#Protestants dni 😂

[juniperharvest]

one more thing. Miguel is Irish and Mexican. Can you IMAGINE the Catholic guilt for destroying a universe????

[jaethaone]

Can’t Get Enough

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Black F!Reader

Word Count: 2.8 (She A Big One 😂)

Requested: I just want a fic of Roman who’s obsessed with how thick his girlfriend is, maybe she’s built kinda like Skai Jackson or even Trinity Fatu but he loves to hit and smack her ass, watch it move when they fuck, squeeze it when he walks by, I just want smut 😞

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: SMUT! Like Pure Smut .. I’m Honestly Ashamed Of Myself 🙈😂

A/n: I Honestly Wasn’t Expecting This To Be As Long But Once I Get In My Zone, It Just Be Writing😂 Hope You Guys Enjoy.

Roman couldn't keep his hands off of you. He was absolutely obsessed with your curvy figure, especially your ass. It was his favorite part of your body, a source of endless fascination and desire.

Whenever you were together, his hands were drawn to you like magnets, needing to touch, caress, and possess every inch of your soft flesh.

Almost every time you were around Roman your eyes sparkled with mischief, knowing the effect you had on him. You loved dressing up for him, choosing outfits that showcased your body, especially your generous curves. Tight dresses that hugged your hips and accentuated your waist were your signature style, driving Roman wild with desire.

The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm glow over the room as Roman returned home. He dropped his keys on the hall table with a clatter, kicking off his shoes and padding barefoot into the living room.

Upon entering , his smile widened at the sight that greeted him. You were curled up on the sofa, long legs tucked beneath you and a book forgotten in your lap as you looked up at him, eyes sparkling with affection.

Your hair tumbled over your shoulders, contrasting beautifully with the deep V-neck of the fluffy loungewear set you were wearing, which accentuated your cleavage.

There you are," he said, crossing the room in strides and pulling you to your feet for a kiss. "God, I've missed you."

"Mmm, I've missed you too." You moaned softly as your lips met, arms wrapping around his neck.

You wore no bra, and Roman could feel your breasts pressing against his chest, your nipples hardening at his touch.

As y’all kissed, he slid his hands down your back, savoring the soft feel of your skin, and then lower, grasping a handful of your ass. You giggled, breaking away from the kiss, your eyes sparkling with what could only be lust.

"Roman!" You chided playfully, swatting his hands away. "Behave yourself. I was just about to make some dinner."

"Oh, let me help with that," he said, his eyes never leaving your body as you started to walk past him towards the kitchen. He admired the way your hips swayed beneath your knitted shorts, the fabric hugging every curve.

"You know I love to watch you cook," he added, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as he followed you into the kitchen, pressing up against you from behind as you opened the fridge.

"Is that so?" You asked, a smile in your voice. "And here I thought you just liked to eat."

"Oh, I do," he said, nipping at your ear, his hands sliding up your stomach to cup your breasts. "I love to feast on every inch of you."

You gasped, breath catching in your throat as his thumbs brushed over your already sensitive nipples.

"Roman, we have food to make," you protested weakly, even as you leaned back against him, your head falling back to give him better access to your neck.

"Mmm, you taste as sweet as ever," he murmured, his lips trailing kisses down your throat as his hands continued their exploration.

One hand slipped lower, sliding between your legs, his fingers teasing at the damp fabric of your panties.

"Oh, God..." You moaned, your knees buckling slightly as his fingers found your clit, circling it gently. "We—we can't... Not yet..."

"Why not?" he asked, his breath hot against your ear, his fingers continuing their relentless torture. "I want you now, Yn. I need to feel you around me, those tight, wet walls squeezing me..."

"Roman, please..." You whimpered, one hand holding onto the fridge, the other clutching at his arms as your legs trembled.

You could feel the hard length of his cock pressing against you, and your body craved his, but you knew if y’all started now, you wouldn't make it to dinner.

With a final, teasing stroke, Roman relented, withdrawing his hand and stepping back, his eyes glittering with desire. "Fine," he said, his voice strained. "But we finish this later. I want you screaming my name, Yn."

You shivered at his words, a heady mix of excitement and anticipation coursing through you.

"I always do," you promised, eyes locking with his as you straightened your clothes.

Dinner was a relaxed affair, with soft music playing in the background and candles flickering on the table, casting a warm glow over your plates of pasta and glasses of red wine.

You both talked and laughed easily, sharing stories from your day as you enjoyed the simple pleasure of a home-cooked meal.

But despite the casual atmosphere, an undercurrent of tension and desire thrummed between you, an unspoken awareness of what was to come later that night.

Every so often, Roman's gaze would linger on your body, taking in the way your shirt dipped low to reveal a hint of cleavage, or the way your hair fell over your shoulders, concealing yet tantalizing.

And You, for your part, was equally aware of him, the way his eyes followed your every move, the way his broad shoulders filled out his shirt, and the way his strong, calloused hands moved as he ate and drank. You knew what those hands could do, the pleasure they could bring, and the thought made your core clench with need.

As you both finished your meal, Roman pushed back his chair with a scrape and stood, crossing to the kitchen to put away the dishes. You watched him move, your pulse quickening as you took in the way his jeans hugged his narrow hips and powerful thighs.

"Come here, Yn," he said, his voice low and commanding as he returned to the table, holding out a hand to you.

You rose from your chair, heart pounding, and placed your hand in his, feeling a spark of electricity as your fingers intertwined. He pulled you close, his free hand sliding down to cup your ass, pulling you against the hardness that was already growing insistent at his groin.

"I need you," he growled, his lips brushing your ear as he pressed himself against you. "Now."

You whimpered, your body melting against his, all thoughts of resistance forgotten, hands clutching the sides of his face, pulling his lips down to yours for a hungry kiss.

With a growl, Roman swept you up into his arms and carried you from the kitchen to your shared bedroom.

You laughed, a breathless, excited sound, as he kicked the bedroom door shut behind them and strode toward the bed, laying you down gently on the soft, rumpled sheets.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, his eyes devouring you as he loomed over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the light.

You reached up, tugging at his shirt, and he quickly pulled it over his head, revealing his muscular chest and arms, the light from the bedside lamp casting shadows over his defined abs.

"Mmm" was all you said, as your hands glided over his skin, marveling at the feel of him. "I love your body."

He smiled, a flash of white teeth in the dim light, and leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, even as his hands went to work, tugging at your clothes, eager to reveal and explore every inch of you.

He took a moment to appreciate your body, the sight made Roman's mouth go dry.

"You look incredible," Roman whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

Soon, you were both naked, clothes discarded on the floor, mouths never leaving each other, hands desperate to touch and feel.

You moaned into his mouth as he pulled you against him, your bare skin sliding against his, nipples hardening as they brushed against his chest.

Roman broke the kiss, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw and neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there as his hands roamed, squeezing and caressing your breasts, your hips, your thighs.

Roman's strong hands grasped your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. His fingers dug into your soft flesh, leaving momentary imprints on your skin.

"I love how you fill my hands," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "So fucking thick and soft."

You let out a soft moan, feeling his fingers gently squeezing and kneading your ass. He loved to play with it, feeling the plump cheeks yielding to his touch. He smacked your ass playfully, enjoying the way it jiggled with each strike.

"You like that, don't you?" You teased, kissing him passionately.

Roman's kisses were hungry, his tongue invading your mouth as his hands continued their exploration.

"Let me see it," he whispered, his voice thick with need. "Let me see that beautiful ass." Getting up off the bed.

You obliged, slowly turning around giving him a full view. You leaned forward slightly, resting your hands on the bed, offering him a perfect angle to admire your curves.

Roman's eyes traced the curve of your spine, down to the soft, round globes of your ass, now exposed and waiting for his touch.

Roman wasted no time, his hands cupping your cheeks, squeezing and spreading them apart. He admired the way your ass filled his hands, the plump flesh overflowing his grip. He delivered a sharp smack, leaving a red imprint on one cheek, then the other, watching as the skin bounced back with each strike.

"Oh, fuck, yes," You hissed, feeling a rush of pleasure and pain. "harder."

Roman obliged, his hand connecting with your ass repeatedly, leaving a mosaic of red handprints on your skin. You moaned loudly, your body trembling with each impact. He reached down, sliding his fingers under you, finding your wetness.

"You're so fucking wet," he growled, his fingers sliding easily through your folds.

You arched your back, pushing your ass towards him, inviting more of his touch.

Roman's fingers delved deeper, finding your sweet spot. He rubbed you firmly, his thumb circling your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

"You like it when I touch you here?"

"Oh, God, yes..." you gasped, your head falling to the bed.

"That's it, let me hear you," he encouraged, his voice a husky growl as he added a second finger, thrusting slowly into your wet heat. "Let me know how much you love it."

"Oh... Oh, Roman..." you moaned, your hands clutching at the bedsheets, your back arching as his fingers worked their magic, curling just right to hit that hidden spot deep inside you. "I love it... I love the way you touch me... Please, don't stop..."

"I don't plan to," he growled, adding a third finger, stretching and filling you as he rubbed your clit with his thumb. "Come for me, Yn. Scream my name."

"Roman!" You cried out as your body dropped to the bed as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, an electric tension building, sending waves of ecstasy crashing through you. "Oh, God, Roman!"

"Cum for me, baby," he urged, his voice a low, sexy rasp. "Let me feel that pussy squeezing my fingers."

You couldn't hold back any longer. As Roman's fingers worked their magic, you came hard, your body shaking, a chorus of moans escaping your lips. Roman continued to stimulate you, drawing out your orgasm, until you were reduced to a quivering mess, your legs weak and your body drenched in sweat.

As your body shuddered and convulsed, Roman turned you back around and lowered his head, taking a hard nipple into his mouth, sucking and laving it with his tongue as your cries echoed in his ears. Your hands tangled in his hair, holding him to you as you felt the after shocks of your orgasm wash over you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

Slowly, you came back to earth, your body relaxing against the bed, a lazy smile curving your lips as you opened your eyes to find Roman watching you, his eyes dark with desire.

"That," you said, your voice a hoarse whisper, "was amazing."

"We're not done yet," he promised, his voice thick with need. He withdrew his hand from between your legs, his fingers glistening with your arousal, and brought them to his mouth, sucking your essence from them as you watched, your heart pounding.

Then, with a low growl, he hooked his arms under your knees, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders as he settled between your thighs, his hard length pressing against your wetness.

"You ready for me, baby?" he asked, his voice strained with his own need as he rubbed the head of his cock against your sensitive clit.

"Yes," you moaned, your eyes fluttering closed as the sensation sent sparks of pleasure through you. "Please, Roman, I need you."

With a groan, he thrust forward, burying himself deep inside you with one smooth stroke.

"Ahh!" You cried out, your eyes flying open as you felt herself stretch around him, your body accommodating his size.

"You feel so damn good," he grunted, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought for control, his hips stilled as he gave you a moment to adjust.

"Move, Roman," You pleaded, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. "Please..."

With a growl, he began to move, withdrawing almost entirely before slamming back into you, his hips snapping forward as he set a relentless pace.

"Oh, God..." you moaned, your head tossing from side to side on the pillow, your breath coming in short gasps as he filled you over and over. "It's—it's too much..."

"It's never too much," he growled, his hands gripping your thighs as he drove into you, his balls slapping against you with each powerful thrust. "You take all of me, Yn. You take every inch."

"Yes..." you whimpered, your body trembling as he pounded into you, the bed creaking beneath them. "I'm trying... Oh, God, Roman..."

"That's it, baby," he encouraged, his teeth gritted as he fought to hold on, his own pleasure building to a peak. "Take it... Take my cock..."

"I'm trying..." you moaned, your nails digging into his skin, legs wrapping around his waist as you met his thrusts, your hips moving in perfect rhythm with his. "Oh, Roman, it feels so good..."

"You feel good," he grunted, his eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. "So tight and wet...”

"Yes..." you moaned, your body on the brink again, your walls clenching around him as you chased your own release. "Come for me, Roman... Let me feel it..."

“Mmm not yet” Roman moaned as he pulled out, turning you back onto your hands and knees. “Gotta see that ass clap from behind”

You felt the head of his cock breaching your entrance again, stretching you, filling you in ways only he could. Roman's hands gripped your hips tightly as he began to thrust, his cock sliding in and out of your, wet pussy.

"Yes, fuck me," You urged, pushing back against him. "Fuck this ass."

Roman obliged, his hands leaving red marks on your skin as he guided you onto his cock. He pounded into you, his balls slapping against your clit with each thrust, driving you closer to the edge.

"You love it when I fuck that fat ass, don't you?" Roman growled, his voice filled with primal desire.

"Yes, yes, I do!" You cried out, your body on fire.

Roman's grip tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pounded into you with abandon. He pulled your hair back gently, exposing your neck, and planted wet kisses along your sensitive skin. His thrusts became more urgent, his cock throbbing inside you.

"I'm gonna cum, baby," he warned, his voice strained.

You could feel his cock twitching inside you

With a loud groan, he let go, his body tensing as he emptied himself into you, his hips stuttering as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through him.

"Roman!" You cried out, the sensation causing your own orgasm to crash over you, your walls milking him as your body shook with release. "Oh, God, Roman!"

As your cries echoed in the room, You and Roman collapsed onto the bed, (more so you collapsing onto the bed and him collapsing onto you) his full weight pressing you into the mattress but not crushing you as he fought to catch his breath, his heart pounding against your chest.

"Wow," you breathed, your hands stroking his back, a lazy smile curving your lips. "That was..."

“Incredible," he finished for you, lifting his head to press a soft kiss to your lips, and rolling over next to you. "You're incredible." Roman whispered, his hands gently caressing your ass as you curled into his side. "I can't get enough of you."

“You can’t get enough of me, or my ass” you laughed, feeling his hands go from caressing your ass to grabbing fistfuls.

“Yes”

The End

Tag List

@whatdoeseverybodywant @trippinsorrows @rollinssection @cyberdejos2 @amandairene88 @loloschive

[cockslutpadalecki]

I’m so desperate for a Rafe smut where he says “I’ll only put the tip in.” And I have a feeling that you’re the one that could write it😂 just putting that out there

Gimme An Inch

Characters: Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader.

Words: 1.1K.

Warnings: dub-con, drug taking, vaginal sex, cream pie, intoxicated reader (not drugged), 18+. MINORS DNI.

A/N: This has been sitting in my inbox for almost a year, and it’s all because of my rewatch of Outer Banks that I finally got inspired. So here it is, to celebrate season three dropping this week! Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support our content creators by sharing our work.

“C’mon baby,” Rafe grits out into the column of your throat. His voice is heavy, split through with lust. His fingers roam beneath your skirt, plucking at the hem of your panties.

“Not here,” you husk back, pathetically pushing against his chest. Marginal effort is all you manage. It’s not like you want Rafe to stop what he’s doing… you just don’t want to do it here. 

The bass of the music from the party shakes the ground beneath you, lights from the front porch of Topper’s house flooding the immediate vicinity around it. Rafe’s car is parked just out of the light’s reach, keeping you bathed in darkness, but you’re still worried someone might see. In the open doorway of his truck, he stands in between your spread legs, the cool but contradicting sticky night air swirling around the cab. 

You glance out of the windscreen as he places heavy kisses against your collarbone, trying to suss out whether anyone is watching you. Scattered crowds of people hang around outside, smoking god knows what and the occasional outburst of laughter pulls your attention further from Rafe. Yet it’s quickly dragged back by him pulling your panties down and you focus on him as he stuffs them into the pocket of his shorts.

“Don’t worry, they can’t see us,” he assures thickly, lips hot against your jaw.

“How d’you know?” you reply with skepticism, hands covering his as they delve back under your skirt. He doesn’t even look up to reassure you face to face— merely mutters into your ear that it’s fine. 

Nobody’s gonna care. Loosen up, it’s a party. Everyone’s hooking up.

His words do little to ease your anxiety, but the warmth of his cockhead skimming through your pussy lips divert your thoughts elsewhere. The fear of being caught by Rafe’s friends is suddenly overshadowed by the elephant in the room.

“We can’t,” you protest again, but it lacks the proper sincerity. Your body buzzes with coke and alcohol, veins alight with heat. You want to, fuck, you really want to.

“What’re you so afraid of?” Rafe sighs, impatient. 

“Getting pregnant,” you hiss back. “Have you got any protection with you?”

“Left them at home,” he shrugs like it’s not a big deal. You scoff, but he’s quick to reassure you. “It’s fine, I’ll pull out.” 

“Remember when you said that last time?” you remind him sharply. “I had to take a pill.” 

Rafe smirks. “You don’t normally mind takin’ pills.” 

“Asshole,” you smirk back, familiar heat coiling in your gut as you feel the head of his cock press against your entrance, teasing. You open your legs a little wider to let him move closer, the warmth between your legs now almost scorching.

“Hey.” He leans in, kissing you. Messy and full of intent. “I’ll only put the tip in, promise.”

“K,” you comply. Without a moment to allow you to reconsider, Rafe slides in. Just the tip— like he promised. “Oh god.” 

“You like that, huh?” He licks and nips at your mouth, encouraging you to let him in. Your tongue slides over his, moaning as he pulls out, the head of his cock keeping your pussy gaping. 

He slowly slides back inside you— keeping his promise, just the tip. He pauses briefly, then he goes in a little deeper. 

“Rafe,” you chastise and he apologises into your lips, pulling back his hips until he’s nestled just inside your entrance. In a haze, you flop back onto the front seat, your head swirling with dangerous levels of potent arousal. 

He repeats his movements— shallow thrusts in and out. But it leaves the rest of you wanting more, your core aching for fullness. You keep the plea for him to go deeper behind your lips. You don’t want to go back on your word, knowing that if you do, Rafe will hold you to it for future reference. 

But you let me do it last time. 

You’re spacing out— the drugs and alcohol slowing your reaction time before you realise he’s sliding in deeper. Deeper. Deeper. 

“Noo,” you whine thickly, “you said just the tip.” You try to wriggle up the seat, but Rafe grips your hips too tight. 

“Oh shit baby, I’m sorry,” he apologises on a hazy loop, yet he makes no attempt to stop. You push against his chest, urging him to pull out but he doesn’t. Instead he rattles off, “Fuck baby, I can’t, I’m sorry, you just feel so good.” 

He’s fucking you to the root now. Deep, stomach-aching thrusts that make your eyes roll up to the roof. Stars dance in your vision, but you can’t be sure if it’s actually the night sky you’re seeing through the gap in Rafe’s windscreen. 

“R-Rafe,” you stutter, “you gotta pu-pull out.”

Sparks of electricity short out all over your body, making you forget your train of thought. Why would you want him to sto—oh.

“C’mon baby, don’t make me stop now,” he grunts above you. “Not when you’re so close.” 

His thumb swirls over your clit, pressing gently down on it. Your hips cant towards him, sliding him in deeper and you cry out, coming until stray tears run into your hairline. 

“Oh shit. See.” His tone reeks of I-told-you-so. “Why would you want me to stop when I can make you come like that, huh?”

“C-can’t come inside,” you beg, flutters of heat from your climax still making you dizzy. 

“I promise I’ll pull out,” he tells you again. He readjusts his grip, practically tugging you off the seat and onto his cock. 

“Fuck,” you repeat in a stupor, Rafe fucking you to the point where you think you might pass out. 

“Yes, that’s it, baby.” You hear him say, but he sounds so far away. Somewhere off in the distance, out of reach. The only sensation tethering him back to you is the ripples of his cock as he thrusts back into your gaping pussy. 

“Oh fuck, I’m so close.”

“R-af-pull-ou,” you garble, your tongue too thick for your mouth.

“But I’m so fuckin’ close, fuck right there, oh shit, I’m gonna-” 

His thrusts slow, deepening to the point where he holds himself inside you, hips bruising against the backs of your thighs, before barely pulling out. You don’t have time or the energy to stop him, the sudden heat of his cum warming you from the inside out.

Rafe slumps over you, pressing wet kisses to the curve of your breast as he apologises heavily over and over into your skin.

Just felt so good. 

Couldn’t help myself.

And like an idiot, you take it as a compliment.

***

RC: @infatuatedjanes @mugi-chwan95 @mysweetpoisons @weasleytwinsexpert

4EVS: @amirra88 @andreasworlsboring101 @b3autyfuldisast3r @cheesyclaire @chibijusstuff @callsignrambam @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @heyyouwiththeassbutt @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @ilovefanfic86 @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @letsby @letsdisneythings @labella420 @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @nik2writes @obsessivelycapricious @patrick-hockslutter @princessmisery666 @phildunphyisadilf @sage-writing @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @smokeandnailz @stoneyggirl @stoneyggirl2 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @thegirlnextdoorssister @unfortunate-brat @wayward-dreamer @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox

[krirebr]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Curtis + bound wrists + “Mmm such a jumpy little thing, you’re not used to being treated this way, are you?”

This took me forever, but between being sick at the beginning of the week and work kicking my ass at the end, it took a while to get to a point where I could string multiple sentences together. 😂😭 But we're finally here. I'm a little afraid this is only half a hoe thot, but it's already over 600 words and I kind of like ending it where I did. This is my contribution to the Curtis successfully takes the snowpiercer and deserves a reward trope. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for playing with me!!

Warnings: dark elements, bondage, forced public nudity, threats of and implied non-con, explicit language, 18+ - MINORS DNI

Your wrists were bound with rope in front of you as you were led into the meatpacking car, wearing what you’d been sleeping in, a short nightgown. You shivered, partly out of fear and partly because it was freezing in this part of the train, nothing like the warmth you’d always had in your private compartment near the front. A group of tail-enders flanked you. They’d barged into your room in the middle of the night. They’d overpowered you, tied up your hands, and then dragged you out. You weren’t sure how long you’d walked or what was happening. The whole train seemed to be in chaos.

One of the tail-enders pushed you to the car's center towards a large man wearing a dark overcoat and a wool beanie on his head. Animal carcasses hung all around him, in the process of being butchered. He had sharp blue eyes and an intense stare that he fixed on you, like you were the most prime cut of meat in there. You tried to hold your ground but the man pushing you forward was stronger than you were. 

The blue-eyed man reached above himself and pulled down a large hook on a chain suspended from the ceiling. The men on either side of you grabbed your bound hands, raising them above your head. You tried to flail away, scream for help, but it was no use. The rope around your wrists was placed on the hook, which was then raised until you were balancing on your tip toes. 

The large man, who was clearly in charge, stood right in front of you. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, his voice deep and gritty. “My name is Curtis. This train is mine now.”

That could not possibly be. That wasn’t how things worked here. “What?? Where’s Wilford?!” you shouted.

He chuckled. “I killed him,” he said, plainly. 

You tried to recoil or thrash or something but suspended how you were, all you could really do was sort of sway.

“Life is about to change drastically for all you front-enders, but for you most of all.”

 “What? What are you talking about? Why me? I didn’t do anything!” you protested.

He nodded calmly. “Yes,” he said, “I’m sure that’s true. I’m sure you did a whole lot of nothing while my people suffered in ways you can’t imagine for seventeen years.”

You felt your eyes start to tear up. You couldn’t help it. You felt like you were still asleep. Maybe you were. Maybe this was just a nightmare. 

“What are you going to do to me?” you whimpered.

“I saw you, you know,“ he said, instead of answering your question. “I had to pass through the club car to get to the front. And there you were, dancing away like you didn’t have a care in the world. And I thought to myself, ‘That’s what I’ll deserve if I make it through this.’”

All you could do was look at him, confused.

“Oh honey,” he said, reaching out with one finger to brush away a tear that you hadn’t realized had fallen. “What am I going to do to you? Whatever I want. You’re my reward.”

In the moment it took you even to start to process what he’d said, he tore your nightgown away. He took one of your now bare breasts in his large hand and squeezed it cruelly, tweaking your nipple. You jolted at his touch, whining despite yourself. 

“Mmm, such a jumpy little thing, you’re not used to being treated this way, are you? That’s ok,” he said, with a sharklike grin that both terrified you and went straight to your core, “I’ll make sure you get used to it real fast.”

Tag lists are open

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24

[violetsiren90]

Blame Me (Teaser) | Jungkook/Reader

Pairing: Jungkook/Noona Reader (fem reader)

Genre: Best friend's younger brother; slow burn; friends to lovers; eventual romance; eventual smut; neighbors/childhood friends au; forbidden(ish) love; summer love

Summary: Upon returning to your hometown after breaking off your engagement to your boyfriend of three years, you reconnect with your childhood bestfriend as you attempt to put the pieces of your life back together. It seems like nothing has changed in the sleepy little town until your bestie's younger brother returns home from college - very, very grown. As the summer stretches on, the stakes get higher - can you play with fire without getting burned, or have you ignited a flame that won't be extinguished?

Warnings: 18+ (minors, dni); age-gap relationship (between consenting adults); lots of fluff; explicit smut (chapters will have their own warnings); secret relationships; angsty moments; messy situations/relationships; JK on a motorcycle; working through insecurities

Release date: Mid-late May

Author's note: Hello! This will be my first time posting a full-fledged chapter-installment fic here, but I'm excited because I've had this concept brewing in the back of my mind for a while now and BTS Chapter 2 Jungkook, with his curly hair and all his flirty little lives has me soft AF 😂🥰. After launching chapter one, I'm aiming to update twice a month. The teaser below is just a snippet of an interaction to give you a feel for their dynamic.

If you want to be added to the tag list, comment or send me an ask to let me know!

________________________________________

He slug his leg over the bike and settled in, hands on the bars, and flashed a smile over at you that made you suspect he knew just how good he looked sitting there in all that denim.

"C'mon, noona!" He urged, rolling his wrist to rev the engine as his booted foot kicked up the stand. You had never been on a motorcycle before, and if you were being honest with yourself, you were a little terrified of the idea of flying down the road so exposed and precariously perched.

"I don't know, Jungkook..." you wavered, crossing your arms over your chest but advancing a step or two to examine the machine humming under his weight. As you roved your eyes uncertainly over the bike, he reached out and grabbed your arm, pulling you gently but firmly to him. 

"Don't you trust me?" He cooed, batting his long lashes over the most obnoxiously irresistible pair of puppy eyes.

"Don't look at me like that!" you chided. He continued to look at you exactly like that. You sighed in defeat.

"Fine," you mumbled, and he let out a laugh, turning to grab the helmet perched behind him and press it over your head before you could protest. You narrowed your eyes at him, your hair pinned sloppily between the two pads of foam squishing together your cheeks. He stared at you for a moment then burst into a fit of laughter.

"Hey!" you whined, but it was hard to be mad at him with his eyes pressed into little crescent moons and his smile so wide and so gloriously blinding as he held his sides and rocked to and fro like a cartoon character. You smiled a small smile in spite of yourself.

"Okay, okay," you sighed, "I know I look dumb, but that was a bit much, don't you think?" Still smiling brightly and chuckling he reached over and buckled the strap under your chin, then patted the top of the helmet.

"Jolla gwiyeobda!" He giggled, tapping your nose. You felt a flush creep over your face and neck which he seemed blessedly oblivious to as he guided you up behind him onto the bike. As soon as your body made contact with the seat, gravity, that crafty bitch, pulled your hips down snugly against his ass, your thighs sliding firmly against the outsides of his own. You kept your hands gingerly on his shoulders as you activated every muscle in your core in an attempt to sit upright. He pulled a helmet over his mop of curls before plucking your hands from his shoulders to guide them around his waist, pulling your chest flush against his torso.

"Tighter, noona!" You could hear the smirk in his voice. This kid. He damn well better not be able to feel your heart beating at a million miles an hour into his back, you thought to yourself in mild distress.

"Like this?" you asked squeezing harder around his waist, and trying your absolute level best to ignore the definition and firmness of his muscles beneath your touch. He hummed in assent. You could still hear that damn smirk.

One rev.

Two revs.

You pressed your eyes shut and curled your head into his back.

He let out a bright peel of laughter.

And then suddenly, you were gliding forward. Faster and faster. You peeked an eye open to discover that in a few short seconds, you had already almost cleared the neighborhood. You cut through the warm evening air like bullet as trees and quaint suburban homes gave way to rolling fields of fertile green. As your broke into the open farmland, your breath caught in your throat. These were the same planes and hills that had met you for years, and yet it was as if you had never really seen them, not until now - with nothing but the wind between you and all of it, the swells of the earth and the sunset. Is this what it felt like to fly? Every ounce of trepidation in your body had been replaced with a euphoric thrill. Did he feel it too? Suddenly he let out a whooping howl that you could barely hear above the roar of the air whipping around you.

Yeah, he must feel it. You smiled. He had before said that sometimes freedom was just hitting the ground running. He said that sometimes you had to take risks to remind yourself that you were alive. As you pressed your cheek into the strong warmth of his back, you began to think you might have a thing or two to learn. And he might be the one to teach you.

-End teaser-

[fayes-fics]

OOOO HI I CANT BELIEVE I DIDNT REALISE ITS OCTOBER!!!!! Im in time by like an hour i have been blessed, can I request Anthony + regency + FWB :,) lots of love x

Kinktober: Anthony + Overstimulation

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Paring: Anthony Bridgeton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering.

Author’s note: hi lovely 🫶 to make FWB work in Regency reader is a young, rich widow enjoying some pleasure with her good friend, the Viscount 😂😁 I really hope you enjoy this 🧡

“What are you….?” 

Your words die in your throat as he keeps going, his hand between your legs, your back pressed into a gnarly tree trunk. Crisp autumnal air swirls around the glazing on your thighs as the edges of your orgasm still buzz in your being. And yet, he has made no move to stop his ministrations. The very reason you are in such a torpid state.

“Once is not enough with all the delightful noises you make, Countess Sedgewick,” Anthony attests velvety against your cheek, the silk layers of your dress pooled over the forearm of his jacket as he keeps swiping a thumb over your throbbing clit.

“Don't call me that,” you frown even as you bite your lip. “Call me by my maiden name, Lady Y/l/n,” you add, a hand gripping the trunk behind you, licking your parched lips, eyes fluttering closed at his continued teasing.

“Of course, Lady Y/l/n. The unexpected delight of being widowed so young, hmm?” his response laconic, switching his hand position to sink two fingers into your dripping pussy. “Yesss, that's the noise,” he goads as you moan behind gritted teeth and writhe.

“No more Bridgerton,” you warn, making no attempt to fight him off, revelling in the gentle pump of his fingers stretching your walls that still flutter sporadically.

“I know you do not mean that,” he chuckles, bemused, with an arching eyebrow, and turns his hand back into a flurry of movement that has you crying to the skies, so overwrought from the pleasure mere moments earlier.

“Again, Lady,” he implores, but it sounds close to an order, greedy for you to break again so soon.

“How about you?” you pant, grasping his forearm to anchor yourself as you spiral quickly. “Do you not wish the favour returned?”

His fingers press more insistently, wiping out your ability to form sentences. 

“My pleasure can wait,” he assures, even though he leans bodily into you a fraction so you can feel his cock heatedly press your hip.

You are powerless to stop the tide of a second pleasurable wave hitting you full force, slumping into his caged embrace. He makes triumphant noises as you fracture around his fingers again, limbs shuddering, your body and mind floating somewhere among the rust-coloured leaves above.

“Perfect,” he opines. “Just once more….”

You make a weak noise of protest, dropping your forehead onto his shoulder, the woollen fabric slightly scratchy on your dewy skin.

“Oh yes,” he counters, almost a tart edge to his answer. “You can and you will.”

You pull up to look into his eyes, which are blown wide, his lips flushed dark pink, aroused by your arousal, mirrored back in your inky black pupils. He shuffles closer, leaves scrunching under his heavy riding boot, holding all your weight now you no longer can rely on your own twitching, overwrought leg muscles.

“Come on, Lady Y/l/n,” he purrs. “What is a clandestine lover for, if not hitherto unchartered pleasures?”

You can see the pride in his eyes—that he alone has been the only one to ever do this to you. Make you mindless with pleasure. He knows he has won the argument even before you nod weakly and wrap your arms around his tighter.

Then again, his hand is a frenzy, fingers plundering your depths as he roughly strokes your clit with his thumb. All you can do is cling to him, robbed of your voice, whimpering, sweaty and frayed. Your body burning from overlapping accumulated pleasure, your skin zinging as if caught in a lightning storm. 

Your third orgasm is almost serene, reaching a peak that makes your mouth fall open in a silent scream, your whole body stiffening and then bearing down hard upon his fingers, gushing into his hand as you let out a sob of release, completely overwhelmed, feeling your heartbeat in every fibre of your being.

“There it is,” he gloats, triumphant, kissing your damp temple as he finally gives you reprieve.

No taglist as these drabbles are so short

[im-ovulating]

(A/n: look at me, posting an hour before i said it would be up. Good job me😂)

Word Count: 588

Summary- You push the Avatar of Wrath's buttons, you gotta deal with the consequences.

Warnings: Public Sex, Orgasm Denial

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Satan x GN! Reader: Kinktober Day 3- Public Sex + Brat Taming

--------------------

"I told you- to stop." There's an almost aggressive growl to his voice that sends a shiver down your spine. And he wonders why you always push his buttons.

"And I told you no- ah~"

All day. All day you've been playing cat and mouse. You knew he was going to snap eventually; the trap was going to come slamming down around you, leaving you caged and helpless for the cat to do as he pleased.

You just didn't expect it to happen in public.

After a final flirty touch, Satan had dragged you into the bathroom of Café Lament in the middle of your lunch date.

He has you bent over the sink, eyes scrunched with your cheek pressed against the mirror as he pounds into you from behind. Every exhale and groan of pleasure has the glass fogging up more and more.

"You're such a goddamn brat-" Satan seethes, reaching a hand up to grip your hair. He pulls it so that your head is tilted back; the sting at the base of your neck combines with the pleasure of his cock rubbing you in all the right places has you eyes rolling back.

"You love it~" your chuckle is strained from how far back your head is.

"We'll see how much you love it when you don't get to cum."

Your eyes snap open at his words. "What?! Mmhg~ fuck…" Satan buries himself to the hilt, pressing the head of his cock as far as it can go. "That's not faIR-!"

Just as soon as he pauses his movements, Satan starts them up again.

He presses his free hand into the curve of your spine, arching your back even more. "You want to talk fair- fuck- when you've been teasing me all day?"

You can feel his agitation rolling off of him in waves as he fucks you. You can feel your orgasm approaching; instead of excitement, only dread feels you. The thought of being left high and dry is almost enough to make you wince.

You cry out as you feel him start to slow the roll of his hips. Your fingers dig into the porcelain sink as you desperately try to rock back into him.

"Pleasepleaseplease-" you grit your teeth, trying to will your orgasm to fruition. "Please let me cum~~ I'll be good from now on- Please Satan," you know begging is pointless. Once he's made up his mind -especially when he's made it up while annoyed or angry- there's no changing it.

He slides the hand in your hair to the front of your neck, yanking you up until your back is flush with his chest. The sudden movement jostles his cock inside you causing a throaty moan to rip from your throat. "You'll be good?" He asks.

Eagerly nodding, you wiggle your hips a bit for more friction.

He uses his other hand to hold you still. "That's too bad. Should have been good earlier." And he's pulling out.

"No!-" your protest falls on deaf ears as Satan tucks himself back into his jeans and walks to the door. He unlocks it and leaves, leaving you standing in front of the sink with your pants and underwear around your ankles.

You stand in shock for a minute until a knock sounds at the door.

Quickly yanking your bottoms up and fixing your hair, you rush to slip out. You give the employee an apologetic smile as you hurry to leave the cafe with a hot face and filled with shame.

[carnal-lnstinct]

I’m always so excited for your Halloween event! (And anything you write too 💚)

Can I request my boi Gohan. I love our dorky nerd having a mean dark side. 🥰 If I could get anything either dubcon or cnc with him? Any type of setting is good with me; walking home in the dark, meeting at a bar, or a good old meet up with the Ox Prince 😂

(Off question, which I might have asked you before but memory is terrible, but do you think you’ll write Granolah at any point? 🤔)

〖 OX PRINCE GOHAN X READER 〗 ✦✦Content: M/18+. MINORS DNI. au. established relationship. public sex. rough sex. breeding. overstimulation. referenced squirting.    ✦✦Warning: implied dubcon/cnc. light impact play. ✦✦A/N: I still haven't read the other arcs in the manga to fully absorb and muse over Granolah's character, so it depends on how soon I do that and if he strikes interest to me. I swear I only go through the manga to look at Broly 😭 but we'll see!

It seemed like nothing could break through to Gohan in the heat of this moment, his blood pumping and the sound of his own pulse in his ears smothering out any remaining wariness for your surroundings. He’s past the point of indulging a distraction like a creeping up voice or the floor creaking under approaching footsteps. You’re right here, sobbing under the growing intensity of his body pounding against yours and lacking all the flash and fight you started with. You’re perfectly broken down, now malleable for whatever he wanted you to be. He pulled you flush against his hips, allowing you to keep his cock warm for the moment as he removed the fogged glasses from his eyes to get a better look at you. The Ox Prince admires his handiwork with a tasteful lick of his lips and a languid drag of your body along his length, taking in the mess of his cum and yours glossing up your connection.

You trembled inconsolably from the aftershocks of orgasms and squirts you couldn’t control, let alone recover from. A pitiful whine leaves your lips and your knees buckle a little when he pulls you back to fully sheath himself again making him snicker proudly.

Regardless of how much you shake and sob, you aren’t fixing your mouth to say that word. The only thing to make it all stop. Or, perhaps, you can’t. Nothing but hoarse, shaky croaks on your breath, and a fog in your mind holding you back from the relief you desperately need. Even so, he gave it to you to use as a mercy.

Gohan inviting himself to slap your ass in quick succession just to feel you clamp around his cock reminds you of your shared addiction to the high, which really keeps your safe word sitting in the back of your throat. It doesn’t matter where you are, he’s going to fuck you. You protest and he does it harder, longer. Drawing it out and goading you with those deep strokes against your spot to draw attention knowing you’ll try your best to keep from embarrassing yourself. With that shame stirring back into your mind you find your words again, miraculously letting out pleas for him to end it already, for your sake. You can’t take another build-up anymore than you can keep yourself quiet enough to avoid attention. 

But your begging is all hollow bullshit if you’re not going to say it. Admitting you’re afraid to be caught like this or what Gohan would do in the situation should his temper get the best of him doesn’t stop him. You’re his woman, he’ll have you whenever and wherever he wants and he’s never led you to believe otherwise since you’ve gotten this far in your relationship. Filling you up and watching you shamble around afterward to keep it all in is the mark of a fulfilling fuck.

Gohan takes your leg and turns you onto your back from your position on your knees, your cunt wet and stretched to his size enough that he could do it without pulling out of you. He’s not even giving your pathetic words the time of day. 

He doesn’t waste any of his attention on keeping your hands restrained when you start to push against the roll of his hips, growing into a desperate fuss when his pace finds the angle to make you squeal. It’s downright cathartic to feel the way you claw at his skin, the impact of your palm nudging at his unwavering form raising an uncanny smile on his face. His ki surged with excitement in the form of electricity around his body. Heating him more than before as red flashes in his irises.

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Seek

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Divorcee! Reader

Summary: You are forced to share your hiding spot with one incorrigible cretin—Joel Miller. But, maybe that’s not so bad.

Word Count: 8,369

Warnings: 18+ Only, Fluff, Comedy, Shameless Smut, Breeding, Pre-Outbreak, Intoxication, Fluff, MINORS DNI!

A/N: a little peek at the night Joel and the Reader first got together. AKA that time Sarah played matchmaker with two grown adults. 😂 enjoy! divider is by @firefly-graphics​

“Hello, neighbor.” The low, sultry drawl, makes you swallow tightly. Oh God. You’re glad your hands are stuck wrist deep in the dirt, otherwise they’d be shaking. You take a few tries to school your features into what you hope is a casual smile, and not a grimace of abject panic as you glance over your shoulder at him. 

 “Hey, Joel.” Your ruggedly handsome neighbor leans against the fence, folding his thickly corded forearms over the pickets. You offer him the sincerest smile you can muster. God his fucking sleeves are rolled up—you fight the urge to ruin it by sinking your teeth into your lower lip. His eyes flick down, and then back up to your face. 

 “You doin’ some gardenin’?” You don’t know why, but the quirk of his lips makes your stomach knot.  

“Y-yeah. W-well, you know. I thought I’d get outside today, since it’s been raining so much.” You say, sticking the spade into the dirt as you turn to face him. You’re acutely aware of the mud on the hem of your yellow sundress now, and you know he must see it too. Goddammit. You feel like every time you talk to him you embarrass yourself—especially now. Nervously and out of habit, you touch your thumb to your ring finger through the gloves, feeling its absence. 

 Before, at least, you’d had Howard as a buffer, though Joel had never much seemed to like your husband. Ex-husband.

  “Mm, yeah. Hopin’ it stays nice, you know Sarah’s birthday’s on Saturday,” He says, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the pickets. “Comin’ up fast.” 

 “Oh yeah,” you say, nodding with a smile. “I’ll have to bring something over. Wait—she doesn’t do dolls anymore, right? She’s too old for that now.” 

 “Dolls? Damn kid’s asking me for a phone,” Joel mutters darkly, smoothing a frustrated hand down his face. “A phone.” You can’t help but laugh. “Anyway, I wanted to, you know, let you know you’re invited. Whole neighborhood is, we’ll have games and food. The works.” 

 “Oh, sure!” You’re not sure why you’re nervous. It’s not a special invitation, it’s open to the entire block. Still, you feel an apprehensive sort of giddiness growing in your tight stomach when he smiles at you encouragingly. 

“I’d love to come, I’ll um, I’ll bake something.” You pass your tongue over your lips, and Joel’s eyes follow the movement,  lingering before his eyes dart back up to yours. Imagining things. You’re definitely imagining things. You’d have to be—you’re a thirty-something year old divorcee with little to show for it other than the fixer-upper Howard had been glad to leave you. You’re not hot-single-neighbor material. 

 “That’ll be great.” He fixes you with another boyish smile and you hate the way your stupid stomach tightens when he does. “Sarah loves your apple crumble.” You try to hide your bashful smile behind one of your gardening gloves. 

 “Joel Miller, you know better than to lie to me over my own fence,” you chide, and he chuckles. 

 “Yes ma’am I do,” he says, winking at you as the corners of his full lips turn up underneath the mustache. “That’s why I told the truth.” You cluck your tongue at him, and begin gathering your gardening tools into the wide wicker basket you keep them in. You heft them up with a grunt, and he shakes his head. 

“Looks heavy. Let me give you a hand.” Before you can protest, he’s jogging around to the spot where your fences meet, and slipping in through the open gate. 

 “I-I can handle it,” you protest meekly as he holds out one calloused hand, beckoning with his fingers. You step back a little defensively, hesitating. “I carried it all the way out here from the shed by myself.” Joel merely raises an eyebrow and lifts his hand a little higher.  

 “I know, Sugar. You’re a big girl, you can do it all by yourself,” he says in that filthy smooth baritone. “Doesn’t mean you have to.” Flustered, you let him have the basket, brushing hopelessly at your dress as you follow him to the backyard shed. 

 “Well, it’s just me, so,” you scurry forward to pull open the door, and you watch him place the basket on the dusty work table. You’re not much of a crafts person, beyond the occasional gardening DIY, so it’s gone mostly unused since Howard moved out. 

 “I’m real sorry about that, by the way,” Joel says, dusting his hands off on his jeans. The look of pity on his face makes you shift uncomfortably. “But I can’t exactly say that I’m sorry he’s gone.” You laugh. The sound is brittle. Like my marriage was.

 “Don’t be.” Joel’s fingers trail across Howard’s old work-bench, leaving lines in the dust as he inspects it. 

 “Oh, hey,” Joel says, leaning over. He reaches underneath bench and pulls something bright yellow out from underneath it. “Speak of the devil,” he mutters. After a confused second of squinting, you realize it’s a staple-gun. “Knew he never returned this.” Your face burns with embarrassment as you pinch the bridge of your nose. The result, no doubt, of one of Howards many unfinished DIY projects, the ones you always seemed to end up cleaning up and finding space for in the basement. 

 “God, he’s not even here and Howard’s still embarrassing me,” you say. “I’m sorry, I would have given it back if I’d known.” You watch Joel shake his head.

 “That’s not on you. Besides, I’ve got it back now, so. No harm, no foul.” He tucks it into the waistband of his jeans before stepping out of the little shed and closing the door behind him. He smiles at you again, and you swear the only thing keeping you from melting into a puddle of jelly is the force of your will alone. 

“You let me know if there’s anything around the house that needs doing. You cleaned your gutters since Howard left?” He asks, and your face burns again as you hurriedly shake your head. 

 “N-no,” you admit. “But you really—I don’t want to put you to the trouble, Joel.”

 “S’no trouble.” He says with a wink, heading for the back gate. “I’ll be by tomorrow. You’ve got a ladder, don’t you, Sugar?”

 —

 You’re in your pajamas when Joel shows up, bright and early. The sound of the doorbell jolts you up from the kitchen table, where you’d positioned yourself so that you could see the television through the doorway. Watching the morning news rather mindlessly while you had your coffee was your new morning routine, and though it felt a little lonely and empty, it was certainly better than screaming matches with Howard about how inadequate of a wife you were to him, so you relished it. 

 You realize belatedly that the tie for your robe is upstairs as you’re fumbling with the locks, pulling open the door with an exasperated Hello before you realize exactly who’s on the other side of your front door. 

 “Howdy, neighbor.” That southern twang—the one you don’t have—is like syrup, each syllable running smoothly into the next as it slides pleasurably into your ears. You’re sure the heat rising in your chest and neck is due to your own embarrassment as you unsuccessfully try to tug the flaps of your robe shut with one hand. It’s definitely not because Joel is looking at me funny. 

 “J-Joel, I—morning,” you say, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ears self consciously as you offer him an apologetic smile. “I didn’t, um. I didn’t know you’d be over so early. I thought you, um. Liked to get a, a late start in the mornings.” 

 “That’s true,” he says, nodding as he tucks his thumbs into his belt loops. “But I can get up for the important things.” He rocks forward on to the balls of his feet, the leather on his boots creaking. “So, Sugar, where’s that ladder?” You feel warm when he looks at you, so warm you’re surprised steam isn’t whistling out of your ears like a kettle. 

 “In the, um, in the shed.” You turn to head back into the house, but stop. “Do you need me to—” He meets the glance you shoot him over your shoulder with a stern lift of his brow. 

 “I got it. You go on and enjoy your coffee, now.” Joel tips his head at you, and then reaches forward to pat you just above your hip. “Go on. Scoot.” 

 The screen door swings shut behind you as you turn smartly to do as you’re told, and it’s only when you’re two steps into the kitchen that you realize your hip is still warm from where he touched you. You shiver. 

 Joel’s just friendly.

 You repeat that back to yourself dozens of times as you shower, dress, and ready yourself for the day. It’s embarrassing, but you don’t have much to do now that you don’t have Howard to pick up after. Stay-at-home-wife was just another word for nanny to him, and now, five years into your marriage and ten months post divorce, you’re still struggling to find a way to fill your time. You can live off the alimony, sure, but you want something more meaningful to do, even if it doesn’t pay much. 

 Joel is still up on the roof by the time you come back downstairs, but you aren’t down there long before you hear him tapping at the kitchen window. You unlock the back door, and the sight of Joel leaned up against your doorframe greets you when you open it. He’s busy toeing off his muddy workboots, but he glances up at you with a lopsided smile. 

 “Mind if I clean off? I’ve got to head to the site after this.” 

 “Totally, sure, um, you remember where the bathroom is?” You ask, and he nods. 

 “Down the hall to the right, innit?” He asks over his shoulder, and you nod. His arms and cheek are splattered with the same muck that you assume has been clogging your gutters, and you feel even guiltier knowing he has to head to his actual job after this. Where are my manners? You ask yourself guiltily, hurrying to fetch a glass from the cabinet. You don’t have any food you can offer him, but you go for the peach iced tea in the fridge and pour him a tall glass. He’d come over and done hard work for you, and you hadn’t even offered him something to drink. 

 Shameful, your grandmother’s shrill voice hisses at you through your memories. Just shameful. No wonder you couldn’t keep a man. With your teeth set into your bottom lip, you head for the hallway, intending to head Joel off before he gets to the front door. 

 You aren’t expecting to crash headlong into him.

 “Shit!” You curse as cold tea splashes against your chest and the glass in your fingers tumbles to the rug. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t get you, did I?” You look guiltily up at Joel and your heart seizes in your chest. He’s shirtless in your hallway, his face and chest damp and his t-shirt balled up in one fist. Logically, you know it’s because he obviously can’t go to work covered in gutter-crap, but you can’t think about that now, not when you’re following the happy trail starting at his belly button all the way down the waistband of his pants and God fucking dammit I’m staring like a creep—

 “No, Sugar. All dry,” he laughs, interrupting the rambling chain of your thoughts. “Can’t say the same for you.” He gestures down at your shirt before shrugging into his own. “Was that sweet tea?” Joel asks, a mournful note in his voice. 

 “Yes—let me get you another glass,” you say quickly, bending over to pick up the fallen glass before you rush back into the kitchen. Clumsy, stupid—you put it carefully in the sink before fetching a fresh cup from the cabinet, and you fill that one too. “Joel, I—oh.” You turn to call him into the kitchen, only to find him right behind you. His smile is slow syrup the way his voice is, and you find yourself feeling like a knock-kneed teenager at the sight of it. 

 “That for me?” Joel asks, and you nod wordlessly, unable to form words around the hot lump of embarrassment that forms in your throat. “Thank you, Sugar,” he purrs, plucking the glass from your limp fingers. “I was powerful thirsty.” He tips his head back, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob beneath the scruff of his beard as he swallows. 

You’re grateful for the refrigerator against your back, because you know you’d slide right down to your tasteful linoleum tiles in a heap without it when he lets out a satisfied moan. He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and then chases the stray droplets with his tongue. 

 “Should bring a whole pitcher of that by the house when you come by on Saturday. Folks’ll go crazy for it.” 

 Your brain is still short circuiting from his closeness, the smell of his cologne,       the sight of his tanned, perfect chest—so you just nod dumbly, your lips slightly parted as you stare. Closing mouth in three, two, one—

 “Uh, um. Yeah. Tea.” Jesus fuck, why is my mouth so dry? You stumble over the words, feeling like there are a hundred glass marbles in your mouth as you try to pronounce them properly. “So, um. Saturday?”

 “Saturday.” Joel hands you back the glass, and winks. “Don’t drop it this time.” He pauses in the doorway, tapping his hand against the frame a few times. “And you’ll let me know when I can come by to cut that grass, wontcha, Sugar? Needs mowin’.” 

 I absolutely will not. “Sure thing. I-I mean, you don’t have to, really—”

 “Just bein’ neighborly is all,” he calls over his shoulder as the screen door swings shut behind him. You watch the top of his head go by the kitchen window before you slump against the refrigerator. 

 “Neighborly.” You mutter in disbelief, pinching the bridge of your nose. You make your way back upstairs to change your shirt—the tea is starting to get sticky against your skin. 

 —

 By the time Saturday rolls around, you’ve almost talked yourself completely out of attending. 

 You should not be this nervous about am eleven year old’s birthday party, you chastise yourself, shifting from foot to foot as you wait for someone to answer the door. There’s music coming from the backyard, and you can smell food, and the charcoal from the grill. You step back a little as the door opens, and you’re both surprised and relieved to see it isn’t Joel. And you’re glad for it, considering you’ve been studiously avoiding him. 

 Sarah greets you with a friendly smile, waving you inside. “Mrs. Leeman, hi!” She closes the door behind you. “Thank you for coming! You didn’t have to do that,” she says, gesturing at the covered apple crumble and sealed jug of peach tea in your hands. Sarah moves to take one from you, and you hand over the jug gratefully. “But this is way better than the cake uncle Tommy got. He went to Penny Saver.” 

 You laugh. “You’re welcome. I wasn’t exactly sure what to get you,” you admit, “but your dad said you’ve been wanting a phone?” You ask, and she rolls her eyes, starting towards the kitchen. You’ve only been here once or twice, to use the bathroom the few times Howard had deigned to take part in any neighborhood festivities. She sets the jug on the table. 

 “Ugh, yeah. But he says I’m too young.” 

 You lean in conspiratorially. “Well, how about I join team get Sarah a phone and try to help convince him, huh?” Carefully, you place the crumble on the table. “I’ll pay for your first month.” 

 Sarah’s eyes brighten. “Really? Yeah, oh my God that might actually work! Thanks, um, Mrs. Leeman. And for the crumble too, I asked special.” 

 “Just ‘Ms��, now,” you say with a little laugh. Sarah’s smile widens a little, turning up at the corners like she knows something you don’t know. And it isn’t Leeman anymore, either.  

 “Oh, right. I’m sorry,” she says, and you can tell she’s really trying to pour on the sincerity. She’s good—but she’s not that good. “I forgot you’re single now.” You quirk an eyebrow.

 “Yeah?” You answer slowly. “Kind of a weird way to put it, but yes?” You chalk it up to teenage awkwardness, watching amusedly as Sarah plucks the candles out of the admittedly generic cake Tommy bought, and presses them into the crumble instead. 

 “Everybody’s outside,” she chirps, wiping her hands off on her jeans. “Uncle Tommy, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, my dad,” she adds. “You should totally go say hi.” Casting another suspicious glance at Sarah, you make your way over to the back door. Once your eyes adjust to the bright summer sun, you see that Joel’s backyard is chaos; every kid in the neighborhood is there, along with most of the families in your corner of the cul-de-sac.

 You pretend you don’t immediately spot Joel on the grill, his sleeves rolled up as he chats with his brother. You’ve only met Tommy once or twice and only in passing, but you remember him just fine. Your eyes meet, and he leans over, elbowing Joel. He says something too, but you’re too far away to hear it. Joel begins to turn around, and you hurriedly busy yourself at the punch bowl. 

 God, this is pathetic. You berate yourself as you spoon out punch into a little paper cup. Just say hi, you stupid idiot. You feel stupid and giddy around Joel, like a middle-schooler with her first crush only worse, because you’re two decades past the expiration date on this behavior. Not to mention he’s your neighbor. 

And God knows you aren’t the best at reading signals—it had taken you years to realize that your marriage, your relationship, was dead in the water. Joel isn’t interested, he can’t be. At most, you assume he feels a sort of half hearted pity for you. I’m like the one-eyed cat at the shelter.

 “Hey there Judy, thanks for comin’.” You hear Joel’s voice behind you, and you tense—He’s coming this way. You chance a glance over your shoulder and swallow audibly. He’s making a beeline right for you. Is it too late to go back inside? You know the thought is futile, it’s most certainly far too late for that. 

 “Hi, I mean, you know, welcome to the party,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets after an awkward moment of holding them out, almost like he was going to hug you and then thought better of it. 

 “Yeah, Sarah was…enthusiastic about the cake.” You’re trying to think of a word to describe her weird behavior. “Maybe a little too much,” you laugh a little. Joel shakes his head and mutters something under his breath you can’t quite make out—“damn kid sticking her nose in where it doesn’t—” Before he shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. 

 “Kid’s a mystery to me sometimes,” he replies with a huff. He squints, like he’s looking for her in the crowd. You follow his line of sight right to Sarah, laughing with her friends. 

 “She’s a good one.”

 “Lord knows,” Joel sighs. “I was raising hell at her age.” He turns back to you. “I’m really glad you could make it.” His smile is so bright you’re forced to look somewhere else, for fear of going weak in the knees. 

 “N-no problem. I’m, um, I’m happy to get out of the house,” you admit. “I’ve been kind of… I don’t know. Bored? Since Howard left.” You look down at the punch cup in your hands. “Is that weird? I don’t miss him or anything, I just… I guess I never realized how much time he was taking. Wasting.” You shake your head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t—”

 “No, no, please,” Joel looks at you almost imploringly. “I don’t mind.” He leans against the table behind you. “I’ve been there. Losing yourself is surprisingly easy. It’s the finding yourself after that’s hard.” 

 “Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, exactly.” 

 “Listen I—”

 “Joel, you wanna serve burnt burgers or what?” Tommy calls from the grill, pointing at the thick smoke curling up from it. Joel curses.

 “Dammit, Tommy—I’ll be right back.” 

 He’s surprisingly easy to talk to, and you swallow back the unexpected disappointment at the interruption. It’s probably a good thing though, you think to yourself as you spy Tricia Gibbins, also newly divorced, eyeing you with a scowl. 

 You offer her a weak smile in response, before turning back to your drink. Joel’s a hot commodity, and you know you’re not the only single woman in the neighborhood with eyes. Joel has an easy sort of confidence about him, the kind that comes from working with your hands and being good at it. The kind that isn’t unearned. 

 As Joel averts the crisis at the grill, you mingle. Chatting up the neighbors you haven’t really seen since the divorce. It’s awkward at first, but you get over that quickly enough. It’s oddly comforting, feeling like you’re part of the community at large again, instead of the weird shut-in with the mean husband. Oddly, Joel keeps finding reasons to be close to you, joining in the conversations you’re having as he sidles up next to you, offering to refresh your drink each time you finish it. And when he brings out the crumble from the kitchen—much to Tommy’s chagrin—he thanks you specifically for providing it, and your cheeks heat as you duck your head, embarrassedly enduring the round of applause that follows. 

 If Gibbins didn’t hate me already, she definitely does now.

 You help cut and serve it, trying to ensure each partygoer at least has the option of having a piece. As Sarah wolfs down her piece after blowing out her candles, she and her friends share a conspiratorial look. 

 “We were thinking of playing a party game, dad,” she says, cocking her head at him. “Kids versus grown-ups.” Joel takes a sip of his beer, cocking his head skeptically. 

 “And what game would that be, young lady?”

 “Manhunt! Come on, dad, please? Everyone really wants to play!” Sarah gestures eagerly at the gaggle of kids behind her, pushing and shoving and giggling nervously as the adults look them over. Sarah rocks excitedly back and forth on her tip-toes as her father debates it. Sarah looks at you imploringly. 

“Please? Last game of the night, I promise! You’ll play, won’t you?” 

 “Ah hell,” Tommy curses, finishing his beer before slinging the empty bottle into the trash-can by the picnic table. “Why not? Used to play this all the time growin’ up.” He casts a nostalgic look at Joel before elbowing Sarah conspiratorially. “Every summer I used to whoop your daddy’s—”

 “No lying to the girl on her birthday, Tommy,” Joel replies with a chuckle, and you laugh too. “Fine then. Who all’s playin’?” Hands go up, all across the yard, and Joel nods as he takes stock of them. Howard would have insisted on leaving right about now, your charitable appearance over and done with. But Howard isn’t here to make the decision for you, and you find yourself raising your own hand, too. Perhaps it’s the warm buzz of the beer settling into your stomach making you foolish, but it’s a warm summer evening and you feel… good. 

 “Ground rules—nobody leaves the block, understand? No hidin’ in strangers yards.” Joel delivers the rules sternly. “

 “We were thinking… we’ll seek. Time limit?” Sarah asks, suddenly all business as she leans back to consult her friends, now apparently her war-council. 

 “Thirty minutes.” Joel replies, holding out his hand. Sarah shakes it exaggeratedly, grinning at him. She holds up two fingers, gesturing between the two of them. “And you’ve got to find everybody to win.” 

 “Yeah, yeah, old man,” She calls over her shoulder as she jogs toward her friends. “You’re going down!” They’re all clustered around the side of the house, some of them already counting. You’re already thinking of the perfect hiding place, where the rosebushes meet on the left side of your porch—it’s impossible to see from the sidewalk. The participating adults are already splitting up, heading in different directions to try and outlast their children. 

 Giggling, you hurry back across the street, casting a suspicious glance around before you duck down behind your rosebushes. It’s silly, you know, but… it feels good too. Like you’re actually enjoying yourself instead of pretending to. Howard never would have approved of this—These are children’s games, come on—but he isn’t here, and you don’t need him to. The thought makes you practically giddy; Howard is gone, gone! 

 And he isn’t coming back.

 You lean back against the porch, ducking lower as you hear the sound of approaching voices. As you reach back to steady yourself, your hand brushes against another. You gasp, loudly, and whirl around to see Joel, looking equally surprised. It looks like he’s come around from the opposite side of the house, staying low underneath the roses, just like you. You open your mouth to speak, but he holds up a finger, pointing behind you. 

 “I heard something! I think one of the grown-ups is hiding over here.” You wait with baited breath to be discovered, but the gangly teenager on the other side of the bush doesn’t come all the way up the porch steps, stopping halfway. 

“Whatever, I don’t see anybody. Let’s look by the Simmons’ place!”

 The sound of your gravel crunching under sneakers gradually recedes, and you let out a heavy sigh of relief. 

 “Sorry. I didn’t know you were there,” you whisper apologetically, and Joel laughs. 

 “Well you know. Great minds, and all that.” He scoots closer. “Do you mind? I can risk finding another spot if you do.” 

 “No, no,” you say, shaking your head. Maybe it’s the beers, making you foolishly confident, but you… want him to stay. “There’s room enough for the two of us.” 

 “You’re damn right there is,” Joel replies. “Grass is tall enough that we could stand in it.” You pretend to be shocked, raising a cartoonishly offended hand over your heart. 

 “Oh, is that how it is, Miller?” You ask. “You come over here, barge into my hiding spot, and then insult my grass? I’m pretty sure them’s fighting words, around here at least.” He edges closer, close enough that when he settles down into a sitting position, his thigh presses against yours. 

 “It’s almost calf high, Sugar,” he says seriously. “That’s dangerous.” You try to look sufficiently scared, and Joel smothers a laugh behind one hand. 

 “Danger? Here?” You bring a hand to your cheek. “How dangerous are we talking?” He fixes you with a serious look, brows knitting together as he presses his full lips into a tight line. 

 “Very dangerous. Trip and falls, termites, biting ants—you know. Just to name a few things.” Joel is handsome, not a fact you’re unfamiliar with. But up this close… You can see the beginnings of salt and in his thick black hair, how his warm brown eyes are flecked with gold and green, the cinnamon spice of his breath—Fireball, he was drinking Fireball—

 And how soft his lips are when they brush against yours. 

 You’re not sure how long it takes you to realize that you’re kissing Joel Miller. Later, when you look back, you’ll realize there’s a gap in your memory, a skip, a blank space spanning from the moment his hip pressed against yours until you feel the warmth of his hand on your hip through your jeans. It’s a chaste thing, a simple press of his mouth to yours, but the realization of what’s happening makes you gasp, pulling away. For once, you’re speechless, the nervous ramble that usually accompanies these moments is notoriously absent. 

 Of course it’s Joel that speaks first. 

 “I been waitin’ to do that for six months.” He breathes. And then he leans forward, gently brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, and does it again. You release your death-grip on the latticework beneath the porch, and instead tangle your fingers in Joel’s t-shirt. He mumbles something against your lips that you don’t understand before deepening the kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth as you sigh against him. Joel tastes like cinnamon whiskey, hops, and faintly of tobacco—likely from the cigarette you’d seen him bum from Tommy in secret earlier. 

 He tastes so good you could cry. Like beer and warm summer evenings, like catching lightning bugs in jars. He tastes exactly like you thought he would. 

 When you part, you’re both panting, staring wild-eyed at one another as the rest of the world filters back in. Joel lets out a little laugh, resting his forehead against yours. You like how he smells, too, sandalwood and leather. 

 “Six months is a long time,” you say after a minute, and he laughs. Somehow, you feel both validated and incredibly stupid at the same time. “And here I thought you felt sorry for me.”

 “I did, being married to that prick,” he scoffs. “I hung over that fence every other day for six months, and you never thought—?”

 “No! I thought, you know, you… really wanted to mow my grass.” You answer defeatedly, and this time Joel’s booms in your ears so loud you fear the children will discover you. You laugh too, and when he pulls you close to kiss you a third time, you lean into it, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as he pulls you practically into his lap. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you card fingers through his thick hair. You’re glad you’re sitting down, because the answering husky moan he releases would have brought you to your knees. 

 “Dad! Thirty-minutes!” The sound of Sarah’s voice shocks the two of you apart, and you scramble off of Joel, your cheeks burning. You peek through the rose bushes, pulling aside a bud to see Sarah, standing in the middle of the street. You snicker at the sight of her. She and her friends seem to have already rounded up the other adults, and, armed with water-guns, are escorting them back to the party. You can see that Tommy’s wet, and you wonder if he tried to outrun them. 

 “Time’s up,” she calls. “You guys win!” 

 “You stay here. I’ll go first.” Joel says with a wink. “I’ll see you back at the party, okay? And we’ll finish this… discussion.” He licks his lips. 

 You nod, not trusting your voice not to give out on you. You watch as Joel gets a very rules-illegal squirting with Sarah’s supersoaker, and you’re glad he took the bullet for both of you as they head into the backyard. Once you’re sure no one else is really watching, you creep out, brushing stray bits of grass and twigs from your clothes. Your face still feels warm, your lips tingling where Joel’s had met them. 

 There isn’t much “party” left when you let yourself in through the side gate, people cleaning up with trash bags. You begin helping, clearing the tables of plastic cutlery and paper plates. There isn’t really time to talk, not really. Every time he begins to, something, someone, needs his attention. As you’re tossing bags into the trash bin, Tommy comes up behind you with another load. You hold the lid open for him, and he ducks his head gratefully. 

 “Thanks. So, you and my brother, huh? Manhunt neighborhood champs.” He grins at you, and you feel your face heat. 

 “In my defense, it was my hiding spot first.” 

 “That tracks.” He laughs. ”And I’m not mad, even though you dethroned my cake.” 

 You grin. “Sorry. I was asked.” It’s easy to see that Tommy and Joel are related, you think as you chat. They have the same easy way of moving, the same slow drawl. You think of the way his lips felt against yours again and your face warms. It had felt so right to do in that moment, but now you can’t help but wonder if it had been a mistake. 

 “He’s droppin’ Sarah off at her friend’s place,” Tommy says suddenly. “In  case you were wonderin’.” His knowing look makes you wish the earth would open right up and swallow you into the resulting abyss. It doesn’t though, and you are forced to shoot Tommy a painfully embarrassed smile instead. 

 “I, um. Thanks.” You tuck your hands into your pockets to stop their nervous twitching. Somehow, this feels like a higher-stakes interaction than any of the others you’ve ever had with Tommy, and you aren’t sure why. 

 “No problem.” Tommy dusts his hands off of his jeans. “And he’s… Stupid. My brother. But he means well.” 

 “I think that makes two of us.” 

 You finish helping clean up, hanging around the yard awkwardly until Tommy asks you if you want to wait inside. You shake your head. Joel’s probably realized his mistake by now, you think to yourself, shaking your head as you make your way back across the street. Keys in hand, you head up the steps and unlock the door. As it swings open, the blast of a car-horn makes you yelp, jumping as you press yourself against the doorframe. 

 Joels truck swings haphazardly into your driveway, and he’s half out of it before it even stops. He hops the little gate in front of your porch steps, taking them two at a time as he strides towards you with purpose. 

 “Sugar.” 

 “Joel, I—” There are a thousand thoughts, all jumping to reach your mouth first. You want to kiss him again, you want to run inside and hide until he leaves, you really want to kiss him again—

 “I thought I told you to wait for me,” Joel says lowly, his fingers sliding through the belt loops on your jeans to tug you close against his chest. “Weren’t finished talkin’.” His mouth is against yours before you can answer, and he gratefully swallows your gasp of surprise as his tongue presses insistently at the seam of your lips. You are aware, on some level, that you’re standing on your porch, in full view of every watchful eye on your end of the street. However, your concern for your reputation is kept well in check by the feel of Joel’s hands passing hungrily over your hips.

 His fingers skate up underneath the hem of your t-shirt, and you gasp at the feel of them trailing up your sides and over your belly. 

 “I-inside,” you say, the word muffled by his lips. You feel the corners of his mouth curl up against your cheek as Joel loops his arms underneath your thighs. You gasp as he hoists you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you inside. Joel kicks the door shut behind him before pressing you against the wall, fitting the hard planes of his body against the softness of yours. He fits so well in between your thighs, his jean-clad hips slotting against you perfectly. 

 You want to be ashamed at the way your hips roll into his, your heels digging into the backs of his thighs. His hand fists in your hair, tugging your head back so that he can trail his teeth and tongue down the side of your throat.  

 “Fuck,” he mutters, teeth catching at the shell of your ear as one hand cups your swollen cunt through your jeans. You feel like you’re on fire, heat running underneath your skin, sparking where Joel touches you. Your head is swimming, like you’re drunk on more than just a couple of beers. Your fingers tangle in the short hair at the nape of his neck, and the throaty moan Joel releases makes your pussy clench down hard around nothing. 

 You drop your feet to the floor as his fingers play at the button of your jeans. He’s breathing heavy, hair askew from your attentions and eyes hungry. 

 “We can stop if you want to,” he says, his voice strained and husky. “You say stop, we stop.” You can tell he wants to do anything but stop, his thigh wedged between yours, and the half hard weight of his cock throbbing against you through his jeans. But you can also see he means it, that he’ll turn around and walk right back to his truck if you tell him to. 

 You hesitate, feeling Joel’s steady breaths against your lips as he waits for your decision. This is crazy, you reason. We’ll both regret this, and it’ll be awkward and we’ll never be able to talk to each other again—But what’s crazier is that you know you want him to stay. That you’re willing to risk it. 

 Maybe you’ll just be crazy for tonight. 

 “Stay.” 

 Joel surges, crashing over you like a wave. His hands—God, his hands—are everywhere, tugging up the rumpled hem of your t-shirt to cup your breasts through your bra, wiggling down under the waistband of your jeans to touch whatever skin he can—

 “Y’know, Sugar,” Joel’s voice is simmering honey, is burnt sugar—“I don’t think we’re gonna make it upstairs.” You don’t think so either, not with his eager fingers tugging open the button on your jeans. Not to mention that you’re pretty sure that if he stops touching you, you might actually die. You’ve never felt this before, the all encompassing need that drives you to grind down against his proffered thigh, your hands fisting in his shirt. 

 Definitely not making it to the bed. He kisses you again, sucking on your tongue as you feverishly work at the buttons on his shirt. You push them apart to touch his bare skin and he hums with pleasure. 

 He grunts frustratedly when there isn’t enough room for his huge hands in your tight jeans, tugging at them until they stick fast about halfway down your thighs. He anchors his hands underneath your hips, and you gasp as he hoists you up, taking a few wobbly steps towards the stairs.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

 He only makes it up three of them before he abandons the effort, setting you down. You let out a little giggle as your ass makes contact with the wood, and  Joel sucks his teeth. 

 “Goddamn house. S’got too many stairs,” he mumbles against the side of your throat. The raspy burn of his beard against your skin is delicious as he trails kisses down your neck until he meets the collar of your shirt. “Take this fuckin’ thing off, Sugar.” Joel’s teeth tug at the fabric. He chuckles lowly when your breath catches. “Or d’you want me to do it for you?” You hurriedly tug your shirt up over your head—with Joel’s eager assistance—and his mouth crashes against yours as before it’s even cleared your hair.

 Joel’s cinnamon and whiskey spiced kisses leave heat in their wake as he presses them between your breasts, pulling down the cups of your bra. He releases a pleased hum when your puffy nipples spill lewdly over the lace. The way he grins at the sight of them makes you want to combust, heat creeping up your chest and neck as he pinches them softly between his fingers. You whine, and he clucks his tongue at you, fixing you with a serious look. 

 “Don’t you rush me, Sugar,” he says, flicking his thumb against your nipple, and he grins when you wriggle. “Haven’t I been patient?” You’re hard pressed to disagree. His heavy lidded eyes go even darker as he laves his tongue across your nipple, and you whimper pathetically when he rolls it between his teeth. 

 “Yeah,” you pant as Joel taps his very patient fingers against the fleshy curve of your hip. You lift for him, and he hums with approval as he tugs them down your legs and flings them to the floor. “Practically a saint—ah, Joel!” Joel cups your pussy, clapping his hand against the fatty curve of it with a groan. 

 “If I were a saint, Sugar,” he drawls, pulling your panties tight until the puffy lips of your cunt pop out lewdly around them, “You know I’d never miss a day at this fuckin’ church.” He traces the shape of your swollen clit through the fabric with the rough pad of his thumb. “A-fuckin’-men.” The elastic band snaps against your skin as he pulls them off completely, your panties joining your jeans in an undignified heap at the bottom of the stairs. 

 Joel delivers a stinging little slap to your thigh that makes you yelp. 

 “Open.” You do, your cheeks burning as you spread your legs apart and let him see. He cards his fingers through his hair as a low “fuck” falls from his lips. He drags a thick, calloused finger up your slit, swirling the tip through your sopping folds. “Christ, Sugar,” he says, holding up his fingers so that you can see your own slick shining on them. You can’t look away as he lowers his head, his breath puffing across your heated skin. It’s only when he drags his tongue up your slit that your head falls back, and you curse at the ceiling. 

 “S’right,” he mumbles against your cunt, wrenching your legs further open. “Fuck, you taste good, baby.” Your fingers tangle in his hair, and you feel him chuckle against you before his tongue finds your clit and you loose a stream of curses and his name—

 “Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck, Joel—”

 “Say it, Sugar,” his beard rasps deliciously against your inner thighs. “Let ‘em hear my fuckin’ name.” 

 It’s impossible to think. You’re fairly certain the amount of electricity currently thrumming through you would be enough to light up a whole goddamn city. Your thighs tremble in his grip and you can’t stop the shameful push of your hips against his face. And then you’re cumming with a pitiful little whine, tears gathering in the corners of your wide eyes. Joel pulls away from you slowly, wiping at his glistening mouth with the back of his hand as he looks at you with dark, lidded eyes. 

 “Don’t cry yet, Sugar,” he rasps. You can’t help but stare as he looses the buttons on his jeans with nimble fingers. The heavy weight of his cock pushes insistently against the plaid fabric of his briefs before he hooks his thumb under the elastic and tugs it down too. “Oughta wait till the good part, at least.” 

 Oh my fucking God. 

 Joel Miller’s cock is thick. Like a fucking coke-can with veins. He palms it with one hand, and your traitorous cunt clenches wetly as you stare. The head is red, angry and leaking, and you find yourself with the sudden urge to swipe your tongue across it and see how he tastes. You can’t stop your eyes from following the movement as he strokes himself slowly, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. 

 “Want a taste, Sugar?” He purrs, the accent dripping down every vowel. You don’t have enough working neurons left to lie, and so you nod meekly, licking your lips. “Say aah for me, baby.” You open your mouth wide, sticking out your tongue a little and he groans, balancing one hand on the bannister and the other against the wall as he leans forward. You nurse at his head, wrapping your lips around it as he thrusts slowly. You work your way down his thick, throbbing shaft, stopping when his head taps the back of your throat.

 “—gotta be fucking kidding me,” you catch bits and pieces of his mumbled praise, his fingers tangling in your hair as he holds your head still, enjoying the sensation before pulling out. You wipe at the spit on your chin as Joel pumps his cock, squeezing as his head falls back. 

 “If I wasn’t so determined to make a mess of that pussy, Sugar, I’d let you finish.” Joel sinks down to his knees on the stairs, cupping your chin with sure fingers as he kisses you, and you taste yourself on his tongue. You’re sure that tomorrow, you will find the time to be appalled that you’re here, like this, with your neighbor—

 But there is no space in your head for it now. 

 Now, Joel is settling himself between your thighs, the head of his cock sliding deliciously against you. And then fuck, he’s pushing inside, making your head fuzzy with that blissful, burning stretch. 

 “G-God,” you whimper, pressing your face against his throat, tugging at the skin there with your teeth as he seats himself all the way inside. 

 “Sorry, Sugar,” he mumbles the words into your hair, groaning as his heavy balls come to rest against you. “Best you got is me.” Joel draws out, taking all your air with him, before slamming back down, his hips meeting yours with a lewd squelch. You let out a choked gasp as he sinks his cock in to the base, his eyes rolling to half mast. His slow, steady pace is enough to make you see stars while your eyes are open, bright spots tattooing themselves against your retinas. 

 You don’t notice the hard bite of the wooden stairs into your back and the curve of your ass as you wrap your thighs around Joel’s hips. It feels so good, you’re drowning in it. In Joel. He knots a fist in the curls at the nape of your neck, tugging your head back. You let him, and are rewarded with his teeth and tongue scraping deliciously down the line of your throat. 

 “Where’ve you been hidin’ this pussy, Sugar?” The words are breathed hotly against the shell of your ear, followed by his teeth. “Why’d you hide her from me?” He punctuates his questions with a hard thrust that makes you bury your fingernails in the meat of his shoulder and sob. “Coulda been givin’ you your dick months ago.” 

 You’re not paying attention, not really, not when the white hot pleasure building at your core is all you can think about. You whine out an apology, not because you mean it, but because you think it’s what he wants to hear—and at this point, you’d tell him anything just to be able to crest the wave he’s been building inside of you. Fuck and you’re so full—

 Every slow, heavy thrust punches the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping and whining as Joel takes you to pieces.

 “H-holy shit,” the words stick to your lips and tongue as you struggle to get them out around the moans you keep trying unsuccessfully to swallow. It was never like this with Howard, this dizzying rush of pleasure that leaves you aching for more—begging for more, even if you’re not sure you can take it. 

“P-please,” you keen, lifting your hips eagerly to meet his thrusts. “Please!”

 “Please what, Sugar?” Joel asks teasingly, before dropping lis lips to yours. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it. “I’d tell you to use your big girl words but I know you can’t right now, can you Sweetheart?” 

 You cum with a sob, your back arching as you dig your heels into the backs of Joel’s thighs. They buckle, and he sinks down to his knees as you feel his cock throb inside you. Joel curses into your hair, both hands gripping the lip of the stair next to your head hard enough to drive the blood from his knuckles. You lay like that for a minute, panting on the stairs as you luxuriate in the sticky, warm afterglow. 

 Thank God for the pill. 

 All you can smell is the piney scent of his aftershave, tucked against his chest like you are. For a moment, you allow yourself to bask in Joel, your face pressed against his sweat-damp skin, the feel of his pulse thrumming beneath your cheek. You don’t know why, but it makes you think of mornings. Of waking up like this, tangled up in each other, of hot coffee and quick goodbyes over rushed breakfasts, of long nights—

 “You okay?” Joel asks, leaning away from you. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s wearing a dopey smile underneath his scruffy beard. He cups your cheek, and you blink it all away, squashing those thoughts back down into your subconscious where they belong. He slips from between your thighs, and you pretend you don’t feel something like a suspicious cross between longing and disappointment. 

 “Yeah, I’m good.” You offer him a weak smile as you sit up, wincing. There’s an ache in your back from where you’d been pressed against the stairs, and as Joel tucks himself back into his pants, he grimaces, rubbing his knee. You let out a little embarrassed laugh. “Probably should have tried harder to make it to the bed, though.” 

 Joel fixes you with a sly smile. “There’s still time.” Your face heats and you sputter. 

 “I—”

 “We can just sleep,” he says, chuckling. “Scout’s honor.” 

 It feels too natural to lead him upstairs, dodging stray hands as you fish a towel out for him from the hall closet. He starts stripping before you’re even out of the bathroom, and when he holds out a hand to you from the shower, you take it. Joel tugs you against his chest, tucking you beneath his chin underneath the spray. 

 “I thought you said we could sleep?” You say, peeking up at him through your lashes, a smile playing at the edges of your lips. Joel laughs, nosing along your jawline and pressing wet kisses to the corners of your mouth. 

 “Well we’re not in bed yet, are we Sugar?” 

 the end.

 for now. 

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[winchesterwild78]

Austin part 6

Austin Master List

Chapter Warnings: Fluffy chapter, some anxiety but lots of sweetness

A/N: Time jumps in this chapter. Felt like this one was it for this story.

Absolutely no disrespect to Jensen or his family. This is a work of fiction and does not represent reality. This chapter is a little long because y’all know I get long winded. 😂 I edited this fast so please overlook any mistakes.

All work is my own, don’t take it

18+ Minors DNI

*********************************************

The quick trip to Dallas was incredible. Jacob had a fantastic time and you and Jensen grew closer. Jacob saw just how much Jensen cared about you and how much you cared about him. It made him feel good to know you had someone who cared for you. By the time the three of you returned to Austin your relationship was all over social media.

Rob had been calling and texting you telling you to call him. While you were in Dallas you ignored him and focused on the trip. Sitting in the living room your phone rang and it was Rob. “What do you want Rob” you asked as you answered the phone. “So I see you’re dating him now” he hissed. “So what if I am. That’s not your concern anymore. We are over and who I date is my business. You need to focus on your pregnant girlfriend” you growled. Rob was speechless. “Yeah that’s right. She told us. Congratulations Rob. Now I need to go” and you hung up.

Jensen had been answering calls from his agent, publicist and Danneel. When he walked back in the room he just looked exhausted. You stood up and wrapped your arms around him “you okay honey” you asked. “I will be. This is an absolute mess. Danneel is creating issues and my agent is losing their mind over the break up and now our relationship. I told them I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’m in love with you and I want to make a life with you.” He said as he kissed your head.

“Jensen I don’t want to cause problems for you. If we need to chill out for a while I understand.” You swallowed hard. Jensen cupped your face and said “absolutely not. I’m not letting them tell me how to live my life. I have to meet D at the house today too. I really don’t want to but we need to figure out things with the kids.” “Do you want me to come with you” you asked hesitantly. “You don’t have to. I know how she can be and I don’t want her to focus her anger on you” he said. “I want to go. Maybe I can help” you kissed him.

About 30 minutes later you and Jensen pulled in his driveway. You got out and started to walk to the door. You saw a car pulling in and caught a glimpse of red hair. You knew it was Danneel. Jensen tensed up. You grabbed his hand and told him to take a deep breath. “Go inside Jensen. I want to talk to her first” you said. His eyes went wide but before he could protest you nodded “I’ve got this. Trust me” you said.

Jensen went inside leaving you alone with Danneel. You extended your hand “hello Danneel. I’m Y/n. It’s good to finally meet you.” She looked confused but shook your hand. “I’m here to talk to Jensen about our children” she snapped. “I know you are, but I wanted to talk to you first. Woman to woman.” You stood your ground. “Let’s sit” you motioned to the patio chairs. The two of you took a seat. “I’m not going to pretend I know everything about your relationship with Jensen or what led to the two of you splitting up. What I do know is Jensen loves your children and he’s an amazing father. Our relationship started out very innocently and when you two split and I split with my husband is when we started seeing each other. Not before. I want what’s best for Jensen and your children. I would never come in between them, him or you. You two are their parents and I respect that. I would however with your permission like to get to know them better. I have a teenage son who would love nothing more than to meet them and hang out with them. I was not able to give him any siblings so he’s excited about getting to know your children. I don’t know where this relationship with Jensen is going but I can assure you if we decide to take this further I would never try to replace you in their lives. You will always be their mother and I would be a bonus mom. I just hope you can remember what an incredible father he is before any rash decisions are made. You wouldn’t just be hurting him, you would be hurting those children too.”

You finally took a breath and looked at her. She was sitting with her mouth slightly open. “Wow, I don’t know what to say. It sounds like you really care for him and the well being of our children. Y/N I can’t ever forget what an incredible father he is. Our children are so lucky to have him. I would be okay with you and your son meeting them. I know Jensen and I have a long road ahead of us to repair our friendship but I would never use the kids as pawns. Thank you for talking to me. I know I hurt Jensen and that wasn’t my intention. I fell in love with someone else. I just went about leaving him the wrong way.” She said. “I get it. My ex cheated on me and his girlfriend is pregnant. I was devastated. I would have much rather he told me he wanted to leave and just left. What he did was so much worse.” You told her.

“I can see why Jensen cares about you. I hope we can all have a good relationship and not just for the kids. Can we go in and talk to Jensen now” she asked. You shook your head and stood up. Before you knew what was happening Danneel hugged you “thank you, Y/N”. You hugged her back and smiled.

The two of you walked in the house and Jensen stood up from the kitchen table he was sitting at. “Hello D” he said to her and looked over at you. “I’ll give you two some space.” You said walking up to Jensen you placed a soft kiss on his lips and smiled. “Jensen I want to start by saying I’m sorry for how things ended between us. You didn’t deserve any of it. I should have just been honest about how I felt and just left. Y/N seems like an incredible woman. I’m glad you have her. I assured her our children are a priority and I wouldn’t use them as pawns in a game. I respect you and your relationship with them too much. I’ll always love you, Jensen.” She said as she touched his arm softly. “I appreciate that D. I love our children and hope one day we can get our friendship back to where it was. Y/N is amazing and has an incredible son. She’s going to be great with the kids. Should we get lawyers involved to help sort custody or is it something you think we can figure out ourselves?” Jensen asked. Danneel said “I think we can figure it out ourselves. I’m planning on buying a house big enough for them but in the meantime can they stay here with you?” “Of course they can and if you want you can stay in the guest room when you want to visit with them.” Jensen offered.

You sat at the top of the stairs listening to them talk. You wanted to make sure they stayed civil. You smiled when they came to a compromise about the children. You were a little nervous.

A few minutes later Jensen came upstairs to get you. He smiled, pulled you into his arms and kissed you. “What was that for” you smiled. “You’re an amazing woman you know that. I don’t know what you said to her but that went better than I expected.” He said. You smiled and nodded “just some girl talk.”

*time jump about a year*

“Jensen, honey we are going to be late. I don’t want to miss the procession” you yelled from downstairs. “Coming” Jensen said as he bounded down the stairs. You turned and looked at him. God he looked amazing. He was in a blue blazer and white button up shirt, and blue slacks that matched his blazer. His hair was longer and was styled out of his face. You bit your bottom lip. You’d been with him for over a year and he still took your breath away. He wrapped his arms around you and kissed your neck. “You look beautiful sweetheart. Is Jacob meeting us there” he asked. “Yeah. They had to be there early. I can’t believe my baby is graduating today” you said tearfully. “D and the kids are meeting us there and I talked to Rob this morning. He, Cindi and baby Jessica are almost in town so they will be there.” Jensen told you.

“Thank you Jensen. You’re incredible” you kissed him. The two of you headed out the door and to the stadium. You saw Jacob standing with his friends in his cap and gown. You waved and he smiled. He started walking towards you and he threw his arms around you. Jensen started taking pictures. You hugged your boy and started crying. “Don’t cry Ma.” Jacob said. You wiped your tears “sorry. It’s just my baby is graduating. I’m so proud of you.”

It was time to get started so you and Jensen took your seats near D and the kids. Over the past year the three of you had gotten close and the kids were part of your family now too. Jacob loved having younger siblings and he was incredible as a big brother to Rob’s baby. When she was born you were sad. You thought about your little girl. When Cindi gave birth you took Jacob to the hospital and gave them space. They moved out of Austin not long after her birth. Rob and Cindi decided to move outside of the city limits so they weren’t too far.

You and Jacob moved in with Jensen about 5 months ago and everything was going great. You and Jensen had been talking more about the future and it excited you but scared you too.

Once the ceremony was over it was time to head back to the house for the party. Everyone came, even Jensen’s friends. Jared and his family, Misha and his kids, Jensen’s family and other people in your lives. It was a bigger party than you had ever thrown so you were thankful for Danneel and Gen’s help with planning.

You went upstairs to change and get ready for the party. You were feeling a bit tired and under the weather. You had been running around trying to get things ready for the past few days. Jensen insisted you go to the doctor to get checked. The doctor said everything was fine you just needed rest. She did draw blood to check your iron levels and everything else.

While upstairs your phone rang. You answered the phone and it was the doctor with your results. You were crying when you got off the phone. You had no idea how to process what she told you. How would you tell Jensen and Jacob. Your mind was spinning and you just cried. This was going to change so much.

You composed yourself and went back downstairs. Jensen was at the grill and saw you come downstairs. He mouthed “are you okay” you nodded yes. Jacob asked for everyone’s attention and he thanked everyone for their support and love. He hugged you and said “Mom I know moving here was hard but I’m glad we did. We have an incredible family and Jensen. Jensen, thank you for loving my mom and being incredible with me. You’ve helped me in so many ways over this past year.” He hugged Jensen.

Jensen took the floor next “Jacob, I couldn’t be more proud of you if you were my own son. You are an amazing young man with an incredible future. Thank you for accepting me and allowing me to love you and your mom. And Y/N, thank you for everything. You’ve made my life so much better and you’ve given me an incredible son. There is just one more thing I need from you.” Jensen turned to you, dropped to his knee and pulled out a ring “will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

You were speechless and you cried. Shaking your head yes. He placed the ring on your finger and hugged you. Everyone cheered and congratulated you. You pulled Jensen to the downstairs guest room. “Jensen I need to talk to you. I got a call from my doctor and they gave me my results. They know why I’ve been so sick. I’m anemic and um I don’t know how to tell you this.” You started to cry a little. Jensen wrapped his arms around you and kissed you. “It’s okay baby. Whatever it is we will deal with it together.” “Jensen I love you so much and I can’t wait to be your wife. I um I’m pregnant” you blurted out.

Jensen’s eyes filled with tears. You started to panic. “You’re pregnant” he asked. “Like really pregnant. You’re having my baby” he asked. “Yes, Jensen. I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby. Are you mad?” You whispered. “Mad?!? No! I’m so happy. We’re having a baby. We’re getting married and having a baby. Oh I’m so excited” he said. “Can we wait to tell everyone. I don’t want to say anything too early” you asked. He shook his head yes and smiled. Taking you in his arms he kissed you deeply. “I love you so much, Y/N.” “I love you too, Jensen.”

*time jump 8 months later*

“Okay Mrs Ackles it’s time. Give me a big push. You got this. Just a few more and your baby will be here.” The doctor told you. Jensen stood by the bed helping you deliver your baby. He kissed your forehead “you’ve got this baby. Just a few more pushes and you’ll be holding our baby. Come on sweetheart.” You pushed and soon you heard the sound of your baby crying. The doctor placed the baby on your chest and you looked down at this tiny miracle you and Jensen created. Ten fingers, ten toes and beautiful green eyes like their daddy.

After the baby was cleaned and dressed Jensen carried them to the waiting room to meet their family. Jensen was smiling so proudly holding the baby. Everyone was on their feet as soon as they saw him. “Y/N is doing great and it is my honor to introduce you all to our beautiful baby girl, Arabella Nicole Ackles.” Jacob beamed with joy. His little sister, finally where she belongs.

The End

Tags: @nescaveckdaily @kr804573 @k-slla @jackles010378 @jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @roseblue373 @cheynovak @jassackles @chriszgirl92 @suckitands33 @arcannaa @n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78 @smoothdogsgirl

[missmaywemeetagain]

Fireside - A Pink Scarf Universe Story 💗🧣💗

A/N: Apparently, I am not able to stay too far away from our darlin' Reader and Elvis, no matter how hard I try! I just love them too much. So, here is a sexy little blurb taking place in February 1970. I hope you enjoy, and maybe if this gets enough likes and traction, I'll release more and grow the "Pink Scarf Universe" lol, who knows?

If you haven't read Pink Scarf, read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist (though honestly you could probably read this without knowing their story it just won't be as fun for you without the background info 😂).

I will also say this isn't as heavily edited and revised as PS, but hopefully it's still readable...

TW: MINORS DNI 18+ SEXX. PS Daddy E is back! The usual filth with these two. Fluff. A tinge of angst at the beginning. 😏

Word Count: 4.4k

Fireside

Graceland, Late February 1970

Shivering as you make your way across the lawn, you pull your arms across your coat in tight, feeling a bit insolent and annoyed that you even have to trudge out here in the middle of the night. But Elvis had insisted, in that spontaneous way of his, that he must have a campfire tonight, of all nights, even though they all had just returned from his second engagement in Las Vegas and were all beat to hell with exhaustion. So, he and the guys had all tasked at building what you considered to be a too large and dangerous fire in out on the back lawn.

Perhaps you might be feeling more understanding if you hadn’t just spent two weeks away from him—the longest amount of time you’d been apart since August. You’d been sent home early after catching the monster flu that had been going around, which had turned quickly into a terrible bout of bronchitis. The desert air had done you no favors, and Elvis, along with the doctor, had sent you home to Memphis despite your protests. You were furious because Elvis, too, had caught the flu, but in that stubborn way of his had insisted on performing through it like an insane person.

“All these folks paid good money and flew in from all over to come see me, Satnin. I ain’t gonna disappoint them,” he’d said to you as you both coughed and raged with fever.

You were so mad he’d sent you home during your first engagement as one of his back-up singers that you were still stung by it. But you were also finding yourself increasingly needy for him along with your moodiness.

Which is why you find yourself out in the cold, sniffling, desperate for your fiancé to come inside and shower you with attention instead of living it up out in the cold with the guys he just spent a solid month with.

Your grumpiness is fueled as you approach the roaring flames and spot Elvis in his low Adirondack chair, laughing it up with the guys. You don’t like the feeling of jealousy that creeps over you at his attention being pulled away from you by these men. It’s silly, you know, just as you know it’s part of the package. Elvis’ light and charisma demands attention whether he means it to or not but having been away from him the past few weeks made you miss him in a way you haven’t felt before.

Part of you can’t escape how handsome he looks in the firelight, his smile wide and crinkling his lovely blue eyes. And that damn laugh of his is so contagious and musical that it almost—almost—pulls you out of your funk.

That tether between you has been pulled tight for too long and yanks you towards him out here in the cold. You stand over him sullenly for a moment until he raises those soulful eyes up to yours.

“Why ain’t you in bed, Satnin? You shouldn’t be out here. You’ll catch another chill,” Elvis says in what to him is a caring way yet to you feels almost dismissive. But he must see the needy look in your eyes and the tears brimming there because his voice softens and he adds, “Come ‘ere then,” and lifts the heavy blanket over his legs. A sense of deep relief falls over you as you slide sideways into his lap, throwing your legs across his, his warmth cocooning you. He pulls the heavy blanket up over you both and you snuggle into his chest.

Yes, this is what you need, you think, collapsing into him, his spicy familiar scent enveloping you, the heat of his body burning into yours. One arm circles around your back and his other hand rests on your thigh, pulling you ever closer. God, you missed this. You missed him. To think you spent so many years near him but without him… No wonder your brain concealed so much from you for so long—this yearning you feel is nearly unbearable and he is already yours.

You sigh into his neck, and he presses his chin down to look at you. “What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers in your ear, his hand slipping under your coat to rub comforting circles at your waist. His slender fingers are cold, but you don’t care in the least.

“Missed you,” is all you can eek out in your sensitive, tearful state, your hand clutching at the front of his coat.

“Aww, darlin’, I’m right here,” he says, kissing the top of your head, then pressing his fire-warmed cheek to your cool one.

You can’t help but pout, your mood worn from weeks of being sick and without him to comfort you. It’s not like you to act this way—for years you built a stoic shell around yourself to cope with Jack being gone all the time—but Elvis managed to break that shell into pieces last summer. Since then, you’ve found yourself feeling every little thing and unable to hide it from him. Perhaps it is because he is so finely tuned into you that he just knows when something is off, but you can’t seem to hide things from him even when you’ve tried.

“Mhm,” Elvis tuts in your ear, “you’re still sore that I sent you home, ain’tcha? I’m not gonna be sorry about that, honey. You were too sick and the doc was right—that Vegas air was doin’ you no good.” He shakes his head.

You huff stubbornly and bury your head into his long neck. Of course, logically, you know they were right to send you back, but you are still upset and not just about that. You can’t seem to voice exactly what you are mad about, only realizing that you are annoyed and sad and small and needy in a way you’ve never been before. And this overwhelm seems to steal your ability to express any of those emotions in words. You’re not sure what exactly you need, other than being as close as possible to the man you love.

“Oh, don’t you be obstinate, now,” Elvis warns quietly, the slightest edge of temper in his voice. Your only response is to cling to him harder, to nuzzle yourself further into the warmth that emanates off him.

He says nothing for a moment, staring into the fire, but you can sense the gears turning behind those pretty, worn eyes. Finally, he seems to come to some conclusion because his countenance shifts and he forces your chin out of his neck with his finger so he can look you in the eyes.

“Is all this because you need Daddy to take care of you?” he asks quietly, firmly. His voice is low and rumbles right down to your toes, the words setting every one of your nerves on fire along the way.

A whimper escapes your lips. You are suddenly grateful for the inky darkness of the winter’s night, at the heat of the fire, because they conceal the blush that suddenly blotches your cheeks as Elvis stares deeply into your eyes. The gaze has you squirming to get off his lap and you want to pull him into the house where you need him, but his large hands clamp down firm.

“Be still,” he commands sternly, but only loud enough for you to hear.

Your heart is galloping at the implication of those two little words.

“Now are ya gonna be a good, quiet little girl for me?” Elvis asks, his hand gripping your chin so you have to look at him. His face is the picture of controlled calm—it’s only the flames dancing in his darkening eyes that gives him away.

You hadn’t realized just how badly you needed him to take control until this very moment.

You manage to nod solemnly as all the blood in your body seems to rush into your core. You don’t know what he has in store for you, but the fact that he is not making any attempt to leave the company of the men surrounding you makes you nervous (and maybe a little intrigued).              

Elvis releases your chin and pulls the heavy blanket up over your shoulders, encouraging you to snuggle back into him by tightening his hand around your waist. The warm wool now covers you both from head to toe, and it is only then that you start to glean why that might be important.

You rest your head on his collarbone, waiting with bated breath, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart begin to quicken under your hand as you slip it into his coat. You’re unable to help the impulse to place a fluttering kiss at the pulse point on his elegant long neck, and his lip curls up in response. Before long, he begins drawing small circles with his fingertips up the inside of your thigh, and when reaching the hem of your dress, he slips under without compunction. You stiffen as he continues, unhurried, up, up, up until he reaches your panty line.

Your eyes widen and you wonder if Elvis is really going to do this with all the guys around. It’s bold, even for him, even with the blanket tenting and concealing his movements. A snake of apprehension in your gut is overrun by the thrill of the risk. The conversation around the fire flows on without either of you, and the crackle of the flames conceals a lot, and for that you are grateful.

The light brush of his fingers over the cotton of your panties makes you jump despite yourself, and in response, Elvis grips your waist hard, stilling you.

“Be good,” he orders through clenched teeth, “or I’m gonna stop and leave you to fend for yourself. Or maybe I oughta pull this blanket off and let the guys enjoy the show.” His lip quivers up slyly at that.

The threat stills you either way.

Elvis chuckles darkly. His fingers resume their teasing, dancing over the cotton at your core delightfully as you attempt to stay as still and quiet as possible. He is maddeningly patient, doing this until you can feel the throb of your pulse blossoming between your thighs, and it has you oh-so-quietly panting into his neck. But it’s not until he feels the fabric dampen under his touch that he finally slides his naughty, slender finger underneath, grazing through your slick and up to your sensitive bud, forcing you to bite down to keep from keening loudly.

Fuck, you’ve missed him.

By now, he knows how to play you like an instrument, his instrument, knowing exactly how much pressure to use as he circles your clit again and again, enough to get you sufficiently worked up. His casualness suggests he has all the time in the world while you’re sitting in his lap beginning to shudder from the pleasure coiling low in your belly.

Occasionally, he’ll stop, just to listen to your desperate breathlessness, your carnal wanting of him quelled by trying to be a quiet, good girl like you promised. A hint of a smirk plays on his face, making you want to crush your mouth to his or slap him for his teasing. Instead, you settle for clawing at his shirt.

The wetness that gathers between your legs has your panties soaked and sticking to you now, which might be embarrassing except for the fact that you are so damn needy for him, you couldn’t care less about your ruined underwear. Elvis discovers this fact as he finally dips lower, running the length of his finger back and forth through your sopping, swollen folds, taking his sweet damn time.

You tense. You are nearly ready to come undone just from his teasing, but you know that’s not what he wants. That’s not the game he’s playing. You raise your head from his chest just long enough to give him a pleading look.

He's doing a decent job of keeping his handsome features neutral, looking to a casual observer as though he is following the conversation around the fire and not driving you to madness under the blanket. But knowing him as you do, you can see the tiny giveaways that he, too, is flustered: the way his nostrils flare with his increased breathing rate, how his brilliant blues gleam with arousal, the way his plump lips part when he finally presses his middle finger deep into you.

Your wetness devours him readily. To hide the gasp and roaring flush on your cheeks, you pull the blanket up even farther. You clutch at his chest and your nails scrape his skin. After a few agonizing minutes, there’s no helping the instinct to grind your hips against his hand, wanting him deeper, wanting to consume him.

But while he smirks and is pleased with your desperation, he also will not relinquish control. He stills completely, one hand gripping your waist hard as a reminder of who is in charge. Your warm, wet heat clenches around his finger.

“Be good and stop squirmin’, little one,” he whispers low in your ear, “and maybe Daddy will keep finger fuckin’ you ‘till ya come.”

You stop moving but whine in response to those dirty words coming from his perfect pouty mouth—you just can’t help it—but it’s so quiet he can barely hear you. Your reward is another finger sliding deep into your heat. He picks up the pace in an unforgiving way. Gasping, you bite your lip when he curves those fingers just so, hitting that spot deep inside that is only his.

The blanket barely moves, and you have no idea what magic he is using to keep things so incognito, especially considering he naturally has so much energy that his limbs are usually vibrating uncontrollably. You still feel completely on display, though, especially when the pad of his thumb begins massaging your bud in time with his expert fingers pumping in and out of you.

I’m going to come undone, right here, in front of all the guys, you think in horror. You have no clue how you are going to keep quiet and still and good if that happens. Panic begins to build behind your arousal because you just know that coil is going to burst and you’ll cry out in ecstasy any second now (but a dark part of you is even more aroused by the scandalous nature of it all).

Elvis must sense the change in you because he edges you right up to the point of no return but not over. He halts his ministrations. You clutch desperately at his expensive shirt, certain you are going to shred it to pieces by the time this little game of his is through. Your heart pounds hard and fast against your ribcage, in time with his, and you wait to see what he has in store for you next. Because even though a part of you is embarrassed by this game, you are drinking in every drop of attention, relishing his command over you, needy for every morsel he deems to give you.

He’s considering his next move, you think, by the way his eyes narrow slightly and his grip on you shifts. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you almost moan for the loss of them, but catch yourself at the last second. Brazenly, he wipes his sticky fingers down your inner thigh, his eyes dancing with amusement as he does so.

You gape at him. He can’t be finished, you think dismally. He can’t leave me like this.

No, you don’t think so, not with the way you can feel his hardened length pressing into your hamstring.

He kisses your temple sweetly. “Now listen carefully, little girl: Imma need you to shift onto one of Daddy’s legs for a second. Nice and slow now, don’t call attention to it. And hold those ruined panties of yours to the side. I wanna feel that pretty little kitty weepin’ for me,” he rumbles in your ear.

Oh my goddd... The urge to moan long and loud fills you but you just nod instead.

You follow his directions and move your weight so one of his lean, muscled thighs is between yours. The rough fabric of his pants scrapes your bare pussy as he bounces his leg a few times, sending a cascaded of shivers into your belly. His pants will need to be dry cleaned for the soaking spot you’re leaving there, and part of you feels a sense of pride to be marking him in such a way. Mine.

Holding the blanket up to your shoulders dutifully, you stare at the golden flames licking into the air in front of you. No one seems to notice or care that you have shifted.

That’s when you feel it. The slow, deliberate way he undoes his belt, the ticking of his zipper. You blush furiously, then feel the spring of his heavy cock being released. Before you can react, he unceremoniously and quickly lifts you fully onto his lap, lining you up then impaling you down upon his length.

You cover your surprise and choke with a cough—not unusual considering you’re still recovering from bronchitis. Thank god you are as wet as you are because, even so, it’s a damn tight fit with him having been away these past few weeks. You have to keep yourself from rolling your eyes into the back of your head because he’s finally filling you the way you need him to.

Yes, this is what you wanted. This is what you needed. You just didn’t expect it to be in front of all his (albeit unaware) friends.

By the way Elvis grips your waist and from the soft grunt that escapes him, you know he’s struggling to contain his own reaction to your heat, despite the air of control he’s been exuding. He adjusts you how he wants you: leaning your back over his chest, your legs draped over his, his chin resting on your shoulder. With the way the seat of the chair tips down to the ground and with blanket pulled all the way up, nothing looks amiss.

You close your eyes and sigh, relishing the feel of him stretching you, his cock buried deliciously deep inside you. He envelops you in his arms, one under your breasts, the other at your lower belly. His warmth burns into your back, but he does not let you move. Those wiry but strong arms have effectively pinned you to him. Almost frantic, you try for some semblance of friction, anything at all to ease the tension, but he just chuckles at your near-silent gasps, holding you fast against him.

Finally, once you relent and relax, Elvis swivels his hips, again and again, in a slow rhythm not unlike one monumentally famous performance on TV in the beginning of his career, the one that sent the church ladies off their rockers and the teenage girls fainting. Suddenly, you want to giggle at the fact that his damn hips resulted in both his skyrocketing career and in his censorship because those same hips have certainly become even more skilled in the many years between then and now, but for different, more scandalous reasons. Maybe those church ladies had a point, after all, you laugh quietly. And it causes you to clench around his cock.

Then you hear a low growl in your ear: “What a dirty little girl you are, letting Daddy take you like this in front of all these men. Bein’ so good for me. You like this, baby girl?” Each statement is accentuated with a shallow but pointed roll of his pelvis.

You bite your lip, nodding. His dirty talk has molten heat flooding down your limbs and directly into your cunt. With the warmth of the roaring fire coupled with the passioned heat at your back, your arousal grows with each small movement, each scandalous word, and has you feeling like you might combust before this is all said and done.

So desperately do you want to ride him within an inch of his life, but he won’t allow it. No, this is his show, and you give into him, fully resting back onto his chest. He rewards you by finding your clit again, massaging it in slow time with his barely moving cock. The result is both torturous and delectable, working you into such a state that you dig your nails so hard into his clothed thighs that he hisses.  

“Fuck, little one, you feel so good,” Elvis breathes jaggedly into your ear. He presses a hand to your lower belly, then rolls his hips up. In this position, he’s big enough that you both can feel him there. “Takin’ my cock so well.”

You do your level best not to mewl, to stay quiet for him. Instead, your breathing pants through your nostrils and you try to keep your wits about you, trying to stay good as he fucks you so slowly within an inch of your life. Fucks you with all the guys around, who seem none the wiser.

He must feel you begin to flutter around him, your climax drawing ever closer. You feel like you’re about to burst because you need to scream, to moan out his name, do something that will let you release this pressure, but you tamp it all down as far as you can.

“Daddy’s gonna make you come now, sweetheart,” he purrs.

“N-not h-here,” you breathe out, panicked, knowing you can’t hold on much longer.

“Yes, here,” he chastises. “Right in front of ev’rybody. You’re gonna come so hard, baby, cuz Daddy treats you right, doesn’t he?”

You almost sob at that and nod, that coil poised to explode at any moment.

“But you’re gonna be good and so, so quiet cuz it’s just for me baby. You ain’t gonna cry out or move a muscle, okay?” he whispers and though he’s commanding, you know he’s close to losing control himself by how labored his breath is and how tightly he’s holding you.

You nod, and he flicks your clit with expert, rapid precision. “Now, lil’ one. Come now.”

That’s all you need. Quite suddenly, you are consumed by fire as hot as the one blazing in front of you. Your body tenses, then shudders violently in his lap and he holds you to him as you careen over the edge, lost to the dark night. It takes every ounce of self-control in you to not cry out, resulting instead in your huffed breaths. Long nails bite into his arms, clamoring for some outlet for your pleasure. Your eyes close, stars dancing behind them. Your walls clench and flutter around his length and you feel his slow rhythm begin to stutter.                                                        

“Fuck, baby, Jesus fuck, so good for m-me. Daddy’s gonna fill y-you up now. All mine. Aw, h-hell.” He pulses inside you, covering his own orgasm by biting deep into your shoulder, so hard you can feel it through the heavy winter coat you’re wearing. His thick, hot arousal throbs and coats your insides and you ride him through it with the tiniest rocking of your hips, feeling lighter than air but also grounded by him.

That’s what life with Elvis is like, you think. He grounds you to him, to his orbit, and sends you both shooting to the moon and the stars.  

Completely blissed out and spent, you fall into him, and he slumps back in the chair. As you come back down to Earth, you feel your breathing sync with his. You close your eyes and revel in the wonderful way he’s made you feel, this man you are so wildly in love with.

You’re no longer upset.

You’re just glad to be back in his arms.

Elvis nudges you and you realize you may have dosed off, as he is now soft inside you and the fire has dimmed some.

“I think you made quite the mess, lil’ mama,” he whispers, nipping at your ear.

Indeed. You can feel the cool pooling of your collective arousal coating you and his lap.

“I made the mess, huh?” you whisper back with a roll of your eyes.

“Oh, most definitely.” You can feel his boyish grin as he kisses your neck.

“Sure. And how exactly are we supposed to get back in the house without everyone knowing we had sex in front of them?”

He pauses and then you can feel the vibration of his chest as he starts to chuckle, that way he gets just before he has a laughing fit.

“Oh, don’t you dare start, E,” you warn. It’s contagious, of course, and you feel your own laughter bubbling. “You didn’t think this all the way through, did you, love?” you shake your head.

“That’s what I have you for!” he laughs.

“Well, I guess we’re just gonna have to sit here and simmer in our juices until everyone decides to go to bed, now won’t we?” you try to whisper sternly, but giggles escape at the complete ridiculousness of the situation.

“Not in our juices!” he cries with laughter. He’s completely beside himself, pressing his forehead into your back in an effort to hide his amusement.

“What was that, EP? Thought you both fell asleep over there,” Lamar says.

“N-nothing!” Elvis hiccups. “Just go about your business! Y’all must be getting’ tired, right? Time to go inside! Time for bed!” He flails his arms in the general direction of the house.

You are both trying, quite unsuccessfully, to hold back your laughter, and the guys are looking at you two like you’ve grown horns.

“Um, sure, EP? I guess it is getting late,” Charlie throws out.

Quizzical, the guys grumble a bit and begin to mosey their way towards the house.

“You comin’?” Lamar shouts.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it! We’ll get there!” Elvis calls, shooing him away, then dissolves into another peal of breathless laughter.  

“Okay, Crazy,” Lamar mumbles.

Elvis is sniffling and snorting by now. Your face is red and tears poke at the corners because the more he laughs, the more you laugh.

“I love you, Satnin,” he says, kissing your cheek gently once everyone is gone and your giggles have subsided.

“I love you, too, baby boy.” You press your forehead to his. “Now please tell me you have a handkerchief or something cuz otherwise you’re gonna need to wear this blanket around your waist to get inside.

“Anything for you, baby, anything for you,” Elvis says, holding back another peal of laughter.

And you know it’s true.

*

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[archangeldyke-all]

imagine sevika dressing slayer like this when it starts getting cold

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeM6mPBU/

anon i'm fucking SOBBING the little tail sweater!?!?!!?

men and minors dni

you'd come outside and find sevika smoking and waiting for slayer to do her business and you'd just burst into laughter at the sight of the dog wearing more coats than her body weight and a few of sevika's socks pulled up over her feet and tail. slayer can barely move she's so bundled up, and sevika's glaring at you. "she gets cold!" she protests. you still can't catch your breath, clinging onto sevika's arm to keep from collapsing into the snow beneath you

also, all of slayer's clothes would be color coordinated. i think sev's fave color is purple, so all of slayers little sweaters and leashes and boots would be some shade of purple or pink. can you imagine sevika in nothing more than her thin cloak in the snow holding a fluorescent pink/purple bundle of fabric, with little slayer's face poking out??? GAHHHH

this is perfect. this is so fucking perfect. (also the little tongue sticking out WAHHH so slayer coded)

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki

[ramu-ego]

I was thinking abt what I could send and I was wondering if you could do Ness + Voyeurism (ehem kaiser) + and his hairrrr, please??

y'all are gonna force me into liking Ness with all these requests aren't yeah? 😂 It's ok babe for you, more Ness ♡ OH MY GOD I FORGOT THE HAIR PART BUT I WROTE IT ALL OUT GOD I HOPE YOU STILL LIKE IT I'M SO SORRY

event ~ ♡ (closed) cw: fem!Reader, dom!Reader, voyeurism, cucking (Kaiser), unprotected vaginal sex, creampie ,unedited word count: drabble character(s): Alexis Ness

DNI :: minors, blank blogs + m!Reader blogs

He'd shown his skills to you in every stadium they played in. Attempted to wow, court and win you over every moment you two crossed paths. From flowers to expensive gifts and even grand empty proclamations of over inflated egotistical affection. Kaiser had played a game he'd finally lost for the first time. Disgusted by the fact he'd lost to his mutt of a teammate. Even more disgusted by the fact he couldn't look away at this very moment.

The bounce of your ass on Ness's lap enticed even Kaiser's burning gaze to stay on you. Engulfed by the sight of your cunt swallowing up his teammate's cock. Unable to do anything but watch with a scowl etched into his pretty boy face. You didn't want him and this was the final nail in the coffin to rub Kaiser's face in it.

"Mmm that's my good boy..." Words he always wanted to hear, no longer even in his direction as you drug your fingertips down Ness's chest. His labored breathing filling the room as he rolled his hips up into you with very little rhythm. All of it done by you as you pinned him down and made a show of fucking him like your own personal toy in front of the egotistical bastard striker, "Come on now Alexis babe...don't be shy now. Show your shitty teammate why I love this cock of yours so much more than I could ever love his~"

"Shit- Fuck- I can't-" Ness's bubbling protests where lies anyone could see right through. With his white knuckled grip on the sheets under him twisting in his fists. Wadded blankets while he tried to keep even a fraction of the same hold on his sanity. Nearly impossible all contributing to the fact he was being watched. And not by just anyone. Ness knew Kaiser's eyes were searing on him. With his cock delving into the gummiest parts of your core. He was no help but he didn't need to be. Ness did his part driving Kaiser crazy by simply being the cock you chose to milk with your hips working him over like he'd never been before. Resisting the urge to cum was foolish when you clenched around him and touched down his chest with that wicked grin on your face.

"But baby..." You swirled your hips back and forth on him letting the tip of his cock kiss your cervix just so Ness would loose himself to the warm gooey wetness of your walls sinking around him until you left him coated in your juices the second you lifted them up, "Your cock is so much better than that stinky nasty one of his."

It wasn't even the fact he hated his teammate. Ness would on any given day lavish his praise onto Kaiser and be the one bathing him in attention. You drove a wedge between that. No. Kaiser did when he wouldn't take your answer to his constant pestering. Ness couldn't help that. Nor could he stop the way his toes curled and hips bucked. Your core spasming around him too much to handle. Kaiser's eyes the final thing he couldn't stand. Just a loud guttural moan being ripped from Ness's lips as his balls tightened and you sat down fully on his cock the second he emptied his load. Pouring his cum into you no matter the repercussions. Swimming his a haze of pleasure as his cock twitched and he emptied himself inside you. Cum overflowing around the base of his cock and you hadn't even moved yet. Unsure he'd ever came like this before. Or if he would cum this hard ever again. Ness was out of breath and loss for words when you slowly began to lift your hips off him.

Cock covered in your juices and streaked with his own cum. Ness looked through his mop of curly bangs as you made a show of spreading yourself in Kaiser's direction. Feeling his own cold cum drip from your cunt back down on his cock. Unsure what he heard as his ears rang. All he could recall was the gesture of goodwill you gave Kaiser by offering to eat his teammate's cum from your pussy. Just as Ness thought he'd never take it as an offer. He was left utterly caught off guard to see his cherished teammate devour his own cum right from your cunt. Ness thought Kaiser might have liked you. But he never imagined he liked you this much. And he didn't care either. Because it was his cock you'd get back on the second Kaiser opened his big dumb mouth again. Ness couldn't be happier to have such an egotistical asshole of a teammate.

[marleysfinest]

Hi Mar! Congratulations for the milestone! ✨ I see you open your request and I'd love to join the event. can I please request Erwin x female reader (she/her) with prompt 4? Something about myself, I'm shorter than Levi (5'0) 😂 but also in my 30s. Reserved and tactical but not as brave as our Commander 🥲 what turns me on, I like power dynamic/authority play/fight for dominance but I don't like degradation. I hope that's enough from me. Thank you in advance and have a nice day 💕

thank u sweetness!! oooooh I've never written for Erwin before, this is going to be fun...

erwin x f reader (she/her). prompt: close your eyes. 18+minors dni

cw: pet names (kitten, baby, daddy), bdsm if you squint (tying up)

smut below the cut!

you finish cleaning up the last part of the kitchen counter, scooping the rogue crumbs into the palm of your hand while erwin rinses the last of the dishes. this is your usual evening routine when you spend the night at his place; quiet buzzing as you both undertake your own chores without complaining, returning erwin's sophisticated kitchen and dining room to its original cleanliness. you're so in the zone that you don't notice that he's finished doing the dishes long before you're done with the countertops, and it's only when you glance at him that you notice him standing, arms crossed, staring at you hungrily with his towel slung over his shoulder, as he leans against the sink.

"what?" you ask, unable to help the smile spreading across your own face. you mimic his stance and cross your arms over your chest, eliciting an amused huff from your beau.

"nothing," he replies, "just lookin' at you. that alright?"

you narrow your eyes, knowing that he's up to something more. it takes a lot to distract him from his evening glass of red wine, something he enjoys without fail every night after dinner. you shake your head, amused by his attempt at being dark and brooding.

"if you must," you sigh, heading for the wine rack and pulling out a bottle of pinot noir, "are you partaking tonight, or do you have other plans?"

erwin pulls the towel off his shoulder and places it gently on the countertop before sidling over to you. when he's in front of you, towering above you like a skyscraper, you're reminded of the sheer size difference between the two of you; he can hold you in the palm of his hand in more ways than one. your eyes meet, and his gaze bores into you in a way that makes you weak at the knees, but you won't admit that. despite never growing tired of the way he bosses you around and reduces you to a puddle day after day, you'd rather die than give him the satisfaction of letting him know that for certain. he takes the bottle from your hand and sets it down.

"close your eyes."

his command is soft, but absolute. it's not a question, nor an option. knowing that he was likely on the brink of a game, and you wouldn't want to disappoint him, you oblige with a smile. erwin places his hand gently on your cheek, running his thumb over your cheekbone with a feathery touch, sending shivers throughout your body.

"you're so beautiful," he whispers, his eyelids lowering to soften his gaze, before leaning in to plant a kiss on your lips. as ever, he manages to marry the softness with an intensity that bubbles beneath the surface, and soon he's scooping you onto the counter to bring you face-to-face with him. his tongue slides into your mouth, his teeth nip at your lip, and a desperation leaks from him that wasn't there before. although, who are you to question it? you certainly don't protest while he slips his hands beneath the waistband of your sweats, and slides them completely off easier than he would his own. you match his desperation by unbuckling his belt and trousers, feeling how hard he is already. your eyes flicker open for a moment, but you quickly correct yourself when erwin takes your chin in his hands firmly, almost like a warning.

"that's it, kitten," he purrs as you obey him, his breath hot on your lips as it leaves him in frantic spurts, "give daddy what he wants."

your head lolls back as he shifts his focus to your neck and pulls your hips to the very edge of the counter. he sucks and licks so intensely, so feverishly, you'd be mistaken for thinking this was the last time he'd ever get to do it. your hands are in his hair, tousling and pulling the golden locks to give him a dishevelled look he hardly ever sported, feeling so lost in the heat that it takes you entirely by surprise when he enters you, slipping in effortlessly but not without eliciting sharp breaths from you both. you, always taken aback by his size and him, never growing tired of how warm you feel around him.

"fuck, baby," he growls, "what did I do to deserve this?"

[michelleleewise]

Hiya, please may i request a sick Loki x f!reader where he’s refusing to take his meds to reader promises him a “treat” 😏😏 if he takes them without protest. Tysm luv ya writing!

OK, this is my very first request, so bare with me!! And thank you for reading my stories!! K, here we go....this absolutely got away from me fast 😂 I hope it was what you were asking for💚

===================================

Be a Good Boy..

Pairing: Loki x f!reader

Warnings: sick fic (not covid), mild swearing, medicine, soft subloki, soft domreader, praise kink. Oral (m receiving) .....18+, minors dni

Summary: Even a God can feel under the weather, but trying to get him to take his medicine is like pulling teeth, but you know how to make him feel better.

"Lokiiiii." You called out, closing the door to your apartment. "I got your medicine." You said kicking your shoes off by the door. You didn't get a response, but knew he was in your room, most likely hiding under the blankets. You smiled at the thought that a 1,000 year old God was hiding from you.

You made your way to the kitchen, putting on a kettle of water to make him some hot tea. You knew something was off this morning when you saw his red puffy eyes, his scratchy voice and how hot he felt. You didn't know alot about frost giants but you knew he shouldn't have been that warm.

"I think your sick love." You said touching his head.

"Nonsense, I'm fine." He sat up, clearing his throat as he started coughing.

"Loki, you need to stay in bed, I'll take care of you." You said pulling him back down.

"Darling, I am a God. I don't get sick." He said as he sneezed. "Uh huh." You sighed sitting up.

"And why is it so bright in here?" He asked covering his eyes. "Alright, thats it, im going to go get you medicine and your staying in bed." You said standing up.

"Darling.." he whined. "Ah..no. don't argue with me." You said putting your hand up. He sighed laying back down.

The kettle screamed, pulling it off the stove, you poured it over the tea bag, grabbed the medicine and made your way to the bedroom.

You walked in, seeing Loki had pulled the covers over his head. "Loki, I'm back." You said making your way to his side of the bed. You heard him groan and scoot to the other side of the bed as you sat down. "Love, you acting like a child, get back over here." You said pulling on the covers. "I don't need medicine, I'm fine." He said coughing again.

You sighed, pulling the cough syrup out of the box. You didn't know how much a God needed, so you doubled the dose. "Loki, I'll make you a deal." You said turning towards him, seeing him peek out from under the covers. "What sort of deal?" He asked watching you. "You take your medicine, with no complaining....and I'll give you a reward." You winked at him.

You watched him slowly pull the covers down, looking at you. "W..what kind of reward?" He asked scooting closer. "Well, I'm sure I can think of something you'd like." You smirked. "So, are you going to be a good boy and take your medicine?" You asked holding out the cup. You saw his cheeks flush as he considered you. He slowly reached out, taking the cup, downing it before he changed his mind, scrunched his nose at the taste. "That is horrid." He said looking at you. "That's why I made you tea." You smiled handing it to him.

He leaned against the headboard sipping his tea, as you went to the bathroom to rinse the cup out. "You were such a good boy Loki, are you ready for your reward?" You asked standing at the foot of the bed. "Y..yes ma'am." He said as he cheeks flushed again. You kneeled on the bed, crawling your way up to him. You took the tea from him, setting it on the nightstand. You leaned down "let me make you feel better." You whispered in his ear as you nibbled his earlobe, hearing him moan.

You straddled his lap as you softly kissed his neck. "You did so good for me, I'm so proud of you." You said kissing down his neck, hearing him groan, digging his fingers into your hips. "Mmm you love being my good boy don't you." You asked, kissing his collar bone. "Y..yes ma'am, I want to be good." He breathed as his head fell back against the head board.

You scooted down, pulling the blankets down, spreading his legs to settle between them. You slowly pulled his sleep pants down, releasing his hard cock as it bounced against his stomach. "Oh baby, do you want me to help you?" You asked, running your hands up and down his thighs, seeing him nod. "Words love." You said lowering yourself "y..yes, please touch me." He breathed "there's my good boy." You smiled. Hooking an arm his thigh you grabbed his cock in the other, slowly pumping up and down.

You watched him grip the sheets as he tossed his head back panting. "You so beautiful baby." You said as you leaned down, licking up the underside of his cock from base to tip before swirling your tongue around his slit hearing him moan. He gasped as you wrapped your lips around him, taking him down your throat. You held still for a second before you slowly started bobbing your head up and down.

"Norns y/n, your mouth is heaven." He panted, as you quicked your pace, taking him as far down your throat as you could. You felt his fingers slip into your hair as you hummed around him making him call out and shudder. You reached your hand down to caress his balls as you took him all the way in, your nose brushing against his pelvis. "Y....y/n, i...ahh gods.....im..." he moaned loudly gripping your hair as his hips jerked slightly, you hummed telling him to let go. You felt him twitch in your mouth as you sucked hard, feeling him come hard, spilling down your throat as he cried out arching his back.

You slowly bobbed your head a few times, riding him through his high as you pulled off of him with a pop. You looked at him, hair a mess, panting and totally spent, he was never more beautiful. You went to the bathroom, coming back with a warm cloth cleaning him up. Pulling his pants back up you tucked the blankets around him as he laid back down. You grabbed his now cold tea to go dump it out

"Darling?" He whispered, his eyes closed "yes Loki?" You leaned down. "When do I take my medicine again?" He asked making you smile. "In a few hours, now sleep." You said kissing his forehead. "I love you y/n." He sighed as you pulled back. "I love you too Loki." You breathed pushing his hair back. You couldn't help be excited for his next dose.

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

[fayes-fics]

Ok Faye, do your dirtiest 🫦 pretty please 🙏🏻 😁💕

276. “Bend over and spread your legs”

322. “You take my fingers so well, don’t you?”

66. “I want it to hurt”

Give me mean dom Clownthany, I can handle it 🤤😇😂😘

Take It

Double Bind Masterpost

PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Anthony gives reader exactly what she wants

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, d/s relationship, mean dom Anthony, sub reader, pussy spanking, fingering, gagging, vaginal sex, slightly rough consensual sex.

Word Count: 1.6k

Authors Note: Hey lovely @iboopedyournose I hope you like this it’s pretty full on and he’s so mean. Of course it’s not a 500 word ficlet, who was I kidding with that idea?! Also err the next fic I publish might lead on from this one. Just sayin’

You're enjoying the ball at Aubrey Hall when suddenly Anthony grabs your arm.

“Did you think I wouldn't notice? I saw you flirting with him.” His tone is bitter as he hisses into your ear.

“I wasn't, sir,” you counter. It’s a slight lie. This secret arrangement you have is so thrilling, hiding behind the veneer of respectability. He pretends to court you in public; in private, he ties you to his bed and fucks you every way. You asked him to ensure that he pushed your boundaries this evening.

“Do you know who he is?” he interrogates.

“It was just a friendly chat,” you defend opaquely, somewhat obscuring the truth. 

“My office. Now.”

“But it’s the middle of the party,” you protest, playing the role.

“Now.” He drags you along by the elbow. Discreet enough, it looks like he is helping you through the crowd, but his grip is vice-like.

He guides you into a room with a big wooden desk and a roaring fire and closes the door with finality. But it's the click of a lock and him pocketing the key that causes your butterflies to roar into life. Oh yes.

He crowds into you, and a hand slips around your throat. 

“Don’t ever talk to another man without my permission, do you hear me?” His tone is dripping with menace, just like you want. 

“Yes, sir,” you meet his gaze, “I’m sorry, sir. Please, will you kiss me?” 

“No,” he scoffs, “kisses are only for good girls who obey my rules.”

He maintains his grips and shoves you towards the large bay window containing a couple of chairs and a table.

“Bend over and spread your legs,” he snarls, releasing you.

You obey, your hands landing on the cushioned chair seat.

“Wider,” he commands.

“I can’t, my dress,” you protest.

Then there is a tearing sound, and the warm air of the fire hits the back of your legs. He has just ripped a line up to your waist. He tears open your underwear, and it falls to the ground.

“Open your legs. Don’t test me,” he warns.

You widen your stance instantly.

“Head down” he pushes the back of your head until it's down on the seat; you are almost bent double.

“That's it; don’t you dare move.” His voice is etched with danger.

Then all is quiet. You wait, breathing heavy, anticipation burning hard in your belly. 

He suddenly cups his hand forcefully between your legs, his middle finger quests against your clit, the heel of his palm against your opening.

“Who does this belong to?” 

“You” 

“What can I do with it?” He curls his grip grabbing at your flesh, his blunt nails dragging into your pussy lips.

“Anything you want, sir.”

“I think this cunt needs to be taught a lesson,” he growls,

His hand withdraws then three fingers land a stinging blow on your exposed clit.

*smack*

You cry out, the sensation a mix of pleasure and pain.

“Does that hurt a little, my girl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he snarls, “I want it to hurt.”

*smack*

You moan. Your clit swells, burns and pulses from the sting. Feeling yourself getting wetter, that ache inside desperate for you to be filled.

*smack*

This blow is different; it’s a whole hand across your pussy, the touch lingering, his fingertips slip against your tingling bud, teasing.

He keeps going, pulling a litany of noises from you. Spanking between your legs, sometimes catching your clit, other times just the sensitive skin around your upper thighs, your lips. Your skin feels hot, swollen, but so wet as you leak over yourself.

“Look at your swollen red little weeping cunt,” he preens, admiring his handiwork. “I think it needs something else, don’t you?”

Two fingers slide into your soaked pussy, and you moan at the sensation. His treatment is not slow or kind - it’s rough, primal.

“You take my fingers so well, don't you?” He chimes over the sloppy wet noises he is drawing from your body. 

“Yes, sir,” You should be ashamed, but the sound just turns you on more.

He adds a third finger and flattens his hand, stretching you wide. You feel the squeeze of his knuckles as they drag in and out.

“Oh, it’s too much,” you wail.

“Shut up,” he barks, pushing deeper and faster “you can take it.”

“Please make me cum,” you babble.

“No,” he snipes and stops all movement. You pant hard. “Only good girls get to cum; bad girls get punished.”

He withdraws the fingers and spanks hard against your clit. Then dives back in as you shriek. He’s deliberately pushing you against the line of pleasure and pain, never quite touching enough where you need to bring you over the edge—just an occasional nudge to keep you aching and desperate for him.

He suddenly pulls his hand from you and steps away.

“No sir,” you wail, “please come back.”

“Shut up,” he grouses. You hear him stripping off his clothes. 

“Please, sir, I….”

He yanks your head up by your hair.

“What part of shut up don’t you understand?” he sneers into your ear. “Open your mouth, right now.”

You obey. Anthony bundles his silk cravat into your mouth; you can smell yourself on his fingers as he does so. 

“Bite down, girl.” Again you obey. “Good. Maybe that will keep you fucking quiet.”

You breathe heavily out of your nose, the silk absorbing all the saliva in your mouth. It’s a lot of material, and you struggle not to gag.

He stands behind you. His hands' band around your body and grab your breasts through your clothing. Then he growls and rips your gauzy dress higher until it tears in two and falls to the ground around you in tatters.

You protest, but it’s just a muffled sound against his silk.

“You’ll have to leave this room naked, so everyone knows the harlot you are,” his tone cutting.

He yanks off your stays, so you are now totally naked. Grabbing your breasts into his hands and pulling you back against him, his heated flesh searing against yours. He surges his cock between your bum cheeks.

“Climb onto the chair,” his voice steely. You do as asked, your arms resting on the chair back, staring out the window into the darkness of the night.  

He grabs your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints, and you grunt into your gag.

“Oh, I like it so much when you can't talk back to me,” he chuckles darkly.

And then he's pressing into you. Rigid and unforgiving. You wail around your silk gag as he stretches you more than his fingers ever could, plundering deep and hitting your hilt with a ragged groan.

“Fuck if you aren't made for me,” he snarls and begins pounding into you in earnest. 

Your knees chafe against the velvet seat as he drags you back and forth with force, the chair creaking under his punishing rhythm. All you can do is hold on with a vice-like grip and drool against your gag, moaning and crying the whole time.

“Take it,” he growls as he pushes hard, changing the angle of his hips to hit all the way at the top of your channel, where it radiates a tension out across to your hips. You scream against his cravat on every stroke, teetering on the line of pleasure-pain again.

You suddenly see a match spark through the window, and it briefly lights up a familiar face - the man you talked to earlier. You see the glowing tip of a cigarette; it seems he is standing in the darkness, watching you being fucked. You close your eyes briefly to deal with the onslaught of Anthony’s unforgiving pace, and when you reopen them, the man is gone. It must've been a figment of your imagination - a mirage of your heightened state. Anthony fucks you so hard you are seeing things now.

“Now, as punishment, you are not going to cum tonight, do you hear me?” he barks into your hair. “I will take my pleasure and leave you wanting. Maybe then you’ll finally obey my rules.”

You protest hard against your gag, but he ignores all the muffled pleas and ploughs on. Your legs shake from the unforgiving angle he has you in. And just as you think you may collapse, he roars loud in your ear and pulls out, splashing his hot seed onto your lower back. 

You are still aching and so close to your peak that you have tears running down your face.

“Did you learn your lesson?” he lectures.

You nod your head, resenting what he is doing.

He grabs your jaw and pulls his cravat out of your mouth. You cough and gasp as your mouth is released.

“Now I’m sending you upstairs to your guest bed, and I forbid you from touching yourself. I will know if you try,” he warns.

“What do I wear, sir? I'm naked” your voice is scratchy and rough.

He hands you his shirt. “You’ll just have to find a way not to be seen,” he shrugs.

“But sir I….”

“Leave now,” he instructs as you pull on his shirt and attempt to cover everything you need, wiping away your tears.

You walk towards the door that he dutifully unlocks. 

“I hope this was everything you wanted, darling girl,” he whispers in your ear, breaking character.

You smile over your shoulder at him. “It was wonderful. Please can I touch myself, though? I'm aching.”

“Of course, darling, I want you to think of me when you do it.” his smile is sinful. “But I meant what I said about that man”, he adds sincerely. “Don't go near him.”

You frown but decide not to question it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he presses a quick kiss to your hairline and then shoos you out into the deserted hallway to make your way to bed.