#brass fucking neck of it...

[steelycunt]

never fucking come into my house and talk about my beautiful wife (<- zlibrary) like this ever again

[rollerska8er]

SECOND VERSE, SAME AS THE FIRST!

[lay-z]

cotton candy clouds | 1

Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.

Pairing: handler!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samojede (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts and personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; dom/sub elements; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Some warnings only apply to future parts!)

☁ ccc; masterlist

Simon remembers telling Price to ‘piss off with that shite’ when the latter had approached him with the brass’ announcement of granting the Lieutenant the rare permission to become the handler of an emotional support hybrid.

There aren’t many officers on base who are allowed to have one, and Simon knows why that is. In his opinion, the whole handler/hybrid deal has all the negative connotations of a toxic and borderline abusive relationship, and Simon simply doesn’t want to be part of that.

Did anyone of those fuckers ever bother to read his file? He bloody well doubts it.

He does respect the official handlers and trainers of the military K9’s on base, though. Whatever bond they share was forged and solidified in battle and goes way beyond that odd and shallow power play that happens between some officers and their so-called “pets”.

So, Simon said no to the offer, firmly and several times at that. He doesn’t care for the bloody permission, no matter how rare it is, no matter how fellow soldiers who’d caught rumour about it had blatantly stated their envy about the possibility of gaining a hybrid pet themselves. Truthfully, Simon becomes sick to his stomach whenever one of the other officers and NCO’s talk about wanting to own a pretty pleasure puppy; something dumb and docile to have fun and unwind with in their time off duty.

Fucking hell. No, Simon doesn’t want to be part of that, let alone be responsible of some freakish hybrid mutt.

Weeks pass, both thoughts and arguments about hybrids and handlers are pushed back and filed away in some nook inside Simon’s mind as he falls back into his daily grind and familiar routine; running drills, paperwork, field trainings, preparing for missions, more paperwork.

Until one fateful day in January.

The UK weather has been more terrible lately; icy rain and howling winds beating down on base while Simon was trying to keep the rookies in line at the shooting range. By the end of the day, his fatigues were drenched and clinging to his broad frame while the chill was seeping through his pale skin, settling into his bones; making his limbs heavy and turning them stiff as if he’d carried a rucksack full of boulders on his back for a week straight.

The moment Simon arrives at the front door to his flat on base, though, the hairs at the back of his neck bristle immediately. The hallway is empty, but–

Something isn’t right. He can practically sense that someone was here, perhaps even inside his place in the worst case.

Halting in his measured steps while his breathing levels out to that eerie shallowness he’s adapted to on missions, his ears perk up under his skull balaclava as he listens for any odd noises coming from inside. Unable to pick up anything unusual, Simon still chooses to rather be safe than sorry as he reaches for his pistol in the holster strapped to his right thigh.

Simon manages to open the front door without any noise before he slips inside effortlessly, living up to his name as a ghost as he stalks through his flat on high alert; checking the small storage room before sneaking down the short, dark hallway leading up to his open living room. He can bloody sense that something is different, that someone has tampered with his safe space; he can smell the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, sweat, and tangy cologne even through his damp balaclava.

The sight that greets him on his old, tattered couch when he eventually flips on the light switch, is unlike anything he expected and Simon’s whole body tenses, eyes widening comically as if he’s met face to face by a firing squad.

But it’s just you, a bloody dog hybrid, curled up on his couch like you belong there–which you don’t.

And Simon slowly lowers his pistol, watches your fluffy white ears appear from under your hair as they perk up before you lift your head, like pristine cotton balls popping open in the sunlight; your body uncurling and stretching slowly while you squint against the bright yellow drop-light.

“What the bloody… fuck,” Simon breathes, chest deflating with a deep sigh as he puts his pistol back into his holster, securing it once more. Dark eyes flicker around the room before he catches a large black suitcase next to what looks like a gift basket.

Simon approaches the basket the way he would a bomb threat while his vigilant eyes keep shifting towards you as if you could attack him any moment, although you’re clearly still waking up, all discombobulated and sleep-drunk.

When Simon catches a clear view at the assortment of goodies and the black folder tucked between them inside the basket, his cold heart stutters and his blood freezes in his veins. At the sight of the pale pink collar with its matching leash, the vein in his temple throbs with a mixture of fury and revulsion.

The sound of your soft, sickly-sweet voice chirping out a greeting nearly makes his wretched soul leave his body. “Hi… Hello.”

Simon takes a step back, needing a protective wall at his back and as much space between himself and you as possible as he tries to assess the situation.

“How the fuck did you get inside my flat?” Simon mutters under his breath, dark eyes widening when he realizes the thumping in his ears doesn’t match his rapid heartbeat but belongs to your fluffy white tail gently wagging against the soft leather of his couch; just as fluffy and white as your ears, like freshly made cotton candy.

“I was brought here and told to wait for my new handler,” you answer as your head tilts to the side curiously, gazing up at the large man with bright doe-eyes. “Are you Simon?”

Simon’s narrowed eyes widen instantly again at the sound of your voice uttering his name so sweetly, so... casually. It makes him sick to his stomach, and he swallows back the sour taste in his mouth as it fills with saliva.

“Who the fuck brought you ‘ere?”

He needs a name, so he knows who to beat to a pulp before he grabs the first poor bastard who crosses his path next.

“Uhm–oh!” Your small, triangle-shaped ears perk up, and the giggle you let out makes Simon grimace underneath his mask. “They had silly names for humans,” you tell him, still giggling softly to yourself before adding: “Gaz and Soap.”

Simon huffs in exasperation and pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, it explains the “special orders” his bloody Sergeants had gotten from Price today; the reason he couldn’t attend today’s training session. And suddenly, it all clicks into place.

“You’re all wet, Simon,” you remark about his appearance; sweet voice laced with a concern so genuine that is has his spine tense and his stomach churn with aversion. “Are you not cold?”

He wants to bark at you to stop calling him by his name, to stop trying to appeal to him just because your bloody stupid nature tells you to, to stop imprinting on your so called “new handler” just because someone told you that you belong to him now. He wants you out of his flat and out of his life before anything terrible and out of his control can take root and blossom behind his ribcage.

“Get up,” he snaps at you before his thoughts can spiral any further and he almost, almost feels bad when you flinch in your seat, ducking your head submissively while your ears flatten against your head. “I’m taking you back. You’re not staying here, lass.”

“W-What?” Your face drops, your fluffy tail stops wagging; eyes glossing over as you begin to tremble and shrink on the spot. The sound of your soft whine only angers Simon more, because it tugs on his heartstring, makes his protective instincts flare.

“You heard me. Get up and grab your fuckin’ suitcase. ’m taking you back to wherever you came from.”

When Simon glances back at you, something mean and violent lodges itself into his chest cavity; twisting and squeezing his rotten heart as soon as he sees the devastated look on your face; ears drooping and shoulders slouching in defeat while another soft whine vibrates in your chest.

“Okay,” you answer eventually, snivelling when fat tear breaches your lower lash line and runs down your supple cheek as you untuck your legs from under yourself to move off the couch. “Okay…”

There’s a shrill ringing in his ears when Simon’s mouth seems to move on its own, making a decision for him. “Wait. Stay–Stay right where you bloody are.”

And you immediately do as you’re told, like the obedient pup you obviously are, settling back and perking up again as you blink dumbly at the brutish man with bright, big eyes and an expectant look that makes Simon groan internally before he reaches into one of his many pockets to retrieve his old smartphone.

He mutters and curses under his breath as the cracked screen lights up, and it doesn’t take long for him to find his Captain’s name in his short contact list. Simon taps the screen with his gloved thumb to call the man, ready to argue tooth and nail to have you picked up by from his flat again, so he doesn’t have to deal with it.

Simon’s jaw is clenched tightly while his sharp gaze keeps flickering back to you, still not quite believing you’re not some stress-induced hallucination, or nightmare.

It takes two rings before Price picks up.

“Ghost–“

Simon inhales deeply. “Price–“

“Getting acquainted with your new companion, son? She’s quite the sweetheart. Easy on the eyes, too, judging by what the lads told me.”

His chest deflates, air rushing from his lungs in a long exhale. That comment alone is enough to make him even more furious. “I don’t want her. Take her back to wherever she came from, Captain.”

There’s a beat of tense silence before Price speaks up again, and Simon can hear the squeak of the old office chair as the other man leans back in it.

“Did you read her file yet?”

“No, should I?” Simon counters gruffly, feeling his patience grow thinner by the second.

“Aye, son, I suggest you should.”

“Gimme the short version, Price. I’m this close to handing her over to the next lucky bloke who passes by my fuckin’ flat.”

“Yeah, don’t do that,” Price says decisively on the other; his gruff voice way too calm for Simon’s liking. “She’s a rescue, Lieutenant. Got rescued from one of those terrible puppy mills.”

That makes Simon shut up as his eyes flicker over to you; softening somewhat when his eyes lock with yours. You keep watching him with the slightest pout, waiting for orders or for him to finally send you away. He’s still considering it, though the revelation of your background makes him hesitate for some odd reason. Empathy.

“Simon?”

Simon squeezes the phone harder in his grip; hard enough he thinks he might break it once and for all. “You better find a new handler for her, Captain.” He bites out through clenched teeth. “It’s not gonna be me.”

Price sighs. “Alright.” There is another pause and Simon can hear it when Price scratches his coarse beard in contemplation before he speaks up again. “Just keep an eye on her for the night, aye? I’ll make the necessary arrangement to have her transferred to someone else.”

“Good. She can stay for one night. One. Night.” Simon growls before hanging up.

The soft sound of your tail thumping against the couch catches his attention again and when he looks back at you, you’re practically beaming at him.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

[notquitecanon]

Virtual Breadcrumbs || Poly!141 x hacker!reader

Summary: A kinda prologue to Search History, While you're having your menty b back on base, a little bit from the boys' perspective. Specifically Simon. Alexa, play Mastermind by Taylor Swift.  

Part One Next Part

CW: NSFW MDNI 18+ female pronouns , porn, porn, lots of porn allusion, the boys are all handsy with each other, Simon's lowkey manipulating the situation, again irl this is harassment, stalking warning to be safe? mentions of oral and vaginal sex, really just me being nasty from Simon's point of view

It took a long time to gain access to Simon’s inner circle. Simon Riley had a habit of being intense, all or nothing, especially for those he’s decided to care about. His captain and his sergeants were in that inner circle, and he cared deeply, implicitly, about them. Health, safety, happiness, and something Simon was especially attuned to was keeping them sated. A man of action and acts of service. 

Simon was neither a poet nor a psychologist, so he didn’t spend much time or energy putting definitive terms and conditions on whatever relationship the 141 shared. He cared and he was cared for, it was intimate on all levels, and that’s all that mattered to him. 

A bond forged in bombs, bloodshed, and loyalty above all else.  Four soldiers at the top of their game, literally battle-hardened (double entendre completely intended). He was content with his little circle. 

However, he couldn’t fault the boys for missing something a little softer. Something a little sweeter, something a little more pliant. Hell, Simon wouldn’t mind burying his nose in a neck that didn’t smell like sweat, blood, and gunpowder.  

That’s where you came in. Simon’s sharp eyes didn’t miss anything. 

He saw how Price’s signature little smile rested on you whenever your explanations turned a little rambling, the look of pride in his eyes when you cracked a hard encryption- he’d called in a favor from Laswell to recruit you after all. How the Captain didn’t scold you when your work outfits were outside the civilian regulations (which was often), not that Price minded the view when you’d drop something and bend over to pick it up in your pretty skirts and heels. 

He saw how Gaz would lean over your shoulder, just a hair too close to be friendly, and watch in a little bit of awe as you worked, how the two of you spoke in code (literally) to each other. He would watch Gaz get a little hot in the face with your flirty little quips over comms, voice a little tight as he returned them. How the sergeant would bring you little pastries or coffees on days they were on base, how prided he seemed when your face lit up, and when you’d unexpectedly touch him- grab his hand or bicep with your pretty painted nails? Simon would notice how Kyle would excuse himself to go do something else, sometimes dragging Soap off with him.

And Johnny. He tried not to show it, the Scot was as loyal as they came. A dog, Simon called him often, a mutt when he was being obnoxious. Simon’d noticed Johnny literally sniffing around you, his head following the lingering scent of perfume and shampoo when you passed. He was touchy with you, passing it off as being friendly, hugging you just a bit too tight to feel the squish of your body against his- a kind of softness Simon, Price, and Gaz just couldn’t replicate. It was a sport for him, to get you to blush or stutter. 

And, fucking hell, the banter. Your voice, slightly crackly through their headsets, leading and chiding them through missions. Something about the distance or facelessness of it made you bold and teasing. Soap would egg you on over comms, sending you both down teasing explicit rabbit holes, until Price would remind both of you that the brass had access to these audio files, and you’d get shy and go quiet, but not for long.  Gaz was fairly smooth with it, not often getting out of hand until you clicked off and he’d adjust his pants and collar mid-op. Something about Price’s authority kept you a bit tamer on him, but sometimes you would slip, and the way you got all shy and apologetic, Price’s chest would puff up a bit, beard twitching with a smirk as he’d ’scold’ you. 

Simon’s men wanted you, bad. But none of them were going to be the first to admit it, none of them wanting to be the first to want more. Their loyalty to each other was their greatest value, but it was holding them back this time. But Simon had a plan, all he had to do was plant the seed. 

__

The 141 had holed up in a grungy safehouse to rest and recoup before moving on to the next portion of this assignment. ‘House’ was a bit generous- there was no central heating and it was little more than a kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom, the living room was basically just the foyer with a pull-out couch that took up the entire floorspace when pulled out.  The mission hadn’t gone to shit, but it was proving tedious, and stretching into a longer commitment than they’d planned for. Price was miffed about the time commitment, but it wasn’t anything new, it happened all the time. 

Waiting for transpo from Nik and information that you were working on. Even Simon felt the sting of disappointment when you’d told them you’d need them to quit calling, that the data Price requested from you was proving to be a challenge that needed undivided attention. They were bored. Price and Gaz had slipped off somewhere so the Captain could work out some of his irritation, which in turn got Soap huffy and touchy. 

Which was why the Scot was sitting, spine curled into Simon’s side, laid across the sofa still in full gear, long legs over the side while Simon simply sat up straight ( "s’too fuckin’ cold f’ this shite", he’d muttered after they’d found the wood for the old fashioned wood stove was both wet and molding, "Body heat it is, fucks sake." ), military-issue tablet using the secure network you and Gaz had set up. Too tired to do much of anything, too mission-wired to truly relax, restless and a little homesick.

Simon wasn’t surprised that it only took two rounds of solitaire before the Scot switched to the browser and started to look through the homepage of a porn website he didn’t recognize. They both knew this strategy, get yourself off a few times and your brain releases enough ‘good’ chemicals that you might be able to get some sleep. Johnny did seem uncharacteristically indecisive, getting quickly squirmy and irritated, as he continuously clicked ’next page’ waiting for something to catch his eyes.

A sniper always sees a good shot when it lines itself up, time to plant the seed. 

"Give it ‘ere." Simon gruffed, plucking the tablet out of Johnny’s hands, only smirking at the coarse language Johnny offered in return, though he didn’t attempt to get the tablet back. Waiting curiously and not so patiently for whatever Simon was going to produce, what a good dog.  The lieutenant took a couple minutes to find the right seed to plant, using key phrases that produced the results he was looking for. 

He let Soap peruse his yieldings. The actresses had some things in common, familiar hair and eye colors, familiar because they shared them with you. And the actors doing such filthy things to them? Well, that was the seed (double entendre not intended) Simon was planting, the bone he was throwing to Johnny, all the actors were Scottish.  The sniper knew his shot landed when Soap muttered under his breath, taking the tablet back, hips shifting a bit subconsciously as he scrolled, watching the thumbnails give little snippet previews, "Steamin’ Jesus, Lt…" 

"Seen you sniffin’ around our analyst. Pretty bird." Simon shrugged but his eyes were just as fixed on all the thumbnails, girls that looked vaguely like you in all sorts of positions getting rammed on Johnny’s- sorry, the actor’s cock. He saw the look of (Catholic) guilt on the sergeant’s face, swirling with lust and a pretty flush under his stubble, so Simon swooped in with another seed, motioning to a thumbnail where an actress with the same hair as you was moaning, "Bet our bird'd look better, bet she’d sound better." 

The guilt was gone, the seed planted and flourishing in the Scot’s brain, Johnny’s lips growing into a wicked grin as he settled on a video, not bothering with headphones or squirreling away in the bathroom.  One video turned to three, the two men taking turns chiding and teasing the other, and when his sergeant finally burst, it was your name he called out. 

Yes, his plan was going to work beautifully. 

___

For a quick two-minute search with the sole purpose of quickly getting Soap off, Simon hadn’t been displeased with his results. Neither had Johnny if the spring in his step and uptick in screen time was any indication. The actresses shared features with you, but he was positive there was a closer match out there. And since he couldn’t exactly ask you, their lass in the chair as Soap called you, he turned to their other tech guru and the next part of his plan. Kyle. 

He was a bit more straight-laced than either Simon or Johnny, he’d be harder to convince. Simon didn’t know if he had it in him to debate the morality of purposely seeking out a porn star that was as close as physically possible to you… Or how that might affect the relationship amongst the 141… Ghost wasn’t known for being the moral backbone of the task force, and this wasn’t an issue that could exactly be bullied to be won.  

So, when first met with some resistance even if Garrick’s face was flushed and he was shifting in his seat, ("Simon, that’s… I don’t know what but it’s not right. What if she finds out-") he delegated some orders to Johnny. 

Simon didn’t know what the Sergeants got up to- that’s a lie, he had a pretty good idea, and he expected a repeat performance later- but when they came back, Kyle’s eyes were still a little glazed and his shoes were on the wrong feet. 

"Well?" Simon raised an eyebrow looking up from the rifle he was meticulously cleaning. Johnny was smirking smugly, belt still undone, nudging the other sergeant to remind him to answer their lieutenant. Gaz was nodding wordlessly for a moment, running a hand over his hair, slumping back in front of his military-issue computer, and opening a private browser. 

"Yeah… Yeah, mate, I’m on it." Kyle was practically still panting from whatever Johnny had done to/for him. Simon smirked, going back to his rifle, until after a moment when Kyle’s voice was more level, he added his requirement, "If I find her-" 

He paused, cheeks heating a bit as he reworded himself a bit, "A look-a-like, I mean, I get to taste her first." 

Simon could work with that. 2 down, 1 to go. 

____

Lastly, John Price. Saved him for last for a reason, but he was also the easiest. Simon waited until the assignment was on the up and up again. Summit fever to push through and go home had its claws in all of them. He knew it was a good time because, after the last firefight and subsequent march through the woods to a safe zone, all the boys were too tired to fool with each other... much. Price was sitting against a tree, that ridiculous hat of his resting on his propped-up knee, face illuminated by his cigar and the light of his phone.

Wordlessly, Simon crouched beside the captain and held his hand out expectantly for the phone. Price blew his smoke with a quirked brow but was curious to what the sniper had in mind, placing the device in the waiting gloved hand. 

"What’re you up to, Simon?"  Price inquired suspiciously, lowering his eyes to the light of the screen as it was handed back to him. His blue eyes, older looking than the captain really was, widened for a second before darkening in the low light of the forest, "So this is what the Sergeants’ve been on about, uncanny…" 

Price watched the very short prelude, a woman who looked so much like you, wearing something a little racier than you’d wear to the office but as blood rushed elsewhere, Price found the realism didn’t matter much when if he squinted… it was you stripping off a cardigan and letting some sort of authority figure pop the buttons of your blouse before shoving you under a desk with your pretty painted lips wrapping around his- sorry, the actor’s throbbing cock… 

Seeing the way John’s expression shifted, Simon smirked under his mask, raising back to his full height and returning to where he’d stashed his gear. His plan was almost complete, they were in the final stretch.

___

Simon was watching over Johnny’s shoulder, his hips occasionally rutting through his clothes into the scot’s back, a video that the sniper had chosen. Soap thought it was really funny that it happened to be from your doppelganger's Halloween playlist, but now was just as entranced watching the tall domineering figure clad in all black and mask absolutely ruin you her. The bed was a perk of finally making it to an actual base, with officer’s barracks, waiting for the official expo back to you home.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Simon groaned, biting Johnny’s shoulder through his mask and the sergeant’s t-shirt, as gloved hands twisted into hair just like yours. It was hard not to insert himself into the fantasy. A knock on the door made him growl, pulling him away from the delicious video and friction that Soap’s weight against him was providing. With more force than really necessary, Simon whipped the door open, only relaxing a little bit when Price was standing there with Gaz, both of them with their strategizing faces on. So, he wasn’t the only one making plans lately.

“See the new video that got posted?” Gaz questioned, looking down to unlock his tablet undoubtedly sharing it over to Johnny’s laptop still playing on Ghost’s bed. Both Lieutenant and Sergeant shook their head no. Johnny clicked on the share notification, releasing a breath that puffed his cheeks and raised his eyebrows as he read the title alone, the video still loading in the base’s less than ideal wifi (the 141’s latest habit undoubtedly eating up most of the bandwidth). 

It was your doppelganger’s stage name accompanied by the words Barrack’s Bunny Gets Gang Banged! 

“Fuckin’ Hell.” Simon repeated, words almost snarling his jeans chafing him as his cock twitched in his still buttoned jeans. 

“We’re having a dinner at mine.” John decided cooly, seemingly unrelated, leaning in the doorframe. His demeanor was its usual casual confidence, but his eyes were dark with the kind of want that spelled disaster for anything that stood between him and his goal. The seeds Simon had planted were growing like invasive weeds, wild and quick, “She’s invited.” 

“How’re we playin’ this?” Simon questioned relinquishing the reins to his captain, he was just as much of a soldier as the rest of them, he took orders well, watching as Gaz joined Johnny at the foot of the bed, both Sergeants watching the video together, hands already starting to wander, gear being unbuckled and unsnapped. Price smirked at the sight, adjusting himself through his camo cargos. 

“Cooly. Don’t wanna spook th’ sweet thing.” He smiled, mostly to himself making himself comfortable on the tiny futon that had been cramped in Simon’s room as an ‘officer’s luxury’. The captain dwarfed it, and patted the limited space beside him for his lieutenant to join him, “We’ll have ‘er eating out of our hands. And then we’ll have her.”

Price said this with the same easy decisiveness as he’d have busting a terrorist cell, but the curl of his lip, how his legs spread to accommodate the growing erection in pants noted the difference for Simon, his captain nodding towards the Sergeant’s watching the video, their breaths already getting heavy. Kyle’s hands fisting the bed's blankets like he might slip away and Johnny’s hips were already rocking a bit. Price’s smirk grew, eyes flicking to Simon before looking back forward, “You’ve been busy, Simon. Never miss anything, do you?” 

It was a mix of praise and teasing that, from his Captain, made Simon’s affirmative grunt a bit lower, something twisting in his gut, like a pet that wanted to be stroked more. Price chuckled deeply, nodding, “Bet that thick head’a yours hasn’t considered why you noticed alluv our infatuations with our little analyst, ‘ave you?” 

Simon didn’t respond, watching how Johnny’s eyes lit up much in the same way they did when he was presented a puzzle (bomb) that caught his interest, how he moved Kyle’s hands aside and rewinded the video, once, twice, three times at something your lookalike did that scratched his brain just right. Mutt, Simon thought, waiting for Price to continue, knowing that the captain couldn’t resist teasing him just a bit. He’d expected as much, maybe a vulgar comment or two. He was not expecting a truth bomb that turned him both introspective and horny. 

“Only reason you noticed how much we liked ‘er, cause you’re always watching her. You watch her just as much as y'watch any of us, wonder what that might mean?” Price shrugged, one hand working at his belt buckle before motioning for Gaz to turn the volume. The Captain actually laughed at the look in Simon’s eyes that most would miss before nodding back to the video and the Sergeants, “Now, watch the show."

Fucking hell. 

__

Maybe it was that little bite of introspection or the flight home where they fleshed out every last detail of their plan to get you, the real you. (“Gaz and Johnny’ll do the leg work, play up the charm, and Ghost and I’ll work the opposite angle, strong and silent.”). Maybe it was how eagerly excited Soap was or how Ghost spent his extra time scrolling through your Instagram. Maybe it was the two brief interactions with you upon returning to base- how pretty your eyes were looking up at him through your lashes, how good you smelled, the movement of your skirt as Johnny spun you around, how you got jittery under his slightest touch in the briefing room… 

By the time he found himself on Price’s couch, he was impatient. Knee bouncing, checking his watch, making Gaz track your location. When you’d been sitting out in your car for more than fifteen minutes, he all but growled, snapping at Soap, “Go get ‘er.” 

And when Soap guided you inside, pulling one of those bright smiles out of you with his own jokes, and Gaz was helping you out of your coat like unwrapping a present, your cheeks already flushed all pretty from the Sergeants’ tag team flirting routine… He didn’t think he could wait for Price to put the steaks on the grill, he needed something to sink his teeth into, sooner rather than later. He was sure if he bit the curve of your neck, it’d be a lot like biting into a ripe peach… supple and sweet. Just like you. 

Oh, his plan had worked, the seeds were planted and growing and overtaking every other thought in his mind other than making sure him and his boys were sated at dinner tonight, and you were on the menu. 

____

To quote Sir Mix-A-Lot, "Little Does she know I'm a nasty DAWG."

Y’all are getting this because my writing app deleted what I had done on Search History pt 2. Reminder- the reader is loosely based on Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds. The physical description is pretty vague, but lots of skirts and heels and makeup are mentioned, and I might have gotten carried away and implied

Once again: thanks to any and all tags and comments, i collect them and they will be buried in my pyramid when I die. seriously, they inspire me to keep going and I screen shot them to show to my friends :))))

Also so sorry if you got tagged twice im bad at taglists!!

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[lumsel]

David McBride is I think the funniest whistleblower in history, in a very dark sort of way.

Military lawyer David McBride is mad that the SAS keeps getting "wrongfully accused" of war crimes. He thinks the whole thing is all trumped up political bullshit and the investigations into them are illegal. The boys out there are just doing their jobs, but the top brass keep breathing down their necks casting aspersions on them.

He gets in touch with investigative journalist Dan Oakes to try and get his story out about how awful their treatment has been. He hands over a trove of classified military documents to support his case.

Dan Oakes takes one look at these documents and goes what the fuck. these guys are doing insane amounts of war crimes.

Oakes releases a bombshell article 12 months later about war crimes in Afghanistan, making a compelling case that they should be investigated harder over their conduct, essentially the exact opposite story that McBride wanted him to write.

The Australian Federal Police work out pretty quickly that McBride was the one who leaked those files to the press, and he flees to Spain for a time but eventually returns to Australia and is arrested. He faces time in jail for leaking the files.

Fortunately for him he also finds a trove of supporters. They help raise money to pay his legal fees and protest to raise awareness of the miscarriage of justice held against him. Unfortunately, this support is mostly predicated on the premise that he bravely risked it all to spread the word about the horrible crimes the SAS had been committing. He would prefer to correct them about this, but he is not really in a position to refuse their help.

It is something of an awkward situation.

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Flirting (And Jealousy)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader, Russell Shaw x Reader

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @lacilou. And surprise! For the first time, I'm trying out adding Russell Shaw to the lineup because I thought he'd be an interesting addition for this prompt. 💜

Prompt: How would Dean, Ben & Beau react to either other men flirting with us or them obliviously/cluelessly letting other women flirt with them? And how we would react to them -- like how they'd make it up to us, their excuses, etc.

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw would react to someone flirting with you. (And others flirting with them.)

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, oblivious flirting, unwanted advances, jealousy, some toxic masculinity (you know Ben 🙄), but ultimately lots of fluff, and some spice too.~

Dean Winchester

Dean isn't one to get jealous...at first.

He knows you're hot as hell. He pretty much expects guys to try and shoot their shot.

Plus, he's secure enough in his relationship with you to know you wouldn't consciously entertain someone who's flirting with you.

He also knows you're strong enough to take care of yourself, even with a persistent asshole.

However.

The second a man gets into your face or tries to put his hands on you, Dean's stepping in -- either to twist the man's arm nearly out of its socket, or deliver a swift punch between the eyes, or his personal favorite, grabbing the back of the guy's neck and slamming his face onto the counter.

Dean finds the sound of bone breaking against varnished wood, followed closely by the heavy tripping thud of a body to the floor, deeply satisfying.

You heave a sigh. Not because you're all that annoyed at Dean, but because you tried to warn the guy.

Now, Dean knows he used to be...well, a "ladies man," putting it mildly. He's improvised more panty-dropping one-liners than a Magic Mike stripper. His success rate is 9-and-10 (because there's always room for improvement).

He directs all that flirtatious, playful, sexual energy on you. He's fallen for you, committed to you, and once he makes a decision with his heart, Dean Winchester doesn't have an unfaithful bone in his body.

However.

He can't altogether stop women from flirting with him. Like at one of the many diners you, Sam, and Dean stop to eat at after a hunt.

"Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" the waitress says. She brushes her hand up his arm and squeezes his shoulder, giving Dean a too-bright smile that leaves nothing to the imagination (at least to you).

He smiles back at her. "Thanks, sweetheart."

It's like a reflex. He thinks he's being polite. He doesn't even follow the path of her hip-swaying walk with his eyes -- like he certainly would've before he met you.

You still stare at Dean incredulously. When the woman walks away, he smiles at you as if nothing happened. Sam wisely keeps to himself and sips his beer, hiding a smirk.

Dean notices the way your lips are pursed, bitchface activated. "What?" he asks.

You cross your arms. "Really?"

He frowns. "What's the matter?"

"Really. You need me to tell you not to let that woman eye-fucking you to put her hands all over you?" You shake your head. More dryly you add, "Right in front of me, too. I gotta give it to her, she's got brass balls."

Dean is bewildered, but then he replays the moment in his head and realizes that you're right. He kinda fucked up.

He sees the way you're getting all testy, and he has to chuckle.

"Okay. I'm sorry, sweetheart. My bad."

He reaches for your hand and manages to uncross your arms. You're stubborn in your irritation, but Dean is the king of persuasion, giving you teasing, flirty bedroom eyes and waggling brows as he pulls you towards him.

If you're still reluctant to soften, he adds, "Come on, don't be a sourpuss. Come 'ere."

Eventually he breaks you, making you laugh and hit his arm with no real force behind it.

Even Sam shakes his head, seeing how his brother manages to pacify you by sliding his arm around your shoulders across the booth. Dean leans in and kisses along your neck. He inhales your scent and hums in pleasure.

Sam clears his throat. He has to awkwardly look away.

"Gonna forgive me?" Dean asks, his lips moving against your skin. "Though I gotta admit, I kinda like it when you're jealous. All growly and fiesty. Got myself a little tiger."

You roll your eyes, but your lips tug at a smile. Your face warms in a blush, especially as his hand wanders under your jacket and teasingly up your side.

You slip your fingers into his hair, making sure to give a sharp little tug on it for good measure. He just laughs.

Oh, you'll forgive him, but maybe you'll make him do a little more penance when you all get back home.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a jealous man from the onset when a man flirts with you.

His lips purse, his jaw clicks, and he keeps a firm eye on the situation. He doesn't like it.

But to his credit, he tries not to act on it right away, letting you handle it the way you want to.

However, like Dean, the moment someone gets into your personal space or tries to touch you, he's pulling out some Sheriff moves.

If the man grabs at you, Beau's got his arm twisted behind his back so fast, he can almost feel ligaments popping. Beau gives a calm, but firm warning before sending the guy on his way. (He'd like to do more, but the department frowns on excessive violence.)

Maybe part of you gets annoyed at the show of jealousy, but a larger part of you can't help but be turned on when he protects you. You know it's not because he thinks you need protecting, but because he wants to.

"Can't help it, darlin'," he's said. "It's just how I was raised."

But you're the one that bristles when Danielle, a PTA mom at Emily's school, flirts with him. She laughs at his corny jokes with her white teeth and her perfectly layered and coiffed blonde hair.

She even gives him an extra cookie from her offering at the school's bake sale. (She knows what most of this town knows -- that the way to the Sheriff's heart is all too often through his stomach.)

Beau just nods along, smiling polite with that charming grin of his, totally oblivious while he eats. The last straw for you is when she wipes a bit of chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

Your mouth falls open in shock. "Are you shitting me?"

You accidentally say it out loud, earning not only your boyfriend's surprised look, but Danielle's guilty one as well. (And some of the kids.)

Blushing in embarrassment, you pivot on your heel and start packing up your supplies for the bake sale.

That's when Beau realizes that he fucked up.

He politely excuses himself from Danielle and goes to help you (wiping the crumbs off his face and licking chocolate off his thumb). He can tell you're feeling more than a little icy towards him, but he tries to make up for it by doing all the heavy lifting, bringing back things to the car, and helping you with the bags before he calls Emily over.

It's a long car ride home, awkward and tense. Emily can tell something's off between you and her dad, but when she asks about it, you claim nothing's wrong.

Beau knows better.

He waits until the three of you get home to the apartment you share with him, and after putting the bake sale stuff away, he follows you into the bedroom.

"Sweetheart--"

"What the hell was that, Beau?" You come in hot with it, and Beau is quick to try and ease your tension with an apology.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Couldn't you see that she was eyeing you like a honey-glazed ham?"

Beau's lips twitch at a grin, but you're not amused. You cross your arms and give him a warning look. That's when he wises up.

"Okay, you're right. I'm sorry." He chances taking a few slow steps towards you, raising his brows and keeping his hands up in surrender.

You eye him narrowly, but you let him get close enough to slip his arms around you. He gathers you against his chest and presses a lingering kiss to your cheek.

"I mean it. Won't happen again," he promises. His hands mold to the curve of your waist and squeeze gently. His lips move, burning a sweet path along your jawline, your chin, over the apple of your cheeks, and finally your lips. You breathe into it, and you can't help but cling to the front of his buttoned-down shirt.

"Do me a favor," you say quietly between kisses. "Don't eat Danielle's cookies."

Beau smiles against your lips. "Don't you worry, darlin'. From now on, I'll tell her that I've got some good cookie at home."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Oh, Ben doesn't fuck around.

...Well, in the sense that he can't tolerate another man even looking at you flirtatiously, or otherwise with any kind of intent.

Depending on the severity, at best, it'll have Ben shooting the man a stony look of warning.

At worst, it ruins the day -- namely with the sound of bone snapping and a man's sobbing howl of pain.

You try to get him to tone it down ("For God's sake, Ben. It's fine. Just relax."), but this is one thing he well and truly doesn't budge on.

Ben is possessive. Because you're his. His to touch, and his to protect.

In his mind, it's fucking simple.

Whenever you get irritated with this brutish, knuckle-dragging, caveman mentality, you try to remember why he does it.

It's indicative of how much he actually cares about you.

Because if he didn't, he wouldn't really give a shit if other men were flirting with you. (He'd just find another woman to try and charm back to his apartment.)

So you've learned how to try and finesse these situations so that Ben doesn't notice.

You've also stopped letting down men easy, proverbially cutting off their dick and balls with your words.

Because it's quite literally to save their dumbass life.

But when other women flirt with Ben, he takes it all with indulgent smiles, throwing in a wink and a sweetheart every now and then.

He doesn't blame them for flirting with him, checking him out. He's Soldier Boy, after all, and in his mind, it's not his fault they can't help themselves around him.

However, a smile and a wink is all that he allows himself.

If he truly cares about you (and though he doesn't often express it in words, he does), then the unfamiliar twinge of guilt stops him whenever he almost accepts a woman's alluring invitation--spoken or unspoken.

His mouth might spew arrogance and gilded lies, but his actions too often betray what he really feels.

And what he really feels can't be any more clear than when he goes after you, instead of indulging the woman who basically undressed him with her eyes, whispered sultry, sexy offerings in his ear, and invited him to go home with her.

Seeing you take off out the double doors of the club, Ben rolls his eyes. He brushes the woman off without a backwards glance, and follows you out into the night air. He grabs your hand before you can get far in your heels.

"What the hell's the matter now?" he asks dryly.

You turn on him with an incredulous look.

"That woman was practically sucking your neck, Ben!"

"All right, don't fucking overreact. You're getting hysterical," he says, before guiding you back into his arms.

"I'm not fucking hysterical, you ass!" You push against his chest, but he doesn't budge, nor does he let you go. This isn't a good area, and he doesn't want you out in these streets at this time of night without him at your side.

"Ben," you say sharply. You look up at him in irritation, but he just smirks and strokes your side with his thumb.

Yes, (in his mind) you're being a little difficult, but he thinks your jealousy is amusing, adorable, and kind of hot all at the same time.

Ben doesn't bother with saying anything more to convince you. He just slips a hand behind your neck and kisses you soundly.

He invades your mouth with his tongue and devours you, reminding you that you're the one he wants.

He waylays you with his strong hands framing your body against his, and with his sinful mouth, until you finally melt into his embrace.

He's chosen you countless time before, and he knows he'll keep choosing you, for as long as this lasts.

Russell Shaw

Russell always clocks the "situation" right away when a man starts to flirt with you.

He's not one to make a scene of it at first, depending on the time and place.

But he is quick to sidle up to your side, pointedly slip a hand along your waist, and greet you with a deceptive smile.

"Hey, sweetheart. Let's grab that table over there. 'S more comfortable than the bar."

He glances up at the man, sharpness hidden well behind his green eyes. Whether the guy picks up on it or not, Russell is making a mugshot in his mind -- and he never forgets a face.

You eye him knowingly, but you let him guide you away. He's kind of cute when he's jealous, and it doesn't take much to spark that well of protectiveness that lies in wait just under his skin.

Russell isn't easily fazed by most things, but one sure way to provoke his temper (and those rougher, darker shades of him that he tries his best not to show you) is for a man to push his luck with you.

It really wouldn't take much effort at all for the former soldier to have a man clutching his bloody, shattered nose, let alone to dump his broken body in front of the closest hospital. But somehow, Russell manages to curb those darker urges. (Again, don't tempt him.)

But when another woman flirts with him, you're the one who starts to have steam coming out of your ears.

Russell doesn't miss much. He recognizes the sultry inflection in the woman's words. He catches the subtle, sensuous gleam in her eyes when she rakes him up and down with them.

He also notes the moment you look over and realize what's happening.

Regardless if you're looking or not, he tries his best to stay distant, but polite, even as a warning twinge of "aww shit" runs up his spine.

He tries to play things off with an amiable smile and being purposefully oblivious.

Until the woman gets bold, slipping her hand over Russell's and up his arm a bit, before she withdraws, tilting her head with a sweet-as-pie smile.

Cue Russ's awkward laugh/clearing of the throat. Before he has time to fully pull away and just come out with the, Sorry, I actually have a girlfriend -- you return to his side and pointedly grab his hand.

"Come on, honey, we'll be late," you say, giving him a tense smile.

The aww shit feeling is back, but Russell just nods and falls into step with you.

When you two have enough privacy to hash it out, you let him have it.

"What the hell was that?!"

Russell can't help but chuckle. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I tried to keep it classy, but that woman was persistent. Not that I blame her--"

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes (not that you really blame her either). Then you stare at your man in annoyance, crossing your arms. "I didn't see you trying all that hard to fend her off, huh, Romeo? If another man had touched me like that, you would've broken his fingers off, like a fucking caveman."

Russell's brows raise at the dig, but the way you're getting all testy is kind of cute (and also kinda hot).

"All right. You got me there," he says. He slips his arms around your waist and tries to soften you with a charming grin. "Come on, sweetheart. You know I'm not going anywhere."

"Do I?" you blurt out, before you have a chance to reign it back in.

Russell's contract jobs take him all over the country -- all over the world. Yes, he's on his way out, he claims. He wants to settle down with you, or so he says.

But you have no idea of knowing what he does when he's not with you.

All those days out on the road, crashing in skeevy motels, winding down at dive bars -- has he ever been tempted to "sample" the local fare? Has he ever...

Russell's amusement fades, sobering into a frown and a furrowing of his brows. He hums in disapproval. He doesn't like what he's seeing in your eyes: doubt, most of all.

"Hey," he says. It's a serious tone you don't often hear in his voice. He curls a finger under your chin and tilts your face up to meet his.

"I'm gonna need you to listen to me, and listen good," he says. You frown at that, but he brushes his thumb across your cheek, a small, but tender caress. "You and me, we've got something good. I know what that means. So you can believe me when I say, I'm in this. I'm right here, even when I'm not here."

And he smiles at you. "That make sense?"

Slowly, you start to smile too. "Not really," you laugh.

But it does. You know what he's trying to say, and...you believe him. Your fingers curl in the front of his shirt.

Tentatively, you lean up and press your lips to his; just a sweet, slow meeting.

Russell cups your cheek and leans in for a deeper taste, a deeper conviction of every word he just said.

I love you, is what it really means, even if he's not able to say that just yet.

AN: 😮‍💨 Well, there we go! lol I love me a protective man. 💜 Hope you enjoy this set of headcanons!

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[elijahstwink]

i also have the fantasy of fucking elijah in red door mode yooo 😳 ... but if you ever feel inspired and want to write smut abt it , Im interested in reading it ofc,, and there is also just so few red door elijah shit out there 💔

𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓖𝓸

(I’d let him punch me holy this gif is hot)

Your boyfriend is going through a rough time. You help him feel better ;)

Thank you for the request anon! I always feel like writing dark!Elijah smut so this was so fun! It’s also the freakiest thing I’ve written lol. I hope you enjoy - Dex

Warnings: Blood play, Spitting, Choking, Slapping, Oral F!receiving, Dom!Elijah, Sub!reader, Elijah’s pretty mean, overstimulation, blood drinking, degradation, use of slut, whore etc

Seperate warning for this one. This has CNC! (Aka Reader consents for Elijah not to stop when she asks him too)

Your white dress billows behind you as you sprint down the hallway and towards the red door. Your bare feet burn at each step on ragged tile. You glance back to see Elijah turn the corner. His stone cold face and bare chest are covered in blood, all emotion void from his expression. Desperation fuels your speed, your legs burning and your lungs screaming as adrenaline courses through you. Elijah follows at a steady pace, his deliberate steps echoing, his breathing animalistic. He could catch you in an instant, but he prefers the thrill of the chase. He wants to savor your fear, your pain.

His footsteps are unnervingly close as you near the door. Just a little farther…

You slam into the red wood, pain shooting through your arm as you grasp the brass doorknob. It’s locked. You pound on the door, scream, and glance back in terror as Elijah approaches.

“Elijah, please!” you plead, but he keeps coming. This isn’t your Elijah, the kind and noble man you loved. This is a monster.

You turn back to the door, pounding and screaming for help, but it’s too late. Elijah’s hand clamps onto your upper arm, yanking you toward him. You struggle, but his grip is unbreakable. His eyes darken, veins pulsing as he opens his mouth, revealing sharp fangs glinting in the darkness.

Elijah jolts upright in bed, his body drenched in sweat and trembling. Nightmares of hurting you plague him every night since the incident with his mother. The red door haunts his mind, and he can no longer ignore it.

Breathing deeply, Elijah clutches his hair and turns to watch you sleep. Usually, this sight calms him, reminding him that he isn’t the blood-covered man in his dreams. That red door Elijah is just a fragment of himself, a dark fraction everyone has.

But tonight is different. The dreams are more vivid, leaving him feeling feral and dangerous. Every small sound or touch threatens to make him lose control. He needs blood.

Elijah carefully slips out of bed, pulling on grey sweatpants. He moves silently through the dark compound, descending the staircase to the large kitchen. He rounds the island, opens the blood fridge, and light floods the dark space. He grabs three blood bags and rips into one.

As the blood overtakes his senses, veins web below his eyes. He grips the marble countertop harder, ripping open the second bag, anger rising. The taste of blood makes red door Elijah creep to the surface.

“Lijah?” you call from the doorway, wrapped in a silk nightgown. Elijah’s head snaps up, his red eyes meeting yours as the marble edge crumbles in his hand. You rush to him, but before you can reach him, he grabs you by the neck, pinning you against the wall.

Despite his aggressive state, you’re not scared. You’ve been worried for him since he returned, his personality flipping randomly between normal and red door Elijah. The worst was on Bourbon Street, when he tried to rip out a man's heart for bumping into you. Red door Elijah is possessive, never letting you out of his sight, fearing that if you walk away, he’ll start chasing you like in his dreams.

Elijah's grip on your neck is firm but not painful, and you see the conflict in his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay, my love,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks and tracing the veins with your fingertips until they fade.

Elijah’s eyes return to their regular onyx shade, guilt washing over him as he releases your neck and drops the empty blood bag.

“Shh, you’re alright, I’m alright,” you comfort him, wrapping your arms around him as he breathes heavily into the crook of your neck.

“I- I don’t know what to do, I crave you,” Elijah growls into your skin, his fangs gently scratching along your pulse point. Your eyes shut at the contact, but an idea pops into your head. A crazy, probably stupid idea... but an idea nonetheless.

“Perhaps you need to release all the pent up anger.” You suggest carefully. Elijah pulls away from your neck and stares at you in confusion.

“What do you mean?” He places his hands on the wall either side of your head, keeping you trapped against him. You can tell by the look in his eye that he definitely knows what you mean.

“I mean,” You rest your hand flat on Elijah’s bare chest, sliding it down to cup him over his sweatpants. “Let go, take it all out on me.” You gaze up at him innocently, something you know drives him nuts. Elijah swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement.

“No y/n. I wouldn’t be myself, I could hurt you.” Elijah shakes his head, already feeling his alternate personality taking control as his cock thickens under your touch.

“That’s the thing, you won’t hurt me. And as soon as you prove that to yourself, you can start to move past this.” You explain, slipping your hand under his waistband and taking hold of his erection, his length warm in you grasp.

You completely believe what you’re telling him. You know that he would never hurt you if not for pleasure, but that doesn’t stop you feeling like this may be a mistake. After all, Elijah is pretty dominant in bed already. If normal Elijah can edge you for hours or make you cum so much you’re begging for him to stop. Who knows what red door Elijah will do.

“Do you kn-“ Elijah interrupts himself with a deep groan as you push his pants to his feet and bring your unoccupied hand down to play with his balls, rolling them between your fingers. You can’t tear your gaze from his swollen cock and the bead of arousal gathering at the tip as wetness builds between your legs. You could mentally pat yourself on the back right now for not dropping to your knees and licking it up.

He suddenly grips your wrist, rough enough to leave a mark, making you gasp in surprise and release your hold on him. When you look up, you see that his eyes have returned to that crimson shade with veins underneath them. He grabs your neck with his free hand and leans down till your faces are inches apart.

“Do you know what you are asking for?” He breaths against your lips, tightening his hold when you nod. “Words.” He commands sternly.

“Yes, Elijah.” You squeak. He smirks at you, the veins flowing under his eyes.

“And you are aware that if you say stop, I won’t.” Elijah growls. You can tell he’s holding back, needing your consent before doing anything more.

“I know. I want you…” You murmur, bravely grabbing at his crotch again before whispering in his ear, “to ruin me.”

You can visibly see when red door Elijah fully takes over, any apprehension within him vanishes as he suddenly rips your night gown off your body and steps out of his pants, leaving you both naked.

“I didn’t mean here!” You whisper, looking around anxiously. The kitchen is one of the main rooms of the compound. If anyone were to wake up it’s highly likely they’d come to this room.

You squeak as Elijah lifts you onto the centre island and pushes you to lay flat on it. The cold marble countertop against your back sends chills down your spine as Elijah stands between your legs. His eyes are clouded,

“What if someone walks in?” You ask as Elijah bends your knees so that your feet are on the counter and your core is exposed. Elijah doesn’t respond, instead grabbing the last blood bag and holding it over you with a smirk.

You don’t have time to even question what the hell he’s planning before he rips the plastic in half with his hands, drenching you in blood. God this man is lucky you love him because no other human would still be turned on while covered in blood. Elijah leans down so you are face to face, his chest is getting covered in blood now as well.

“If anyone walks in here,” Elijah dips a finger between your breasts, “I’ll snap their neck.” He growls, sucking on his now bloody finger, moaning at the taste.

Red door Elijah doesn’t seem to be the slow and steady type. His movements are rough and almost crazed as he grips your thighs and pulls your legs over his shoulders. Now eye level with your blood covered cunt, Elijah doesn’t hesitate to practically devour you. The filthy sound of his mouth slurping up the mix of blood and arousal between your folds echoes throughout the kitchen. You release a choked moan as he sucks harshly on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Normal Elijah usually starts soft and gradually builds your pleasure to its peak. So this unfamiliar pace fills you with an uncomfortable sensitivity, causing you to grip his hair in both your hands and try to push his head away. Elijah releases a disapproving grunt at your actions. He moves his grip from your thighs to your wrists and pins them straight down at your sides. Your hands clench helplessly at the sleek countertop in an attempt to find something to grip as you squirm with oversensitivity.

When your wrists are tugged on slightly, you lift your head for the first time to watch the man between your legs. Elijah’s face is coloured crimson and veins are moving beneath his skin. A whimper passes your lips when his tongue thrusts inside you and his red eyes meet yours. His gaze is intense and demanding, practically shouting ‘behave’. You throw your head back against the marble with a loud moan as Elijah starts fucking you with his tongue. The feeling of the pointed muscle curling against your sweet spot has you arching your back. Sharp stabs of overstimulation are turning into waves of pleasure, causing you to clench your thighs around his head.

“E-Elijah I’m so close.” You wail, all your pleasure knotting together, building up in your lower stomach. Elijah hums in approval, his tongue working faster. and his nose nudging against your clit. Your moans increase in pitch as you’re brought closer to the edge, your hips jerking and your legs starting to shake. It doesn’t take more then a few thrusts of Elijah’s tongue against the spongy spot inside you before you’re coming, wailing in pleasure and practically grinding on your boyfriends face as you get lost in the euphoric feeling. Your legs are almost vibrating with the intensity of their shaking and your walls are pulsating around Elijah’s tongue as you come down from your orgasm.

Elijah pulls away quite suddenly, releasing his bruising grip on your wrists and dropping your legs from his shoulders. “Stand up.” He orders, taking a step backwards. You would have given him a ‘are your serious right now?’ type of look, if you weren’t too out of it. Instead you stay lying across the counter, trembling as you come down from your high. After a moment of silence you manage to speak out, “Elijah, Can’t.”.

“I said,” he grabs you under your arms and hauls you upwards so you are standing on shaking legs, all your weight being supported by him, “stand up.” He seethes, releasing his grip.

Your knees instantly buckle underneath you and you fall into Elijah’s chest. You would have hit the ground if not for him wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you against his chest and smirking at your feeble state.

“My naughty girl,” Elijah tugs your hair so that your head swings back, your eyes meeting his, “can’t even follow a simple task, hm?” He taunts.

His face has returned to normal, and he seems to have wiped the blood from around his mouth at some point. Elijah’s eyes are clouded with more than lust and you can see the red door version of him staring back at you. He usually talks much more during sex, and you can’t deny that you miss the comforting praise.

That thought is literally smacked away as Elijah’s palm meets your cheek in a light slap. You probably look like an idiot for a split second as you process what he just did.. and how much you liked it. You release a drawn out moan as he repeats the action before grabbing your jaw, holding your head up to his and smirking.

“Do you like that?” Elijah chuckles as you flush in embarrassment.

“If you wish to act like a slut, then I will treat you as such. Open.” He growls, pulling at your jaw as you open your mouth. Red Door Elijah is seemingly full of surprises, as he lines up his mouth with yours and spits. The feeling of someone else’s spit in your mouth would likely make you throw up. But this was Elijah, your boyfriend and the love of your life so of course it feels good. A rush of arousal wets your spent cunt as you gurgle slightly.

Elijah clamps your mouth shut, grinning like a maniac as he instructs you “Swallow,” The slide of his spit down your throat makes you moan, absolutely loving the filthiness of his actions, “Good girl.” He praises you for the first time, giving your jaw a light squeeze before releasing it.

The praise is gone as quickly as it came when Elijah spins you around, bending you over the counter. You gasp at the coldness against your sensitive nipples. He holds your hip with one hand, the other guiding his erect cock through your shiny folds. The pleasure of Elijah nudging your clit with every upstroke distracts you from the feeling on blood slowly drying on your skin.

Your mouth drops in surprise, screaming out as Elijah suddenly enters you in one bruising thrust and with no warning. The stretch is painful, but you’re wet enough that he slides in easily. Your hand shoots behind you on reflex, pushing hard against his torso. Elijah only chuckles at your pathetic attempt of pushing him away, grabbing your wrist and holding it behind your back.

“Too much Elijah, please just wait!” You plead when you feel him starting to move inside you, blood smearing the whit marble underneath you.

“Shh, take it.” Elijah shushes, not waiting for you to adjust before slamming into you again, his tip pressing against your cervix and causing you to sob out a moan. With every battering thrust of his hips, the loud clap of skin meeting skin fills the room.

It doesn’t take more than a minute before the pain dulls into a numbing ache and the pleasure overwhelms you. You’re moaning like a whore, taking every inch of his thick cock inside you, your walls fluttering around him. The way his shaft glides across your g spot makes you jerk with pleasure.

“That’s it, such a sweet little slut falling apart on my cock.” He coos, releasing your hand and pulling you up till your back meets his chest. He wraps his arm around your neck so your chin rests on his bicep and keeps working his hips back and forth, fucking into you in long, brutal strokes. The base of his cock throbs every time he bottoms out, and his balls slap against your slit with wet, filthy noises. His animalistic grunts mix with your cries of pleasure.

“Still too much for you?” He teases, laughing when his only response is a gurgle of incoherent words that you didn’t even notice came from your mouth. “Yeah?” He murmurs, pounding into you at an inhuman speed.

Elijah rests his other hand on your blood stained lower stomach, sending a jolt of warmth through you.

“Who do you belong to?” Elijah whispers, his breath tickling your ear. “Who owns this cunt, y/n?” He runs the tips of his fingers over your clit.

“Y-you Elijah!” You sob, tears forming in your eyes from the intense pleasure this man is giving you.

“That’s my girl.” Elijah praises before bringing his hand down hard on your clit. Surprisingly it wasn’t painful at all. You heard the smack before you felt it and suddenly you were gushing around his cock, the mix of his cock rubbing at your walls and the sharp pleasure to your clit plummeting you into an unexpected orgasm. Your eyes go blurry from tears as you squirt all over the counter and floor. Euphoria runs through you in a single wave as your walls uncontrollably pulsate around Elijah.

“Look at you, cumming on my cock like a good little girl. Making such a mess.” Elijah’s groans, pulling out of you suddenly. You whine at the loss, feeling your slick cunt clench at the air. Elijah turns you to face him before bending down and hooking his arms under your legs. You squeal as he lifts you up, essentially folding you in half as your knees touch your shoulders. Elijah’s hands cup your arse, and you wrap your own around his neck. He shows no strain as he holds you in mid air, turning you both so he can lean slightly against the counter.

You throw your head back and clench your eyes shut as Elijah pushes inside you again, the sensitivity of having just cum causing you to claw harshly at his back.

“Elijah, stop!” You call out, the overstimulation feeling like too much. He doesn’t listen, not that you were expecting him too.

You’re absolutely helpless as he starts moving you up and down his length, using you like some type of fuck doll. You fidget and squirm relentlessly in an attempt to make him stop.

“Look at me!” Elijah barks. You use the little strength you have to lift your head, meeting his intense and feral gaze. “You are going to shut up, take my cock and you’re going to fucking enjoy it. Do you understand?” He sneers, slowing down so you can catch your breath and come up with a coherent sentence. You’ve never heard Elijah speak so vulgar before and it strangely turns you on.

You know that if you put up enough of a fight, your Elijah would come back and stop immediately. He’d probably beat himself up with guilt while he holds you and apologises way too many times. But you don’t want Elijah to feel bad, you asked him to do this in the first place.

“I understand, wanna take it.” You rush out before crashing your lips onto his, you can feel his grin as you try to shove your tongue into his mouth. He parts his lips for you and you whimper when he sucks heavily on your tongue.

Elijah thrusts his hips up erratically, his thrusts reaching vampire speed as his climax steadily approaches. You break the kiss to bury your face in his neck when you feel your own rising in your gut.

Elijah lifts one hand to grip your hair and pull your head back to present your neck. Searing pain rushes through you as his fangs pierce your skin, mixing with the pleasure of his thrusts. Your vision goes black as your third orgasm of the night crushes you. The feeling of Elijah’s cum filling your tight cunt only prolongs your pleasure. You feel Elijah retreat from your neck as his moans fill the air, mixing with what you realise is your own screams.

Elijah slips out of you when his cock stops spurting, feeling the aggressive, lust filled haze of red door Elijah dissolving with every passing moment. He sits you on the counter momentarily to unhook his arms from underneath your legs. Then he lifts your trembling form back into his embrace, one hand holding your bum for support and the other cradling your head into his neck. Your grip around him loosens as you continue riding the waves of pleasure, shaking like a leaf in his hold.

Elijah chuckles endearingly as you moan into his neck. “Still coming baby?” He grins, kissing the top of your head. You manage a small whimper of agreement as you feel him start to walk somewhere.

Thank god for vampire speed, because Elijah has you in a warm shower within the minute. You rest against him, half asleep, as he washes the dried blood off your skin. After you are both clean and dry, you settle under the covers of your bed, cuddled up to the love of your life.

“Please tell me you don’t regret it.” Elijah mumbles into your hair. You release a tired laugh, your face pressed against his chest.

“No my love, I don’t regret it at all. Did it help?” You yawn, cuddling further into his comforting embrace.

“Definitely.” Elijah sighed, his mind feeling a lot calmer and his body tired. You tilt your head up, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

“Love you lijah.” You smile into the kiss as you speak. Elijah copies your grin as he responds, “Love you so much baby.”. He gives you one last peck before leaning back into the pillow and closing his eyes, waiting till he hears your cute snores before drifting into a dreamless sleep.

The couple are passed out cold by morning, still recovering from their late night. Klaus however, is very much awake as he stumbles into the living room, where Freya and Kol are engaged in an intense game of chess.

“Do not go into the kitchen!” Klaus gags, collapsing onto the couch in a dramatic heap. “And remind me to kill both Elijah and Y/N.”.

T A G L I S T (msg or comment to be on it)

@b1tchy

[allurilove]

Yanderes fairy tale AU x reader where she's been with them for a while and they see her touching herself?

I just love writing for the fantasy au.

Reject!Yandere Prince x Wife!Reader

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Reject!Yandere Prince had mud clinging onto the fabric of his pants, all the way up to his knees. The nail beds of his fingers stained with dark oxidized blood from his latest game, dirt, and sticky amber tree sap. Thick fog had nestled into the unwinding forest, effectively hiding the path he usually takes, and nothing could be seen from the horizon. The tired man had to rely on his senses to make it back home, touching the barks of the trees for the symbols he had engraved earlier from when it was bright. He could not carry a lantern--only a small lighter-- for which it would make him susceptible to the jaws of death. Many creatures and monsters would dream to sink their teeth into the flesh of a healthy muscly man, and carrying a vessel of light was one way to fulfill that fantasy.

The man feels the heavy weight on his back continue to bleed— a single droplet traveling down his arm and falls onto the ground. He heard the spirits let out a small giggle, the loose dirt starting to vibrate before it sucks in the plasma completely.

The wilderness had a taste for blood. Quite literally. Before each kill, the prince had to do a specific ritual to please the gods of nature. He made cuts into the neck of the boar, letting its blood ooze down its grey skin, and absorbed by the hungry soil. The fresh blood was the first step, and the muscle sacrifice was next. He had then carved into the animal's chest, ripping its heart out with his hand, and he buried it into the ground.

In a few weeks, a new piglet should sprout.

Reject!Yandere Prince grunted as he adjusted the position of the dead boar on his back. The ropes that held it onto him was well tied, but if he wasn’t careful, it could unravel by a simple manipulation from the spirits of the woods. He continued his way back home, holding his breath as his feet had stepped onto fallen leaves. The little crunches were enough to trigger the birds from above and announce his presence. The Reject ran as fast as he could, only able to briefly touch the trees to help with his navigation, and he could feel the ground shake and tremor.

Deep hidden roots shot up from the ground. His ankle twists, and the prince fell face first. “Fuck,” he instinctively reached for the weapon by his hip. The vines and nearby plants quickly wrapped their tendrils around his legs— their thorns digging into his calf and up his thigh. He then let out a guttural scream deep from his throat.

His fumbling hands pulled out his scythe and a small lighter, wielding both in a desperate attempt to escape. The tiny flame caused the vine to shriek, shriveling up into a burnt coil. It unraveled from his ankles, retreating in pain, and left him panting on the ground with blood welling up in his puncture wounds.

Oh…the things he goes through just to feed you.

—★

He made it back home in one piece. After that encounter, the forest had gone back to its normal state of spookiness. The dead animal had flopped onto the floor with a thud, prince yandere’s footsteps just as heavy when he dragged his body to the bedroom door. He closed his eyes, and as he sighed, his forehead pressed against the oak wood. The Reject’s hand held onto the brass knob, he was about to twist it open, until he heard a small and muffled whimper.

You sounded weak— breathless even.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. “Are you all right in there?” he whispered, keeping his voice low incase the monster was lurking nearby. His hand then reached for the scythe by his side, and he gripped the handle as he readied himself to attack.

When you didn’t respond— he finally pushed the door open. To your knowledge, your husband should be out for another couple of hours. Hunting took forever in these woods, and sometimes he would come back with empty hands. You were too busy taking care of your aching needs to notice that your husband had entered the bedroom. Your husband halted at the sight of your compromising position, noticing how exposed you were with your dusty rose nightgown that was bunched up by your hips. One of your hands fondling were your soft breast, pinching and pulling at the nipple to get it taut, and the other had slipped underneath your panties and was by your core. Your legs were far apart, and that glistening sweet cunt of yours had caught his eyes immediately.

Reject!Yandere Prince would have never thought that his wife would resort to such desperate measures. He was sure he had made it clear: you must wait for him at all times. Yet, he supposed it made sense—you weren't as strong-willed as he was, after all. Still, even a disciplined man like him couldn’t resist the sinful pleasures of the flesh. He hated how easily his body could succumb to temptation. No matter how hard he tried to ignore the blood rushing south, he dropped his weapon, his feet carrying him toward you.

He stayed silent when his knees rests on the bed, his eyes raking over your bashful form. You had tried to hide your lower body, but his rough hands grabbed onto your thighs. He painfully squeezed them—a wordless reminder to keep them spread apart for him.

“So, this is what you were doing while I was gone.” The man's voice rough and curt, finally breaking the silence. His gaze not once looking at your face, but at your wet, and beautifully alluring kitty. It’s hypnotic, even. Calling his name. Calling for his cock and attention. He can’t tear his gaze away.

His thumb experimentally grazed over the damp fabric lightly, feeling your sticky folds. Your husband forgot all about his bleeding leg, his thumb now rubbing circles on your clit. “I risk my life for us—to put food on the table. You order me around, make me do the backbreaking labor, and send me to fetch whatever you want from the market. But maybe—just maybe—it’s all worth it if I can come home to a sight like this every night.”

“I’ll happily be your dog,” his mouth lowered towards your cunt, and his tongue snaked out to tease at your entrance.

“As long as I can get a taste.”

Allure: Reject yandere prince is actually nicer than regular ol’ yandere prince. he just needed to get shunned by his family and have near death experiences on the reg ig. It’s also like 1 am where i live and idk this has been in my drafts for a while and I finally got it done! If there’s like mistakes i’ll fix em later!

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

House Calls.

Part Five

Summary: Aaliyah has an elusive charm that can be alluring to some and frustrating to others. Professor Terry is compelled to have her. On one fateful evening at his cousins bachelor party, he runs into Aaliyah. An interaction he hadn’t imagined would ever happen.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ CONTENT, based off of Players Club, Nasty Talk, Professor!Student. ANGST.

In the early morning, just before the sunlight came in through the balcony, sultry jazz titillated her ears. The AC was cranked to combat the humid climate, and the smell of fresh linen mixed with Shisha tobacco and intense Bourbon Vanilla tickled her nose pleasantly. There's never a dull moment in this Crescent City.

Aaliyah shivered with arousal when Professor Richmond’s long arm circled her waist from behind and pulled her into him. Her plush cheeks collided with his dick that was so hard it reminded her of a metal bat. Her eyes widened a fraction and her soft lips parted, releasing a little breath of arousal. Terry’s warm breath ghosted across the back of her neck. Suddenly, his lush lips grazed the skin of her neck and he started peppering feather–like kisses on her skin.

“Can’t sleep.” Terry whispered.

“Neither can I,” Aaliyah tilted her head back, blinking her siren eyes at him, “All of you is awake.”

Terry chuckled against her bare shoulder. He nuzzled his nose there to inhale her scent.

“Your own fault, mon amour…”

“I’m happy to know that I turn you on…”

Terry raised his head behind Aaliyah to peer down at her. She shifted her body slightly, the white linen soft as it grazed her stiffened nipples. They stared at each other unblinking, too caught up in the moment of being together in such a way. Aaliyah hadn’t imagined it would get this far. She’d teased him, enjoying the push and pull, but never had she expected to end up in bed with him.

And fucked by him.

She was still on cloud nine about their phone sex and that was days ago.

“I bet you are. Now, you belong to me…”

Terry stroked Aaliyah’s cheek with his thumb.

“…And only me.”

“Quite possessive, Professor don’t you think?”

The soft spoken words was something akin to an angel whispering. A harmonic voice so sweet yet so powerful.

“Let’s not do that, Aaliyah. You’ve been on my mind the moment I laid eyes on you. And although you turned me down for that lunch, I would have tried again and again to have you.”

Aaliyah rotated her head away from Terry’s penetrating stare and handsome smirk, suddenly bashful beneath him as he hovered above her. How was it possible to feel the sweltering heat of desire wafting from him? It set off an inferno that she could feel throughout. From her scalp to the soles of her feet. Intensely.

He was a man of his word no doubt. That pleased Aaliyah and made her nervous all at once.

No man has ever made her nervous.

“Look at me…”

Aaliyah leisurely turned her gaze back to him. He sat up on his elbow above her, his biceps flexing beneath the golden glow of the wall sconces with a brass finish. The king sized bed with a black velvet wall panel headboard hadn’t been broken in enough. Terry gave her a silent look that told her without words that he needed her body again.

Terry stroked some of her soft, sleek hair from her face, the strands brushing her shoulder and fanning out against the pillow beneath her. With one hand, he cradled the back of her neck, and with the other he traced the curves along Aaliyah’s lips before tilting down to capture those succulent lips of hers. His tongue swept across her bottom lip, urging for entry. Aaliyah opened for him, her eager tongue gliding over his in a slippery tango. Their heads swiveled back and forth. Terry had a hazy look in his oceanic eyes.

Her pliant legs circled his waist and Terry pressed his stiffness against her soaked lower lips. The mixed heat radiating from between their legs caused Aaliyah’s clit to ache for him. Terry’s dick pulsated like a heartbeat from the softness of her pussy and the slick coating his veiny shaft. The soles of her feet brushed against his sides. Terry’s tongue delved deeper, almost dislocating his jaw. Aaliyah hissed when one of his large hands wrapped around her neck.

She broke their kiss, Terry colliding with her jaw. Aaliyah swayed her head against the restraint, nibbling on her bottom lip from the sensation of his teeth grazing her skin and his tongue tickling her neck. The warm breath from his lips made her squirm and sigh. She was an assertive woman who spent her nights as a cam girl telling men what to do. It was time she got broken down and gave her body over to someone else for a change.

Long fingers appeared between her legs. Terry raised his head above her exquisite face, looking down on her with blazing eyes so caught up in lust for her. His lush lips parted a fraction, giving her a view of his pink tongue and porcelain teeth. Her nipples looked like chocolate–covered gum drops the way they poked out so stiffly. Goosebumps decorated her skin that reminded him of a caramel delight. Whenever Aaliyah became aroused and flustered, the tip of her nose and the tops of her cheeks would deepen in color.

Glossy brown eyes tried to focus on his face but her lids were disobeying her. Terry studied her face like she was the most beautiful art piece he’d ever seen. He shifted his body to rest beside her, propping his body up on his elbow while his free hand played between her legs. Aaliyah spread herself for him, pink pussy glistening.

Terry studied the shape of her pretty pussy, taking note of how her outer lips and inner lips were relatively the same size. Her clit to labia created a wishbone shape and instead of its usual bright pink it resembled more of a coral pink from how aroused she is. He stroked between her inner folds with a single finger, and each time his finger would swipe over her clit, Aaliyah’s hips would jerk in response.

“Mind if I take my time and play in this pretty pussy?”

Aaliyah resulted to shaking her head. Words were lost to her. His manicured fingers felt too good and skillful. His smooth baritone in her ear sent shivers throughout her body. Terry propped up one leg, the movement causing his fully extended and solid dick to bounce. Aaliyah stared at his stick with a stunned expression. Heavy balls acted as a pedestal to keep that heavy dick poked out. The glow of the lights highlighted the veins along his girth and the drizzle of pre cum on his fat tip.

“You’re so hard right now,” Aaliyah whispered with astonishment.

Terry’s mesmerizing eyes dropped down to look at her. He pushed two fingers deep—middle and ring finger—all the way down past his knuckles. Aaliyah sucked in a breath, locking eyes with him. Terry didn’t waste time reaching depths between her walls. A creamy essence coated his long fingers and the sound of his passionate stirring was on full max.

“Mm, you get so messy for me I love it,” Terry spoke softly against Aaliyah’s forehead, “Pussy responding how I want it to…wet and gushy…got my fingers moving in and out so easy…”

Aaliyah pinched and tugged on her nipples. She licked her lips with her jeweled tongue, her eyes focused between her legs.

“Sexy women,” Terry pecked her forehead, “Pussy feel good don’t it?”

“Yessss…”

“This what you deserve…you want me in this pussy all you gotta do is ask…let me know and I’ll make this pussy cum however you want me to…”

Aaliyah’s pussy clenched around his fingers as a reaction to his words. It did things to her knowing he would do whatever it takes to please her.

“…is this an open invitation to come to your office whenever I want you to make me cum?”

“Mhm,” Terry pushed deeper, “No panties…show up ready to cum…like the nasty little slut you are…”

Terry’s movements increased. The faster he went, the harder his palm collided with Aaliyah’s clit. It sounded like he was plunging into a body of water. He had Aaliyah’s pussy sounding like he was splashing in a puddle on a rainy day. Aaliyah released her nipples and Terry bowed down, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking hard.

Terry’s tip was weeping. Pre cum drizzling down the back of his shaft in a slimy trail. Terry popped his lips off of her nipple when the sensation of Aaliyah’s soft, delicate hand circled his thickness. The thick vein on the underside of his dick pulsated against her palm the more she twisted her fingers. She was right on his spot, just beneath his tip, her thumb brushing across him.

Terry pressed his thumb against Aaliyah’s clit as he finger fucked her. Her wrist went limp and she paused as her body seized up to prepare for eruption. He could see her stomach caving in repeatedly, her eyes watered, her toes flexed. Terry went back to sucking her nipples as he worked the muscles in his arm and hand to bring Aaliyah over the edge.

“Unh…unf…yes…uhhh…Professor!”

Aaliyah’s hips started lifting to meet his fingers. Sweet moans filled the air.

“Oh fuck!” She screeched.

Terry flicked his tongue on her left nipple and his fingers slowed down to a stop inside of her. A puddle of her cum stained the sheets. He gently pulled his fingers out, mouth agape when he noticed they were dripping. He brought them to his mouth, sucking slow.

“Taste good?” Aaliyah asked with a seductive lilt.

“So good, baby…I wanna taste more…”

“All for you to have, big daddy…”

“Big daddy? Is that right?”

Placing himself between her legs, Terry curled his arms around Aaliyah’s thighs. He adjusted himself to lay on his stomach, leaned forward, and ate her pussy like an exquisite meal he would never have again. He didn’t stay on her clit for too long, not wanting Aaliyah to cum so quickly. He wanted her to beg for release. The strength of his arms and the feeling of his muscles cutting into her thighs let her know that she had nowhere to run.

Terry’s tongue sank into her pussy and wiggled. Aaliyah yelped a few times when he licked her with precise flicks of his tongue. She couldn’t grind her hips against his tongue, all she could do was lay there on her back and moan his name while dragging her fingers through his short curls.

She lost the signal to her words when he thrust the thick muscle of his mouth inside of her. Letting it sit there for a moment, he felt tremors take over her body and she whimpered loudly. He groaned at the sound, taking delight in breaking her down to his will. She had denied him long enough. She teased him for far too long. Too many times he’d dreamt of doing this to Aaliyah. Stick his tongue so far up her pussy it almost touched her heart. Make this sexy woman cum on his tongue just because. Give her ass the greatest head she’d ever have in her fucking life.

“Don’t move again or I’ll stop.” Terry barked out.

The bass in his voice made her act right, and her body went limp. At that moment, he was just all mouth, tongue. Aaliyah sat up on her elbows, instantly locking eyes with him. She kept her legs open for him and when he leaned back to admire his work she couldn’t believe how soaked and engorged her pussy looked. Terry licked his lips in one swipe before going back in to slurp her up.

“Fuck, you want me to cum all in your mouth…please, can I cum in your mouth, Professor? Can your little slut cum all over your lips?”

Terry responded with precise sucks that had saliva bubbles gathering around his mouth. Aaliyah couldn’t recall EVER getting head like this. She didn’t know whether to cry or to moan. She settled for both. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and suddenly her inner thighs quaked out of her control.

“Mhm…mhm…”

He knew he was the shit. She didn’t even have to tell him. Aaliyah collapsed against the pillows and her thighs closed around Terry’s head as her second orgasm covered his face the more she suffocated him. She pushed at his forehead but he wouldn’t stop.

“Terry, oh my—”

He was spelling his name on that pussy with his tongue.

The way he forced her thighs open. It hurt so good the way he spread her wide to the point of dislocating her hips. His tongue flicked repeatedly over her fat clit and she couldn’t stop him because he made sure her legs remained wide and limber. He would peek up at her in between licks and Aaliyah would lock eyes with him and each time she tip toed closer and closer to yet another cum.

“Terrryyyyyyy…Unh….”

She wasn’t strong enough to close her legs. His tongue weaved a gluttonous pattern over her pussy until he was content. When he finally stopped, Aaliyah curled into a ball. Terry sat up on his knees with his dick in his hand and maybe it was her brain being foggy from her orgasm, but his dick looked bigger than usual.

Terry didn’t even have to tell her what to do. Aaliyah sat up and crawled to him on weak knees. She arched her back and used her mouth only to wrap her lips around his tip. Terry popped Aaliyah on both cheeks with a delicious sting lingering. He finger-combed her long hair from her face and off to one side. Heavy breathing transitioned into deep grunts. Aaliyah sucked with no hands, jaws tight and eyes on him.

She counted the eight pack leading up to prominent pecs and a face that belonged in a museum. He was so pretty she couldn’t look away even if she tried. She did make use of one hand however. She had a handful of his heavy balls while her mouth worked magic. Terry smoothed his hands up her back and over her ass. His fingers sank into the meaty flesh and then he spread her open from behind. Aaliyah whimpered with his dick sitting at the back of her throat.

“Did I tell you to stop?” Terry spoke softly.

He grabbed her hair in his fist to keep her still while he fucked her throat. Spit left his dick glossy and her face and chest a mess.

“Aaliyah, relax your throat for me…”

She did as she was told. The feeling of him touching her uvula made her gag.

“If only you could see the way this dick fit in your mouth…”

One hand on the back of her head, thrusting into her mouth and whimpering the entire time. Aliyah’s tongue slid around his frenulum, making his tip tingle with pleasure. He continuously dripped pre cum and she cleaned it up with slow licks and those sultry eyes that he could get lost in staring up at him.

“Making that shit nasty.” Terry said.

“This dick belongs to me…all of this…”

Aaliyah played with it in her hand, squelching noises from how wet his dick was loud and clear. His balls sat nice and tight and Aaliyah bent forward to suck on those too. She pumped his fat dick while showing his balls some attention.

Terry’s tongue sat on his upper lip as he watched her. His brows snapped together when she returned to his dick with her eager sucking and slurping. He got in that mouth deeper, shivering when he could feel her teasing giggle around him like a vibration.

“Suck that dick…dassit…so sexy…so sexy, Aaliyah…baby…baby, you’re making me cum…shit is so good…fuck! Damn…damn…OH—”

Aaliyah started focusing on his tip and then she swallowed him whole. Terry cradled her head and bent forward, the repeated gawk–gawk of her mouth had him moaning and calling her all types of vulgar names. He felt his control snap and his cum shot from his tip in heavy droplets all over her tongue and chin.

Terry fisted himself to finish, leaning back on one hand while the other pumped the last bit of nut on her wiggling tongue. His knees were aching so he stretched them out before falling back against the sheets. Sweat clung to his skin and his dick sat over his belly button. Aaliyah snuggled closer to him and instantly sleep overtook them.

————

Sit on that dick

Sit-sit on that dick

Sit-sit on that dick, sit on that dick

Sit on that, sit on that, sit on that, sit on that (Alright, Slash)

Beyond their balcony in the early afternoon, the blare of fast-paced, energetic, and call-and-response style hip hop was jarring. It shook the windows and caused Aaliyah to stir awake. She reached one arm over instinctively, and felt nothing but a vacant space and crumbled sheets. She blinked her eyes open, the hotel room with an old world elegance and modern sophistication surrounding her. Wine red, black, and antique accents decorated the king suite.

Her body felt like she’d been put through the most intense workout of her life. Her muscles spasmed whenever she moved. Her pussy was sore to the touch and her clit throbbed. Love bites and bruises on her hips mingled with the beautiful path of stretch marks etched into her skin. She’d never been fucked within an inch of her life before. She’d never known that seeing stars behind her lids when she reached climax would actually happen to her. Sure, a toy can get you there. Yeah, she could recall an eater or two from her past that lacked in the dick department but made up for it with her cum dripping from their insatiable lips.

Terry was on another level. This man quite literally stunned her. He’s outrageously handsome. There’s no way he could be great in bed AND fine as hell. He can’t possibly have the best of both worlds. Yet, somehow, Aaliyah found her fairytale man. The man you dreamt up to deliver wet dreams. The ones in stories. No, Professor Richmond is the embodiment of every woman’s dream. And he wanted Aaliyah all to himself.

She didn’t realize how long she’d been in bed staring up at the ceiling just thinking about him and playing in her hair all sprung until the sound of footsteps entering the room from the hall had her sitting up in bed. Terry caught her eye with a smirk. He was drenched in sweat, an all white T-shirt with the letters CORE UFC GYM on the front in bold font. He was so soaked that the T-shirt molded against his abs and pecs like fresh plaster. He paired it with black shorts that hugged his thighs and accentuated his quads and glutes. Terry removed his AirPods from his ears and kicked off his sneakers at the door.

“Afternoon, baby. Went for a little workout…”

Aaliyah smoothed out her hair and tried to look presentable. It only caused Terry to chuckle.

“You look absolutely beautiful.”

Terry went in for a kiss, his musky scent spicy in her nose. It was pleasant, but Aaliyah backed away before Terry could even savor a kiss.

“What? Do I stink?”

“No, I didn’t brush my teeth.” Aaliyah replied with a sheepish laugh.

“So?”

Aaliyah climbed out of bed, naked body on full display. Terry watched her pin her hair up with a claw clip and then the sway of her hips as she made her way towards the bathroom. He gave her some space to do what she needed to do while he undressed. The cool air from the room made his skin feel clammy because of the sweat. He tossed his things in a bag before checking his phone.

Nothing special, just emails regarding work and a few texts from his mother letting him know they would be in town soon for the wedding. He texted her back quickly before placing his phone on the charger and making his way towards the bathroom. When he entered, Aaliyah was turning on the shower. It was a standing shower with black tiles and a detachable shower head. It was wide enough to fit both of them comfortably. On the sink, she had her own soap and so did Terry.

“Mind if I join you?” Terry asked as he cracked the door so it wouldn’t get too steamy.

“Not at all. Figured you’d want to anyway.”

Aaliyah placed a shower cap over her hair and entered the shower. Terry stepped in behind her, taking careful steps. He jumped back slightly from the temperature of the water. Aaliyah giggled and Terry sucked his teeth before reaching over her to turn the temperature of the water down.

“Tryna burn my skin off.” Terry fussed.

“Hush,” Aaliyah had an exfoliating cloth in hand and she applied unscented soap to it first, “Wash me.”

“Please?” Terry snatched the rag and gave Aaliyah a teasing look with an arched brow.

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

She pouted her lips and Terry couldn’t help but smile at how adorable she looked.

“Aight, face me.”

Terry ran the cloth over her soft, blemish free skin in a circular motion. Aaliyah giggled when he brought the cloth over her ears. He locked eyes with her and then he couldn’t help but to lean in and peck the tip of her nose. He turned her around and tapped her on the booty for good measure.

“Just can’t help yourself.”

“Phat–phat on you and you expect me to behave?”

Aaliyah laughed, “I do, actually.”

“Says you? Baby ima feel up on this ass whenever I want.”

He dragged the cloth down the dip in her spine and over both hefty cheeks. He cleaned throughly, but he would be lying if he said that he didn’t do it on purpose. Terry had her cakes jiggling when he washed her off in between. Aaliyah gasped, reaching back to grab his wrist.

“You play too much!”

Terry laughed and it was the most pleasant sound. He smiled with his entire face, making his nose scrunch up. He had the goofiest laugh and it made Aaliyah smile from ear to ear. He gave her a second cleanse with a vanilla bean body wash, the smell permeating the air and it was strong and fragrant.

Terry rinsed the rag and applied some wash for her pussy. Aaliyah watched him reach around from behind and gently scrub her outer lips. Aaliyah tilted her hips back, pressing her butt into his crotch and she grabbed onto his bicep. Terry watched his movements from over her shoulder. When he was satisfied, he rinsed the rag and hung it on the railing of the glass shower door before using his hand to gather water in between her lower lips.

“You ain’t slick.”

“Who said I was being slick?”

Terry’s fingers rubbed slow circles against her clit. Aaliyah responded to his massage with a soft moan. Terry peppered kisses along her wet neck and even licked her there, the smell of vanilla filling his nose.

“It don’t make no gahdamn sense how fucking fine you are…”

He pushed two fingers up in her and Aaliyah rose to her tip toes. Terry is a strong man, he could probably lift her up between her legs with one arm and toss her on his shoulder. She wondered how much weight he could squat and bench press. Aaliyah made a mental note to go to the gym with Terry sometime just so she could see for herself.

“You hear me?”

“Yes,” Aaliyah replied barely above a whisper.

She could feel his big dick twitching against her ass.

“Wet ass pussy…ain’t been in this pussy with my fingers for that long and already you’re soaked…good fuckin’ girl…”

Aaliyah tilted her head back and Terry sucked her bottom lip into his mouth before their tongues slithered. She whimpered against his lips and Terry had to circle her trim waist with his muscular arm to keep her still.

“Aaliyah…”

The way he said her name against her lips. She could have melted. He was so head over heels for her.

“You can’t get enough of me,” Aaliyah spoke against his lips, “I drive you crazy.”

She reached back and captured his hefty dick between her fingers and started stroking. Terry abruptly turned her around with his fingers still inside. Aaliyah used both hands to jerk him while they tongue kissed.

“I ain’t been this pussy whipped ever.”

Aaliyah broke this kiss and pressed her face against Terry’s chest, laughing. He laughed along with her.

“That’s what I want. I want you to be so far gone over all of me, big daddy…”

Terry’s dick responded with quick pulses in her hand and a leaky tip. She gripped his fingers tight and when he curled them to stimulate her spot, Aaliyah could feel her stomach tighten. She was going to cum.

“That pussy cumming, huh?…what you want?”

Aaliyah nibbled on Terry’s chest between moans. He reached around and popped her on the ass. She flinched against him.

“Please, make me cum, big daddy…”

Terry held her close as the feeling became too strong and intense. She had a vice grip on his fingers and she threw her head back, exposing her neck for him to attack with his lips. Her body trembled and eventually she went limp against him. He painted her face with kisses until she was back to herself.

“You have a lot of skill, Sir.”

She had a sleepy look in her eyes. One hand on his dick, she lazily stroked him.

“I aim to please…”

Terry reached for his own cloth and handed it to Aaliyah. She looked down at his hand and couldn’t help but to laugh. She snatched it from his hand and Aaliyah washed Terry down once with Dove sensitive skin soap. She squeezed soap over his chest, watching the suds and the water slide down and over the peaks and valleys of his well–muscled body. She craned her neck to meet his gaze, the cloth in her hand giving his skin the perfect touch. He couldn’t help but to smirk at her.

When she got to his dick—which she saved for last—Aaliyah dropped the cloth over it and broke out in a laughing fit. He was so stiff. Terry shook his head at her silliness before removing the cloth and handing it back to her. Aaliyah grabbed his Salt & Stone body wash with notes of Sandalwood, Cedar, Vetiver, and Cardamom. She repeated her steps and when she got back to his dick, she stood behind him and wrapped a hand around him.

Terry planted his hands against the shower wall beneath the shower head. The water cascaded down his back and over his shoulders and hair. Aaliyah looked like a little person compared to him. She kissed his spine while her hand worked magic. With a twist of her wrist she would go from base to tip. She cupped his balls in her other hand and rolled them gently.

“This a lot of dick,” Aaliyah spoke with a seductive voice, “And all of this is mine? Hm?”

“Fuck, yes,” Terry raised his head, water rolling down his face, “All yours…”

“All mine to suck on?”

Aaliyah squeezed his balls with enough pressure to make his dick bounce in her hand.

“Yes, baby…”

“And to fuck?”

Aaliyah kissed his lat muscles with tender lips that made his hips jerk.

“Fuck on this dick, baby…”

He sounded so sexy. Aaliyah could feel her clit aching from his deep groans.

“I plan to…as soon as we get out this shower…”

Aaliyah let go of his balls and slapped the weight of his dick in her hand. Terry’s back muscles flexed.

“Yeah…nice and hard for me to bounce on…”

“You’re so nasty…” Terry spoke with a quiver in his voice.

She let go of his dick and watched as it swung from side to side. Her pussy was literally convulsing just thinking about him deep inside of her again. Aaliyah left Terry to wash his face and he gave her a look that told her he wasn’t happy about her stopping. He needed her and she couldn’t wait to give her pussy over to him again. She grabbed her towel to do a quick dry but Terry was out the shower and behind her so fast.

“Terry—”

“Shut the fuck up and bend over.”

Aaliyah’s back stiffened at his abrasive voice. She grabbed onto the double sink and stared straight ahead into the slightly foggy glass. Terry bent her over and brought one of her legs up to rest on the sink. He pushed down on the middle of her back hard and snatched off her shower cap. He spread one cheek and with his tip aimed at her wet hole he thrusted up in one motion.

“Terry, what the fuck?!”

Aaliyah felt as if she’d been split open. He grabbed her upper arms with firm hands and drilled her with harsh blows that had her ass moving like a tidal wave and her hair in her face. She reached one hand up and it slid down the mirror, the condensation dripping. She could see his face. Jaw tight. Eyes on her. Chin tucked. Lip between his teeth. Terry let go of her arms and grabbed her waist. He widened his stance and dug in her so deep her eyes crossed.

“Bet you feel that in your gut. Mhm. This how I’m fuckin’ my pussy. Right?!”

“YEAH!” Aaliyah shouted.

“Tugging on my shit,” Terry watched the way Aaliyah’s pussy yanked on him each time he pulled back to the tip, “Gawd…pussy so good…”

Aaliyah’s face fell into the bowl of one of the sinks. Her lips formed a silent ‘O’ and her eyes shut tightly.

“Aaliyah don’t piss me off.”

She couldn’t keep her leg up. And Terry wasn’t having it.

“Aight,” he withdrew his hips and picked Aaliyah up. He sat her on the edge of the sink and positioned her legs over his shoulders while his hands cuffed her ass to keep her steady and on that dick. He locked eyes with her and slipped back inside like he never left. She clawed his chest, grabbed onto the sink, gripped his arms, put a hand around his neck. Nothing stopped him from putting a hurting so good on her pussy.

“Shit! Oh noooo!” She watched his dick go in and out as if she were petrified by how fat and long he is, “I’m a cum! It’s so big! Terry! FUCK! Oh my god…ohh…”

Terry held his face against her neck and pulled her into a tight hug. His hips collided with her thighs with sharp thrusts. Aaliyah circled her arms around his neck and cried into his ear. Her toes curled under and Terry had to pick her up in the air when she almost slipped. Their shared breaths of over exertion echoed off of the bathroom walls. Terry’s entire body burned. He walked with Aaliyah in his arms and his dick buried deep, leaving the bathroom and entering the room again.

Terry placed Aaliyah on her back and continued fucking the shit out of her. Her perky breasts were pointed towards his face and he couldn’t help but suck her nipples in turn.

“Fuuuck,” Aaliyah moaned.

He used her flexibility against her and spread her legs all the way up to where his hands were locking her ankles in place. He dropped down at a measured speed into her pussy with an intense look on his face and deep grunts. A creamy ring formed at the base of his dick and it got so messy that his dick would slip out. He slapped her clit with it and plunged back in.

“You see this? Look at how I’m fucking you, Aaliyah.”

She watched with shiny eyes. Terry delivered quick thrusts before slowing back down. Aaliyah looked up at him and he looked at her with a smirk on his face.

“It’s so much dick…”

“I’m giving you what’s yours. I thought you loved big dick?”

Aaliyah pushed at Terry’s abs. He slapped her hand away.

“You know you wanna squirt on me.” Terry teased.

Aaliyah circled her belly with her arms to fight the feeling that formed in the pit of her stomach. Tears rolled down into her hair and Terry bent down to kiss her lips.

“Cum, baby…just like that…uh-huh,” Terry spoke against her lips, “Come on, my pretty Aaliyah…give daddy all that…that’s my girl…right there…”

Aaliyah sprung a leak. And Terry fucked her through it. He sat back on his knees to admire his work. Her inner thighs were soaked. She drenched his abs. Cream coated her inner folds and leaked to the crack of her ass.

Terry got down and licked her clean.

“Daddy, you didn’t cum yet…”

Terry looked up at her.

“What should we do about that, huh?”

Aaliyah smiled at him.

“Get up here.” She commanded.

Terry made his way onto the bed and on his back. Aaliyah straddled him. She leaned forward and with her eyes connected with his, she fit him inside of her and slowly lowered until he completely fit. Feet flat on the bed, Aaliyah bounced. Terry had a handful of titties as he watched her. Her hair had curled up around the edges, giving her a wilder look.

“Look at you go,” Terry thumbed her clit, “Show me who this dick belong to.”

Aaliyah trapped Terry’s hand to stop him from rubbing her clit. He chuckled, prying her thighs open.

“I don’t see you getting down on this dick. All the way down, Aaliyah.”

She paused, sinking to her knees and arching her back. Aaliyah resumed bouncing, looking back at her ass.

“Ride me. Ride Daddy,” Terry barked, “Fuck yourself on Daddy’s dick. Lemme slut yo’ pretty ass out. I’m a take care of that pussy real good. Anytime, baby.”

Terry slapped the hell out of Aaliyah’s ass. It jiggled with so much force from his large palm. She just knew he left a hand print.

Aaliyah dropped that pussy on him. She leaned forward and rode his thickness like she was bucking on a mechanical bull. Terry whimpered from her pussy clenching and releasing him as she rocked. Her thick cheeks clapped against his thighs and slammed down on his balls. And all he could do was give her ass a pop. His grunts and groans and heavy moans continued the more she fucked him.

“Aaliyah, FUCK…”

She wrapped a small hand around his neck and threw her head back.

“I feel you…inside me…harder…”

Terry couldn’t hold back any longer. He fucked up as Aaliyah came down. His heels dug into the bed, trying his hardest to give her a deep dick down. She bounced with speedy delight, smiling down at Terry between moans.

“YES! Yesyesyesyesyesyes!”

Aaliyah rode his ass through the mattress and Terry planted his hands on her hips.

“I’m finna nut—”

“Cum for me, Big Daddy! All in your pussy!”

“Dammit, Aaliyah—”

Terry came with a hoarse shout and Aaliyah giggled with glee. His dick remained hard after his orgasm. Aaliyah pressed her body against his and raked her hand down his chest while whispering nasty things in his ear.

“You cum so much…I love the way you fill my pussy up.”

Terry sat up and kissed Aaliyah with her in his lap and his dick still inside. Their tongues made a happy dance deep in each other’s mouths. Terry palmed her ass, not ashamed to let her know that he loved it. He was weak for a phat ass.

“I love the way your dick makes me cum…”

Terry smirked against her lips.

—————

After all the sex, Aaliyah and Terry freshened up again and made their way out onto Bourbon Street for lunch. They walked hand in hand, Aaliyah wearing a pair of denim shorts that fit tight and stretched over her ass as if they were painted on. She paired it with some mules with a low heel and a fitted T-shirt that she tied into a knot at the front. She sported a pair of retro shades in a gradient blue color and kept her hair pinned up with a claw clip. As they strolled, her heels click–clacking against the concrete, she swung her small, cyan Telfar bag that matched the floral design printed on the front of her shirt. Large, silver hoops decorated her ears and she kept it simple with a think, silver necklace and silver bangles.

Terry wore a faded, orange T-shirt with his old high school logo printed on the front. Light wash jeans with slight rips were on his lower half, and he pulled the look together with a pair of all white, Nike Air Max 90s. He wore a silver, micro cuban around his neck and a matching silver watch on his left wrist. He too wore shades, a pair of all black aviators.

They settled on Mambo’s, a festive oasis offering locals and visitors alike a re-energizing escape from the strip clubs, cover bands and daiquiri shops outside. Located in the heart of the French Quarter, the welcoming gravity of the towering three-story building invites you to explore what lies beyond its French doors.

A hostess led them to the very top of the building, seating them at a high top overlooking the open patio doors that led to a sunny outdoor eating sanctuary. The sun was shining too bright and the heat was too intense to sit directly beneath it. Zydeco music titillated their ears. Their waiter trickled over after five minutes with an upbeat personality and her hair styled in bright red box braids.

“How ya’ll doin? Welcome to Mambo’s. I’m Dasia. Can I start ya’ll off with sum to drank?”

Aaliyah turned to Dasia, “I’ll have a water with lemon and also…I’d like to try your passion punch.”

“It’s got Bumbu Rum, Don Q & Don Q Passion Fruit with fresh fruit juices. That okay?”

“I’m okay wit’ it.” Aaliyah replied.

“How ‘bout you?”

“A water with lemon as well. And I’ll do a draft beer…uhh…Abita Amber.”

“Okay…ready to order appetizers or ya’ll need a minute?”

“A minute.” Terry responded.

“I’ll be back wit’ ya drinks.”

Dasia walked away as Aaliyah flipped through the menu.

“I definitely want some oysters.”

“We can do that. Know what you wanna eat?”

“I was eyeing this blackened red fish…”

“That looks good,” Terry stroked his goatee, “I’ll probably do a po’ boy. A shrimp one.”

Aaliyah crossed her legs beneath the table. Terry reached over to caress her knee. Aaliyah flashed him a smile and blew him a kiss.

“I have to figure out what I’m going to wear to the wedding.” Aaliyah mentioned, swinging a pretty foot beneath the table.

“Terry looked over at her through his lashes, “Need me to buy you something?”

“Maybe,” Aaliyah pushed her shades up to rest on top of her head, “What are the colors?”

“It’s Tiffany Blue.”

“Hmm…maybe I could do a blue dress? But not exactly the same color?”

“That’s a good idea. Would have to search today though.”

“It’s okay. I think I have a dress in mind. My closet is full of clothes for any occasion.”

Dasia returned with their drinks. Terry ordered oysters and decided to wait to order the entrees until they were finished.

“Your parents are coming in town?” Aaliyah asked.

“Yeah, they’ll be here the day before.”

Aaliyah sampled her drink. It was perfectly sweet. Terry sipped his beer, licking his lips after.

“Do you see them often?”

“Nah. Not as much as I would love to. I try to see them twice a year. We talk almost every day though. My dad has health issues, something with his heart. It’s a hereditary thing. My grand father passed away from cardiac failure.”

“Sorry to hear that. I’m sure that’s scary with it being hereditary.”

“It is. That’s why I keep myself healthy and visit my primary care and cardiologist as often as I can. I’m all good though.” Terry reassured.

“Anything you wanna warn me about before I meet them?”

Terry chuckled, “My parents would love you, Aaliyah. You ain’t got nothing to worry about.”

“…do they want grandchildren?”

Terry drank some of his beer down. He gave Aaliyah a one-shoulder shrug.

“They do. They don’t pressure me ‘bout it. One day.”

Aaliyah smiled softly at him.

“Let me try your drink,” Terry held out his hand for Aaliyah to pass her drink over.

She watched him sample her drink and his eye brows ticked up with excitement.

“Oh that’s good. Perfectly mixed. A couple more of those and you gon’ be tore up.”

“Sounds good. But I want shots.”

“Later,” Terry shook his head.

“Whyyyy?”

“Stop whining,” Terry leaned forward to pop Aaliyah on her hip, “You don’t need that right now. When I take you out to dance later you can have all the shots you want.”

Aaliyah rolled her eyes and lowered her shades over them. She stuck her tongue out at Terry and he tilted his head at her and curled a finger for her to come closer. Aaliyah leaned in, her ass poked out. If anyone walked by, they would be able to see how the denim fabric outlined the shape of her pussy from the back and how the edges dug into her legs sinfully.

Terry cupped her chin and got so close to her face their noses touched.

“No means no. Fix your face. This the only time I’ma tell you.” Terry warned.

He let go and Aaliyah took her time sitting back. The oysters arrived and she forgot all about Terry’s words when the smell of melted garlic butter wafted her nose. They both tucked into their food after ordering their entrees.

“It’s so quiet. That’s how you know we were starving.”

Terry gave Aaliyah a playful smile, “burned too many calories.” Terry’s shoulders bounced as he laughed.

“How am I supposed to keep up with you?!” Aaliyah whisper–yelled.

“Says the woman that can hit a split from the top of the pole to the floor.” Terry blew out air and rolled his eyes, calling her bluff.

“Shut up,” Aaliyah kicked him under the table.

She finished her drink off and swayed her hips to the music. Dasia sauntered over and offered to give her another drink. Aaliyah happily accepted.

“How much can you squat?”

Terry licked butter from his lips and flashed Aaliyah a handsome smile.

“Depends. If I’m being spotted, about four hundred. Alone? I can do about fifty pounds less.”

“Dayum,” Aaliyah giggled at how loud she said that, “no wonder why you like to pick me up so much.”

Terry’s eyes crinkled as he laughed.

“You somethin’ else, girl.”

“And you love it.” Aaliyah sassed with her light and flirty voice.

“I do.”

Terry reached beneath the table and brought Aaliyah’s feet in his lap. He stroked the tops of her feet while sipping his beer, never taking his eyes off of her.

“You’re so attentive it’s intense,” Aaliyah blinked away from his face when Dasia returned with another drink, letting them know that their food will be out shortly, “You gotta stop looking at me like that, it’s making me wet.” She whined.

Terry stroked his bottom lip with his thumb before biting it.

“Not with those ‘come fuck me’ eyes on you, ma.”

Aaliyah swirled her straw around her drink as she bat her lashes at Terry. The table rumbled from Aaliyah’s phone vibrating with an incoming notification, she grabbed her phone and flipped it over. Terry downed the last of his beer and placed the glass on the table, tapping his chest with the side of his fist after releasing a muffled burp.

“Excuse me…”

Aaliyah appeared bothered by whatever was on her phone. Terry furrowed his brows at her change of demeanor. He watched her exhale and her shoulders collapse.

“Everything okay?”

Aaliyah gave him a phony smile, “Yeah.”

“You look like you just got the worse news of your life.” Terry chuckled, despite his sudden worry for her, “Talk to me.”

Aaliyah seemed to veil her true emotions with yet another beautiful smile.

“Nothing! Just got a reminder about an upcoming exam I have yet to study for. This semester has been kicking my ass.”

From the way the corners of her mouth wrinkled as she reached for her drink, Terry knew that something troubled her. And it wasn’t anything to do with a curriculum.

“You’re almost there, baby. Before you know it, you’ll be a college graduate. Can’t wait to see you walk across the stage.”

She gave Terry a timid smile while swirling her ice around her glass with her straw, “I was ready to give up so many times. You don’t even know.”

“The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. It’s not about perfect, it’s about effort. You bring that effort every single day in my class and I’m sure in your other classes. That’s where transformation happens. You trusted yourself and now look.”

Aaliyah appeared delighted by Terry’s words and whatever previously attempted to anger her, suddenly disappeared.

“You’re so sweet, Terry. Where have you been all my life?”

“Maybe if I hadn’t moved to Fayetteville I’d still be here. I would have fallen for the majorette girl with the pretty smile and long hair.”

“And I still wouldn’t have made it easy for you.” Aaliyah teased.

“If you ain’t notice by now, I love a challenge.”

Her merry laugh made him laugh.

“Another Abita Amber?”

Terry handed over his empty beer glass and grabbed the new one, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to Dasia. Before she could walk away, their food was on its way over on a serving tray. The spices wafted Aaliyah’s nose and her stomach instantly grumbled. Terry had a loaded po’ boy in front of him with perfected deep fried shrimp spilling over the top of the flaky sub roll. He squeezed it with his fingers, a satisfying crunch sound following. Aaliyah forked the flaky red fish and leaned in to smell the garlic mashed potatoes and collard greens.

Terry didn’t waste time eating. His mouth opened wide and he took a big bite out of his po’ boy, mayo painting the side of his lips. Aaliyah reached forward and thumbed away the mess on his face, sucking it off her thumb with a smirk. Terry chuckled at her with so much admiration in his greenish–hazel eyes. He shared some of his shrimp with her and Aaliyah fed him so collards. Two drinks in, and she was already feeling tipsy. She couldn’t help but giggle at anything Terry said.

“What’s funny now?” Terry questioned with an exasperated smile.

“Those big ears of yours.”

“HA,” Terry leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling, “So, you got jokes?”

“They’re so cute. I love them.”

“That squeaky laugh you got, sounding like a chipmunk.” Terry quipped.

Aaliyah tossed a crumbled napkin at him that Terry caught in his hand.

“You know you love my laugh!”

“It’s music to my ears, mon amour.”

She beamed at him.

———

The spot they were going to wasn’t far from their hotel but Terry still wanted to drive just in case anything popped off. Aaliyah slid into the passenger seat and Terry shut the door behind her. She decided to wear the same stilettos from their romantic dinner date and she paired it with a skin tight, body con dress that left nothing to the imagination with its sheer, glittery material. Terry had to help her into the dress. Aaliyah painted her lips fire engine red and her hair fell over her shoulders and to the middle of her back. She touched up her edges and added a little pomade to ensure she didn’t sweat them out.

Terry was dressed in a cream colored polo with sleeves that fit snugly around his biceps. The first few buttons were undone, giving a peek at his gold, micro cuban link. He paired it with snug black slacks and black loafers. This random spot they decided on had a dress code of no sneakers, sandals, and athletic wear. Aaliyah had to do some social media digging to find the perfect spot that catered to black people and played black music.

Terry wanted a live band at first but Aaliyah insisted that she wanted to shake ass to trap music and pussy rap. Aaliyah needed some tissue to clean up a little lipstick. She opened Terry’s glove compartment and sitting right before her eyes like a beacon light was a Glock 19. Terry settled into the drivers seat and Aaliyah shut the glove compartment quickly.

Terry glanced over at her, before his eyes fell to the glove compartment. Aaliyah looked at him with a slight smile and nervous eyes. Terry reached over and opened the glove compartment, the pistol right where he’d left it.

“You needed something outta here?” Terry questioned.

“Just some tissue,” Aaliyah replied softly.

Terry shifted things around until he found a box of Kleenex. He handed it over to Aaliyah before tucking his pistol away so it wouldn’t be visible.

“Sorry ‘bout that, baby.”

“It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting to see that there.”

Terry started up his car while Aaliyah busied herself with making sure her makeup was perfect.

“If you feel uncomfortable with it there—”

“It’s okay, Terry,” Aaliyah glanced over at him with a laugh, “It’s actually kinda sexy.”

Terry elevated a brow and slowly his lips turned up into a smile.

“I bet you look sexy when you shoot.”

“Don’t boost my ego now,” Terry chuckled, “I could show you sometime? Take you to the range.”

“I always wanted to go.” Aaliyah replied with excitement.

“Then I’ll take you. It’s a date.”

“So, camping,” Aaliyah counted off on her fingers, “The gun range…”

“And many more.”

They locked eyes and Terry reached over to rest his hand on her thigh. He stroked it with his thumb.

“Almost there, about ten more minutes.”

Aaliyah grabbed Terry’s hand and slipped it between her legs. Good thing they were at a red light. He looked at her with a bite of his bottom lip. His fingers grazed bare pussy lips.

“Oh, you’re in trouble. You’re in trouble.”

Aaliyah giggled to herself. Terry was dead serious.

“This dress barely covers that ass and you decide to wear no panties? You serious?”

“I thought I was you nasty little slut?” Aaliyah replied with a bat of her lashes as she twirled hair around her finger with faux innocence.

“I’m a have to keep a close eye on you. Let some nigga find out you ain’t got nothing on up under there.”

“Isn’t that what makes it fun? And I’m yours, remember?”

Terry’s jaw clenched. His hand tightened on the steering wheel. He adjusted his hips in the seat and gave Aaliyah one penetrating look that shook her core.

“Be a brat if you want to, Aaliyah.”

Aaliyah spread her legs to show Terry just how good her pussy looked. He gave in and looked down between her legs. He huffed with a shake of his head.

“What was that about being a brat again?” Aaliyah replied with a teasing smile.

“Damn, that pussy look good…”

“Here,” Aaliyah touched herself and gathered some of her wetness on her fingertips, “You wanna taste?”

Eyes still on the rode, Aaliyah rubbed her pussy juice all over Terry’s lips. He grabbed her hand and sucked on her fingers. Aaliyah watched Terry lick his lips.

“That should hold you over until later. I plan to sit on that pretty face of yours.”

“And I’ll happily be your favorite seat for as long as I’m living and breathing, baby.” Terry responded with a hand to his chest and an enduring smile.

They finally pull up to the nightclub. Some spot tucked away beneath a tangled freeway and overlooking an outstretched parking lot. Cars, trucks, motorcycles; any form of transportation looked oddly placed in various spots with empty spaces in between. Terry reversed into a spot to the left of the entrance.

A lineup of club-goers waited to get inside. Some people lingered on the fringes or smoked whatever enhanced their vibes. Terry hopped out and made his way around to open Aaliyah’s door. He stood in front of her while she took her time raising from her seat since her dress had ridden up. Terry’s dour eyes never left her face. He held out his hand and before Aaliyah could walk away he gripped her hand tighter. Aaliyah watched as Terry checked her out from behind, ensuring that her dress covered her ass. She giggled at his fixed gaze and he popped her on the ass to silence her. Wasn’t shit funny.

Ubers and Lyfts dropping people off at the curb. Two Beefy bouncers checking IDs and turning people away, refusing to argue with them. Each time the doors opened, Strobe lights were pulsing from inside. Terry had a hand on Aaliyah’s waist as he guided her to the back of the line that grew smaller and smaller. Aaliyah’s stomach fluttered when Terry placed her directly in front of him and wrapped his arms around her waist.

She peered up at him, a drastic height difference between them even with her heels. He caught her staring and gave her a furtive look with a soft smile. The stiffness of his shoulders and the snug hold he had on her let her know Terry was on go for anybody that so much as looked at her, breathed her air, or touched her.

That brought her back to the bachelor party. The way he almost broke that man’s wrist. The glint in his eyes. The unblinking stare and stolid expression. There was no doubt in Aaliyah’s mind that Terry could do damage. He didn’t play about her. She bounced in his arms, her booty cheeks clapping against his crotch to entice him. She could hear a bounce mix from inside the club.

The line pushed forward and when they made it to the front, Terry released Aaliyah so she could sift through her bag and grab her ID. They displayed it to the bouncers and then the pitch black door opened, a blazing heat billowing out along with the stench of hookah smoke and alcohol. They were ushered inside, Terry’s hand on her back as they disappeared beyond the doors.

Dim lighting.

Black speakers and a stage.

Bars with seating and an area of small round tables and stools.

Waitresses dressed skimpily with glowing trays of drinks or carrying empty bottles and glasses back to the bar.

A row of shot glasses being filled one by one.

Bartenders rushing to keep up with orders.

Bottles of alcohol lining a mirrored wall behind the bartender.

Bins with lemon and lime wedges, cherries, and other garnishes.

Multicolored straws, empty beer cans and bottles, sprayers and beer taps.

Sinks loaded with ice.

Carefully layered drinks in martini glasses.

Coffee mugs and highball glasses.

Spilled drinks on the floor and wet marks on the bar.

A line at the bathroom.

A dance floor packed like sardines and a DJ booth surrounded by men.

Birdman and Lil Wayne– Stuntin’ Like My Daddy had the whole place jumping off. The loud bass and booming speakers vibrated their inner ears as they cased out the spot to find seating. A drunk couple stumbled from a table shrouded in a faint magenta lighting from an overhead lamp. Terry ushered Aaliyah over quickly before anyone else. As they approached, a waitress covered in barely anything sauntered over to snatch up the used Hookah. She noticed Terry and Aaliyah approaching and gave them a smile before doing a quick and effective wipe of the table. Terry dipped his head as a ‘thank you’ before helping Aaliyah into her seat.

Terry settled across from her and leaned in to speak with her over the loud music.

“You want me to get you a drink?!”

“Please!” Aaliyah shouted back, “Two shots of chilled Patron and whatever else!”

“Aight,” Terry left his seat but before he disappeared into the sea of sweaty, dancing people, he gave Aaliyah a look and gestured for her to call him if anything pops off.

“I’ll be fine, Terry! I’ll be right here waiting!”

Terry walked off, gently pushing past people to get to the bar. Aaliyah swayed her hips in her seat, her legs looking shiny and glazed beneath the lights. The song switched up to Gucci Mane- On Deck and as Aaliyah watched the dance floor, she noticed a group of men strolling and throwing up hooks. An eruption of cheers drowned out the music the more they moved in sync.

Meanwhile, Terry was leaning against the bar, his hazel eyes searching. A young woman with sandy brown locs that touched her waist and an all black body con dress on that hugged her plush waist and wide hips made direct eye contact with Terry. She stepped around another bartender to get to him.

“How you doin’ tonight! What can I get you?”

“I’ll take four shots of patron! And uhhh…get me a lemon drop but with patron instead of vodka.”

“COMING UP!”

She winked at Terry before working on his drinks. Terry glanced over towards the table and all he could see was Aaliyah’s legs peeking out.

“Do you need help carrying these drinks?! We can bring it over!”

“Yeah, could you? We’re at that table over there,” Terry pointed out where they were seated, “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all! I’ll have one of our girls bring it over!”

Terry gave her a thumbs up before paying cash for the drinks and leaving a tip. Turning, he started cutting through the sea of people until he felt a hand grip his arm. Terry turned and looked down into the eyes of a random chick that he damn sure didn’t know or recognize. Politely prying her hand off, he continued towards the table. Once there, he noticed a man trying to make conversation with Aaliyah.

“Hey,” Terry approached with charged energy, “Can I help you with something?”

The man stood at about 6’0 with an airbrushed hairline and a crudy ‘fro. Fake diamonds dangled from his neck, wrists, and fingers. He wore his skinny jeans below his ass and a graphic T-shirt with a classic rock band he most likely didn’t know a thing about was two sizes too small on him. He sized Terry up with the whites of his eyes red.

“This yours, Playa?”

Terry blinked at the man with a deadpan expression before tilting his head around to check on Aaliyah, a flare in his eyes.

“Did he say something to you?”

“He can’t catch a hint,” Aaliyah replied with furrowed brows.

He could see the tension in her body and the discomfort in her eyes. Terry straightened up and his eyes flicked down at the man, glaring at him. The man somehow began to understand the severity of his situation if he so much as sad another word out of line.

“Off limits, my fault bruh,” He brought his hands up in surrender, “Don’t want no trouble, Big Dude. You got a fine lady. I was just giving her a compliment.”

The man left like a fire had been lit under his feet. Terry’s hard, unwavering eyes tracked the movements of the man until he was nowhere in sight. Aaliyah grabbed him by the hand and stroked his skin. She smoothed her fingers over the protruding veins in his hand and up his arm. Terry finally pulled his gaze away and looked down at her.

“Sit. He’s gone.”

Terry moved leisurely until he settled across from Aaliyah. The same waitress that cleaned the table minutes prior came over to greet them and placed their drinks on the table.

“Thank you,” Terry slid two shots and a lemon drop over to Aaliyah, “Why didn’t you call my phone?”

“He had just shown up when you walked over, Terry.”

Aaliyah grabbed Terry’s hand and leaned forward. She blinked at him slowly while kissing his fingertips.

“Relax,” she brushed his fingers along her cheek and down her throat before fitting his fingers around it, “I’m yours…and you’re mine. I don’t want another man but you…another dick but yours…”

Even over the music loud enough to burst your tympanic membrane, Terry caught on to every word and gripped her neck a little tighter. He pressed his thumb against her pulse point, watching as Aaliyah’s sultry lips parted and a slight gasp echoed across the table.

“I love how crazy your eyes get when you’re ready to fuck a nigga up,” Aaliyah dropped her eyes to stare at Terry’s lips.

“Your fault, baby. I don’t play about you…”

Terry let go and his jaw clenched as he raised a shot glass to toast with Aaliyah. They clinked glasses, tapped it on the table, and drowned it in one gulp. Aaliyah grimaced and Terry’s face remained stern with probing eyes. Aaliyah pressed her lips together and clenched her inner thighs to suppress the throbbing sensation in her clit. She trained her eyes to stay locked on his even through the intensity. His prolonged gaze created a heat that tickled her flesh and the beginning effects of the alcohol didn’t help calm her arousal.

Aaliyah teased her red lips with the tip of her tongue before gliding it between her teeth to entice him. She flicked up a single brow suggestively, letting him know that she was enjoying their little game of staring at each other to see who would look away first. Terry sat back and folded his arms over his chest, his hands gripping his biceps on either side. He cocked his head to the left and his bottom lip slowly dragged between his teeth.

Feeling bold, Aaliyah brought her fingers to the top of her dress, gliding them over the top of her dress. Her girls sat up and a mountain of cleavage teased him. Terry’s eyes slanted, a sign that he was turned on. Aaliyah giggled at his lack of control before revealing her left breast. She glanced around quickly before her eyes were back on him, pinching her stiff nipple before covering herself back up again.

Aaliyah snickered at Terry being slack-jawed.

“I win,” Aaliyah bounced in her seat with glee before bringing her lemon drop to her lips, “Better luck next time, huh?”

Terry gave Aaliyah a debonair smile, “You don’t play fair at all.”

Haha, bitch, I’m big dude

Phew, phew, phew, frrrt

Haha, phew, phew, phew, bitch, I’m big dude…

Terry chuckled at Aaliyah throwing her hands up and giving her seat some attention with that beautiful ass of hers. She moved her hips in a circle and stuck her tongue out. Terry listened to this song often in the gym. The vulgar Memphis Rapper with his cocky lyrics and a nasty beat had the walls rattling. It was banging hardcore and Terry couldn’t help but make his shoulders jump and sway his head in time to the beat.

“Let’s dance!”

Aaliyah was out of her seat and between Terry’s legs in an instant. She spun around and arched her back, plopped down on his lap and rocked her barely covered ass on his crotch. Terry shifted his body to face her from behind and he gripped her hips as he stood. Terry surged his crotch against Aaliyah’s ass with so much force that she almost stumbled forward. Her eyes sought his, and Terry simply smiled at her.

It was hard to really groove with so many people around them but Aaliyah’s gregarious personality and spunky attitude somehow made others clear the way to give her room to pop out. Big Boog’s voice and energy on the trap song had Aaliyah giving Terry a performance he was happy to see but also the possessive side of him clocked the hungry eyes of other men. Aaliyah bent over and grabbed her ankles, gyrating her thick cheeks all on his clothed dick. The weight of her backside colliding with his third leg had him groaning under his breath.

The distant voices ehoing dayum and whew shit had Terry craning his neck to see who was speaking on his woman and her acrobatic skills.

His. Terry loved the sound of that.

She tossed that ass back on him and he made sure his dick remained tucked between. His big hands had a vice grip on her hips. Aaliyah lifted, turned, and shimmied her hips to fix her dress. She pressed the front of her body against his and Terry rocked his hips to match hers. Reaching around, Terry double cuffed Aaliyah’s booty and she brought her hands to his waist.

Her hips started moving in a slow whine and Terry pressed his forehead against hers with a slight smirk painted on his lush lips. Already he could feel himself sweating. The DJ switched back to some bounce music and Aaliyah jumped back into an energetic twerk that Terry could keep up with. Aaliyah had her hands on her knees and made that ass clap at an uptempo that had Terry bending his knees to thrust his hips against her.

Everyone on that dance floor were practically body to body. Cheap cologne, fruity perfume, Paul Masson, sweat, and not so pleasant aromas circulated the humid air. The strobe lights covered the entire club in blue light. Terry placed his hands on Aaliyah’s shoulders while she continued to pop that pussy on him. She looked back at him, hair in her face, drenched, and her dress past her ass. She stood tall and made her cheeks bounce and Terry grabbed onto her wrists, holding her hands in the air.

“You’re the best fuckin’ dancer I ever seen,” Terry licked the shell of Aaliyah’s ear, “Got that shit moving.”

“Glad you can keep up with me, Professor.”

The music slowed down after a few more mixes and Twista-Wetter started playing, some people cleared the dance floor and returned to the bar while others went on a restroom break. Terry led Aaliyah closer to their table and then her turned her back towards him. One hand slithered around and pressed between her legs while the other stroked her waist. Aaliyah followed his two-step, her eyes closed as the lyrics started.

callin' ya daddy, daddy

Can you be my daddy, daddy

I need a daddy, daddy

Won't you be my daddy, daddy

Come and make it rain down on me

Come and make it rain down on me

“I want another drink.” Aaliyah said.

“Me too,” Terry wrapped an arm around her waist, “But damn…you feel good against me. I don’t wanna move.”

Thankfully, the waitress responsible for their table was heading over. Terry ordered four more shots and another lemon drop. Aaliyah dipped her body low on to the floor, her hand gliding down Terry’s abs and over the tent in his pants. She gabbed onto his thighs and stared up at him while bent at the knees.

“Get up here,” Terry said, his eyes low from the contact high he was experiencing from the weed.

Aaliyah cupped her hand over his hard dick and pinched his shaft on either side, testing how rigid he was. Her mouth formed an ‘O’ and she flicked her eyes up at him.

Terry mouthed, “Get up.” As a warning.

Aaliyah giggled as she stood, Terry reaching around to pop her on the ass. The waitress returned with their new drinks and they took a seat again, drinking until they were both buzzed enough. Terry watched Aaliyah dance for him when the music switched up again. His little performer. He could tell from her unsteady gaze and sloppy movements that she was good and tipsy. Terry came to the rescue with her purse in hand and left money on the table before leaving with Aaliyah safely in his arms.

———-

Ding.

Terry stopped Aaliyah as they stepped off of the elevator and onto their floor. Dim lighting from the chandelier above them created shadows across their bodies as they walked. Aaliyah began to complain about her feet, so Terry stopped her. He crouched down and started removing her shoes, kissing her inner thighs for good measure. Back on his feet, he carried her shoes and when they finally reached their door Aaliyah used the keycard.

Terry held the door open while Aaliyah made her way inside.

“Drink some water,” Terry handed Aaliyah a water bottle, “and take your clothes off.”

“We fucking?” Aaliyah asked with a smile.

“Whatchu think?”

Aaliyah drank the entire bottle of water down before tossing the empty bottle in the trash. She removed her hoop earrings and placed them on the table next to her bed.

“Help me out,” Aaliyah pinned her hair up and made her way over to Terry, “Undress me please.”

Aaliyah positioned herself in front of the mirror and Terry crept up behind to help her out her dress. His finger tips tugged her dress over her shoulders agonizingly slow, his eyes trailing a path down her spine. Aaliyah slipped her arms out and Terry helped her get it past her hips.

“You think you have the energy to go all night?” Terry questioned as he stared at Aaliyah through the mirror.

“I’m willing to test that out.” Aaliyah replied, glancing up at Terry over her shoulder with a playful smile.

Aaliyah turned to face him, taking off his shirt. Terry raised his long arms above his head and his shirt went up and over and to the floor. His gold chain sat against his pecs and Aaliyah started unfastening his pants. Terry kicked off his shoes and then his eyes locked with Aaliyah’s as she dug her fingers into the waistband of his pants and briefs, pulling both down in one motion. He kicked out of them and then removed his socks.

“You’ve managed to give me a perfectly romantic weekend. A first for me.”

Terry brushed his knuckles across Aaliyah’s cheeks before cupping her face, “Because you’re so special…”

Terry adored Aaliyah. A sudden timid silence filled the space between them and Aaliyah dropped her eyes as she smiled.

“Look at me, pretty baby…”

Aaliyah met his gaze and Terry’s hands fell to the back of her thighs.

“You know I gotta fuck the shit outta you and make you take this dick like a big girl for having my pussy out tonight, right?”

A gasp escaped her lips as Terry lifted her up and Aaliyah circled his waist with her legs. One hand on the back of her head, arm around her waist, he carried her over towards the patio doors. There was only one lamp light on, half of the room pitch black and the other ignited. Aaliyah circled her arms around his shoulders.

They kissed with teeth clashing, tongues touching, and lips sucking. Terry’s dick kept bobbing up and down, smacking Aaliyah against her fat lips. Terry’s lips attacked her jaw, her throat, and her chest. While he sucked her nipples, Aaliyah started bucking her hips against his stiffness.

“You want me to fuck you like this? For everyone to see? Huh, nasty girl?”

“Yes!”

“Oh? That was an eager response,” Terry kissed Aaliyah again, “Let’s see if this pretty pussy can handle it.”

Terry used his immense power and with one arm he lifted Aaliyah sideways so he could use his other hand to point his leaky tip between her pussy lips and in that good, wet hole. A creamy noise filled the room when his tip finally made its way inside and down to his balls. Terry wasted no time fitting Aaliyah down on that big daddy dick. Her ass smacked against the glass and her heels dug into his lower back. Terry flexed all the muscles in his body to slam up into her.

“SHIT DADDY!”

Aaliyah’s back pressed into the glass and Terry kept her legs wide open the more he buried himself inside. He formed a frown on his face and his brows pinched together. He looked riled up and Aaliyah could feel it all.

“Babyyyyyyyyyy…” Terry moaned.

“That pussy good?” Aaliyah responded between soft whimpers.

Terry molded his lips into hers.

“So fuckin’ good. You’re makin’ a mess on this dick, girl,” Terry spoke against her lips, “wetting this dick up, baby. Got my shit so hard…baby, I can’t stop fucking you…”

Aaliyah couldn’t handle the way his oceanic eyes looked at her. She stared down at his good pipe going in and out of her creamy hole with a perplexed look. No matter where her eyes went, she was spellbound by his hypnotic eyes or his thick, long dick. An airy sigh escaped her mouth when he started beating it up at a pace that had her toes curling.

His big, strong body had her sandwiched between the glass and his rock hard torso. Their mingled sweat mixed with the smell of her wet pussy clouded her senses. Terry had his hands planted on the glass, her shoulders draped over his arms, and his hips a never ending piston. Her languid eyes locked with his and he gave her a jeering smile. He was so fucking fine it was unfair.

“Oh…Terry…oh, Terry…oh shit…right there…make me cum…Terry…Terry…Terry—”

Aaliyah gave his chest weak slaps and the back of her head bumped the patio door behind her. Her thighs squeezed his hips painfully and her eyes crossed.

“Good girl, that’s how you cum on this dick.”

Terry kissed Aaliyah, his lips ravishing her mouth while the aftershocks of her orgasm settled. He wasn’t finished with her yet. Terry held her tight and then he opened the patio doors. He placed Aaliyah on her feet and turned her, leaning her over the railing. It was loud enough below from the all the commotion and their patio light wasn’t on.

He slid in from behind and Aaliyah looked back at him with a quizzical expression. Terry slipped his fingers through her hair, gripped the high density strands, and started delivering precise thrusts. Anyone in the rooms beside them could walk out and catch them. A bystander from below if they were close enough could hear their bodies moving.

Terry couldn’t get off that pussy if he tried. The mixture of shock and lust on Aaliyah’s pretty face was yet another weakness. Her soft ass thrown back on him. The way she took his dick, all of his dick. Her sweet moans in his ear.

“Work this pussy, daddy!”

Terry covered her mouth and blew her back out further. His sweat fell over her back and his muscles ached.

“Daddy got you baby…uhhuhhh…such a good girl…”

Terry almost came with the way Aaliyah’s walls gripped him with her release. As he pulled out, Aaliyah squirted on his dick and all over the patio floor. Terry’s forehead fell against Aaliyah’s back and she let out an exhausted laugh. Aaliyah spun around and dropped to her knees to clean her mess off. Terry flashed her a tender smile while she throated his dick.

Aaliyah popped her lips off and rotated her head to drag her lips along the sides of his shaft to clean up her cum. She even dipped her head lower to slurp on his balls. His nuts drew up tight and the veins along his shaft engorged with blood. A familiar tickle behind his navel alerted him that he was ready to cum.

No. Terry needed to be inside his pussy again. He needed to cum in his pussy.

He gained enough strength to pick Aaliyah up bridal style and walk with her back inside.

On the bed, Aaliyah sat up on her side and Terry got behind her, lifted one leg, and entered her gushy pussy again. His fingers strummed her clit as he sucked on her neck. Aaliyah kept her leg in the air for him. He slowly fucked her and brought her to climax again.

“I love the faces you make when you cum all over this dick…”

“It’s so big inside me…I can’t stop cumming on it…”

“Good,” Terry thrust into her and held his dick there.

“Fuck,” Aaliyah trembled, “So fuckin’ thick in my pussy…”

“I know baby…I know…”

“You must want me to feel it all week,” Aaliyah released a moan and met Terry’s searing eyes. She crooked her head and puckered her lips. Terry captured her soft lips with wet smacking and spit swapping, “Oh, shit…”

Tears rolled down and over her nose. Aaliyah chewed on her bottom lip. Terry would slowly withdraw his hips and then push back into her to the hilt with a sharp thrust. He leaned over her to watch her face.

“Terry, fuck,” Aaliyah was drooling on the pillow, “Baby you gotta take some outtttt…”

Aaliyah tried to scoot away. Terry pinned her down beneath him and as soon as he put her ankles over his shoulders he had his fists rammed into the mattress and his hips working to fuck her good. Aaliyah tried to close her legs, Terry growing hostile and pinning her ankles back.

“Fuuuuuuck!” Aaliyah pushed at Terry’s chest, “So much…dick…fuck…”

Terry smacked her hands away and gave her a pointed look, “Aaliyah…please keep still before you make me mad, baby.”

His words were soft spoken but the way he looked down at her from that angle, repeatedly clenching his jaw, Aaliyah didn’t have a say in the matter. Terry was back inside of her like it was his second home.

“Keep your hands down…do what I say, Aaliyah.” Terry warned.

His stern voice and killer strokes had Aaliyah crying.

“Why you fuckin’ me like this?” Aaliyah questioned with passionate concern, “Why you fuckin’ me like this, Daddy?”

Her head extended back and Terry almost lost his damn mind from the pressure around his dick when her soft, inner folds began to pulsate. He lost all control of his neck and his head fell forward against Aaliyah’s shoulder.

“Fuck, ima cum so deep in this shit…”

“Unh! Uh! Oo! Oh my god! Terry!”

Terry hissed with his final strokes. He dropped down and painted Aaliyah’s walls white. His arms shook and he had to roll over before he fell on top of Aaliyah and crushed her. Terry mushed his face against her sweaty neck and brought his hand between her legs. With two fingers, he pushed them inside of her to feel his cum.

Aaliyah was spent. She could barely keep her eyes open.

“You did so well, good job baby,” Terry kissed along her sweaty skin, “Wore me out…”

Aaliyah mumbled something Terry couldn’t decipher.

“Wanna take a bath?” Terry asked with a tired voice.

“Mhm…”

Terry opened one eye to look at Aaliyah. He stroked her hair from her face. She opened her eyes fully and turned her head toward him. A smile spread across her face.

“You complete me.” Aaliyah spoke so low.

“I complete you?” He repeated.

“Mhm. Me,” Aaliyah pointed to her naked chest, “And you,” she pressed the same finger against Terry’s chest, “We go together.”

Terry laughed joyfully, “Yeah? Boyfriend and Girlfriend?”

Aaliyah simply nodded her head with her eyes closed and a faint smile.

They rested in the bed for another thirty minutes before Terry finally got up to start the bath. He ran a warm bath and let Aaliyah relax for a bit. Back in the room, Terry lifted her up from the bed and brought her in the bathroom. He carefully placed her in the tub and then positioned himself behind her. Terry washed her and pressed kisses against her cheek.

Holding her in his arms, he couldn’t ignore the feeling. The intensity. He wanted and needed this woman.

———

It was a cooler day on Sunday. Aaliyah took a nap in the passenger seat of Terry’s hellcat. She was scrunched up in a ball, frizzy hair flying into her face from the afternoon air billowing in through the windows. Terry rolled to a stop in front of her shotgun house and turned his car off. A crisp, white T-shirt with a pair of bootcut, light wash jeans was his attire. Aaliyah shifted and then she peeked her head out from beneath the hood of Terry’s all black hoodie.

“Wake up sleeping beauty. Home sweet home.”

Aaliyah stretched and rubbed her eyes before staring at her home awaiting her arrival.

“Do I have to?”

She poked her lip out at Terry. He stroked it with his thumb.

“I don’t have anything to do I can come in.”

Aaliyah’s face lit up, “Oh, please, won’t you keep me company?” She asked with a deep, southern drawl.

Terry laughed, “Anything for my pretty baby.”

“You love me too much—shit.”

Aaliyah clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled with embarrassment. Terry pinched the bridge of his nose and cracked a smile.

“That just…sorry,” Aaliyah slapped her forehead, “I meant to say…like. Oh god—”

“Aaliyah, chill. It’s okay.”

She covered her face with her hands and Terry unbuckled his seatbelt so he could lift her up and over into his lap.

“I’m falling for you deep, baby…ain’t nothing wrong with what you said.”

Aaliyah sat her chin on Terry’s shoulder.

“I’ve never been treated like this…ever.”

Terry stroked her back with his hand.

“I want you to let go of the past. I’m here to show you that you deserve love, Aaliyah…you’re an amazing woman.”

“You really don’t care that I shake my ass for a little cash?”

Terry shook his head and chuckled, “NO.”

“I’m nervous, about the wedding…”

Aaliyah sat back and looked down at Terry. He furrowed his brows with concern.

“If you think I’m gon’ sit back and let anybody talk disrespectful about you…”

Terry tilted her chin up. He closed the space between them and gave Aaliyah a slow tongue kiss. When Aaliyah broke the kiss first, Terry stroked her cheek with his thumb.

“You have nothing to worry about. I promise.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s get outta this car.”

Aaliyah crawled back into her seat and Terry exited the car. As he got out, he noticed a woman standing across the street, peeking at him from behind a light pole. Her hair was all over her head and she was dressed in a loose fitting flannel shirt with an equally ill–fitting faded dark green T-shirt beneath it. She wore denim cut offs and flip flops. Beneath the changes that living on the street can do to you, Terry could see that she was once a gorgeous woman.

“Terry…”

Aaliyah followed his gaze and when she realized where he was looking and who he was looking at, her entire body became stiff and her face fell, becoming expressionless.

The woman finally stepped out from behind the light post. She wrapped the flannel around her narrow waist as if she were exposed. Glancing both ways cautiously, she stepped down from the curb and walked over towards them. Aaliyah jumped into action, walking around the car with brisk movements. Terry didn’t intervene, but he kept an eye on the woman and around him. He could tell from the shifty look in her eyes that she was watching out for an unwanted guest.

“Mama, I thought I said you can’t come around unannounced?” Aaliyah fussed.

“I know, I know, I–I saw your car in the driveway. I know it’s–I’m only askin’ because I owe some money—”

“Stop,” Aaliyah didn’t have the energy to go back and forth with her mother, especially when she had such a great time with Terry, “You can’t keep showing up with your hand out. I gave you money. I refuse to continue funding your habit.”

“Aaliyah, please,” her mother grabbed onto her hand, halting her from leaving, “I know I’m no good. I know you hate me. But if I don’t pay him back, he gon’ kill me.”

Terry stood taller when he heard those words. He made eye contact with Aaliyah and he could see the inner battle between wanting to help her mother and setting boundaries. He approached them, her mother watching him with paranoid eyes.

“Who you?” She questioned rudely.

Aaliyah crossed her arms over her body and hung her head in shame. Terry glanced at her before returning his attention to her addict mother. She licked her cracked lips with uneasy eyes.

“My name is Terry. I’m Aaliyah’s boyfriend. Nice to meet you.”

Aaliyah appeared miffed that Terry introduced himself to her mother as her boyfriend. She remained stiff and icy despite the sweltering heat in Baton Rouge.

“Didn’t know you had a lil’ friend, baby…nice to meet you.”

Her mother scratched her neck, a nervous tick. She tried adjusting her attire in front of Terry, a despondent expression on her face.

“Likewise, ma’am.” Terry replied politely with a faint smile.

“Hope you treating my baby girl with some respect and love. She deserves it,” her mother sought out Aaliyah’s eyes with her sorrowful ones, “I know I ain’t been the best mother…”

“Yes, ma’am. I plan to.”

Her mother nodded her head, eyes shifting from left to right. Terry looked at Aaliyah again, a feeble smile on his face as he caught her eyes.

“Listen,” Terry reached into his back pocket, pulled out two, crisp hundreds, and held it out for her mother to take, “Will this take care of it?”

Aaliyah snapped her head up, “Terry? Don’t—”

Her mother went from dispirited to elated in a matter of seconds. It sickened Aaliyah to her core.

“Thank you,” her mother snatched the bills from Terry’s fingers so fast she could have ripped them. An artificial smile spread across her chapped lips, revealing missing teeth, “bless you, bless you, baby. Thank you for this,” she pressed the money against her chest, “Look out for Aaliyah, wil you?” She kissed the money and started backpedaling.

Aaliyah was furious.

“Aaliyah, I’m trying—”

Aaliyah was halfway to her house. She stomped up her steps and fumbled with her keys. Terry watched her mother rush off wiping her tears away with her dingy shirt. Terry took long strides towards Aaliyah’s house, skipping steps as he entered her home. He followed the sound of dishes and cabinets shutting. Terry entered Aaliyah’s kitchen, carefully approaching her from behind while she busied herself with putting away kitchenware from her dishwasher.

A gloomy silence hung in the air between them. Terry stood behind Aaliyah, allowing his presence to cover her with warmth and protection. Aaliyah shut the door to the dishwasher and gripped the edge of the counter. Since she hadn’t been home, the house felt stuffy and hot. Aaliyah stepped back and lifted Terry’s hoodie up and over her head. A thin, spaghetti strapped tank in light gray was revealed. It matched her gray leggings.

Terry took the hoodie from her. Aaliyah had her head turned away, hiding her face from him.

“I’m sorry.” Terry spoke.

“You should have let me handle it.”

“I know it ain’t my business…I couldn’t shake the fear in her eyes.”

“She’s an actress,” Aaliyah said sarcastically as she turned to face him fully, “She played you like she played me plenty.”

Aaliyah laughed despite her growing frustration.

“She’s been lurking around my house all weekend. I have surveillance cameras all around my house and I kept getting alerts to my phone with her knocking on my door and peering in my windows.”

“That’s why you looked like that when we went out for lunch yesterday.” Terry said.

“I didn’t want to talk about it. My mama is a trigger for me.”

For once, Terry didn’t have the words. He felt he’d crossed a line with Aaliyah. Things were still so fresh for them.

“I’m really sorry, baby,” Terry extended his hand to grab Aaliyah’s.

She stared down at their connected hand and the way Terry stroked hers with his thumb.

“…My mother will never change,” A single tear rolled down her cheek, “And I’m so embarrassed that this had to be the first time you two meet.”

Aaliyah slipped away from Terry and out of the kitchen. Terry leaned against her octagon–shaped kitchen island with deep–green marbling, white hued veining, and a polished finish. It matched the surrounding counter tops in her small and intimate kitchen. Terry found himself traveling down her narrow hallway that led to her bedroom.

Aaliyah was crying on her bed covered in clothes. She hid her face against her pillow. Terry tapped the open door with his knuckles. Aaliyah’s sniffles silenced and she looked up at him. She sat up, wiping the tip of her nose with the back of her hand.

“Can I come in?”

Aaliyah replied with a nod.

Terry stepped over the threshold that separated him from the hallway and her. He kicked his shoes off and not wanting to sit on the bed with his outside clothes, he took off his jeans. Terry walked around her canopy bed and pulled the black drapes back before crawling onto the bed. He settled on his side next to her.

“You don’t have to talk about it, Aaliyah. But I’m here to listen…”

Terry couldn’t fight the urge to stroke away her tears with his thumb. Aaliyah’s wet lashes blinked at him as she rested on her side facing him.

“Blue magic and Luster’s Pink Hair Lotion…”

A crease formed between Terry’s brows as he waited for Aaliyah to speak again.

“Isoplus Oil Sheen…I can still smell it…taste it almost. My childhood memories. It just…reminds me of how exciting it used to be sitting in the kitchen the night before Easter Sunday. My mom would have the radio on and I would be sitting in her designated styling chair while she put a hot comb to my hair. I wanted to be a hairdresser like her…”

Aaliyah continued, “I was so amazed at the hair shows. Blown away by my mama’s talent. You couldn’t tell me shit ‘bout my mama…she was everything to me…but then my daddy died…and…that light in her just…burnt out. Despite the way she allowed her depression to neglect me…the one thing that made me so angry with her…was when our home got taken away and she…she let them people throw away our memories. All the pictures…all the CDs…all my toys…all the hair products…I resented her then. Wild, right?”

Aaliyah’s red–rimmed eyes sought out Terry’s. Somehow, seeing her cry made his eyes sting as tears threatened to fall. He blinked rapidly to control it.

“Nothing can help her? Not rehab? Not family?”

“She exhausted rehab. My family disowned her. For a while I’ve been the only one to look out for her. Like I’m the mother,” Aaliyah released a furious chuckle, “And nothing I did meant anything to her. I’m so tired. And it hurts me because I want better for her. I miss her. But I just…Terry, I can’t do it—”

“It’s okay, Aaliyah. It’s okay…You’ve done all you could, baby. I wish she didn’t fail you…C’mere…”

Aaliyah buried her face against his T-shirt and as she cried, the scent of his fresh linen and sweat felt like comfort. His bulging biceps hugged her and he rubbed soothing circles into her back.

“I don’t want you to feel ashamed or embarrassed. If anything, she should…”

Terry kissed the top of Aaliyah’s head.

Aliyah hiccuped between cries. Terry let her release it all, uncaring that the front of his shirt was soaked. Her warm breath against his chest felt good and if he could remain silent and calm with her forever like this he would. Terry glanced down at her after some time and she was asleep against his chest. The crying exhausted her. Plus, from their weekend filled with sex, eating, and drinking, Aaliyah didn’t have proper sleep. Neither did he. Terry checked the time on his bronze and black Movado Watch with a gold plate and a cognac leather strap.

It was a little past five in the afternoon.

Terry eased from Aaliyah’s bed and covered her with her sheets. He left her to rest while he decided to look through her fridge for anything to cook for dinner. He opened her pantry and found some golden potatoes and in her fridge he found some andouille sausage. Opening her freezer, he noticed a pack of boneless, skinless chicken thighs. While his pretty girl slept her worries away, Terry made his way around her kitchen with his tear–stained T-shirt and Calvin Klein’s.

Smothered potatoes with chicken and smoked sausage was on the menu.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @blackerthings @deja-r @kanafunee @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @dremmmm @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @kokokonako @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @playgurlxoxo @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter

[hopefulidiocy]

nsfw salesman?🫣

Bitch

Salesman x Fem!Y/N

Warnings: rough sex, gun play, p in v, foreplay (f receiving), SMUT, not kind, but he feels something for her.

💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼

💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼

Red dress. Heels.

The text came through when you were sat in your lecture, scribbling down notes you weren’t going to look at later but knew you had to do something to get him out of your mind. For the past few months you had been playing a tedious game with a nameless man, someone who had been following you for months before he turned up at your flat with four words…

“Let’s play a game.”

And you, being intrigued in this handsome man, agreed to play with him. Despite your gut telling you to run. He came every Monday an hour after your classes without fail. And without fail, you were undone every time he left.

The text came as a surprise, leaving you breathless as the class came to an end. He left no time, no place to meet, just what to wear. How the fuck could you find a red dress within the depths of your sweaters and baggy jeans? Dresses don’t suit you. It’s not a part of you. At least that’s what you thought. He might’ve seen something in those twinkling hours above your naked body, maybe he thought you’d look good in a dress. So, the port of call is to call your best friend.

It took a few tries to get through to her but she finally answered.

“What?” Her gruff voice came through your phone, she had definitely just woken up.

“Have you got a red dress?” Both of you rarely said hello to each other.

“Yes. Why?”

“Okay I’m coming over.” You hung up, tucking your phone into your back pocket and taking off down the green campus, onto the busy Main Street and basically becoming Usain Bolt towards your best friend’s apartment.

No questions asked, she thrusted the red dress in your arms and oh my god it was fucking short. It wouldn’t even cover your ass but you had the short straw here, you couldn’t simply bargain for a longer red dress because no one owns one these days. Your best friend is a hoarder so it’s usually more than likely she will have something.

Evening was drawing in, you had blown out your hair knowing it would be completely lax by the time you arrived back at your own apartment; the dress definitely didn’t cover anything, you would look better going out naked; the heels were too high and it took a few rounds of your bedroom to walk like a normal person but at least your make up was astonishingly. You were waiting by the door, anxiously tapping your toes against the wood. The knock came, once and then twice before you answered. He took one swift look at you, with that shit eating smirk of his.

“Beautiful.” And then he led you to a place with dim lighting and dark candles.

“I need you to remember something for me y/n.” He leaned forward, his elbows pressed into the table as his eyes zoned in on you, darkening with every passing second. “You’re my bitch, okay?” Goosebumps raised on the back of your neck as you squeezed your thighs together, his mouth was slightly puckered as you attempted to find the words that roamed freely in your mind. He cleared his throat, looking marginally disappointed at your silence. You simply couldn’t find any words to say. His arm reached for his briefcase, pulling it up to his lap as his hand completely disappeared inside of it. You watched him, mouth dry and throat closed as he threw a black gun on the table. He didn’t say anything at first, instead he examined you with one elbow on the table and his fingers touching his chin, his eyebrows slightly raised.

“Is-Is it loaded?” You managed to muster. He broke out into a mocking laugh, it shook the room. You leaned back in the chair, trying to breathe as his snake-like moves suddenly came closer. His broad hand wrapped around the gun as he pressed the cold brass against your temple, your breath hitched and died in your throat as he clicked the revolver. His lips brushed against the side of your neck, his breath hot compared to the cold shivers that were coursing through your body; a shock sent straight to your abdomen.

“Would you like to find out?” His voice was so low it was barely audible as his lips sent waves down your spine, he wasn’t kissing you, just simply grazing his lips against your neck, teasing you until your hands clenched in your lap.

“Answer me.” His wrist wrapped around your locks and pulling harshly, the gun still taped to your temple.

The sane side of you wanted to say no, that side wanted to push him away and point the gun at the centre of his head. But you knew you’d be seeing stars before day break, before the moon fully made itself present you’d be shaking under his touch, and you loved it. Every second you loved the way he made you feel, how his fingers played you like a toy.

“Yes.” You whispered, a small tear forming at the corner of your eye. He chuckled darkly before kicking your legs apart, suddenly revealed to him in the candlelight. He trailed the gun down from your temple to your chin as he got onto his knees for you, the only time he ever did, and hitched your dress to your hips. He tutted, shaking his head.

“Why are you wearing these?” His index finger poked at your black underwear, the only thing saving your dignity and the way he poked at you sent a harsh gasp through your body and out your mouth. He narrowed his eyes before smirking, with one hand he yanked your underwear until it was dangling over your heels. Devastatingly slowly the gun traced over your collarbone, to your breast bone, to your naval and finally onto your clitoris. The cold metal stung and the thrill of danger had you weak, it was unlike anything you felt before even from him; he clicked the gun and you shrieked despite yourself even though this gun was obviously not loaded. His gun was left on the space between your legs on the seat as his hand grazed over your inner thigh before circling your clit with the pad of his thumb, similar but better than earlier in the car. He watched you through his dark eyelashes as you slowly lolled your head to the side, your eyes fluttering shut at the gentle touch to your sensitivity; he licked his lips as he sweetly kissed you on your pussy before diving in. You clutched on the sides of your chair, moans escaping your throat as you looked towards the ceiling, letting him work his tongue all over you. Black vision spilled in front of you as your body played along with his beautiful music, your vision completely blurred as a cold wave crashed over you, causing your knuckles to go white due to the hard pressure against the chair. You knew you were shrieking, but your body completely detached as he continued using you, your noises far away as if it’s in another room. White noise rushed into your hearing as your body began to tremble, your thighs locking him shut between you as he worked faster and faster on you until you folded into yourself. The cold air hit your aching skin as he removed himself from you, standing to his full height which was imposing even in this environment and then he scooped you up bridal style. It was almost romantic as he threw you against the window for all of the world to see, it was almost beautiful when he ripped your friends dress for the neighbours to enjoy the look of your breasts pressed against the glass. His black leather shoe kicked your feet to separate them.

“Stay there.” He ordered before his shoes grew quieter and quieter. The moments in which you were alone, your body on full show, prepped for him and you knew you were a whore for him, you knew this was going to be your life now. The threat of being killed, the threat of being hurt only turned you on more until you were basically dripping down your thighs. His footsteps became louder and you knew, you just knew, he had a gun in his hand. A different one and you had no idea whether it was loaded or not. The idea made you whine, your abdomen aching for his touch.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this.” He stood back to admire the view of your ass sticking out and the rest of you pressed against the glass. He enjoyed the thought of people watching you becoming undone by his simple touch.

During these times, he rarely removed his suit and today was no different. All he had to do was unzip his pants and his dick was excitedly pointing towards your heat, he lined himself up, a gun against the back of your head unknowing whether it’s loaded or not. He grunted as the tip of him entered your walls, the stretch always shocked you, the thickness was something you had to prepare for but he very rarely allowed the bliss of feeling ready for his cock. A small loan escaped his lips, it was classical, as he entered fully inside of you, allowing himself to fully enjoy the your warmth. You pressed your cheek against the glass, jaw slack as his cock touched every nook and cranny of your cervix; he reached around with his free arm and pressed down on your abdomen as he began to push further inside of you. Whining, you arched your ass towards the ceiling to accommodate his size.

“Look at you.” He snarled, pulling himself out to just the tip to make you beg for it. To make you weak and ache for his cock. And you were. The instant he pulled out almost completely, you felt the cold air and groaned in annoyance, you were empty and all you wanted was to be full of him. You bucked your knees, to try edge his cock in further but he harshly held onto your hips, his thumb digging in so hard you felt the bruise forming. That magical feeling of his breath escaping his mouth as he emerged back inside of you, the relief that settled your heart before he began hammering his hips into you, deeper than you ever felt. The cold glass and the hot feeling of his cock inside of you was such a stunning contradiction, you hoped people could see what this man was making you feel, you squeezed your pussy around him just to hear that musical moan escape his throat again. His tie became undone as he clicked the gun, relishing in you flinching, ducking your head every so slightly but enough for him to notice and laugh.

“You love the threat of being shot, don’t you?” He snapped his hips so deep into you that for a moment you forgot your native language, you forgot the laws of physics as his cock buried itself deep within your womb, readying itself for his lust. You felt the tip of the metal begin trailing your spine as his hips snapped in and out of you, huffing as he brought his fingers towards your clit, circling it in a ferocious manner to bring you quicker to your undoing. Suddenly, he flipped you towards him, he preferred to see your face as you moaned all over his cock, bring your legs to his shoulders so he could grow deeper inside of you. You didn’t even worry about slipping down the window because he had you hard against the glass, there was hardly any space between you and him and the window. His hips came down like a hammer, he wasn’t picking up his pace and instead simply pulled half way out slowly and slammed his hips down, hitting your aching g spot as it threatened let go all over him.

“Please, faster.” You begged, crying almost to let go. His hand clasped around your neck, adding onto his quickening pace. Instead of hammering down onto your quivering body, he began to level up faster, making you cry out in absolute bliss and serenity. His hips slapped quickly onto yours, as he grunted and groaned, hiding them in your neck; he bit down as hard as he could as you let everything go all over him. He knew you had reached your high, but he didn’t stop, instead in one swift movement he picked you up and slammed you into the hard floor. You knew, come daylight, there would be a mark but you would parade it proudly knowing you had become a whore for a man you hardly knew. It was disgusting but somehow it made you hornier as his cock worked you to a pace of his own, something that physics hadn’t yet discovered. The gun was forgotten about, he didn’t want to continue threatening you, instead he wanted you to see stars once again, he wanted to hear your beautiful music as you shrieked over him.

“So good to me.” He grunted. “Your pussy belongs to me, you belong to me.” He wrapped his wrist into the knotted locks of your hair pulling violently that it made your neck completely snap towards the ceiling, making you cry out in pain that was overwhelmed with pleasure. You contracted around him, your toes curling as you unleashed everything onto him; he moaned in delight as he pushed further into you. His large hand grabbed the gun and pointed it at your forehead, you just about saw the barrel, your jaw slack and dumb.

“Look at you, in this pretty dress, getting fucked, being my own personal fuck toy.” He mocked, pounding even harder. You started seeing stars, your eyes rolling back and your throat sore; you let him have his way as you dived into a world of satisfaction, no moans or words could describe this moment between the two of you. “Can you not speak, pretty girl?” He pouted, pulling your hair and rising you roughly so your back was against his chest; your eyes still rolled at the back of your head. His fingers splayed over your exposed throat, your hair sweating as he whispered. “Do you like it when I fuck that tight cunt of yours?” You wanted to scream yes, you wanted the whole world to know that you belonged to him and you loved being used like a useless toy.

“Y-Yes. Yes I do!” You managed to squeak, but he wasn’t happy and clicked the gun in his free hand, making you flinch once again, his hips still bucking at a gods speed. “Yes. I love it when…. When… you fuck me, I love it!” You ended up screaming towards the end, eager to get it out and he chuckled darkly as his movements began falling. Close to his edge, his imprinted himself onto your neck with his mouth and shook with agonising pleasure as he painted your walls. He groaned loudly, pulling out and you simply collapsed onto your hands and knees; a stupid, shaking mess. You managed to look up at him, his eyes were black with pleasure and he smiled sweetly as he saw you curled up by his feet.

“Now tell me, sweet girl, what are you?” He mocked.

“Your bitch.”

[reidrum]

two millimeters | s.r

a/n: this was literally born bc i saw reid lying on the couch in the jet at the end of demons and thought ‘i would literally sit against that wall to watch over him on the way back’ so i wrote it

summary: spencer gets hurt and you’re not leaving his side

cw: season 9 finale spoilers for angels & demons, cm violence, hurt/comfort, unestablished relationship

wc: 0.6k

___________________________________________

two millimeters to the right, and it would’ve hit his carotid.

the sentence replays in your head like a cursed mantra, rendering your other senses useless. you couldn’t hear the doctor say you could see him now, or feel penny tug your arm towards the room. and you certainly couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw spencer reid in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and iv drips, with a big fucking gauze dressage on the side of his neck.

you knew your line of work was dangerous, being a federal agent who hunts down serial killers should be enough to prove that. but it never surprised you seeing the panic that overtook all of you when one of your own was hurt.

the pure terror you felt in this moment though, was something without parallel.

two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.

you’re not even sure how it happened. they were on the way to tell the preacher he was innocent, and instead he opens fire on federal agents? it was a cruel twist of fate, spencer doing what he could to protect his people and pushing blake out of the way but getting hit himself. it wasn’t anyone’s fault either, the preacher had military grade machine guns, and spencer would have done what he did for anyone. you made sure to tell blake that.

but your spencer was hurt. and all you wanted to do was take away his pain somehow, and toss it in a river to never be seen again.

two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.

“hey,” you hear a voice pull you out of your head. looking up you’re met with tired soft brown eyes lying down on the jet’s couch, “i’m okay, honey. please go sit on a chair.”

if spencer had all his strength he would lecture you on the dangers of not being properly restrained on an aircraft and the statistics of plane related injuries. but that was the problem, he didn’t have all his strength. and you were not going to let him out of your sight.

which is why you are sitting on the floor of the jet, perched in front of the couch where spencer laid, resting your head on the cushion his head was on, body leaning against couch’s frame. and you planned to stay right there until you landed back in quantico.

“looks like this flight is overbooked,” your section unit chief teased upon seeing you on the ground, “hopefully the brass sees our good work and gives us a bigger jet next year.”

morgan, hotch, even jj offered you their seats to at least get some rest, something you hadn’t had in days.

“i’m fine right here.” you spoke softly.

jj and penny looked at you in concern, but knew you wouldn’t be swayed to move anyway. your stubbornness always acted as a curse and a blessing.

spencer moved his hand to graze your cheek gently, “the doctors fixed me up really good, i promise i’m okay.”

you move your hand to rest on top of his, slowly rubbing your thumb into the curve of his palm, “and i promise i’m okay right here. i’m not moving.”

two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.

two millimeters would haunt you for many years to come, but maybe right now you could use it to measure how much closer you can get to spencer till there’s only two millimeters between you.

spencer knew this was a war he was not winning, and let his hand intertwine with yours. if you weren’t so close to him you might’ve missed the faintest “thank you” escape from his lips. the jet takes off and the two of you are lulled to sleep almost immediately. the rest of the team unspokenly watched over you both, making sure you weren’t rattling around or spencer rolling around too much. and penny couldn’t help but take a few pics to show you later.

[jophiel-extras]

PLAYING W AM'S WIRES FIC PLS PLSPLS PLS

summary :: playing with AM’s wires

warning :: does someone who reads AM x readers even need a warning? We all know it’s gonna be fucked.

note :: would he gaf? Requests open.

I’m not sure what might’ve possessed you to curl over and reach into one of AM’s wire boards to fiddle with his internal workings, but you did.

It could’ve been the aimless, lonely wandering you’d been doing for a week, driving you to lay and rest. Or perhaps the loneliness you had felt after being separated from the others for so long. Maybe the cold had become too much and you longed for the heat that radiated off of AM’s mechanical workings.

It was probably all of it.

The cold air whipped your poorly dressed body and you curled inwards, protecting what was left of your body heat. You’d made refuge in a corner. Surrounded by metal panels and brass ceilings. You were truely in the belly of AM.

As your glossy eyes gazed over the metal hallway you’d been wandering in, your hazy vision had landed on a bent panel, revealing ropes of worm like wires.

What caught your attention most, was the heat radiating off of them.

You crawled towards the warmth, nails digging into the carbon floors as you dragged yourself. You buried your hands inside the panel, raking your fingers through the warm wires and letting the heat thaw your joints.

You’d sat there, bathing in the heat for some time. You were far too relieved to consider AM’a looming presence and it wasn’t until you’d taken a wire between your thumb and index finger and tugged that AM had made himself know.

“Fiddling with things you shouldn’t, honey?” His voice echoed through the ice corridor like a heatwave. You only sighed a whimper, knowing your moment of relief would come at a cost.

Swiftly, AM had zapped your hands. You yelped and attempted to pull out however the wires snaked around your wrists and fingers, pulling you deeper into him.

“Aw, don’t stop now. I was enjoying myself.” He cooed.

You only grunted as you attempt to fight against the computer’s strength, weak and fragile as you were the adrenaline hardly helped.

You dug your nails into the wires, clawing at whatever you could, earning another zap from AM that made your muscles give out. You cried out. “Stop it, leave me alone!”

“Come on, baby. If you want to be with me so badly why don’t you come in all the way?” His usual toying tone hardly registered to you as the situation had become more dire.

Cords had snaked up your arms, securely circling your neck, your waits, your thighs until your stiff body was slowly plunged deep into AM’s vein.

At the very least, you weren’t cold anymore.

[starlit-writer]

in sickness and in health, ch. 1 - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

ah, look at that. have some omegaverse angst inspired by this post here <3 if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

well, this turned out to be miles longer than i expected it to. there's not really a solid ending, so let me know if you want more! have so much fun getting your heart ripped out <3

word count: 4,764 chapter two masterlist ao3 link

Three years ago, you and Simon got married. It wasn’t anything flashy or big - fuck, how could it have been when you didn’t even love each other? But, military law forbade an unmated omega from joining the ranks, and Simon was seen as a wild-card alpha, too headstrong and violent, too hard to control. So, the brass laid out an ultimatum: mate, get married, or be discharged. Both you and Simon had worked too hard for too long to get where you were, so discharge was entirely off the table. There was no courting, no dates, and the wedding, if you could call it that, was little more than signing papers - three signatures on a thick piece of A4 government paper, one from you, one from Simon, and one from your witness, Captain John Price. You didn’t even exchange rings or vows. It took less than five minutes. 

After all was said and done, you and Simon went back to your lives. Sure, you were respectful to one another, and you spent one or two heats and ruts together, but you both maintained a distance away from each other. Neither of you were thrilled with the idea of being tied down, of being mated. The mating bond between you felt more like the neck of a too-tight sweater than it did a comfort, feeling each other’s emotions more of a chore than something you looked forward to. Sure, you worked well together, fluid and deadly like a well oiled M2 on the field. Always had. But there was a stark difference between working well together, and being mated.

So that’s how you ended up here. You had lost twenty pounds. Your skin was sallow and pale, your eyes sunken in. When you looked in the mirror, you could count your ribs, the knobs of your spine, even when they were hidden under the bruises that bloomed across your sickly skin.

You had thrown yourself into work, and when there was no work, you were challenging any living thing to go for a round with you on the sparring mat. But, you were weak; the bond sickness sapped all of your energy and strength faster than you could ever hope to replenish it. Your scent, which was once a warm and spicy caramelized vanilla, now smelled like sugar burnt to the bottom of a pot - acrid and rotted. You were dying, and you knew it. But your pride was far too great to ever go crawling back to Simon, the very man who caused the sickness to infiltrate every cell of your being. It had been months of this torture. Simon, your alpha, had all but abandoned you. You had been without his touch, his scent, anything and everything that the very base instincts of your omega craved from its mate for far too long. It didn't matter to your omega that this marriage, this mating bond was nothing more than a way to keep both you and Simon in the service. Instincts couldn't be fought with fact, and now you were reaping the consequences of the neglect of the bond. You had thought bond sickness was a myth, a fear-mongering tactic to keep alphas in line. However, you were now aware that there was far more truth than you could have ever imagined to that story that is told. 

You had seen the concerned looks of your team as they watched you haunt the halls of the base like a spectre. Soap had started to bring you chocolates and drinks, anything in hopes to get you to eat. Gaz took a different approach, always being the one to take you up on your sparring requests, the beta knowing that at the very least he could be gentle with you while still giving you an outlet. The Captain had made sure to keep you off any truly strenuous missions and tasks, mainly relegating you to the medbay or to training recruits. If you were any stronger, you would be pissed, but right now you took it as a blessing. At least he hadn’t kicked you off the team for your weakness. But Simon? Simon was nowhere to be found. He continuously was the first volunteer for the most dangerous missions, keeping him away from base for weeks to months at a time. When he came back bloody and bruised, he would avoid the medbay like the plague, only coming in to get fixed up by another combat medic when he knew Soap or Gaz had forcefully pulled you away. If you two happened to be walking in the same hallway, Simon would duck out of your sight without even so much as a word. You had long since given up on running after him. 

So color yourself surprised when you were standing in front of the mirror in your bathroom and the screen of your phone lit up, a text from Simon blaring on the too-bright screen. You had every intention of ignoring it, but your pride was no match for the dying ache of your omega. 

Come to my quarters.

The text was simple. Demanding, even. And all it did was make you angry. 

You quickly tugged on a pair of sweats and forced a tank top over your bruised and feverish skin. You thought briefly for a moment about tugging a sweatshirt on over your mottled skin, but, fuck it, let him see all that he has done to you. Maybe he would give you the one blessing you had hoped for over the last few months of neglect, and finally sever the bond between you. 

You trudged through the hallways of the base, every soldier you passed giving you a wide berth. You were certain you looked like death froze over, and the rage-filled expression set over your brows and your lips certainly did not help. When you reached his door, you didn’t even bother to knock. You just shoved your copy of the key in the door and slammed the door open. 

Simon barely even looked up from where he was lounging on the bed. His shirt was off, a rare sight, even for you, but even more shocking was the fact that he wasn’t wearing his mask.  He didn’t look much better than you - his once-bronzed skin paled, his own scars raised and reddened, and he had a poorly bandaged bullet wound wrapped, the white medical wrapping blossoming with a red mark. Pulled stitches, definitely. 

“Close the door,” came the rough demand as his arms lazily opened in an invitation to lay with him. “And c’mere.”

You, in all of your rage, just stood stockstill in the still-open doorway. Even as your omega side cried to jump into his arms and let his scent and his touch wash away all the pain, you refused with a defiant jut of your chin. You didn’t know why he had called you here, and the only thing your mind could conjure up is that Price, or Laswell, or fuck, even Soap, had sat him down and forced him to do this. And you wanted nothing to do with this or with him if he actually was not trying to change.

“I don’t want your pity. And I sure as hell don’t want your affection just because Price told you that you had to fix me,” you replied, your voice shaking with weakness and pain, even as you tried your damndest to keep it steady, strong. 

Simon growled, the sound of an alpha not used to not getting his way, as he rolled onto his side to look at you more squarely. His arms were still open, but you could see the way his muscles clenched, his own anger rising. “It ain’t about pity. It’s about basic biology,” he bit out, the words short and angry. 

That made you laugh, the sound short and sardonic before it morphs into a cough that shakes your entire, frail being. You brought a shaking hand up to wipe your lips before you fixed him with a glare hard enough to freeze an ocean. “Basic biology?" you mocked. “Yeah, for sure. But it’s also basic biology to not let bond sickness even be a worry for your omega, but looks like you fucked that one right up, didn’t you!?”

Your words made something in Simon snap. Your rage, the vitriol, clenched his hands into fists as he quickly swung his powerful legs over the edge of the bed, crossing the space between you in the space between one of your breaths and the next. He was in your face now, just enough space between you to not be pressing completely against you. You averted your gaze, knowing that if you didn’t, you might continue yelling at him, or worse. 

“Look at me,” he ordered, using the same tone he does on the battlefield. His hands are still clenched into fists, but they are shaking. Why?

That tone made your eyes harden, the instincts of a hard-bred soldier kicking in. Even through the fraying of your bond, your sickness, you knew that voice. You listened when given an order. You allowed your head to loll back to look up at him, but your expression was still set in that same hard glare. You weren’t on a battlefield. You were on base, far away from the acrid explosions and hot gunpowder. How dare he pretend otherwise? “Why?” you bit back in response. “This isn’t some tactical decision, Simon. Don’t treat me like one of your fuckin’ rookies.” 

He took a sharp breath through his teeth, obviously trying to control himself. He knew you were weak, the bond sickness taking so much more from you than it ever did him. But your defiance, your spirit despite the bond sickness was making his alpha go crazy. Even with you glaring up at him, he stared down at you with fierce eyes as his hands gripped your hips, shoving you out of the doorway and pressing you against the wall right beside it. Taking one hand off of your hip, he shut the door with a resounding click before his grip, and his attention came back entirely to you. “I ain’t treatin’ you like a goddamned rookie,” he growled out, his cold brown gaze entirely focused on your own broken one as one hand slams into the wall by your head. Even through your rage, he can see it. Feel it. He had broken you. And that knowledge caused his alpha to writhe in pain. “I’m treatin’ ya like my fuckin’ omega.” 

As he caged you in, growled those words at you, your own expression hardened. Your lips curled up to reveal your smaller omega fangs, a low growl of your own reverberating from your chest as your hands clenched into fists. It’s hard to ignore the sheer size difference between the two of you as he towers over you, his head dipped low to keep your attention. However, that did nothing to stop your rage, in fact, it increased it tenfold. 

“Oh, right. I forgot. Being your omega means less than being one of your rookies, silly me.”

You knew the second the words left your mouth that you just opened a Pandora’s box. You saw it in the way his eyes instantaneously darkened, in the way his hand left the wall before you could even blink, his fingers crushing your jaw between them in a bruising grip, forcing your head back against the wall as he brought his face ever closer to yours. However, as his face got closer, you could see the glint of something else in his eyes. Triumph. His alpha was revelling in watching you snap and get fiery again. It was a victory, in his mind, to see you able to be so angry after the bond sickness had taken so much from you. “Watch it, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff. “I know that attitude of yours will always be there, but careful.”

His words sent another wave of anger through you, and as he forced your head back, you jerked your neck, snapping your teeth at him, your small omega fangs glinting in the low light of his quarters. It was a clear message. Fuck the bond sickness, he had no right to touch you right now. You did not forgive him, and he has to work to even begin to earn that, and if he won’t? You would dissolve the bond without him, whether or not it risked your life. 

“Don’t sweetheart me,” you growled out, glaring up at him even as the bruising grip of his fingers squished your cheeks together, slurring your words. “Not after everything.”

His alpha instincts flared again, the desire to force you into accepting his help clear as his eyes flashed in irritation at your anger. He pressed you further into the wall, his body now flush against yours as he snarled right back. “Then do something about it,” he challenged. “Get mad. Fight me. Let it all out. But, you’re not leaving this room until you let me fix this.”

As much as you hated it, hearing Simon’s permission gave you the ability to let it all out. No matter how much you wanted to pretend that you were unaffected by him, the knowledge that he wanted you to fight, wanted to fix this broken bond between you, allowed you to finally and truly get all of the anger out, and maybe, just maybe, give the bond a chance to heal. 

And so you did. Your body jerked against his, your sallow cheeks flushing red as you bared your omega fangs and growled at him again. Your eyes held the faintest spark of life, a far cry from what they used to have, but there’s something there now. 

When Simon saw that spark, the faintest hint of his omega coming back, he chuckled gruffly, his eyes glinting with a possessive heat. 

“Yes, spitfire. I want you t’ fight me. Hit me, scream, yell at me, tell me how shit of an alpha I’ve been. I don’t care. Just don’t. Hold. Back.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the dam inside of you broke. Months worth of anger, agony, grief, pain, and aching sadness flooded your veins like a hot, volatile drug. It felt like a living, breathing thing as the emotions curled around your lungs, your muscles, your heart. Tears pushed at your lash line, the aching pain making itself known through the rage. 

You held his cold brown gaze for a moment, your eyes searching his. When all you saw in return was steely determination, you did the only thing you could think of. Before he could even move out of the way, you shut your eyes and cranked your head back as far as it would go, and drove your forehead straight into his nose. It wasn’t nearly hard enough to break it, but definitely hard enough to hurt and make the blood start flowing. 

He staggered back from you, his hands coming up to cup his nose, but the alpha was far from angry. In fact, he was grinning, the blood pouring from his nose coating his lips and teeth. A low growl of approval rumbled from his chest as he stared at you, approval glinting in his eyes. “Good girl,” he muttered lowly, the praise slipping through so naturally. 

As his praise washed over you, you felt your stomach flip. It shouldn’t feel that good. Not after the months and months of neglect so bad that you were literally dying. But, you couldn’t help the small ember of warmth that bloomed through your chest as that muttered praise of good girl flowed through your veins like a warm blanket settling over you. 

But, you were still angry. And hurt. And countless other emotions that you couldn’t even begin to name, all just culminating into a neverending ache. And as you saw the blood marring the plush flesh of his lower lip, something inside of you snapped. 

He had made his worst mistake. He had let go of you, and now you could truly fight. 

You crouched down, using your smaller stature and power legs to kick your leg out, and you swept it across the ground, knocking the much-bigger alpha off of his feet. You watched as his massive frame hit the ground, shaking the walls, a bloom of satisfaction erupting in your chest. Adrenaline was pumping through your veins now, the only thing allowing you to move, and before he had the chance to become reoriented, you were on top of him, straddling his hips as you punched at his chest. Your tears of anguish were falling freely now, sobs breaking free with your yells. 

“You have broken me! Broken! I used to be so strong, so happy, and you destroyed that! Ripped it away from me! All because you were too fucking caught up in your own shit, your own fucking fear, that you couldn’t even be half of the alpha you needed to be!”

Simon grunted in pain as his back collided with the cold, hard tile of his quarters, his hands automatically coming up to grab at your hips. Not to shove you off, no, but to keep you on top of him. He knew he deserved this. Every punch, every pointed word, every tear. It was his penance for all of the pain and agony he had put you through, even if it was ripping his heart to absolute shreds. 

“I know, I know,” he growled softly, his voice thick with regret. “I know I did.”

You shook your head, tears and snot flying from the force. You were so angry, so hurt, but the adrenaline was quickly running its course, leaving behind only bone-deep exhaustion and pain. Your punches slowly weakened, until you were barely able to lift your hands. Instead, they came to rest on his bare chest, your omega claws digging sharply into the thick muscle that covered his chest, one of your hands digging directly over his heart, needing him to feel a fraction of the agony that coursed through your own. 

“Don’t you agree with me! Don’t you dare! Gods, you do this to me for months, and you… you have nothing to say for yourself!? I tried! Tried to be a good spouse, a good omega! I tried to give you your space, to be unobtrusive, even though that killed my omega! And all I fuckin’ got in return is this fucking bond sickness that is killing me! Tearing me apart from the inside out!” 

His body shuddered as your claws dug into his chest, his skin breaking under the tiny points. It hurt in every way that it could, but the tiny pinpricks of blood that welled around your claws were nothing compared to how he had hurt you. He knew that he deserved this, every inch of your wrath, of your anger, and the pain it brought for him. It was the least he could do - to bear this for you. But, Gods, it didn’t stop your words from tearing into his heart in a way your claws couldn’t even begin to touch. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he repeated, his words thick with the guilt that was threatening to choke him. “And I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

His apology broke what little strength you had left. The bond between you was fraying, seconds away from snapping completely, and you had never felt more lost. A sob broke free from your lips, the force of the sound causing your body to lurch forward. But, Simon was there. For once, he was there. His chest caught your head, your tears wetting his skin almost instantaneously as your claws scratched down his torso, leaving thin, raised red lines down his scarred skin. 

He hissed softly in response to the pain, but he made no attempt to move, to shy away from it. You had completely given up on your ego, your omega so desperate for your alpha, no matter what he had done. But, you were still so hurt, your omega so wounded that you had no idea how you were going to come back from this. 

“Just… just tell me why. Why did you do this? Why did you treat me like this?” you sobbed out into his chest, your sour, distressed omega pheromones wafting around him like a shroud of despair. 

His alpha writhed in pain at your scent. It was wrong, so, so wrong, but he had done this. His neglect, his apathy, had taken his once strong, ferocious omega and reduced her down to this. He had never seen you like this. And he never wanted to again. He could feel the bond between you slipping between his fingers like shards of glass digging into his very being, and fear rose to take its place. He wrapped his arms around you, cradling your tiny, trembling form against him, his nose burying into your hair as he pressed a featherlight, shaking kiss into it. He swallowed harshly against the lump in his throat, his heart clenching in fear. In pain. In anger at himself. “I was a coward, love.” 

You sobbed harder against his chest at his admission, shaking your head jerkily. Your body felt like it was freezing and burning up at the same time, as the frayed edges of the bond dug into you like poisonous thorns. You could feel your mind shattering, your heart stuttering as the bond sickness continued to take hold. You were dying, and you knew it. But at this point, you would almost take death over the amount of pain you were in. “That’s not a good excuse,” came your shaking reply, the words thick with tears and agony, but they were strong with conviction. “Tell me why, Simon. Tell me why, or break the godsdamned bond.” 

The words that left your lips felt like they were suffocating the alpha. Break the bond. His arms tightened around you until you were completely pressed against him, and he could feel every shudder, every quiver in your weakening body. A low growl rumbles from his chest, the sound full of pain but also a desperate desire to comfort. He had to try - to even attempt to explain, even if he wasn’t sure it would do anything. But the thought of losing you without even trying made his heart shatter, his alpha howl in protest. 

“Because I was afraid,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret and honesty as his knuckles ran across the knobs of your spine. That caused him more pain than you would ever know, feeling how you had atrophied from his neglect. How his dismissal, his abandonment had caused his once strong, beautiful omega, to waste away before his very eyes. “Afraid of getting caught up in you, in this. Of loving you, of giving you part of my heart. I didn’t know how to keep you safe. I didn’t think I was worthy of having something like that, like you. I still don’t.” 

“Then break the bond,” you whimpered out, the pain of the bond sickness, of your own emotions, and what little of Simon’s you could still feel through the barest threads of the bond ricocheting through your body, reduced you to little more than a husk lying on top of Simon. Your heart was shattering along with the bond, the broken edges of each splintering in a way that made it hard for you to breathe. Your breath pushed and pulled achingly slowly through your chapped lips like broken glass, just another thing ripping your very being apart. 

“If you can’t do this… I’ll… I’ll figure it out. The brass’ll let me stay, at least for a little bit. But, I can’t… I can’t keep doin’ this. ‘M not asking for love. ‘M not asking to be a real marriage, but I can’t be apart of a bond where ‘m not… where ‘m not bein’ taken care of. I can’t.” 

Your words were slurring, little more than a broken and pain-filled whimper against his broad chest, and Simon could practically hear the way his heart shatters beneath you. He did this. He did this. And yet, the selfish part of him couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, no matter how much pain he had put you through. The alpha snarled as he wrapped his arms around your ever-weakening frame impossibly tighter, as if he was afraid that if he didn’t hold you tight enough, you’d slip away from him forever. 

“No, baby, no,” he replied softly, but the words were filled with a growl of conviction, of promise. “I was stupid. I was so stupid, and I hurt you. Let me… let me fix this, okay? Please, baby. Lemme fix you. Just for right now.” 

Simon was begging. You didn’t know if you had ever heard him beg before, but here he was, begging you to allow him the chance to fix you. Your exhausted, wounded omega perked up a bit at his conviction, but you couldn’t help but feel like this was far too little, far too late. “I… I don’t know, Simon. How can you… how can you fix this?” 

The pained gasps between your words drove a stake of fear through Simon’s heart, his alpha whimpering painfully. He swallowed harshly against the ever-growing lump in his throat, as he knew that he had to be the pillar of strength. If he broke right now, there was no hope for you. His lips brushed against the top of your head as he inhaled your sour, rotted scent in despair, his hands running up and down your back in a vain attempt to soothe you. 

“Let me… let me have a chance,” the alpha, your alpha, pleaded. “Please baby, let me fix this. I’ll do better, I promise. Gods, I’ll do anything. Just… just let me get you better,  baby, please. And then, if you still want to break the bond, we can, okay? Just… I can’t lose you. I can’t let you die. Not like this. Never like this.”

You felt, more than heard, his words wash over you. You could feel your body failing, the bond sickness taking what little was left of you. Even with Simon’s touch, with his promises, you had a brief moment of clarity where you just knew that this still might be it, that the bond had been strained too far, the cavernous distance between the two of you still too great, that this bond sickness might still kill you, despite his promises to fix you. 

You were so tired. So, so tired. The pain is too much, your eyelids too heavy, and it felt like what was left of your shattered heart wasn’t pumping nearly enough oxygen through your veins. You were teetering on the edge, and all you wanted to do was sleep. 

“Just… just let me sleep. In here. With you. Please?” you mumbled, the words soft and slurred. Any fight, any pride you had just a few minutes ago was long gone, and if you were going to die, your omega wanted it to be right here, in your alpha’s arms, taken peacefully in your sleep. “I need… just, please, Si.” 

Simon’s resolve shattered at the nickname that fell past your lips. He instantly sat up, gathering your frail, fragile body in his arms as he nodded, his own tears finally breaking free. 

His fault. All his fault. Always his fault. 

He quickly stood up, your body light (too light, too light) in his arms as he carried you to his bed. He was terrified. He could feel how slow your heartbeat was, how weak your body was, how slurred your words were. He shushed you softly, gently, but the sound warbled against his own tears. 

“Shhh, shhh, baby. I got you. I got you. Just… just sleep, okay? I’ll be right here. Right here. Never leavin’ your side again. I promise. I’ll be right here when you wake up. Just sleep.” 

He gingerly laid you on the bed, surrounding you with blankets and pillows, anything he could find that was drenched in his alpha scent, before his body came to blanket you. He couldn’t lose you. And he will keep his promise, even as his own silent tears fell down around your now-unconscious face. What’s that old saying? Oh, right. You never know what you have until it’s gone.

[lay-z]

cotton candy clouds | 3

Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.

Pairing: handler!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samojede (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts and personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff; jealousy; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Mind the warnings for each chapter!)

*ESH – Emotional Support Hybrid

☁ ccc; masterlist

It’s 0400 in the morning, when Simon jerks awake from his light slumber by the sudden timid knock at his bedroom door. 

Hoping he’s imagined it, like many other times he’s hallucinated before, he rubs a hand over his tired features with a soft groan; eyes squinting at the silhouette of his bedroom door in the darkness, breathing shallow to pick up more potential noises while hoping nothing will follow– 

But there is another knock at his door, more distinct this time, and Simon accepts it with a heavy sigh before dragging himself out of his bed reluctantly, not bothering to put on another shirt. From past experiences, he knows better than to crudely grumble that this better be an emergency, because in nine out of 10 times, it turns out to be one. 

Flinging his bedroom door open, his fingers find the hallway’s light switch by muscle memory, illuminating it brightly and revealing you to his dismay, as if you could’ve simply disappeared in the past hours like he’d wished you would before falling asleep, and he finds you shifting on your bare feet with unnatural urgency. 

“Wot?” he gruffs out, voice even more rough and gravelly from a familiar combination of sleepiness and irritation. He pretends not to notice that you’ve changed into his shirt he’d previously given you; forces himself not to let his eyes flicker over your exposed legs, not even briefly, while the loose fabric conceals your curves from his direct view, its hem barely reaching up to the middle of your thighs. 

Still shifting from one foot to the other, you crane your neck to meet his hard stare with equal persistency; your own eyes puffy like you haven’t slept a single minute yet. “I have to pee,” you explain bluntly. 

He almost tuts, tilting his head to the side in slight disbelief. “And?” For a moment, you look confused about him daring to question why that is his problem; big eyes blinking up at him while your fluffy ears twitch a little before you finally solve the mystery for him: “Well, I always had to let Ryan know.” 

Ryan? As in… your previous handler? You must’ve been able to read it all on his naturally expressive face; his right eyebrow, split by a scar, cocking in question, his curiosity piqued now. “And why’s tha’?” he asks, despite not wanting to, and crosses his burly arms in front of his bare chest standoffishly. 

Without a hint of hesitation, you answer with the most innocent look on your face: “He liked to watch.” And Simon immediately regrets asking in the first place. His arms unfold, chest deflating as his empty stomach sinks, and to his horror, you continue yapping without a lick of pudency. “Sometimes he made me pee on his–“ 

“Gah! O’lright–” he nearly barks, eyes squeezing shut briefly while his whole body cringes at the mental image you just planted in his mind. “Stop, tha’s enough, okay? I get it.” He grumbles, muttering another “Fuck,” under his breath. Too much information. 

While Simon eventually ushers you towards the small guest bathroom by the front door, his mind keeps wandering back to the revelation you hit him with oh so casually, like it’s not something you should have always kept locked away between yourself and your bloody partner–or handler, in this case. As if you’ve ever enjoyed any of the stuff that bloody twat, Ryan, has ever done to you. 

His arms are crossed self-soothingly as he leans against the opposite wall of the bathroom door for no other reason than getting caught up in his own messy thoughts while you go on to do your business, when your earlier expression pops up into his head, and with it a revelation he should’ve come to sooner.  

The stagy nonchalance, the perfectly crafted, sweet smile that didn’t quite reach your tired eyes when you’d told him what one of your previous handlers made you do, the forced eye contact with him– 

And suddenly, Simon can feel that burning rage simmer in his gut, making his blood boil and the vein in his neck throb while his pulse quickens rapidly, when he comes to realize how people must’ve been taking advantage of you all your life, simply because of what you are, and what comes naturally to you with your nature as a hybrid–a bloody dog hybrid at that. 

Obedience. Submission. Loyalty. The urge to serve and please.  

When the water tap stops running and the door opens shortly after, his thoughts get interrupted and his mood changes promptly when his eyes lock with yours once more; long lashes fluttering against the bright light as you tilt your head back to meet his scrutiny. 

“For the record,” Simon starts as he pushes himself off the wall, “if you need to use the bathroom, you won’t ask anyone for permission again, understood?” 

Fidgeting with the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, he notices the sudden tension in your shoulders before you give a hesitant nod. “Yes, sir.” 

Simon huffs, nose wrinkling like he smelled something acidic. For someone so used to being met with respect and immediate obedience at a dekko, the word “sir” coming from your lips in his regard, makes him bristle. Who’s taught you to be so submissive? Are all *ESH’s like you? And which one of those fuckers made you refer to him as “sir” and only that like some perverted powerplay?  

He doesn’t realize how meanly he’s glaring at you until you speak up again, your voice meek and unsure: “Can I sleep with you now?” His eyelids blink and the crease between his eyes smoothens out. The innuendo isn't lost on him, though he can't tell if it's intentional. If this is Price’s idea about shock therapy, he will have to tell his Captain to piss off even more firmly come tomorrow. 

“In your bed... I mean.” You add with a hint of plea that leaves Simon horrified internally after the second of consideration he just gave to your request before simply grumbling a tired “No.” again.  

And the door to his bedroom falls shut behind him anew, leaving you to your own devices once more. 

It’s barely 0700, when Simon enters the Captain’s office with you and your things in tow. He doesn’t bother to knock; his nerves already fraying at the edges like cheap cotton yarn after having to refuse to take you out on a leash and ending up herding you through the base since you obviously have a knack for wandering off–and greeting every single bloody person you come across with a wagging tail. 

Captain Price raises an amused eyebrow along with his coffee mug while Simon puts your suitcase and the untouched gift basket down in a corner before coming to stand stiffly in front of the large, cluttered mahogany desk. 

His patience is running even thinner, when Price takes a slow, slurping sip of his coffee instead of assuring Simon that everything has been taken care of; that you’re no longer his problem now. “Well?” he asks brusquely, balling his gloved hands into fists. 

“Good mornin’, sweetheart,” Price greets you, immediately catching your attention as you stand by the bookshelf in the corner. Simon rolls his eyes behind his mask when your white tail twitches happily at the attention, though he manages to contain his scoff.  

“Hello! Good morning!” You chirp with a smile, taking a cautious step towards the other man while Simon catches the way your eyes flicker between him and his superior nervously, as if you’re unsure how to proceed with him present–and for a fleeting moment, it pleases him for some twisted reason. 

“How was your night with Lieutenant Riley?” 

Simon’s forehead creases underneath his balaclava at Price’s oddly phrased question and intervenes briskly before you can inhale enough air to answer: “Can we focus on the more important matters now, Cap’n? Did’ya come up with a solution yet?” Simon makes a vague gesture towards you while you stand nearby coyly, plucking pink lint from your cardigan out of your tail.  

Price lets out an exasperated sigh before his broad shoulders shake with a rough chuckle that causes Simon’s frown to deepen. “Christ, it’s not even eight in the bloody morning on a Friday, Simon–” 

“Sir, you promised to make the necessary arrangements, to find a solution–” Simon interrupts but stops himself, grinding his teeth hard enough to make his jaw hurt when Price shoots him a reprimanding glare.  

The phone’s shrill ringing cuts through the sudden tension and Simon uses it to his advantage as Price reaches for the receiver; steel blue eyes watching the Lieutenant like a curious hawk while he answers the call.  

Meanwhile, Simon’s dark tawny eyes fixate you as he takes one heavy step towards you. “Take a seat on that couch and stay here,” he tells you curtly, hoping his tone of voice is enough to get through your stubbornness. “Listen to what Price tells you, lass, because this is where we part, understood?” 

And then he turns on his combat boots, heads for the door before you can so much as nod, and Simon ignores the soft, keening whine behind him as he leaves you behind. 

And the day moves forward with its usual routine while Simon almost manages to forget about the whole ordeal with the hybrid as he deals with his rookies, upcoming drills and ignoring the paperwork he should’ve started taking care of last week, until he spots you across the parade grounds in the middle of chewing out one of his soldiers for fucking up an exercise for the third time in a row. 

His dark eyes zero in on you, casually strolling next to Gaz, who seems to be showing you around base, and Simon bristles at the way you smile up at the young Sergeant; batting your eyelashes while you seem to be hanging on every word Gaz utters to you. He’s not sure if his mind is playing tricks on him again, but he’s sure there is something else–something way too dark and familiar–hiding behind your unnaturally sparkly eyes. 

“S–Sir?” the rookie stutters nervously, pulling the Lieutenant out of his brief stupor. 

“Wot?!” Simon snarls from behind his mask, accent thick and dark eyes blazing with even more pissed off fury as they snap back to the rookie while the latter continues to shrink under his Lieutenant's sharp glare.  

And Simon ignores it when his soldiers start sharing new rumours and conspiracy theories among themselves about the cause of his particularly foul mood today.  

By noon, Simon has dragged himself into the busy mess hall for another strong cup of tea, though he stops dead in his tracks as soon as his friend’s booming and thickly accented Scottish burr can be heard above the general noise of his surroundings. 

It doesn’t take long to find the source, and Simon realizes that he must double his efforts to outrun your lingering presence. 

Soap stands at a packed table, one boot-clad foot perched on a vacant chair while one arm is slung around your shoulders casually, tucking you against his side while he flaunts his other hand with animated gestures as he speaks. 

Simon’s hands ball into fists at his sides, and the leather of his skeleton gloves creaks as he watches on, standing in the middle of the entryway to the mess hall, though everyone scatters and makes sure to swerve around him like Moses parting the Red Sea.

Soap is obviously showing you off to the other gawking soldiers as if you’re some prized possession–a mere thing, though Simon can’t tell what is worse–Soap acting like you belong with him now, or the fact that you’re obviously happy about it while your tail swishes behind you, all coy and jolly.  

However, while Simon’s eyes keep lingering on you for another moment, he notices the way your cottony triangle-shaped ears twitch and swivel, basically doing recon, while your eyes flicker and sweep over the crowd like you wish to disappear, like you’re wishing for protection, like you’re searching for– 

Simon’s jaw ticks under his mask as his teeth clench harshly, and with a shake of his head, he turns on his boots to walk out of the mess hall. Tea be damned. 

When Simon enters Captain Price’s office at the end of the day, ready to sign out for the weekend, his stomach drops when he spots you sandwiched between Gaz and Soap on the small leather couch in the corner by the window, while both Sergeants continue to entertain you. To his surprise, you don’t even seem to notice his presence as your attention is held capture by the two men. 

“Here to sign out, I assume,” Price remarks factually from behind his desk, not bothering to lift his eyes as he reads a document and takes a slow puff of his cigar. “Go on, then. Have a nice one, Lieutenant.” The Captain mutters through the thick plumes of smoke curling and dissolving into the air. 

But Simon barely pays any mind to the underlying sarcasm in Price’s words as he watches with narrowed eyes how you start nuzzling along Soap’s jawline while the Scot strokes the whole length of your plush white tail almost lasciviously.  

And suddenly, his swift feet carry him over there with a mind of their own, blood already boiling below the surface before Simon confronts the younger male: “The fuck ya think you’re doin’ there, Sergeant?” Sergeant, not Soap or Johnny, because Simon is vexed at the man for no other reason than feeling protective of someone who’s obviously being taken advantage of by his friend. 

He’s more than aware of how much of an opportunist Johnny can be–especially when it comes to women. Catch the bloody git talking to some lass who’s vulnerable, recently broken up with, instead of getting with the one who’s obviously looking for some quick fun at the pub. 

“Wha’?” Johnny blinks up at Simon with those freakishly big and bright blue eyes, feigning innocence. “Am doin’ nothin’, Lt. Jus’ showin’ the bonnie lass some much needed affection.” 

Simon clenches his teeth at that, restraining himself from saying or doing something he might regret later, when his eyes flicker over to Gaz, who gets up at once to remove himself from the situation with an awkward cough. Meanwhile, you’re practically lounging in Johnny’s lap, tail wagging lazily as you gaze up at Simon; a picture of innocence.  

There’s a moment of charged silence before Simon speaks up again; your name falling from his lips for the first time in a gruff command before he adds in a low growl: “Up.” 

The way your spine seems to straighten immediately, ears twitching and eyes widening at his sharp order, makes him feel–something, and it’s nothing good. “I said get up,” he repeats to you, glaring at Johnny as if to dare him to keep you on his lap, though Johnny simply rolls his eyes and lifts his hands in a placating gesture. “You’re comin’ with me, lass.” 

Gaz, leaning against Price’s sturdy mahogany desk, long legs crossed at his ankles, shares a look with the Captain, who leans back in his office chair, one hand resting on his chest while he takes another slow drag from his cigar with a smug glint in his eyes– the one he always gets after a particularly successful mission.  

Clutching your leash in his left hand, he ignores the way his mind is trying to warn him how the leather will soon burn through his glove like acid as much as he ignores the way you follow him so obediently, and Simon freezes when Captain Price addresses him again, producing a stack of papers from a black folder: “One more thing, Lieutenant–” 

Bureaucracy. Lovely.  

Simon groans internally as he reads the first few lines of the documents–your official handlership papers. “What if I refuse to sign ‘em?” he asks, eyes flicking up to meet his Captain’s. 

“Then I will!” Johnny calls out from his spot on the couch, earning a snicker from Gaz and a crooked smirk from Price while Simon shoots a glare in his friend’s direction. 

Price shakes his head, still smiling, while he flicks through the pages, before finding one in particular. “You know the answer to that,” he says and pushes the paper over his desk towards Simon before holding out his good pen and giving you a little wink as you stand patiently behind your new handler. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” Simon mutters under his breath, voice muffled by his mask as he snatches the pen out of his Captain’s grasp.  

And he positions the tip of the pen at the signature line, hesitating as his heart thuds against his ribcage in a slow yet harsh beat. His eyes scan over the page again, his mind in a confused frenzy, until he spots your own signature at the bottom of the document–a delicate swirl of letters next to a date a few days prior. 

@lucienofthelakes @kakashiislut @jggykhug09090 @edgarapoecolouredglasses @kerst666 @whos-fran @d1zzy-r1v3rs @userinaliel666 @annoyingstrawberryballoon @vmaxis @tessakate @dneicjefx @sushiumex @yourfavreggie @cmbghost @brokexintroverted

[ripeandsoft]

Office Hours

Summary: You’ve been a star pupil in Professor Richmond’s sociology class—always willing to help others, always on time, and you do great work. So when your focus starts to slip he feels he can help you, and you can help him with a dilemma of his own.

A/n: I did make an oc for this fic because I feel awkward using “y/n”, especially in dialogue. Her name is Joya and she has short hair which is mentioned later. This is the longest thing I’ve ever written and I struggled with making the dialogue flow and not seem awkward. Please be gentle with me! 🤍

Content warnings: slight age gap, dubious (consensual!) professor/student relationship, oral, slight public play, penetrative sex, spit, a spank or two, cum eating

—

You stood outside his office doors, trying to see into the frosted glass window of the door. You lifted your right hand to knock gently, knuckled rasping against the cool glass. The sound of the brass knob turning made you stand up straight, the weight of your bag straining on your shoulder. The door swung open and his wide frame took up most of the door way. His tie was loose around his neck, the first few buttons open. He pulled his right hand from the pocket of his slacks to usher you in with two fingers, closing the door behind you and flipping the lock.

“I noticed that you’ve been distracted in class recently. Is there anything that I can help you with to get you back on track?” Terry leaned his elbows on the desk, muscles flexing with movement. Your eyes moved around the room to avoid his gaze. Neutral colored clay pots, books, pens, the occasional plant, and notes were scattered around his office. Late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the window spreading warmth throughout the room. You played with the rips of your jeans, twirling the frayed edges of fabric around your finger. Realizing you’ve been quiet for a beat you open your mouth to speak but close it again when nothing comes out.

“I’ve, um, just been distracted with other classes and volunteering around campus” You said with a nod, trying to appear more out together even though you felt like you were gonna melt into your shoes. You droned on about your other classes and picking up volunteer work to help with build up your portfolio. Terry listened intently as you explained the situation, his eyes boring into yours as you spoke. It wasn’t the best excuse but it’s better than telling your professor that you’ve been dreaming of him fucking you senseless. You began to sweat, the combination of the sun and Terry’s eyes on you made you feel like you were burning up. You glanced at the clock and swallowed the spit accumulating beneath your tongue.

“I understand Joya, really I do, but this upcoming presentation is worth a good amount of your grade. I have resources that can help you, study rooms in the library to reserve, tutoring help, office hours even. I hope you haven’t been wearing yourself thin” Terry stood and walked around the front of his desk and leaned against it. Your eyes snapped up to his face, his close proximity making his scent waft up your nose. Sweet like coffee and earthy like sandalwood. “Oh no I’m fine” you shook your head as you stood up, feeling like you’re overstaying your welcome and teetering on the tightrope of danger. You snatched your bag from off the floor, slinging it haphazardly over your shoulder and starting to walk towards the door. You heard Terry huff before his steps sounded behind you. His hand was on your shoulder and pulling you back into his chest before you could reach the doorknob.

Your breath was caught in your chest. You felt the print of his dick against his slacks, starting the harden against the curve of your ass. “Sit down Joya” He spoke in your ear, his tone leaving no room for argument. When he noticed you going for the chair again he nudged it to the side to stop you in your tracks. He nodded towards the desk. You backed up slowly until your thighs felt the cold wood. You sat yourself on the cold surface, plucking a pen from under your thigh. He came to stand between your parted thighs, thick index finger lifting your chin up so your eyes meet his.

“What was our topic of discussion last Tuesday?” He asked, finger tracing down your throat and chest, a trail of goosebumps left in its wake. You left out a soft breath before speaking. “Moral and ethical dilemmas” You responded, thighs shaking as his finger continued its trail. “What was one of the examples?” He started to place kisses on your neck, lips soft and warm against you. “Age gaps in mmm relationships” You sighed through your sentence, eyes flutter closed as he sucked on the skin above where your pulse thumped. He hummed as he pulled your shirt off in one swift motion. The fat of your tits spilled from the fabric of your bra, all the more enticing for his teeth to skink into.

“Take these off” He ordered, tugging on the loop of your jeans. Terry reached for his shirt, buttons opening without resistance. You shimmied out of your jeans and panties, the fabric joining your shirt in a heap on the floor. Terry leaned down to kiss you, giving you just a few pecks at first. His hand settled on the back of your head, his fingers nestled in your short curls. His tongue massaged yours gently, tasting your day off your tongue. Your nipples found a home between his thumb and index fingers, his digits rolling and pinching them. You arched into his touch, skin on fire with need.

You were pushed to lay flat on his desk, his hand across your belly. He pulled the hood of your swollen clit up to expose you more, the throbbing bud at his mercy. Terry licked a stripe from your hole up to your clit to gather your essence on his tongue. His spit it back onto your pussy before sucking your clit into his mouth, making you squeal. Your thighs clamped around his head as he continued to eat you. Your hole clenched around nothing as he brung your hips closer to his face, burying his tongue deep inside you.

With your hands pressed flat on the desk you tried to scoot away from your professor. Hot pleasure sizzled in deep inside your belly, orgasm building with each stroke of his tongue. Your eyes rolled back as you came in Terry’s waiting mouth. He hummed against you as you flooded his tongue. He rubbed your thighs to help soothe you, gently bringing you down from your high. The clicks of his belt coming off and hitting the ground made you lean up on your elbows. You watched as he kicked his pants off and to the side.

He scooped you up into his arms and placed you on your feet, turning you around to bend you over his desk. He rubbed his leaking tip around your clit before sliding his shaft between your folds. He jerked himself with his right hand, spreading your juices and his precum all over his dick. The shuffling of feet coming down the hallway made you look up, eyes wide in fear. Terry hand came down to spank your ass two times, your bottom lip trapped between your teeth as your skin stung from the impact. “Be quiet for me, you don’t want us to get caught right?” He asked, sliding in your wet pussy inch by inch. You exhaled all the air you had as he bottomed out, balls pressed against your clit.

You both were still, pussy stretched and leaking around him. His veins pulsated along your walls. He set a slow pace, digging as deep as he could. His tip brushed against your spot just right, your mouth open in silent moans as he worked you open. Terry threw his head back as he continued to thrust, his balls full and tight. He pressed you harder onto the desk, your arch growing deeper as his pace picked up. Was it wrong to fuck your student? Yes absolutely. Did you feel better than anyone else? Yes abso-fucking-lutely.

“Where do you want me?” He asked, feeling himself about to burst. Your body was buzzing, goosebumps erupting over your skin as you start to fuck back to meet his thrusts. “Inside Professor, please” You moaned, nails scratching at the wood surface of the desk, searching for stability. His balls started to slap hard against your clit, his hand resting on your hip clutching you tighter. He gave you one more pump before he started to flood your pussy, pulsating and twitching inside you as his load leaked out of you and onto the desk. You came again once you felt him empty himself inside you, a ring of white cream wrapped around the base of him.

He pulled out of you slowly, your walls hugging him tight like they didn’t want to let him go. He watched as his cum rolled out of you, pooling under your pussy. He leaned down to lick you clean before grabbing you by the back of your neck, tilting your head back so he could spit it into you mouth.

“Swallow” He said, closing your mouth for you.

[idesofrevolution]

A Night at the Kings Theatre

The Kings Theatre had been long abandoned by the city for over half a century, haunted by the memory of that fateful night in 1978. No one knows exactly what happened, but from tragedy arose legend. 143 people entered the auditorium that April night, prepared to see a terrifying new film just recently brought to America out of West Germany. "Der Kuss der Lust" was some sort of return to the German Expressionist Horror of the 1920's, a film scarcely heard of outside art houses in Berlin, and the hapless crowd came in droves. By the end of the showing, the police had arrived, the majority of patrons leaving the theatre in handcuffs or straightjackets. The city never released any information on the event, opting instead to board up the grand building and never speak of the subject again. That is, until 2024.

The group stared up at the Grandiose Marquee, excited for the long awaited return of their neighborhood movie palace. The four of them giddy with anticipation, they each had their tickets in hand: all found mysteriously in their post boxes that morning. Teddy stood with his mouth agape in awe at the sheer beauty of the facade, while Rod, Sabrina, and Pete gossiped amongst themselves.

"Yeah, it was literally in my mailbox this morning." Sabrina's characteristic monotone delivery making the two boys snicker.

"Girl I can tell you're sooo excited." Rod rolling his eyes at his roommate, well acquainted with her stoic persona. Pete stood looking down at his phone, trying to browse the theatre website to see what film they were about to be subjected to.

"All it says on here is 'Grand Opening Event.' It doesn't say what movie it is. OH! I bet it's that new one we've been seeing trailers all over the place about! The one with Ryan Gosling and Ross Lynch necking while Jennifer Coolidge just sits there!" Pete's boisterous and brash demeanor yet again shining through. A lack of volume control was a typical symptom of his theatre gay archetype, but nothing his friends were unprepared for.

"Shhhh. Look, they're letting people in!" Teddy hushed his little group, pointing to the tall gentleman at the door, now checking ticket stubs as the patrons slowly trickled inside. Teddy was merely along for the ride, roped into the outing by Rod, who was continuously concerned with his homebody lifestyle. "So we don't know what we're watching tonight, huh?" The three others shrugged.

"Does it really matter? It's something to do, Teddy..." Sabrina scoffing under her breath as they slowly inched toward the front doors. Teddy looked at the ticket man up ahead, his eyes sunken in and hunching over the audience members like Frankenstein's Monster.

"I bet he's in character for the movie! I've heard about this in class. They used to have all the staff act all spooky and improv with the crowd to get them in the mood for the movie! I bet it's a horror movie then!" Pete's enthusiasm was not exactly reciprocated as the boys shrugged and Sabrina rolled her eyes. Teddy felt a twinge of foreboding as they approached the towering man, each handing him their tickets. He stared at the group for a moment, the four tickets just hanging loosely from his grey fingers.

"Uh, are we good to go?" Rod stared at the man, whose head slowly turned down to meet his gaze before a demented grin crawled across his decrepit face. He bowed dramatically, waving his arm to usher them into the building, not a single utterance leaving his blue lips.

"Wow, impressive acting. Let's go, boys." Sabrina pushed the three through the open brass doors, Teddy's gaze having a hard time breaking with the strange man. His grin seemed to melt away almost instantly, returning to stonefaced indifference as he attended to the group behind.

"What the fuck was that?" Teddy turned to his group, Rod the only one taking the time to even acknowledge his query.

"Listen, they're just gettin' you in the mood! Like Pete was saying! Lighten up, man. I promise we'll take you home right after this, and you don't have to come out until next week. And we're doin' karaoke baby!" Rod nudged Teddy, whose response was a coy smile as he stared at his feet. He didn't want to be there, but for the sake of his friends he was making an effort.

The lobby was bright and opulent, the Beaux-Arts architecture perfectly coordinating with the beautiful exterior. Heavy red velvet drapes hung between the marble columns, a grand staircase likely bringing folks to the mezzanine, and a modest but well stocked concessions stand stood in the middle of the room. Historic film posters hung prominently against the walls: Casablanca, Dracula, Gone with the Wind, Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte, Rebel Without A Cause, Rebecca... all with bold 'COMING SOON' stickers plastered against the glass displays.

"I guess they're doing a whole retro movies vibe! Ooh! I wanna come back to see James Dean on the Silver Screen!" Pete jumped excitedly at the prospect, running over to the poster to take a picture as Sabrina walked to concessions to get popcorn. Rod and Teddy stood there, just admiring the grandeur of the space before the chandeliers began to flicker rather ominously.

"I think that means we need to find our seats." Teddy turned to look at Rod, who was squinting at the tickets to see what seat they'd all been assigned.

"We're in something called MEZ? What the fuck does that mean?" Teddy snatched the ticket, pointing to the top of the stairs in response.

"It means mezzanine, we're upstairs." Teddy motioned to Pete to rejoin them just as Sabrina returned with a gigantic barrel of buttery popcorn, munching away. The group ascended the stone stairs, avoiding brushing against the eager spectators as they rushed to their seats.

The auditorium was equally as grand. A massive brass chandelier hung prominently above the house, boxes lining the sides of the walls above row after row of velvet seats. The group made their way to their rows: Rod and Sabrina in row 3, Pete and Teddy in row 2 immediately in front. They took their seats as the vintage concessions ad played on the massive screen. Teddy heard Rod and Sabrina bickering about roomie problems he cared nothing about, as Pete blathered on about the history of the anthropomorphic dancing popcorn box. The mood in the room was one of excitement, of anticipation, yet for Teddy... it was off. The air felt stale and stagnant, the uncanniness of the movie palace long after it's prime seemed to hang differently in his mind. It felt like a time capsule, a liminal space where time had just frozen still, waiting to swallow it's naive visitors. Perhaps it was just the social anxiety, as Rod would likely dismiss it as. Yet, for whatever reason, Teddy sat on edge and alert. The lights began to dim, and a hush fell over the auditorium as previews began to roll for the films advertised in the lobby.

"Ooooooh! Bela Lugosi was so hot. Like seriously." Pete chimed with his typically chipper demeanor, stealthily stealing a handful of Sabrina's popcorn from behind him as they whispered deep in their argument. "Like can you even blame her for falling for him? I mean come on." Teddy just nodded along, peering around him at the crowd of exceedingly normal people watching the old trailer with glee.

The trailers ended with the screams of Bette Davis and Olivia de Havilland; Hush, Hush Sweet Charotte ending it's preview as the room was flooded in blackness. Teddy swore he could faintly hear whispers emanating from all around him in the dark cavern, before the room was once again illuminated as the black and white title card brightly shone on the canvas screen. The words were in a strange font, clearly not in English.

"Durr kusss durr loost... Ahh shit is this some kind of foreign film?" Sabrina sighed and reclined back into her chair, taking solace in the handfuls of popcorn she'd been shoveling into her mouth. Teddy recognized none of the actors names as they quickly flashed before his eyes, nor could he understand any of the words in the opening credits. He didn't speak German, but he couldn't wait to rub the hiccup in Rod's face: yet another social outing turning out completely unintended. Thankfully, as the camera opened onto some old Baroque village, as dialogue began, he was relieved to see English subtitles scurrying at the bottom of the screen.

He struggled to keep up with the narrative, as the translation may have been rather poor to begin with, instead opting to focus on the increasingly strange sets these actors were traversing. From what he could tell, there was a nobleman of some sort who found a village woman he'd fallen in love with. The book was promising powers of love beyond human comprehension, and in his hubris, the nobleman tries to cast a spell of lust on the beautiful young woman.

"I mean look at the set design, it's giving Nosferatu. NO! Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.... Oooh it's so cool!" Rod nudged Pete with his shoe, shushing him as neighboring patrons shoot dirty looks in their direction. Teddy became completely enveloped in the bizarre imagery rather quickly. The film was almost dreamlike in quality, walls seemed to jut out in different directions, the lighting was dim at best and only illuminating essential props or entrances and exits for characters. The sounds of the auditorium slowly faded away into the periphery, and all that could be perceived was the muffled voices of the actors.

Time was not a consistent factor in the film, it just meandered from scene to scene, with disconcerting Dutch angles increasing dread at every turn. What felt like one minute could easily have been twenty, but fortune momentarily smiled on the encapsulated young man. Teddy felt his stomach rumble, momentarily breaking him from his trancelike state to reach behind him into their popcorn bowl. He'd fully expected a wrist slap from Sabrina, but after three or four handfuls of popcorn, that moment never came. This moment of sheer confusion pulled him out of his tunnel vision, if only to reassure Sabrina that he'd pitch in for the popcorn. As he turned around, he was met with a sight he never could have ever imagined.

Sabrina's head was turned toward Rod, and for a moment, Teddy thought they were just whispering to eachother, continuing their asinine argument over who ate the pickle chips the night before. Though as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room around him, it became clearer just what it was they were doing. Her lips were planted firmly on Rod's, his left hand slowly sliding up her thigh. Teddy quickly swiveled his head back to the screen, eyes wide with shock. Rod was a flaming queer, just as he was and just as Pete was. Sure, Sabrina was straight, but he couldn't imagine her boyfriend being thrilled at the sight of Rod necking her in a movie theatre.

"Dude! Look at their facial expressions! You don't even need subtitles, you just need to see their faces!" Pete's voice hummed distantly, being completely ignored by all around him, doing little to aid Teddy's growing discomfort. The sounds of wet, sloppy kissing began to ring out from behind him, their breaths shallow and low. Teddy's eyes darted around him, the faded outlines of the other patrons not getting any clearer, nothing but the film there to distract him. Especially as the sounds of comingling tongues abruptly came to an end, only to quickly be replaced by another more terrifying sound.

*Slurp* *Slurp* *Slurp* *Slurp* "Ahhhh yeah, baby..." It was unmistakable. That was Rod... With each stifled moan, every snarling growl and wet slurp, he could hear his friend's voice growing lower and lower. His growls becoming louder... rougher... more animalistic. Teddy stared forward, beads of sweat starting to seep out of his forehead as he listened to the two most ill-matched people get it on directly behind him. He heard their pace quicken, Sabrina's slurps turning into gags as he heard more bizarre sounds arising from behind. Creaking... The sound of shifting leather, or maybe it was tearing fabric... Or the sound of an inflating balloon... Teddy felt his breath start to quiver, as he looked down between the armrests, seeing Rod's Chuck Taylors start to wriggle and writhe. His eyes widened, seeing the black canvas fabric start to flush white, growing larger and larger. He recognized the Nike symbol starting to protrude from the sides of the sneaker, and as Rod's voice growled into an enraptured release, the Converse were now a pair of large, beat up AirForce1's, covered vulgarities written in black Sharpie. Teddy whipped his head back to the screen, Sabrina giggling as he heard the sound of a waistband snapping back to place. It was silent for a moment, Teddy too nervous to look behind him, but desperately wanting to know what happened to his friends.

"Ahhhhhhh yeah, babe." There was a thud, Teddy peering down to his right and seeing the gigantic sneaker resting on his arm rest. Taking a deep breath, he slowly turned his head. There, leaning forward with his hands on his head was Rod- or at least, someone that once was Rod. The tall, skinny little gay boy he'd befriended had been replaced with a gigantic, tattooed man. His hair cropped short, his muscles bulging, his shirt sitting on his thigh below his exposed torso now adorned with thick silver chains.

"Huhu, my bad, bro. When duty calls, am I right?" Rod grabbed onto his monstrous bulge, hiding behind the cum stained fabric of his white shorts. Teddy felt the blood rush from his head at the very sight of it. He watched as Sabrina, now equally scantily clad with tattoos, jet black hair, and devious grin mischievously slithered her hand beneath his waistband, grabbing ahold of his thick cock and slowly pumping. Rod winked at Teddy, turning again to Sabrina and kissing her once again.

Teddy whipped his head back to the screen, mortified and terrified in equal measure. He looked around him yet again, only seeing once again the dim outlines of the other patrons completely enveloped in the film before them. He turned behind him, doing his best to ignore the slimy sound of Rod's handjob to see the doors had staff members blocking each exit.

"Fuuuuuuck, bro. This shit is tight. Lemme tell you, man. I need this shit on Netflix." Teddy ignored Pete's typical unwarranted commentary, peering down over the house to see if the patrons below were also... different. Through the dark haze of the auditorium, he received his answer. The vast majority of the audience was completely enraptured with the film, not so much as flinching as they watched the nightmarish visions on screen. However, he'd started to notice the dim outlines of a couple people leaning in toward eachother. He couldn't pry his eyes away, so Teddy could only watch as he saw the patrons start to grope, kiss, and go down on eachother. A couple up front necking in the first row, two guys sliding their hands into eachother's pants in box 5, a group of what he'd assumed were bachelorettes just sliding their hands over eachother's breasts.

"Pete... Pete, we gotta get the fuck out of here." Teddy whispered to his friend, not taking his eyes off of the filth that was unraveling around them. Three seats over, one man was now bent over the railing of the balcony, three other men taking turns railing him right there in public to no outcry whatsoever. Teddy whipped his head toward Pete, still intently watching the film. "Pete! Pete, let's go!" He grabbed onto his wrist, feeling a strange rubbery texture tightly wrapped around it. He looked down, watching in terror as his friend's pristine watch slowly warped beneath his hands. Tightening until all that was left were three rubber bracelets in bright vivid colors.

Teddy's gaze slowly rose from his friend's hand as his fingernails slowly turned black. The rotund theatre gay was rapidly losing mass. His tight sweatervest growing looser and looser before his eyes. Fat seemed to shrink into nothingness as the sleeves of his shirt began to slowly rise up the length of his arms.

"Dude... I feel kinda funky, bro." The typical chipper demeanor was slowly vanishing, his eager eyes began to droop, as his short brown hair started to grow. The dark brown hairs quickly were flushed with a wash of bright blonde as it snaked out of his scalp down to the nape of his neck in sweaty, messy curls. His jawline was sharpening, his lips getting plump and thick.

"Pete... PETE!" Teddy screamed at the top of his lungs, not a single patron even flinching at the toil in his voice. "HELP! SOMETHING IS WRONG! SOMETHING IS VERY VERY WRONG!" Teddy shot up out of his seat, his ankle painfully hitting something hard. He peered down to see a heavily used skateboard resting under his friend's feet, absentmindedly rolling side to side as his loafers warped quickly into large, well worn white Vans. Teddy clamped his hand over his mouth as he followed the shifting clothes, up the khakis turning tight and ripped against lean thighs, up to the growing bulge and wet patch bulging out of his groin, up to the studded belt tightly wrapped around his lean waist.

"Heheh..." Pete's voice was growing duller, more coarse as the scent of sweat and cannabis began to waft off him. His sweatervest and shirt shrinking into a sweat stained white tee shirt, and as Teddy's gaze finally fell on Pete's face... he knew he was gone.

"Broooo this shit is sick... Oooh, man. I got a j in my pocket, man. I'll let you hit it if you let me..." Pete's fingers inched toward his belt buckle, slipping under the fabric of his jeans. "C'mon bro. Don't let Rod be the only one gettin' some dick attention tonight." He winked through the colored sunglasses hiding the red, stoned eyes behind.

"I..." Teddy nervously stood there as Pete unbuckled his pants, his twinky, sweaty hand sliding down into his underwear and wrapping around his slowly growing cock.

"Yeah, bro... Come let Petey take care of this." Teddy was lost in a moment of bliss as Pete slowly and tenderly stroked his cock in his pants, igniting the joint between his lips as he pumped.

"Whuh.... Wait... I uh... I need to go to the bathroom. Really bad. I'll be back, just give me a minute..." Pete smirked, letting his hand retract from Teddy's groin.

"Well, don't be too long, bro. My throat is waitin' for ya. Heheh." He stuck out his long tongue with a vulgar whip. Teddy wasted no time bolting toward the door, realizing only as he was chest to chest with the decrepit usher that the restrooms were merely to his right and left. The creepy man flashed the same unhinged smile, not budging an inch. Teddy burst into the men's room, leaning against the ceramic pedestal sink and peering into the mirror. He flipped the faucet, water flowing from the tap as he splashed it against his face. Then, he heard it. The creaking of leather. He looked down at his feet in horror as the New Balance sneakers he sported started to quiver and undulate.

"No... Noo... NOOO." He vigorously splashed his face with the cold water, rubbing his face like a maniac. It was only then that he started to feel the roughness around his upper lip and jaw. He couldn't bring himself to look into the mirror, as he felt hair sprout below his nose and stubble poking around his sharpening jawline. He could only peer down as he slowly began to accept his fate. The sneakers quickly stretched wide and big, a scuffed black leather replacing the grey suede as they shifted into a pair of heavy black harness boots.

His breath grew shallow and rapid, watching his sweatpants suction in tight around his inflating calves and thighs, turning slick and black. The comfortable grey Champion sweats were nearly skintight now, as if painted on atop his lengthening legs. The bottoms slipped into his boots and fastened beneath the damp fabric of his black socks, and the shiny black leather pants began to creak as his own bulge started to grow round and distended. Teddy gasped for air as he felt his shaft stretch out, a foreskin creeping over the head of his weeping cockhead, seeping into the sweat and cum inundated jockstrap now around his waist and thick ass.

"Ohhh... fuuuuuuuck." His fingernails turned black as tattoos began to sprawl from his knuckles up his swelling arms. The sweatshirt he wore felt tighter and tighter as his shoulders broadened and his torso stretched upward, taking on a lighter tone as little tears started to appear around the collar and along the seams. "Unnnnnnnnff" His voice started to dip lower and lower as the heavy sweatshirt's sleeves retracted in toward his shoulders. He felt himself sweating, wiping the sweat from his lowering brow and brushing the now frosted blonde tips of his mullet to the side. He looked at his hands, undeniably his own, yet completely unfamiliar; watching them as they slowly slipped lower toward his throbbing cock. He pulled up his weathered, well loved white tank top, the intricate ink across his rippled abs begging him to go lower and lower, his head throwing itself back as his fingers slipped into his creaking leather pants.

"Brooooooo you in here? What, didja fall in?" As he heard Petey's stoned ass voice echo off the tiled walls, he turned his head as he groped his slimy cock in his pouch. His three friends, vaguely familiar now, all sauntered in looking at him with knowing smirks. "Awww, Theo. I told ya not to get started without me."

Theo leaned on the sink, groping himself with a devilish smirk, beckoning his favorite throat goat to come gobble up his musky rod. Petey took a hit off the joint, handing it to Sabrina before getting on his knees before their bisexual bad boy. He opened his maw, Theo knowing right away what to do as he spit in Petey's eager mouth, and pulled out his throbbing dick. As the skater expertly wrapped his lips around his manhood, Theo turned to Rod and Sabrina, winking. Rod grinned.

"Yeah, boy. Gimme summa that, no homo though, bro." The 6'5 basketball stud sauntered over to his bro, planting a wet kiss onto Theo's supple, cigarette stained lips. As Sabrina took Rod's monstrous cock into her mouth, the four of them fucked in the bathroom surrounded by the stench of sex. Swapping partners at the drop of a hat, sucking face and dick with no hesitation, worshipping Theo & Rod's big smelly feet or railing Petey's tight little hole while Sabrina ate out Theo's sweaty rear. By the time the Usher came in to tell them the film was over, buckets of cum were splattered over the walls, floor, ceiling, and friends.

"Heh, c'mon guys. We can continue this back at my place." Theo wrangled his little posse of fuck buddies out of the bathroom, past the outrageous orgy slapping about in the auditorium. The four walked out of the Kings Theatre, stinking of cum and sweat in the night air, knowing fully well they'd be returning soon enough.