#energy efficient frames

[kozijnenalmere]

Onderhoud van aluminium raamkozijnen

Nieuwste podcastaflevering: Onderhoud van aluminium raamkozijnen 🔧🎙️

Bij Kozijnen Almere weten we hoe belangrijk het is om uw aluminium raamkozijnen in topconditie te houden. In onze nieuwste podcastaflevering bespreken we uitgebreid het onderhoud van aluminium kozijnen. Aluminium is duurzaam, stijlvol en kan jarenlang meegaan, maar zonder regelmatig onderhoud kan het zijn glans en stevigheid verliezen.

In deze aflevering delen we praktische tips en adviezen over schoonmaken, smeren en beschermen tegen weersinvloeden. We gaan dieper in op welke middelen het beste zijn om uw kozijnen te reinigen zonder de kwaliteit aan te tasten en geven richtlijnen voor een onderhoudsroutine die past bij het Nederlandse klimaat.

Mis deze waardevolle tips niet! Luister nu naar de aflevering via SoundCloud hier. Doe uw voordeel met onze inzichten en verleng de levensduur van uw kozijnen. Bent u op zoek naar professioneel advies? Neem contact op met Kozijnen Almere voor een persoonlijk consult.

[hsmagazine254]

The Allure Of A-Frame Homes: Benefits And Charm

Embracing the Distinctive Appeal of A-Frame Architecture A-Frame homes have captured the imagination of homeowners with their unique design and inherent charm. These structures, characterized by their steeply-angled roofline forming the shape of an ‘A’, offer a range of benefits and aesthetic appeal. Discover the allure of A-Frame homes and why they might be the perfect choice for your next…

[darkshrimpemotions]

If I see one more person who grew up well-fed bemoaning that they're bigger than their mom who grew up malnourished I'm going to lose my mind. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry that fatphobia and diet culture ever made you look at your tiny mom, who suffered food deprivation in childhood only to grow up and make sure you never did, and see your larger body as anything but a blessing.

[saheed-uae-blog]

The Benefits of Glass Doors

In the modern world of interior and architectural design, glass doors have emerged as a symbol of elegance, functionality, and innovation. These transparent marvels have witnessed a surge in popularity, and for a good reason. Glass doors offer a wide array of advantages that not only enhance the aesthetic appeal of a space but also contribute to practicality, energy efficiency, and overall well-being. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the myriad benefits of glass doors and why they have become a cornerstone of contemporary design.

Types Of Glass Doors

Aluminium Glass Doors: Aluminium glass doors combine the durability of aluminium frames with the elegance of glass panels. They are commonly used for both interior and exterior applications, providing a sleek and modern look while ensuring weather resistance.

Frameless Glass Door: Frameless glass doors offer a minimalist and contemporary design. They lack visible frames or hardware, providing an unobstructed view. These doors are perfect for creating a seamless and open ambiance in homes or offices.

Glass Doors Sliding: Sliding glass doors are known for their space-saving design. They slide horizontally rather than swinging open, making them ideal for areas with limited space. They offer the same benefits of natural light and transparency as traditional glass doors.

Glass Door Wardrobe: Glass door wardrobes feature glass panels as the front doors of the wardrobe. This design not only adds a touch of sophistication to the bedroom but also allows for easy visibility of clothing and accessories without the need to open the doors.

Stackable Glass Doors: Stackable glass doors consist of multiple panels that can be neatly stacked or folded away when fully opened. They are often used to create wide openings between indoor and outdoor spaces, providing a sense of continuity and flexibility in design.

Interior Glass Doors: Interior glass doors are designed to separate different living spaces while maintaining an open and airy feel. They come in various styles, including frosted, etched, and clear glass options, offering versatility in design and privacy levels within a home.

Benefits of Glass Doors

Transparency and Openness

The most evident benefit of glass doors is their ability to create an atmosphere of transparency and openness. These doors allow an unobstructed view of both interior and exterior spaces, blurring the lines between indoors and outdoors. This feature makes rooms appear larger, more inviting, and provides a sense of connection with the surrounding environment.

Natural Light Infusion

One of the primary advantages of glass doors is their capacity to usher in an abundance of natural light. The entrance of daylight into a space not only reduces the need for artificial lighting but also provides numerous health benefits. Natural light promotes productivity, enhances mood, and even contributes to energy savings.

Aesthetic Versatility

Glass doors come in a variety of designs, from classic to contemporary, and they can be customized to suit any architectural style. Whether you prefer a sleek and minimalistic frameless design or a more traditional framed look, glass doors offer the flexibility to match the aesthetic of any interior or exterior space.

Energy Efficiency

Modern glass doors are designed to be energy-efficient. They are equipped with advanced insulation technology, including low-emissivity (Low-E) glass, which reduces heat transfer and helps maintain a comfortable indoor temperature. This not only reduces energy consumption but also lowers utility costs.

Noise Reduction

Glass doors equipped with double or triple glazing can significantly reduce noise transmission from the outside. This feature is particularly advantageous in urban environments or areas with high traffic, contributing to a more peaceful and quiet indoor ambiance.

Easy Maintenance

Maintaining glass doors is a breeze. They are easy to clean and resistant to stains and odors. A simple wipe with a glass cleaner is often sufficient to keep them looking pristine, making them an excellent choice for spaces that require minimal upkeep.

Conclusion

The benefits of glass doors in UAE are abundant and diverse, making them a top choice for homes and businesses. From illuminating natural light to enhancing property value and providing security, glass doors offer a range of advantages that transcend aesthetics.Additionally, finding the right Glass Doors manufacturers is important in ensuring you get top-quality products. TradersFind, a reputable platform, connects you with trusted glass doors suppliers, further enhancing the advantages of glass doors in terms of reliability, choice, and affordability. So, when considering the benefits of doors, don't forget the added advantage of accessing the best sources through TradersFind.

[clasesdeperiodismo]

New York Roof Extensions A large image of a backyard concrete paver patio fountain in the arts and crafts style.

[colinkloecker]

Foyer - Mudroom Entryway - mid-sized contemporary light wood floor and beige floor entryway idea with beige walls and a medium wood front door

[heartmomsen]

Roofing - Gable Large minimalist brown one-story wood exterior home photo with a shingle roof

[maximefauconnier]

Stucco Exterior Mid-sized mountain style white two-story stucco exterior home photo

[sgtpeppersofab]

Contemporary Exterior Ideas for a mid-sized, one-story, contemporary metal home's exterior renovation with a metal roof

[transmutationisms]

lrb one of the luxuries people love to get up in arms about is air conditioning and it's such a good example of how selectively these conversations get framed. part of the reason so many people need AC is because building housing cheap, at scale, for profit so often means building with shitty materials and pre-fab / one-style-fits-all design, and consequently, many people's housing gets little to no protection from the heat without the AC. there are ways to build that are much more energy efficient and heat protective, but the US model is to instead cut corners building luxury units, which yields a built environment dependent on expensive and energy-intensive technologies like AC. similar goes for the dependence on cars. these things are still luxuries, despite them being necessary for a lot of people; the fact that they've become necessary is itself already a result of the immense accumulated imperial wealth of the US and how capitalist expansion affects urban development, infrastructure, etc. when a luxury becomes a necessity that probably doesn't mean you're suffering uniquely or extra; it means the standard of living you've come to expect or need was always and only made possible by the massive wealth you have & exist around already

[nouearth]

a day at the office.

jim halpert x male reader.

summary: what happens when jim finds out that there's a secret place in the warehouse that's used for sleeping? hint: it's not used for sleeping.

wc: 6.6k. genre: smut. warnings: coworkers, top!jim, bottom!reader, bigdick!jim, spit as lube, fingering, milking, over-stimulation, spitting, kissing, lots of french kissing, breeding, public sex, established relationship, au where pam is with someone else, jim has a bi-awakening, seasons 1-4 jim!

It was a call-back that he’d been expecting. It didn’t take much of an utter of the familiar client’s voice, the principal of Dunmore High School, to assure Jim that he had already secured another renewal of paper supplies for the school; an impressive three-year loyalty from the school, but who was counting?

Jim held the phone and watched you at your desk, two sections diagonal of him. He looked pleased when the client began voicing out compliments because of his efficient service, smiled because you were absolutely terrible at playing computer Chess despite lowering the difficulty settings, and beamed when you caught his gaze, warm like the mug of coffee sitting by the small picture frame of your dog on your desk.

It was impossible to know if you could hear what Jim was saying, but the grin on his face told more than a thousand words and you bid him a thumbs up when he looked up from his notepad after scribbling the client’s purchase.

“All right, and before I let you go, our customer service representative will follow up with a short survey regarding our products and services.” A question followed after. “Yep, similar survey as last time—you got it. All right, it was a pleasure doing business with you. Take care.”

Despite originally feeling aversion for his job, he couldn’t lie about feeling some sense of accomplishment whenever he secured a huge order. Not to mention how much of an ego booster it was since he earned a commission out of the sale. Gradually over time, Jim found himself to be one of the top salesman at the office, convincing himself that his stay at Dunder Mifflin would only be temporary.

Then the gratification completely ceased, weakly fluttering like a limp balloon, when he looked at the time on his taskbar.

It was only 10 AM.

This is going to be a long day. Jim groaned, slouching in his seat because the negotiation felt like forever, sucked out all of the energy left in him during the half-of-an-hour call despite fueling himself with caffeine and random fruits he’d stolen from his roommate. They were nearing that gross, wrinkly stage anyway.

When he turned his attention back towards you, the phone was in your hand, the other typing on the keyboard what Jim presumed would be the client’s answers to the survey questions. There was always a smile on your face, even if the client couldn’t see you. And then tone in your voice. It was inviting and personable, a voice that made people feel safe and heard, as if that mattered at all because how could buying paper feel anywhere near dangerous? 

Or maybe it was simply because Jim was too high on his own infatuation for you, that he was mostly projecting his appreciation.

A couple of hours had passed, 1 PM, and Jim managed to make a few sales here and there. A couple of clients hadn’t finalized their choice of supplier yet, but Dunder Mifflin was certainly being alluded as the option once he offered free deliveries on the count that they ordered a certain number of shipments of paper. That always sealed the deal.

To be honest, other than enduring many of Michael’s annoying antics with Dwight being his right-hand man, most days in the office were exactly as mundane as today was turning out to be. Usually, he would find himself passing time by hanging around your desk, catching you up on the weirdest news he discovered through a deep-dive in the internet.

And you wouldn’t believe what’s about to happen next…

What..? Don’t tell me they found the fing— Yep, they found the finger in the chicken tenders. Cooked. Medium-rare. Crisp to the bone. Blistering. Oh god—that’s horrifying! Jim—

And usually, they were lies that he made up on the way to your desk, mainly because he loved drawing a reaction out of you. And you were also extremely gullible, which made it all the easier to do so.

But as far as today was concerned, you were knees-deep into your responsibilities. Phone calls concerning shipment delays siphoned you into brief turmoil because—of course there were going to be delays, we’re in the middle of February where the earth was working in mysterious ways to conjure up snow days!

As much as Jim wanted to cut the phone line off when a client had suddenly erupted into an audibly loud one-sided yelling match—he was winning, of course—it always impressive how calm and composed you were under those circumstances.

Though, while he acted the same way regarding his approach to customers, he preferred to give people time and space to calm down. Whereas you accessed the situation and carefully structured how you sounded to hopefully pacify their anger. Your voice was gentler, but it never faltered into a frailness that made you a pushover for the client to rag on. Rather, it was stern, especially authoritative when you would assert, “Sir, I understand this situation is very frustrating for you, but I am here to help. And I cannot help you if you do not tell me your order number. And it would also be very much appreciated if you lowered your voice.”

You were fairly new to the company, a little over two years in your position, and every day, as a little more of you unfolded, you’d shown Jim why you were hired on the spot. You were practically the face of what Dunder Mifflin desired, of what any company expected really; friendly, collaborative, hard-working, efficient, all those cliché keywords on a résumé. 

A golden boy, Jim liked to describe you as. He didn’t mean anything negative by it, simply by evidence of your personality at first. But when he mentioned that moniker for you one day, of course you laughed like it was the funniest thing Jim had told you since you’d introduced yourself, because you were a people-pleaser. Easy to get along. Charming. Handsome. Bright. Golden. 

That was you.

Honestly, Jim never expected to cross ‘fall in love’ off his New Year’s resolutions right before the year even started. He also never thought he’d strike out ‘discover your bi-awakening’ in any timeline of the universe—only because he didn’t even know he had a type in men—but the future worked in wondrous, confusing ways. Though, if someone actually asked for him to describe his type, it would be indescribable because Jim doesn’t know exactly what made him fall in love with you, except for the fact that it was you. Your presence. Your personality. Your looks. You.

Jim liked how you would say greet everyone ‘good morning,’ but it was him that you held in high-regard. He liked how you were shorter, like many others in the office were compared to him, but you had a build, or maybe a presence, that made him want to take you in his arms and never let go. He liked how you would end up snorting at his jokes because he never found his jokes incredibly funny. It was mainly a tactic, or rather an invitation for you to know that he wanted to be friends. With every laugh that spilled out of your mouth, fortuitous snorts that would embarrass you when Jim kept the joking going, a mutual bond was shortly formed and it felt even better than scoring a huge sale.

He liked how you were generous, tossing a bag of chips on his desk after a visit to the vending machine, and he’d suspected that you’d been watching him too, because you always got his favorite flavor without Jim ever telling you the minor details of his insignificant life.

He also liked how confusing it was to like you, to suddenly develop a crush on a man like he had just discovered a new aspect of life. There was something exciting and new happening in his mundane world, giving him a newfound motivation to come to work other than to pay his bills. He thought he discovered everything about himself by his early 20s, but you’d shown him that life truly does throw you off-course, or in Jim’s case, on the right side of the path. 

He casted doubts about his sexuality early on, pondering that loneliness had caught up to him and constructed an entirely different narrative as a last ditch effort to set him on an expedition to find love again.

But would loneliness really be influential enough to compel him to suddenly kiss you in the parking lot after having dinner together? He recalled you gasping, pulling away, thankfully not because you were repulsed by him, but because you were in complete shock that Jim was even into men in the first place. 

Jim never realized how much he brought up his ex-girlfriends to overcompensate for this sudden attraction for the opposite gender until you brought it up.

I don’t know yet, about all of this… I’m still figuring things out, but I really like you, (M/N).

Jim, I think you had too much to drink.

All I had was a Sprite—

He pondered that night, then many more until it began weighing on his conscience.

But he oddly found himself kissing you again a month after, properly this time, in his Subaru when he took you home after your car broke down. He felt like a volcano erupting when his lips landed on yours, soft and delicate like the first time he kissed you. His breath rattled into your own hesitation with every exhale, but then you took him in, let him in, and Jim melted. 

And then calmed, stilled, when you led, cupping his jaw to keep Jim from pulling away, and instead closer, leaning over the armrests of each respective seat and center console. The leather pressed uncomfortably into his body, but when you slipped your tongue inside of his mouth, he was spellbound, then purged of any feeling other than the ones you’d enthralled him with.

As you assured him on that night, with a late night conversation that refused to let you out of his car and Jim out of your neighborhood street, that was when he found himself.

Huh.

What?

Nothing… Usually my gay-dar is pretty spot on, so if I knew you rocked that way, I would’ve flirted with you early on.

Okay, one; never mention gay-dar to Michael or Dwight ever, because then they’ll go ‘I told you so’ on me. And two; you had a crush on me? Tell me more.

You’d be surprised how much height can make a gay man go feral, Jim.

Seems like you managed yourself pretty well, don’t you think? That you know of.

You animal…

Another hour passed by as Jim willingly let himself be sucked into a black hole of thoughts recalling those moments with you, those ‘firsts’ that could keep him distracted for another two hours or so. Alongside his first kiss with you, there was the first time he touched you; clumsiness took his hands to roam around your chest, stomach, then erection until you blew from Jim’s increasing interest, and then profound knowledge in your body.

He kissed you elsewhere other than your lips. It started off with your neck, then your shoulders, chest, and so-on, until his lips suddenly began wrapping around your own length without warning, sucking you off with cloddish, yet enticing attempts that made you laugh, because Jim was greedy, awkward with his tongue, but that didn’t stop you from wanting him to yourself.

You pulled him off and made him lean back on the couch instead, settling on your knees and then rewarding his service with your own mouth, to show him how to properly work a cock. Jim was never a man that was enticed by blowjobs, only because a mouth never felt gratifying enough, but with every swirl of your tongue, every spit that dripped off of his thick cock and back into your mouth, he was fully convinced that he was a changed man by the time he filled your mouth. 

He then intruded deep inside of you because to fully have an understanding of your body, he needed to explore every inch, every surface, every crevice. It was on his bed, in his messy room that Jim tried to hurriedly clean before you came in, that could barely accommodate room for two, but it was you who made it work when you straddled on his lap and rode him instead. You’d never felt so full, you said it yourself he was balls-deep inside of you.

And jesus christ, Jim knew he was big considering the women he’d dated were apprehensive about taking him, barely taking his cock before surrendering. It gave him deja vu with the way you held your eyes shut, bracing your position by having one palms on his chest, and the other guiding his cock carefully into you, controlling the stagger of your breath to the best of your ability. 

In the moment where he’d expect you to stop pushing yourself and tell him to settle for a blowjob instead, determination set you aflame like the painful stretch Jim had been providing you with, and with three more pulses to your breath, a brief break to apply more lube on Jim’s erection and your hole, you were entirely breached when Jim aided your hips and pushed you down until you were flushed against his body, flesh sticky and sweaty from your persistence.

You’re amazing… Jim, I’m close. Harder—

It was a memorable night, a messy one where you offered to change his sheets, and Jim swore he could’ve gone all-night if they hadn’t had work the very next day.  Instead, he held you close, panting and continuing to fill you despite your protest to shower, gazing into your eyes while you held his stare with a warmth that might have rivaled his own infactuation for you, and smiled.

I really like you.

I really, really like you too, Halpert.

And now Jim was here, fantasizing in his seat with an aching hard-on, but absolutely guilt-free this time, because it’d been a few months since you two made it official.

It took several pings from Jim’s computer to put his musing to a halt. He leaned forward to view the unread messages, tending to his erection with a few gentle squeezes, then peeked over his monitor with a grin when he realized it was from you.

[M/N]: lunch? [M/N]: hellooooo

[M/N]: if you don’t answer i’m ordering ahead without you [M/N]: wow you’re really out of it [M/N]: stare deep into space if you hate me [M/N]: wow, jim.

“Hey,” A gentle kick to your shoe knocked your attention up to Jim, where he greeted you with a warm smile as soon as your gaze fell on him, a coat draped over his arm. “What are you feeling today?” The weather wasn’t too cold, the coat mainly providing an obstruction to the evident outline in his khakis.

Glistening, you returned his smile tenfold in brightness, sprouting from your seat to stretch your arms over your head, loosening the tuck of your shirt crinkle by crinkle until you felt a pleasing crack to your back and shoulders. “Anything’s fine. Sushi? Wait, no—we had that last week.”

“You have…” Jim rolled a sleeve up to check the time on his watch, and your eyes immediately pivoted towards the veins in his forearm, endearing and taunting. “…the two minutes it takes to get to my car to decide.”

“Wait, but that’s not even enough—“ He turned his body so you were complaining towards his back, broad and firm through his blue dress shirt. You’d never felt so envious of a piece of clothing hugging tight on his body when that could’ve been you.

“Up and at ‘em, a minute and twenty seconds now.” Jim began walking towards the entrance, chuckling as he could hear you scramble through your desk in search for something. “Gotta find my wallet first—“

“Seriously? It’s already been thirty seconds now!” 

Turned out, all that rushing was for nothing as Jim had other plans when he pulled you past the exit to the parking lot, and instead another floor lower, and then another, until you and him reached the warehouse. He acted on impulse, his sudden thirst for you taking the reign of his actions that he didn’t exactly know what to do had the warehouse not been empty. Luckily, it was and Jim would keep that in mind for the future.

“Uh… Jim, why are we down here?” The warehouse was bigger than you last remembered from the brief introductory tour you were given. Though, to be fair, you were running on a half-mug of coffee, and the adrenaline rush of meeting everyone for the first time hadn’t worn off yet.

“You’ll see,” Jim shrugged, nonchalant in his demeanor as his gaze was seemingly in pursuit of something above him along the rows of storage shelves and units. “Don’t want to ruin the surprise for you.” The words rolled off of his tongue suspiciously, and beneath the growing smile on Jim’s face that was supposed to keep you calm and composed like it did on normal circumstances, was something that did the opposite, riling a wave of conflicting feelings within you.

Especially when Jim began to climb a ladder and step into a shelf space in the back of the warehouse that was hidden impressively well from the entrance.

“What—What are you doing?! Get down here!” Your eyes widened in panic, scanning the space from left to right multiple times in case any of the warehouse employees were within vicinity. “Jim!”

“It’s fine, come on up!” He waved you up once he got himself situated, head awkwardly bent and shoulders slant because of the shelf barely accommodated for his height and build.

“No way. We’re going to get fired if we get caught.” You frowned, crossing your arms as you stared up at him, baffled.

“You know, it would help your case if you weren’t standing where everyone could see you.” Jim reasoned and you huffed after. “I promise, we won’t get caught. I’ll keep an eye out. And if it helps, Darryl told me about this area. Toasty in here too.”

Apprehensively, you took ahold of the ladder railings and climbed your way to the shelf space where Jim awaited for your arrival, anticipated with a smug smile as he held out his hand to pull you in once you took his palm.

The shelf was in the darkest corner of the room. A few lights above had been burnt out for quite some time, and the large boxes of paper supplies that surrounded the perimeter casted shadows that ultimately provided an agreeable space despite your original complaints. In this case, as you cataloged the pillows and one throw blanket around you and Jim; a comfy place to rest your eyes.

“You took me here… to nap.” You stated matter-of-factly and stared at him disengaged, but nonetheless foraged a pillow behind your head and snuggled up to his left side when he opened his arm up. 

“The things I do for you. Absolutely no appreciation whatsoever.” Jim joked, then pinched your nose with a chuckle. The gesture always managed to pull a smile out of you, and he already anticipated you mirroring it back at him, to which he keenly blocked with a strong hold of your wrist. Then another when you attempted sneak attack with a neck-chop with your other arm.

“You know…” Your voice wandered to a deepness, a slight hush as if anyone around you could hear. “You could’ve just told me you were horny.” You tugged your hands in resistance.

“What—How did you know?” Jim broke out into a toothy smile despite being caught red-handed.

“I mean, you weren’t exactly hiding your boner that well. A hand isn’t going to cover that.” You nodded your head towards the size of his bulge, the center of Jim’s khakis creasing when his erection greeted you with a throb. The boxes of paper supplies couldn’t shelter Jim had they tried.

“Hey, are you shaming me for having a big penis? Wow, (M/N). I thought you were different.” He loosened his hold on your wrists, but nonetheless kept them within his grasp to guide your right hand to his inner thigh, dropping the other after. He leaned in, his gaze pivoting to your wet lips when you licked your lips. The scent of his cologne, along with the way Jim’s eyes glazed over you like a piece of meat, stirred something inside of you. Your pants felt tighter than a couple seconds ago.

“If blowing you until you finish in my mouth is shaming, then…” Jim’s hand pressed on top of yours to move you upwards to his bulge, but you resisted, a teasing grin beamed towards the smug smile on his face before you enchanted his lips with a soft, languid kiss. “Call me a monster.”

Jim abandoned your hand to take ahold of your jaw, cupping the underside of it softly while his thumb caressed the structure with composed strokes. Your breath tasted like coffee, sweeter than how Jim preferred his own cup, but perfectly delectable when it came from your tongue. 

“You stole my line.” He joked again, then kissed you harder; a stroke of his tongue parted your lips again in desperate need to take you, in a sloppy pursuit of some kind of reward for his terrific work this month. His tongue explored your mouth, panting among both parties, your own wet flesh gliding and slipping against and around his needy endeavors, prompted by the gentle squeezes and strokes on his erection, and it didn’t take very long before you were completely captivated by Jim and the way he took you, your body going limp except for the growing tent in your pants.

You palmed him through his khakis. Your hand barely moved up his thigh before you could feel a long and thick lump residing beneath the crinkle of his left pocket, and a moan slipped from your throat because you could never stop marveling over the size of Jim’s cock. “We only have twenty minutes.” It was a complaint rather than a reminder. The clock ticking in your head peeled you away from the captivating kiss, frowning because there was so much you wanted to do to Jim, for him.

“Better get to work then.” You felt his hands suddenly begin to work at your belt, unbuckling them with deft and efficiency. Impatience left the leather hang loose, flopping stiffly as Jim unzipped your pants, and then pushed them down to your ankles after turning you on your side, your back facing him.

Jim snapped your briefs below the smooth curve of your ass, plumping them with the help of the tight restraining digging into your skin and pushing your mounds of flesh upwards. It was a delicious invitation for him to spank your right ass cheek once to watch how his slap reverberated off your flesh in soft jiggles, then another because your hushed whimpers were the perfect accompaniment to the force of his palm.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about your ass today.” He confessed while the strong kneads to your ass, palms of thick flesh groped and spread, provided proof to his confession.

“Yeah? Is that why you couldn’t keep it in your pants today?” You groaned when something wet and lean slid nimbly inside of your hole without warning. Tight and warm, you squeezed around Jim’s lone finger as it thrusted inside of you. Whimpered when it curled, another finger joining after a couple of flicks of his wrist, with the intent to wreck vengeance on the source of his erection.

“You know it,” His voice ghosted over your ear, closer than you expected, and your head knowingly turned to meet his lips for a yearning, sloppy kiss that Jim mutually had been craving all day for. He pushed himself closer to you, your mouth and his parting open and lingering as tongues mingled for an open-mouthed kiss. It was wet and sickly, enough to get you high on the act alone, cock throbbing when Jim closed his mouth around your tongue and sucked the spit bubbles off your tongue. All of that simultaneously stirring butterflies in your stomach while he worked your hole open, presently stretching you out with three fingers barreled into your cavity. 

Usually three fingers was enough to take Jim’s cock. It was uncomfortable, at times painful when you barely stretched yourself. But you liked that you could feel every inch of Jim’s muscly cock pushing you open. You likened it to rolling out a tight muscle after a tough workout. Painful, but incredibly satisfying once you felt him turning you out. Plus, it never failed to make Jim incredibly gratified, his cock somehow growing harder, thicker while he was shelved inside of you.

It wasn’t the most ideal position; you were facing boxes of copy paper that instantly evoked shame, the Dunder Mifflin logo plastered across the cardboard seemingly mortified by the lack of restraining when it came to your boyfriend. It wasn’t often that you two involved yourself in public sex, but when Jim was either too impatient to wait at his apartment, or you needed something to recharge you in the middle of the day, those circumstances mainly resided in his car. You bought extra blankets to cover up the windows too, though ultimately, they served no purpose because you were here—ass out, jerking yourself off to the hastened sound of Jim’s belt unbuckling, khakis and boxers shoved down to his ankles similar to yours in turn.

“Shoot,” Jim grunted irritably. You turned your head over your shoulder, curiously finding the source of his evident annoyance along with him as Jim began searching through his coat pockets, only after taking a long peek at the glorious throb of his cock.

“What? Having regrets already?” You grinned, and you discerned a vacant smile of his own, Jim’s mind occupied by a multitude of thoughts.

“I forgot the lube. I thought I put it in my pocket, guess not…” A sigh of disappointment came after Jim’s habit of clicking his tongue whenever he felt any kind of feeling. “Well, I guess we could try—“

You suddenly took Jim’s hand and spat in it, Jim watching wide-eyed, stunned, while you pushed a few more out with your tongue since saliva never had the ideal longevity and viscosity of lube. “Hurry before it dries.” You turned back calmly, beckoning for his cock with a push of your ass. 

“I’m in love with you.” Jim breathed out, a toothy smile you could imagine from the giddy tone of his voice. The spit in his hand was then used to lube his thick cock, in a thick sheen you presumed from the sticky sounds that tingled the tips of your ears, then the base of your tightened balls.

“Prove it to me.” You folded the arm you were lain on behind your head, cushioning the weight of it while your other hand reached back to lather his cock in your saliva after spitting a few more times into your palm. You felt veins pulsing strong with every stroke, a weight of thick cock that made your wrist sore, and then as you pivoted towards the pink glans of Jim’s dick, a bulbous head that intimidatingly maintained the girth of his shaft.

“You’re going to regret it.” He said smugly, adjusting himself closer and lower to match your smaller build. His moans were bitten back, swallowed down with hard gulps while you were carried away in providing him a temporary relief that you were too impatient to ignore.

Your hand continued stroking him off, your saliva sticking on his cock and then eventually in between your ass as you guided him towards your entrance, immense warmth emanating from the blood surging through his cock veins. “Have I ever?” 

“No,” Jim replaced your hand, making it return back to fondling your balls, and teased by running his cock over the crack of your ass. You felt his cock bolt with a spring, taunting when the plump head pressed its slick pre-cum to your pucker. He loved how he could see your ass clench in desperate efforts to lure him in, but it was futile as he’d return to sweeping over your hole with languid swipes, drawing out whimpers that signified that your impatience was running thin. 

“And I love you even more for that.”

He suddenly pushed. Your breath got caught in your throat from the abruptness of it all, and your body immediately tensed in turn, frozen in place when a burning sensation from beneath alerted you to stay put and just breathe. Jim groaned, already feeling the swell of your pucker refusing to let the head in, so he pulled himself out and restarted. Harder, he pushed his cock inside of you again, persistent despite your body naturally arcing forward to escape the emerging pain, but his hand on your hip pulled you back, anchoring your withering body, until the thick inch of his cock slid in.

“Careful—F-fuck, Jim.” Your stomach was in knots as it always was when he would first push inside of you. Feelings, conflicting ones of need, want, and regret battling for the throne of your body, of your mind, as Jim kept pushing, sliding in and out, rough and impatient because he needed you to open yourself up for him.

He was so big, too big at times, and you felt so pathetic because you thought you’d get used to him by now; used to the way you felt so full even when only his head had penetrated you; used to how your hole stung as more of Jim sheathed inside of you, slowly with a couple of thrusts aiding its insertion. 

“I know, I know…” He breathed with a rattle, the tightness in your cavity gripping pleasurably around him as he thrusted with only the first few inches in, absolutely riveting that he couldn’t help but let his desires dominant his methodical approach in letting you adjust to his large size and instead, making you to take it all at once with one long and deep push.

“J-Jim!” A scream abruptly left your throat and before you could let another slip out, his hand suddenly came up to cover your mouth, pressing his palm hard to your face and squeezing your cheeks. Your eyes shut, and your body writhed from how Jim’s cock roughly worked you opened. You felt uncomfortably full, beyond stretched to your limits as Jim was balls-deep inside of you now, but most importantly, you felt so wanted.

Bounded by the strong hold around you; his hand squeezing your cheeks in his palm to muffle your moans; his cock penetrating you deep and hard with fast and needy rhythms; his lips soft against your neck before they surprised with a painful suck to your jawbone; you were enraptured by Jim’s dominance over you, leaking from the tip of your cock in heavy drips while he fucked you from behind, the metal of his belt clacking with every precision of his thrusts.

“You’re so tight. Fuck. No one can take my dick like you.” Jim panted, embellishing your neck in hot breaths before climbing to kiss you on the lips again once you were prompted to turn your head. 

It was the small sounds from you that drove Jim nuts. They spilled into his mouth without restraint, an open-mouthed kiss again as he licked into you, suckled on your tongue, and let drool join your own slick mess at your chin. Tiny whimpers and occasional gasps when he hit your prostate fed his thirst for you, knowing that only he could drive you this mad; fumbling over your begs and surrendering because his cock was too good for you to think properly and find your words again.

“Harder. Harder.” You gulped, your demands muffled as Jim had his thumb in your mouth now. After, you went back to sucking his thick thumb off, tongue laving him in circular motions, as best as one could as Jim sped his pace and fucked you into oblivion. “Harder.” You gritted your teeth, hustling through the burn as the saliva had dried off his dick by now. You were beating your cock, pumping it with an ample amount of strength that rivaled Jim’s hips against you, motivated by the ticking countdown of your lunch break coming to an end soon.

It still stung. You barely had time to adjust to him before you were completely taking Jim’s cock as if you were a cheap flashlight he bought online, a piece of silicon that he’d break. Your hair bounced, sweat-dripping down your forehead while you felt his own sweat dripping of his forehead and staining your dress shirt. The back of your shirt felt damp, heat building up at your back-side as Jim had enclosed around you with an embrace that thawed any ounce of pain and replaced it with intoxicating pleasure. An onslaught of thrusts kept you writhing by your toes, then curling into the blanket that had bundled beneath your feet.

Harder. Your demands were immediately met after Jim pulled himself out completely, as if he was recharging his strength, lubed his erection with a spit to the palm, then shoved himself back into you with one strong thrust, sending your body into an arc that he’d immediately restrained back with a push to your abdomen, forcing you to take his cock in full stride. Your ass rippled like the rattle in your moans, flesh clapping loud whenever Jim met his groin to your skin, and you couldn’t get enough of it, the sounds glorious in your ear. Your hole clenched in vain as Jim always managed to power through and forced you open again, hollowing you out until your pucker shaped itself to the exact size of his thick cock.

He would marvel at the gape when he pulled himself out again, for his own sake as he was nearing his climax, and spread your cheeks open. “Just for me?”

“Just for you.” You used the small break to catch up on your breath, wetting your parched throat with multiple gulps as you turned over your shoulder to catch him staring, finding it futile as your throat felt brittle again.

He clicked his tongue multiple times, that habit again whenever he felt something, when the rim of your hole tensed up at the multiple spanks he’d given you, seemingly swallowing at nothing but air, until he breached himself back in, angling his hips perfectly to press at your prostate.

It was nearing—your climax. You rarely touched your cock, abandoning it because your arms tend to be locked behind Jim’s warm embrace around you, but it sprouted strong in between your legs, aided by the repeated violation against your prostate. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head multiple times, Jim’s large cock knocking the breath out of you with every snap of his hips, pounding into the swelling of your insides.

“Oh god, Jim—“

That spot again, he never missed once in hitting your prostate, a storm of delight torpedoing the pit of your stomach as Jim impaled into you like lightning. Jim muttered something under his breath, striking on your skin as he bit into your neck, then pressed hard against your hip bone.

“I’m gonna—“ Jim gripped at your hips harder, a slur of words near your ear making goosebumps raise all over your body, beneath the layer of sweat that had dampened your clothes. 

“Too, me too—“ You huffed, closing your eyes, but deftly finding Jim’s lips when you turned your head to kiss him one more time. An immediate tangle of tongues was enforced, your mouths mutually opening on impulse while he held your head comfortably to keep you from straining your neck. You moaned, reeled your tongue back from the slippery closure of his mouth, and cried out as your pucker clamped down on his large cock moving inside of you. Your hole throbbed around his girth with exquisite spurts that came from within, pulsated with the veins that had adorned Jim’s cock delectably, grasped him like a tight sleeve that refused to let him go. 

When you opened your eyes, you were blinded by the lights that had donned over you instead of casted shadows, a heavenly choir celebrating with holy bells when your balls tightened once before loosening when your cock erupted thick cumshots onto the boxes in front of you, painting the cardboard in thick layers of yourself, of your desires, with the help of Jim’s cock, pounding strong ropes of cum out of you until they’ve hit every box like target practice. 

“Fuck.” Jim let out a deep groan, pushing painfully into you, his hand reaching over to milk your cock until you were only spewing out the tiniest bits of cum left in your emptying sack. Your whimpering and the convulsion of your body, as he continued to milk your cock, triggered Jim to finally break within a couple more thrusts and a deep grunt, his cock exploding hot and thick in the confines of your ass, flooding your tender hole with his thick cum loads.

“Jim.” You whined, drawing out his name. His cum was dripping out of you, a few thick droplets rolling to the side of your ass as Jim’s thrusts were beginning to shallow, but never once pausing. “Fuck—“

“You feel so good like this.” Jim was creaming your insides, using your ass to ride out his orgasm and milk his hard cock inside of you, even when he was beginning to feel sore at the base of his balls. You whimpered quietly, knowing it was such a waste of cum dripping out of you like that, but also because you felt your cock hardening again despite just now recovering from Jim’s devious hold on you.

“We’re going to be late if you keep this up.” You should’ve known better. Any time you offered him a reason not to do something, Jim was motivated to do the opposite. 

His thrusts remained the same, shallow yet deep against you, and right when you thought you felt soaked in your ass, Jim pressed another low grunt to your lips, snapping once into you and rattling another moan out of you, before the convulsions bound his body to your backside once again, and let him spill another load inside of your creamy hole.

Jim shuddered, feeling drained and especially aching as his cock went limp and slipped out of you, the only connection between you and him being the sticky cum that had webbed his cock and your ass together as you involuntarily pushed his cum out of your tender hole in a daze.

“Think you can work the rest of the day like this?” The pleasure subsided into exhaustion, a wave of drowsiness hitting you and Jim like a truck despite the uncomfortable pool of cum sitting beneath you two. Jim kissed your shoulder, then pulled your briefs back up, your pants following after.

“No way.” You laughed, lightly punching at his shoulder after buckling your belt because now all you wanted to do was use what the shelf was actually purposed for: sleeping. “You owe me a hot bath later.”

“Tch, the things I do for you. You're ungateful.”

"You love me for it."

"I do."

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

[p0orbaby]

Forty Winks Would Be Just Priceless

summary: your kid only sleeps when being driven, the diva that she is

warnings: none !

a/n: if someone could drive me around to get to sleep that would be great

word count: 1.7k

-

It’s 2:47 a.m., and you’re sitting in the passenger seat of a car that you didn’t even know Leah could operate at this level of exhaustion. You’re wondering if she’s siphoning energy directly from the Devil, because that’s the only explanation. The car smells like a combination of McDonald’s fries, stale coffee, and something unidentifiable that you’re hoping isn’t some sort of roadkill under the bonnet. Your wife is behind the wheel, white-knuckling it like she’s doing 90 on the M25. In reality, she’s going 15 miles per hour around your parish.

Again.

“Is this the fifth lap or the sixth?” you ask. You’ve lost count. Somewhere around lap three, you started dissociating. The glow of the streetlights is the only indication you’re still on Earth.

“Does it matter?” Leah responds, glancing over at you with an arched eyebrow that you recognise as the look she gives opponents who try to muscle her off the ball. Leah has three moods: sweet, commanding, and “I could end you without lifting a finger.” You’re currently dealing with the third. The funny part is, she’s only this intimidating when she’s wearing a hoodie over her messy hair, dark circles framing her bloodshot eyes, which she insists is the result of “just a little” caffeine.

You eye her warily. “Maybe not,” you admit, slumping lower into the seat. You glance over your shoulder into the backseat, where Eden, your two-year-old sleep terrorist, has finally succumbed to the soothing vibrations of the Mercedes. Eden’s head is lolling to one side, mouth slightly open, and you’re just about convinced she’s auditioning to be the next exorcism case.

Leah’s been driving for about an hour now. You’re on your third consecutive night of the same routine: dinnertime is war, bath time is a ceasefire, and bedtime is a full-blown, special-ops mission with all the difficulty of invading a heavily guarded country. Eden has the upper hand. Eden is always ten steps ahead. And the only way to win is to retreat—to the car.

“I feel like we should get a second car,” you suggest, half-serious. “One specifically for these midnight missions. Maybe something with better fuel efficiency”

Leah gives you a side-eye that says, “You’re joking, right?” But you can tell she’s considering it. “Or we could teach her to fall asleep like a normal child. In her bed. At bedtime”

You snort. “Teach her? Are we raising a human or a feral cat?”

Leah doesn’t even have to respond to that. Eden is a force of nature. You’re just two unfortunate souls caught in her tiny hurricane.

“And what do we do when she grows out of this?” Leah asks, but it’s more like she’s thinking out loud. “Do we drive her to school every day just to get her to wake up?”

“Let’s just worry about surviving the next hour,” you say, looking at the clock. You remember reading somewhere that car exhaust fumes can lull a person to sleep. You briefly wonder if that’s what’s happening to you right now.

Leah clicks her tongue in thought, turning onto the next street, where a dog that clearly suffers from some kind of psychological trauma is barking at nothing. “When I was little,” she begins, “my mum would drive me around to get me to sleep, but we lived in the countryside. There were no barking dogs, just the occasional sheep”

“Well, that’s why you turned out so well-adjusted,” you remark dryly. “If Eden grows up thinking the only way to fall asleep is to go for a drive, she’s going to need therapy. Which we can’t afford, by the way, because we’ll be spending all our money on petrol”

Leah chuckles, but it’s the kind of laugh that’s a little too high-pitched to be real. “We’ll add it to the list of things she’ll blame us for when she’s older. Right next to ‘Mum used to make me eat vegetables’ and ‘Mama never let me play with knives’”

Eden lets out a little snore, and you both freeze, staring at the rearview mirror. Leah’s foot hovers over the brake pedal as if any sudden movement might wake the tiny monster in the back. You can practically hear both of you holding your breath, waiting for the inevitable cry of protest that’s sure to come the second the car stops moving.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, Eden’s snore deepens, becoming the kind of sleep sounds that suggest she’s off in dreamland, probably riding unicorns or setting fire to imaginary villages.

You relax a fraction, and so does Leah, though she’s still gripping the wheel like it’s her last lifeline. You wonder if she’s ever used this level of concentration on the pitch. You’ve never seen her miss a tackle, but this is an entirely different ball game.

“So, when do we stop?” Leah whispers. You can hear the exhaustion in her voice now, thick and sludgy like she’s been awake for a week.

You consider this. “We could keep driving until sunrise. Then she’ll wake up with the sun and think it’s a new day. Maybe it’ll reset her sleep schedule”

“Or we’ll just be perpetually exhausted and still sleep-deprived, except now we’ve got morning traffic to deal with,” Leah counters. “You know, if we were living in a different era, this could be considered some form of witchcraft. Driving around in circles at night to get a child to sleep. Someone would’ve burned us at the stake by now”

“Wouldn’t that be a relief,” you mutter, then immediately regret it, because even though you’re joking, you’re too tired to be sure.

Leah sighs. “I love her. I really do. But sometimes I wonder if we’re the ones being trained here”

“There’s no wonder about it,” you reply, deadpan. “We’re definitely the ones being trained. She’s got us figured out. We’re puppets. Eden pulls the strings, and we drive”

Leah smiles at that, though it’s more of a grimace of acknowledgment. “You know, when I said I’d do anything for her, I didn’t realise it included nighttime rally racing in a residential neighborhood”

“Should’ve read the fine print,” you say, then yawn so hard it hurts. “But hey, at least we’re doing this together, right? Quality time”

Leah glances over at you, and this time, her smile is real. It’s small, but it’s there, and it makes you feel a little less like a zombie. “Yeah,” she agrees softly. “I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else”

You reach over and squeeze her hand, and for a moment, there’s peace. Not the kind of peace you’ll ever find in a parenting book or one of those sanctimonious mommy blogs, but the kind that exists in the trenches, where you and Leah are currently wading through knee-deep toddler warfare.

As you turn onto yet another street that looks identical to the last, you finally admit defeat. “Let’s call it,” you say. “She’s out. If we keep going, we’re going to end up in Scotland”

“Good idea,” Leah says, already beginning the slow process of easing off the gas and pulling into your driveway. She parks with the kind of precision that makes you think she missed her calling as a getaway driver.

You both sit there for a minute, basking in the silence that only comes when your child is finally, blessedly asleep. You’re in no rush to move, because you know the second you do, Eden will sense it and all this work will be undone in a matter of seconds.

But Leah is braver than you. She quietly turns off the engine, unbuckles her seatbelt, and with the precision of a bomb squad technician, she turns to the backseat. You watch as she gingerly unbuckles Eden, cradling her like she’s made of porcelain.

And somehow, miraculously, Eden stays asleep. Leah manages to get out of the car, Eden still snoozing in her arms, and you’re right behind her, ready to perform the hand-off should things go south.

The two of you tiptoe through the house like burglars, careful to avoid every creaky floorboard. You’re halfway to Eden’s room when she stirs, and you both freeze in place like deer caught in headlights. But then she just shifts in Leah’s arms, sighs deeply, and snuggles closer into her mother’s shoulder.

You finally reach the cot, and Leah lowers her in with the gentleness of a saint. The transfer is seamless. Eden doesn’t even flinch.

The second the cot rail is up, you and Leah back out of the room like you’ve just completed a high-stakes mission, which you basically have. The door closes with a soft click, and you both stand there, wide-eyed, disbelieving.

“She’s asleep,” Leah whispers, like she doesn’t dare believe it.

“She’s asleep,” you echo, equally stunned.

And then, without warning, Leah lets out a sound that you can only describe as a half-crazed giggle. It’s infectious, and you start laughing too, because it’s either that or you’re going to cry, and honestly, you’ve done enough of that in the last few days.

“We did it,” you say between breaths, leaning against the wall for support. “We actually did it”

Leah pulls you into a hug, and it’s warm and comforting, and it feels like a reward for all the hell you’ve been through tonight. “We make a good team,” she murmurs into your hair.

“The best,” you agree, letting yourself relax into her embrace.

But as you’re standing there, holding each other in the hallway like the survivours you are, you both hear it: the unmistakable sound of Eden stirring, a tiny whimper that promises to turn into a full-blown cry in about three seconds.

You look at each other in horror, and without a word, Leah grabs the car keys.

“You can drive,” she says, already heading back towards the front door.

You don’t even argue. Instead, you grab your the keys from her, knowing full well that this battle isn’t over yet.

And as you both head back to the car for yet another sleepless night, you can’t help but think that one day, years from now, you’ll look back on these nights with some kind of twisted fondness.

But for now, all you can do is keep driving.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Car Wash

Summary: Derek drives Spencer through a carwash fundraiser.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: flirty fluff

Warnings/Includes: sorority, swimsuits, washing cars in swimsuits, suggestive content (16+)

Word count: 1.1k

a/n: i think Spencer would feel so uncomfortable seeing a bunch of people in swimsuits washing his car lolol

main masterlist

The rhythmic thud of the highway under the tires accompanied the quiet hum of the car's engine as Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid made their way back from a particularly intense death row interview. The two FBI agents, having spent the past few hours delving into the mind of a convicted criminal, were both relieved to be heading home, though their minds lingered on the case's haunting details.

"Man, that was intense," Derek finally broke the silence, his hands firmly on the steering wheel as he navigated through the bustling city traffic. "I'm glad that's over."

Spencer nodded, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the window. "Yeah, I don't think I'll ever get used to that kind of interview."

Derek chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "You'd think after all these years we'd have a thicker skin. But nope."

As they turned a corner, Derek noticed a sign up ahead, its bright colors catching his attention. "Hey, check that out," he said, nodding toward the sign.

“Oh, looks like we stumbled upon a fundraiser,” Derek remarked with a grin. “You’re in luck, genius. Maybe a little car wash will wash away some of that prison grime from our heads.”

Spencer’s eyes widened as they neared the scene. The sorority members were decked out in swimsuits and tank tops, holding colorful sponges and buckets of soapy water. They moved gracefully between the cars, laughing and chatting with the drivers, their enthusiasm infectious.

As Derek drove them into line, Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze darting from one vibrant swimsuit to the next. The vibrant scene seemed to overwhelm him. His fingers tapped nervously on his knee, and Derek couldn’t help but chuckle at his friend's obvious discomfort.

“Relax, pretty boy. It’s just a bunch of college kids raising money for a good cause. Nothing to be nervous about,” Derek teased, patting Spencer on the shoulder.

“Uh, yeah, I know,” Spencer mumbled, trying to focus on anything but the exuberant display of youthful energy around them. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, suddenly feeling out of place.

A cheerful, beautiful young woman approached the car, her hair and body glistening with droplets of water, and a welcoming smile on her face.

You leaned over, hands on the window frame, and peered inside. “Hey there! Thanks for stopping by! This is for the academic sorority – we’re fundraising for educational resources. Would you like a wash?”

Derek nodded, his smile brightening. “Absolutely. Do you have a special academic rate for FBI agents?”

You laughed, a sound like tinkling bells. “Sorry, no special rates, but we promise the best car wash you’ll ever experience. Just pull forward, and we’ll take care of you.”

Spencer gave a nervous smile, unsure of where to look. The energy of the place was intoxicating, yet he felt like an outsider, his usual calm replaced with a peculiar kind of tension.

As Derek pulled the car into the washing zone, the girls and nonbinary members surrounded them, sponges in hand, and began their sudsy assault. The group worked with practiced efficiency, their movements fluid and rhythmic, creating an almost choreographed display of teamwork.

“Reid, you’re missing the show,” Derek said, nudging him playfully. “Lighten up a little. It’s just soap and water.”

Spencer tried to maintain his composure, but it was nearly impossible with the enticing spectacle unfolding outside the window. “I know, I know,” Spencer replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He watched through the window as a particularly enthusiastic member wielded a hose, sending a cascade of water over the windshield. “It’s just…a lot to take in.”

Derek chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You mean the half-naked people covered in soapy water rubbing their bodies on the car?”

“Yeah,” Spencer cleared his throat, his eyes flicking to the scene outside once again. “That.”

His gaze unintentionally kept finding you, drawn in by the way your swimsuit fit you so perfectly, and the way the bubbles seemed to cling to your skin, accentuating your every curve. The sun was relentless in its teasing, casting golden rays that danced across your shimmering body, emphasizing the soap suds glistening against your skin. Spencer's cheeks flushed with warmth, a result of both the sun and his own embarrassment.

You noticed Spencer’s stare, your lips curving into a playful smirk as you met his gaze. With a teasing wink, you took the sponge in your hand, wringing out the water so it cascaded down your chest, sending rivulets of soapy water running down your body in a mesmerizing display.

Spencer felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs. He shifted in his seat, trying to find a position that would hide the obvious problem in his slacks. His mind raced, heart pounding in his chest.

“You’re that uncomfortable, pretty boy?” Derek teased, a knowing smile on his lips.

“Shut up, Morgan,” Spencer mumbled, his face burning as he tried to look anywhere but in your direction.

Derek laughed heartily, shaking his head. “I think she’s got her eye on you, man.”

As the car wash ended, and Spencer’s discomfort reached its peak, Derek rolled down the window to pay. But instead of approaching Derek’s side, you walked confidently to Spencer’s window, tapping on the glass.

Spencer rolled down the window, eyeing you with curiosity and suspicion. “Um, hi,” he stammered.

“Hey,” you greeted him, your smile dazzling. “Do you have a pen?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Spencer fumbled in his satchel, retrieving a pen and handing it to you. His fingers brushed against your wet skin, and he felt a shiver run up his spine.

You took the pen, holding out your hand expectantly. Spencer hesitated for a moment before realizing what you wanted. He extended his arm, raising an eyebrow in surprise as you began writing your number on his forearm with a playful grin.

“The wash is on the house,” you said, smirking at him. “You can take me to dinner instead.” With a blown kiss and a confident stride, you walked away, leaving Spencer utterly speechless.

Spencer sat there, mouth slightly agape, as he watched you disappear into the crowd of volunteers. He glanced down at the number on his arm, then back at Derek, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Did that just happen?” Spencer asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and awe.

“Yeah, Reid,” Derek laughed, giving him a pat on the back. “That just happened.”

As Derek drove away from the car wash, Spencer couldn't help but stare at the numbers on his forearm, a giddy smile spreading across his face. This unexpected turn of events had certainly added a twist to their day, and as he contemplated the prospect of taking you to dinner, he couldn't deny the flutter of excitement in his chest.

It was going to be an interesting evening, to say the least.

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

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm

[callsigns-haze]

2 3 make 3 4

Summary: After months of messing around with one of Penny's bartenders a knock and a ditch may have changed the couples life forever.

Pairing: Bradley x Jake x Reader

Warning: This story contains mature themes, including explicit sexual content and pregnancy.

The familiar sound of cue balls clicking together echoed through The Hard Deck, blending seamlessly with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. Behind the bar, you worked efficiently, sliding beers across the counter and topping off margaritas, your hands moving almost instinctively. It was a busy night, but you thrived on it. The tips were good, the energy was infectious, and Penny trusted you to hold the fort.

You were wiping down the counter when you noticed him. Bradley Bradshaw. Rooster, as his friends called him. His sun-streaked hair caught the dim light as he weaved through the crowd, his Hawaiian shirt loud enough to draw attention but not enough to distract from the confident ease of his walk. He smiled as he approached the bar, and even before he reached you, you knew he had that look in his eye.

"Hey, YN," Bradley greeted, leaning on the bar. His deep voice was warm, familiar, laced with just enough flirtation to send a shiver down your spine.

"Bradley," you replied smoothly, meeting his gaze. "What can I get you?"

He glanced over his shoulder briefly, scanning the room before turning back to you. His lips curved into that knowing smile, the one you'd seen far too many times by now.

"Two lagers and a whiskey neat," he said, then paused, letting the words hang in the air just long enough to make you curious. "And… are you free tonight?"

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn't let it show. Instead, you arched an eyebrow, busying yourself with pouring the beers. "Is Jake in on this, or are you going rogue?"

Bradley chuckled, the sound low and teasing. "You know I wouldn't dream of stepping out of line. He's been asking about you, actually."

The beers were ready, and you placed them on the counter, taking your time as you poured the whiskey. "I thought you two were supposed to be planning a wedding," you teased, your voice light but your pulse quickening.

"We are," Bradley admitted, leaning a little closer. "But you know how we like to keep things… interesting."

Your breath hitched, memories of past nights flashing through your mind. The three of you had a rhythm, an understanding that went unspoken but never unappreciated. Jake’s sharp confidence and Bradley’s easy charm were a combination you could never quite resist.

"I close up at midnight," you said, sliding the whiskey toward him. "You know where to find me."

Bradley’s grin widened, and he tapped the counter lightly before picking up the drinks. "See you then."

You watched as he walked away, his shoulders relaxed, his stride easy. Your heart was pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the busy night.

Midnight couldn’t come fast enough.

---

The faint glow of the living room’s dim lighting cast long shadows on the walls, giving the space an intimate, almost dreamlike feel. You barely had a chance to take in the surroundings before Jake’s hands were on you, firm yet teasing, guiding you back until your shoulders met the cool surface of the wall.

"Missed you," he murmured, his voice a low drawl that sent heat pooling in your stomach. His green eyes gleamed with mischief as his lips brushed the corner of your mouth, deliberately just shy of a kiss.

"Jake," you whispered, your breath hitching.

Before you could say more, Bradley’s larger frame moved in from the side, his presence grounding yet electric. His fingers tilted your chin toward him, and his lips captured yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, as if savouring the moment. Jake chuckled softly at your reaction, his hands skimming down your sides, the friction sending a shiver through you.

"You always get her first," Jake teased Bradley, his tone light but laced with playful competitiveness.

"Someone has to make sure she’s warmed up," Bradley replied, his voice rumbling against your lips as he pulled back just enough to speak.

Your head tilted back against the wall as Jake’s lips found the curve of your neck, his stubble scraping in a way that sent sparks down your spine. You could feel his smirk against your skin, the kind of confidence that made it impossible to resist him. Bradley’s hands slid down to your hips, anchoring you as his mouth trailed along your jawline, each touch of their lips igniting a fire that left you breathless.

"Think she missed us?" Jake murmured against your ear, his voice a tantalizing mix of amusement and desire.

"Why don’t we ask her?" Bradley said, his hands tightening slightly on your hips, his lips hovering just above yours.

Your breath came in shallow bursts as you tried to form words, but the intensity of their attention left you speechless. Jake pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his grin wicked.

"Don’t worry, darlin’. We’ve got all night to remind you."

Your breath hitched as Bradley’s lips ghosted over yours, his blue eyes locking onto yours with a mix of warmth and mischief. He leaned in closer, so close that his words brushed against your lips like a caress.

“Speechless already?” he teased, his voice low and rich, sending a thrill through you.

Before you could respond, Jake’s hands slid from your hips to your waist, his touch confident and deliberate. He was just as smug, his voice dripping with that signature southern drawl. “Guess she doesn’t need to answer, Roo. We’ve got all the proof we need right here.”

The heat of their attention was almost overwhelming. Bradley kissed the corner of your mouth, the lightest of touches that left you aching for more. Jake, meanwhile, trailed his lips along your neck, the sensation a maddening mix of softness and the rough graze of his stubble.

“Look at you,” Jake murmured, his tone playful yet reverent. “All pinned up like this. You could’ve said no, you know.”

His words earned a sharp breath from you, and you felt the warmth of Bradley’s laugh vibrate against your skin. “But she didn’t,” Bradley added, his lips finding the hollow of your throat, placing a lingering kiss there.

You felt your knees weaken, the wall behind you your only anchor as their combined teasing unravelled you. Jake pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his grin cocky. “Careful, darlin’. Don’t go melting on us too soon.”

You managed a breathy laugh, though your voice came out softer than you intended. “You’re both impossible.”

“And yet,” Bradley said, his hands cupping your face as his lips brushed yours again, slow and tantalizing, “here you are.”

Jake’s hand slid to your chin, tilting your face toward him as he claimed your lips, his kiss a stark contrast to Bradley’s. It was firmer, demanding in the best way, leaving you dizzy. When he pulled away, his green eyes were alight with mischief.

“Think we’ve got her flustered enough?” Jake asked, glancing at Bradley, though his hands stayed firmly on you, ensuring you had no escape.

Bradley leaned back slightly, his gaze sweeping over you with deliberate slowness. “Not even close.”

You didn’t even notice when Bradley’s hands slipped beneath your thighs until you felt yourself being lifted, your back still pressed against the wall. A surprised gasp escaped you, but his grip was secure, strong, and undeniably confident.

“Easy there,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement as he adjusted you in his arms. “We’ve got you.”

Jake stepped back just enough to make room, his eyes scanning you with a playful hunger that made your cheeks flush. “Carrying her off already, Roo?” he teased, though his hand found its way to your knee, sliding up your leg in a way that made your breath hitch.

“Someone has to do the heavy lifting,” Bradley shot back, grinning as he began to move, effortlessly carrying you away from the wall.

Jake followed close behind, his fingers trailing lazily along your calf as he walked. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t act like you’re not showing off,” he drawled, his smirk widening when you gave him a glare that lacked any real heat.

You were dimly aware of the living room fading behind you, the hallway to their bedroom stretching ahead. The steady rhythm of Bradley’s steps and Jake’s low chuckle in your ear only added to the heady anticipation curling in your stomach.

As you reached the doorway, Jake stepped ahead to push it open, pausing to glance over his shoulder. “Think you can handle this, Bradshaw? Don’t want you dropping her before we’ve even started.”

Bradley snorted, the sound vibrating through you. “You’re hilarious, Seresin.” He carried you into the room with ease, his lips brushing your temple in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

Jake shut the door behind him with a quiet click, the sound punctuating the shift in the air. The energy was different here—more focused, more intimate. Bradley laid you gently on the bed, his hands lingering for just a moment before Jake joined him, standing beside him with a look that promised the teasing was far from over.

“You comfortable, sweetheart?” Jake asked, his drawl softer now as he leaned over you, his hand brushing a stray hair from your face.

You gave a faint nod, your heart pounding as you looked between the two of them. “I think so,” you managed, your voice breathy but steady enough to make Jake grin.

Bradley leaned down, his lips brushing yours once more before he pulled back just enough to speak. “Good. Because we’re not done with you yet.”

You gasp as Jake and Bradley's hands roam over your body. “You like that, don't you angel?” Jake murmurs in your ear. His fingers ghost along your inner thigh as Bradley kisses down your neck.

“Please,” you whimper.

“Please what?” Bradley teases, nipping at your collarbone.

“I need you both,” you moan.

Jake reaches for the lube. “We've got you, baby,” he says, slicking himself up. Bradley follows suit. You cry out in pleasure as they slowly enter you together, stretching you deliciously. “Oh god,” you pant as they begin to move in tandem.

“So tight,” Jake groans.

“So good,” Bradley echoes.

Jake and Bradley establish a steady rhythm, their hips rolling in perfect synchronization. Jake's thick length slides against your slick walls as Bradley fills you from behind. The fullness is exquisite.

“Harder,” you beg. They oblige eagerly, increasing their pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room.

Jake's fingers dig into your hips as he drives into you forcefully. Bradley's chest is pressed against your back, his lips and teeth marking your shoulder.

“You feel amazing,” Jake pants. His thumb finds your sensitive nub and begins rubbing tight circles.

The pressure builds rapidly as Jake and Bradley drive into you relentlessly. Your entire body tingles with pleasure, every nerve ending alight. Jake's skilled fingers on your most sensitive spot send jolts of electricity through you with each pass.

“I'm so close,” you gasp.

“Let go,” Bradley growls in your ear. “We want to feel you come undone.”

Their words and movements push you over the edge. The dam breaks and waves of intense pleasure crash over you. Your inner walls clamp down on them as your release gushes forth, coating their lengths.

Jake groans as your wetness drenches him. “That's it, drench us,” he whimpers.

Your body quakes uncontrollably as the orgasm rolls through you. More fluid rushes out with each pulse, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Your pulsing walls trigger their release. Jake erupts first, his hot seed painting your insides. Bradley follows seconds later, his cock throbbing as he empties himself deep within you. Their simultaneous climaxes prolong your own ecstasy.

“Oh god, yes,” you moan, feeling their warm essence filling you.

Aftershocks ripple through your body. Each tremor squeezes more of their cum from their shafts. The mixture of your combined fluids leaks out around their lengths, trickling down your thighs.

Panting heavily, Jake slowly withdraws. The sudden emptiness makes you whimper. You feel a gush of fluid follow his exit, spilling onto the already soaked sheets.

Bradley lingers a moment longer, savouring the last quivers of your pussy around him. When he finally pulls out with just his words he could make you cum again. “God, I've missed our little pet.”

---

Nine months had passed since you’d last stepped into their home. Since that night when everything had changed, when the three of you had been tangled in desire, a bond that seemed as much about exploration as it was about connection. Since then, Jake and Bradley’s life had moved forward in a way that felt solid and full, but also quieter—like a piece of their puzzle was missing.

It hadn’t been intentional, the distance that grew between them and you. They knew that. But you had vanished without a trace, no message, no explanation. It was a soft pain that lingered, a void neither of them could quite fill. They had their life together—married for six months now—but they still thought of you, often.

Tonight was one of those evenings when they simply needed to be with each other. The living room was dim, the soft glow of the TV screen casting light across the room. The scent of fresh popcorn lingered in the air, but the warmth between them was what kept them anchored. Bradley lay on his back, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, while Jake nestled into his side, his legs draped over Bradley’s. They were quiet, the world outside of their small bubble fading away.

A romantic comedy was playing on the screen—a sappy, predictable one with just enough cheesy lines to make them groan. The plot didn’t matter; it was the feeling that hung in the air. The closeness between them. The subtle touches, the way Jake’s fingers traced the outline of Bradley’s chest, the way Bradley’s lips brushed the top of Jake’s head every few minutes.

“Think we’ll ever get a romcom ending?” Jake asked, his voice low and teasing, but there was a soft undertone to it. The kind that made Bradley pause and think for a moment.

Bradley chuckled, shifting just enough to kiss the top of Jake’s head. “If we did, it’d probably involve some kind of epic disaster before the happy ending.”

“True,” Jake agreed, nuzzling into his shoulder, the slight rise and fall of Bradley’s chest calming him. “But hey, that’s the fun part. Watching it all unfold.”

“Mm,” Bradley hummed, his hand gently resting on Jake’s thigh, fingers stroking lightly. The TV played on in the background, but it was more of a soundtrack to the warmth between them than anything else.

There was no mention of you, no mention of the emptiness that had lingered since you left. They both felt it, but tonight wasn’t about that. It was about the now. About the comfort they found in each other, the steady rhythm of their hearts. Jake shifted slightly, turning his head up toward Bradley.

“You know,” Jake said softly, his lips curling into a teasing smile, “this is nice. Just us, no distractions.”

Bradley smiled back, his thumb running gently over Jake’s hand. “It is. But don’t get used to it. You know Nat’s been begging us to come by. She thinks we’re avoiding her.”

Jake snorted. “As if we could ever avoid Phoenix. We’ll go by next weekend, promise.” He leaned in, his lips brushing Bradley’s jaw in a quick, affectionate kiss.

Bradley’s arm tightened around him, pulling him a little closer. “Mm, I think I can make that wait.” He kissed Jake’s forehead, a soft, tender gesture that spoke volumes more than words could.

The quiet of the evening was broken by a knock on the door. It was unexpected—there were no plans, no guests. Just the soft flicker of the TV and the familiar warmth of being wrapped up in each other’s company.

Bradley and Jake exchanged a glance, a moment of confusion passing between them as the knock echoed again, more insistent this time. The fact that they weren’t expecting anyone made them hesitate for a beat longer than usual, and Bradley shifted slightly, looking down at Jake, who was already settling deeper into the couch.

“You want to get it?” Jake asked, his voice lazy with a teasing edge. He knew Bradley wasn’t keen on answering the door when there was no reason for it.

Bradley smirked, shifting his weight and standing. “You’re closer.” He leaned down to press a quick kiss to Jake’s forehead before turning toward the door. “Probably just some delivery.”

Jake huffed but didn’t protest, instead reaching for the remote as Bradley made his way to the door. A few more moments passed before the sound of the door creaking open reached Jake’s ears. He didn’t even bother to look up from the couch.

But then, he heard Bradley’s voice—sharp and filled with disbelief.

“J-jake… get over here.”

Jake’s heart rate spiked, and he immediately pushed off the couch, a flicker of concern flitting through him. It wasn’t like Bradley to sound so... unsettled.

He crossed the room quickly, his footsteps heavy and rushed. When he reached the door, Bradley was standing at the threshold, staring down at something in disbelief.

Jake followed his gaze, and his breath caught.

There, on the porch, was a baby carrier. A little bundle wrapped in a soft pink blanket, with a small baby bag resting beside it. The carrier was securely fastened, the baby resting peacefully, her face tucked into the plush fabric.

Bradley bent down, his hands shaking slightly as he unbuckled the carrier and gently lifted the baby into his arms. She was small, her tiny face still squished with the softness of a newborn. Jake’s mind was racing, his heart in his throat as he glanced around, expecting—no, hoping—to see someone, anyone. But there was no one.

The front porch was empty.

Jake swallowed hard, staring at the tiny little girl in Bradley’s arms. His gaze flickered to the baby bag that was still on the ground. Without thinking, he bent down to pick it up. As he did, a small piece of paper slipped out from the bag and fluttered to the ground.

He scooped it up quickly, unfolding it. His eyes scanned the note, his breath hitching with each word.

"Congratulations, one of you is a father."

He blinked at the words, confusion and a sinking feeling in his chest. He glanced at Bradley, who was cradling the baby in his arms, his gaze softening as he looked down at her.

Jake didn’t even notice the birth certificate that had fallen out with the note until it caught his attention. His eyes widened as he read the name printed there in clear, official text.

Ella Bradshaw-Seresin.

[lethalchiralium]

The Death of Peace of Mind | Happiness Series

a/n: i love u, have some escapism (also PLEASE roast the shit out of this like you’re in my creative writing class, thank u love u)

warnings: violence, blood

PREVIOUS <<|>> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

There’s a stark difference in the snow on the ground in this forest than the snow back home in Maine. When you were little, you used to sit on the stoop of your parents’ house, bundled to the nines and your little hand holding fistfuls of powdery snow. You could look around and see saplings for miles, ready to be chopped and loaded onto a truck that would merrily lead you back to the main city - needles greener than the grass in summer, full of life and dusted with the white snow. Your dad would gently pet your head before sauntering down the steps, getting ready to head to the markets for the day. You waved, snow decorating your hand as you’d watch the old truck hobble down the driveway and disappear into the grown trees.

You used to find the snow beautiful, something to look forward to seeing every year so your mom could decorate for Christmas with the colorful lights you always liked.

All these memories seemed to cling like maggots to rotting flesh, only coming to surface when it finds a new wound to sink its teeth into.

This snow is bitter here, clinging like cigarette smoke to the jacket you snatched from the floor. It danced on your lashes, made its home in your hair, settled softly on your daughter’s head. Your stomach felt like lead, legs ready to give out at any second as you kept going as fast as you could. You used to be able to run efficiently in the snow, but now, you struggled. You ran and dodged low limbs, tried not to tumble down small hills as fear held a tight grasp on your throat.

Lloyd would wake up soon, he would see you gone and raise the alarm. You only had so little time to find some sort of shelter that wasn’t the decrepit cabin you were held in, you had to find a phone that wasn’t busted, you had to just get as far from that fuck as you could. You couldn’t even spend any energy on what almost happened thirty minutes earlier, couldn’t think of anything but hurting your kidnapper; the only strength you had was to make sure Mellie would live. You glanced down at her, her little brown eyes looking up at you with a weak glare that could send you to your knees at home. But this wasn’t home, this was miles from it, and you and your child were only a few hundred yards escaped from death’s door - not under your comforter at home, nursing her high fever. You were desperate for your husband at that moment, begging God with every second breath to bring him to you. He would know what to do, he would take your daughter away from this place.

Snow crackled underneath your feet as you kept going, the brunt of the wind hit your face like a train but you kept going. Your arms were taut around Mellie, keeping the oversized jacket around her whimpering frame. The sky was a light shade of blue, the trees danced beneath its breath, the only shelter you could find was down the mountain. You already felt like you’ve scale half of it, but you were far from close - you coming up to a sloped edge now, your feet slowed so you could peer over the edge. It was steep but you could slide down, there was another ledge, then another stretch of snow covered hills as you descended. You had no idea where you were, but you knew this had to be hell.

Tree after tree, boulder after iced over creek, your exhaustion was catching up but there was no way you would stop. There is no stop. There is no slowing down. There is only your daughter’s escape, even if means you don’t make it out.

Stop it. Winnie and Simon need you too.

What little path you had began to narrow, your fingers felt even colder than before as you came to a split in the road. You went right, knowing any trick you could play now wouldn’t work out because of the damn snow. Breathing harder every second, your vision seemed to fade in and out - Keep going.

The sound of your name being screamed at the top of Lloyd’s lungs felt like a gunshot to the chest.

Every muscle in your body seemed to roar to life, even with the snow slowing you down, you kept pushing on. Mellie whined into your collarbone, your hands burned. There was barely any indication of where the road was, you couldn’t follow the asshole’s car path because they would have been able to catch up quickly. The path was running out of terrain as another edge appeared, this one seemed like a steep drop off. You skidded to a stop, looking to a thick pine tree nearby, looking down at your daughter and making a quick decision to hide her. Ripping off your jacket, you bundled her up, and moved into the tree - digging out a small hole in the small heap of pine needles, you kissed Mellie’s face and sat her there.

There was no way out, you knew that. You would have to fight your way out - the thought clawed at your stomach the same way betrayal felt. Because you were here alone, the promise your husband made left shards of glass in your face and hands.

You will stand your ground if it meant Lloyd couldn’t have your daughter.

“Princess, you need t’sit.”

Simon pushed your frantic body towards the park bench, his guiding hand seemed too warm against your lower back. Sobs kept escaping your lips, even as you were trying desperately to silence them. “I don’t- I don’t know what’s- what’s- happening-“

“Sit.” Following his lead, you found yourself hyperventilating on a park bench after dark with your husband. He tore off his face mask, his hand cupping your cheek to make you look at him. “You feel m’hand, yeah?”

You nodded, a hiccup left your hips before another sob escaped too, your eyes closed as you tried to stop these random tears.

“No, you need to look at me, I can’t help you if you don’t look at me, love.” His voice was calm, a nudge to help you, you opened your eyes with a quickness - lashes fluttering to fight the salty tears. “Good girl. Tell me somethin’ about m’face.”

“Wha-What?”

“Do it.”

You sniffled, trying to take a deeper breath but your chest only seemed to constrict itself. More tears fell as you whispered, “You- You have pretty eyes.”

“Tell me something about m’clothes.”

A glance down, leather jacket, black t-shirt, blue jeans. “Leather jacket.”

“Good girl. How does my hand feel?”

Warm. Comforting. Like if you’d let go, he’d still be there, keeping you afloat. More tears fell. “Like home.”

“What do you hear?”

Dogs howling down the street, the brakes of the tram you two were trying to catch, Simon’s voice.

“You.”

“Good.” His other hand took one of yours, squeezing it. “Doin’ so well f’me. Can you take a deep breath now?”

You followed his command, a sob rattled around your ribcage as you exhaled.

“You can cry, baby, but you need to calm down. Gotta think straight before we get you home, yeah?”

You wondered how Simon would feel, seeing you like this. Back rested on the forest floor, heaving, coughing up blood as your knuckles felt singed by fire - if only it was fire, but it was from beating your father-in-law off of you. The fall down the steep hill onto the plateau hurt a lot more now than it did ten seconds ago, and the man now clambering to get on top of you felt like the bringer of death. Claws made of your bloodied hands, scraping them against his face as he gripped your neck - it seized, pulling up from the snow as you hit and clawed more at him, his hands remained steadfast. Air escaped your body, and no breath could be taken in - panic began to buzz throughout your body as anger fueled it.

Heavy hands that felt like paws, that felt like boulders, that felt like God abandoning you.

Not yet.

You know what to do.

A swift kick from your knee made the bastard wheeze, loosen his grip, and it left only a moment’s notice to grasp the opportunity. You slammed your fist into his nose, feeling the sickening crack before he leaned backwards, you bucked your hips before punching again. He went backwards. Again. He went backwards. Again. He’s on his back. Again. Again. He’s screaming. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again.

It hasn’t even been twenty minutes since you escaped with Mellie, and now you find yourself pumped full of adrenaline, beating your captor’s face in for even daring to try and take your child.

Your hands felt blood. You couldn’t tell if he was dead yet. Make sure he will be.

Three days you spent in that basement. Two hours you spent carefully laying a plan, and one moment to swing that broken bookshelf into your father-in-law’s skull. And you were choosing to ignore the beating you had received when protecting your baby, the beating both of you took as you tossed each other down a steep hill. Brawling like mountain lions - a mother protecting her cub, the other looking to devour you whole.

A scream of pain escaped your lungs, another punch to the bloody face. Another. Another. Another, until you couldn’t tell the man beneath you was the monster who fucked up your husband.

Another hard punch for Simon.

Another for Mellie.

And five more for yourself.

A laceration on your head began to throb as you could finally feel your hand, turning off of the beaten man and onto your back and into the bloodied snow. Facing the sky felt like freedom, the pain in your hand felt like the flames in your fireplace back home, your ringing ears felt like knives inside your skull - but your heart beat without fail, through the agony, through the rage and fear.

A cough escaped your chest, blood leaving with it as you turned onto your one hand and knees, looking up the steep hill which would lead you back to Mellie. The tree peaked over the crest of the ledge, your hands - through excruciating pain - gripped the mud, snow, and ice as you began to push yourself up.

“Melody, Melody Ivy,” Her name groaned from your broken voice, every handful of ice and push from your foot made your head throb more, your balance growing weaker with every push. “Mama’s comin’, Mama’s on her way, fuck.” Your whining eardrums couldn’t hear her, fear and panic still rampant in your veins, your breathing barely escaping your lips without a wheeze.

What would he do if he saw you now? The thought felt bitter, the anger leaving your throat in decibels, a few more feet and you would have to pull yourself up and over. Hike your foot up, pull yourself up with your broken hand.

He wouldn’t be here. A growl escaped you. He would be here already if he cared, if he knew. Does he know?

Does he know where you are? Does he think you’re safe at home, under your favorite blanket with Winnie asleep on your lap, your show playing on the TV? Does he think König and Roach are standing guard, Laswell talking on her phone at the table?

Does he truly believe that?

Do you?

You didn’t even notice that you had fallen further down the hill to the bottom, past Lloyd’s body, into a bed of snow and ice. The sky, grey like the ashes in your childhood home’s fireplace, blocked the sun and blue sky above. Your hands were numb, spine tingled with every breath, and your chest roared as it expanded. Maybe you lost your footing, or your hand slipped, or God just believed it was funny to let you fall farther from your child. You were going to die here, Mellie too, and it hurt. It blossomed like a rose, decaying your chest with every brush of a petal, the waves washing ashore and flooding your body with angry salt water. Your body would be found here, bones picked clean by mountain lions or foxes, and she would be safe, nestled beside the tree.

There was no peace here. No mornings in snowsuits on the porch, watching Christmas trees be hauled down the lane, squealing because of the fresh snow. No afternoons sitting by the fire with your daughters, watching an animated movie as they both napped on your lap. No evenings with your husband, talking about some meaningless memory as he brushed your hair cautiously. There was only the sky, the blood that came from your head, chest, back, and hand, and the cries of a mother who can’t do more than cry for her child.

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Behind Closed Doors

Cillian Murphy x F! Make-up Artist Reader

Summary: Cillian uses you.

Wordcount: 8.3k

Warnings: THIS IS RAPE

Smut with a plot! but the plot sucks?, unsafe sex, switch! Cillian, extremely perverted! Cillian, virgin! reader, cherry-popping, peer pressure, threatening, gaslighting, manipulating, whimpering, whining, begging, crying sort of, m! oral receiving, f! overstimulating, fingering, semi-cockwarming, forced swallowing, forced kissing, face-fucking, spitting, breeding, choking, degrading, belittling, slapping, and no aftercare!

Cillian sat in his trailer on the bustling movie set, the faint hum of activity outside seeping through the walls. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, a habit he often indulged in when lost in thought. Today's scenes were relatively straightforward, nothing too demanding, but he knew the importance of being fully prepared. The makeup artist would be arriving soon, and he wanted to tidy up his space before she arrived.

The trailer was a small, cozy haven amidst the chaos of the film set. It was sparsely decorated, with a few personal touches here and there—a framed photograph of his family, a well-worn book on the table, and the faint scent of his favorite cologne lingering in the air. Cillian moved about the space with a quiet efficiency, straightening up the few items that were out of place. As he worked, he hummed a tune under his breath, a habit that helped him relax and focus his mind. The melody was soft and soothing, a stark contrast to the bustling energy outside. He glanced at the clock, noting that he had a bit of time before the makeup artist was due to arrive.

As he sat there, lost in thought, memories of his early days as an actor flooded his mind. The struggles, the rejections, the moments of doubt—they had all shaped him into the actor he was today. He had fought hard for his place in the industry, and he was grateful for every role, every opportunity that had come his way.

Cillian patiently sits in the make-up chair waiting, twiddling his thumbs, and kicking his feet which are just a bit off the ground. His presence in the room commands attention, his posture relaxed yet poised, exuding an air of quiet confidence. The soft glow of the vanity lights highlights his chiseled features, casting subtle shadows that accentuate his sharp cheekbones and intense blue eyes. As the door opens, Cillian's smile widens, a genuine warmth lighting up his face as he sees her enter the room. He stands up slowly, a graceful movement that speaks of both strength and elegance, and walks over to her. Setting aside her belongings, he opens his arms wide, inviting her into a warm embrace. His embrace is comforting, his body language conveying a sense of familiarity and affection.

Their hug is long and meaningful, a silent exchange of emotions that transcends words. Cillian holds her close, his arms wrapped around her in a protective embrace. He can feel the tension melt away from her body, replaced by a sense of peace and comfort in his presence. As they finally pull apart, Cillian looks into her eyes, his gaze intense yet gentle.

His gaze lands on her, and he can't help but look her up and down, his eyes lingering on her figure clad in a provocative outfit that leaves little to the imagination. She stands before him, unaware of his scrutiny, adjusting her attire with a casual nonchalance that belies the effect she has on him. She exudes confidence, a sense of knowing that draws him in despite his best efforts to resist. Cillian's thoughts drift, his mind replaying their interactions, each moment etched vividly in his memory. He knows he shouldn't be looking at her like this, shouldn't be feeling this pull towards her, but he can't help himself. She's a temptation he can't resist, a forbidden fruit that beckons to him with every glance, every smile.

Cillian settled back into his makeup chair, the cushion sighing softly beneath his weight. He ran his fingers through his hair, the strands slipping effortlessly through his long, dexterous fingers. The action was habitual, a subconscious attempt to smooth out the day’s dishevelment. His hair, a striking shade of dark brown, shone under the soft, warm lights of the vanity mirror. He glanced at his reflection, his piercing blue eyes momentarily locking onto the mirror’s surface, analyzing the man looking back at him. His trailer was a sanctuary of sorts, now becoming where the magic of transformation happened daily. The air was tinged with the scent of various cosmetics, an olfactory mix of powders, creams, and the faint hint of hairspray, she always smelled like that but he never cared about it. The lighting, strategically placed around the mirror, cast a soft, flattering glow on his features, emphasizing the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the chiseled contours of his jaw. It was a far cry from the harsh, unyielding lighting on set, which often required these moments of touch-up and refinement.

The makeup artist, a petite woman with a keen eye for detail and a steady hand, stood behind him. Her presence was a familiar comfort, a silent partner in the daily ritual of transformation. She was unlocking her makeup case, the metallic clicks punctuating the quiet hum of the room. She paused, glancing at him through the mirror with a soft, inquisitive expression.

"So how did you sleep?" she asked, her voice gentle yet curious.

Cillian chuckled lightly, the sound rich and warm, echoing softly in the intimate space. He flashed a soft smile, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and brought a touch of warmth to his otherwise cool demeanor. "Oh, I slept pretty well," he replied, his Irish accent infusing his words with a melodic cadence. His voice was calm, reassuring, a testament to the restful night he had enjoyed. As she began her work, her hands moving with practiced precision, Cillian closed his eyes momentarily, savoring the sensation. The soft brush of the makeup sponge against his skin was almost therapeutic, a soothing counterpoint to the often chaotic world of film production. He could feel the gentle pressure as she applied the foundation, blending it seamlessly to create the flawless canvas that the camera demanded.

His mind drifted, thoughts meandering through the events of the previous day. It had been a long shoot, the kind that left him both physically and mentally drained. Yet, the exhaustion was tempered by the satisfaction of a job well done. He thought about the scenes they had captured, the nuances of his performance, the subtle shifts in emotion that he had strived to convey. Acting, for him, was a dance of precision and passion, a delicate balance of technical skill and raw, unfiltered emotion. The makeup artist’s touch brought him back to the present. She was meticulously blending the makeup around his eyes, her fingers feather-light yet purposeful. He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze in the mirror. There was a silent communication between them, a mutual understanding forged through countless hours spent together in this very chair.

"Any dreams?" she asked, her tone light and conversational. It was a question she often posed, a way to fill the silence and perhaps, glean a bit more insight into the enigmatic man before her.

Cillian tilted his head slightly, considering her question. "Nothing too memorable," he said after a moment, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Just the usual mix of nonsense and fleeting moments." He rarely remembered his dreams, and when he did, they were often abstract and fragmented, a tapestry of images and emotions that made little sense in the waking world.

She nodded, her focus shifting back to her work. The next phase involved the subtle enhancement of his natural features, a process that required both skill and artistry. She applied a touch of concealer here, a dab of highlighter there, each stroke designed to enhance his already striking visage. Cillian watched her work, admiring her dedication and expertise. His thoughts wandered once more, this time to his family. The demands of his career often kept him away from home for extended periods, a sacrifice that was both necessary and bittersweet. He cherished the moments he could spend with his wife and children, the rare pockets of normalcy amidst the whirlwind of his professional life. They were his anchor, the steadying force that kept him grounded even as he navigated the turbulent waters of fame and success.

The makeup artist moved on to his hair, her fingers deftly arranging the strands into the desired style. Cillian felt the gentle tug and pull as she worked, her touch both firm and gentle. His hair had always been a defining feature, a canvas for transformation that allowed him to slip seamlessly into his various roles. Today, it was being styled for his latest character, a man as complex and layered as the roles he often gravitated towards.

"Looking good," she said softly, stepping back to admire her handiwork. There was a note of pride in her voice, a reflection of the care and attention she put into her craft.

Cillian opened his eyes fully, taking in the final result. His reflection was a blend of the familiar and the transformed, a testament to the collaborative effort that brought his characters to life. He smiled appreciatively, meeting her gaze through the mirror. "Thank you, my darlin'" he said simply, his voice carrying a note of genuine gratitude. She nodded, her own smile warm and satisfied. "Ready to go?" she asked, knowing full well that the transformation was only part of the journey. The real work, the true magic, happened in front of the camera, where Cillian would once again bring his character to life with a depth and authenticity that was uniquely his own. He nodded, rising from the chair with a fluid grace. "Let’s do it," he said, his tone imbued with quiet determination. The day ahead was sure to be demanding, but he was ready. He always was.

After a slow day on set, Cillian felt the fatigue of the day seeping into his bones as he made his way back to his trailer. The air was thick with the remnants of the scenes they had shot, the weight of his character's emotions still lingering. He shrugged off his jacket, feeling the fabric slide from his shoulders and crumple into a heap on the small couch by the door. The quiet of the trailer enveloped him, a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the set. Cillian took a moment to stand still, absorbing the silence. His eyes flitted around the small space, eventually landing on the book he'd borrowed from his co-star. It was an old, worn copy of J.P. Donleavy's 'The Ginger Man' and he had found himself lost in its pages during the few breaks they'd had. He picked it up from the bed, flipping to the page where he'd left off. The words flowed easily, and for a while, he was no longer himself but a mere observer in J.P. Donleavy's.

He found a stopping point, a natural pause in the narrative, and sighed as he set the book down on the bedside table. He pulled himself off the bed, stretching out the stiffness that had settled in his muscles. Moving to the makeshift kitchen, he leaned against the countertop, feeling the cool surface press into his palms. He reached for the knob of the small cabinet above, opening it to reveal a solitary whiskey glass. Cillian didn't usually drink after working on set. The lines between his roles and reality blurred enough without the haze of alcohol, but tonight felt different. He'd had a couple of tough days, the weight of his character's struggles bleeding into his own thoughts. He set the glass on the countertop with a soft clink, bending down to open the bottom cabinet. The familiar shape of the semi-filled Irish whiskey bottle greeted him, and he pulled it out, setting it beside the glass.

As he poured the amber liquid, he let his thoughts drift. The day had been long, the scenes emotionally taxing. He turned around, leaning his back against the edge of the countertop, the glass cradled in his hand. He took a slow sip, savoring the warmth as it spread through him, mulling over the complexities of his character and the nuances he tried to bring to life. His free hand ran through his hair, a habitual gesture of frustration and contemplation. The weariness was etched into his features, the fine lines of exhaustion around his eyes more pronounced under the harsh lighting of the trailer. Pushing himself off the counter, he made his way back to the bed, placing the whiskey glass on the small bedside table next to a framed family photo. His fingertip traced the edges of the frame, a brief touchstone to the world outside the roles he inhabited.

Just as he was beginning to relax, a sudden knock at the trailer door pulled him from his thoughts. He glanced at the alarm clock; it read 11:42. Rolling his eyes, he muttered to himself, 'Who needs me at basically twelve o'clock at night?' With a resigned sigh, he picked up his whiskey glass and made his way to the door. When he opened it, he was met with the sight of the makeup artist, her expression a mix of nervousness and determination. She smiled tentatively, "Hey, Cill... Sorry to bother you, but I think I forgot one of my brushes at your vanity. Can I take a look around?"

Cillian offered a tired smile in return, stepping aside to let her in. As she passed by, he couldn't help but notice the subtle grace in her movements, the way she carried herself with an air of quiet confidence. He shut the door behind her, the click of the latch echoing in the small space. She moved with purpose, her footsteps light but determined. Her voice was soft, almost apologetic, "I've gone to everyone else and they don't have it, so you're the only one that might have it..." Cillian watched her as she spoke, noting the slight flush in her cheeks, the way her eyes darted around the trailer, searching. "Sure, take a look. I know how important those brushes are to you lot," he said, his Irish accent softening the edges of his words. He took another sip of his whiskey, the warmth a comforting presence as he leaned against the edge of the kitchenette.

His eyes never left her as she moved around the room, searching for her brush. The late hour brought a stillness to the room, broken only by the occasional clink of glass and the soft rustle of her movements. He admired her dedication, the way she methodically lifted items, peering beneath them, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her body moved with a fluid grace, every motion purposeful and precise. She was barefoot, her toes curling slightly against the hardwood floor as she knelt, her dress riding up just enough to tease him with a glimpse of smooth skin. She was completely absorbed in her task, unaware—or perhaps all too aware—of the effect she was having on him. He took another sip of his whiskey, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat, a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of her.

The silence between them was a comfortable one, the kind that spoke of familiarity and a deep, unspoken understanding. He appreciated these moments, the rare times when words were unnecessary and their presence alone was enough. But tonight, there was an undercurrent of tension, a barely-there edge to his thoughts as he watched her. She was teasing him, he was sure of it, the way she moved, the way she lingered just a little too long on the floor, presenting herself to him in a manner that was both innocent and provocative. He could feel the stirrings of desire, a slow burn that started in his gut and spread outward, his gaze darkening as he watched her. She had to be doing this on purpose. He downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, the sharp taste a jarring counterpoint to the softness of her presence. Setting the glass down on the vanity counter with a decisive clink, he huffed slightly, the sound low and rough in the quiet trailer. His fingers moved almost unconsciously to his wedding ring, the metal cool against his skin. He slipped it off and let it drop into the whiskey glass with a muted clink, a symbolic gesture that seemed to echo in the silence.

His eyes never left her as he moved towards her, his footsteps soft but deliberate on the floor. There was something predatory in his movements, a barely restrained intensity that spoke of his desire. She was still on her knees, her back to him, her hands busy with her search. He stood behind her for a moment, taking in the sight of her, the curve of her spine, the way her hair fell around her face in a messy halo.

Slowly, he knelt down behind her, his breath warm against the back of her neck as he leaned in close. "You have no idea what yeh doin' to me do yeh'?" His voice was a low murmur, his Irish accent curling around the words in a way that sent a shiver down her spine. She paused in her search, her body going still as she registered his presence. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly against her back, fingers trailing down her spine. She turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. "Cillian.." She said softly, her voice almost a whisper in the quiet room. There was a flicker of something in her eyes, a mix of defiance and anticipation that sent a thrill through him. His hand moved to her waist, fingers curling around the fabric of her of her skin tight sleep shorts. "Yeah, say my name just like that.." he asked, his voice a low rumble. There was a challenge in his tone, a dark edge that hinted at the depths of his desire. She didn't answer, her eyes meeting his in a silent battle of wills.

The floorboards of the trailer cool against his knees, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between them. His breath came in shallow, measured puffs, mingling with the faint scent of her perfume—something floral and intoxicating that made his head swim. His hands, those deft, talented hands known for their meticulous craft on set, now played a different role. They rested on her waist, fingers tracing the waistband of her skin-tight shorts, feeling the soft material stretch over her curves. His touch was light, almost teasing, as if testing the boundaries of how much he could push her before she reacted. The proximity of their bodies was electrifying. He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric, and each subtle shift she made sent a jolt of arousal through him. His crotch, already straining against the confines of his jeans, brushed against her ass, and he couldn't suppress a low, throaty groan. The friction was exquisite, a tantalizing preview of what he craved.

"I know yeh want me," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper tinged with his Irish lilt. The words were laced with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, yet there was an undeniable truth in them. He had seen the way she looked at him, the hunger in her eyes that mirrored his own. "I see it in your eyes..."

As he spoke, his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her shorts, his touch deliberate and exploratory. The pads of his fingers brushed against the hem of her panties, the silky material a stark contrast to the roughness of his skin. He took his time, savoring the moment, feeling the tension coil tighter between them. The whiskey coursing through his veins only amplified his desire, blurring the edges of his self-control. His eyes, usually so clear and piercing, now glinted with a dark, simmering lust. He could feel the alcohol's warmth spreading through his body, making his movements bolder, more assertive. He was a man driven by instinct, his usual restraint slipping away with each passing second.

"Did you really lose a brush?" he teased, his voice dripping with mock disbelief. There was a playful edge to his tone, but underneath it lay a challenge. He pulled at the hem of her panties, the elastic stretching under his grip, and he could feel her body tense in response. "I bet you really didn't."

Her silence spoke volumes, a tacit admission of her game. He smirked, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he continued to toy with the fabric, enjoying the way it clung to her skin. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along the edge, each touch a calculated move to draw out her anticipation. With a swift, practiced motion, he tugged the shorts down just enough to expose the curve of her ass. The sight was mesmerizing, and he couldn't resist the urge to run his hands over the smooth expanse of skin, feeling the way her muscles tightened beneath his touch. His thumbs hooked under the waistband of her panties, pulling them taut before letting them snap back into place, the sound a sharp punctuation in the quiet room. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "You're a tease, yeh know that?" His voice was a low, rumbling growl, filled with a mix of admiration and frustration. "But two can play that game."

As his crotch pressed against her ass, the hard outline of his erection unmistakable through the thin material of his trousers. It throbbed with a palpable urgency, each pulse matching the erratic beat of her heart. The heat of his body seeped through the layers of clothing, a suffocating reminder of how close he was, how trapped she was. She was rigid, every muscle tense as if bracing for impact, her mind racing to make sense of the situation.

"I've got kids and a wife at home," Cillian's voice was low, almost a growl, filled with a rough edge that made her stomach twist. His Irish accent gave his words a lilt that contrasted sharply with their crude content, making the vulgarity of his statement even more jarring. "But it's so hard to fuckin' keep my hands to myself if yeh look like this~"

His breath was hot against the back of her neck, sending a fresh wave of chills down her spine. She could feel the weight of his desire, an oppressive force that seemed to seep into her skin and paralyze her. His hands moved from her panties back to her waist, sliding up her sides, the touch both possessive and exploratory. The tips of his fingers dug into her flesh, not hard enough to bruise but firm enough to convey his dominance. Her thoughts spun in chaotic circles, trying to pinpoint the moment when everything had gone wrong. She had come here for something as innocuous as finding her brush, a simple task that now seemed laughably distant. What had she done to give him the impression that she wanted this? That she wanted him? The internal questioning was a desperate attempt to find some semblance of control, but it felt like grasping at straws.

Cillian's voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, snapping her back to the grim reality she was in. "Yeh just want an older man to fuck yeh nice and good, eh?" His words were a taunt, laced with a dark amusement that made her skin crawl. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against her ear, his breath warm and invasive. "Is that it, love? Yeh lookin' for a man who knows how to take care of yeh?" She could feel his cock twitch against her, the pressure intensifying as he shifted his weight. His hands roamed lower, slipping under the waistband of her shorts again, his fingers tracing the line of her panties. The intimate touch made her flinch, a reflexive jerk that only seemed to amuse him further. He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against her back. Cillian's piercing blue eyes glinted with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. His breath was hot against her neck, mingling with the faint scent of cologne that clung to his skin. Every inch of his body radiated a primal need, a hunger that was both terrifying and compelling.

"Cillian, please—sir, don't do this..." Her voice trembled, each word a desperate plea. The reality of her situation crashed over her, a suffocating wave of helplessness. She had seen him on the screen, admired his talent from a distance, worked with him personally but this man before her was a stranger, a predator cloaked in charm and sophistication. She couldn't understand how things had escalated to this point, how she had become ensnared in his twisted desires.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against her earlobe as he spoke. "Yeah, but the fing is all'yeh bitchin'....isn't goin' help yeh, is it?" His voice was a silky whisper, each syllable dripping with dark amusement. "I love when yeh call me sir, luv." The words were like a physical caress, sending a shiver down her spine. His accent, rich and lilting, wrapped around her like a vice, making her feel even more trapped. Her heart pounded in her chest as he continued to explore her body, his touch both possessive and tender. She hated the way her body responded to him, the way her skin tingled where his fingers roamed. It was a betrayal, a sickening reminder of the power he held over her. She could feel the heat of his arousal pressing against her, a silent promise of what was to come.

Cillian's lips trailed down her neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His teeth grazed her collarbone, eliciting a gasp from her lips. He chuckled softly, the sound filled with satisfaction. "Such a pretty little thing," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Don't fight it, luv. You'll only make it harder for yerself." His words were both a threat and a promise, the dark undertones sending a thrill of fear through her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sensations, the reality of what was happening. But he was relentless, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of her, breaking down her defenses one by one. She could feel his breath against her skin, his lips pressing kisses that were both tender and demanding. It was a dizzying contradiction, the way he could be both gentle and forceful, making her body betray her mind.

"Open yer eyes, luv," he commanded, his voice soft but firm. She obeyed, her eyes meeting his piercing blue gaze. There was a darkness there, a hunger that frightened her.

His breath was warm and whiskey-scented against her skin, the closeness of his body both a comfort and a torment. “Yeh’ve got no idea what yeh do to me,” he murmured, his Irish accent wrapping around the words like a caress. His lips brushed against her ear, sending another shiver down her spine. His hands moved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties. His touch was firm and confident, his fingers gliding over her skin with a surety that made her breathe catch in her throat. Her body betrayed her, hips arching slightly to meet his touch, a soft moan escaping despite her best efforts to hold it back. Cillian’s grin widened, a predatory gleam in his blue eyes as he watched her reaction. “That’s it, lass,” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “Don’t fight it. Let me see how much yeh can take.”

His fingers found the slick heat of her arousal, and he groaned softly, the sound vibrating through her body. His thumb brushed against her throbbing clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her veins. She bit her lip to stifle another moan, hating how easily he could unravel her with just a touch. But there was no denying the effect he had on her, the way her body responded to him even as her mind screamed for her to resist. Cillian’s movements were slow and deliberate, each touch calculated to drive her wild. He slid a finger into her dripping cunt, feeling it grip him tightly, the sensation drawing a guttural groan from his throat. “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, his voice rough with desire. “Just imagine my cock inside yeh…”

She whimpered at his words, the vivid image making her pulse quicken; she didn't want that to happen. His breath was hot against the back of her neck, the scent of whiskey haunting her senses. “Fuck,” he groaned again, his voice thick with conflicted emotion. “I love my wife, but… yer makin’ it so hard…” His confession was a knife to her heart, but his touch was even worse, the pleasure he gave her a cruel contradiction to the pain of his words. He grinned heavily, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. “Yeh like that, don’t yeh? The thought of me, wantin’ yeh like this…”

She was denying it, but her body’s response betraying her even as her mind screamed for her to pull away. His fingers moved inside her, curling and stroking in a way that made her toes curl inside her shoes. Her nails digging into the trailer floorboards as she fought to keep herself grounded, the sensations overwhelming her. His fingers were slick with her juices, moving with a calculated rhythm that drove her to the brink of madness. Each thrust, each curl of his digits inside her sloppy cunt, elicited a desperate whimper from her parted lips. He could feel her inner muscles tightening around his fingers, a clear sign that she was teetering on the edge of ecstasy. His other hand, strong and commanding, encircled her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp for air, her pulse fluttering wildly beneath his grip. The power he held over her in this moment was exhilarating, a heady mix of dominance and desire that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Look at yeh,” he murmured, his accent thickening with the whiskey-fueled haze. His voice was a low, seductive growl, dripping with lust and control. “So fuckin’ wet for me… Yeh want this, don’t yeh? Want me inside yeh, fillin’ yeh up…” His words were a taunting promise, each syllable rolling off his tongue with a tantalizing slowness that made her body tremble with anticipation.

His thumb found her clit again, rubbing it with precise, circular motions that had her arching her back, pushing her hips towards him in a silent plea for more, why was her body doing this to her?! He added another finger, plunging deeper into her cunt, the slick sounds of his fingers moving inside her mixing with her breathy moans. Her walls contracted around him, a testament to her impending climax, and he relished the control he had over her pleasure. Her hands clutched at his arms, nails digging into his skin as she tried to find something to anchor herself to in the storm of a horrible sensation he was creating. Cillian’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes never leaving her face as he watched the myriad of expressions play across it—pleasure and desperation; Cillian wrapped his hand around her pretty throat.

“Fuck, yeh look so beautiful like this,” he breathed, his voice rough with desire. His fingers continued their relentless assault, his thumb working her clit with a practiced ease that spoke of experience and an intimate knowledge. “Beg for it,” he demanded, his grip on her throat tightening just enough to make her gasp. “Beg for me to let yeh come.” He wanted her to bed like the dog she was to him.

Her voice was nowhere to be heard, being choked by the hand around her throat and the overwhelming yet disgusting pleasure coursing through her. He chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Fuckin' whore..but don't worry I'll fix that mouth of yers’,” he purred, his fingers moving faster, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. He smiled darkly when he felt her walls squeeze his fingers tighter. “Good girl… come for me. Come all over my fingers.” Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her entire body convulsing as she screamed his name, her cunt clenching tightly around his fingers. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, riding out her orgasm with a relentless pace that left her gasping for breath, her body trembling from the intensity of it all.

As she came down from the high, her body still trembling with aftershocks, he finally withdrew his fingers, his touch gentle and reverent. He brought his hand up to his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers as he licked her arousal from his fingers, a look of pure sick and twisted satisfaction on his face. “Yeh taste even better than I imagined,” he said, his voice a low purr. He pulled the back of her hair roughly, making her look at him; leaving no room for argument, before capturing her lips in a rough-searing kiss, the taste of whiskey and her own fluids mingling on his and her tongue. She was forced to kiss him back, her hands pushing and clawing at his upper chest.

He broke the kiss and pushed off of he and quickly stood up, ee looked down at her, his eyes a mixture of lust and fury, clouded by the alcohol coursing through his veins. The flickering light bulb above cast eerie shadows on his face, accentuating his chiseled features and the intensity in his icy blue eyes. He pushed off her body, his breath ragged, and quickly stood up, his hands shaking as they fumbled with the buckle of his belt. His movements were frantic, driven by a primal need that bordered on the edge of violence. His belt clattered to the floor, followed swiftly by his pants, pooling around his ankles. He stood there for a moment, towering over her, his chest heaving with each breath. She lay on the trailer floor, the cold seeping into her bones, her body trembling not just from the chill but from the fear that had taken root deep within her. She could barely see through the blur of tears, her sobs muffled as she tried to stifle them, afraid of provoking him further.

"Get on yer knees for me..." His voice was low and guttural, carrying a hint of his Irish lilt, the words slurring together slightly from the whiskey. When she didn't move, he let out a frustrated huff, his patience wearing thin. Bending down, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her up with a roughness that made her gasp. The sudden pain was sharp, cutting through the fog of her fear and disorientation.

He dragged her to her knees, his grip on her hair unrelenting. His other hand moved to his boxers, pulling them down to reveal his throbbing erection, the tip glistening with pre-cum. His need was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to fill the cramped space of the trailer. He looked down at her, a twisted grin spreading across his face as he took in her disheveled appearance.

"Suck...my fuckin' cock..." The command was harsh, almost a growl, but she didn't respond, her lips pressed tightly together in a desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of control. His grin widened, a cruel glint in his eyes as he moved his hand from her hair to her nose, pinching it shut. She tried to pull back, to escape his grasp, but he was too strong, his grip like iron.

As her air supply dwindled, panic set in, and she was forced to open her mouth to breathe. In that moment of vulnerability, he seized the opportunity, thrusting his cock deep into her mouth, the sudden invasion causing her to choke violently. Her gag reflex kicked in, her throat constricting around him, but he didn't relent, his hips driving forward with brutal force. Cillian's breath hitched, a guttural sound escaping his throat as he felt her struggle around him. He relished the power he held over her, the way she was utterly at his mercy. He tightened his grip on her hair, forcing her to look up at him, his eyes locking onto hers. The sight of her tear-streaked face, mascara running in dark rivulets down her cheeks, only seemed to fuel his desire.

"Look at yeh," he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain and lust. "Yer such a fuckin' mess... but yeh look so fuckin' pretty like this, don' yeh?" His words were punctuated by the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, each one causing her to gag and sputter, her tears falling more freely now. Her body shook with each brutal invasion, her hands instinctively coming up to push against his thighs, trying to create some space, some relief from the suffocating pressure. But he was immovable, his strength amplified by the alcohol and the dark urges driving him. He felt her nails dig into his skin, but it only spurred him on, the pain a twisted complement to the pleasure he was taking.

"Yeh, you fuckin' want it, don' yeh? Yeh fuckin' need it; don' yeh? Eh...?" His voice was a mocking whisper, each word laced with cruelty. He could feel himself getting closer, the pressure building as his grip on her hair tightened even further. She was trying to pull away, her body convulsing with the effort, but he held her firmly in place, his hips moving faster, more erratically. The sound of her choking filled the trailer, mingling with his ragged breathing and the wet, obscene noises of his cock driving into her throat. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of pain and desperation, snot running down her nose and mixing with her tears. It was a sight that seemed to intoxicate him even more, his pace quickening as he neared his climax. "Yeh fuckin' like that, don' yeh? Yeh love it when I use yeh like this," he panted, his words barely coherent through the haze of alcohol and arousal. He could feel the edge approaching, the tension coiling in his abdomen, ready to snap. He didn't let up, his hips slamming forward with a brutal finality, holding her head in place as he spilled himself into her mouth.

She gagged violently, her body writhing as she tried to breathe around the thick, bitter fluid filling her throat. He kept her there, forcing her to take every drop, his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling it painfully tight. When he finally released her, she fell back, gasping and coughing, her chest heaving as she struggled to draw in air. She looked like. a fucking fish out of water. Cillian looked down at her, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He reached down, his fingers brushing against her tear-streaked cheek, smearing the makeup further. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice softening slightly, though the underlying menace remained. "Yeh did good..." She lay there, her body trembling, the cold of the trailer floor a stark contrast to the heat of his touch. Her mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions, the violation she had just endured clashing with the strange, unwanted sense of relief that it was over. But she knew, deep down, that it wasn't truly over, that this was just a momentary reprieve in a night that was far from finished.

His smirk was cold, a predator toying with its prey. "Yeh think I'm done with yeh… yer fuckin' wrong if yeh think that," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. He advanced towards her, the sound of his boots echoing ominously against the hardwood floor. She was cornered, her back pressed against the wall, eyes wide with fear. Tears streamed down her face like a waterfall, her cheeks glistening in the faint light. "Cill, plea-please… Don't… no, no, no… don't… I'm begging you don't…" Her voice was a broken symphony of desperation and fear. Cillian's response was immediate and brutal. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back and forcing her to meet his icy gaze. He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. "Keep whining, keeps my cock hard… slut," he hissed, his words laced with venom. He released her hair, his hands moving with lightning speed to pin her wrists above her head.

With one hand holding her wrists in a vise-like grip, his other hand snaked its way down to her shorts. He practically ripped them off, pulling them down with such force that the seams tore. Her panties followed, yanked down to her ankles, exposing her vulnerability. The sight of her wetness made him smirk, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. "Yer fuckin' soaked… didn't think yeh'd be this ready for me," he mocked, his voice a low growl. She sobbed, her pleas becoming more frantic. "Please, Cill… stop… don't do this… I'm begging you…" Her voice was shrill, filled with terror. Suddenly, his hand struck her across the face, the sound of the impact echoing in the room. She cried out in pain, her cheek stinging from the blow. He pointed a finger in her face, his eyes blazing with anger. "Yer making me go soft… either yeh shut up or beg like yeh did before," he snapped.

His hand found its way down to her dripping cunt, his fingers barely grazing her wet folds. Her body trembled, and her cries grew louder. "Please… don't… I'm a virgin…" she pleaded, her voice breaking. Cillian froze for a moment, processing her words. "Fuck… luv… looks like I'll be poppin' yer cherry," he said, a cruel smile spreading across his face. Without warning, he removed his hand and positioned himself. In one swift motion, he shoved his cock into her cunt, bottoming out completely. She let out a loud, pained cry, her body convulsing with the force of his intrusion. Tears streamed down her face, her expression one of agony. Cillian grunted, the tightness of her virgin cunt taking him by surprise. He paused, adjusting to her snug fit, the scent of iron filling the air. He looked down to see blood dripping from her cunt. "Looks like I popped it, real good," he muttered, almost to himself.

He began to thrust, deep and hard, his movements rough and unrelenting. Her cries of pain spurred him on, each thrust more forceful than the last. He watched her face contort with each plunge, her tears falling in a steady stream. His hand moved to grab her thigh, pulling her leg up to allow him to fill her even deeper. Her body jerked with each thrust, the pain evident in her every movement. "Fuckin' tight… yer squeezin' me so good," he groaned, his voice husky with arousal. He could feel her walls clenching around him, her cries music to his ears. She whimpered, her voice barely audible. "Please… Cill… stop…" But he was beyond reason, his desire consuming him. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. "Shut up, slut… this is what yeh deserve," he whispered harshly.

Each thrust was a brutal reminder of his dominance, his control over her. Her sobs grew louder, her pleas more desperate, but he paid them no mind. He was lost in the sensation, the intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure. "Yer mine… yeh understand? Mine to fuck, mine to use," he growled, his voice a possessive snarl. He gripped her thigh tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh. Her leg trembled, her body barely able to withstand his relentless assault. The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, her cries mingling with his grunts of pleasure. "Look at yeh… such a pretty little whore," he taunted, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. She tried to turn her head away, but he grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Don't look away… I want yeh to see what I'm doin' to yeh," he demanded, his voice cold and commanding.

Her eyes were wide with fear, her body trembling under his touch. "Please… Cill… it hurts…" she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper. He chuckled darkly, his grip tightening. "Good… I want it to hurt," he said, his tone devoid of any compassion. He thrust harder, his pace increasing, each movement more brutal than the last. Her body jerked violently with each thrust, her cries of pain echoing in the room. "Fuck… yer so tight… so fuckin' tight," he groaned, his voice a mix of pleasure and frustration. He could feel himself getting closer, the tightness of her cunt driving him wild.

The pain she was in seemed to only fuel his dark desire, his need to dominate and break her completely. He leaned over her, his breath hot and reeking of alcohol against her tear-streaked face. His fingers dug into her wrists, holding her in place as he thrust into her with brutal force. "Shut up… yeh can take it… yeh will take it," he snarled, his voice a guttural growl that echoed in the small space. His accent was thicker than usual, slurred slightly by the whiskey, giving his words an even more menacing edge.

Her pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. Each thrust was more desperate, more erratic, as he chased his own release. He watched her through hooded eyes, her pain and fear a twisted aphrodisiac that spurred him on. He felt the tight grip of her body around him, the way she clenched and shuddered with each violent movement, and it drove him wild. The edge of release was so close, a tantalizing promise just within reach. Finally, with a guttural moan, he bottomed out one last time, his hips slamming into hers as he found his release. His hot, sticky cum pumped into her, filling her completely. His eyes locked onto hers, a dark, predatory gleam in his gaze as he leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. "Probably goin' get yeh pregnant...but yeh deserve it...because yer just a cocksleeve for me to use.." His voice was a low, dangerous whisper, each word dripping with venom.

He stayed inside her, his cock still twitching as he emptied every last drop into her womb. He reveled in the feeling, the way her body seemed to milk him dry, her tightness squeezing every bit of his release from him. Only when he was sure he had given her everything did he finally pull out, a satisfied smirk on his face. He let go of her wrists, and she fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, her body too weak to support her any longer. Cillian stood over her, watching as she lay there, broken and defeated. The sight brought a twisted sense of satisfaction, a dark pleasure that seemed to settle in the pit of his stomach. He took a moment to collect himself, to let the last waves of pleasure ebb away, before straightening up and pulling up his boxers and pants. His eyes never left her, a silent command in their depths.

"Clean yerself up...and go," he said, his voice cold and detached. He watched as she struggled to move, her body trembling with the effort. There was no sympathy in his gaze, no hint of remorse for what he had done. To him, she was nothing more than a means to an end, a vessel for his darkest desires. As she finally managed to stand, her legs wobbling beneath her, Cillian took a step back, giving her space to gather herself. His eyes followed her every movement, a predator watching its prey. The room was silent except for her labored breathing and the occasional hiccup of a sob. He felt a twisted sense of power, knowing he had broken her, had pushed her to her limits and beyond.

She stumbled towards the door, her movements slow and unsteady. Her clothes were in disarray, her body marked with the evidence of his brutality. She paused at the door, casting one last, broken look over her shoulder. Cillian met her gaze, his expression unyielding. There was no comfort to be found there, no hint of the man he could have been. Only the cold, ruthless persona he had become. She turned away quickly, her hand fumbling with the doorknob as she hurried to escape. The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Cillian alone in the silence. He stood there for a moment, letting the reality of what had just happened sink in. The adrenaline was still coursing through him, a heady mix of power and satisfaction. He could still feel the ghost of her touch, the way her body had responded to him, had yielded to his every command. It was a high like no other, a dark thrill that he craved more than anything.

Cillian walked over to the vanity and picked up the whiskey glass; picking his wedding ring out of the empty glass and putting it back on. He moved quickly so he could pour himself another glass of whiskey. He downed it in one gulp, the burn a welcome distraction from the chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind. He knew he should feel something—guilt, shame, regret—but all he felt was a hollow emptiness, a void that seemed to grow with each passing moment. He poured himself another drink, the amber liquid swirling in the glass as he lifted it to his lips. His hands were steady, his movements precise, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside him. He took a slow sip, savoring the taste, the way it burned down his throat and settled in his stomach. It was a familiar comfort, a numbing balm to his fractured soul.

Author's Notes:

Wow, this was very hard to write, not only because I'm afraid of the way you will react to it but also because I really suck at writing him in a dom light unless it's in this setup. It's really hard to write things like this because I always have to take breaks because it's such a dark topic.