#and the tiny-ass kitchen where i can barely turn around

[invinciblerodent]

i am never fucking moving to an apartment that's not on the top floor of a building again

[catboyieejeno]

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・★

cw: little plot, roommates/fwb to lovers (ig?), strength kink, oral (fem receiving), slightly toxic (?), jealousy, very possessive jeno, overstimulation

18+ minors do not interact !

"stop fucking moving,"

you gasp out when jeno lands a slap on your clit, unable to help but jolt at the wave of pain and pleasure that shoots through your nerves. your eyes are dazed, but you can still make out his figure between your legs. he readjusts, using his big palms to keep your thighs far apart.

"i-i'm sorry, i'm sorry," you whimper weakly. he doesn't pay any mind to your apology, though, attaching his mouth to your dripping cunt once again.

by now, you knew jeno well enough to know exactly what pushed his buttons. it's exhilarating to test his limits, because more often than not, you'd end up with a few mind-blowing orgasms as your so-called 'punishment' at the end of the night.

so earlier, when your mutual friend jaemin came over, you thought it would be ingenious to settle down on the couch beside him and swing your legs over his lap.

that was your first mistake.

"sit there and take it," jeno growls, "and stay fucking still unless you want me to edge you all night,"

you knew your little plan would bother jeno, and it very much did. it was painfully obvious on his features, from the moment you hiked up your smooth legs and laid them over jaemin's thighs.

jeno's glare was unyielding, and he had his jaw clenched so tight, you worried his teeth might crack.

purely oblivious to your antics and jeno’s sudden sour mood, jaemin didn't think twice about resting his hands on your bare skin—it was an innocent gesture, really. the problem was, when he told a joke that made you laugh, you laughed a little too hard, taking his hand into your own and sliding it up your thigh.

it was bad enough that your cotton shorts were absolutely tiny, but it was worse that they were now tucked high between your legs. by the time you settled jaemin's hand where you wanted it to be, he was no less than a few inches from your core.

that was mistake number two.

"jeno. holy shit, please,"

"you wanna tease me, huh? wanna get me jealous? you like that shit," it doesn't matter that he's mumbling into your folds and his speech is slightly slurred, you catch onto his every word.

he laps you up again and again, alternating between laying his tongue flat on your clit and wrapping his lips around it to suck on it. his hands have slid up your waist, but his elbows keep your legs pinned open.

you're, quite literally, on fire. the wet, slurping sounds of him making out with your pussy are so loud that they're deafening. every groan and growl he grants shoots vibrations through you, and there doesn't seem to be enough oxygen in the room with the way you're rigidly panting.

if he didn't let you come soon, you're pretty sure you'd pass out.

"do you want anything to drink, jae?"

jeno scoffs. since when the fuck did you call jaemin 'jae?'

"some water would be nice, thanks," the boy flashed his smile at you and you stood up, ass practically hanging out of your shorts and right in his face. you couldn't see with your back turned, but jeno caught the way his friend's eyes darted to your pretty, plump cheeks, adam's apple bobbing as he gulped.

you returned with his glass, but just before you handed it to him, you pretended to stumble, and some of the water landed right over his crotch.

was it extremely cliche? sure, but it certainly did the trick.

when you came back with a kitchen towel chanting fake apologies and just about straddled one of his legs, jeno had pretty much had enough.

but then, as if that wasn't nearly enough, you went on to wipe away at jaemin's jeans (right over his slightly swelling bulge) wearing the most infuriatingly innocent look on your face.

"i'm so sorry!"

"it's okay, really," jaemin insisted, subconsciously spreading his knees farther apart so you could continue to dry him off.

"it's really not! jeno," you called, turning and batting your eyes, "can't you lend him one of your pairs?"

the moment your gaze landed on him, you knew you were fucked.

he narrowed his eyes on you, shooting daggers your way. after letting some air out through his nose, he seethed through his tightened teeth a small "sure."

and that? that was mistake number three.

"jeno, baby, i'm so close,"

"no," he warns, "don't you dare fucking come."

"i can't help it, i'm gonna-"

he stops at once, pulling the rug clean from under you and smirking at the way you whine out, body seizing up as your orgasm is stripped away. he watches as your hole pulses incessantly with need, grinding himself into the mattress.

you cry out, "i said i was sorry," but he only tuts, shaking his head.

"you made your bed, now lie in it."

"please," you're breathless and desperate for some sort of release. so much so, that you resort to shamelessly bargaining, "i'll give you head everyday for the next week,"

"not good enough. I can fuck your mouth whenever I want,"

"jeno! i'll- fuck, i don't know," you look around as you rack through your brain, but he doesn't let you finish your thought.

"say you're mine."

"but,” you pause, eyes widening, “i-i'm not,"

jeno sticks his middle finger knuckle deep into you, stilling it there within your tight, fluttering walls, "so then, tell me. you want jaemin's mouth on you instead of mine?"

"no," you answer quickly, honestly.

he pumps into you once, then twice, slowly coaxing the confession out of you, "then say it, baby. say you're mine, that i'm the only one who makes you feel this good,"

"i'm not yours, jeno. we-we've been over this,"

"i guess you don't wanna come then, do you?" he withdraws his digit and sits up on his knees, unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants, "i don't know why you have to be so fucking stubborn all the time,"

you watch as he pulls his length out of his boxers, mouth working to gather saliva to the front of his mouth. he spits, letting it fall onto his swollen, pink tip. it's hard to hide the way you're basically squirming in anticipation, hips practically bucking up and closer to him.

"i'm sorry," you try again, voice sweet and airy. but again, he doesn't answer. he simply lines himself up with your hole and pushes in with a hiss, training his eyes on you to watch the way your jaw goes slack.

"you're a brat," he scolds, "and a tease," his hands press down on your tummy, resting his weight there. when he bottoms out, you grip his wrists, looking down to watch the way he sits on his heels with his dick buried in you.

"i'm sorr-“

"stop fucking saying that," he thrusts into you and you moan out, "you know what i wanna hear," his gradually increasing pace makes you shudder, and your orgasm starts building within you once again, "i'm gonna fuck you so good, you'll never even think about jaemin again,"

jeno rams his hips into you and the sound of your skin slapping against his echoes around your bedroom. you try to cover up how close you're getting, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he won't notice until it's too late.

the only problem is: jeno knows you just as well as you know him, and even more so, he knows your body. he prides himself in that—in catching every little involuntary sign and habit you have.

he knows the way your toes curl when he hits the right spot, deep within your gummy walls, and he knows the way your eyes gloss over to spill hot tears when he chokes you.

your face might be able to conceal your true intentions, but your pussy, gushing and squeezing around him, can not.

“if i feel you come around me, so help me god, i’m gonna stop,”

there isn’t the slightest hint of a bluff behind his sharp tone, and it pisses you off. your cheeks are red hot with frustration, nails digging into his skin, which only makes him squeeze your waist harder. the pleasure is dizzying, his thick length dragging up and down your walls in the most delectable way.

you aren’t gonna last much longer, you know that. he knows that.

“please, jeno. please please please,”

“i’ll let you come, baby. there’s nothing i want more than for you to come on my cock, but i need you to tell me,”

sneakily, you trail your hand between your legs to stimulate your clit, but he’s quick to grasp both of your wrists before you can even savor the feeling, pinning your arms on your chest between your bouncing breasts.

you’re a mere second away from whining out in protest when his own free hand flies to rub circles on your puffy clit, and suddenly, the feeling is far too overwhelming.

forced to blink harshly a few times to regain focus, you look at his features and come to the conclusion that truthfully, jaemin, and no one else for that matter, could ever make you feel like this.

you didn’t want anyone else anyway. your little act was just a ploy to get you to this very point, stuck underneath jeno who manages to make you come so hard each and every time he’s inside you that you wind up seeing stars.

as the cord threatens to snap in your belly, every ounce of you longing for release, you moan out loudly, giving in, “i’m yours! i don’t want anyone else, i promise,”

“yeah?”

“yes,” you insist, “yes, baby. fuck, m’all yours, always yours,”

he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, and suddenly, all the anger he had been airing out fades for a moment. he doesn’t shove his tongue down your throat (although you wouldn’t have minded much), and he doesn’t move his lips in any kind of rush; instead, they move against yours softly, almost feather-like, as if your confession would float away from any suddenness.

and finally, against your lips, he mumbles, “go ahead and come, sweet girl. i’ve got you.”

instantly, your nerves ignite and your breath hitches, your orgasm washing over you at last.

he isn’t far behind, not at all. he had been sensitive ever since he’d started humping the bed with his head stuck between your legs.

he finishes with you, in you, shooting streams of hot white cum inside your clenched walls. the grip he holds on your hand releases as a grunt rumbles in his throat, and you instinctively wrap your arms around him, letting him bury his face into your neck.

when he stills his movements, he lays his weight on top of you, warm, slick skin pressing right up against you, chest to chest.

after a few moments of silence, other than the settling heavy breaths from both of you, you rake your fingers through his hair, muttering timidly by his ear.

“i mean it. i’m yours. i only did all that earlier for—well, for this.”

“all mine?”

you nod, giving him reassurance when he lifts his head to read the expression on your face, “mhm.”

“good. i’m all yours, too.”

[talaok]

Enjoy the view

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You surprise your husband with a new cooking attire, and he's more than happy to show you how much he appreciates it- even if he has an audience… especially when he knows how much you like it.

Warnings: smut| exhibitionism, voyeurism, cooking practically naked, a lil tiny bit of free use, oral sex (f receiving), butt-play, and unprotected p in v sex.

"I'm home!" 

His greeting echoed through the house, and while usually it would be followed by your two little demons running down the stairs to attack their daddy, today, the only response was yours.

"Hi baby, I'm in the kitchen!" 

You heard some shuffling as he made himself comfortable before his footsteps started in your direction- only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight before him.

"Babydoll, where are the k-"

You turned around just a little bit, your neck twisting so your gaze could see his face as it settled on your ass.

On your bare ass and bare legs and bare torso and- oh god- on the small apron only covering the lower front of you.

What the actual fuck was his life

And how the actual fuck did he ever get so lucky

He was on you in a split second, his mouth as ravenous as his hands.

You let a soft giggle past your lips as he left hot, wet kisses down your neck, his hands kneading the soft skin of your ass as he pressed his hard cock against it.

"the kids are at my mom's" you murmured, as if the man behind you wasn't worshipping your body

"yeah?" he groaned, his hands on your boobs now

"I'm making us dinner" you explained, resuming cutting the fruit on the cutting board while sticking your ass out even more for him.

"such a good girl, thank you darlin'" he murmured against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"Can I have my appetizer while you finish up?"

You pretend to ponder the idea, biting your lip 

"Tommy's still outside trying to fix the grill, baby"

Of course

Lucky didn't even begin to cover it.

He could just close the curtains facing your backyard, he knew it, just as you did.

But that's not what you wanted

Oh no

His girl liked to be watched

"then we'll just have to hope he doesn't fix it in time, won't we?"

He watched your eyes flutter shut as the words sunk in, and you could only offer a soft "yes" as you presented him the slightest nod

"attagirl" he murmured, kissing you right below your ear "Now don't mind me, keep on cookin'"

You nodded again, humming softly, and he kissed every inch of skin he encountered as he dropped to his knees.

Cold air hit your core as he grabbed each of your asscheeks in his hands and spread them apart like the animal that he was.

You let out a little whine as he admired the work of art before him, but just when you started cutting the fruit before you once again, he'd dived in.

His whole face was deep into your core, his tongue not wasting a second before tasting your sweet juices, wishing he could drink them every day instead of water.

His hands were gripping your waist, holding you in place, even as your body begged to grind against him.

"fuck" you moaned, biting your lips as your left hand gripped the counter.

"tastes like heaven babydoll" Joel groaned, the vibrations of his voice sending shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

You could only continue emanating needy little whimpers as he feasted on your cunt, and then, finding more strength in you than you even knew to even possess, you resumed cutting the strawberry before you.

"Joel" you moaned louder now, his tongue plunging into your pussy and lapping at your walls as your head fell to your chest "baby-god"

And just when you were breathing heavily, feeling your core flutter at the pleasure, his mouth trailed up, his focus shifting to your other hole.

The knife fell to the cutting board and your body slumped forward at the feeling, but while your moans were only getting louder, he was only getting hungrier.

And as much as he loved eating your ass, he needed to hear those pretty sounds you made while coming on his face, so of course...

Your whole body felt a shock of electricity as Joel finally, finally, started sucking on your clit.

"Fuck-fuck- baby- just like tha-oh!"

You came so hard you thought you were gonna pass out, but luckily, he was there to hold you through it, not wasting a drop of what you gave him.

"my perfect fukin' girl" he murmured lovingly, kissing your cunt one last, overstimulating time before he was once again standing pressed against your back.

"enjoyed yourself?" he asked, biting your earlobe as you tried to will your breathing to get back to normal

"yes" you smiled, forgetting all about your task as you turned around towards him, clatching his lips into a deep, searing kiss.

"yeah?" he asked again, a smug, sexy grin on him as he let you taste yourself on his tongue once again 

"mh-mh"

"I think someone else did too" 

And when his gaze shifted to his left, you knew.

You didn't need to look to know what he was looking at, but you did nonetheless.

Tommy was standing on the other side of the glass door, his eyes set onto you like a starving predator, and you could only gasp.

"Joel-"

"shh" he hummed, kissing the side of your lips "It's ok," he said, while your eyes remained on his brother "You wanna give Tommy a show babydoll?"

But of course, he knew the answer already,

you've done this before,

hell, before Tommy had gotten himself a wife too, you'd even let him join once or twice.

"I mean..." you whimpered, as Joel undid his zipper while kissing your neck "He's fixed the grill for us after all"

He chuckled, finishing your thought for you

"he deserves a reward, doesn't he?"

"I think he does" You nodded, looking up at him with pleading eyes, as if there was a chance he'd ever not do something you wanted.

"You're so kind" he murmured, picking you up just to set you on a free spot on the counter "Such a perfect selfless wife that I've got, mh?"

You could only grin, giggling softly as he kissed you again.

"let's show Tommy how beautiful you look while coming on my cock then shall we?"

"yes please"

Your answer was breathless, desperate, just as the moan you let out once he finally guided his length inside of you, taking his time to let you adjust...and so he could enjoy the faces you made all for him... and his brother.

"good girl" he groaned, easing himself out of you almost completely just to thrust back in at full force, making you cry out and throw your head back.

"Oh f-fuck"

"I know" he cooed, only going faster, deeper, as you arched your back, your nails clawing at his back "I know baby, you take me so well" he murmured, against your mouth "So deep inside this perfect fucking pussy"

"Joel!" you gasped, his dick hitting your sweet spot over and over together with his dirty words.

And when you glanced to your right, when you saw Joel's brother, the sibling to the man who was currently railing you on your kitchen counter palming his hard cock from the confines of his jeans, his eyes glued on you... it was like a volcano of pleasure exploded,

a dirty, twisted, dark kind of pleasure

"yeah look at Tommy" Joel groaned "Poor guy's probably so jealous he's not the one balls deep into ya baby" One of his hands moved from your waist to pinch your nipple, making you cry out just to prove a point "he's probably wishin' he could come here and fuck you himself baby" he continued, his thrusts getting harsher, faster "but he's not gonna" he growled "and ya know why?" he asked,

"'cause I'm yours" you moaned, looking him into his lusty eyes

He moaned too this time, he never could help himself when you said those three magic words

'cause fuck him, but he still sometimes struggled to believe you were his himself

"goodamn right you are" he smirked, crashing your lips with his, as the room filled with the filthy sound of your wet heat accommodating his movements.

"Show him sugar" he urged "Show Tommy who you belong to" he murmured, watching as you turned your head to his brother again

"show him who's the only man who's ever gonna touch you baby girl," he said "and how fuckin' good you look creamin' my cock"

And so you did what he said, you looked his brother right in the eyes as you screamed Joel's name at the top of your lungs, wave after wave after wave of pleasure coursing through you as you came hard around Joel's cock.

"Fuckin' perfect-" Joel purred, kissing your chin as his orgasm approached "fuckin' mine"

[murdrdocs]

pied piper

murdrtober oct 12th. father charlie mayhew description. between paranoia, extra shifts at work, and the comforting embrace of a catholic priest, you can hardly keep up with everything happening in your life these days. you can only go about it all one day at a time.

includes. SMUT 18+ MDNI, oral (f receiving), paranoia/anxiety, slight religious manipulation, religious doubts, catholicism (but inaccurate i was barely raised baptist)

wc. 5.8k+

a/n: one night only! come one come all and see the weird priest get with the girl who honestly does not know what is happening

You see him often. 

The first few times were from afar. He always elected to sit in a section that wasn’t yours, switching every couple of visits as if he were testing out the spots in the diner. You believed every spot was just like the others—equally as shitty. But there was the spot you liked most. The corner seat in your section, situated between two of the large windows. When there weren’t any spiders or ants nesting in the corner, it was a favorable spot. 

And within the past month, it’s been his spot. 

It’s the longest he’s ever sat anywhere. You initially attribute it to the spot, but then there are things that make you believe he sits there because of you. 

The way his crestfallen expression brightens up when you come over, even if it's barely a noticeable difference. The hefty tips he leaves you, always in cash and always delivered right to your hand. The whispers from your coworkers whenever he comes in on a day where you weren’t working. 

“The priest was looking for you yesterday,” spoken right into your ear as if it were a secret that others would die to be let in on. 

Your coworkers thought it was flattery, maybe his attempt at flirting. But you’d seen what it was like for men to flirt with you through work. The jeers they gave you, the way they eyed your ass in your work pants and made direct advances, no matter how many times you turned them down. That was flirting, not politeness from him. 

Besides, he was a priest, he’d sworn himself to God. Maybe his vice was just a greasy meal once a week, and he didn’t mind a smiling face giving it to him. You didn’t think much of it. 

You didn’t think much of the pamphlet he gave you with your tip today, either. 

“I don’t know if you’re religious, and if you aren’t, I don’t mean to offend. It’s just, um, I preach at this church. Every Sunday.” He scratches the back of his head, watching you look through the tiny pamphlet in your hand. “If you’re interested, everything’s on there. The time, dates, location … yeah.”

You grin down at him. “Thank you,” you say, knowing in your head that you won’t go to a service. Sunday’s are your reset days, a time dedicated to putting yourself in breathable clothing, lounging around a newly cleaned house, watching whatever show you thought about the night before. Church service for a religion you don’t practice doesn’t fit in that schedule. 

Still, you tuck the pamphlet in your apron along with your tip. “I’ll see you next time, Father.”

He nods his head with security, as if he knows that he will only be seeing you at your job and never at his. But he doesn’t say anything, only pulls his mouth into a thin smile before reaching over and taking a final sip from his drink. You walk away from the table, going back to the kitchen and watching him leave from the window. 

You’re lingering. 

Should you stay and say something? Everyone seems to want to speak to Father Mayhew, and you would just be yet another pupil itching to talk to him. But leaving without saying something seems improper. It feels rude. 

You stay put, standing near the door in the lobby, watching the small crowd form around Father Mayhew. 

He looks in his element like this, grinning, nodding along to whatever is being said to him, but there’s something off. He looks a little dissociated, a disconnect between the smile on his lips and the look in his eyes. 

You’re busy analyzing him, pulling up your high school memory of Psychology to throw half assed theories about his attitude around in your head, when he looks at you. It’s quick, nothing but a glance that could have been directed in your general area. Maybe he was simply looking at the door and he ran into you instead. 

But he sees you and he pauses. He doesn’t stop listening, but the grin on his lips contorts for just a second. It loses the rough edge, and then it softens. He looks back at the person he’s engaged in conversation with and you watch as he ends the conversation within the next thirty seconds. 

It’s unprofessional how he dodges those wishing to talk to him in favor of reaching you. You think it’s even more professional for him to grin the entire journey over. 

He says your name like he’s shocked you’re here. 

You’re shocked you’re here, too. 

“Father,” you greet, clasping your hands behind your back. 

“What did you think?” The question throws you off kilter. 

Does he actually care about your opinion on his profession?

Your eyes lift to the ceiling as you think, trying to find adjectives to describe the hour you’ve just sat through. “Um…” you hesitate, flicking through the less favorable adjectives as you attempt to find something positive to say. 

“You thought it was boring.” 

You’re ready to do damage control, your mouth already open with reassurances that are all lies. But Father Mayhew is smiling at you with more conviction than you’ve ever seen from him. When he looks at you like this, he looks more like the young adult that he should be and less like the figurehead of a church that he is. 

You don’t pretend any longer. “It wasn’t that boring, I’m just not a churchgoer,” Father Mayhew nods. He tucks his hands into his pockets and you try not to notice how the sleeves of his black shirt have been rolled up to sit right beneath his elbows. You do get a glance in, though, nothing longer than a second, and when you look back up at him, he doesn’t seem to have noticed. Feeling awkward with nothing else to say, you add, “As you can tell by my outfit. I have been in a church in a while. I didn’t know what people wore these days.”

The implications of asking a Catholic priest to form an opinion on your clothing doesn’t enter your brain until after you’ve said the words, but Father Mayhew doesn’t appear uncomfortable. 

He stands there for a second, just looking at you with too much of something in his eyes. It makes you uncomfortable and you squirm in your church shoes. The movement reminds you of the pain in your toes and on the back of your ankle. 

Father Mayhew’s gaze sweeps down your body, slowly taking in every aspect of you from head to toe. 

“That’s okay. I’m just glad you came. And for the record, I think you look beautiful. Angelic, even.”

God, why is your stomach fluttering from this tiny interaction? You need to get out of here before things go in a direction you hadn’t intended. 

You smile politely at him. 

“Well, thank you for the invite, Father Mayhew. It was … interesting.” 

He laughs as he nods. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. I guess I’ll see you around?” There’s more hope to it this time, like this one excursion has given him the idea that you’ll be back. Will you? 

You stick to nodding, not verbally confirming anything. You turn around, heading for the door, but then he calls your name. 

You turn back around, watching him make up the step that you took away from him. “You can call me Charlie if you like.”

You test his name in your mouth. “Charlie.” It feels wrong without the title in the front. But you still grin, unsure of how often you’ll call him just Charlie, especially when it feels less professional than you would have liked. 

Charlie grins. He says your name once, too. 

And then you reach for the door and step out into the day. 

Despite your initial intentions, you see a lot more of Father Mayhew after that first Sunday. 

He starts to come into the diner just to sit, sometimes steadily sipping a milkshake or a sweet tea while he reads a mass market paperback. In turn, you go to Mass more often, once a month at first, then every other week, and eventually every Sunday, showing your face so often that he starts to look for you in the crowd. Well, at least you think he’s looking for you. 

The crowd he brings in is mixed—some of them younger, drawn in by his relaxed nature that’s a breath of fresh air from the other priests, but most of them are older. You’ve made friends with a couple women, an older woman who sees her grandson in Father Mayhew, and a middle aged woman who understands Father Mayhew better than she’s ever understood any other priest before. 

You sit in a pew with them, listening to them praise the teachings of the lord as it comes from the young priest’s mouth. You nod along with them, ignoring your confusion as you try your hardest to listen. A lot of the material seems contradictory, either to itself or your own personal beliefs. So by the first fifteen minutes, you end up just staring at Father Mayhew, hoping your eyes hold platonic interest even if your emotions are anything but. 

You’ve begun to crave the routine of it all. Waking up early Sunday morning, showering and getting ready just to sit in a church pew, retiring back home where you cleaned with nothing else on your mind except for how dark and deep Father Mayhew’s eyes are. 

It didn’t occur to you that you were lusting after him until later. 

 The weather had begun to cool down, even though it was never really cold here. You could still feel the implications, recognizing how the night began to greet the sky quicker than before, feeling a bite in the air when you finished a closing shift and sped to your car. 

There was a lot happening in your little town, horrors that you couldn’t even begin to fathom. You didn’t feel safe anymore, you couldn’t feel safe when someone was out there committing crimes that only the sickest minds could conjure up. It was inhumane to the point where you couldn’t imagine a human being conducting the murders. There had to be another force at hand. 

Father Charlie understood this. He preached with sympathy towards the victims, and condemnant towards the perpetrator, but there was something else there too. He preached as if he were inside of the killer's mind, painting an understanding for each of you in the pews. When Father Charlie explained it, the killer was humane, with interests and desires just as you have. He was an extremist, yes, but he was an artist all the while. 

You felt less fear when you had the safety net of Sunday Mass. When you had the safety net of Father Charlie. 

“Am I safe to call you an avid churchgoer yet?” 

You’ve grown used to the sound of Father Charlie’s voice, but you weren’t expecting to hear it so close to you. When you jump in your skin, he laughs under his breath. 

You turn around, your eyes wide and your hand pressed over your heart. Your immediate instinct is to expel the Lord’s name, but you know Charlie’s stance on taking the Lord’s name in vain, so instead you tell him, “You scared me, Father.” 

“My apologies.” He reaches his hand out as if to touch you but he stops midway. “You’ve been coming every Sunday for what, the past two months? Three?”

“Yeah. I guess I would technically be considered a churchgoer.”

He places his hands in his pockets, squaring his shoulders, and this isn’t the first time you’ve noticed how strong his structure is. Still, you ogle like this is new information to you. 

“Do you see yourself becoming a Catholic somewhere down the line?”

You go to disagree, preparing to spew the same opinion you’ve had for a while now. You might be coming to church, but you’re here for the community, not much else. But lately, things have begun to change. There’s no reason for you to not consider it at least. 

You shrug. “Maybe.”

“Why maybe?”

Weighing how to formulate your reasonings, you shift from one foot to the other. Father Charlie doesn’t say anything. He just patiently waits for you to respond. 

“I guess there’s just so much that I don’t understand.”

“Like the rules and sins? Along that territory?”

“I guess, but also just in general. Like foundational. Maybe since I didn’t grow up with it I’m just left in the dark.”

Father Charlie’s face lights up. “How ‘bout this, I will explain it to you. Whatever you want. Even if you want me to go from the very beginning.”

You’re quick to politely decline. “Oh, you don’t have to, Father. I can just look things up. Not like I’ve been getting much sleep these days anyway, might as well use the nights for something a little more productive.”

Father Charlie doesn’t let you go without reinstating his proposal. “Seriously. It would be no problem for me. I get to do the two things I love most: spread the word of Christ and help out those in the community. I’ll give you my number and then we can go from there?”

There’s no room for no in there, so you pull your phone out, hand it over to Father Charlie, and watch his thumbs click onto the digits until you have his number saved in your phone. 

You meet with Father Charlie after Wednesday Mass. 

You come in once the others have trickled out, and Father Charlie is always in the same spot—sitting atop his chair in the center, leaning back with his legs spread, appearing contemplative as you humbly approach the altar. 

Whatever expression he had on his face before he sees you is always wiped away as soon as he looks down at you. He grins, big and comforting, and takes you to a small office off to the side of the church, where he patiently listens to your questions and answers them. 

Comprehension entices you, pushing you further and further into religion’s embrace. Session by session, you start to hate the idea of confirmation less and less. 

It’s all thanks to Father Charlie. 

It’s not necessarily comparable for the two of you, but Father Charlie meets you at your workplace, too. When he jokes about it, likening your work to the same level of achievement as his, you sweetly laugh. 

“Not really the same though, is it? Your job is a little more … aspirational, right? No one really aspires to be a waitress at a diner.”

Father Charlie raises his eyebrows as if he’s reprimanding you for negative self-talk. “Hey. Who knows maybe there’s some kid out there who really wants to make ten fifty an hour.”

The bell above the door dings and you glance over your shoulder to see two customers walk in. They hesitate, looking around, before eventually heading off to a table not in your section. 

You turn back around, a little grateful to have more time to speak to Father Charlie. You haven��t seen him since last Wednesday, and you won’t admit it to anyone out loud, but you’ve definitely missed him. 

You’ve missed the smell of his cologne—something fresh and a little earthy. You’ve missed the low timbre of his voice, the dark stare he fixes you with when he’s explaining a Bible verse, the slight twitch in his eyes when you question something for the umpteenth time. 

It’s a slow day today, no one really comes in at 3 o’clock on a Tuesday, so you take a seat across from Father Charlie in the booth. 

His eyes flicker down as if surprised by your actions. You raise your eyebrows, challenging him to comment. 

“Slow shift?” he asks. 

You nod, taking a fry and placing it in your mouth. “You mind if I sit? Keep you company for a bit?”

He only sits back in his seat and pushes his basket of fries to the center of the table. 

He watches you silently finish off the remainder of his fries and whenever you hesitate, he instantly slides his drink over to you, too. A diet coke, you know it before you even wrap your lips around the straw. 

There’s a lipstick stain left behind, but that doesn't stop Father Charlie from leaning forward and wrapping his lips around the straw once you’re done. When he holds eye contact the entire time, you try to ignore the flashing sign in your brain that tells you there are sexual implications there. Surely, he wasn’t thinking that way. 

Father Charlie continues like nothing happened and you maintain your belief that whatever just happened was really nothing on at all. 

“We still on for tomorrow, right?”

You hum, mentally trying to find a work around for the third time today. No matter how many times you run it through in your head, you just can’t do it. Without enough gas, and short on a paycheck, you don’t think it’s responsible for you to drive to Father Charlie, especially for a meeting that will only last an hour tops. Besides, you picked up a shift tomorrow that ends right when you usually meet with him. 

You tell him this, and you shouldn’t be surprised that he’s quick to suggest a solution. 

Father Charlie is so adaptable to your needs, pushing your meetings back by a half hour or a week if you need. You should have known that a small complaint that was out of his hands would have him scrambling to make up for the inconvenience. 

“It’s really no biggie, I can just come by your place then, if that’s okay. We can do later, too, give you some time to freshen up.”

You don’t see why not. Father Charlie has been nothing but kind to you thus far. Besides, he’s a devout member of the community. You don’t think he could ever mean any harm. 

“Yeah. That’s totally fine. I’ll send you my address.”

Having Father Charlie in your home provides a different atmosphere. 

Thus far, you’ve been pushing down your desires for him. Throughout the past few weeks, you’ve been able to avoid the churning in your stomach when he places a—platonic, you think—hand on your lower back as he leads you out of the office after your sessions. 

It was easier to convince yourself that you were just being typically delusional, holding onto small moments to give you giddiness that would push you through a particularly grueling day. Father Charlie’s small smiles and acts of kindness outside of the four walls that you call home was attributed to being a public servant, a member of the community, a priest. 

But here, when he stands close and stares down at you, sending you a small smile while you attempt to hide the grin that wants to rise to your lips, things feel more intimate. 

You need to get away from this moment. You won’t be the one to tempt a Catholic priest’s faith and devotion, no matter how many times you picture tearing his clothes off and letting him take you right on the couch. 

“Could I get you something to drink?” 

Charlie looks around your living room, taking inventory of the decorations hanging on the walls, strategically placed to cover chips in paint and suspicious holes that you’ve never gotten around to patching. 

“What do you have?” he asks as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket. 

It feels weird to see him out of clerical dress. You’ve always thought the mock neck and collar suited him, it worked well with the square structure of his face. But he looks younger like this—dressed down in a plain white tee shirt, jeans, and a jean jacket. 

He looks like the 20-something year old man that he actually is. 

“Lemonade. Soda. Water. I could make you tea, if you’d like. I have earl g—”

“Lemonade sounds fine. Thanks.”

You stalk off to the kitchen to grab him a glass, filling it with ice and lemonade. It’s a task that takes no more than a couple of minutes, maybe a few at most, but you take as much time as you can, standing in the kitchen cursing yourself. Accepting Charlie’s invite yesterday seemed like no big deal, but now you’re regretting it tenfold. 

If you don’t end up succumbing to your own desires, you’ll end up driving yourself insane.

Either way, you don’t think you’ll ever be the same after tonight. If anything, you’ll just have to hope Charlie doesn’t come into the diner for the rest of the week while you cleansed your mind the best way you knew how—disastrously horny imaginative scenarios and masturbation until you were too sensitive to walk. 

You hand Father Charlie the glass of lemonade, trying your best to ignore the satisfying sigh he gives when he takes the first sip. You smile politely when he does it again, folding your hands in your lap as soon as you sit down. 

He downs half of the glass without interruption, and then places the half-full glass on a coaster atop your coffee table. 

“So,” Father Charlie wipes his hands on the denim gripping his thighs. “Should we pick up where we left off last week?”

Last week, you and Father Charlie got into a discussion about sinning. It was trivial, nothing that hasn’t been discussed before, but it has always been on your mind. After knowing him for some time, you felt comfortable enough to discuss it with him, not exactly giving him complete detail involving your many sins, but you alluded to them enough for him to understand your trepidation towards committing to a religion that frowned upon human nature. 

You found yourselves going in circles with the conversation, and you thought today would be different. Apparently not. 

“Everyone sins. That makes us all sinners,” Father Charlie assures. 

“Well, yeah but—”

He doesn’t let you speak. “For example, when’s the last time you judged someone? Held hatred in your heart? When’s the last time you’ve done drugs, smoked weed? Or,” he shifts on the armchair, bringing himself closer to you as if he’s about to tell a secret. “The last time you masturbated?” 

You stay silent, blinking at Father Charlie. How has the conversation pivoted here? Was he just simply giving an example, one he felt you might be able to relate to, or was this something else?

“I’m not saying that I don’t sin, Father. I’m just saying that I don’t think I could be a sinner, and join a religion that despises sinners.”

Father Charlie’s face contorts into one of confusion. “I wouldn’t say Catholicism despises sinners. Sinning is a part of human life and nature. I’ve always believed this. And yes, some sins are worse than others. But some of the cardinal sins are just preposterous. Those who lust a little too much shouldn’t be given the same punishment as a murderer, that I don’t agree with.”

You blink at him when you notice that the conversation has steered back to lust yet again. “Where are you going with this, Father?”

“Charlie,” he corrects, his tone sterner than you’ve ever heard it before. 

You suddenly feel smaller than you did before. Sitting in your home, on your couch, you feel out of control. 

Charlie stands and approaches you. He looms over you for a second, standing with his torso right in your eyeline. You stare at the material of his shirt for a moment, nervous about the sight you’ll see if you lift your eyes. But when Charlie doesn’t move, you know what he wants from you. 

You look up to find him already staring down at you, 

“The point that I am making is that without sinning, we would not be human. I understand this, but I don’t think the Church will ever understand. They would rather sit by, follow tradition, and let the Church die. But things are changing. Slowly, but they are changes happening.” Charlie kneels down but he doesn’t break eye contact. He slowly raises a hand, and you watch it meet your knee from your peripheral vision. 

“My conversations with you these past few months have been insightful. I … I used to think about the Church like you do. The contradictions, the injustices within the Church… I thought I moved on from that but now I’m not sure.” He trails off, breaking eye contact to stare off to the side. 

“Charlie, are you questioning your faith? Did I make you question your faith?”

His eyes snap back to you. “No.” He takes a moment, as if considering, and then he repeats himself, a little firmer this time. “No. But I am beginning to realize that not all evil should be turned away or casted out. Some evil is natural. We should shine a light on it, give it our attention, give it room and allow it to grow. One can be a sinner, while also being a member of the Church. I am living proof of this.” His hand trails up your thigh as he speaks. You don’t think you’re following his train of thought, mostly because you can’t concentrate when he’s touching you like this. 

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

You blink down at him. You could ask him to repeat himself, but you don’t think you need to. He might be speaking in a way that’s going in one ear and out of the other for you, but the implications that he’s feeding you with every touch and every glance up at you through the long fan of dark eyelashes framing even darker eyes are clear. 

You know what Charlie wants from you. 

“Yes. I understand.”

He smiles, just a small, almost shy, quirk of his lips. 

“And do you feel the same way? Do you see things how I see them?”

This time you only nod. It happens in a flash, Charlie’s hand cupping the back of your neck, pulling your face down to his. You almost fall off of the couch with the movement, but you hold yourself up with both hands on his shoulders. Immediately you feel the thick structure of muscle beneath his shirt. 

“I need to hear you say it.” 

You don’t mean to hesitate, but you do. You want Charlie, you have wanted him since the first time he sat in your section. But he’s a priest for God’s sake. What type of person willingly sleeps with a priest?

When you tell him this, his nostrils flare and his jaw tenses. 

“What type of person?” he repeats. “A sinner. That’s what you are, right? You told me that when we first started having private sessions, didn’t you? You told me you sin too often to commit to the church. You couldn’t possibly find yourself in the home of Christ if you are out sinning every weekend, and then be forced to confess each and every sin in excruciating detail.” 

His hand slides up your inner thigh now. He tilts his head, staring up at you as if he’s innocent. “And you never did tell me about those sins, did you? About the times you went out partying, brought some guy back here.” He slides his fingers up until they reach the button of your jeans. “Did you let him fuck you right here? Slip your dress up and your panties down for him. Sit yourself on his cock. Let him defile you like you’re nothing but a common whore.” 

He pops your jeans open and glides your zipper down. “You’re not, by the way. I think you’re more than that. If you were a common whore, you would’ve put out by the third, maybe fourth, session. But you’ve been a good girl. You’ve been holding out on me.” He pulls your pants down, quirking an eyebrow up at you when you don’t lift your hips to allow him to pull them down the rest of the way. You eventually lift your hips up, and you watch Charlie smile to himself. 

“I had to be the one to make the first move.” He laughs, but the humor in it doesn’t allow you in on the joke. 

You expected Charlie to go slow. In the brief moment where he continues pulling your jeans down your legs, you thought he would take his time, prolonging each moment and every movement. But he doesn’t do this. He speeds taking off your pants, throwing them off to the side without much consideration at all. One of the legs almost hits the glass he has on the coffee table, and you watch in horror as it barely misses it. 

Even if the glass was knocked over, you don’t think you would have wasted time to clean the mess up. This was your main priority now. 

There’s no hesitance to his movements. He’s done this before, maybe more recent than you think. 

He’s presented with your cunt, still clothed by the thin layer of your panties. He licks his lips, a small smile tugging up one corner. He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s noticed how soaked you are, definitely soaked through the cloth.  

He reaches his hand out and pushes his fingertips beneath the waistband of your panties. He pulls them down slowly, presenting your bare cunt agonizing inch by agonizing inch. And then, when he has your panties thrown off to the side, he doesn’t waste anymore time. 

His big hands grip the outsides of your thighs, calloused fingers pressing into the miscellaneous bruises you have. As soon as he finds them, he digs his fingers into the tender spots, holding you still even when you writhe around in his grasp. Charlie keeps you still, his mouth remaining flush against your cunt, not like you’re trying to get away from that. 

The discomfort paired with the pleasure is a new one for you, and you fear that once this is all over, you’ll crave this combination more and more. But you know you won’t ever want it from anyone that isn't him. You only trust Charlie to give it to you like this. 

You trust Charlie to devour you while you sit on your couch, your hands tangling in his dark hair, pushing his nose into the low cut bush that tickles his skin. You trust him to guide you to an orgasm. 

It’s like he’s your pied piper. 

Charlie puckers his lips and sucks, gliding down from your clit to your entrance throughout. He flicks his tongue out, lapping up your essence, and then shallowly inserts the pointed tip into your walls. He flattens his tongue then, nuzzles his nose into your clit, and shakes his head. 

Your nails scratch Charlie’s scalp and he groans right into you. You watch his eyelids flutter, long lashes fanning out, so you repeat it. This time he comes up for air, licking his lips just before he pants into the open air. 

You feel heavenly, but you can’t help but worry that you’re at fault when you let Charlie have you like this. You’re the one who leads a mostly normal life. You never consider the religious implications of lying with a man at night, because that’s not who you were. But Charlie had never suggested that this was the kind of person you were. You were just having trouble figuring out if that was just a falsehood by omission, or if this simply isn’t the man that Charlie usually is, and he’s been turned this way by you. 

Guilt begins to perch on your shoulders, taking the shape of a vulture. It sits at bay for now, but you know it’s there. 

It’s too much for you to handle right now, too much to consider when your brain is mostly fog, so instead you spread your legs a little wider and tighten your hold on Charlie’s hair. 

The heels of your feet dig into Charlie’s back and you feel something beneath his shirt. A form of abrasions, healing skin raised off of his back. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bring your head down so you’re looking at Charlie instead of the raised bumps in your ceiling. You’re about to ask him about it, his name beginning to form on your lips, and then Charlie sucks your clit into his mouth and twists the finger he has in your walls. 

Your orgasm kills the unasked question. 

Charlie grins up at you the entire time; you feel it while you’re noticing the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

The relationship you have with Father Charlie is weird. It’s unorthodox.

You’ve attempted to keep things separated with Father Charlie after that first night. You refuse to address him by just his first name. You’ve kept up with your sessions, but they only happen in the church and never at your home. You’re trying to be considerate of his faith. 

But things aren’t right. 

You still aren’t a confirmed member of the Church, but you find yourself at mixers, knowing the names of the others, even beginning to address the Sisters like you’re one of them. Father Charlie stands at your side the entire time, a smile on his face, a look akin to that of a proud mentor in his eyes. 

Either way, you still find comfort in him, especially when the killer—Grotesquerie is his name, Sister Megan told you one morning over coffee—continues to strike. 

That’s where you find yourself now, seeking comfort from Father Charlie in the center of the otherwise empty church. It’s Wednesday, service will be starting soon and you should be heading out for your shift. But you couldn’t possibly leave and drive on your own without expelling some of your worries. 

“I’m scared, Charlie,” you admit for what feels like the first time, your voice wavering. 

Charlie shushes you. He takes a step closer, circling his arms around your shoulders and running a calloused hand over your hair as he pulls you into his chest. “Don’t be. There’s no reason for you to be scared, okay? He’s not targeting you.”

You shake your head. “How do you know that? You can’t know that.”

“I do. He’s going for sex workers. Remember what Sister Megan said in her article? ‘Women of the night’. That’s not you.”

You are still with your head against his chest, your ear positioned over his heart. The thrum of his heartbeat is steady, something that should be comforting. You can’t be comforted right now, though. “I know but … I just can’t … I can’t–” The words won’t find you, not without your eyes and nose burning at least. 

Charlie inhales, the sound restricted by his teeth. He rocks you side to side, the circle of his arms sliding down to your waist. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, how about I make sure you get home safe? Alright? What time are you off?” 

You shouldn’t have agreed, but you did. 

That night, you lay with Charlie on your couch. Your bed felt too intimate, too inappropriate for a relationship that was not really supposed to be a relationship at all. You try to sleep, and eventually you do. 

You dream of Charlie, standing in the center of your living room, watching you get off. His hands are bloody and his back is scarred. 

When you wake up, he isn’t there. 

[prettypinkprincessa]

Hiii!! This is just a little drabble I’ve been thinking about alllllll day sooooo yeah😋

“Yeah that’ll be 70 dollars man” Rafe said as he did business with his friends. He’s been selling shit for about 3 hours and he told you to stay upstairs but you’re getting hungry and the kitchen is downstairs. You decided to go down anyway. I mean what’s the worse that could happen? As you walked down you realized that the shorts you were wearing were a bit too short. You brushed it off thinking there wouldn’t be much men down there. Maybe just Barry and some other dudes.

“Rafey?” You call for him softly. He stops talking and turns around. To where he’s met with the sight of you. Tiny shorts that barely covered your ass and a white tee-shirt that embraced your nipples.

You peaked around him and saw the group of men staring right back at you. “Hi!” You said cheerfully, smiling as you turned your attention back towards Rafe. They all gnawed at your pureness. Such a cute little thing. They thought to themselves.

“Im hungry” you tell him as you look up to him with doe eyes. He sighs deeply. “Wait a second fellas I have…” he looks you up and down, “something to deal with.” He walks away dragging you to the kitchen and lifts you on the counter. “What the fuck are you doing?” His voice is low and husky and he looks straight into your eyes. An irritated glint in his eyes. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked up at him. “What do you mean?” Your voice is soft and quiet and he can hear how you’re getting self conscious. He throws his head back looking around to check if anyone is near. He turns back to you and grabs your thighs. Pulling you in. He slams his lips on yours sloppily. Squeezing the meat of your sweet thighs. He slides his head down and starts to roughly suck on your neck. “R-rafeee” you whine. Attempting to close your legs together to stop that insufferable pounding, but his body blocks your pathetic attempt. He pulls away and looks you in the eyes. “Go change.” He demands. He lifts you up and places you right back down on the ground and your little ass gets straight back up to that closet to change.

He chuckles lightly at your immediate obedience and begans to cook something up for you.

[nocturneashes]

husband!art and wife!reader where she wears a granny nightgown around and he just gets so turned on by it and just HAS to touch her.

You walked out of your bedroom and a cotton nightgown, little flower pattern over it and white lace trim around the bottom, neckline, and short sleeve. Art is in the living room, feet crossed over the other over the coffee table and elbow resting on the arm of the couch while he holds his head up with his hand. He’s just watching the random show you had put on and forgot to pause before getting ready for bed.

Almost immediately, his head perks up when he sees you walk past him and into the kitchen. It wasn’t anything tight or revealing or even sexy. In fact, he thought you walking around in your comfortable muumuus every night and morning was cute. But it was the fact that he knew. He knew you were wearing nothing but your panties or sometimes even nothing underneath the cotton of the dress. And you just looked so delightful, he can’t help himself.

Art stood up from the couch and followed you into the kitchen. You stood with your back facing him as you put leftover dinner into containers. Art strode up to you, wrapping his hands around your waist. His mouth immediately moved to your neck, leaving wet kisses and tiny nips at your neck and jaw.

You sighed and let out a soft scoff as he moved your hair over to one side. You tilting your head to give him a little more access to your now exposed neck.

“what is your deal?” you ask followed by a soft laugh.

“you just look so good…” Art mumbled into your neck. “smell so good..”

Art’s hands gripping at your hips and moving to wherever he can. He pulled you back into him, feeling his bulge through his thin blue pajama pants against your ass. You turn your head, meeting his lips with your own, one hand holding onto the counter for balance while the other threaded through his short hair.

“Let me have you..” Art mumbled against your lips. He turned you around so you were chest to chest, your lower back pressing against the edge of the counter. “I need to touch you..”

“Right now?” You ask breathlessly, your hands moving down his toned torso over his white sleep shirt before moving beneath it. Your hands running over his bare waist and lower back. He didn’t reply but instead hoisting you up by the back of your thighs onto the counter. His hands on your thighs as he moved them open to step between them. Swiftly, he brought his hands under your nightgown, moving your thin panties over your legs. You leaned back on your hands, biting your lip as you watched him move with such haste.

The bottom of the nightgown bunched up at your hips and your glistening cunt exposed to your husband. Art let out a throaty groan as he looked down at you. He brought his middle and index fingers up to his mouth, swiping them quickly over his tongue before bringing them back down to rub over your throbbing clit. He watches as you threw your head back, letting out a soft moan. A small smirk on his face when he gazes back down at his fingers working your clit, he runs his fingers through your folds. You let out a louder moan feeling Art’s fingers inserting into you.

Your head lulls forward as you watch his fingers scissor in and out of your sopping cunt, his thumb rolling over your clit a few times.

“fuck-art please, need you so bad”

Art looks up at you with his half smirk. “Just getting you ready baby, that’s all…”

He removes his fingers and brings them up to your mouth. You moan around his fingers circling your tongue around them as Art moves his other hand to palm himself through his pajama pants. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and his hands grip your hips, pulling your bottom closer to the edge of the counter. You bring your hand to palm him over his pants. Your fingers looping around his waistband and snapping it back against him.

You did that a few more times, Art letting out a few groans as you did so before you finally pulled them lower on his waist, Art helping in the process. His pants fall down to his ankles, your hand stroking his hard cock. A soft moan leaving Art’s mouth as your thumb brushes over him, spreading his arousel over his pink tip. You spread your legs a little wider, rubbing his tip over your wet cunt. His hips slightly jerking as you line him up with you. You both let out breathy moans as he pushes into you.

“oh fuck-you feel so good.” His head falling into the crook of your neck as he whimpers and moans into it with every thrust. Your hands wrapping over his shoulders, one running through the short hair in the back of his head.

“mmhm, f’me so good-so deep” you gasp out as he thrusts faster and harder.

“yes-yes. so good, fuck”

Art only moans more at your praise. Fucking you so good you can only babble out few words. He brings his head up, giving you sloppy wet kisses on your mouth and you try your hardest to kiss back but the noise of him fucking into you and the feel of his cock drilling into you only has you moaning into his mouth.

“i’m so close- fuck i’m gonna cum” Art groans out, he looks down at where you’re connected and brings his thumb down to rub circles over your clit once more, bringing you closer to the edge.

“hmm, cum inside me- please i need it so bad” You moan, your legs wrapping around him to pull him in closer.

You let out a few high pitched moans, feeling the coil in your stomach snap, your cunt clenching around him. At the same time, Art’s hips stop moving and you feel him twitch inside you, filling you up with his cum. You moan softly, rocking your hips and fucking yourself on him to ride out your highs. Art pressed his forehead into your neck as you both caught your breath.

“you can’t be walking around in those damn nightgowns unless you want this to happen”

You turn your head as you both laugh, giving him a few soft pecks on the top of his head and temple.

“I’ll make sure to add more to my shopping cart then”

Art groans as he gives you a simple kiss on your collarbone and leans up to look at you. You both look at each other with blissful smiles and Art leans down placing a chaste kiss on the tip of your nose then your cheek and finally, your lips. Art looks down and grabs his shaft, you softly whimpering as he pulls out. He grabs a clean hand towel and cleans you up and then himself. Art slips your panties back over your legs and helps you to stand back on the floor.

“c’mon, i’m tired now.” You say as you walk in front of him, a little wobbly. Art’s eyes never leaving your ass as he slaps and grabs it lightly, a laugh smile on his lips.

wrote this at 2am in my granny nightgown :D

[hotyanderedaddies]

Yandere DaddyDom Yakuza With a Kawaii Darling (You)

[Yandere! DaddyDom! Yakuza x GN Kawaii! Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

When people see you and Daddy together out on the street, they can't help but notice how different the two of you appear.

You're tiny and petite and bubbly-- the epitome of "Kawaii".

Meanwhile, Daddy towers over you, looking like an imposing wall of solid muscle. He always has a gruff sneer on his face, constantly glaring at anyone who dares to cross his path.

Dating a member of the feared Yakuza wasn't your first choice, but after his persistent following you around the city, and the "mysterious" way all of your other suitors seemed to have gone missing, you'd decided to give the man a chance.

You quickly learned that your new boyfriend took his role as Daddy very seriously.

Daddy immediately moved you into his apartment where he could keep a constant eye on you. Noting your love of all things cutesy and kawaii, he made sure to add some décor to better suit your taste.

You examine a measuring cup shaped like a frog at the store?

Daddy buys it and has it waiting in the kitchen for you.

You get annoyed and try to berate Daddy when you discover a tracking app on your phone?

Daddy turns it into a lecture on how he needs to know your whereabouts at all times so he can protect you.

You get a speeding ticket?

Daddy takes away your driving privileges.

You argue that he can't take away your driving privileges?

Daddy grounds you... for three weeks.

And when Daddy grounds you, that means that he drives you to and from work/school; you have to sit on his lap at home and nowhere else; and if you get out of line, you get a spanking.

Lately, you were in trouble because you'd surprised Daddy at work and had interrupted an important meeting that he was having.

A tiny mischievous part of you knew that it would be a bad idea to give the big, scary man a kawaii bento box in the shape of one of your favorite anime characters in front of the rest of his yakuza members, but you couldn't resist. The thought of seeing the intimidating man all flustered was too much to ignore.

And sure enough, the second you'd walked into the conference room and had spotted Daddy, his eyes had honed in on the box in your hands. You'd worn a big smirk on your face as you'd placed it down on the table in front of him.

"I brought you lunch, Daddy," you'd smiled. "I hope you like it."

As you'd hoped, his face had turned bright red as the rest of the members snickered.

It'd been all giggles until Daddy got home, and in a split second, had you bent over his knee with your bare ass presented to him.

"You're going to count aloud, or else I'm going to have to start all over," Daddy growled at you.

SMACK!

"One," you whimpered.

SMACK!

"Two."

SMACK!

"Three."

The final part of your punishment was something different that Daddy had thought of. He'd said that since you love being kawaii all the time...

"Baby," Daddy tsked as he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for you to leave the bathroom. "Daddy's getting impatient."

"Um, coming," you hesitated, taking one last look in the mirror. Taking a deep breath, you exited the bathroom, dressed up in the outfit that Daddy had bought for you: a bright pink ensemble with kawaii critters scattered around on it. To up the ante, you even wore a pair of frilly pink panties that could easily be seen to the prying eye.

Daddy's smirk pulled up slightly.

"Um, h-how do I look?" you blushed.

Daddy got off the bed and stalked over towards you, wrapping both of his strong arms around you as he picked you up off the ground, pulling you into his big chest.

"You're so cute," Daddy breathed, even leaning down to playfully nuzzle you. "You're Daddy's cute Darling. All Daddy's."

[kennahjune]

Part 2 of my s3 Steddie :D

Tag list: @anaibis @marklee-blackmore @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @swimmingbirdrunningrock @clumsiluni @just-a-tiny-void @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @mugloversonly @skyewaytohell @lololol-1234 @conversationswithamillennial @maya-custodios-dionach @nuggies4life @luthienstormblessed @blu3stars @samsoble @finntheehumaneater @thatonebirthstone @bird-with-pencils @swiftielouie55 @queenie-ofthe-void @paintsplatteredandimperfect @monsterloverforhire @krazyperson @literatelobster @jaytriesstuff @hippieg1rl420 @beawritingbooks @nightoffury @irregular-child @colidamae @stevieboyscoffee @martinskis-lydias

Holy shit!! I’ve never made a tag list before?? Thank you guys sm for being so into it!! And without further ado;

…

Steve woke up with the initial thought of “what the fuck”. So he could automatically assume his day was going to go great.

Out of his room, down the hall, down the stairs, through the living room and into the kitchen is where he finds Jonathan and— oddly enough— Robin.

Steve was used to finding Jonathan with him after one of his “episodes”. Usually he or Nancy will help him through it the best they can, laying with him or sitting with him wherever he is.

The idea of Robin in his house doesn’t even occur to Steve as weird until Robin says, “Sorry for the intrusion, uh… you really freaking worried me, man.”

Steve blinked— then, without taking his eyes off of Robin, asked Jonathan “Where did I have my episode at last night?”

Jonathan had the decency to look sheepish about it. “Uh— pfsshh, you had it at work, Steve.”

“And how bad was it?” He looked at Jonathan.

“You collapsed and had to be carried to the break room to rest. And the fact that you don’t seem to remember much of anything is also saying a lot.”

Steve stood there, thinking long and hard about yesterdays events.

“I remember Billy coming in and saying something about Max. Then he said something about Dustin that pissed me off. I don’t know. After that… who the hell?..”

Munson.

Holy shit.

Jonathan must’ve clocked the moment of realization cause he walked over and patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah, man.”

Steve groaned and hurried his face in his hands. “That’s so embarrassing!” Was his muffled complaint. Robin— the asshole— had the nerve to snort at him.

“Hush, Buckley! Ugh I hate this.”

Jonathan was rubbing his back now, barely hiding his own snickers and laughs. “Come on—“

“I have to go,” Steve said quickly and went to turn around to leave.

“Where are you going? This is your house!” Robin retorted.

“I have to go apologize!”

Jonathan snagged Steve’s wrist and prevented him from going any further. “Go sit down, Steve. You can apologize later.”

Steve begrudgingly obliged, sitting at the small kitchen table that was usually used for his dads drinking. He crossed his arms and put his head down. He’d fucked up his vision again when he spun around too fast to leave. Jonathan sighed and came up to rub his back again. Physical touch helped Steve a lot during times like these. Especially during the vertigo.

Robin took the seat next to him. “So, two concussions? If you were having such a bad time why didn’t you just call in?”

“Cause I’m constantly late to work and the only reason I haven’t been fired and kicked on my ass is because you keep covering for me so I figured I had to return the favor,” he replied in one breath.

They were silent for a couple of minutes, just basking the each others presence. Until Jonathan stopped rubbing Steve’s back, let his hand rest there, and then patted between his shoulder blades twice before going over to the pantry.

“You need to eat something before you do anything. Robin can you get him a cup of water, please?”

Robin nodded and stood to get it. Steve groaned. “I can get my own water, Jon.” but he’d made no attempts to move from his seat. Jonathan muttered something about toast.

“Considering the fact that yesterday you just about passed out on your feet and how a few minutes ago you nearly fell over just by turning too fast, I’d like to differ.”

Steve huffed, knowing he was right. He heard the toaster start and glass was set down gently in front of him. He lifted his head and eyed the water.

“I didn’t poison the damn thing, dingus.” Robin tapped her fingers on the table.

Steve snorted and finally took the glass. He was done with it in seconds.

“Christ,” Robin muttered while refilling it for him.

When Steve was just about done eating his toast and downing another cup of water his house phone went off.

“I’ve got it.” Jonathan stood.

Steve shrugged and stood himself— slowly this time— to put his dishes away. Robin remained seated and watched him.

Jonathan huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Steve furrowed his eyebrows and walked over, trying to hear the conversation.

“Yeah— no I’ve got it, don’t worry. I love you to. Bye.” Jonathan hung up and sighed heavily.

“You alright?” Steve leaned on the wall next to him.

“Yep. Great. That was my mom, by the way. And apparently the kids are all on the loose in Forest Hills, looking for Eddie.”

What the fuck?

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah.”

“So…” Robin stood. “I’m going with Steve?”

…

Max was curious. They all were. Just who the hell was Eddie Munson? Steve had never mentioned him before, but from the looks of it both Jonathan and Steve knew him.

Will had wanted to ask Nancy about him, saying how Jonathan said they all went to school together, but Mike refused to ask Nancy about any of this other than asking about migraines.

So they were on their own.

Max took her skateboard and the boys took their bikes (Will riding with Mike) and the four of them made their way to the trailer park.

Max was running on borrowed time, telling Billy that she was going over to the Byers’. And if that’s not where she is in the next 2-3 hours when he comes to pick her up then she’s done for.

But it’s fine. They figure out where Eddie Munson lives in no time. It’s not a very big trailer park, and “Eddie Munson” seems to be a pretty recognizable name. A nice old lady named Miss. Bottomette pointed them right down the street from her own trailer.

The four of them made their way over, dumping their bikes (and skateboard) in the yard— not bothering with kickstands. Max and Mike shoved their way in front of the other two, both going to knock at the same time.

Mike gently shoved Max to the side when the door opened, now all three of them being behind him. Standing at the door wasn’t Eddie Munson, unless he’d aged 50 years in past 24 hours. The new man was a lot older, and was just a bit taller than Mike. He looked the four of them up and down before leaning on the doorway and crossing his arms.

“What can I help you kids with?”

Will gulped. He didn’t like adults and especially not ones with heavy western accents that look like they’d kill him if he so much as breathed wrong.

“Um— we’re just looking for an uh, an Eddie Munson, sir,” Max tagged on from behind Mike. Will reached over subtly and grabbed someone’s hand, he thinks it’s was Lucas’. Why the hell was this guy so scary?

The man had a gleam in his— something like amusement. It kind of pissed Mike off but he knew better than to get pissy with an adult he’d just met. Especially with how Will was reacting to him.

“Well,” the man chuckled, “I’m not sure what you kids need with ‘im, but he’s not here right now. So why don’t you go back home, huh?”

He went to close the door but Mike spoke up. “Wait! Please— we uh— we really, really need to talk to him. Even if it’s just for a couple of seconds!”

“If he’s not here do you know where he is?” asked Lucas.

The man studied them all closely, his eyes raking over them each individually. As if they were threats. Mike nearly scoffed to himself.

Finally the man gave in and sighed. “Why do you wanna see Ed so bad?”

Max tapped her foot really hard on the wooden porch. When everyone jumped and looked at her she put her hands up. “Sorry! Got excited.”

Lucas spoke up this time. “We, um— wanna thank him? And ask him a few questions I guess. He helped out one of our friends yesterday and we really really just want to talk to him, please. Sir.” he tagged on the “sir” like an after thought.

In the next few moments, they found themselves piling into the very small, very cramped trailer living room.

“I’m Wayne, by the way. Wayne Munson, Eddie’s uncle.” he finally introduced himself. He raised his eyebrow at them. Oh yeah, they have to introduce themselves as well.

“Oh! Um— I’m Lucas. Lucas Sinclair.”

“Er— Max Mayfield.” she crossed her arms.

“Mike Wheeler.”

“Um, uh—“ Will grabbed Mikes hand “—Will Byers.”

Mr. Munson’s eyes seemed to study Will extra hard. Mike gripped his hand and squeezed to let him know he was there. Even Max and Lucas moved in slightly closer to Will. They didn’t understand why this guy seemed to come off so mean.

“Hey Uncle Wayne! What’s taking you so long at the door, man?” The man of the hour showed his face at the end of a small hallway. His brain seemed to short circuit at the sight of all the kids in his very small and very cramped living room.

“Um, hi?” Lucas greeted awkwardly.

Eddie leisurely made his way into the room with him. “Aren’t you Harrington’s kids from last night?”

“We’re not his kids,” Mike grumbled under his breath. But he couldn’t deny the spike of joy that came with the title.

Mr. Munson looked at Eddie like he’d lost his mind. “Harrington’s kids?” he put extra emphasis on “Harrington”, as if it was actually so weird.

Max rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Harrington’s kids,” she said under her breath with heavy sarcasm.

Lucas shot her a glare and she grunted.

“Well—“ Eddie clapped his hands “—what can I help you kids with?”

Mike and Max eyed each other, trying to decide who was going to start. Turns out; it was Will.

“We wanted to talk to you about yesterday,” he spoke up timidly. Mike squeezed his hand.

“Ok,” Eddie accepted. “Hit me. What’s up?”

Lucas was the first this time. “Why were you so willing to help Steve?”

…

When Wayne went to get the door Eddie didn’t think it’d take 20 minutes. And he also didn’t think that going out to check on him would lead him to finding four little kids in his living room. More specifically Steve Harrington’s kids.

He should’ve known it was to be bombarded with questions.

“Why were you so willing to help Steve?”

Well shit.

“Cause I’ve had an undying crush on him since he first came to the high school in his freshman year and I wasn’t going to turn up a chance to help him out and maybe talk to him and then I realized it was actually a lot worse than I thought so I stuck around to make sure he was ok.”

Yeah absolutely not.

“Because he needed help. The guy couldn’t even stand on his own.”

Lucas eyed him but handed it over to Max.

“Why were you so chill about his migraine? I mean you said it yourself: he could barely stand on his own. Most people would’ve left the moment someone else got there if not before.”

Little Red held a strong point.

“Cause I knew he needed help. Simple as that.”

No. Not “simple as that”.

“Did you know him in high school? Back when he was dating Nancy?” Little Wheeler asked.

Now this; this was a conversation he really didn’t want to have. He sighed, maybe a little harsher than intended, and answered “Yes. I knew him in high school and when he was dating your sister.”

At this point Wayne had left to the kitchen. But Eddie knew he was listening in, making sure they didn’t cross any lines.

“So if you knew him in high school, when he was an asshole— don’t kick me he was!— then why were you so nice? Cause most people he talks to from high school seem to hate his guts.”

“Jonathan doesn’t hate his guts!”

“I said “most people”, Will!”

Well golly damn they hold a lot of good points today. Before he got to answering the question there was another knock on the door. Max flinched and moved closer to Lucas.

“I got it,” Wayne said as he made his way over.

When he opened the door Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, and Jonathan Byers were all there on the porch. Wayne looked back and forth between the two groups before sighing and saying, “Why don’t we all step outside? Trailer ain’t big enough for all of ya.”

So that’s where they all went, outside on the front yard. Wayne sat on the porch steps while Eddie hung back.

“What the hell was the point in this?” Asked Steve, scolding the kids.

“We just wanted to ask him some questions!” defended Lucas. Will hung back by Jonathan but nodded his head.

“Questions.” Steve deadpanned.

Max huffed and Steve’s glare turned on her. She crossed her arms and looked away, seeming to close in on herself.

Steve sighed and pinched his nose, turning around and grunting before turning back around. “Ok, here’s the game plan.” he clapped his hands. “You four—“ he pointed at each of the kids “— are going to apologize to Mr. Munson and Eddie.”

The kids all started to grumble and protest.

“AND THEN—“ he continued loudly over them, making them shut up “—you are going to all go home to your own houses. We will talk about this tomorrow when I don’t want to fucking strangle you.”

“I can’t.” Max huffed.

“Cant what?” Steve asked.

“Go home. Especially not with you. I told Billy I’d be at the Byers’ and he’s expecting me to be there in the next half hour.”

Steve’s entire face dropped and he rubbed a hand over his face. “Max.”

She folded her arms and looked down. Steve sighed and placed his hands on his hips. “Ok, it’s fine. Change of plans; we’re all going to the Byers’! You four go apologize now and then load your bikes and board into my car as best you can.”

Eddie stood through their half-assed apologies while Steve stood back conversing with Jonathan. When the kids made their move to get their bikes and skateboard Eddie moved over to stand next to Steve. While the kids loitered around for a moment. Steve turned on him when he noticed his approach.

“What were they bothering you about that was so important Max lied to Billy?”

Eddie smirked and answered “oh you know; questions.”

Steve groaned.

They stood in silence while Steve watched Jonathan quietly scold Mike and Max for something.

“You can use my van.”

“What?”

“My van. To bring their bikes? There’s no way in hell they’re all fitting into your’s or Byers’s car.”

Steve watched as Mike and Lucas argued about the bikes while Max and Will talked behind them. He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face in agitation. Steve placed his hands on his hips again and hit the inside of his cheek. Eddie watched him closely, finally noticing the ruffled hair and the plain gray t-shirt and way to short basketball shorts.

“Did you come over here straight from bed?” he asked.

Steve looked at him, squinting in the sun. “Yeah? What of it?”

“Dude it’s like 2pm.”

“Migraines knock me out.” he shrugged.

Another moment of silence went by until Steve sighed. “If you really don’t mind, letting us use your van would be great.”

Eddie watched Mike’s bike fall out for the fourth time and nodded. Just in time for Mike and Max to both call out in a whiny tone “STEEEEVEEEE!!”

Steve huffed and whined back “WHAAAAAT?” Eddie snickered.

“The bikes aren’t going to fit!” Lucas yelled, throwing his bike on the yard.

“Yeah I realized that. Thankfully, Eddie’s very nice and has offered to let us use his van.”

Mike and Lucas’ eyes lit up. “Can we—“

“Absolutely not.” Steve shut them down. “You four are going to ride with Jonathan and Robin back to the Byers’ while I run around with Eddie to drop off your bikes.”

Eddie nodded, not knowing what else to do.

Mike huffed.

“Steve,” Max called out quietly. “You’re not dropping mine off, right?”

Steve’s face softened and he smiled at her exasperatedly. “No, Max, you can toss your board in Jon’s trunk.”

She nodded and looked hesitant to walk away. The boys had already gotten in the car, and with one look around Max gave in and quickly hugged Steve. He patted her back and ruffled her hair and then she ran off to the car.

With final goodbyes and a promise to Robin to just call in sick next time, Steve and Eddie were left alone, Wayne going inside to take a nap.

Steve clapped Eddie on the shoulder. “Looks like it’s just me and you now, Munson.”

Oh boy.

…

Guess I am gonna need that part three 😭😭

I’ll take tags for part 3 if you guys want :)

Part 3 :)

[macfrog]

if patrick bateman were a woman

cowboy like me [bonus chapter]

surprise!! happy halloween!!!! may your day be spooky and your sex be filthy. here's a bonus chapter of clm to celebrate. love y'all !!! despite being cowboy joel and his reader, this is not canon. does not happen in the cowboy like me series. i wish. it's just a little bit of spooky szn fun with my two favorite star-crossed lovers. !!!

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: sarah throws a halloween party. you and joel have a little too much fun.

warnings: as pwp as a macfrog fic can get, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), lil bit titty appreciation, a singular daddy mention, a single slice of degradation, but also praise kink, unprotected piv sex, creampie, it's set on halloween, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 4k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

Ice, pretzels, lime juice. Ice, pretzels, lime juice.

I’m giving you one job. Ice, pretzels, lime juice. That’s it.

That sounds like three jobs, you’d said.

Sarah ignored you. Be here at seven, alright? Ice – pretzels – lime juice!

It’s seven thirty. You’re finally on her front porch. The tiny section of bare skin between your stockings and black skirt is pimpled with goosebumps. With each inhale you suck in the sickly-sweet scent of fake blood, splattered across your face. You have a bag of ice slung over one arm, a bag of pretzels balanced on top, a bottle of juice hanging from your fingers and an axe under your elbow.

Only – it’s not lime juice. And the axe is plastic.

Sarah opens the door and spots your blunder instantly. “That’s lemon.”

“I know. They didn’t have any lime.”

“They didn’t have any lime? Where the hell did you go?”

“It’s Halloween, Sarah. Everybody and their fucking grandma is drinking tonight. Lemon tastes the exact –”

“Ah!” She holds a finger up. Her red cape flutters in the breeze. “It does not taste the same. Otherwise, why would it be two separate things?”

“Hey, Wonder Woman,” you drone, “mind letting me in? I’m fucking freezing.”

She scoffs, and steps aside. Mutters, “’s not the same thing,” as you pass.

You click down the hall, head rolling to check out her decorating. The living room and kitchen are lit by constellations of tiny tealights, flickering and blinking and casting tall, warped shadows across the walls. There’s a purple neon sign sat against the wall that reads Spooky. By the fireplace sit the two pumpkins she and her boyfriend carved last night; she’d sent you photos and asked you to pick a winner. When you chose the Iron Man head over the silhouette of Tinkerbell, she sent back a middle finger emoji.

Y: It’s cleaner cut. What do you expect? Shoddy work, Miller.

S: asshole.

Sarah’s slotting the ice into the freezer. Struggling, by the sound of it. You swing back into the kitchen to find Wonder Woman on her ass, hammering her fist against the frozen pack to fit it in.

You’re about to offer help, when someone else does it for you. Someone lower, gravellier. A voice like thunder in the distance, a storm approaching.

“You need a hand?” he asks, and when you turn, you almost drop your fucking axe.

He glances to you as he emerges from the dark hallway, the warm glow licking at his graying flicks of hair, nestling in the deep-set lines on his face. His eyes dart down to where your fingers now clutch the plastic handle, holding it against the hem of your skirt like it’ll do anything to cover your modesty.

Your modesty, meaning – the line of sexy black lace curling around your thighs, snug against the supple skin.

What the fuck are you doing here? you mouth, as Joel paces across the kitchen towards his daughter.

He shrugs, palms outstretched. It’s my house?

You roll your eyes, run your tongue like lightning across your scarlet lips. Sarah straightens up, huffs hair from her face and stares blankly at Joel.

He bends, takes the entire bag in one huge palm, and reorganizes the drawer with the other. Your eye drifts to his bicep, flexing under the tight seam of a dark tee. The bag of ice cradled in his arm leaves weak little droplets, running down the tan skin to the crook of his elbow. You want to fucking lick them up, gather the frozen beads on your tongue, hike up up up to the curve of his shoulder, the crook of his neck, the –

“Hey.” Sarah clicks her fingers in front of your face. “You hearin’ me?”

“Huh? No, yeah. No. I wasn’t lis– What did you say?”

She sighs again. Joel groans as he pushes off his knee and stands tall behind her. Wipes the water from his arm with one swipe of his palm.

“Would you put these in a bowl?” his daughter asks, shoving the bag of pretzels into your suited chest. She shuffles off, announcing she’s going to pick a playlist for the night.

Suited is perhaps giving you too much credit. You’re in a mini skirt and waistcoat, a red tie slung loose around your neck. You’ve a clear poncho draped over your shoulders, but with the heat from the million and one fucking candles – and the flush that the forty-something-year-old with his wide frame and fitted sweatpants and toned chest and his big fucking hands has cast over you – it’ll soon be discarded to the newel post.

But when you reach up for the bowl on the top shelf of the cabinet, pushing forward with a palm on the countertop, the marble digging into your pelvis and forcing your ass to jut out – you think yourself pretty fucking smug to be in a skirt that hugs your cheeks and not much else.

You turn, the lip of the bowl in your fingers, and smile sweetly at Joel, whose gaze returns north as you approach him.

“You got nothin’ better to do with your night than babysit a bunch of twenty-five-year-olds?” you murmur, spilling the bag into the blue bowl. You place a pretzel on your tongue, humming at the taste.

Joel smiles, popping the cap off his beer. He spills the amber liquid into his mouth. “I’ll be in my room.”

Your eyebrows lift. “That so? You need any company in there?”

“Nope. Rangers game is on. I’ll be busy.”

The words ghost across your lips. You’ll be busy, you breathe. Joel nods. Then looks you up and down.

“American Psycho?”

“What?”

He flicks his wrist up and down your figure. “What’s his name, again? Pat–”

“Patrick Bateman,” you say together. You nod.

“That’s the one.” Then he turns, leans his jaw nearer until his lips line with your ear. Your eyes shoot across to the empty doorway. Sarah’s skipping song after song in the living room.

Joel’s finger slips beneath the lace trim of your stockings, tugging gently. “I don’t remember ‘im in these, though,” he says, voice low.

You gulp. Swallow to push your heart back into place. “Well,” you glance down, lifting your thigh closer to him, “if he were a woman, he woulda dressed like this.”

“That’s somethin’ I’d like to see,” Joel murmurs, eyes locked on the place where lace separates from skin.

“Yeah?”

He nods. Growls, “Yeah.”

And then he’s walking away.

Within an hour, the house is jumping. Literally. Almost.

You sit at the kitchen island, sipping on a beer, staring down the hall at the sea of bodies – of nylon and polyester, of purples and oranges, of headbands and props and cloaks and hats. There are a lot more than forty people here – a lot more than Sarah intended to turn up.

A lot more than you know, too. She’s barely even four years younger than you, but most of these kids look like they just walked out of middle school. Of the handful of faces you recognize, one is sat opposite you, his arm draped over Sarah’s shoulder, her hand locked in his. She and Ty have been dating for a year now, surviving long-distance when she jets back off to school every few months.

The other you know, unfortunately for you, is swaying by your side. Leaning a little too heavily into you. Asking you questions about college, and then talking over your answers to tell you stories about his college. Asking you questions about films you like, and then interrupting to gawk at the titles you reel off. The only times he doesn’t jump in over your answer, are the times he’s asking who you think might win in a fight between prime Mike Tyson and prime Muhammad Ali. And that’s only because you don’t have an answer to give him.

Jace. Ty’s best friend. Fucking – loser.

“And who the fuck are you s’posed to be, anyways?” he asks, slinging a heavy arm over your shoulder. He reeks of beer, warm and stale. His jaw’s swinging, cheeks popping and suckling on a shriveled piece of gum.

You scowl, shrugging the uncomfortable weight from the nape of your neck. “Patrick Bateman,” you mutter.

“Who?”

“Christian Bale. You know, when he –” Sarah mimes lifting an axe over her shoulder, takes a swing through the air, across the island to Jace.

“No fucking idea,” he says, shaking his head. You’re not surprised.

“Where’s your axe?” Ty asks, as Sarah nuzzles back into his side.

You shrug. “Saw someone using it to stir the punch earlier. ‘s probably in the toilet or something.”

He laughs, flashing his dimpled cheeks. He’s got glistening eyes beneath long, black eyelashes. He’s handsome. Sharp jaw, full lips. Sarah links her fingers at his side, plants her cheek against his shoulder. She’s comfortable. She’s safe. Your chest warms at the sight.

He squeezes her arm, and they share a meaningful glance before there’s a yell from across the kitchen, and their attention is diverted.

When they turn to watch two of Sarah’s high school friends sword-fighting, wielding a plastic lightsaber and your axe, you slink off, swiping two beers from the fridge. Swift and silent, you scale the stairs and fade into the darkened hallway at the top, in pursuit of your own dark-eyed, sharp-jawed comfort.

The sliver of light at the end of the hall draws you in, footsteps silent along the soft carpet. Up here, tucked away in the corner of the house, far from the rattling music and rumble of boisterous chatter – you can hear the soft roar of a crowd, the crack of ball against bat.

Your hip nudges the door open, trickle of condensation running over your knuckles. Joel’s eyes are already on you. He’s laying on his bed, legs outstretched, knee cocked. One arm lies idly on his thigh. You get the feeling he shifted it quickly when he saw the door move.

He balances his chin on the end of the remote, purses his lips and lifts his head. “Now,” he mumbles, “you’re s’posed to be downstairs.”

You shrug, holding the bottles up. “Thought you might need a top-up.”

His eyes thin. He sits up straight, swings his legs over the edge of the bed. You come to a stop between his knees, holding the beer down to him. He hums, taking it with his eyes locked on yours.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he says, and his eyes begin to drift down.

You tilt your head back at the same time he does, lifting the lip of your own bottle. The cold drink washes over your tongue, bitter and blunt in its taste, leaving a furry feeling on your gums. When your chin lowers again, Joel’s hand is on the back of your thigh.

He’s staring at the two knolls between you – your breasts round, nipples peaking under the tight waistcoat.

“Welcome,” you reply, swirling the liquid around in the curved glass. Your voice is barely there. But he hears you, and he must hear the want laced deep through that one quiet word, because he instantly slides his beer onto his nightstand.

He curves both hands around your thighs, fingers lifting higher and higher between your legs until they’re crossing over lace and onto bare skin.

You shuffle forward, leaning your arms on his shoulders and propping your knees on the bed either side of his body. Your skirt rides up, exposing the shard of shocking red lace beneath the pinstripe material.

Joel sees it. Like it’s a rag and he’s a bull. It charges something deep inside him. Something that awakens beneath the thin line of fabric between your legs.

You can feel your pulse in your clit. Fluttering, fucking – hammering. Your cunt feels painfully empty, clenching around nothing. Joel’s palms surf across the tops of your thighs until his fingers are teetering along the hem of your skirt.

“Off,” he instructs, swatting the poncho away.

You shake it from your shoulders the same way you shook the blond downstairs off. Joel nods as the material crumples to the floor. He hooks a hand under your knee and yanks your body closer to his. You almost throw the beer bottle across his bed.

“J– fucking hell, my –”

“Shut up,” he clips, and grabs the beer from your grasp to deposit it alongside his own.

His hands find the tiny buttons of your waistcoat, fingers slip through the gaps between them where your skin peeks through. You can feel his hot breath on your chest. A wave of need washes over you, a desire from deep within your marrow to feel him everywhere. His breath, his tongue, his hands. All of him.

Your entire body weight rests on his shoulders, your fingers locking his shirt in two tight fists. Joel doesn’t seem to mind. Barely seems to notice. He pulls apart the first button, watches with a dark gaze as your breasts spill over. The second button pops open easily, and they bounce lower. When he unhooks the third, they drop into place, nipples pointed, welcoming him in between them.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he whispers as he leans in, mouth flattening against the smooth skin between them. “No bra or nothin’.”

“Knew you’d be here,” you reply, head rolling back as he licks a trail across to the darker flesh of your nipple. His lips close around it and he suckles gently. Your nails dig into his scalp.

He pushes the waistcoat over your shoulders and it drops to the carpet, pooled inside the shell of poncho. As soon as it falls, his hands begin the climb up the seam of your thigh, resting on the brush of red – where he feels the quickly dampening mark on the fabric.

“Thought as much,” he says, head cocking to watch your expression warp as he rubs slow circles into your clit. His voice is as soft as his touch, innocent almost, when he asks, “She like that?”

“Ye-ah,” you choke, leaning back.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and uses his other hand to fish beneath his sweatpants. He rubs himself under the gray cotton, watches as your fingers clutch at the waistband to tug it down, releasing him.

His heavy cock springs up between your bodies, dabs precome on the pointed tail of your tie. You giggle, loosening the knot and pulling the thin silk over your head. Your hands wrap around him, twisting and pumping and dragging the milky arousal from his slit down the smooth, warm skin. Joel’s breath catches when your thumbs swipe across his head.

His fingers slip behind your knees and pull them apart, pull them wider on the mattress. You lean forward, chest brushing against his parted lips, taking your panties in one hand and guiding him along your slit with the other.

You cover him in your arousal, the veined skin soon slick and pearlescent. His wide head slips between your opening, notching against your entrance and forcing the breath from your lungs.

His hands sit firmly on your waist, pushing down on your hips, pushing and pushing until he sinks snug into your cunt. When he pauses, his mouth agape and eyes stuck on the sight of his body connecting to yours, you whine.

“More,” you mewl, voice dripping with need, drizzling all over him.

“We gotta –”

“More.”

“Baby,” Joel says, voice flat but crumbling. “We gotta go slow. I’m gonna – You’re gonna make me come, dressed like that, if we go too quick.”

But fuck, you want to feel him. Want him to buck his hips and fill you in one go – fuck the pain. Fuck the discomfort, fuck the way your walls would clamp in a vice grip around him. You want him to fuck you. Want to be fucked so good that you have to time your moaning with the bassline of the music downstairs, unable to contain the sounds in your throat. Fucked so good that you waddle out of the room, that you fling yourself back onto the couch and wince in pain, a sharp memory of the breadth of him shooting between your legs.

Your hips circle, the heat of your cunt swirling around and around on his tip. He groans, hands tightening on your waist to hold you still.

“Stop it, darlin’,” he growls, the words clawing from between his teeth.

“F-fuck me, then,” you moan, curling your back to slowly edge down on him.

“Ask nicer.”

You smile, heavy lids falling closed. “Please?”

His hands roam around the curve of your ass. He starts to push again. “Nicer.”

Your mouth opens wider the further he slides into you. The more he claims of your body, the further you open for him, the warmer your welcome. Your head tips back, eyes tighten until you see stars. When you feel a weight around your neck, you flutter your lashes open, blink the cyan-colored sparkles from your vision.

Joel pulls your jaw back down to face him. Squeezes on your pulse, holding you between his middle finger and thumb.

“Nicer,” he demands.

You lean in, small hands linking around his thick wrist. “Fuck me, please, daddy,” you whisper.

And he smiles like a fucking devil. Eyes drawn black like ink. He pulls you in until your chin brushes against the rough bristle of his own, lines his bottom lip with yours.

Into your mouth, he asks, “You think you can take it, babygirl? Think it’ll fit?”

You nod desperately, anchoring yourself on his wrist. “Know it will.”

He’s only halfway in. Your heartbeat is thudding around your body, focusing hardest on your clit. Your hips move again, and Joel allows it, sitting back to watch as you sink down further.

“Go on,” he says, watching your body slowly attach to his, “’f you think you can do it. Be a big girl ‘n take it. Slow.”

Something caught between a laugh and a whimper drags between your painted lips – something dripping in desire, built from a need to prove yourself to him, to take all of him inside your body, to feel him in the deepest parts of yourself. You push on him, loosen his grip around your neck and flatten your palms on his chest. And you curve your back, pushing him deeper.

“’s my girl,” Joel says, quietly, as if to himself. “This what you wanted? Comin’ up here, dressed like that?”

Your teeth hold onto your bottom lip. “Like what?” you purr, leaning forward until your noses brush.

Joel tips his chin up, lips flush against yours. “Like a little fuckin’ slut.”

You laugh weakly, feeling him finally in his entirety. “Fuck.”

Joel’s hands take your waist, pushing you down until the pain sends bolts of lightning across your vision. The bruising feeling of his head against your cervix. The sweet stretch of your skin opening around his.

“Beggin’ for it, weren’t ya? ‘n now look, you can’t hardly take it.”

“I can take it,” you hiss back, bracing yourself on the mattress. Your hips lift, holding onto him, bouncing up and down steadily. “I can take it,” you repeat, like a mantra, like the only thing keeping you in the room still. The only thing reminding your body to keep moving.

Joel holds a palm steady against the bottom of your stomach, rubs his thumb delicately against your skin. “So deep, baby. ‘m so fuckin’ deep inside you. That feel nice?”

The meat of your ass slaps against the tops of his thighs. You’re quickening, eyes screwing shut. He feels so good. Fills you up so fucking good. Your legs start to loosen, knees weakening the more you fuck yourself on him. Your head drops between your shoulders when his thumb lowers, circles gently at your clit.

“Keep – keep doing that. Fuck, Joel – touch me. Keep touching me.”

“’boutta come, ain’t you?”

“Sh-shut up.”

“Yeah,” he says, “she’s about to come.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, hips rolling now, losing rhythm between the split of his cock inside you and the lull of his thumb on your clit. Your back arches, vision begins to blur. Your lungs close in on themselves as you give one final gasp to the ceiling, and let go.

Your walls clamp hard around him, and in one swift movement, your bodies are flipped. When you open your eyes again, you’re on your back, Joel’s figure towering over you.

“’attagirl,” he mutters, palms flat against the underside of your thighs. He pushes them flat, folding you in two, your knees resting by your shoulders. “So close, darlin’. Ain’t gonna last.”

You’re shaking your head, holding onto his neck, thighs trembling. “I – can’t, Joel.”

“Yeah, you can. You can,” he assures, dipping his head to place his lips on yours. Your mouth opens up for him, tongue falls against his own. It’s barely a kiss – you’re licking at one another, sure, but there’s nothing tender or gentle about it. Joel pulls away only to glance down and guide himself back inside you. “Gonna be my good girl, aren’t you? Gonna make me come.”

With one seamless thrust, he’s back inside you, pressing your legs harder against your torso. You whine, a blur of pain and pleasure mixing where he fucks you.

“Good girl,” he says, tongue skimming along his top lip. “Nice ‘n wide, that’s it.”

Your back arches into him, arms tighten around his neck, lips settle curved around his own. You’re moaning, his name releasing itself from your mouth in shots of breath. Joel takes your knee and hooks it over his shoulder, letting the other fall to his hip. The angle forces him deeper. Deeper and harder.

But he’s starting to jump. Bucking randomly. He’s panting your name, teeth grazing against your neck in attempt to hold on just a little longer, feel you squeeze him a little more.

“You’re close,” you slur.

“’m close,” he says.

“Gonna come in me –?”

“Baby –”

“– ’n send me – ah – back downstairs full of you? Runnin’ outta me?”

Joel’s head shakes. His eyes tighten. “Fuck, darlin’. Dirty fuckin’ mouth.”

“C’mon,” you beg, “give it to – m-me.”

His hips hammer against yours, punching against the edge of your cunt harshly. You sob out, nails digging into his shoulders, until he halts, and you feel the warmth of him spurting deep inside your body. Feel the way he tenses, empties, and stills.

Your head falls back against the mattress. Joel’s still nuzzled against your neck, breathing labored, lips soaking wet against your skin. You sift your fingers through his hair, combing through it as he comes to.

His chest rocks against yours. Feeling starts to sharpen again, the orgasmic haze starting to bleed into the past. The walls of the house thud with the music from downstairs. You feel the weight of his body on top of yours again.

“Up,” you groan, pushing on his shoulders.

Joel scoffs, pushing against the mattress and rolling over beside you. He slips out, his spend seeping out and spilling onto your thigh.

Your fingers intertwine with his by your side, your nails scrawling into his knuckles.

“I miss you, when you ain’t around,” Joel whispers, glossy eyes blinking at the ceiling. “I’m bored up here.”

You roll onto your side, run your fingers over the halo of sweat around the collar of his shirt. “Good think I ain’t far, then. ‘m only downstairs.”

He smiles. “Downstairs is too far.”

You lean over him and place a soft kiss on his rough cheek. “Just have to keep you at my hip then, don’t I?”

His head turns and his lips find yours. He cups the globe of your head, pulls you harder against his jaw, runs his tongue along your teeth. When you pull away, you shift the damp hair from his glistening forehead.

“You ruined my tie, by the way,” you tell him. “The hell am I supposed to say that is?”

Joel shrugs. “If Patrick Bateman were a woman, ‘n all that.”

[gosmigenergy]

JUST DESSERTS

( Triple Frontier Boys x F!Reader )

Summary: Frankie and Santiago decide to host a Valentine’s dinner however you’re already a little suspicious of what they have planned.

Rating: Mature 18+

Warnings: Language, mentions of food, mentions of alcohol, swearing, minor angst because Santiago’s an idiot, sex pollen, group sex, oral - female receiving, P in V, unprotected sex (use protection irl please), cream pie, voyeurism, choking, nipple play, oral - male receiving, hair pulling, spit roasting, gagging, squirting, allusions of masturbation (male), fluffy ending, nickname/pet names, no use of Y/N.

Word Count: 8.4k

Author's Notes: Just for a little context, here's the fic this one's related to.

You had spent all afternoon watching from a distance.

Frankie preferred you to be out of the kitchen when he was prepping a three course meal for multiple people, saying you were too much of a distraction. Reluctantly, you stayed out of his way and tried to keep yourself busy.

You heard his hushed profanity.

“You ok, babe?”

He was stuffing his phone into his pocket when you approached.

“I forgot an ingredient.”

Your head cocks to one side, brows furrowing. It was unusual, he was so methodical when it came to cooking, he’d never forgotten an ingredient since you’d started dating. Maybe it was Valentine’s Day nerves or because he was in someone else’s kitchen, you had to ask him why they chose Will’s place.

“I can go get it for you.”

“It’s ok, I’ve already messaged Pope.”

The pair of them had planned this evening together because you couldn’t quite book a table for five at a fancy restaurant on the day of love without being questioned. Not to mention the extortionate price rises, the candle lit table where you can barely see and the knowledge you would sit throughout dinner with four sets of eyes on you, all wanting the same thing.

“Soooo,” you bite your lip, “what do you want to do now?”

Leaning back, he folded his arms, eyes trailing you from head to toe. A shiver shot up your spine as his stare hung low, his tongue flicking over his lips and Frankie knew he had just enough time to do what he wanted to do.

When Santiago knocked on the door, it took a few minutes to get an answer.

He was just about to knock again when it swung open and revealed you, flustered and glancing down, he noticed your lack of pants. His one eyebrow quirked and a slight smirk came to his lips.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” Frankie entered the living room. “I made sure she finished.”

The temperature in your cheeks rose to scorching, in all of your dating history, you’d never been caught and of course, it has to be Santiago who catches you after a thorough fingering. He’s fucking delighted.

You walk away from him before he can utter a word.

“He wouldn’t let me answer the door until I came,” you say, taking your shorts from Frankie.

“Gotta make sure you’re satisfied.”

A hand snakes around your back and he pulls you closer, squeezing the plumpness of your ass. You cup his whiskered jaw and place a kiss on his cheek before kissing him lightly on the lips, his fingers burying further.

“I’m just gonna clean up.”

“You’re welcome to stay like that,” Santiago chips in.

“I thought you were helping Frankie in the kitchen.”

You saunter away, purposefully not putting on your shorts just to rub it in his face a little.

“I hate you,” he turns to Frankie.

Frankie blinks at him, “You got the stuff.”

The pair of them go into the kitchen, ensuring they’re out of the way from prying eyes and Santiago pulls a tiny brown bag out of his pocket. Frankie snatched it from his hand and eased out the bottle, it looked like any other baking ingredient in a pipet bottle except it was fluorescent pink in colour.

“I still think we should tell her,” he said, bringing it closer for inspection.

“She’ll be fine.”

Frankie went to the fridge and brought the rest of the ingredients to the counter top.

“Ruby chocolate?”

“It’s fruity and should conceal the colour of that stuff.”

Santiago patted his friend on the back, “I knew I could trust you.”

Once you’d finished in the shower, you went to check on the pair of them in the kitchen. Santiago wasn’t being much help, merely standing there and talking whilst Frankie gently folded a pink concoction in a bowl. As you stepped closer, you caught the chocolate wrapper and knew you had to sneak a taste, slipping past Santiago.

Frankie clocked the single finger approaching and slapped your hand hard.

“Ow!”

He immediately put everything down and wrapped himself around you.

“I’m sorry, cariño, I’ve only made enough mousse for the five of us, no samples.”

You look up at him, your pouted lip beginning to quiver, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. It actually really fucking hurt but only Frankie knows why he had such a reaction and Santiago probably, you could only assume.

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it better.

“There’s some chocolate spare in the fridge,” he glanced at Santiago as he spoke.

Santiago headed to the fridge and back, handing you the other unopened bar before boosting you onto the countertop next to where Frankie was working. You eased the paper packaging apart at the top and cracked the first line, breaking a square off.

“You got any questions about tonight?”

Santiago leaned in, opening his mouth slightly and you fed him the piece of chocolate in your hand.

There was only one question you could think of.

—

“Why are they hosting it at your place?” Benny asked his brother.

“Because I’ve got a big enough dining table.”

In all honesty, Will didn’t know if that was their reasoning, he was confused when they asked him too.

“They could have hosted it here.”

“With what table?”

Benny shrugged, “I could have got something.”

His brother was still living like a bachelor, no table just two stools on a breakfast bar, no spare bedroom or fold out couch, he shook his head. When Frankie arrived at his place with bags of ingredients, Will saw it best to get out of the way and offered to come and get Benny, who was trying to figure out what to wear.

“Don’t you have a dress shirt?”

Will watched on as Benny rifled through his wardrobe.

“Do I look like I would have a dress shirt? The moment I stopped doing parades, I got rid of ‘em.”

He would have offered him one if it wasn’t for the fact Benny’s lean physique would be swamped by his. There was already a pile of rejections on the floor including the one denim shirt he owned and the one that Benny had named his good hoodie.

“Who’s idea was it to dress up anyway?”

“Who do you think?”

“Ah, the man with a thousand black shirts.”

Will laughed, “Even Fish has a nice shirt, brother.”

“The coke one?”

Will folded his arms, brows knotting. Benny looked innocently over his shoulder, throwing his hands out.

“You know which one I mean.”

Narrowing his eyes, Will notices the stuffed shelves to the side of his brother and can make out two green sweaters amongst all the greys and blues.

“What about the green sweaters?”

Benny stepped to the side and pulled them out.

“Bunny likes this one.”

He held it up the forest green one and Will was about to say it would pass until he turned it round.

“Is that a cartoon character?”

Benny scowled at him, “It’s a video game character.”

“You never fail to surprise me,” Will pinched the bridge of his nose, “and the other one?”

Tossing another rejection to one side, Benny unfolded the other one, a lightweight knit with a v-neck and emerald green in colour. He’s pretty sure this was one his mother gave him, he wore it once or twice to please her and then pretended he’d lost it over Thanksgiving. He just hated wearing anything other than gym wear, jeans and a t-shirt.

Will was going to have to take him shopping.

“That’ll do.”

—

You’d finished getting ready just as the sound of keys entering the door. Tottering over, you grabbed the door handle and opened it before Will had chance to get it himself.

“You look as lovely as ever, Bunny.”

You brush the front of your pink and purple slip dress, turning round to show him the back, you’d even wore kitten heels for the occasion.

He hands you a bag whilst he takes another, “The Prosecco you like was on offer.”

“Oh, thank you,” you kiss his cheek and leave a mark.

Benny bashfully came in after his brother.

“Aw, Benny, that sweater brings out the colour of your eyes.”

His cheeks turned pink, this was the first time you’d seen him relatively dressed up.

“I told him that but he wasn’t impressed,” Will called from behind you.

You take his sweater by both hands and pull his body to yours, crashing your lips to his. Instinctively, he brings an arm to your waist to stop you from falling backwards as your frame arches.

“Thanks for dressing up for me,” you say after parting your lips, “I know you hate it.”

“If that’s the reaction I get, I might do it more often.”

A pop of a cork filled the room and Frankie was the first to complain.

“Christ, you could have given me a warning,” he said, the food he was tentatively placing on a finely toasted slice of bread now sprayed across the plate.

Santiago came out of the dining room to see what all the fuss was about and then ushered the three of you away from Frankie. He sat you at the top of the table with the Miller brothers either side before he switched on some background music and left to help Frankie serve.

“Can we have more light?”

“Honey, this is meant to be romantic.”

You hum, “Would be nice to see everyone’s faces.”

You had resisted saying anything for two courses, it only seemed right to see them for dessert. Frankie pulled out all the stops on food, to start was freshly made Bruschetta then he followed it with the first ever meal he cooked for you, steak with dauphinoise potatoes and greens. With everyone’s plates clear, he went to dish up dessert.

Santiago grumbled and turned the dial up a little, bringing a warm glow into the room.

“That’s better,” you smile even as he stares you down.

Frankie comes in with the first two plates, placing one in front of you. The pink mousse he was creating earlier was delivered with a handful of berries on the side.

“I’ve waited all afternoon to try this!”

You waited, fidgeting for the rest of the boys to get theirs with a spoon in your hand. The moment Frankie put his ass in his seat, you took the biggest portion you could.

“This is so good,” Benny said, continuing to stuff the mousse into his mouth.

It was good, you weren’t going to deny that. It was velvety smooth, the ruby chocolate adding a touch of fruitiness along with the berries but there was something else. You began to eat slowly, eyebrows knotted as you tried to decipher what it was.

Everyone kept eating before Will spoke up, scraping the last of it from his ramekin bowl.

“What was that floral flavour?”

That wasn’t quite it but you knew he was close.

“Special ingredient,” Santiago responded quickly.

Frankie sighed, “We’re gonna have to tell them eventually.”

“Tell us what?”

Benny was using his finger to scoop out what remnants he could, eyes flitting from Santiago to Frankie.

“Sooo, it’s not rose?”

Will’s query suddenly makes you feel queasy, unable to eat the last couple of spoonfuls so you place your cutlery down.

Santiago clocks it.

“No,” he says, folding his arms. “It’s Aphrodite’s Essence.”

Will looks at Santiago and Frankie before his brother, who sheepishly avoids eye contact.

A swell builds in your chest, the name is all too familiar and you don’t know whether to scream or cry or both. Instead, you bundle the cotton napkin from your lap in your hand and throw back your chair.

“You’re such a fucking dick, Santiago.”

You launch the napkin, hitting him square in the face as you flee from the room.

He calls your name but you ignore him, already bolting for the bedroom, swinging the door heavily. The slam echoes through the hall and Santiago goes to get up. Will gestures a hand for him to stop and he follows the order like any good soldier would.

“Give her a few minutes,” his eyes glanced to everyone again. “And you can tell me what the fuck is going on.

—

Santiago was hesitant to go in, he didn’t quite know what was behind the door. The four of them had talked it out, Will was pissed with every single one of them for a fleeting moment. Benny and Santiago almost ended up in a shouting match whilst Frankie remained quiet until he decided to step in and shut them up.

“Sure you don’t want to do this?”

He looked over his shoulder at Will who shook his head, he was always shaking his head at one of them.

“It’s gotta be you, man.”

His friend was right, Santiago just hated it.

Taking a breath, he rapped the door but you didn’t respond. He takes it as a good sign and squeezes past the threshold as he opens the door enough to fit through.

“Hey.”

You’re sat up, back against the headboard of the bed, arms wrapped tightly around the teddy Will won you. In the darkness, he could just about make out your teary eyes and he switched on the nearest the nearest lamp to give off some light.

You sniff, “Hey.”

He sits at your feet and you move them back.

“Honey, I’m sorry.”

“The last time we saw each other, you wanted to slow down on all of this shit then you go and —“

You lose your words, you’re so mad at him.

“I know, it’s bad timing on my part.”

You look away, pushing your cheek into the soft fabric underneath.

This wasn’t bad timing, he’d made an idiotic decision to get revenge on Benny and thrown everyone else into the mix with them.

“You remember how scary it was for me, I thought I was going to die.”

“But you didn’t, Fish and I made sure of that.”

“It doesn’t mean I want to go through it again.”

“It’s about ten percent of what you had last time, fifteen tops. We added a little extra just to make sure it works.”

“Couldn’t you have just laced Benny’s?”

“Would you want to be around Benny with that stuff in his system and without any in yours?”

“No,” you hugged the teddy closer. “You could have made him go it alone.”

“I’m mean but I’m not that mean.”

“You could have warned me,” your voice was timid.

He rested a hand on your foot, his thumb stroking your ankle. You were right, Frankie was right but he wouldn’t admit he was wrong.

“Would you have eaten it if you knew?”

You breathe in, the stutter in your chest that you only get from crying. Dropping a hand, you hold onto his thumb, eyes returning to him.

“I guess not.”

He hummed, he guessed as such.

“We’ve got to make sure we all have a level playing field,” he handed you the last of your dessert. “I had to fight Benny before he had the rest.”

Your smile peeks from behind the green dome head and you let go of his thumb, taking the dish. You eat the final spoonfuls and hand it back.

“How long till it kicks in?”

“Somewhere between thirty minutes to an hour.”

“So I have time to fix my makeup?”

He double checks his watch, “Plenty.”

Santiago continued to draw circles on your ankle, listening to your breathing as it steadied into its usual pace.

“Am I forgiven?”

“We’ll see how the night goes.”

He slips off the bed and onto his feet, leaning forward to brush his nose against the crown of your head.

“We’ve got you,” he said, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You wait until he leaves the room to sort yourself out. In the bright light of the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of how messy you looked, mostly from the mascara trailing down your cheeks like rainfall. Wiping it away, you reapply everything and fix your hair, rearranging your tits under your dress.

“Need any help?”

After hearing the hive of activity in the kitchen, you popped your head through to the dining room.

“All good, sweetheart.”

Will was alone, carefully stacking dinnerware and blowing out candles. You step further in, playing with your hands.

“I kind of ruined dinner, didn’t I?"

“Hardly.”

Santiago ruined dinner, you merely reacted how most people would having found out their food had been laced. He was surprised he’d taken it so well himself.

You hovered nervously, waiting for his attention.

Leaving the plates on the table, he wanders over to you and coils an arm around your frame, pulling you close. His touch is hotter than usual, palm scorching through the slip dress you wore and you try to figure out how long you’d been gone from the room.

“Can I fix you a drink?”

You smile, “Please.”

He took everything in his hands and told you to head to the lounge. Following him, you part ways and you perch on the couch.

You recognised the similarities of last time beginning to trickle through your system. The elevation in your heartbeat, the rise of temperature in your skin that felt as though you were basking in the afternoon sun. It felt like your lips were getting plumper, your eyes growing bigger, the colours of the room becoming vibrant.

“Benny’s insisting whatever this is isn’t working,” Will chuckled. “Fish is fighting with him to not put a couple more drops straight into his mouth.”

“And what do you think?”

You take the glass from his hand and scoot to the side to allow him space next to you. Taking a sip, every bubble pops along your tastebuds, the flavour sinking in deep.

He shrugs, “I don’t know, what am I supposed to be looking for?”

Leaning back, his eyes roam over your body, noticing how you seem to be glowing. Each inch of bare skin he looks at tingles and you wonder if this is how it starts when you take a normal dose. He stretches his hand, fingertips skimming over your shoulder blades and the shiver travels down your spine, pulsating in your pussy. Something travels from you to him, electricity shooting up his arm and his face turns serious.

“On the table.”

You cock your head to the side, “The coffee table?”

“Front on the coffee table, ass facing me.”

“You sure?”

His one eyebrow arches and he folds his arms, tipping his head towards the table quickly.

You swallow, mouth drying as you listen to his instruction. Slipping effortlessly off the couch, you crawl to the coffee table and move a few items out of the way before you drape onto the cold glass top. Glancing over your shoulder, you see his glazed stare, Aphrodite’s Essence soaking into every fibre of his being.

You knew you were in trouble when his hands reached for his belt.

Your desire was already pooling, the nice underwear set you wore an afterthought as you leaned to show your ass to him.

Will glanced to where the other guys were talking before lifting himself up and dropping to his knees. He tapped your ankles and you spread yourself wider. Grabbing the hem of your dress, he lifted it over the curve of your ass, displaying the dark patch already present on your knickers.

“You shouldn’t have worried about the underwear.”

You frown, looking further over your shoulder.

“Didn’t expect to already be this turned on, thought you would like them.”

“Any other night I would.”

You gasp as he cups a hand over your pussy, pushing against your mound and forcing the bottom half into your wet folds. Whining, you lean to his touch, back bowing. The noises you make cause his cock to harden, already straining against the fabric of his pants.

“Fuck,” he growls, hungrily yanking down your knickers.

He parts your ass cheeks to gaze upon your glistening folds, arousal weeping from your entrance. You breath shudders in anticipation as you break eye contact and face the dark television screen.

You watch as he stares longingly before shuffling back and lowering himself, his broad shoulders visible either side.

He flattens his tongue to your folds and licks up slowly. The mewl you gift him is intoxicating, how your body shakes only sweetening it. Your juices already dribble onto his chin, every moan he gives scattering through your nerves.

Unlike last time, the sensation isn’t as intense, instead it softly spreads a warmth through your body, like the tingle you get from coming in from the cold.

Will continued to eat your pussy, tongue slipping between your lips and teasing your inner walls. Then he tilted his head back and moved forward, mouth locking around your clit. It came alive, your legs threatening to lock if he hadn’t forced you to widen, hands gripping harder.

The sweat was arriving to his forehead, his head cloudy as you engulfed him.

You try to hold onto the table top, clammy palms slipping on the glass as you stretch your fingertips in front. Yet, he fights you, continuously pulling you back until you managed to break free.

“Where are you going, Bunny?”

Turning your upper half, you see his dishevelled appearance, messy blond hair and bright red cheeks.

“Nowhere,” you bat your eyelashes, tongue flicking to dampen your lips.

A smile grows on his face, “Good.”

He unbuttoned his shirt, chest heaving as he scrambled to get the fabric from his skin. Standing up, he stripped down to nothing, eyes not moving from you.

Everyone else remained in the kitchen, talking, unaware of the situation enfolding on the opposite side of the wall.

Kneeling down, Will kissed your lips and brought his weight down on you, pining you to the table top. His hardened cock pushed into the valley of your ass, nestling sweetly between your cheeks. You moan, inviting him to shove his tongue into your mouth and meet your own.

His hands trail up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he carried on up your body and over your stomach, hitching your dress higher.

Sinking his teeth into your bottom lip, he tugs gently before releasing it and nuzzling into your neck. His whiskers scratch your skin as he suckles and the essence in your system screams desperately to be covered head to toe in his marks.

You nudge your ass into him, grinding against his stiff length as your want becomes too much.

Groaning, he snakes a hand between the pair of you and takes hold of his cock. He brushes the tip over your asshole, causing you to shiver before he gathers the juices pooling at your opening.

You have little time to prepare yourself as Will ploughs through your folds and fills you to the hilt. It took the air from your lungs, your arms slipping on the smooth material beneath you. He brings his hands to your shoulders, chest firmly set on your back as he squeezes you, pressing you firmly to the base of his cock.

He waits to see your fingers grip the edge of the coffee table, knuckles almost turning white before he pulls easily through your slick and slams into you again and again. Each one of his overwhelmed senses was only able to focus on you. The final hint of your perfume as the aroma of each other’s sweat hit his nostrils, your frantic cries as you begged for more, your wrecked appearance reflected in the tv.

In the stifling heat of your bodies, you could only think of his cock.

How it glided and buried itself within your walls which pulsed as they attempted to take hold of his length, how every stroke hit the multiplying number of sweet spots in your weeping cunt. It was becoming almost unbearable, you just needed to cum.

“Will,” there was a sense of urgency in your tone.

His breath burns your neck, “I promise I’m close.”

You whine, toes curling as the desire is fit to burst in your belly.

He let go of one shoulder and brought his arm just below your neck, holding you to his chest. His other hand moves downwards, stroking your side with a featherlight touch that has your body vibrating in anticipation. Tucking it underneath, he pulls back the hood of your clit before pressing a fingertip to the bundle of nerves.

His arm locks around your neck as you begin to squirm.

Words fail you, nothing coming out of your mouth but tiny squeaks and the sound of you choking to get air into your lungs. Your eyes are shut tight, the inside of your lids decorated with pinpricks of white and pink.

He takes a few more thrusts until he can no longer force his way through your closing walls. He holds you as close as he can as you stop fighting and your hands cling onto his arm, the orgasm surging through you. Your pussy throbs until you milk him dry, his rasp hot in your ear as your bodies mould into one.

When you catch your breath, the adrenaline pumping through your veins approaches your chest and dispels into giggling.

“Shiiit…”

The laughter was contagious, Will’s chest rumbling against your back before he lifted himself from you. His cock draws out of you as he rests onto his heels and he watches you push his thick white cum from your opening, the audible churn as it dribbled out.

“Is this what happened last time?”

“Sort of,” you look over your shoulder, “except this is much more fun.”

His still stiff length twitched at your words and his cheeks went even redder.

“I’m gonna get some water, want anything?”

You pick yourself up, legs shaking and your dress falls over your frame covering the evidence, if you ignored that he was completely nude.

“I’m good,” you say, closing the space between you.

Leaning in, you kiss him, the flavour of your juices soaking into your lips. When he pulls away, he winks and retreats to the kitchen. 

Inside the others had carried on talking, Santiago on drying duties whilst Benny cleaned. Frankie clocked him first, eyes darting over Will’s post sex image and he stepped aside to allow him entry to the sink. Will grabbed whatever glass he could and knocked his brother out of the way, immediately switching on the tap.

“What the fuck?” Benny couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

Santiago leaned against the counter top and admired the view as Will chugged before going in for another.

“You ok?”

“Fucking fantastic, brother,” Will smiled at Santiago.

“See, Benny, it is working.”

Benny rolled his eyes, “My brother’s hard on is not proof that it’s working.”

Santiago didn’t know what other proof he could give, he shrugged, opening up his hands in disbelief.

“Will’s got a hard on, I’ve got a hard on and Fish—”

Abruptly, he stopped talking when he realised Frankie wasn’t even in the room any more. He ran his hand over his mouth, fingers tugging gently on his bottom lip as he thought about his next move.

“Come on,” he strode to the door.

Benny threw the sponge into the sink and followed him, Will stayed put, downing water to rehydrate himself. In the lounge, the other two were greeted by a euphoric sight.

Frankie had already made himself comfortable with his shirt unbuttoned, jeans and underwear pulled down his thighs and sat on the one armchair. You were sat on his lap, legs tucked either side of his as you sat with your ass to him, now fully naked. Slowly, you lifted yourself up and down his shaft, sweet and delicate grunts falling from your lips.

One of his broad hands was on your hip, fingers deep into the flesh as he guided you gently, the other at your neck, shaping your back into a perfectly formed arch. You tilted your head to look at him, eyelids heavy as the cock drunkenness begins to set in and his blown eyes reflect back at you.

“Looks like we have an audience,” he drawls.

Your eyes break away from his so you can catch a glimpse at who’s watching, through the fog of the essence you can tell it’s Benny and Santiago. A sharp sting comes across an ass cheek and you yelp, attention returning to Frankie.

“Feeling it?”

Benny took the question as rhetorical, of course he was feeling it now. His cock grew in a matter of seconds, the bulge visibly drawing the tension in his pants and Santiago tried not to look at it. 

Instead, he starts to unbutton his shirt, walking towards you and Frankie hungrily. He places a single finger on your knee and follows your form, a delicate touch over every curve before he takes his thumb and squeezes your nipple.

You bite your lip to stop the moan from coming, a slight stutter in the movements of your hips.

Santiago steps forward and looks down on you, beads of sweat on your hairline and flushed cheeks - god he loved you like this.

“How’s it going, Bunny?”

You gasp for air, “Good.”

His head tilts to one side, eyes flicking to Frankie.

“Just good? I’m sure Francisco and Will are better than that.”

Frankie’s fingers constricted around your neck causing your inner walls to pulse, more juices to flow down his length.

“They are,” you plead with them. “They’re so fucking good.”

Santiago could forgive you, words never came easily when you were overstimulated. Your hips had stopped moving and you sat heavily on Frankie’s length, your hand wrapping around his wrist as he loosened his hold on your neck.

He looked at his friend, “Can I join you?”

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the way their eyes met.

Frankie removed his hands from you and you straightened you back, eyes following Santiago as he repositioned himself in front of the pair of you. Your hips had begun rolling of their own accord, only widening Santiago’s smile as Frankie hissed.

He roughly snatched your hands in response, bringing them together behind your back before he placed one of his in between your shoulder blades and eased you forward. You watched, saliva building as Santiago unbuckled his belt, slipping it swiftly from the loops. There are so many ways he could use it yet it gets tossed to the side along with his shirt and pants.

He picks your chin up, “Don’t look so disappointed.”

How could you be disappointed?

Frankie takes your ass in his hand, pushing to encourage you to start riding him. You’re slow at first, trying not to go hell for leather like the essence wanted, and at this angle, you can’t see him just hear how he purrs.

Santiago holds two fingers in front your face and you part your lips, running your tongue along the underneath as he slipped them in. You rolled your tongue around them before he pulled them out, a string of spit hanging briefly between the both of you. Licking your lip, you open your mouth wide enough for his stiff length and girth.

Tipping your head, you stick out your tongue and lick the precum from his radiating tip, the sharpness hitting your tastebuds. He sighs, cupping your jaw and drags you along his cock, stepping forward to graze the back of your throat.

“That’s it.”

His hands drop to his side as he allows you to the control.

You bounce on Frankie’s lap and swallow Santiago in tandem, moaning at the sensation of being full but also the fire in your muscles from being trapped in this position. After a few minutes, Frankie meets your hips with a thrust and you gag on Santiago’s cock as it twitches.

“You alright, cariño?”

You give a muffled response.

Looking up bleary eyed, Santiago’s one eyebrow arches as he double checks on you. You flutter your eyelashes when he brushes the hair from your face and tucks the strands behind your ear. His hand hovers before he runs his fingers into your roots and takes a fistful, the prickling travelling down your neck and shooting down your spine.

He begins to bob your head for you, the tip of your nose tickled by the hairs that line the base of his cock.

Benny had to get out of his clothes.

He scrambled to remove his sweater before freeing his cock from it’s prison. Dropping to the couch with a groan, his length swung towards his navel, this must be what it’s like when someone stumbles across one of his videos.

Every sound the three of you make floods the room, the smell of sweat as the heat builds and can no longer fight the overwhelming urge to wrap his hand around his throbbing shaft. He flinch, his cock so sensitive it’s like he was stupid enough to touch fire. Pushing through it, his jaw locked as he clench his jaw and cautious spread the bead of precum over his head.

Santiago heard movement and track Benny as if he had eyes at the back of his head. He adjusted his stance to let him see you, your features enhanced even from the distance. The glistening of your spit over your lips and round your mouth as you sucked Santiago’s cock, the wave in your throat as he moves in and out, the peaks of your tits wobbling every stroke Frankie took.

The rest of the world blurred around the edges.

Frankie could feel his legs seizing, the knot in his stomach tautening, he wasn’t going to last much longer. He was dizzy from the high, different to the one used to gain from drugs, if he didn’t cum soon he was going to black out.

“We’re gonna need to hurry this up.”

Santiago gave him a singular nod.

Frankie let go of your wrists and tucked them just above your elbows before lifting himself from the armchair. Santiago kept you steady as he moved back and you almost didn’t notice you’d changed position until Frankie snapped his hips, plunging deeply into a new spot.

The vibrations of your groan sent shockwaves through Santiago.

“Fuck,” he said through gritted teeth.

He brought another hand to the back of your head, strategically placed in a way to not obstruct Benny’s view. He helped you take him smoothly as Frankie slammed into you again and again, making you see stars.

“You’re being such a good girl for us, stay with me.”

This was the first time Santiago had seen you go crossed eyed, your tongue so loose you were drooling down your chin, each choked huff sugary sweet.

Frankie could feel the essence pumping through his veins, his crotch was burning as his desire increased until he balls were full enough to explode. His final thrust forced you into Santiago’s stomach and he held you there as his seed coated your walls before your whole body trembled.

When Santiago came, he spilled his load deep into your throat until you swallowed every last drop. The orgasm carried on, your muscles spasming to the point where you pushed Frankie’s cock from your pussy. Your juices flowed after and in the pink coated darkness you could hear Santiago singing his praises, pulling his shaft from your mouth.

Your arms are still held strong by Frankie who worried you were about to collapse before the room came back into view. Santiago was crouch in front of you, rubbing your cheeks until you stopped seeing double.

“I thought it wasn’t meant to be this intense.”

He shook his head, “I dunno, honey, maybe it’s to do with the hormones.”

You were surprised he understood you, your tongue going numb.

Frankie coiled an arm around your chest and straightens you up, holding you close until you stop feeling floppy. However the goosebumps arrive on your skin as you can still feel a set of eyes drilling into you and your eyes finally drift to Benny.

He’s still sat down, his hand firmly clutched around his cock.

Frankie kisses you on your temple before he unravels you, allowing you to approach Benny, who’s hand relaxes. You pierce your lips together, your head dropping to one side as you inspect his length. Your fingertips skim the back of his hand that had settled onto the arm of the couch and his stern expression melts away.

“Need a hand?”

He shuffles forward, head falling back so he can gaze upon your beauty.

“You could use a break…”

Your heart sinks.

“So hold onto my shoulders,” he stands as he speaks, crowding you, “and I’ll do the rest.”

Curiosity paints your face as you look up at him doe-eyed. He raises his eyebrows before he moves quickly, hooking his arms under your ass and lifting you off the floor. You scream, instincts kicking in as your arms winding round his neck and legs opening to wrap around his waist. Burying your head in your arms, he feels how tense you are, muscles shaking in your effort to hold on.

He chuckles when he feels your nails dig into his back.

“Relax, I got you.”

You lift your head up, leaning back to be greeted with beaming face. Your arms loosen up, your spreading hands sending a hot flash down his spine causing his cock to twitch. He repositions his hands to hold more firmly onto the meat of your ass, lining up with your opening. As your legs relax, he slowly sinks you down, cock entering your spent pussy with ease.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, eyes peeking to watch as his shaft disappeared.

Your inner walls pulsed as he dropped you inch by inch. The base of his spine was on fire, reaching over his hips, burning in his groin and he swore he could shot his load in you there and then.

When he filled you to the hilt, he let you become accustom to the angle and waited until you focused on him. Your chest was picking up speed as your heart rate quickened and skipped, the adrenaline of pleasure entering every end of your body. The flush was returning back to your cheeks, pearls of sweat on your décolletage as he watched.

“Just remember what I told you,” he says when your eyes finally meet.

He dragged his cock as you whine from the loss before he thrust back in, gradually increasing the speed.

Frankie tuts, “Show off.”

Santiago smiled, if his knees didn’t hate him, he would have taken you like this at some point. The training Benny did as well as his physique in general, helped him without the need for wall support though it wasn’t going to last.

You couldn’t take your eyes off Benny.

His furrowed brows as his head hung low, infatuated with how you were taking him, how more juices seemed to flow with every penetration. His dirty blonde locks fell in front of his face, the centre of his chest gaining a sweaty dew, his huffs a rumble against the thunderous claps of each other’s skin.

The tip of his cock nudge at the same soft spot every time, turning your legs to jelly.

“Benny, Benny, please,” you beg.

“Almost there, Bunny.”

His hips were moving as fast as they could, his grasp sinking deeper into your ass yet he could feel you going limp. When he craned his neck, your fingers were slipping to his neck, upper body slopping away from him. Suddenly, he was seeing everything in slow motion, the ripple that travelled through your curves every time he rocked his hips, your tits bouncing. Your head was thrown back, mouth slack as you tried to gain air in your lungs.

Every part of him began to stiffen from his neck towards his chest and abdominals, from his feet to his legs. His movements got sloppy before his ass clenched and the desire he held within dispersed, surging through his veins. The last thing he could do was move a hand to your back and shove your chest to his.

He grunted animalistically, hips jerking as he pumped you full of his cum.

You shuddered as another orgasm washes comes yet there’s no sound from your lips, that underwater sensation washing over you. All you can hear is Benny’s pounding chest, the ragged breaths he releases when finishes.

There’s a wobble as he staggers backwards before collapsing on the couch. He settles, twisting your head to one side to give you fresh air, the hand on your back rubbing soothingly. Another one of the boys approaches, you can’t tell who, and you listen to Benny drink hurriedly.

You don’t know how much time passed until you could lift your head.

“Thought we’d lost you.”

In your cock drunk state, you managed to focus on him admiring you. He brings a hand to your cheek, a thumb trailing over the hot skin and you tilt your head to deepen the touch.

“You’re gonna need this.”

Will crotched down next to you two, placing a hand on your shoulder. You lift your head, sluggishly moving the rest of your body and using Benny to push yourself up with your hands.

Looking to Will, he holds out an entirely full water bottle and winks before you take it off him. He clears the hair from your face as you tip your head back, chugging as the Millers keep their eyes firmly on you. You remove the bottle from your lips and take some big inhales before you can eventually speak.

“You two ok?”

Frankie and Santiago were staring dumbfounded until you snapped them out of it. The tips of Frankie’s ears went bright red and his eyes took a sideward glance to Santiago.

“All fucking good, Bunny.”

You knew Santiago was teasing you except you couldn’t care less.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s take you to bed.”

You move your legs first, setting your feet on the floor, then you press your palms deeper into Benny’s defined abs to lift yourself. Both of you groan as you raise yourself from his cock which landed heavily to his navel.

All of the boys were still hard and the desire already ignited again.

“Everyone’s coming, right?”

Will took your hand, “Do you really need to ask?”

You walked across the room, glancing over your shoulder when you notice Benny isn’t following, his body solidified to the couch.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Getting tired, Ben?”

He hated being called Ben and out of all of them, he knew he could last longer than Santiago. Flicking his middle finger, you left him to take a break, sharing one more fleeting glance to see him smiling as you stepped out of view.

—

Waking up in the middle of the night, you found yourself in between of Benny and Santiago, the three of you in the guest room. Both were out cold, their rising chests slow as they breathed softly, tangled in the sheets.

You wiggle from under the covers and crawl over the bed without disturbing them… or so you thought.

“Where are you going, honey?”

Santiago stirs, rolling onto his back, you can both just about see each other’s faces.

“I’m going to check on Frankie and Will.”

“They’ll be fine.”

You fold your arms and huff, “I’m still mad with you, remember.”

There was a pause.

“How could I forget.”

He turned over, shuffling closer to Benny.

Opening the door, you slip out and tiptoe down the hall before gently entering Will’s bedroom. It doesn’t take much to wake him, the dip in the mattress caused him to lift his head.

“Coming in with us?”

You hum and he tosses his side of the duvet aside for you to get in. Tucking yourself to Frankie, you draw your arms in and press your forehead to his back. He mumbles something incoherently and you sigh, a quiet smile coming to your lips.

Will pulls the covers over you and himself before coming near, his warm palm spreading across your stomach as he snuggled you.

In the morning, both sides of the bed were empty. You blink, squinting as your eyes adjust to the light streaming through a single slither in the curtains. Taking your time, you gradually haul yourself out of bed and stagger around the room to find something to wear. You pull on one of Will’s t-shirts and venture down the hall.

The house was alive, the smell of pancake batter frying in butter, the sound of chatter and laughter. You thought you may just be able to slip into the kitchen with them, nick a piece of incredible crispy bacon that would be on the griddle pan whilst one of them tried to pass you a drink.

Santiago’s spider-senses were tingling.

Suddenly he appeared in the hallway, holding two mugs in his hands. You freeze before he juts his chin towards the office and you go where you’re told. He follows behind and you shut the door behind him, placing the mugs down on the dark wood desk.

“What have I got to do for you to forgive me?”

He asked as soon as the mechanism of the handle clicked.

“Morning, Santi,” you say, not turning round.

“Morning, honey,” the words rush out. “So?”

You sigh, stepping forward whilst you hugged your frame.

“You’re forgiven.”

“Since when?”

“Since you managed to get five orgasms out of me.”

He’s lucky last night actually went so well.

Santiago wanted to correct you, tell you it was actually six but this was not the time to for bragging rights.

“Then what have I got to do for you not to be mad at me?”

“I’m not mad.”

He swore under his breath, in his second language so you couldn’t understand or maybe you could, he didn’t know by this point. Your attitude told a different story, you were closing yourself off to him, that constant soft smile of yours no longer there. He bites his tongue, not wanting to lose his shit, not wanting this to become a screaming match or for him to yell at you for acting like a child.

Your eyes were starting to turn glossy with oncoming tears and he saw how hard you swallowed, your jaw locking.

“Bunny…” 

His anger subsides, his tone less harsh. He comes to you, gently wrapping an arm around your back, the other hand cupping your face.

“Talk to me.”

“I don’t want you to lie to me,” the words caught in your throat.

Santiago nodded, his deep brown eyes searching your face.

“Or plan something as stupid as last night without consulting me.”

He shakes his head, “It wasn’t stupid.”

Now, who’s acting like a child?

“Santi,” you extend the ‘i’ at the end of his name, using your hands to cover your face out of sheer frustration.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

You fight him as he tries to pry your hands away until he stops and walks away. He approaches the desk and takes a coffee, leaning his ass against the edge, folding one leg in front of the other. When you drop your hands down, all you can see is his smirk.

“So, where do you stand on surprises?”

“Surprises?”

He hums, staring over the lip of the cup as he drank.

You try to keep your composure, straightening your back and folding your arms again but Santiago can tell your fit to burst.

“Depends how stupid they are.”

“Yeah,” his eyebrow arches, “A trip to Disney is kind of stupid.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

There had been conversations about a trip. The boys all wanted different things, Will was happy to hop from state to state trying higher end motels, his brother mentioned the desert and horses. Frankie was fine if there was a body of water, preferably a lake, whilst Santiago said a cabin in the woods with a hot tub. 

You vaguely remember alluding to the fact you hadn’t been to the parks in over ten years but if you were going to do it, you wouldn’t want just the day there.

The moment you said the ‘D’ word, Santiago groaned. It wasn’t that he hated it, more that he detested the idea of being surrounded by kids, overpriced food and Benny singing ‘it’s a small world after all’ on loop.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip.

“You’re lying.”

“You didn’t want me to lie to you anymore,” he held his hands up.

He’s grateful he put his coffee down as you sprint to him and throw your arms over his shoulders, crashing your lips squarely to his.

“I love you, Santi,” you say when you pull your lips away.

He doesn’t say anything and you scowl.

“You gonna say it back?”

He smiles, “Love you, honey.”

You give him a peck on the cheek.

“Am I allowed to let the boys know that I know?”

“Sure.”

With that you were gone, door left wide open.

“Bunny, your drink!”

The rest of them stood in the kitchen, chatting about what they could remember from last night, cradling cups of coffee and tea. It was the picture of calm until you burst in, bounding onto Benny who almost lost his balance as he took the weight of you around his neck.

“Hot pan!” He flung his arm out.

“We’re going to Disney,” you screamed.

Frankie and Will groan in unison. Benny put the pan down and wrapped his arms under your ass, scooping you up to his waist before talking to you enthusiastically about the trip without giving away any details.

“Pope, seriously man?”

“I thought we were telling her closer to the date.”

He shrugged, “I had to.”

Santiago would never admit why though Will gave a knowing nod and smile before turning his attention to you. He took the handle of the frying pan and switched the gas on as you twist your head round.

“Pancakes?”

“Please,” you replied softly and started discussing what you wanted to do. “We should do the drink around the world challenge!”

“Yes!”

“No,” Frankie and Santiago said immediately.

You pout to them as Benny places you down on the counter top. It’s short lived as you watch Will pour the batter perfectly into the pan with an accompanying sizzle. Benny still talks and you stuff your face with strawberries whilst Santiago and Frankie look on.

“You’re getting soft in your old age.”

“Shut up.”

Frankie knew full well it wasn’t old age.

[toxicanonymity]

First of all: I love your fics - every one of them - but especially Raider!Joel.

I have a question or idea: how would Joel react if he saw Sweet Pea doing yoga... She could have found an old book with yoga exercises somewhere and tried it out - be it out of curiosity or boredom... I think he would be quite surprised - and would find such poses "stimulating"... Just a little fantasy on the side... ;-)

yoga drabble

1.3k, raider Joel x f!reader 

raider master list, latest: ✨hunger 👅

ty ily 🖤 i can see this happening SUMMARY: just a little PWP - a reprieve from action/violence but kind of emotional. WARNINGS: I8+ Joel POV, Unsafe P in V, he poses you, ass slapping, creampie, brief light anal play/scare (reader flinches), joel's guilt, dark fluff, praise. reader can do some version of downward facing dog and child's pose. no y/n.

You're in the living room--that room Joel never goes in with the bookshelf and busted tv.  Joel can only see your bare feet and ankles from the kitchen. You’re on the balls of your feet. He’s intrigued. He approaches and stops in the doorframe, quietly leaning against it and crossing his arms. Your hands and toes are planted on the blue, threadbare carpet, and your ass is in the air, exposing your panties under your dress.  He lets out a little “Mm,” so quiet you must not hear it.

Damn, it really does something to him, seeing you at a new angle--one he didn't even put you in. He watches the pose for as long as you hold it, getting more and more turned on.  He imagines himself on the floor, lying face up underneath you, reaching up and taking an asscheek in each hand, pulling you down on his face, licking and gnawing at you through your panties like he could eat them right off you.

You walk your hands back on the floor, creating an even steeper angle, and your dress falls down to your arms.  You grumble a rare curse, and he inhales sharply. You look toward the door. Even upside down he sees your eyes go wide when you look at him. You smile shyly as you let yourself down onto your knees, fix the dress, and turn toward him.

“Don’t stop,” Joel murmurs with his eyes fixed on you like an animal. He palms himself over his pants, fully hard. He’s gonna watch you for as long as he can stand it. 

"not really doing anything," you claim and he cocks an eyebrow at you, looking at the yoga book on the floor next to you. "just stretching,” you add. 

“Mm,” his head tilts back. “look good doin’ it,” he murmurs.  You glance around, wet your lips and look down at the carpet then back up at him. He gives a simple nod that says for the love of God, keep going. You stretch out your arms in front of you on the floor as you fold the rest of yourself into a ball. He admires your arms and the cute way you spread your fingers out when you try to reach further. 

He steps into the room, and you lift your head. “I can help you do it,” you offer. 

“Maybe later." He runs his palm over the bulge in his pants. He gets down on his knees beside you, facing your hips. He slides his hand up the back of your thigh, under your dress, and palms an ass cheek. “Mmmm,” he sighs.  His hand nudges you up off your heels a little bit and you let your weight onto your arms as you move your upper body forward. Close to doggy style but down on your forearms. He throws the dress up over your hips, out of his way, and gets behind you, straddling your ankles so he can see it all. He holds your hips and nudges your position so he can look straight at your crotch, and the pretty little hairs that poke out of the panties, and the white and floral fabric where where a tiny damp spot is forming.

“God damn,” he whispers. He scoots forward and presses the hardness in his pants against you, takes a deep breath, then backs up enough to urgently take his cock out. He spits on his hand and pumps it just a little, returning his free hand to your ass. He nudges between your legs and you spread your knees a little for him. You're such a good girl, letting him pose you how he wants.

He strokes you through the fabric and you moan softly and tilt your hips. 

He slips a finger into the crotch of your panties and growls at how wet you are. His cock bobs heavily as he uses both hands to take down your panties. He runs his middle finger through your folds then slips the thick digit inside, and you whimper. He watches your glistening hole as he swirls his thick finger inside it, gathering moisture. He wants his cock inside you more than anything right now, but he can't resist your smell. He craves it. He closes his eyes and allows himself a little lick that makes his cock twitch. He'll get more later, he tells himself. He can go down on you anywhere, but he rarely gets to see you like this. It's so sexy that you put yourself on the floor with no intention to seduce him, and here he is, bending you st his will. And there you are, on your arms and knees with this hard cock behind you.

He gathers more with his finger, wipes it on his cock, mixing it with his precum before notching it at your entrance.

He pushes into you, just slow enough to watch your pretty little cunt swallow his length. You gasp and his cock twitches as he bottoms out.  All the way inside you, he has one hand on your hip.  With the other, he experimentally smacks your ass and you moan. He does it again a little harder and your walls squeeze him. “Yeahhh,” he sighs as he begins to withdraw his length. He holds onto your hips with both hands and pulls you back hard as he pushes into you, then abruptly starts railing you, jackhammer speed. 

“Ohhh,” your moan is broken by his quick rhythm.

He fucks you like that for a minute, grunting and sighing. “look so goddamn good like this,” he pants, glancing at the yoga book beside you. “Feel so damn good.” He smacks your ass again as he pistons in and out of you. He watches the ripple of the jiggle when he smacks it again.

“Ohhh, baby,” he groans. You whimper and twitch around him like you’re close. He slows down and watches the way your body grips his cock, trying to pull him back in.

“Joel,” you whine. “don’t stop.” 

“oh sweet pea,” he sighs and watches you suck him in again. “how bad ya want it?”

"Bad," you whimper. "Please." He slaps your ass again, then speeds up. You whimper and moan, "yeah, like that--ohhh." You clench around him. He pulls you back on him so your ass is flush against his hips while you cum.

“Good girl," he sighs. He retreats half way then groans as he fully sheaths himself in your pulsing cunt again. His balls tighten and he feels a twinge.  He leans forward to reach under you and feel your breast, his other hand braced on your ass.

As soon as you clench on him again, he erupts with a shudder, returning both hands to your hips, holding you tightly against him as he finishes his release, and you finish yours. He curves his body over yours and his beard scratches your bare shoulder. "Good girl," he mumbles again into your shoulder and you meet his eyes with a little smile. He withdraws his cock and some cum dribbles down. He pushes it back in with his fingers.

His finger trails up to your asshole and you flinch. Shame rises to his face remembering the day you escaped. "I know, sweet pea," he coos, gently prodding but not entering your hole. "Ain't gonna. . ." Ain't gonna stuff all your holes like it's a goddamn emergency, like it's gonna fix everything. "pretty hole, though" he mumbles as he abandons it. He pulls up your panties for you, trying not to think about that day, reassuring himself it's not gonna happen again--any of it.

"You're a real good girl," he says quietly, mostly to himself.

He lets your dress back down. He tucks his cock away, and lies on his side facing you, elbow on the floor, head resting on his hand, silently admiring you.

He wonders how you feel. He wonders if you need anything, but he doesn't ask. "K," he whispers. He pushes himself up so he's sitting. You push yourself up into another pose on all fours and he gives a low whistle, then stands up with a groan to leave you alone.

----

Thank you so much for reading 🖤🖤🖤

[artaxlivs]

“Ok, when I say go - squeeze as hard as you can.”

Eddie was going to lose it. There was absolutely zero chance he was going to be able to sit through this display without having a display of his own. He squirmed where he was sitting in the grass, bringing his knees up in a way he hoped was real fucking casual.

“Smooth,” Robin whispered from her spot in the shade next to him. She was leaned back on her hands, giraffe legs sprawled out in front of her so she could poke Henderson with her toes. He kept swatting back at her and ignoring the fact that he was missing entirely. Too focused on the stopwatch and notebook in his hand. What a nerd.

Max got up from where she’d been sitting on the other side of Robin and joined Lucas in his patio chair. Poor Lucas looked like he was on cloud nine which must mean they were currently off on the on-again-off-again cycle of their relationship. Settling in, Max turned to grin at Eddie, sharp and evil. It was clear she’d only moved there to see how this was affecting him. She was a horrible child. His least favorite. 

Except that she wasn’t.

Sticking his tongue out at her, Eddie looked back to the scene in front of him.

The ground around them was littered with crushed fruits. Steve’s thighs were shiny with orange juice. His tiny little shorts had ridden up so high that it had passed indecent before he’d even finished with the citrus fruit. Eddie gulped as his eyes traced over the clear bulge in Steve’s little green shorts. He refused to lift his eyes to Steve’s bare chest with his smattering of moles and coarse hair.

And there was not a chance in hell that Eddie was going to make eye contact with that smirk of Steve’s. He knew what the fuck he’d started. With the kids around and everything! Granted, all Steve had done was crush an empty soda can between his thighs and then the challenge had been on. Lucas had sworn he could do it, too. And he did. But he couldn’t manage to do the lemon. Steve had though. And the orange. and whatever the fuck a papaya was. And on through all the fruit in Steve’s kitchen - did he stock up for this? Who kept that much fruit on hand?

Now, he had a whole ass melon between those thick thighs of his. And Steve had been working out all summer. Running, yes, but it was the squats that drove Eddie to madness. The sunkissed skin wrapped around thick muscles, covered in downy hair, begging, screaming for Eddie to touch them. To run his fingers up them and squeeze, to bury his face between them and finally clear his head with the musky scent of Steve Harrington.

Fuck. Eddie should have escaped into the house. He was never gonna be able to keep his cool. Steve sat back, adjusting around so everyone could see the length of his legs as he crossed his ankles, shifting the melon a little as he got into position.

Eddie whimpered.

“Oh, who cares?” Mike scoffed, “So your big dumb jock legs can make us a fruit salad. Big deal.” He elbowed Will who was staring very intently at Steve. Eddie grinned, covering his mouth and flicking his eyes at Robin who’s eyes were wide and who’s mouth was an O of shock. “We aren’t impressed. Right, Will?”

“Shhh, Mike.” Will waved a hand but didn’t shift his focus away from Steve, “Later.”

Mike sputtered, looking from Will’s intent gaze down to Steve’s thighs. Eddie saw it the moment Mike realized what was going on. He looked shocked. Then angry. Then jealous. And last, scared. There it was. Finally. Jesus.

If Eddie had to suffer through this, at least some good would come of it. Mike would finally realize that he needed to get his head out of his ass. It was about--

“Go!” Dustin yelled, clicking the tab on the top of the watch.

Steve grunted, squeezing his thighs together. His fingers flexed against the ground behind him and his ass came up off the patio a few inches as he sort of ...oh dear god...arched up into it. He clenched his thighs, his hips, his gorgeous fucking ass, Eddie held his breath, clenched his own thighs to not arch up in response, biting his lips to keep from panting and moaning and then--

CRACK! The melon split clear up the middle, splooging juice right up the seam of Steve’s clenched thighs. It dripped out under him and Eddie could taste cooper he was biting down so hard on his bottom lip.

Dustin had already released the timer, cheering with everyone. Eddie resolutely did not look up, keeping his eyes trained on the slowly growing puddle under Steve instead. It was so hot. It was fucking obscene. 

“Alright, what’s next?” Dustin said with a sunny smile, looking up from where he’d noted the time in his spiral notebook.

“Me.” Eddie heard himself say and launched himself at his boyfriend. Steve muttered something about it being about time right before Eddie smashed their mouths together.

“Um...should I...start the timer?” he heard Dustin ask. 

There were a bunch of squelching thuds as people must have thrown crushed fruit at him.

[f10werfae]

Smokin’ Hot Husband

pairing: Dad!Husband!Ransom Drysdale x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

summary: Y/n catches her eldest son smoking, and with her being very emotional, it’s up to Ransom to save the day (Protective Ransom‼️) (requested by anon)

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated♥️

Chris Masterlist, Full Masterlist, Taglist Form

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“How ya feelin today treasure?” Ransom cooed hugging onto his wife from behind, watching as she skilfully gathered all her ingredients for her famous stir fry, one that she was desperately craving. His large hands travelled down to her 6 month bump, his hands smoothing over it gently as she leant back into his chest.

“I’m feeling fine babe, jus a bit hungry but that’s all baby boo’s fault” Y/n laughed, using their newfound nickname for their next baby, their third one and hopefully a girl. Their eldest was Mark who was 15, then there was Reign who was 8, brothers who definitely got their father’s wit and sly personality whilst also having the loving nature of their mother. The perfect combo to Y/n and Ransom Drysdale

“Where are the other two little shits?” Ransom joked kissing her neck softly, swaying both of their bodies side to side as she finished up her cooking, a proud wide smile on her face. “Ransom! If you must know Reign is upstairs writing for his new fantasy book, and Mark I think is out the backyard? Here i’ll get Mark while you get Reign okay?” Y/n beamed turning around and kissing Ransom fully on the lips, a loud smack echoing through the kitchen, her pregnancy glow making her absolutely radiant in Ransom’s eyes. God how lucky was he?

“Yes ma’am” He smirked watching her walk away, not without his hand slapping harshly onto her ass, even after all these years he still found her irresistible. After getting married quite young, even when he was cut from his grandfather’s inheritance, he built a name for himself with Y/n by his side. His rock.

Ransom walked back down the stairs with assurance that Reign would be down in ten minutes, his brows furrowing when he suddenly saw his wife rush in through the backdoor, her face flushed with tears streaming down them uncontrollably. “Baby? Treasure what’s wrong? Tell me now” Ransom rushed out skipping the last few steps, storming to his wife’s side, she was absolutely inconsolable. Partly due to the hormones but clearly something bad had happened,

“I-it’s Mark, Ran” She hiccuped the palm of her hand on her forehead, the other holding onto her waist to ease the back pain. “What’s happened with Mark? Breathe with me baby, follow me” Within seconds Y/n had started to follow the pattern of her husband’s breaths, letting her calm down just that tiny bit more.

“Ran, he’s smoking! Actual cigarettes too, doesn’t he know how dangerous they are? Did I do something wrong? That’s my baby boy” Y/n cried out, her chin wobbling as sobs threatened every time she spoke. Remembering how just seconds prior, she walked out to see her first born puffing away on a cigarette, one thing she had always asked them not to do.

“shh treasure, you go upstairs and i’ll call you down for dinner, i’ll talk to Mark” Ransom said through gritted teeth, if there was one thing he hated, it was seeing his woman cry. The fact that it was his own son? Oh that just made it so much worse.

After making sure she got upstairs alright, Ransom stormed out to the back porch, seeing his 15 year old sat on the swinging chair looking guilty and glum; clearly anticipating his father’s arrival. Now Ransom wasn’t a scary parent, but he was protective and strict, step out of line and he’d be sure to put you back.

“C’mere Markie, now please” Ransom grumbled rubbing his creased forehead with his fingers, watching his son slowly shuffle towards him with his head down. “Where the fahk did you get these son? You know what these can do to you right? I can’t believe you’d do this, you’re barely 16!” He said raising his voice by a little, but not shouting, that’s not how he did things.

“T-they’re my friends Dad, I just thought it’d look cool-“

“Cool if what? You end up sick cause of your lungs and your poor mother and I have to come save you? I thought we told you the consequences of smoking, you know what it done to your mother’s family. I’m so disappointed, you’ve upset your ma and you know she gets emotional now that she’s nearly in her last term”

“I know, i’m sorry, didn’t mean to upset Ma. I just wanted to fit in a bit more”

“Not good enough son, not good enough at all. What are you sorry for?” Ransom asked bending down to his height, his lips held tightly into a line. “I’m sorry for disrespecting both you and Ma, and for putting myself in danger”

“and?”

“I promise not to do it again” Mark said holding his hands behind his back, his father’s old cream sweater hugging his body like a blanket. “Like hell you won’t, now go on and apologise to your mother” Ransom grunted pulling the red faced boy into his arms, kissing him gently on the head before pushing him inside. Not without throwing the cigarettes into their outside campfire.

Slowly following behind Mark, Ransom smiled as he saw Y/n pull their first born into her arms, kissing his face repeatedly as she continuously told him off softly “Don’t scare me like that again, ya hear me?” “Please don’t ruin your body like that baby, took me 9 whole months to make it”

“I’m sorry ma, I really am, please forgive me” Mark said now tearing up, fiddling with the bottom of his mom’s sweater, feeling her fingers wipe away his tears. “You’re my baby, I could never be that angry at you, you just scared me honey” Y/n whispered kissing him on the forehead one last time, then whispering that he and his brother could both go down for dinner first.

Ruffling his brown hair as he walked past, Ransom walked into their shared bedroom, his wife’s arms instantly reaching up for him cutely. “You handled that so well hubs, definitely better than I did” She laughed with tears in her eyes, standing up to fully hug him, his chin resting atop her head as his arms engulfed her tightly. Her strong coconut scent filling his nostrils as she lifted her head to look up at him, placing a kiss onto his chin affectionately.

“Well, we raised them well, s’jus our job to make sure they learn from their mistakes. I’m just glad they got your emotional vulnerability, and I hope our little butterfly does too” Ransom spoke softly, his fingers brushing against her growing stomach, feeling the tiny butterfly-like flutters hitting against his hand. His hopefully, baby girl, kicking against his hand.

“Oh she’ll be just like her daddy, I can feel it” Y/n smirked kissing his lips gently, her lips basically ghosting over his to tease him, giggling when she felt his hand push her into the kiss. Their kiss only being interrupted when they heard their two boys call for them downstairs, their little Drysdale troublemakers.

———

Taglist Tags (Form is up there^^): @pandaxnienke @patzammit @thereisa8ella @mrspeacem1nusone @evanstanwhore @itsaylayay1213 @kimhtoo17 @chrisevansdaughter @vrittivsanghavi @dumb-fawkin-bitch @tojisbabymomma @bxdbxtxh15 @madebylilly @tinyelfperson @fdl305 @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @royalwriteroftheuniverse @chrisevansangel @mysticfalls01 @mdpplgtz03 @mirikusashes @marvelgurl @cevansgurl @xoxokiaraaxoxo @caps-shield1918 @uwiuwi @stormcloudss @adoreyouusugar @imboredat2am @meetmeatyourworst @roofwitty779 @feltonswifesworld87 @ravenhood2792 @mansaaay @girl-of-multi-fandoms @misshale21 @hallecarey1 @alexxavicry @bookfrog242 @alina02 @nikkitc0703 @mischiefsemimanaged @oliviah-25 @s-void @bval-1 @aerangi @bluebellsn @lastwandastan @angelmather1 @diyabhanushali1 @stuckysgirl27 @wintasssoldier @daddymack01 @hatsparkle @spencerreidat4am @keiva1000 @acornacre @minaxcarter @thebaileybugle

[ash5monster01]

Learning to Love Part 9

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x FemReader!PlusSize

Warnings: 18+, langauge, angst, fluff, mentions of bullying, body image issues, fat shaming, fake relationship, eventual smut, minor enemies to lovers trope.

Summary: It's not uncommon for you to be shamed for your size, it is however uncommon to be told that no one would ever date you because of it. Rafe on the other hand is used to being called a jerk, that is until he is accused of seeing people for only what's on the surface. It's purely coicidental you two meet right after these accusations are thrown your way. So even though you two don't know each other, and probably never would've looked the others way before this, now you're both going to prove a point. It's simple really, prove others wrong and don't fall in love. Easier said than done.

word count: 2.3k

Part 8 ←→ Part 10

Masterlist

You’re not entirely sure where you are when consciousness reaches you. All you know is your head is pounding, there’s a hand around your waist, and your phone is louder than it has ever been. Blindly reaching for it you find the object vibrating against the night stand before grabbing it and pulling it to your ear.

“Hello?” you groan out, your voice sounding too loud even.

“Where are you? The bar is opening in twenty minutes and Randy has the day off. It’s a Sunday, I cannot work this shift without you” Mila’s words sober you up in an instant and you shoot up in the bed, the hand on your waist falling off.

“Shit, okay I’m on my way” you tell her before hanging up. That’s when you realize you’re naked. Bare as the day you were born and it has your head swiveling to spot the just as naked man beside you.

“Fuck” you whisper out and quickly rush to grab your things. Rafe doesn’t even flinch which proves he was just as drunk as you. Only bits and pieces of the night was still there but if you had to guess, you had sex with Rafe.

You stumble into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door before turning the shower on. You look like hangover and smell like sex, and were definitely going to be late for work. So you shower in record time, using majority of the tiny shampoo and conditioner the hotel provided. You accept your hair will be a mess when the comb provided barely pulls through your wet hair. It’s then you realize you have to pull your dress on from last night and embark on the walk of shame once again.

“Rafe, I have to go” you poke the boy after you’re dressed. He’s laid in bed but he doesn’t even react to your touch. Shoving him a few more times you plead. “I’m going to be late for work”

A low groan came from his mouth before rolling over and revealing his bare ass to you. You gasp out and turn away, accepting he wasn’t going to be moving anytime soon. So you grab your purse and order the uber you remember wanting last night. Once in the lobby you see your ride already waiting and rush to it before people can recognize you’re wearing what you had on the night before.

Sighing it’s not long until you pull up to the bar that is just about to open for lunch hours. Before any customers can arrive you rush in to find Mila working feverishly behind the bar to set up today’s workload. She barely realizes you’re there until you step behind the bar and go to enter the kitchen and find your office.

“Maybe we should start packing overnight bags for work parties” she teases and you rolls your eyes, in search of coffee and food.

“What’s the fun in that?” you tell her before slipping into the kitchen and ignoring the looks your employees gave you. Once locked in your office you find the spare set of work clothes packed away and quickly change. When you swing your door back open, Eddie the head chef is standing in front of it with coffee and a bagel.

“You might need this” he says and you take it with a smile, thanking him, even though you are now morbidly embarrassed for doing the walk of shame in front of people you had to lead.

“Gonna tell me about last night?” Mila asks once you’re back behind the bar, a quarter of the bagel already stuffed in your mouth.

“If I can remember it, sure” and she gasps at you and that’s when you’re hit with the memory of the elevator ride. Rafe’s hands on your hips and how he had squeezed your ass. Mila watches as realization crosses your face. “Oh God”

“Okay, now you have to tell me” she says and more floods back, him pulling you into the room. How he had undressed you and how good his hands and mouth had felt all over you. How you had pulled his pants down so eagerly. How he had his head inbetween your legs.

“Damnit, we had sex” and Mila doesn’t understand your disappointment before letting out a squeal and jumping up and down like a school girl.

“This is so great!” she squeaks, coming to squeeze your arms but then she catches the forlorn look painted on your face.

“Mila I barely remember it and on top of that what if he didn’t like it and I was too drunk to notice” you pout and she rolls her eyes before crossing her arms.

“Of course he liked it, I mean what did he say this morning” and you give her a sheepish look that has her gasping out loud.

“You snuck out on him!” she gives your arm a quick whack and you yelp before holding where she hit you.

“It wasn’t like that, you called freaking out and I couldn’t get him to wake up. I was already running late so I just called an uber and sent him a text explaining why” Mila was burying her face in her hands and groaning at her silly best friend. She didn’t care if she was late if it meant her best friend was finally comfortable enough to be with another man.

“That don’t matter, you snuck out after he slept with you. Now he thinks you regret it” Mila tells you and the realization dawns on you. You did sneak out like he was just some one night stand which is so not true.

“Fuck” you groan before leaning on the counter and dropping your head into your arms. You had been in love with Rafe this entire time and you always thought he’d be the one to screw it up. Not you.

“Listen, don’t lose all hope. I’ll see if Randy can come in and you just go and see him” Mila says as she pulls out her phone to already text Randy and beg him to come in on his day off. He would more than likely say yes, Mila had that kind of effect on people.

“I don’t know what to say to him. Hey glad we slept together, don’t take me sneaking out as I didn’t like it” you wished more than anything that you could tell her the truth right now. That it was never real, the relationship was fake and you were the one stupid enough to catch feelings and sleep with the guy. Any chance of keeping him for real was now long gone.

“No, just say you didn’t want to leave but had an emergency here. Once everything was covered you made sure to come back and see him” she says setting a reassuring hand on your back and you sigh.

“I don’t know why I just don’t think sometimes” you groan and she presses her lips together as she gives you a quick hug.

“It’s new to you, trusting someone like that. Just explain that to him” she says and you can only smile at your dearest friend, the one who has always been there for you. Loved you no matter your size.

“Thanks Mila” you tell her and she grins, squeezing you closer, and for once you realize that even if Rafe does break your heart at least you have the best friend in the world to help pick up the pieces.

It takes Randy only an hour to get to your shift and by then you’re in full panic mode. Rafe still hadn’t texted you back and to you that was a sign that he was mad. Whether it was about you sneaking out or the fact he slept with you, you weren’t sure. It was scary either way. Which is why you rush into his condo entrance in a rush.

“Miss Y/N, so glad to see you” the doorman Robert says to you. Rafe had made sure he knew who you were so you’d have no issues getting to his floor.

“Yeah you too Robert, hey do you know if Rafe is home?” you ask, a bit panicked, and knowing your eyes darting around the lobby made it look like something bad happened.

“I’m sorry hun but I haven’t seen him, figured he had a rough night at that party. That’s how it usually goes” he says and you somehow manage to crack a smile.

“That’s true, thanks Robert” you tell him and he nods as you rush back out of the condo complex and back to Mila’s car that she let you borrow. You know Rafe wasn’t still at the hotel, that wasn’t his style. So you set off in the direction of his work, knowing only he would find time to finish work on a Sunday.

Getting into Rafe’s building is much more difficult than the condo. Yet thankfully the woman at the front desk recognizes you and you assume only for being shocked to see you with Rafe in the first place. By the time you’re in the elevator you’re freaking out, unsure of what to say to him as you reach his now empty work floor. Heading towards his office you see his office has the door cracked open. Yet before you push it fully open, a familiar voice stops you.

“Can’t believe you’re still with that girl” you freeze against the door, heart thumping wildly. You lean forward to see those perfect long legs crossed and revealing too much thigh in the tight pencil skirt. If the voice wasn’t a dead giveaway, the blond hair sure as hell was. AJ.

“Come on AJ, she’s a sweet girl. You gotta know that by now” Rafe’s familiar voice envelopes you and your heart instantly slows. It’s in this moment you realize it wasn’t the alcohol that convinced you to trust him last night. You already did. He knew you, and you weren’t afraid anymore to let him see that.

“Well of course I do Rafe, that doesn’t change the fact she’s a big girl” yes you had judged AJ for her looks, because she was perfect. Yet with how nice she had been to you, you didn’t expect this.

“Well obviously AJ, she is a big girl but she’s got a big heart to match. It’s not always about the looks” Rafe’s defense has you calming down but it doesn’t change the fact you’re hearing a conversation you didn’t want to be apart of. Hearing how he didn’t find you attractive.

“But isn’t it? I mean you of all people would never date a big girl, hell based on the way you throw me around the bedroom I’m surprised you’re even still with her” and there’s the kicker, the pierce in your heart. Rafe was still sleeping with AJ. This whole time. Sneaking around with the perfect skinny blonde girl just to be able to deal spending time with you.

“Listen, I have never been attracted to big girls-” but you don’t want to hear anymore. You don’t want to hear about all the ways AJ was so much better than you and you had let Rafe sleep with you when all along he was sleeping with her. So as the silent tears stream down your face you rush away before you hear any of the vile things Rafe has to say. Thing was, you didn’t hear the best part.

“But I don’t know why! I mean AJ, she’s so beautiful. All of the time, and her laugh, it makes my heart flutter everytime. If I could make her laugh forever I would. I spent so long thinking there was this ideal standard of a girl to be with and up until now I realize that isn’t true. It’s not about looks. No one is truly beautiful until you love them for all the pieces that make them who they are. I don’t think I’ve ever been in love until now” Rafe is grinning by the time he’s done talking and AJ chuckles.

“Well would you look at that, Rafe’s gone all soft” and Rafe is rolling his eyes at one of his oldest friends. Someone he never truly loved like that either.

“I guess that’s just what happens when you meet the right one” Rafe tells her and AJ shrugs before sitting up.

“Well softie, don’t work too hard. It’s Sunday and I know that’s the tux you wore to the party last night. I’ll see you in the morning” AJ says as she uncrosses her legs and pushes the chair back. Rafe watches as she leaves the office and smiles with his mind still on you.

That’s when his phone finally buzzes to life on his desk, the charger connected to his computer finally providing power to text you back after this morning. He was a little hurt you weren’t there, but it was you. He knew you had good reason. Which is true when he is met with the text you had sent him this morning. Before he can respond though, another one comes through.

“What the fuck”

Taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @fishingirl12 @houseofperfecttaste @abbybarnesstuff @carma-fanficaddict @jjmaybankisbae @exhaustedbutelated @diagnosedpsychosis @daivny @drewstarkeygf @vinniehackersbaee @emsgoodthinkin @apollo3475 @https-urwife @willowalexissss @kisstaya @hcneyedsstuff @lexiereblogs @drewsuncrustables @mveggieburger @marvel4life3000 @bibliophilewednesday @humungouspatrolwolf @ijustwanttoreadlols @jaijustreads @sleepjam @dilvcv @aaronhotchswife @sunshine1218 @lavenderhazeq @theultimatefrenchfangirl @kravitzwhore @chalahyung01 @jenniferpendragon @kitty-marie725 @dlwritings

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[lipglossanon]

Making Candy Apples

dogman!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader - NSFW

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, hybrid au, fingering, praise kink, teasing, condescension, degradation, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, knotting

not proofread ✌️

“Keep your hands away from the caramel!” You huff exasperatedly, pulling Leon’s hand away from the bowl. 

His soft ears twitch as he quickly sucks the sweet candy off his fingers, “It’s meant to be eaten, little owner.”

“But on the apples,” you point to the red and green fruit sitting in a bowl, “please, Leon.”

His eyes watch as you chop up the nuts for the topping. Once you’re done and dump them in a separate bowl, he’s on you, nuzzling into your neck with a low rumbling growl. 

“I’ll behave,” he whispers, teeth dragging against your neck making you whine, “just need something to keep my mouth busy.”

“Leon,” you gasp, “but I need to— oh.”

His rough fingers have slipped past the band of your sweats and panties to stroke and rub against your bare slit. Pinning you against the counter, he grazes the pads of his fingers across the hood of your clit before parting your cunt lips to tease your hole. 

“Already wet, little owner?” He growls in your ear, “little pussy needs some kisses doesn’t she?”

Before he can drop to his knees you grab his thick biceps, “W-wait. Can we, um, do that thing we talked about?”

He smirks and you feel dizzy with how that makes the blood rush to your head. 

“You mean that little fantasy of me mounting you over the counter,” he crowds you, tail wagging as his fingers still tease your clit making you drip, “the one where I just take you without much prep so you can really feel me stretch out that sweet pussy?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you chant, hips bucking into his hand. 

He slowly pulls his hand away and licks up the slick already coating his fingers. 

“Turn around,” he snaps, yanking your clothes off once you do. 

You can hear more clothing being shuffled as he undresses as well before feeling the hard long heat of his cock as he fucks into your thighs. 

“Ready little slut?” He laughs, pressing the tip into your hole. 

You whimper and claw at the countertop, “S’too big.”

“Aww thought that’s how you liked it?” He rocks the first few inches into your clenching heat, “god feel that tiny pussy stretch.”

You moan loudly, body squirming as Leon bullies his massive cock into your cunt, stretching you to the point tears slip from your eyes. Once he bottoms out you both moan, your walls fluttering and gripping his thick length. 

“Want it,” you drool against the countertop, “please, Leon.”

He slaps your ass hard making you squeal and clamp down on his dick. 

“Behave little owner, you’ll get what I give you,” he chuckles, “have you forgot who’s the master here?”

Your clit throbs as you whimper, “N-no, Leon.”

“That’s right,” he coos down at you, pulling out to snap his hips forward, burying himself back into your wet hole. 

“Need to get you a leash and collar,” he laughs meanly, slowly rutting his cock in and out of your cunt, “take you for a walk and show off my pretty pet.”

You mewl and buck back against him making him slap your ass again. He grips the fat of your hips and begins hammering into your pussy, fat tip grinding against the spongy spot in your cunt that has you moaning and shaking. 

“Gonna fuck you like you deserve,” he chuffs, leaning forward to mouth and bite against your neck, “fuck you like you need a knot in that pretty little pussy.”

“Yes, please,” you choke out, mewling as he reaches around to spank your cunt. 

“Good girl,” his praise makes your head fuzzy and more slick leak around his cock, “such good manners. Don’t worry, ‘m gonna knot you, give you my pups.”

Your body thrashes under him, ass bouncing back to make sure his dick grinds against your g-spot before kissing your cervix. He snarls and fucks harder into your pussy, the sounds of skin slapping together ringing out in your kitchen. 

He’s thrusting so hard you can feel his balls smack against your cunt as he slaps your clit making you whine high in your throat. His knot presses against your hole with each thrust making your eyes cross from the absolute want of having it inside you. 

“Inside please, Leon, fill me up, need your knot so bad, want it, wanna be stuffed full,” you babble at him, eyes fluttering as your orgasm coils tight in your belly. 

“This little pussy always needs my knot,” he growls, teeth snapping next to your ear, “hope this tight hole can take it.”

He stops pulling out as far and instead only ruts his cock in quick little thrusts until his knot starts to press inside your pussy. Back arching, you moan nonstop as he slowly thrusts his knot inside your messy cunt. With a low howl, he slams the rest into your clenching hole, making you scream from the stretch, orgasm tearing through your body. 

“That’s it squeeze me,” he nips your neck, “good girl, so good for me. Gonna give you my pups, little owner.”

You shiver, pussy fluttering and milking his cock and knot as he dumps a huge load into your cunt, locked tight together until he softens. 

He rocks forward, fingers teasing across your pudgy clit, “Cum for me again.”

“Leon!” You keen, legs trembling. 

He doesn’t let up, playing your swollen clit until you’re clamping down around him again, a softer climax taking over your body making your toes curl in their socks. 

“Mmm, love that,” he chuffs, licking your neck and jaw, “once it goes down, I’ll run us a bath. Then we can finish up your candy apples.”

You giggle and sigh as he pets across your hips and sides, “Sounds good.”

divider: @firefly-graphics

[sellasstories]

MOVIE NIGHT

word count: 1.25k

pairing: caitlin clark x reader

⚠️warnings⚠️

explicit smut, explicit language

prompts:

wearing one of caitlin’s jerseys for fun and when she walks in and notices, you say something like “oh, do you want it back?” to which caitlin replies “no, it looks way better on you” while smirking

caitlin’s thumb brushing under your shorts while you’re watching a movie together

caitlin playing with your clit from the back while cuddling

You paced around Caitlin’s dorm in your underwear, not sure what to put on. You were planning on having a movie night, so you had decided to just shower at her place, but you’d apparently forgotten to bring a comfy shirt to change into. Suddenly, you remembered Caitlin mentioning that she was doing laundry that day, and it gave you an idea.

You went into Caitlin’s bedroom, and sure enough, there was a pile of clean clothes on her bed. You saw the corner of her black jersey and knew instantly what you wanted to wear. You quickly put it on along with shorts that were admittedly too short to wear out (you were wearing them for your girlfriend). You walked out into the kitchen to see Caitlin unpacking groceries with her back to you.

“Hey babe, did you find everything we needed?” you asked her.

“Yep! I’ve got popcorn, chocolate, gummies…” Caitlin trailed off as she turned around and saw what you were wearing. She raised an eyebrow.

“Do you need it for a game or something? I can take it off if you want,” you offered, unsure if she was upset.

“No, keep it on. It looks way better on you anyway,” she smirked, her eyes now glued to your nearly bare thighs.

“I know it does,” you replied sweetly. Caitlin responded by slapping your ass as you turned away to go set up the movie.

You’d just finished putting away Caitlin’s clothes when she came in with all the snacks. “How did you manage not to have a movie ready by now?” she taunted.

You stuck your tongue out at her. “Maybe I would have if someone didn’t need me to put their clothes away like a 5-year-old!”

Caitlin put the snacks down on the bed and raised her hands in surrender. “Fair enough, actually,” she chuckled, pulling you in for a kiss.

“Caitlin! The movie hasn’t even started yet! Why is your hand already on my ass?” you fake pouted.

Caitlin put her hands on your shoulders and stepped back to look at you. “I just really like this outfit,” she said innocently. “My jersey looks really good on you.”

“Whatever, let’s just watch the movie,” you mumbled, turning away to hide how much you were blushing.

You and Caitlin settled into bed. You started out sitting side by side, but once the snacks ran out, you laid down. Caitlin wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close, pressing your bodies together. It wasn’t long before her hand snaked under your shirt to rest on your stomach.

This simple action had you on edge, making you hyper aware of every tiny shift of Caitlin’s body against yours. Because of this, you almost lost your mind when Caitlin started to trace slow circles on your stomach, her fingers brushing the top of your shorts. You bit your lip, not wanting to her see how much it affected you.

Despite your best efforts, you were unable to mask your sharp intake of breath when Caitlin’s thumb dipped below the waistband of your shorts. The circles stopped after that, but her hand kept moving down, her fingers so close to where you needed them.

“Can I do something?” Caitlin asked, her voice muffled by the pillow her face was pressed into.

“Of course,” you said hopefully. “What is it?”

“Take your shorts off. And your underwear,” Caitlin said matter-of-factly. You hurried to comply, unable to keep the excited smile off your face. You laid back down and the circles on your stomach started again.

The touches got lighter and lighter until your whole body was shivering with every whisper of her fingers against your skin. You pushed your ass against her in frustration. “Caitlin, touch me, please,” you whined.

“But I am touching you,” she replied, obvious sarcasm in her voice.

“Fine, I’ll do it myself.” You went to move your hand between your legs, but Caitlin stopped you with a hand around your wrist.

“Don’t even think about it,” she whispered into your ear, placing your hand back on the bed. Finally, Caitlin brushed her fingers over your clit. She started to lazily move them around, making you moan softly.

“Is this what you wanted?” she asked, kissing your neck at the same time. You moaned again in response, feeling your body relax as you got wetter.

Your eyes fluttered closed and you started to roll your hips, looking for more friction. Caitlin held your hip with her other hand to keep you still. “Calm down, let me take care of you,” she soothed.

“Need… more,” you gasped as she started to press harder.

“Whatever you want, babe,” Caitlin said, sounding much more awake all of a sudden. She grabbed your thigh and pulled it over her legs, spreading your legs and rolling you a bit onto your back in the process. Caitlin slipped her hand between your legs again, starting to tease your entrance.

At the first drag of her finger inside you, you bit your lip almost hard enough to draw blood. You watched Caitlin’s hand for a moment, then looked up when you felt her eyes on you.

Caitlin held you in her piercing gaze as she leaned forward to claim your lips. The kiss was slow and matched the unhurried pace of her fingers (she’d added another) inside you. Her thumb started to play with your clit again, and you struggled against the hand on your hip.

You moaned into Caitlin’s mouth, and the kiss became more heated. She pulled at your bottom lip with her teeth how she knew you liked it.

All the stimulation was driving you wild, and your hips were still held in place. You closed your eyes and focused on how good her hand felt as your orgasm built.

“Are you close? Wanna cum on my fingers?” Caitlin asked, meeting your teary eyes when you finally opened them again. You nodded frantically at her, unable to speak.

Caitlin bit her lip in concentration as she scissored her fingers inside you. “Let go, babe, it’s okay,” she said huskily. Her voice pushed you over the edge.

Your back arched as your orgasm hit and Caitlin finally let go of your hip. You felt your pussy clench around her fingers and that sent more waves of pleasure through your body. You felt like your brain was short-circuiting and all you could think was Caitlin. You forced your eyes open to see a tired yet self-satisfied smile on her face.

Caitlin didn’t stop moving her fingers until after your hips stalled and you sunk back onto the bed. Still looking at you, she slid her fingers out of your pussy and sucked the juices off. You rolled over to face her and pulled her into a kiss with both of your hands on her face.

“Thank you, that was amazing,” you panted, pressing your forehead to hers.

“I know it was,” she answered with a smirk. “I think we should go to sleep now, the movie finished a while ago.”

You’d completely forgotten about the movie. “What about you, though? It’s my turn to take care of you,” you pouted.

“You can do that tomorrow if you want,” Caitlin reassured you. “It’s too late for that and I’m too tired.” She pulled you into a hug and tangled your legs together.

“You should wear my jersey more often,” you heard her mumble as you both drifted off to sleep.