t help but pull at the ache of your cock, then at your balls to fondle at the loose stretch of skin.

“Right there,” you repeated when your thumb paused at the desired video of Mr. Cavill. Another major part of his lifestyle was working out. Strength training, cardio, marathons. You name it, Mr. Cavill did it all, exceptionally well, and the crème de la crème of it all was that he bared his torso for most of his videos. “Fuck, you’re so big… Fuck, fuck…” 

It was like watching a warrior prepare for battle. Sweat dripped off the holiest parts of his body as he pumped his muscles with heavy weights. Grunts, heavy and lewd sounds filled your ears while Mr. Cavill powered through his body’s resistance. You wondered to yourself if he could take you like that. Force you to take him with brute strength like the weights in his muscular, veiny hands. You were stroking yourself to him, every part of him, palm slick with sweat and spit. Two fingers would get the job done, stretching you out in preparation for his cock. Though, you knew deep down that it would take more than that. Three, or maybe even four, considering the hunk of a man was seemingly built from metal. The video replayed multiple times before you remembered that he had more than enough content for you to jerk off to. You were barely five minutes in, but this was already more pleasurable than whatever you had endured back at the dorms. Your cock felt pleased, spitting out dribbles of thick pre-cum that loosened the stick of your palm as donation to your generosity.

“Fuck, Henry…” You rarely referred to him by his first name. It felt unusual. You were much younger than him. Addressing someone closer to your dad’s age felt rude, like you were trying to assert your dominance despite your age difference. You were many things, but disobedient was not one of them. However, you couldn’t lie. His name felt polishing to your tongue, something that could improve the taste of dreadful meals if one were to whisper it before taking a spoonful.

His name felt like a miracle.

Your sexual appetite was nourished by the frames of Mr Cavill’s second video. He was completely unaware he was bulging, free-balling in his sweaty shorts while he pursued his vitality through jumping jacks, lunges, toe-touches—cardio galore that made his heavy cock bounce in rhythm. You could tell he was large, gifted with insane girth to the point where you could make out the shape of his cock just from him stretching. And the smell; sweat sticking on thick curly hairs on his chest, and a happy trail that seemed to promise a world of musk if you ever had an opportunity to endeavor upon your curiosities. You were practically salivating for him, saliva pooling where your tongue sank, while your cock leaked. You pumped yourself quicker and harder at the frustration that your desire to taste Mr. Cavill’s cock would remain a pipe dream.

All that left you was your imagination, and your own musk. Pulling up at your glans, you squeezed out thick loads of pre-cum before swiping it with your thumb and tasting it off with a suck. Salty, bitterly pleasant on your tongue, and satiated enough to not let your libido falter at the disappointment that it wasn’t Mr. Cavill’s pre-cum, but rather smolder.

“Oh, fuck my mouth… I need that cock, Mr. Cavill. Please—“ The frames of the third video showcased him flexing his arms and torso. His body bursted with pride, veins surging through every fiber of muscle like they were charging him and his very existence. It was veiny too, wasn’t it? His cock. Large and veiny, like how you’d like it. You would struggle fitting him inside of your mouth while his cock veins pulsed with great pleasure knowing that it was Mr. Cavill’s kink that you couldn’t take him. 

No one could.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—“ Your eyes rolled back. The slurping sounds from the porn increased by tenfold as you pumped the volume by a few decibels. Lewd, slick sounds you wished you could perform on Mr. Cavill himself violated your ear drums. Pleasure him. Thank him on your knees for being so kind to your father. For building your PC without compensation. For providing you temporarily relief while you were away on campus, and could only jerk off under the blanket. You were grateful for him. For Mr. Cavill. For his thick arms. For his veiny forearms. For his dashing good-looks. For his muscles. For his strong cock. You’d give yourself to him if you could. Worship every inch of his step, every inch of his body, and that still wouldn’t be enough to show your appreciation towards him. 

Your fist tightened. Your other hand had grown limp by now, dropping your phone to the floor by mistake, but you were too fixated on the pleasure your cock was receiving to retrieve it back. You could watch it from where you were laying, just like this, slickly twisting and pumping your cock to the sound of the porn, to the sound of Mr. Cavill grunting simultaneously as if his thick cock was being feasted on like a hungry beast. “Mr. Cavill, please—I’m going to—“

One earbud slipped from the sweat building on your body, but you were close. So fucking close to coming. And when you do, you’d come on your phone.

All over Mr Cavill’s pecs. His abs. His crotch. His face. Anywhere, as long as it was your friendly neighbor, because—

“Enjoying yourself, (M/N)?”

A voice from behind you alerted your body to jolt and whip around upon instinct to defend yourself. Naked or not, you weren’t going to die, not in the hands of a burglar.

Though, as soon as you did, you regretted it. You felt like stone. Cold, hard stone as all signs of life seemingly felt like it had been sucked dry out of your body, with your erection taking up most of the produce surprisingly as you confronted the intruder.

The six-feet, muscular, handsome, and familiar man of an intruder. 

“M-Mr. Cavill?! What—When did you—“ You were flustered. Radiant heat blooming like the season of Spring across several patches of your naked body. It also didn’t help that your porn could be heard from earbuds once you took the remaining one out, albeit a bit muffled. And your phone, it was facing the ceiling, looping the video of Mr. Cavill training over and over again. Right before him.

Your body was shaking, physically evident despite your efforts to conceal the tremors as the man stared you down, unfazed by the drama of it all. “Fuck—“ You didn’t know what to turn off first. The porn? The video of him working out? Or maybe dressing yourself should be a priority because—Mr. Cavill was still staring, blues lingering on your naked body, seemingly outlining every drop of sweat that followed the contours of your figure. There was movement that naturally caught your attention. 

It was his hand, large and muscular over the center of his shorts. Rubbing, squeezing, fondling at an evidently large mass that made you dry-swallow. You mustered up the courage to finally pause the porn, then clicked your phone off. “H-how long have you been watching?”

“Since the beginning.” He chuckled, stating matter-of-factly. “Your dad told me to come look at your car. Your garage was open. Thought you did that for me, but I guess you really just forgot about closing it considering…” He nodded towards your cock, licking his lips when it acknowledged him with a throb. “Was coming to get you, and I found you like this.”

“And you just watched?!” You sputtered out in distress, hastily dressing yourself back into your clothes, stumbling over your feet in the process. Sweat always made it more difficult to put on clothes.

“Well, I did call you for while I was coming in. You didn’t hear me over your video, and…me, I suppose.” It was smug. Amusing to him that you were in this state of embarrassment after being caught red-handed. You groaned, burying your head into your knees after sitting back down on the couch. The heat was unbearable, but to face Mr. Cavill after being caught jerking off to his videos, you were overcome with horror at the ghastly spectacle of the situation.

“Don’t tell my dad about this,” Your fingers scraped through your scalp out of frustration, but also to keep your head pressed to your knees as they interlaced around you. You refused to even spare one more glance at the man when you felt him practically hovering over you, a gentle smile riding along the coattails of his composure. “…please.”

“I won’t,” Mr. Cavill’s voice sounded clearer, closer than before. Right above you, but still, you maintained your position despite the pleasant scent of his cologne almost breaking away your focus. “Just as long as you suck me off.”

Those final words hit you like a truck. 

You were astounded, confused by the turn of the situation. It felt like a taunt, and it was treated as such because it worked. You whipped your head up upon Mr. Cavill’s demand, almost insulted because it was how guys on campus used to taunt you.

What you expected to grace your eyes with was his face; charming as ever with a mustache that was reliable in stirring immense feelings inside of you.

Instead, you were met with a face full of flesh, Mr Cavill’s heavy and large cock. It sported a strong curve, throbbing veins to prove its accelerating lust, with thick balls swinging low to entice you into a hypnotic state. If someone was to grade you upon your predictions, you’d score a perfect mark, because god damn, he was huge. Hairier than you’d expected, though just as arousing, if not more, because this was unexpected for Mr. Cavill as well. He would’ve cleaned himself a bit if he had a plan to meet you under these circumstances.

“I—You’re serious?” With the string of thick pre-cum dripping from the very slit of his head, it seemed like your question was answered. You could smell him. The musk of his pre-cum. It tingled your nostrils, enchanting you akin to what fresh pastries would’ve done for you on normal, non-libido provoking circumstances.

“Does it look like I’m kidding? Come on, I’m waiting. You didn’t even say ‘thank you’ to me in person when I built you that PC for Christmas. It’s the least you could do, right?” Without warning, he took ahold of his cock and tapped the center of your lips with it. Your orbs shook as you looked up at him, hesitant through the tremor of your lips as Mr. Cavill stared back, determined for you to accept his plea offer with some kind of answer—with your mouth preferably. “Been teasing me for so long… Think I didn’t notice the way you looked at me whenever I came over? How you kept massaging your cock under the table during dinner? Always in those shorts too… God, you were begging to be fucked with your thighs showing like that.”

“No—I-You’re my dad’s friend, I can’t—“ Your hand said otherwise with your fingers taking initiative on their own, wrapping over his large cock, right above Mr. Cavill’s fist. It was a two-hander, a fucking two-hander, yet your fingers struggled to close around his girth. “Fuck, you’re so…”

“Your dad doesn’t have to know, right? I won’t tell. You won’t either. We don’t want to hurt him, right?” One of his hands found its way to the back of your head while he took a step closer, bringing his cock closer to your face. Before you could pull away, there was true grit to the palm of Mr Cavill’s hand as he applied pressure to the back of your head, pressing your cheek flush to the underside of his cock. “Look at you, you don’t have the heart to say no, do you? You’re obsessed with my cock, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Cavill…” You were under his control. Locks of your hair bundled under a grip while he ground his cock against your supple skin, making you smell him; his musky cock, the sweat buried in the deep hairs of his pubic area. It was a glorious scene that returned your cock back to its original state of arousal by tenfold. 

“You’re going to be a good boy and suck my cock off, right?” Almost in your mouth. You parted your lips open to trap his cock into your mouth with the way he maneuvered your head like a rag doll, a brute strength your nape now, pulling and pushing your head as his cock rubbed against your face, but Mr. Cavill pulled at the last minute, right when you were one lick away from tasting meaty flesh. “Close your mouth. You will open your mouth when I tell you so.”

“I—I—Yes, please...” You were pathetic. He held you still, head tilted upwards to face the ceiling and his towering body while his cock and balls laid over your face like a table runner, a perfect heater to warm his meat. A t-shirt remained on his body, and that was a true testament to his appeal, being able to get you off like this half-naked. You reached down, back to fondling at your sore cock, at the blue balls you’d given yourself earlier, sniffing, inhaling the heavy delightful scent of his sweaty cock. Guess his house was having air-conditioning difficulties too.

“I can use your mouth however I want?” He dragged his cock over your face, the head leaking out pre-cum in midst of its journey to introducing itself to every one of your facial features, saving your lips for last. 

“Yes,” You gulped at his rousing speech, breathing in the drying musky pre-cum on the perimeter of your skin. “Please fuck my mouth, please—“

“If you’re good, then this can be a regular occurrence, yeah?” You slipped your shorts and briefs off again, jerking yourself off to simply the teasing taunt of his cock, tapping at your skin, brushing over your eyelids, pushing up against your nose. You felt humiliated. You’d been marked by Mr. Cavill, pathetically as it only took his huge cock to make you submit to him. “You’d like that? Sucking your dad’s best friend off?”

“F-fuck, yes…” His cock was a wand to your body. Every time Mr. Cavill was seemingly about to push into your mouth, you willingly opened it to no avail, even if it was obvious that he’d pull away. You could only get off on his scent for so long. He’d draw your tongue out when he squeezed pre-cum out the tip of his cock, right above your pink flesh. It would sink, drip, slowly like syrup, in thick strings, until it wasn’t anymore with the sudden obstruction of Mr. Cavill’s finger swooping in to nick the sticky web, and letting it waste away on the carpet. “Please, Mr. Cavill… I-I’ll be good…”

It was amusing to him, watching you desperately try to taste and watch him in any way you can, to the point of going cross-eyed as he would center his cock in your vision. He waved his cock like a flag as if he had conquered you. Humiliated you with several heavy slaps to your face, thick smacks that you took in whimpering grace because Mr. Cavill had stolen the resources to your insanity.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Mr. Cavill didn’t waste a single second for you to prepare yourself. The pressure on your nape steeled, bruising to make you open your mouth and whimper, and maybe that was the point, because he seized the opportunity to charge his cock inside of your mouth without warning, making you gag on your own desperation. It was a forewarning. A brief prologue on how you should take his cock as he quickly pulled himself out to properly prepare yourself. In the meantime, he slapped your cheek multiple times with the spit you had already layered him with, cooing at how incredible hard and big he was against your dazed face.

“Fuck, your mouth is so warm. That’s it, you can take it. Good boy.” Saliva spilled out of your mouth like a popped water balloon when he pushed himself inside of your mouth again. You couldn’t control it. You couldn’t control what Mr. Cavill had stripped away from you with the strength he had on your neck. Not to mention, the mass of flesh gagging you into oblivion, leaving you completely incapable of stopping him, as if you wanted him to. “Come on, use your hands too. Don’t be lazy.”

“Mm-mmf…” A compliance that was muffled by a slur of slick sounds, but Mr. Cavill knew what you meant. Amusement played on the corner of his lips as you struggled to fit a hand around the base of his sticky cock, sloppily stroking what was left neglected by your mouth, or rather your inability to take in. You suckled on the head of his cock, plump and heavy on your tongue as it throbbed with every lick you provided him. Stroking its slit with the tip of your tongue, you then dug and slobbered over the salty taste of his pre-cum. “So big… Just like I’d imagined.”

You pulled away to marvel at the size of his cock, taking your time to lube his cock with your spit from tip to shaft before your fist flushed to his pelvis to slap his meaty cock on the pouch of your tongue, lewdly flinging your spit in the air. It was your favorite move, often reliable in coercing a reaction out of the men you’d sucked off previously. The roll of his eyes, the flex of his muscles, the grunt from his gut; you slobbered all over his cock, worshipping every inch with your mouth, polishing the cock knob clean with your tongue and stroking what you couldn’t with two deft hands. Mr. Cavill was no different, he was a man with needs like you, with needs like the rest of the men you’d given head to, and you exploited the hell out of it. You loved making them feel in power, making them feel like you were worth time out of their day, despite their original pleas to use your mouth.

He briefly pulled back to rest a kiss on your lips, one that you’d treasure for the rest of your life. Not only was it because it was your first kiss was him, but because of how delicate he was with you. Warm and inviting like he usually was, his large hands cupped at the end of your jaw, holding you as if you were made of porcelain. “Making me so proud right now, fuck. Take in more of my cock, would you? I like it when you gag.”

“Mm-hmm…” They always do. You mumbled against his lips, no longer needing his guidance to finish what you’d started. Your eyes were glued to Mr. Cavill, aroused by the look he was giving you. A famished stare that demanded to be satiated, by means of sheer persistence as you knew it was going to be difficult to down him with your throat.

Mr. Cavill drove a hand into your hair, cuffing the strands to keep you still, to keep you from pulling away, to dominate you. He watched you without an ounce of kindness, muscles flexing, cock and balls hanging obscenely as you found a better position on your knees with a throw pillow guarding you from bruising. “Want you to throat-fuck me, Mr. Cavill.”

“Fuck, who knew you had such a mouth on you…” He sturdied his stance, spreading his strong legs while manhandling your head between them. You licked a stripe over his balls, then the underside of his cock until your tongue reached the scorching skin of his precum-slicked tip. Approaching the end of the journey, your mouth opened wide to welcome Mr. Cavill back into your mouth, and like tugging on a loose knot, you drew out moans from within his gut, his body loosening in turn of your hot mouth. “Fuck, just like that…”

With a thundering heart, and a building pleasure so morbidly big, you sunk and lowered your head lower, taking in Mr. Cavill’s horse-cock like a fleshlight. Crimson rose to your cheeks, to your neck, as you strained to maintain him inside of your mouth. He was too big. You’ve utilized all the tactics you’ve learned on campus, on a few buddies, on your roommates. Breathe through your nose, relax your tongue and jaw, let your saliva drip out. Yet you’d barely taken a few inches more than you had done prior before a couple of gags alerted you to take a breather. Your head pulled back, but it was met with violent opposition as Mr. Cavill brought your head back down to further shove himself down your throat.

“Mmm—gggrgh!” Your body jolted in defense, stiffening your body into an upright position when you couldn’t refrain from gagging on his cock. Your hands braced on his strong thighs for balance, squeezing at the muscly flesh of skin to distract yourself from the uncomfortable stretch your mouth was receiving.

“Fuck, yeah. Fuck, fuck, just like that. You’re taking it like a good boy.” You were making him proud, so fucking proud. You coughed, gagging, almost choked on your own spit, but the stuffing of Mr. Cavill’s large cock simultaneously emptied your mouth of saliva as it all came flooding down your mouth in lewd webs. “Shit, look at that. I’m making your mouth water, aren’t I? Fuck, what a waste.”

He yanked your head back, pulling him out of your throat, and you had never felt such relief. Breathing, exhaling and inhaling deep to compensate for the prediction that Mr. Cavill wasn’t going to let you spare a second of abandoning his cock like that. Your eyes watered, reddened from straining your muscles to make him fit inside of your mouth. You knew there was a shift in the room when you looked up at him like that, glossy in the eyes, tremors involuntarily making your knees unsteady, coughing as you held onto his thighs. He towered over you, you were beneath him, beneath the ravenous gaze he simultaneously terrified and seduced you with. You couldn’t complain now. You did your job. You made him feel powerful like you’d wanted. Dominating, as his cock leaked in your spit, and spit your saliva back onto your face.

“You were fucking hungry for my cock, weren’t you? Look at you. You’re a bloody mess…” With one swipe, he gathered the layers of spit you had generously supplemented his cock with, and smeared it across your face. You took his humiliation with good grace, moaning at your loss of pride with every smear. It deducted the more he messily layered your face with your own spit, but as demeaning as it was, there was immense merit to the satisfaction on Mr. Cavill’s face. “Open up.”

“M-mm, ah—“ Your mouth opened with a vulgar sound. If Mr. Cavill had something to compare it to, it would be like sticking a spoon into a cup of jello, and then scooping its content out. Sweet and glorious to his ears, salty to your mouth as he bought your head forward again, and plunged his cock back down your throat, deeper, and further within the confines of your throat. You squeezed around him, eyes clenched tight while he brought your face flushed to his pelvis, the hairy bush of his public area gentle abrasive against your nose. He smelled as delectable as he tasted. A hint of spice, sweat, salt, you could lick at it if it was made into a popsicle, lap it up if it was in a bowl and you were on all fours, bowing to his feet.

Your cheeks bulged as your mouth churned internally to produce more slime to seemingly ease the slide of Mr. Cavill’s cock thrusting inside of you now. He was careless, half-bent over your head to lock you into a tight embrace while his spit-polished cock rubbed at either side of your cheeks, rut against the roof of your mouth, then thrust himself into the depth of your warm throat. You couldn’t have escaped if you had wanted to. He was too strong. Two hands unrelenting around your head while he packed his large cock deep into your mouth, pelting into your gags and whimpers with fast, sharp thrusts, the sound of his wet dick choking you mutually turning you and Mr. Cavill on. You want to quit, yet he was choking you too good. Water streamed down your cheeks. Whether it was your own spit, sweat, or tears, you couldn’t comprehend it because Mr. Cavill was uncompromising, refusing to yield for your comfort.

You were fucking grateful. That was what had been missing from your college experience. A man. Someone taking charge for once. Someone utilizing you like the whore you made yourself out to be. Mr. Cavill saw right through you, through your taunts from several breaks ago, and he was fucking furious for making him wait.

“Shit, I’m close,” Fucking your mouth furiously. You could get off like this. Fuck, no. You were getting off to this. Fucking your cock with your fist, doing your best to match the pace of Mr. Cavill’s hips. You wanted to look up, to watch his face morph from admiration to animalistic desire as he utilized your throat at his own disposal.

You blinked away your tears, even if they had stung, and gawked at how captivating Mr. Cavill was for being selfish, thrusting into your mouth with one hand keeping your face free of your hair from obstructing his view. A frown permanently framed his mustache, and his dark brows furrowed at the approaching climax. He wasn’t looking at you. Rather, he was scrutinizing your wet mouth as it was jam-packed with his cock. How could a mouth look so pretty while doing something absolutely obscene? How could a throat feel so tight, so addictive, even after piping his cock down its drain several times? How could you let him treat you like this, a complete stranger, completely violate and humiliate you on your knees, like a broken doll whose purpose was to fulfill a man’s deepest desires? Maybe he needed to have a talk with your father. Talk about how broken you were, and that you needed fixing. Spend a nights with him at his house, and he would help you rewire your brain. He’d fix you. Fix you with his cock. With his lips. With his hands. With his body. Your eyes rolled back at the thought, fisting your cock faster, twisting to his heavy grunts as he was nearing closer and closer to the edge of his insanity.

“Mfghm!” Your throat felt raw, the subtlest whimper scratching at your throat like claws on chalkboard. But you persisted, pumping your shaft vigorously, your ears lapping up Mr. Cavill’s constant appraisal for your performance. Good boy. That’s it. You’re taking my cock like how I want it. You want your reward? Fuck, sloppier. Spit on it. Spit on my dick. I like it sloppy. 

Sweat pebbled every inch of your skin. You couldn’t take it. It was coming. Your stomach sank and steeled upon the sudden rise of fulfillment, and you quickly released your grip after a final stroke before coming into the air. Thick ropes catapulted upwards, your cock throbbing with every pulse, and your balls emptying itself more and more with a bounce, a twitch, and a jolt. “F-fuck, ugh…”

“Fuck, yeah. Look at all of that cum. Fuck. You came that much just from my cock, look at that…“ Your body spasmed as the carpet soaked up your semen. His voice gruff yet gentle at the same time, making your cock twitch once more before softening. 

“Come on, not done yet. Suck me off.” He spat out, tugging your head forward after a quick breather.

Something in you clicked, and you began sucking his cock off like it was your job. Twisting, stroking at the slick shaft while nipping at the head while you caught up to your breath. Suddenly saltier on your tongue as some of your cum had landed on your hand before it was smeared across Mr. Cavill’s dick. You’ve never tasted yourself before, but it was a found contentment you didn’t expect to turn you on.

Then, you took one last breath, cleared your throat, and charged forward. Long, thick inches slid into your throat once more, and you’d hold yourself there upon his final warning, mouth agape, lips pressed into the fur of his pubic hair. Your tongue flattened at the underside of his veiny cock, and your nails dug into the back of his thighs as you felt a thick warmth rush down and coat the inside of your throat. His cock throbbed, and Mr. Cavill’s grunts emptied from his gut with every spill. You could feel every heavy pulse as Mr. Cavill came down your throat in heavy, creamy spurts. You didn’t want to swallow. Not yet. You wanted to savor him. Savor the taste of his cum. You’d pined for it for so long, for all you could know, this could be your last opportunity to properly taste him. Slowly, but surely, his loads rose and pooled in the back of your throat upon barricading it with a tighten of your trachea. The rest of his spurts emptied on your tongue as he pulled himself out, and milked himself to completion. 

“Don’t swallow yet.”

You nodded, panting, awaiting for his nuts to be emptied as he flung his cock a few times, hurling drips of cum and your spit over your tongue and face. When he was seemingly emptied out, his gaze fixated on his cum pooled in the back of your throat; semi-translucent and filthily swimming with your own spit, and then Mr. Cavill’s own saliva, as he then spat into your crowded mouth. 

“Now swallow.”

You whimpered at the vulgarity of this affair, yet you were highly-aroused by this shame you were feeling. Mr. Cavill’s gaze stilled, anticipating with calm amusement while petting at your cheek. With one clean gulp, you downed your guilt, scrunching your nose when the salty taste of his spunk throttled your tastebuds, and sighed in satisfaction.

“Does your throat hurt?” He was on his haunches, carefully examining your throat as if he had his hand around you from the outside. It was a surprising return to his normal self, at least, the man that you knew as your dad’s best friend. Caring and patient, as he tended to your neck with apologetic kisses, and a gentle massage around your nape, where he must’ve gripped too hard upon your jolted reaction.

“A little… Didn’t take you were one to be rough like that.” Your knees gave out, letting yourself fall back onto your butt knowing that the couch would catch your position.

“Not usually, no… You just… happen to rile me up for some reason.” He was smiling, joining you on the floor, and nuzzling his furry mustache into the crook of your neck as if he wasn’t choking you with his cock a few minutes ago. It was unusual, yet charming. “Seriously, don’t tell your dad, okay?” He whispered into your ear before turning your cheek to look deep in his eyes.

A meaningful stare, a beat of silence, before you spoke, “Only if you promise me something.”

“What’s that?” Mr. Cavill pressed a kiss to your swollen lips, another apology for stretching your mouth without much warning.

“You really meant it that this would be a regular thing if I did a good job?” Mr. Cavill scoffed at first. It was almost embarrassing. Were you being naive? Was this too good to be true? Your cheeks flushed red, and you solemnly casted your gaze downwards, defeated because that was that it felt like. The sound of rejection always came with a scoff, everyone knew that. 

“Well, it was going to be a regular thing even if you had accidentally bit my dick off.” He suddenly laughed at how susceptible you were by the smallest actions, and at this moment, you were surprised that maybe this crush wasn’t so one-sided after all. He teased at your frown, kissing the corner of your mouth until it was a smile, and then prodding at your sides when you resisted. “Come on, you couldn’t possibly think this was a one-time thing.” 

“Tempting…” You snuck a head in between his thighs, reaching for a certain tool that had brought in so much pleasure and pain to your body. “I don’t know… we don’t talk much. I don’t know you that well.” 

“Don’t.” Mr. Cavill teasingly warned, stopping you by taking ahold of your wrist. Though, one step too late, as you already cupped his flaccid cock, tormenting his balls with a few tugs and squeeze of your palm as an act of revenge for your throat. “Well… then let’s get to know each other. No problem doing that, right?”

“Mm-mm, guess not.” Pursing your lips, you nodded, feeling placated by his words.

He sighed into your mouth, kissing you again, licking at the inside of your mouth, tasting your tongue and then your cheek, to soothe his selfish stain on your body with the work of his mouth. 

“First, I want to hear you say ‘thank you’ for building that PC of yours before I promise you anything.”

“Jesus, we’re still on this?”

“Yes! Do you know how long that took me?”

“I didn’t ask you to build me one—“

“God, you’re an ungrateful brat.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[thealternates]

Can perisex people actually shut up for 2 seconds instead of invalidating, harassing and denying intersex people the simple basic function of acknowledging intersex isn't RARE. Every time one of you calls us "DSD" or similar words an angel should come down and throw a bag of hammers at you. Acknowledging PCOS is under the intersex umbrella does not mean we're calling you broken women, it doesn't mean we're calling you men, it doesn't mean you're disordered now, it doesn't mean you aren't cis. intersex people can be whatever they want, cis, trans, both, neither, etc.

You don't have to personally identify as intersex for you to let others exist with the term and community. I'm going to combust! focus on other things that isn't chanting your intersexist views!

"Woah you're so aggressive" whenever we try to be calm, gentle and patient we get verbally stomped on or straight up told we shouldn't exist. i think its time we got mean - 🪽

[zara-renata]

The Holiday Party | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: You are dragged to yet another one of your crappy boyfriend's miserable work functions only for him to abandon you to his awful colleagues, but you run into a man who helps you admit that you deserve better. You think you're having a one-night stand with a handsome stranger, but there's nothing casual about his intentions toward you.

Notes: Sylus x fem reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV. This is not part of the Sylus series, it's just a long-ass oneshot, there is no mention of evol or magical sci-fi powers or wanderers although you are a hunter… of something? does it matter? not when sylus is here to tell you that you have shit taste in boyfriends. This story contains: a crappy boyfriend, banter, hurt/comfort, fluff??→Sylus just being intensely sweet, a breakup, sex with Sylus [sylus penetrating, giving oral] this is not sex education, do not use it as a manual for fucking strangers (no condom, no discussion of STI or birth control), sociopolitical commentary and violence, a happy ending

You really, really don’t want to be here right now.

The twinkling fairy lights are lovely, looping in extravagant curves across the ceiling, spilling down the walls covered in pine wreaths and garlands, filling the luxurious bar with a pine scent that is incongruent to such an upscale, urban setting, here in a rooftop bar of a five star hotel in the heart of the city. In the corner opposite the band stands a huge Christmas tree, crystal ornaments twinkling in the fairy lights.

Glasses clink, a live jazz band, dressed in red and green velvet and wearing jaunty Santa hats, is playing tasteful classic holiday songs on a dais in the corner of the room. Over the music the crowd murmurs, sophisticated men and women engaged in boisterous conversation, toasting to the closing of a lucrative business year, successful client networking, the landing of the biggest cases from the most outrageous scandals of the year.

They’re friendly enough, if you consider snakes wearing bowties and dripping in haute couture friendly. The mask of civility is firmly in place, as polite laughter and faux congratulations are exchanged between colleagues whom you know would slit each other’s throats to make partner first, between partners who funnel profits from the law firm to supporting political campaigns that keep the regulations loose for the white collar criminals who make up the bread and butter of the client register, while tightening the noose around the necks of the blue collar criminals the firm represents on a pro bono basis for the sake of good public relations.

You really, really don’t want to be here right now.

You sip on your champagne. You can taste that it’s expensive, sharp on your tongue—like everyone in the room, but it does nothing for you. You’d rather be at home, in your pajamas, playing a video game on the couch or watching your latest detective series hyperfixation.

Everything is very nice, very fine, if you close your eyes and ignore everyone else in the room. If you ignore the fact that your boyfriend has once again asked you to come to one of his work functions as social currency, a pretty bauble to stand quietly, smiling pleasantly, as these birds of prey discreetly gloat about the carcasses they pick over on a daily basis to pad their bank accounts and their investment portfolios.

“Have you heard? McFayden just bagged the Benzos pharmaceutical case.”

There’s a low chuckle. “So the opposing counsel couldn’t convince the jury with the sob story of the adverse side effects on the poor children with cancer?”

“You’re terrible,” another voice purrs, not sounding upset at all—some spouse of one of the people making jokes about the failure of a class action lawsuit to secure justice for the parents of hundreds of kids who died as a result of the Benzos company intentional tampering with the results of clinical studies.

You wish you didn’t know these things. You wish you could stand here, soaking in the luxury of this beautiful, exclusive bar at the city’s pinnacle, blissfully ignorant of the absolutely gleeful depravity of the lawyers and their biggest clients swirling around you. But you’re not ignorant, or naive. Your boyfriend brings home stories of his colleagues, of the arguments he makes in briefs and before judges every day, as he fights tooth and claw to achieve partner status, along with the rest of the associates in the firm. You know all of these things, so you can’t even bring yourself to grab any of the delicious looking hors d’oeuvre from a passing waiter, holding more champagne flutes and small plates aloft. You have no appetite, in this hungry, churning crowd.

It didn’t used to be like this. When you first met him, your boyfriend was a sweet, starry eyed young idealist, going to law school to change the world. You were a young hunter, fresh out of the Academy, equally full of hope and plans to save the world. You fell in love with his mirrored values, his easy affection for you despite the pressure of both of your schedules. You overlooked the fact that when you would tell him about your job, his eyes would glaze over and he rarely asked follow-up questions. So what, if he was never interested in your hobbies, the things you  liked to do in your precious free time? He was so tired, from school, and then from studying for the bar, and then being ground down at various non-profit organizations, fighting the overwhelming tide of corruption and injustice. He was sweet to you. He would tell you how beautiful you are, he’d make polite, efficient love to you on the days he had the energy for it. You could tuck your own problems, your own wounds and interests into your pocket, carry them with you quietly until one day he’d have the energy and interest to ask you what you’re up to, what you’re reading, how your workday was, and actually listen to the answer. There are so many worse men out there than him, after all. You had dated a lot of them before you met him—cheaters. Toxic, jealous men who you were afraid to make angry, even if you knew you could probably put them down before they actually hit you. Your current boyfriend is kind, at least. For the most part. He only occasionally says small things that chip away at your self worth. About what you’re wearing, or your weight, how much, or how little you eat. Who are you to sometimes wish that someone would look at you and really want to know your thoughts, who would look at you and not just see a beautiful face, but a skilled, competent person? A funny, clever person. Your boyfriend never seems to get your jokes, but he does make an effort to chuckle sensibly when you tell them.

It didn’t used to be this way—you, standing abandoned in this crowd of piranhas. But somewhere along the way, your boyfriend changed. He became jaded, burnt out from his constant struggle against the unfairness of a system stacked against the vulnerable, and went to work for one of the most prestigious law firms in the country, defending insurance companies and insider trading finance moguls, pharmaceutical companies and pop stars who murdered their spouses. No longer is he too tired because he was fighting the good fight. Now he comes home, exhausted from trying to undercut his colleagues in the rat race to secure his future as a permanent partner in the firm with the nice shareholder bonuses. He says it’s for you too. That his future is your future, and that once he’s established at the firm, he’ll devote half of his time to pro bono cases. That he can have his cake and eat it too. That you just need to be patient with him, let him compromise your own values by staying by his side. He has always been (mostly) sweet to you. You feel bad every time you look at him and want more from him. He’s so busy. He says he’s doing this for you, even if you don’t want it.

You wonder when you became so passive in your private life, when you’re so assertive in your professional life. You don’t need anyone at all, after all. You aren’t actually limited to only choosing between your current boyfriend or any of the other dirtbags you’ve been with in your life. You could be alone. You are wondering more and more if maybe you wouldn’t just be happier being alone. But then your boyfriend will manage to remember your favorite drink from the cafe near your place, after forgetting it the last few times he brought something for you too (hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?), and you’d be touched and you’d feel bad for thinking that you’d rather not have anyone at all than him at your side.

Not that he’s at your side right now. He’s across the room, in an intense discussion about the latest client’s case he’s just taken on. Something big, complex. He’ll likely have to make multiple business trips for the discovery process alone. He doesn’t bother to try to help you engage in discussion with his colleagues, or to involve you in his own conversations. He just asks you to hold on a minute, he’ll be right back.

You shake your head at these thoughts, the empty feeling in your chest. You’re used to this. He promised to take you to your favorite bookstore after this function, like you used to do together before he got so busy working overtime that you rarely see him outside of bed these days. It’s unfair of you to feel treated like arm candy, a warm sex doll, a body to warm the ultramodern, stark apartment the two of you now share when he does come home before eleven at night.

You take a big gulp of the champagne, smile at the awful jokes being shared in the little group you’re standing with, and then excuse yourself to get another glass. Maybe if you get drunk, this horrible feeling in your chest will go away.

You glance around discreetly, locate one of the floating waiters, are about to ask for another flute, when you suddenly feel a warm presence behind you. The hair along your bare arms stands on end, static electricity washing over your skin. You turn and find a man standing closer to you than is polite. You take in his wide chest, because it’s at eye level, he’s so tall. Defined pectorals, even under a black dress shirt and vest that look impossibly soft, slick, expensive. Under the strong scent of pine in the room, you smell something delicious. Dark, clean musk. Your mouth starts to water. You lift your eyes, savoring the pale skin exposed under the casually unbuttoned shirt, so incongruent with the clear quality and sophistication of his clothing, as if he has studied how to appear artfully dishevelled. You admire the dip of his clavicle, the strength clearly visible in his broad shoulders, his neck, until you have to hold in a gasp when you reach the beauty of his face.

Sharp jaw, wide, generous mouth. His nose. You want to die, his nose. Long, nostrils flaring as if he too can smell whatever is making your saliva glands flood your mouth, a noticeable bump along the bridge of it. He has the nose of a Roman emperor, a god carved in stone. You have a fleeting impression of soft, silver hair, premature graying in contrast to his youthful face, but when you meet his eyes, everything else fades away.

The warm glow of lava over the rim of an active volcano. Tempting, beautiful, but you know if you try to touch it, you’ll lose yourself, melt—it will be over for you before you even know it. The red of banked, burning coals. They’re familiar to you, in the way that your own reflection in the mirror is familiar on your best days. When you look in the mirror and love yourself, which is often the only time these days that you feel loved at all, despite having a boyfriend.

At the thought of your boyfriend, you sever the connection, looking away from the beautiful stranger who has simply stood there and let you look your fill without saying a word, as if you didn’t just devour him with your hungry gaze, having to swallow the extra saliva the sight of him sent flowing through your mouth.

Your boyfriend isn’t jealous like other men you’ve been with. He never acts possessive in public, doesn’t worry if other men and women look at you, admire you. But he is always worried that if he’s not there, someone will try to poach what’s his. That they’ll hit on you, and you’ll fall under their spell and cheat on him. You sometimes wonder why he would even care, considering how little he touches you these days, but out of respect for him you never act in a way that could cause him to feel insecure, whether he’s around or not. And even if you didn’t respect him, there’s no way you would throw away the peaceful, if unfulfilling stability you have with him right now, not for a man like the one in front of you, who is dripping in sex appeal, who is gorgeous and knows it, who could snap his fingers and have most of the people in this room on their knees for him. Why would he ever look at you? A pretty bauble, yes, but someone who would rather be at home, replaying Stardew Valley for the 47th time. Not someone exciting, exotic. Just a person who doesn’t dress quite right, with humble hobbies and a hard job to do, trying not to be an asshole.

You look away and try to take a step to the side, to allow this man to pass by you. You’ll remember his eyes until the day you die, you think, and he’ll never even know you existed.

But as you take a step, so does he. You find yourself still eyes-to-chest with him.

“Oh, sorry,” you murmur, and try to step to the other side. Sometimes when you’re trying to scurry out of someone’s way, you just make yourself more of a nuisance.

But as you take the step to the side, so does he. You two could almost be dancing, with how close you are, with how in sync he’s matching your movements.

You laugh, a little breathlessly, embarrassed that you’re fucking this up so badly. You’re trying to let him pass, and you keep getting in his way.

“Don’t apologize to me,” he says, and his voice sinks into your chest, filling the void that you realize you’ve been carrying for months now. Maybe even years. You feel it keenly now, as if in the filling, the emptiness is exaggerated. Like after being ill, when the fever and the vomiting have passed, you suddenly realize how healthy you feel, how grateful you are to be feeling well again. With his voice filling the hole inside you, you’re so grateful to remember what it is like to feel whole again.

Impossible, crazy thoughts.

You look up again, get caught in the vice of his gaze again. His uncanny red eyes are soft as they look down into yours. He has a frown line between his dark silver eyebrows, as if he spends a lot of time thinking deeply. He’s not smiling at you, but you get the delusional feeling that he’s happy to be looking at you. But his face is blank, an impassive mask, quietly observing you. Why on earth would he be happy to see you?

“Oh, sorry,” you say again, apologizing for apologizing, unintentionally defying his command.

He snorts softly through his big, beautiful nose. “Not very obedient, are we, kitten?” he asks.

You scowl at him. Okay, so he’s beautiful, but as you suspected, he’s beautiful and he knows it, and he thinks he can get away with speaking to you so disrespectfully without even having properly met, simply because he’s the most attractive man in the room no matter where he goes.

“Not for douchebags, no,” you say smoothly. But you’re actually polite, so you tack on, “Excuse me. If you stay put, I’ll step to the left, and you can continue to where you want to go.” You wait for him to acknowledge your suggestion, to avoid another accidental dance with him.

“No need to lie, sweetheart.” He flicks his gaze across the room, and you have the strange, impossible feeling that he’s looking at your boyfriend. “And I’m probably the least douchey person in this room, besides you.”

You take in his expensive clothes, the soft sweep of his beautiful hair. He’s wearing a tight black vest over his black silk shirt, perfectly tailored to reveal his huge chest, his narrow waist, the proportions of a cartoon superhero, not a real man. His long, thick legs, wrapped in tight black trousers. Monk strap shoes, their attractiveness ruined by stupid fucking chains around the heels. He looks like the wealthy, spoiled adult son of a mob boss. You wonder if he is one of the law firm’s soulless clients.

“Doubtful,” you clip out, because you learned long ago that the more you engage with egotistical pricks, the more likely you’ll end up in trouble with your boyfriend for embarrassing him. That is why you just stand around at events like this, smiling vacantly, trying to get through the evening without causing a scene and either punching someone or drenching their expensive clothing in wine.

“Oh, I like a challenge.” His eyes, already bright, sharp, light up. “Allow me the opportunity to disprove your doubt.” He ignores your clear dismissal, your request for him to pass you by. Your breath catches again. How can one man be so magnetic? Why are you so attracted to such terrible men? You think of your boyfriend, how sweet he used to be capable of being.

“I think you’ll be just fine if one person doesn’t fall for your charms,” you say, suddenly exhausted. You really, really, don’t want to be here. You turn your head, look for your boyfriend. He’s still in deep, serious conversation with colleagues. You wonder why he wanted you to come at all, when he never had any intention of spending any part of this evening with you.

“And what if I don’t care if the entire world falls for my charms, but I won’t survive the one person who resists?” he asks, drawing your attention back to him.

“Typical rich bastard problems,” you snort. “Wanting only what you can’t have.”

“There's nothing typical about me.” He laughs softly, and even his laugh is dripping with money. “And there's nothing I can't have, because I don’t give up when going after what I want. It’s not a matter of if, but when.”

You give in to the urge to roll your eyes so hard you probably look like you’re having a seizure. “I’m not even sorry for being the one who shatters your delusion. Thank you for your interest, if that’s what you’re implying, but the feeling is not mutual.” Maybe you were tempted, or impressed, before he opened his mouth, but with every word since he opened it, he reveals himself to be exactly the same as all the other assholes in this bar.

“Who says I’m implying anything?” he asks, his strange wine-bright eyes shimmering with amusement at your blunt rejection. “I prefer a straightforward approach. I’m interested. Tell me how to make it mutual.”

You can’t help but admire the audacity of this guy—he seems completely unfazed by your clear disgust. You wish you could have half his entitlement on a daily basis.

You fix him with an unimpressed look. “I doubt there’s anything you could do to make it mutual.”

“Again, with your doubt,” he tsks. “How are you so sure that you could never return my interest? You stand there, judging me without even knowing me, just as guilty of dismissing people based on their appearance as all of the shallow, hypocritical animals in this bar.”

You laugh in his face. “Oh yes, I’m just as terrible as these lying, defrauding, malicious fucks. You got me.” You turn to walk away.

“If you recognize these parasites for what they are, then why are you here?” he taunts.

His bait is successful—you turn your head and look at him again, once again struck by his beauty, the intelligence in his eyes, the soft fall of his light hair.

“The main reason you don’t have a chance tonight. I’m here with my boyfriend.”

He steps closer to you, and you have to tilt your head back to look into his entrancing eyes. “If you’re willing to settle for one of these cretins, and you think I’m of the same ilk, then why am I the exception in not being able to catch your interest? I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.”

You stare at him, suddenly struck by the absurdity of this conversation. With just a few words, he has held up a mirror, forcing you to look at what your life has become.  Cold, empty, and hollowly attached to a man who is everything you just accused this man of being. Why are you here? Why do you continue to look the other way as your boyfriend sinks ever more deeply into his new identity of a lying, defrauding, malicious fuck?

And yet part of you can’t help but defend him, despite what he has become. Despite the fact that even from the beginning, he was (mostly) sweet but uninterested in who you really are.

“He used to be sweet,” you say, at a loss as to why you’re telling this stranger this, revealing so much to him in those few words.

“I can be sweet,” he says, lifting his hand, taking a lock of your hair between his long fingers, fiddling with it in a surprisingly endearing way. “For you.”

“I can’t imagine a man like you and ‘sweet’ in the same breath,” you smile, despite yourself.

“Your imagination is terribly limited, then. We’ll work on expanding it,” he says, as if the matter is settled. “What else does he offer you?”

You hesitate. Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s the gloating, disgusting conversations you have had to endure tonight, again, and you’re just finally reaching the end of your rope. Or maybe it’s this man, teasing, baiting the truth out of you with his intense focus, an incubus tempting you not with his sexuality, although he is carnally appealing to you, but with his apparently sincere interest in your answers. You don’t think your boyfriend has ever looked at, listened to you with such intense focus before. Maybe it’s the fact that this man is someone you’ll never see again. You find yourself answering. “Despite all his flaws, he never cheated—that I know of. He didn’t ever want to hit me.” Your voice trails off, as you draw a blank as what your boyfriend still has to offer you.

His dark silver brows draw together as you go quiet, as he realizes that you have nothing else to say. “That’s all? It’s not even a challenge.” He sounds disgusted.

You look away, suddenly feeling pathetic, as if his disgust is aimed at you. And in a way, it is. What does it say about you, that these meager offerings from your boyfriend have been enough to keep you by his side for so long?

“Look at me,” the stranger says, in his low, deep voice. It’s a command, but soft, like a crowbar wrapped in the velvet that the jazz musicians are wearing.

You obey him this time, your resistance pried open.

You look into his beautiful eyes again. He’s closer now, like he took another step forward while you weren’t looking. You can feel the warmth of his body. If he leaned down, he could kiss you with his soft looking lips without having to step closer.

“Why?” you ask, but you don’t even know what you’re asking. Why does he want to disprove your doubt about him? Why is he asking you questions that tear off the blinders you’ve been intentionally wearing for so long, in an effort to maintain, what? An easy, but unsatisfactory status quo? Why does he want you to look at him? Why is he still talking to you at all, when he’s so terribly handsome, so unreachable for someone like you, who can’t even get your boyfriend to stand this close to you these days, after compromising so much of yourself to keep him happy, to keep from rocking the boat, from hurting his feelings, when he has given so little in return?

“Indulge me. What man wouldn’t want a beautiful, clever, sharp-tongued woman to look at him, and only him?”

You smile, a little helplessly. For some reason, you want to cry, hearing these affirming words from a total stranger. Even though you know they're probably just a line he says to everyone who catches his briefly attention.

Still fingering the lock of your hair, he gently strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, and then lets it drop again before anyone else would notice. “Your smile is so sad,” he breathes, almost to himself. “I don’t like it.”

“What do you want from me?” you ask, a little desperate, resisting everything in you that suddenly, painfully, despite your earlier disgust with him, is whispering for you to lean forward, to chase his hand, to put it back on your face, to rub against him like a cat, to beg for more of his kind words and touch. It’s as if his touch on your cheek unlocked something in you that you didn’t even know was there. Have you been so hungry for affection, that even these sparse crumbs are enough to have you salivating for a man who is likely much worse than your current boyfriend?

He hooks his thumbs into the belt loops of his trousers, bends down so that he’s speaking into your ear, softly, but still over the holiday music, the susurration of the crowd. His breath is warm over your skin. “I want to see a genuine smile from you.” He turns his head, runs his nose down your temple, along your cheek, and breathes deeply. “I want you to look at me, and only me.” He lifts a hand and trails the backs of his fingers along your bare arm. “I want you to come with me, instead of staying here, drinking champagne you don’t like, surrounded by people you despise.” 

You shiver. You suddenly want that too. You want to go with him so badly, despite the fact that you have already decided that if he’s here, he’s probably one of the people you despise. Despite the fact that if he’s here, he probably sprays this abhorrently expensive champagne all over fawning sycophants every weekend at the same clubs your boyfriend now has “meetings with clients” at on a regular basis, not coming home until four in the morning, stinking of alcohol and cigarettes, rubbing his nose strangely, almost compulsively before passing out. Despite the fact that you know the moment you give in, and give him what he wants—whatever it may be—is the beginning of the end of his interest in you.

“Who are you?” you ask, resisting the wild, reckless urge rising in you to simply listen to him, to follow where he leads. You lean back, give yourself space to breathe, to regain your composure.

He lifts one corner of his mouth, a sketch of a smile, and it feels like dark petals whispering along your skin. “Tell me what you would do, if you could do anything at all right now, and I’ll tell you who I am.”

You consider him, trying to figure out what his angle is. Wondering how honest you should be. Wondering how he’ll exploit your honesty if you tell him the truth. Perhaps it’s the champagne on an empty stomach. Perhaps it’s the way the gaping hole in your heart feels filled every time this stranger opens his mouth. You tell him the truth.

“I want to go somewhere warm and quiet, curl up, and watch something silly on television.” 

He takes one of your hands in both of his, cradling it as he looks down at your palm thoughtfully.  “That’s all? You could be a little greedier. Why not go on a midnight cruise on a luxury yacht?” He strokes his thumbs along your palm, so softly. “Why not try to earn your fortune at the casino downstairs, or party in the VIP booth of an exclusive nightclub?” His eyes flick back to yours, as if gauging your reaction, as if to see if anything he’s saying triggers desire in you. “Or we could go shopping with my black card, and you can buy anything you want.”

You sigh. You were right. You’re too boring for this bright, pretty man. You gave him your truth, and he asks why you don’t want all the things you hate, that your boyfriend is clawing his way to achieve over the burnt-out careers of his colleagues, over the broken lives of the victims he ensures continue to suffer with each lawsuit dropped, each client walking free.

You try to take a step back, but he’s still holding your hand like it’s something precious, and he follows you again. You’re suddenly so tired, you don’t even have the energy to lie to him. “Because those things sound terrible to me. I don’t want your black card, when I’d rather just know who you are. I don’t want a super yacht with an exhausted crew, when I’d rather just sit with you in a canoe. I hate casinos—people feverishly wasting money—it feels like a slap in the face to people who are working their asses off just to survive." You shake your head. "I’m tired, and I want to take these stupid fucking shoes off.” There. Maybe with that little tirade, he’ll give up on tormenting you with his mysterious, intense focus and leave you alone. Alone to sort out how to fix your life. Alone to finally gather the energy, the backbone, to leave your shitty boyfriend. To stop drifting from one unworthy man to another. To stop compromising yourself, your self worth, and your values, for companionship, cold comfort, crumbs. You don’t know if you’re ready yet. But looking into the mirror this man has held up is a start.

Instead of dropping your hand, carrying on with whatever business he was on his way to do before you created an obstacle in his path, he squeezes it gently in his, and his thumbs begin to massage the meat of your palm. “Allow me to give you what you want, then.”

You laugh, disbelieving. What is his game? “I answered your question. Now it’s your turn to tell me who you are.”

He keeps rubbing your hand, and for some reason you keep letting him. It feels so good. There’s no one else in the world, now. Just him, your hand in his, that unidentifiable delicious scent in the air, mixed with pine.

“My name is Sylus,” he says, simply.

You stare at his face, but he’s still looking down at your palm. 

“It’s a beautiful name,” you say, honestly. You’ve never thought about the name Sylus. It was just a name before, like so many others. But bizarrely, because it’s his, you suddenly think it matches him. It’s beautiful, just like the rest of him. “But that doesn’t answer my question. It doesn’t tell me who you are.”

“It tells you everything. It was a gift, given by someone precious to me.” He draws you closer, pulling you nearer to the garland-filled wall, turning so his big body is blocking the rest of the room. “I can tell you that I own this hotel. I can tell you that I’m an entrepreneur, and make my living buying and selling all sorts of things.” He lowers his voice even further, meeting your eyes again. “I can tell you that I’m very good at it, and it has made me very rich.” He slowly, gently, backs you up into the pine scented wall, until you have nowhere else to go. “And I can tell you that I despise everyone in this room, because they represent the worst of humanity—for all the reasons you hate them too.” He lets go of your hands, but then runs his own up your bare arms, trailing his fingertips along the sensitive skin of your inner forearms, elbows. “But those things are only parts of me, just like your clever mind, your sad, lovely eyes, your sharp tongue calling me a douchebag, are only parts of you. They’re not the heart of you.” He pauses, ember-glow eyes drifting from your eyes to your mouth, back to your eyes again. “I’m Sylus, and I’d like to give you what you want tonight. Say yes.”

You feel like you’re in a dream. The thoughtfulness of his answer, all of the surprising things he just revealed about himself—hotel owner, very rich man, pale in comparison to the shared feeling of hating everyone in this room. Of his having looked at you for less than ten minutes and being able to tell more about you than you think your boyfriend could tell after years of being together. Your sadness, your biting sense of humor, your intelligence.

You wonder if one night with him is worth immediately trading years of the relationship you share with your boyfriend.

You remember just minutes ago thinking that you’d remember this man’s eyes for the rest of your life, even as he passed you by without even noting your existence.

You force yourself to look away from him. You let your head tilt, so that you can see past his big bicep to look over the crowd. The flashing white veneers of so many mouths talking, drinking, smiling, all belonging to people who don’t deserve the nourishing food in the canapés they’re biting into with their vicious teeth, the quality of the alcohol now sloshing in their stomachs. Your eyes find your boyfriend, and for the first time tonight he’s not trading strategy with his colleagues, oblivious to your existence. He’s staring at you, your body mostly hidden now by Sylus, from across the room with a funny look on his face. 

You feel one of Sylus’s hands slip from your elbow, drifting down. He palms your waist, sliding around your back, low, pinky and ring finger brushing your ass, before coming to rest on your other hip. He draws you gently into him, hips flush with your stomach, his arm an anchor behind your back, his hand an anchor at your hip. You feel small, protected, warm. You stare past Sylus’s arm at your boyfriend, who is now gaping at you.

You straighten again, look back up into Sylus’s lovely face. He’s smiling now, with such warmth. You allow yourself to be honest with yourself—you want him to kiss you. You think that a night with this man will be worth the trade of all the years with your boyfriend, who you suspect is now starting to try to shoulder his way to you, with a look on his face that telegraphs that he has something to say and you’re going to fucking listen, dammit, how dare you embarrass him like this in front of all of his colleagues, the firm’s partners, cucking him like he always knew you eventually would, even though you’ve only ever been faithful to him, respectful of his insecurity, loving in the face of his benevolent neglect of you and all of your needs.

Sylus must see your yearning written all over your face. Your silent acquiescence to his request to give you what you want, just for tonight. He leans down, pauses, his warm breath the only thing separating his lips from yours. He looks into your eyes, a warm glow under his long, sweeping lashes. You nod, just a little, to his unvoiced question. Yes, please kiss me. Yes, you have my permission. Yes, please give me what I want tonight. It will be worth all the cold tomorrows. The silent treatment from your boyfriend as you pack up your things in a few boxes, because you’ve never been one to carry too much baggage—you’ve never really had a home, not really. Your blank memories, then your Gran’s house, not yours. Then student housing, then small, temporary places as you moved around for your job, as you roomed with various colleagues before moving in with your boyfriend. You let him choose the decor of the apartment, because he was so vocal about being forced to accept your own unique taste that wasn't to his. Easier to just give him what he wants. You didn’t mind, since the overpriced apartment, filled with cold furniture and his absence, never felt like home anyway, after he got the job at this awful firm and wanted to upgrade from your cozy, cramped little apartment above your favorite bakery that always smelled like fresh bread.

Sylus searches your face for a moment longer before leaning down the rest of the way. He presses his soft, full lips to yours.

Kissing Sylus feels like coming home. Like how his voice feels in your ears—the constant, aching emptiness in your chest, filled. You don’t know how this stranger can already feel so familiar. You don’t know how just the chaste press of his soft lips to yours is making your body light up like the Christmas tree in this fancy bar, in this fancy hotel, like the fairy lights draped above and around you. You feel desire rise in you, a slow, steady wave of anticipation, the wanting a pleasure in itself, even unmet and unsatisfied. He pulls you closer, his arm an inexorable force at your back, gentle yet firm. He flicks his tongue out, sweeps it across your lower lip, then little licks, asking a question, a big jungle cat lapping at the pool of your mouth, and you open for him. He sinks his tongue in. He’s making soft little noises of pleasure, a low vibration in his chest.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your boyfriend has reached you, has the audacity to stand just off to Sylus’s side, confront you with such a stupid, obvious question that you want to laugh. You feel the tethers of the years between you snapping, and you feel wild, reckless, a little mean. Because fuck him, and his cheerful neglect of you. Fuck yourself, for having accepted it. Sylus may want to give you what you want for tonight only, but just kissing him, being seen by him, makes you want to give yourself what you should have been giving yourself all along. Freedom, self respect, acceptance that the love you feel when you look at yourself in the mirror is worth more than the crumbs you receive from a boyfriend who you let treat you like a pretty, ultimately worthless trinket. Sylus may only be offering you a dream for tonight, but the feeling that filled you just from his kind, validating words to you is not a dream. You want to give that feeling to yourself, from now on. And dumping your hypocritical, morally bankrupt, shallow boyfriend is how you’re going to start the process.

Sylus slowly pulls away, not taking his eyes off you. He licks you a few more times, presses a few more quick kisses to your lips, like he can’t help himself, just a little sustenance before having to deprive himself for a moment.

“What does it look like?” you ask, turning your head, still pressed against the wall by Sylus’s big body. He’s so warm. His pecs are so pillowy. You want to knead them like the kitten he called you earlier.

Your boyfriend grimaces at you. “Who the fuck is this guy? I knew you were fucking cheating on me,” he bites out, voice rising.

Before you can answer, Sylus rests his cheek on top of your head. “I’m the largest shareholder of your law firm. And your replacement. Your services, such as they are, are no longer required in the boyfriend department.”

There’s a moment where your boyfriend just stares at Sylus blankly, as if his brain is having difficulty processing everything that he just said. And then he gasps. “Sylus Qin?” His eyes go wide.

“Yes. If you want to keep your current professional position, walk away now and forget everything you know about your ex instead of causing a scene.”

Your boyfriend’s jaw is a little slack as his eyes ping pong between your face and Sylus’s. For a split second, he looks like he wants to say something to you, a calculating, mean look in his eyes, that you’ve only ever seen directed at other people before. But then he startles, eyes jerking back to Sylus, and he suddenly looks terrified.

And then he simply turns and walks away, slipping back between the high top tables surrounded by human-shaped sharks, effectively showing you that it was never you, but his job, the wealth and power that he’s chasing, that has always been the main focus of his heart and mind. And that’s fine. You already knew that. It’s just that now, if you had any doubt about your sudden, insane decision to accept Sylus’s insistent request to give you what you want, it is now gone. You’re not willing to remain in a relationship like that, anymore. You’d rather be alone. You turn your attention back to the man currently cocooning you with his big body. He hasn’t moved, as if he’s waiting patiently for you to make the next move.

You ease back as much as you can into the wall, and he lifts his head, looks down into your face.

“Boyfriend replacement, huh?” you ask drily.

He shrugs his big shoulders. “If I’m lucky, with immediate effect. If I’m unlucky, eventually, but inevitably.” One sharp canine, peeking from between his soft lips, gleams under the fairy lights.

You want to laugh. What is even happening? Why go to such lengths to pretend like he’s somehow committed to you, to this insane demand to give you what you want? You just watched your boyfriend walk away without giving you a second glance. You feel entitled to a big, sexy rebound as a treat. You don’t even care what tricks this man is trying to pull to get you into the sack. You’re already convinced. But you are bothered by one thing.

“You’re the largest shareholder in this law firm?”

“Does it bother you?” he answers with a non-answer.

You take in his pretty mouth, his intense eyes. The humor glinting in the curve of his lips.

“I hate what they do. I hate what they stand for. I think I’ve been wanting to leave my boyfriend for a long time, after he started working for your firm. I want to see them go under.” You answer him with a non-answer of your own. Why should he care if it bothers you that he basically owns the firm? He offered to give you what you want for tonight, and then you’ll never see him again. You think that just for one night, it’s your turn to be a little cutthroat, a little malicious, to take what you can get from a shitty world. Maybe that makes you a hypocrite, the same type of person your now ex-boyfriend is. But for tonight, you’re willing to give yourself over to this terrible man. You will wake up tomorrow and self-flagellate to make up for it. You’ll then carry on, trying to do good in the world.

He tilts his head. “If you destroy them, people like them will just fill the crater left behind, if you don’t dismantle the system that allows them to flourish.”

You’re in such danger. With everything this gorgeous, rich man says, he reveals himself to be thoughtful, clever. You don’t want him to be thoughtful and clever. It would be enough if he were simply kind to get what he wants, as he was when describing you, and pretty, so that it feels good to kiss him. You don’t need him to have depth for tonight.

“Why wait to destroy them until the system comes crashing down? Why not actively want the destruction of both?” you ask, only half-joking. You don’t want to talk about this with him. You want him to do as he promised and take you somewhere quiet, warm. But you don’t want to watch television anymore. You want to kiss him instead.

“Then you shall have both,” he says, strangely, before squeezing the hand still holding yours and leading you from the bar. 

You follow, focusing on his broad back narrowing to his strong waist, his incredibly thick ass underneath his fancy trousers. Your mouth is watering again. You want to unbuckle the clasp at the back of his vest. You want to slip your fingers under the waistband of his pants and squeeze.

It should be illegal for one man to be rich, powerful, smart, thoughtful, and drop-dead gorgeous. 

Your hand is warm in his, as he leads you past the bank of elevators that you stepped out of on your way to the bar, instead going down a short hallway that ends in a discrete black door. He leans forward, lets the retina scanner do its thing, and the door clicks open. You find yourself in what looks like a service passage. Bare, dark walls, the same quiet carpet as the rest of the hotel’s hallways. He leads you further in, until you’re at another door, another retina scan. This door opens into the kitchen of what can only be the hotel’s penthouse. Soaring windows offer a view of the city’s nocturnal skyline below. You have an impression of dark, heavy furniture, sophisticated ultramodern technology and design mixed with more baroque, vintage accents. Potted plants offer a little verdant pop of green in the very rich, urban atmosphere of the space. A big, open floor plan with a full kitchen, a sunken den area with a huge screen over a glassed-in fireplace, pretty stained glass chandeliers and lamps. Hallways leading from the den further into the penthouse must go to the bedroom, the bathroom.

“No wonder you were so willing to fulfill my desire. A short trip down the hall, and here we are,” you laugh a little, half teasing, half serious, after Sylus patiently waits for you to finish gawking at the spacious, expensive room.

He gives you that mysterious little half smile. “I told you that you could be greedy.” He leads you to the large marble-topped kitchen island, slides his hands around your waist and lifts. He sets you on the counter and nudges your legs open with a big hand, fits himself between them. He takes your hands in his and just holds them, thumbs stroking over your skin. “If you had asked to go to a three-star Michelin restaurant, I would have cleared the place and taken you.” He leans forward, kisses you lightly on the lips, pulls back. “If you had asked to go deep sea fishing on one of my yachts, I would have asked what type of fish you were interested in catching.” His eyes flick to yours, then back to your mouth. “If you had wanted to go shopping, I would have—”

You lift your hands and his, pressing them to his lips. “Okay, okay. I get the idea, Sylus. Thank you. Although I don’t understand why you’re doing anything for me at all.”

He turns your joined hands and rubs his cheek against the back of one of yours. “Is it really so incomprehensible that a man would see someone stunning across the room and want to get to know her better?”

“You offering me your black card and to close out a Michelin star restaurant seems a little extreme for just wanting to get to know me better,” you retort, not even touching the fact that he just called you stunning. There were plenty of beautiful people in that room. “Is that really all there is? If you thought I was pretty, you could have just offered to buy me a drink like a normal person.”

“I didn’t think you were pretty,” he says, and your heart sinks a little. He just called you stunning, but maybe he was just…going through the script. The script he doesn’t even need with you, since you’re here, in his nice hotel room, with him between your legs already. But he continues. “I thought you were magnificent. And why would I offer to buy you a drink like we’re two normal people, when we're kindred spirits, and you deserve so much more?”

Okay, so that’s intense. Maybe he’s a little psycho—one of those yandere guys that sees a person and decides, based on an accidental look, that she is their ideal, their possession, their obsession. Guys who place a random person on a pedestal before locking them in their basement. You tilt your head. “How would you even know?” you ask. You don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. You’re thankful for his strange kindness tonight, the feeling of being the sole focus of his attention, the reminder that you deserve better out of a partner than what you’ve settled for, for years. But you can’t understand why he would have chosen you, out of everyone there tonight, out of what is surely a multitude of options for him. Now you’re worried, possibly a little too late, that he’s a little nuts.

He sets your joined hands back in your lap and gently withdraws his. “How much champagne have you had?” he asks as he turns to the refrigerator and pulls out two glass bottles of fancy looking water.

He twists the cap off of one and holds it to your lips. “Drink.”

You obey him without thought, watching him watch your drink, his eyes drifting from your eyes to your mouth, to your throat swallowing the chilled, refreshing water.

You lean back when you’ve had your fill. “I only managed one glass of champagne,” you say. “And you?”

“I haven’t had anything to drink at all,” he answers, lifting the half-empty bottle to his own lips and taking a few long pulls, never taking his eyes off of you. You return his gaze, enjoying the strong line of his throat, the bob of his Adam's apple.

After he empties the bottle, he sets it on the counter next to your thigh. “Are you hungry?”

You know that he hasn’t answered your question yet. That he may never answer. Despite all of the possible red flags he’s throwing up, you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care. Perhaps you’re just repeating old patterns, allowing a handsome man to lull you into settling into another toxic relationship. But as of tonight, you’re done with all that. After tonight, you’ll never see this man again, whether he turns out to be a good man or not. “I don’t know.”

And you really don’t know. You think you’re in shock. You just broke up with your boyfriend in public after kissing a man you just met, a man you’re now alone with in the penthouse of the hotel he owns. Are you hungry? What the hell are you going to do after tonight? Who can you stay with? How are you going to arrange to get your things from your now ex boyfriend, your now former apartment?

Sylus, inexplicably—considering your boyfriend never managed this feat after years of being together—must see your anxiety spiral, because he lifts you again, sets you on your feet. He leads you past the den, down one of the hallways, until he opens a door into a bedroom. Again, you just have impressions because you are so focused on the man leading you by the hand. Gigantic bed, dark, cloud-soft puffy blankets and pillows, a little sitting area, the city’s skyline glittering below the wall of windows. A door to the right leads to an ensuite bathroom—marble floors and counters, huge tub, walk-in shower.

Sylus leads you to the bed, urges you to sit on it. You sink into the covers, legs dangling off the end. He kneels before you without a word and begins to remove your uncomfortable, modest, discreetly formal shoes that you wore for this occasion, and only wear when you’re forced to attend your boyfriend’s—your ex-boyfriend work functions like the one tonight. Nothing like what you’d wear for yourself, if you were to go out on the town, nor what you wear when you simply want to be comfortable.

You just stare at the top of Sylus’s head, shoving thoughts of your ex out of your mind. His hair is so fluffy, you can’t resist reaching forward and gently running your fingers through its silver strands.

He neatly sets your shoes aside and then grows still, remaining on his knees at your feet. He leans forward and rests his head in your lap, cheek against your thigh. He encourages you to keep petting him by lifting his hand and nudging yours to keep moving.

You stroke his hair quietly for a while, chalking up your inability to question anything, to think too hard about how you found yourself here, the enjoyment you feel running your hands through his soft hair, to the shock of tonight’s unexpected turn of events, the recklessness and despair that led you to being alone in this stranger’s penthouse bedroom. 

However, after a while, you force yourself to speak. “What are we doing, Sylus?

He lifts his head and meets your gaze, the electric zing of his otherworldly eyes coursing through you. He places one big palm on each of your thighs.

“You said you wanted to go somewhere quiet, and warm, to watch something silly on television. The remote is in one of the nightstands. The screen can be lowered from the ceiling with the remote. I’ll make you something to eat while you find something you want to watch. Deal?”

“You can cook?” you ask, because it strikes you as odd that a man with everything at his fingertips would spend any amount of time in the kitchen.

“I can watch online tutorials,” he says, shrugging. “It’s not hard to follow directions.”

“What if I don’t want you to go?” you ask. You should be afraid of how reluctant you already are to be separated from him, all while not knowing if he’s a little unhinged, all while knowing this is temporary.

His eyes widen a little, as if surprised at your question that reveals how much you don’t want him to leave. “I can order something from the hotel kitchen. Would you prefer that?” He sounds pleased.

You nod, not trusting your voice. You’ve only just met him, and yet his presence is so comforting, despite the strange intensity of his answers to your questions, of his eyes following your every move.

He removes his own shoes, lines them up next to yours.

“Come,” he says, nudging you to climb further up on the bed, to lean against and rest your head on the soft padded headboard. He opens one of the nightstands, hands you the remote control to the television, and then calls the kitchen on his mobile phone, ordering what sounds like an entire banquet’s worth of food in a low voice. 

When he’s done, he joins you in leaning against the headboard. You haven’t turned on the television yet.

“Do you think you ordered enough food?” you ask.

His eyes soften in a not-quite smile as he turns his head and meets your teasing gaze. “Do you think I ordered enough food?” he counters.

“If I were an army, you still would have ordered too much,” you say, smiling now.

He reaches over, runs his fingers up your arm, slides his arm over your shoulders and pulls you close to his side. “With the way you’ve already conquered me, an army isn’t such a far-fetched comparison for you.”

You groan. “Who knew such a good-looking guy would resort to such cheesy lines?”

He laughs softly. “You think I’m good looking?”

You look up at him from your cozy position of being cocooned in him again, your face so close to his that you can see the dark striations in his ruby irises. “You know you’re good looking,” you whisper.

He lifts his other hand to poke you gently in the forehead. “I don’t care if I’m good looking to anyone else. But I like knowing I’m good looking to you.”

You have no idea why he’s trying so hard to make you sound special to him. You’re already here. You already dumped your boyfriend as a result of less than ten minutes of talking to him.

“Then yes, I think you’re good looking.” You stare into his eyes, bathe in his warmth. The scent you were salivating over in the bar is simply Sylus’s scent. Not cologne, or laundry detergent. Just his skin. Something clean and primal. You want to lick him.

He returns your stare. “Why haven’t you turned on the television?”

You swallow, increasingly aware of being in his arms, on this big bed, alone with him, in a warm, quiet place. His scent, the beauty of his face. The way he touches you so gently. The way he knelt at your feet, like a large, powerful beast quietly asking for the affection of your hands in his fur.

“What if I changed my mind?” you ask him, biting your lip.

He lifts his hand, pulls your lip from your teeth with his thumb. Presses against your lip, gently, with its calloused pad.

“You can always change your mind, kitten,” he murmurs. “But what do you want to do instead of watching television?”

“I think you know,” you say, letting your tongue brush against his thumb. 

“Do I? Why don’t you tell me?” He’s teasing you. Daring you to say what you want out loud.

“I want you to kiss me again,” you admit. He looks pleased with your honesty.

“And if I want to do more than kiss you?” he asks, sliding his thumb into your mouth. You suck on it, tasting the salt of his skin.

“Please,” you say. What else is there to say?

“Tell me what you like,” he says, pressing his thumb deeper into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, before withdrawing it so that you can answer him. Your mouth feels empty without him in it.

“What I like?” you ask, buying time. What do you like? Feeling loved. Being praised. Reassurance that you’re fine, just the way you are. But you know that’s not what he’s asking. What you like in bed will likely sound very boring to someone like him, with the world at his feet, money to buy all the pleasures he could dream of.

“Don’t overthink it,” he says. “If you could have me do anything for you right now, without restrictions, what would you want?”

It’s like the question he posed in the bar. If you could be anywhere else, doing anything else, what would you choose?

What does it matter if he knows that you’re boring? If you want someone to say something kind to you. That you want to be touched in a way that your boyfriend hasn’t touched you in a long time, if ever.

You take his big hand, place his palm on your cheek, nuzzle it. “I want you to say nice things to me, but only if they’re true. I want you to take the lead and make me feel good, and I want you to feel good too. I don’t want you to hurt me.” You tell him your most basic desires, as boring as they may be. If he laughs at you, if he pities you for your unsophisticated wants, then you can always get up and walk away. You walked away once tonight. You can do it again, and again. If nothing else, meeting Sylus has given you back the freedom that somewhere along the way you forgot you even had.

He leans toward you, running his nose alongside yours, breathing deeply. He kisses your cheek that isn’t covered by his palm, a soft brush of his lips. He kisses the side of your mouth, right at the corner. He turns your face towards his own, and he kisses you softly on the lips again. Leisurely, again and again. He smells so good. “I knew we were kindred spirits, because I watched you in the bar, listening to those assholes, and you were terrible at hiding your feelings. Your disgust, frustration, boredom. Clear, for anyone who cared to look. The same feelings I was experiencing in that room full of unrepentant, self-righteous bastards,” he says softly against your lips. “When you called me a douchebag, and tried to dismiss me with such arrogant disdain.” He kisses you again, hard, as if excited by the thought. “It was like looking at the truest version of you—principled, an empress dismissing a worm. I could tell that you were wasted on that cretin you dumped tonight. You’ve been wasted on everyone in your life who has failed to recognize your value. I was willing to offer you so much instead of just a simple drink, because I’ve been looking for an empress for my empire and not just another beautiful face.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. “I’m nobody’s empress.” You shake your head a little, bathing in his pretty words. You realize that he’s doing what you asked—saying nice things to you. In this moment, it doesn’t even matter if they’re true or not. The fact that he listened to what you wanted and is trying to give it to you, is enough. Tonight, you can pretend, for a little while, that his nice words are true. “I’m off-putting, too blunt. People don’t know what to do with me. I’d never be able to manage the diplomacy required for running an empire, especially one based on snake-charming like yours.”

“I don’t want you to run my empire. Leave the work and the worry to me. I just want your unvarnished company.” He kisses you again, slides his palm from your cheek to your hair, takes a fistfull of it, gently tugs your head back so your throat is exposed to him. “Be your off-putting, terribly honest self with me, and you will have given me everything I could want.”

You can’t help the little noise that comes out of your throat. He kisses your lips again, licking into your mouth. With your hair firmly in his grip, he tilts your head as he wishes, his tongue big, pressing deeper, slick against your own. He kisses you like this for what could be hours. Your body reacts, you can feel your heartbeat between your legs, the wetness pooling in your underwear.

He does what you asked of him. He takes the lead, slowly undressing you, still kissing you, his long, clever fingers working your top off your shoulders, freeing your breasts from your bra. He tosses them over the edge of the bed. You grow impatient, begin unbuttoning his vest, slide it off his shoulders. Repeat with his dress shirt. Once you are both bare from the waist up, he presses his chest against yours, rolling you underneath him, sinking into the covers on top of you. He palms the back of your neck, and you arch your back, pressing your breasts harder against his chest. The soft silver hair on his chest feels so good against your sensitive nipples.

He grunts, licking out of your mouth, kissing your cheek, your chin. You turn your head, sliding your hands into his hair, dragging your fingertips across his scalp. He shivers. You lick the shell of his ear and he grunts softly again. You drag your teeth along his earlobe, bite down gently on the soft flesh. He whimpers a little. You continue lapping at his ear for a few minutes, until the demands of your body let you know that this is no longer enough. You want more of him. You turn your head again, look back into his now flushed face, watch as he pants through his slightly open mouth.

“And you looked offended when I called you kitten the first time.” His smug smirk is undermined by his obvious excitement. “But here you are, lapping at my ear with your tongue.”

“And yet you’re the one mewling like a kitten as I lap your ear with my tongue,” you counter, reaching up and gently pinching his earlobe, still wet with your saliva.

His smirk takes on a feral edge. “Touché. But now it’s my turn to make you mewl. May I continue?”

You nod, and he wastes no more time, dragging open-mouthed kisses down your neck, between your breasts. He licks, nips, little bright flares of pain, sharp and quick, that you hope will leave marks for you to carry into the next few weeks. He drags the rest of your clothing off, your underwear, with his long, thick fingers, throws them over his shoulder. He hovers on all fours over you, trousers still on, his large dick clearly visible underneath.

“What would you like now? Do you want me to eat your pussy?” he asks, pearl-sheened hair falling over his forehead, messy from your hands in it.

You tense up a little. Your boyfriend hasn’t given you oral since the early days of your relationship. It always felt obligatory, perfunctory foreplay to ensure that you were wet enough for what he was really interested in. The idea of Sylus between your legs like that, his face so far away, not being able to tell if he’s actually enjoying it or just following a script, fills you with anxiety.

You shake your head no.

“No, you don’t want it, or no, you don’t think I want it?” he asks, reaching for the waistband of his trousers, unzipping his fly, all while not taking his eyes off of yours.

“Both,” you say, honestly. “I don’t want you so far away.”

He hums thoughtfully as he efficiently removes his pants, his black boxer briefs, and tosses them aside. He grunts softly as his dick, his heavy balls are freed from his clothing. They’re big, pretty, just like the rest of him. “Okay. We do what you want, sweetheart. If you change your mind, tell me.” He lifts his index and middle finger to his mouth, sucks on them slowly, working them in and out of his mouth while letting his gaze drift from your face, down to your breasts, lower, and then up again. When he removes them from his mouth, they’re soaked with his saliva. “I would love to lick you until you come on my face, but I can be patient till you're ready.” The image of you riding his face at his request sends another jolt of desire through you, layers into the want you already feel for him, throbbing between your legs. But before you can respond, he lowers himself on one elbow, settling a little bit on his side, and lets the wet fingers of his other hand dip between your legs. He slips them easily inside you. He watches your face as he leisurely pumps in and out of you, as his thumb presses down on your clit, as you start to move your body restlessly, because you want more than his fingers. There are only the sounds of your breaths mingled with his, the wet slide of his fingers inside you. You watch, mesmerized by the long, pale line of his strong forearm flexing in the light from the city spilling through the windows, his big hand twisting, thrusting, as he ensures that you’re wet enough, soft enough to take more of him.

“May I continue?” he asks, leaning down, kissing your lips, again just soft presses of his mouth against yours, little flicks of his tongue in between.

“Yes,” you breathe. He lifts his hand from between your legs and then palms his cock with it, slicking it with the combination of your own wetness and his saliva. He leans over you, nudges you between your knees with his wet hand, and you widen them for him. He kneels between your now open legs and lowers his hips until he’s nudging you, pressing in, the slide slick, slow. He watches your face for any signs of discomfort, but even though he’s big, you just feel full. Full in the way his voice fills your chest. Full in the way his sweet nothings fill your heart, despite knowing that they’re just empty, pretty words. He bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, and leans down. He kisses you again, this time opening his mouth wide, fucking into yours with his tongue in the same way that he begins to fuck into your body with his cock. Slow, deep, firm strokes. There is only the sound of his body moving in yours, his panting breath, the soft noises in your throat that you can’t stop with each of his thrusts. The only scents—clean sheets, clean sweat, the musk of his precum and your slick combined.

He feels so good. He watches your face, and when you do truly start to whimper as he promised, he adjusts the angle of his hips, the angle of his dick inside you, and you begin to openly moan, the pleasure filling you. You lift your arms, run your hands down his broad back, his muscles undulating under your fingers, palms, as he rocks both of your bodies.

“I love your hands on me,” he says, not stopping the sinuous roll of his hips. “One of the first things I noticed about you was your beautiful hands, holding the champagne flute.”

“They’re rough from lifting weights. I use them too much when I’m telling a story.”

Sylus leans down, kisses you hard, just shy of punishing.“I don’t want to hear your ex’s bullshit from your mouth while I’m inside you,” he commands. “You deserve more than what you’ve been allowing yourself.” 

You’re shocked at the sincerity, the earnestness in his eyes. His defense of you against the voice in your head, your boyfriend’s occasionally demeaning voice, makes you want to cry.

“Allow me to give you what you deserve,” he orders, but it sounds like a plea in his strained murmur.

You know that he’s only doing as you asked. That he’s saying nice things to you, because you said that’s what you wanted of him tonight. Even though you asked for him to mean them, it’s okay that he doesn’t. You’re just so grateful for the way he’s asking you at every step what you want, asking if he can continue, telling you what you think you’ve needed to hear for a long, long time now—so grateful that you can’t help but play along, to indulge in the fantasy that this powerful, gorgeous man really does think you’re beautiful and deserving of a feast when you’ve been living a life of famine for so long. 

“Okay, Sylus,” you say, and when you say his name, you feel him jerk inside you, and he begins to pump harder, faster. His body pressed against yours, the angle of his hips hitting you just right—you begin to feel close to coming. He seals your fate when he leans down and bites your shoulder, hard, a low pitched whine coming from his throat as he comes, as his hips stutter, as you come yourself, so turned on by the peak of his pleasure derived from your body that his pleasure cascades into and amplifies your own.

Slowly, the movement of his big hips slows and he melts into you, pressing you into the mattress, licking where he bit you. He makes no move to pull out of you—he simply continues to gently roll his hips, the wet sound loud in your ears, the warmth of his cum squelching between your bodies, pooling in the sheets underneath you.

He lifts his head, smiles at you. Nudges his nose against yours. “Was that okay?”

You sigh, body pleasantly heavy yet weightless. He feels so good blanketing you, still filling you. “It was passable,” you tease, smiling at him lazily.

He laughs low, smug, clearly not believing your obvious lie. “Room for improvement? Challenge accepted,” he murmurs, kissing you again, and you can feel his smile against your mouth.

He thrusts into you again, once, hard. You gasp. “Already ready to go again?” you ask in wonder.

“I should be thanking your ex for the low bar, but I’m pissed that you sound so surprised. What kind of absolute wretch wouldn’t want to worship you over and over again, all night, every night?” he demands.

You laugh. “No need to exaggerate.” You wrap your arms around his neck, run your hands up into his hair. “You’ve already done more than enough to make me feel good for a long time after tonight.”

“Oh, I’m not even close to being done,” he says, pumping into you again. “The question is, do you want me to fuck you like this again, or do you want to ride me?” he looks thoughtful for a moment, and then asks eagerly, “Are you ready to sit on my face yet?”

You stare at him, wide-eyed. “You’d let me sit on your face while I’m still dripping with your cum?” You think of your own boyfriend, how he always seemed slightly disgusted by the wetness from your body on his face anytime he did bother to give you oral.

“Stop thinking about him,” he orders. “Think about me. Unlike weaker men, I don't have a problem with eating you out when you’re filled with the combination of me and you. What could be more delicious?”

You find your body rousing again at the obvious sincerity of his words, his irritation that this is even a question. 

“I’ll lick you clean till you’re screaming, and then make a mess in you again,” he promises, rolling both of your bodies so that he’s on his back, pulling out of you, already lifting you by the hips, encouraging you to drip your way up his chest, settle over his mouth. He looks up at you, a smile crinkling the corners of his gorgeous, bright eyes.

You learn that night that if nothing else, Sylus Qin is a man of his word. He worships you, over and over again. While you're regaining your breath after one round, he brings food from the banquet he ordered and feeds you with his hands. He then fucks you again, and again, until you’re both too tired to move. After, he gently wipes the combination of you and him from your body, he brings a bottle of water to your lips and tells you to drink, he buries his head in your neck and you fall asleep, held tightly in his arms.

In the morning, you wake slowly, feeling pleasantly exhausted, your muscles tired and aching from last night’s efforts. Where Sylus bit you and sucked bruises into your skin, pain throbs dully, but you enjoy the reminder that you’ll have something of his on you for the next few days, maybe weeks. You turn your head, take in his lovely face, relaxed in sleep, the dark sweep of his eyelashes across his pale cheeks. He looks younger while asleep, without the frown line revealing his maturity as it does while he’s awake.

He made you feel so loved last night. He reminded you of the possibility of what love can be. That you don’t have to settle for anything less than how he treated you for one special moment in time. You’d rather be alone, than be with someone who doesn’t make you feel how Sylus Qin made you feel for one night. You’re so grateful to this beautiful man for reminding you that you don’t have to settle. For being the impetus in making the decision to never settle again.

You lean down and press a kiss, soft as a feather, to his temple. He doesn’t stir.

You don’t want to be here when he wakes up. You don’t want to watch as the illusion fades, now that he’s conquered the challenge your initial resistance to his charms presented. You don’t want the polite distance, the subtle urging to get you out of his bed and out of his life again. You’d rather carry his strange, unexpected kindness with you as an unspoiled memory, a ruler with which to measure all future potential lovers.

You quietly slip out of bed, collect your clothing and shoes from last night. You dress in the hallway, slip into your shoes. You walk to the private elevator that opens directly into a little foyer off the kitchen that you hadn’t noticed last night. You feel at peace on the long ride down to the ground floor, as you step into the cold, white winter morning.

You are certain now. You’ll never forget Sylus’s eyes, until the day you die.

Sylus wakes up all at once, jerked awake by a feeling of wrongness. He pats the bed next to him, finds only cold sheets, where he should be feeling your warm, soft skin. He cracks an eye open and scowls when he confirms what his hands have already informed him.

You’re gone. You didn’t believe him, when he said he wanted to give you everything, not just last night, but for all the rest of your nights. He huffs a little. Of course you didn’t. The finest things in life are never easy to obtain, let alone keep. Your fuck-up of an ex didn’t understand that until it was too late.

Sylus would rather have woken up to your warm body, to have pressed himself back into your wet, soft spaces, made love to you over and over again until you passed out again.

But this is okay too. He has finally found you. In one night, he got rid of your poor excuse for a boyfriend, tasted the pleasure of your mind and your body, and placed a tracking app in your phone. 

You may think that last night was all there is. You couldn’t be more mistaken. Sylus always did enjoy a good hunt.

Over the weeks that follow, you hear news that your ex-boyfriend’s law firm has come under intense fire for financial mismanagement of client funds. That some of the partners will be going to trial for tax fraud and other white collar crimes. Some have been disbarred and forbidden from practicing law for the foreseeable future. In the end, the firm can’t survive the reputational and financial blows, and it goes under.

You don’t even have to go to your ex’s place to pick up your belongings. Before you muster the energy to call him, to arrange for a time for you to come get them, they are inexplicably delivered to your temporary place by two intensely handsome delivery men, obviously twins, although one has an intensely scarred face. They wear matching crow tattoos that peek out from under their tight black t-shirts, winding around their big biceps and the back of their necks. When you ask if it was your ex who hired them, they laugh, make cryptic comments about your ex not having the financial resources to do much at all these days, and then leave, their chatter regarding a bet about how long it will take their boss to confess to his crush echoing down the hallway of your friend’s apartment building.

More weeks pass and you hear rumors of a new resistance movement called Onychinus by its proponents and critics alike. They sabotage banking networks, hack credit card companies, expose predatory insurance practices. They publish the banking information of prominent politicians, following the money to highlight the corruption from lobbying efforts by the worst industries in the country, in the world. 

Onychinus’s disruption of the system intensifies, until one day, the first insurance CEO is shot in broad daylight. And then it’s like the killer, or killers, go down the list, and executives of all sorts of multinational companies are ending up dead.

All the while, despite your firm belief that you’d never see him again, you start bumping into Sylus Qin at the strangest, most random places. The grocery store. Going for a jog in the park. Out at the club, dancing with friends. It’s almost as if he knows where you’ll be, and then arranges to bump into you.

The world is changing around you. A quiet revolution occurs, where ordinary people demand better of their leaders, of the businesses they support. You think about what you asked him the night you met him, Why wait to destroy them until the system comes crashing down? —and his strange response: Then you shall have both.

The next time you ‘happen’ to run into him, you’re alone, going for a night walk along the bank of the river winding through your city. The city lights glitter in the water, thousands of stars blinking in the velvet dark.

He’s wearing a thick winter coat, but his neck is bare. You want to thread your own scarf around his throat, protect him against the biting, late winter wind.

“Funny seeing you here,” you say, smiling up at him.

“Very funny,” he agrees serenely. “Have you figured it out yet?” he asks, wine-dark eyes fixed on your face.

You furrow your brow, pretend to think. “You weren’t lucky, were you?” you ask.

He smiles. “No. My kitten wasn’t there when I woke up. I knew then that it would take more than just my words to convince her that I fully intended to replace her boyfriend after she finally had the good sense to dump him.”

You still don’t understand why this man first approached you. Why he treated you with such sincere, loving passion during the only night you spent with him. But you remember your words to him, and his answer implying that he would give you what you wanted. You’ve watched the world change faster than you could have imagined on the night you found yourself abandoned, once again, in the shark tank of your ex’s colleagues and employers.

“It’s you,” you say, stepping forward, taking the lapels of his coat in your hands.

“What’s me, kitten?” he asks, sly, unbuttoning his coat, opening it for you.

“The demise of my ex’s law firm. Onychinus. The new legislation, the quiet revolution.” You accept his invitation, let him pull you into his chest, let him wrap his coat around you.

“No, beloved, it’s you,” he says on a contented sigh. “I told you, I don’t need you to help run my empire. You are simply the reason for its existence.”

“Why?” you ask, resting your head against his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat.

“Would you believe me if I said that I met you in another life, and you gave me my name, taught me how to love, and how to be loved in return?”

You shake your head. “Of course not. This is the real world. This life is the only one we’ve got. That’s why it’s so important that we do it right, and don’t be assholes, and try not to leave the world worse than we found it.”

“An idealist,” he says in mock disgust. “I guess you’ll want to teach me about how to be a better person,” he says glumly. “But I’m not selling my yachts. I’ll buy you as many canoes as you want, though.”

You snort, remembering the night you met him, his offers to take you on a midnight yacht cruise, the use of his black card.

“What’s the real reason, Sylus?” you ask, hugging him tightly, savoring the warmth of his big body against the cold breeze off the water.

He rests his cheek on the top of your head. “Kitten wants a bedtime story?”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” you whisper.

“It’ll cost you. Sure you want to hear it?”

You nod, and Sylus begins to speak.

“It all began the night I was checking in with the hotel’s security team, and saw the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in an elevator on one of the security feeds. She was telling a story, gesturing with her hands, her face so lively, eyes so bright. I had to listen in. I had to hear what she was saying. She was funny, sharp-tongued. Her voice was beautiful. Compelling. She was clearly intelligent, and deeply angry at the world.” As Sylus speaks, snow begins to fall, big fat flakes swirling in the night. “I knew, immediately, that we were kindred spirits.” His arms tighten around you, almost taking your breath away. “And then I heard the tepid response of her date. His subtly demeaning remarks. As if he needed to put her down to make himself feel better, and to keep her from realizing how much better she could do than him.” He shrugs. “I knew that he didn’t deserve her, and that I had to have her. That I needed to pull out all the stops in order to make her mine. But just my luck, she didn’t believe me when I told her that.”  

You turn your head, rest your chin on his chest as you look up into his red, red eyes. “So quick? Just that, and it was enough for you to decide you wanted to keep me?” It’s so hard to believe. How could he tell so much about you, from just a short, accidental encounter?

“I have an appraiser’s eye, darling. I can recognize the priceless, the one-of-a-kind, when I see it.” His self-satisfaction is palpable. Who are you to argue with him? If he thinks you’re worth it, then you will choose to believe him. He reminded you that you deserve it, the night you met, after all. 

“Do you still want the job? Boyfriend replacement?”

“No,” he says, but before your heart can sink, he continues. “The cost of this bedtime story is high, I’m afraid. I’m too greedy to settle for boyfriend. I like the sound of husband. Soulmate.”

He leans down, stops a breath away from your lips. Relief floods through you. You smile at him, echo his words. “Then you shall have both.” 

Then you kiss him. 

You kiss him, and you spend the rest of your life kissing him. You never do forget his eyes, through all the long years, as the world continues to change around you, as Sylus spends every day trying to give you what he insists that you deserve, and you try to do the same for him, until the day you die.

End note: I'm a lying liar and said I was taking a break, but apparently Sylus won't leave me alone.

[sea-lanterns]

PSYCHO

synopsis: (slasher! AU) you find yourself at a creepy inn in the middle of nowhere.

featuring: hu tao

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dom character, stalking, peeping, perverted character, yandere-ish character, ooc character, peepholes, mast.urbation while peeping, breaking and entering, usage of a se.x to.y, fin.gering, shower se.x, degradation, obsessive character, not proofread.

art credits: my hero academia

The rain was heavy and loud, beating down against your windshield as your wipers fought furiously to keep your window clear. Driving out late at night in the middle of a storm was not ideal, however you really wanted to get to your destination soon without having to sleep on the side of the road again, so you continued to press on.

As the minutes passed by, it appeared the rain wasn’t letting up anytime soon, forcing you to seek refuge at any of the nearby motels in the area. Though you were literally driving through the middle of nowhere, your eyes spotted something flickering in the distance; a beam of red light that was unmistakable for a sign. You drove closer, pulling up to the sign and reading it through your watery windshield; “Wangsheng Inn” it read in big bold letters, a beacon of safety in the raging storm around you. 

“Ah…screw it.” You grumbled to yourself, pulling into the parking lot of the motel so you could rest for the night. This would definitely take a small dig into your wallet, but at this point anything was better than driving in the storm.

You parked your car and got out in the heavy rain, immediately getting soaked under mother nature’s downpour. You hurried to grab your bags from the trunk and drag them to the dimly lit check-in office in the corner. Through your hurry to get inside as soon as possible, you failed to notice the shadowy figure watching you from behind the curtain, watching as you scrambled across the parking lot to get to the office.

‘Cold cold cold cold’ you mentally cursed yourself and opened the door to the office, the warmth of a nearby radiator hitting your face and making you sigh with relief. Ah…that was better. You hurried inside and shut the door behind you, letting the warmth and dryness of the indoors seep into you while you walked up to the front desk.

Huh, that’s strange. There was no one there. You waited a few moments before looking over at the bell on the counter, underneath a sign that read “Ring for Service.”

So, like any other functioning adult, you tapped it once. Twice. Until finally you heard footsteps shuffling in the room behind the office, the door finally opening and revealing a young woman with a cute smile. 

“Ah, hello there!” She greeted rather cheerfully, her demeanor already coming across as cute. “Didn’t expect anyone to be out in this weather. Quite a storm huh?” 

“Uh, yes. It really is.” You were taken aback by how energetic she was so late at night, but you chalked it off as just her doing her job. “I would like to check in for the night.”

“Just one night?” The woman smiled peculiarly. 

“Ah…yeah. Just until the storm goes away. I’m kind of in a hurry.” You glanced at your watch and noted it was almost 9pm now. 

“Awe…I see.” The woman sounded almost…disappointed. “Well in that case, you can have Room 1! It’s right next to this one and it’s vacant, like all our other rooms…” 

She laughed off her small joke and extended her hand while she flipped through the guestbook. “Anyways, I’m Hu Tao, proud owner of the Wangsheng Inn.” 

“I’m (Reader)” you responded calmly, giving her a small handshake in return. She smiled when you took her hand, seemingly enjoying the feel of your hand around hers. “(Reader)…that’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.” 

You smiled nervously at the compliment, wondering if she was flirting with you or not. You wouldn’t mind usually, but right now you were tired and just wanted to take a hot shower and lie down in a warm bed. “Yes…thank you. Uhm, may I get the key to my room?”

“Oh! Of course, of course!” She hummed nonchalantly, grabbing a key off the wall. “You must be exhausted, please make sure to enjoy all the luxuries our rooms have to offer.”

She winked at you and handed you the key, its small weight pushing firmly against your palm. You held it securely in your grip, nodding as you let her escort you to the room next door. The rain outside poured heavily still as you dragged your luggage behind you, opening the door to Room 1 and turning the lights on inside. 

Hu Tao soon followed suit behind you as you took in the warm hospitality of the room. Like the office, it was warm and well lit, a comfortable place to stay the night while you waited out the storm. “Here it is, our famous Room 1 suite!” Hu Tao exclaimed jovially. “Does it accomodate to your tastes, ma’am?” 

“It’s lovely for such a bargain price. I am surprised you didn’t charge me any higher,” you hummed in astonishment, setting your luggage down on the floor. 

“Well, no one really drives through these parts. The Wangsheng Inn is off to the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I have no choice but to make the rooms cheap,” she smiled softly, looking at you. “Though, I was quite surprised to see you tonight. Out in the storm in the middle of nowhere, what exactly were you doing out there…?”

She leaned in close to you, her face just inches away. Your breath hitched and you felt the hairs on your neck stand up on end, a little creeped out by how prodding she was being. 

“Erm…please don’t take this the wrong way but that is my own business to worry about,” you responded firmly. Hu Tao chuckled and took a step back, raising her hands up in surrender. “Right, I apologize. I shouldn’t have been so nosy.” It seemed that no matter what the topic was, Hu Tao always had a smile on her face. Though it was slightly unsettling, you chalked it off as just being her personality. “It’s alright, though…I would like to unpack for a bit. My clothes are soaking wet, so I’d like to change.” 

“Of course ma’am. Let me know if you need anything, my office is right next door.” She grinned and walked out of your room, shutting the door behind her. Now alone, you stood in the middle of the quiet room, taking a deep breath and shaking off the unnerving feeling you felt after encountering the manager. 

‘What an odd woman…’ you thought to yourself, beginning to unload your luggage and dig through your clothes. ‘Quite attractive…and somewhat charming, if not for being so nosy.’

You sighed and pulled out a few clothes from your suitcase, wondering what to wear to bed before hopping into the shower. 

“This should do…” you murmured to yourself, pulling out a pair of pajamas and setting it on the bed. Slowly, you began stripping out of your wet clothes, your skin glistening from the moisture of your clothes, beautiful and refined. As you were busy changing, you suddenly felt as if you were being watched, a feeling of unsettling fear rising in your chest. 

…That can’t be right though. You were alone in your motel room, surely your paranoia was just playing tricks on you. 

You shrugged off the feeling and began taking off your underwear, eager to step into the warm shower and wash away the grime of today. 

In the office room next door, inside the back room where only Hu Tao was allowed to enter, she breathed heavily and watched you through the peephole hidden behind her picture frame, eying the way you slid out of your undergarments rather sensually. On the surface, Hu Tao appeared as a quaint and spry young woman, effortlessly charming with her bright smile and casual demeanor. However, underneath it all; she was just a huge pervert, fingering herself to the sight of you blissfully unaware that you were being peeped on by the innkeeper next door.

‘God…how beautiful,’ Hu Tao thought to herself, unable to contain her sleazy grin as she pressed her fingers deeper against her clit. Her thighs buckled with each forceful motion of her fingers, drooling over the sight of your beautiful body just out on display for her. ‘It’s not often that a pretty lady like her shows up…goodness, I’m a mess.’ 

Hu Tao stifled a whimper as she pushed her fingers further up her cunt, feeling her velvety walls clamp tightly around her digits. She was a complete mess just watching you, her pants pulled down to her knees while she touched herself imagining various fantasies with that stunning body of yours. The loneliness and isolation of running a roadside inn was really catching up to her as she craved to feel another woman against her body.

“Turn around…” Hu Tao whispered to herself, lusting for the sight of seeing your breasts and full body on display. “Oh fuck please turn around…” 

She eyed you hungrily before watching as you turned around to grab a towel, her pussy throbbing at the sight of you exposed before her. 

“Nnnh…damn.” Hu Tao licked her lips and fingered herself faster, watching as you went into the bathroom to shower. She didn’t have a peephole to look in there, but she could imagine the warm water cascading down your body, the room all hot and steamy as your body grew slick from the moisture. Hu Tao couldn’t take it anymore, her thoughts were growing stronger and her body’s needs were becoming more urgent. 

She slid another digit in, closing her eyes and trying to urge herself to release. No matter how hard she thrusted, or added another finger, or ground against her hand it still wasn’t enough. She needed to have the source right in front of her. 

“Well…looks like I’ll be using that spare key after all…” Hu Tao mumbled to herself, sliding her slimy fingers out of her folds and pulling her pants up. 

Turning on the shower head, you let out a sigh of relief when you felt the hot water run down your body. All those hours of being cooped up in your old car left your body cramped, an ache present in your muscles as you stretched them out to get them working again. “My back is killing me…” you grumbled, arching your back to hopefully sort out a few knots that have gathered. You took some soap and lathered your body up, relieved at the sensation of being clean again after so long. 

Your eyes fluttered shut under the shower head, so lost in your pleasant shower that you failed to hear the sound of your bathroom door slowly opening. Each footstep fell onto deaf ears as the shadowy figure in front of the curtain drew closer, raising something in their hand that looked strangely long and pointed.

The shadow continued to stand there, almost as if they were admiring your silhouette showering like a creep. They stood there for a few more moments of silence, before suddenly yanking the shower curtains open, causing you to open your eyes abruptly. 

You let out a scream once you saw the figure in front of you, covering your chest and backing up against the wall. The hardness of the tiled wall hit your back with a cold slam, adrenaline spiking in your veins once you saw who had broken into your room. 

Hu Tao? The innkeeper?! 

She stood there with that same, chilling smile like always. “I figured your body was quite sore after your journey, so why don’t you let me deal with that for you…?”

Her eyes went half lidded, obsession swirling in her eyes before she raised the object in her hand. Your breath hitched and you immediately let out another scream, raising your hands to shield your body and face from the knife you thought was in her hand. What you expected for pain and bloodshed did not come, however. Instead, only the soft chuckle of Hu Tao’s amusement rang out, causing you to hesitantly open your eyes. 

In her hand…wasn’t a knife, no. It was long… but definitely not sharp. Far from it in fact. 

Heat rose to your cheeks and you let out a confused whimper. Was…that a sex toy? 

“Didn’t think you’d be so terrified of a dildo…” Hu Tao giggled, stepping into the shower with you, still fully clothed. You felt adrenaline spike in your chest as she backed you further against the wall, pinning you there. For a few moments, Hu Tao just stood there, admiring your naked form as the hot water dripped down her face, her wet hair sticking to her skin. If not for how utterly psychotic she looked, you had to admit that her hair all wet really added to her physical appeal…

“Oh, looks like you’ve finally quieted down,” She giggled, slowly tracing the tip of the sex toy up your thigh. “Good girl, can’t have you screaming in fear when you should be screaming in pleasure.” 

…Did your pussy just throb? You had no idea what your body was doing right now, a mixture of fear and arousal pooling at your core. “Wh…What are you doing here?” Your voice trembled greatly, unsure if you should fight, flee, or freeze. 

“As the innkeeper of Wangsheng Inn, it is my duty to make sure all our guests’ needs are met,” she licked her lips and leaned closer, her breath tickling your own. “Especially for the pretty women we so rarely get.” 

She giggled and traced the tip of her dildo a little higher, eliciting goosebumps in their wake as it got closer to your core. The steamy bathroom was not making your desire any less stronger, but although you were already trembling in fear, a part of you felt your knees buckle at the curious temptation Hu Tao had to offer…

“Let me show you a good time…” she purred, the lust glistening in her eyes. It was clear she was heavily attracted to you, “I promise I won’t hurt you…if you don’t want me to.” 

You should not have gotten as turned on as you did, but that longing inside you was curious to know just how good this innkeeper really was.  Unconsciously, you found your head tilting downwards in a nod, before Hu Tao immediately moved forward to kiss you. Her tongue immediately darted in between your lips, catching you off guard before sliding her fingers up to cup your already wet cunt. 

Though her fingers were on the smaller side, they were quite lithe and flexible, gently pinching your clit before rubbing tight circles around your heat to get you to relax. You found yourself bucking up against the innkeeper’s fingers, the hot water amplifying your sensitivity while Hu Tao drooled over how your walls spread so easily for her.

“Nnnnh fuck, you feel even better than I expected…” she purred, getting lost in the feeling as she speared your warm folds further apart. “Gettin’ so wet for me already…how naughty. Did you touch yourself in here thinking about me? You can’t be this wet and pathetic~”

You grumbled and shook your head no, causing Hu Tao to grin and degrade you further. 

“Well…you’re gonna be touching yourself a lot more after this. Gonna have this needy pussy craving to be filled by me everyday.” She laughed and pushed her fingers deeper, filling you up while she thrusted at an uneven pace. Hu Tao was getting so wet and pent up already just watching you, and she knew she had to get to the main event soon if she wanted to climax tonight. 

‘Damn…I wanna see her take the toy. She’d be so hot trying to take it.’ Hu Tao bit her bottom lip as her perverted thoughts made their way to her brain. The more she felt her fingers get squeezed by your cunt, the more she longed to see you squeeze the toy she chose for you as well. 

“I think you’re wet enough. Let’s move on to the big one, alright?” She stifled a giggle and slid her slick-covered fingers out of you, not bothering to clean them off in the shower water as she stuck them in her mouth instead. “Mmmmpf.” Her eyes filled with lust as she moaned at the taste of you, suckling her fingers rather lewdly to emphasize how much she was enjoying it. 

She took her sweet time in cleaning off her fingers, her warm tongue sliding over each digit and making direct eye contact with you while you squirmed under her body. How…deranged this woman was being, and yet you couldn’t help but find her mannerisms extremely attractive at this moment. 

“Come on now…let’s get those pretty lips wrapped around the toy…” Hu Tao purred, helping your lower lips slide over the tip before slowly pushing in. “Oh…oh. Look at you taking my cock so well. I picked it thinking of you, you know. I figured a girl like you would prefer more…natural colors.” 

She giggled and drooled at the way her realistic-looking dildo sunk deeper into your hole, making you arch your back against the cold tiled wall and moan. In the closed space of the steamy bathroom, your moans echoed in a rather beautiful way, making the sicko moan too with how much your noises pleased her.

“Ahh…moan like that again…” she whined, pushing the toy deeper and watching as it speared you open, slick juices starting to gather at the handle and coat her hand currently holding it. She bit her lower lip and couldn’t resist the urge to push her pants down to finger herself to the sight of you, throwing her head back as she too, was getting lost in the throes of pleasure. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a girl so close to me like this…” she gasped and began thrusting the faux cock at an even faster pace, “I want to keep you to myself. You can’t leave tomorrow, you simply can’t!” 

You tried to say something in retaliation to that, but all that came out was a choked out moan, her thrusts growing harsher as the toy inside you began making you grind your body against her hand. Hu Tao complied with your silent needs, grinding her palm against your clit and making you bottom out on the cock so easily. 

“Live with me at the inn, yeah? On that old house up on the hill, where it’s just the two of us and the inn in the middle of nowhere…”

Hu Tao moaned as she found herself coming closer to her climax, that same spiraling obsession starting to show in her eyes again. 

“…No one to bother us. No one to interrupt.” 

She groaned and bucked her hips harder against her own hand, her other hand slamming the toy cock brutally against your hips, almost bulldozing with how hard she was thrusting. 

“Just you and me, forever, (Reader).” 

She grinned, a small trickle of drool leaking past her lips before you both came at the same time. Hu Tao’s hands were absolutely coated in both your guys’ cum, as well as a combination of the shower water that still rained on top of you. As you panted and came down from your high, your body collapsed into Hu Tao’s, causing her to hold you up in her arms and pull you in for a desperate kiss.

In the bathroom, the echoey moans and wet slaps ceased, with only the sound of the shower water hitting the floor bringing interruption to the silence. 

“Poor girl…you must be exhausted…” Hu Tao pouted, reaching over to turn off the faucet as you both stood in the bathtub together, enveloped in each other’s embrace. “Let’s get you dried and dressed up, hm? I can’t wait to tell grandfather that I’ve finally found myself a woman.”

She smiled that same, chilling smile, carrying you out of the tub bridal style and making her way out of the bathroom. The storm had long stopped outside the motel, but for you, the effects of the storm will forever linger at the Wangsheng Inn. As you would soon find yourself not staying for one night like you thought, but for every night for the rest of your life. 

[antiquarianfics]

Shoot Me

Bucky swears he doesn’t like Y/N. In fact, he’s so confident he’ll challenge this: If he likes Y/N, shoot him.

a/n: dude, idk wtf this is. it’s like that one that 70s show scene, but it’s really just a crack fic. idk. this isn’t proofed. it’s late. it’s fluffy. i made you some content. enjoy.

warnings: mentions of gun violence (super minor), not proofread at all

note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to copy, repost, or translate my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and/or reblog.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

“I don’t like, Y/N,” Bucky says, voice adamant. The man is stoic, glaring at his friend who only shakes his head and laughs.

“Yeah, sure you don’t, Bucky,” Sam replies, tone laced in disbelief. After all, anyone with functioning eyeballs could look at Bucky and see that he liked Y/N. His harsh demeanor always softened around her: he smiled more, laughed more, glared less.

Bucky groaned, kicking off of the wall he’d been leaning against when Sam stands from the table he’d been sat at messing with Redwing.

“I don’t like Y/N,” Bucky reiterated as Sam only shook his head again, walking over to a tool box in the corner of the garage and beginning to rummage through it. “If I like her, shoot me.”

Right as Bucky lets the challenge slip through his lips, Sam turns on his heel to face Bucky, raising his hand in a finger gun and pointing at his friend.

“Pow.”

Bucky just stares at Sam, then his finger gun, then Sam again.

“C’mon, man. Real mature.”

Sam turns back to the toolbox and continues to rummage around for the tool he needs.

“I’m the one not being mature? You’re the one with a schoolboy crush who can’t admit he likes a girl.”

“I do not have a schoolboy crush”

“Right. You have a big macho man crush.”

Bucky scoffs, irritation growing. “Sam,” he warns.

Say lifts up the tool he evidently needs, inspects it, and returns to his seat at the table where he left Redwing and begins to fiddle with the wiring.

“Dude, just suck it up and tell her,” Sam says, ignoring Bucky’s aggression as he always does. “It’s not one sided, I can tell you that.”

Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise and he quickly—too quickly for his own liking and too quickly for someone who does not like you—sits down at the table in the seat beside Sam. Sam just smirks.

“Did she tell you that?”

“No,” Sam says and Bucky rolls his eyes, immediately standing back up and going to resume is original position leaning against the wall. “But,” Sam continues, “unlike you, I’m not stupid. I can tell.”

Bucky ignores the jab, dismissing Sam altogether. There’s no way Sam’s right.

“I don’t know, you’re pretty stupid,” a new voice cuts through the air, a teasing lilt in tone. The two men’s heads turn to the garage’s entrance to see you walking in holding a brown takeout bag and a drink carrier.

Bucky’s lips upturn slightly at your jab at Sam and his eyes soften slightly as they fall on you. Sam notices and rolls his eyes.

“Ha. Ha.” Sam says to you, but he offers you an affectionate smile which you return. “You bring lunch.” You nod and hold it up for them to see before setting it down on the table.

“I love you,” Sam says dramatically, immediately reaching for something to eat. “We’ve been out here all day.”

You laugh at his being over the top but return the sentiment. “So, what’ve you guys been talking about?” You sit down at the table and pull your drink from the drink carrier to take a sip.

Sam chuckles through a bite of hamburger: Bucky (who hasn’t yet moved) looks away. You raise your eyebrows.

“What? Did I miss something?”

Sam swallows his food and washes it down with his drink before answering.

“I shot him.”

Your eyes dart between the two.

“You what?”

“He didn’t actually,” Bucky clarified, amused and endeared by your concern.

“I fake shot him,” Sam clarifies, mimicking the handgun motion.

You scrunch your eyebrows as you attempt to make sense of this picture they’re painting. You turn to Bucky.

“You’re mad because he fake shot you?” You turn back to Sam. “Why did you fake shoot him?”

Sam is grinning like an evil mastermind at this point, Bucky is getting overly acquainted with his shoes.

“He told me to.”

“He told you to?”

“He told me to.”

“Why?” You look between the two of them.

“He said, ‘If I like her, shoot me.’ So I shot him.”

Your eyes widen at the revelation. Bucky likes someone? Who?

“Bucky likes someone?” You turn around completely to face Bucky. “Bucky, you like someone?”

Bucky closed his eyes and look up at the roof of the garage, clearly wanting to disappear from the current situation he found himself in. He ignores the question.

“Bucky, c’mon! If you like someone, you can tell me. Maybe I can help you get a date, or something.” You cringe a little at the suggestion, but you really want to know who he likes. Sure, it will absolutely devastate you if it turns out he doesn’t like you, but you just want him to be happy.

“Yeah, Bucky, maybe she can help you get a date!” Sam teases, innuendo heavy in his words. Both you and Bucky give him a look—Bucky’s warning, yours questioning.

“Just drop it, both of you,” Bucky says dejectedly.

“Just tell her, man. I’m tired of dealing with your moping,” Sam argues.

“Sam,” you say cautiously, eyeing Bucky’s uncomfortable demeanor.

“No, I’m tired of this. He,” Sam points to Bucky, “talks about you,” he points to you, “when you’re not around, and you,” he circles his finger around your face, “talk about him,” he points to Bucky, “when he’s not around. Incessantly. Now, I am going to take the rest of my lunch outside while you two figure this out. I’ll be back for Redwing later.”

You and Bucky stare helplessly as you watch Sam storm out of the garage. Once he turns the corner and is out of sight, the two of you turn to each other. He’s still leaned against the wall, you’re still uncomfortably turned around in your chair facing him.

“So, that girl you like…” You start but trail off, hoping maybe Bucky will confirm the suspicion Sam has planted in your mind but he continues to avoid looking at you. “Sam made it kind of seem like maybe she’s… me?” Your voice sounds so shy and uncertain as you ask the question. You can’t help but cringe a little.

Bucky finally looks up at you, searching your face and attempting to gauge how you might feel. He sees you cringe, though, and he sighs, looking back down at his boots. Of course, there’s no way you could ever like him like that. You notice Bucky pulling away and you start to panic.

“It’s totally okay if she is me, but it’s okay if she’s not. I don’t want you to feel like you have to say it’s me if you don’t actually have any feelings for me, but Sam did kind of make it seem that way. I mean, if you did have feelings for me, though, that wouldn’t be bad.” You’re rambling, full of nerves, but the nervous rambling does pull Bucky’s attention back to you.

“He wasn’t wrong,” Bucky finally admits quietly.

Your eyes shoot up to meet his. “He wasn’t?”

“No.”

“You like me?” You clarify, a grin overtaking your face.

The corner of Bucky’s mouth upturns in a smile. “Only if you like me.”

You stand up from your seat and take a few steps towards him whilst he takes a couple towards you. The two of you find yourselves toe to toe and staring at each other.

“Maybe I do.” Your eyes glance down at his lips and back to his eyes.

Bucky’s grinning now and he hums in response as he gazes down at you. The two of you feel yourself being pulled towards one another like there is some sort of magnetic force you can’t break, and, then, before you know it, your lips are on his. He kisses you softly as if he fears it isn’t real. You attempt to pour months of pent up adoration for him into the kiss. Your lips only part when you both finally need some amount of air; Bucky pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. It’s momentarily silent except for your breathing.

“You really told Sam to shoot you?” You teasingly ask, pulling away just enough to look into Bucky’s eyes.

“Only if I liked you,” he defends. He attempts to sound serious, but he can’t help the smile pulling at his lips. You nod as you briefly consider his response. Then, you make a finger gun and:

“Pow.”

[daydreams-after-dark]

Good things come in small packages

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Mini Han x fem reader

Synopsis: One year ago you purchased a ‘miniature companion’ named Hannie. He’s the size of a Ken doll but alive and horny. But something unexpected happens on your one year anniversary.

Word count: approx 2k

A/n: Hey!!! It's finally here! My Mini Han oneshot (posted in a couple of instalments because I get too excited to share). The idea for Mini Han was born through a conversation with my girl @noellllslut (we always have the most unhinged thoughts). Then I wrote a little "imagining" here (which I’ve incorporated into this fic anyway, so you don’t have to read), which then sparked quite a bit curiosity amongst you sweet/filthy readers. Questions came, and I felt compelled to explore more of this theme.

I hope you enjoy this little fic. It's sweet and smutty, and as I kept writing, I fell in love with our dear y/n and Mini Hannie. I want one for myself tbh.

CW below the cut

CW: supernatural themes, oral sex, sexual acts, sexual themes, voyeurism

You've had your miniature human, Hannie, for almost a year?! You realize, sitting at your work desk as you look at your desktop calendar. You smile and make a note to organize a celebration for just the two of you, and to buy a cheesecake for dessert. Hannie loves cheesecake. Your smile grows. He always manages to get it all over him, then wants to get it all over you so he can lick it off you.

One year this coming weekend. It feels like time has flown, yet at the same time it feels like he’s been part of your life forever. Your heart bursts as you think back to how it all came to be.

You had been lonely. You'd broken up with your long term boyfriend and was feeling sad one night. So you went online to doom scroll, and online shop. You expected you'd end up down a rabbit hole of cat memes and be $500 down in shoe purchases, but instead an ad appeared on your screen.

"Miniature human companions" it said, with images of very attractive men. Miniature men. Were they human? Couldn't be. Were they robots? Probably. They must be really expensive to make which is why they are so small, you'd decided.

You were intrigued, so you researched the company, finding that this new type of 'companion' utilizes cutting edge technology that simulates actual human behavior and bodily functions.

By 4am you'd chosen your companion. His name was Han. He was adorable and attractive, with fluffy black hair and pouty lips, and from the personality trait notes, he sounded like a lot of fun.

"Pay Now". You can still remember the feeling of excitement that ran through you as hit the button to complete your purchase.

When he arrived, he came in a box with air holes, which you found kind of weird considering he didn't actually breathe oxygen. You set the box on your kitchen table, took a deep breath and lifted the lid. You gasped as you peered inside.

A little man, about the size of a Ken doll, sat on a blanket eating miniature crisps out of a miniature chip bag.

"Oh hello!" he looked up at you. "Are you my Noona?" he waved excitedly.

Holy fucking shit. You almost fainted as you stumbled to sit down on a dining chair.

You knew he was meant to talk, but he just seemed so real as he chewed his food then licked the seasoning off his lips like he could actually taste it. His little chest moved with his breath, like he was really breathing. Could he do everything a human can do? You wondered.

"My name’s Hannie." He said standing up and brushing the crumbs off his trousers.

"Um...I-I'm Y/n..." you stuttered, trying to process what you were witnessing,

"You're really pretty, Y/n." He beamed up at you with a gummy grin.

You prepared him a little space of his own, with a makeshift bed, clothing that you had also ordered from the company you purchased him from, and bought a set of Barbie sized cups, plates and furniture. You even bought him a Barbie Dreamhouse to live in, but he preferred to just climb up your full sized furniture and use that.

You studied the information manual that came with him and learned that he could in fact, experience life just as a human did. He needed to eat, sleep, wash, poop. Oh and he could get erections and ejaculate. Wow!

Over the next weeks and months you'd gotten yourselves into a routine, and became really close. He was your best friend. You did everything together, mostly staying at home. You assumed he was some sort of AI, and that's why you got along so well, but the longer he was with you, the more his own interests came to the surface. Like singing and Anime.

He helped you bake, often getting himself covered in flour and other ingredients. You'd watch movies together. Most nights you'd lay on the couch and he'd lay face down on your chest while you watched your favorites. Sometimes you'd feel him get hard against the curve of your breast, and you'd think inappropriate thoughts about him. You'd grow wet between your legs and wish he was able to touch you.

He loved it when you’d brush his hair with a tiny little hairbrush and sit him on your benchtop in the bathroom when you’re getting ready for the day. You know he loved it when you forgot he was there one time and you took a shower in front of him. He got so hard watching you soap up your body.

Sometimes you'd take him out on a picnic somewhere secluded near the ocean so he could freely move about the picnic blanket without fear of being seen. Or he'd sneak into your work bag and scare the shit out of you when you were working.

In the early days, you'd occasionally go on dates with actual men. Mostly to take your mind of your growing feelings for Hannie. You'd bring them home and fuck them in your bed, knowing he was somewhere watching, listening. You'd imagine him getting hard from your noises, and it made you moan even louder just picturing it. You'd imagine it was Hannie inside you too, pounding hard into your cunt, and making you come on his cock.

He was distant with you in the days after. He’d sit around sulking and pouting.

"What's wrong, Hannie?" You asked him after he’d ignored you for three days.

"Noona... it's just…I get so jealous of them." He burst into tears. "I want to do things like that to you. I want to the be the one who makes you come." He sobbed.

Things changed after that. You no longer went out with other men, and you and your miniature companion began to explore a more physical, more sexual, relationship.

From letting you see each other naked, to mutual masturbation, to eventually touching each other and making each other come.

You soon learned that even though Hannie is small, he is extremely talented with his mouth, and he can make you come harder than anyone had ever before.

One morning he noticed that you were still asleep, and very naked. The way you were laying, legs splayed out looked so inviting to him. You’d kicked your blanket off at some point. He couldn’t help himself.

You woke up to a sensation between your legs, and when you looked down you saw him kneeling between your your legs, using his arms to push your pussy lips open and doing his very best to lap at your clit.

“Hannie?” You whimpered. He stopped for a moment to stand up and wave at you, the entire front of his body dripping with your arousal. “I’ve just found my favorite thing to do!” He said enthusiastically and then he was back to being buried against your pussy.

These days, at night time he’ll climb up onto your chest while you’re lying in bed watching videos on your phone. He still loves to nestle against the bulge of your breasts, especially if you’re in a loose satin camisole, and he’ll slide himself under the fabric.

“What do you want to watch, Hannie?” You’ll ask him.

“Porn!” He’ll answer excitedly. The phone is like a giant screen to him and it’s never long before you feel him shimmying his clothes off and rubbing his little swollen erection against your skin.

He’s such a desperate little thing that you let him do whatever he needs to get himself off. Often, he’ll rub his cock along your bottom lip while he humps your tits, or he’ll scramble to suck on your nipple. He does his best to stretch his mouth around it, while he grinds against you and cumming on your soft skin. Then he’ll pass out right there. Poor little tyke gets himself tired.

Some of the kinkier things he gets you to do include tying him up and edging him until his cock becomes so painfully red and engorged that he’s crying. His naked body is delicious to look at, and you love to run the pad of your index finger over his muscles. He’s perfectly toned, his skin honey brown, and his cock is mouth-wateringly big for his frame.

He’s rendered helpless as you stroke your finger gently up and down his body. Then, using the tip of your tongue, you lick his cock carefully whilst shoving your pinky finger into his mouth.

There are times when you’ll dress up in lingerie covered in buckles and straps and he’ll climb up your body like he’s doing some kind of adventure hike. He gets so sweaty and very hard as he explores the terrain of your body.

He really is the perfect companion.

You are broken from your thoughts by your alarm signaling it's time to go home from work, and you hurry home to see your Hannie.

_____________

"Fuck! Hannie! Please... need to come...need one more...please. Don't stop." You pant. It's later that evening, and you're on the verge of your third orgasm with Hannie between your thighs sucking expertly on your clit. He's got your lips spread open as far as he can manage, and he's grinding against your core seeking his own release. Inside your pussy you've got your vibrator egg on full intensity. "Yes!!! Yes...coming!!!" You cry as you arch off the bed as you come all over him.

He quickly climbs up your body, almost slipping off because he’s covered in so much of your cream, and kneels on your chest to pump his cock until he’s spurting cum onto your tongue.

“Tastes so good, Hannie.” You show him your empty tongue, but he’s already collapsed across your body.

You clean him up and put him in his striped pajamas, before you both nestle into bed. You’re used to him sleeping on the pillow next to you now, although it took you a while to stop worrying you’d roll on him in the night.

“Noona? Did you know that tomorrow it’ll be one year since I came here?” He says sleepily.

You roll onto your side and smile. “Yes, actually I do, honey. Have a think about what you’d like to do to celebrate, okay. Anything you want."

He nods. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. But just so you know, it’ll involve me being buried in your pussy.”

————-

Han laid back on the pillow. What would he like to do to celebrate? He’d love to celebrate by being inside you. Properly. Fully.

He wishes he could do the things he'd seen those men you’d do to you all those months ago. To pin your legs up and fuck you so hard the bed would shake. He takes his mind back to when he’d hide on your shelf and watch, fucking into his hand and holding back tears of despair.

What would it be like to bend you over and fuck you from behind? What would it even be like to fuck you at all? He wants to know so bad.

But he does have a special relationship with you, he supposes. Not every guy has to stretch his mouth around a nipple or clit like he has to. Can those men be covered head to toe in your juices? Or lay completely across the bulge of your boob. No. They can’t. Only he can.

He pouts to himself.

He knows he’s got it good, you are his everything. But as he lays on the pillow next you and closes his eyes, he wonders if he’s enough for you? Could you give up real men forever, with real sized cocks that can stretch you out and fill you deep? Would you be okay with never having a boyfriend you could take out in public, or take to family events, or be seen with?

Could you settle for him? A miniature version of a man?

He sighs. "Goodnight, Noona. Love you." He whispers as he leans over and gives your giant lips a kiss.

"Goodnight, my sweet Hannie. I love you too." you reply sleepily.

As he drifts off to sleep he wishes what he always wishes. That he could be human sized and be with you like a proper human.

-----------

The morning sun peeks through your window, landing on your face and causing you to stir. You groan and try to stretch, but a heaviness across your middle keeps you in place. You peer down to find a man's arm wrapped around you, snuggling you tight.

Fear courses through your body, and you scream as you fling the arm off and jump out bed. You grab your lamp, ready to hit the intruder.

"Noona?" The man lifts his head, his dark locks falling around his face.

Your eyes almost pop out of your head when you see the confused look on his face. "Hannie!?" You choke, hands poised to strike.

"Noona? What are you doing?" he peers down at the pillow his head had been resting on, and then down the bed toward his feet. "Why is your bed so small?"

"Hannie?" You whisper, lowering the lamp, letting it drop to the floor.

"Why is everything so small? Wait. Why am I naked? Noona, have you been playing with me in my sleep?" He looks up at you confused and worried. "Noona, why are you looking at me like that?"

His eyes land on his pajamas, torn to shreds next to him. He picks up the scrap of fabric that was his pajama top, and his eyes widen. "Why are my clothes so tiny?"

"Hannie," you take in the man before you, naked and taking up most of the bed. "You're big."

To be continued…

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @armystay89 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @kyunchoni @justforreaders @melochacco @scenuniverse @oddracha @ismokeeweed @galaxycatdrawz @jiminssluttyminx @teddy-stay @kayleefriedchicken @imperfectlyperfectprincess1

[moonstruckme]

Congrats on 8k!!! You deserve all the love and more <3 also the holiday/winter theme is so so so cute!! Literally cannot even begin to describe how much I adore you and your talent and the fact that you give back and share your wonderful writing with us makes me so unbelievably happy <3

Can I request a hot cocoa drabble with Remus and the prompt wrapping paper from the 2nd list? Much love to you!! And congratulations again!!

I adore you! Ty for requesting angel <3

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 653 words

You watch out of the corner of your eye as Remus carefully folds the wrapping paper over itself, lining the triangle up against the side of his box. He curses. 

You giggle. “How are you so regimented and so bad at this?” 

“Hush.” He rolls his eyes, reaching across you for the tape. “It’s fine.” 

“The label is showing,” you say, trying to be gentle but only hitting amused. “You can’t leave it like that, she’s gonna know what it is.” 

“I’ll cut a square of wrapping paper to cover that part.” 

“Another patch job?” You shake your head at him, grinning. “Rem, I can’t let you bring these to the function. They’re an embarrassment.” 

“The function,” says Remus, cutting through the wrapping paper with a pointed slice, “is already going to have gifts wrapped by James, which always look like he’s let Harry do them, and Sirius is most likely going to bring his in bags. I guarantee ours won’t be the worst there.” 

“It’s just a little embarrassing,” you murmur, really only teasing him. You start folding a ribbon into gentle curves on the top of your box. “I thought I had this really competent boyfriend, but…” 

“Didn’t I tell you to hush?” Remus asks, but his laughter betrays him. The light from your tree smoothes out the lines of his face, his eyes warm and glittering and lashes kissing at the corners. You wish suddenly that you had a camera on hand, but there’s no chance film could capture how perfectly happy he looks.

Remus smooths tape over his patch of wrapping paper with swift, vaguely menacing movements. “I’ll have you know, I am very competent,” he says. 

“It’s gonna take a knife to open that with all the tape on it,” you observe solemnly.

“I am very competent,” he repeats, and you suck in a breath when he locks his hands around your ankles, dragging you to him with one swift motion. You can forget how strong Remus is, sometimes. He’s not very physical usually, but you’ve riled him into playfulness. “You ask Lily tomorrow who the most competent man in her home is, and you get back to me on what she says, yeah?” 

“Well,” you’re giggling, caught under his stern gaze and bubbling with giddy anticipation, “if you limit it to the men, the bar can’t be very high. Lily and I are more competent than the three of you.” 

“How do you figure?” 

“You can look at my gifts, for starters.” 

Remus has an excellent poker face. He squeezes your calf at the jab, and your nervous giggling intensifies. “We’ll see how you feel about your competence when you make your own tea tomorrow.” 

“No wait! Wait.” You get into his lap, trying your hardest to school your features into some sort of contrition. Smooth your hands up and down his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I love you. Have I told you I love you lately?” 

“Not without ulterior motive,” Remus says drily. 

Your lips turn down in a real frown. “That’s not true.” 

“No.” He rolls his eyes, grunting as he pulls you further up his lap. “It’s not, lovely. What, you’re the only one who gets to tease?” 

“Mhm,” you hum, teasing. 

Remus chuffs like you’re something else, but his lips touching to your nose are gentle. “So what if I’m not the best at wrapping? You can’t make your own tea.” 

“I can…it’s just not as good as when you do it.” 

“Some could argue that’s a much more everyday sort of competence, dove.” 

You make a quiet scoff of protest, not very convincing. Remus smiles. His hands stroke your sides. 

“So. We’re going to put my gifts under James and Lily’s tree without complaint, hm?” 

You feel your nose wrinkle. “Without any complaint? I feel like some damage control is necessary.” 

“Remember your tea.” 

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Right. No complaints here.”

[gastonluga]

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[kooktrash]

guys my age | jeon jungkook

summary: a summer spent at your friend’s place wasn’t something to be anything to look forward to. her hot, young dad would seem to change that for you when you decide a game of teasing would suffice your boredom. you got more than you bargained for when you realize he’s not a fan of games.

➣ pairings: dilf jk x female college student!y/n [she/her]

➣ genre/au: dilf au, best friends father, summer house, smut, age gap [38 & 21] pent up sexual frustration

warnings: 9.5K words. smüt. 6 9 position [ oral f & m receiving] use of protection. roūgh missionary. they go like three rounds. reader gets on top. dirty talk, use of ‘little girl, slüt, etc but lightly] y/n is a man eater lowkey. jk wants to resist but he can’t lol. y/n is rich and spoiled, Y2K style. big bOobs lol. y/n is besties with jk’s daughter. stays at summer home. y/n is a cöçk tease. always teasing him. lawyer jk, with tattoos and piercing. y/n has bellybutton piercing

song inspo: cola — lana del rey [i got a taste for men who are older] affection — abra [did you close your eyes and think about me like I think about you?] guys my age — hey violet

Illicit Desires | DILF!Jungkook collab

The blaring sun burned against your skin, your patience running thin the longer you waited outside. A key was being jammed into the doorknob with no luck to actually get it to function. You were tired, hot, and hungry—never a good mix when it came to your mood. Your feet hurt from the kitten heels you wore and the black handle of your suitcase was getting hot with the summer heat.

“Hurry up,” you whined, a manicured hand with long pink nails waving in an attempt to fan yourself. Only seconds later the click of the lock was heard and the door was opening. You and the person in front of you groaned in relief and you were trudging inside the large house you’d be spending your summer at.

“My dad’s not home so we’ve got the place to ourselves for a couple hours, what should we do?” Your friend, Jieun, asked once the two of you made it to the stairs to take your things to her room. You gave a shrug in response, “I don’t know, I’m hot, I can’t think.”

“Oh, so you think you’re hot?” She joked with you knowing that was not at all what you meant but you winked at her anyway. Your gum smacked with each chew as you looked around her bedroom that looked fit for a teen which made sense since she’s been rooming with you in the dorms for the last two years.

“I thought you didn’t like your daddy,” you were teasing but also serious when you sat on her bed, skirt shifting to show more thigh. Jieun just sighed, opening her drawers to pull out a bikini, “It’s complicated. The divorce with my mom was ugly and it was only three years ago. I was a teen so I held a lot of resentment toward him and her.”

“Wasn’t she the one who cheated?” You asked curiously as she passed you your smaller bag for you to fish out a bikini. Jieun nodded, “Yeah, I know but my dad was always busy. Always gone for work and I don’t know, 17 year old me wished he was around more so she wouldn’t feel so lonely.”

You let the subject go in order to change out of your clothes that had been way too hot for the heat and into something way too small. A hot pink bikini with small triangles covering your breasts and a small pair of bottoms with silver links to hold it together. Jieun directed you outside and she went to get drinks and snacks for you two before joining you. You managed to pull a heart shaped floaty toward you and laid inside of it with your legs hanging out the side and a cherry coke in your hand.

“Is your dad hot?” You asked looking over your sunglasses as they hung low on your nose bridge. Jieun rolled her eyes as you passed her the donut floaty.

“Don’t ask me,” Jieun said as she finally made it on, “And leave my dad alone, the old men you like are sad.”

“Whatever, I was just asking,” you laughed, “And I’ll have you know I prefer them younger.”

She just rolled her eyes moving next to you and the two of you floated in the pool for a good while before dropping yourselves into the cold water. You played only one round of mermaids until you swear you died and came back to life.

At the sliding door stood a man, a very attractive older man dressed in a forest green matching shirt and shorts that could pass as pajamas. His shirt was slightly transparent but unfortunately you couldn’t see much. He slid the glass door open coming out with a pair of black sunglasses that he pushed up to his hair. Jieun turned to look at what you’d been staring at and she waved a hand, “Hey.”

The man’s eyes swept back to you, “Hey.” Jieun swam to the edge of the pool pulling herself up with absolutely no grace and pointed to you, “This is my roommate Y/n, she’s staying with us this summer.”

“Oh really?” He asked looking to her, “I don’t remember you telling me about this.”

She just shrugged, taking her towel and stretching one out for you to grab. You dragged yourself to the edge of the pool before placing your hands on the edge and pulling yourself up in one go. You didn’t notice the way Jieun’s dad watched the water cascade down your breasts to your stomach and thighs until you dragged yourself up. You took the towel from Jieun and dried yourself off looking back to him, “Hello Mr. Jeon, I’m Y/n, Jieun’s roommate for the past two years.”

You placed your hand in his as greeting and he gave it a firm shake, “Call me Jungkook, has Jieun gotten you set up in the guest room?”

The three of you went upstairs and for some reason you felt the need to walk with a sway in your steps knowing Jieun’s dad was behind you. You also knew you shouldn’t be doing that in just a towel and very skimpy bikini but you didn’t care. You knew in the back of your mind Jieun was one of your best friends and thinking her dad is hot should be weird. You also knew you were going to do what you want anyway and if that was planning a little game for the summer you were going to do it.

In truth, you were a very spoiled person. You came from money and your dad never thought twice about doing what you wanted so obviously you would be spoiled. You didn’t care about the consequences, you just did what you wanted because it was fun. It wasn’t going to be anything serious anyway and it’s only your first day staying here and you had to entertain yourself some way if Jieun wasn’t around.

“Thank you for letting me stay Mr. Jeon, I wouldn’t have had anywhere to go for the summer,” you said once it was just you and him after getting changed. He was bringing in blankets and pillows for you. He stopped to look at you, eyes threatening to trail down your body again but he forced himself to only look at your face, “It’s no problem, did your parents not let you stay with them?”

“They’re away for the summer,” you told him leaning against the back wall as he put the bed sheets on the bed you’d be sleeping on, “They didn’t want me in that big house all by myself for three months.”

“Maybe they don’t trust you,” he said with a small smile trying to make himself feel comfortable around his daughter’s friends. It is very hard to not think about the girl in his house that was so physically attractive it had him anxious. It just wasn’t a good idea to think about a girl his daughter’s age. You had no idea he had these thoughts, all you knew was that you were in the mood to talk, “They don’t, I’m not always the best behaved.”

“In my house, I hope you’ll behave,” he let the words slip before he could stop himself. They sounded more flirty than he meant them to when in reality he just hoped for no trouble with you. You weren’t making this easy when you tilted your head to the side and batted your lashes, “Keep a close eye on me and maybe I will.”

Jungkook seemed to freeze for a moment, his hand fixing the fitted sheet and using his sudden tension to stuff the fabric into the frame. It was silent and when Jieun came up looking at you, “I ordered pizza.”

“Yum,” you smiled cheerfully, “Are you joining us, Mr. Jeon?”

You stood at the doorway facing the stairs but turning your head back to look at him. He was already walking behind you and when you got to the stairs, his hand touched your back lightly. He stared forward, looking distant as he said, “I have to keep an eye on you, don’t I?” With that he looked to you quickly before looking ahead.

The first few days you barely had a chance to see him, you mostly hung out with Jieun and went out with friends. He was up early and got home late so you didn’t see him often. Tonight though, you’ve gotten lucky. Jieun has a date tonight with her boyfriend and she’d be staying the night at his house. Now you would be home alone until Jungkook came home and sometimes it’s not till late evening.

So you spent pretty much all day, after noon, by yourself trying to quench your boredom doing anything you could. Now you’re outside again tanning by the pool, or attempting to. The sun was already setting so there wasn’t much left and yet you remained outside.

“Jungkook, man, are you even listening right now?” A voice boomed through the speaker of his cellphone. He could barely make out the person’s voice as he held his phone away in a trance. His attention was elsewhere, somewhere he shouldn’t be focusing on, but he was.

It was hard not to stare at the view just on the other side of the sliding door. This time you were in yellow. A bright pastel that had a silver heart ring holding your top together at your breasts. From here he could see the belly button ring you had and you just looked… like sin. He was too lost to notice the way you pushed your glasses down to stare back at him. It wasn’t until you gave a little wave that he snapped out of it.

“Yes, I’m listening,” he muttered back to Taehyung as he went back to the kitchen to at least pretend like he wasn’t watching you. It was wrong, you were his daughter’s age but you just looked so damn good. And you know you’re attractive, you know that just one look and someone would squirm and currently that’s him. He has no business being 38 watching a girl who is barely 21 and thinking about the way your bottoms hugged your ass that he catches himself looking at from time to time.

His hand ruffled his hair in an attempt to shake the thought of you away, “But I should go, I’ve gotta start dinner.”

“Oh, but I wanted to know how it’s been having Jieun back? Does she come home for dinner everyday?” Jimin asked, still trying to keep a conversation going but then you came in. The tiniest denim shorts on with the button and fly open showing off your stomach and a small triangle of the yellow bottoms. You seemed to forget a shirt, sauntering into the kitchen in just the tiny bikini top and shorts, a pretty smile on your face, “You’re home, I was feeling lonely.”

His phone nearly slipped out of his hand.

Snap out of it, Jungkook, he’s reacting nervously around you and he shouldn’t.

“I’m about to start dinner,” was all he said to you before continuing his conversation with Jimin, “It’s been good but she’s not home today. She’s spending her night with Yoongi.”

You sat at the island leaning against the marble counter, pressing your chest into it and his eyes flickered to the way they seemed to bulge even more than usual. Oh God.

He could see small, hard buds through the fabric, “Jimin I’ve gotta go, I’m going to start cooking.” He needs a cold shower, like now.

“Or we can order,” You said once he was off the phone, “I’m sure you’ve had a long, hard… what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Day?” the word came out in a stutter that had his neck heating up in embarrassment. Why was he getting flustered? He’s had very little interaction with a woman consistently, aside from the women at work and they were nothing like you. They wore gray pencil skirts and white button ups—not yellow bikinis where he could see your hardened nipples poking out. This doesn’t mean he hasn’t had opportunities to date in the last three years but with his divorce and busy with work all the time he didn’t go out. He was a boring man in his eyes.

You flashed him an innocent smile that he’s not sure he believed, “Then I’ll treat you to dinner tonight, a thank you for letting me stay. Should I call and order?” Unsure of what would come out if he opened his mouth, he just gave a subtle nod.

“I’m going to shower while we wait,” he cleared his throat awkwardly. You told him okay, ordered, and then showered yourself.

For dinner you had Italian and you were fully dressed now—still not enough for his prying eyes—but enough for him to focus on his food. He hates to admit that he’s way too curious tonight to ask questions, “What are your thoughts on Yoongi? Does he treat Jieun right?”

“Mhm,” you nodded with a light bite on your lip, “The sweetest, perfect for her.”

“For her? Wouldn’t everyone want a sweet guy?” He’s not sure why he asked or why he was curious to see what you’d say. All he knew was that his plate of food was no longer being eaten, and instead played with by scraping his fork against it. He avoided your eyes and you loved every second of it. He was just so cute getting nervous by a younger woman like you. It’s just too tempting to wanna make him squirm. A big, bad man like him falling underway by your teasing.

“I like them a little meaner, a little more authoritative,” you said looking up at him, “Like the ones who can put me in my place when I’m being difficult.”

“Hm,” he hummed in thought looking into your eyes, “Difficult?”

“Yes, I have a tendency to want what I want and find a way to get it,” you told him, voice more assertive, “And if I don’t get it, I become a huge brat.”

“So someone who can handle you?”

“Yes, but I’m a lot to handle, Jungkook,” you said his name laced with lust and if he said it didn’t go straight to his flaccid member, he’d be lying. He took a big drink from his glass of wine, “I’m sure someone is up for the task.”

“I hope so, I can get very impatient,” you raise your glass to your lips to drink, your eyes locked with his. With that you stood up with your plate, “Are you done?”

He gave a silent nod, not trusting himself to bite back a comment about how he has no patience for teasing. He’s not even sure those would be the exact words he’d say, or if he’d say how capable he is of putting someone in their place. You took his plate and washed them before excusing yourself to your bedroom to answer some call. He caught a small glimpse of the name already calling you and it was a man.

It’s been two weeks. Two hard weeks of forcing himself to not think about his daughter’s friend, but it’s been so damn difficult that you’re clouding his vision. All the looks you sent his way whenever you were with Jieun or the little comments you’d make that had his head spinning in guilt and lust. It’s been too long since he’s slept with a woman and anytime he sees you, he’s reminded of it. Like right now.

He was supposed to be working on a case with his partner, Namjoon, but he was distracted. They worked at the kitchen table but then you came in with a short, fitted black dress that barely covered your butt. Even Namjoon seemed to turn and stare when you opened the fridge and bent down at the waist to look inside. Jungkook’s head rested on his palm as he watched, half hoping your dress would rise just a little more but it didn’t, sadly. He was supposed to be doing all the paperwork that laid across the dinner table, not stare at you rummaging through the fridge.

You pulled out a bottle of pineapple juice, sipping from a straw as Jieun came down just a little more dressed down as she asked, “Is he almost here?”

Jungkook snapped his attention back to you in confusion. Is who almost here? “Are the two of you going out with Yoongi?”

“I am, Y/n’s meeting up with a guy, so lucky you dad, you might get the house to yourself,” Jieun said putting a hand on his shoulder waving a greeting to Namjoon, her father’s friend.

“Don’t miss us too much,” you teased, making him look back at you. “How well do you know this guy?”

“Just enough, we had a couple classes together,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders still sipping on the pineapple juice. He’s sure the taste of the fruit would remain in your body for hours.

Jieun laughed, “Y/n doesn’t need to know him well for her plans tonight.”

You sent her a wink that Jungkook caught and he’d be lying if he said a small part of him didn’t feel… jealous? Upset? Annoyed? All of the above? He doesn’t want both of you gone, he’s gotten used to a full house and he doesn’t want to feel lonely again. Jieun he can understand, she’s seeing her boyfriend but you… you’re not in a relationship. You don’t have any obligation to another man so why can’t you stay home. Despite all the women who notice him, he seems to have a love/hate relationship with the attention you gave him. Part of him wanted nothing to do with you in that sense, but the other was enough to boost his ego. Despite his age he was clearly attractive enough to gain the attention of a 21 year old used to college guys. So, no, he doesn’t want you to go out with one of those guys and remember that Jungkook was a boring lawyer and father of your friend.

“Well he’s outside,” you said looking at your phone, “I guess I’ll head out now.” Jieun joined you when Yoongi sent her the same text and you two were leaving.

“How are you living with that unaffected?” Namjoon finally said once the two of you were out the door. Jungkook shook his head, “I’m not.”

Long after Namjoon left, Jungkook found himself still awake working in his office. It had to be around midnight and he didn’t feel tired, he felt anxious. It stresses him out because why on earth does he feel anxious? He should feel relieved to have time to himself but he doesn’t. He’s currently staring at the clock every five damn minutes. Jieun won’t be coming home, he knows that, but now it looks like you aren’t either.

He shouldn’t care about his daughter’s friend but something about you just draws him in. You were like a succubus in his eyes, a beautiful girl who can draw anyone in and even he fell victim to it. It’s so wrong, you’re too young, you’re his daughter’s friend. But you’re so damn enticing, like every little thing about you. From the way you chew your gum while looking at him to the sway in your hips when you walk. The way you batted your pretty long lashes when you’d ask how his night went. You make little comments that he swears were suggestive that he knew he shouldn’t like, but he does. It makes him blush, honestly.

He knows he’s an attractive man. He’s fit, he’s got the looks, money, age. He has tattoos and piercings and he’s clean. He knows that women at the store try to flirt with him in line. The ones at work always have some favor to ask or some help they need. When he’s at the gym he feels eyes on him but none of it matters. Jungkook has thought about going on dates when he’s been asked and lately he’s been thinking about trying again but he just doesn’t know if he should.

At his age, is it even worth it anymore? His wife of eighteen years cheated on him just three years ago. He doesn’t think about her outside of when it has to do with Jieun but still. That’s the last woman he’s been with, it’s not like he’s your age.

You’re young and a very attractive person. You’ve got the smile, the confidence, the looks, the humor. Honestly, he could go on. He’s thought about it before, you have a way of drawing someone in and clearly it was true. If you’re on a date then obviously you know how to get someone interested, especially if Jieun always jokes about how you string these boys along. Actually, he’s not even sure if what you’re doing now is part of the date.

It’s too late for dinner. That could only mean one thing, you were probably at the guy’s place or maybe a hotel room. If that was the case then clearly you could only be doing one thing. That thought alone was enough to make him stiffen in his chair. He shouldn’t be thinking about all the things you were doing in your little black dress, or even with it off.

Jungkook knows what your body looks like under that dress. He knows that you have a little tattoo on your hip that was only noticeable when you wear one of your tiny bikinis. And god, he shouldn’t, but he feels so damn envious of whoever gets to see what lies under those poor excuses for bikinis. He can only imagine what man you’re with, what hands are touching down your naked body.

The look in your eyes when a certain spot was touched, maybe your back would arch and your hips would buck. Maybe you were sensitive, so damn sensitive that when Jungkook first gets his hands on you, you’ll be dripping in your panties—if you wore any.

Wait.

Fuck.

When did this become an imagination of him being the one touching your body? His jeans seemed to tighten, his member growing more erect with each passing image of you under him. Falling apart with his teasing this time, batting your eyelashes at him like an innocent, sweet girl, when you were anything but. The things he could do to you, teach your body so many different sensations that only he could bring you—

“Mr. Jeon.”

His entire body froze, even the small pulse of his hard length at the sound of your voice. Jungkook snapped his eyes to the door of his office, now more open than before with you standing there looking like a walking sin.

You just called him Mr. Jeon and it seemed to send him back to reality about the fact you were much younger than him. Not only that but a friend of his daughter’s.

“Y/n,” he cleared his throat, shifting in his chair awkwardly, “When did you get home?” Could he call it that? Call it your home when you both know it really isn’t. You giggle softly, pushing off the wall sauntering over to his desk with a little sway.

“Just now, I didn’t want to wake you,” you moved around his desk making him more anxious by the second. He was suddenly too aware of the bulge between his legs due to his perverse thoughts. His hand was suddenly on his lap trying to hide himself when you leaned against the desk, right next to him. Your hands on the wooden table supporting your weight, “But you weren’t even sleeping. Why are you up this late?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Jungkook looked into your eyes when you frowned. Your face looked flush, eyes a little red and nose puffy. You had a lazy smile, “And here I thought you were waiting up for me.”

“I didn’t even know if you’d be back,” he looked away when you pushed off the desk, shifting his eyes back to his abandoned files. He kept his gaze stuck on it as you walked behind him with a hand on his shoulder, before there were two. His breath hitched as your hands touched his shoulders. You leaned against his back just briefly and he could smell the alcohol on you. It made him tense and he could feel his back muscles twitch. Your palms flattened against his shoulders before sliding them down toward his collarbone as you said, “I bet that worried you. Not knowing what I might be doing, who I might be with.”

He didn’t say anything, eyes failing to stay open when the fabric of his button up shifted against his skin with each drag of your hands across his shoulders, “What are you doing?”

You just smiled looking down at him. You couldn’t see his face but you could see the angle of his head hanging low. You could see the clenched fist around a fountain pen and an arm conveniently placed on his lap. “You just seem so stressed lately. I want to help you relax.”

“Oh,” his voice strained when you nearly closed your hands around his neck, the unbuttoned top of his shirt nearly exposing more of his chest than he wanted it to. “Y/n.”

He needs it to stop.

This needs to stop.

Now. He could feel it, he was very close to snapping. This isn’t right, not at all. But it’s not entirely wrong and it’s all just confusing him and his dick. He had to think of something else but he didn’t want to tell you to stop touching him even if he knows he should.

“How was your date?” He asked, probably one of the worst things to ask but he did so anyway. You didn’t stop your movements, unaware of the way his lips parted when your nails scraped along his chest. God, it felt so damn good to be touched. It was all he could think about and he didn’t want it to be.

“It wasn’t a date,” you told him, continuing your massage, “We went for drinks and, no, nevermind, I won’t say.” You ended with a deep sigh that had him whipping around to stare at you.

“And?” He asked, finally exposing himself to you with disheveled hair, lust blown eyes, and a wrinkled button up. “What else did you do?”

As he asked and his eyes fell upon your neck, something was building up within him. The sight of the small red mark on your neck, “Well?” His voice was deeper, more stern and definitely not happy. He was jealous and you knew it.

“So you were worried,” you giggled, “Were you thinking about it all night? What I might be doing?”

He didn’t confirm nor deny it but he did look away as if he’d been caught. He couldn’t face you but that didn’t stop you from pushing. This was like the red button.

You know you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t stop yourself from pushing.

“Well…” you took a long sigh, a soft moan in thought, “After the drinks we went back to his place and well, you know how that goes.”

“Hm,” was all he said and you stopped running your hands along his shoulders. For some reason he was disappointed that you did. You just smiled, “That’s all I can say unfortunately, I missed you too much to stay the night so I got an Uber and came home.”

“Y/n,” his voice was firm but the hair on his arms rose at the raspy tone of your sleepy voice, “What are you doing?”

“Having a conversation with you,” you told him simply as you moved back against his desk, his knee so close to your leg as his chair spun out just a little. His eyes narrowed, “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t think I do,” even as you said that you bit your lip, “Why don’t you tell me?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, clearly stressed. He can’t just tell you. What if he’s just imagining your touches? Your innuendos? He’s much older than you and for him to be bringing this up was embarrassing enough. So instead of doing it, he just gave up.

“You should go to bed.”

“Are you going to take me?”

It went quiet and you swear his gaze darkened in an instance. You weren’t sure if he was deciphering every meaning behind your response or if he was debating actually doing it. You wanted him to. Just look at him. Whenever you even think about him, every concern for Jieun as a friend completely slips away. He’s just too damn stunning, too damn perfect. The fact that he was older just made it ten times better.

You looked at the clock behind him before saying, “I guess I’ll go, but I’ll miss talking to you.”

“Y/n,” he grabbed your hand, stopping you from walking away. You looked back at him as he stared down at where your hand was in his. No.

No. Jungkook, don’t even if you really want to at least get a kiss. No.

“Yes?”

He cleared his throat preparing himself to talk, “Goodnight.”

You smiled, “Goodnight.”

You left without another word and the second the door shut behind you a breath of relief was pushed out from his stomach to his mouth. “Fuck,” he groaned looking down at his aching member.

He doesn’t think he can resist you the next time.

It happened again a couple nights later. This time around, Jungkook felt even more delusional over it. You were only looking at him but you weren’t being at all appropriate. Especially not now having dinner with Jieun and Yoongi. It was a table of four so he was close to you and God, this was getting harder by the minute—or no, he was.

Your foot was pulling at his pant leg and he had to pretend like it wasn’t affecting him. He listened to you talk to Jieun instead.

“So how was the other night with Jimin?” Yoongi asked you at the dinner table. Jungkook pretended like he wasn’t interested, too focused on his dinner plate. From the corner of his eye is where he watched you. You gave a small shrug, still running your foot past his knee until your leg was on his thigh. He places a hand over your ankle, a small squeeze to try and get you to stop instead of just pushing it away.

His hand was rough with age and work and your foot was smooth. It was big, with long fingers, even his pinky and you wondered what else he could do with them. Jungkook hand began hesitantly caressing your leg as you spoke, “Good, but I’m not going out with him tonight.”

“Someone else?” Yoongi asked as he served you all more food from the middle of the table. You smiled, “Maybe.”

Jungkook’s jaw tensed and he shook your leg off of him. He doesn’t know what you’re trying to do with him but he’s a grown man. If you want to do things with him he’s not going to wait around for you to finish up with another guy. Especially with a guy much younger than him who he knows won’t be able to please you like he could. Just from the way you’ve been acting he knows not everyone can handle you. You’re a cocktease and maybe he’s delusional but he knows you want him. So why are you going on a date with another man?

No.

Why does he care?

Why is he thinking about a girl young enough to be his own daughter? Why is he imagining what you’d look like sitting pretty on his dick. Why doesn’t he care that Jieun is sitting on the other side of him and all he wants is to slide his fingers up your leg and under your skirt. He could if he pulled your chair closer. He really could. He feels guilty but not enough to ignore this anymore, they’re only thoughts anyway. He wouldn’t actually do it… no, never.

“Do you want us to drop you off when we leave?” Jieun asked once dinner had been over. You shook your head, “No, I won’t be with him till later. What time are you getting home?”

“I’m not,” Jieun said, patting Yoongi’s stomach, “Staying at his place.”

“Alright, I’ll probably start getting ready.”

Jungkook went to his office when everyone left. He would do more work tonight, now he’s got all the time in the world apparently.

Once again he was going to be alone in the house.

Once again you were going out with another man.

Once again he finds himself thinking about it and feeling irritated.

Jungkook doesn’t know you have something up your sleeve. He doesn’t know that the whole time you were talking with Jieun all you could think about was how to get her father to fuck you how you’ve been craving all summer.

He couldn’t even concentrate on his case files, he could only think about what you were doing. He hasn’t heard the front door or the sound of your heels clacking on the stairs. You must be in your bedroom trying one one of those tiny little dresses you like to wear.

How was he to know what you were currently doing? Was it through the text he just received with your name displayed. He picked up his phone, unlocked it, and clicked on your message. It was a photo.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, hand running over his face and into his hair as he looked at it. There’s no mistaking what he’s looking at.

You were sitting on his bed wearing the skimpiest slip of black lingerie he’s ever seen. It was a dress, but it wasn’t even enough to cover the black lace panty you wore. His eyes followed the length of your legs, pressed together so elegantly as you posed in front of his large mirror, perched on the edge of his bed. One of your hands was on your lap, keeping the short dress from showing any sliver of underwear. It was your form of teasing, acting like it was innocent and playing it so poorly, but that’s what you were playing at. You knew what you were doing.

Jungkook knew you were bad news the second he saw you in the pool with his daughter. Even before he saw your body, your eyes were seductive. Your tone was always flirty, and he responded to it. God, since the beginning he would react, always giving a little answer to your flirting, always looking when you wanted him to. Even now, his fingers hovered over the keyboard finding it hard to just tell you to stop. He read over the text attached to the photo.

you: should I wear this out tn?

His breath hitched roughly, tension running through his muscles processing your text. You were apparently showing him something you planned on wearing tonight? Asking for his opinion? Sitting on his bed? There’s no way, absolutely no way you’re doing this to him right now. He dropped his phone on the desk and leaned back against his spinning chair. His hands covered his face, easing some tension away in thought. You’re driving him absolutely crazy. How does he even respond to that? He doesn’t.

You might have really done it this time, you’re not even sure what transpired you to act out this way aside from a selfish need to get what you want. This had started as just a way to not get bored during your summer stay and that was all it was supposed to be. It’s not your fault that Jieun’s dad is the most attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on. And if things went the way you wanted them too, he would be in the same room as you very soon.

If they didn’t, then it was safe to say you would never show your face around here ever again.

There was a bigger sense of confidence that came with preparing this whole ordeal, but the wait itself broke it down. You were so close to getting up and running out the door when it opened. In walked Jungkook, looking as disheveled as possible but he tried to hold himself together. You looked up at him from your seated position as he took in the sight of you.

“Y/n,” his eyes trailed upwards from your exposed legs to your pretty face. A small choked out groan escaped his lips as he shifted his gaze to the ceiling, “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready?” You asked standing up to look at yourself in the mirror, “How do I look?”

“Y/n,” his voice was stern, turning to face you, “Don’t play with me.” You didn’t bother taking your eyes off your own reflection, capturing his glare through the mirror. “I’m not, Jungkook, I’m just asking a question.”

“Jungkook?” He asked as you finally turned to him, taking a small step closer. He’s so used to hearing you refer to him as Mr. Jeon teasingly that he forgets what it’s like for you to actually say his name. You nodded, standing in front of him, “Or Mr. Jeon?”

He looked down at you now that you were mere inches away from him and he could see the twinkle of mischief in your eyes. You don’t care who he is, you don’t care if he’s older either. He wanted to tell you this was inappropriate and to leave but he would never kick you out. He wouldn’t tell you he didn’t like it either, “Are you wearing this for a boy?”

A boy. Someone younger than him, probably one of those he’s heard you like and it’s not him. He’s a man, he can really show you what it’s like to feel pleasure. You looked down at your slip dress that had him looking down at your exposed cleavage. Without thinking you pressed a finger into his abdomen lightly, “I’d prefer it if it were for a man.”

Jungkook’s gaze didn’t falter away from yours, the sexual tension at a high as he leaned into the touch of your hand as it lowered. You were so close to him, chest nearly against chest and you were wearing so little. He licked at his dry lips, “Why’s that?”

“Guys my age don’t know how to fuck me, Mr. Jeon.”

In an instance, any thought of putting a stop to this vanished. Every reminder that you weren’t just an attractive younger woman expressing interest in him, vanished. All it took was the soft whisper of your response into his ear for his body to turn to mush. Jungkook barely shifted his head to the side when your lips met his, hungry and fast. His hand pressed into the back of your head, tangling in your hair, to keep you from moving back but you wouldn’t dare. The only moment your lips separated was during the first press of your tongues, meeting in the middle with the slide of spit.

Jungkook couldn’t get enough, the last time he had even kissed a woman, touched one in this manner, it had been a while. A long while that created such intense build-up when you came along making him break. The hand that hadn’t been laced in your hair was touching your waist gently but firm. It was soft but you could tell you wouldn’t be moving away anytime soon. It didn’t stop your fingers from trailing even lower than his abdomen, to the belt on his jeans. With one hand you began to tug on the belt loop, turning your neck as he began to leave wet, needy kisses down your jaw, your back arching from the way he had to bend over you to kiss your neck.

He released a low, breathless grunt at the rough pull of his zipper, hips moving with the force. The arm he had on your waist pressed you to his side when your hand dipped into the waistband of his briefs. His other hand left the back of your head, sliding down toward your neck, releasing a short moan, “Y/n.”

It has been too long. Too damn long since the last time a woman touched him. No, it’s been long since he let a woman touch him. Jungkook always had many opportunities to see someone but he never did it. He never seeked anyone out for sex, he just let himself take care of his own needs and feel unsatisfied. Now he’s letting someone young enough to be his daughter put their hand on his dick.

And it felt so fucking good. Jungkook stopped his attack on your neck to take a proper inhale, trying to keep himself under control as you palmed his naked member. Your fingers wrapped around his thick length giving him a soft stroke. You kissed down the expanse of his neck feeling the vibrations of his low groan. Your palm hugged the head of his cock, twisting your wrist and smearing it in his own precum. Your fingers brushed along the underside of his tip and he couldn’t wait. He wanted more.

With the hand that he had on your neck, he held you away from him. Your eyes met, both looking blown out and yet you still managed to look so seductive. His eyes shifted back down to your parted lips releasing small pants of breath. He licked his dry lips and with a raspy voice, he said, “Get on the bed.”

You looked down at his cock that still felt heavy in your grip. With your eyes locked with his, you moved to the bed sitting on the back of your legs, arms on your lap looking oh-so-obedient. His breath hitched at the sight and he was quickly undressing himself the rest of the way standing naked before you as you sat looking pretty in your little black dress. He got on his knees letting them sink to the mattress as you got up too.

A shiver ran down your spine at the feel of Jungkook’s rough fingers running across your shoulders to lower the thin straps of the dress. They trailed down your back softly, catching the ribbon that tied it together against your spine, and undid it The thin, silky fabric dropped down on the bed revealing more of yourself to him. Jungkook looked down at your chest, he was used to the size of them. All summer long you were showing off your pretty tits in tight tops and slutty bikinis, and yet the full view was so much more. Your nipples were pointed out, sensitive from being exposed and his rough, large hands cupped them. You released a quiet whine as his fingers pinched your nipples. Jungkook’s jaw was open, speechless at how soft you felt in his hands, “You’re such a pretty girl.”

You nodded, biting into your lip when he lowered his head to place a kiss on the plumpness of your breast. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders not wanting to stop when his tongue swiped at your nipple, licking it before sucking it into his mouth. Jungkook traveled his hands down to your thong, groping your ass before getting a hold on the material. With little effort on his end, he tore one side at your hips and did the same to the other until it was coming apart from your legs. Your underwear was left ruined as he held you by the waist, guiding you on top of him as he moved to lie back. You didn’t say anything, only soft moans leaving your lips at the way he moved your body around to his liking. You were both fully naked now and he guided you to turn away from him, gripping your thighs as he backed you up to his head and you got the hint.

Jungkook was being impatient, he needed to feel everything. He couldn’t wait to taste your pussy or to feel the tightness of your throat constrict around his large cock. He wanted to do it all now, not later. Later he can explore slowly, learn every way you want to be touched. Because if you think he’s going to be done with you after one round, you’re wrong. He moved his elbows under your knees making sure your thighs hugged the sides of his head and his body shivered. Just above his face was the prettiest little cunt he’s ever seen. Slick coated the outside and pooled at the center. Your clit was in view and the way you arched your back made your pussy pop out more. He swallowed dryly.

How did he manage to get this sight in front of him? He was a fool to think he could withstand your games, clearly not. But he can’t just let you toy with him, he’ll show you how to make a woman cum.

As soon as his wet tongue met your oversensitive clit, you had to cling to his thighs, nails digging into the muscle at his boldness. Your mouth parted in silent moans as his hands pinched your hips, pressing you down further against his mouth, getting the first taste of pussy he’s had in years—even before his divorce. You better believe that he was not doing this to his ex wife the months leading up to separating. Even if he was, nothing would have compared to how eager and wet you were.

“Da—Ju-Jungkook… ” You whimpered as you brought his cock toward your mouth, tongue swiping along his side in hopes of bringing pleasure to him fast. Your tongue began from the base of his cock where his neatly trimmed hair ended, licking all the way to his tip. From there you wrapped your lips around his head letting your tongue swipe along the slit that released clear dribbles of precum. As best as you could, you tried to relax your throat, guiding him down as far as you could.

The feeling of a warm and tight mouth around his dick had him moaning. His eyes rolled in pleasure as his thighs tensed, “Oh fuck, Y/n,” he groaned against your cunt, your wetness running down his chin. “Your mouth feels so good.”

Lewd sounds came from your mouth with each thrust of his cock down your throat, tongue licking as much of his length as you could. Jungkook was getting messier with the need to bring you to an orgasm with his tongue. Slick sounds formed every time he lapped his tongue between your pussy lips, nipping at your clit with each swipe. His fingers were digging small crescents into the roundness of your ass as he made you ride his face harder.

“Oh my god,” you cried out like a whiny brat as your hips twitched in pace with the cool in your lower belly. Jungkook placed a hand behind your head not to apply pleasure but to keep you in place. “Oh my god,” you repeated and you were so damn loud, so shameless with your moans and he’s only used his mouth so far. He’s so thankful you never tried this when Jieun was home. He wouldn’t be able to keep you quiet if his dick was in your tight snatch.

Jungkook was relentless, licking at your cunt even as you released your juices all over his tongue. He ate you out through your orgasm, letting it dribble down his chin that he pressed against your clit, shaking. He was close, so fucking close but if he cums it’s going to be in your pussy. He needs it now.

You nearly fell to your side as he moved you off his lap and you collapsed onto the bed, hand feeling around against the comforter to find your little item. He was too busy fixing himself between your legs to notice you touch a small black package. You picked up the condom moving it in front of him and he took it without a word. Jungkook felt like his hands were shaking as he put it on. The anticipation of being inside you was building up and making him jittery. You were going to be so sensitive with the way he ate your pussy and he was so hard it will be very hard to be gentle. His hips dipped down as his hand lined his cock between your folds. Wetness stuck to the condom, and he began a slow grind making sure to touch your clit as he did so. His hands pressed against the bed near your ribs and looked at the sight. You brought a hand down between your legs, spreading your slick around his cock hoping to get him to just fuck you already. You didn’t want him to tease you or stretch you or gently talk you through it. You want him to stuff you full of his cock and tell you much of a bad girl you are.

You don’t know how to explain but he was such a man. Not a boy, not a college guy or late-twenties coworker. He was a man who worked out every day, trimmed his body hair, cooked meals and did yard work all while looking so unbelievably hot. He would take care of you, he has been taking care of you and you wanted him inside of you now.

With your hand already against his cock you took a hold of him as you lined him up with your entrance hearing a soft grunt leave his lips. Jungkook was going to stop you and do it himself but he found it so much hotter to feel you guide his cock into your pussy. The softest pussy he’s ever felt, hugging his dick with warmth and wetness. Sucking him in as far as you could take him and dragging along his length as he pulled back in a nervous twitch. He won’t last, he won’t last at all

“Come on Mr. Jeon, show me how a real man fu—ohh,” he sank back in, the same vacuum sealed feeling hugging his cock and he found it hard to pull back out. Jungkook was quiet, too focused in the need to just fuck that he’s not paying attention. He’s doing what feels good until you tell him to stop. His hands snuck between the mattress and your ass, finding purchase as he lied down against your body. His knees dug into the bed and the muscles in his thighs flexed with the first real hit of his hips against yours, cock digging in just a little further. Your arms and legs wrapped around him like a baby when his hands held your butt so tightly that your hips lifted off the bed. He fucked you onto his cock, back flexing with each thrust that made his spine protrude in his arched form in an animalistic way.

Jungkook was so turned on, so close to the edge that he wanted to scream. He could hold off so much longer but not right now. Not while your moans tickled his ears and your skin was hot under his mouth with each kiss he placed on your neck. You moaned loudly, “I’m so close, oh… daddy, ohh.”

“Shh,” Jungkook mumbled against your throat, “Just cum baby, be a good girl and cum for me. I want to feel your slutty pussy cum around my clock.” He was so close, he just needed the final push and he wouldn’t be so desperate to get off.

Like before, the only warning you gave to your release was the tremble in your thighs. Jungkook released a low growl that made your throat bob as you practically hugged each other with the way he still held your ass to his cock, both coming undone at once.

Jungkook was heaving for air, legs shaking as he set you back down the inch he lifted you up. Your walls still clenched and unclenched around him and he had to turn you both on your side to be more comfortable as he began to pull out.

He rolled onto his back, hand on chest as he looked up at the sky, “Fuck.”

You smiled moving to sit lips placing a kiss to the line between his feelings the way he gasped for air. You wondered if you’d have to wait for a second round another day. “You’re still hard.”

It was true, despite the puddle of thick semen on his lower stomach, he was still hard, and your hand running up his thighs wasn’t helping. Jungkook looked down at you, “Condom?”

“I’m out but I’m on the pill.”

Jungkook wanted to be more rational but he could. He still needed to feel you on his cock. “Come sit on my dick, pretty baby.”

With a flirty smile you did as told, quickly swinging your legs around his hips as you held his cock up, Jungkook had to bite his lip hard to hold back the moan he was going to let out. This time around, Jungkook didn’t hesitate to place his hands on your hips and push you down his length.

“Y/n,” he moaned as you began to ride him, grinding against his base every time you sank down on his dick. You’d raise your hips and drop them back down against his with a smack. “Fuck, tightest fucking pussy. Fuck, look at you.”

You were such a sight with your pretty face displaying pleasure, your first bouncing with how hard you rode him, belly button ring glistening every time light reflected off the jewels. Jungkook’s hand ran over it before coming up to your breasts. “All summer, teasing me with this body, leaving me to jerk off in the shower to the image of it.”

Your pussy twitched at his words, “I touch myself to the thought of you, Mr. Jeon, I’ve been dreaming of this cock in my pussy.”

Your words traveled straight to his dick, pulsing at the idea of you with your fingers in your cunt fucking yourself to him. You were riding him with such eagerness that the bed shook with each bounce of your hips and his hand couldn’t help but spank your ass urging you on. Once again he felt himself close and he wanted to warn you. He was waiting to know for sure if he was going to when everything seemed to stop except the bounce of your hips splitting your cunt open with his cock. His eyes shot to the bedside table where your phone sat facing up, Jieun’s picture on screen.

His heart stopped, trying to get you to slow down but it was too late. He was reminded of your age and relationship with his daughter. You reached for it before he could stop you and pressed it against your ear fighting his hand that reached for it, “Hello?”

“Hey ugly, is my dad home? He’s not answering his phone.” Jieun asked through the phone. You looked down at Jungkook who shook his head with pleading eyes for you to stay still but not stop. He still needed to cum.

“He probably left in his room,” you said the last words with a grind of your hips that had him biting into his knuckles to fight back a moan. You sat straighter, enjoying the stretch of his cock, “Is there something you want me to tell him before I leave?”

His eyes shifted to you now. What do you mean leaving? You sent him a smile, shaking your head to assure him you didn’t mean it and that you wanted to have fun with him all night. Jieun signed, “Just tell him that I left the keys to Benz on the mantle.”

“Mmm, okay,” you said softly as Jungkook began to respond with his hips bucking to meet yours. He couldn’t hold on anymore. “I’ve gotta go Jieun, I’m about to leave, I’ll tell him.”

You hung up with that and he took your phone dropping it on the mess of pillows on the floor before sitting up to hug your body fo his, “Such a dirty fucking girl.”

“She left the keys to the car on the mantle,” you moaned out as his face dug into your perky breasts, nuzzling into them. He growled in frustration, grinding your hips on his length, “I already know, fuck she interrupted us for that?”

“While I’ve got her best friend riding my cock like the little slut she is?” He licked your nipple and his words had you moaning, shaking in his hold. He really didn’t seem to care anymore.

He was fucking you from below, sitting you on his lap and making you bounce on his cock, “You like fucking your friend’s dad? You like older man dick?

“Yes, fuck Jungkook, only yours,” You moaned making his chest blossom with pride at your words. With your affirmation, he moved onto his knees, hands under your ass as he fucked you onto his cock.

“Gonna cum for me? Is my baby gonna cum on my cock?” He asked with a coo but with a deep tremor in his voice, “Yeah baby? Such an eager brat, look at you.”

“Mhm,” you nodded and he went faster.

When you came undone, Jungkook took you off his cock. He couldn’t be gentle with it as he came all over himself. A hand was on his dick as he eased himself through his second orgasm of the night looking over to you. You were tired after your own third orgasm and toppled onto his bed. Jungkook knew he should feel some form of guilt but he doesn’t. Instead, he runs his hand over your back to your ass as you laid on your stomach. Your perky little ass taunting him so much that he leaned down and place a kiss on it, biting lightly into the plump flesh making you shake your hips from sensitivity. He gave it a final smack.

Maybe when the sex-fueled fog leaves his mind he’ll realize the damage he’s done.

He fucked a woman much younger than him, fucked you real good.

He had let himself be seduced by a total nymph.

His daughter’s friend.

Yet all he could say as he lied down on his back to catch his own breath before a possible third round was…

“You’re such a good girl when you’re taking dick.”

He had about a month before you and Jieun left back to school and he was going to make it worth your while. You’ll never want younger men again. You’ll want his cocking fucking into you every time he visits Jieun. He’ll sneak into your dorm when she’s at work and fuck you with all the pent up desire he’ll have from not having your body in months.

And you’ll take every inch he gives you like a good girl.

REQUEST 1

::.

personal taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog @alwaysdreamingnotsleeping @cherrymonlightt @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover @saweetspoiled @uwu2rawr @shaybts-blog @babycandy111 @tearyjjeon @joons-uparupa

collab taglist: @blueberrysoda @cupidguk @weirdorathexplora @purpleguk @exactlygreatcoffee @minnie-mouser22 @bangtans-momma @royallyjjk @iceykoo @tae-hibiscus @happygolucky7777 @taeslarityy @jeonzll @errewaythings @kmadelin @bloopkook @anjcrbnll @literaturenutz @absolutelyjeons @strawberrysweetness @jungkookminthairwhen @sincerelyflora @twilight-loveer @heartjiminie @outro-kook @blueberrysungie @r0ttenbeans @koo-kz @allfryou @takochelle @kookies-n-spice @bighitbabie @jjkreblog @queenmasterxx

a/n whewww look at that taglist 😮‍💨also this was so fun to write and just imagine dilf jk 🤩

[porkcutletbowl44]

The Man You Need

Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader

Tags!: 🔞NSFW. MDNI. unprotected p in v sex(wrap it in foil before you check her oil), dirty talk, creampie, PWP, Insomnia!reader, brief mention of misogyny, semi-public sex, shower sex, reader is also kinda bratty

(Ik y'all are only here for the porn that's why the plot dies quick lmao)

A big thank you to the 200 followers and counting 🫶🏻🩷

• · ────── ·🔞🖤🔞· ────── · •

"Y'look knackered, 'aven't been sleepin' enough?"

Simon's voice forces you to stop staring at the stale scones under the heat lamp, yanking you out of that day dream of falling face first into the breakfast line to get real sleep.

"Just the usual insomnia," you reminded. "What plans do you have today?" You asked, gatherthering the last of your breakfast.

His long strides effortlessly keeping up with your shorter ones. He towers over you as you both approach the table where you both sat normally.

"Just the usual, trainin' new recruits." He answers in the same manner as you, he sits down opposite you. He stretches his long legs out under the table, his calves brushing yours.

His eyes fixed on you like little bugs on your skin, taking in every detail of your face.

"'ow long has it been since y'last slept through a night?" He asks gruffly.

"Saturday." You answered.

His jaw clenches momentarily behind the thin fabric of his balaclava, and his shoulders stiffen.

"Y'mean to tell me its been three days an' you're still functioning?" He retorts, skepticism written on his face. He knows you, and he knows how bad your insomnia gets.

"Yeah. Doesn't help when we have to wake up early."

Simon lets out a frustrated sigh, running a gloved hand over his face.

"You can't survive on 2 or 3 hours o' sleep a day. Y'know you're pushin' it too far. You're going to collapse soon if y'don't get your sleep under control."

He's always stern when he speaks, but with you it's like he's scolding you like a child who doesn't know any better.

You do know better; you've busted your ass to get where you are. You've had to deal with everything in the book to fight to where you are now in the military, and he knows that, he's been there the majority of the time and yet he nags you everyday about something.

"Well I'm trying, Si. Melatonin doesn't work and it gives me bad headaches." You mumbled irritably.

"Doesn't work, eh? An' I can see those bags under your eyes. Headaches too..." He rubs his chin as he looks at you, his eyes calculating. "What 'ave you tried so far, love? I've told you to keep me updated."

"The sleepy tea worked for a little bit, and then it didn't. I tried running before bed, no screen time, benadryl..."

Simon grunts and leans back in his chair, listening to you list all the things you've already tried and don't work, his frustration only seems to grow with this situation— or you?

"Bloody hell. You've tried everythin', 'aven't you? Nothin' seems to work, it's as if your body just won't shut down."

Sometimes this leads to the same thing over and over again, the 'you have to sleep' or, 'why do you do this to yourself?'. You just smile and nod, because yes, you can 100% control this.

"Well, sometimes another thing works, but it's just too much of a hassle." You shrugged, sipping some vitamin water.

Simon's brows furrow as he hears your muttered words. He leans forward, his gaze intense.

"What 'other things?'"

You sometimes keep things from him, and he won't let you get away with it this time. Or, there's the other times you are blunt, disgustingly blunt. You live with a bunch of men, who do not have a filter, that alone has killed yours out of existence.

You blink, fidgeting in place. "Ahem. Me time?"

He's not dense, he knows exactly what you mean and he's not one to back down from anything that usually makes normal people squeamish or "grossed out".

"An" 'ow is it 'too much o' a hassle exactly?" He asks, a slight raise in an eyebrow.

"My hand cramps." You rolled your eyes, it was obvious, who doesn't have that problem sometimes?

He crosses his arms over his broad chest with a humored look, your honesty can be either amusing or completely looked over.

"Your hand cramps, you say? Thas a hell o' a reason."

He chuckles softly, his eyes raking over you, taking in the sight before him. His gaze is heated. Your face can feel it, it's warm, it's like he's putting your face close to a bonfire with that look. For months you two do this... This thing that borders flirty and suggestive but at the same time it doesn't quite feel like either.

"Yeah. Thinking about going down to the store."

His eyes snap up, crossed arms going lose from his chest. He's not stupid; he knows what "going down to the store" means.

"You're talkin' about goin' to get one o' those things." His voice is low, but not quite harsh. He's almost hesitant to say it out loud, but he says it with so much disdain.

You deadpan. "A vibrator, Simon. A vibrator."

The tops of his cheeks flush red beneath his balaclava at your blunt response. You giggle a little, not expecting such a reaction from Lieutenant Ghost. What's the big deal? Did guys not talk about fleshlights? Brand recommendations?

He clears his throat before speaking, a little husky and quiet. No way, are you embarrassing him with girl stuff?

"Y-yeah. One o' those." He stutters, his usual confidence wavering. "Yes, thank you, love. I realize that. I just..." He trailed off, blinking a few times.

"Y'can't be serious. You're goin' to use a toy instead o' asking for help?"

It's like he can't believe you just said that out loud, in a busy mess hall no less. This is what it took? Talking about sex toys to make him awkward?

"Uhm...yeah? I less you have a boyfriend in your pocket waiting for me." you retort.

And yikes, he didn't seem to like that. His eyes squint, probably crinkle in his nose. He paused, leaning forward in his seat, his eyes studying your face closely.

"You don't seriously think y'need a toy instead o' just asking me, do you?"

Why does he sound hurt??

Your stomach does a backflip off your intestines and into a hot tub of oil. He did not just say that. You must be asleep, yes, you must be dreaming.

You giggled, "Good one."

Simon gives a low grumble, his jaw flexing and grinding. This apparently wasn't a laughing matter to him. Is he serious? Your tongue works over your teeth, trying your absolute hardest to be so cool, nonchalant, you don't care you don't care—

"'M not jokin', love. You don't honestly think that a toy would be better than the real thing, do you?"

Of course it's not fucking better. But what choices did you have? Sleep with one of your teammates and then get a dishonorable discharge? Make things awkward in your team?

"Oh... Considering it's illegal to have relationships, yes. A vibrator won't leave me, cheat on me, break my heart... It's perfect." You shrugged— it was for the best anyways.

He knew the rules just as much as you did. And he followed them religiously. What the hell is going on? Why would he just suggest that out of the blue?

"Y'think you'd be better off with a piece o' silicone than takin' the chance on me?"

You pinch your thigh under the table. Nope. You're still here in mess hall, in front of your now cold breakfast, and Simon is still trying to convince you to fuck him.

"Y'wouldn't be satisfied with that thing. You'd get bored, love..." He sounds so sure, and jealous when he speaks of the horrible, terrible, vibrator.

"How would you know?" You quired quickly.

Just to double check. Maybe the sleep deprivation was catching up.

"I know 'cause I know you. You'd get tired o' that thing eventually, you'd want somethin' real."

He paused for a moment, his eyes lidding, darkening, consuming.

"You'd want someone to touch you, love. Not some piece o' plastic an' silicone."

"Yeah, like I'd ever get that," you barked out a laugh out of sheer nerves.

He didn't like that anymore than your last dismissive reply, you may just be convinced about now. So, cue to you squeezing your thighs together in your seat. Acting completely normal. Because everything about this is so normal; your coworker just telling you to come to him for a good fuck to be able to sleep.

"What do y'mean by that? 'ow can you say that with a straight face? Y'don't think anyone would want to touch you? Let y'know 'ow loved you are?" He grumbled, his hands clenching on top of the table.

"Y'think you're so undesirable that nobody would want you? Bloody hell..." He shakes his head.

"Simon, take a look at me." You licked your lips to prevent a shout of frustration, yikes, you do need sleep.

Simon's eyes fly over your form, from head to toe. He took his time studying you, his eyes lingering over the curves of your body, the way your hair fell over your face. There isn't a damn thing wrong with the way you look.

"'M lookin' at ya, love. An' what I see is perfection. So tell me again... what's your damn point?"

Oh, good God. It's real. But this is better than you imagined; you want to make him work for it. All because it's hotter to get a man to work for something, get all riled up.

"What do you see? A cutesy little girly girl? A nice little housewife for a big strong man?" You asked sarcastically.

"I see a woman who's strong, capable, an' bloody beautiful." He glares, offended you'd even think about saying that, "You're not some dainty damsel in distress, you're a force to be reckoned with..."

"My point exactly. Men don't want a chick that's more man than them." You rolled your eyes at just mentioning the delicacy of fragile masculinity these days.

Simon grunted and rolled his eyes, his irritation building into something you might not want to poke at.

"Thas where you're wrong, love." He points his spoon at you. "Not all men are as narrow-minded as y'think. I know damn well I want a woman like you. Strong, feisty, sexy."

"My point, Simon! I don't want some fucking pussy, I want someone whose more man than me." You huff.

You're not entirely implying this trait about him... You just wanna see him work for it.

"You're not goin' to find that in a bloody toy, love. You're lookin' in the wrong place if y'think some plastic will make y'feel better. Y'want a man? You already 'ave a man."

He was right there, willing to give you what you needed. But how far will he go?

"Yeah but... I want something real, too." You tried to explain.

This flirting back and forth was something you enjoyed; but what would it mean in the long run?

"Exactly." He huffed a bit exasperated. "Y'want somethin' real. Somethin' I can give you."

He shifted in his seat, leaning closer to you, his eyes deep and intense.

"Y'don't need a toy, love. You 'ave me. 'M real, an' I want you. Don't settle for some piece o' plastic when y'know damn well what you really want."

Okay then, schizophrenic, game on.

"I want someone stronger than me, someone to give me a reason to act like a woman," You snorted.

You were infuriating at times.

"An' y'think I can't give ya that? Y'think I can't make y'feel like a woman? Like a fuckin' queen?" That retort comes out low, accusing. "I can definitely make y'feel like a woman. Y'don't need someone stronger than you, love. Y'just need me."

Nail on the head with that one; yet how far can you take it? You lean between your elbows, squeezing your tits together to make you look as enticing as possible.

"Do I?" You purr.

Simon freezes in time, his plastic spoon almost falling away from his thick fingers. His hand does scramble for it to his credit but he almost dumps his bowl in the process. You hear him clear his throat roughly, Adams apple bobbing at the hem of his mask before it disappears. You bite your lip with a challenging gaze, would he take it?

"Yes," He replied firmly to cover up his hesitation, "Y'need me, love. Y'just don't know it yet. I can make y'feel things no toy ever could. Think y'need a man t'make you feel like a woman? I can do that, an' I will happily."

You smirk, "You're gonna have to try harder than that,"

"Oh, I will, love. You're just askin' for a challenge, aren't you?"

"You afraid to take it?" You shot back slyly.

He was anything but afraid with that look. He was up for the challenge, and you know he's gonna prove it.

"Baby, 'm not afraid o' anythin' when it comes to you," he replied, his voice low and husky. "As long as you can take what I can give you."

He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes searing into yours. There was danger in his gaze, it only made it all the more delicious.

"Y'think you can 'andle me, love? Y'think you're ready for what I can do t'you?"

"Only if you can prove it." You grin.

Ghost let out a low growl, his eyes darkening at your challenging tone. He thrived on it, it only fueling his drive to prove himself to you.

"Oh, I'll prove it, love. I'll prove it again an' again until y'can't even think straight."

"No, no, prove you're more man than me." You corrected easily.

"Y'want to know why 'm more o' a man than you? I can make y'feel things you 'aven't even imagined before. I'll 'ave you beggin' f'me, addicted t'me."

"I'll be waiting, then." You set the challenge in stone. This was it.

The bear has been poked enough. He was on a mission now.

"You'll be beggin' f'me before the night's over." He boasts smoothly, a promise and a warning all in one.

"If I get a good night's sleep I'll consider keeping you,"

You were maddening, and he both loved and hated the way you pushed his buttons. It was all in good heart; for the most part.

"You're already keepin' me, love. Y'just don't know it yet."

You bite your lip, taking a quick survey of the area before replying. This was getting too good to be true.

"Don't disappoint then, we have..." You glance at your watch, humming, "six hours until lights out."

"Thas more than enough time." He grunts, all smug and cocky behind his mask.

Step one, getting recruit work out of the way. It's boring as fuck, mostly watching the Lieutenant scare the absolute piss out of the fresh meat.

Simon was barking orders left and right, ruthless to the soldiers in training. Almost as ruthless as the sun beating down on them.

You abandoned your spot in the shade, clip board in hand. You balance two water bottles on the wooden board as you approach to offer a beverage.

"Thanks," he grumbles, his eyes darting around to ensure no one witnessed the small gesture just like you.

He took the offered water, downing half the bottle in one go and adjusting his mask back in place. You drag your pin down the clip board to check off what's already done.

"Forty laps?"

"Forty laps."

Simon confirmed with a gruff nod, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment before turning back to the recruits. Despite the challenging heat, he refused to end the training drills early no matter how much you teased him about buying him a little extra on your toy run— Viagra.

You thought it was hilarious, him? Not so much.

"An' they better pick up the pace!" He barked, the deep baritone easily reaching the pirvates' ears.

You circle that box, "And the sixty pull ups?" You breathed a bored sigh.

Simon grunted in annoyance.

"Done."

He informed in a low grumble, his jaw working under the balaclava. It was an excessive amount, but many of the recruits wouldn't even make it halfway through. But he didn't care, he was in a mood. A horny one. When was the last time this guy got laid?

"Wasn't accepting any half-assed attempts, either."

"The rope climbing?" You tap your pen at the box.

Simon glances down at the list, eyeing the scribbles and doodles next to the ticked boxes.

"Done." He replies simply.

You could faintly hear the sound of the recruits groaning and grumbling in pain and exhaustion, you almost felt bad. It was minor flashbacks to your recruitment days, yet Simon didn't seem to have that same sympathy judging by the satisfaction in his eyes.

"Aaannnd... Combat." You hum, one last task left for training.

This was where things get interesting.

"Its last. Need to let 'em rest a bit first. Suppose they earned it."

"Generous," you comment blandly.

"Yeah, yeah. Just keep checkin' off the list. I wanna get these fuckin' recruits dismissed soon. 'M sick o' the heat."

The day dragged on painfully slowly. The heat was relentless until the rain would show up any minute, and he was more irritable than usual. Even the recruits seemed to notice his foul mood, giving him a wide berth whenever he was in their vicinity. You were starting to grow bored of his usual job of scaring the hell out of the recruits, (not so bored when sweat rolls down the thickness of his biceps and the bounce of his tits when he jogs up to the trainees to yell at them) and overall wondering when and how the fuck you're supposed to get laid at this point.

Finally, the training was over. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the compound. The recruits limped and hobbled their way to their assigned lodgings, exhausted and sore.

Simon, on the other hand, seemed like he had even more energy than usual. Despite the long, grueling day, he was somehow wired and restless. You should ask what energy drink he uses after you wrap this up. (Hint: it's the male drive to get some pussy).

As the recruits dispersed, one in particular caught your eye. He was the most arrogant and obnoxious of the bunch, strutting around like he owned the place. You and Simon had seen it countless times before, it got old fast.

"Arrogant little prick," Simon muttered irritably.

You tongue your cheek, "What? Threatened by him?"

It's a pointless taunt— Simon? Threatened? Gosh, it's so fun to get men worked up. Simon's eyes narrow at your comment, a grunt bursting out from him.

"Threatened? Me? Fuckin' hell, no." He grumbles offendedly. "I could take 'im apart within a minute. Can't stand the ones caught up in their own 'ead,"

You hum in agreement. You know for a fact you'd pay to see that one day, and Soap would be right behind you.

"You're lucky you're the most tolerable person 'ere," he adds goodnaturedly.

You backhand his shoulder lightly, "Oh, look, your best friend is coming over!"

And speak of the devil, the recruit struts over with that piece of shit arrogant smirk. Simon rolls his eyes in annoyance as he turns to face the strutting recruit.

"Great. Just what I need," The sarcasm is laid on thicker than the suspicious gravy served this morning at breakfast.

The recruit saunters over, his obnoxious confidence on full display. Simon clenches his jaw, trying to keep his temper in check.

"Sir... Do we have more extensive training available?" He asks slowly, his own ego taking a hold of his tongue.

Simon's eye twitches at the recruit's pompous tone. Extensive training, more like a request for special treatment to feed that ego.

"Extensive training?" He echos roughly, "F'you? Why?"

The recruit shrugs boredly, "I think your ways are a bit old fashioned, too easy,"

Easy, old fashioned? This cocky little bastard doesn't know the first thing about hard work. And he's about to serve himself his very own buffet of living hell from Simon. You distract yourself with the grass below your feet, taking everything you have to not laugh.

"Y'think we make things easy on you?" He sneers, taking a step closer to the recruit. "Y'think you're hot stuff, eh? Well, you're in for a rude awakening, rookie."

Your lips purse, frowning deeply to stop the smile.

"What makes y'think you deserve anythin' beyond the standard training regime, hmm? You 'aven't earned a fuckin' thing yet." He glares at the recruit, his eyes dark and intense behind his mask. "Y'get your fuckin' arse to the barracks. Your extensive training for the next month? You'll be cleanin' the bathrooms before lights out."

The recruit's smirk falters at Simon's orders. He's not used to being talked back to, much less being told what to do. But he tries to maintain his cocky attitude, not wanting to back down in front of you, maybe. Ugh, men.

"Bathroom duty? That's... a little degrading, isn't it?"

Simon chuckles darkly, his eyes dancing with amusement. This cocky bastard was really pushing his luck more than you were. You almost feel bad if it weren't so funny.

"Degrading?" he sneers. "Welcome to the military, rookie. It's not a goddamn country club. Y'think you can come 'ere, demand extra training, an' expect special treatment? This ain't a playground. You're 'ere to learn discipline, not stroke your ego."

You stifle a laugh behind your clipboard. This was too good, and all the more hot to see Simon angry.

Simon shoots a sidelong glance at you, even though he's supposed to be acting tough and intimidating, he seems to let himself crack through the lieutenant role around you.

The recruit, on the other hand, doesn't notice your amusement. He just looks sulkily at Simon, clearly not pleased with the prospect of bathroom duty.

Simon grabs the recruit roughly by the collar, the display of power and dominance making you jump in place. Simon's firm grip on the recruit's collar startles the cocky little punk, his eyes wide in surprise.

"See, this is your problem," Simon grits lowly. "Y'think you're untouchable. Y'think you're better than everyone else. But lemme tell you somethin', wanker... you're not."

The recruit stammers, eyes frozen with fear.

"Disobey your superior officer again an' I'll make sure your walls are covered in you."

He gives the recruit a rough shove, releasing his collar. The recruit stumbles back, shocked out of words.

"Consider that your final warning," Simon growls. "Now get your arse to the fuckin' barracks, rookie."

The recruit seems to shrink under Simon's intimidating aura, his cocky demeanor shattered and squashed to dust. He mumbles a half-hearted, "Yes, sir," before hurrying away.

You check your watch, "Well, today has been fun. It's too bad you only have three hours left."

Three hours left, you say? He hadn't even started yet. Because of training, of course.

"Three hours, huh?" He grumbles, eyes setting in determination. "Don't count me out yet, love. I can do a lot in three hours."

"Hurry it up, or in three hours I'll have a brand new shiny vibrator." You grin cheekily.

"You won't be needin' any damn vibrator if I 'ave anythin' to say 'bout it," he hisses. "I don't need any bloody gadgets to 'elp out."

He starts to stalk towards you, his eyes intense and focused. Your thighs squeeze together, pleased with your outcome.

"Three hours is more than enough time f'me to prove myself, love. An' you'll be beggin' before the clock strikes, guarantee ya that."

"Right," you drawl with a roll of your eyes.

He reaches up with a rough hand, grabbing your chin and lifting it so your eyes meet his.

"Y'think I can't prove myself in three hours, huh? That I need some bloody toy to 'elp me out? I promise you, love, you'll be singin' a different tune."

You giggle teasingly, biting your tongue through your smile.

"Tick tock, Simon." You singsong.

You were mocking him, challenging him, all for this purpose.

"You're playin' a dangerous game, love," he growls down at you, "Y'think you can tease an' walk away with that pretty lil smile on your face. But you're gonna find out real quick that I won't back down, even when you're being a cheeky lil minx."

You smirk dreamily, staring up at him with raw want. You kinda want him to do something extravagant, proving himself just because. When was the last time you had fun like this?

"You're pushing your luck, love," he grunts, his voice gruff with barely concealed desire. "If you keep lookin' at me like that, there ain't gonna be enough time to do everythin' I wanna do to you."

You pull from his hand, turning on your heel as you call over your shoulder,

"I'll be waiting, Si,"

You were taunting him, teasing him, with that sultry little comment and casual tone. You feel his eyes on your ass with each sway of your hips, that naked feeling let's you know he's undressing you with his eyes.

You whip out your phone to look at the time, alas, there's just no way what you want can happen. The rules, regulations, and the severe lack in privacy.

Shooting Captain a quick text for permission to leave base for an hour you head into the higher up showers for some much needed washing of the sweat collected on your body.

As you toss your towel on the bend, your phone buzzes.

'Permission granted. I'll let the team know you'll be out.'

Your heart drops to your ass as you frantically text back—

'Wait no that's not necessary!!!!!'

And then, to your horror, you get a ping in the group text.

Shit.

The team knows youre just going out, but Simon knows. Simon knows you're chickening out from the challenge.

"Fuck!" You hiss, frantically looking around the showers as if there were anything that could help you.

There's nothing. Not the gathered pubes in the moldy shower drain nobody uses, not the faded rusting lockers, not the dirty windows that nobody will ever be able to see out of no matter how much scrubbing

You're fucked.

But how fucked, do we wager? Does this mean Simon will get in his feelings and never talk to you again? Will he out you? (No, it wouldn't ever—) What if he gets revenge?... What kind of revenge?

As you stand there, panic setting in, a voice rings out from the entrance of the shower area.

"What 'appened to three hours?"

You squeak as the door slams, the deadbolt echoing through the room.

You are locked in the showers with Simon.

"What's with the sudden cold feet?" Simon grunts as he rounds the corner, closing the distance between you in slow, measured strides.

"I-I can explain—" you stammer, phone dropping on the bench next to your towel.

He stalks towards you, his steps slow and deliberate. There's a dangerous edge to his gaze that makes your heart beat even faster in your chest.

You're trapped, unable to back away, and he looms over you like a caged beast.

"Explain why you're runnin' away from the challenge you issued, love?" he drawls, stopping just a few feet away from you. "This I 'ave to 'ear."

He crosses his arms as he stands there, his eyes never leaving your face. You're in for it now, his expression seems to say.

You chuckle nervously, gesturing between the two of you, "I mean, realistically it can't ever happen—"

"Who says it can't?" He leans in, his voice dropping to a low, rough growl. "I don't care 'bout the damn regulations, love. That's not gonna stop me from 'aving you."

"Y-You are all about the rules, Si. You follow them to a T— You wouldnt—" you swallow thickly. What have you done to yourself this time.

"I usually follow the rules, yes," he concedes tauntingly, "An' right now, those rules are fuck all to me anymore."

Your tongue suddenly feels heavy in your mouth, "W-What about—"

Simon leans a forearm over your head and slouches down, his eyes darkened by lust and determination.

"What 'bout...?" he mocks, "Y'think I give a damn 'bout those old geezers with their rules right now? All I care 'bout is 'aving you, 'ere an' now."

Simon's free hand reaches up, his fingers lightly tracing your jawline. "I'll show you 'm fuckin' man enough to 'ave you."

While you are speechless, he adds for you to better understand. "It's just you an' me in 'ere."

"But—" you squeak.

Simon's hand moves quick to cup your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

"No," he growls, "We don't need to follow the rules in 'ere. We don't need anyone's permission. We could be loud, we could be rough. No one would ever know."

No one... Would know.

He leans in, his lips hovering just centimeters from your ear. "Just us in 'ere. You tellin' me you'd rather 'ave some stupid fuckin' toy over a man that can fill you up all night long?" His hand slides down to your throat, holding you tenderly but firmly, "Just say yes, love."

You whimper in delight, his eyes flickering down to your shifting thighs.

"Yeah," he purrs, his hand angling your head up against the wall. "Y'know you want it. Y'want me."

You want him more than sleep. You want him more than some real fucking food.

"Y'know you don't need anythin' else but me t' fuck you stupid."

"Yes," you moan.

Simon's eyes gleam with approval, his grip on your chin tightens slightly.

"That's good fuckin' girl," he growls.

He licks your neck through the mask, chest expanding with a deep inhale that crushes you to the wall.

"Say y'want me," he demands in a gravelly whisper.

What is thinking? Why would you have to think?

"Want you s'bad," you whine.

"Fuckin' right you do," he mutters.

His other hand drifts down, slowly tracing down your body until it lands on your waist, shoving you into the shower stall. For a moment, you thought you were going to get a little groping, made a knead here and there. But no, you're just standing like a dumbass in the empty shower stall.

"Strip." He growls.

Your skin erupts with gooseflesh in the bare shower shall, his gaze unwavering as he waits for his private show. He steps closer, his own clothes still on, thick arms folding over his chest.

"Slowly," he commands, "Show me what's gonna be mine."

You pinch the hem of your cargos, and then switch to your shirt.

What the hell do you even start with?

"Trousers first," Simon instructs roughly.

He stands there, still dressed, but his eyes devouring every inch of you as you slowly pop the button.

You slowly shimmy the waist band over the swell of each hip, pushing down to your ankles. Simon's breaths grow heavier as you flick the material off your feet his eyes transfixed on the movement.

"Thas it. Bra next," he commands, velvety smooth, "Nice n' slow. I want t'see all o' you."

Bra? Bra next? Why not your shirt?

You kick the cargos away, your shirt barely covering over your panties as you unclasp the bra through your shirt and maneuver it out from one of the sleeves to hold it in the tip of your finger.

Simon's eyes zero in on your pebbled nipples and pretty panties, the thin fabric doing little to hide your curves.

"Good girl," he purrs, "Now come 'ere."

You're... You're not even done. He motions with his fingers for you to approach him, his eyes dark with need.

"Do the thing," you manage out.

"The thing?" he grunts in an enticing voice, taking a step forward as you gesture to your mouth and nose.

He reaches up and pulls the mask to his nose, revealing his lips.

"Is this what y'want, love?" he asks, running his tongue across his bottom lip.

"Yeah," you breathe as you wet your lips.

Those would taste so good. You just know it.

"Y'want to see m' mouth, huh?" he asks, a smirk playing at the corners of those now revealed lips that show his canines, a chipped tooth, his lower face in general in its scarred glory, "Y'want to see what I can do, love?"

He closes the remaining space between you in a single stride, grabbing you by the back of the neck and yanking you forward.

His free hand grips your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, his eyes filled with dark hunger that makes your pussy pulse.

His mouth descends on yours, his lips claiming yours in a fiercely possessive kiss. You moan lowly, one of your arms circling his thick waist. He's burning up, hot and sweaty under his clothes that reek of his natural musk.

One of your curious hands ventures down, squeezing at his ass. He breaks the kiss with a surprised grunt, a coy smirk.

"Naughty, that," he huffs, "But I like it. My turn,"

The world before you lunges back, his mouth descending on your neck. He sucks and bites at the sensitive skin, his teeth leaving red marks in their wake.

His hands have a rough exploration, sliding down your skin, pausing just above the waistband of your panties to slide in to the globes of your ass. You stand in your tip toes to lean into him, whimpering at his rough gropes and kneading.

His mouth continues it's path down your neck, his teeth grazing the tops of your covered tits as his hands roughly squeeze and massage your perfect ass.

"Look at you," he growls, "Squirmin' an' I haven't even started."

He pushes your ass up, looking over your shoulder to watch it bounce. His hands slide lower, pulling the elastic of your panties down slightly, "Look at this," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "You're fuckin' soaked through."

And he's right.

You squeeze your thighs, trying to rid that sticky mess thats unbearably uncomfortable. He tuts, delivering a slap to your ass.

"Tryin' to get yourself off, love?" he purrs, his fingers tracing along the edge of your panties.

You can't tell the difference between the onyx color from his pupils, you can hardly look at his eyes when his mouth is right there and his own tits are in your face. God, you want to nibble on those chapped lips, feel those fat biceps squeeze you as his hips snap on the backs of your thighs—

He backs you up, his hard cock pressing against you through his jeans, "Y'want it?"

"Yes!" You mewl.

"Thas what I like to 'ear, love," he husks, his fingers playing with the crotch of your panties. "Get that shirt off, wanna see those pretty tits finally."

You squirm, pulling your shirt up and off and throwing it somewhere that doesn't matter right now.

"Perfect," he rasps, his hand reaching up to cup your breast, "These are fuckin' nice,"

You arch, eyes rolling at the nice kneading to your sore flesh of being stuck in a bra all day. To your displeasure, freezing water sprays down your body and your uncomfortable groan bounces off the walls until the water warms up.

He's still fully dressed though, his clothes sticking to his muscular frame, accentuating every hard muscle and scar.

"Shower's a bit shitty," he says, his eyes raking your body. "But we don't 'ave to wait for that to get goin'."

Your panties have disappeared into his pocket, you follow the way his fingers shove it in— Your eyes divert to that large bulge behind the zipper.

"I know what y'want," he grunts, his hand moving to the belt and zipper.

Simon pulls down his zipper, the metal teeth parting revealing a black pair of boxers, which does little to hide the already impressive outline of his hard cock nudging up against the waist band.

He pushes his jeans down his thick thighs, his body still clothed in a tight black shirt and underwear drenched in water.

Your saliva glands burn at the sight of his happy trail plunging past the waist band, eyeing that nice size you only got a little feel of on your leg—

"Want a closer look?" he purrs, his hand slowly palming the base of his covered cock, precum bleeding out from the thin fabric on his thigh.

You make a face at him, your face burning with embarrassment

"What's the matter, love? You shy now?" he says with a smirk, his hand continuing to slowly palm and squeeze, "Y'were all full o' attitude today."

His head tilts mockingly, stroking himself for you, enticing you. Pinch yourself again, this might actually be a dream—

"Go on," he rasps, "Feel me."

You follow a trail of water down to his shirt clinging to his body, his drenched happy trail, and then the outline of his cock.

With one hand, you tug the waist band forward, clenching as he sucks in a breath that makes his abs tense.

He leans forward, his mouth hovering over your ear, "Go on," he husks, "Take it out, love."

He leans back, watching you intently, waiting for you to do as told. Maybe you do like to be told what to do in this context. With your other, you pull him free with your eager hand.

He moans, he fucking moans.

"Thas it, love," he husks out, his voice a little strangled. "Feel me up."

His hands rest on the wall behind you, caging you in. He hips rock into your hand, each stroke of your fist pulling the foreskin back.

"You're so big," you whimper.

Simon lets out a deep, gravelly groan as you speak. It just might be the hottest sound you've ever heard. Right next to the time he was lifting heavy dumbbells, letting all those grunts and growls loose.

He looks down at you, his gaze burning with lust and need, "You want it, baby?" he asks, his hips grinding against your hand harder, "Want this big dick?"

"Want it so bad, Si," you mumbled against his lips, your tongue darting out to lick his teeth.

his mouth claiming yours in a rough, passionate kiss. His tongue immediately tangles with yours, his teeth biting and tugging at your lower lip.

"I know you do," he grunts, his tongue slipping past your lips to slide against yours before speaking again, "You've been eye-fucking me all afternoon, love."

His hands start to wander along your body, mapping your curves with rough caresses,

"You're gonna get it," he husks.

One of his hands moves down to your hip as he moves lower, his mouth following the curve of your throat, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses and bites.

"Want m'cock in that pretty pussy? Or your mouth?"

Where do you fucking think, smart guy?

"In me, inside me, please," you mewl.

His massive paws squeeze your hips to spin you around, planting your hands against the wall.

"Bend over," he growls, his eyes roaming over your body, "'M gonna give you what y'want."

His hands on your hips start to maneuver your body, making you arch your back and hips out.

He runs a hand up your spine, "So pretty," he murmurs as he takes in the sight of your body bent and on display for him.

He steps up behind you, his body flush against your back, his clothes still fucking on and wet and sticking to your body.

"Gonna fill ya up nice n' good," he sucks on his teeth with a low growl, "Been thinkin' o' me all day 'aven't you?"

His hips rock against your ass slowly, his bare cock rubbing on your supple skin.

His hands massage your ass, kneading and squeezing the flesh as you lean on your forearms, moaning as the blunt head notches to your dripping slit.

"Want m'hands all over you," Simon growls against your flesh, his rough palms skimming over your curves, "Mm, relax, yeah? Nice n' easy— Yeah, thas a good girl,"

His hips do a slow, deliberate grind, rocking into you to make room for him as he moves his lips along the curve of your shoulder.

There's slow shallow thrusts, working you open until he takes a deep stroke down to the base. Fuck, he's thick all over, heavy even inside your walls. If you had the brain power, you'd reach below and hold his balls.

"You're so damn gorgeous," he husks darkly, his breath hot against your skin, "I wanted this since I first saw you."

He's so intense he's burning a hole through you with his gaze, his hands still exploring your body, worshiping every curve, every dip, every inch of you.

His hands slide down to the front of your thighs, coaxing your legs further apart, opening you up for him.

"I knew I wanted you the moment you walked in," he breathes, "I knew you'd feel amazing under my hands."

Your cheek presses into the shower wall with a strangled moan,

"S'deep,"

Simon growls at your moan and pushes into you with more force, his hands squeezing your ass to yank you back, spearing you over and over on his cock.

"Fuckin' knew you'd feel s'tight an' good,"

His hand presses on your lower tummy, mouth hot and panting against your shoulder blade. He grabs the back of your hand, his fingers threading through yours and pressing it against the wall.

"Take it, take—this—cock,"

You choke out a moan, slumping against the wall, "please, so close, so close—"

"You gonna come f'me, huh?" he asks, his voice raw and breathless.

It's a lovely sound on him.

"Yes, please, wanna come, haven't came this fast before—" you beg.

He lets out a ragged, possessive growl at your words, his hips piston roughly against your ass, full balls swinging on your clit over and over.

"Come on, pet," he snarls, deft fingers twirling tight circles around your clit.

You whimper loudly, hands sliding down the slick shower walls, hips straining for him as you come hard with a broken mewl.

"That's it, fuck—"

He breaks off in a gutteral moan, hips stilling as he spills inside you. Simon catches you as your legs buckle out from under you, scooping you up against his chest to lean you back against the wall.

You don't even know what just happened in the span of 5 minutes. He's panting hard, his heart pounding against your back.

"Fuck," he growls, burying his face in the crook of your neck, "Fuckin' perfect, love,"

You smile lazily back at him, pawing at his shoulders to pull him in a soft languid kiss, his lips claiming yours in soft, sweet caresses. He melts against your touch, the fierce need from earlier receding now that you're sated. He returns your lazy kiss, his hands gently roaming up and down your back.

"Bloody hell," he mutters against your lips, "Fuckin' perfect, woman." He nips at your neck, "'M not done yet."

Looks like he is the cure to your sleeping problem.

[7s3ven]

MAFIA AU! TASK FORCE 141 x MOB BOSS GF! READER

( master list )

Continuation of this

Do y’all want individual oneshots of how you met each of them?

Notes: reader has piercings (ear lobes and navel piercing + gets a tongue piercing), reader has tattoos (tramp stamp + shoulder)

Princess treatment… only the best for their sweetheart.

- There’s nothing these four men won’t do for you. Oh, you want more clothes? Price is already contacting a high-end boutique. You’re favourite YSL heels broke? No worries, Kyle has a back-up pair. You want a tongue piercing to match your navel one? Jonny is already making the appointment. You want a specific type of lobster that’s only found in a foreign country? Simon somehow has it on hand.

- The day you decided to get tattoos is the day Simon stopped functioning. He had his fair share of ink plastered on his skin but he can never look away from that damn tramp stamp on your lower back. It’s hard to concentrate when you stretch and your shirt rides up, giving him a clear view of the taunting tattoo

- It’s no secret that everybody is jealous of your relationship with your boys and vice versa. You’ve seen women eyeing your lovers, attracted to their muscles and tall height

- Trips to the mall are your favourite thing in life. They always have been. It gets better when your lovers start accompanying you. You’re on the phone, rattling to your friend about her unhealthy relationship with her boyfriend

“I don’t see the appeal in him anymore, Miae. I mean, he’s like, a total jerk.” You pause to take a sip from your iced tea, “He doesn’t even treat you with respect. That’s like, the first rule of being a boyfriend! On top of that, his cologne reeks. I literally drown in it every time I’m near him!”

- You best believe your boyfriends are trailing behind you, secretly listening to the conversation and agreeing that Miae should breakup with whoever this guy was

- You’re carrying multiple shopping bags as you stride forward, people subconsciously making a path for you. You look a spoiled heiress with four large bodyguards towering over everybody

- Price, Kyle, and Simon aren’t usually interested in gossip but when they hear about your gossip nights with Jonny, they have to join. They end up listening to you rant about a rather sticky situation your friend is in and when they see you next, they always ask for updates

- Online shopping is a must. What kind of girl would you be if you weren’t debating whether to buy that skirt or not?

- Your apartment has always been… messy. You never find the motivation to clean it and even if you do, you get overwhelmed quickly. Gaz intervenes most of the time, cleaning it for you. He cooks too. And bakes. Anything to see a pretty smile on your face

- Of course, Price bought you the apartment. It was the best (and biggest) one for sale

- All four men have a soft spot for you, doing things they usually wouldn’t just to hear your laugh. And they are the masters of cheering you up when you’re on your period

- If anyone dares flirt with you, it’s over for them. It’s an unspoken rule within the city that you belong to the TF 141 mafia

- The four men love seeing you dolled up. Most of the time, you’re wearing items they’ve bought you. You treat the Dior bag Simon gifted you like a damn puppy

- You are their whole world and you know what they say; ‘happy wife, happy life’. Sure, you aren’t married yet but it’s bound to happen soon. Your friend swore they spotted Price and Simon looking at rings

- Anything you want, you get, which includes new nails. Price adores paying for your nail appointments. The sight of you staring down at your decorative nails in awe when you think he isn’t watching is adorable

- Johnny isn’t so innocent. Yeah, the nails look good but they feel even better being raked down his back

- Kyle is the one surprising you with flowers. You once returned to your apartment only to find it overtaken by nature. He even leaves cute little notes in hidden spots

- Simon is… Simon. He’s not doing outwardly romantic gestures, choosing to keep it behind closed doors. His way of showing his love to you in public is keeping you close, a strong arm wrapped around your waist. Sometimes he lets you sit on his lap, his leg bouncing as a way to preoccupy himself while you scroll through celebrity drama

- They’ll be damned if they let someone else sweep you off your feet. It’s not like you’d leave willingly anyway. They spoil you too good and you feel too safe in their arms to even think of leaving

[botchedsundoll]

L. KENNEDY, C. REDFIELD, C. OLIVEIRA X READER (SEPARATE)

ೃ⁀➷ sypnosis; christmas hc’s

ೃ⁀➷ warnings; none! pure fluff

ೃ⁀➷ author’s note; ho ho ho merry christmas idc if its nov its christmas time… do ppl drink on christmas? we do so idek? icl this is all like stuff i made up bcos i don’t celebrate christmas like this but wtv we roll #wesołychświąt

C. OLIVEIRA

do not let this man near the kitchen. everything that can go wrong goes WRONG

ask him to take something out the oven, he drops it. ask him to stir something in the bowl he stirs too vigorously and it goes flying all over the counters

he’s a pain. he’s distracting. constantly getting infront of you with the mistletoe, thinking he’s slick by trying to sneak in kisses. constantly sneaking bites of food whenever he thinks you’re not looking (you are, and you smack his hands away with a spoon)

one thing he’s actually good at and enjoys is cookie decorating. he’ll make little gingerbread men of you two and make them so damn detailed. makes one for jill too, though with less care and her face ends up a bit… strange

he’s THAT person which is always ringing everyone, friends and family, wishing them a merry christmas and sends them stupid gifs slavic babcias love so much (if u dont know what i mean then☹️)

LOVES the whole aspect of the christmas tree yet hates putting it together, it pisses him off to no end and half way through ends up calling you over to help him… definitely picks you up so that you can put the star on top

if he gets an ugly christmas sweater you best believe he’s wearing it for the full day, no shame

L. KENNEDY

depends which leon we’re talking about

younger leon puts in more effort, older leon genuinely can’t be fucked to do much

walks around with a trash bag when everyone’s opening presents so there’s no mess on the floor

your guys’ house is literally the christmas function. every year. mostly due to you inviting everyone round and deciding to host it, much to leon’s annoyance but he doesn’t mind THAT much since he loves you!!

definitely the best gift giver. for some damn reason he just knows what everyone wants, genuinely no explanation for it. he just does

he’s such a sweetheart, constantly asking you if you need help with anything in the kitchen or whether you need him to pop to the store for anything

he 100% sang carols when he was younger. just imagine 7 year old leon, hair gelled back, button up shirt, stood infront of the tv singing carols (lets pretend he didn’t have all that trauma okay)… get him to sing again, he might cave once he’s drunk enough with chris

on the topic of chris, something ALWAYS happens when the pair have had a few and aren’t sober any longer. something always gets broken for some reason

one year, they randomly got up and started dancing. leon went flying into the christmas tree and took it down with him.

i hc him as having a rather large sweet tooth, so he’s always down for some cookie decorating! it’s rather sloppy and they end up looking questionable most of the time, but he ends up eating half of them before he’s even fully finished decorating so that’s not much of a problem anyways

C. REDFIELD

santa. need i say more?

nag him constantly to wear a santa outfit or atleast a santa hat. he will cave eventually

DEFINITELY gets a wallet for christmas every damn year without fail, yet doesn’t even use the damn wallets

him in the kitchen helping you out is definitely… something. he doesn’t know how to measure - what the fuck is a cup?

you asked him to help you out and stuff the turkey. he walked out the kitchen.

gets claire shitty gifts on purpose but then gives her her ACTUAL gift. they’re siblings after all, he can’t help it, old habits die hard

hates decorating the outside of the house. it’s his nightmare. all the stupid lights, just no

goes CRAZY on your gift. it’s like a little reward for all the effort you go through every year, and it’s always something you wanted badly and doesn’t fail to put a smile on your face

he’s not necessarily a fan of sweet things, but hot chocolate? that’s a completely different story entirely, you end up having to send him to buy milk since he drank the whole damn carton and there’s none left by the time you get around to actually preparing for dinner

like leon, sits there with a trash bag. he gives such dad vibes i can’t stop imagining it

him and leon ultimate christmas duo after a few drinks. all of a sudden chris is in the biggest christmas spirit ever and can’t get last christmas out his head

best thing is? he’s not even too big on christmas. he actually celebrates it just because of you, what a sweetheart