#head Welch smut

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Christian Woman - p.1

A/n: wrote this on my phone so apologize for any spelling mistakes, I’ve had this idea for a while so I hope people like it and I can get it done lol

Warnings: religion is a big part of this short series, if you aren’t comfortable with that don’t force yourself to read something you aren’t comfortable with <3 there will be smut in later parts but not this one

You were never into all that devil worship stuff, your parents always told you it would get you sent to hell, taint your soul and cry your spirits. So you never listened to it.

You had friends who listened to it though, you never cared all too much what other thought, what they did under their roofs was their own business, business that you didn’t need to bother with.

Your friend brought you to a Korn concert, they won tickets from a radio contest and had been planning on bringing someone else but they cancelled. Not wanting to go alone they brought you.

You guys got right up close to the stage. Your friend was having the time of their life, singing along to every song, jumping up and down. You were just trying not to get crushed.

You couldn’t help but notice the one member staring in your direction the whole time. You thought he was staring at your friend but he gave you picks, tried talking to you between songs. You weren’t sure how to react through it all but your friend kept encouraging you.

When the concert was finally over you were trying to leave with your friend but security stopped you. One guy told you to go backstage but didn’t say for what.

Worried about what it was about you pushed anything else aside and went. Your friend was very proud of you for stepping out of your comfort zone, they were also very excited to hear about the stories you’d tell tomorrow.

You followed someone backstage and into a room with a couch, mini fridge and small table. Nothing fancy but quant. Utterly disgusting, but quant.

You sat down on the couch and waited.

After a few minutes the metal head who’d been staring at you came in.

“Hey, how’re you?” He asked as he came to sit down beside you.

“Fine.” You answered, nervously looking around. “Why did you want me to come here?” You asked, bringing your gaze back to him.

“I saw you in the crowd and just thought…” He inched closer to you, bringing his hand up to your face. “Wow… that is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life.” You hated to admit that he made your cheeks warm, even more so you hated that he made your stomach swirl.

“So I’m pretty? That’s it?” You stated, pulling away from him slightly. He scoffed.

“Pfft, no!” He trailed his hand down your neck, letting it rest on your shoulder. His gaze wandered lower to the necklace around your neck. “I wanted to bring you back here and-” He paused. “Is that a cross?” He asked, holding the small charm.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Are you religious or just like it?” He asked, examining your outfit and figuring it’s not the latter.

“Of course I’m religious.” You answered, almost taking offence to his question.

“And you came to a Korn concert?”

“It was for my friend.” He nodded in understanding.

“So, like, religious how?”

“Like specifics?”

“Sex wise.” He clarified, dropping the charm. Your face flushed and you looked away.

“I’m not doing that.” You stated sternly.

“I’m not asking you to.” He relaxed back into the couch, throwing an arm over your shoulder but not trying to pull you any closer. “I just want to get to know you.” He said with a smile.

He started asking you questions, nothing too deep just things to get to know you. You answered coldly at first but as he kept talking to you you started opening up more, the fact it was getting later didn’t help much either.

Head noticed you getting tired and let you lean on him as he continued the conversation.

“Tired?” He finally asked when he saw you were struggling to keep his eyes open. You were curled up against him, head resting on his chest.

You nodded, letting out a soft sigh. “I don’t know how I’m getting home.” You said with a soft chuckle. You were about to fall asleep and weren’t thinking all too clearly but deep down you were scared of how you’re parents would react to you being so late…

“How about I bring you back to my place?” Head asked with a smile as he looked down at you. He had an arm around you now, holding you closer to him.

You looked up at him with a look. “This was your plan?” Head looked back down at you with a raised brow. “Wait till I was tired and then sneak me back to your place?” Head chuckled and shook his head.

“No, no, just a happy accident.” He smiled down at you. “I could just drive you back to your place if you want, my place just sounds more fun.” You waited a moment before responding.

“Can you drive me home?” Head nodded.

“Of course.” He got up from the couch and helped you up as well, holding onto you as he walked you through the halls of the backstage area and to the near empty parking lot where his car was parked.

He helped you into the passenger seat and got into the drivers side. He turned the car on and turned to you. “You gonna give me directions?” You we’re leaning against the door, eyes closed and breathing soft. He smiled at you and started driving, with no directions he just brought you back to his place.

He carried you inside and got you into his bed. He thought about getting in with you for a moment but eventually decided against it, he was already risking it by bringing you to his place, if you woke up before him he didn’t want you totally freaking out.

He kissed your forehead softly and left you to sleep as he went to the couch, getting himself as comfortable as he could be in the makeshift bed.

You woke up in an unfamiliar dark room. Once your eyes adjusted to the dark you saw it was a bedroom. You got out of bed and turned the light on, looking around for any signs of where you were.

Cautiously, you poked your head out of the room and saw the TV was on and there was a figure on the couch.

The man stood up and came over to you. “Hey, hey, what are you doing up..?” Head asked, his voice soft.

“I just woke up…” You mumbled. “Where am I..?”

“My place,” he started, “I was gonna bring you home but you fell asleep and I didn’t know where home was so I just brought you back here.” He explained. He held you face in his hands and kissed your forehead again before guiding you back to bed. “I can drive you home tomorrow, right now just sleep, ok?”

You got into bed, almost falling asleep when your head hit the pillow. You looked up to see Head leaving. “Stay?” You mumbled.

Head paused in the doorway, slowly turning to you. “You want me to stay?” You nodded.

“I-I’m already breaking rules, might as well break all of them.” Head quickly came over and crawled into bed with you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

[warnersister]

Post Show Pleazures (Twizted Bliss)

James “Munky” Shaffer x rockstar!reader

[Munky x Reader , korn x reader, female reader!, James Shaffer x reader]

Summary: your band was performing as koRn’s warmup act on their world tour; a group significantly younger than the Nu metal heads - and Munky thought he could handle having you around, could handle his own hard on’s. But you’re a month in and Manchester proves otherwise.

Warnings: smut, age gap relationship 35//24, degradation, p in v, no protection, oral (m receiving), begging, basically Munk being a perv

Munky was a respectful guy, he’s midway through his umpteenth fucking world tour for God’s sake, a grown ass man. He kept his distance, stayed way back, promised himself he wouldn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable; only a young thing after all.

This was meant to be your big break, Twizted Blizter’s way to get into the lime light, and seeing as Jon had supported your band from day dot when he first heard the rendition of Nu Metal, he was more than happy to suggest your crew to warm up the crowds for Korn.

It was all fun and games until it came time for the bands to be introduced to one another. Korn had sit in their studio and their manager had put on your music for them all to listen to before they agreed to anything, just like them - a Nu metal mashup with screaming and incoherency every now and then. And they had to admit, you could fucking sing.

And then it was organised, the posters printed, the ads sent out - Twizted Blizter would front for Korn in their upcoming tour, formally meeting the week prior in order to get all your affairs straight. “I’m telling you dude she’s real good” Jon said, pushing open the door to the studio as himself and Munky discussed you.

Munky stopped in his tracks when he was faced with a young woman with her hands on her hips, stood like some undead Avril Lavigne, smoky eyeshadow, pierced brow, sharp dark nails and this stupid shit eating smirk that he could kiss off your face- wait what?

“Hey! This is the band I was telling you guys about!” Jonathan introduced you all to each member of the band, Munky’s eyes lingering on you a little more than necessary. And as you shook his hand and your tongue protruded to wet your blackened lips, teeth bared as you grinned up at him and voice a hell of a lot softer than he expected judging on your voice’s ability to warp into some hellish chant. “It’s a pleasure to meet you” you say meekly, nails scratching his skin slightly as he reluctantly pulled his hand away from your own. “You’ve got rhythm” he tells you and you smile again, appreciatively “that’s what they all say” you reply with a wink. He hadn’t a chance to compute that underlying meaning that sentence suggested, before you shook Head’s hand.

“Y’ wanna watch the band?” Head asked, walking out of his dressing room; beer in hand. Munky looked at him and shrugged. “Alright man” your set had already started, band already getting into their stride as the beat gyrated through the venue’s flooring. Munky took a swig from the bottle as he watched you throw profanities into the mic; hair frazzled around your head, makeup running, sweat dripping off your body, nails digging into your thighs and creating crescent shaped indentations beginning to leak with blood as you scraped them up your skin like a satanic tattoo artist.

Munky barely made it through the first song before he had to force his way back to the bathrooms, just to rub one out before the show - angrily cursing himself as he hated the way he thought about you, the way you carried yourself, the way he could have you. You were over a decade younger than him and this was disgusting. But as he climaxed and moaned out your name, it felt so goddamn right.

“Mr Shaffer?” He heard from behind him as he prepared for his own set, head still foggy. He turned to see you staring up at him through your lashes, fingers on one hand fiddling with the index nail on the other, nervously chewing your lip. He gulped at the way you called him. “Yeah hun?” He found himself saying, like some pensioner talking to the teenage intern at the nutcase ward. “Did you like our set?” You asked him, tone dripping with nerves. “Holy fuck yeah it sure was good” he tells you with a smile “really?” Your face lit up as you took a step forward and he certainly didn’t step back. “Yeah. Damn good singer you are.” He tells you and you giggle giddily. “Thank you” you tell him, appreciatively. “I really look up to you as an artist, Mr Shaffer.” You tell him, honestly. And he almost can’t help but think your honey-laced words are fakery for the horny shit you were doing ten minutes ago. “You do?” He found himself asking, dreamily. Get your shit together, man. You nodded in response. “It’s an honour to be working with you and your band.” You say with a child-like grin, your eyes darting down and up again as fast as they had. “Best of luck for your set.” You said, taking a sip of water. “Not that you need it” you tell him, pivoting and walking in the other direction.

Munky sighs heavily and runs a hand over his face, seeing his flustered reflection in the mirror across from him, distracted by the obvious wet patch on his trousers. Did you see that? Shit.

And that’s how it went for the rest of the North America tour. You’d play, he’d rub one out, and then he’d head to the stage already dripping in sweat as he’d see your eyes watching him tentatively.

It was on the way to the UK tour when the two bands were mingling on the plane, Munky excusing himself to get a drink and walking past your group. He looked at your face, sleeping soundly in the arms of your drummer who looked like a shitty Travis Barker wannabe, who raised an eyebrow at Munky and smirked.

He felt his nostrils flare as he walked on, having to force himself to walk past the two of you again only to see not-Travis stroking your hair and pushing it out of your face and Munky could tell it was clearly for his benefit. He felt a twisting pang of jealously in his chest as whatshisface threaded a hand under your thighs to pull you closer. Munky just shook his head and walked back to his seat.

God this is so fucking wrong.

Manchester, England. Ironically where your band formed so you knew exactly where all the best bars were in the area - and as usual, your band was on before Korn - your expression hazy and dazed as you blared into the microphone, clawing at your own skin with such desperation Munky so wished you’d take out on him. And of course, he had to have his inaugural trip to a more private area to sort out his predicament before anyone saw the boner he was nursing.

In his dressing room, he sat palming at the obvious tent in his pants. Cursing himself as he urged his cock for some sort of relief, moaning your name reiteratively like some sort of sickened chant. “Mr Shaffer?” He heard your voice from the door as you looked at him with widened, evidently started eyes. “Shit! I-” he began before you slammed the door behind you, him hearing a “sorry!” Squeaked from you and he rushed to pull his pants up and sprint for the door, grabbing your wrist before you could go anywhere. “Did you hear that?” He asked and you gulped with a slight nod. “Shit I’m so sorry-” he began as you pulled your hand away “I didn’t mean to interrupt-” “you must think I’m such a pervert.” He says, running his hands through his hair. “Look I’m so fucking sorry, you must think I’m a real creep, I’m so much older than you and I’m rubbing one out after your sets and it’s disgusting and-” he rants. “Mr Shaffer” you cut him off and he looks at you. “It’s ok.” You say and he raises his brows. “It is?” You nod “it is perverted but it’s okay cause I get off to you too-” you say honestly and he grunts involuntarily. “You what?” “You heard me” you reply and he grits his jaw. “I can help you Mr Shaffer-” “shit” he swears and drags you back into his dressing room, making sure to shut the door tightly and pushing you against it.

“Are you okay with what I’m ’bouta do to you?” He asks and you consent “I’m a grown ass woman Mr Shaffer” you say “I’m okay with it” “shit call me that again” “Mr Shaffer?” He groans “yeah that” “Mr Shaffer” his knees go weak and he slinks back onto his couch with a groan, watching you sink to your knees as you undo his pants and palming him through his boxers. “Please forgive me I’m so disgusting” he says, as you take him into your hand “I’m a filthy pervert” he breathes as you lick a stripe up the bottom of his cock “you’re too pure for a sick old man like me” he says, as your head begins to bob “I don’t deserve this.” He says, embarrassed how quickly he was building up to his orgasm “please make me cum” he begs as you hollow out your cheeks and he shoots cum into the back of your throat, throwing his head back as he watches you swallow his cum through hooded eyelids.

“Shit” he groans as he pulls you forward as he stands up, laying you on your back on the couch “how much do you like these pants?” He asks and you shrug as he uses a decent deal of effort to rip the flimsy material along with your underwear. “They were expensive though-” you sigh “shit I’m sorry. I should’ve checked, I’m such a sleaze. So desperate for you. I’ll take you shopping, I sound like some goddamn sugar daddy-” “James, it’s okay.” You tell him and he groans pathetically as he sinks into you, your arms reaching around his neck as he peppers kisses onto your stage-sweated face. “M sorry. ‘M such a perv.” He reiterates again and again and you shut him up by kissing him firmly on the lips and clawing your sharp nails into his back.

“You are a perv” you breathe “‘nd this shouldn’t feel right” you agree and he cries out “I look up to you” you say “and I’m letting you down” he groans, feeling you hook your legs around his waist. “But I can’t stop it’s so good” he moans as he cums inside of you, watching your face contort in pleasure as you came moments after. “Shit I came inside of you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” “you’re good” you breathe with a smile, catching your breath as he pulls out of you and provides you with an oversized pair of khakis in lieu of your trousers in odder to accommodate the lack there of, collecting himself and looking at you, hands delicately reaching up to cradle your face as he looks you over, touch so gentle as if you were an antique doll. “M sorry you’re too good for me. He says, kissing your forehead. “It’s okay Mr Shaffer, I liked it.” He groaned as you kissed his palm and leant into his touch.

“Oh Mr Shaffer, I made your back bleed” you say, eyes full of concern as a drop of blood seeps onto your thumb. He takes your hand in his and licks the blood off your thumb “good I deserve to be punished.” He says, walking you backward until your back hit the door, leaning against it and effectively trapping you on it as he leans down to pepper your lips with hot open mouth kisses. “M such a pervert”

“Two minutes, Munky” you heard from beyond the door as he moaned, frustrated. “You’ll be great, Mr Shaffer. Like you always are” you tell him, eyes full of pride. “And I’ll be in here when you’re done” you promise and he whimpers “make sure you don’t have the pants on” he says, before smacking his own head “asshole” he curses himself as you open the door “go be great, Munky” you say as he walks over the threshold. “Don’t you want a shirt?” You ask and he walks away with a bleeding back “nah they can watch me bleed knownin’ it was you, princess” he says, thrusting his hands into his dreads as he cursed himself for being such a crude and corruptive son of a bitch.

And he cried and fucked you all over again once the show was done, feeling every bit guilty- but not really.

And in the following show, Leeds, he sat through your whole set and as soon as you walked off stage, he picked you up at the waist and slung you over his shoulder, marching running to his dressing room not really taking care as to who sees, offering a cocky look to your drummer as you head past him. “Pervert” he says under his voice “hell yeah I am!” He shouts with a holler as he licked the exposed skin on your upper thigh, “and she’s gonna fuck me and call me names until I feel so guilty I cry!” slamming the door shut behind the two of you.

[memobread]

ALRIGHT FOLKS HERE IT IS

Jonathan Davis x transmasc! reader

TW: mentions of transphobia, mommy issues, etc. Contains heavy gore and r*pe using an electrode. Please proceed with caution

CONTAINS: Tons of fluff, smutty smut, and it takes place in the movie Goregasm

CONTEXT FOR PPL WHO HAVENT WATCHED GOREGASM:

the C.L.A.M. is a group of radical feminist bitches who go around killing men for no reason and Cockface is literally a guy who beats people to death with a giant dildo.

Aaaaanyway...ENJOY!!

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"I don't care what you'll do to the body I created, you're still my daughter."

You slumped over your mother's dining table, gripping the back of a chair in a fit of silent rage. You hated that word, "daughter" with all your being. You wished coming out as transmasculine didn't trigger your family as needlessly as it did.

"What happened to loving me unconditionally?" You spat, twenty-three years old with a mother who still picked fights with him.

"This isn't you. This isn't the 'way you are,'…you're just a tomboy."

Your mind seethed at the word. Your mother had angered you to the point where you were trembling, trying to hold yourself back. Attempting to control yourself, you decided to get up and get a beer from the fridge.

"Y/N, please take off your binder. It makes me uncomfortable."

It took a few moments to process the absolute bullshit spewing from your mother's mouth. She would talk to you like that all the time, but this time, you had enough of it.

"…the fuck did you just say?..."

"Don't swear at me, young lady!"

You violently slammed the fridge door shut, tears blurring your vision and streaming down your face. Your mother always made you feel stupid when you were upset, so the only way you could process anger was by holding it in until you cried. You felt so powerless with your mother; like you had no agency over your adult life. Even though you moved out, you felt like she still controlled you.

"…I needa go to work…" You choked out through tears.

"With a beer in your hand? Let's face it, Y/DN, you're pathetic. You insult ME by doing all this harm to the body I created, and now you're an alcoholic?"

You lost any means of control you had before.

"Oh, poor you! You make FUCKING EVERYTHING about yourself! When I tried FUCKING KILLING myself, you blamed me and said I 'hurt the body you created'! You didn't even ask if I was okay, let alone question why I did what I did!"

In an uncontrollable rage, you launched a powerful, adrenaline-filled punch at the drywall, your tough fist cracking through the hard material and leaving a crumbling crater in the infrastructure.

"…And now you're making yourself the victim AGAIN! Have you ever considered HOW I FUCKING FELT?! HAVE YOU EVEN FUCKING THOUGHT ABOUT WHO THAT 'BODY YOU CREATED' BELONGS TO, HUH?! AM I JUST A FUCKING BODY TO YOU?! WHY DOES IT MATTER WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE?!"

Your mother was in complete shock. You never spoke to her like that before until then. You finally let her know who she was.

…a cunt…

Sparing yourself the pain of listening to your mother retaliate, you grabbed your backpack and rushed out the door, slamming it behind you. Still crying, you ran to your car and hurriedly shut yourself inside, starting it up and leaving your mother's house for good.

"FUCK!"

You slammed your fist against the dashboard, tears sliding from your jaw down your neck and staining the hem of your X-large t-shirt. Various negative thoughts swarmed your head, nearly impairing your ability to drive.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, I need to go back…

Should I apologize?

No! She doesn't deserve an apology!

You talk to your mother like that, you piece of shit?

Your mother completely ignored your feelings and brushed them off as natural reactions, never apologized, cheated on your dad, and made sure he rarely got to see you, let your stepdad treat you like shit, and had no reaction when she saw you cutting yourself.

…the list goes on forever and ever…

Once you arrived at Filthy Frank's Fuck Flicks and Fake Dicks, you wiped your face with your sleeve and left the car, slamming the door behind you.

…pamela anderson, here I come…

You stepped inside, looking down to avoid any suspicion of you crying. Unfortunately, your coworker Mark caught sight of you.

"Hey, Y/N!"

You looked up and waved, trying to still yourself as much as possible.

"Hey, Mark. How's it goin'?"

You slid behind the counter after clocking in.

"I, uh…I'm good, you doin' alright?" Mark asked, concerned.

…fuck…

You broke down sobbing, Mark instantly coming to hug you.

"Dude, whaddid that fuckin' hag do now?" He asked, already knowing who made you cry.

You chuckled to yourself at how Mark already knew why you were crying.

"She said some stupid shit to me again and I just-…I fuckin' lost it, dude. I punched a hole in her wall and everything…"

Mark rubbed your back and pursed his lips.

"It was only a matter of time before one of that floppy-pussied fishy slut's kids stood up to her bullshit…" Mark snickered.

You laughed, slipping away to tend to a horny customer.

"The bitch got like, fuckin'-… seven kids, for chrissake!"

You chuckled while scanning a vcr of Jenna Jameson having sex with a goat and handing it to its rightful customer. He had a long, dark goatee and a shirt with a pentagram on it.

"I *sniff*…I like your shirt…" You sniffled.

"Thanks, man. Your slut mom gave it to me."

You, Mark, and the guy cracked up.

"Hey, uh…is the gloryhole open?"

You glanced over to the eerie curtain across the room.

"Uh…yeah! Have fun!"

You swear you could hear a guy crying and whimpering from behind the hole barrier, but you were too busy to investigate.

I'll check it out later…

You went through your shift as usual, selling obscenity, helping horny customers, and getting help kicking out the ones that were too horny. When your shift was almost over, you heard the bell at the door ring again, but it was different; it came with a comforting presence that you loved so much. Sure enough, it was your cute little love interest, Jonathan Davis.

           “Hey, Y/N!” He called in his cute voice.

You waved to him, completely intoxicated. His loose t-shirt sleeves hung loosely just above his toned, pale forearms, his burnt umber dreadlocks draping over different planes of his lean shoulders and back. Your eyes lazily swung in every direction he went, secretly raving over his toothy smile below a tiny two-piece mustache. Even his long, model-worthy legs caught your eye. Of course, you did not only value his looks. You cared about him so much and would do anything to protect him. He was so kind to you, more so than almost anyone else. But you were conflicted about how he would feel if he knew you liked men.

"'Scuse me?"

You snapped awake from your state of deep thought, meeting the face of another customer with frizzy hair and a chinstrap.

"Oh, sorry. What can I help you with?" You asked in your best porn-marketing tone.

"Yeah, hi. Uh…I'm just checking these out."

You took the tapes he gave you. They had weird age play shit in them. You made a mental note to steer clear of him.

"Take care, uh…enjoy the diaper sluts."

"Oh, I will…" The man smirked, taking the tapes and leaving.

Once the man left, you could clearly see Jon, who eyed the bondage section. You avoided contact with his sparkling inky eyes so he wouldn't notice you staring at him. He fished out his final tape and approached you. With all the composure you could muster up, you said,

"Hey, Jon, how you been?"

           “Oh, uh…I’m okay…You good?”

Jon had noticed your red, glossy eyes.

           “Oh yeah, it’s uh… just family stuff.”

Remembering who your mother was, Jon laughed.

           “Oh god, what’d that bitch do this time?”

You chuckled weakly, scanning the erotic tapes on the shelf behind you.

            “She said I ruined her life or some shit like that, so I got really mad and kinda lashed out at her.”

Jon nodded, familiar with this type of abuse.

"She does stuff, and gets mad at the consequences, so she blames them on me and tries to make herself seem like she's in the right."

You turned back to him with a few delivery tapes and a box.

"All and all, she's a cunt."

"Yeah, seems like it," Jon said, pursing his lips.

You and Jon chatted for a bit during the last moments of your shift. After the final customer left, Jon asked,

"Wanna go get a beer with me and Mark?"

You felt your heart race and your chest pound as soon as those words left Jon's mouth.

"Uh…yeah, sure!"

The three of you left the store after clocking out and locking up, heading towards the gas station next door. As you walked in, you heard a slight rustling in the bushes.

…shit…

It could have been either of the two killers on the loose: the Cockface Killer or the C.L.A.M., and you weren't going to stand by and let your best friend and your love interest get killed.

"Um…hey Jon?"

You spoke quietly, afraid of being heard.

"Hm?" Jon turned around.

You awkwardly stood on your toes to reach his ear as he bent down.

"Um…I think I heard someone in the bushes outside. I'm not sayin' it's the C.L.A.M or Cockface, but um…the three of us should just go back to…to my…or your or Mark's place and lock the doors and windows while we hang out…"

Jon's expression suddenly changed from content to frightened once he realized what was happening.

"We need to leave. Now."

Before you could say anything, the front door slammed open, a gust of fishy wind flooding the tiny store.

"There you are, fucker!"

When you wheeled around to look, you saw Mil Dread, a tall, bearded brunette lady wearing a white leather V-neck crop top and booty shorts, donning another white leather captain cap. Next to her were her little hench-bitches wearing black fishnets and smeared makeup.

 …the C.L.A.M…

 Before you could get the guys and run, the blonde girl made a beeline for Jon, to which you responded by jumping in front of him and tackling her before she could reach him. In a fit of rage, you ripped violent blows to the blonde's stupid face, leaving not a second for her to breathe, let alone blink. While you beat her screaming face in, Jon grabbed the other girl and slammed her face into the wall repeatedly before throwing her on the ground and jumping elbow-first onto her stomach. Retching and shouting filled the room as Mark ran from Mil, throwing glass bottles of vinegar at her to slow her down.

“You little shit-munching whores…”

The blonde tried to throw you off, but you yanked her up by her hair and slammed her bloody face into the wall.

"YOU FUCKING CUNT!" You screamed, slamming her again twice as hard.

She cried out, trying to wrench out of your strong grip, but you slammed her down WWE-style onto a pile of broken glass, lacerating her bloody face tissue. You jerked her head up and rammed your fingers down her throat, holding a piece of glass between them.

"VOMIT, PIG!!" You barked, smacking her bruised face.

She sobbed loudly on your fingers and squirmed, trying to break free again, but you slammed her down harder, tightening your grip as you jerked your fingers in and out, blood oozing from the back of her raspy throat. She heaved up a thick pile of red vomit onto the dirty floor.

“YEAH, THAT’S FUCKING RIGHT, BITCH!”

You couldn’t help but feel maniacal pleasure like everything horrible that ever happened to you shot right out of your fingers and out the girl’s throat.

“L-*cough* Let me go!!” The blonde cried, limply hitting you with flimsy fists.

You grabbed her wrists with one hand and snapped out your switchblade.

“Not until you stop working for that fucking hag.”

As soon as she opened her mouth, you drew your blade and swooped down upon her throat, slicing her white skin and bones like butter. You felt a wave of relief when her voice died down, and all you could hear from her was gasping and choking. You reveled in her blood, unaware of the tall bearded lady leering behind you.  

“She was my favorite…”

You swiveled around to meet the eyes of fury itself. Wide, furious, twitching eyeballs shoved between smoky flaps; thin, trembling red lips holding back all sorts of profanities. Even Mil’s breasts were flushed with anger, down to her bulging leg muscles, to her veiny feet tucked into white platform heels. While she was in shock, you tried to run away but she flung bulging arms around you and slammed you to the ground, ass up, face squished into the concrete.

“You will pay for this…”

“No!” Jon screamed, gripping the nearly-dead hooker by her bloody throat.

 You tried scrambling away, but she flung her legs over you to clamp your hand down, the hard material of her heels nearly breaking every bone in your hands. Before you could try to escape again, she undid your belt and yanked down your pants, bearing the phallic electrode strapped to her crotch. This was what she did to every man she could catch; pin them down and rape them with her stupid fucking electrode, then kill them in the most painful way she can think of, all for no real reason except their gender identity.

“Y…you fucking nazi…” you managed to choke out against the floor.

Mil ignored you, too busy studying your boxers.

“You must have a tiny dick, eh?”

She yanked down your boxers, and her eyes slightly widened.

“You…you don’t-…you’re not a man?…”

Annoyed, you spat,

“Yeah, I am. Ever heard of being trans, you fucking bimbo?”

She grabbed your hair and slammed your face to the ground, your skull bursting with stinging pain.

“You betrayed the female race…”

She slammed into you, shooting excruciatingly painful jolts of electricity throughout your nether regions and up to your stomach, a rough scream belting from your bloody lips. Your hip bones stung the muscle clinging to them, sparking and trembling rapidly as a huge bolt blew straight through your bladder, shooting up every single nerve, and reaching your lungs.

“This is what you fucking get, traitor!”

Your vision clouded and your throat closed. You were gasping for air, blood peeking from your bottom eyelids and between your lips. In a white flash, you saw your life playing back and forth in intervals of seconds. You could faintly hear several more girls laughing maniacally while Mark and Jon struggled against their restraints. You were breaking out into a cold sweat and you were spitting up your lunch. Before you knew it, your body went limp, all you could hear was ringing and blurry screams, your vision blurred to the point of severe disorientation.

 …this is it…

Before you could accept your impending death, you heard a loud, guttural grunt and a blunt object knocking Mil off of you. Your thoughts incoherent, you lay motionless on the filthy aluminum floor, remnants of stinging vibrations jabbing your insides.

“Cockface?!”

With all the strength you could muster, you heaved your weight into your elbows to get a better look at the two infamous serial killers. Mil lassoed her whip around Cockface’s giant dildo and yanked it down, sending him face-first onto the floor. Before she could follow up, he slid in between her legs and tried to jab the dildo up her saggy ass, but he severed her butt cheek instead, causing her to scream as the ugly piece of flesh splattered down to the floor. Cockface tackled Mil to the floor while her guard was down and flung dildo blows at her bitchy face, clipping her cheekbone and slicing it like salami.  

 …that thing must have some sort of acid on it…

Mil cracked her flogger hard on Cockface’s chest, drawing huge beads of deep red and making him cry out in pain. She then straddled him, clasping her hands around his thick neck and wringing hard.

“So long, scum…”

Suddenly, Cockface launched a brutal heave of his dildo up between her tits, completely lacerating the tissue, snapping her sternum, and impaling through her. Her grip on his neck instantly went limp, and saliva started dripping from her mouth onto Cockface’s dildo mask. Suddenly, you heard clapping coming from the front door.

“Goddamn, that was hot…”

You looked towards the source of the clapping, and there you found a short, stubby man with a short beard, receding hairline, and a detective badge hanging loosely from his belt.

“Detective Douglass Depschette, FPD, here to investigate whatever the fuck this is.”

Beside him stood a taller brunette woman donning a pair of round glasses and a typical office worker outfit. She looked like she would rather get a sulfuric acid enema than work with Depschette, understandably.

“You see, Depschette? The fetish killer and Cockface are the same!” She exclaimed, indicating the bloody scene with her arms.

Depschette groaned in frustration.

“Here we go again…”

He approached Mil’s mutilated corpse.

“You see…”

Your vagus nerve sparing you the ramble, you blacked out. Blurs and whisps of Jonathan appeared before you in your dream, and you could hear occasional bits of his pretty voice as he and Mark eventually hauled you out of the store, carrying you to your car.

“Gah, shit…”

“C’mon, lift his legs…”

When the two men finally crammed you in, Jon sat in the back with you, laying your head on his lap. When Mark hit a speed bump, your body jolted to the side, your face meeting Jon’s crotch. His eyes widened, and he blushed, squeezing his legs together. Mark snickered.

“You two queers doin’ alright back there?”

Jon let out an awkward chuckle.

“Shut up, man…”

When the three of you finally arrived at your trailer, you were carried inside and laid on your comfy mattress. Jon laid your head on his lap again, making sure you were in an elevated position.

"Oh shit, I gotta go," Mark said, scrambling to his feet.

"Lemme know how he's doing, okay?"

Jon nodded, smiling as he waved him goodbye. Just as he left, you started to wake up. Jon inadvertently ran his fingers through your soft, fluffy hair. When he heard you grunt, he snatched his fingers away and grabbed his water bottle.

"Shhh, shhh…it's okay, Y/N…Cockface killed Mil and you're back home."

You were confused, your head was pounding, and you were breaking out into a cold sweat. You were dizzy while trying to scramble to your feet and recognize your surroundings. Jon instantly went to calm you down, putting your head back on his lap and stroking your hair.

"Just take some deep breaths with me…deep breaths…"

Trembling and confused, you followed his slow, deep breaths nonetheless.

"Th….Thanks for taking care of me, Jon…"

He smiled his pretty smile and said,

"Sure, no biggie."

The realization that you were lying in your crush's lap was starting to show up, which gave you butterflies in your nauseous tummy.

"I-…Are you okay? Are you hurt?" You asked, pushing yourself up on your elbows.

Jon nodded, settling you back down to his lap with his soft hands.

"Don't worry, I'm fine. I was able to knock out the bitch who attacked me."

Jon laughed a little awkwardly, stroking your hair.

"Th-Those fucking whores killed my friend Max…All because he was a guy…"

Jon's breath became shaky, and his grip on your hair tightened.

"You…You're the only person I can tell because now I know you're trans…"

Your eyes widened.

…he saw…

He saw your reaction and immediately started backpedaling.

"Listen, Y/N, I'm sorry…I dunno why I said that or why I'm bringing up random shit in the first place…"

You were quick to comfort him.

"Oh no, no, no you're fine. I just…I'm glad you don't hate me because I'm trans."

Jon chuckled halfheartedly.

"I actually had no idea you were born female…You pass so well, with flying colors…"

He ran his pointer finger along your upper lip.

"That's a nice 'stache you got there too…"

You chuckled.

"You too, man."

His two-piece mustache curled with his lips into another pretty smile. Soon, you two delved into another deep conversation. It was so easy to talk to him like you could chat with him about mothballs for ten years and never get bored. The conversation gradually went deeper, turning into Jon's sexual identity crisis.

"Yeah, I think I might like men a little…but I can't publicly say it…I can only talk about this to you."

You and Jon talked more, then the topic transitioned to your gender identity.

"Yeah, I've been feeling like I'm not masculine enough, like I'm just never gonna really be a guy, and it's fucked me up big time."

Your head hung down as you pursed your lips and sighed.

"My mom keeps guilt tripping me for this shit and I don't wanna believe it, but she tells me it so much that-…

You were suddenly overcome with violent guilt and tears started to prick at your eyes. Jon noticed and immediately came to comfort you.

"Hey, hey, c'mere…"

Jon wrapped you in a warm bear hug, massaging your scalp and rubbing your back.

…his hugs feel like heaven…

Jon hugged you as if you were the most precious thing to him. He was warm and soft, fitting your body into his perfectly, like a therapeutic body pillow. You relaxed into his embrace, hugging him back tightly. He reached behind you with one arm and grabbed your fluffy blanket, wrapping it around the both of you as if you weren't relaxed enough already. The security and saturated warmth of the blanket and Jon nearly made you drift off to sleep like a baby. You took your time to enjoy the overwhelmingly comforting feeling, both of you staying in that position for a few minutes before Jon dragged one arm away and left the other draping over your shoulder.

"Yeah, I've been feeling the same way. Societal norms and shit…"

"Those rules are fucking stupid, but I can't help but to try to fit them."

You blushed when Jon put his arm around you.

"Listen, anyone who doesn't see you or me as men is a fucking idiot. You and I are both men, and we know it, that's all that matters." He said, looking into your glossy eyes.

"Shit, you even passed as a guy to Mil." Jon followed up, squeezing your shoulder.

You chuckled and smiled, your heartwarming with reassurance. As the conversation progressed, Jon became more comfortable, considering you two had known each other for a few years and were good friends. But you and Jon wanted something more.

"Hey Y/N…can I ask you something?"

"Sure, go ahead."

Jon cleared his throat.

"When you attacked that blonde girl when she attacked me…All that rage you let out on her…where did that come from?"

You froze. He was giving an obvious hint that he suspected you liked him.

"I…uh…."

Jon stared, waiting for a response.

"I just…"

You couldn't lie to him. You knew Jon possibly had feelings for you, and he knew you did too, and you couldn't deny it any longer.

"It’s because I love you."

He froze, completely taken aback by how direct you were. You started to panic, regretting everything you said to him. The possibility he might not like you hit you that moment, plaguing your mind with horrible predictions.

"I….I'm sorry….I'll leave…"

You offered to leave even though it was your trailer, but Jon pulled you right back.

"I….I love you too…so much…"

This was your breaking point. All the awkward interactions and conversations that were more cringe-worthy than what happens in an episode of The Office didn't matter anymore.

"I just…I-…I-"

You had enough of the awkward stammering, and you took his face in both your hands. You looked deeply into his pretty eyes before connecting your lips to his, kissing him sweetly. He took the hint and let go of his stress, holding you around your upper torso and kissing you back. It didn't take long for the kiss to escalate. Jon straddling your lap and caressing your face, you wrapped your arms tightly around his skinny waist.

"I want this so bad, Y/N…"

Things were escalating quickly since you both acknowledged the constant romantic and sexual tension throughout your friendship, and this was the moment it would all be let go.

"I love you, Jon…"

Both of you were in disbelief, thinking what was happening was too good to be true, all while making out sweetly on your dirty mattress. Jon's kisses were soft and loving as if he was kissing your wounds better. His lips and hands were gentle as they touched you ever so gently. You felt all over his body, your hands sliding gracefully across the dips and mounds of his ethereal figure. The painfully awkward moments you had earlier melted away as your hands settled on Jon's slender waist, holding it and caressing it sweetly, feeling his warmth. It didn't take long for the kiss to escalate; Jon gripped your face tighter and began to eat at your lips, reveling in how you fell apart for him. It didn't take long for Jon to topple over on top of you, trapping you between his arms on the bed. You wrapped your legs around his waist to bring him closer, and he pressed down onto you harder, grunting into your mouth. Your hands raked up and down all over his body, making him moan at the mercy of your fingernails. You kissed him hard, pushing yourself up into him as much as possible as if to fuse your bodies. You could feel his erection pressed against your crotch, desperate for any friction. Biting Jon's bottom lip, you ground your crotch into his cock, a small whimper escaping your lips, and Jon gasping with a loud moan followed by his signature chuckle.

"Oh yeah?"

He slammed himself down between your legs, gasping and whining pathetically at the well-earned friction. Ducking his head under your jaw to plaster sloppy kisses and harsh bites all over your neck, he stayed between your legs and started to rock back and forth on your throbbing heat.

"Oh fuck, that feels so good…" Jon growled into your neck.

When his teeth bared into you, you bit your lip and arched your back, keening desperately for him. Your noises sent him into a horny frenzy, causing him to rip off his jeans, along with yours, and press against you again. With the most ruthless of intentions, you grabbed his dick, making him freeze.

"Ahhh…"

Once you started squeezing a bit on his tip, rubbing slightly up and down, he leaned his head back and let out a breathy moan.

…he's so sensitive…

The friction of the fabric rutting so deliciously against Jon's needy tip made his eyes roll back and caused tremors to wrack throughout his entire beautiful body, leaving you room to bite at his neck a bit.

"Oh my god, Y/N….Jesus Christ….you-oh fuck!!"

Before he could finish his sentence, you slid your hand under his boxers, gripping his cock firmly. His pleasure face gazing down into your soul flashed a hint of a smirk before he slid his hand under your boxers.

"…oh god….jon…."

Jon started cupping your heat and rubbing it gently while you jerked him harder. His long, soft fingers caressing you down there sent tiny waves of pleasure racking your lower body as slick arousal coated his fingers. Breathing heavily and trying not to buck your hips up, you spat on your hand, squeezing it tighter around his girthy cock, stroking the shaft with your fingers as you rubbed him up to the tip at a medium pace, the new lubrication making his eyes roll back in his head and shaky whimpers fall from his lips. You used your other hand to reach down and cup his nuts, fondling them sweetly while his fingers made their way to your little nub, rubbing it in moderate circles with your slick on his fingers. Your bottom lip was trapped between your teeth as you picked up your pace, you and Jon whimpering to each other. Your two hands were making sweet love to Jon's member, one rubbing up and down and squeezing on the wet shaft, and the other smothering the tip with wet caresses and jerks. Jon's face was buried in your neck, moaning pathetically into your ear while rubbing your clit a little faster, your legs opening up, and your moans getting louder at the feeling.

"G-oh…God, Y/N you feel so good on my fingers…" Jon groaned, his voice two octaves lower than usual.

The sight of Jon's hand under your boxers drove you insane with arousal; Seeing his fingers work your sweet little nub so well and hearing your slick sliding his fingers around on it made you wetter than ever before. You rubbed and caressed him faster, reaching a swift pace as he trembled above you, crying and whimpering while you pumped away.

"Oh fuuuuuck, please, please Y/N-oh god, that feels so-oh god…." Jon babbled into your ear, his hand trembling as it started to flick across your clit, sliding down to tease your hole too.

Your back arched when he sped up, breathy moans escaping you as you felt a knot start to form in your stomach. Jon attempted to stifle his moans with your neck as you squeezed your thighs around his, whimpering pleads that could make even the purest of individuals cum in their pants. Jon's cock was red and pulsating in your hands, the feeling of you jerking him so good making his legs shake. Eventually, he couldn't handle it anymore.

"That's it. I need you. Now."

Jon pulled his hand out and yanked down his boxers, revealing a red, throbbing cock ready to cum. He effortlessly flipped you over and yanked up your ass to meet his hips. All you could do was bury your face in your pillows and brace yourself.

"You ready, baby?" Jon breathed, flicking his red tip up and down your slit.

You turned your head around and said,

"Yes…please…let's fuck…"

Jon pulled off his shirt and threw it to the side, revealing his soft, yet strong features and beautiful natural body. He was now completely naked for you and only you. You yanked off your shirt just to feel his skin better, leaving your binder on. With that, Jon positioned his tip at your entrance, pushing it a bit before being sucked into you, both of you awing at the feeling. His tip stretching your tight hole made your eyes roll back into your head as you begged him to go deeper.

"Ah…Already?...You're so needy…I love it…"

He pushed himself deeper into you, your slippery, gunny walls clenching so hard around him, trying so hard to stretch to his size. He could barely slide further because of your tightness, but he pushed himself even deeper. Clenching onto your love handles and choking out hot breathy moans, he started thrusting in and out of you, leaning forward to get a better angle.

"Oh Jesus Ch…Christ, Y/N…You're so f…fucking tight…"

You arched your back further, pushing back into him, the sudden contact with your g-spot making you cry out into the pillow. You could hear Jon chuckle through a heaved breath as he started fucking into you at a medium pace, moaning desperately as he did so. It was like his cock had been sucked up into a black hole, never to escape.

"Y-oh fuck…You okay, baby?"

You nodded, lightly grinding against him, making him grab you tighter and go deeper.

"Oh god, yes…so fucking big…" You keened, your eyes glossy from the pleasure.

The line of praise got you trapped in Jon's arms; He had toppled onto you and gripped the sheets on either side of your head.

"Oh ho ho ho, I'll show you big…"

He rammed into you, catching you off guard and causing you both to cry out in pleasure. His hips were like a piston pummeling into you faster as he moaned various praises in your ear. The repeated blows to your g-spot had you whimpering like a slut for him, begging him to use you however he wanted.

"Oh yeah?"

He went even faster, your eyes rolling back into your brain as your buttcheeks clapped violently against his pelvis, his nuts slapping against your clit.

"Oh fuc-oh yeah…! Take it! Take it like a dirty slut…!"

Jon snarled endless dirty talk in your ear as you both came close to your orgasms in a matter of minutes.

"I'm gonna fucking cum inside you so hard…"

Jon buried his face in your neck from behind, biting down on your pulse and gripping your hips with the strength to keep them still, using you however he wanted. With each thrust, the knot in your stomach came closer to unraveling while Jon cried out and held you still. He could already tell you were about to cum by your tightening, trembling walls and your cries becoming more desperate. Jon violently slammed in and out at the speed of light, nearing his orgasm by the tiniest bit. You were so close to releasing all over his cock,

"SHHHHIIITT!!!"

"Oh my god, fuck!!!"

Seeing stars, your eyes rolled back into your head, and your insides twitched rapidly as you came undone, Jon's hot, milky sperm shooting deep inside you while he cried out incoherent praises and loud moans. With each spurt of cum he would thrust hard into you, draining himself in your body. Eventually, he quickly pulled out and collapsed on top of you, his hairy chest moving up and down against your back. Once he completely calmed down, he started feathering kisses along the back of your neck, drawing a cute smile from you while you held his hands.

"You alright?" Jon asked, kissing your shoulder.

You turned yourself around to face him, pulling him up with you to sit on your bed face-to-face.

"I've never been better…"

Jon gave a little toothy smile and pecked your lips, caressing the little marks on your hips.

"Sorry if the dirty talk got a little outta hand…I'm a horny bastard as you well know."

You chuckled and squeezed his hands.

"Oh no, it's fine. I liked it."

Jon smiled and pulled you under your covers, turning off your lamp.

"Let's just lay here the rest of the night…I'm so fuckin' tired."

"Me too…"

Jon pulled you into a big naked bear hug, holding you close to his chest while you caressed his back, pulling him into you.

"I love you, Jon."

"I love you too, Y/N…"

[liquifymyrights]

Working real hard for y'all!

It's already 1416 words!!!

Anyways this is one of my first Wattpad books so when I actually do publish this story please do ignore the grammatical/spelling mistakes. I'll probably go back through and fix them.

This is also my first Tumblr post! So hey you guys! 😝👆

I'll probably make an introduction post later on idk at the moment...

[pasukiyo]

Hey! I really love your Riddle fics :)

Could we maybe get one where reader is in a relationship but has an attraction to Tom that she keeps under wraps? Like she tries to hide her crush on him but gets caught staring at him in class & etc- So he decides to do something about it.

It can be a little angsty too!

Hope it doesn't sound dumb, the idea just randomly came to me and I really like how you write for his character.

THIS CARNAL TETHER

tom riddle x f!ravenclaw!reader word count; 4,695 warnings; cheating!, fingering, smut! notes; vincent welch is not in canon, he is just an oc i made up for this particular fic! summary; you should've been over this crush years ago. but it's hard when tom riddle plagues your every thought and your boyfriend falls flat in the places you just knew tom wouldn't...

 All is quiet in the Ravenclaw common room, save for the scratching of her quill against her parchment and the fire crackling in the hearth in the room’s center. It’s well past curfew and many are already in bed, but she stays awake, lounging on one of the many sofas, her Charms homework in her lap. Moonlight spills into the common room through the many windows and her parchment is illuminated solely by the lamp at her side. 

 Sleep weighs heavily on her eyelids and she pauses her scribbling to dig her knuckles into them, mouth parting to make way for a yawn. She stretches out her weary muscles, rolling her neck around in her shoulders just as footsteps permeate the once silent common room and she blinks through her tired vision as Vincent Welch marches towards her, a scowl twisting his lips. 

 She raises an eyebrow as he plops down onto the space on the sofa beside her with a huff, lolling his head back until it hits the top of the seat. His eyes flutter closed and she grants him this small moment of peace until her curiosity can no longer be tamed. 

 “Is everything alright?” She asks and he sighs, threading his fingers through his locks of golden brown, pushing them away from his face. He doesn’t reply at first, but his lids peel back open and he locks his fingers over his stomach, blinking up at the stars glimmering on the ceiling. 

 “That damn Tom Riddle is going to be the death of me,” Vincent mutters, his clipped tone dripping with venom. She stiffens at the name and clears her throat, carefully placing her quill down onto the parchment in her lap. “Oh,” she simply says, casting her gaze down to the floor, unable to meet her boyfriend’s eye. 

 She can feel Vincent hastily move beside her and she wrings her hands together, willing the blood biting at her cheeks to dwindle. 

 “Ran into him earlier in the prefects’ bathroom and do you know what he said?” He asks and she presses her lips together, humming, prompting him to continue. “He thinks that I am not adequate enough to be a prefect. He thinks Dippet made a mistake in giving me the title,” Vincent scoffs and she can see the shaking of his head through her periphery. 

 Still, she does not yet turn to fully see him. 

 “I think the mistake Dippet made was making him Head Boy,” Vincent continues, leaning back into the sofa again. “It certainly didn’t aid in reducing his ego, don’t you agree?”

 She tries, really tries, to not let visions, even thoughts of Tom Riddle into her head, especially not with Vincent sitting right beside her. It’s entirely inappropriate, as well as it is unethical to think of another man when already committed to another. 

 And yet, she still cannot help the way her heart skips a beat when she thinks of the Head Boy like she’s a silly little first-year again, giddy and enthralled with her first crush. She’s crossed this bridge many times before but still, she teeters in the middle because no matter how hard she tries to continue pushing forward, to finally forget Tom once and for all, there’s still a part of her that desires to look back, to run back, even. 

 And how foolish this crush has made her, since Tom never so much as acknowledges her. In all her seven years at Hogwarts, she could only picture a handful of times where Tom has so much as glanced her way, and still, she finds herself plagued by wicked thoughts of betraying Vincent, of sullying whatever reputation she may or may not have had to indulge herself in these fantasies. 

 She feels sweat collect on her hairline and suddenly, everything is too much. The fire crackling in the hearth is too much, the velvet cushions of the sofa is too much, Vincent’s presence at her side is too much, these nefarious thoughts of Tom Riddle are too much, and all she really longs for is her bed, for sleep to overcome her so that she may escape her own mind for even just a moment. 

 She suddenly rises from her seat, clumsily hugging her parchment to her chest and Vincent stares up at her curiously, a hint of concern in the mossy green of his eyes. “Are you alright?” He asks and she notices his hand rise, reaching for hers and she moves away, albeit non-discreetly. 

 “I’m going to bed,” she announces and she has to swallow the lump in her throat, taking in a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m just… feeling really tired,” she murmurs, which isn’t exactly a lie. “I’ve been working on this for a while, I think it’s starting to make my head ache a bit,” she adds, breathing an awkward laugh. 

 Vincent blinks, his lips twisting in pity and he reaches for her hand again, grabbing it before she’s able to step away again. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t think he notices as he stands, leaning in to press a chaste peck to her lips. 

 “I hope you didn’t stay up for me,” he mutters, a guilty look creeping upon his face as his thumb soothes over the back of her hand. 

 She didn’t, but she appreciates that sentiment all the same. 

 She nods and forces a tight-lipped grin, ineptly pulling away from him and backing away. 

 “No, no, I just… well…” she trails off, cursing herself beneath her breath for being so ungraceful with her escape. “…well. Goodnight!”

 She hastily turns, making her way towards the staircase and not picking up her pace until she’s certain she’s out of his sight. 

 Needless to say, she’s still plagued with thoughts of Tom Riddle when she wakes the following morning. She feels awful for it and it even makes her feel sick to her stomach, so much that she skips breakfast altogether. She hurriedly scribbles down the rest of the answers to her Charms homework before she breaks for class, although the entire walk makes her feel even worse, considering this is a class she knows Tom Riddle will be in. 

 Her heart pounds against her chest as she climbs the steps down, leading to the Charms classroom. The majority of the class has already arrived, but she keeps her head ducked as she makes her way towards her seat, for she knows Tom Riddle is just on the other side of the room. Vincent sits next to her and he grins at her arrival, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek as he bids her good morning. 

 Her heart should flutter, her stomach should be doing somersaults, she should want to kiss him back. But her body was reacting to all the wrong reasons— because she could see Tom Riddle just from the top of her vision. Her heart should beat for Vincent, her stomach should do flips for Vincent, she should want to kiss Vincent. 

 The warmth in her cheeks should be for Vincent, but instead, they warm for the boy who does not care for her, for a boy who has never even blinked twice at her. 

 “Morning,” she replies, trying to smile but turning away before he realizes she’s not. The professor enters and she’s saved from further conversation with Vincent for the time being but still, she fights a battle to keep her eyes away from Tom. 

 She tries, she really does. But it’s so hard when she envisions the pinkness of his lips, the dark, inviting obsidian irises that seem to absorb the pupils in his eyes, the stony expression that seems to always be on his face, the one where his brows are knit and his jaw is set. It’s hard when she thinks of his hands and how his fingers look curled around his quill, how they move when he writes, how the veins on the back of them protrude when he stretches them a certain way. 

 Surely one look would not hurt, right?

 Just a swift glance, a fleet of the eyes, nothing more. Her gaze would not linger, only graze, and it would be for only the smallest of seconds, so nobody would notice. 

 Even as she tries rationalizing it, a small voice in the back of her mind protests, reminding her it is unwise, foolish even. She pushes the thought away and blinks up across the room to where Tom Riddle sits anyways, and she’s mesmerized. 

 He’s completely focused on the professor, transfixed on whatever lesson he was currently teaching (she hadn’t been paying attention, so she wouldn’t now.) His hands are just as she imagined them moments before— his fingers are wrapped around his quill, veins jutting from the skin on the back of his hand. 

 His lips are as pink as she remembers them, although they glisten now, as if he’d been swiping his tongue between them. And his eyes— they are as black as night, as bewitching as any spell in the book. She stares at them now and wonders how lost she might get in them, when—

 “Ahem.”

 She blinks herself out of her trance and finds that her professor now stands before her, a brow raised expectantly. 

 “Yes, Professor?” Her voice is small with embarrassment and the evidence comes in the form of blood biting her cheeks as she sinks down into her seat. “Your homework?” The professor asks and she clears her throat, dipping her chin as she rummages through her bag, fishing out the piece of parchment. “I apologize,” she says, handing over the scroll. The professor simply huffs, stalking away. 

 When he moves, she finds that Tom Riddle’s eyes are set on her, and those pink lips that were so tightly pressed in a firm, thin line before were now quirked to one side. His eyes, dark as they are, illuminate with something she can’t quite place— curiosity? Amusement? Humor?

 No matter the case, mortification seeps through her skin and she sinks further down into her seat. She feels Vincent lean into her shoulder, his breath fanning over her ear. 

 “Are you alright?” He asks in a whisper and she grumbles, pressing her lips together as she avoids looking across the room at Tom altogether. She settles on the wooden desktop before her and she reaches out to fiddle with the feather of her quill. “I’m fine,” she clips. “Just tired.”

 Vincent doesn’t attempt to question her further, more due to the fact that the professor was talking again rather than because of her behavior. She tries to still the beating of her heart as images of Tom looking at her flood her mind— it was driving her mental that she couldn’t quite decipher what that gleam in his eyes meant. 

 It was all she could ponder, and she was grateful that class ended before the professor had a chance to call her out again. 

 Vincent speaks beside her but she doesn’t hear a single thing he says as she swiftly gathers her things, tossing the strap of her bag over her shoulder, making her hasty exit. She cannot be in a room with Tom Riddle any longer— the mere presence of him had her acting foolish. 

 She makes a sharp right as soon as she leaves the classroom and begins her descent down the short staircase there, but she freezes where she stands almost as soon as she rounds the corner. 

 Tom Riddle lurks in the shadows of the staircase, arms crossed over his chest, back pressed to the wall. She presses her lips harder together to stifle any sounds that may emit as she turns, fully prepared to walk back up the stairs and find another route to her next class. 

 That is, until he speaks.

 Her name drips like oil from his lips and she feels like she’s been set ablaze. She’s never heard him say her name before, never even heard him fully acknowledge her before. It’s like a symphony and a cacophony to her ears all the same and she’s uncertain whether her heart skips beats out of fear or in delight. 

 Her mouth opens and closes and she feels stuck to the very ground she stands on as words try but inevitably fail to escape from her lips. She settles on shakily saying, “Tom,” feeling her very bones rattle as if just speaking his name caused some sort of internal earthquake. 

 Her arms drop to her sides and she brings her hands together to thread her fingers through one another. Tom stalks closer and the lingering fear in the back of her head that someone— that Vincent— could see them now has her shaking, but she’s incapable of moving. So, she allows him to draw near, even if it feels like with every step he takes, she comes closer to bursting. 

 “Is everything alright?” He asks, his voice dropping one sultry octave, and she thinks to herself if she had a galleon for every time someone has asked her the very question over the past twenty-four hours, she would be rich. 

 Her throat constricts around words she tries to speak and her mouth suddenly feels like a desert, so she settles on nodding her head in reply. Tom Riddle clicks his tongue as he finally comes close enough that he towers over her, like the moon in an eclipse. She tries to still the quivering of her jaw, but she’s certain her efforts come to no fruition, for those eyes as black as coal scour her face, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement. 

 “You seemed awfully distracted in class today,” he continues, speaking so matter-of-factly, she almost forgets she’s being interrogated. “It is unlike you, you know. To be so… sidetracked.”

 Her chest begins to rise and fall as she tries to will herself to breathe, and words muster on the tip of her tongue. This time, she finally speaks. 

 “Forgive me, Tom,” she says as steadily as she can manage. “But I fail to see how my performance in class today is any of your concern.”

 She’s just as surprised at herself as he is when she says it. His brows raise ever so slightly and she thinks: this could be her chance to escape, to rush down the last remaining steps and be rid of the nightmare. She makes her attempt to step away from him and she even manages to make it past him before a hand clasps around her wrist, his grip so tight, she’s nearly knocked to her bum. 

 “I don’t think that’s any way to speak to someone who is showing you concern,” he practically hisses, and his words feel like thorns slicing into her skin. “Or your superior, may I remind you.”

 She rolls her lips together and makes a feeble attempt to break away from his grip, but to no avail. “Forgive me, Tom,” she basically pleads, rounding her eyes in what she hopes is an expression soft enough, he’d spare some mercy on her. “I’m just… I’m just tired, is all.”

 “Tired?” He repeats and she nods. The corner of his lips curve, “yes, I suppose it must be exhausting trying not to think about me when your boyfriend is around, hm?”

 Weaves of horror thread through her cheeks like spider silk at the creeping realization that Tom Riddle knows she’s been staring at him, that she’s been plagued by thoughts of him. She isn’t sure how he knows of course, but at that moment, the answer didn’t matter. All she cares about now is fleeing, to find a moment alone where she can collect herself. 

 She breaks free from his grip at last and breaks down the rest of the stairs, turning the corner into the girls’ restroom, kneeling over to chase air back into her lungs once she’s alone. She feels impossibly hot, as if she were a volcano close to eruption. 

 After more than a few minutes have passed, she finally believes she can breathe, that she’s collected, that she’s calm, cool. She’s entirely late for Transfiguration, but Professor Dumbledore adores her; it shouldn’t be a problem if she’s a little tardy. She takes a deep breath as she approaches one of the bathroom mirrors, switching on the faucet and leaning over the sink, cupping water into her hands to splash them onto her cheeks. The cool water sends shivers slithering down her spine but it is refreshing— she feels better. 

 All that’s left to do now is leave and never run into Tom Riddle again. Simple. Easy. 

 She stands and wipes at her face with the sleeves of her robe, switching off the faucet and when she opens her eyes, she finds that she is no longer alone. 

 Tom Riddle stands behind her figure in the mirror and with a gasp, she turns, backing into the sink. She’s not sure whether to cry or run away or just let her desire take over her now, but what’s for certain is that all the work she made to calm herself has completely flown out the window. 

 “You’re so easy to read, you know,” he speaks as if they never stopped talking, slyly slithering back into conversation with great facility. Purely true snakelike fashion. “I always thought you Ravenclaws were supposed to be clever, but that boyfriend of yours is as dim as they come.”

 Tom stalks closer and again, she’s unable to move, left to simply watch as he caves in on her, his hands on either side of the sink she’s backed up into, caging her. In a matter of seconds, she’s whisked into his game of cat and mouse, prey and predator. The only problem is, she’s not sure if she wants to run. 

 Not when he’s so close she can smell him, that she can feel his breath on her face, his arms brush against hers, his legs subtly weaving their way between hers. 

 “How he cannot see that you do not desire him the way you desire this…” Either of their gazes drop to her lap as Tom’s fingers slither up her knee where her robe parts, the tips pushing her skirt up and up until his hand rests on the soft, pillowy flesh of her thigh. 

 Gooseflesh creeps down her arms, all the way down to her legs as she tries to comprehend that this is reality and she is not dreaming. Her bottom lip quivers and that irritating flutter in her heart is back, inspiring a tingle low in her belly. 

 “…how he cannot see that he’s not enough for you, that what you want is risk, is beyond me,” he whispers near her ear and his hand finds her center, a ghostly touch above her panties and she gasps, instinctively locking her fingers around his wrist. Her eyes find his and for a moment the world stills and there is no more Hogwarts, no more girls’ bathroom, no more classes and homework and professors, and no more Vincent. 

 Her world is solely Tom Riddle, a sea of oblivion she loses herself endlessly in. She’s sucked into his abyss and she is forever falling, forever damned to be lost in his void. But there is a rush that comes with being tethered to Tom Riddle in this twisted, carnal bind. There is a certain warmth that draws her in, that makes her feel at ease, like a moth to a flame. 

 She realizes that perhaps he is right. Being with Vincent was always too safe, too simple, too plain. Vincent is just too good, too docile, too nice. Tom Riddle may seem duteous on the outside, yes, but he is also authoritative, dominant. There’s something so appealing about risk, about danger. 

 Even just being here alone with Tom Riddle in the girls’ bathroom was more of a risk than Vincent ever even dreamed of taking. The faster the realization that she isn’t satisfied with Vincent creeps in, the more she realizes that Tom was even better than she initially imagined. The ache deep in her belly blossoms and she glances down to his lips before peering back up into that endless ocean of obsidian in his eyes. 

 “It seems that you’re only now coming to terms with what you want,” he speaks again and she swears his face is closer now to hers than it was before. She holds her breath, waiting for him to continue. “You see it now, don’t you? That you want this, that you’ve been craving this.”

 The hand on her underwear begins to move again and she exhales, gasping for breath as his fingertips reach the waistband, slowly inching beneath the fabric. His brows draw together and his fingertips halt just above her mound and it feels like her body is kicking, screaming for him to keep going. Her hips squirm but he holds them down with his free hand, never once breaking their gaze. 

 “I think I’d like to hear you say it,” he says, and her brows knit. She shakes her head, “what?” She sputters, trying to subtly rock her hips again but to no avail. His grip tightens on her flesh and she whimpers as he leans closer until their noses almost touch. His gaze darkens and suddenly, she’s under his trance, frozen by the crease between his brows. 

 “Say that you want me,” he whispers and his voice drips with derision, pulling her deeper into the murky waters of his black ocean, further into submission. “Then you can have what you so desire.”

 Fear stops her heart, but her libido resuscitates it. 

 Her mouth parts and she closes it again, recollecting herself before she tries again. 

 “I…” her voice is unsteady and she swallows, starting again. “…I want this. I want you, Tom.”

 Tom inhales sharply and for a moment, all is still again. She wonders if maybe he’s changed his mind, if he doesn’t actually want to do this, if the thought suddenly disgusts him, even. She feels so hot, like she could melt into a puddle of magma any moment now. She waits though, because how could she walk away now?

 The world is still one moment and it’s spinning out of control the next. 

 Tom Riddle’s lips crash into hers like lightning striking the earth and her ground rocks, but his hand finds the side of her neck and she’s stable again. Their tongues are in a war that Tom will eventually win, and when he does, she’s malleable. The hand partly inside her underwear sinks further down until the pads of his fingers trace a stripe from her nub to her core and back up, a relentless pattern that leaves her mind spinning. 

 She whimpers against his mouth as he finds her clit again, his fingers rubbing small, tight circles against it as if to vex her. She lolls her head back to the mirror as his mouth breaks away from hers to venture lower towards her neck. She pants as he finds a delicate patch of skin, suckling it between his teeth as he applies more pressure to her aching center. Her legs twitch and her knees begin to wobble, prompting Tom to use his unoccupied hand to lift her up onto the sink so that she now sits. 

 She yelps and clasps a hand over her mouth to suppress any louder noises that may emit when he sinks his teeth into her neck, pulling away to admire his work. His fingers swirl around her clit before trailing down to her sopping cunt, using his middle and forefinger to work her open with a scissoring motion. 

 Her eyelids flutter close and she’s seeing stars, much like the ones on the ceiling of the Ravenclaw common room. She imagines she is one of those stars, a little ball of gas that burns brighter and brighter with each pump of his fingers, each kiss his lips grace upon her skin. 

 Tom swirls his tongue over the tender mark on her neck, already bruising, no doubt. His mouth leaves trails of kisses all the way up her chin to her mouth again, his free hand making its way to the back of her head to fist a handful of her hair, and she opens her eyes again. She feels small beneath his gaze, but it’s not because of how he stares at her, it’s how he stares into her, like he’s a spider crawling into her mind, a vine twisting around her brain. 

 He’s got her completely under his control between his gaze and his fingers pumping inside of her and she’s never once been so utterly someone’s before until this moment. A line forms between her brows as he works a third finger into the mix and it feels like he’s practically digging her orgasm out of her. 

 She pants and reaches out for him, for anything on his body she can hold onto.  She settles for his elbow, the one on the same arm as the hand he has woven through her hair, her opposite hand falling to the side of the sink, her fingernails scratching the white surface. 

 “Tom, I’m…” she pants as he curls his fingers inside of her, using the pad of his thumb to circle her clit again. Her back is arching off of the mirror and somewhere in the back of her mind, she thanks Merlin that miraculously, nobody has walked into the bathroom yet. “…I’m going to… I’m…!”

 “Do it,” he encourages beside her ear, his breath like smoke on her skin. “Poor things’ been so neglected, hasn’t been fucked enough. You must’ve been waiting so long for me to come save you and give you an orgasm, hm?”

 She nods, feeling the salty bite of tears in her eyes. It’s all simply too much, being stuffed full of Tom’s fingers, his thumb on her clit, his fingers in her hair, his body so close to hers, his voice telling her such wicked things. To think that none of this would’ve happened if she hadn’t been caught staring at him earlier. That it took her dating someone whom Tom loathes such as Vincent to get her where she is now. 

 “Then do it,” he hisses again. “Come all over my fingers. Show me how neglected this poor cunt has been.”

 Such a dirty thing for him to say and yet, it’s exactly what she needs to send her over the edge. His fingers hook inside of her heat and her body spasms when she comes undone, her toes curling while her lips fall in a silent scream. Tom gathers her mouth to seal them in a kiss once more as she rides her orgasm out on his fingers, and she moans against his lips, allowing his tongue to swirl over hers. 

 It feels like she’s been falling forever, but Tom eventually pulls his fingers away, eyes spilling into hers as he brings them to his lips. She feels like she could have another orgasm just watching him taste her on his fingers. 

 She reaches forward to cup the back of his head, pulling his mouth down onto hers, tasting a mix of his spit and her cum on his lips. It’s all very obscene, but it makes it all the more gratifying all the same. 

 Tom eventually pulls away, his lips prettily pink and glistening with spit, and he backs away, dusting off his robes. She feels the crease form in her forehead as he begins making for the door and she tilts her head, mustering the energy to call after him. 

 “Where are you going?” She asks and he turns only to peer over his shoulder. She can see his raised eyebrow and she suddenly feels stupid for asking the question. “To class,” he replies and then, the corner of his mouth curls into a nefarious grin. It’s enough to even send shivers slithering down her spine— how wicked he looks, grinning like a devil with remnants of her release on his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you and your boyfriend in Defense Against the Dark Arts later.”

a/n; whew. i'm honestly surprised i got this one done LMFAO. anyways, THIS REQUEST HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY INBOX FOR MOST LIKELY OVER A YEAR AND I'M SO SORRY TO THE ANON FOR TAKING SO LONG TO WRITE THIS 😭 i still hope that if you are reading, you enjoy it! i hope this is angsty enough 😭

anyways, i hope everyone who reads this enjoys it! i absolutely love writing for tom and this is the most fun i've had writing for him since probably wrapped around your finger and its sequel :)

🪄 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! 🫶

TAGLIST

@your-nanas-house

@sallowsarchives

@michelle-26

@iamthejam

@lyis

[hopelesslys-world]

50 SHADES OF FUCKED UP | CH. 2

TRIGGER WARNINGS!: TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, reader is kind of a bimbo, heavily detailed smut, basically porn, loss of virginity, harsh language, anger issues, stalking, obsession, jealousy, controlling behaviour, DOM-SUB themes, BDSM Expand considered to be portrayed with incorrect/poor etiquette, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse/assault, statutory rape.

Tell me if I missed anything...( As you can see most of the warnings will appear in future chapters. )

I apologize for any grammar mistakes...

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

Y/M/N: Your Middle Name

Y/N/N: Your Nickname

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*𝘾𝙃𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙏𝙄𝘼𝙉'𝙎 𝙋𝙊𝙑*

┅┅

𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐎��𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋. Was all I could focus on as soon as the elevator doors closed and she disappeared.

“Andrea,” I bark as I return to my office. “Get me Welch on the line, now.”

As I sit at my desk and wait for the call.

I look at the paintings on the wall of my office and Miss Y/L/N’s words drift back to me. “Raising the ordinary to extraordinary.” She could so easily have been describing herself.

My phone buzzes. “I have Mr. Welch on the line for you.”

“Put him through.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Welch, I need a background check.”

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•••

Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N

DOB: ( The Month and day you were born ). 1989, Montesano, WA

Address: 1114 SW Green Street, Apartment 7, Haven Heights, Vancouver, WA 98888

Mobile No: 360-959-4352

Social Security No: 987-65-4320

Bank: Wells Fargo Bank, Vancouver, WA:

Acct. No.: 309361: $683.16 balance

Occupation: Undergraduate Student WSU Vancouver College of Arts and Sciences English Major

GPA: 4.0

Prior Education: Montesano Jr. Sr. High School

SAT Score: 2150

Employment: Clayton’s Hardware Store, NW Vancouver Drive, Portland, OR (part-time)

Father: Franklin A. Lambert, DOB: Sept. 1, 1969, Deceased (The day before your birthday), 1989

Mother: Carla May Wilks Adams,

DOB: July 18, 1970

m. Frank Lambert March 1, 1989,

widowed (The day before your birthday), 1989

m. Raymond Y/L/N June 6, 1990,

divorced July 12, 2006

m. Stephen M. Morton Aug. 16, 2006,

divorced Jan. 31, 2007

Current Marriage Situation: m. Bob Adams April 6, 2009

Political Affiliations: None Found

Religious Affiliations: None Found

Sexual Orientation: Not Known

Relationships: None Indicated at Present

•••

I pore over the executive summary for the hundredth time since I received it two days ago, looking for some insight into the enigmatic Miss Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N. I cannot get the damned woman out of my mind, and it’s seriously beginning to piss me off.

This past week, during particularly dull meetings, I’ve found myself replaying the interview in my head. Her fumbling fingers on the recorder, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the lip biting. Yes. The lip biting gets me every time.

And now here I am, parked outside Clayton’s, a mom-and-pop hardware store on the outskirts of Portland where she works.

You’re a fool, Grey. Why are you here?

I knew it would lead to this. All week…I knew I’d have to see her again. I’d known it since she uttered my name in the elevator. I’d tried to resist. I’d waited five days, five tedious days, to see if I’d forget about her. And I don’t do waiting. I hate waiting…for anything.

I’ve never pursued a woman before. The women I’ve had understood what I expected of them. My fear now is that Miss Y/L/N is just too young and that she won’t be interested in what I have to offer.

Will she? Will she even make a good submissive?

I shake my head. So here I am, an ass, sitting in a suburban parking lot in a dreary part of Portland. Her background check has produced nothing remarkable—except the last fact, which has been atthe forefront of my mind.

It’s the reason I’m here.

Why no boyfriend, Miss Y/L/N? Sexual orientation unknown—perhaps she’s gay. I snort, thinking that unlikely. I recall the question she asked during the interview, her acute embarrassment, the way her skin flushed a pale rose…I’ve been suffering from these lascivious thoughts since I met her.

That’s why you’re here. I’m itching to see her again—those eyes have haunted me, even in my dreams.

I haven’t mentioned her to Flynn, and I’m glad because I’m now behaving like a stalker. Perhaps I should let him know. No. I don’t want him hounding me about his latest solution-based-therapy shit.

I just need a distraction, and right now the only distraction I want is the one working as a salesclerk in a hardware store.

You’ve come all this way.

Let’s see if little Miss Y/L/N is as appealing as I remember.

Showtime, Grey.

A bell chimes a flat electronic note as I walk into the store. It’s much bigger than it looks from the outside, and although it’s almost lunchtime the place is quiet, for a Saturday. There are aisles and aisles of the usual junk you’d expect.

I’d forgotten the possibilities that a hardware store could present to someone like me. I mainly shop online for my needs, but while I’m here, maybe I’ll stock up on a few items: Velcro, split rings—Yeah. I’ll find the delectable Miss Y/L/N and have some fun.

It takes me all of three seconds to spot her. She’s hunched over the counter, staring intently at a computer screen and picking at her lunch—a bagel. Absentmindedly, she wipes a crumb from the corner of her lips and into her mouth and sucks on her finger.

My cock twitches in response.

What am I, fourteen? My body’s reaction is irritating. Maybe this will stop if I fetter, fuck, and flog her…and not necessarily in that order. Yeah. That’s what I need.

She is thoroughly absorbed by her task, and it gives me an opportunity to study her. Salacious thoughts aside, she’s attractive, seriously attractive. I’ve remembered her well.

She looks up and freezes. It’s as unnerving as the first time I met her. She pins me with a discerning stare—shocked, I think—and I don’t know if this is a good response or a bad response.

“Miss Y/L/N. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Mr. Grey,” she says, breathy and flustered. Ah, a good response.

“I was in the area. I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” A real pleasure.

She’s dressed in a tight T-shirt and pants, kind of disappointing, earlier this week all she wore was flattering mini skirts and sweaters.

She’s all long legs, narrow waist, and perfect tits. Her lips are still parted in surprise, and I have to resist the urge to tip her chin up and close her mouth.

I’ve flown from Seattle just to see you, and the way you look right now, it was really worth the journey.

“Y/N. My name’s Y/N. What can I help you with, Mr. Grey?” She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders like she did in the interview, and gives me a fake smile that I’m sure she reserves for customers.

Game on, Miss Y/L/N. “There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties.” My request catches her off guard; she looks stunned.

Oh, this is going to be fun. You’d be amazed what I can do with a few cable ties, baby.

“We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” she says, finding her voice.

“Please. Lead the way.”

She steps out from behind the counter and gestures toward one of the aisles. She’s wearing Converse shoes.

Idly I wonder what she’d look like in skyscraper heels. Louboutins…nothing but Louboutins.

“They’re with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” Her voice wavers and she blushes…

She is affected by me. Hope blooms in my chest. She’s not gay, then. I smirk.

“After you.” I hold my hand out for her to lead the way. Letting her walk ahead gives me the space and time to admire her fantastic ass. Her long, thick hair keeps time like a metronome to the gentle sway of her hips. She really is the whole package: sweet, polite, and beautiful, with all the physical attributes I value in a submissive.

But the million-dollar question is, could she be a submissive? She probably knows nothing of the lifestyle—my lifestyle—but I very much want to introduce her to it. You are getting way ahead of yourself on this deal, Grey.

“Are you in Portland on business?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts. Her voice is high; she’s feigning disinterest. It makes me want to laugh. Women rarely make me laugh.

“I was visiting the WSU farming division. It’s based in Vancouver,” I lie. Actually, I’m here to see you, Miss Y/L/N.

Her face falls, and I feel like a shit.

“I’m currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science.” That, at least, is true.

“All part of your feed-the-world plan?” She arches a brow, amused.

“Something like that,” I mutter. Is she laughing at me? Oh, I’d love to put a stop to that if she is.

But how to start? Maybe with dinner, rather than the usual interview…now, that would be novel: taking a prospect out to dinner.

We arrive at the cable ties, which are arranged in an assortment of lengths and colors. Absentmindedly, my fingers trace over the packets. I could just ask her out for dinner. Like on a date?

Would she accept? When I glance at her she’s examining her knotted fingers. She can’t look at me… this is promising. I select the longer ties. They are more flexible, after all, as they can accommodate two ankles and two wrists at once.

“These will do.”

“Is there anything else?” she says quickly—either she’s being super-attentive or she wants to get me out of the store, I don’t know which.

“I’d like some masking tape.”

“Are you redecorating?”

“No, not redecorating.” Oh, if you only knew…

“This way,” she says. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.”

Come on, Grey. You don’t have much time. Engage her in some conversation. “Have you worked here long?” Of course, I already know the answer. Unlike some people, I do my research. For some reason she’s embarrassed.

Fuck, this girl is shy. I don’t have a hope in hell. She turns quickly andwalks down the aisle toward the section labeled Decorating. I follow her eagerly, like a puppy.

“Four years,” she mumbles as we reach the masking tape. She bends down and grasps two rolls, each a different width.

“I’ll take that one.” The wider tape is much more effective as a gag. As she passes it to me, the tips of our fingers touch, briefly. It resonates in my groin. Damn!

She pales. “Anything else?” Her voice is soft and husky.

I’m having the same effect on her that she has on me. Maybe… “Some rope, I think.”

“This way.” She scoots up the aisle, giving me another chance to appreciate her fine ass.

“What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope…twine…cable cord…”

Shit—stop. I groan inwardly, trying to chase away the image of her suspended from the ceiling in my playroom. “I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope, please.” It’s coarser and chafes more if you struggle against it…my rope of choice.

A tremor runs through her fingers, but she measures out five yards like a pro. Pulling a utility knife from her right pocket, she cuts the rope in one swift gesture, coils it neatly, and ties it off with a slipknot. Impressive.

“Were you a Girl Scout?”

“Organized group activities aren’t really my thing, Mr. Grey.”

“What is your thing, Y/N?” Her pupils dilate as I stare.

Yes!

“Books,” she answers.

“What kind of books?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.”

British literature? The Brontës and Austen, I bet. All those romantic hearts-and-flowers types.

That’s not good.

“Anything else you need?”

“I don’t know. What else would you recommend?” I want to see her reaction.

“For a do-it-yourselfer?” she asks, surprised.

I want to hoot with laughter. Oh, baby, DIY is not my thing. I nod, stifling my mirth. Her eyes flick down my body and I tense. She’s checking me out!

“Coveralls,” she blurts out.

It’s the most unexpected thing I’ve heard her say since the “Are you gay?” question.

“You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing.” She gestures to my jeans.

I can’t resist. “I could always take them off.”

“Um.” She flushes beet red and stares down.

I put her out of her misery. “I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing.”

Without a word, she turns and walks briskly up the aisle, and I follow in her enticing wake. “Do you need anything else?” she says, sounding breathless as she hands me a pair of blue coveralls. She’s mortified, eyes still cast down. Christ, she does things to me.

“How’s the article coming along?” I ask, in the hope she might relax a little.

She looks up and gives me a brief relieved smile.

Finally.

“I’m not writing it, Bella is. Miss Clark. My roommate, she’s the writer. She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the newspaper, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.”

It’s the longest sentence she’s uttered since we first met, and she’s talking about someone else, not herself. Interesting.

Before I can comment, she adds, “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.”

The tenacious Miss Clark wants photographs. Publicity stills, eh? I can do that. It will allow me to spend time with the delectable Miss Y/L/N.

“What sort of photographs does she want?”

She gazes at me for a moment, then shakes her head, perplexed, not knowing what to say.

“Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps…” I can stay in Portland. Work from a hotel. A room at The Heathman, perhaps. I’ll need Taylor to come down, bring my laptop and some clothes. Or Elliot —unless he’s screwing around, which is his usual thing to do over the weekend.

“You’d be willing to do a photo shoot?” She cannot contain her surprise.

I give her a brief nod. Yeah, I want to spend more time with you… Steady, Grey.

“Bella will be delighted—if we can find a photographer.” She smiles and her face lights up like a cloudless dawn. She’s breathtaking.

“Let me know about tomorrow.” I pull my wallet from my jeans. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.” And if she doesn’t, I’ll head on back to Seattle and forget about this stupid venture.

The thought depresses me.

“Okay.” She continues to grin.

“Y/N!” We both turn as a young man dressed in casual designer gear appears at the far end of the aisle. His eyes are all over Miss Y/N Y/L/N. Who the hell is this prick?

“Er, excuse me for a moment, Mr. Grey.” She walks toward him, and the asshole engulfs her in a gorilla-like hug. My blood runs cold. It’s a primal response.

Get your fucking paws off her.

I fist my hands when she returns his hug.

They fall into a whispered conversation. Maybe Welch’s facts were wrong. Maybe this guy is her boyfriend. He looks the right age, and he can’t take his greedy little eyes off her. He holds her for a moment at arm’s length, examining her, then stands with his arm resting on her shoulder. It seems like a casual gesture, but I know he’s staking a claim and telling me to back off. She seems embarrassed, shifting from foot to foot.

Shit. I should go. I’ve overplayed my hand. She’s with this guy.

Then she says something else to him and moves out of his reach, touching his arm, not his hand, shrugging him off. It’s clear they aren’t close.

Good.

“Er…Paul, this is Christian Grey. Mr. Grey, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place.”

She gives me an odd look that I don’t understand and continues, “I’ve known Paul ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Princeton, where he’s studying business administration.” She’s babbling, giving me a long explanation and telling me they’re not together, I think.

The boss’s brother, not a boyfriend. I’m relieved, but the extent of the relief I feel is unexpected, and it makes me frown. This woman has really gotten under my skin.

“Mr. Clayton.” My tone is deliberately clipped.

“Mr. Grey.” His handshake is limp, like his hair. Asshole. “Wait up—not the Christian Grey? Of Grey Enterprises Holdings?”

Yeah, that’s me, you prick.

In a heartbeat I watch him morph from territorial to obsequious.

“Wow—is there anything I can get you?”

“Y/N has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very attentive.” Now fuck off.

“Cool,” he gushes, all white teeth and deferential. “Catch you later, Y/N/N.”

“Sure, Paul,” she says, and he ambles off to the back of the store. I watch him disappear.

“Anything else, Mr. Grey?”

“Just these items,” I mutter. Shit, I’m out of time, and I still don’t know if I’m going to see her again. I have to know whether there’s a hope in hell she might consider what I have in mind.

How can I ask her? Am I ready to take on a submissive who knows nothing? She’s going to need substantial training. Closing my eyes, I imagine the interesting possibilities this presents…getting there is going to be half the fun. Will she even be up for this? Or do I have it all wrong?

She walks back to the cashier’s counter and rings up my purchases, all the while keeping her eyes on the register.

Look at me, damn it! I want to see her face again and gauge what she’s thinking.

Finally she raises her head. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.”

Is that all?

“Would you like a bag?” she asks, as I pass her my AmEx.

“Please, Y/N.” Her name—a beautiful name for a beautiful girl—flows smoothly over my tongue.

She packs the items briskly. This is it. I have to go.

“You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?”

She nods as she hands back my charge card.

“Good. Until tomorrow, perhaps.” I can’t just leave.

I have to let her know I’m interested.

“Oh— and Y/N I’m glad Miss Clark couldn’t do the interview.” She looks surprised and flattered. This is good. I sling the bag over my shoulder and exit the store.

Yes, against my better judgment, I want her. Now I have to wait…fucking wait…again. Utilizing willpower that would make Elena proud, I keep my eyes ahead as I take my cell out of my pocket and climb into the rental car. I’m deliberately not looking back at her. I’m not. I’m not. My eyes flick to the rearview mirror, where I can see the shop door, but all I see is the quaint storefront. She’s not in the window, staring out at me.

It’s disappointing.

I press 1 on speed dial and Taylor answers before the phone has a chance to ring.

“Mr. Grey,” he says.

“Make reservations at The Heathman; I’m staying in Portland this weekend, and can you bring down the SUV, my computer, and the paperwork beneath it, and a change or two of clothes.”

“Yes, sir. And Charlie Tango?”

“Have Joe move her to PDX.”

“Will do, sir. I’ll be with you in about three and a half hours.”

I hang up and start the car. So I have a few hours in Portland while I wait to see if this girl is interested in me. What to do? Time for a hike, I think. Maybe I can walk this strange hunger out of my system.

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It's been five hours with no phone call from the delectable Miss Y/L/N. What the hell was thinking? I watch the street from the window of my suite at The Heathman. I loathe waiting. I always have.

The weather, now cloudy, held for my hike through Forest Park, but the walk has done nothing to cure my agitation. I’m annoyed at her for not phoning, but mostly I’m angry with myself.

I’m a fool for being here. What a waste of time it’s been chasing this woman. When have I ever chased a woman?

Grey, get a grip.

Sighing, I check my phone once again in the hope that I’ve just missed her call, but there’s nothing. At least Taylor has arrived and I have all my shit. I have Barney’s report on his department’s graphene tests to read and I can work in peace.

Peace? I haven’t known peace since Miss Y/L/N walked into my office.

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When I glance up, dusk has shrouded my suite in gray shadows. The prospect of a night alone again is depressing. While I contemplate what to do my phone vibrates against the polished wood of the desk and an unknown but vaguely familiar number with a Washington area code flashes on the screen.

Suddenly my heart is pumping as if I’ve run ten miles.

Is it her?

I answer.

“Er…Mr. Grey? It’s Y/N Y/L/N.”

My face erupts in a shit-eating grin.

Well, well. A breathy, nervous, soft-spoken Miss Y//L/N. My evening is looking up. “Miss Y/L/N. How nice to hear from you.” I hear her breath hitch and the sound travels directly tomy groin.

Great. I’m affecting her. Like she’s affecting me.

“Um—we’d like to go ahead with the photo shoot for the article. Tomorrow, if that’s okay. Where would be convenient for you, sir?”

In my room. Just you, me, and the cable ties.

“I’m staying at The Heathman in Portland. Shall we say nine thirty tomorrow morning?”

“Okay, we’ll see you there,” she gushes, unable to hide the relief and delight in her voice.

“I look forward to it, Miss Y/L/N” I hang up before she senses my excitement and how pleased I am. Leaning back in my chair, I gaze at the darkening skyline and run both my hands through my hair.

How the hell am I going to close this deal?

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[ series masterlist ]

DON'T BE AFRAID TO SPAM WITH LIKES AND COMMENTS. I WOULD ALSO APPRECIATE IT IF YOU COULD REBLOG THIS POST <3

[bellewintersroe]

Ron Speirs X fem reader smut!

Part 1 - this idea just sprung to mind earlier today. This is set in the Eagles Nest on VE Day, when Easy company and their nurses are celebrating. Ron and the nurse reader don’t really have too much a relationship/ friendship but after some Dutch courage Ron gets a little touchy and a heated exchange ensues. I’m going to make this into a series of Ron Speirs x reader being f*ck buddies and maybe it develops into more but they have to struggle with the problems that come along with that seeing as fraternising in the army is not allowed.

18+ content below the cut, drinking alcohol, sex, foreplay, masturbation, cunnilingus, oral sex, unprotected sex, Ron feeling the reader up… Stay tuned for part 2.

“I don’t think Hitler would mind us staying here very much.” Harry Welch’s words made me giggle out a drunken laughter as I sipped on the bottle of red wine in front of me. Red wine, I hated it, I always had- but with the abundance of it and the desire for celebration, I felt compelled to drink it. It was fair to say I’d got a certain level of drunk that I hadn’t been before. Despite the conversation flowing naturally around the drunk men and nurses, my mind was elsewhere, occupied with the overwhelming emotion of lust for the man sat next to me. Captain Ronald Speirs- my Captain, currently drunk with his own bottle with his thigh pressed against one of mine. The proximity to one another had moved closer only when a few beverages had been drunk, we’d squeezed up originally to fit more men and women on the table we’d taken over in Hitler’s own Eagle’s nest in Berchtesgaden. Before this celebration, Captain Speirs and I hadn’t muttered more than a few words to one another when it wasn’t about our profession. The man was a mystery to me, an extremely handsome, dominating mystery. Truthfully, I’d had my eyes on him for a while, his handsome looks were undeniable, his intimidating stare only made me blush. As one of Easy’s nurses, it was completely inappropriate for me to fantasies about my Captain, but I couldn’t help it. “Sure he wouldn’t.” Now, he was drunk. Super friendly and clearly in a celebrating mood- like us all. His hair was dishevelled and his lips were dampened from remnants of red wine. Red wine, an aphrodisiac, it was either that or just Captain Speirs in general. My eyes wandered, lingering over his rogue appearance, his head turning down to smile back to me.

His eyes were hazy, as were mine, I felt my lips lift in an attempt to give him a flirtatious smile as I felt my heart speeding rapidly. His gaze lingered over me for a few seconds, before falling onto my lap below. I felt the nudge of the back of his hand on the side of my thighs, covered only with the thin, white material. My breath hitched, and the sensation of his hand running over the out to inner of my thigh made me want to moan on my exhale. His lips were ever so lifted in a gentle smile, as were mine. He must’ve heard my soft exhale, keeping his hand lingering on my leg as I fidgeted my legs a little upwards. They tensed and gave me the slightest friction I needed. God, I desired Captain Speirs, his hand being on me only made me crave more. I borderline couldn’t believe I was in this position, but I wasn’t complaining.

My focus was no longer on the conversation, my breathing was a little heavier and the more wine I sipped the more I couldn’t distract myself from the aching I felt growing in my core. My tongue pressed against the inside of my mouth, glancing down as his thumb slid over my thigh, catching on the material slightly and nudging my stocking down just the slightest bit. Fuck. He wanted them off, it was a sign, it had to be. Neither of us were talking, we’d gone quiet, nobody else had noticed, and I liked that. I felt stiffened, upright and rigid as I pushed my chest out slightly, shifting forwards so my arm knocked into his. Confidently, I ran my fingers over his hand, nudging him closer to the inside of my thigh. God, I was throbbing for him, I wandered if he could feel it? Speirs’ hand tightened over my flesh, fingers gripping over my stockings and tugging at them every now and then. Was this him indicating he wanted to fuck me? I hoped it was, I glanced at him through the corner of my eye, and I could see he was doing the same, watching the way my stocking slipped further and further down my leg, exposing the skin under my nursing uniform which had ridden up. In the place of my stocking, was now Ron’s thumb, stroking over my flesh as I took another deep breath in an attempt to cool myself down- metaphorically. I was so horny and gazed I couldn’t think straight. What only made it worse was when I felt Ron shift from besides me and he was readjusting himself in his pants, he was hard. It was so obvious, and big, he’d managed to conceal it a little more, but when I saw he was clearly erect for me I could barely stand the ache any longer. I let out a soft hum as I cleared my throat to conceal it, crossing my right leg over my left as his hand was trapped between my flesh. I think he knew what I was doing, the throbbing and desperation became too much and there wasn’t bough friction, so when his hand began kneading my skin further, I found it so difficult to not moan out his name. Fuck, this was going to happen, we were going to find a room and Captain Speirs was going to fuck me- oh god, I needed him to touch me, in more places than just my leg.

Ron lifted at my stockings, tugging it back up as much as possible as I took another breath, followed by a swig, uncrossing my leg as he smoothed out the material on my stockings, first the outside, and then the inside. That’s when things really became too much, his fingers purposefully ran over the exposed skin above my stockings now, dangerously close to my core. I feared he’d feel the wetness seeping through my underwear, I had no under gown on, and I think he could tell. With a second glance in his direction, his eyes met mine, and then my lips. Say something or this is never going to happen. “I’m going to look around.” I shyly smiled, the excuse coming off as more flirtatious and cheeky than I intended. I hoped he’d caught on, seeing as I snuck away from that table so so slowly, waiting for him to follow me. The bottle of wine came with me as I stumbled down the hall, desperate to find an empty room, far from the ears of Easy Company.

Finally, a separate room, barely attached to the building and looking over the opposite side of Germany. Privacy. I pushed open the door, thankful to see it was empty. With a glimpse behind me, I somewhat expected to see Ron, but he wasn’t there. My face fell flat as I leant against the door, drinking more of the wine before setting it down on the cabinet next to the door. A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I adjusted the skirt of my dress, rearranging my stockings as I traced over where he’d touched. My touch wasn’t as good as his, but it was better than nothing. Leaning against the door again, my fingers traced over the wetness of my underwear. I was so wet, it was uncomfortable, but I desperately ached for satisfaction. I aches for Captain Speirs. Slipping out my white underwear, I left them to one side as my shoes were also kicked off, my fingers running over my clit gently. A shaky exhale escaped my mouth, desperate for more as I pressed two fingers against myself. My head was dropped back and my eyes were closed as I began rubbing myself gently. Imagine it’s Captain Speirs, here on his knees for you with his mouth attached to your pussy. I then flashed my mind back to his hardened cock in his pants, imagining I’d reached over and touched him, gripping him through his pants. Fuck, the thought of him inside me was so good. My confidence was boosted from the alcohol, inhibitions lowered as I moaned out through my closed, pouted lips. Ron… Ron, my mind repeated. “Ron.” I panted out loud, whining to myself as I gained a quicker speed over my aching pussy. It hurt so bad how much I needed release, my whole body was warm, legs like jelly as I slumped slightly against the door.

What I didn’t expect was the pushing on the handle. My eyes widened as I stepped forwards, stunned when I realised I hadn’t locked the door. Fuck. It happened too quick, and before I knew it Captain Speirs was stood right there. He had a darkened look in his eyes, jaw tense and he eyed over me. My bottom lip was agape and I gripped the hem of my dress nervously. “Do you wanna show me what you were doing?” He then breathlessly spoke, voice low as he closed and locked the door, the first words we’d spoken to one another all evening. A closed mouth moan escaped me as his thumb and finger rested under my chin, staring into my eyes and shaking his head with a soft expression. “You don’t know what you do to me.” With a sharp inhale, he pushed himself forwards, lips pressing against mine as there was a quick stumble to regain our balance, his hand gripping over the back of my head, the other pulling on my waist. You don’t know what you do to me- his words replayed in my mind, smiling against the kiss as I placed one hand on the back of his head, the other on the firm bicep of his arm.

The kiss was rough, passionate, everything I fantasised about, soon I was panting against his lips, desperate for more from my Captain. “Show me what you were doing.” He borderline begged, voice breathless as one hand moved down to grip his own bulge. “Captain Speirs-“ I panted out, scanning over his eyes. “Please.” He muttered, the vulnerability and desperation in his voice egging me on to show him exactly what I was doing before. My hand slipped under my dress as he quickly shifted both his hands to hold my face, kissing me quickly before watching me pleasure myself under his hold. Fuck, this felt so intimate and raw. He was breathing harshly, fanning over my face as his eyes fixated on my hand, forehead resting against mine as he bent down slightly to reach my level. My head dropped back slightly, comfortable in his hold as I let out a soft moan. I watched as Ron’s eyes closed, stepping closer to me as the movement of my hand against myself brushed again and again against his hardened cock. Swaying from the alcohol, we fell back into the door and cupboard once again, Captain Speirs moving down to kiss me as my movement quickened against myself. “Sir.” I panted out. “Yeah, keep going.” He hushed against my mouth, licking over my lips seductively before he pushed it into my mouth. I moaned into the deepening kiss, louder now as one of his hands moved between us, onto his crotch and gripped himself desperately. Oh god, I never thought I’d be able to see my Captain like this and it was too good. Too fucking good. His hand held my head up, making direct eye contact with me as his brows furrowed, jaw falling the slightest bit slack as I moved up to kiss his plump lips. His hand now, swatted mine away from myself, taking over my movements as I almost cried out at the sensation of his rough fingers on my clit. “Oh my god.” I gripped him close for support, fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt. His movements increased, spreading my wetness around my pussy as he groaned into the side of my ear almost desperately. “Feels so good.” I choked out, “yeah? Let me hear you.” He dirtily spoke, other hand moving down to clutch at my ass, whilst his finger moved down to push inside my tight hole. I hadn’t been touched by anybody in so long, not even myself, so I was a little rusty, but I was so wet that I didn’t think I would even notice. “Oh god.” I vocally whined out, mouth open as I closed my eyes, resting my head back on the wall behind me. Ron craned his neck, catching my lips, cheek and jaw once again with his mouth as I bathed in the attention he was giving me. I had to physically hold onto him for support, pulling him closer into me by the shirt as he kissed me deeper and deeper. Everything was so in the moment, I barely had time to think, all I knew was that I wanted this so bad and he was the same.

One handed, Ron was fumbling with the top buttons on my dress, impressively freeing me of my uniform as I slid it down off my body, leaving me in just my bra. That was the next thing to go, Captain Speirs pulled his finger out of me gently and held it up to my lips, pushing it between them as I sucked him clean, staring up to him with a dazed look. “So gorgeous.” He muttered, before trailing his finger over my lips, mesmerised by the sight of me. It was the first moment of somewhat calmness between the two of us, I felt butterflies emerge in my stomach, and I was left panting softly when he dragged his fingers over my shoulders, down past my neck and to unhook my bra. There I was, completely naked in front of my Captain, who I’d listened to orders from for years. I’d watched him from a distance, admired him, I’d been scared of him. Now I was stood completely vulnerable in front of him.

A nervous kind of smile grew on my face as I covered my chest with my arms. Whilst I had no doubt about my body or breast region, I felt a little shy, watching him reach over and take a swig of the bottle before lifting it up to my lips. His eyes roamed over me, the thick liquid passing my lips and down my throat before he attached his lips back onto mine again. For a moment, his hands remained on the smooth of my waist, running them over my bare skin as I sighed into the kiss, feeling him grope over the swell of my tits. Ron had moved down, wine stained lips licking and sucking over the sensitivity of my nipples as I gasped in pleasure. As he knelt down further, I felt as though my previous fantasy was coming to life, watching him kiss over my stomach and hip bones, over my pubic bone and finally over my aching core. I stumbled back again, this time into the cabinet, his lips attached to my clit as he licked and suckled, the wet noises turning me on further as a prolonged moan left my mouth. Finally. It was even better than I expected, the warmth of his mouth felt too good as my hands ran through his hair, fingers tugging on the end of the dishevelled mop. As his pace picked up, my moans did too. I was being extremely vocal, pushing him on as my head dropped back, back arching whilst my hand attempted to grip the cabinet behind me for support. In doing so, I knocked a few picture frames and belongings off in the process- but this didn’t stop either of us. The chaotic pleasure only spiralled me further towards my orgasm. “You gonna cum for me?” He hushed against my pussy, my mind swindling at his dirty talk. “Yeah.” I whined. “Yeah?” His voice vibrated against my as I felt the tension become tighter and tighter in my lower stomach. “Oh fuck.” I cursed out, choking out a cry as I balled my fist into his hair. “Keep going, keep going.” I begged, too caught up in the moment to realise how harsh my hold was. Captain Speirs literally moaned against my pussy, causing me to come crashing down into my orgasm as the coil in my stomach exploded. I was a jittering, moaning mess, the man below me still licking and slurping up my wetness as my hand quickly loosened on his hair. My breathing eased and moans lowered as I came over my orgasm, stunned that I had even got to that point. Smoothing my fingers over the area I was tugging, Ron jumped up, wiping the back of his mouth that was coated in my juices before he very swiftly hooked me in for another kiss.

My hands roamed all over him, hooking my fingers over his already undone shirt, I began pulling at the buttons as quickly as possible as Ron worked on unbuckling his belt. The sight and sound made me blush furiously, my used pussy already throbbing for a second orgasm. I’d pushed his shirt off him, exposing his toned chest and abdomen. Never had I ever been with a man so chiselled before, I didn’t know where to look, my hands ran over his stomach, all the way down to the snail trail that started just under his navel. I pushed on his pants, letting out a soft hum of amusement as I bit down on my lip, freeing his very large member from his pants and underpants. Fuck- he was big as well, just how I expected. I didn’t want to stare too much, I wanted to drop down on my knees desperately, but Ron had other plans. He’d hooked me up by the thighs, easily, as my legs wrapped around his waist, sinking deeper into the kiss whilst my fingers roamed down to his hardened cock. “Mmm, please.” I whispered, rubbing his tip against my pussy as he grunted against my mouth, bucking his hips up towards me. Carefully, I directed him into my entrance, opening my eyes as I looked directly back to him now. As he entered me, Ron’s mouth dropped in pleasure, before tensing as he swallowed, letting out a satisfied moan through his teeth. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen or heard, he was the hottest thing I’d ever seen or heard. His hands gripped onto my ass and thighs for support, holding me upright as he began lifting me up and down on him slowly. Fuck, it felt so good, there was a slight burn from the stretch of my tightness, but Ron Speirs definitely knew how to get a girl ready for him. The sounds of heavy breathing and my wetness filled the room and I watched back into Ron’s eyes, feeling his fingers grip tighter into my flesh as he readjusted, holding me up now with one arm as he snatched the red wine with the other, carrying me towards the bed. He eased me down onto the plush bed, my legs lifting as I sighed, seductively turning to the side as he used one hand to turn my face back towards him. I smiled gently, running a hand over my core as his eyes trailed down, watching me then take hold of his cock, lubricated from my own wetness and his precum as I stroked over him. It didn’t even strike me that we weren’t using a condom until that moment, but my inhibitions were too slow to care. Watching his reaction, I became infatuated by the beauty of his face, only pausing when he tipped more red wine in my mouth, the last drops of the bottle spilling out over my cheeks as he dropped the now empty bottle onto the bed, wiping at my face quickly as I giggled, edging his cock back inside of me.

Hungrily, Ron kissed at my lips, licking the red wine from them before we began making out again, his thrusts becoming small yet fast, the perfect combination to pleasure me. His movements became more dominating, more rough as my nails dug into his back. The hornier I grew the more confidence I had. “Feels so good.” I whispered, kissing at the skin between his neck and shoulder. Ron groaned into my ear, digging his hips further into mine as I let out a pleasured yelp. “Fuck!” I flattened my palms on his back as his movements became animalistic. I couldn’t even think straight, let alone speak- god he was too good, he was fucking into me at a pace I don’t know how he kept up with. His strength was undeniable, and I wanted the sensation of him dominating me more.

“Oh god.” He grunted, slowing his pace before pushing himself up with both his hands so he could rest on his knees. I assumed he’d slowed the pace down in order not to cum so quick, which some how made everything ten times hotter. Exhaling out slowly, Ron’s hands ran over my chest and breasts, squeezing and admiring them. Slowly, I grazed my hand over his, pulling his hand up to my neck as he grazed over the sensitive area. I watched through my eyelashes as his hand wrapped gently around my neck, applying a firm amount of pressure as his hips drew back and thrusted back into me roughly. The sensation of his cock hitting my G-spot mixed with his hand around my neck had me moaning and writhing more than ever, rolling my hips against his own. “Keep doing that.” Ron grunted out, my hips bucking up against his as I maintained eye contact. “Please, please.” I wasn’t begging for anything in particular, I just needed him in more ways than I could process. “Fuck.” He cursed quietly, eyes closed briefly before snapping back open to watch over me again. Soon, he caught his rhythm again, snapping his hips into mine as I grasped hold of his hand around my neck, tightening his grasp.

“You’re so good aren’t you? You’re so good.” He grumbled, falling against my chest again, kissing me hungrily as his grip on my neck loosened, instead coming to wrap under my head and hold me close up to him. “Yes.” I choked out. “Yeah, who?” “Yes, sir.” I responded submissively, Ron kissed at my jaw, grunting with each thrust as he lifted my legs higher. I didn’t think it was possible to cum again, especially not after having a drink, but there was something about Ron Speirs that was overwhelmingly amazing. He knew exactly what he was doing, it was so amazing. I was breathless, limbs aching as Ron pushed himself up again. His dog tags were dangling down in front of my as my hands hooked around them, in complete awe at the pleasure he gave me. “Are you gonna cum for me?” I borderline flirted, almost teasing and tormenting as he panted out a quick moan, head dropping as he focused on chasing his please. “Yeah-“ his voice was strained as I hummed, my other hand resting just above his ass as he seemed to hold his breath, body tending and shaking as he thrusted into me for a few moments longer. Never had I seen a man so vocal, he was moaning, grunting and panting above me, it was a sight like no other. The red wine was still circulating around my body, my chest flushed and sending a red hot lust through my bloodstream. The only remedy for it was Ron Speirs. Quickly, Ron pulled out, jerking himself off with a second strained curse, spurts of his cum squirting onto my stomach, and over my chest as he released with a satisfied groan. His hand rested on my knee as he came down from his high, dropping besides me and pressing a kiss upon my cheek and lips tenderly.

Only after regaining our breaths and turning over to glance at him, did I realise what I had just done. I’d just had sex with Captain Speirs, fuck, he was in charge of Easy and if it got around that he or I had slept together it could cause such a greater issue. Part of me was freaked, the other have shrugged it off, seeing as he’d wrapped an arm over my chest comfortably.

With the help of the wine in my system, I’d managed to feel comfortable in his arms, attempting not to think about anything else in that moment except how good the sex was and how stupidly comfortable I was cuddling with him after… Oops.

[aspiring-artist-em]

My art and fic Masterlist

Fics

Make me sweetheart

-lesbian wolfstar fic, D/S dynamic, rated E, 18+

-bratty Sirius, impact play, teasing, gags,

Too much, Moony

-lesbian wolfstar fic, D/S dynamic, rated E, 18+

-overstimulation, degradation, magical strap on

Remus Lupin and her little bitch

-lesbian wolfstar fic, D/S dynamic, rated E, 18+

-orgasm denial, degradation, eating out

The Forbidden Forest: an underground sex dungeon that looks nothing like what Sirius sees in porn.

-lesbian wolfstarbucks, d/s dynamic, rated E, 18+

-a finished, 3 chaptered muggle AU, honestly, it's just kinky smut but with some wild ideas. Features virgin Sirius, impact play, improper use of a speculum, exhibitionism (minor), degradation, edging, eating out, and more (which is mentioned in the tags)

'Til Death Do Us Part, and Even Then, I'll Do My Best to Stay With You

-DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, gay wolfstar, necrophilia, rated E, 18+

-a finished, 5 chaptered fic, Peter is in Azkaban, jegulily survives, NECROPHILIA, Remus dies a week before his wedding with Sirius, Sirius has a hard time trying to cope. MIND THE TAGS, THERE IS NECROPHILIA AND CANNIBALISM.

-Sirius Black and the Life Altering Choice between Blow and Blow

-gay wolfstar, rated E, 18+

-Oneshot, smut, muggle au, fraternity hazing anf cocaine use

Artwork

My filthy, filthy artwork

-collection of nsfw artwork i drew, both lesbian and gay wolfstar (for lack of better words), 19 chapters including table of contents

-nsfw, rated E, 18+, chapter one is a table of contents with further warnings

Welch

-a separate post of art done for the Wolfstar 2023 bingo, nsfw, rated E, 18+

The Immaculate Conception- illustrated

-an illustration that i did for one of the BEST body horror/dead dove fic writers i know (achilleslikespeas) and like, the one that just resonated with me, 18+, nsfw, Body horror, misuse of stag antlers but like in a dead dove way, not in a sexy way, this will not get ur rocks off

her body is a temple down in the frozen food aisle- illustrated -another illustration that i did for one of the BEST body horror/dead dove fic writers i know (achilleslikespeas) bc this fic has been living rent free in my head omg, 18+, nsfw, Body horror, eating out a dead dove way, not in a sexy way, this will not get ur rocks off, decapitated head

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Saw your Drabble list and I have to say, I have not clicked on a “ask me anything” button that quick in a very long time!

Could I pretty pretty please request Jax Teller & Number 16? Eeekkk!! 🤤

You can indeed! This one kinda got away from me a little. I'm like that, though. My drabbles get wordy, lol!

Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

You've been dating Jax for a few weeks now, spending time with him going on dates, or, more often than not, hanging out at the club. Just like tonight.

"Are we really playing this goddamned game?" Happy grunts, folding his arms. "It ain't like any of us is gonna welch on a dare, or not tell any kind of uncomfortable truth."

"Truth or dare?" Tig shouts, drumming his hands off the table.

"Truth."

"Did you really fuck Jackie Adams?" You have no idea who the woman is, but the very mention of her name seems to make Happy suddenly stiffen up.

He glares, lifting the shot glass to his lips. "Fuck you."

"Ahhhh!" Tig roars, "yeah, you did! And you don't want to give up that uncomfortable truth, that you banged a broad who's at least sixty-five!"

"She's a hot sixty-five, and shit, at least she still had a pulse, you corpse-humping motherfucker."

You stand there and laugh, shaking your head, Tig spying you.

"Hey! (Y/N), you down for a little of this?"

"Not if those are the kind of questions you're gonna ask!" you cry, laughing.

"Why, how many sixty-five women have you been banging recently?" Jax asks, bobbing his tongue between his teeth playfully with a huge grin when you scowl at him.

"I'll give you something more appropriate, that's if you pick truth. So, truth or dare, baby!"

"Dare."

A nearby Chibs winces for you. "Now you've done it, lass." He isn't wrong either.

"Flash us your tits," Tig demands.

"Told you, but I'm kinda not mad at him. Could have been a whole lot worse, that was a pretty tame ask, for him," Chibs chuckles, turning to wink at you. "No disrespect, Jackie, but your girl is crackin'."

"None taken, because I know she won't do it either," he replies, taking a sip of his beer.

You shrug, making a small humming noise. "A dare is a dare." With that, you pull your top up to an absolute barrage of whistles, yells and table thumping, Tig applauding you the loudest. "She don't even wear a bra! That's amazing! Here, hon, take a shot. Nice rack."

Pulling your top down again, you take it, tapping the shot glass off the side of his and sinking it, turning to Jax, trying not to laugh as he shakes his head, not able to bite back his grin.

“Did you really just do that?”

“I did,” you confirm, Jax still shaking his head. 

"You're trouble."

Pulling him close by his belt, you plant a kiss on his lips. "Trouble you can handle." With that, he ducks down and throws you over his shoulder, his brother's wolf whistling in your wake, carrying you off to his usual bunk room, kicking the door shut and throwing you down on the bed.

He hovers above you, eyeing you in a way you can't quite read, a little flare of panic rising in your throat. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

He snorts, shaking his head. "No, darlin'. Well, maybe a little, that the guys got a better first look at your tits than I did." He then strips you of your top, kneeling between your legs, his large, ring-adorned hands stroking the soft flesh of each breast, fingertips teasing at your nipples. "Mmmm, they're pretty."

"There's something else I have that I'm told is pretty, too." He follows your gaze downwards, looking back up with a soft burst of laughter through his nose, unbuttoning your jeans, pulling them and your undies off in one swift tug.

"Well," he begins, parting your thighs, taking a very good look at you. "I'm glad I'm definitely the first to be able to agree with that." He then falls silent, except for the sound of him running licks through your folds, sucking hungrily on your clit, and making you wonder why on earth it took you three weeks to get to this point with him.

Good job you chose that moment to honour the dare and flash your tits, really, isn't it?

[warnersister]

“koRn Masterlist”

Jonathan Davis🌽

->“Blue Ballin’” - Korn is a huge band now, he can have anyone he wants. But none of them are you, are they?

Brian “head” Welch👤

James “Munky” Shaffer🙊

->“Post Show Pleazures (Twizted Bliss)” - your band was performing as koRn’s warmup act on their world tour; a group significantly younger than the Nu metal heads - and Munky thought he could handle having you around, could handle his own hard on’s. But you’re a month in and Manchester proves otherwise.

[everythingbutresolved]

Super impressive how you cranked out the #hotJebsummer prompt, I need to take a page from your book.

Since I absolutely love the rain could I chose #28?

It's still Hot Jeb Summer!

Sometimes you want to write poetical stuff, pour your soul into words and find a meaning to your shattered existence.

Some other times, you just want to give your imaginary blue-eyed himbo some self-esteem and a B.J.

Guess which one I picked this time.

Thank you for the Prompt Request! If you want more don't forget to ask me any time, I'm having a blast, this is the LIST

A sequel to Underwater.

Summary: The one that went away is finally in your hands. You decide there and then he won't go anywhere. Unfortunately (?!) your babe is a decent guy, not totally turned to the dark magic of politics, and has still a conscience. Angst ensued.

Words: 6.621

Characters: Jeb Magruder (fictional republican himbo and official HamFam babygirl) /OFC (You)

Warnings: this is the longest smut sequence I've ever written. Jeb seemed happy though. #oral sex #language #extramarital affair #binging #angst

Dancing In The Rain

Read it on AO3 or under cut

“All the things that I ran from

I now bring as close to me as I can

Gripping hotel sheets with gritted teeth

My montage of lost things

My shining trinkets of grief

[Chorus]

Why don't you give me a call?

Open my mouth, yes, I'll take it all

And all this work gone to waste

You made me climb, then you shut the gate”

Florence Welch, “Prayer Factory”

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

The rain was pouring down since dawn, a summer storm ahead of the weather forecast, and everyone was idling around the main hall or downstairs at the pool bar, drinking cocktails laced with gin or bourbon bought at the store, ice cubes clinking in the tall glasses. The clouds had materialized two days before, an ominous presage of your mood to come: little upright puffs at first, like puffs of smoke from a locomotive starting its run around the horizon, then clouds, increasingly structural and opaque, castles, continents that, overhead, grew as they moved keeping the sun behind them. Waiting for the gaps of sunshine between the clouds was the game for your mother, back and forth from the beach with parasol and crosswords folded in her hands, and for you was like waiting for Jeb to be alone for more than five minutes. The clouds blew eastward, so did Jeb, after only 24 hours since you put a last kiss on his sundried lips, “an emergency” having ensued with Gail’s flight, leaving you transfixed by the swathe of western advancing gold igniting the roofs of the cabins filled with bored families and screaming children. The gaps between the clouds closed quickly over your head, and as you watched the maroon Oldsmobile spatting tiny drops of oil on the gravel road that led towards the state highway, you felt the first raindrops wetting your eyes, mixing with angry tears.

You haven’t talked to Jeb, not really, besides the family chatting, since your first encounter and subsequential intimate “reconnection”, and you were starting to lose your mind out of frustration.

Apparently, no one had objected when Jeb had returned to the beach without you, having preferred to take separate paths so as not to arouse suspicion (as if your mother hadn't already activated her bullshit radar), and you had spent the next two days busy with all the recreational activities organized by your family - from boat trips ("Look Jen, a dolphin!" "…It's a dead seagull, dad") to endless hours with old Dean Martin, Tony Bennett, Rudy Vallee and Perry Como records echoing in the incongruously huge hotel lobby.

It was, with all due respect, as boring as you can imagine it.

And there you were waiting, the second (third?) Shirley Temple getting warmer in your glass, listening to your mother’s endless chatting (God, does she ever stop?) haunted by the memory of Jeb’s hands, his beautiful, warm hands, clenching and unclenching while he couldn’t look at you in the eye, in the guilty intimacy of his room. Sighing quietly, you had sipped from the nauseating cocktail, letting your mind go rerun the events of less than 48 hours earlier. The heat. The excitement. The foolishness of it all.

...Closing your eyes the first thing you saw was the expression on Jeb's face, all the way from the seashore to the cabin, a kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions -a wide grin giving way to a frown, then incredulous, then ecstatic as he gawked at you, then plain, and finally grimly worried.

You've done it big this time, Jen, look at him, he's having a nervous fit.

From the moment the door had closed behind you, your hands had moved on their own, trailing up the long rise of Jeb's arms until they curled around the nape of his neck, his wide eyes fixed on yours accompanied by short, labored breaths. If only you had been a hair taller you could have swept the disquiet out of his eyes, but there was no way you could lift yourself off the ground as you were unless he decided to curve his impressive height and close the distance that separated you. All over you, the salty water drying up leaving white streaks on your skin, and Jeb was so tense that even the muscles in his shoulders seemed about to snap at any moment.

Both of you were standing in the cool shadow of his cabin where you found shelter, exchanging sloppy kisses, accompanied by shivers and clumsy grabbing of wet hair. You were almost embarrassed to admit to yourself, but you had the unnerving feeling that if you had let Jeb go at that time, you would not have had another chance to touch him again, and god if you wanted to spread yourself all over him.

And the previous hour, the most amazing sex you had in years with nevertheless your old teenage crush, would have been just one more piece in the pile of regrets.

You smiled up at him and his whole body loosened for a minute, a gleaming light peering through the cracks of his worried façade, and you were missing his lips more than anything you ever wanted in the past 6 months. But even more than that, as you felt the heat pulsing in your veins, you couldn’t resist unlatching one hand to roam it all over his torso, still damp and slightly cold, to lay a constellation of kisses wherever you could twist your neck.

You heard him sigh and two arms wrapped around your torso, tightening against his so that the heat of both was trapped between your bodies, your back still aching from the exertion of hanging on the rocks back in the sea.

You found yourself unable to move but wouldn't want it either, and relaxing your muscles against the solid surface of his skin you let your head limp against his chest.

The light coming in through the window made the atmosphere almost dreamy, except that you could feel Jeb's erection beginning to press against your stomach.

A very good sign, as far as you were concerned.

You could almost feel his skin heat up from suppressed arousal, and perhaps a little embarrassment, as he had muttered an "apologies", but squeezing you even tighter.

“What are you apologizing for? It was amazing…and a tiny bit crazy…and for a moment I really thought you were going to drown”

You giggled, a little unease since the grip showed no sign of abating.

“But it’s something I will tell my great-granddaughter as -the day Grandma seduced a merman - she will be thrilled to have a cool gran”

You crooked your neck to wink and peer Jeb’s expression but reached up only to his lips, twisted in a slanted smile. Salted drops trickled on your brow and nose, and you thought it was just residual seawater dripping from Jeb’s hair until the firm embrace began to shake you in short, light sobs.

Jeb was crying, literally drenching your face with tears, like a gigantic toddler tugging at his plush toy.

“I’m…so sorry…I can’t…I shouldn’t have…Forgive me, I took advantage of you…I…you���”

Oh boy, a crier, and guilt-ridden sniveler so.

That you didn’t see it coming.

He kept squishing you so hard you started having trouble breathing properly, and as much as you were a tiny excited by this involuntary show of strength (any other time you would have been delighted to be thoroughly engulfed and rendered limp and pliant by that oversized body) this crisis had to be addressed now and there before it evolved into a disastrous confession to the waiting wife.

Shit, Gail. Now it was your turn to feel like the neighbor’s tramp.

The reality was that you had just wooed, with no extenuation, a married man, as far as you knew, happily so. A grown man with a career, about to start a new job, a house, some undoubtedly-adorable children. Not the boy you were flirting with by the pool, it was a man in an obvious state of confusion who was about to crush you between increasingly loud sobs.

The same man who had followed you into the water unabashedly and who you had jerked off with slutty enthusiasm, and who had just as enthusiastically eaten your very cunt until you came in the most exhilarating orgasm you had experienced in months - if not years.

...a man who had his incredibly hard cock pressed against your navel, throbbing and quivering as if he might come at any moment with the lightest touch.

A man who exuded a salty, musky smell that made your head spin and your mouth water.

A man who needed an injection of calm and tranquility. For the benefit of both, of course.

Diving out of his embrace just enough to look him in the face, you tried to summon your most assertive voice to interrupt the stream of half-assed excuses and babblings.

"Jeb, BeeBee, look at me."

The old nickname had succeeded in interrupting the maelstrom of words and tears, blowing open the large blue windows of his eyes, damp with tears, and locking onto yours. The confusion and terror in his gaze had made you falter for a moment, but it had also confirmed your suspicion from the first moment you had seen him in your father's office. After so many years, Jeb was still a little boy afraid of disappointing those around him yet lacking enough willpower to admit his own desires. A tight fit had shut down your stomach, and your whole body wanted to cuddle the beautiful child trapped in the body of the man who was burning your skin with desire.

What a mess.

The most surprising thing was that your problems, now, seemed so far away, as did the reality beyond the room's battered door.

You would have done anything to give him some of the self-esteem he so desperately needed. Pacing your words carefully, you had fixed your gaze on Jeb's, trying to sound as persuasive and confident as possible. The same tone you had used with your parents to explain that no, the marriage was off, and yes, the decision was final. It had worked well then, and you hoped it would work well now.

"I'm a full-grown woman, not a little girl, Jeb. Like you are. Adults who know how to discern the weight and consequences -- or non-consequences -- of their actions. I have no intention of wrecking your marriage or flaunting to the four winds the fact that I seduced - I DID seduce - a married man. My family would definitely cut me off this time and probably for a long time. That said..."

The moist blue eyes did not leave yours for a minute, but it seemed that the steady stream of tears had stopped, for the moment. Long fingers pressed and released against the skin of your back, in a quick grab-and-go that signaled latent nervousness.

"....this, Jeb, doesn't mean we can't take some time to tick off a few things if you want to, and something tells me that in spite of everything you agree with me."

Instead of wriggling away, you had leaned even closer to Jeb's throbbing hard-on pressed against your belly, rubbing gently until you had heard a moan from above.

Jeb had closed his eyes again, but this time his expression was one of tortured bliss.

Taken by a sudden surge of bravado, and advantaged (for once!) by the height difference, you had stuck out your tongue and slowly licked Jeb's right nipple, drawing out a throaty moan

"We can end it here and go back to our lives or"

A gentle bite on the other nipple wrenched out a louder moan

"We can act like adults and take it as it is, a very consenting woman who wants you to take off that bathing suit and lie on that bed so she can give you the blowjob of your life, baby."

The last sentence escaped from your mouth in a voice broken with shock at being so vulgar, god, I hope I didn't break it completely because if I don't get this man in my hands now I'll never have him again.

"You want to...what? With me? Right now?"

Oh God, who was taking advantage of whom now? The blush on Jeb's cheeks was so attractive that you could feel your sex throbbing viciously, stirred from a sleep that had lasted too long.

"You know what they say, the only way to get rid of some fantasies is to live them...and I've wanted you for a long time. Yes or no Jeb?"

There would be time later to analyze what the hell had taken hold of you, because this was not the posed girl who had waited until she was officially engaged to have sex, even if that alone had been a gamble. This one was a go-getter, positively bent on taking what she wanted from her man, by any means necessary.

This girl scared the hell out of you.

This girl was pushing Jeb's long body onto the double bed still unmade from the morning, dryly slipping off his wet, precum-sticky costume.

This girl was perching herself between Jeb's spread legs, sitting back on her heels and exposing her sex, caressing herself with what she had no doubt was the most lascivious face she had ever had - while sober.

Jeb's sex is, in a nutshell, perfect, wider at the tip than at the base, slightly curved to the left, deep pink tending to crimson, and of a length that makes you instinctively clench your jaws and contract the entrance to your cunt in a moment of panic.

It is too long; you are not a match.

You can already feel the discomfort caused by the tip pressing against your cervix or bumping against your uvula.

He is almost 6 feet tall, maybe more, what did you expect?

You are simply incompatible, it is not possible.

Unless.

You try to remember conversations with your married friends, the ones who with one too many sherries tell you the most intimate, embarrassing tidbits of what goes on within the walls of a married couple.

The tip of his cock, almost as big as your open palm (and yes you are petite but this is just obscene) looks at you with a moist eye, almost daring you to try.

"God Jeb, you walk around unmolested with THIS between your legs and wonder why a girl would be eager to try it? You are aware that I won't be able to sit down for at least two days when I'm done with you, aren't you?"

Faintly obscene incitements came from the parts of Jeb's face, but you didn't pay much attention to them, caught up as you were in your own excitement.

And as you peeled back your costume with your spread fingers to plunge into the pulsating pool of your tight cunt, Jeb's eyes were almost popping out of their sockets.

"I'm as wet as I was by the pool, Jeb, and you're the one who has that effect on me. Do you want to feel it?"

Oh, and without waiting for an answer, the girl-who-once-was-you had wriggled two fingers in and out, gathering as much moisture as she could from her warm, viscous folds, and brought them to her own mouth, licking her fingertips with obvious greediness. Jeb's chest, meanwhile, was rising and falling rapidly, half-lidded eyes fixed on your every move. When with wet fingers you had rolled your hand around Jeb's shaft, a choked cry had broken the stillness gripping him, and a wide hand had wrapped around yours.

"Yes or no?"

"You keep asking me as if I can say no. My god don't you see the effect you have on ME?"

"I want you to say it outright. I know you want it, I want to hear you say it. Do you want me to open my mouth and take it all?"

"Oh my...yes yes yes I do. Please."

Sweat dripped from Jeb's temples, transfixed by anticipation and overexcited by your words to the point of nearly silencing him.

If only he had wanted to, with one hand he could have flipped you over on the bed and taken you unceremoniously, but this would not have been this Jeb, YOUR Jeb, the one whose tears you had wiped away a few minutes earlier.

"Do you want me to suck you until you cum?"

At this sentence, Jeb had closed his eyes and a soft bark had escaped his half-closed lips

"Yes, I do. More than anything else."

Kneeling down and leaning back on your elbows, you had taken all the space to run an inquisitive tongue over the exposed tip of Jeb's dick, still wrapped in the pair of entwined hands. The pungent taste of sea salt and precum had made your nose wrinkle.

"Do you think you deserve this, Jeb? Do you think we deserve a little fun, once in our fucking lives?"

Jeb's clear gaze had become all of a sudden bewildered, uncertain, and the hand that had previously been pressing against yours had reached up to brush a lock from your cheek, causing you to lose for a moment the boldness that had accompanied you up to that moment.

The sheets creped under your weight, and you wondered for a moment if they were white or cream in the dim light.

"Jen, whatever you want. I'll take it. I'll take anything you want to give me, God knows I don’t deserve it."

Too tender, too sentimental. You almost preferred him crying. You're the wicked girl again, and caressing the long, shapely thighs, you give an exploratory first lick at the base of Jeb's penis, lingering on the fuzz of his testicles.

His spread legs give you ample room to maneuver, and you take the opportunity to caress the inner thigh, going up to the delicate area of the perineum, which you press lightly, eliciting the involuntary contracture of the toes of the long feet perched on either side of your legs.

You will keep this in mind for later.

"Very good. Now stand still and don't shout too loudly."

Jeb doesn't have time to articulate a sensible response that your lips have already wrapped around the tip of his cock, drawing slow circles with your tongue. A low moan accompanies your exploratory movements and glancing up, you see Jeb covering his face with his large hands.

When was the last time he received a proper head? Trying to shut out the thought of Gail from your mind, you spread your thighs wide, letting your stomach fall against the mattress, and supporting yourself only with your elbows, you let gravity help you wrap every inch of Jeb as deep as you can, stroking the base of his penis with one hand and giving a rhythmic squeeze to his hardened thigh with the other.

In all this, you are still wearing your bikini, which was becoming less and less comfortable as your own arousal wet the gusset against your pussy and your nipples hardened.

You have never been so turned on, yet it has been less than half an hour since you came at Jeb's hands.

The rhythm of your mouth up and down the considerable length is almost soothing.

Only when the tip of your nose brushes the curly dark hairs of Jeb's groin do you realize that you have almost the entire length of his cock in the back of your throat, which you are keeping relaxed as you lick the entire length from base to top.

When one of Jeb's hands grazes your hair and starts massaging your scalp you let go a hmm that vibrates over the entire length engulfed by your lips, and his hand tightens to keep the position of your head still. Satisfied with the result, you repeat the experiment, causing vibrations of varying intensity until you feel Jeb's penis harden further and you know he is nearing the end.

Jeb, who had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the exercise, had begun to pant quickly until a gasp emerged from his parched throat.

"Girl, I don't think I can go on much longer if you keep this up. Can you...can you do it again?"

If you hadn't literally had your mouth full you would have grinned, but the whole context--his hand pressed on your head, the heat emitted from his burning crotch, the tip of his pulsing cock in your throat, not to mention your own sex pulsing fiercely against the wet fabric of your costume--was so arousing that you had applied yourself with renewed vigor to savoring every inch, producing incrementally lower and deeper sounds from the back of your throat. It was only when you had hinted at deeper pressure against your tongue that Jeb had lost control, pressing just enough of his hand on your head to hold it in place as his hips rose and fell pushing his obscenely hard cock deep into your miraculously relaxed throat, unable to hold back any longer, and as you ventured to gently squeeze his retracted testicles with one hand, Jeb had uttered a rosary of gratitudes and invocations to all-too-generous deities as a trickle of warm, slightly bitter semen invaded your mouth.

Without hinting to move, the lewd girl you didn't know waited inside you had lifted your gaze just long enough to make contact with Jeb and had waited more until she saw the light return to his pleasure-dulled eyes to swallow and carefully lick the tip of the purple, moist dick.

Which made no sign of receding.

As if to say.

We're not done yet.

Without taking your gaze from his, you had risen on your knees, breaking the delicious contact of your hand clinging to your hair, and undone in a few gestures your bikini, which had become unbearable, and lay down again with your chest just at the level of Jeb's groin, pressing the hollow of your tits on Jeb's moist erection, using one hand to apply more pressure on the length that appeared and disappeared between your plushed breasts.

As if tug him off and blow him out of the blue in a hot summer afternoon wasn’t enough wank material for the next 300 nights.

Given his job prospects and increasing numerous family, make it 3.000

The same wicked demon that possessed you since you saw him spreading tanning oil like a Coppertone advertisement model on his taut legs was now making you lock your gaze with his again, and moving lasciviously you squeezed your boobs up and down with his shaft getting more lustrous and harder by the second, you dared to ask him, eyes fluttering in total disregard of any remaining coyness:

“You know Jeb, I think you like sitting there, letting me do all the job. Do you like what you see?”

And to underline your question you bowed your chin, giving an inquisitive, broad lick to the pink tip of his cock, appearing and disappearing in a tantalizing rhythm.

“Could you…?”

With both hands and elbows busy sustaining the weight of your upper body and all your focus on applying the right amount of pressure to keep an interesting friction between the delicate skin of your breasts and the increasingly wet cock of Jeb, there was nothing you could do to ease the ache between your legs, and you were fully aware that this had to finish sooner or later, or your family would have been starting to look for you two, who were disappeared for almost an hour.

Or more?

And yet, the light in Jeb’s blue eyes was so bright it could illuminate the room and totally worth the lies you were already shaping in your head to cover your absence.

Sprained ankle.

Lost baby.

A fucking shark attack.

But you were not leaving Jeb until he got the best sex he ever had.

“I-will-still-think-of-it at my funeral” best.

So, sure of looking utterly obscene, you make a big scene of biting your lower lip, and with the best bed eye you ever tried on you murmured, voice husky and heavy with desire:

“What is it baby? You wanna come again? You still seem a bit tense”

His whole face a mask of need, surrender, plain desire, and exhaustion, he nodded frantically, unable to articulate anything more than a few pleas and yes. His legs lifted, feet planted on the mattress, he gathered all the strength he had left to slowly reach out and touch your mouth, carefully inserting two long fingers in.

You immediately sucked the first digits, closing your eyes and moaning lewdly, increasing the friction on his cock, your bosom sleek with a few drops of precum and spit.

“I don’t think I can…again…but if you want to try…oh god your tits”

And with no further notice, he lowered the other hand on your shoulder, pushing you down against his groin. You took the hint and squeezed your chest tighter, feeling a twitch coming from his still-hard cock (the stamina of this man, Jesus). Sloping down and kneeling, ass up in the air, you licked your lips, conscious of Jeb’s eyes transfixed on your movements, and licked the full length of his cock base to head, finishing with a sonorous smack that elicited a giggle from both of you. Conscious of the clock ticking, you resolutely took grab of him, speaking fast and breathy.

“Spare me the coy mistress act, want you? Just put your hands on the headboard and let me fuck you, ok?”

“Can I…?”

Still, the incredulous tone instead of the howling you were craving. It was not enough that you were completely devoting yourself to give him a manhood boost, you wanted to hear him tell you that he LOVED it. That he loved You.

Maybe not tonight.

But the intensity of your desire made you shiver.

“Can I touch you? Please?”

You stifled a laugh, arms slightly shaking, your whole body exposed as if you were ready to be fucked by an invisible armada.

“Yes Jeb, you can touch me, actually I want you to tell me how much you like it. Show me, babe.”

This said, you circled the tip and underside of his cock with sudden intensity, focusing on his most pleasurable spot just under the frenulum, firmly holding the base and pumping it with renovated vigor, not before having licked your palm and spat on it.

The sharp intake of breath was replaced by a waterfall of praises and guttural requests, that increased when you applied two digits to his perineum, caressing and pressing the sensitive skin between balls and hole – briefly considering if he would appreciate…

The full range of movement occupied your whole upper body and concentration, head bobbing, one hand gripping tight and the other trying to find the right amount of pressure to stimulate the inner spot you were able to find on John but had no idea whether Jeb had experimented with before – that you almost missed it when Jeb’s hands left the headboard and run over your hair, shoulders, caressing your scalp and finally rest on your nape, guiding you up and down until it was clear it was him fucking your mouth and not you leading the circus ring, but no matter what, the release seemed far to approach.

“Just…oh god just tell me if it’s too much…I need to feel you…yes like that, oh fuck you’re so beautiful…like that keep pressing there How did you Know…oh fuck it‘s so strange, don’t stop don’t stop just a little bit more – uhg- more. I can’t I can’t it’s too much I OH! What are you Ohhhhh”

No one had ever put a finger in Jeb’s ass, that you were now sure.

Slick with spit, it was easy to slide one of your delicate digits up inside him, curving just there and rhythmically pressing against the right spot.

A few more pumps, practically gagging, and you could feel him twitching and twisting on your tongue, shooting blank except for a few drops of bitter liquid.

After, you were so exhausted you barely had the strength to climb up his chest and rest your head against his shoulders, letting warm arms embrace you in a sleepy hug.

“We can’t stay here long”

Was all you could gather, welcomed by a long sigh and a squeeze.

“We” said a very relaxed voice above you “Need to shower. And after that, we need to talk.”

Uh-oh

“That will wait until next time, now YOU need to shower and go back to the beach while I’m making up an excuse to eclipse and cancel any trace of this from my mom’s hawk eye.”

Jeb sat up, and you with him, and you couldn’t help but notice the softening cock sliding by his side, not less impressive but definitely, totally, spent.

Thank god, I don’t think I could survive another round.

“Jen”

No “kiddo”, “Girl”, “babe”. Were you in trouble?

“The day after tomorrow, or even tomorrow I’m going to take Gail from the airport. Before that, we need to TALK talk, as much as I really like what we are doing here. Understand What we are doing.”

The earnestness in his voice was endearing, and his face was so pink and sweaty and yet you mentally took note of how pretty he looked like that. You definitely needed a shower and to take care of yourself too, since there was no time for more playing around and you were so wet you doubted you could sit on the bedsheets and not thoroughly soak them. Everything has its right time and place, you thought.

“This was” he was still talking “Unexpected”

oh

“And I won’t be able to look your father in the eye. Nevermore.”

Warm hands caressing your shoulders

“And I would really appreciate if you could warn me next time before violating my…intimacy”

He blushed again. God he’s so pretty. You cleared your voice, quite unsure of your own tone

“Is there gonna be another time then?”

Vast blue eyes in which dive and drown blinked a few time

“You don’t think I can let you go the moment after I found you again?”

No trace of hesitancy in his voice.

AH, the magic a very horny woman can do to a sad man.

Give it a few weeks and he could become a new man…although you don’t have a few weeks,

only a few days.

And then your time is up for whatever this is.

Tomorrow.

You’ll think of it tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow. Before Gail arrives.

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

And now were sitting on the porch of the family-friendly hotel by the sea when shouting from the main seized your attention from the magazine you were already bored with. Through the open doors burst in a well-dressed man, incongruously so in a pool of Hawaiian t-shirts and Panama hats, as if he had just left the office, laden with suitcases and duffel bags and following at a brisk pace a slender, determined woman who was clearly furious.

From behind your sunglasses, you had cast a glance at the odd couple, and your gaze had been caught by the shiny black waves of his hair, moreover, the only thing you could see clearly in the swirl of packages and bags resting on his arms.

"I can't BELIEVE you forgot to book the flight for my MOTHER. I'll have to go all the way to Chicago to get her here - of all the stupid men I could marry..."

"Gail I’m so – sorry my secretary told me the tickets were all set."

The tone of his voice was unfit for a man his size, higher than you would have expected from a big man of at least 6'1", maybe 6'2”

"Oh YOU MUST be sorry. And I’ll need a word or two with that idiot you insist on not firing as I told you. But first, though, we still need to talk about this…hotel you chose."

You heard them argue for a few more seconds, then the elevator door closed behind them.

The last image you remembered was a pair of expressive eyebrows jerking up and down almost to touch his shiny hairline, locking eyes with you and adverting his gaze in a flutter of eyelids, cheeks reddening under the sweaty locks.

Jeb was in trouble.

That night, you had endured the furious bickering of Jeb and Gail, pressing your pillow to your ears until the lack of air in the stuffy room made you gasp, feigning indifference, the following morning, at the breakfast buffet.

Apparently, Mrs. Magruder did not tire easily, for in the middle of the night, after animated discussions had entertained the passing visitors in the hallway and your reluctant ears, the hollers faded into murmurs and small moans, and the rhythmic clatter of the bed keyboard against the partition wall had made you blush at the thought of Jeb, your Jeb, plunged to the hilt in Gail's slender body, a few feet away from yours.

We should have fucked that afternoon.

We should have talked that night.  

Glancing at him from above the cereals bowls, his mortified and exhausted expression had turned into ashes the questions in your mouth. He was a married man who had just a fight with his disgruntled wife, you had no jurisdiction, or pretense of it, on that territory.

In the name of what, an old crush and a quickie?

He was gone, his lack of any attempt to contact you made it clear. Hey Jen, it was fun, sorry but real life called, it said playtime is over.  

At least he'd taken off that stupid office suit, you had thought, and you couldn't help but notice how damn good he looked in the tight white shirt that gave him the look of a sexy ice cream man. You saw him murmuring something to the waiter about room service, and you wondered in a pang of jealousy if Mrs. Magruder was too knackered that morning to join her husband for breakfast.

You decided to quit your diet in that moment and resolutely moved towards the the table of baked goods, filling your plate with every single tempting pastry that was put in front of you, bringing the mountain of sugary cream puffs and hazelnut cakes to the table where your family had greeted you with stunned silence, broken by your request to the providential waiter for double coffee with cream, French toast, and bacon eggs thank you.

"Somebody's got an appetite like a bull's this morning, a good sign, good sign,"

your father had merely commented, while your mother hissed something about family genetics and how difficult it was to maintain a waistline after a certain age.

You had merely grunted something about the sea air, and resolutely attacked the plate.

Why not, after all? The chances of finding yourself in an intimate situation again had faded on the horizon and wrecked like the Titanic, and you were HUNGRY.

For a moment you had thought you felt a gaze aimed at your back, but as soon as you had turned around you had seen only a line of retirees waiting in line for the shrimp omelet - the house specialty.

You had ended up spending most of the morning in the dining room, leaving halfway through the task of finishing the mountain of food you were ashamed to leave ungulped, however, and the idea of reuniting with family was not too exciting, so you had managed to stuff most of the pastries into a napkin and, after ordering two more coffees to wash down the impressive amount of food you had managed to cram into your stomach, to sneak off to the backyard, where under the shelter of a tree you had fed a colony of seagulls with the broken-up leftovers.

When the last vestige of your gluttony (did someone say eat your emotions?) was gone, drenched by the thin drizzle that had penetrated your clothes despite the fact that the fronds of the maritime pine had dispensed you from much of the water that would not stop falling, you had headed with small, shuffling steps back to your room, where you had closed the door behind you and let out a long sigh, then looked up at the unmade bed.

Where you found Jeb sitting on it.

He had taken off his suit coat and loosened the knot of his tie, but his hair, still combed flat with water, made him look odd to you. He seemed distracted, brittle, distraught, and when he looked up, on the verge of tears.

Without thinking twice you turned on your heels and sprinted in the corridor, into the hall, barely perceiving the presence of other people in the room, trying to keep a less-than terrified expression, found your way back to the garden, then to the path that laid to the beach conscious of the footsteps behind you but resolute on not giving up the mad run.

Only when you reached the corner of the sandy lane leading to the marina did you feel a pair of arms lifting you off the ground and your feet grazing the cobblestones, about to be literally carried into the shelter of a dense grove of maritime pines, yet the embrace showed no sign of loosening.

The coarse voice of a disgruntled Jeb did catch you by surprise, if only a little

"I didn't have time to talk to you...I took Gail to the airport this morning for an early flight...I made a mess with the tickets and and...Jen I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..."

The litany of apologies didn't seem to stop, but just being wrapped up and close by Jeb again had made your pulse quicken, and it seemed to reach out from your chest. A sense of warmth had pervaded you all over, and your throat had closed up. He was there. Where everyone could have seen you, in his silly tattered shirt and scrimping on the unruly waves.

"Jeb?"

The grip loosened a little, allowing you to rest your feet on the ground. A turn of emotion hit you in the stomach.

"Jeb, I have to throw up. Now."

And within seconds you were on the floor, returning three days of tension and anxiety to the earth. Jeb's hands had thoughtfully come to brush your hair back from your forehead, helping you keep your balance.

"Are you okay? You're not... by any chance, are you? Jen?"

"I'm not pregnant Jeb, god, I've been eating my weight in creme brulee all morning. I'm fine." Like you needed another reminder that you haven't even properly fucked, yet.

Lifting your gaze to meet Jeb's clear blue one, so deliciously close-you had finally added, "But I think I went out without shoes. Or maybe I lost them on the way."

Jeb's gaze grew even more bewildered and soft.

"I'm sorry kiddo, I couldn't find the time and I wanted, WANTED to knock on your door but..."

"Hush." The tone was too harsh, but the bile still made you nauseous. "Help me back to the room and then, then you can talk. At this point I think we need this more than ever."

What you didn't expect was for Jeb to pick you up with unexpected ease, hooking your arms around his neck and heading down a side street to the lodge complex. The rain had soaked you to the bone but neither of you seemed to mind, so much so that Jeb, without ever taking his eyes off yours, had hinted at a few waltz steps, getting you to bend your throat in a fit of liberating laughter.

Original art @giuliajrosa-blog

Thank you! Tagging the always wonderful @plainlo-inthemorning @littleredwritingcat @agirlinherhead @agaroux @ebiemidnightlibrarian @girlwiththenegantattoo @jyngerpeach

[shady-the-simp]

Ask box is CLOSED, but feel free to say hi or talk!

PSA: I don’t control wtf you do on the internet, i’m not your mommy. But, if you see one of my fics and one of the warnings will make you uncomfortable, don’t read it. Also, minors, please don’t interact for your own sake

Anons: 🌙☀️, Roman

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Who I write for:

Chuckle Sandwich

Certain Slashers (Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, the Sinclair brothers, Herbert West, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Billy Lenz, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Brahms Heelshire, Charlie Walker, Patrick Bateman)

Some stranger things (Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, robin Buckley, Nancy wheeler, Johnathan byers, Billy Hargrove)

Certain band members (Kurt Cobain, Saul “Slash” Hudson, Axl Rose, Jonathan Davis, Brian “Head” Welch)

Some AHS (Tate Langdon, Violet Harmon, Kit Walker, Kai Anderson, Jimmy Darling, Kyle Spencer[both before and after resurrection], James Patrick March)

Loki Laufeyson

Joseph Quinn

Some dbd killers (Danny, Michael, joey)

Tangerine (Bullet Train)

The Walking Dead (Daryl Dixon, Negan Smith, Rick Grimes, Carol Peletier)

The Lost Boys (Paul, Marko, Dwayne, David)

Jack Thurlow (Jack Goes Home)

Gabriel (Gabriel 2014)

Clyde (Electrick Children)

Danny Cooper (Intruders 2015)

Ollie Sway (Song of Sway Lake)

Good Omens (Crowley, Aziraphale)

ViewAskewnverse (Jay, Silent Bob, Randall, Dante, Alyssa)

Motley Crue (Nikki, Tommy, Mick, Vince)

Metallica (James, Lars, Kirk, Cliff)

(Thats all I can think of for now. Please feel free to ask questions!)

What I won't write:

Child x adult smut

Zoophile

Furries (idk how it works)

Piss and shit kinks, foot fetishes, etc.

Suicide (it brings up some shitty memories)

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-Kai <3

[safarigirlsp]

Nobody Does It Better

This is based off a request I received by @clumsycopy​ combined with some other requests for a dark!fic with Flip and Clyde. Only a week late for Bloody Sunday!

Read. The. Warnings. Dark warnings do not apply until after the fourth ***** break if you want a fun Flip/Clyde thing up to that point.

Nobody Does It Better

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Clyde Logan x Reader

Word Count: 9.6k

Warnings: NSFW. Language. Smut. Violence. Gore. Murder. Main Character Death. Shameless 70′s Culture References. Dark!Fic.

AO3 Link

Autumn of 1977 was such a happening time to be alive. The heavy drama of the late 60s and early 70s were in the rear view mirror of your Firebird. Jaws made you jump, coke was like candy, personal computers emerged, women rock stars were showing the men how it was done.    

Adding to the cultural mayhem, serial killers, it seemed, were all the rage. The Zodiac held California in a state of terror, while Ted Bundy stalked pretty young girls along the west coast, and the Son of Sam kept the City that Never Sleeps even more awake than usual. A violent slasher had also overrun the wilderness of Colorado in recent years, painting the purple mountains red with the blood of countless young women.

The past few months had even given rise to a serial killer in your own hometown. Right there in Boone County, slashing his way through a few unfortunate young women. Fitting perfectly with a local urban legend about a large dark man with a hook who stalked the backwoods dirt roads abducting and cutting lone woman apart.

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

Barracuda blasted from the speakers of the radio you had cranked loud as you wiped down the bar top. You had just started working at Duck Tape for a few extra bucks, and, if you were being honest, for a few extra chances to flirt with the unfairly handsome owner and bartender, Clyde Logan.

You had arrived at work early, wanting to impress Clyde and to have some extra time with him. You danced and sang along with the radio as you cleaned and wiped tables, alone in the bar.

At least, you thought you were alone. Having no way of knowing that a man lurked in the shadow of the hallway leading to the back office of the bar.

Clyde leaned against the wall in the darkened hallway, watching you shake your ass in your little shorts and cowboy boots, grooving in time with the music. Watching you bend over the tables as you stretched across them to clean them off, watching the way your tits pressed against the wood.

He had never seen a woman as good lookin’ as you before. You didn’t have to be bent over a table for him to think so, either. Since the first moment you walked through the doors to his bar holding the ‘Help Wanted’ sign, smilin’ wide at him, he thought you were the prettiest damned woman he’d ever seen in real life. He sure liked lookin’ at that actress Rachel Welch, but he thought you were every bit as hot as she was. And you were right here. Right in his bar. Bent over his table.

Clyde wasn’t used to havin’ nice things, including nice woman. He couldn’t imagine that a woman who looked like you would ever give him a second glance. Although, he swore he saw you lookin’ at him when he was turned away, swore that when you smiled at him it was just a little wider and your eyes shone a little brighter. It was probably all in his head.

Sighing to himself, he pushed away from the wall and made a point of exaggerating his boot steps as he walked into the bar, announcing his presence to you.

He expected you to shoot upright with surprise from where you were bent over the table. Instead, you looked back at him over your shoulder as you arched your back to slowly lift yourself from the table. Fuck, if that didn’t make his cock twitch in his jeans.

“I wasn’t expectin’ ya in this early,” Clyde couldn’t keep the hoarseness from his voice.

“I wanted everything to look extra nice for the Friday crowd,” you smiled at him.

Clyde thought that you sure looked extra nice for the Friday crowd yourself. He’d never seen you lookin’ so good.

You were just about to ask him what else he needed help with when you heard Night Moves come on the radio. It was the newest hit from one of Clyde’s favorites, Bob Seger.

Raising an eyebrow at him with a smile, you held you hand out to him. “How about a dance, handsome?”

Clyde would have looked less shocked had you slapped him across the face.

Chewing his lip, he stepped forward as if in a daze and gently took your left hand in his right. Pausing in his motion, he looked at you shyly, as if wondering if you were already having second thoughts.

Smiling up at him, you reached to his left arm and pulled it behind your back. Trailing your hand from his forearm, you lingered on his bicep before bringing your hand to rest on his shoulder.

Clyde slowly started swaying with you, keeping a semblance of the beat. It was endearing how nervous he was and even his sweaty palm didn’t bother you.

“I’m sure you could find someone who’s sure a lot better at dancin’ than I am, Y/N,” Clyde huffed around a pouted lip.

“Don’t you know?” You let go of his hand to bring both your arms behind his neck, pressing yourself closer to him. “I don’t care how you dance. I just wanted an excuse to feel your arms around me.”

“I never would have thought that you...” Clyde’s voice trailed off as he dropped his head to brush his lips lightly along your temple, his arms meeting around your waist and tightening around you.

Finally relaxing against you, Clyde moved with you to the song as you hummed along with the tune.

Workin’ on our night moves.

When the song ended, he even took your hand from behind his neck and spun you around once as he smiled down at you. Twice as he playfully twirled you, almost too quickly, so that he could catch you against his chest when you lost your balance, both of you laughing.

Staring up at him, you waited for him to make his next move.

Clyde chewed even harder on his lower lip as he looked down at you. He had just begun to lower his shaggy head when the front door swung open to admit Earl, one of the regulars.

Clearing his throat, Clyde dropped his arms from you and stepped away like he had been caught doing something wrong. He looked back at you with a guilty expression as he moved to his place behind the bar.

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

The Friday evening crowd was rowdier than usual. You were still getting used to dealing with the bar patrons in general, let alone when they were extra rambunctious.

Not only were the usuals more wound up than normal, but the bar was busier tonight than you had ever seen it. Packed with people you had never seen, you were scrambling between tables running drinks and appetizers to customers.

A gang of Hell’s Angels was traveling through and had taken up two tables near the bar. The way those men eyed you gave you goosebumps in all the most nauseating ways.

Standing at the bar waiting for Clyde to pour a round of tequila shots for the bikers, your eyes were drawn to the entrance doors as they swung open.

Watching him walk through the double doors, his large frame filling the space between them, smoke huffing from his nose and trailing over his shoulders as he walked, was even hotter than that first time Burt Reynolds stepped onto the silver screen in your favorite movie, Smokey and the Bandit. But, this man was much much larger, his chest where it peeked through the open top buttons of his flannel much broader, and he was even more handsome than the Bandit himself.

His presence filled the entire room as he paused to survey the bar. His gaze landed on you, unabashedly admiring your figure top to bottom and back.

As he walked to the bar, keeping you firmly in his sights, your thighs tensed involuntarily just from watching his gait. You could tell just from seeing him move that this man knew how to make a woman feel good.

A bottle slammed a little too roughly on the counter as Clyde set the tequila bottle down, intentionally drawing your attention back to the shots he had finished pouring. The pout he fixed upon you turned to a glower as he turned to look at the large man approaching the bar.

Undaunted, the man walked to you both. Walking up so close behind you that you could feel the heat radiating off his huge body, he slammed a large hand on the bar top beside you.

“Jack on the rocks,” he ordered, his deep voice rumbling through you.

Removing his hand from the bar and himself from behind you, he moved to take a seat at the far end of the bar. Back facing the wall, he appraised the crowd and the bartender as he took a deep drag from his cigarette.

As you served the shots to the bikers, you were quick to dodge a sweaty hand that made a grab for your ass. Turning back to the bar, you saw Clyde looming over the bar, one metal hand and one flesh hand planted on the surface, as if he was ready to jump over it and charge the table of bikers. The handsome stranger looked at the table aggressively too, a thick stream of smoke exhaled from his prominent nose.

When you returned to the bar in front of Clyde, he was still leaning over it.

“Ya alright, darlin?” He asked you over the whiskey he had poured and immediately forgotten.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you winked at him before grabbing the whiskey on the rocks and walking it to the man in plaid at the end of the bar.

Leaning back on the barstool, one long leg steadying himself on the ground, he watched you approach with a steady gaze and a half smile.

“Thank you, miss,” he almost purred in his deep smooth voice.

“Y/N,” you finished his sentence as you sat his drink down in front of his absurdly large hand.

“Flip,” he blew a puff of smoke above your head. “It’s surely a pleasure, Y/N.”

It was almost hypnotic the way he looked at you, unblinking, with eyes that matched the Jack Daniels he swirled in his glass.

You canted your hip just a little more than usual as you leaned against the bar. You couldn’t help but notice the striking similarities between this man and Clyde. They had to be almost exactly the same height and breadth. Clyde was thicker, meatier, with longer hair and a softer countenance. But, Flip had something about him that you couldn’t place. He was older, more confident, but there was something else too. An edge. A dangerousness. It made you shiver with excitement.

“Are you from out of town?” You asked, hoping your voice sounded sultry. “We don’t get many people passing through here.”

“What gave me away?” He teased with a sly smile. There was no shyness or trepidation in this man. “I’m from Colorado Springs. Here on business, you might say.”

“Colorado? I’ve always wanted to see the mountains,” you noticed Flip’s smile grew more genuine at your words.

“You askin’ me for a ride?” His thick index finger circled the rim of his glass. “Through the mountains, I mean.”

“I don’t know. It seems awfully dangerous there now. Unless I had a big strong man looking out for me,” you lilted. “I’ve heard about the serial killer in Colorado Springs. All those murders.”

“I heard somethin’ about those myself,” Flip smirked at you. “In fact, I also heard that y’all have had a similar problem down here the last few months.”

“I guess that maybe I need a big strong man looking out for me here too then,” you smiled coyly at him.

“Hmmm,” something like a purr rumbled through his chest as he inhaled a drag on his cigarette. “What time do you get off tonight? Maybe you could use a big strong man to make sure you get home alright.”

Smiling up at Flip through your eyelashes, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth shoot through your abdomen at the thought.

A glass being thrown too roughly into sink behind the bar drew your attention. You were met with a sideways scowl from Clyde. But it wasn’t directed at you. Clyde was chewing his lip as he glared sideways at Flip.

“He your man?” Flip asked around another drag, eyeing Clyde in his own askance regard.

“No,” you said, returning your eyes to Flip. “I guess I’m just behind on tables.”

Flip’s eyes followed you when you left his company to deliver another round of shots to the bikers.

As you stretched across the table to distribute the shots, the man in front of you shoved a dollar bill toward your chest as a joke. Recoiling, you leveled a healthy slap across his ugly laughing face.

The man and the entire table seemed to freeze. The drunkest man laughed at his friend, the rest sneered at you.

“You little bitch,” snarled the biker you’d slapped, as he stood from the table. A huge burly man, stumbling in his drunkenness.

You looked to Clyde, looming behind the bar. Your eyes implored him to help when they met his, but it was unnecessary. He was instantly in action, rushing to get out from behind the bar to come to your aide.

Before he had reached the end of the bar, you jolted at the feeling of a strong hand at your back, guiding you away. A sigh of relief washed over you when you turned to see Flip’s handsome face turned in an ominous glare at the other man.

“Let’s have a dance, sugar,” Flip’s voice boomed, as he stared the biker down for several long seconds. When the man took no further action, Flip led you away from them and out into the middle of the floor with him. His demeanor brokered no argument from any of the other men.

Fleetwood Mac’s Dreams played through the bar as Flip moved in front of you, his hand at your back traveled to your waist and he took your hand in his. Flip pressed his body close to yours as he danced with you.

He moved confidently and powerfully, his movements too deft for a man his size. The way he held on to you firmly but not forcibly, the power you could feel in his body, the way his hips moved, and the way his chest expanded with his breath, had your pulse racing from much more than exertion.

This close, you could feel the heat from him and inhale the scent of him. His presence surrounded you as his body moved against yours.

You could barely see over Flip’s shoulder, but when you caught a glance of Clyde, you saw him staring at you as he poured an over-full shot. Clyde slammed the shot back himself, his long hair falling wildly around his face when he returned the glass to the bar top.

Flip shot you out to twirl you swiftly, pulling you back to his chest. You couldn’t be sure if your head spun more from the rush of the spin or the rush of being in Flip’s powerful arms.

“I like how you feel in my arms, sugar,” Flip’s voice resounded through you when he lowered his head next to your ear.

You felt Flip tense against you when one of the bikers tapped him roughly on the shoulder.

“‘Bout time for you to share that little tease with the rest of us?” He asked around a mouthful of Copenhagen.

“Bout time for you to back the fuck off, buddy,” Flip’s voice was deep and foreboding. “She doesn’t want anything to do with you, and you damn sure don’t want anything to do with me.”

Flip kept swaying with you, keeping you close to him. He watched the other man like a hawk, his jaw clenching when two more of the drunken bikers came to stand beside their friend.

Dropping his voice for your ears only, Flip instructed you, “I’m gonna walk you back to the bar. You get behind it if there’s a problem.”

Clyde saw the trouble festering too. He walked from behind the bar to stand near to where Flip danced with you and near the three bikers. His concern was for you alone.

“Bar’s closin’ early,” Clyde’s drawling voice commanded.

At Clyde’s words, several other bikers stood from the tables. They had no intention of leaving.

Clyde’s hand clenched into a fist and Flip’s jaw tensed as they each appraised the situation.

Flip still held you, moving slowly with you as he watched the other men. Three men edged close to you and Flip. Too close. Two men loomed behind Clyde. Several other men stood by their table.

Flip looked down at you, smiling wickedly. “I’m gonna spin you a little better this time, sugar.”

The three bikers were now within arm’s reach of you and Flip. Turning quickly toward Clyde, Flip shoved you forcibly into Clyde’s arms.

As soon as you left his arms, Flip slammed a right hook into one of the biker’s jaw, snapping the man’s head to the side.

You crashed into Clyde’s chest, his good arm wrapping immediately around you. The two men behind Clyde rushed toward his back. Clyde reversed his metal arm into the first man. The metal slammed into the side of his head in a splatter of arching blood with the force of a major league bat, the force knocking him sideways into his compatriot, both men falling to the floor.

The biker that Flip hooked in the jaw stumbled to the floor, holding his bleeding mouth. Without missing a stride, Flip blocked an oncoming punch from another man while landing a left straight punch solidly into the man’s nose. Flip’s right fist followed immediately, knocking the man unconscious on his feet.

The third biker lunged at Flip while another rose from the table, rushing Clyde. Releasing you, Clyde turned to face the table, blocking you with his body.

Watching Flip and Clyde tear into the other men was like nothing you had seen. They were both huge, powerful, and highly skilled. Clyde was looming and forceful where Flip was agile and viscous. It was like watching a bear and a wolf tear apart lumbering cattle.

As the biker rushed Clyde, he drove his right fist into the oncoming man’s solar plexus, doubling him over. Clyde’s metal left hand followed, slamming down in between the man’s shoulder blades and dropping him in a heap to the floor.

On the other side of you, Flip reached both his huge hands to grab the collar of the third biker’s leather vest as the biker rushed at Flip. Using the biker’s own momentum, Flip helped him right along. Flip yanked the man to him, slamming his forehead down into the biker’s nose. You watched as the man’s nose exploded like a water balloon hitting pavement when Flip head butted him. The biker dropped to his knees groaning.

Flip looked like a feral menacing animal. His hair wild, blood splattered across his face and fists, teeth bared in a snarl, chest heaving as he caught his breath. Clyde’s gaze was deadly as he watched the remaining men, his own glare deep and aggressive.

In the span of only a few seconds Flip and Clyde had each put three men down for the count. All six of whom were on the ground, writhing and groaning in varied stated of bloodied consciousness.

Four bikers remained. All had stood from their seats, chairs tipped over behind them.

Clyde was closer to the men. He squared his shoulders and fixed them with a scowl. Flip walked next to Clyde, his chest expanded impossibly wide, shaking the other mens’ blood from his fists. Flip’s glare was murderous as he eyed the other men.

“Do I even need to ask if you punks are feelin’ lucky?” Flip growled around clenched teeth. “Or are you just gonna back the fuck off nice and easy.”

The four men exchanged looks before the only smart one in the bunch raised his hands in supplication. “No, man. No more trouble. Just let us get our friends outta here.”

“Ya’ll can pick up some a’ this mess ya caused while you’re at it,” Clyde boomed at the men.

You walked to stand between Clyde and Flip, looking them both up and down for injuries.

“Are you guys alright,” you asked, placing a hand one each of their arms, looking between them.

“I’m fine, darlin,’” Clyde spoke softly to you as he still eyed the other men.

“Just gettin’ warmed up, sugar,” Flip smirked at you. “Come have a drink with me for last call.”

Flip returned his hand to your back, encouraging you to follow him back to the bar.

Clyde loomed over the group of bikers, making sure the starch was taken all the way out of them and that no one wanted any more trouble.

Flip leaned against the bar, watching you as you poured three whiskeys, one for each of you. You dampened a clean washcloth and returned to Flip with your two drinks and the cloth.

Taking a sip of his whiskey, Flip eyed you hungrily as you stood close to him and took a drink yourself. The whiskey pleasantly burned your throat on its way down, making you grimace but bringing a smile to Flip’s mouth.

Nobody Does It Better by Carly Simon came on the radio as you both savored your drinks.

Nobody does it half as good as you.

Setting your glass down, you reached to grab one of his large hands. Holding it in one hand, you wiped the blood away with the cloth held in your other. Flip continued to smile at you as he drank his whiskey, watching you clean his hand.

Baby, you’re the best.

“That’s my song playin,’” Flip cocked an eyebrow at you.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a Carly Simon fan,” you teased him.

And nobody does it better.

“I’m not. But the lyrics are all me,” the way Flip grinned at you brought a flush to your cheeks.

“You think so, huh?” You still held his now clean hand in yours.

“Will you give me a chance to show you firsthand?” He stroked his thumb along your hand. “I’ll show you that nobody does it better than I do.”

“What’s ‘it,’ Flip?” You asked coyly.

“Whatever you want it to be, gorgeous,” Flip took another swig.

Smiling at him broadly, you reached for his other hand to clean the blood from it too.

“Let me take you out tomorrow,” Flip’s voice softened. “Dinner. We can see that new movie everyone’s goin’ on about. Star Wars.”

“I like the sound of that, Flip,” you brought his now clean hand to your lips, placing a light kiss on his knuckles.

“Glad to hear it, sugar,” Flip winked at you.

The bikers had just finished carrying each other out of the bar when Clyde turned to look toward you and Flip. His scowl seemed even deeper now

Slamming the rest of his drink, Flip slapped some bills down on the bar and took his exit.

You walked with Flip out to his truck, one of his large arms slung across your shoulders, holding you close to him.

Pausing at the driver’s door, Flip used the arm on your shoulders to pull you around in front of him. His arm dropped from your shoulders to slide down, following your curves attentively, to rest on your hip. Lifting his other hand to your face, he dragged a thick finger softly along the line of your jaw, tilting your face upward.

Smirking down at you, Flip lowered his head to kiss you. Your hands flew to fist in the material of his shirt when his lips met yours. Even whiskey and smoke tasted good on his tongue when he licked into your mouth. His grip on your hip tightened as he kissed you, his lips and tongue moving expertly against yours.

You had never been turned on so quickly by a kiss in your life. In moments, you were pressing your body against his and moaning against his lips while wetness soaked into your panties.

Just as your hands were raising to loop around his neck, Flip pulled his lips away from yours, straightening his back and smiling down at you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, sugar,” he told you with a satisfied smile.

“I can’t wait,” you smiled back and smacked his chest in playful offense that he broke your kiss.

When Flip climbed into his truck, he gave you a final wink before closing the door and pulling away.

Clyde didn’t say a word to you when you walked back into the bar.

Grabbing a rag, you began wiping down the bar top as Clyde washed glasses in the sink.

“Hell of a night, huh?” You smiled across the bar at Clyde.

He huffed through his nose but he didn’t respond to you.

“You were really something, you know,” you said softly.

Clyde looked sharply over to you at your words.

“You seemed a lot more impressed by that other fella,” Clyde said sourly, returning his eyes to his task. “I’m sure he’ll show ya a real nice time tomorrow.”

“I was impressed with both of you,” you moved closer to Clyde as you wiped the bar. “He was the just the one who asked me out.”

“What do ya mean by that,” he leveled his gaze at you.

“I’ve been here right under your nose, Clyde,” you leaned towards him. “Do something about it if you want to.”

Looking down at the ground for a second, Clyde swallowed thickly, but this time he overcame any shyness. He walked to the bar opposite of you and placed both his meaty hand and his prosthetic on the bar top on either side of you where you leaned against it.

Leaning down toward you, closing the distance between your faces to mere inches, his voice was beautifully deep when he spoke to you.

“In that case, how about you let me take ya out tonight,” Clyde’s voice sent goosebumps up your spine. “Let me show ya good time.”

“I’d love that, Clyde,” you beamed up at him.

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

By the time you cleaned up and Clyde closed the bar down, everything else was already closed too. There weren’t any options for him to actually take you out. But, you assured him that didn’t matter to you.

Instead, Clyde had driven you into the woods, down a winding dirt road through the mountains and out to a beautiful moonlit clearing. He had a nice car, fun to ride in. A brand new Trans Am hot rod. He had talked and laughed with you on the drive, seemingly his shyness melting away with each mile.

Even when he parked, the two of you sat in his car just talking to each other over some beers for what seemed like hours. Clyde’s hand found its way onto your thigh, warm and strong, when he squeezed.

Now, the cool air chilled you as you once again danced with Clyde.

This time, it was outside under the canopy of the forest. The heat from his huge body flowed into you, making you press yourself even closer to him.

This time, his shyness had worn off and he held you tight against him as he moved with you to the music. I Heard It In A Love Song played through the speakers of the open doors of his Trans Am.

Tilting your head to look up at him, you found him gazing back at you. Backlit by the starry sky, his features looked even more handsome than you had ever seen them. Maybe it was because of the way he was looking at you now, like you were the only woman he’d ever seen.

“I’d sure like to kiss ya, darlin’” he said quietly.

A shiver of excitement ran through your body as you lifted your hands from where they rested on Clyde’s broad shoulders to wrap around his neck. Pulling gently, you encouraged him to lean down to meet your lips.

Clyde’s kiss embodied everything you thought of him. Gentle, soft, generous with the pleasure he gave you as his full lips kissed you.

Working their way up his thick neck, your hands found their way into his long luscious hair. When you twisted into it roughly, Clyde’s grip on you tightened until it was nearly bruising as he pulled you against him.

Deepening his kiss until you were both gasping for breath, you felt his hand travel under your shirt. He ran his warm palm along the skin of your back. Gentlemanly as always, he only smoothed his hand across your spine.

The feeling of his hand along your bare skin was electric. It made you want so much more.

Drawing back from him just enough to earn a pout on his flushed lips, you smiled at him before peeling your shirt over your head and tossing it onto the hood of his car.

Clyde looked at you like he had never seen anything so beautiful. The desire and awe on his face spurred you on. Reaching behind you, you unhooked your bra and threw it away to join your shirt.

“Oh, you’re just perfect, darlin,’” Clyde purred. “The prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

The cool air peaked your nipples instantly, and he couldn’t resist bringing his hand to one as he leaned down to capture the other in his mouth. You couldn’t decide if his hot soft tongue on one nipple felt better or his calloused palm on the other. The combination of sensations going straight to your pussy.

You backed toward his car, Clyde following. When you reached the hood, you grabbed the hem of his tshirt to tug it off over his head, further tousling his hair. Your breath hitched at the sight of his wonderful, enormous chest.

Running your hands over his chest, you grabbed his shoulders as you leaned back onto the hood. The engine running warmed the metal under your back. Clyde hooked his arm under your back to hoist you up the hood further before planting his left forearm and prosthetic beside you to hover close above you, lowering his mouth to kiss along your collarbone.

Clyde’s hand ran over the front of your shorts, skimming over your pussy to toy with the button.

“Want me to take these off for ya, honey?” Clyde’s voice has husky as he kissed and licked along your throat.

“Please,” you moaned. “I want you so bad.”

Wasting no time, Clyde popped the button on your shorts and yanked them off along with your panties in one quick motion.

A low growl thrummed through his chest at the sight of you.

“Fuck, darlin’ look how wet ya are for me,” he huffed. “Let me help ya out with that.”

Clyde dropped his head, bringing his mouth to your pussy. He made out with your pussy just as passionately as he had your lips earlier. His hair fell wildly around his face and your stomach, jostling with his movements. A pleasured groan vibrated against you, adding to the sensation.

Your hand returned to his luxurious hair as you sighed, “I want your cock, Clyde. Make me cum on your cock.”

Still teasing your clit with his tongue, Clyde unzipped his own jeans and pushed them down his muscular thighs.

When he lifted his face from your pussy, he lifted both of your legs to place your feet over his shoulders. As he crawled back up your body to line his cock up with your entrance you could see just how magnificent it was.

Nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of his giant cock pushing slowly into you, the feeling of your pussy being stretched more than you thought you could take, filled to brim with his cock.

The angle he chose let him fill you completely. Your knees were almost pressed to your chest when Clyde settled over you, his cock shoved into you to the hilt. He clamped his left arm against your thigh, keeping your hips flush to his, his right hand rested beside your head on the hood.

“Fuck, darlin, I’ve never felt anything so good on my cock,” Clyde praised you as you acclimated to his size.

He started fucking you slowly, rocking into you more than thrusting. He knew his cock was a lot to take and he didn’t want to hurt you.

You thought you could almost cum just from those simple motions. There was just so much of him. And in the position he had you, every long thick inch of him rubbed along your front wall perfectly.

“Ya like my cock, honey?” Clyde grinned down at you.

“Oh, god, I love your giant cock!” You cried in pleasure.

“Then, have a little more,” he teased as he pulled out and slammed back into you, earning a satisfied sigh from you.

Setting a faster pace, Clyde pumped his cock into you more roughly. Each thrust punctuated by his hips crashing against you. Moaning underneath his huge body, your hands reached to his arms. Feeling the rigid muscles tense under your fingers with every thrust sent a new rush of arousal straight to your pussy.

Hair falling around his face in waves, he fucked you hard now. Every slam of his cock into you rocked his car with his force. The pace he set, aggressively hitting your gspot with every movement, had your pussy tightening around him in minutes as taut pleasure coiled in your abdomen.

“That’s it, darlin,’ Clyde huffed, voice strained. “Keep squeezin’ my cock. I wanna feel ya cum for me.”

A hot rush of ecstasy flooded you as his solid pumps into you pushed you into a throbbing orgasm, your pussy clenching his cock in time with the waves washing over you.

Teeth gritted, Clyde fucked you through it as his cock pulsed inside of you. The tensing of your pussy around him had him cumming with a growl. You could feel the warmth of his thick cum spreading into you, the sensation giving you another surge of pleasure.

Dropping your legs from his shoulders to settle them around his waist, you pulled him down to kiss you. Thick black hair fell around both of your faces as he kissed you for several long minutes.

When he pulled back from your lips, you had never seen a look of happiness more pure on anyone.

“That was incredible, Clyde,” you told him as your hands trailed down from neck over his wonderful chest.

“I’m sure glad ya thought so, Y/N,” he said, still smiling down at you.

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

The night sky was starting to lighten to black blue as you stared up at it. You had spent the whole night with Clyde and it had flown by. You wished it could last twice as long.

Once you had redressed, you sat back on the hood of Clyde’s car. You scooted back until you could lean back against the windshield, propping one arm behind your head, and gesturing to Clyde with the other. He had just pulled his tshirt back on and you had half a mind to tell him to him to take it back off so you could keep looking at his beautiful chest.

Clyde trailed his hand up your leg as he walked to stand beside the hood of his car where you sat.

“Does this mean that I can call ya my girl now, darlin’?” His hand continued until his finger brushed the seam of your shorts as he squeezed your thigh.

“I’d love to be your girl, Clyde,” you smiled warmly up at him.

He seemed to consider your words, chewing on his lip. But, instead of a smile, his brow furrowed.

“But, how could I be sure you’re really mine?” Clyde’s voice had dropped.

“What do you mean?” You laughed playfully. “Of course, I’m yours.”

“Well, I thought ya were wantin’ me today,” his voice had lost its pleasant tone. “But then, as soon as that smokin,’ plaid wearin’ sonofabitch started flirtin’ with ya...” Clyde huffed a breath. “Ya just forgot all about me, didn’t ya?”

“What?” Your eyes widened at his words. “No, that’s not it at all, Clyde. I didn’t think you were interested in me. Especially when you pulled away from dancing with me earlier.”

Bringing your hand to rest on top of his, you continued, “I’ve had a crush on you for a pretty long time.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what I want with you for a while too, darlin,’” Clyde told you without smiling. “I have somethin’ for ya.”

Clyde withdrew his hand from your thigh and walked to the back of his car.

“Just wait right there for me, Y/N,” he instructed as he opened the trunk.

You could hear him rummaging for something. When the rummaging stopped, you could hear something that sounded like a cork screw twisting. You had always assumed Clyde was a hopeless romantic. He probably had a special bottle of wine he’d brought to share with you. Closing your eyes, you smiled at the thought, resting your head back against the windshield as you reclined on the hood of his car.

You heard Clyde’s heavy boot steps as he walked back to you.

“There’s only one way to make sure that you stay all mine,” his voice grumbled at your side.

Turning to smile up at him, you were just in time to see Clyde’s face twisted into a snarl, his raised left hand slicing down towards your throat. Only, it wasn’t his prosthetic. Glinting in the moonlight, you saw a massive, pointed, iron double pronged hook, swinging at you with all the force of the huge man behind it.

Adrenaline and reflex propelled you as you rolled away from him with a shriek. You felt the iron slice two lines across your back as you rolled across the hood, before the hook connected with the glass of the windshield.

Stumbling to your feet on the opposite side of the car from Clyde, you saw him growl in frustration as he fixed you with a feral sneer.

You turned and ran for the safety of the woods, only feet ahead of you, as Clyde violently yanked his arm up, freeing the hook from where it was embedded in his cracked windshield.

The rush of your own blood sounded in your ears louder even that your frantic footsteps as you ran through the trees and brush into the forest. You knew which way the main road was. Maybe if you could make it that far, you could flag someone down to help you.

Crashing behind you signaled that Clyde was charging after you. Although he was much faster, you knew that you had enough of a head start that he probably couldn’t see you through the dense foliage that surrounded you both. You were also quieter as you ran than his enormous body crashing through the brush.

As you ran, the sound of Clyde faded behind you. Your thighs began to burn and your lungs couldn’t find the air you needed to keep running.

Turning to look behind you as you ran, you slammed face first into something huge and unyielding. A pair of strong arms wrapped around you and your heart stopped. Until you realized it wasn’t Clyde who had found you. It was Flip. Somehow, Flip had come to your rescue and you were now secure in his arms.

“Flip?” You almost cried from relief.

His huge hand clamped down hard around your mouth.

Spinning you so your back was flush against his broad chest, Flip pressed his own back against the truck of a tree. His arms were tight and firm around you, keeping you still against him. His own breathing was oddly level, you felt his chest rising and falling at your back. He was listening.

A few long moments passed. Silence. Flip’s hold around you loosened. As his arms slackened, you turned to face him, your chest now pressed against him. A sigh of relief shuddered through you when you laid your cheek against his chest. Flip’s large hands smoothed along your back, comforting you.

“He tried to fucking kill me, Flip,” you whispered against his chest.

“You’re safe now,” even Flip’s whisper was deep and rumbling. “He’s not gonna kill anyone else.”

Still, only silence echoed through the woods around you both.

Arms still around you, Flip pushed away from the tree. Stepping away from you just enough to retrieve his pistol from his shoulder holster, Flip moved to peer around the tree.

It was dark in the forest. You could barely make out Flip’s handsome face as he turned back to you, let alone see deeper into the trees.

Holding his gun in his right hand, Flip reached his left out to you. When his strong grip closed around your hand, you felt instantly safer.

“My truck’s close,” Flip assured you as he started leading you through the trees.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that Clyde was still stalking you. He wouldn’t just let you go. But Flip was vigilant as he walked beside you and you could almost feel the alert tension emanating from him.

Holding Flip’s hand tight, you turned to look back over your shoulder. Walking blindly ahead as you looked behind you, you tripped over a log. Flip used both of his arms to steady you.

Both distracted by your stumble, neither of you saw Clyde lunge at you from the darkness on Flip’s right side.

Flip caught the movement of the hook slicing at him through the air from his periphery too late. Simultaneously, Flip roughly shoved you to the ground with his left hand that he was using to help you, pushing you away from the oncoming attack, and swung his right hand holding his pistol toward Clyde.

Flip was a heartbeat too slow. Clyde’s left arm slashed violently at Flip in a backhanded swing that had all of Clyde’s considerable power behind it. His double pointed hook cut roughly across Flip’s chest. You could hear the tearing of Flip’s flannel shirt and the ripping of his flesh as Clyde’s hook carved ragged twin lines across his chest.

A feral growl tore through Flip’s throat as Clyde tore through the meat of his chest.

Clyde’s strike wasn’t just a cut. All of his force was behind it and he pushed through his slash, barreling into Flip and tackling him to the ground.

The two huge men hit the ground hard, a huffed breath forced out of Flip’s chest when he landed on his back with Clyde slamming his hooked arm down onto Flip’s bloody pectorals. All of Clyde’s weight was behind it and you thought Clyde hit Flip hard to enough to break every rib in his enormous torso.

Flip’s gun flew out of his grip with the force of Clyde’s hit and Flip looked dazed for half a second.

Scrambling backwards on the ground, you stumbled to your feet.

Clyde raised himself off of Flip enough to rear back his left hooked arm for his killing blow, aimed in a viscous downward strike at Flip’s face.

Flip bucked his hips up roughly underneath Clyde, throwing his swing off balance. As Clyde canted forward, Flip slammed a violent left fist into the side of Clyde’s jaw. Blood erupted from Clyde’s mouth, raining down onto Flip’s face and chest, mixing with Flip’s own blood oozing from his chest.

You looked frantically for Flip’s gun as the men exchanged crushing blows feet from you.

“Run, Y/N!” Flip grunted to you as he tried to trap Clyde’s left hooked arm with his right.

There. You saw moonlight glint off Flip’s gun a few feet away.

You almost dove for the gun in your haste to pick it up.

Clyde saw you.

As you swung the revolver toward Clyde, your thumb cocking back the hammer, he pushed off of Flip, rising to his feet.

A glint of fear shone in Clyde’s eyes as you leveled the gun at his chest. He threw himself to the side as you pulled the trigger, trying to dodge your shot as he made for the thicker brush.

The bullet caught him in the shoulder instead of the vital area of his center. You saw the spurt of blood when the bullet connected with him and heard the resounding thunk of it burrowing into flesh.

You also knew it wasn’t a mortal wound. But you could hear Clyde crash through the woods as he retreated to his car.

Flip had risen to his knees when you rushed to his side, falling to kneel beside him.

“Oh my god, Flip,” you choked back a sob as you looked at the gaping lacerations across his chest.

“I’m fine, sugar,” Flip grunted, pushing himself to his feet. You rose with him, steadying him as he swayed slightly.

Reaching to grab his revolver from you, Flip flashed a lopsided grin at you. “Good job, gorgeous.”

“We need to get you to a hospital,” your voice shook as Flip again took your hand in his.

“Not before I kill that motherfucker,” Flip’s jaw clenched in resolve as he pushed ahead, leading you through the woods to his truck.

The first pinks of dawn were beginning to streak through the navy sky when you both burst into the clearing where Flip’s truck was parked.

Flip yanked the door open and nearly threw you inside in his haste to help you in. You scooted across the bench seat as Flip climbed in behind the wheel.

He paused long enough to light a cigarette between his lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.

Revving the engine, he looked at you with a wicked smirk, “Seatbelt, baby.” Popping the clutch, he spun out of the parking area in a squeal of crying tires and clouds of dust.

Flip was half a second too late. As he gunned his truck to the dirt road, Clyde’s Trans Am shot by, missing Flip’s bumper by inches. An explosion of dust engulfed you, choking you even as it entered in through the truck’s vents.

With a growl, Flip slammed his shifter down and floored his truck. The engine screamed in protest as he launched down the dirt road, close enough behind Clyde to still be blinded by his dust.

Pressing the gas pedal as hard as he could, Flip tried to ram the back of Clyde’s car, but the Trans Am was too fast. It pulled easily away from Flip’s truck, kicking up even more dust as an insult. Flip growled in frustration.

The road through the mountains was winding, twisting and zigzagging through the steep terrain. Ahead, there was a switchback. The road curved sharply, a one hundred and eighty degree turn that would bring Clyde driving below you as he fled.

Flip saw it. White knuckles gripping the steering wheel, cigarette clenched in his teeth, and murder in his eyes, Flip turned the wheel, diving his truck off the road and down the steep bank.

You shrieked as Flip’s truck careened down the hillside, bouncing violently as it plowed through brush and scrub.

Clyde rounded the corner, surging toward you. You saw Clyde’s face contort in fear and shock as he slammed on his brakes.

It was too little too late to avoid Flip’s perfectly timed assault.

Flip’s powerful arm shot in front of your chest when his truck hit the Trans Am, t-boning the side of it just ahead of the driver’s door and sending the car rolling down the other side of the steep bank.

The truck skidded to a stop in the road as the car rolled several times down the side of the mountain. A thick pine tree finally ended its descent with a resounding smash.

Flip turned to you, cigarette still in his fucking mouth, “You alright?”

You nodded, in a mild shock.

Flip got out of his truck and appraised the damage below him. Smoke billowed from his nose as he seemed to consider his next course of action.

Below, the door of the crumpled car pushed open.

Clyde was dazed as he stumbled out of the crunched door, but he was far from dead. He didn’t even appear badly injured.

Setting his jaw and clenching his fists, Flip set out toward the other man.

Flip walked down the hill in long purposeful strides. He wasn’t rushed. He seemed to enjoy approaching the other man like a looming predator.

Clyde had struggled to his feet and was leaning back against his car by the time Flip was closing in on him.

Clyde fixed Flip with a scowl as he pointedly raised his left arm in front of his face, looking over his hook at Flip. He gave the ragged metal hook a solid twist with his good hand, ensuring it was securely in place. And that its razored points were poised to slice through more of Flip’s flesh.

As Flip closed in, Clyde charged forward. Using the car to push himself off, Clyde leveled a powerful swing of his hook at Flip’s throat.

Flip was ready this time. He didn’t miss a stride. He blocked Clyde’s lunge easily and, ducking low, slammed his left fist into Clyde’s solar plexus, knocking the air from Clyde’s lungs and doubling him over in pain.

Clyde’s left arm continued its swing as he buckled forward, slicing his hook across Flip’s thick thigh, opening a long cut through the muscle.

A devastating punch from an iron right fist knocked Clyde to his knees. He shook his head, dazed. Flip fisted the same hand into Clyde’s long hair, using it as a grip to pull Clyde’s face into a violent knee.

Still gripping his hair, Flip pulled Clyde’s head back as Clyde’s body began to slump. Flip shoved the large man’s shaggy head under his own powerful arm, neck crammed under his armpit. As swift as a bear trap slamming closed, Flip brought his forearm up under Clyde’s throat, to lock his hand onto his other arm before twisting his torso violently. You could see every muscle in Flip’s broad back tense when he snapped Clyde’s neck. The wet crunch reverberated through the valley and back to you.

Clyde’s body went limp, arms dropping slack to his sides. Releasing his hold around Clyde’s neck, Flip shoved his lifeless body back into the door of the Trans Am. Clyde’s body fell, leaning slumped against the car and moved no more.

Flip straightened with a growl, shrugging his huge shoulders back. He fished his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and brought another to his lips. After lighting it, he took a luxuriously deep drag, his chest expanding with his breath, before blowing a thick cloud of smoke from his mouth.

Cigarette clamped between his teeth, he knelt next to Clyde’s body. Flip reached to Clyde’s left hand, unscrewing the jagged double pronged hook. Turning it over in his hands, he appraised it before standing back up and walking back to you.

Flip’s own blood dripped from the tips of the hooks as it swung in his grip while he walked back up the bank to his truck and you.

Standing by the front of Flip’s truck, you still shivered slightly from the shock of it all. But the sight of the man who had just saved your life returning to you victoriously both calmed and excited you in the best of ways.

When Flip reached you, he looped one of his large arms around your shoulders, walking you with him to the side of the bed of his truck.

Turning to him, your back pressed against his truck, you lifted your arms to reach around his neck. Flip smiled down at you. He hooked Clyde’s hook on the railing of the truck bed and brought both hands to your waist.

As he leaned down to kiss you, your arms tightened around his neck. You never wanted to let him go. His lips were soft against yours, soothing and comforting, as he kissed you. His mouth trailed kisses up your cheek as he pulled back to look down at you fondly.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” He asked you softly.

“You’re asking if I’m alright when you’re the one who’s bleeding all over?” Your hands smoothed down to his lacerated chest.

“I’ve had worse,” Flip grinned at you.

You began undoing the buttons of his flannel, the fabric wet and the buttons slick with his blood.

You helped Flip shrug off his dirty bloodied shirt, pushing the damp fabric off his shoulders and down his arms. The white tshirt he wore underneath made the cuts in his chest look even worse, the blood from them having stained the entire front of his shirt. The blood also plastered the thin white shirt against his magnificent chest.

You couldn’t resist pulling him down to you again. This time, Flip closed the distance between your bodies, pushing you back harder against the truck. He kissed you deeply this time, his tongue hot as he licked into your mouth. You groaned against his lips as you felt his blood soaking through your shirt where your tits pressed against his chest.

He kissed you for several long minutes before you had to pause for breath. Flip lifted one hand to rest against his truck beside you. He leaned against his truck, one hand gripping the bed railing as he caged you against the side.

“I’m sure glad I got to you before he was able to do anything to you, Y/N,” Leaning down over you, Flip smiled as he stroked your cheek.

Your eyes dropped from his handsome face as you recalled everything you had let Clyde do to you.

“What is it?” Flip asked gently.

“I should never have gone out with him.” You couldn’t hide the shame from your voice. “I let it go too far with him.”

“How far exactly?” Flip pulled back from you slightly, straightening his back.

“As far as it can go,” with your eyes on the ground, you didn’t see Flip’s expression harden. “You know what I’m saying, Flip.”

“Did he force you?” Flip asked as he lifted the hook off the bed of his truck. “Did he force himself on you, or did you let him have you all on your own?”

“No, he was just...” you choked back a sob. “He was just Clyde. Until after.”

“So, you wanted it?” Flip’s voice was low and his hazel eyes looked hard at you now.

“At the time I did, but not now,” your voice was cracking.

Turning the double hook over in his hands, Flip’s brow furrowed as you spoke.

“I wish I hadn’t. I feel so awful now,” you were trying to hold back tears.

“Well, that’s a damn shame, baby,” Flip sighed heavily.

You finally raised your eyes back to his, “Flip-“

“A woman like you makes a man think,” Flip continued, not listening to you anymore. “Right when I saw you, it hit me like a ton of fuckin’ bricks how much I wanted you.” He ran a hand through his dusty bloody hair, “How I could have a life with a woman like you. I could start over.”

You leaned against him, placing your hands on his bloody chest, “We can, Flip.”

“No. We can’t,” his eyes hardened instantly as he looked at you. His voice now had a brutal edge, “I’m not takin’ any other man’s leftovers.”

You looked up at him, pleading with your eyes.

“It’s a damn shame I didn’t get to you sooner.” He said lowly. The way he was leaning over you was now menacing.

“Flip, please, it didn’t even mean anything,” you reasoned.

“If it didn’t mean anything,” Flip was snarling at you now. “That’s even fuckin’ worse!”

“I regret it, Flip,” you choked. “It was stupid.”

“I regret not being able to save you from him,” Flip shook his head, but there was no remorse in his gesture. “From everything he did to you.”

“We can still have something,” you pleaded.

“That’s what the cops are gonna say, too. When they find out what Clyde did to you,” Flip glared are you. “It’s a damn shame that I didn’t get to you sooner.”

“What are you talking about,” you pressed you back as close against his truck as you could get, putting as much space between you and Flip as you could.

“It’s a damn shame that I didn’t get to you before he killed you,” Flip’s eyes were cold, dark, and unblinking. “Before that fuckin’ copycat slashed you up like the amateur he was.”

A wave of nauseating horror washed over you. Copycat?

Flip smiled evilly at you, as if he heard your unasked question.

“Why else would I be out in the fuckin’ backwoods of West Virginia? I came here to take care of him,” Flip snarled. “I’m not about to let some hillbilly copycat take credit for my work.”

Your blood turned to ice in your veins as you looked at your savior with horror.

“You could have had the real thing, baby. Not some second-rate copycat,” Flip clicked his tongue at you. “And I promise you, I’m better at everything.”

“Please, Flip,” you begged.

“Nobody does it better than I do, baby,” his smile dripped with malice as he violently swung the double hook at your throat.

The last thing you saw was blood spurting onto Flip’s face and chest, staining the remaining white on his tshirt crimson. This time, it pumped from the gaping wound in your throat.

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

© safarigirlsp 2020

[skgway]

1818 Nov., Fri. 6

8 1/2

12 3/4

Finished the Fudge family in Paris – and talked to Ellen – Anecdotes after supper. Nothing ever gave her more pain than her first connection with Mr. Empson except child bearing. I observed she did not marry for love. She said Emma declared the same. 

Miss Prescott said in a party at Tom Rawson’s that she would not have Mr. Marshall, as he might have been wounded in essentials. Miss P[rescott], speaking of Mr. Alexander Peel’s doctor Thomson, drove his wife home in a gig the day after they were married. Martha Holdsworth said she should not have liked his driving her in a gig as he would have all his hands full. 

Mrs. Ellison said at a dinner party, ladies present, Mr. E[mpson] now went two or three times a day to the post office. ‘Indeed’ Mr. E[mpson] said he. ‘At my time of life I find once a day enough.’ Mrs. James Torre among a party at rise (Mr. Home her husband’s uncle) took up a York paper and said ‘I know what going to cover means’ but what does ‘will cover’ mean, for the paper seems full of it. She and a friend of hers out offun advertized for a wife, concluding with she must be six feet high and made in proportion. Miss Gilby ready at indecent impromptus. Told  Ellen there was a new way of preventing womans having children Mr drake of York could do it, but would not say how. 

I mentioned “practical observations on the extraction of the placenta by James Murdoch mdqu” advertised in the Edinburgh review for September this year – To prevent venereal infection it is now common to use a sheath, which Ellen says does prevent it. I expressed a doubt. 

§ In among Mr. E’s indecent books is one called Johannes Secundus. I told her the (Tib’s) story of the wonan [woman] in the Palais Royal exhibiting herself connected with an ass at five franks a head admission. Told her of the dinner party at the Tiger Inn, Beverly, where naked women crawled round the room with lighted candles stuck in their tails. Mrs. Jones’s shewing up her chemise on the wedding night and her brothers looking at the sheets. The Welch woman having a child begot in her unknowingly. The going to Oxford. 

She could not tell why Venus loved Adonis or the meaning of the toast, the Wexford oyster. William Henry Rawson, after dinner when his mother was present, gave as a toast ‘the mother of us all.’ I do not quit[e] enter into the smut of this. 

Letter from Miss Marsh (Micklegate York) about 7 in the evening containing nothing particular. Retired upstairs at 10 1/2. Read or rather skimmed over some pages of the Edinburgh [Review], no. 60 for Sept. 1818. Thoroughly rainy day –

[atomheartz]

Rest Stop ( Billy Lee Smut )

Summary; Billy Lee and his wife spend the night at a rundown motel just outside of Vegas. But he can’t keep his hands off of her.

Word Count; 2294

Fandom; Bad Times at the El Royale

Characters; Billy Lee, OFC ( Cynthia Lee - played by Florence Welch )

Notes; I might have gotten carried away. And this is probably the dirtiest thing I’ve ever written. And yes, yes, Billy Lee is a toxic character, blah blah blah. Don’t idolize his behavior, this relationship, and all that stuff. And thanks to @explainamerica for suggesting two smut prompt lines for this fic. They’ll be in bold. Enjoy!

It wasn’t often Cynthia grew tired from all the walking she did. She found it freeing, with the wind in her hair and the sun on her skin. When they walked through fields, she found herself running her hand along the flowers and tall grass, a smile gracing her lips. And when her lover took her hand, brought to his lips, and whispered his affections, she could feel her heart race. But when she did grow tired, she always felt safe in her husband’s arms, and he carried her without question. Then, she could lay her head on his chest, with her ear over his heart, and even drift off to sleep in the comfort of his embrace.

Billy had always been so good to her, treating her like a queen and loving her when no one else did. He never let her out of his sight, and he always kept a hand on her. He knew their hands fit so perfectly together, like she was made just for him. And nothing was going to take her from him. Not another man, not the world, nothing. To him, she was perfect, the ideal woman in his ideal world. She was his queen, his angel, the one thing that kept him living. To lose her would be losing his lifeline, and no one was more protective of her than him. And no one loved her more than him, he made sure of that.

One night, while staying at a rundown motel just outside of Las Vegas, Billy watched from the bathroom as Cynthia brushed out her wet hair. They’d just gotten out of the shower, and she looked heavenly in her white towel. Her back was to him, and the marks he’d given her the previous night still visible on her neck. Quietly, with his own towel around his waist, he walked over to her, climbing onto the bed so he could wrap his arms around her from behind.

“Baby?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck.

“Hm?” she hummed, setting her brush down on her lap.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the most beautiful woman in the world?” he asked, his hands resting just under her breasts.

“Mhm, you did last night, you animal.” She brought one hand to his hair, running her fingers through it gently to mind the possible knots. She felt him chuckle against her skin as one of his hands traveled farther up, and then under the towel. She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back to rest against his shoulder once he began to fondle and massage her left breast.

“And what, sugar, did I say after that?” he whispered, kissing just below her ear.

“It’s all kind of a blur, Billy,” she said, using her free hand to grip his wrist, though it wasn’t tight. A breathy moan escaped her lips as she felt his index finger and thumb roll her nipple, a chill running down her spine.

“Is that so, baby? Anything I can do to help you remember?” He pulled his hand back from under her towel, a small smirk gracing his lips when he heard her whine softly.

“Mm… I’m fresh out of ideas. Maybe you have some?” she asked, releasing his wrist from her grip.

“I’ve always got some ideas for you, baby. Gonna make you feel like the queen nature wanted you to be,” he murmured against her skin. He pressed kisses down her neck and onto her exposed shoulder, bringing one hand to rest against her neck. His other hand slowly untucked her towel, letting it pool around her waist so it exposed her chest. He paused, watching as goosebumps rose on her skin, and the cool of the air had her press against him.

“You are the most beautiful creature on the face of this earth, angel. And you’re all mine,” he purred, gently nipping at her neck. He began to suck on her skin, groaning softly when he heard her whimper.

“You’re so gorgeous, like you were carved from marble by the finest hands,” he whispered, his free hand caressing her stomach, her skin soft to the touch. His kisses trailed over her shoulder, and as he nipped at her skin, his hand reached up to massage her breast again.

“Does that feel good, sweetness?”

“Mhm. It feels so good, Billy,” Cynthia whispered, shimmying slightly to push the towel off of the rest of her body and onto the floor. She smiled when he groaned, removing his hand from her neck to bring it to her other breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and index finger.

“You know how much I love making my baby feel good.” His right hand trailed down from her chest, down her stomach, and to her core. With a gentle tap to her thigh, he watched her spread her legs for him, and he used his middle finger to trail down her slit.

“Oh, baby, you’re so wet for me. All for me.” His thumb circled her clit, and he smirked as she bucked her hips. He pulled his hand away, bringing his finger to his mouth to lick it clean.

“And you taste so sweet, like the fruit from the Garden of Eden. And you know I’m dying for a taste,” he whispered. He let go of her, then shifted to lay himself down on the bed beside her. His own towel had begun to loosen, but he paid it no mind. The only thing he cared about, in that moment, was getting his hands on his goddess.

“Come here and give daddy a taste.” He beckoned her over, then reached for her arms to help situate her to where he wanted her. He set his hands on her thighs, pushing her down as she grabbed the headboard to keep her balance.

“And baby, you know the rule: don’t cum until I tell you,” he growled, watching her nod quickly before he set to work. The tip of his tongue traced over her slit, parting her folds so he could brush it over her clit. Her soft gasps and hip bucks spurred him on further, with him flattening his tongue over her core. He kept her pressed against his face, lapping at her folds like a man starved. And he had been starved. He hadn’t had her all to himself for days.

“O-Oh, oh Billy….” she whimpered, her legs quivering and her heart pounding. She let go of the headboard to grip his hair, rolling her hips as he groaned under her. His fingers dug into her thighs, and she moaned, tilting her head back as his nose bumped her clit.

“Baby, Billy, I’m close….” she whispered, exhaling sharply when she felt him pull back.

“Cum, baby. Fuckin’ cum all over my face,” he demanded, then pulled her back down onto him. He began to suck on her clit, grunting as she pulled on his hair.

“Oh god…. Oh fuck…. Oh, Billy!” Her eyes squeezed shut as the pressure building between her thighs pushed forth. Her whole body shook, yet Billy continued to lap at her folds, coaxing her through her orgasm. When she finally began to settle down, he was quick to move them around, holding her close to his chest as he sat up against the headboard.

“Fuck, I forgot how sweet you tasted, baby,” he murmured, brushing her hair from her face, “and I’m far from done with you. I haven’t had you all to myself in days,” he whispered, tilting her head up to press a passionate kiss to her lips. One of his hands cupped her face as he kissed her, his own heart pounding in his chest when he felt her return the kiss. He took the opportunity to shift them around so she was on her back beneath him, and with his free hand, he discarded his towel. He felt her hands on his cheeks, and he leaned into her touch, moving both of his hands to her legs so he could wrap them around his waist loosely. He pulled back from the kiss, a small smile gracing his lips as he drank in the way her fiery hair fanned out on the pillow. He brought one hand to her core, using his thumb to rub circles onto her clit once again, smirking as her hips bucked upwards. Then, as gently as he could, he gathered some of her slick onto his index and middle finger, then brought it to his length. He pumped himself a few times, groaning quietly, before guiding himself to her entrance.

“You ready, baby? You remember our rule?” he asked, slowly dragging his tip over her slit.

“Mhm. I remember, baby,” she said, rolling her hips in anticipation. One of her hands gripped the sheets as she felt him push past her folds, deliciously stretching her for him. A quiet moan escaped her lips, yet it turned into a whine when she felt him still.

“If you want it, beg for it,” he growled, his hands pinning her hips down onto the bed.

“But baby, that’s not fair….” she protested, inhaling sharply as his grip on her tightened.

“I never said I’d play fair, darlin’,” he whispered, “now beg.”

Cynthia felt her face heat up, the fear of a full body blush fresh in her mind. Her eyes traveled downwards to where their bodies connected, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Billy, baby, please…. I need you so fuckin’ bad. I need you to make me feel good. It’s been days since you made me feel like your goddess. I need it so damn bad….” she whimpered, her tongue darting out to lick her upper lip.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, pulling back a bit to thrust into her. He watched as her back arched off the bed, encouraging him to move. He snapped his hips, grunting quietly as she wrapped her legs tight around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good, darlin’. I’d forgotten what it felt like to have you clench around me like this,” he said as he continued to thrust into her. One of his hands let go of her hip, and he took both of her wrists into it, pinning them above her head. He leaned down to pepper her neck with kiss after kiss, sucking and nipping on her flesh as he went.

“Yes, yes yes! Fuck, Billy, feels so fuckin’ good, baby,” she praised, arching her back again as he snapped his hips again and again.

“Who do you belong to, baby? Tell me who you belong to,” he demanded, his thrusts growing faster, yet sloppier.

“You, baby. I belong to you,” she panted, digging her nails into her palms, “I belong to Billy Lee, and only Billy Lee.”

“That’s right. You’re mine, and ain’t no one gonna change that,” he grunted. grinding his hips against hers. Then, he moved to press a deep kiss to her lips, pulling out of her entirely and letting go of her wrists. His free hand dropped to his length, pumping it quickly until he groaned against his lover’s lips, releasing over her stomach. He bucked his hips, working himself through his own orgasm before he pulled back from the kiss.

“I’m still not finished with you, baby,” he breathed, moving down the bed to rest on his stomach, his head between her thighs. He pressed a kiss to the insides of her thighs before dipping his head down, licking a bold stripe up her folds.

“Shit, baby….” Cynthia breathed, one of her hands gripping his hair as he parted her folds and ate her like a man starved once again. She felt the tip of his tongue trace and dance around her swollen clit, making her body jolt. She could feel the familiar pressure building between her thighs, her breath hitching as he started to suck on her clit. She felt him ease two fingers into her, curling them upwards in order to hit her sweet spot.

“S-Shit, Billy, baby, please let me cum. Please, please, please let me cum,” she begged, squirming under his ministrations.

“Fuck, how could I say no to that? Cum for me, baby. Cum for daddy,” he whispered against her.

As if on command, her toes curled, and her fingers gripped the sheets, and his hair, respectively. Her hips nearly bucked off of the bed as her vision went white, with spots dancing in front of her eyes. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and she could feel sweat drip down the sides of her face. Once her vision cleared, she saw Billy smiling down at her, his one hand brushing her hair away from her face.

“You’re such a good girl for me, baby,” he whispered.

“Only because you’re so good to me,” she murmured, closing her eyes as she leaned into his touch.

“Because you deserve it. Just lay right here, and I’ll go grab a cloth to clean you up with, and then we’ll settle in for the night, okay?” he asked her gently, and she nodded. She felt him leave the bed, and she yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. Her eyes fluttered open only when she felt the wet cloth on her abdomen, and they closed once more under his gentle touch. She tuned out most everything in the room until she felt her husband beside her once more, wrapping his arms around her smaller frame.

“Get some rest now, darlin’ angel. You’ve earned it,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“Mhm. God, I love you so much, Billy Lee.”

“And I love you, too. No man will ever love you more than I do. I can promise you that.”

[catharticsam]

@wincestwritingchallenge round 12, richard silken. catharticsam vs. @deanisprobablyonfire​ rating; explicit word count; 1.418 warnings; smut tags; season 3, fluff, angst summary; dean’s got a year to live and he’s tired of hiding. 

prompt; “O how he loves you, darling boy.”

They’re distant for a day or two after the night the sky falls down on Sam Winchester. Yellow eyes is dead but his brother bought a one way ticket to hell.

At first Dean is all the same. He keeps the play-it-cool attitude but becomes more reckless. More boos. Sam expects more girls. They never come. They fight. Argue. Monsters. Each other, themselves. Sam hasn’t felt sad in a while but at the end of the day when he hears Dean snore from the bed over he finds that he can’t swallow. His mouth dries up, he can’t make the lump in his throat leave. There’s a timer in his head and seconds tick away to all of it being gone. The jokes, snarks, burps, all of it.

Dean tells him to give it up every time Sam gets an idea. He has to get Dean out of hell. He doesn’t sleep very well. Opportunities come up, as small as they are. Sam is desperate and chases after them. Dean tells him he can’t welch on the deal because then Sam dies. Sam has never wanted to go so fucking bad. It has to be better than the dread that tears into him worse than werewolves and poltergeists every single time his head hits the pillow.

Sam doesn’t notice it when it starts. It dawns on him when Dean pets his head that could pass for a tousle to his hair but it’s too… gentle. Dean’s hand slides off and leisurely grazes his jaw. It feels overwhelmingly big and leaves Sam wide eyed and chest swollen.

It must have been about a month later. Dean always gets them coffee before Sam wakes up. He rolls over, he’s alone but he knows Dean hasn’t gone far. He saw the cafe or dinner that was two or three blocks away last night.

Sometimes there’s a styrofoam box filled with french toast or pancakes. It’s for him.

It gets intense. One day it goes from shy glances straight to Dean slipping into Sam’s bed when the moon appears.

Sam gets touches that linger on early mornings. They are on time with the horizon because she lights up for them even before the sun begins to peek out. Light oranges and pinks, reds and purples, pale and warm and Dean belongs so well in the scene with sleepy eyes and soft skin. He hands Sam coffee and keeps holding it even when it’s in Sam’s grasp and says something about that time they drove through an unmistakable ghost town two years back, all Sam thinks about is how Dean’s tongue was in his mouth four hours ago.

It’s afraid of the daylight. That is why Sam only gets a shoulder to his every other step wherever they go and what Sam guesses are ‘accidental’ hand brushes. He keeps track of every milestone. What starts as fingers loosely interlocked in October transforms into a first kiss in December.

Dean uses excuses and Sam feels them take shape of his brother’s palms that slide up his shirt. Sam takes them all and he’s angry that he can’t get angry. Because all Dean does is smile at him these days. It’s not the half smirk that drives him crazy- but it still shows his teeth. The way he looks at Sam is tender. He breaks into a sweat and bows his head, tries not to blush and Dean tucks hair behind his ear that’s flushed. “C’mon.” He’ll say, all slow. Dean knows exactly what he’s doing. “Sammy,”

That’s when it’s not scared. Or, Dean isn’t- afraid anymore. February. Dean’s eyes are bright and they’re both giggling. Sam commits to memory damp hair from the shower Dean just took. He smells like pears because the last passerbyer left their shampoo. Lucky them. Fingers dig into his sides and Sam barely tries to push away. He’s against a wall and Dean glues him there with a kiss that feels like it’s too much. He can’t get enough. He frames Dean’s face with his fingers and angles him for perfect slotted mouths. It’s early. Dean was teasing him about how he cut his own hair once when he was thirteen and it looked like some version of a poorly done mullet.

Sam realizes with every one of Dean’s kisses he isn’t so focused on the end of the year. All he can think about is pink lips and piercing green apple eyes that crinkle because of a smile. Dean starts whispering confessions in bed. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” “I’m so sorry.” “I can’t believe I get to have this, before- ” “You’ll be okay. I know you’ll be okay.” “You’re stronger than me.”  

Half the time Sam doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know what to say, mostly because he knows he’ll break if he speaks. But mostly because he’s got nothing. His anger burnt him out and so has Dean. They’re both hot blooded. They’re both just as stubborn as the other. Instead, they lay there and Dean presses his nose to Sam’s neck and whispers. “Everytime I tell you to cut your hair... I really don’t mean it.” “Cute moles.” “You’re always warm.” “Sweetheart.” “Baby.”

At the same time, Sam’s never felt so whole in his entire life. He doesn’t feel dirty or wrong. He can’t. Dean likes to hold his hand, he lets Dean lean over the table and try his food at bars or dinners, they don’t challenge each other as often. It’s real, it’s kind. Sam never thought it could be so simple.

Their kisses are sloppy and slow. Dean takes off Sam’s jacket while Sam pushes him towards the bed. Dean falls on his back and Sam climbs on top of him, always kissing, always kissing. Sam pushes up Dean’s shirt, gets it off him and they work on each other’s belts. “Think you had too many shots.” Sam feels Dean’s mouth curve against his, he bites his brother’s bottom lip.

“Yeah, and?” Sam murmurs and Dean laughs. He shoves down Sam’s pants along with his boxers. They undress each other and kiss. It’s humid outside and they’re just as languid. Dean holds Sam’s face and combs through his hair, sucks on his tongue and they tangle their legs together. Cocks slide against one another and they take turns gasping, mouths open while they breathe in each other’s breaths. Dean’s toes curl and Sam feels up his brother’s stomach. It’s wet with pre-cum and Sam catches Dean’s tongue when he moans.

Dean’s watching him. He gets caught when Sam’s hazel eyes peek through dark lashes. He covers it by going in for a hot kiss. Sam’s easy and takes it. Doesn’t say anything. There’s a lot of touching, they’re always kissing. Always kissing. Dean keeps Sam’s face safe in his hands and the pads of his thumbs trace over Sam’s dimples.  

They take their time. They’re lazy while they rub off on each other. Heavy petting, grinding, there’s no rush. Dean sighs out Sam’s name like he’s carved out of gold. Like he personally pulled the sun up because Dean asked him. Sam tugs one of Dean’s legs over his hip and gets his cock in the crease of Dean’s ass.

Dean shivers. Sam presses their bodies impossibly close and he makes sure Dean finishes first.

It’s sweltering around them. Sam doesn’t care, Dean’s sweat drips and slides down his collarbone. He wants to wipe it away but doesn’t, Dean kisses Sam’s neck and jaw for minutes. Neither of them bother to pull up the covers because they’re enough of a blanket to each other anyway.

Dean never says it. It would be too much, Sam guesses.

He hears it though. Whenever Dean rolls fond eyes and looks at Sam like he hung the moon.

Sam doesn’t think about how much time is left.

He would give everything for Dean.

It’s too bad Dean already has.