#SIP certified wines

[wine-porn]

Dry Creek Merlot

A favorite–though rather obscure��Merlot producer of mine, drawing from the incredible Arroyo Seco AVA: something far more known for Chardonnay… but think about it… take all the time you need… Great chard regions = great Merlot regions. Carneros ring a bell? And I just learned this winery is in Santa Rosa… I always just assumed they were in MontCo somewhere, or maybe Carmel Valley or something.…

[rememberwren]

Practice

About this: certified drabble gone out of hand. best friend!Kyle Gaz Garrick/fem!reader. PIV, fingering, oral (fem receiving). King of your firsts, you ask your best friend Kyle to take your virginity.

Part 1 here.

-

“Kyle?”

“Hm?” 

“Can I talk to you about something?” 

He sucks in a breath, like you’ve asked for something painful. “No can do, honey pie. I’m just here to sit in silence.”

You roll your eyes, though his joke breaks through the ice of your nerves and melts that anxious, frozen part inside you. Kyle’s good at that—putting you at ease. He does it in such easy, flippant ways that you aren’t even sure if it’s being done intentionally. Just another excuse added to the grocery-list-length of reasons why you’re here now, asking him for this. 

“If I had a favor…a big one. Would you do it?” 

He grins, a flash of pale, straight teeth. “That’s totally dependent on the favor. Does it involve burying a body?” 

“No.”

“—because my answer is yes—“

“Would you have sex with me? For my first time.” The mirthful expression drops from his face, all teasing fading away. He turns to you—literally angles his body toward you—to give you his full attention. You do your best to meet his eyes. See, you can make eye contact too. You’re to be taken seriously.  

He blinks placidly and asks: “Why me?” 

“We’ve practiced stuff before,” you begin to recite, though that grocery list of reasons why Kyle would make the perfect party in your brain has suddenly gone frustratingly fuzzy. “You make me feel safe, and I’m—like, really attracted to you.”

His mouth wobbles, threatening to grin. “Yeah?” he asks, playing at unaffected. He runs a hand over his shorn hair and answers for himself: “Yeah.” 

“Kyle. Focus.”

“Okay, okay, how’s this for focus: all those things you just said? Those are things you’ll probably feel for someone in the future. A partner. Somebody you really want to give yourself to. So why do it now with me? Why not wait for it to be real?” he asks. 

It’s…it’s a good question. With a really good answer. But telling Kyle that this is real for you? That’s not an option. So ignoring the obvious, what’s another good reason you could possibly have for not wanting to wait for Mx. Right?  

Kyle’s waiting, watching, brows raised in an smug expression that says, See. I’ve just talked you down from a dangerous ledge. You’re welcome, when you finally settle on the only excuse you can think of.

“Because,” you say, “I wanna feel good now.” 

-

He can get behind that. He can get underneath it, on top of it. Anywhere it wants him—Kyle can get there. Because you deserve to feel good, and there’s nobody in this godforsaken world who deserves to be making you feel good, but Kyle comes close. You chose him, after all, and he thinks that must stand for something. 

He sinks into the mindset the way other men must slip into well-fitting suits; this is tailor-made for him. He’ll give you the princess treatment: dinner, back to his place for wine, then he’ll sip the taste of it off of your tongue and—

At the first sign of his acquiescence, you whip your shirt off over your head and his brain blue screens. 

“Whoa,” he says. He gives himself a solid moment to eat you up with his eyes: your soft curves, your dimples, the bra you’ve chosen with the lacy edges—god, did you somehow know that he’s a sucker for lace? After the moment ends he contents himself to going hungry, scoops up your shirt and hands it back to you. “I didn’t mean now.” 

You frown, pressing your shirt to your chest to protect your modesty. “When, then?” 

“When I have the chance to treat you right,” says Kyle, laying a hand on your thigh, smoothing his thumb along the curve of your knee. “To take you out first. Dress up. Light some scented candles, I don’t know—“

“That sounds like it will take forever,” you grumble. “Can’t we fast forward? Give me a sec.”

Brushing his hand away, you disappear into your bedroom and then the light to the en suite bathroom clicks on. You leave your shirt behind. Kyle’s fingers are drawn to it, feeling the warmth from where it pressed against your skin. He wonders if it smells like you, but Jesus he’s not going to sniff your fucking shirt. He’s not that desperate—

God, it smells good. 

You reappear just a split second after he tosses your shirt back into its place on the sofa, and you set your boon down on the coffee table. It’s a scented candle, blueberry, half burned off. You flick the sparkwheel of the lighter in your hand and tip the candle dangerously sideways to light it. 

“There!” you say cheerfully. “Candles. All my dreams are suddenly coming true.”

“You are a cheeky little brat. You want in my pants that bad?” he asks, just to watch the way your mouth drops, words turning into stuttered syllables. He laughs and pats his lap. “C’mere.” 

You go, kneeling over him. His hips are slim, but it’s still a stretch for you, his hands finding your waist and helping to keep you steady, thumbs smoothing against the bare skin of your belly. He draws you against him in a hug, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down the length of your back, soft and slow, drawing shivers from you. 

“What’re you so eager for, hm?” Kyle wonders. On his lap like this, arms looped around his neck, you have a small height advantage. He pulls back to look up at you, eyes tracing over your nose down to your mouth and back up again, memorizing your features in the dim lamplight. “Don’t even know what you’re missing, do you?” 

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” you murmur, playing with the collar of his shirt. It tickles, but he doesn’t laugh. “Virginity is an outdated concept anyway.” 

“You want it?” 

Your brows raise. “Yes?” 

He’s a bastard for saying: “Don’t sound too sure to me.” 

“I want it, Kyle. Come on, don’t tease me.” 

“Hey—if we do this, you’re in charge,” he tells you, finally relenting against his body’s fervent desire to see his cock harden. You shift on his lap and he has to pause speaking, hands flexing against you. “Whatever you say goes. Whenever you want to stop, we stop. Alright?” 

“Sounds like a lot of responsibility.”. 

“Tough,” he says. “Those are the rules, honey pie. Take it or leave it.” 

“Can I make my first rule?” 

“I’m all ears.” 

You clear your throat and mutter into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, “Kyle, I want you to be in charge.” 

Kyle’s breath leaves him in a rush. He’s a bad man. He must be, for getting so drunk off of those words. For wanting so badly to be in charge of you and your pretty body, for finding your overwhelming trust in him absolutely heady.

He leans up and kisses you. It’s not the first time you’ve ever kissed, but it’s easily the best. You take it to a hungry place and he doesn’t even attempt to rein you in, just sighs into your mouth and sucks on your tongue, your kisses turning into a heated give-and-take that reminds him of ocean waves he wants to be swept away in. 

You settle more firmly in his lap, fingers stroking up through his shaved hair. Your nails against his scalp makes him groan. The two of you kiss until your mouths are numb, until you have devolved into little thrusts against him, seeking friction. 

When you seem well and truly desperate, Kyle slips his hands up from your hips to cup your breasts, thumbs tracing your skin above the cups of your bra. 

“Take it off,” you gasp against his mouth. “Please Kyle, take it off—“ 

“Pretty pushy for the girl who isn’t in charge anymore.” 

“Kyle!” 

“Alright, alright,” he says, hands tracing around your ribs to the clasp at the back. He undoes it on the first try and mutters under his breath: “Score.” 

“What?” you pant, slipping your arms from the straps. The bra comes off, and tumbles from the couch to the floor, but neither of you pay it any mind. 

Kyle can’t speak. He’s never seen you here before, miles of new flesh on display. Your nipples pucker in the cool air under his stare, and he reaches out to rub the pad of his thumb over one, watching you shudder. When he cups your breasts in his palms he can’t help but think how well they fit in his hands, how every part of you seems molded for him. He’s not going to be able to let you go after this. It’s like being behind the wheel skidding on black ice. He sees the collision course he is on, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it. 

“Are you sensitive here?” he asks, thumbing at the hard peak of one breast. 

“Isn’t everyone?” you breathe.  

“No,” says Kyle with a warm laugh. He pinches you softly, attuned to the breath you suck in and the way your body trembles. You are a sensitive little thing, untouched by other hands, and fuck, Kyle’s never had a thing for virgins but he’s got a thing for you, and it threatens to destroy him. 

“Gonna ruin you,” he says, leaning in to nuzzle at the hammering pulse in your throat. He opens his mouth and scrapes his teeth over your collarbone just to hear the way you squeak.  

“Do it,” you whisper, hips grinding down against the hard line of his clothed erection. “Come on, Kyle, you’re all talk—“ 

“Me—?”

“—said I wanted to feel good,” you say. “Why am I still waiting?” 

Well. It’s logic he can’t argue with. 

He urges you off of his lap. “Bedroom.” 

“Alright,” you laugh. 

Just after you stand on shaking legs, Kyle adds: “Race ya.” 

-

Kyle launches himself over the back of the couch in a move that would not look nearly so smooth if you tried, socked-feet slipping on the hardwood as he races toward the bedroom. 

“Kyle, you cheater!” you howl, rushing after him.

“Blow out that candle, it’s a fire hazard!” he shouts behind him, sending you whirling back to the coffee table to huff a breath against the flame. 

By the time you make it into the bedroom, he’s reclined on your bed, ankles crossed, hat resting over his face like he is taking a restful nap. You’d believe it if it weren’t for the erection tenting his jeans. 

“If you’re tired, I can leave you to nap,” you snark, feigning for the door. 

Kyle whips his hat off of his head and tosses it like a frisbee with frightening dexterity. The hard brim clatters against your knuckles and makes you gasp, clutching them against your chest as you stare at him in shock. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Kyle says. He sheds his shirt in that slick little maneuver men have mastered, gripping the back collar and tugging it up and over his head. It reveals a length of dark, soft skin stretched taut over muscle that has your mouth watering. You’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times—God, you’ve seen him naked, really, though not all at once—but it never stops having such a heated effect on you. He kneels up and comes to the edge of the bed, sitting on the side, reaching out one hand for you, palm soft and facing up. “C’mere.”

You go to him, taking his hands and lacing your fingers together. He strokes his thumb against yours. 

“You wanna finish undressing me?” he asks. 

“Do you want me to finish undressing you?” 

Kyle stares. Then a slow smile spreads across his face. He gets it; he always does. Standing up, he guides your hand to rest flat against his abs, drawing it downward toward his belt buckle. He says: “Undress me, then.”

Your hands shake as you unfasten his belt. You don’t bother slipping it free of the loops, just let it dangle open while unfastening his jeans. His erection makes that a little more difficult than it might have been otherwise, and every time your knuckles brush against him, he gives little sighs that go straight to your head. 

He’s not wearing any underwear. 

“Gaz you devil.” 

“That’s me,” he says with a warm smile. His fingers find the waistband of your leggings, and it’s his turn to draw them down your legs and let you brace yourself on his broad shoulders while he helps you out of them. With any other man you might have been shy, but there’s no room for it with Gaz. The way he looks at you takes up all that space in your brain for anxiety. He looks at you like he’s seeing artwork, like he wants to pin you to the wall and stare at you for the rest of his life. 

“Bed time,” he says, coaxing you down onto the soft duvet. You shift to scoot back but his hands grip your thighs, fingers denting the soft flesh as he tugs you back toward the edge of the bed in a show of strength that has your heart hammering. He kneels and spreads your thighs. Then he shuts his eyes, muttering under his breath. 

You lean up onto your elbows. “What is it?” 

His eyes flicker open. “In my house we pray before we eat, thank you.” 

“Kyle!”

He’s still laughing when his mouth presses against you. You slip off of your elbows and onto your back, both hands clasped over your eyes as he licks a broad stripe over your folds. Gaz eats pussy with remarkable tenderness, no hint of teeth, all tongue and soft kisses. He lets you hide your face and muffle your noises but draws the line when you try to close your legs with his head still between them. Winding his arms up over your thighs, he pins them open to the bed with his forearms, hands framing your cunt nicely. His thumbs slip in your own arousal when he tries to spread your folds too, and in the end he gives up, burying his face deeper into you to tongue at your entrance. 

He draws back for breath at one point, his pretty jaw smeared with your slick. He sounds winded when he asks: “What do you think, honey? Can you cum like this?” 

You continue covering your eyes with one hand, but the other reaches down to grip at his short hair and guide his mouth back to your clit. He chuckles against you but takes the hint, lapping the flat of his tongue at that aching epicenter of nerves, taking it into his mouth and suckling with sweetness. 

You’re climbing that first peak when he carefully slips his first finger inside you, giving you just enough to whet your appetite. You hadn’t realized how badly you craved something inside you until you had that slender finger to grip, but now you want more. 

“Another, Kyle, please,” you ask. 

He groans, mouth full of you, and shifts on his knees. Pulling back, he guides two fingers into you, easy as anything. “I love your manners. You’re so fucking good, you know that? So good.” 

He stops talking before he can make you uncomfortable—knows the way your chest feels fileted open with any kind of praise or compliment—and gets back to his important work. With his fingers gently working you open and his mouth on your clit, it takes hardly any time for the pleasure to crest, the muscles in your belly tensing as your pleasure draws tight and then snaps clean in two. Your toes curl, groan bitten off as you clamp your mouth shut, pussy spasming around his fingers. He works you through it, dark eyes shut like he’s savoring the taste of you. 

“Can you take more?” he asks, mouth wet, lips swollen. 

Your head bobs in a nod, throat dry from all the sounds you’ve been making. Kyle’s grin is beatific, and he leans down to kiss your closest thigh while he works a third finger into you. This one gives you a pleasant stretch, but there is no pain; you are plenty wet and relaxed. 

“You want me to use a condom?” he asks, smoothing his free hand over your belly to watch the muscles jump and twitch at his soft touch. “You been taking your pill everyday?” 

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, yes, Kyle I’ve been taking my birth control. Do you—?”

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “This one’s on you. Condom or no condom.” 

“Could we—without?” 

“We could,” he teases with a smile. He stands, fingers slipping free from inside you. It leaves you feeling empty, aching. 

You hope that he’ll make you cum again. 

Leaning over you, he plants a hand on either side of you and kisses you, still tasting faintly of where his mouth has been. You loop you arms around his neck, pulling him down until he rests his weight against you, chest-to-chest, your legs hooked around his waist. When he pulls back, it’s just to encourage you higher up onto the mattress so he can follow, finding his home once again in the hollow of your thighs. He says: “Let me know if anything hurts, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe, looking up at him. Suddenly it doesn’t feel like there’s enough breath in your lungs. You feel starstruck by him, by the look of concentration on his face as he angles his hips until his tip brushes against your folds. Slowly, he slips inside you, and it’s a fullness you’ve never known from your own fingers or even his. Your eyes fall shut, but your mouth can’t help smiling, beaming practically. 

“Yeah?” Kyle laughs breathlessly. “That good already?” 

You get the giggles. 

“Not the best time to laugh at a man, you might give him a complex,” Kyle says, grinning. 

“All men deserve complexes.” 

“Except for me.” 

“Sure.” 

He sinks in, deeper, deeper until there’s nowhere left for him to go. His forehead brushes against your own, and your eyes open to find his own closed, mouth parted as he pants softly, looking almost as wrecked as you feel. He opens his eyes and catches you looking, but instead of calling you out, he just cocks his head, giving one of his pretty, closed-lip smiles. 

He sets a slow rhythm to start with, and it’s not enough. Your ankles lock around his back, urging him on, fingers scrambling for purchase against the smooth skin of his shoulders. Every thrust drags against the wet, swollen walls of your cunt, and at the apex his pubic bone meets your clit in a touch that’s nearly soft as a kiss. 

“Is it good for you?” you wonder, taking note of his uncharacteristic silence. 

He drops his head to rest in the dark juncture between your neck and shoulder, kissing you there. “Best it’s ever been,” he admits with a little laugh. “Your pussy is perfect. I’m trying not to cum and end things early.” 

You groan. Something about that knowledge makes the heat in your belly rise up to a boil. You clench around him on instinct, and he hisses a breath against your neck, then teases the spot with his teeth. When he’s drawn blood to the surface of your skin, he leans up onto his elbows to admire his work. His mouth is swollen, but he looks unquestionably pleased with himself.  

For a while the two of you continue on like that: his lazy thrusts and mouth leaving bruises on your neck. Bracing himself on one elbow, he takes your hand and kisses your fingertips before guiding it down between you both toward your pussy. 

“Make yourself feel good,” he says. “You probably can’t cum just from this.” 

Your body agrees. He felt good inside you, but it isn’t until you touch your clit that you feel the first tendrils of that addictive heat in your belly. You chase it immediately, eyes falling shut as your fingers work faster. It’s different with him inside you—like there’s no room for the pleasure to fizzle out and die the way it sometimes does at your own touch. Instead he drives you higher, especially as his tight-knit control wavers and his hips drive into you with more force. 

You forget to tell him when you’re close. It creeps up on you, really. All at once your muscles seize, everything focused on that narrow place between your legs and the epicenter of an orgasm that has your back arching until your breasts press flush against his chest. (You hear him suck in a breath like you’ve stabbed him, his voice shaky when he asks: “Are you cumming?” but there’s no breath to answer him with.) There’s no more room for your hand to work but Kyle’s thrusts drag you through the aftershocks. It seems to go on forever, your sounds embarrassing but your brain wiped clean of embarrassment. 

“I’m not pulling out unless you tell me to,” he says once your ears have stopped ringing. He sounds strained, his chest brushing against your nipples with every shallow pant. “So jot that down.” 

“Don’t want you to,” you admit, boneless. “I want to know what it feels like when you cum inside me.” 

Kyle moans quietly. His head drops, forehead resting against your own as his thrusts grow hectic. He mutters the quietest fuck in your ear when he cums, filling you with a rush of wet warmth that turns the sounds of his cock slick and lewd as he works himself through it with your pussy. 

When he pulls out, it’s jarring. You feel so empty. He kneels back on his heels and spreads your thighs to watch his own spend leak from your entrance and says it again, that quiet little fuck that makes you feel invincible. 

Collapsing on the bed beside you, he finds your mouth, cradling your head in one of his hands, turning you to angle your mouth just right for his tongue. 

“You were perfect,” he says when he breaks the kiss. His knuckles skim your cheekbone. “Thank you. For choosing me.” 

You nod, throat suddenly tight. It’s over now, time to return to reality. Except you don’t want it to be over. You don’t want a reality without Kyle by your side or in your bed. How did you think that this would be a good idea? How did you think you could be so intimate with him and just let him go? Stupidly your eyes burn, and he must see something on your face because he rushes to assure you: “Hey, we’re okay. Nothing’s different now, yeah?” 

Yeah, you think dully. That’s the problem. 

[alittleillusionmachinee]

Gonna listen to the Behind The Blinds about Tom Hanks and reorganize my bathroom cabinets 🥰

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

TF141 getting a boudoir photo album as a wedding gift ♡

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A/N: THIS WAS SO FUN!!! Great, absolutely phenomal idea, dear anon. Simon's part is very sappy (I cried) which might be ooc for him?? Idk, that's how I write him/interpret his character! :) let me know who's your favorite 👀

~Fi 🐝

《Warnings》: NSFW content. proceed with caution. PiV, creampie, cunnilingus, Johnny's oral fixation (yes, that is a warning.)

It's still very sweet and lovey dovey with all of them bc I'm a certified sap <3

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

John would be grinning and smirking like a proper idiot when he lays his eyes on those delectable photos of you.

I imagine you had a date night at home, sipping wine on the couch and talking about your wedding that's supposed to take place in only 3 days. He's telling you how he can't wait to see you in your wedding dress and slip that ring onto your finger.

Sneaky bastard.

Be prepared to he called Mrs. Price the days leading up to the big day. John excuses it with:

"Need to practice, love. Don't wanna mess it up in front of anyone, eh?"

He knows what he's doing, you know what he's doing, all is well because if he only knew what that did to you. You're just talking, trying to get the nerves out now so you can go into your wedding with a clear mind and have a good time. When you tell him you have a gift for him, his eyebrows almost overshoot his forehead. Yeah, he knew that was a thing some people did, but he never gave it another thought.

In all honesty, marrying you was the best gift he could ever get. Which is why he feels slightly guilty that he doesn't have one for you (at least that's what you see, internally he's crushed) but that all goes out the window when you sit back down with a sleek beige photo album that has a little romantic quote on the front.

What he doesn't expect, however, is the angelic image of your plush body on full display, draped over a velvet chaise lounge with layered pearl necklaces hanging from your neck. This man is shell-shocked. If he wasn't frozen in place, he would've snapped the book shut.

"And what's this, doll, hm?"

His heart feels warm and fuzzy, thinking these are some lovely pictures of you together on holidays you went on, casual trips to the local pub or just some domestic shots you managed to sneak during his leave.

You can basically see the connections to his brain frying. His jaw slacks, and only after what feels like 10 minutes he regains his ability to think and close his mouth. John is sweating and his cock is rock hard as he flips through the remaining pages.

He shoots you the occasional glance while he's trying not to hyperventilate. You just sit back and savor your wine, trying to hide your laugh behind the rim of your glass. You'd expected a reaction, of course, but you didn't think you'd render the John Price speechless just from a few suggestive photographs of you.

But what absolutely breaks the camels back (or John's, in this case) is the last picture of you. You're kneeling, slightly leaned back and supported by your arms, with one of his Flannels covering your soft tits. That alone would've been enough to drive him crazy, but the sight of his old dogtags sitting against your sternum has him groaning out loud.

The only other thing covering you is a simple pair of lace panties, cupping the soft curve and rolls of your tummy so beautifully, John was ready to take a bit out of that damn page.

He nearly misses the inscription underneath the photo;

To my John; the love of my life, the man of my dreams,

I love you.

You hold my heart and you will forever.

May I be so lucky to find my place in the stars by your side when the time comes, so we'll never have to be apart.

With all my love,

Mrs. Price

And that does it. The album snaps shut and you barely have time to put down your wine glass before John is all over you, taking handfuls of you, whatever he can reach. With how fast he smashes his lips on yours, he nearly gives you whiplash.

He's tugging and pulling at your clothes as well as his own, not saying a thing, just hungrily swallowing every one of your sounds and giggled objections before he decides the couch is uncomfortable and he moves you to the bedroom. You're hoisted up without a warning and you cling to his neck. Immediately, worried words start spilling from your lips, remembering how he'd complained about a sore back just today;

"John, baby, your back-"

"I don't give a flying fuck about my back, love."

He's heaving and grunting like a fucking animal, he's downright feral. Despite all of that, you're still laid down gently on the bed, John would never, ever be reckless with you. But he needs to be inside you now, he'll actually lose his mind.

Usually, he'd spent hours between your thighs first, but he just can't wait. He's pounding you into another dimension but with such gentleness in his gestures, it makes your head spin.

He's holding your hand, breathing sweet praises into your ear despite him filling you to the brim. His urge to claim you goes haywire and he fills you with his cum multiple times before he's sane enough again.

He's covered in sweat and his beard is wet from your spit from all the sloppy kisses he gave you. John will definitely make it up to you and eat you out for as long as you want after.

He'll make a copy of one of the photos and take it with him when he's on deployment, just for the nights he's feeling lonely.

His wedding gift to you are the hickeys on your thighs and tummy and new sheets because you two tore the other ones to absolute shreds.

♥︎

Johnny would probably have a boudoir album for you, too. You get at least one shirtless pic a day, so a whole album of his body on display or in suggestive poses basically screams Johnny. He's already drooling the second he spots that book because he knows what it is and that he's in for a treat.

He's buzzing with excitment.

You never really send nudes for privacy reasons, and then for you to do something like this hit him like a truck in the best way possible. You're standing opposite from him behind the kitchen counter, and you look so nervous to him.

Cue his signature shit-eating grin. You tap your fingers on the dark blue album before having enough of your nerves and just sliding it over to him with a few mumbled words of what it is.

"Awe, for me, mo leannan?" He's a teasing bastard, and he chuckles when you huff and turn your head, obviously flustered. Johnny is legit licking his lips, but when he opens the book, his grin fades so fast.

He knew it would be good, but holy shit, this was so much better than he expected. His pupils dilate as he takes in each of the pictures of you, all of you, all your curves and bumps.

Everything he loves about you. God, you're such a woman, he thinks to himself. Some with lingerie, some without. He's full on drooling at this point, and the only reason why he roughly wipes it away with the back of his hand is to not get it on these sacred images.

He smirks at the picture of you in a tub, all soapy, with pebbled nipples. An obvious dig at his nickname, but, god, does your ass look amazing when it's covered in a thin layer of bubbles. He loves lathering you up in the shower and feeling you up while you're all wet and slippery.

"Good thing I can hold my breath, aye, hen? Might even try to set a new personal record." He's grinning and chuckling meanwhile you give him a sharp glare. You can't deny that the idea intrigues you, though.

But this, oh, this one was him swallowing thickly. It's you in very sheer panties (they're barely even underwear) and his name patch is sewn onto the front. Your hair looks so nice, so do your thighs, he doesn't know whether to look at your eyes or your tits. The button on his jeans is about to pop off from his throbbing boner.

He can't take his eyes off that 'MacTavish' patch that sits right on your lower belly, with the slight curve it has to it from your soft tummy.

Johnny has to hold himself back from gripping the book too hard. He wouldn't want to ruin it.

"Steamin' bloody Jesus, bonnie..."

The album is shut and tucked under his arm, and Johnny jumps over the counter to get his hands on you. Or his mouth, more like. He has a huge oral fixation, so he loves sucking and biting on every inch of your skin. You're pushed back into the bedroom, even though you end up on the floor, and the book is thrown onto the bed.

He rips your shirt up and sucks at your tits and nipples, groaning and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while he's rubbing his clothes cock against your leg. You end up on your hands and knees with one of Johnny's hands on your lowerback while his face is buried in your cunt.

He's eating you out like he's been starved for years, and his stubble is already starting to irritate the skin of your thighs and ass.

You'll have the worst case of beard burn in the morning, but how could you care about that when his tongue is so deep inside of you?

Remember when I said he'd have a boudoir album too? Yeah, now you're in between his legs, your back pressed to his chest with Johnny's album in your shaky hands. And the way your engagement ring catches the dim light of the room has your eyes rolling back.

And Jesus christ, Johnny looks fucking phenomal. You clench around his fingers hard, and he doesn't even have to pull his head from your neck to know what photo you're looking at.

He's smirking and grinning like the ceshire cat, knowing that the image of him in a kilt with no shirt one is gracing your field of vision right about now.

"Ah knew ye'd like tha' one, bonnie..."

Johnny's cooing in your ear, telling you to keep looking at the pictures while he's knuckle deep in your pussy. His bare dick is pressed against your ass and you can feel him rocking his hips to get off.

He's mumbling all kinds of gibberish into your ear, but one of the few things you can make out is "mo bhean"* which pushes you over the edge. You won't be leaving that bed anytime soon.

*(My wife)

♥︎

Kyle is such a sweetheart. I've said it before, and I will say it again, he's such a cutie pie!!! But that doesn't mean he can't or won't get nasty.

He'd offered to make lunch, which was delicious as always, and now you're chatting casually about your day at your dining table. Your fingers are laced together, and he's wearing the biggest smile because all he can think of is how he gets to marry you in just a few days.

He's over the moon. He can't wait to see you walk down the aisle, say your vows to each other, and overall have a great time with all your friends and family.

But the thing Kyle is looking forward the most is the honeymoon. He'll have you to himself for 2 whole weeks and he's stoked. He can't wait to treat you to nice things, love on you, but he's the most excited to fuck you as your husband.

He may look sweet and 'innocent' but this man can fuck, okay. And he fucks well. He knows every little spot that has you mewling and he's so good at using them for his gain.

Kyle will fuck you into the mattress in the Hotel you booked, he's already made up his mind about that, but he wants to absolutely melt your brain by being so loving whole doing it that you can't help but cry out for him.

He has heart eyes at this point, watching you talk about all that happened today and he only snaps out of his dream world when you present the deep red album to him with a sweet smile.

He's got a hunch of what it is so there's a hint of a smirk on his lips. Still, he almost gets whiplash when he opens it.

There's no easing into it, just straight up tits, ass and tummy. And let me tell you, Kyle is loving every second of it. It's no secret that he loves your chub, and that fact that it's extenuated so beautifully in every shot makes his heart and his cock happy. He's a very balanced man after all.

He comments on every single photo because he think it's endearing how you get all flustered and giggly from his compliments.

One picture that has him taking a second, though, is one where you have a lacy band tied around your thigh, with a little golden 'Kyle' charm hanging from it. He's all smiley and giddy, but he does try to discreet adjust his trousers because, holy shit, that's hot.

"Have you still got that, dove? Would love to see it tied around your pretty neck."

All you answer is that he'll have to be patient and wait till the wedding night to find out. He's laughing and teasing now, but just what till you get to the last page, Gazy.

And the way his smile just melts off his face is priceless. His gaze is flitting between you on the page and you sitting across from him with a shot eating grin. All the blood that drained from his face went straight to his dick.

Not only are you wearing a set of lingerie in his favorite color, but you've got his iconic pair of sunglasses hooked on the center of your bra. And that's not all either, his eyes travel upwards and his base cap is sat on your head and you've got that beautiful smile of yours on your face.

He makes an audible noise, one that indicates you took his breath away, when he takes in the whole picture.

"How in hell did you manage to snatch my hat and my glasses from right under my nose?!"

"Skilled hands, babe."

He's laughing at you breathlessly because he's still enarmoured by the sight of you.

And Kyle will absolutely whisk you away and fuck you stupid in front of your bedroom mirror while you're wearing his hat.

It makes him feral, seeing you like that. He's got both of his arms wrapped around your middle and he's panting into your shoulder. He does look up from time to time to see your blissed out face all while still wearing his cap.

He lets out a strained moan everytime he looks at you in the mirror and his hips stutter ever so slightly.

Kyle is just spewing jumbled words of love because he's genuinely so happy. You make him so happy.

He honestly can't wait to give you your wedding gift. It's a little booklet filled with poems or quotes that reminded him of you, or of how you make him feel. And it will make you cry when he reads them to you.

Definitely not because he'll be ballsdeep inside of you while doing so...

♥︎

Simon, Simon, Simon.... first of all, he's completely blindsided by this. And he hasn't got a fucking clue what's in that black book you hand him one night when you're cuddling in bed.

There's just a giant question mark above his head. When you tell him it's a wedding gift, he goes silent and just looks at that album in his hands.

He never really got gifts, which obviously changed since he's been with you, but he's still not used to it. You're so thoughtful. And sweet. And kind, and perfect and-

he turns his head to you when you softly call his name and if you notice the slight sheen of tears in his big brown eyes, you don't mention it. You just encourage him to open the book. And when he does, a small huff and gentle smile leave him because how are you so perfect?

Yes, all of the pictures are all filthy, but they're all radiating of love and softness, and he can't get over it. How are you so soft? Simon can't get enough of you. You mess up his emotions in ways he never thought possible, and he can't help that his heart starts beating twice as fast.

That you did this for him means more than you could ever fathom, and he'll treasure this album until his end. He absent mindedly reaches for your hand as he flips through the pages, trying to tell you thank you when his words fail him, like they did so many times before with you.

He comes across a shot of your neck, a black leather collared fasten around it with a little silver skull charm. It makes him smile just a bit. He knows just how much meaning is behind it.

That you love him. All of him, which includes the Ghost. In cursive, 'Riley' is written right above your heart, and he gives your hand a squeeze.

Although you love the Ghost because it's a part of him, you've shown him that it's not all he is. That Simon is enough. That he should give Simon a chance and that he's not incapable anymore, like he was as a little boy. Ghost is sort of a protector of Simon, something not many people know, that's why he wears the mask outside of duty too. To shield himself.

But as much as the Ghost's service is appreciated, Simon can handle himself now. The Ghost will forever be with him, but so will you, and you'll wipe his bloody hands with a smile. You've shown him that you accept Ghost just as much as you accept Simon, and that means the world to him.

He sniffles ever so quietly, and you lean your head against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He moves on, gently turning the pages, and as much as his heart is touched by your kind gesture of this album, that doesn't stop his cock from stirring. It's pictures of your naked form, after all.

He loves every single inch of you and he's told you and shown you so many times, kissed all your insecurities away and took your mind off any bad thoughts about yourself by fucking you so well and lovingly to the point of tears.

Never, in a million years, had he expected you to return these efforts. You kissed all his scars and held him softly when reassuring any doubts he had. That's when he truly and fully fell in love with you.

He can feel himself getting hotter with every passing image of your soft body bent in different positions and clad in delicate garments, if any.

The best for last, as always, and it's a picture of you kneeling in front of a mirror, completely nude. A picture of Simon in full military regalia is tapped to the mirror and it's surrounded by a bunch of hearts drawn on with lipstick.

His name is written under the picture in your handwriting, and he can see you holding a lipstick, in the middle of finishing another heart. His breath hitches just for a split second.

He swears he'll burn this photo into the back of his eyelids.

It shows him just how great and raw your love for him is, and it makes him all fuzzy on the inside. The text at the bottom finishes it all off, and he's actively holding back tears, overwhelmed by so many feelings for you.

Dear Husband,

We're flawed; but that's how I like us. You're you, and I'm me, and I wouldn't change it for the world. You've made me a better version of myself, and that makes me love you so much more. I'm so proud of you, Simmy.

Love,

Your wife

"Thank you, my love. Thank you for this, and for loving me and for everything you've done for me. I love you"

His words are soft and painfully honest as he gently sets the album aside. You've made him a better man. A better Simon. A happier Simon. A Simon that's slowly starting to heal.

It starts off with a soft kiss that slowly turns more desperate and needy to the point you're gently being pushed back onto the bed, your clothes are discarded, and Simon absolutely worships you. He kisses every inch he can reach and touching you in all the ways he knows you like.

And, yeah, Simon can be rough and fuck you stupid for hours, but tonight, he just wants to feel close to you, and make you feel as good as you make him feel by simply loving him. He's talking you through it, holding you while he makes sure you take every inch of his cock.

His strokes are slow and deep, just like his love for you, and he revels in the way your eyes roll back each time he slides into you to the hilt. The drag of his dick against your walls has you moaning and whining, and when he presses down on your pudgy lower belly to intensify the sensation, you're putty.

You two fuck the whole night like this, no matter how sensitive you are, you need to be close to each other.

And in the morning, he'll wake you up with his face buried in your pussy because he's out of his sappy mood and his only goal now is to absolutely ruin you.

♡

Bonus: I can totally see Simon giving his dad the biggest middle finger known to man all the way in hell when he's standing by the altar on your wedding day. It just screams: 'fuck you, stupidly bastard. Despite all you've done to me and my family, despite all that's happened, I've persevered. I've overcome it all. Look at me now.'

Right after he's smiling up at the sky, knowing that his mum and brother are watching and that they would've loved you just as much as he does <3

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I hope you enjoyed!! I love all my boys <3

(If you find any typos, it's 2.am. give me a break pls)

[allaboutnayeli]

F.T.L | m.leon x reader / i.engen x reader

summary: you find out mapi is cheating, so you get revenge in the best way possible: getting a taste of her lover.

author notes: figure out what F.T.L stands for :)

contains: mapi leon x reader, ingrid engen x reader, mapi leon x ingrid engen, medical university student!reader, tattoo artist!ingrid engen, this is full of cheating & lying, cheating used as a form of revenge, everyone is sorta a piece of shit sorryyy, tons of angst, this is NOT smut so don't even, toxicity, a prime example of what NOT to do in a relationship, this is very long cause i'm not leaving yall on a cliffhanger, this is very insane so buckle in 🙂🩷

playing B.A.S by megan thee stallion 🎵

"are you sure she's cheating and you aren't just overthinking?" your bestfriend, daniela, says. the brunette is sitting right next to you on her couch. one arm resting on the back of the couch, her face resting in the palm of her hand and the other hand holding a glass of white wine.

"i wouldn't just accuse her of something this bad if i didn't have a reason to be suspicious," you respond. you take a sip of your own wine to shove down the anger and sadness that's bubbling in your conscience. not that daniela would ever judge you if you did let those emotions show themselves. the woman has been your pillar since you started having these suspicions about your girlfriend, maria.

my name is maria, but everyone calls me mapi. i would rather you call me yours, though, is what the spaniard said the first time you two met. you thought the pickup line was so cringe and dorky, but at the same time, so cute coming from the tattooed brunette.

and that one line led to nearly four years of a loving relationship. what can you say? mapi is one of the sweetest people you know. she remembers small details like how you prefer oat milk than any other kind, so she always makes sure to get it when she does the grocery shopping or the way you used to complain about how tight your hair ties were, so she bought you extra stretchy ones. she's the cutest cat mom with bagheera being absolutely spoiled. mapi was also protective, good with kids, and so many great qualities.

she is also a cheater.

sweet, caring, certified cat lover, super dorky maria is a cheater.

you sat on this suspicion for a short while before booking it to daniela's while mapi is at her favorite tattoo shop getting another inked beauty; that darned tattoo shop.

"after nearly every appointment, she goes out for drinks with her tattoo artist. at first, i thought she just made a new friend, but she always came back home looking messier than usual.. smelling like some perfume.. and when i ask her what they did at the bar, she barely tells me anything," you explain, "and you know how mapi is! she's the type of person who wouldn't be able to stop talking even if it was to save her life."

daniela nods in agreement. anyone who spends even a few minutes around mapi knows how much the spanish woman likes to talk. if there was a guinness world record for the "biggest yapper" mapi would be a record holder.

"okay, i would be suspicious too," daniela says. you let out an exactly that makes her playfully hit your arm. "anyways, back to what i was saying.. what are you going to do about it? even if she isn't cheating, something is going on."

you purse your lips as you take in her question. what are you going to do? confronting her right away feels wrong when you don't have concrete evidence. randomly accusing your girlfriend to her face wouldn't go over well; mapi is a sweetheart, but hates when people say she did something she's sure she didn't.

after some thinking about it, you come up with an idea.

"i need actual proof.." you start to say. daniela gestures for you to hurry up as you trail off.

"i have to get access to her phone."

it's around eight when mapi comes back to you guys apartment. you're feeding bagheera dinner when the spaniard walks through the door.

not wanting to seem suspicious and also just genuinely missing your girlfriend (even if you did suspect she was being disloyal) after a long day of basically not seeing her, you pet bagheera before standing up and going over to the front door. mapi has already slipped off her shoes when you walk over. she's smiles when you come close.

"hola mi preciosa," she giggles when you give her a welcome back home peck, "how was your day, hm?"

"good.. but better now that you're here," you say, pulling her into a hug. it's warm and makes your heart flutter like usual. those flutters go away as you smell that unfamiliar perfume on mapi, reminding you of what you talked about with daniela. you hide your frown in mapi's neck.

"aweee. you missed me that bad?" mapi says when you pull yourself out of the hug. still holding onto her as you two move to the kitchen.

you roll your eyes at her sudden cockiness. it's an annoying but charming trait of hers. now you wonder if that same charm is what made another woman fall for her hard enough that she didn't care that mapi was already taken; if the woman even knows.

you push those thoughts away. playfully teasing her as you say, "no, i just didn't want to wash the dishes after eating dinner. now you can do it."

mapi perks up at the sound of dinner and then groans at the talk of dishes. that was her least favorite chore by far.

"cmon, amor. you know you wash the dishes way better than i do," she pouts at you, leaning against the kitchen island. that pout makes you smile (something that you reprimand yourself for mentally) as you get the lasagna out of the oven.

you hear the meow of bagheera as she comes over to mapi. the brunette bends down and picks up the black cat right away. kissing the top of the cat's head like she always does.

"i swear you love that cat more than me," you joke.

mapi shrugs, "can you fault me if i did? just look at her, babe. she's adorable." she holds up bagheera so that the cat's face is facing you. of course, the black cat looks adorable per usual. you might not have been there from the beginning, but you love bagheera just as much as mapi does.

"yeahh.. the cutest one in the house," you say before turning your attention to the lasagna. you make two plates of lasagna and grab both when you finish.

"grab us some drinks, will ya?" you walk from the kitchen to the table in the 'dining room', which is really just open space between the kitchen and living room that needed something to be filled up with.

mapi says a quick okay before setting down bagheera back on the floor (she gives her a kiss before she does, of course) and goes over to the fridge. she grabs a pink lemonade for you and a pepsi for herself. she follows after you, setting the drinks down on the table, then sits down.

"gracias, mi amor," she says when you place her plate down in front of her. once you sit down across from her, you say, "de nada."

you two eat a bit before you bring up the tattoo shop. mapi is rambling on about the meetings she had to attend in the morning,

"-and all he does is go on and on about basically nothing. i don't get how someone can talk so much.." the spaniard says in between bites. you let out a giggle at the irony of mapi, of all people, complaining about someone talking too much. the nice atmosphere sours a little (at least for you) as you think back to what you need to ask; just to confirm, this suspicion of yours isn't something you made it due up to overthinking.

"he sounds annoying as shit," you chuckle, easily sliding into the topic you really want to know about, "beside all that, how was your tattoo appointment?"

mapi visibly gets less chipper than she was while rambling. the change is subtle, she bites her lip and starts to sorta push around the food on her plate as she looks down at it like she's thinking about what to bite next.

your eyes flicker down to her lips. why is she being hot at this moment? the spanish woman really has no right when she's acting like she doesn't wanna talk about something that should be her favorite topic. mapi loves tattoos. everyone knows she loves tattoos, so why wouldn't she yap about her appointments like she does everything else?

she takes a bite of her lasagna before shrugging, "it was alright. i didn't get anything done, but i talked with my tattoo artist about the design i wanted."

you nod, waiting for her to continue on like she usually would with any other topic, but no.

mapi just goes back to eating. obviously waiting for you to reply back to her.

"that sounds nice, baby. what design did you pick?" you ask.

"uh, just a design of bagheera."

"that's adorable."

mapi smiles at you, "i know. i already have a few of her, but i want more, you know. she's getting older."

"yeah, she's becoming a grandma." that makes mapi laugh loudly, going right into joking around about bagheera's age. you join in and don't even say anything when the topic strays away from the tattoo shop.

you two talk about practically nothing, finishing the rest of the lasagna. now both of you are washing dishes instead of it just being mapi's chore. what can you say? you aren't able to resist her puppy eyes even when all you think about when you see them now is if she ever used those on another woman romantically.

"are you ready for our date tomorrow?" you say, drying off a plate mapi handed you.

she smiles, "of course. i have been missing our date days. i'm so ready to spend the entire day with the prettiest woman i know." she turns towards you, puckering her lips for a kiss. you giggle and peck her lips a few times.

"you really think that?" you say. it comes out playful, but there is vulnerability lingering at its edges. in mapi's eyes is some concern, she knows you like the back of her hand. of course she would notice if you sound insecure.

mapi puts down the plate in the sink and dries her hands before pulling you close to her. she kisses the side of your face as her arms hold onto your waist, "why wouldn't i? just look at you. the love of my life."

usually, her words would reassure you right away, but not now. not when you are sure she's cheating on you. if you're so beautiful then why is she fucking around with someone else?

you don't let those thoughts influence your actions, though, as you hold onto her tighter. if you hold on a little longer, maybe you can pretend that mapi just really likes that tattoo shop and isn't doing anything strange. maybe you can pretend she's still all yours.

mapi lets you be the one to pull away, kissing you right away. then when that ends, she smiles, "i'm gonna finish up these plates, then shower. just go relax, okay?"

you nod, pecking her lips again before leaving the kitchen. you go to sit on the couch, bagheera coming over to sit on your lap. a cuddle session starts as bagheera snuggles up to you. the only sounds in the apartment is the tv playing, bagheera's purring, and mapi's humming as she washes the dishes as the woman can't even be silent when doing that.

soon enough, the sound of the water running stops. mapi says, "i'm going to go shower first. i'll be out in thirty. can you put my phone on the charger for me, amor?"

"mhm, sure!" this is finally your chance to check mapi's phone. you kiss the top of bagheera's head before letting her get off your lap, so you can go grab mapi's phone.

you reach the counter where she left the device on. your heart starts racing as you pick it up. just do a quick look, then put it on the charger you tell yourself as you start to type in mapi's password.

it doesn't work.

the password that mapi has been using since you two have been together isn't working.

"what the fuck..?" you murmur, trying the password one more time before just accepting that she changed it. you already have some evidence just from this because why would she change it? this also foils your plans. how can you get in her phone?

you decide you need to call daniela later and figure out a different plan.

right when you set down the phone back on the counter, a text pops up.

ingrid 💕

wish you could have stayed-

only the start of the message shows, and when you try to tap on it to see the rest, it says you have to unlock the phone. your heart feels like it's going to beat out of your chest as you tap on the message again, reading it over and over again. who the fuck is ingrid?

you have to get into her phone and soon.

you realize time is ticking. mapi won't be in the shower forever. quickly, you go and put her phone on the charger. your heart beat is not calming down even when you pick up bagheera from her cat tree and start to cuddle with her again. the contrast of bagheera being so calm and sleepy to your internal panic and hurt is laughable, but the black cat is grounding in a way. in the same way that mapi once was.

you sigh as you think about what this all could lead to. definitely a break-up, but you weren't gonna just leave and let mapi live in peace with.. ingrid. whoever the hell that is.

you are still deep into the mourning the lost of your relationship when mapi comes out of your bedroom. she's dressed in her usual oversized white t-shirt and shorts so short it looks like she isn't wearing any at all.

cute is what you would of thought if this was a week or two ago when you weren't sure that your girlfriend wasn't enjoying the company of someone else behind your back.

however, just because you figured mapi is cheating or doing something wrong doesn't mean all your feelings go away like a switch. you still find mapi very cute with that freshly washed, sleepy look on her face. you still want to get up and go kiss her on your way to the bathroom like you always do,

so you do. when you get off the couch, you make sure to stop and give mapi a long kiss. "you're adorable," you say when you pull away. enjoying the way her lips are slightly swollen. the spanish woman giggles, pecking your lips once more.

"you're even cuter," she says before leaving your side to go to the couch. immediately cuddling up to bagheera just like you were earlier.

you go into your bedroom, grab your pajamas, and then go into the bathroom. whether to shower with cold or hot water is a battle for you. the cold will make you have goosebumps. it'll shock you enough that for a quick second, you won't even think about this. but the hot water will burn your skin and warm up your heart that feel like it's already melting from the outside.

hot it is.

as the first few water droplets fall down onto your body, you let out a sigh. the warmth of the water feels so good but makes your mind feel so hazy, you hate it but you love it and damn you wish this wasn't happening right now.

maybe it wasn't.

maybe when you finish doing this and walk out of this bathroom, mapi wouldn't be a cheater. her password would be the same. ingrid, whoever she is, wouldn't even be in the equation. you would just go out there and cuddle with mapi like you always do, then go to sleep together like you always do then you two would go on a date and everything will be perfect like they always been.

has it always been perfect? how long has this cheating thing been going on? has mapi been cheating on the entire time? is mapi even trustworthy?

and what about ingrid? who is she? is she hotter than you? talks better than you? has a better job than you? is she some fucking bombshell who you can't even compare to?

why? when? how? who? why?

why the fuck would mapi do this to you?

"amor!" the voice of mapi shakes you out of your thoughts. she knocks on the bathroom door. when you don't reply right away, she says, "can i come in? i need to piss."

your mind moves slower than it should as you take in what she said. would it be wrong of you not to want her in here? not when you feel so vulnerable that it's like your skin was stripped off of you.

"uh.. i'll be out quick. can you wait? please?" you say. stumbling to start actually washing your body instead of just standing under the water.

mapi doesn't reply but moves away from the door. concern overtakes her mind as she goes back over to the couch. you two have been together for almost four years now. you have seen her in every way, and she has seen you every way, so what's so crazy about her using the bathroom while you shower? she thinks back to earlier when you asked her if she really thinks you're the prettiest woman she knows. the insecure tone you had didn't escape past her. is it because of that? if it is then why are you feeling insecure in the first place? mapi thinks over the last few months and nothing comes up for why you would feel that way.

unless you knew about ingrid, but you couldn't know about ingrid because mapi has been careful. she still has been the most loving girlfriend towards you, so nothing would be suspicious. of course, mapi hasn't been loving just because she wanted to make sure you didn't catch that she's sneaking behind your back, she genuinely still cares for you.

you definitely don't know about ingrid. this is just one of those times when you need extra reassurance which mapi is fine with giving.

she loves you.

she swears she does.

"you can go piss now," your voice pulls mapi out of the chaos that is currently her mind. in the time of her panicking and being concerned, you had finished showering and changed. now you're standing next to the couch. she smiles as her eyes land on you. "look at youu. all clean and cute," she says after standing up. you slightly flush at the compliment (even though you don't want to. it's a natural reaction, okay?)

"shut up and go piss." you giggle, moving past her to sit down on the couch. mapi playfully blows you a kiss before leaving out of the room. the interaction between you two should make your heart feel fond, but how can it when in the back of your mind is the reminder that mapi is probably acting this way with someone else when you aren't around. you wish you could blow away all of these feelings you have for her, but you can't so you just let bagheera come cuddle you.

and when mapi comes back into the living room, a large blanket in hand, you still cuddle up to her while you two watch cartoons. this is something you will definitely miss when you leave her. the thought of leaving mapi is not one you want to think about right now, so you push it to the side and snuggle up more to the spaniard.

it's easy to pretend everything is the same if you don't think about anything.

an hour later, you're laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling while mapi cuddles you. her head is on your chest, her arm around your waist. you can feel the gentle exhale and inhale of her body.

it should calm you. right now, you should be rubbing small circles on her back under her shirt. you should be kissing the top of her head at random until you let the clutches of sleep take you.

but you can't.

your body feels frozen as you lay there. how many times have mapi been like this with ingrid? the thought fills you up with dread, anger, sadness, disgust. jealousy.

what about her makes her so much better than you?

you haven't been giving mapi all the attention she deserves, but only because you're trying not to fail your classes in pre-med. staying on campus until late doesn't give you the same whimsy feeling as sitting around with mapi doing nothing or going out with mapi or just existing alongside her.

if only you could detach yourself right now.

if only this was one big misunderstanding.

if only this wasn't happening.

you wish you was stuck in a dream right now and all you had to do was shake yourself awake.

why?

maria, why?

you lay there for another hour, just letting your thoughts trample you, then you slip away. the sight of mapi cuddling up to the pillow that's supposed to be you makes you smile and want to cry.

you do cry.

as you step onto the balcony attached to the living room, phone in hand, the sound of ringing joining in the busy sounds of barcelona's nightlife.

"it's nearly one am and i have a eight am class tomorrow so this better be-"

"i saw a text," you interrupt her. you don't mean to, but you have been keeping this to yourself since you saw it.

daniela doesn't speak for a few minutes. you hear the shuffle of her covers and the click of a lamp being turned on. then she says, "from the chick she's cheating with?"

"her name is ingrid. mapi has a contact saved with a heart, a fucking heart. i couldn't see the entire text, right?" daniela says a small right. "so i tried to unlock her phone and she changed her password! mapi changed her password and i swear she has probably had the same password since like high-school because you know she can be forgetful and-"

"slow the fuck down. my brain can't keep up with all that, and you are working yourself up. calm down, y/n," daniela says. you stop talking, allowing yourself to just breathe for a minute, but that doesn't mean your blood stops boiling.

"i am trying to calm down but dani, my girlfriend is cheating on me for fucks sake!" you don't mean to shout at her, but you do. thankfully, you're outside, so mapi couldn't have heard you.

"okay! okay. alright, sorry," daniela sighs, "so you saw a text from some chick named ingrid, tried to see the full text, and couldn't get into mapi's phone because she changed her password?"

"yes.."

"okay, listen. this is what you're gonna do."

the next morning, you wake up to the smell of bacon and the sound of jazz music playing. you slide out of bed and walk out into the living room to the sight of mapi looking pretty in the kitchen as she cooks. she's already dressed, unlike you. instead of immediately saying good morning, you just enjoy the sight for the few minutes that you do. this is something you will miss, so what's wrong with indulging a little?

mapi doesn't notice your presence right away, too distracted with the music, cooking, and her own singing. it's only when she turns to the kitchen island to change the song playing on her phone that she sees you. a smile blooms on her lips right away. "buenos dias, amor. how long have you been there?" mapi moves from in the kitchen to where you are in the living room.

"long enough to hear your horrible vocals," you say as she pulls you into her arms.

"they aren't," she pecks your lips, "horrible."

"i think our neighbors would disagree."

"they should be lucky i'm giving them a free performance. i could be the next-" you shut her up by kissing her. it starts off lazy, but soon you are more forceful; not for the usual reason, though. it's not passion driving you to press against mapi, but anger.

your almost make-out session is interrupted by the slight smell of burning. "shit, the bacon," mapi lets go of you before speed-walking to the kitchen.

she's able to cut off the stove before any of the bacon truly burns. thankfully, the fire alarm doesn't go off. your neighbors would really hate that. you walk over to the kitchen, going to lean against the kitchen island. you watch mapi as she plates breakfast for the two of you. now that you are actually standing in the kitchen instead of looking from afar, you can see mapi has cooked more than just bacon. there are toast and scrambled eggs as well. the warmth that suddenly blooms in your heart irks you and, at the same time, saddens you. this is a domestic scene that mapi and you have been in many times. the spanish woman loves to cook for you, but what's to say she doesn't love cooking for her little secret?

"thank you for all this, babe," you say when she hands your plate to you. mapi laughs off your thanks, saying something along the lines of i'm your girlfriend it's my job inbetween bites of bacon. usually, you two would sit at the dining table and eat, but today, yall opt for sitting at the kitchen island.

your shoulders rub against each other as you eat. of course, mapi yaps in between bites. mostly about all the activities she has planned for you two the entire day, how she hopes you are impressed, and that yall should match since it is a date day today. you keep up with her good enough. she has been your girlfriend for nearly four years now, after all. just responding back from time to time keeps her happy. mapi doesn't really need a reply to continue talking anyway, just your attention.

you finish eating before mapi (to neither of yours surprise), so you go to wash the dishes and let mapi play with bagheera for a bit. that only takes ten minutes or so then you are off to the bathroom to get ready for the day, making sure to kiss both of your girls before you do. bagheera lets out a meow when you leave her eyesight, but soon her attention is redirected elsewhere as mapi starts to rile her up.

when you step into the shower, all the emotions you were putting behind a lovesick mask can show themselves. the bitter taste that feels your mouth, the betrayal that burns your throat, the guilt that grips onto your shoulders. you shouldn't even be feeling guilty right now. not when mapi is the one who betrayed your loyalty. still, the sting of guilt lingers around your skin, burning you. in a perfect world, you would be feeling like shit for even thinking that mapi, your sweet, perfect, mapi was cheating. your bestfriend would shake your shoulders and say, "are you stupid? that woman is inlove with you." instead, you were met with okay, i would be suspicious too. you try to lift that dread that pools in your stomach by thinking about how fun this day is going to be,

and how you should savor it since it's going to be one of the last.

author notes: this is an lesson on how you shouldn't trust anyone's words.. JK but fr sorry for the cliffhanger, this was just getting way too long. part two coming soon 🩷 (this is not grammar checked bare with me yall)

© ALLABOUTNAYELI

[bucknastysbabe]

hello hello lovely

saw that your requests were still open, and I’m craving Aegon. need your precious writing to revamp my love for him 💓

could I request chubby!Aegon where the reader becomes jealous and he makes it up to her? don’t have anything specific in mind just along those lines. I need that big boy to grovel 🫠

thank you, appreciate you 💋

- @lovelykhaleesiii xo

Anything for you my helina🥰🥰loved writing this

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW: mention of overeating, mentioned weight gain, chubby!aegon, au!no war, northern reader, pwp, Aegon being aegon, breeding kink, pnv!sex, certified boob man aeg ii, lactation kink mentioned, creampie

Taglist: @arcielee @aemonds-holy-milk @lovelykhaleesiii @dr-aegon @starogeorgina @jamespotterismydaddy @elaratyrell @zaldritzosrose @sugarpoppss2 @saintaegon @fairysluna @targaryen-madness

Aegon could put on a farce with the best of the mummers. He was all smiles and drunken japes at dinner. Talking, eating, talking, eating, and his favorite— drinking. Your husband’s abilities appeared to grow along with his new titles. He was a king now and certainly filled the part.

You sat next to him with a pinched face, carefully sipping your wine. Aemond looked on with barely concealed disgust, sharp features twitching. He raised a brow at you, jerking his sharp chin toward your husband. Aemond’s need for control might be worse than your own. The king was the king, there was not much you could do outside the bedroom. Aegon was chatting with Lord Jason Lannister. You despised the Westerman and what he represented, the Northron blood in you appalled at the South’s materialism.

Jason snorted, “Well, you’ve heard of the petulant princess down in Dorne hm? Fashions herself the new Nymeria. Heard she’s quite beautiful.”

Aegon replied around a gulp of wine, “Is it them or the Iron Islanders that take on all those wives? She can join my harem. I do know the Dornish are easy, much easier than mine own wife.” He leaned forward on thick arms to jest, “Pray tell, what’s this Martell’s name? Mayhaps I’ll send a letter.”

The pair guffawed. You quietly put your cup down and excused yourself. Aegon called after you between his giggles, “My love! Come on! Take a damn joke, yeah?”

You seethed, blood icy at his embarrassing behavior. He knew better than to insult you, his queen, the one he came crying to when times got hard. Your kingsguard filtered in behind you, scrambling to catch up. Ser Darklyn’s questions were ignored.

Safe in your chambers, you pulled down the kady bar. Rage unfurled beneath your skin— you would not show it to him. You never did unless it was a slap to his full cheeks. A tear fell, the droplet smacked away like a pest. You’d go to sleep, Aegon could wait until you’d calmed.

“Fucker. Southron cock-gargler.”

As expected, his familiar presence came to crawling. Well, flopping onto your bed with his weight, the ropes creaking as he cursed lowly. Aegon cursed, “Fuckin’ damn- beds!” You jerked up your legs, sitting upright to light a candle, blinking the little sleep out of your eyes.

The blonde frowned at the dim light, chubby cheeks pooching at the movement. He wore a simple linen shirt and breeches, white hair all mussed. You frowned at your thoughts turning soft, as your lord husband looked handsome in the gentle lighting.

Aegon murmured, thick fingers circling your ankle, “Are you upset? I was merely joking.”

“No, go on, take a mistress from every great house if you so desire, my king.”

His violet eyes rolled at your acrid reply, the man coming closer to your position. He sighed, “I don’t plan on it, why would I do that?” Narrowing your eyes, you threw a pillow at his head to escape further across the bed. Aegon grunted as he was pelted, the blonde casted a bewildered look your way, brows pinched.

“I don’t want to hear it, that was shameful to speak as if I were not there, go away Aegon,” you hissed.

He groaned loudly, hand running through his wild waves. The king asked, face dead serious “Do I need to beg? Hm? My frozen queen of the north is the only one I’m fucking. Sweetling wants to see me grovel?”

Your stomach fluttered at the thought, eyes flicking to his earnest expression across the bed. You sniffed quietly, holding out a hand, “Yes. I want you to beg for me. Then maybe I’ll forget the slight. You talk like such a whore at the table yet you forget who rules your cock.”

He moaned, eyes rolling at the words before taking your hand and lowering himself with a grunt. Aegon looked up through his lashes, plump lips pink and perfect. He murmured, “Can’t believe you. Lady wants me to grovel. All I do is think about my wife day and night.”

You stared him down, pleased so far.

“I’m not seeing anyone, nor do I care to. I’m not some young little slip anymore. Too busy eating your cunt than diving into every hole up the street of silk, yeah? Maybe that’s why I can’t close my belt?”

You moaned, “I didn’t make you, ah, you do that Aegon.”

“Mhm, that’s why you slide me extra cake. Now, what was I saying,” he was kissing an ankle now, carefully holding your leg, “Why would I go get some bratty Dornish nymphet, or any other lady for that matter? I’ve fucked a babe into you twice now. It’s a bit intoxicating watching you ripen up with my seed.”

You whined at that, resolved to break soon. Being pregnant with the children was some of your fondest moments. Some most erotic from your insatiable husband. His increased weight? Likely came from him drinking your tits up every night before each babe.

Aegon hummed, eyes blown with lust, lips at your knee. The king rasped, “I’d like to fuck more into you tonight if you’ll forgive me, I only love my queen. Always and truly ever you, sweeting. Mayhaps twins? Your teats will be quite ripe for me then.”

You gasped and pulled his shoulders, Aegon already knew the intention as he hiked up your shift and yanked it off. In a flurry of movement, you pulled at the strings on his breeches while he exposed his thickened body. He was stout, not necessarily a true softling. It made the king more intimidating, with wide hips and a sturdy midsection. You loved it.

“Uh-huh, you’re gonna fuck twins into me? That’s a way to make up for being an absolute t-twat.”

You tried to hiss but there was no real heat, especially with his soft lips against your neck, gluttonous hands on your tits. Aegon pressed your naked form into the bed, his flushed cock snug against your thigh. Delicate white hair tickled at your neck as you squirmed. The king’s bulk had you utterly pinned, stocky thighs keeping your legs open.

He nipped at thin skin, laughing, “Where’s all the cold anger hm? Needed to be coddled and warmed up? You’re no better than me, love.”

Another shiver ran up your spine, goosebumps erupting atop your skin. You hooked a leg around his cushy waist and gritted, “Kiss me dammit. You were the ass here.” He laughed again, lips searching your own, the familiar plush a balm to your stung pride.

You opened up for him, lips lazily caressing against Aegon’s more insistent kisses, tongue bullying its way in. He gripped at your waist, rutting a few times against your cunt. The bulbous tip catching your clit made you whine and cling to his fleshy sides.

The Targaryen breathed, “Never takes you long to get all nice and slick for me huh? Turn your nose up but your pussy gets wet. Every. Damn. Time.” He punctuated his words with jerks of his hips and grinned as you cursed his name, arching into his soft belly.

You rolled back against him, demanding, “Enough talk, you’re here to make it up. Ah, careful,” you chastised as he pulled one of your tits up to bite at your budded nipple, “Fuck me dammit! Breed me up then!”

Aegon grinned sharply, cooing, “Why didn’t you just say so, dearest? I’ll make sure you take it all.”

He shoved a pillow under your flared hips, pressing gentler kisses on any available skin. Aegon huffed as he jerked his hand under a heavy stomach to grab his cock, guiding it into your soaked cunt. Your knees tightened up around him, exhaling a shaky moan.

He never failed to fill you up perfectly, with a girthy cock that he well knew how to use. Aegon groaned, lashes fluttering as he bottomed out, “Mmm, fuck, always so godsdamn soaked for your king.” One of his big hands clapped down on your ass— you threw your head back as he began to fuck you in earnest.

Aegon was an…excitable lover. He was mouthy and rough, a true passion of his to empty his balls into cunt. Thankfully, it was yours and yours only for the past years. You panted against his soft jaw, nipping at the flesh as he stretched your walls out, tip dragging against the tender ridges and spongey spots.

He angled you further, allowing his lower tummy to rub and stifle your bundle of nerves. You cried out his name, heaving as Aegon paid no heed, single-minded determination across his face. Shivers wracked your spine, shooting down your spread legs.

“Mhm, that’s my baby, shaking all over, needed my cock to settle you down? You say I’m needy. Yet your body screams for more.”

“F-fuck Aegon, quit it, oh gods!”

He took your lips again, sweat building up between you two as passions grew frantic. You keened. “Breed me, love, want more babes, make me yours again and again- hnn- mm!” Blood suffused your face, irritably hot as you registered the wanton pleas.

Aegon doubled down, hands pressing your thighs up, bending your stimulated frame. His belly still sat heavily on your clit, sparks of pleasure muddling any sort of coherence. Aegon was panting now, hair damp with exertion. He growled, “Yeah, yeah, gonna keep you full mama, let the kingdom see how well my queen takes my seed. Gods, gods, fucking hell, gonna fill you up. Plug ya’ so you don’t leak.”

You whimpered as your belly was awash with intense sensation, bundling nerves ready to fire. Aegon’s rambling about you being his perfect queen and good mama throttled you to the precipice, pussy clamping down on his cock. You wanted it all, your cunt was milking him for it. Seeking that hot feeling of his spend coating your sore insides.

“Fucking others!,” came your howl— your delirious thoughts catapulting you into gushing all over Aegon with a squeal. The king stuttered and cursed, a broken moan leaving swollen lips. He surged forward, dragging his tip against your cervix, face cutely scrunching as he emptied, shaking and moaning your name.

His spend was molten hot and overfilling your cunt, Aegon selfishly feeling around the side of the bed, crushing your overwhelmed body. He whined, “Fuuh-uck, love, feel too good, hold on.” You furrowed your brows before surprise hit your features.

That motherfucker was going to plug you up.

His lidded eyes danced as he drawled, “I wanted twins, mama.”

You squirmed and mewled when his cock left and a cold wedge replaced it. He shushed and pet you, kissing you tenderly as you grew used to the foreign object. You could feel his seed stuffed inside— trying not to dwell on it so hard. Aegon flopped onto his back, pulling your body snugly against his soft, warm one. You murmured, “That was some hell of an apology. Bastard.”

He sleepily murmured, “M’sorry dove, was mean. I’ll do better,” he squeezed you tight and planted a kiss on the crown of your head, “Only for my queen. Mmh, pray to your old gods— papa wants twins.”

You snorted, biting back laughter at his outright silly statement.

“Mhm Papa, prayers coming up. Sot.”

[writing-for-marvel]

Day 31: Breeding Kink

Mob!Bucky's Kinktober Honeymoon

Mob!Bucky Barnes × Wife!Reader

Summary: Bucky gets excited by the thought of becoming a father after your honeymoon.

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, creampie, daddy kink™️, a teeny tiny bit of angst/self doubt at the start, reader potentially already being pregnant, lots of soft feelings and pure love

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: we are finally at the end of our honeymoon journey 🥹 thank you to everyone who has read any part of this series throughout the past month. I put so much love and effort into this and I sincerely hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as I have ❤️ dividers by me, please do not use. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

💋 Join my Kinktober Taglist 💋

Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Library | Ko-fi

Bucky hands you a glass of your favourite wine, sitting down beside you and placing a protective hand on your thigh.

“To the last night of our honeymoon.” He toasts simply. But he doesn’t need to add anything else - all other praises, different forms of ‘I love you’, and terms of endearment have already been declared to you during the past four weeks.

You didn’t think it was possible, but after the last month, you feel even more loved by Bucky than ever before.

“And to every night of the rest of our lives.” You add before clinking your glass against his. He swirls the liquid around the glass, sniffing the rich scent before taking a substantial sip. Instead, you specifically chose to place your glass down without tasting the wine.

“Who are you and what have you done with my wife?” He chuckles in that way where you can’t help but smile at the sound. “No wine tonight? Do you want something else?”

You shake your head playfully, the news you need to disclose dry on the tip of your tongue, but the sparkling adoration in Bucky’s eyes is what gives you the surge of courage to speak the words aloud.

“I’m late.” You announce and you can see the realisation play out in Bucky’s eyes as to the implication of what you’ve just disclosed. “It’s only a few days, it could be anything really - the stress of the wedding, the travel… but it’s probably best to be cautious considering how many times you’ve cum in me over the last month.”

“You think you’re pregnant?” His voice sounds breathless and his strong jaw hangs open, as if in pure shock.

“It’s a possibility...” You trail off, unsure if his reaction is due to certifiable happiness or complete dread. Fear sinks in your stomach like lead - he’s the king of a mafia empire, danger lurks around every corner, and has a long list of enemies who would want nothing more than to murder his entire family in cold blood for revenge.

How could you be so stupid to believe he’d be enthusiastic about bringing a child into that environment?

“Did you not want to be a dad?” Your voice comes out weak, almost trembling, and you can see the concern rise in Bucky’s eyes in the time it takes you to blink. His hands cup your face, tender and loving, as he rests his forehead against yours and looks at you like you’re the only thing that exists in his entire universe.

“You are the love of my life, and there is nothing I want more than for us to create a life from that love. The thought of having a little one who is half me, half the woman I love most in the world… that joy is indescribable.”

Bucky once told you that he could not bear to be the source of your pain, that for him hurting you was akin to torturing himself. He has that same wounded look in his eye right now, as if the mere thought of you fretting about his reaction makes his heart crumble into a thousand pieces.

You kiss him this time, as if you are struggling to breathe and his lips are the only source of oxygen, a desperation to convey he will always be the life force that sustains your existence.

With his strapping hands grabbing into your hips, Bucky lifts you from the couch and walks you backwards towards your bedroom expertly while his tongue dances with yours.

In a haze of passion and lust, Bucky strips the clothes off your body, lips following the soft touch of his hands as garnets get tossed around the room. As the air caresses your bare skin, he gently pulls you closer, eyes roaming your body with a fierce thirst that somehow outshines his usual desire at seeing you naked for him.

Your head is almost dizzy from his intoxicating kiss by the time you’re bare for him and he’s laying you gently on the bed, his lips trailing patterns over your stomach as he whispers words of devotion against your soft skin. He doesn’t need to speak them any louder, his whole world is encapsulated in the person laid unclothed and dripping before him.

Rubbing his bulbous tip on your clit, Bucky slowly pushes inside you and then pulls out, slapping your clit again, performing the action over and over until the needy ache between your thighs is almost unbearable. Jolts of pleasure fire up your spine and wet arousal streams out of you as you arch your back and cup both of your breasts, fingers flicking over your hardening nipples.

“Daddy, please.” The name slips from your lips before you have the time or mental consciousness to stop it, but Bucky simply smirks in response, satisfied with just how desperate you are for him, and only him.

“Daddy’s going to give you everything darling, just lay back and relax.” He teasingly draws figure eights with the tip of his dick against your clit, capturing your pert nipple in mouth, tongue circling your tender areola, the combination of his stimulation forging a ardent whine from the back of your throat.

Then, without any notice, Bucky pushes himself into you slowly, lovingly.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so tight. You were made for me, just for me.” He growls in your ear when he’s finally fully sheathed within you.

You let your hands drift over the contours of Bucky’s muscular back, drawing him even closer against you as he buries his face in your neck as his hips begin rocking into yours. Having him hold your upper body with such gentleness all the while having his hips rail you into the mattress feels both exquisitely intimate and downright pornographic.

You’re unsure how Bucky manages to be both concurrently, but he always finds a way.

“Sounds like that feels so fucking good for you, baby. Fucking squelching for daddy.” He’s not wrong, the salacious squelch of your walls fills the room along with your lustful moans with every unrelenting, impaling thrust of his cock.

His pelvis rhythmically meets your ass as he lifts your hips, taking you by surprise and pushing your legs back into your body, testing the bounds of your flexibility. From this angle he can’t help but graze your spongy g-spot with each thrust, over and over and over again. You cry out in pleasure, too overwhelmed by the sensations undulating within you, one moment it’s all too much, the next not enough, to realise your fingernails are digging sharply into Bucky’s biceps.

At this point in your relationship Bucky knows your body better than you do, before you have time to recognise that you’re right at the precipice of a fast approaching orgasm, his nimble fingers locate your throbbing clit, massaging the bundle of nerves in that way that makes a wanton sob bubble up in your throat.

“Look at me baby - keep your eyes on daddy when he makes you cum.” Those dazzling steel blue eyes are your downfall, those same sparkling eyes which have always regarded you with an unparalleled desire and reverence, even from the very first time you met. Those beautifully unique eyes you have memorised the patterns of, committed to memory where each fleck of gold resides and how they seem to shine brighter when you’re the object of his gaze. Those same sincere eyes that filled with tears as he watched you say ‘I do’ and feasted on your body in your white wedding gown until he zipped it off you on your wedding night.

Your high hits you with a magnitude that shakes your entire body, eyes rolling back and has your toes curling. The rest of the world crumbles around you, the only thing your brain can comprehend in this life shattering moment is that Bucky is mercilessly pounding into you, pushing you through a climax that feels like a million shooting stars all exploding at once.

Bucky stills as you tremble around him, coming down from your high with sweat on your brow and a dazed look in your eyes that he can’t seem to get enough of.

His kiss is soft and sweet, but completely life ruining all the same. It takes you back to the first kiss you ever shared, how much outpouring of love you felt when his lips touched yours and you knew for certain you wouldn’t kiss anyone but him ever again.

Bucky’s hips start moving again, slowly at first, building a sensual rhythm of deep strokes which has you biting into his shoulder to prevent yourself from moaning obscenities. You can’t tell where he stops and you begin, your bodies moving together in the heat of passion, euphoria covering you both like a blanket of pure, warm sunshine.

“Gonna breed you.” He growls in your ear with that inflection in his tone where you can tell he’s just as close as you are to coming undone. “Gonna give you a baby. Our baby.”

His words satisfy some primal part of your brain that’s in control now, you swing your legs around Bucky’s waist so he stays exactly where you want him when he cums. His arms frame your head and he gazes down at you as if he’s trusting you to hold his fragile heart in the palm of your hand.

“Give it to me. Please daddy, please give me all your cum.” Your fingernails scratch down his back as Bucky’s cock grazes over the spongy spot on the inside of your walls which makes you see stars. “Put a baby in me.”

Your words only spur him on, thrusts growing sloppy, faltering slightly with a guttural groan reverberating from his chest that is the beginning of the end for you, the pebble which breaks the dam, your release flooding through you in crashing, torrential waves.

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m cumming!” You announce and through his panting, Bucky lets out a satisfied hum as you walls clench down around him, triggering his own release right alongside yours. You swear you’ve ascended to heaven, floating on a cloud of pure bliss as the ecstasy of your high radiates like a rising sun within your core.

Bucky stays hovering above you as you both catch your breath, whimsical smiles tickling the sides of your mouths as you simply gaze at each other, the only thought running through your mind being how fucking lucky you are to have someone who loves you like Bucky does, someone who will always put your wants and needs before their own because ensuring your happiness is their happiness.

“Can’t let any go to waste.” Bucky comments as he pulls out of you, fingering his release back inside you so that none spills out, flicking your puffy and sensitive clit as he does so, sending jolts firing up your spine that makes you squirm.

“Well, if you weren’t pregnant before, you’re likely to be now.” Bucky chuckles lightly, his hand brushing lovingly over your stomach as he lays beside you. “And if not, then we’ll just keep trying. We are pretty good at the act of baby making.”

“We certainly are.” You turn your head and capture his swollen lips in a raw, delicate kiss that can convey more meaning than mere words can. “I can’t wait to go back home and spend the rest of our lives together, maybe with some little feet pattering on the hardwood floors too.”

You know Bucky well enough by now to recognise the genuinely content and blissful smile spreading over his features. You crave for him to look at you like this for the remainder of your life, for him to feel so full of adoration for you that he simply cannot be anything other than blissfully happy in your presence. If he loves you even half as much as you love him, you’re positive your love story will be one for the history books.

“Te iubesc [I love you].” He places a kiss to your hairline, and pulls you closer in his embrace where you always feel at home. You’ve never felt as loved and cherished as you do in this moment right here, with your darling husband who you know would go to the ends of the world to ensure you and your possible future child are safe.

“Not as much as I love you.” There’s a sparkle in his ocean coloured eyes as you say these words, a depth of devotion you could drown in.

“That’s impossible.”

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Mob!Bucky’s Kinktober Honeymoon Taglist: @tilltheendofthelinepal13 @kandis-mom @buggy14 @opheliastark @auntiegigi @alovecraft @cinnxbunny @zincxxx @cultofcarter @rose-alyssa @kaitlin013106 @wandas-gurlfri3nd @beautifulrare4leafclover @queenyamimarrero @littlerya @noobzandboobzandhooz @wanda2themax @lonelywolfheart @Kbananaclip14 @depressed-gays-of-marvel @ur--mommy @jollyfirebattrash @lauratang @casa-boiardi @raging-panda @nicoline1998enilocin @melsunshine @stinkerbelle007 @mememe7147 @happycat547 @matchat3a @Sirmeowertheruthless7 @Inlovewithficnalmen @katiemarsblog @irienanicole @buckyisveryhot @littleravengirl @whyamireadingthis @vase-of-lilies @Mrsrogers77 @saltyshluts @Wwhitewolff @buckysdogtagss @mylastnamesyuh @alexandria-fandom @andth3ywereroommates @avalongreene-09 @sargentbarnxes @keira324 @cherryschaos @missusbarnes-rogers @cherriesnwinee @Ellieangelbee @Shirayukiuzukaze @goldylions @elacinnamoon @buckysdollx @mrsmischief209 @capsbestgirl77 @its-just-smut-haha @ironmansson29 @Slutforderekhale @otome-loves-what @jacesswifey @winterslove1917 @black-mistress-of-evil @buckyscumwhore @purple-vegan

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Trigger Points

Pairing: Erotic Massage Therapist Ezra x f!reader (not romantic)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Medical kink, massage kink (is that a thing?), erotic massage, mentions of sexual dysfunction and difficulty orgasming, consent forms, the clinical is erotic now, power imbalance due to the masseur/patient dynamic, mentions of uhhh *checks notes* anal massage, lots of vaginal fingering I mean massaging, pelvic floor massaging but make it erotic, dubcon only in the sense that Ezra says orgasm is not the goal and then definitely deliberately gives her one anyway, g-spot orgasms, squirting, Penny gets on her soapbox at the end

Summary: Ezra is a massage therapist. What kind, you ask? Internal massage. That’s it that’s the fic.

A/N: I wrote this in twenty-four hours in a horny unhinged writing frenzy. Am I embarrassed that this came from my brain? Yes. Am I posting it anyway? Also yes. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for the beta (and all of the screaming) and to @leslie-lyman for egging on the medical kink that I definitely don't have.

Masterlist

You aren’t sure what you’re doing here.

This isn’t like you.

As you stare at the nondescript building–no sign, no name on the door–you think back to the seemingly random circumstances that brought you here.

The party you hadn’t wanted to go to. 

The friend–acquaintance–who insisted.

The man with a distinctive blonde streak that kept lingering by the snack table and popping cocktail shrimp into his mouth with an enthusiasm that had made you look twice in wary amusement.

Like so many men, he’d taken your glance in his direction as an invitation to come over and start a conversation, but the resulting discussion was decidedly unlike any other man–or human–you’d come across.

Loquacious to the point of being humorous, the man–Ezra, he told you–was disarming and insightful. You opened up to him immediately; he seemed to have this uncanny ability to pull your life’s story from your lips, much to your surprise and chagrin. Did you really tell a strange man at a party that you’ve been from doctor to doctor, complaining of sexual pain and dysfunction, only to be given dismissive, unhelpful advice? Have a glass of wine, one said. Use different soap, said another. Make sure your laundry detergent is fragrance-free. 

“I think I’m just built wrong,” you said bitterly, taking a sip from your wine glass. “Anyway, it’s fine. You didn’t sign up to listen to a stranger’s problems at some house party.”

“On the contrary,” Ezra replied mysteriously, raising one eyebrow as he regarded you with amusement. “I think our fortuitous meeting must have been arranged by the universe itself.”

Fishing his wallet out of his back pocket, he had handed you a business card that had only his first name–Ezra, no last name, and a phone number.

“I just happen to be a certified massage therapist, trained to assist with the very complaints of which you speak.”

“What kind of massage?” you’d asked, scrunching up your face in skepticism.

“Internal massage.”

You may have told him to fuck off then and there. You may have made your excuses and left the party in your embarrassment over having spilled your heart to a stranger with a questionable line of work, to say the very least. 

…You may have called two weeks later to inquire about an appointment.

The woman who answered the phone in that same kind of warm, soothing tone that seems to be common in so many legitimate massage practices made you feel slightly less insane about calling. The lengthy consent form she emailed after hanging up, however, sent you spiraling again.

Extensive questions about sexual history, your beliefs about sex, your relationship to sex, your experience with pain, dysfunction, your sexuality, etc. Check boxes indicating your level of experience and comfort with a number of sexual acts and situations. And at the end, three check boxes asking whether you would like to be massaged vaginally, anally, or both. 

A bell tinkles pleasantly when you open the door, and the scent of lavender fills your nose. Soft, soothing music plays from a hidden speaker somewhere, and one of those self-contained rock garden water fountains bubbles away in the corner of the brightly lit waiting room.

A woman behind the desk greets you–it must be the same one you’d spoken to on the phone–and checks you in. She walks you through what to expect during the appointment–first, you’ll meet with Ezra to discuss the consent form, then you’ll be asked to disrobe and lay on the massage table under a sheet. The type of care you’re given, she tells you, depends on what you put down on the consent form, which of course she hasn’t read, so she can’t tell you any specifics. 

“But he specializes in women with sexual dysfunction?” you ask skeptically. It had said as much on the forms. 

“Oh, yes,” the woman nods enthusiastically. “I know it’s an unusual service he provides, but Ezra is a professional, conscientious, and passionate about the work he does.”

You nod slowly, and she flashes you a warm, comforting smile before instructing you to sit anywhere.

You do, trying not to look too nervous as you wait.

Thankfully, you aren’t there for too long before a door opens, and Ezra softly calls your name.

Your nerves cause you to babble as you follow the man to the quiet, dimly-lit massage room. “Sorry I told you to fuck off,” you say. “That was pretty rude, and I’m sure it’s weird that I’m here now even though I clearly thought you were a pervert at the party, and–” you trail off, standing awkwardly beside the massage table as Ezra sits on a rolling stool.

“Now, now. Water under the bridge, I assure you, sprite. My profession is often met with skepticism at best and outright hostility at worst, but I let the testimonials speak for themselves. I assume you’ve read them?”

You nod, thinking back to the paragraphs of women saying they’d never known their bodies were capable of such pleasure before experiencing what they had called erotic massage.

“And I have read your consent form very carefully; I like to commit these things to heart, you see. Helps me do my job to the very best of my ability. Now, I did have a question about your very last answer: you made a checkmark indicating you were interested in vaginal massage only, but drew in a little question-mark next to anal massage.”

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, too quickly, jumbling the words together. “Depends on how… how…”

“How everything goes. Of course.” Ezra nods, making a quick note on your form. “I’ll consider you to be a vaginal-only patient for now, to be revisited at a later date if so desired.”

“Kay,” you squeak.

“Allright, let me give you a rundown of how this works. I’m not a sex worker; my job isn’t to make you orgasm. Like any massage therapist, my job is to find muscles that need to be worked out, and work them out. I just happen to specialize in muscles that other areas of practice typically ignore. This will involve both internal and external work–you might find that I might press on your lower abdomen, for example, with the other hand inside you. I always start slow with new patients; I’ll begin externally, massaging the entire pubic area and finding spots that might require extra attention. When you’re ready, we’ll move to an internal massage starting with one finger and seeing how many is most comfortable for you right now. Eventually, as we progress through your appointments, the goal is for the internal massage to involve two hands.

“Now, all that being said, the goal of these sessions might not be orgasm, but I want to let you know that it is normal and okay if that happens during your massage,” Ezra continues. “This is a safe space, and your comfort and pleasure is encouraged through this process. All of that seem hunky-dory?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod rapidly.

“Perfect. If you’re ready to get started, I’ll leave the room so you can get undressed. You can undress only from the waist down if you’re comfortable, or you can disrobe completely; the rest of you will be covered by the sheet, so it’s all down to what you prefer.”

Ezra leaves, the door clicking shut behind him, and you take a few moments to steady yourself before taking off only your pants and underwear. Grimacing at the awkwardness, you tuck the underwear into your jeans and place your shoes on top of both on the spare chair in the corner of the room. Then, you lie down under the sheet and wait.

Ezra taps lightly to herald his return before opening the door. “Good,” he says, seeing you laying stiffly on the massage table. “I’m going to check in many times during this first appointment especially,” he explains. “So much so that you may tire of it. You may simply say ‘good,’ when I ask how you are feeling, and I will continue. If you do not feel good at any point, I must ask that you say so. Sound okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, this massage table is custom made for my area of practice specifically,” Ezra explains, reaching under the table and unfolding a pair of stirrups–the kind you’ve seen many times at the gynecologist–and you grimace.

“Ah, I know, most people on this table do not have the most positive memories associated with these,” Ezra tuts, “and if you aren’t sure about using these, we can simply rest your legs on either side of the table.”

“I think I’m okay,” you tell him, cautiously reaching your feet out until your legs are uncomfortably splayed open. 

“You tell me if that changes.” Ezra sits down on the stool and rolls it over to sit at the front of the table. “I’m going to do the external massage with the sheet down,” he says. “No need for a cold breeze if it isn’t necessary, after all. As discussed before, I’m going to feel around the entire pubic area, finding anything that needs extra attention. If you’ve gotten a regular massage, you might notice that this one is much gentler; there won’t be any harsh poking or prodding, just light pressure and rubbing. If that’s all good, sprite, say the word and I’ll begin.”

“I’m good.”

“Very good. First, we’re going to warm up a little by touching your inner thighs. All muscles in this area are interconnected, so this will help soften things up as well.” 

You keep your eyes closed and let out a slow breath through pursed lips as you feel Ezra’s large, warm hands slowly working out the tension in your thighs. The unfamiliar feeling of someone’s hands in such an intimate area is an odd one, at first, but you can’t help but slowly begin to relax as he works out the delicate muscles of the upper-most part of your legs.

“Checking in again, sprite, how are we feeling?”

“Good,” you answer, with a little more confidence this time. “It’s good.”

“Excellent,” Ezra praises. “If we’re feeling nice and comfortable about it, I’m going to start to move upward and inward. You’ll feel me touch your outer labia, your perineum, and your pubic bone as we move forward. How do we feel about that?”

“Nervous,” you admit, giggling awkwardly. “But good.”

“Of course, sprite, it’s normal to be nervous about an unfamiliar sensation. Always remember that you are able to say ‘stop’ at any time.”

At your nod, Ezra’s hands shift, his thumbs beginning to rub up and down the outside of your labia. He rubs little circles around the entire area, including–something that makes your entire body flush with heat immediately–the skin just above your little puckered hole. 

“I know, I know,” Ezra soothes. “Just trying to get a complete picture here. We aren’t doing any internal massage in this area, but you may feel my fingers on the skin around it occasionally.”

“Okay,” you agree, nodding again.

“You’re doing so well, sprite. I’m going to stay external, but we’re going to start to examine a little deeper, does that sound okay? I’ll be rubbing your inner labia this time, spreading them apart to examine your vulva, urethra, and clitoris with my fingers. This is where it might start to feel pleasurable, or it could feel odd and uncomfortable as you become accustomed to this type of massage.”

“Yep,” you say, voice tight with anxiety again.

“I need a little bit more than that, sprite,” Ezra chastises. “Are you good to continue?”

“Yes. Good.”

“I can tell you’re nervous; why don’t you take a deep breath in for me for the count of five…” he counts slowly as you obey, “...and as you let it out slowly, you’re going to feel my hands move inward.”

The feel of Ezra running his slicked fingers up and down your inner labia doesn’t feel quite as uncomfortable as you’d feared. You’ve never been touched like this, or even touched yourself like this. It’s an exploration of sorts, collecting some data that means something only to him, perhaps. After a short time, he pulls you apart with his thumb and forefinger, spreading you open. 

“I’m going to rub back and forth just on the surface level,” Ezra says, “You might feel my thumb press down on a few places to locate any areas to focus on later.”

You take more slow, even breaths as you feel his warm thumb move from your perineum to your clit, then back down again. In a few places, he presses down, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb as he locates some unknown source of tension.

“How well you're doing,” Ezra praises warmly. “I've definitely found some areas of tension that we can work on during your sessions. This isn't the end of the external massage, per se, as I'll still want to work on some of those spots, but this is where I start to add an internal component, if you're up to it. What are we thinking?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I'm okay with that.”

“Good. As I explained before, I'm going to start very slow. I work with clients with a wide range of comfort levels and ability, and I'm not going to push anyone too far before they're ready. Not to be glib or reductive, but this is not dissimilar to a basic shoulder massage. I'll be working all along the muscles of your vaginal wall. We'll start with just one finger, and if that's comfortable for you, we'll see how it goes with two. I'm going to slowly slide one finger in, let you adjust to how that feels, and then I'll begin the massage on your right side, moving to the back, the left, and then the front, around in a little circle like so. At the same time I'll be gently pressing with my other hand so that I can get a feel for the muscles that are stiff, sore, or carry any tension. If at any point any sensation is unpleasant, please bring it to my attention immediately. In that event, I will stop and reassess. If that discomfort is the result of muscle or pelvic floor tension, we will slowly, slowly work through it without causing you any pain. Is all of this acceptable?”

“Yes.”

“And am I okay to begin your internal massage?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Just as before, I'm going to spread open your labia nice and wide, only this time you are going to feel my finger slowly enter you. Once inside, we'll take a few deep breaths together, I'll ask if you are comfortable, and I'll begin the massage.”

As Ezra speaks, he does each action in turn. You feel your labia being parted, and then one slick, warm finger slips inside. It hits a bit of resistance when he passes your pelvic floor, but doesn't cause any pain. At his instruction, he guides you through three deep breaths as you become accustomed to the sensation.

“I'm going to begin moving now,” he announces. “Beginning on your left side.”

It's an odd feeling to adjust to, the way Ezra’s finger moves inside you. With his other hand pressing sometimes on your hip, sometimes at your side, you can feel him pressing against your wall in–true to his word–the same way one might massage a shoulder. This is just… very different. Or perhaps it's the same, and your brain only perceives it as such. 

Despite the awkwardness of having someone rubbing such an intimate, deep, vulnerable part of your body, you can admit that something does feel good about this. Ezra is right, of course; there are muscles internally as well as externally, and you've never had yours attended to in such a way before. 

Ezra’s finger rubs this way and that, covering all possible knots and tense spots on that particular side. 

“Checking in, sprite,” he intones gently. “How does it feel?”

“Weird… but kinda good. I think I understand why you say it's just like a shoulder massage–I never really thought about having muscles there, but… I can feel them relaxing the same way they would as… as if it were my shoulder.”

“No physical difference between the two,” Ezra says, voicing your earlier thought. “Only up here do we make a distinction.” He taps the side of his head and gives you a sideways grin. “If we’re feeling pretty good with one, would you like to try adding one more? It all depends on your level of comfort, but it is easier to get at the muscles with two, rather than one. Would you like to try?”

The gentle loosening of the muscles you hadn't even known were tense is surprisingly soothing, so of course, you agree.

“You're doing so well at checking in with me,” Ezra says. “Take a nice deep breath for me, and we’ll switch to two fingers. Ready?”

You make a little noise of assent, and as you exhale, you feel the pressure inside you increase as Ezra slips another finger inside you. 

“Doing good, sprite. I’m going to move to the muscles at the back of your vaginal walls now, which means my other hand is going to be pressing up on your lower back and buttocks. Is this fine?”

“That’s fine, yeah,” you nod, and at your consent, Ezra goes back to his steady, methodical working of your pelvic floor. 

At this new angle, the sensations inside you are new and different from before. When he was massaging your left side, all you could really feel was the gentle push and pull as your muscles were soothed and relaxed. You can still feel the muscle tension easing away… but it’s very quickly being replaced by a different kind.

You try to focus on taking deep breaths in and out of your nose as Ezra seems to draw heat into your core with every stroke. You stop focusing on the relaxation entirely, instead concentrating every effort to not make any awkward noises that indicate how much your body is responding to his touch.

You really should have known better.

“Many people find that different areas of the vaginal wall can cause different kinds of sensations,” Ezra says quietly as he gently rubs small circles from within you while pressing just above your puckered hole. “The front vaginal wall, of course, has the tendency to produce the strongest impression because of what most people call the g-spot, but the rear wall is also very responsive. I want to remind you of what we discussed earlier; that you are welcome and encouraged to lean into those feelings. It is common for patients to come to orgasm multiple times during a session, and can be helpful for further muscle relaxation. All this to say, sprite, you don’t have to work to suppress the fact that this feels pleasurable. Of course it does. It’s far more advantageous for you to allow it to happen rather than spend the session working to rein it in. Understand?”

“Y-Yeah,” you nod, trying to sink back down onto the massage table again and stop fighting against your body’s automatic responses.

Even so, you don’t really believe you could orgasm from just this. Hell, you can barely orgasm during sex even when you use a vibrator. Your body’s need for intense, prolonged clitoral stimulation is simply a fact. A law, as immutable as gravity, and no amount of “internal massage” would ever have the same effect. 

“If you ever do wish to revisit that last little question on the consent form, one type of treatment that can be incredibly effective is to massage the area in between, if you take my meaning,” Ezra comments lightly, as though discussing the weather. “It’s perfectly workable through what I’m doing now, of course, but even though I’m capturing the same general area, in my years of practice I’ve actually found that anal massage is an important component in achieving a comprehensive relaxation of all pelvic muscles.”

“Okay,” you say dumbly. His words–all the more impactful because of the detached clinical tone–combined with the constant pressure of his fingers, are creating a maelstrom of pleasure in your brain. You still aren’t sure if you’re “allowed” to find this entire situation to be incredibly erotic, but you worry you’ll soon have no choice, especially if your mind keeps conjuring up how it might feel to have both of Ezra’s hands rubbing something deep within you. How full you might feel.

“Nothing that needs to be discussed now or even in the near future, sprite,” he adds. “But just something to keep in the back of your mind as we progress through treatment.”

“Mm,” you agree. It’s–oh God, are you going to come? The pressure is building, building inside you, and even though there’s nothing touching your clit, it feels as though you might be reaching that point of no return. You make a soft, whining, desperate little sound as Ezra massages your vaginal wall with methodical precision.

“I know, I know,” he soothes in that syrupy voice of his. “Take a few deep breaths for me–I promise, it’s okay to let it go. Allow your body to do what it’s meant to do.” At this, he presses down even harder, and you gasp as you suddenly begin to clench around his fingers. Your chest heaves as you ride the waves of pleasure until they subside to a gentle ebb. Ezra remains still throughout it all, waiting patiently until you stop twitching with aftershocks.

“See? So much better when you listen to your body,” he praises. “Can you feel that? It causes your muscles to relax even further, so much more effectively than even I can manage. Feel the difference right here–” he rubs a wide circle up and down your wall, “–there’s so much less tension now, isn’t there?”

“Yeah,” you agree, still catching your breath.

“Let’s do a quick check-in before I move on,” Ezra suggests, “and while we do, I’d like to make a quick recommendation, if you are amenable.”

“That’s fine,” you answer. 

“Give us a quick run-down of how you’re feeling,” he says. “Any pain? Discomfort?” When you shake your head, he continues. “How about mentally? Orgasm can make us feel vulnerable, and that’s perfectly okay, of course, but not if it leads to feeling uncomfortable or unsafe.”

“It still feels a little… strange, but I’m okay.”

“Ah, of course. Now, as far as my recommendation… Now that you’re far more relaxed, I think it might be helpful to switch to three fingers. How do you feel about that?”

You swallow. “It might feel like a lot,” you admit quietly.

“Indeed,” Ezra agrees. “As a general rule, the more fingers I am able to use, the more effective the massage. The ideal internal massage would be either with all four fingers on one hand, or a combination of three and two. If you’re feeling at all apprehensive about discomfort, however, I think it would be better to wait and see, yes?”

“Yes,” you nod gratefully. 

“Moving on to your right side, sprite,” he says cheerfully. “Halfway there, and doing great.”

You can see what Ezra had been saying–you can feel that your walls are more pliant and moldable after your orgasm. However, it’s also made your nerves more sensitive to his touch, and the intense feeling of pleasure continues to flicker inside you with every gentle probe of his fingers. 

You begin to float, losing track of time and simply focusing on the sensations within you. Ezra quiets down when he senses your more meditative state, and continues to massage with minimal commentary. When his thick fingers begin to move, pressing upward toward your abdomen, however, your breath catches and your hips lift of their own accord.

“My apologies, sprite. I should have warned you I was moving to the front wall before I did so, but you were in such a state of utter relaxation that I was loathe to speak up.”

“S’fine.”

“You may find this area to be the most intense in terms of sensation,” Ezra comments. “There’s a reason I usually save it for last.”

You make a slightly garbled, strained noise of assent as his other hand rubs gentle circles on your mons pubis while the other continues its deliberate path up and down your walls, soothing out all of the tension and finding some incredibly sensitive spots as it does.

Ezra pauses over one such area, and, in such exquisite torture that makes you actually cry out into the room, curls both fingers up to apply even more pressure.

“Ah, that,” he chuckles to himself. “That thing–the little area they call the ‘g-spot’–it’s not some mysterious, unique phenomenon, nor is it mythological. What they didn’t know at the time–and far too many people still are not aware–is that the clitoris is much larger than just the little bit that we see on the outside.” His fingers rub little circles, back and forth, up and down, massaging so meticulously that it feels almost ruthless. “Sooo many nerves in one relatively small place,” he murmurs. “Stimulating the clitoris is normally the most reliable way to acheive orgasm, and yet so little of it is accessible. But here–” he presses up again, and you gasp, “–here we are able to access the other end of the organ.”

You can hardly concentrate on the original goal of muscle relaxation with so much pressure on your g-spot (or, apparently, the back of your clitoris) but you can still feel Ezra dutifully and clinically working out the tension in your pelvic floor. 

“Doing so well, sprite, so well. One nice, big, relaxing orgasm for me and then we’ll gently explore how the tension lessens afterward.”

Despite his insistence before your appointment that orgasm was not the goal of these sessions, you can’t help but notice Ezra appears to be guiding you towards one with masterful precision. With one hand applying light pressure on your abdomen and the other pressing upward to meet it, it feels as though he’s got the most sensitive organ of your body trapped between his fingers. He plays it like an instrument, each finger working independently to stroke different parts of the soft, spongy membrane. 

Finally, finally, the pressure becomes so much that you simply seem to implode; all at once, you clamp down on Ezra’s fingers like a vice as your lower back lifts from the table. A feeling of pure, hot, wet relief surges through you, and the release feels endless, as though your body simply cannot stop pulsing and contracting. Dimly, you realize that it must be the ruthless stimulation from Ezra’s hands keeping you suspended in what feels like a never-ending orgasm. His fingers press upwards, rubbing quickly and insistently back and forth against the sensitive organ, and the movement draws more and more rhythmic clenches that seem to ripple across the entire area. 

And–Oh, God–with each intense throb, little streams of fluid splash out over Ezra’s hand, and you realize with absolute mortification that the sheet, massage table, and Ezra’s white coat are already soaked with your release.

“Oh shit, I’m sorr–” you try to apologize as soon as you have the presence of mind.

“Now, now, not to worry, little sprite. Any manifestation of pleasure is welcomed and encouraged here, and I’ve been at this long enough to know that stimulating the back of the clitoris oftentimes results in strong and voluminous ejaculations…” You twitch with one last, pathetic aftershock, and Ezra soothingly rubs his fingers up and down your wall in the same way one might rub someone’s back after a long day. “But feel the difference, little sprite. Feel how supple and pliant your muscles are compared to before. This is the state we strive for, little sprite. Complete and utter relaxation. When you find yourself starting to tense up again–such is the consequence of the stressful lives we lead–I want you to call up this moment, and the way your pelvic muscles so easily move for my hand, and try to get back to this state. With enough practice on your own in between sessions, this will become easily achieved.

“I’m going to do a couple of nice, wide circles with my hand to stretch out those muscles one last time, and as I do, I’d like you to take some nice, deep, easy breaths with me. Once we get  to five nice big breaths, I’ll slowly remove my hand. Does this sound good?”

“Yuh-huh,” you nod.

“Nice big inhale,” Ezra reminds you, and you dutifully suck in a deep, cleansing breath of air as you feel his hand circle around your vaginal walls, pressing deep into the muscle as he does. You repeat the action four more times, and on your very last exhale, the light feeling of pressure within you finally abates as his fingers slip out of you. 

“How do you feel?”

“Pretty relaxed,” you say with a relieved laugh.

“Mentally?” he prods.

“I dunno, fine,” you shrug.

“Any feelings of vulnerability are normal,” he says as he stands from his stool and helps you guide your legs out of the stirrups and back onto the table under the sheet. “You may find that these feelings may be delayed by a few days, even, so be gentle with yourself for the next week or so. Light muscle soreness is also normal, in the same way it can occur after a normal massage. If at any time this light soreness transforms into pain, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

Ezra picks up your consent form again and scans it briefly before setting it back down and giving you a serious, thoughtful look. “You told me three weeks ago that you were ‘built wrong,’ and you mention several times in your form that you have difficulty bringing yourself to orgasm. Little sprite, I have lost count of the number of clients who have the same complaints and who have similarly insisted their bodies were simply different from ‘normal’ people’s. Now, mind you, the sample size may be biased, but from this data I can only conclude that no human being is ‘built wrong.’ The problem lies in our minds, and more specifically, in the social conditioning we’ve all received since birth–conditioning that in no way favors the female experience of pleasure. Society has failed you, has labeled your pleasure as secondary, illusive, impossible, or even imaginary. Your sessions with me will help to reverse the physical symptoms from a lifetime of unhelpful social conditioning, and now that you know your body is not only capable of experiencing pleasure, but of doing so in ways you weren’t even aware, your mind will follow.”

“Wow,” you breathe, awestruck by how different you feel. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“I’ll leave you to get dressed, little sprite,” Ezra says, briefly patting your hand in a comforting manner. “When you’re ready, go ahead and open the door and I’ll walk you to the lobby to schedule your next appointment.”

[velvetures]

alr alr alr so hear me out just HEAR me out right

Gaz. Right, right. Showing the reader he's a certified munch. Right. Idk how it would go. I imagine he maybe helped them out with something and they owe him a solid and then bro just like "fuq all this sexual attention bruv. Bring dat arse here and let me sip on ye like sum fine wine" or sumn. Idk. BUT PLS CONSIDER IT PLS I LOVE THIS MAN SOO MUCH

Tip the Driver

summary: you go above and beyond the call of duty and it earns you a certain operator's constant attention and adoration. he's insistent that he pays you back... and you're utterly shocked at what he suggests.

t/w's: canonical violence, blood, GSW, Gaz eating pussy like a champ, fem-reader, fem oral receiving, dirty talk, fingering, female orgasm, male orgasm, public?fuck,... probably missed a bunch..

MRAP's didn't make for the best office... but it was yours whether or not you liked it all that much or not. Between the .50 cal bolted to the roof and the unmoveable windows, it made for a shitty view just about everywhere you received orders to go. Be it sand and dusty nothingness or abandoned and flaming city streets with car alarms blaring after a bomb strike. Your "office" hardly proved to be comfortable, but no one could contest your ability to drive the damn thing and keep the men inside of it safe.

The most important of all was Task Force 141 on the frequent occasions that your specialist skills were necessary for getting the boys in and out of a tight situation when a helo couldn't be afforded. It was a pain in the ass job that hardly anyone ever wanted... and you couldn't say that you'd initially volunteered for it either. You'd been forced after multiple vehicle squads declined to work with the 141.

Nothing ever went to plan with them.

It all happened far too quickly.

What started as a simple insertion by vehicle turned into nearly inescapable hellfire raining down on the sides of your armored truck. Banging heavy brass and lead rounds against the walls and drowning out the sounds of Captain Price’s orders. The whole plan went to shit the first second an RPG took a nose dive less than fifteen feet in front of your truck; stalling the movement of the small convoy and pinning you between two rocky cliffs pinched off and slowly closing up even tighter.

One moment you were doing the only thing asked of you: drive Task Force 141 through the gap to the small terrorist encampment on the other side, and hide yourself until they needed a quick escape. The next you were knelt down in the back, tightening down a tourniquet around Kyle Garrick’s thigh and preparing with shaky hands to pack a steadily bleeding bullet wound. There was hardly a second to think about anything, much less second guess your best instincts after Soap and Ghost hauled Gaz back to the truck and made a very harsh demand that you “pack him tight”.

Honestly, you didn’t even know what that meant. But Gaz -in all his inhuman strength- had enough patience and discipline to ignore the pain he was feeling to walk you through exactly what it took to keep him from bleeding out before you could get him somewhere for real medical attention. From cutting his own pant leg open to handing you each tool or material necessary, Kyle couldn’t have been a better patient to learn with. But it didn’t make you feel any better for looking up at him every few seconds and seeing him practically chewing on his own belt to keep from screaming or cracking his teeth.

“Doin’ good sweetheart…”

“That’s it, keep it -fuck- keep it tight like that…”

“Can’t be shy with me. Need you to be tough, m’kay?”

Every little praise or motivation he gave made eased your worries, but damn if you didn’t feel the littlest bit guilty for needing a wounded man to give you reassurance. It should’ve been the opposite. You easing his nerves. Telling him he’d be okay, and that there wasn’t anything to worry about. But there wasn’t a single thing you could do except following his directions to the letter, and hope that he didn’t pass out before you could finish up.

“For a gearhead, you’ve got nice hands…”

“Aren’t you a little too pretty to get stuck drivin’ us around?”

The longer you stayed in the back with Gaz, trying to mop up the blood pooling on the floor and around him, the more invested he became with you; not just what you were doing to make sure he didn’t die. Naturally, you’d known Kyle well enough to say you were acquaintances but it was never significant enough to say more than a friendly hello and goodbye when you caught each other’s attention. But with each milliliter of blood lost, Kyle Garrick began losing that well-mannered silence he was so often teased about. Enjoying the sight of you that close to you, and mentioning even the smallest little goofy detail he could muster up in half-consciousness.

“Gaz… you need to rest,” You’re hardly able to get the words out with all of the anxiety you have building with each bullet lodging itself in the side of your truck. “Can’t have you leaving us…” He just chuckles with a little wince. Leaning his head back against the back of your driver’s seat with one hand resting over his thigh and the other instinctively resting on the grip of his pistol still tucked against his hip.

“Not leaving if you’re around… s’pecially now that i’ve got your attention..” He gives a shy little smile. “You’re a really pretty for a MRAP driver… well… the only pretty one…” His eyes cut down and away from yours. “But still…”

You’d have been mush with such a cute admission had it not been for the firefight happening just outside your vehicle. And it was the limit of your power to ensure that Gaz was stable until there wasn’t a shot fired and you heard a nearly breathless all-clear from Captain Price outside. When the back doors swung open, the rest of Task Force 141 took in the sight of your blood-soaked gear, red-stained hands, sweat dripping down your neck, and Kyle slumped against you sleeping off the exhaustion with a fairly decent field dressing.

They were impressed.

Enough so that Price ordered Ghost to drive and let you sit in the back next to Gaz who had unconsciously laid up against you like a body pillow of sorts. Your mission had been busted by bad intel and a tip-off. It led to all of you regrouping back at base.

The 141 hauling Kyle off to the infirmary to get legitimate treatment, and you back to the garage where your truck had been shot to hell and back and needed repairs… If you could make them.

It was a good thing you’d been in a MRAP… but even they could only take so much abuse before bulletproof panels started bending and cracking under pressure. On first inspection you’d seen the pinholes of light shining from the garage lights through the walls onto the blood-stained floor in the back. And that was an entirely different struggle you’d been attempting to overcome. Seeing the dark red remanence of Gaz’s injury puddled and dried all over the desert tan painted floor. You’d been so upset by it that you attempted to scrub it off by hand since nothing else had worked. For two days you scrubbed at it… your squad mates passing by to yet again see you down on your hands and knees with a scrub brush, hot water, and bleach. But you’d hardly made a dent in the unmistakable stains by the time that Gaz was given full release from the doctors on staff.

Fuck, the only reason you knew that was because he’d been the one to come and find you still scrubbing at the back of your truck.

The light tap on the open back door halted your frenzied scrubbing. Looking up from the pink-tinged bubbles surrounding your hands, you came to meet Kyle standing there a bit stiffly with a somewhat curious look on his face.

“Sorry about that…” His apology isn’t exactly a joke, but you can tell that a part of it bothers him. “I’m normally not that messy.”

“You hardly have a reason to be sorry.” You feel responsible for reassuring him. Having it in the back of your mind that without saying it, he’d go on believing that you were inconvenienced by the whole ordeal, instead of deeply, and for some reason -very- emotionally protective. “It’s the least I can do to let you bleed in my truck.”

Kyle chuckled, stiffly moving to pull himself up into the vehicle. He sat down even more slowly with his boots facing away from the stain you’d been scrubbing at. “I guess you have had at least a couple fingers shoved inside my thigh… maybe we’re even?”

He earns a laugh from you.

Probably the most genuine one you’ve let out since the day he got injured. Gaz can’t help but be reminded of just how pretty you are in that moment. Kneeling there with a mop bucket and suds of soap surrounding your knees with baby hairs sticking to the sweat on your forehead. He’d not been too under the influence to exaggerate just how pretty he thought you were. And the fact that your job entailed driving on an equal skill level to being part of the presidential motorcade certainly added attraction points.

That little crush he nursed was ignored as much as possible. But remembering small flashes of your worried face looking over him a few days back haunted every waking moment of his day. While a little crush on a pretty girl was one thing, adding fuel to that fire was burning Kyle’s self-control into ashes.

He wanted to think there was some way of… flirting with you, he supposed. Giving a hint that he wasn’t just coming to waste time in the garage with you because of how well you shoved gauze into the hole in his thigh. But he could only think of one decent idea… and damn if he didn’t think it was the most feral thing he’d ever dreamt up. Seeing you just sitting there like that enticed his pain-med-laced thoughts with enough eroticism to even make Soap’s head spin like a fucking top.

“You feeling okay Gaz?” The sound of your voice breaks him from the thoughts.

His nods, one hand sliding over the heavily bandaged spot on his thigh under his pants. “Yeah, just thinking about something…”

Your eyebrows quirk up. “What’s that? Must be important for you to be staring off into nothingness like that.”

“Just how I’m going to pay you back for keeping me alive.” He smiles, lazily drawing his gaze down to look at you. His forearms resting on his thighs gently, looking down at you sitting just out of arm’s reach on the floor. “And I think I know how to do it.”

Kyle’s wide stance and downright confident swagger merely sitting there makes the slight bleach smell in the air pale in comparison to the dizziness his heavy gaze does. From the black boots, to the jeans, hoodie and black baseball cap, he’s nothing short of pure masculine energy. And fuck does he know it. Screaming felt like an appropriate response to his comments, yet the only think that could come out of your mouth was a nervous giggle. Soft and a little hesitant. Flashing your nervous anxiety like a white flag right in Kyle’s face.

“Somethin’ funny?” He smirked a little, adjusting the bill of his cap and tugging it down closer to his eyebrows. You shake your head ‘no’, trying to recover and sober up quickly.

“Oh, no… please, do tell.” He presses smoothly, dark eyes brightening with what you can only compare to champagne and chocolate diamonds glittering in warm, cocktail bar lighting. Enticing… rich… and oh-so-pretty.

“Just, sounded a little suggestive is all.” You smile, saying it with an uncertainty that wavers between it being a joke, and a question as to his seriousness. Trying to keep the ball in his court as not to foul up on whatever kind of situation Kyle came here to trap you in.

If it’s naturally possible, his eyes darken. “What if I was being a lot more suggestive?” His upper body leans a little closer. “What would you think then?” You feel your own stomach twist into tight knots.

“I’d think you’re crazy.”

Gaz laughs. Actually laughs out loud, and grins down at you.

“Crazy, huh?” He reaches a hand out, fingertips touching the underside of your chin and guiding your face up to meet his. His huffs a little chuckle, almost mesmerized by you and the way you think. “Well, I might just be,” He answered quietly.

“But that isn’t going to stop me.” You swallow thickly, feeling his thumb brush over the swell of your bottom lip ever so softly.

“Stop you from doing what exactly?” Gaz chuckles lowly again, giving a moment to look at the blood stain on the floor and the hell of a time you’d been having trying to remove it.

“Showing you the one other time I don’t mind making a mess.”

***

You can’t be sure if it’s just how time suddenly bends around Gaz, or if you just can’t care enough to keep track of it. But you find yourself sitting naked in the drivers seat of your own MRAP, pants hanging from one ankle, shoes lost somewhere in the cab, and your panties shoved into Gaz’s back pocket. Be an hour or five, you’d already lost count of the times Kyle gave you the same praise as he did when you were helping patch him up.

Only this time, he was muffling your screams of pleasure with his hot mouth pressed against yours and fingers so deep inside your cunt that it was almost too easy to make you come for him. Your slick dripped from your clenching pussy into the fabric seat cover, soaking Kyle’s whole hand and your ass.

“That’s it… such a pretty pussy…” His low rumbling praise against your ear feels like electric static running down your spine. “What a lucky man… getting to shove my fingers in it, and see how wet I can make you.”

Lithe digits massage against the squishy front wall of your cunt, while his other hand doubles to put pressure on your stomach while rubbing at your clit with his fingertips all at the same time. You’re helpless to do more than let your head heavily thump against the tinted window behind you and squeeze your eyes shut to keep from utterly losing your mind. Kyle Garrick has turned you into a whimpering, messy, slutty-looking mess. And god is he more than happy to let you know just how good it looks from his angle.

“Fuucckk yesss..” He groans, kneeling closer to your pussy. Resting his cheek against your inner thigh and pressing a sloppy kiss to it when he’s able to draw yet another orgasm from you. Rending your legs truly useless and unable to fend off his attacks in any meaningful way.

It’s exactly where he wants you.

You’re pinned back against your seat with your knees on either side of your head and a dizzy look on your face as Kyle blows a teasing breath against your swollen clit, staring down at you damn near drunk off the sight alone. It makes you yelp, but with all of his methodical preparation, the only thing keeping him from sinking his tongue into your wet hole is wanting to see what other sounds he can drag out of you without touching that sensitive collection of nerve endings. Gaz couldn’t get enough of seeing your legs limp and easily maneuvered out of his way so that nothing more than your submissive little expressions and dripping cunt are on display.

“Told you I don’t like making messes…” His tongue licked lazily at the crease of your thigh, teasing himself with just the slightest tase of your arousal. Edging himself with the full prize of tasting all of his hard work.

“But I want you to look this slutty all the time, pretty girl…” He grinned darkly.

Finally lowering himself to your core, he curls his tongue through your folds with a satisfied groan. Purposefully burying his nose against your clit and sucking at your release until he’s certain he won’t need to eat for the rest of the day. You’re too wrecked to squirm anymore. Merely staring up blankly at the celling as he tongue rolls over your clit and dips down to gather up your slick before it drips down onto the seat again.

“Oh my god…” It’s a miracle you can utter a single word.

Kyle squeezes at the muscle and fat on your thighs in reward for finding your voice, if even for just a moment. That’s good… he thinks, knowing you can take this much pleasure and not give up when he’s still not satiated with the taste of your come sliding down his throat. He’s nearly lost all composure of himself as well; but damn if he didn’t just want to tie your legs to the driver’s seat and steering wheel just so he could lap at your cunt for hours without you interrupting him. Wishful thinking for this only being the first time he’d been able to taste you. But he was certain there wouldn’t be a single day in the future he’d go without at least the slightest tease of your pleasure lingering on his lips.

“One more,” He demands, teasing your hole with his thumb as his tongue traces your inner lips languidly. “Feed me baby…”

There’s not a moment’s hesitation.

You nearly come on command at this point. So overstimulated but desperate for more that when Kyle gently grazes his teeth over your clit, everything unravels in a fuzzy lost of your eyesight and a shock of sensation so strong in your body that Gaz manages to actually make your legs shake one last time. It’s so damn strong tears flood your eyes, and it’s not until you feel him slowly pumping a few of his fingers in and out of your weeping cunt that you realize he’s actually helping you ride it out by stroking at your g-spot tenderly and kissing your inner thigh.

He looks just as lost in the moment as you feel.

His mouth parted and still lapping at your folds like he’s possessed to do nothing else. Your arousal slicking the entire lower half of his face, and his baseball cap turned around backwards with a light grey t-shirt that he’d have to let dry before getting out of your truck due to the cum splatters covering the front. As if that wasn’t enough to turn you on seeing Kyle Garrick on his knees and pussy drunk off you, the large wet spot just to the left of his zipper made your weakened muscles clench around his fingers. Kyle follows your line of sight, chuckling quietly and gently palming at his softening cock through his pants with a small shrug.

“It’s my favorite…” He explains soft but very honestly, eyes flashing back to where he begins slowly removing his fingers from your cunt. Eyeing his own fingers and how your walls accommodate them before sinking his own fingers in his mouth to finish ‘clean up’ on his favorite messy job.

“Now we’re even?” You ask, a little dazed and reaching a hand out to find his for some stability and reassurance. Kyle laughs softly, helping you readjust your legs and lifting you up to sit in his lap to ward off the after-sex chills raising up on your bared skin.

“I suppose so,” His wetted lips press against your temple and linger there reverently for a minute or two.

“Or… we could… keep doing each other favors?” His voice lowers a bit, sounding far too unsure for your liking.

“I don’t want to do favors, Gaz.” You smile.

“I just wanna do you.”

[noforkingclue]

Her Blood Soaked Hands Chapter 2 (River Cartwright x OC)

Summary: Naomi and River talk and River begins to realise that he might be in over his head (as usual).

Slow Horses tag list: @cillmequick

“You’re insane.”

“No, I’m not. I have the test results to prove it.”

“Yes you- wait? Test results?”

“Well psych evaluations. Didn’t you have to go through one.”

“Everyone has to.”

“And I am certified not insane.”

“I think you might need to get re-tested.”

“Are you always this rude to people?”

“Not everyone tries to get into Slough House.”

The woman, who River had learnt was called Naomi, gave him an amused look. When she told him her name it was almost as though she was expecting him to recognise it in some way. Naomi and River had relocated themselves to a booth in the corner. It was slightly more cramped, and Naomi’s knees were touching his, but it provided them with more privacy. Naomi was nursing a glass of red wine and she had bought River another pint. He had needed that drink after he stopped laughing and realised that she was serious.

“Why the fuck do you want to be in Slough House?” he asked

“Because I want out.”

“Then quit?” River said slowly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, although he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to leave The Park.

“Tried to.”

“And?”

“Taverner won’t let me.”

“Diana Taverner won’t let you quit? Why?”

Naomi ran a finger around the rim of her wine glass. She seemed lost in thought and River was in half a mind to leave. However the other half, the half that wanted to know what the fuck was going on, made him stay.

“What do you think I do?” Naomi asked eventually

“Do?”

“Job wise.”

“Well you’re Service.”

“If we’re being pedantic, so are you.”

“But I’m not proper Service.”

“No you’re not,” Naomi gave him another chilling smile, “you do all the drudgy paperwork that no one else wants to do. Yet you still find yourself getting mixed up in all sorts of stuff.”

River’s grip around his pint tightened. She was doing this deliberately. Trying to make him lose his temper. But he wasn’t going to rise to it.

“So let me guess,” he said after taking a deep breath, “you’re what? Taverner’s secretary? Personal assistant.”

“I guess one could call it that. We go by many different names.”

Unfortunately that did little to help other than intrigue River more.

“Assets,” Naomi continued, “problem solvers. An older term, that I personally hate, is wet squad.”

A flash of recognition passed over River’s face at the phrase and Naomi smiled. River lowered his pint slowly and leant against the back of the booth.

“Ah,” Naomi said, “so now you know.”

“You’re an-”

“I don’t like that phrase,” interrupted Naomi, “makes it sound like I’m in some sort of porno. Besides, it’s also inaccurate. I neither work in a squad nor get wet. In either context.”

“Right,” River ran a hand over his face, “and what makes you think I can get you into Slough House.”

“I thought it was best that I consult an expert.”

“An expert,” said River, “should I be insulted?”

Naomi shrugged and took another sip of her wine. River frowned and glanced away for a moment.

“Do you really think you can get me back into The Park?” he asked quietly, still not looking at Naomi

“Do you want the truth or bullshit?” she asked

“The truth.”

“I have no idea,” she said, “but it’s worth a try, don’t you think.”

“You know,” River finally looked back at her, “if this fails, we could both lose our jobs. Or worse.”

“And if we succeed,” Naomi said, leaning forward, “we both get what we want.”

“Why would you even want to be in Slough House?”

“It’s got to be an easier time than at The Park.”

“Have you met Jackson Lamb?”

“He’s certainly got to be easier to deal with than Diana Taverner.”

“Why?”

“He’s a man,” she said with a shrug, “men tend to be easier to manipulate.”

“I-” River started before shaking his head, “Not Jackson Lamb.”

“Ah, is he-”

“No,” River interrupted, “no, well, I don’t think he is. Slough House isn’t the type of place you discuss that.”

“Oh.”

“Why? Do you discuss your personal life with Lady Di.”

“No. She seems to know it all already.”

“You still want to do this?”

“Don’t you?”

“It’s a risk.”

“Isn’t everything we do in our jobs a risk?”

River’s blue eyes locked with Naomi’s. She smiled at him and River got the impression that this one was genuine. Naomi raised her glass and River, for some reason he couldn’t quite understand, raised his and clinked them together.

“This is insanity,” said River, “and you know it’s probably not going to work.”

*

Weekends were always unpleasant to work, especially when you got dumped on the night shift. Naomi grumbled as she flashed her Service ID and pushed her way in. It was cold and drizzling, the weather seemingly matching her mood. Despite it being a Saturday evening, The Park was still bustling. Espionage never paused even for the weekend. She knew that Taverner was doing this as a punishment.

Naomi slumped against the lift wall and ran her hands over her face. She didn’t want to be spending her weekend doing what Taverner wanted but at the end of the day she was still her boss. She slinked out of the lift and headed towards Taverner’s office, sticking to the wall as closely as possible. People either ignored her or avoided her completely. A lonely life.

“Heart.”

She came to a halt when she heard Duffy’s voice. She turned on her heel and rested against the wall, hands in her pockets.

“Working weekends too, Nick?” she asked

“Well I wouldn’t have been but I have three dead bodies to deal with.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Duffy narrowed his eyes and he approached her. There were a couple of tense seconds before he finally held out a note.

“If that’s your mobile number,” said Naomi, “I’m not interested.”

“And why would I be interested in a psycho like you. Taverner told me to give this to you.”

“Taverner’s got you delivering messages now. Thought that would be a bit beneath you.”

She took the notes and read through it. She gritted her teeth and crumpled up the note.

“Looks like we’re both Taverner’s dogsbody.” Naomi said as she pushed herself off the wall and swiftly marched out of The Park

Naomi wrapped her scarf tightly around her as she once again faced the brisk London air. She knew this was just another powerplay from Taverner. Making her run around London, pulling her this way and that, just to do her bidding. But Naomi didn’t have a choice, at least for now.

Naomi looked up at the building Taverner lived in. She glanced down at the crumpled paper before shoving it back into her pocket. She could break into her home but Naomi knew that would cause more issues in the long run. Instead she climbed up the steps and pressed the bell. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath when she wasn’t immediately let in. She should’ve known that Diana would treat her like this. Eventually, and after she rang the buzzer again, the door clicked open.

She crept quietly into the house. Far too big for just one person but that was how Diana liked it. She slipped off her shoes as she silently crept along the corridors. Naomi found Diana in the kitchen, although she was surprised that Diana even knew where it was, with a bottle of red wine and two glasses on the counter. Diana had her back facing the door, looking out into the dark garden. Naomi folded her arms and rested against the door frame.

“Do you want me to pour the wine or do you want to be mother?” Naomi asked eventually

Diana’s raised eyebrow told Naomi her answer. She moved over and uncorked the wine. She poured two glasses and leant against the island as she looked around Diana’s kitchen. It was all too clean and clinical for her tastes. Besides from the bottle of wine, there was hardly any evidence that it was used.

“You met with Cartwright junior.” Taverner said eventually

Naomi paused, wine glass touching her lips, before putting it down slowly. Taverner hadn’t moved but was once again looking at Naomi in the reflection of the glass.

“Is his name really River?” Naomi asked eventually, “Seriously? You’d think he’d change that as soon as he was able to. Does anyone actually take him seriously with a name like River?”

“Was that why you met with him. To ask him about his name?”

Diana’s voice told her that whatever Naomi said, she wouldn’t believe. Finally, she turned around and walked slowly over to Noami. She picked up her wine glass and continued out of the kitchen, a silent command for Naomi to follow her. Naomi hovered by the door to the living room and Diana settled herself down. She took another sip of her wine before gesturing for Naomi to sit. Naomi practically collapsed onto the sofa.

“Why were you meeting with Cartwright?” Taverner asked

“I wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” said Naomi with a shrug, “he seems harmless enough. I’ve heard stories about his grandfather and he doesn’t seem to match up to any of those.”

“David Cartwright was a unique character. One whose legacy is, admittedly, hard to match.”

“Clearly River didn’t inherit any of his grandfather’s talents.”

Naomi pulled her legs up to her chest and took a large gulp of wine. It was evident that Taverner didn’t call her here to talk about her private life despite their current conversation.

“Do you have another job for me?” asked Naomi, “because we’re usually given rest between jobs and at least pace them out a bit. We can’t have too many accidents. The public aren’t that careless.”

“You didn’t make it look like an accident,” said Taverner, her voice level, “you disobeyed an order.”

“Ma’am,” said Naomi, “there wasn’t any time to-”

Taverner held up a hand and Naomi closed her mouth. She knew when to push her luck and she was pushing Taverner right to the edge. She wanted out of The Park but not at the expense of her own freedom.

“No,” she said, “I don’t have any more jobs for you. At least for the immediate future.”

Ah, so this was just another power play. Making Naomi run across all of London just to show that she could. Naomi settled back against Taverner’s sofa, never breaking eye contact with her. Taverner smiled at Naomi’s stubbornness and said,

“Don’t get too involved with Cartwright. When he’s around, well,” she gave you a cold smile, “things don’t always work out.”

She reached forward and grabbed Naomi’s chin.

“I would hate for anything unnecessary to happen to you.”

*

“I met someone the other night.”

Louisa paused in the middle of making her morning coffee. She glanced over at River, who was staring down at his own mug in apparent contemplation. It was too early on a Monday for her to be hearing about River’s love life. She was even surprised that River had one in the first place. At first Louisa wondered why the fuck her was telling her this and then she went through River’s other options.

Lamb and Ho were immediate write offs, as was Shirley although Lousia would rather go to Shirley then to the former two. Catherine was a possibility but Louisa knew that also came with the risk of being mothered and it was too early in the morning for that. Marcus was another suitable candidate but a) he was usually around Shirley and b) he and River didn’t seem the type to have a ‘guys talk’ together.

Which just left her.

Fuck.

“Oh?”

A neutral response and definitely the safest. River glanced at her before taking a sip of his coffee. He winced at the taste but nobody could be bothered to go and buy the nicer, and therefore more expensive, shit. They’d have to suffer through this crap until someone snapped and everyone was too stubborn (and cheap) to do that.

“Is she… nice?” asked Louisa after a suitably awkward pause after River didn’t respond

“She’s,” River ran a hand over his face and leant against the kitchen table, “Service.”

“Service.”

Now this caught Louisa’s attention. She looked over at River sharply and he grimaced and this time not from the taste of the liquid what was rather poorly masquerading as coffee.

“And she came up to you and spoke to you.”

“Wow. Thanks. But yeah,” a frown appeared on River’s face, “she did.”

“What did she want.”

“To get into Slough House.”

Louisa always believed that she was someone who wouldn’t be caught by surprise. However, River had timed this fact just as she was taking a sip of her coffee, causing some of the foul liquid to go down the wrong hole. With her spluttering, River quickly got her a cup of water and offered it to her with an apologetic smile.

“And that’s not even the strangest part.” he said

“There’s something stranger than wanting to get in here?”

“She’s part of a wet squad.”

Louisa gave him a blank look and River ran a hand over his face.

“Fucking hell. I haven’t heard that used in a long fucking time. Another phrase your grandfather taught you, Cartwright?”

Both River and Louisa jumped at Lamb’s voice. It was hard to tell how long he’d been listening but given the look on his face he had heard enough.

“A wet squad?” asked Louisa, “what the fuck-”

“Killing people for fucking money,” said Lamb slowly, as though he was speaking to a child, “doing the dirtier jobs that The Park are too squeaky fucking clean to do themselves. Looks like Cartwright here just decided to go and fuck the craziest of them.”

He stomped up the stairs and barked,

“Cartwright. Up here. You need to deal with this shit.”

“You’re fucking girlfriend is an assassin.” said Louisa

“She’s not my girlfriend.” said River as he reluctantly moved to follow Lamb, although not too closely, “and we didn’t fuck.”

[ansonghub]

welcome to the bulletin board! here are some events happening around ansong in the month of november:

november 8: karaoke night @ jeoseung apartments rec room

november 16: retro rumble competition @ 8-bit

november 18: core o' clock yoga class @ jeoseung apartments gym

november 22: wine-o bingo @ ansong funeral home

november 26: sips & scones @ sweet bean cafe

november 28: breakfast on the go @ jeoseung apartments rec room

below you can find more information about each event! as a friendly reminder: all community events listed are optional for players to utilize in their threads/interactions throughout the month of november. while some events have a date attached, you're not restricted to posting about them only on that date! while starter posts involving the events can only happen during the month, you may continue to write out the threads involving them for as long as you'd like!

november 8: karaoke night @ jeoseung apartments rec room

want to be the next big thing? well, sadly we can't guarantee you'll be scouted for fame and fortune, but those who wish to can still sing their heart out for the evening! hosted by the jeoseung apartment complex, tenants can come down to the rec room for some karaoke fun! come sing your favorite song for the crowd solo, or with others, and show off your stuff! the event starts at 8pm and ends around 11pm!

november 16: retro rumble competition @ 8-bit

think you can get the highest score? 8-bit is holding their unofficial semi-annual gaming competition, with their focus this time on "retro, old-school" games! from favorites such as pac-man, donkey-kong and even street fighter, come see if you have what it takes to call yourself the master of all games. the top 3 will be placed in the 8-bit "hall of fame" and displayed on the wall of the arcade. all who wish to enter must sign up by noon same day! the competition begins at 2pm!

november 18: core o' clock yoga class @ jeoseung apartments gym

ready to find your center? the complex is holding a free yoga class for all tenants who want to move their bodies and strengthen their core! all tenants should bring a bottle of water, and optionally, a yoga mat if they have one, and their determination! the class is taught by a certified yoga instructor and will be little over a hour long. the class starts at 10am!

november 22: wine-o bingo @ ansong funeral home

we got bingo! come join your fellow residents down at the ansong funeral home in the community center for some tipsy bingo! sip on some wine provided graciously by mirage and see if you're a true bingo master! those who win will receive various prizes, from gift cards, coupons & discounts to use around ansong, and one lucky resident will also receive a free gift basket that has a selection of gourmet snacks, wine accessories, and one large bottle of (expensive!) wine. this event begins at 7pm and ends at 10pm!

november 26: sips & scones @ sweet bean cafe

want to unwind and relax in good company? sweet bean is hosting a mini-event in their cafe where residents can come in, relax, and mingle with others in a comfortable atmosphere. sip on a sweet drink of your choice and indulge in their assortment of freshly baked treats and mingle without pressure! bring your own mug and get your first drink of choice free! this event starts around 4pm!

november 28: breakfast on the go @ jeoseung apartments rec room

need a little early morning pick me up? in honor of national french toast day, the complex is hosting a breakfast bar for residents to enjoy there or even on the go. the hot bar will be available to residents between 8am and 10am and any left-overs will be placed in to-go boxes and can be picked up while they last!

[crissiebaby]

The Padded Palace Act IV: Chapter 11

DISCLAIMER: This story contains diaper usage, crossdressing, inappropriate language, humiliation, masturbation/diaper sex, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

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“HAHAHAHA! Get a load of this one!” cackled Latasha, sitting cross-legged on her living room floor before a stack of cover letters and resumés. After recently firing her last assistant for sneaking naughty pictures of the Padded Palace’s inhabitants, she was left to hunt for a replacement. She wouldn’t have normally been this ruthless toward potential hires, but with two of her five paying customers opting to end their service with her over this, it was hard for her not to feel a tad petty. Blowing off some steam as she sipped at the glass of wine in her hand, she began reading aloud to Carol, who was seated adjacent to her on the couch, “Part-time adult, part-time bahAHAHA!” She barely made it through the first sentence before bursting into a fit of giggles once again.

Slapping the arm of the couch with one hand and shushing Latasha with the other, Carol attempted to reign in her friend’s tipsy hysterics while struggling to stifle her own. Red liquid sloshed dangerously close to the rim of her wine glass, seemingly defying physics. “Staaaaawp! Every time you laugh, it makes me laugh! HAHA! I’m gonna pee!” she shouted, recoiling into the ball on the sofa.

Now, it was Latasha’s turn to quell her drinking buddy’s volume. “Shhhhhh! You’re gonna wake the girls!” she said, letting out a few more subdued chuckles as she gestured to the nursery, where Skye and Ellie were slumbering in their cribs. After taking a moment to collect themselves, Latasha cleared her throat before restarting her rapturous resumé reading. Only this time, she added a deeper, male-coded affect to her voice to better emulate the cover letter’s author, “Part-time adult, part-time baby. I’ve been known to be an easygoing, yet firm caretaker, who’s willing and able to dish out kinky discipline whenever necessary. I hope you don’t mind if I work padded. I can assure you it won’t be a distraction. My years of experience as a Daddy Dom should speak for themselves.” She picked up the resumé corresponding to the cover letter and passed it off to Carol. “And yes, in case you were wondering, he listed EVERY SINGLE Daddy relationship he’s ever had under work experience.”

“Nooohoho!” said Carol woefully, the agony of second-hand embarrassment causing her to pull on her hair with both hands. Unclasping her luscious locks, she gleefully took the cringy resumé from Latasha and proceeded to examine it herself. “Well, he certainly came on strong, didn’t he? They can’t all be this bad, right?” she asked, almost dumbfounded by the social dissonance on display.

Sighing and shaking her head in despair, Latasha failed to laugh away her anxiety over finding a new assistant. “Besides the, like, two or three vanillas that clearly have no idea this is an ADULT baby daycare, they pretty much all sound like this to some extent,” she said, gripping her ankles and rolling dejectedly onto her back, “Maybe I should put out a call for girl caretakers instead. I know Riri and Skye prefer Daddies but after what happened, I'm not sure I’m ready to trust another dude yet, ya know?”

“Hmmm…I suppose you could, so long as you're not worried about shrinking your future client list,” responded Carol, sliding her butt off the edge of the couch and onto the floor to peruse the resumé stack. An obscure lightbulb, the kind that only someone a couple of drinks deep could manifest, appeared above her head as she ruminated on Latasha’s previous remark, “You mentioned getting a handful of vanilla applicants. If you don’t want someone to fetishize your clients, so to speak, why not try for one of those?”

Raising a crooked eyebrow, Latasha was flabbergasted by Carol’s suggestion. “Pffft! Any certified child caregiver expecting to find an actual nursery would run for the hills the moment they had to deal with their first messy change,” she said, dismissing the idea outright.

Undeterred, Carol continued sifting through the caregiving candidates as Latasha spoke. “What about him?” she said, plucking a resumé from the pile and holding it aloft, “Childcare experience but not certified. Definitely vanilla but he’s young and his cover letter reeks of desperation. Who knows, you could get lucky.” She waved the resume and cover letter over Latasha’s head.

Dragging herself back into an upright position, Latasha snatched the papers from Carol’s finger. “Connor Fitzpatrick,” she mumbled, her eyes scanning his resume from top to bottom. None of it was very impressive, and the attempt to embellish looking after his younger brother as a teenager did not inspire confidence. For him to be remotely qualified, let alone willing to handle the day-to-day responsibilities involved with working at the Padded Palace would be a miracle. However, as she moved to his cover letter, she was struck by his sincerity surrounding his college debt-ridden financial situation; a position she had once found herself in many years ago. Influenced by an overwhelming abundance of drunken compassion, she set his resumé aside, separating it from the pack of kink-centric applications while maintaining the belief she would come to her senses about Carol’s silly idea once she sobered up in the morning.

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Tapping her nails rhythmically on her desk, Latasha’s elongated exhale did little to mask how bitter she was. Across from her sat a very nervous Connor, who had yet to look up from the desk since arriving in her office. “And exactly how long was this going on?” she asked, her guilt-induced rage bubbling at the news that Stacy had been blackmailing Connor for most of his employment.

“She approached me the day after Ellie’s party and showed me the picture,” said Connor, elaborating on the reason for Stacy and his current attire. Each diaper crinkle left him cringing internally, serving as a constant reminder of his failings as a caregiver and an adult. Craning his neck backward, he glanced through the doorway at a stone-faced Stacy. She and the rest of the Padded Palace crew were stationed on the couch, awaiting their turns to give their sides of the story.

*SNAP!*

Connor’s attention was suddenly reclaimed by Latasha as she leaned forward and snapped her fingers out of sheer frustration. “Hey, eyes on me, Connor. I’m not talking to those three right now. I’m talking to you, and I expect your attention,” she said, deflecting the wrath she felt at herself toward Connor as she scolded him like the immature child that his attire was meant to imitate. She rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers to decompress her throbbing sinuses, “It’s my fault. My gut…my gut said you weren’t ready but did I listen? Nope! My dumbass just needed to go to CrissCon.” Her mood soured further as memories of her comparatively regressive evening replayed in her head.

Clenching his teeth to stave off his simmering sorrow, Connor hadn’t felt this powerless in front of an authority figure since dealing with his principal in high school. “I-I’m sorry,” was all his wilted voice would allow him to say. He wanted so badly to prove to Latasha that she hadn’t made a mistake when taking a chance on him. The irony that he found himself in the same seat he was first hired in was almost too much to bear.

Latasha’s frown withered as she took in Connor’s brief yet sincere apology. It may not have fixed anything but it was certainly nice to hear. Moreover, how was she supposed to stay mad at him when he looked like a sad puppy in need of a good cuddle? “Thanks. But again, this isn’t on you,” she said, sighing as much of her anger away as possible, “Why don’t you run along and get changed? I don’t have anything else to ask you about. Plus, I still have to deal with Bubbles, Blossom, and Buttercup over there.”

Confused by how easy he was getting off, Connor tilted his head slightly. “Wait, that’s it? You don’t need to hear anything else?” he said, having barely made it through the first Act of Stacy’s blackmailing saga by this point.

���Yeah, I don’t really need the explicit details. I think your outfit speaks for itself,” said Latasha snarkily, filling in the blanks of Connor’s wild night with her extensive knowledge of ABDL erotica. Had she been in higher spirits, she likely would’ve made a joke at his expense to bolster his blushiness. Not that she needed to with how rosy his cheeks got from that comment alone.

Gripping the skirt of his nightie, Connor’s anxiety refused to ease up despite the light tone Latasha had adopted. “So…I’m not fired or anything?” he asked, needing assurance that his worst fears wouldn’t be realized.

“F-Fired?! Connor, be serious. Of course, I’m not firing you for this. Trust me, it would take a lot more to…” said Latasha, finding no difficulty in erasing Connor’s deepest concern. However, she trailed off as her eyes drifted toward the open office door. Moving to the other side of the room, she quietly shut the door, ensuring the girls weren’t able to eavesdrop, “Did anyone tell you what happened to your predecessor?”

Stumped momentarily by the sudden shift in subject, Connor took a second to think before replying, “You mean the guy who worked here before me, right? I heard Stacy mention something about him last night but I don’t really know anything.”

“I wasn’t going to burden you with it but I feel like you should know where the bar is at,” said Latasha, steeling her emotions as she prepared herself to step into the past, “The guy who worked here before you was my boyfriend at the time. When this job became too great for me to handle on my own, I asked him for help in the daycare. Everything seems to be going great. The girls liked him well enough, and his presence helped bring in clients with an affinity for male caregivers. And then…I’m sorry.” Holding a hand to her chest, her vision strained upward as she fended off tears. It didn’t matter how much time passed. This story never got easier to verbalize. “Then, one day, I wake up to a phone call from Stacy demanding to know why her business partners had stumbled across a website filled with lewd diaper photos of her and everyone else inside the Padded Palace.”

“Oh, fuck,” uttered Connor, his chest tightening at the idea of pictures of himself all dolled up ending up online. He couldn’t imagine anything more horrifying.

Nodding along with Connor’s minor interruption, Latasha continued, “Oh, fuck, indeed. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was missing from every photo. Most of the girls got lucky that they already lived fairly secluded lives. Sadly, that didn’t stop two of my clients from walking. Nor did it help Stacy. I’m sure she’s bragged to you about cashing out her company shares so she could live a pampered life 24/7 but I doubt she mentioned the part about her reputation being destroyed beyond repair.”

With his kinky evening inside the Padded Palace now completely recontextualized, Connor’s empathy grew for a girl he had once viewed as nothing more than an entitled, selfish brat, who would stoop to any level to get her way. “I had no idea. That’s so awful,” he said, still in disbelief that someone could be uncaring enough to do something so cruel.

“Yeah, it is. It’s a big reason why I picked you to take his place,” said Latasha, crouching down next to Connor’s chair to speak to him at eye level, “Your number one responsibility, above any duty I could give you as a caregiver, is discretion. Never forget that.”

Affirming Latasha’s sentiment with a single nod, Connor understood the weight that was being placed on his shoulders. She didn’t care if the girls knew he enjoyed diapers or dresses, nor did she mind if those same girls downgraded him from caregiver to baby doll. Her only concern was upholding the Padded Palace as a safe haven for anyone wanting to express themselves through ABDL. “I won't, I promise,” he said, touching Latasha’s shoulder tenderly.

It was a simple action but enough to trigger Latasha's raw feelings toward being consoled. Having been shoved into a Little Space lockbox only half a day prior, her unreceptiveness toward any form of comfort was on full display as she gently pulled Connor’s hand away from her clavicle. “I know you won’t,” she said, ruffling his hair with her free hand in an unintentional effort to assert her Bigness over him, “Now, go clean yourself up before I decide to make this your new employee uniform.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Edited by AllySmolShork

Special Thanks to Our CrissBaby Diaper Company Investors: BlushyBen DD JFN Nike PrincessKittenLizzi SissyDina Strawberry Sweetsamantharebecca & One Anonymous Investor

[eldritchnoms]

Surprised it took you this long to ask me for that one lmaoooo

But :3c

Completely Consume Me | Fucking Devour Me | Swallow Me Whole | Eat me | No Thanks | Who? | God No | Maybe a Snack | Pretty Tasty | Enjoyable Meal | Absolutely Delicious | Hungry Now! | FEED ME

As a certified pred-prey switch I feel obliged to tell you all I would absolutely love to get eaten by him, but also that I would absolutely devour him myself.

Yeah my boy Johnny is 100% a taunting, prideful pred (but harmless), the type who'd get a full gut and relax in a hot tub, soaking happily and maybe even sipping some wine or champagne. But I bet he tastes absolutely amazing. Like an absolute delicacy even, you just can't stop savouring him before properly swallowing, like the best candy in your life. Of course he won't be happy. And will scold you- But it's all worth it!

I want to be eaten by him, but I also really want to eat him. And I just might!!

[00l6]

think everyone on this day thought I was a legit food critic cause I dressed the part & was a party of 1.

Every costumer is a food critic but it was a certain energy the staff gave me so guess what, imma act like a certified food critic, an a certified food critic that can say I would have enjoyed a 5 dollar hot & ready from little Cesar's more than the food I was served that day.

As I sat there waiting for my appetizer, an older gentleman struck a conversation by saying he would love to have dinner with me while his beautiful wife was apologizing on the behalf of his liquor intake. They talked about how they supported the business for~40 years & how they visit the area for vacation from time to time, while also trying to pry answers on how l like the food, by that time l've already had my appetizer.

As I looked around getting a sense of the ambiance, I noticed multiple achievements on the wall throughout the years & a newspaper article talking about how amazing the restaurant is. Honestly I couldn't help but think they're over compensating, still kept an open mind tho. My waiter poured my selection of choice, "the prisoner" (great wine btw). This is where the certain energy comes into play cause I felt though as if the whole restaurant stopped to observe if I was a legit food critic. Cause how you approach a glass of wine is a dead giveaway. After my first sip I felt the need to compliment it & talked about the name matching the taste (cracked under pressure) cause the owner & the staff surrounded my table at a distance tho.

He starts showing me different art covers & names of the wine he had & said the wine I chose was actually the most popular. Shortly after, my main course arrived, and many more sips of wine, having small talk with the lovely couple in between & observing the type of ppl that were coming & going, it was giving Sopranos tbh Imao. But to cut it short & sweet amazing staff & attentive (ofc), the environment was good, food overall was way too salty, down to the bread even. But the WINE, superior 🤌🏾. As I'm writing this I'm wanting a bottle right now. 1/10 based on the food, l'd give it a solid 5

-The Food Critic

[kcmagpie]

On September 26, 2016, I casually sipped red wine as I naively assumed our federal election process would soon produce the first female leader of the world's largest economy. Surely, no one would trust that grifter to lead us. I was so ready for the election cycle to be over so I could quit being accosted by his image in my feed. My, how hard we fell, as a sham election was certified that did not fully represent the will of the people and led to the worst leadership during a dark time for a nation I refuse to hate.

I hate misogyny

I hate antiquated policies that have a chokehold on the will of the people

I hate telling my daughter that good guys don't always win

I hate our current Supreme Court

I hate Covid and cancer and healthcare in our nation. I hate systemic racism and loss of innocence and a government of idiots guiding health related policy.

Four years of Biden haven't been enough, haven't been the balm I've needed, haven't reversed the detrimental policies that will cripple us for decades.

This time, we're taking it back.

[lightningboltreader]

Your Palate is Inspired (E)

Chapter 2/2 of He's Not For Sale, a 4x10 porn coda

Carlos is only partially kidding. He watched them smile prettily at TK as he began harrowing stories of rescue over tall buildings and landmines. He saw his fiance’s green eyes sparkle with mischief as he shared his impressive dual certified firefighter medic background. And it worked well, TK’s adorable charm caused more than one rich woman to write a large check before he even paused for a sip of water.

But his favorite pastime by the end of the night was watching them watch TK walk away. That pert, bubble ass made them forget they were in public every time. Carlos saw mouths drop open, eyes go wide and one nearly spit take on her wine. They wanted him.

And Carlos loves that he’s the only one who gets to bury his face in this ass.

Read more of this @tarlosweeklyprompts fill for 3/20 Fond on AO3.