#i read all those messages i got before i did it

[flemingology]

kitbag chronicles ─ alessia russo x reader

in which: you voice your love for alessia through the notes you put in her kitbag

warnings: none, tiniest bit suggestive if you squint

wc: 1.4k

a/n: finally got around to writing something for my number 1. this is so incredibly random and it's all over the place, but idk i lowkey kinda like it... i think? idk i probably shouldn't reread it because i might hate it if i do. hope you enjoy!

Ever since you and Alessia started dating, the England striker had made it very clear that she loved the little things you did for her. Memorising her coffee order, remembering her favourite flowers, new scented candles in her favourite scent on a bi-weekly basis. If you asked Alessia, she would say you were the most thoughtful person she’d ever met.

You’d grown to love the smile you put on your girlfriend’s face with those small displays of affection. You were forever seeking new ways to show your love for her, without stating the obvious over and over again. It kept both of you on your toes, always working on your relationship and making the other fall in love with you over and over again.

The last couple weeks, you'd found something new to do for Alessia. Her busy schedule keeping her away from you almost every single day of the week, you had to find ways to work around it and to remind Alessia that, even when she was at the club, you were thinking about her.

Since a couple months, it had become a little tradition that you prepared Alessia's kitbag. It wasn't much work at all, all she put in there were a shirt and a pair of trousers, or shorts – based on what the weather was like that day in London. You insisted that you did it for her, claiming that that way you felt like she had a little part of you with her during the day.

Today, though, you felt like trying something different. When you were younger, your mum always prepared your lunchbox for when you went to school. To make it a little extra special, she always added a little note for you to discover when you had lunch. It could be something funny, a drawing or simply a reminder how much she loved you – you didn't mind the teasing that came with it from your friends.

You figured it would be something Alessia loved, seen how much she usually liked it when you did little things like that for her. So this morning, after putting the blonde's training top and trousers in her kitbag, you grabbed a note and started writing something down. You decided to keep it simple for your first time of doing this, something you knew would just give Alessia a little spring in her step for the rest of the day. "Go get em, Lessi. Can't wait to have you home with me again tonight," is what you decided on, quickly putting away the pen and putting the piece of paper in her bag before she could see what you were up to.

When Alessia left later that morning, you pushed her kitbag in her hands, as you did every day. With a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips and a quick hug, she was out the door with the promise of cooking together later that night. Love goes through the stomach, or whatever they say.

It was no longer than 30 minutes later when your phone chimed with a message from your blonde lover.

From: Less 🤍 I got the note, baby. So cute. I love you so much :')

You smiled brightly at your phone screen, a warm, fuzzy feeling coursing through you at the idea of Alessia opening her kitbag and finding the note. You quickly typed a message back to her, wanting her to read it before she inevitably had to get her day going at the training centre.

To: Less 🤍 It's true, though. Counting down the hours until you're home, like every day. Go kick ass, my love. x

With you working from home, it had been quite the adjustment. Normally, when Alessia went to the training centre, you'd also leave the apartment and be on your way to your office. But with Alessia's recent transfer to Arsenal, swapping Manchester for London, it wasn't so straightforward anymore for you to go into the office everyday. 2 hours 30 on the train or easily 4 hours by car, it just wasn't doable anymore for a daily job. So you and your boss agreed that you could work from home in London, with one visit to the office a month. You were forever grateful for the opportunity, very glad that you didn't have to find a new job in London, but it brought its hardships too.

Quite frankly, you grew quite bored at home. You had your work, and you always managed to fill the best part of 8 hours with whatever you had to do that day, but the house felt empty without Alessia. A new city, new surroundings, new apartment, you hadn't quite accustomed to it all yet and you hadn't failed to make it known to Alessia that you missed her terribly whenever she was out at training.

Nonetheless, you would never stand in the way between her and her career, it was just another obstacle that you two would have to face and manoeuvre around, but you were certain that you would navigate it perfectly. You had a strong relationship, and everyone around you would probably say that you were made for each other.

With the knowledge gathered that Alessia enjoyed her little note, you took it upon yourself to give her some more frequently. Not every day, because you didn't want her to grow old of them, but you sprinkled some in throughout the week – keeping her on her toes.

It wasn't until one particular morning at the Arsenal training centre that Alessia realized that her notes wouldn't just always be you loving up on her. She'd left you high and dry that morning before leaving, feeling you up and kissing all over your body until her alarm went off. She was reluctant about finishing what she had started, despite your whining when she left you alone in bed and had started getting ready for her day. She didn't want to be late, understandably, but she also left you with a very uncomfortable throbbing between your legs. Her promise of continuing her ministrations later that night hadn't really convinced you, and you decided to tease her a little about it through a note.

This time, unlike all the other times you'd left a note in Alessia's kitbag, you didn't receive a message about. Not just that, the Arsenal striker hadn't texted you all day and you couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious about what you did. You didn't want to push it too far, but you were starting to feel like you did. You texted her a little after lunch-time, wishing her a good gym session, but you got left on read.

Later that day, when Alessia came home, you were nervous to approach her. You were upstairs, finishing up on a couple of e-mails, before you went downstairs and joined the blonde who had plopped down on the couch and turned on the football. "Hi, baby," you said softly, pressing a kiss against her cheek. Alessia tried to put on a sour face, but her resolve weakened quickly when you pressed another few kisses all over her face.

"That was mean, you know?" cocking her head at you, eyebrow raised and index finger pointing at you. You couldn't hide the smile that crept on your face. "Don't give me that, Russo! If anyone was mean, it was you. This morning. Leaving me all worked up like that," you reasoned, pointing your index finger right back at her, poking her nose in the process causing a small smile to form on her lips.

"You know what, you're probably right," your girlfriend started, leaning closer towards you and trapping your body in between her arms, positioning the two of you so she was hovering over you on the couch. "That was so incredibly unfair of me and I think it's only right that I get the opportunity to make it up to you."

Alessia dipped her head towards your neck and started pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses on the skin there. You hummed and tangled one of your hands into her hair, slightly tugging when you could feel the scrape of her teeth on your sensitive skin. "You're lucky I love you, Russo," you breathed.

"Oh, I know. Now let me show you just how much I appreciate you, please."

[literally-loco]

Lend a Hand? (18+)

Pairings : Johnny “Soap” Mactavish / Fem!Reader / Simon “Ghost” Riley Content Warnings : PIV Sex, Oral (Fem receiving) Voyeurism, She/Her pronouns used, [slut] used, praise Word Count: 3K A/N: This is my first time actually posting my writing-thank you SO much for reading xoxo

————————————————————————-

“You want me…to fuck your best friend?”

————————————————————————-

You almost dropped the dish you were scrubbing and looked over at your boyfriend in disbelief. Did he seriously just ask that, like it was nothing?

“What?” By the look on his face, you wondered if you’d misheard him. That was the face of someone asking what you wanted for dinner, or if you’d taken the bins out.

“What’d you say Johnny?” You asked, letting the plate fall softly back into the soap(hah funny) filled water.

“Simon. Think you’d ever fuck him?” He barely looked up from his phone, letting his arm drape lazily over the back of your well-loved sofa. It wasn’t your hearing messing up-he’d actually said that. You faltered slightly, turning around to look at your boyfriend.

“I mean-Johnny where’s this coming from?” You asked hesitantly. Johnny had never been an insecure boyfriend-he’d proudly show you off to his friends at any given chance. You’d be the one to choose the less revealing outfits, he was just so desperate to show his friends how lucky he got.

“He’s been in a bad mood lately. ‘Think he needs a good fuck.” Johnny finally met your gaze, placing his phone down on the console table to give you his full attention. “I haven’t said anything yet-not to him.” He clarified, clearing his throat as he spoke. ”I trust him to not be a stupid bastard-most of the time-and, you know, he’s not a bad looker-“

“You want me…to fuck your best friend?” You cut him off, a shocked look on your face. You hadn’t thought about it before, hell, Johnny hadn’t brought it up before. You’d never really thought of Simon in that way, the man that managed to darken any doorway with his sheer presence. The man with eyes so deep you could spend days exploring them. The man who never gave away so much as a hint of who he really was-the man who you could spend hours interrogating and all you’d get was a migraine.

“I mean, yeah? Only if you want to hen, completely up to you.” His words were gentle, not pushy or pressuring, but a question. “I’d be in the room with you, right next to you if you wanted. And it’s Simon-not just anyone, Si-“

“I’ll do it.” You answered-suddenly quite sure of yourself. You’d had sex with people other than Johnny, sure, but never whilst you were dating anyone. It was new, that’s for sure, but was new necessarily bad? Johnny would be right there-he said so, and it was Simon. You’d met him countless times. And he was Johnny’s best friend-his brother in arms.

“Grand, I’ll shoot him a message.”

————————————————————————-

Three days has passed since Johnny had sent the message, and all you’d got in response was “Ok.”.

You opened the door, expecting your shopping, and was instead met with the wall that was Simon. You felt warmth creep up your neck to your face as it dawned on you. Today was the day. What felt like minutes passed, and you were still stood in the doorway.

“Am I coming in?” His gruff voice asked, placing a gloved hand on the doorframe. You quickly moved to the side, and he walked his way in. “So we’re doin’ this?”

“Ah-yeah! You can still back ou-“

“No.” He cut you off, turning back to meet your gaze with those explorer worthy eyes. “I want to.” You just nodded, glancing back to wonder how a man could spend so long in the bathroom.

Johnny welcomed Simon soon after, pulling him into a hug, before leading him to the sofa. Unsure of how exactly this was going to go, you stood beside your boyfriend, letting a hand rest on his shoulder for comfort.

“Come sit down lass.” Johnny murmured, pulling you onto his lap as he continued talking to Simon about when they were next needed on base, the gentle rhythm of his finger gently stroking your thigh easing the building anxiety of what was to come.

“We doin’ this?” You glanced over at Simon’s sudden words, and caught sight of the small grin that had appeared on your boyfriend’s face. “Hope it’s not too..err..rushed-I assume Johnny already made out that I was some sex starved bastard.” Johnny snorted at that, his light strokes on your thigh soon turned into him gripping it tight, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh.

“Bit eager to fuck my girl, aren’t you Simon?” His grip stayed firm, almost holding you in place on his lap.

“Never said I wasn’t, Johnny.” Simon retaliated, his gaze staying fixed on you, those blue eyes meeting your gaze beneath his ever so familiar mask.

“Ready hen?” You barely had time to choke out a small “Yes” before Johnny was lifting you up, and carrying you into your shared bedroom.

————————————————————————-

You were used to the familiar sense of Johnny tossing you onto the bed with the greed of a starved man entering a banquet, but this time he ever so gently placed you down.

His gaze turned to face the shadow darkening your door frame, and spoke firmly. “Traffic lights rule apply-Green for go, amber for slow down, red for stop.” He shifted his body so he was facing you, his perfectly blue eyes meeting your gaze. “You still wanna do this? You can back out anytime lovie-mean it. He won’t be mad-neither will I.” His tone was gentle, but firm in a way that evidenced he meant what he said. You met his lips with yours, planting a soft kiss on his.

“I know. I want to.” And you did. Three days had passed-but it had been on your mind. How Simon would be the one to fuck you. How the hands you’d ever only seen gloved would be all over you. You’d wondered how he’d fuck you-would he be gentle? All soft words and soft hands. Would he be rough? Moving you around as if you weighed nothing, whispering harsh words into your ear as he ravaged you. It was enough to get you flushed in bed, lying next to Johnny.

“Don’t just stand there then Simon-not when she’s already on the bed, looking this pretty for you.” Johnny sat down in the corner chair, his gaze never leaving Simon-as he watched him slowly walk up to the bed.

You’d never considered the size difference before this. Johnny was tall, yes, but Simon was big. He easily towered over you, even when he crawled onto the bed, right by your legs.

His hands slowly met your legs, and a shiver ran down your spine. Even with those gloves on, you could still feel the heat radiating from his body, a stark contrast to how cold you felt. Gently pushing your legs to the side-his eyes never leaving yours, searching for any hint of discomfort-he settled in between them, blocking out the brightness from the ceiling light.

His hands continued their wander, up your lower legs, over your knees, and settled on your thighs. “This okay?” His rough voice asked, and you nodded. “Need an answer, I asked you a question, didn’t I?” You hadn’t expected him to sound so assertive, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yeah-Yeah that’s okay.” You murmured, keeping your gaze on his masked face.

“Good.” His hands continued their journey, ending up on your waist, just under your shirt. “Want to lose this?” He gently teased the seam of your shirt, and you nodded once more. “Gotta speak up for me lovie.”

Once you’d consented, he carefully supported your back up, and lifted your shirt over your head.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He murmured-quiet enough that maybe you weren’t supposed to hear. His gloved hands ran up your torso,

thumbs gentry stroking the skin just under your bra-wire. You sat up, gently moving him off you to reach behind your back. Simon scooted back, confused at first and searching for the uncertainty in your eyes. But when your bra fell forward, and you tossed it off the bed, his eye lit up. “So eager for me..” He murmured, lunging forward with his mouth stopping just over your nipple.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You murmured, taking a deep breath when you realised what he was about to do.

Barely waiting a second after you answered, he reached up to lift the mask onto his nose, revealing his scarred mouth. In an instant, his mouth was on your nipple, licking and sucking on it as if he would never be able to again. One of his hands moved to tease your other nipple-drawing a soft, desperate sound out of you. He captures it between his thumb and forefinger, pinching slightly to harden it between his fingers.

Desperate to pull that beautiful sound out of you again, he swapped over, palming your now damn breast with the gloved palm of his hand. “Such pretty fucking tits.”

“Aren’t they just?” Johnny’s voice chimed in, and your gaze turned to him. He got up out of his chair, and strode over to the bed. Crouching beside you, he planted a soft kiss on your lips. “Keep looking at him hen-keep those pretty eyes on him.” You nodded, turning your gaze back to Simon, and found his eyes staring up into yours. You’d never seen him so blissed before, suckling on your tit like he’d never see one again.

“You like that, eh? Having my best friends hands on you, teasing you, touching you?” Johnny murmured in your ear, and turned your face back when you went to look at him. “What did I say? Eyes on him.”

All you could do was let out a pretty whine when he pinched your nipple between his finger-sending jolts of pleasure down to your cunt, and earning a sharp inhale from Simon.

“She liked that, didn’t she L.T?”

Simon lifted his head, palming your breasts with his hands.

“You want some more hen? Is that it?” Your boyfriend murmured, and Simon’s hands slid off your tits, and down your torso until they rested on your hips. He-awkwardly-shuffled down the bed, until his head rested on your thigh.

“Are we losing these?” Simon murmured, his fingers resting on the hem of your shorts.

“Please…Simon..” You gasped, watching the small smirk appear on his face.

“So sweet for me-aren’t ya?” He breathed, gently pulling down your shorts and panties until you could kick them off.

“She’s awful sweet when she wants to get fucked.” Johnny chuckled, his hand on the back of your head to force your gaze down to Simon.

“All this, just from me worshiping those pretty tits?” You instinctively went to close your thighs, but his hands pushed them back open. “I’m not hearing red.” Simon’s eyes went up to meet yours, as he licked the first stipe up your folds.

You swear you met God.

A soft whine escaped your lips and the vibrations of his low chuckle ran up your spine. “So fucking sensitive-aren’t you?” You watched his eyes flutter shut as he darted his tongue over your bundle of nerves, and you couldn’t help but arch your hips into him.

Simon ate pussy like it was his last meal. He wasn’t sloppy, but you were sure the combined effort of his saliva and your wetness had made you a sopping mess for him. His hands left your inner thighs-and you didn’t quite understand why until you felt his thumb circling your clit. One gloved hand rested on your lower stomach, as you bucked your hips into his face. “Yeah-you’re real sensitive.” He murmured, his mouth taking over from his thumb, making what you assumed was a figure of eight over your clit.

With the ungloved hand-his middle finger gently teased your hole, until he pushed it inside to gently begin fucking you on his finger.

You definitely met God.

You should’ve guessed his hands would be thick-he was huge-but this was something else.

“You like that, hen? Knowing that my best friend is knuckle deep inside you, fingerfucking you.” Johnny whispered in your ear, planting soft kisses on the underside of your jaw. ”You love this. Knowing that whilst I’m planting kisses here-Simon is worshiping your drenched cunt.”

You bit your lip to stifle the gasps and whines that threatened to escaped, when something else pressed against your lips.

“Open.” Johnny murmured, and you tasted leather. Simon’s glove. “Bite down.” And you did-eyes rolling back as Simon added another finger inside you, stretching you.

“Ain’t that a sight L.T? These beautiful fucking tits, hard and wet, and her face blissed out whilst she has to bite down on your glove.”

You swear you heard Simon groan at the sight, increasing the speed of his hand, as his thumb found your clit again. Your back arched up at the sensation, and you heard him chuckle.

“Squeezing my fingers so fucking tight-you gonna cum? Going to cum on my fucking fingers?” All he got in response was your stifled whines, your gaze still meeting his. It was too much and not enough at the same time-your hips rocked against his hand, and the way his thumb drew circles on your clit had that tight knot inside you tightening, and tightening.

“C’mon lovie-cum for me.”

And all at once you felt that knot unravel-and you were soaring off the cliff. Simon’s hands gripped your shaking thighs, fingerfucking you through your orgasm. “Oh good girl…was that good? Looked so fucking good, didn’t she Johnny?” Simon murmured, planting soft kisses on your inner thighs.

“Looked beautiful hen.”

“Gonna let me fuck you doll?” Simon groaned, pulling his fingers free from your dripping wet pussy. “Gonna let me fuck you senseless, until you can’t even think?”

“Mmph-please Si..-“ You whined around his glove, clenching around nothing. Johnny chuckled, tilting your head up to face him. “Real fucking polite for someone fucking their boyfriends best friend.” He teased, forcing your head to look back at Simon.

You’d imagined a lot about this moment, but what you hadn’t considered was his size. Johnny was big, but Simon was huge. Uncut, and tilting slightly upwards, and perfect.

“God she’s drooling over it L.T.” Your boyfriend cooed, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “Drooling all over that fucking glove.”

Simon crawled up the bed until he was kneeling between your legs, the tip of his cock just ghosting over your pussy. “It’ll hurt for a bit lovie, but I know you can take it. Red and we stop.” His hands gripped your hips, digging into the flesh hard enough you were sure it’d bruise. He was gentle at first-pulling your hips close so he could push in. The moan that escaped around the glove was downright dirty, but you kept your gaze on him.

It took a while, and patience, but he bottomed out inside you, his hips flushed against yours. And the filthy moan that shuddered out of him was incredible.

“Just gonna sit there Simon?” Johnny teased, and was met with a stern glare.

“Recalculating Johnny. Didn’t realise how fucking-Jesus-tight she’d be.” He panted, pulling out nearly completely, before thrusting back in. “And so-so fucking warm.” He gasped, shuddering slightly as he thrust into you once more.

“Taking him so well hen, isn’t she Simon?” Johnny cooed in your ear, his hand resting on your throat.

“So-so fucking good.” Simon uttered back, getting a firmer grip on your hips as he picked up a regular pace.

“Such a good little slut for us, fucking my best friend whilst I watch.”

Simon let out a breathtakingly beautiful moan at that word-his head falling back slightly. “She-she fucking squeezed me Johnny.”

“She likes being a slut, don’t you hen? A little slut that gets fucked.” Your boyfriend chuckled, and Simon picked the pace up.

“Is-is that it? You like being fucked?” Simon groaned, drawing a string of moans to escape your lips as he picked up the pace. “Yeah you do-you love having your boyfriend watch you fuck someone else.”

His fingers found your clit again-and your legs instinctively squeezed around his waist. “Atta-fucking-girl.” Simon growled, the one hand gripping your waist moving to rest just over your collarbones. “Like that? Like having someone tower over you whilst they fuck you into the mattress?” He leaned over you completely, his head resting in the crook of your neck to leave open mouthed kisses.

“Gonna cum again? Gonna cum on my cock-yeah, you are.” His voice was rough in your ear, and you felt that knot tightening in your lower abdomen again. “Squeezing me so fucking tight-God you’re so fucking perfect. Wanted to fuck you for ages.” He shuddered, his rhythm faltering slightly. “Every time I saw you-those fucking eyes. Knew I needed them looking up at me as i f-fucked you.”

“Gon-gonna-“ You whined against the glove, no doubt biting through it at this point. And that was it-that knot unraveled once more, leaving your legs trembling around his waist.

“Gonna cum lovie-gonna fuck-fucking-“ He gasped, quickly pulling out as hot cum splashed onto your lower stomach.

It wasn’t until you heard Johnny’s own shuddering gasp that you realised he’d gotten off on this. How you didn’t consider he maybe liked watching, it was unknown.

“Open.” Simon’s gruff voice sounded next to your ear, cleaning the cum off your stomach with his fingers. You obeyed-and his fingers set on the flat of your tongue. You sucked on his fingers-until he pulled them out, and took the glove off of your chest.

“How’d you feel now Simon?” Your boyfriend teased, earning a tired glare from Simon.

“Should be asking her that. She’s been so fucking good for me.” His eyes bore down into yours as he knelt between your trembling thighs.

“Let’s get you cleaned up hen.” And you were scooped off the bed, your boyfriend carrying you into the en suite bathroom.

————————————————————————-

It was gone ten by the time Simon went home, and you’d ended up curled on the sofa with Johnny. “How was that hen?” He murmured, brushing a piece of hair out of your face.

You hummed, looking up at him. “Do you want to do it again sometime?” You asked your boyfriend, his blue eyes meeting yours.

“I think that can be arranged.”

————————————————————————-

[warping-realities]

Online Scam - An OnlyFags Story

Inspired by the concept created by @johnbrand and @boysmentfs

Henry wasn’t having a good day; hell, it wasn’t even a good week or month. He had been stoked for college, ready to hit up new places and live it up, but the truth was that everything was turning into a total shitshow. His roommate was barely tolerable and he hadn’t made a single friend yet. All of this was messing with his head. But what really got to him was being totally broke, not having a dime to his name. His dad sent him a bit of cash, still stuck between being proud of having a son in college and feeling ashamed that son was openly gay. Henry, a name picked by his late mother, who passed down her delicate traits both physically and mentally, knew his dad earned that money busting his ass as a mechanic at a big car shop, and it didn’t come in large amounts, but surely he could send more than the pathetic little sum he was sending. The young man wondered if he’d get more cash if he had a sports scholarship instead of one for his grades.

While hunting for a side gig that could hook him up with some cash, Henry got blindsided by a new message alert on his computer screen. It wasn’t just the message itself; it was who it was from. Larry Thomas was in charge of the more complex systems at the car company where Henry’s dad worked. He was a relatively new hire, and Henry’s dad didn’t get along with the guy at all, with Henry only knowing him from the last company holiday party, since Henry’s dad didn’t want a “degenerate faggot” near his son. The irony of the situation was lost on the old man.

“Hey, kid, I heard your dad telling the guys he cut your funds to force you to man up or whatever. Maybe this will help you scrape together some cash!” the message from the man said, along with a link. Feeling like he had nothing to lose and pissed off at his dad, who he was now sure was punishing him for being gay, Henry clicked the link, which immediately started downloading some kind of app.

“Shit, I hope this ain’t a virus,” he muttered in front of the computer screen.

After loading, a logo popped up at the top: OnlyFags. What the hell was that? Some kind of joke from Larry? Did he team up with Henry’s dad just to humiliate him? Nah, that didn’t make sense; they hated each other. Still, Henry had caught a few looks from Larry directed at his dad that made him think there was some kinda unrequited attraction there… Before he could do anything, a text box popped up asking “Are you a creator or a user?” followed by two more boxes for a username and password. Henry’s computer acted on its own, typing in a sequence so fast he couldn’t read anything that was written or checked. The screen froze for a moment, a spinning circle indicating something was loading, and soon a bunch of boxes appeared on the screen with various profiles.

A massive shock hit Henry with what those profiles showed. He stared in horror and disgust at what they displayed. Mostly dudes between twenty and forty years old with their bodies on full display, playing with pierced nipples, licking feet, or even getting off in plain sight! He moved the mouse, intending to close that crap and delete that app from his computer ASAP.

But fear took over as, instead of shutting down that damn app, the mouse pointer moved on its own to click the profile button in the opposite corner of the screen. The screen loaded again, and there was a profile filled out for him— name, age, height, weight, shoe size, and even dick size. All of it wildly different from reality. A warning popped up quickly: “Your profile picture is outdated! Would you like to take a new one?”

A sudden wave of even greater horror washed over Henry as his hand clicked “yes.” The front camera opened, and his hand set the timer for twenty seconds before propping it against the headboard of the bed, moving to the other side. Almost robotically, he took off his shirt and tossed it on the floor before adjusting his pose for the camera. He moved, trying to get his foot in the shot while flexing one arm, not realizing he’d gained a bunch of pounds of pure muscle and that his delicate size 7 feet had ballooned to a more robust size 10.

Paralyzed and unable to move, he saw a message pop up on the computer screen. “New photo uploaded! Error!!! Photo does not match profile. Correcting parameters!” Scared, he quickly summoned the last bit of willpower he had and tried to get up and shut that app down once and for all, only to be shoved back by an invisible wall, with all the impact you’d expect from a high-speed crash. Dizzy and confused, he felt his face and body go through a sensation of distortion, and suddenly… nothing! The most complete emptiness reigned in his mind. He didn’t know who he was or even his own name. And he stayed like that for several seconds, staring into the inner void.

Until a new notification appeared on the screen, grabbing his attention. “Success! Parameters corrected; new profile picture published!” Immediately, likes started flooding in on his photo and profile, making him focus on the computer screen just as the computer camera turned on again and a live stream began.

He quickly, almost automatically, repositioned himself, flexing one of the powerful arms he’d just acquired. A notification on the app pinged: “New donation from DirtyFaggotMike.”

The app, once again on its own, opened a list of donations from various users with similar and usernames, ranging from small amounts to hundreds of dollars. Henry felt a rush of pride inside him as memories of all the degrading content about that kind of people and the outrageous amounts of cash received for it flooded his mind!

A new comment appeared in at the top of the page with a $100 donation. “Master, your giant hands turn me on; I’d love to be smothered by them.” Henry found himself talking automatically to the screen: “Keep dreaming, faggot. You’re lucky enough to be able to worship them from a distance!” he replied, grinning arrogantly as he admired his own flexed arm.

A part of Henry still intact, lost in the gigantic void that his memories had become, managed to feel mortified; he didn’t want any of those horrible messages to be received by him, let alone responded to that way. That little remaining fraction tried again to regain control, only to be shoved back as the being occupying his body massaged his powerful pecs and spoke laughing arrogantly while getting up: “Where’s my money, you fags? You won’t get shit from me if this account doesn’t start filling up!”

The next message he received was the reply he’d been waiting for—a private message from LickLuckyLarry. “Master Hunter, I’ve been one of your loyal followers for months and I want to pay a good amount to see you jerk off if it’s not too much audacity on my part.”

Henry… Hunter smiled at that message. With a smirk on his face, he replied, “Disgusting faggot. Of course, it’s a hell of a lot of audacity for a worm like you to ask me that! But it’s you pathetic beings that keep my wallet full. I’m willing to accept, but it’ll depend on how much you’re willing to pay for all this!” he replied, grinning wickedly as his hands roamed over his abs and thighs, tentatively close to his cock.

“Master, please,” the guy replied, “I’d do anything to see you work that giant cock until it explodes with your alpha jizz.”

“Great, let’s talk privately; don’t turn on the camera! I don’t wanna see that faggot face of yours, it’ll be hard enough to jerk off knowing a worm like you is watching! And as for the rest of you, take note, faggots, you should all aspire to be like him.”

He leaned forward and closed the live window, before before lying down in his bed and focusing on talking privately in his smartphone with the guy willing to pay to see him play with his own cock. “I said I didn’t wanna see that pathetic face of yours, faggot,” he said upon seeing the man’s face appear on the app chat screen.

“Sorry, Master Hunter, I couldn’t help it; I promise to pay you a much bigger sum, but I wanted to know if you remember me?”

“And why the hell would I remember a pathetic faggot like you?” Hunter asked with a wicked grin.

“Because I work with your dad and… you… you let me suck your cock at the last company holiday party!”

“And? You’re not the first little bitch I’ve let do that! There’s no shame in showing off a bit or even letting one of you kind pay for a blowjob in the absence of something better. And that whore secretary didn’t want to give me any… Anyway, don’t think you’ll get a discount just because you know my old man, and if you try to blackmail me, I’ll use these weapons to smother you in a way way different from what that other faggot wanted!”

“No, Master Hunter… it’s not that… it’s just that you look so much like your dad! You’re a twenty-years-younger copy of him… I… I’ll pay you a bigger sum… but can you refer to yourself as Master Rusty while you jerk off?”

“So you have a fetish for my old man, huh? You sick fuck! But I’m cool with that! Just keep that ugly mug off the screen and don’t you dare talk to me while I do what needs to be done!”

“Thanks, Master Rusty… just one more thing, that mustache you’re growing makes you look even more like your dad… if I may be so bold, I’d say you should keep it.”

“I’ve allowed too much boldness, you worm. Now let’s wrap this up. Camera off,” Hunter said as he laid back on the bed, the camera aimed at him.

“So you want a piece of old Rusty, huh? You little shit?” Hunter teased, while Henry’s little voice tried to fight against the wave of mockery and arrogance filling his mind.

“A new chance to suck that cock? Only in your dreams.” He continued, with vivid memories of orgies with various women and dozens of live streams and videos for desperate gay guys into humiliation flooding his mind.

“You can look and admire, you can worship me from a distance, but this here, this here you’ll never have again pathetic faggot,” he concluded before exploding with a huge load that covered his entire abdomen.

“Thanks for the grand, loser.”

He ended the call and saved a copy of the video showing only the upper part of his body, teasing the release the full presentation for his fans after they donated a good chunk of cash.

As he lay back down, distracted, thinking about the bizarre situation with a coworker of his dad’s and what Old Rusty would think if he found out where the money supporting his son extravagant lifestyle and his monthly allowances was coming from. In that moment of distraction what remained of Henry inside him made one last attempt to surface, somehow managing to miraculously regain a bit of control. Thinking about how to fix this, Henry looked at his body; however, he seemed… normal. His enormous size 15 feet were giving off a potent funk as always. His well-developed calves giving way to tree trunk thighs, while hanging between them was his pride, his massive 10-inch cock, with which he toyed a bit before continuing his investigation. His abs were chiseled like an 8-brick wall, and just above them were the two slabs of flesh that were his pecs. He grabbed his phone and opened the camera, seeing his face; indeed, a near-exact copy of his dad’s face, square and masculine. The overall impression was one of arrogance and disdain, which precisely defined his personality.

He dropped the phone and smiled, satisfied, as he rested his head on his powerful arms. “Damn, Hunter, you’re one hot piece of ass,” he said to himself. “These faggots will never get tired of you,” he concluded, knowing that with a body and a cock like his, money would never be a problem.

Hundreds of miles away from Hunter’s dorm, Larry was finishing up his third or fourth jerk-off session, this time looking at the gif that served as Hunter’s profile picture on the app. That, he thought, was the best decision he’d ever made, seeing the perfect copy of Rusty that Hunter had become, a copy willing to treat him in the degrading way he’d dreamed for months that his dad would do. As he reached orgasm, remembering all the insults and humiliations, he wondered to himself if there was a chance that the son of one of the other coworkers would fall into the same trap; well, it wouldn’t hurt to try, especially if the reward was as delicious as Hunter.

[angrenwen]

"

You took another deep breath and turned away from the mirror. Now was not the time to get into an existential crisis over your costume. You could always order a new one from the association later. You grabbed your phone, staring at the most recent message for a long moment, your heart pounding nervously.

'Ready when you are.'

You could hear Silver’s voice in your mind as you read those words, could see his reassuring smile, the kindness in his mercury eyes that didn’t quite manage to hide patient anticipation. He was looking forward to this, you knew. He had been there every step of the way, as you had dragged yourself out of the hole your failure and terror had shoved you into.

You didn’t feel ready to be a hero again, but you had decided that it didn’t matter. You would never feel ready. You could run those obstacle courses and simulations Silver built a hundred thousand times and not feel ready.

'Ready' you typed back and hit send before you could stop yourself. 

The hero association already knew you would return to active duty today. The substitute hero had left the city last night, looking relieved. His stay here had been exceptionally boring, since Silver had refused to challenge him in any way. Aside from bugging him a bit for fun, but his pranks were always harmless.

You flexed your hands and for a moment you felt all the scar tissue pull tight, stitched up wounds and surgery scars and broken bones that had taken months to heal. You weren’t ready, but you were sick and tired of sitting around at home.

You were sick and tired of being scared, of worrying. Of thinking about the next Class A villain that could show up with murder on their mind. You wanted to be a hero, still, even now. You wanted to protect people and help them where you could. You straightened your shoulders and walked forward, projecting a confidence you did not feel.

It was showtime.

*.*.*.*

You watched civilians cackle in delight as they were pelted with marshmallow butts the size of half your palm. Silver was bouncing a bit on his toes at your side, grinning so wide it must’ve hurt his cheeks.

"Well?" he said with a grin. "Aren’t you going to try and stop me? Oh no, darling, dashing hero!" He pretended to fall into a faint, hand theatrically pressed against his forehead. 

He tipped over with thoughtless trust, knowing you’d be there to catch him. And you did, hands pressed against his signature leather jacket as he draped himself over your arms with exaggerated drama. He continued, "Whatever shall I do, my evil soul quivers!"

You couldn’t help but laugh, tension you hadn’t been aware of sliding off your shoulders like water off a duck’s back. When you caught your breath again, looking down, Silver had the softest smile on his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looked far too sweet for someone proclaiming he had an evil soul.

He straightened from his pretend fainting after a moment and tugged his jacket properly back into place.

"Good first day back?" he asked quietly, barely audible over the huffing and puffing noise of his Ass Kicker 50, it’s wheel of used but thoroughly cleaned and disinfected boots merrily pelting butts into the growing crowd.

"Yeah," you answered just as quietly. "Glad to see me again?"

"Of course, darling." His soft smile got a mischievous edge as it grew into a smirk. "But you must be losing your edge, you haven’t even disabled my baby yet."

You couldn’t help but smirk back, tapping a piece of plating. "Dead switch is beneath this thing, isn’t it?"

He looked startled, then cursed and grumbled, actually looking like he had no idea if he was frustrated or delighted and instead settled on a weird mix of both. "I was hiding it so well! How the fuck did you know?"

You gave him a small shrug. "It’s the only place that works and from the way the thing’s set up and built, it had to be in this area to avoid messing with the machinery. And it’s the only plating that’s not bolted down. Pressure opens it, right?"

You pressed down experimentally on one side and the plate popped open easily enough, swinging aside to reveal the big red button. Because of course it was a big red button. That was so very Silver.

When you looked up, his mercury eyes were bright and intense and that elated-frustrated look was still on his face. "And you once asked me why I fight you," he said, his quiet voice carrying a particular tone that you couldn’t quite place. It made you feel faintly flustered, though.

You fiddled with the plate for a moment, before closing it again. "Yeah, well, I’m just glad I’m not boring."

Silver drew up to his full height, actually looking affronted. "Boring? How dare you?"

The smile tugging at your face felt far too earnest and touched by half, but it seemed to soothe his insulted affront.

"I’ll have a conversation with whoever put that thought into your head," he said, pointing a finger at you. "And if it was you yourself, we are going to have a long talk."

Hearing a round of loud, delighted noise from the side, both of you looked over to see a group of goth teens cackling as they pocked little holes between the cheeks of their marshmallows butts.

"Ah, I knew I had forgotten something," Silver muttered and you dissolved into helpless laughter, ending up leaning against his shoulder and gasping for air.

By the time you calmed down, you were out of breath, your belly aching in the best of ways and you reached up to wipe some moisture away. Silver looked very content and happy, standing there and watching the machine pelt away, people jumping to catch the butts wrapped in paper to keep things sanitary. So they could be picked up and still eaten if they fell to the floor.

He was always so thoughtful, you thought, still leaning against him and not moving away. You had no idea what he got out of being a villain - well, aside from tax fraud, a bunch of other illegal activities and some very, very strange substances you were not going to touch, ever - but you were happy to see him happy. He deserved it.

"They needed that too," Silver said in this moment, nodding at the crowd. "This city hasn’t quite been the same since that villain attacked. They’re relieved to have you back and seeing us fight harmlessly should put more demons to rest."

You hadn’t even thought about that, too caught up in your own trauma as you had been. You looked back at the people and you saw that he was right. There was a visceral relief on many faces, a giddiness that was born half out of the silliness of the situation and half out of a release of fear-filled tension.

They had been even more helpless than you had been. Civilians with no combat abilities and absolutely no chance to survive the Class A villain. All they had been able to do was run while they had to watch you bleed and break and still stand up again and again.

Oh. 

A quiet realization struck you down to your core. You had wondered why people had been polite but not overly warm with the substitute hero. He had sent you regular updates on villain activity and how his patrols had gone, even if it had taken you a while before you had gotten the guts to read it all instead of only the summary. 

He had mentioned that people didn’t seem all that curious about him and he had sulked about that a bit.

All this time you had thought that you had failed them, these people who grinned and waved when they saw you. Who didn’t hesitate to call you away from the street and ask for help or offer you sweets or lunch when you had been patrolling for hours. People who let you hold their babies or hugged you when you brought their lost pets back.

But they hadn’t seen a failure that day months ago. They had seen you, standing between them and certain death and refusing to give up, no matter what. All because you wanted to protect them with all you had.

"Hey, what’s wrong?" Silver’s worried voice cut into your thoughts and when you glanced at him, his brows were furrowed. "Why are you crying? Do you need me to switch off my baby and back up?"

"I’m fine," you croaked weakly, though you totally were tearing up. "I’m just glad to be back, don’t read too much into it."

Silver’s face softened with a quiet bit of relief and he hummed in understanding. "I’m glad, too, by the way," he said after a moment. "To have you back that is. I may have been a wee bit lonely."

You raised an eyebrow, glad that no tears had spilled over. "You saw me almost every day."

"But not like this," Silver said. "Don’t get me wrong, I love watching you destroy the machines of the obstacle course or absolutely ace the simulations, but I missed going up against you like this."

You rubbed the back of your neck, straightening from your slouch against him. "You always say things like that with a straight face." You both admired him for it and felt envious. Sometimes you wished you could just simply say what was on your mind as well.

Silver smiled, a little lopsided and crooked. "Life’s short, so who cares what others think," he said. "All I care about is living every day the best I can."

You knew what he meant by that. He had told you a bit more about his fight against Terra after modifying some more simulations for you. You had even seen a glimpse of the patchwork of scars that fight had left on him, many of them surgery scars. He had barely survived his debut as a villain. His ever first fight and it had been against Terra.

"You know, I wanted to make the butts bigger," he said before you could say anything, smoothly but obviously changing the topic. "But there was only so much I could fit into Ass Kicker 50 and that just wouldn’t do."

"Are you going to run out of butts soon?" you wondered.

Silver hummed thoughtfully. "I guess there is a minute of pelting left at most."

The two of you waited until the machine stuttered and began to slow, the wheel of boots no longer finding marshmallows to kick into the crowd. Silver gestured grandly for you to go ahead and you pressed the dead switch with a small smile.

"Well then." He clapped his hands together. "I guess I should say hello to my favorite warden. He is ever so happy to see me every time."

You couldn’t help but snort, then you hesitated. "You know, you could just…go."

Silver actually looked a little insulted. "Don’t ruin my date with prison, my dear." He beckoned you closer with a finger, presenting his hands. "I want to see if I can walk out the front door dressed like a futuristic clown."

You blinked, in the middle of pulling out your cuffs. "What would that look like?"

He smirked as you reached out towards him. "I guess you’ll have to find out." He leaned in as your hands closed the cuffs around his wrists, warm skin pressed to warm skin and cold metal between. "I’ll make sure to make the news for you."

"Alright," you said, bemused and curious in equal measure. You noticed how warm he was, this close to you, your hands covering his. His breath smelled faintly of peppermint. "Come on, there are two new officers on the roaster who are eager to prove you can’t slip past them."

His face lit up. "Oooh, fun." He chuckled, low and menacing and for once sounding like the villain he was. "I do love ruining their day. Shattered dreams taste ever so delicious."

You rolled your eyes fondly, waving the waiting police over. They hurriedly hid the marshmallow butts they were snacking on and bustled over, trying to look important and menacing. Even if Silver was a very polite and very wonderful villain, he was still wanted for a number of crimes and the state really wanted to prosecute him.

"Be gentle with Ass Kicker 50," you told the clean-up crew who came in to tow the machine away to a storage facility. "She’s done good service."

When you looked back over to Silver, you caught the warm, unbearably fond smile as he watched you on his way to the police car. He cast you a wink as he got in, mouthing, 'Clown'. You playfully wrinkled your nose at him and saw more than heard him laugh as the door was closed.

"Um." A soft, hesitant voice made you look over and you immediately recognized the girl who had approached you. The teenager who had nearly died at your side months ago. "I’m very happy you’re back and that you made a full recovery." She thrust out a small gift. "Thank you, for saving my life."

"And mine." One of her friends bustled over, holding a little wrapped gift as well. "If not for you, I wouldn’t have made it."

You felt speechless, accepting the gifts hesitantly and that seemed to open the floodgates. You were swiftly surrounded by people thanking you and expressing their concern and relief in equal measure. Your arms soon overflowed with gifts, flowers from the elderly, drawn pictures from children and baked cookies from grateful parents. It nearly made you cry.

You did cry a little when you got home, sniffling as you sat in a pile of gifts, reading letters and smiling at the graceless but enthusiastic scribbles of a five year old. Suzie was curled up in your lap, fast asleep as a small bundle of warmth.

You taped all the pictures to one wall and pinned the letters to an old, large pinboard you had gotten a few years ago. You put the food away and the flowers into a vase and scattered the rest of the gifts across your flat in a smattering of decorations.

It had mattered. Ever single moment you had felt helpless and terrified had mattered. You hadn’t been a footnote on some document, lamenting a too early death. Because of you, so many futures still existed, those bright, burning lives not snuffed out by a cruel hand.

You would continue growing stronger for them all, you vowed to yourself. Even if you needed Silver to end the fight and save you again, you would be there. Standing between evil and everyone else as many times as it took.

For the first time in months, you felt like a hero again, too.

You dozed off with the news channel on and jerked awake sometime in the early morning hours just in time to blearily watch a repeated clip of Silver, dressed as a sparkly, futuristic clown, moonwalk dancing out of prison. There it was, his famous, Class A skill of getting out of trouble in the most ridiculous ways.

You were chuckling softly to yourself, reaching out to fish your phone from your coffee table. You already had a message waiting for you.

'Watch me, darling.'

You were still half asleep when you answered, a golden feeling like honey on warm bread filling your chest, 'Always.'

You hesitated, then tapped out one more message, 'If you have any more inventions, I’m ready.'

He answered immediately. 'Oh, darling.' It read and you could hear the glee in his voice in your mind, could imagine the way he brightened. 'I was hoping you’d say that.'

You loved this ridiculous, wonderful man so much, you thought, still bleary and half asleep. Your heart felt so full with good things it felt as though it was spilling over to the point where you had to squeeze a pillow, hiding a wide grin against it."

A Hero’s Return

Continuation of this little short story. No particular warnings, but let me know if I should tag something.

***

’Ready when you are.’

It felt as though the message was burning a hole into your pocket as you stared at your hero costume. Freshly laundered, repaired perfectly after your fight with that telekinetic villain and just as practical and flashy as before. It shouldn’t be scary.

Your hands weren’t trembling when you put it on, but it was a near thing. It helped to know that Silver was waiting on the other side, not a floating terror ready and willing to kill. If you failed, no civilians would get hurt or killed. You would not die knowing you had been utterly useless, or wake up miraculously to find hundreds of people dead because you hadn’t been strong enough.

You had grown stronger, you knew you had. Enough so, in fact, that the hero association had recently bumped you up to Class B. Which was a little frightening, you had never played in the upper leagues before and while you knew you were part of the bottom crowd of Class B, it was still very different to your comfortable, quiet little Class C.

You took a few deep breaths after buckling the last of your gear in place and you stared at the mirror, realizing that the costume didn’t fit like it used to. You had gained muscle and a bit of weight and…it didn’t look right anymore. The colors seemed too bright, the little fluttery accents you had once added to the design on a whim too useless.

Keep reading

[silkendress]

Bitten Bullet

Previous Chapter First Chapter Next Chapter

-ˋˏ➛ Chapter 2: Just You

-ˋˏ➛ Call of Duty

-ˋˏ➛ Suggestive

-ˋˏ➛ Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

-ˋˏ➛ Strangers to Lovers, Civilian Reader, Slow Build

-ˋˏ➛ 8k Words

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He was a bit of an enigma to you; the fact he saw fit to spend time with you made him even more so in your opinion.

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Read on AO3

You stare blankly at your phone.

You lay flat on your back on the bed, almost completely swallowed up by blankets, your phone screen the brightest light source in your dark room.

It’s the night after Simon gave you his number. It’s the night where you are wracking your head for what to text him for the first time.

In your mind, you have to text him tonight. You didn’t want him to think you didn’t want his company. Yesterday you tried to think of something to say too, but nothing clicked.

You stare at your phones virtual keyboard, your thumb hovering over letters but never pressing them. You’re on the screen to send Simon something.

You wonder if he’s asleep, or if he’s awake like you; if he’s a night owl or has difficulty sleeping.

The thought of him sleeping puts the thought of him without his mask in your head. You wonder what he looks like under there. You wonder if he’s waiting on you to text or call like how you’re waiting for your nerves to settle to do one of those things.

You’ve been laying here for what feels like hours.

Maybe just a simple text telling him it was you—so that he could save your number in return—was enough.

That’s what you end up going with. You make sure to include your name and some mildly identifiable information—‘the one that works at a bookstore, you walked me home again yesterday’—and hit send before you become too embarrassed.

You click the power button on your phone to make the screen go dark and you bury yourself under your blankets, your heart pounding as though you just ran a marathon.

When you wake in the morning you pace your morning routine as not to rush. You were putting off checking your messages due to nerves. It wasn’t as if the slower you went would change anything, but it made you feel better to put it off for now.

You make up your bed. You brush your teeth. You shower. You don’t check your phone.

It isn’t until you’ve dried off and redressed that you finally built up the nerve to see if Simon replied to you. He did. There’s a tornado of butterflies in your stomach.

‘Got it.’ Was all he replied. You felt oddly relieved, you weren’t sure what you were so nervous about—Simon didn’t seem the type to be a texter, anyway. That was fine, you were certain many people weren’t. You were just pleased he responded at all.

Your phone hangs loosely in your palm as you walk to the kitchen to have something for breakfast. Thoughts pass your mind, all about Simon.

Another day passes. You fall back into a mundane routine. You haven’t texted Simon since, you’re not sure how to initiate conversation with him, despite your borderline desperate longing to do so.

Chloe told you earlier today that she would be with her sister for another two weeks, that her sister and the baby are healthy but she just wants to be with them. Chloe sounds happy, you’re happy for her.

It’s yet another late night that you can’t sleep. You’re in a cocoon of blankets trying not to stare at your phone—you remember reading somewhere about ‘blue light’ and sleep disruption. It takes a few minutes of you laying as still as a statue until you drift off.

A booming, revving noise makes you jump awake, gasping for air.

The motorcycle again. Your phone is in your hand before you know it.

‘I heard a motorcycle just now. Was that you by any chance?’

You hit send before your doubts can creep up and paralyze you. You hastily click it off and set it on the nightstand to lay back in the bed.

You’re not sure exactly how much time passes between that text being sent and now, just that it feels like forever. Now that you thought of it, you suppose someone would have to pull over first to do anything on their phone on a motorcycle.

You were expecting the notification ping of a new text message, so you jolt upright when your phone begins to ring.

You stare at the now lit up screen of your phone with wide eyes and lips parted in mild shock. On the third ring you snap yourself out of it and make yourself answer.

“Hello?” Your voice wavers and you clear your throat. You mentally wince.

“Hey,” the low sound of him on the other end gives you excited jitters. “Did I wake you?” He sounds careful, a barely-there softness to his voice that makes your hands get increasingly fidgety.

“No, no. I’m just a light sleeper, is all.” You mutter, huffing out a soft laugh in a nervous reflex.

He hums, and then there’s silence.

Not quite silence but close enough because Simon isn’t saying anything. You think you can hear the soft rumble of an engine in the background on the other end. You wonder if he pulled in a gas station to refuel, or if he returned home for the night but decided to call you before heading in.

You think Simon is alright with it—the lulls in conversation. You could relate to an extent, you were quiet too, but he definitely was more self-assured than you. He never felt the impulse to unnecessarily fill the silence with chatter.

You’re so deep in thought that when he speaks again it almost makes you flinch in surprise.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Your mouth feels dry, you have to swallow before you can speak. “Uh, no, I have work—“

“Day after?” Flat and to the point, he isn’t deterred one bit.

“Yes. I-I’d be free then.” Your heartbeat feels like a drum.

You hesitate before asking; “Why?”

There’s a pause, you can’t tell what Simon is thinking, only that his reply is spoken bluntly.

“Got a second helmet yesterday.”

The day is bright and beautiful, the sky is blue and the warm sun is a welcome contrast to the chilly autumn breeze. Your eyes are trained on the road and your ears are especially attuned to anything that sounds like a motorcycle.

After the call Simon texted you a time and a place. You spent the entirety of yesterday thinking about today, and now you were fiddling with your hands in an attempt to dissipate the nervous energy in your limbs.

Here you were about to get on the back of a bike owned by a man you had a chance encounter with at a bar—a man you had grown increasingly intrigued by and even tentatively fond of, but that was beside the point. You think you’re being more daring than you ever had in your entire life precisely because you were becoming keenly aware of the fact your comfort zone was suffocating you.

It doesn’t change the mild absurdity of the situation.

‘I don’t even drink.’

You find yourself checking your phone periodically for the time, Simon would be coming in a few minutes.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this. But then again, you couldn’t believe you met Simon at all, let alone kept in touch with him.

He wasn’t a stranger anymore, he was an acquaintance now, surely. You still had so many musings about him, curiosities that had yet to be sated; but you held back. You didn’t want to overstep a potential boundary.

But that didn’t change the fact you curious about him.

You wanted to get a close look at his tattoos. You wanted to know the story behind each one—assuming there was one to be told—and when he got them.

You wanted to know what his laugh sounded like.

You wanted to know what he looked like.

You wanted to know if he wondered about you like you did him.

You wanted to be able to say you knew him, not just an awareness of his existence but a deeper knowledge of him as a person.

You waffle back and forth with your thoughts. ‘He’s the one that offered to take me on his bike,’ you remind yourself in intervals. It works for calming your nerves, but only for a short while.

Your mind combs over things about Simon you do know.

He’s in the military.

He likes motorcycles.

He smokes.

He always wears a mask.

He, for some reason, is keeping in contact with you.

And he is also about to pull up to you.

Your mind belatedly catches up with your senses. You hear the revving first then you see Simon—and the bike—in the distance.

It’s like all of your self-soothing methods were for naught. Your stomach flutters with frenzied nerves and you shift your weight on your feet repeatedly in an effort to shake off some of the jitters.

A part of you wasn’t expecting him to actually show up.

You don’t know much about motorcycles, you couldn’t tell what kind it was by looking at it. It was black and shiny, the metal bits of it reflected the sunlight.

Simon looks in his element on it. More than competent. Your legs feel wobbly.

He rolls up and his boots settle on the ground, then his heel pushes out the kickstand. You can tell it’s a motion he has done many times before, there’s no hesitation or carefulness to it.

Simon flips up his visor. His eyes take you in, lingering for a moment on your fidgeting, gloved hands—the gloves he gave to you—then back up to you.

He dismounts his bike, a lazy cadence to his movements. Your face feels warmer all of the sudden.

His helmet comes off much the same way, he’s wearing a mask like you expected, and denim jeans and a thick hoodie. He rests the helmet on the seat of the bike for now. In the sunlight his cropped blond hair reminds you of straw.

“Nervous, are you?” He nods down towards your hands. You tuck them in your pockets.

“A little, yes.”

He grunts. “Don’t be,” he meanders to the back of the bike and opens up the trunk box attached to it. “I won’t be goin’ above the speed limit. Not while you’re with me.” His tone is almost protective. You’re not familiar with that tone general, it makes your insides feel fuzzy.

He pulls out another helmet. Your heart rate doesn’t go any slower.

Simon comes over to you with the helmet tucked underneath his muscular arm. Your hands are about to extend outwards to take it from him, but he takes another step forward.

He takes the helmet from under his arm holds it out. “Gonna put this on ya now.”

He says it slowly, almost tentative. His eyes are so intensely trained on you that you almost feel self conscious. Your mind swims, a vast sea of uncontrollable thoughts.

Your brain catches up in slow motion. Simon interprets your silence as a green light to continue.

It’s no-nonsense and straight to the point, but for you it feels like an eternity. You are paralyzed in place and looking straight ahead to avoid his gaze—straight ahead just so happens to be his broad chest, which fills up most of your vision.

He’s careful yet swift with placing the helmet on your head, his gloved thumbs brush over your cheek incidentally as he settles it on you. His palms almost encompass your entire face.

‘His hands are big.’ You realize helplessly.

It wasn’t like you’ve never seen his hands before, it just was that there was something about having said hands in such close proximity that made you starkly aware of their true scale.

You don’t have to wonder if there’s callouses or nicks on his hands, you’re so confident in your assumption that it would be more of a shock if there wasn’t.

It wouldn’t stretch your imagination too far to twist the brief, unintended contact into the image of him cupping your face instead. Your stomach swoops and you mentally berate yourself, mortified.

He demonstrates how to flip the visor up and down and how to take it off yourself. You find it remarkably difficult to absorb his instructions even despite your apt attention.

Then Simon’s eyes narrow questioningly down at you. Your heart lurches for a moment, he must have said something that should have prompted you to answer, but you were much too preoccupied with dousing the fire growing in your face and breathing slow to steady the rabbit-kicks between your lungs.

“Listen, if you’re not up for this—“

“I-I want to.”

You surprise yourself with your sudden insistence. The words tumble from your mouth inelegantly and rapidly. You truly wanted to crawl under a rock in that moment, you felt as though your desperation for human connection couldn’t have been more obvious. Rationally you knew that your blurted out reply could be understood as mere excitement, but you weren’t being very rational right now.

Fortunately, you don’t spiral further into self-deprecation as you are not given much of a chance to, not when Simon utters a single word that has your mind scrambling for a reason you’re not certain of.

Simon’s head slants ever so slightly, a look in his eye that you’d almost call amused. “Good.”

Something in the timbre of his voice reminds you of the fact that very soon you will be in the closest proximity you’ve ever been with him—or with any man for that matter. Hugging your male family members didn’t count.

He takes one step backwards away from you before turning on his heel and approaching the bike to put his own helmet back on.

“Alright,” he starts with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you pay attention. “When we go around corners don’t lean. If we get on the road and you’re too nervous just tap me and we’ll pull over, won’t be able to hear you that well unless we’re stopped.”

His speech isn’t harsh but it demands attention. Your eyes are wide, you’re nodding along. You wonder if he’s done this before—give people direction. It sounds like it. You are reminded of his job, military, he told you.

“Understand?” He crosses his arms over his chest, tilts his head at you.

You nod. “I understand.”

He tips his head slightly forward in a single gesture of acknowledgment, seemingly pleased with your answer. He goes towards the bike, one hand on the handlebar and the other near the back.

Then, with an effortless amount of strength, he tugs the bike forward along with the momentum of taking a large step. The kickstand rolls up and away.

Your mouth goes dry when some ancient, primitive part of your brain shudders in delight. You shift your eyes away and downwards at your feet, burning and mortified.

 Simon settles himself on the bike, his long leg easily swinging over the side. He then motions you to come over with a single croon of his two fingers. Your heart is a drum.

With every step to him your nerves rise in anticipation, excited and electrified. You’ve never been on the back of a bike before.

When you come around to the side of the bike you pause. You find yourself once again thinking of how his presence will be adjacent to yours once you sit down behind him.

“Just swing your leg over it.” He supplies, acknowledging your hesitancy but being unaware of the deeper source.

You make yourself do it, lest you tick him off to the whirlwind going on inside your head.

You had to throw your leg wider than you were expecting, your shaky legs didn’t help you much. You were fearful that you would lose balance, but somehow scrambled on the back of it in one piece.

Your knee brushes against his hip incidentally, it’s barely a second of contact but you jerk your leg away like you had been burned regardless.

With how hot your face was feeling, you might as well have been.

It was an almost uncomfortable contrast; the heat of your body yet the chill on your skin due to the breeze. Your palms felt clammy in your gloves.

You pressed yourself as far back as you could on the seat, which wasn’t much considering the minuscule amount of space you were working with. The way you were seated was a bit awkward, it would be all too easy to scoot yourself forward to get more comfortable, but then you’d be pressed against his back.

“Settled?” Asks Simon. You nod, but then sputter when you realize he can’t see you.

“Yes.” You clear your throat.

There’s a pause that stretches on long enough that you were worried you said something wrong somehow, you begin to analyze your conversation up until this point to try and figure out what, but before you can begin combing through your memories in earnest Simon speaks up.

“You can hold on if you need to.”

For a moment you don’t know what to say.

“Okay.”

And Simon just waits, almost expectant. He gave you the go ahead to hold onto him,and now he’s seemingly waiting for you to do exactly that. You weren’t even on the road yet.

He said you could. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to.

You move in increments. Your hands reach out slowly in front of you, slow enough that you don’t think Simon is aware you even are. Then you lurch forward, and there’s no discretion about it.

You move up in the seat, your arms hover over his sides, and—

Two hundred-something pounds of muscle suddenly becomes less abstract.

He’s solid. You can’t even wrap your arms around him entirely. You feel dizzy.

Your hands are laid flat and stiff over his abdomen, you can feel the steady rise and fall of him as he breathes. You imagine his heartbeat, strong and anchored. Not at all like yours, which was pounding with an almost frenzied electricity.

He shifts a little in his seat, he’s only getting comfortable but you are panicked that he’s attempting to nudge you off, so you lift your hands off him.

His hand, which completely wraps around your wrist, comes down to reposition your hands where they were previously.

It’s so fast yet so absentminded that you are convinced it’s more of a reflex than a conscious move.

He says nothing. You say nothing. Your palms rest against him.

The engine roars especially loud suddenly, you jump against him in surprise.

Your stomach swirls with nerves.

“Hold on.” His voice is raised just enough so that he can be heard over the noise. You find your fingers curling to clutch onto him when the bike begins to slowly move forward, turning to pull out into the road.

You cling ever tighter.

Any and all semblance of personal space is disregarded when he begins to ride in earnest.

He doesn’t go over the speed limit just like he promised, but it doesn’t change the fact that you were still trembling behind him. You hug onto him tight when he goes on the highway. If it bothers him he makes no show of it—verbal or otherwise.

You feel even smaller pressed up against him like this, his broad back filling your vision to the point that if you wanted to comfortably see what was in front of you, you’d have to try and sit up and look over his shoulder.

The sound of the wind whipping past you is almost static to your ears. You’re caught between two separate strains of nerves, one from anxiety over being on a bike for the first time, the other from the rapid pace of your heart thanks to the sturdy man you were clinging onto for support.

It makes your hands jittery and your stomach swoop. When you go around a turn for the first time your hands squeeze him like your life depended on it. You doubted it bothered him, considering how he eclipsed you in every way.

He comes to a stop at a red light.

“How are you holdin’ up?” His calls over the hum of the engine, his helmet muffling the sound somewhat.

“Good!” You call back to him, moving one of your hands to give him a small, yet shaky, thumbs up.

His chest rises and falls sharp and quick, a short chuckle. You can’t hear it. It makes your heart feel warm nonetheless.

As the ride goes on your nerves melt away bit by bit. You find comfort in Simon’s solidity.

It was when you relaxed somewhat that it dawns on you that you had no clue as to where he was taking you—if anywhere at all. He didn’t really specify anything other than a time and place to collect you.

Time ticks by, the feeling of Simon’s presence so close to your own becomes increasingly familiar. It still doesn’t rid you of the occasional fluttering of butterflies in your stomach, much to your chagrin. It wasn’t an awful thing to feel small in such a way with Simon—far from it; the issue was how embarrassed it made you.

You went out of your way to ensure your thoughts never crossed that line you drew for yourself, but as you were holding onto his broad midsection it became an increasingly daunting task.

So lost in thought you are that you do not notice that he has turned into somewhere until the bike goes slower than you were expect. You sit up just a little in your seat in an attempt to look over his shoulder the best you could.

It’s a quaint little restaurant. A sign with chalkboard written on it sat out in front of the entrance, informing potential patrons that they were still serving breakfast.

He parks the motorcycle. Then he waits, and waits. It isn’t until he shoots you a glance over his shoulder that you realize he’s waiting for you to get off the bike first.

You dismount as carefully as possible, but you can’t shake the feeling you look awkward regardless, like a newborn filly. Once both of your feet are firmly planted on the ground Simon follows.

You are reminded to take off your helmet when Simon does. Once it’s off your head you hand it to him, wordlessly waiting for him to confirm your assumption that he just took you to breakfast.

He takes your helmet with two of his thick fingers hooked into it, then he’s placing both helmets back in the trunk box. Your eyes dart from him to your feet in random intervals. You were still wrapping your head around the idea of breakfast with Simon.

You’re not certain of what to say, if anything. Thanking him right at this moment felt too presumptuous, so you hold off on that. When he clicks the box shut he regards you for a moment, observant.

When your eyes meet you give him a small smile, it’s more of a reflex if anything. Whatever was there disappears, his posture eases.

“C’mon.” He beckons with a nod of his head towards the building. Looks like you were having breakfast after all.

You are quick to follow. You notice his steps are slower to make up for your shorter strides.

Subconsciously, you are walking closer together than before. You notice it only when the fabric of your jacket brushes against him. You flinch and yank your arm away. You’re about to sputter out an apology.

But Simon remains impassive, almost as if nothing unusual occurred, like you didn’t accidentally cross over into his personal space.

The thought of your hand in his is an unbidden one.

Simon opens the door for you. You tell him ‘thank you’ in a hushed tone as you skitter inside.

The inside is just as quaint as the outside. There aren’t many people within, it’s small but not claustrophobic. The primary decor is wood and earth tones, the scent of coffee drifts across the air invitingly.

“Any preference?” You blink up at him, momentarily at a loss for what he was asking.

‘Seating preferences,’ you realize belatedly. “No.”

You and Simon end up seated at a table in the far back. Simon takes the seat facing the entrance.

He’s leaned back lazily in the chair across from you, It was sturdy enough to hold his weight. His legs are spread in nonchalantly and his arms rests across his thighs. His eyes are half-lidded.

This is the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him.

This is also the first time you are acutely aware of Simon’s legs. They’re thick and long, his denim jeans cling to his limbs as his legs stretch the material out. The jeans weren’t tight or form fitting, just that he was so well-muscled he ended up filling most of the space in them out.

His voice startles you out of your observations. “Get whatever you want.”

You feel embarrassed, even though Simon can’t read your mind it doesn’t stop the heat crawling up your neck. You sheepishly lean forward in your seat to skim over the menu, your hands still neatly folded in your lap. Then you glance up at Simon.

“Thank you.”

He simply nods.

“I like this place.” You suddenly say.

Simon cocks his head. “Do you, now?” You ignore how the rough timbre in his voice gives you pleasant butterflies.

“I do. It’s very…” Your brows knit together as you search for the word. “…Rustic. I like it.”

“Had a feeling you would.”

You force yourself to read the menu to help you get your mind off of your increasing body temperature.

“What will you be getting?” You ask after a minute or so of comfortable silence.

Simon doesn’t bristle, but you can’t ignore the almost exasperated tone in his voice, like he’s had this conversation before and is already bracing himself to have it again.

“Nothing.”

You peek up at him. He holds your stare. He eases a little when you don’t push the subject any further.

His following words are more neutral in tone, a clear change of subject. “Get what you want.” Simon points to the menu with his eyes.

You do exactly that.

Eggs, potatoes and bacon sounded delightful, so that was what you ended up getting.

You just ordered, so there still would be some time until your food came.

This was uncharted territory for you. You’ve never been on a bike or had a man take you somewhere to eat, two new things in a single day; that was a very welcome rarity for you.

“Do you come here a lot?” Now that you were in such a setting with Simon you found yourself more conversational than usual. There was a desire to know more about him, no matter how mundane. He was a bit of an enigma to you; the fact he saw fit to spend time with you made him even more so in your opinion.

Simon lightly shrugs his shoulder. “Not that much.” He answers. “Just enough to know the food’s decent.”

“Well, thank you for taking me.” You mumble sheepishly, not quite certain on how to word it.

“Should be thanking you for coming with me.”

There isn’t trepidation in his tone but there is a sort of carefulness there that you can’t place. You’re not expecting it, so you can’t help the way your eyes widen. You nod quickly, not wanting your surprise to be mistaken for something negative.

“I got to try two new things today thanks to you.” It slips out easily, without much thought.

His eyes crinkle somewhat. “Liked the bike, then?” There’s the faintest twinge of pride in his tone.

You like it, you like the thought that he takes some measure of satisfaction in it; it humanizes him and gives more clarity to the jagged edges of his exterior—it doesn’t sand them away, just makes them more legible.

Your lips twitch in a brief smile. “I was scared at first, but yes, I did.”

“You’ll get used to it.” You don’t have the time to register the potential implication there before he speaks again.

“What’s the other one?” Your confusion must show in your face, he elaborates. “You said there were two new things.”

‘Oh.’

The soft clatter of a plate being set down before you makes you jump. You are quick to hastily apologize and stammer out a thank you to the waitress, she only smiles at you and gives an apology of her own for startling you before leaving.

You didn’t even realize you slipped and admitted that, now your mind was working overdrive to figure out how best to word it. There’s an awkward beat of silence until you pick up your fork. You take a bite of potatoes first. It’s more than just decent, it’s delicious.

“What’s the verdict?” Simon asks wryly.

You chew and swallow before speaking. “Very good.” You reply cheerfully. Simon seems pleased.

He then looks at you expectantly.

There wasn’t really much point in dancing around it, you already brought it up by accident, the issue was how to say it without earning potential judgement.

“The other new thing was this.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again. “Never been taken to dinner, either?”

You shake your head. You poke at the food on your plate, growing increasingly self-conscious. Simon catches it.

“Not your fault some bastards don’t know how to act.” Despite his flat delivery it’s reassuring. You find yourself feeling less insecure. You don’t get the impression that Simon is a man to sugarcoat or utter empty platitudes, so you are appreciative.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know, though.”

Simon cocks his head at you, intrigued. “Wouldn’t know?” He asks, parroting it back at you.

“Wouldn’t know.” You confirm, taking another bite of your eggs. You don’t realize that you just implicitly admitted you’ve never had a boyfriend until you’re taking a sip of your water.

For an imperceptible second you freeze before forcing yourself back into motion. In this situation it would be better to just move on and ignore it, but that still didn’t stop your face from feeling like a bonfire.

You think Simon recognizes the implication immediately, but he doesn’t look surprised at all. You’re not certain of how you feel about that.

What you are certain of is the relief you feel when he doesn’t press on about it, but you still feel a tad mortified. If he’s put off by your lack of romantic experience he doesn’t show it.

Maybe it’s the desperation to change the subject that makes you ask Simon;

“So, what do you usually get when you come here?”

That simple question kicked off a sort of back-and-forth conversation between the two of you, which the questions becoming increasingly mundane as it went on.

The questions are asked by you, and Simon answers, then waits for you to give him an answer in return before you toss another question at him.

What kind of music do you listen to?

Favorite color?

What about your favorite season?

Cats or dogs?

Things of that nature are thrown back and forth between you two. You’re pleasantly surprised that Simon is entertaining you.

You decide to push your luck and dip your toes into more slightly personal questions—nothing inappropriate, of course. Simon doesn’t hesitate.

Early bird or night owl?

When’s your birthday?

Have you ever rode with any of your friends?

Simon sits up a little. “What, on the back of it?” His tone is so incredulous that you fail to suppress a giggle.

“No, no, just in general.” You amend. Simon leans back in his seat once more.

“No. Just you.” Just you. No one else. You wonder if he was simply solitary or if there was something else—maybe both. You brush off the warmth blooming in your chest.

You think about what kind of friends Simon would have.

“Doubt they’d be interested.” He continues.  “Don’t think any of ‘em even ride.”

“Ah. I’m assuming you don’t have breakfasts with them either?” It’s more of a joke than a question.

Simon answers regardless. “Sometimes I do,” you can’t discern the look that’s in his eye. “But nothin’ like this.”

You cock your head at him, curious. “Never took them here?”

“No.” He confirms bluntly.

“Just me?” You ask. His dark eyes stare at you intently. Your heart pulses.

The entrance to the restaurant opens and Simon’s eyes dart to the door, severing the intense connection briefly. Then his sights shift back.

“Just you.” He replies without skipping a beat.

You look down at your plate just to give yourself a reprieve from the lingering intensity of his stare. You’re almost done with your food by now.

His voice dips a bit lower in a light tease. “I was going to ask you if you ever had any other men walk you home, but I already know the answer to that one.”

Your face awash with warmth. “What’s the answer?” You manage to speak.

You notice the corners of Simon’s eyes wrinkling, the pitch black in his eyes almost look warm for a flicker. Your heart aches with every pulse. He says it in the same tone he had when asking you if you liked his bike.

“Just me.”

Simon ends up paying for your breakfast. You insist he doesn’t have to, but he insists that it’s not a problem. You acquiesce.

He opens the door for you as you’re exiting just like he did when you were entering.

“I’ve got a place in mind to take you to, if you’re up for it.” He has already retrieved the helmets from the back of the bike.

You nod immediately.

Simon was right, you were getting more accustomed to being on a bike already. You still clung onto him for support, however. You were able to appreciate things that you couldn’t before due to your fear; the cool wind blowing past, the auburn trees lining the road.

You cherish what little time you have left being so close to him.

Time that slips by too fast even when you’re holding it tight, because before you know it he’s pulling in somewhere and slowing to a complete stop.

You glance around. It’s a park, if not secluded. You don’t see any other vehicles parked. The trees in the vicinity are so red they might as well be torches.

“It’s beautiful out here.” You say aloud, dismounting the bike.

Simon takes your helmet and puts it along with his in the trunk. “Thought you’d like it.” Unless your ears were deceiving you, you detect a hint of cheekiness there. You’re not used to it coming from Simon, he sounds as dry and flat as usual, but it’s there’s an element that’s foreign to your ears. You cherish it.

You smile sheepishly and turn around to get a better view of the trees in the vicinity. “Do you like coming here a lot?” You ask over your shoulder.

“Sometimes.” He sounds indifferent.

“Oh, hopefully I’m not being invasive or something—“ You begin to stammer, the words tumbling out almost reflexively.

Something in his expression softens. “You’re fine.” Simon replies. You relax a little, but not by much due to how you’re chastising yourself.

You force yourself to brush off the negative self-talk when Simon comes over to stand next to you. Once he’s there he’s grabbing something out of his pocket. A box of cigarettes, you realize.

You’re busying yourself with admiring the trees, you hear the sound of fabric shifting. A comfortable silence envelopes you both. It isn’t until you notice Simon’s hand moving up to his face that your eyes shoot over to him.

He hooks his thumb up and under his mask, underneath his chin. You blink and suddenly you’re staring at pale skin where midnight fabric used to be.

There’s light-colored stubble on his jaw, you catch a scar running there and up, it disrupts the natural growth pattern of his facial hair.

There’s  a scar on one side of his upper lip—the same side the other scar on his jaw is—it is vertical and goes from the seam of his lips to seemingly all the way up, maybe even to his nostril. You can’t tell, his mask is still dipped low enough to obscure his cupids bow and the rest of his face. It intrigues you because you’ve never seen a scar like that before.

His lips themselves look like how you expect, slightly chapped and maybe a bit redder than usual from the cold.

You make yourself dart your eyes away. It would be rude to stare.

But then holds the cigarette between his lips, and you find yourself paying as much attention as possible through your peripheral. He feels in his pockets for a lighter for a fraction of a second before he’s bringing it up and setting the cigarette alight.

It isn’t long before the scent of nicotine follows.

And the two of you simply exist in one another’s presence like that for a little while. Nothing is said because nothing needs to be at the moment. You think about how nice it is to have someone be effortlessly content with you. There wasn’t any song or dance you had to do while tone deaf and out of rhythm just to keep away the dreaded labels of ‘odd’ and ‘strange.’

It was just you and Simon.

He says your name. You turn to look up at him.

“Yes?” There’s a pause there, you watch his lips thin out into a line, the motion is almost imperceptible. It’s a welcome strangeness to see a portion of his face now. A small part of you that you bury deep hopes that the sight won’t be unfamiliar one day.

He brings the cigarette back to his lips, his eyes are far away.

“In a month or two I’m gonna be gone for a while.” Smoke pours out his mouth in wispy coils. You turn your head to look at him. He’s still looking at the autumn trees.

“Oh.” You try to hide the disappointment in your voice.

“How come?” You ask, then realization dawns. “For work?” The question is asked carefully.

“Yeah.” He confirms after a stilted pause. He takes another drag.

“I’ll be back.” He says after a beat of silence. You can’t tell what he’s feeling at the moment.

You don’t want him to leave, but that was just the reality of things. Sensibly, you knew that a month or two was still a lot of time, but just like the time you clutched as tight as you did Simon on the bike, it would slip away before you knew it.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting for you.” The words sort of pour out, like water from a stream. There’s no question about it, you’ll wait for him; there’s no harm in it. It wasn’t like you’d be putting anything or anyone on hold.

Simon finally looks down at you. His eyes are cavernous, searching.

You don’t know if he finds what he’s looking for or not, only that he looks away from you and back to the trees. He doesn’t say anything else.

The subject leaves a lingering melancholy in the air that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You make an attempt at further conversation to shift the tone.

“You’ll be here for Halloween.” You state, not quite sure where you’re going with it.

Simon only grunts in reply.

“Do you think you’ll be here for Christmas?”

Simon stills for a moment. “Not sure.”

“I’ll get you something.”

“Like what?” He sounds mildly amused.

You think.

“Something with a skull or skeleton on it.” You eventually decide.

“Have jokes, do you?” He says dryly, though not offended.

“Not a joke. But I have an actual joke to tell.”

“Go on.”

“What do you call a pile of kittens?”

“You tell me.”

“A meow-tain.”

He actually snorts through his nose, you even see the scarred corner of his mouth quirk up in a ghost of a smirk, he’s more endeared by you than the joke itself. “Not the worst I’ve heard.”

You beam up at him, and the silence is comfortable yet again.

It’s a minute until next he speaks. “I know what I’ll get you.”

“And what would that be?”

“You’ll see at Christmas.”

Something about the rustling of trees and the soil being stamped underfoot is soothing.

After Simon put out his cigarette and lowered his mask back over his mouth he asked you if you wanted to walk around the park for a bit, which was how you and him ended up walking on one of the short trails.

Simon walks closer to you than usual. You don’t think you’re imagining it, not when you incidentally brush against one another at sporadic intervals.

Neither of you make a move to put some distance between one another.

It’s the distance—or lack thereof—that makes your mind wander.

You think about that day at the convenience store, the night at the bar, and the othernight at the bar when he walked you home for the first time.

You think of Simon, the scar on his jaw and the muteness in his obsidian eyes. The oddly stable monotony of his voice. Big hands that put your helmet on for you for the first time.

You didn’t expect him to show up.

Not when he standing on the other side of the street, not when he came into the bookstore to give your freezing hands gloves, not when he pulled up on his bike.

When does it stop being chivalry?

It was a dangerous thing for someone as sentimental as you to ask.

You didn’t want to smother. To desperately clutch so tight that it suffocated. Having false hopes flood your heart almost always ended with you drowning, so as always, you just took what you were given.

You’d mentally reprimand yourself for every skipped heartbeat and flutter in your stomach, and you would convince yourself that it would be fine if Simon suddenly stopped talking to you one day. Drifted away, further and further until he was a stranger once more.

Your heart was soft and bleeding, too easily bruised for your own good, that’s why you always got so hurt. It was why in spite of having a lovely day you now found yourself hurting.

So you bury down your desires of companionship and the word-you-refuse-to-say with a shovel that’s so well-used it might as well be another limb—

A single, thick arm shoots out and grabs you by the middle.

You are caught before you fall forward on the cold earth. So lost in thought you were, that you tripped over a pebble.

“Watch yourself, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. Your mind is in utter disarray.

‘It was just an off-handed term of endearment, let it go.’

It slipped out from his lips without thought, it didn’t have to mean anything, you’ve heard people use that word before, it didn’t have to mean anything.

It’s difficult to let it go when his strong limb remains wrapped around your waist. He waits until you steady yourself before slipping his arm away.

It’s just as difficult to forget about the effortless strength he exerted to pull you upright before you fell over, especially when that ancient sense hums in delight at such a display.

Your heart pounds hysterically despite your best efforts.

“Thank you.” You mutter quickly. He gives a single, curt nod.

You wait until your pace returns to a normal rhythm before speaking again, you want to put as many syllables between you and that term of endearment as possible.

“Did you ever read that book?” You can imagine the green cover and gold lettering clear as day.

“Yeah, I did.”

“What was it about?” Try as you might, you could remember the letters but not the specific ones which formed the title on the book.

“Mythology.” You blink up at him in mild surprise.

You didn’t take Simon as one who would be interested in that subject. “Oh! Do you usually read those?”

“No.” He answers flatly, “Wasn’t my first choice. Just wanted somethin’ different.”

“I understand.” You do, you truly do.

A beat of empathetic silence washes over the two of you.

“Do you read a lot?” You carefully store the bits of information about him in your mind, in hopes that one day you’ll be able to paint a fuller picture.

“Not often.”

You shoot a curious glance at him. “Oh, so what do you do in your spare time?”

Simon says nothing for a moment. He’s searching for an answer, you realize.

Eventually he responds. “Wait.”

You blink at him, momentarily puzzled by his response. ‘Wait for what?’ Your gaze says. He doesn’t elaborate and you don’t pry.

You see two birds foraging. Further down the trail is a little babbling brook. You exclaim your enthusiasm for both, and for every other thing which grabs your attention on the path. Simon only gives you an endeared scoff in reply.

You can’t help but feel dispirited when the trail eventually loops back around and you see the parking lot in the distance. You can’t help but feel a bit childish; not wanting the day to end just yet.

When you reach the bike you stand awkwardly next to it for a moment, waiting for Simon to retrieve the helmets for the final time today.

Simon comes over, the length of his shadow swallowing yours. While looking down at you his brows crease briefly. You are frozen in place when his free hand comes up to your head, slowly and gingerly, giving you time to flinch away. You don’t.

It’s too easy to imagine him cupping your face. That’s twice now that you’ve imagined that. The lump that forms in your throat following that thought is nigh impossible to swallow.

He pulls his hand back and he flicks his fingers so fast that it barely registers that he plucked an autumn leaf from your hair. You’re too caught up with what just happened to feel even remotely embarrassed over that.

An unknowable feeling dawdles around between you. You’re staring forward, avoiding looking up to meet Simon’s eyes, directionless.

You manage to choke something out to break the silence. “Thanks—“

“Don’t mention it,” Simon’s reply is swift, yet no less understanding for it. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

You decide to just give Simon the directions to your home to drop you off. You trusted him at this point.

The ride there felt too short despite being a good distance away.

Simon only speaks to confirm he was at the right house, and then he’s pulling over to let you off.

You linger on the bike a second longer than needed. Simon doesn’t say anything or look over his shoulder to wordlessly tell you to get off. He sits there with you.

Your arms are still wrapped around him.

You shake off the urge to give him a final squeeze goodbye. Eventually you do get off the bike, and you take off your helmet. You’re about to give it back to him until he stops you.

“Keep it.” You blink at him, and tuck it under your arm instead.

You stand there aimlessly while you try to think of what to say.

“Thank you. For all of this.” There’s a quiet that settles between the two of you. It isn’t an unwelcome one.

Simon hums in reply after a time.

“I…” Your words slip past your lips and out of your head. Simon stares at you intently, waiting on every syllable.

“I appreciate it.” The words fall flat on your tongue, they barely scratch the surface of how you feel, but you hope he understands how much this day spent meant to you.

“I really enjoyed today.” You mumble, staring down at your shoes.

“Likewise.” He replies. Your lips twitch in a smile that never fully forms.

“Text me when you get home.” You blurt out. Simon simply nods.

And just like how you lingered for a second too long with him on the bike, Simon lingers a second too long with you.

“Talk to you soon.” He says after a moment. You wonder if he was going to say something else. You make yourself nod in agreement.

“Bye, Simon.”

You watch him leave, your eyes stay on him until he’s out of view.

You’re already laying in bed about to drift off to sleep for the night when you hear a high-pitched sound from your phone on the nightstand.

You swipe at the screen, your half-asleep eyes burning uncomfortably with the light that floods your vision when you open your phone. When you read Simon’s name you’re rubbing your eyes to help them focus on what he texted you.

‘Sleep well.’

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Looks like this will be more than 2 chapters after all!

I also wanted to thank everyone who liked and reblogged the first chapter, the positive response really motivated me to finish this. It really means a lot!! 🫶💘

I actually read an article and watched a video on how to use kickstands on bikes, there’s always a possibility I described something wrong, but I hope that can be overlooked!

The plan is to ramp up the romantic intensity a lot in the next chapter. (This story will still shift to an explicit rating once we get there.)

Thank you so much for any and all likes and reblogs! Please feel free to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

[roaringheat]

chat, i did it i finally broke up with my partner

[bunnyboy-juice]

spent the first hour and change at work deleting some old files and am having a grand ol time laughing at myself for not realizing i was a lesbian sooner

[danidrabbles]

I've been in a real reading mood lately and it made me SO excited to revisit this. Miranda, we've messaged about this before, but I wanted to give it the proper reblog it deserves!!!! (This got a little long. I'd apologize, but as a writer myself I know (hope) it's fun)

Because Dieter and ex-wife!Reader are on my mind all the time. I really like reading about people meeting, but love reading about people and knowing there's history between them, it makes things so bittersweet. Especially with these two because the love is there; you make it so efficiently evident in their "Do you want the truth or a lie?" conversation, and when they admit they think about each other, when Dieter says “I think you worried about what the real truth would be. We’ve got something here and it’s worrisome.” 🥺 It's a quick interaction, but it says so much about them.

As someone who was once a teenager with a crush on David Duchovny, Reader's meeting with Dustin is soooooo satisfying. The way he describes the production of the movie

"Everyone thinks us Hollywood actors just commit to this shit knowing it’s shit but we don’t! I mean not those of us who started at the beginning. We thought it’d be good. Like Jurassic Park, but yanno, we didn’t get Steven Spielberg. We keep getting arthouse fucks. And I like arthouse fucks–don’t get me wrong–but what’s a man with an IPhone know about blockbusters?”

made me laugh out loud.

The interactions between Dieter and Dustin are so fun, too. Their snarking back and forth while discovering they might not be so different after all... You manage to build so much tension between them and Reader in their conversation with her by the door. But then you also pack in gut punches like, “You don’t know. You don’t know me.” “That’s not true.” “Yeah it is. I’m different now. I’m not the woman you dragged around all those years.” and “You love him so much. It isn’t fair. You will love him your whole life if you don’t stop this.” OOF. ouch! It’s all walking that line between fun, comedy and sexy so well.

The smut is so good Miranda... Even on a reread I’m sitting here like 😳

Having Dustin between Reader’s legs, having so much fun with her, while she and Dieter kiss, and the way it goes back and forth between the sensations of something new (Dustin) and something familiar (Dieter) is sooooooo fantastic, I love how you kind of juxtaposed them without ever making one feel less involved in the threesome than the other. Also so good for her (reader insert me) to have her little You used to masturbate to this man. Revelation!!!! (and her getting to say it to him later was so… soft?)

I’m obsessed with the fact that you went there with Dieter and Dustin, too. Like not that I didn’t expect that of you, it’s just that M/M/F threesomes can often be... more on the M/F/M/ side, you know what I mean? When they kissed, when Dustin made Dieter suck on his fingers (As Dieter’s mouth wraps around his fingers, you feel a warm bead of pre-cum drip onto your skin. Damn…) when Reader lays back and tells Dieter “I want to see what you’re like with men,” and they just. went for it. LOVED it.

There’s so much I want to comment on, but instead I’ll give you some passages that made my heart ache…

You know he would do anything - anything - for you if you’d just ask. His love burns like a million suns and you’ll be Icarus in every lifetime. You fool. Kiss another man hard and seek penance in his presence behind you. 

That’s how you taste. He savors it like a wine connoisseur does his wine, running it over his tongue and thinking too long about how to describe it. It is so utterly you, it makes him yearn for another life. 

Some things are so true they don’t need to be confirmed. They just are. The sky is blue and people die, and Dieter is a man who will give you everything because he was once a man who gave you nothing.

“I don’t seem to regret you. Even though sometimes it’d be better if I did.”

It’s so beautiful and so bittersweet. It’s so good 😭 

And some lines that made… other places ache…

Dustin’s fingers are still in you, on you, when Dieter leans down and presses his tongue flat against your clit, greedy with lust. He licks at you around Dustin’s fingers and it feels like too much. They seem to make an agreement, working you at the same time. You cum quickly and this one seems to go on for eternity.

“He wants you so bad. Look—” You feel Dustin’s grin already across your back. “He’s so fucking hard for you. Just as hard as me.”

“Maybe we’ll do it..” he grunts, bottoming out again, “We’ll do you together. You’re tight as hell, but I know we can get you wide. Couldn’t we?”

Your Dustin is lowkey a fucking menace, jesus... Which genuinely surprised me so much!!!! But also the You see Dustin in the hazy peripheral. Lolling your head to the side, you focus on him. He stands at the side of the bed, smiles at you when you catch his eyes. With his cock standing out in front of him like that, he looks a bit unserious. If you weren’t so full of Dieter, perhaps you’d be amused by this. made me laugh so hard.

THE ENDING IS SO FUN??? It’s so creative and I love the promise of more between these three. I’ve attached Dieter to this email for obvious transparency reasons. He says he’d gladly help me carry your canvas (figuratively and literally). made me giggle.

Miranda, this was so fantastic. I said it before but I love the way you work in all these emotions so seamlessly, while never losing any of the sincerity in the process, it's so admirable. Your word choices, your analogies and metaphors, the way you picked such an unconventional relationship for this and made it work... You're an amazing writer, I am in awe of you, and I love this story so much!

three's company

pairing: dieter bravo x ex-wife!reader x dustin mulray rating: e (explicit) tags/warnings: smut, pinv, protected sex, oral (female receiving) *inserts good for her meme*, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, light voyeurism, talk and use of drugs and alcohol (weed & wine), the weirdest situationship you ever did see, a bit of angst, jealousy, fingering, dubious consent (but like, only a tiny bit dubious. the tiniest bit) word count: 16.k+ (don't ask me what happened there) summary: The world is slowly descending into madness all around you, so you decide to give in and go with Dieter to his latest poor decision: a franchise movie filming in England. One night while there, you both sweep another into this odd half-hearted, life-long tryst you've got. a/n: i don't know how i got here but i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i could dedicate this to a lot of things but mostly i'm going to dedicate it the red shoe diaries. thanks to david and the horny '90s. also to maria (@sweetly-yours-and-mine) who has spent countless nights working through this with me. you are a gem

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“Facetime isn’t the same as real people.”

“Those are bad movies, Bravo. I’m not sure I want to be around those who make them for that long.”

“I know.”

“Actors have never been my favorite company.”

“I know.”

“And I just don’t want to go.”

“I know.”

“I’ll learn to stop answering your calls one day, you know? And then you’ll do everything alone, even a global disaster.”

“I knew you’d give in. That's my girl.”

——

The hotel is a converted English Manor - the very stuff of childhood fairytales and honeymoon daydreams with its Italianate architecture and technicolor green grass. It is warm, inviting, with high ceilings and the soft, consistent hum of human activity as workers scurry around to greet the incoming guests. They filter you in through white plastic tents and stick cotton swabs up your nose before giving you the WIFI password and a room with a stunning view of their expansive, manicured grounds. You don’t have any grounds to look in America, and your studio apartment has been eerily quiet as of late. The pulse of life has stopped in Los Angeles, but here it comes back with an unvarying rhythm.

You don’t like to admit it, but Dieter was right: you are not above loneliness.

The room they give you feels anachronistic, too modern and beige, but cozy in the way all four star hotels aim to be. You’ve got a television, a pristine bathroom that hosts a bathtub and a shower, and enough floor space to move around without stubbing any toes. There’s ample furniture too: a reading chair by the large window, the queen bed, and another chair by the door, which looks like it’s meant only for bags and the stray suit jacket. They’ve given you decorative pillows and instructions not to leave for two weeks - not for any reason.

You lay out on the queen bed and Facetime Dieter. The irony of the situation is too good not to tease him for.

“I know,” he gruffs, picking up your call immediately.

You can’t help but laugh at the misery that drips from his voice. “I’ve always been better at being alone. I think it was you who didn’t want to be alone.”

He runs a hand through his unruly hair and frowns. Even if you won’t take it, you like the idea that he’s only a long walk away now. You give in and shuck off your winner’s ego. “It’s only two weeks,” you assure kindly.

“If I’m good, do you think I can earn a sleepover?” There’s mischief in his eyes, flirtation thick on his tongue. You look askance at him and the dimple in his cheek deepens. “I’m only kidding of course.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan.

“It’ll be nice after two weeks,” he promises. You know that tone, far off and introspective. It’s not good.

“Just Facetime me when you’re losing your mind.”

“You don’t want that. I’ll be on the phone with you all the time.”

You stare down at the phone, frowning. He smiles, coming back to his body. “I’ll be alright, kid. I always am.”

“Two weeks is not so long.”

“No,” he agrees quietly.

——

Two weeks is a prison sentence.

The room they put you in, while spacious, is merely a cell block now, reduced down to its most basic elements: the bathroom with the shower and the tub, which you’ve used so much it's a miracle your skin hasn’t fallen right off; the bedroom area, with the reading chair by the window; the queen bed, which you stopped making after day four and try your damndest not to fall in before 3pm. You’ve paced the floor so many times, feeling the angry itch of loneliness coupled with a newfound, perpetually lurking anxiety.

“One more day,” he reminds you over the telephone, trying to allay your fears. You hear the sound of his tub running in the background, over the static of his voice, and you wonder what he looks like right now. You picture two week’s more worth of beard growth, the slouch of his back as he sits on the edge of the tub, the pudge of his stomach, and the inciting trail of hair below his belly button. And his naked self. At home he was perpetually nude, and you imagine it’s no different now.

You find your own reflection in the mirror over the sink: sunken eyes, with bags underneath and your flesh taking on a slightly gray cast, the color of isolation.The window sun doesn’t seem to be helping much. You frown self consciously, but try to remind yourself he must be in a state himself; he stopped Facetiming you a week ago, opting for the good ol’ telephone call at least once or twice a day since.

“I’m going out of my mind,” you say as you continue to look at yourself. You lower your voice, vulnerability shared in a hushed, confessional tone. You imagine Dieter again: with that soft concentrated look that pulls his eyebrows together, the one that enhances the lines between them. They called him a curious child and now he’s got the lines to show for it. He told you that. The thought makes you smile at yourself, but you still look so tired.

“Just one day,” he supplies again. He sounds vaguely apologetic.

“I know,” you tell him simply.

“What have you been up to today?” he asks. You hear water come to a stop and a gentle splash follows it. He’s gotten in. “Anything fun?”

“I read, watched a movie. You?”

“I got high and jerked off. So, you know, nothing different than the past thirteen days that you’ve called.”

You scan your reflection in the mirror, contemplating your next words. It isn’t a good idea, but nothing is. “What did you think about?” you ask.

“Lots of things.”

He tells you this as casually as if you’ve asked him his name. You are so achingly lonely and this is so embarrassing, but you can’t help it. You know he’ll let you. Hell, he’s probably been waiting weeks for this. Years.

“Do you ever think about me?”

There’s a short, considerate pause. “Do you want the truth or a lie?”

“A lie.” You worry your lip between your teeth.

“Oh, never.”

You laugh, relieved. “I thought you were going to say something different.”

“Hm,” he hums, “I don’t think that’s the truth. I think you worried about what the real truth would be. We’ve got something here and it’s worrisome.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Mine too. She thinks inviting you was a terrible idea but she wants you to know she’s thinking of you.”

“Mine hates you.”

He grunts. “Suppose I deserve that, don't I?”

“I think this is the first time in history that you diverted phone sex with talk like that.”

“I’m getting older, wiser,” he jokes. Then, “Do you think of me?”

“Do you want a lie or the truth?”

He considers it for a moment. “The truth. Hit me with it hard, baby.”

“Oh, a lot more than I should.”

——

The rapt sound of knuckles against your door incites an excitement in you that you haven’t felt since childhood. You jump from the bed, uncaring of the state of yourself, hungry for the news that awaits on the other side.

A kindly British man tells you that the quarantine has been lifted and that there will be a party and dinner for the cast and crew in a couple of hours. Formal wear is encouraged but not required.mYou spend the next few hours undoing what’s been done by isolation: the bags under your eyes; the unkempt room, with the fetid smell of loneliness wafting over everything; the living out of your suitcase and the wrinkles on your best clothes. You find an iron in the closet and shave your entire body.

Dieter stops by your room while you’re in the middle of getting ready. He sits quietly at the edge of your bed, watching you in the mirror with that dazed look in his eyes. He wears the ugliest goddamn housecoat you’ve ever seen, but he’d smiled so wide at the door that you’ve forgiven him for it.

“You’re excited,” he observes. His fingers fiddle with the sunglasses in his hands. “I thought you hate actors.”

You try to steady your hand as you bring the eyeliner up to your eyelid. “I don’t care what they are, as long as they can hold a conversation,” you mumble.

“I can hold a conversation. Maybe we ought to stay here and celebrate with each other.”

You look at him in the mirror, trying to figure out if he’s serious or not. You can’t tell. “You’re kidding.”

He shrugs. There’s a distant look in his eyes, as if he’s thinking too hard about something.

“Are you high?” you ask him.

“No, but I’m thinking maybe I should be.”

“Cheer up, boy scout. You’re the one who wanted to do this goddamn movie.”

He lets out a defeated sigh and falls back into the mattress with a groan. “I’m going to kill myself.”

———

He doesn’t kill himself, but he looks like he’s still weighing the prospect of it as you take your drink from the bartender.

Dieter suffers no one lightly, and you have a feeling the personable strawberry blonde in front of him isn’t exactly his crowd. You smile over the rim of your drink, enjoying seeing him squirm for once. Everything seems to come easy to him–except this. He’s never been very good at socializing when he doesn’t want to.

“That your boyfriend?”

You turn your head and find Dustin Mulray. You feel a hint of your teenage self come back to you as you look at him, struck wordless. It’s nothing as strong as the love that had you tacking up posters with his face on it to bedroom walls, but something vaguely akin to it. You’re happy to find it manifests itself as a friendly smile instead of love confessions. Perhaps it’s helped by his appearance: In his infinity scarf and beige knitted sweater, he reminds you more of a homely professor than a Hollywood movie star. You think: Movie stars! They’re just like us! while shaking your head in answer.

“No,” you tell him, “He’s my ex-husband.”

“Ah. That’s my ex-wife with him. Marriage is tricky, isn’t it?”

He takes a seat next to you and orders a drink. The bartender sits it on a napkin for him and he turns to you, his blue-green eyes awaiting an answer. You hadn’t thought he would want to talk to you, not really. You’re used to being invisible at events.

“I guess you could say that,” you reply.

“Are you working on the movie?”

You remember what Dieter told you to say if anyone asked: “For legal purposes, yes. Art coordinator #3.”

This amuses him, drawing out a smile. “That title come with pay or would you say it's just an internship?”

“I guess you could call it an internship.” You smile back at him. “Why? You think you could pull some strings and get me a paycheck?”

“I think I’d do you one better and get you a better place of employment. Have you read the script?” This makes you let out a genuine laugh. He brightens, smiling a little wider. “What? It’s the truth! Everyone thinks us Hollywood actors just commit to this shit knowing it’s shit but we don’t! I mean—“ He looks over the crowd, lowering his head closer to yours conspiratorially. “—Not those of us who started at the beginning. We thought it’d be good. Like Jurassic Park, but yanno, we didn’t get Steven Spielberg. We keep getting arthouse fucks. And I like arthouse fucks–don’t get me wrong–but what’s a man with an IPhone know about blockbusters?”

“Ah, I feel you but I can’t quite reach you from here.”

“No, I bet not.”

There’s something simmering in that line. If you didn’t know better, you’d figure it was a light flirtation. Surely not.

“I liked your early stuff better,” you confess.

“Me too. But those were the glory days and now I have alimony and child support to pay. How about him?” he nods in the direction of Dieter. “You get half his ass in court?”

You shake your head. His candor, although surprising, is refreshing. “No, no big payout. We’re amicable.”

He clicks his tongue in awe. “I envy the bastard but I can’t say I didn’t deserve my lot.”

“You haven’t even finished your first drink and you’re already gonna confess your sins?” You raise a curious, teasing eyebrow. He hangs his head and laughs.

“You married an actor. Don’t we all wear our hearts on our sleeves?”

“Mm, not mine,” you shake your head. “It seems he saved his emotions for the silver screen.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to raise his own curious eyebrow.

“How cozy.” You look over your shoulder to see Dieter standing in front of your chair, his fingers reaching out to the back of your chair. He looks…jealous.

“Dustin, this is Dieter,” you introduce them. Dustin sticks his hand out and Dieter plays nice, shaking it with a passing grin.

“Nice to meet you,” Dustin mutters. Dieter nods his head. “Yeah, you too. I was actually coming over here to steal her away for a moment. If she doesn’t mind.” He looks over at you, expectant. There’s a bite to his words you don’t like at all. How fucking rich, you think bitterly, remembering all the times you had to sit by while he shamelessly flirted with half the fucking world.

“She does mind,” you respond. The sharp finality of it makes even Dustin cough awkwardly.

Dieter looks taken aback. “Okay,” he mutters, looking between the two of you. He nods again, as though he’s drawn some conclusion. “Alright.”

You watch as he walks away to the other side of the room. Looking back at Dustin, you give him a rueful grin. “Sorry. And here I was, talking about how amicable we are. Exes of the year.”

He raises his glass. “To us pitiful people and our pitiful crash and burn marriages.”

You clink your glass against his, fighting the urge to cry or kill Dieter. “To us.”

—

The dinner table arrangement is unforgiving for Dieter. He’s sat next to Dustin at the far end of the table, with yet another red headed actress to his left. Unlike the talkative one, this one is in a state of brooding and continually huffing at everything he says. You’re slightly more lucky, sat at the other end, sandwiched between Dustin's ex-wife and the director.

He watches woefully as you chat with the ex-wife, nodding your head along politely. You were always such a good listener, even with the worst people. He frowns. He had changed his outfit between the party and the dinner, opting for a classier open dress shirt. He had seen the look in your eye when you had opened the door for him earlier, and figured he could use all the help he could get now that he’s undoubtedly pissed you off. He had hoped that they would’ve sat him next to you so you could talk. He’s even wearing that cologne you like. Or used to like. He doesn’t know anymore.

“So, like what—you usually get along with her or…?” Dustin asks him, following his eyeline right to you. Dustin brings the cool champagne they’ve served to his lips, his eyes too burningly curious as he gazes at you.

Dieter tries not to be possessive. He saw it in your eyes, heard it in your tone: that sharp, angry disappointment that you’re so used to delivering him. You don’t like when he gets like that. Not that he has much. This is a relatively new side effect he’s required since the divorce. He shrugs lazily, pushing the sunglasses up his nose. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

This earns him an even laugh. He looks over at the older man, frowning. “What?”

“I see magazines with your face all over it, man. C’mon, we all kiss and tell, even if we don’t want to.”

Dieter bites at the side of his cheek and considers him for a moment. “Look you and your wife-“

“Ex-wife-“

Dieter nods, uncaring. “Sure, your ex wife — you both like to talk a lot.”

“I’m just trying to figure out if I can make a pass at her or not. Make it easy for me. I don’t want to have to suffer this entire shoot because you’ve got some weird shitty thing going on between you. I don’t step on kept grounds….Well, not anymore,” he adds.

“How noble,” Dieter says wryly, “She’s not mine to answer for. Besides, it seems like you were already doing a good job at making a pass earlier.”

He fights down the petulant child inside of him, biting at his lip instead of wearing an all out pout. Through the concealed tint of his sunglasses, his eyes soften at the sight of you across the room. He can almost feel the crack in his heart as he considers the fact that you might have actually liked talking to this man.

Dieter knows one day it’ll come, the moment when you find yourself in a serious relationship with someone else. Most of the time he thinks he’ll be okay — that it will affect him like it must but it won’t ruin him entirely — but sometimes, like right now, he worries he’ll get on his knees and beg you not to do it. You don’t deserve that. He hates himself for the greed he feels, how he can’t ever just let you be happy. He doesn’t want to be like this dick, taking and taking from his ex-wife, all while he noses around and wets his dick in anything that will let him. He never wants to embarrass you like that. Not again. Never again.

Chugging the last bits of his drink, Dieter looks over at the man. Dustin looks back at him, nonplussed. It takes herculean strength to say the next words.

“She doesn’t like men who are crude or too direct, but to be frank, I think you can’t really fuck up with her. She likes you and always has.” Dieter casts a glance in your direction again, feeling mischievous. He smirks, letting himself have this one. “Well, since you were last relevant, that is.”

Dustin laughs the burn off, shaking his head. He touches Dieter’s shoulder in a show of faux friendliness. “We’re in the same shitty franchise now, bud, so welcome to the club,” he whispers, just low enough for him to hear.

Dieter raises his empty glass to Dustin with a forced grin. Feeling defeated but comforted by the fact that he’s now got something to separate him from that asshole, he raises his hand to the pretty waitress for another drink. To celebrate.

But he truthfully doubts there will be much to celebrate.

He fucking hates Hollywood.

—-

Truth be told, Dieter didn’t plan on doing this tonight. Getting high. He planned, if he was being honest with himself - and he is trying, at his most introspective more now than ever - to be doing you. Had he invited you on the vacation just to fuck you? No, but ignobility inevitably follows in the tracks of his nobility. It was written between the lines, something you both had hinted at over the past two weeks. But now you’re somewhere else. There's a lot of rooms in this hotel. Maybe you’re in your own. Maybe not. Dustin had looked like he was going to devour you at the bar earlier tonight, so probably, you’re doing him in his room.

Or do you bring men back to your own place now? He doesn’t know.

Dieter would blanch if he wasn’t so high. He sits in the middle of the decorative couch, staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes, and he tries to imagine a different version of your last phone conversation.

When you asked if he ever thought of you when he touched himself, he’d tell you the truth. Because you like the truth. He’d say: all the time. More than he should. Really a sickening, depressing amount because he misses you, especially lately. New York is a terrible place to be these days; death permeates everything and nothing seems as right as it used to. Even loneliness feels worse, no longer poetic or artistic but just lonely. It's less like Al Pacino on the set of the Godfather and more like Michael Corleone, sitting alone at the empty dining room table. Days stretch on and on, and he’s hungry for life that has halted so he paints terribly, insecure of even hobbies. What else is he supposed to do but play with himself and remember poignantly that he had once been married to a lovely sort of woman who would’ve made it all better, if only he hadn’t fucked it up?

Well, he doesn’t think about that last part so much. It doesn’t really make for good masturbating material.

He wasn’t sure he was going to survive the pandemic before they asked him to do this movie. And of course he asked you along when they had. It’s the only way in the world he could ask for your help: through omission of truths and beating around the bush. He wonders if you might take pity on his soul again and let him crash with you for a while, just to wait the rest of this out together after the movie wraps. If you really are fucking Dustin, it might make things tense but not impossible. He’ll learn to live with it. He’ll have to. What else is he going to do? Go back to this moment in time and stop you?

Perversely he wonders if Dustin is not the first man you’ve fucked since the divorce. You’re not his last but he wishes you were a lot. It’s been nearly two years and he’s forgotten what you feel like, what you taste like. It’s miserable. When he touches himself and thinks of you, you’re like an apparition, some Franksteinian woman built of fragmented, hazy memories. All he remembers was that the last time wasn’t nice and that you didn’t cum. He couldn’t make you, something about you being too sad or too angry. It was a shame, because he’d always imagined the two of you would’ve gone out with a bang.

This thought makes him smile, but it doesn’t last for long. There's nothing funny about your divorce, not really. He broke your heart tediously, and now you’ve got to tell people that it wasn’t just one thing but many things. He knows that. An unanswered phone call. That waitress in Vegas who he flirted with so unabashedly your mother thought he was cheating on you - along with half the internet and for a brief moment, yourself too. The apartment in New York he bought and moved into without asking you. That art house opening he missed, the one you’d asked him continually throughout the week to set time aside for. So many things—the seven sins and just a few more to top it off.

He wasn’t really surprised when you had asked him for a divorce over lunch one day. You didn’t even live together at the time - the New York apartment became more permanent than he had originally planned for - and you looked so tired, like you were drained of life, overwrought and quiet. What surprised him was the fact that you hadn’t done it sooner. The knowing that you had tried against hope was not an easy one for him to reconcile with for a long time after that. Even in that moment you had developed a sort of halting lisp as you pushed the statement out, as though your own body protested it. He remembers that better than the sex.

You had waited for him to get better and he never did, so you both took your chicken salads with a side of failed marriage that day, and now here you are. Dieter sighs, feeling the familiar pangs of remorse.

“Whatever drugs you’re on must not be very good because you look miserable.”

Dieter lifts his head off the back of the loveseat, straining his eyes to make out the shape that’s hovering in his doorway. His brain catches up with him before his eyes do, and the distinct mumbling voice of the figure comes to him. Dustin.

Shaking his head, Dieter laughs, relieved. “I was thinking.”

Dustin takes this as an invitation to cross the corridor. As he comes closer, Dieter finds he’s in more casual clothes - perhaps even sleepwear - clutching a bottle of wine in his hand. If this is a peace offering, Dieter will take the olive branch. He’s so goddamn pleased you’re not fucking this guy, he might even kiss him.

“You want a joint?” he asks him, straightening on the couch. Suddenly it’s not so hard to be magnanimous, not with the sheer euphoria of you not having betrayed him (is he allowed to call it that? Probably not, but there’s no word quite so apt). He feels he might even be smiling, but he can’t be sure. He hopes so.

“God, please,” Dustin groans. He sits the bottle of wine on the table and rubs his hands together eagerly as Dieter lights the one he’s been puffing away at.

“I figured you were the one with the goods,” Dustin says around a cloud of smoke. He looks over at the open door, nodding at it. “We should close that, huh?”

Dieter shrugs. He thought he had closed the door, truthfully. “Probably should. I think I saw a kid here,” he says. Neither of them get up.

Dustin passes the joint to Dieter. He takes another hit when he gets it because fuck it, this is a celebration. “What, she didn’t want you?” he can’t help but ask.

Dustin laughs mutedly. “I don’t know. I figured by the way you reacted at dinner that I better not try. And there's that thing with my wife.” He shrugs. “I’m always fucking that one up. I thought I should just wander around and see where the night takes me.”

Dieter rests his head back against the couch again, nodding sympathetically. “Mm, I understand. Me too.”

“What’d you do?”

“The better question would be what didn’t I do.”

“Did you cheat?”

Dieter turns his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t fuck anyone else while we were together but she said I might as well as have. And I guess she’s whose opinion really matters, isn’t it?”

Dustin mumbles an agreement. “I fucked a lot of people,” he confesses. “Even the divorce lawyer.”

“And she still talks to you?” Dieter asks.

“We’ve got a kid.”

“That’s right. She told me that, because she likes to talk.”

“Hey don’t be a dick. Yours does too, you know? That’s what women like to do—talk. And they like to be listened to.”

Dieter narrows his eyes. “Is that what you were doing at the bar? Talking?”

Dustin nods. “Yeah. Listening, too.”

“I listened.”

“But you didn’t like what you heard.”

Dustin says this more as a statement than a question. Dieter looks back to the ceiling and pinches his eyes closed, too high. “Mm,” he mumbles. “I’m just so happy she isn’t fucking you right now. I really thought she would be there for a second and it was making me sick.”

Dustin huffs out a laugh. “I take it you never shared?”

“What do you mean ‘shared’?” Dieter asks. “Like wife swapping? No. We seemed to have left the practice in the sixties.”

“Not necessarily. Threesomes?”

“Have you done that?”

Dustin shrugs, smiling unashamedly. “Before we got married, of course,” he tells Dieter. Then, “And a little after too.”

Even with the high, Dieter can’t help but feel curious about the arrangement. “With men?”

“Sure. It wouldn’t have been fair with just women. That was the rules, anyway. Why? You’ve never been with a man?”

“A few. That’s not what strikes me as odd. You just didn’t strike me as the type.”

“I wouldn’t say I was, but fair is fair. And it can be nice. Interesting.”

Dieter rolls his eyes. “Gay sex is gay sex, no matter how you cut it. If you’re about to tell me it doesn’t count, I’m gonna laugh.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. I just like there to be a girl there too.”

The information weighs heavily on Dieter’s drug induced state of mind. He finds himself beginning to laugh. “Wait a minute, are you trying to talk me into a threesome? Is that what this is? Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson? That’s what the wine is about, isn’t it?” He points to the bottle in question, and everything suddenly seems much too funny.

Dustin begins laughing too. “No! The wine was for something. I just couldn’t figure out what”

Dieter ignores him. “Your…your wife hates me,” he manages to hiccup out, “And mine? She—“ She hates me too. This thought makes the laughing come to a slow halt. That’s right. She hates him too.

“I bet she’d do it,” Dustin supplies, soft chuckles still emitting from him. “They can surprise you like that sometimes.”

Dieter shakes his head, his smile more soft, almost sad. “Not with me. I pissed her off. I was thinking I’d try with that waitress downstairs but she’s young and I’ll for sure hate myself for that later.”

“Don’t do that. Your wife really will hate you for that,” Dustin advises. “Take it from an expert. Just call her. Apologize.”

Dieter shakes his head. “That won’t work. It’ll just make her more mad when she realizes I’m high.”

Dustin considers this. “Maybe. I don’t know. Let’s go to her room. Do it in person.”

“You can’t go,” Dieter tells him evenly. It’s not often he’s the voice of reason — even less so when he’s high — and this dynamic is beginning to make him feel out of sorts. He wants to shut his eyes and sleep this off, but naturally — because he is who he is — he will follow this train of thought through with Dustin.

“Why not?” Dustin smiles widely, catching his stride in the conversation. He speaks more animatedly, bringing his hands into the mix for emphasis. “She doesn’t want to fight with you in front of me! And she can see we’ve made friends. That’s progress! She’ll like that.”

Dieter considers this. He does want to show you he’s sorry — really.

“You just want to fuck her,” he says to Dustin. He’s too high to be angry, even if he really wanted to be, but he is suspicious.

When Dustin doesn’t respond to that, Dieter narrows his eyes. “You do!” he accuses, acutely horrified by the idea.

Dustin looks at him, a smile playing across his lips. “C’mon, aren’t you a little curious to see what it’d be like?”

“No. And besides, even if I was, I don’t think she would. She’s not…I don’t know, I don't know how to explain it.” Dieter pinches up his face, stuck for the right words. “She’s not a prude by any means, but I don’t think she would.”

“Would you? If she did?”

Dieter doesn’t consider the question, only beats around it. “She wouldn’t. I know her.”

He watches as Dustin rises from the couch. “Let’s just go ask her.”

Dieter jumps up, feeling sobriety sneak up on him. “No!” he says, horrified.

But Dustin has snatched up his bottle of wine and began to make his way out into the corridor before Dieter can stop him.

So crumbles the olive branch.

—-

When you see Dustin standing at your door, holding up a bottle of wine with a goofy grin, you think it's a sign from the Heavens above. No more Dieter, that’s what it tells you. He’s ruined your life for a decade now and it’s a cause you’ve got to accept is a lost one. A new man is here and you’re lonely, and you didn’t even have to go search this one out. You smile, open the door a little wider.

But then you see Dieter shuffling down the corridor, brown eyes blown wide. Dustin looks over at him with a grin and you realize with a sinking feeling that this wasn’t what you imagined it was. You don’t know what it is, to be exact, but you’re sure it’s not right.

They look up to no good, with glazed eyes and Dustin’s too wide grin. You close your door just a smidge when Dieter shoulders to the front. He smiles apologetically, and you instinctively hold out a hand to keep him steady. But he’s steady, in no risk of tumbling forward. He puts his hands over yours before you quickly take it away. He looks stung but you don’t care.

“Hey kid,” he says sheepishly. His eyes seem to be asking you something - saying something - but you’ve long lost that way of communicating. You frown, slumping against the doorway.

“Make friends?” you ask, nodding back to Dustin.

Dustin nods his head, unaware or — more likely — too high to be aware. “He’s being a good boy,” he vouches.

“I’ve been good,” Dieter echoes. He tries another grin and that easy charm of his, but none of it works. You fold your arms over your chest.

“Listen, I’m a little tired and—“

“I’m sorry. I know what I did earlier was shitty. I don’t know why I do things like that. Don’t shut me out. Please.” Dieter pouts. The sincerity of his words punches you in the gut, and makes you angrier somehow. Like it’s mocking, even though you know it’s not. He seems to sense this and he continues talking. “I know I don’t own you like that. I had no right. None at all. And I’ve been meaning to say it to you all night. And I know you’re thinking ‘this prick is high.’ I am. I’m really high, and I can’t deny it, but I’m sorry too. I was sorry even before I got high. That’s why I got high.”

Dustin giggles behind Dieter. You look over, feeling pangs of annoyance for him too. Now that he’s not your knight in shining armor he’s just some asshole in kahoots with this asshole. “That’s terrible,” he huffs out. Dieter glares at him over his shoulder before you’ve got the chance.

“I’m sorry,” Dieter tells you again, pleadingly. You shake your head.

“You’re always sorry. That was always the problem.”

“I know! God, I know.”

“Ask her if she wants some weed,” Dustin whispers.

“And I suppose you smuggled that in?” you ask, straightening yourself up. You feel motherly, glowering at him like this. You want to wring his neck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed fuck you, make you feel eternal and sexy. But no. Now you’re so matronly, standing there in your PJs, frowning so hard wrinkles are mapping their permanent home in the places your face creases.

He nods guiltily. “But you knew that! I’ve talked about it all week.”

“Yeah but—“ you wave your hands in the air. “It all adds up with you. It’s..”

“The little things,” he finishes sadly. “I know.”

“Why do you know so little if you know so much?”

Dustin coughs suggestively behind Dieter and Dieter turns around swiftly. “No,” he tells him sharply.

You furrow your eyebrows. “No, what?”

Dieter shakes his head dismissively and Dustin shrugs, looking around aimlessly. He’s trying hard to contain a laugh or a grin, you can tell. You hate that Dieter is making you a bitch in front of him. You could be fucking him for God’s sake, but you’re just annoyed.

���Go to bed,” you tell them.

“Well that’s the idea,” Dustin counters, his lips drawing upwards. Dieter looks pallid.

“It wasn’t,” he tells you. “I swear. I came here to stop him from asking!”

“Asking what?” you say, exasperated.

“For a threesome,” Dustin says simply, like it’s nothing at all. “Though I can see now that’s probably not in the cards. And it wasn’t really asking for one, just a hypothetical.”

You look over to Dieter. He looks down at the floor, like a kid in trouble. “Dieter,” you scold.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t want him to ask. I told him—I said you wouldn’t. I didn’t even want to suggest it,” he mumbles helplessly. “That’s not what this was supposed to be at all, kid. I swear. I just wanted to say sorry and…I don’t know.”

You don’t know whether to believe him or not. “But you talked about it?”

“Hm?” Dieter raises an eyebrow.

“The threesome? You were talking about having one?”

“Yeah, but not like—it wasn’t locker room talk. Not really. He just started talking about it and asked if you would and I said no—“

“How do you know I would say no?” you huff. “You don’t know. You don’t know me.”

Dieter frowns. “That’s not true.”

“Yeah it is,” you nod. “I’m different now. I’m not the woman you dragged around all those years.”

“I never thought of you like that.”

“Well, still, yes,” you say, feeling angry and stung and in a desperate need to prove him wrong and spite him all in one go. It’s such an ugly feeling and it’s not right, but you can tell the words take him by surprise.

“Yes?…” he asks. “Listen, I get that you’re angry, but you don’t have to do this.”

“No I want to,” you say. “If that’s what you want, what he wants, I want it too. If that’s what you’ve come for, then you’ll get it.”

He shakes his head. “You’re angry and you’re not thinking straight. You’re…being mean. And you’re only going to piss yourself off more, I think, and then you’re going to be mad at me because I drove you to it.”

You shake your head. “No. I think I’m being quite nice. I’m standing here telling you I want you to fuck me. I want him to watch. I want him to fuck me and you to watch. Whatever perverse things you cooked up together, let’s do them. If you’re going to make me mad, then I’m asking that you have the decency to fuck me too.”

Dieter struggles to compute the information. You do too. You hate him. You love him. You are so high strung and pissed and you’d do anything to be touched. Let him prove himself, goddamnit, or let him be damned jealous. Either way, you get fucked. Everyone's a winner or only you are. You don’t give a shit.

Dustin seems altogether pleased by this, clapping a hand onto Dieter’s shoulder. “I told him you might surprise him.”

“Mm hm,” you hum. You do not break eye contact with Dieter. He nods his head, resolving to trust you—or to go along with it. It doesn’t matter, just so long as he doesn’t question it.

When he steps forward, you put your hand up, blocking him. “First the weed.”

He lets out a soft sigh and stays put for a second, looking as though he wants to say something more. He’s wise enough not to in the end.

As he rounds the corner, heading back to his room, you finally glance back up at Dustin. He smiles softly. “You don’t have to do this,” he tells you. “I really was just to get some fire under his ass. I mean, I’m not against it, but if you’re just doing it because you’re pissed—“

You cut him off with a hard look. “I want to,” you say resolutely. “And I am pissed. So be it. Men start wars for less.” You shrug. He looks amused and you feel something arise in you, up alongside the anger — arousal. Desire. Something. He smiles handsomely. The grayish scruff on his cheeks bodes well with his aged features.

You do want to fuck him. That’s freeing information. Propping the door open wider with the kick of your foot, you nod him in. “C’mon. Get in here before I change my mind.”

The dichotomy between his laughter and the intensity of the fight you just had with Dieter makes you smile despite yourself.

“Wouldn’t want that,” he responds with a wink.

He brushes past you with his body and you fight the urge to suck in a shallow breath at the sudden casual contact. As he moves into the room, he pulls you away from the door with him, gripping at your shoulders. He doesn’t let you stay back and wait for Dieter like some lost puppy.

You look at him, eyes wide, and he hands you the wine in his hand. He is so unserious that it’d be plain endearing if it hadn’t been a source of annoyance a moment before. You watch as he wets his lips and looks down at yours. There seems to be a pregnant pause, eyes searching yours for an answer to an invisible question. You think of Dieter, of all the sex you’ve not had since the divorce, and how hurt he seemed when you pulled back from his touch. You love him so much. It isn’t fair. You will love him your whole life if you don’t stop this. You heed your mother’s warning too late and you kiss Dustin hard on the mouth. He takes some of your grief with a practiced tongue, kissing you deeply until you’re interrupted by a cough in the corner a few blurry moments later.

Dustin smiles, holding your face between his hands. “The weed,” he remarks. Dieter nods. He looks a little hurt, a little angry, a little betrayed—looks like he’s always made you feel, and you are not surprised it doesn’t make you feel any better.

You love him. You fool.

You shake Dustin off and Dieter hands you the joint with a forced grin. “It’s strong,” he warns softly as he lights the end. As you inhale, Dustin comes to stand behind you. Dieter’s eyes watch as his arms snake around you. He plants wet kisses alongside your neck and Dieter worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

Dieter reaches out to you, touches the wrist you’ve risen to put the joint in your mouth. His calloused fingers try to reach across burned bridges and you aid him, handing the joint back and reaching out to him too. His baggy sleep shirt is easy to take between your fingers. He takes a hit and then comes closer to you, pressing into you.

When he kisses you for the first time, you think of an ouroboros. Whole and eternal, destruction and rebirth. Your mother hates him when she once loved him. He knows your birthday and the way you like your coffee in the morning. You don’t know what he did yesterday. He doesn’t know your friend’s old cat died and that you’d been to two weddings before COVID hit. He tastes familiar and feels strange against you, unreal and vivid. You open your mouth and he slides in his tongue. The kiss isn’t like the one with Dustin; he does not explore you as much as he remembers you.

Dustin and Dieter pass the joint between them. When you feel the loss of warmth behind you, you turn curiously, detaching from Dieter’s lips. Dustin goes to abandon the joint on the table by the bed and Dieter’s hot mouth presses kisses alongside your neck. You wrap your fingers in his hair and you can't help but moan when he tongues alongside your jaw. Dustin’s eyes spark with delight at the sound.

You look down at the wine bottle still in your hand and hold it up. Dustin takes it from you, grinning. “I forgot to tell you it was my gift. I’ll open it. It’s good, aged to perfection,” he comments.

He searches your bedside for a glass and finds a crystal one beside the water vase that they gave you earlier that week. He looks down at the bottle in his hand and frowns. “Fuck, I forgot the wine opener.”

“Call the desk,” Dieter says against your skin.

You turn your head back and begin kissing him again, humming an agreement against his lips. Dustin shuffles behind you as you return completely to Dieter, your lips ghosting over his. He licks into your mouth and grasps at the back of your neck, keeping you attached to him as you begin the dance backwards to the bed.

The weed gives you a cloudy feeling, enhancing the warmth of his fingers and lips on your skin, but erasing any inhibition that would make you embarrassed to be doing it in front of another man. You like the idea of it, actually, that there’s some stranger - albeit a familiar one - standing somewhere in the room as Dieter’s fingers lift up your sleep shirt and dip beneath the hem of your underwear. Your ass presses against the edge of the bed and you feel his erection against your thigh. You moan carelessly, tugging at his hair, and he exhales into you, the line between pleasure and pain thin and delicate as he rushes to do what he’s afraid Dustin will get to first if he doesn’t.

Dustin hangs up the phone and looks at the two of you on the bed, a surge of desire filling him as he watches. You’ve got your legs open and Dieter’s got his hands down your underwear and he can see it all from this angle. You’re making delicious, breathy moans and Dieter’s arm muscles flex as he works them out of you. There’s a wet spot on your underwear and he wants nothing more than for Dieter to take them off so he can see more of you.

He watches a while longer, captivated by what makes you tick and what kind of a lover Dieter is. It's kinda like hotel porn that he’s had on repeat the past few days, but live. Before he can get out the request for Dieter to take your underwear off, or wait for the inevitability of it, there’s a knock on the door. He rushes to answer it, holding the door open only enough to take the glasses and the bottle opener. He mumbles a quick thanks before shutting the door on the confused worker.

Dieter enters you with a thick finger and you let out a loud uninhibited moan around his kiss. As Dustin attempts to open the wine he smiles, thinking of the young man who was just outside the door. He likes that you aren’t afraid; he’s always found that attractive in women.

“Here,” he says, pouring the pinkish liquid into three separate glasses. Neither of you look at him, so he repeats it again, this time with more command in his tone. You look so thoroughly kissed when you look up, red lipped and swollen, that it makes him ache, and Dieter’s wild haired annoyance is charming in its own way. He hands you both a glass and you take it with a shy smile. Dieter is less pleased, but takes it anyway with a soft ‘Thanks.’

Dustin watches as Dieter wipes your slick from his fingers with a pang of envy, swallowing down the wine. This isn’t something he’s made a habit of doing often— watching people fuck, threesomes — but he had felt that it wouldn’t have been right to do without Dieter. Truthfully, he had had every intention of going to your room by himself before he had peered into Dieter’s open door. The sight of him sitting there, staring up at the ceiling like he had been doing, inspired sympathy. He hadn’t been entirely truthful about that with Dieter, but what he’s learned over the years about sex is that some little white lies must be told sometimes.

A part of him feels guilty, knowing his own ex-wife lies somewhere in this hotel, probably brewing in her own anger. But he’s leaving her alone. That’s what she asked of him, isn’t it?

“So, any rules?” he asks, abandoning this train of thought before it crashes.

Dieter unwraps himself from you, sitting on the edge of the bed like you are, and shrugs his shoulders. You both look at each other. Dustin feels like an outsider, intruding on something too big and personal, but he doesn’t mind. A bit of self-flagellation mixed in with pleasure was always how he did his sex best, and there’s nothing quite like sleeping with two people very much in love during a pandemic.

“Dieter said you’ve never done this before,” he says, looking at you. “Is that true?”

You nod your head. “What do you mean by ‘rules?’”

“Well, I guess it’s a bit different because no one is with anyone here, but sometimes there will be requests people make to ensure no one gets their feelings hurt. For instance, you might not want me to cum inside of you or enter you at all. They’re for safety too—consent, boundaries.”

“I see.” You look down at your glass of wine, thinking. “I don’t really have any rules. Maybe just use condoms.”

“Are you sure?” Dieter whispers, tugging at your shirt sleeve. He leans in closer, says something Dustin can’t hear. You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t care if you do that,” you tell him. He seems surprised by your answer.

Dustin can’t help himself. “What’d you ask?”

Dieter shrugs his shoulders. “Just about how she feels about us.”

“Do you have any rules?” he asks.

“Don’t cum in her first.”

You look at Dieter quizzically and all he provides is a shrug that says nothing. Dustin nods his head. “That seems easy enough: condoms, don’t cum first.” He swallows down the rest of his wine and sets the glass aside.

You twirl the liquid around in your own glass, smiling faintly. “I can’t believe I’m gonna do this,” you say.

“Me either,” Dieter replies. He sits his glass, half finished, on the nightstand.

“I’m feeling high,” is your next sentence. Dieter seems to grimace.

“You’re in the wrong state of mind,” he tells you.

You shake your head. “No. I made up my mind before I got high. I want to be fucked,” you tell him, voice plain and even. “If you don’t want to fuck me, I’m sure I’ll be okay with just him.”

Dieter shakes his head adamantly, cheeks beginning to red. “I—I do want to. I always want to. I just want to make sure you’re not doing something you’re going to regret later.”

With a smile, you tell him teasingly, “I won’t regret it later. Not if you do it right.” You offer him a teasing wink that draws out his dimple. He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss on your lips, too romantic and sweet to be good for your soul.

You decide then that this will have to be less Dieter focused if you want to last. “Lay on the bed,” you say to him. He nods his head, prying off his house shoes. You look over to Dustin, who stands awkwardly at the head of the bed. He smiles again with that charming Hollywood grin that age hasn’t dimmed in the slightest, and you grin back. “I want to kiss you again,” you tell him directly.

“That can be arranged,” he says, dipping onto the bed.

Dieter lies back against the heap of pillows at the headboard, his knees spread apart to make a spot for you. Dustin guides you there slowly, his body pressing into yours until there’s nowhere left to go but into Dieter. He kisses you deeply, hands strong and warm and unfamiliar in an entirely exciting way as they bunch up the fabric of your sleep shirt and expand over your skin.

Dieter doesn’t touch you, even though he badly wants to. Part of it is heartbreak and disbelief, and the other part is erotic fascination—watching you come apart like this, at another angle, is undeniably doing something to him. You are so pliable under Dustin, so easy for him, like you’ve waited your entire life to be like this. Maybe you have. Maybe he never paid enough attention—maybe in all your thousand little, subtle ways you had once alluded that you’d like to be this way. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a prick, he could’ve made more rules, one like ‘Don’t enter her at all’ and ‘Don’t kiss him like that because I know once upon a time you kissed me like that and I screwed it up, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better husband. I’ll be a better friend, just don’t kiss him like that.’

But then again maybe not. That’s a mouthful and you’re high and he’s high. Maybe it would be just like this. It’s just that he loves you. It’s an odd kind of love, but it’s real. Dustin has his tongue down your throat, his exploratory fingers beneath the fabric of a sleep shirt, but Dieter loves you. The fool.

Blissfully you are unaware of the pity party Dieter throws for himself behind you. He is a body, a springboard for desire and heat, as you surrender yourself to lust the way you never really have before. You do draw up some comparisons, unable to help yourself.

Dustin is grittier, all command and surrender. He is an electric taste of the illicit, some faraway fantasy made palpable. Dieter is your ground zero, vivid and stormy. He is what yesterday was. You read somewhere once that when you have a child with a man, their genes have the ability to change your own. Though you and Dieter have no children, you feel like something irrevocable like that happened — that you carry a part of him in your genetic makeup. It doesn’t make Dustin worse for it. In fact, it makes him better, an exotic vaccine into your very tired bloodstream. You deserve it. You deserve it so much, and you practically beg for it, mewling as Dustin kisses his way down.

“I bet you taste like heaven,” he mumbles warmly into your skin, licking a teasing strip over your midriff. You watch, mouth agape, heart beating wildly in your chest. Dieter tilts your chin up, directing your attention towards him, feeling impossibly greedy now. He kisses you languidly, tonguing lolling gently against yours, making it lasts forever. Your mind is in a haze, the slow, sensual turn of your tongues lighting a fire in your belly as Dustin uses his own on you. He trails lower and lower, warm and wet, fingers drawing down your underwear and then—

“Fuck,” you say, gasping out the word. You surprise yourself. Dieter captures the word in his mouth and groans in soft appreciation. You glance down your body, your knees hanging loosely over Dustin’s shoulders, watching his warm tongue pressing against your clit. It’s a sight to behold, the way his pink tongue flattens over you. His large hands grip onto your legs, holding you apart as your back presses into Dieter’s front. You feel his semi-erection nudge into your back.

Dustin spends his time with you, teasing you lightly with his tongue at first, learning the careful intricacies of your body. As you run your hands through his unruly bed hair, the tip of his tongue dips into your opening experimentally. He looks up to you, blue-green eyes searching for approval. You buck against his face, desperate, full of want and drugs and something indescribable but undeniably exciting. Ambition. Want. Joy. You used to masturbate to this man. His nose grazes against your clit and he laughs as you struggle. It is warm and bubbly, and you feel it all the way down to your bones.

You tug his hair so hard that he sends another noise vibrating through you: a low, half pained, half aroused groan.

Dustin brings his mouth back to your clit, grazes it gently with his teeth. “Oh,” you say, your head drawing backward, falling into Dieter’s shoulder. He watches you, his dark eyes fixed. He presses his lips onto yours like time hasn’t changed anything. You bask in it, give yourself over to the fantasy with the ease he’s offering it—you kiss like lovers, familiar and intimate, an unformidable duo in sex where you weren’t in marriage.

Dieter doesn’t leave your lips as he says, “I never got to see this sort of thing from this point of view. You’re so goddamn pretty.”

His hands tease up your sides, fingers drawing closer to your chest. “Is he making you soaked? Just like I used to?” he asks, his voice a low drawl. You arch up, bringing your lips up to his. He slots his mouth over yours, pressing into you roughly as his fingers find a pebbled nipple through the cloth of your night shirt. As he scraps over the top of it with the pad of his thumb, you draw your eyes closed. The heady scent of Dieter surrounding you mixed with the intoxicating feel of Dustin pressed against your cunt is almost too much to bear. Almost. You moan against Dieter’s lips again as Dustin’s tongue works you, and Dieter smiles, nodding. “Oh baby, he’s gonna be like me. A pitiful, helpless fool for you. Aren’t you?” he says, looking down the valley of your body to the other man.

Dustin grunts wordlessly against you and your hips fail you again, pressing up into the vibration. Sensing this isn’t the end of lack of control, Dustin presses a hand against them, pinning you down. As he licks you open, spreads your folds with the warmth of his eager tongue, you feel on fire, the sensation reaching every part of your body. He’s good at that. He’s lapping and lapping, his strong nose meeting your clit at just the right time each time he comes up.

“He’s so fucking good,” you say helplessly, uncaring of who hears. The drugs make you uninhibited, looser. You meet Dustin’s eyes as he takes your clit into his mouth again. He is sucking lightly and you try to roll your hips into him, but he presses down, a silent no. “Fuck, you’re so—good at that. Oh my god.”

Dieter pinches your nipple between his fingers, humming softly at the sight before him. “You’re gonna make me jealous, baby.”

Dustin’s mouth grows more focused, intent. You feel your orgasm drawing up, coming closer and closer. You open your eyes, blown wide with desire, and focus on Dieter. He kisses you softly again, bringing his hand up to your other breast. Dustin sucks your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, and your hardened nipple scraps against the warmth of Dieter’s palm. It's all so right. You cum then, toes curling into the sheets, body going rigid beneath the touch of them both. Dustin doesn’t stop; he laps up your want greedily and Dieter draws up his head to watch. His eyes darken, full of desire and what you assume is a begrudging respect.

After you’ve ridden out your orgasm on Dustin, Dieter huffs out a soft laugh. “He wants to fuck you,” he tells you, thumb swiping affectionately across your cheek. Dustin, unable to let that one go, presses a kiss to your inner thigh and muffles a laugh against your skin.

“Bravo, you’re so jealous it’s making you stupid. She knows that,” he says, nuzzling his face against your inner thigh. “Of course she knows that.”

“M’not jealous,” Dieter denies evenly. When he looks down at you, brown eyes too kind, you half believe him.

You break the eye contact and smile appreciatively down at the man between your legs. A finger you’d locked in his hair now swipes across the bottom of his shiny lips. He takes it into his mouth, wetting the pad, and you say, “You aren’t a very good team. I think it’s important to be a good team.”

Dieter places a hand on your arm, more of a phantom touch than a grip, but you know it’s a stroke of possessiveness. You glance back up at him, cupping his cheek in your palm. “Dieter likes men,” you tell Dustin, not looking away from Dieter. “He’s not playing nice now and I think it’s a shame because I bet you taste just like me right now. And I know—“ your gaze drops down to Dustin, your voice velvet “—how much this dearest ex-husband of mine likes the taste of me. Have you ever kissed another man, Dustin?”

Dustin bites at your bait, smirk growing wide as his body stalking up yours. “Of course. I looked like a God in the ‘90s. Everyone wanted me and I wanted everyone,” he jokes, his warm hands flattening against your torso. His legs rest behind your thighs as he sits upwards, and you can see the tent of his erection against his sleep shorts. The black of them does little to conceal the full outline, and you thrill at the idea that he’s probably not wearing any underwear beneath the fabric.

You’re not one for getting starstruck - not anymore, anyway, a Los Angeles resident for years and the ex-wife of a star - but the fact that you used to masturbate to this man in front of you is something you still can’t shake. It occupies your mind, the way you had rewinded scenes from his raunchy, made for tv erotica over and over. Even now, many years later, you can still picture it: his younger frame pressed behind a blond woman, fucking into her in haste, his hands all over her and his thrusts rough. It was incredible to you back then, placed in some seedy location like an alley. Public and animalistic—the stuff of paperback romance novels. You remember the way he tugged her shirt upwards, how in the heat of the moment he grasped at any part of her he could get. A black bra and a long skirt, the bra pushed askew, going higher and higher with each thrust, and the skirt gripped onto, used for leverage as he pushed into her from behind. The VHS that hosted the scene had been passed from friend to friend in your college days, until someone’s VCR had eaten it. You feel a bit excited to know you’ve got the real thing right here. You think about telling him.

But it’s not about you, not now; it’s about Dieter. You widen your legs, make room for the ‘90s heart throb to slip between your body and come closer to the man you’ve dedicated your life to. In this moment you can admit as much. Dieter’s got his cock pressed against your back, and you know he would do anything - anything - for you if you’d just ask. His love burns like a million suns and you’ll be Icarus in every lifetime. You fool. Kiss another man hard and seek penance in his presence behind you.

Dieter stiffens as Dustin presses closer and closer to him. You shift to accommodate them, moving your body up, guiding Dieter along. He holds you close like a shield but doesn’t protest when Dustin’s lips press into his.

Dustin tastes of earthy vineyards and you—like sweetened strawberry wine and the familiar palette of tangy and acidic that’s blessed Dieter’s tongue many times over. That’s it, he thinks with a smile against Dustin’s generous lips. That’s how you taste. He savors it like a wine connoisseur does his wine, running it over his tongue and thinking too long about how to describe it. It is so utterly you, it makes him yearn for another life.

He plunges his tongue so deeply into Dustin’s mouth, it threatens to gag them both. But it doesn’t. They’ve both got their party tricks, after all. Dieter’s kiss grows hungry and suddenly there’s no space between any of you. You are a perfectly molded puzzle, fingers on skin, in hair, tongues swiping against lips and chests, and there are deep guttural moans exposing what the erections do well to show.

You know Dieter wants this, can feel his evident excitement press into your back. You happily welcome the warmth of Dustin’s firm body pressing impossibly close to yours. Dieter wets his bottom lip and squeezes you reassuringly, a habit from other life slipping into this new one.

You alternate kissing one another, creating a new taste on your warm, eager tongues. It is perfect. Dustin’s hands gingerly fumble over your chest, not focused or intent but curious, and Dieter’s allow it. The possessiveness has translated into something entirely more agreeable, and these men work together like lovers.

Your fingers grip at Dustin’s muscular shoulders, trail lower and lower over the slope of his chest down to the dip above his shorts. The path is slow and arduous to your lust riddled brain. He grunts against your collarbone, his hot breath fanning over you, and you go lower still, taking the shorts with you.

Dieter’s eyes trail the same place yours do, his chin tucked into your neck; you share the same view of Dustin: the red weeping head of his cock as it bops against his toned stomach, eager to be touched and licked and surrounded. Dustin sighs hotly against you as you press against him - against it - and Dieter swipes his tongue behind your ear. It is heaven, the way Dieter and Dustin feel against you, combined like this. You want them both. You need them.

You wrap your hands in Dieter’s curls, let him support your body as it rubs frantically over Dustin’s. Dieter peppers kisses alongside your neck and whispers, “God, you’re so fucking hot. God, I was so fucking lucky—“

The rest of it is lost against the shell of your earlobe. Some things - even the kindest, most genuine things - are better left unsaid.

Dustin emits soft, urgent moans as his cock catches between your bodies. The tempo of your shared thrusts grows quick, more focused, and he is close, on the very brink of letting go. You knit your brows, watch curiously and excitedly as he draws closer. You think of it: A hot spurt, just for you. Dieter holds up your sleep shirt, seeming to expect the same.

But then Dustin stops, his thick fingers rough and tight against your skin as he stills your movements. In the morning you’ll be bruised, a thought that thrills you. “Not yet,” is what he says in explanation, leaning his forehead against yours.

Dieter laughs softly, some terrible joke about bad endurance dying before it rises to be heard. He’s on his best behavior. Dustin tastes of you, of him, and you’re all naked and you’re so happy, so pliant. You lean against him like he’s someone you can lean on, and he swallows the serenity of that thought silently. Dieter is a half guilt, a perpetual bleeding heart, and you are his salvation. He knows it doesn’t work like that, can’t, but sex is not about what is real and logical. That’s why you were always so fucking good at it; it was beyond the both of you, and somehow a language you spoke best together.

He should feel worse about Dustin. Perhaps it’s because you want it so bad, or maybe it’s because he’s so horny, but the inclusion of him feels less intrusive than before. This is not your marriage bed - it’s been lost to the cruel seas of time - but it feels like a union, and Dustin plays a curious part. Not the voyeuristic onlooker, but the active participant, his glistening cock hot and heavy against your beautiful stomach. It should make Dieter sick. It did, thirty minutes ago. But now it makes him hard, wets his mouth. The bastard is good looking.

What can he say - you have always had good taste.

You turn your head and lick into Dieter’s mouth, redirecting your attention. He turns you between their bodies, pressing you into him as he kisses you feverishly. Dustin assists him, holding you against his body like Dieter had been doing before, only upwards. Dieter draws back and lifts the cotton sleep shirt over your head. He takes advantage like Dustin hadn’t been smart enough to, wetting your nipple with his warm mouth and tweaking the other between his fingers. You squirm, pressing your hot cunt against his stomach. He feels too clothed suddenly, having been denied contact because layers. You help him take off his shirt and Dustin helps you take off his pants. You waste no time wrapping your hot hand around him and tugging loosely.

His mouth finds your nipple again and you wrap your fingers into his unruly hair, jerking him off slowly as he kisses and sucks at your bare chest. He knows you’re already dripping, seen it on Dustin’s glossy lips when he got done with you, but this is his body remembering you and he can't stop. He remembers the way you got when he licked at you like you were the last scraps of his final meal on earth. How desperate and needy you became, just as desperate and needy as him. His hand travels down your stomach, straight down to your cunt, and he palms the wet heat of you into his hand. Dieter relishes the way you gasp into his mouth as the heel of his hand finds your clit, a smirk on his lips and a sentence like, “That’s it, baby,” coming out against you.

He fingers your entrance teasingly and finds you devastatingly wet. This is heaven, he thinks, the wet stickiness of you on the pad of his finger and your hot breath on his lips. You dig your nails into his shoulder, shut your eyes against the sensation of one of his fingers entering you. Dieter is ground zero. In your Garden of Eden, Dieter was there, at once Adam and the serpent. This is the apple. How delicious it is to be fucked, how perfectly human. Of course they’d turn on God for this. Cover up with leaves and be terrified of the whole earth later. Bleed and cry. Divorce. Whatever. This is worth turning back on perfection for. Poor Eve. Poor you.

You rub yourself against his hand and Dustin takes one of your breasts into his hand, watching. Dieter is so focused on the squelch of your juices and the way his finger - fingers now, two, and you stretch so perfectly for him - enters you that he doesn’t even mind. You’re no pissing contest, he sees that now—you're the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He swallows your moans and tries his best not to cum. Your grasp on his cock is so loose and it’d be so embarrassing to cum on your stomach when the tugs are nothing, and besides this is about you. So he focuses on trying not to.

“Condom,” you mutter, your lips landing on the side of Dieter’s mouth. Dieter nods his head but doesn’t pull back from you. He watches, enchanted, as your hips move against his hand. He can feel your orgasm build in the way you clench around his fingers, the penultimate pressure too much to bear. When you come, its with a shudder, your body tight and rigid above his as you ride it out. Dieter is so high and so in love with you, and he’s so sick about it that all he can do is laugh earnestly, even though what he wants is to ask you to marry him again.

Dustin is touching you all over with his hands, palming your perfect breasts, and you’re arching farther and farther back. Dieter can hardly bear the sight—not because of the jealousy—but because he’s deathly afraid this is it for him. You’re the best thing he’s ever had, and he knows he can’t think that way. You had a good run—you’re great friends now—but God, you married him in Vegas and you used to sketch his nose with careful affection onto canvases you kept for yourself. Who’s gonna sit in your studio now? Who’s gonna take up space in your heart, make you smile over the canvas as you work? He would weep if you didn’t look so pretty and sated, leaning into Dustin the way you are.

He kisses you hard on the mouth just to get rid of the thoughts, and then he kisses Dustin too, grabbing roughly at the back of his hair the way he hasn’t ever with you. It’s not kind, but Dustin doesn’t seem to mind; he moans gruffly, absorbing nothing but the desire behind it.

Your hands explore Dieter’s exposed skin as they kiss, warm and gentle, unconsciously fingering the scar he got as a child. You know the map of this body. When his hard cock bops against his stomach you take it in your hand again. Before he has time to think, you put him in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against Dustin’s lips. They stop kissing, looking between them at the sight of you. Dustin is so considerate, so much better than Dieter has ever been. He moves aside your hair, kisses against the curve of your spine. All Dieter can do is think about not cumming. He feels bad about this, wishes he could gather enough strength to think about your hair and things like that. But your mouth is warm and you take him in with expertise, bobbing in a rhythm he wouldn't dare break. Up, down, the tip of your tongue running alongside a vein, back up again. He’ll cum like this. You look up at him through your eyelashes and he touches the top of your head with unspeakable tenderness. Cum, you beckon, but he won’t. Can’t.

Where is that goddamn condom? How can he make this last forever?

He pulls back from your lips smiling an apologetic grin when you at him, surprised. You seem to understand, a devilish little smirk playing across your glossy lips. He wants to kiss you, but even that feels dangerous right now. He thumbs your lips instead.

“Condoms,” he tells you softly. You nod your head.

“In my bag.” You point over to the corner of the room. Dieter pads off to get them.

Dustin’s hands sneak between your thighs and you sigh when he finds your entrance, the tip of a finger rubbing the spot Dieter abandoned. You’re so wet and you want it so badly. He presses his lips against your shoulder and you feel the heat of his breath against your goose pimpled flesh. As you loll your head against him, he slides a finger in. You scratch the back of his head and nod frantically.

“You’re so tight.” He nips your skin and then licks at you with a desperation you’ve only experienced in Dieter. You like being wanted this badly. You lift your hips and ride his finger, squeezing around him. So tight, right. He laughs and you feel that too. “You like being talked dirty to, don’t you? You’re being so good, riding my finger like this. I can’t wait to fuck you. To feel you around my cock like this. And I bet he’s thinking that too.”

You both look over to Dieter as he unwraps a found foil and takes out the condom. You sigh; Dustin’s thumb finds your swollen clit. “We’ve got to make him cum in you, but I don’t think you’ll find that hard. He wants you so bad. Look—“ You feel Dustin’s grin already across your back. “He’s so fucking hard for you. Just as hard as me.”

Dieter strokes himself through the protective sleeve as he watches the two of you. You feel the familiar sensation of heat spreading low in your belly. When Dustin dares to enter another finger into you, you gasp, feeling full and stretched and yet not full enough. He spreads his fingers inside you, preparing you. You tug at his hair and make eye contact with Dieter.

He smiles lopsidedly, suddenly boyish and more handsome than he’s ever been. You think he looks happy for you—so pleased that you’re pleased, with a glint in his eye. Maybe it’s the drugs. You don’t know. Maybe he is happy that you’re happy. He was always better at saying he loved you than he was at showing it, but you suspect that this is his showing you. Love. Maybe it spills over in divorce, just another cruel thing you’ve got to cope with.

When Dieter comes back, he presses a condom into Dustin’s thigh. You are at the edge of another orgasm, everything perfectly in place — the sensation of Dustin’s thumb, the way his breath hits your skin, the idea that Dieter is watching you—but he denies you it, interrupting. You go to protest, whine, but he doesn’t give you a chance.

Dustin’s fingers are still in you, on you, when Dieter leans down and presses his tongue flat against your clit, greedy with lust. He licks at you around Dustin’s fingers and it feels like too much. They seem to make an agreement, working you at the same time. You cum quickly and this one seems to go on for eternity. You squeeze Dieter’s shoulder. The other condom package falls loosely onto the bed as Dustin uses his hand to keep you steady, your knees weak from the pleasure.

You tug at Dieter’s hair to make him stop. Dustin seems to know instinctively, leaving you feeling empty when he takes his fingers away. His slick covered fingers rest on your hips as you tell them both, breathlessly, “I can’t do another one. It’s too much.”

Dieter shakes his head in protest but Dustin takes the information in stride. He’s too good at this, moves through the motions with ease, improvising quickly. He extends his slicked fingers to Dieter. Dieter, who has been so focused on you, looks at them quizzically, unsure of what they mean. Then he seems to get it, hard features smoothing out in realization.

He looks at Dustin, and it’s not like with you. He's focused, not icy or angry but so intent. It’s not a loveless gaze, per se, but it is devoid of love; filled not with something warm but something hot.

Dustin’s cock presses into the small of your back. As Dieter’s mouth wraps around his fingers, you feel a warm bead of pre-cum drip onto your skin. You bite at your lip. You’ve never seen Dieter with men before, and this new side of him excites you—like unlocking a new door in a house you’ve had for ages. He puts on a show for you, bobbing like you did on him. Dustin’s fingers seem to be an extension of yourself. You shudder as Dieter tongues along them, and Dustin rubs himself helplessly against your backside.

“I want to see what you’re like with men,” you say to Dieter, your voice barely a whisper. But Dieter hears you and his eyebrows perk in interest. This is a long unanswered question to something you’ve never been brave enough to ask. You’ve always known that he’s been interested in men — that he’s had sex with them — but you’ve never really questioned outright about what it was like. It felt equal parts too personal and hurtful; you didn’t want to know what it was like with other people before you. But everything seems different tonight. You want to know badly, like he’s got secrets that could be your salvation hidden in him.

You slip from between them, lying against the pillows. Before filling the space, Dieter looks over at you. His brown eyes implore you for a sign and you nod your head.

He’d asked you earlier, when Dustin asked about rules, if you’d be alright with them touching each other, maybe even entering one another. You hadn’t expected it to get to that, so it had been easy to say you didn’t mind. In fact, you had figured Dieter only said it as a means to scare you away from the idea. And now that the notion is not only on the horizon, but a reality, it comes just as easy to say yes—maybe even more so.

He stalls, hesitating, so you nod again, laughing. He smiles. Your ex-husband is a startlingly beautiful man like this, looking so openly vulnerable. He’s physically and emotionally naked and you’ve waited decades for it.

Dieter and Dustin kiss each other like men do, aggressive and dominating, neither willing to lose the good fight just yet. You feel your interest piqued, watching the way their fingers touch each other. How they tug and grip, search for purchase all over. Dieter is much rougher with Dustin than he’s ever chanced to be with you, with bruising kisses and bruising touches. When he grabs the man’s cock, it is with an ugly dedication, fast dry and quick tugs. Dustin hisses the first time but doesn’t protest. In fact, he thrusts his hips unashamedly into Dieter’s closed fist, licking into his mouth with a degree of delight. They tug at the back of each other’s heads of hair and eventually Dieter gives way, falling back to allow Dustin to mount him.

Dustin searches for the condom on the bed, his chest rising and falling heavily in an attempt to grasp at long denied air. You watch through heavy lids as he slides the latex onto himself. He’s circumcised, pink and swollen at the tip. Drips of pre-cum have made him all glossy and you bite your lip watching him struggle to line himself up. When he gets the latex down to his base, he smiles a satisfied smirk. He doesn’t look at you. If he notices you staring, he doesn’t mind at all. This is his favorite play, and he’s an actor after all.

Dieter’s knees knock apart to accommodate his frame—a body you’ve begun to notice with quiet admiration in your desire. He’s broad, much broader than he’d been in his youth, and he’s got muscle all over now, whereas before he’d been lean and lanky. He’s hard and tight and as he begins to rub himself against Dieter, you’re taken with the way his skin stretches over the plains of his back, his arms, his stomach. Dustin is in impeccable shape, perhaps one of the only men who can claim he’s doing better now than he was in his youth. Gone is the boyishness, replaced with a heady, sure masculinity.

Dieter seems to relinquish his fight happily now, soft growls emitting from his lips. Dustin presses down into him, and while most of what they’re doing is obscured by Dieter’s legs, you can imagine it well enough: the steady, erratic thrusts of Dustin’s cock rubbing against Dieter’s. There’s a sheen of sweat on them both and Dustin buries his head in Dieter’s neck. He licks at the places you had once, and it is nothing but erotic little huffs from them both.

“You’re…” Dustin begins, but falters off. He lifts himself up, repositions, bracketing Dieter’s head between his strong arms. Dieter’s eyes are pressed closed, his dark features etched with pleasure. All they do for a while is rub against each other. You feel like an intruder, like something stopping them from getting where they need to be. Maybe you are.

You dare to speak: “Aren’t you going to touch each other?”

Dieter looks startled. He’s red in the cheeks, the exertion of their movements and the heat of his desire making him flush. He taps Dustin on the arm, making the steady roll of his hips slow until suddenly it’s nothing. It’s all quiet for the first time in minutes.

They both look at you with intent eyes. But Dieter is the first to take charge. “You should fuck her,” he tells Dustin. Dieter looks at you, questioning.

“But—“ you protest. Dieter shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Later.”

Dustin has no qualms about the interchanging of you and Dieter. You notice that he's notably gentler with you than he was with him, though. He crawls to you, kisses you chastely—as if testing the waters. There’s nothing necessarily erratic or rough about what he does to you. He looks between your spread legs and fingers at your entrance once more, circling the area teasingly. You groan in anticipation and his head falls to your chest. He takes a taut nipple into his mouth as he plunges his fingers inside of you, pushing them against your front wall. As you sigh heavily, he moves his wet mouth to the other nipple.

You turn your head, catch Dieter’s fixed gaze. He reaches out his hand and you lace your fingers together. He’s touching himself through his condom, stroking softly. You want to devour him.

Dustin takes his fingers from you, and you look back at him. Before you can plead for more he says, “I’m gonna enter you now.” You nod, wordless.

He gathers the slick from his fingers and coats his latex covered cock with it. As you squeeze Dieter’s hand, Dustin lines himself to your entrance. His kiss is soft, barely a kiss at all, and he enters you, inch by careful inch. He feels so overwhelmingly right, snug, puncturing something decidedly primal inside of you when he bottoms out.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan hotly against his shoulder. He manages a small laugh, running his lips against your cheek. “Go hard,” you ask. He hasn’t moved yet, stays still inside of you. You think of the way he was with Dieter.

“I don’t know if I can. I think I’ll…” He swallows. “I know I’ll cum.”

“Please,” you beg. You dig crescent shaped nail marks into ass and he smiles teasingly, running his warm tongue against your sensitive skin. He presses so intimately into you, your nipples scrap against his chest. It feels so good. Everything does.

“He said no,” he answers, looking up to meet your eyes.

“He’ll give me anything I want,” you say. Dieter’s fingers leave yours then, and you look over. You think you’ve made him mad but he’s only repositioning himself, coming closer to your bodies. He doesn’t say anything.

Some things are so true they don’t need to be confirmed. They just are. The sky is blue and people die, and Dieter is a man who will give you everything because he was once a man who gave you nothing.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Dustin mumbles, finally drawing back. You nod your head, encouraging, but he doesn’t go harder. He moves in the same way he did before, experimental and slow. When you look at him, imploring silently, he shakes his head. “But a rule is a rule, baby. ‘Sides, I think he’s making me get you ready. Your husband is a bit of a pervert. He’s touching himself, watching me stretch you open with my cock.” Dustin presses his lips into yours. Against you, he mumbles, “Did ya know he likes to watch? Bet he likes to hear too. You—“ Dustin pushes back into you, stopping himself, and the squelch of your juices adds to the effect. He smirks. “—You’ll get fucked. Just not by me. Not yet. Maybe I’ll fuck him while he fucks you. Maybe we’ll do it..” he grunts, bottoming out again, “We’ll do you together. You’re tight as hell, but I know we can get you wide. Couldn’t we?”

You feel Dieter’s fingers but can’t move your eyes away from Dustin’s. They’re greener like this, up close. Dieter trails a line over your body, and then up to Dustin’s, with a lone finger. Dustin turns to look at him and he smiles, nodding. They seem to work without words.

Dustin reaches down to grip the condom as he pulls out of you. You look over at Dieter, half angry and half amused that he could interrupt. You realize what they’re doing almost immediately. Dieter holds open your legs by pressing his palm against one of your knees, and Dustin shuffles, moving back to let Dieter take his place.

His cock probes against your entrance and he smiles down at you like a fool. “Hey,” he tells you evenly, half sober. You ache for him. You clench around nothing as he licks into your mouth.

“Hey,” you respond, overcome. Your fingers wrap around his arms and you notice that he’s got more muscle than before too.

“You want to be fucked?” Although he attempts to make this a question, it is more of a statement. You nod along anyway. He kisses you hard, rough like with Dustin, and he nearly enters you as he rubs himself greedily against your naked warmth, wetting himself with your slick.

“Yes. Hard, like you do with him,” you tell him. He smiles against your lips. You take his cock in your hand, so much more sure with him than anyone, and he slides into you. It feels like homecoming, wet and warm and familiar, your fingers digging into his skin and the smell of sex in the air. He does what you ask, his thrusts sharp, his hips snapping against your hips.

“Dieter,” you pant out, nodding your head. He kisses the side of your mouth sloppily and you smile the best you can. Where Dustin felt right, Dieter feels perfect. You feel like you touch the hem of eternity as he plunges into you with the intensity you requested, uninhibited and giving in the roughness.

He repositions you both in one expert movement, moving to his knees, pushing your hips farther up. This makes you let out a startled gasp; he hits you far deeper like this, his thumbs digging into the flesh on your hips with bruising intensity. You can’t kiss from this position, but it doesn’t matter. He fucks you. Really fucks you.

You see Dustin in the hazy peripheral. Lolling your head to the side, you focus on him. He stands at the side of the bed, smiles at you when you catch his eyes. With his cock standing out in front of him like that, he looks a bit unserious. If you weren’t so full of Dieter, perhaps you’d be amused by this. He doesn’t even touch himself. This makes you frown.

“D—Dieter,” you stammer out.

“Huh?” he grunts.

“Dustin.”

“Mm, what—what about him?”

“Let him fuck me too. Please.”

Dieter shakes his head. “No, you’re mine right now. You’re—“ he snaps into you roughly, the bed creaking. “I’ll suck him off. Or maybe—“ Dieter grunts again, “Maybe he’ll be smart and he’ll get behind me. And maybe he’ll—“ his head drops to your neck, and your head the next part through mumbles. “Maybe he’ll rub against me like he was doing before. But it doesn’t matter right now. Just think about you. It’s all for you.”

You close your eyes, nodding. That sounds fine. Great. Dieter’s finger gazes at your clit and you nod, your hand reaching out to hold his wrist. You always liked to feel the way his forearm moved as he did this to you.

“Cum for me and I’ll cum for you,” he says, and you feel it begin, the stirrings of another orgasm. You think of him, of the way he punctures his thrusts with grunts, how good he feels inside of you, bottoming out like this with measured fury. You like how rough he’s being, like never before. You like this side of Dieter. You like that there is more of Dieter to know.

When you cum, you call out his name. He swallows it, pressing his lips to yours. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me. You’ve always been.” He fucks faster into you, his own release on the horizon. You squeeze around him once, twice, and that’s it; he’s filling the condom up and he’s gasping earnestly, amazed and so goddamn in love. He kisses you on the mouth and it’s so genuine. You kiss him back, smiling like a newlywed.

“Dustin,” you say against Dieter’s lips, after a moment. Your chests are both heaving and you're drenched in a thin layer of sweat. He presses his forehead against yours and you smile. “Let me take care of him,” you tell him.

Dieter rolls off of you, collapsing into bed with a soft groan and saying nothing. You take a moment to recuperate, breathing in and out, letting the bliss of this moment wash over you.

“Come here,” you say to Dustin, patting the open space of the bed beside you. He listens, the bed dipping beneath his weight. It takes a lot of effort on your part, but you rise to your knees. You guide him onto his back and he helps you straddle him. For a moment, you just sit there on top of him, looking at him.

“I used to masturbate to you,” you finally admit. This makes him grin. Beneath your cunt, his erection jumps a little.

“Thanks,” he says. His hand palms one of your breasts again. “You don’t have to do anything to me. I can finish myself off if you want.”

You shake your head, grinning. “Didn’t you hear me? I used to masturbate to you. This is a dream.”

Another hand comes up to cup your other breasts. “Are you sure you don't feel too sore? He fucked you pretty good.” You begin to glide your cunt alongside his prominent erection. He sucks in a swallow breath. “Guess that’s a no.”

“That’s a no,” you confirm.

“Just let her fuck you,” Dieter tells him quietly. You smile over at him but he doesn’t see it; he’s too busy watching the way you move your hips over Dustin. Even with a flaccid penis and in a state of post-coital peace, you manage to get to him.

You ride Dustin quickly, grabbing onto his strong shoulders as he tongues your alongside chest, finding your nipples. He groans, the sensation vibrating throughout your body as you follow the motion his hands set for you. A fast up and down, your back arching, taking him in completely and then pushing back so far he nearly falls out.

Admittedly he does most of the work, your legs wobbly and your body tired. But it feels good. God, does it feel good. You like this, being with two men back to back, each of them taking turns. Dustin generously tries to get you to cum again, his fingers sliding between your bodies, but you stop him.

“It’s too much. Just this,” you tell him. You grind down on him to make him feel better about it, and he hums sympathetically around a mouthful of your breast.

You ride him less enthusiastically the closer he gets, both of you too tired and worn. He stops aiding you so much, kissing anywhere he can access: your jaw, your neck, the side of your mouth. He lets your body fall forward into his. It’s a sort of lazy fucking that you do, meeting halfway to create the sharp thrusts that push him closer to climax.

“Cum in me,” you tell him, voice silky against his ear. He knows how tired you are, feels it too. He gathers up the last of both of your strengths, rutting up into you with intent. As he cums, you ride him, curious, taking all he can give. Dieter is too sensitive, can’t stand to move when he cums, but Dustin nods, moaning against you. When it’s over, you collapse into him, hugging his sweaty body. He laughs against your warm skin.

“Thank you,” he tells you softly, so only you can hear. You nod. You lie on him like that for a moment, listening to the beat of his heart. Dieter watches you, his expression unreadable. But he doesn’t look faraway.

You reach out to him with your fingers and he smiles, coming to.

Dustin helps you off of him and you fall between them, sated and spent. He slides off his condom and reaches across your body. “You want me to take yours?” he asks Dieter. Dieter, no longer feeling jealous but merely tired, nods. He hands the man his condom and Dustin pads off to the bathroom. Dieter and you watch this, amused.

“I kinda understand what you see in him now,” he confesses, smiling. He interlocks your fingers and you let him.

“Thank you,” you say, ignoring his comment. You look over at him.

He nods, sincere. “Of course. I assume I did it right?”

“You did it right.”

“And you don’t regret it?”

You shake your head. “I don’t seem to regret you. Even though sometimes it’d be better if I did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you.”

You kiss him chastely, even though you know you shouldn’t. “I know,” you tell him softly. “I love you too.”

“Like a friend?”

“No.”

“Like a husband?” he asks, testing the waters. You laugh. Dustin comes back from the bathroom.

“No. Something more than all of that.”

“I can handle that.”

You nod your head. “Me too,” you tell him.

The bed dips from the weight of Dustin once more, and you roll over to your side, cuddling into him. He passes a warm rag to Dieter and he accepts it, cleaning himself. He goes to hand it to you, but you shake your head.

“I’ll take a shower in a little. When I can walk.”

This earns a laugh from them both. Dustin reaches an arm around you, drawing you closer to his body. Dieter, surprisingly, doesn’t mind this; he curls up behind you, too, wrapping an arm around your waist. You’re all so close, and it’s nice. He thinks maybe they might be something to this sharing after all.

“I liked that,” you say to no one in particular.

Dustin hums, fingering trailing over your arm. “Enough to do it again?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I think the opportunity for this kind of thing only happens once in a lifetime, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know about that. This is Hollywood, and they love sequels,” Dieter adds, smiling.

“Yeah,” Dustin nods, “That’s true.”

You close your eyes, smiling faintly. “A sequel, then, maybe,” you say tiredly.

In the morning, you do not regret any of it.

—-

A YEAR LATER.

SUBJECT: THREE’S COMPANY, BUT ONLY SOMETIMES from: dustin.mulray@gmail.com

I was at an art show the other day and I saw a painting with your name on it. The guy in it looked a little familiar (they told me it was an old painting, from nearly a decade ago, before you were both famous. Cute). I bought it, of course. Not that I’m in the habit of buying paintings from people I’ve slept with, but it was for charity and it looked good and I’ve got a new apartment that I’ve got to fill, so I thought why not? It cost a lot (good for you!) and because of that they let me wrangle an email address from them to tell you what a brilliant job you did. You did great. Very Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton of you. Anyway, to the point: You weren’t at the premiere of the documentary with Dieter last month. He told me that it's because you don’t like that scene, and I don’t blame you. Neither do I. But I was wondering how you feel about commissioned paintings? And do you think that Dieter would like to come with you to deliver it if your opinion is positive? (He told me I had to ask you that myself, so I think he’d be happy to accompany you if the canvas is too big to carry by yourself). P.S. I’m asking you for sex–a sequel, as it were–but I really would like a painting, too. I’ll spend a lot (not for the sex, but the art. I guess for the sex too, if you’re into that). Love, D. Mulray.

—-

SUBJECT: HOPEFULLY NOT ROSEMARY’S BABY SITUATION to: david.bravo@gmail.com, dustin.mulray@gmail.com

Sometimes I commission art work for people I like and sometimes I make an exception for those I don’t if they pay enough. I’m sure you fall somewhere in those categories, Dustin. But I must warn you: I won’t do dick drawings. I might do a vagina one if the inspiration strikes. I must admit I’ve never had a man ask me for sex over email. Kind of thrilling, like a retro sext but without any of the sexy parts. I’ve attached Dieter to this email for obvious transparency reasons. He says he’d gladly help me carry your canvas (figuratively and literally). P.S. It will cost you. For tax purposes, I hope you’ll let ‘it’ be the art.

—

from: david.bravo@gmail.com to: you, dustin.mulray@gmail.com

Who said divorce couldn’t be sexy?

[ayoyoungg]

I finally met JO1 😭😭😭

8.20.23

[pinkfemgurl]

You groaned to yourself after reading that text message. This meant you had to go about your day caged and with her pink satin panties on under your clothes.

But naïve and hopeful enough to finally get unlocked, you sent pictures of yourself every hour on the dot showing off your entire body caged with the her panties on. Sometimes she asked for your face to be in it just to tease you and other times she would ask for different poses.

You check the clock and notice that she should have been home 20 minutes ago. Surely she's just stuck in traffic right?

Three more hours go by and you've been restlessly pacing at the front door waiting for her to get home. She wouldn't reply to any of your texts except either to make you do a new pose or to reply to the picture you sent her every hour.

You swing your head towards the front door the moment you hear it open and see your girlfriend smiling while holding a few bags in her hands. "Sorry honey, I had to stop by the mall to get a few things on the way back home. I hope I didn't make you wait too long?~" She teases you, knowing you were in agony the entire time.

You rush up to her no longer caring about how long you waited because now you can get unlocked and finally be able to cum again.

"Hold on honey, before I unlock you can you do something else for me? I know I've made you do something embarrassing but it just made me so wet at work all day that I couldn't get anything done!" You don't notice the malice in her words as you nod your head to this unknown task.

"Here, I want you to put this on to match your panties, I spent so long to find something that would look perfect on you!"

She hands you a bag as you take out the clothing to put on. You see that its a matching pink bra and a pink long sleeve tutu style dress, all in the same shade of pink as the panties that she made you wear all day.

You can't wear such a thing! You tell her.

But she changes your mind soon after, "I want to be fucked so badly while you wear all this babe! I'll tease you like I did last night, but only for a few minutes," she reassures you with a lie, "and then I'll unlock the cage and let you pound me until you've released your entire load in all of my holes!~ Seeing you in my panties all day made so unimaginably horny this would just make me go over the top! I'm sure that would make up for the entire day and a half of being unable to cum right?~" She gives you a pouty look, knowing she put you through pleasurable torture, you normally cum at least once everyday so not being able to has made your brain fuzzy this entire time.

You finally relent and change into the entire outfit, your girlfriend helping you put on everything the entire time. After hearing that you will be able to fuck her relentlessly you've gotten so horny that you begin leaking into the pink panties again.

She lead you to the bedroom and tied you up on the bed once again. This time it was a little different, instead of just having your arms tied behind your back and your ankles tied together, she went the extra step and began tying every inch of your body in a way that seemed to accentuate the pink outfit and the cage.

"There we go! All done! And I just got to say wow. I can't believe you actually let me do all of this to you!" She says cheerfully while looking at you hungrily.

Click

She snaps a picture of you all tied up, “Who would have thought that it would be this easy to feminize you this far so quickly?! I guess my friends were right when they said that the hardest thing was to get you in a chastity cage but then the rest would be easy!” She laughs to herself. "I mean getting you caged wasn't even that hard either."

She pats your pink caged clitty and no longer needing to hide her true intentions behind an innocent face, she can't stop smiling at your predicament.

"You know babe... I didn't just buy these clothes, I'm sure you saw the dozen other bags I brought home right? Those will be your new clothes! I made sure to only shop in the lingerie sections and sex stores of the countless malls I stopped by after work to give you an even higher quality of clothes compared to my own wardrobe!" She says proudly.

Suddenly she moves close to your ear and in a low but demanding voice whispers, "And if you ever... want a chance of getting out of that cage, you'll have to do everything I say from now on, or I'm going to send these dozens of photos of you in my panties as well as you all tied up like this to your friends and family through your own phone! I'm sure you especially remember the photos with your face in them! Wouldn't that be such a relationship crusher? She teases.

"Now be a good sissy doll and let me see you leak into your pathetic little clitty in this new outfit! I want to record every new milestone you achieve in this new relationship we'll be sharing together honey~"

Hope you enjoyed this super long story made by @pinkfemgurl!

[sturnlsstuff]

MISSED YOU | chris sturniolo

| ".... god, i hate that i missed you so much"

pairing: dealer!chris x fem!reader

summary: your dealer has been out of town for almost two weeks and after he's finally back, he texts you needing to see you.

warnings; smut, dom!chris, sub!reader, p in v, pet names, praising, unprotected sex, dirty talking, hair pulling, rough sex, car sex, crying, public¿ sex, cursing, mdni

a/n: literally my first fanfic after a looong time so please bear with me, if its bad... you know why. english isnt my first language so sorry for any mistakes! also its a little long 😭 part two here !!

~~~

she laughed at some joke her friend made and took another bite of her pizza. it was late friday afternoon, she and her bestfriends were hanging out, since there was nothing else to do. everything was great, until her phone buzzed. she looks at her screen, immediately smiling when she sees his name. she wasn't even aware that her lips had curved into a smile.

her friends were too busy with their own conversation, so she uses her moment and grabs her phone, reading the message from chris. she hasn't heard from him in over two weeks, she had no clue what he was doing, or where he was. she also didn't want to ask, hating the feeling of being too desperate. and it's not like he owns her any explanation either.

chris: u busy?

she bites her lip, fighting the urge to smile again as she replies back.

y/n: hi to you too

y/n: yeah im out with friends, whats up

chris: having fun?

chris: when u gonna be home ma?

y/n: like in an hour or so

chris: can u hurry up? c'mon kid i miss ya

y/n: you do???

she can't help but genuinely grins this time, her eyes widen a little. did he miss her? or was he just saying that to make her give in? he always knew how to talk to her, to make her going feral over him. but she wanted to believe he means it this time.

chris: hell yeah i do

chris: get ur ass out here

she looks at her friends, that were still yapping about something, that she couldn't care less about right now. she needed to see him. he never said he missed her before.

y/n: then come pick me up, im sending u the address

chris: omw gorgeous

chris is already in his car, when she sends him the address. not being able to see her for over two weeks, made him think. A lot. he has been her drug dealer for over a year now, there was tension between them since the beginning, so it didnt take them long to finally fuck at some party a few months ago. and since then, it's happening every now and then, usually they meet to smoke together, then they end up all over each other.

after a few minutes, he parks the car in front of the pizzeria, finally seeing her. she made a stupid excuse for her friends to leave, not being able to hide her excitement, so they just could assume what was going on.

chris gets out of the car, looking her up and down, licking his lips as she was only wearing a black crop top and baggy camo pants. he personally loved those, especially on her.

he opens the door for her, a smirk playing on his lips. "get in."

she tried her hardest to act casual, but just seeing him after a while, in all black outfit, was enough to make her dizzy. and she could swear he got a haircut. his hair was so much shorter, and she loved it.

she smiles, keeping the eye contact while getting inside the car. he closes the door, his eyes roaming all over her body as she walked towards him. he snaps back to reality, getting to the other side and climbing back into the drivers seat. he was feeling so many things that he couldn't express.

"missed me so bad, you couldn't wait an hour, huh?" she speaks up, putting on the seatbelt and looking over at him, while he starts the car.

she notices the way he looks her up and down, his eyes stopping at her exposed skin a little too long.

"i've missed my favorite customer." he smirks, going back to the eye contact.

"yeah, your favorite customer... right." she says sarcastically, trying her hardest to keep her cool and not to blush under his stare.

he grins before replying, focused on keeping his hands on the wheel instead of her body. it was getting harder with every second. "yeah, the one i always gotta give free stuff to."

"oh, dont act like i force you to do this..." she scoffs, still looking at him. "you know i always want to pay you."

"i know y'do... doesn't mean i will stop givin' it to you for free though."

"see, and that's crazy."

chris rolls his eyes, loving and hating at the same time, how she always had to talk back to him. he's driving, planning to go to her house, but the way she's looking right now, and especially her attitude, is making him crazy. he feels his dick getting harder with every second.

"whatever, ma. i know you secretly like it."

"yeah, sure." she mumbles with sarcastic tone, her eyes still watching him. seeing him driving was one of her favorite things in the world, he always looked so good. she appreciates, that he gives her stuff for free or cuts down her prices, but dealing was his job, he was making money out of it, so she always felt bad when he didnt want her cash. "what made you busy for so long? thought the cops caught or some shit"

chris bites his lip, his eyes glancing over to her for a second, before focusing back on the road. he never felt so desperate like right now, just having her in his car like that...

once he hears her question, he snaps back to reality and smiles. "the cops? please, sweetheart, they can suck my dick."

chris changes his direction, spotting an empty parking lot and he drives there. "i was out of town, had to deal with some business... nothin' to worry about now." he explains, parking and turning off his car, and his stare travels to her, scanning her face and body. "you're so curious...."

she nods, now understanding why he wasn't texting her these past two weeks, she was a bit ashamed 'cause she honestly thought maybe he got bored of her, so she didn't text him either. she still got some weed until yesterday, so she also had no reason to.

"why would you stop here?" she asks, looking at him with a little frown, but once she sees his smirk, the realization hits her. the excitement filling her body, the tension between them so noticeable, it makes her shiver.

he stares at her for a moment, adjusting his pants and then suddenly he unbuckles his seatbelt, sitting back in his seat so there was more space now.

"c'mere."

her eyes travels down on his lap, seeing the noticeable big bulge even through his jeans. she blushes slightly, looking back at him, the smirk still playing on his lips and it makes her weak in her knees.

"chris..." he cuts her off by reaching over and grabbing her chin, tilting her face closer to his.

"y'gonna do what i said, or keep talking back?"

she immediately unbuckles her seatbelt, moving over the center console and she gets into his lap, straddling him. she wasn't gonna act like she didn't miss him too, because, goddamn, she did. she presses herself onto his hard dick, watching him closely, and seeing how desperate and frustrated he was right now. It made her feel a little bit of a power, that she decided to take advantage of.

"now, was that so hard, ma?" he smirks even more, trying to hide his growing need for her, but his hands moves to grip onto her thighs. he felt the urge to touch her all over.

"you know, fifteen more minutes and we would be at my place-"

"you really think, i would wait fifteen fucking minutes, when i havent seen you for two weeks, and you look like that?" he loves the way she looks at him, with such admiration. she was so pretty in his eyes, he never felt this type of desperation for anyone ever before.

"and who's fault is that?" his hands grips her tighter and puts her closer in on his lap, making a little bit of friction, that he so desperately needs. his fingers digging into her skin, while he stares into her eyes.

"shut up for once, yeah?"

"make me." she smirks, challenging him. he doesn't have to hear it twice, loving the attitude she's giving him right now. his hand moves up from her thigh to the back of her neck, pulling her face closer and he kisses her roughly, grabbing her ass with his other hand as he does.

she smiles against his lips, immediately kissing him back with the same intensity, and she grinds down against his clothed dick, feeling her own need growing with every second. she missed the way he kissed her, she missed his lips, his hands all over her, his body against hers. she missed him and she hated to admit that.

she slides her tongue into his mouth, he bites her lip in response and lets her lead the kiss. moving up his hips to feel her more and not being able to hold back, he groans against her lips. he never felt so needy before. he pulls away for a moment to speak, and starts trailing kisses down her neck, squeezing her ass, before his hand moves up, caressing the skin on her exposed stomach.

"god, i hate that i missed you so much."

it slips from his mouth, he doesn't think much about it as he sucks on her skin, but for her it meant everything. she tilts back her head, giving him more space and she grinds against his lap some more, running her hand through his brown hair. he lets out a growl as she grinds down on him, making him even harder and he bucks his hips up again. lifting up his head from her neck his stare finds hers, the noticeable lust in his eyes made her bite her lip to hold back a moan. the smirk coming back to his face once he notices her flushed cheeks.

"what 'bout you, huh, ma? missed me too?"

she closes her eyes, their face so close to each other, it makes their lips brush when she replies him back.

"yeah... i did"

he grins, his hands playing with the waistband of her pants. that's all he needed to know, that she missed him as much as he missed her. even though they both were aware, they should'nt.

"how much, hm?" he unzips her pants, she lifts herself up, gripping his shoulders to balance herself and helps him take them off. then she straddles him again, trying to hold back her smile, but not being able to.

"want me to show you?"

he groans after her words, feeling her wet panties pressing against his hard dick and he bucks up his hips again, being so desperate, that he was ready to beg her. he starts marking her neck again, his hand traveling between her legs, massaging her clit through her underwear. her breath hitches in her throat, she lets out a little whine and grips his hair slightly.

"so wet already... shiiiitttt... all this f'me, huh?" he says against her skin, bitting on it slightly and making her moan. he adds more pressure, circling over her clit. "lift this shit up."

his tone demanding, he wasn't asking. she lifts up her top, revealing her breasts. he looks at her now, his eyes going back and forth between her tits, and her face. "fuck... not wearing a bra? fuckin' slut..."

he licks her hard nipple, then starting sucking on it. her hand tightens in his hair, tilting her head back and she lets out more whimpers. she was supposed to be the one in control this time, she craved it and saw how needy he is, but the way he's touching her, makes her losing her mind. he then pulls her panties to the side, running his fingers through her wet folds and suddenly putting one inside her. not even giving her any time, he just starts pumping in and out, adding another finger after a moment, now stretching her out. he pulls away from her nipple, looking at her face.

"c-chris..." she moans quietly, trying her hardest to keep the eye contact, but struggles to do so. her hands now traveling down his chest and unbuckling his belt.

"yeah, ma? y'like that?" he tries to keep his cool, still working his fingers inside her dripping pussy, curling them and making her whine in response. "look at you... so, fuckin' desperate on my lap. missed my fingers, huh? want some more?"

she desperately nods, squeezing around his fingers, but once he feels that, he pulls them out immediately putting them in his mouth to lick them clean. she whines, pouting her lips when he stops.

"show me how much you missed this dick then."

she bites her lip, unzipping his pants and with his help, she pulls them down to his knees, his boxers following after a second. chris leans his head back against the seat, gripping her hips as she gives him a few strokes before pulling her underwear to the side. she runs her thumb over his tip, collecting the precum and spreading it all over his cock, using it as a lubricant and then she lowers herself slowly on his cock, the movement making them both moan out loud with pleasure. she stays like this for a moment, needing to adjust after these past two weeks without him.

"fuckk...so tight...your pussy was made f'me.." he groans, tightening his grip on her hips and he watches her closely, as she finally starts moving on him. he’s holding himself back from moving up his hips and taking over, trying so hard not to thrust into her. he loves the feeling of her body against his and he’s missed it so much. he needed it, he needed her and he hated that. the feeling just kept growing, making the space in the car feel even smaller.

he pulls her back down into another kiss, this time more sloppy, continuing to move his tongue against hers, tasting her. she kisses him back, starting speeding up her pace and now bouncing on him harder. his dick hitting just all the right spots, making her moan loudly while chris tries to focus on the kiss and not to lose his composure. he wanted to take over, he always did, but the feeling of her riding him like that, has him gripping the seat. he grits his teeth, trying to keep himself together and he knows his patience wont last long. he looks up at her again, his eyes glued to her face.

"fuckkkk, ma.... takin' all of me so well... shit..." he hisses, when she speeds up even more. "so good.... s-so good f'me...."

she grips into his shoulders more, moaning loudly at his praises and she continues moving. chris is in complete ecstasy as she picks the pace up, a feeling like he hasn’t experienced before. there's just something about her on top and taking what she wants, that's got him feeling so many things at once.

“fuck.. just like that” one of his hands grab her ass, giving it a squeeze and then slapping it. "fuckin' slut... you like it? fucking in my car? takin' it just like a little bitch.... yeah? shitttt..."

he moans now not being able to hold back, and he starts thrusting into her. she gasps for air, her eyes closing shut as she tightens around him. "oh, wanna cum, huh? not yet darlin'...." he grips her hips more, his tip hitting her g-spot with every move.

"chris i-"

she cuts herself off with another moan, not being able to think straight. she digs her nails into the back of his neck, her head falling down on his shoulder and he immediately stops. her eyes snap open, she lifts up her head to look at him, a smirk playing on his lips.

"you better don't look away f'me, ma.... wanna see your pretty face y'know? and keep makin' those sexy little sounds...got it?"

she nods, but it's not enough from him as he speaks up again. "use your words baby, c'mon... you aint that fucked out of your mind yet, hm?"

"i got it, just... please..." she whines, moving her hips, wanting to bounce on him again, but he stops her. she pouts. "chrissss......"

"get to the backseat." he demands, after scanning her face for a while. he wanted to give her all the pleasure she deserves. he wasn't even thinking about himself, he couldn't care less about his release. he just needed to make her feel good, making sure no one else can do what he can.

she pulls away from him, now moving over the center console again, struggling a bit but she gets into the backseat. chris obviously smacks her ass as she does, what makes her squeak.

"chris!"

but he just smirks, pulling off his pants and boxers all the way down and throwing it on the passenger seat, so it wasn't in the way. he gets on the back himself, there was little space, but enough to get into his favorite position. chris puts his hand on her back, forcing her to get on her knees and hands on the seat, as he positions himself behind her. chris loves the way he can get her all desperate and begging, so he teases her now. he moves his tip along her folds, making her whine. then he slowly puts it in, but after a few seconds he pulls back again.

"chris...." she whines, knowing he's playing with her now.

"yeah, baby?"

she bites her lip, her face pressing into the seat and she lifts up her hips more. "stop teasing me, please...."

he grins even more, slapping her pussy with his dick and then he suddenly pulls his cock all the way in, making her gasp and scream out of pleasure. the new angle let him hit all of her sweet spots.

"whatever you want, princess." he starts thrusting into her with a very intense and fast pace, going as deep as he could. the car now filled up with her moans and the sounds of skin slapping against each other. he grips her hips tight, keeping her in place. he can feel her squeezing around his cock again, and he lets out a growl. "c'mon.... cum all over me...wanna see you while y'do..."

chris moves one of his hands, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back, having a good view on her face. her mouth wide open, letting out loud moans, her eyes rolling back.

"oh my god!" she cries out, gripping the edge of the seat like her life depended on it and she releases, the wet, squelching sound coming from her now louder. he groans, kissing her neck and whispering into her ear.

"you feel so good... cummin' like that f'me... such a good girl.."

she moans, squeezing around him again, the overstimulation now making her shiver as he keeps going with the crazy pace, not slowing down at all. he lets go of her hair, her head immediately falling onto the seat and he grips by her hips again, making sure she feels him as deep as he wants her to. he growls, being on the edge himself.

"i'm... close.." he mutters, throwing his head back. "gonna fill you up, yeah?"

she whines nodding desperately, but then he smacks her ass giving her a sign to answer verbally.

"shit! yes, fuck, yes chris, please!" she feels tears filling up her eyes from the pleasure, a few of them coming down her cheeks moment later. chris bites his lip, feeling her tightening around him. he moves one of his hands between her legs, now rubbing her clit, while still thrusting hard into her, but his movements getting sloppier. she cries out, her legs trembling and his dick twitches, finally cumming inside her, his warm sticky release filling her up and dripping out of her. he curses under his breath, digging his fingers into her skin, leaving bruises as he does. she feels him cumming, and the overstimulation from him lazily massaging her clit and still hitting her g-spot, makes her finish again. the pressure in her stomach now becoming too much, unable to hold back, she feels the liquid squirts out of her in waves.

his eyes snap open, looking down at her and he growls. he slows down until he eventually stops, after they both ride out their highs, this time not wanting to overstimulate her. looking at the mess she made, he can't help but feel a bit cocky about it.

"shit, ma.... squirtin' all over me, huh? is it how it is now?" he smirks, a little surprised that he made her do that but he couldn't be more proud. he pulls out of her, letting go of her hips and her body immediately falls onto the seat. she's breathing heavily, not being able to reply yet. "that's my fuckin' girl.."

he runs his fingers along her inner thigh, collecting her and his cum and he leans in a bit, covering over her. he looks at her fucked out expression and the smudged mascara on her cheeks. "look at me."

she opens her eyes, her mind blank, body shaking. he puts his fingers into her mouth, she immediately cleans them up, tasting both his and her release on her tongue, making sure she keeps the eye contact with him while she does that.

"you're so hot." he says now kissing the tears on her cheeks away. "took me so well..."

she smiles, seeing his flushed cheeks and messy hair sticking to his forehead. it was her favorite view.

"y'good, kid? don't go all mute on me now.."

"don't call me that...." she mumbles, trying to get her sarcastic attitude back, but she was absolutely spent right now. "i'm fine."

he just grins, gently patting her cheek before he pulls away. she slowly lifts herself up, trying to fight her trembling legs and she sits up now, facing him. not being able to do anything more yet, her glare moving to her legs and the seat she made mess on. she feels her cheeks growing hotter, now suddenly embarrassed and trying to ignore his stare. this never happened to her with him before and she didn't know what he thought about it.

"sorry about... the seats" she mumbles, grimacing.

he raises his eyebrows, now seeing her embarrassment and he doesn't understand why. it was a little surprising but he felt so proud. he already wanted to make her do it all over again. "you f'real? don't even say sorry, ever again."

she's still not so sure, blushing even more as he wipes her cheeks from the smudged mascara and then runs his hand through her hair, trying to fix it a little bit. he smiles softly. "gonna clean this up later, don't you worry 'bout that, okay?"

chris then reaches into the center console for the tissues, grabbing them and spreading her legs with his hands. she watches him closely seeing how he starts just gently cleaning her up. this simple movement makes her feel the heat rising from her cheeks down to her neck, so she just covers her face with her hands shyly. not really being able to understand why is she so embarrassed this time, he grabs her wrists, forcing her hands to move away from her face.

"y'gotta be kiddin' me. don't hide from me, ma." chris mutters. "not when you made such pretty mess in my car."

with a quiet sigh, she lets him take her hands off of her face. she chews on her bottom lip nervously while he goes back to cleaning her up, touching her slightly as she was made from some kind of glass. it was even cute, how he just made sure she was fine. it's not their first rough sex, but this one was definitely more intense and for some reason felt so... different. she had this strange feeling in her chest, just seeing him focused on wiping her legs and how he didn't seem to care about his covered in her release seats. once he's done, he sits beside her, wrapping his hand around her shoulder and pulling her close. she doesn't like the silence, even if before it was never awkward, this one was bothering her as she couldn't stop feeling unfamiliar emotions.

"i ran out, by the way." she suddenly blurts out, making him laugh. there was no way in hell this girl was real.

"yeah? good to know. gonna give y'some more later."

"im paying this time."

"oh, you've paid enough already." she immediately looks up at him, smacking his shoulder and he chuckles in response, pretending to be in pain. "woaaahh, bein' a little brat again, hm?"

"that's not funny, im giving you money." her tone shows no objection, he smirks and nods, knowing he won't take anything from her anyway. they sit like that for a moment, before he speaks up, knowing he will get another hit after that.

"soooo... round two?"

"christopher, i swear to god."

_____________________________

a/n: oh my god this seems sooo long 😭 tell me what yall think, i feel like i kinda fucked up with the whole dealer vibe but lmk please! i honestly enjoyed writing that so who knows..

[starkeysprincess]

Blackmail

pairing: dark!rafe Cameron x reader word count: 1.4k warnings: sexting/video call sex, gaslighting, blackmailing, revenge porn, manipulation

a/n: this was a request from an anon summary: Rafe Cameron talks you into putting on a little show for him over a Facetime call, little did you know that you would regret your decision.

You flopped down onto your bed, laying on your stomach when your phone started to continuously buzz as an incoming Facetime call rang through. Before you can even see who was trying to Facetime you, you receive a text from a man you’ve been talking to for a little over a month. the man in question being none other than Rafe Cameron.

When you opened the text, you couldn't help but smile when you were met with a message that read, "Facetime me, princess, wanna see that pretty little face". Your thumb moves across the screen and you click the 'join' button, to which, you're immediately met with the sight of his handsome face, "There she is" he grins.

"Missed me already?" you teased, earning a small chuckle from him, "Always do, princess". You playfully rolled your eyes at his response as you sat up before laying back against your pillows, "You saw me like two days ago". Rafe shrugged, "So? doesn't mean that I don't miss the sight of your pretty face".

"Now you're just being a sweet talker" you snort, laying further back against your pillows, not realizing the new angle gave him a delicious view of your tits and the way your hardened nipples were pressed against the cloth of your tank top. A small smirk forms on his lips, "I'd rather be a sweet talker than a tease".

Your eyebrows furrow, "A tease? How am I being a tease?", your question only resulted in his smirk growing wider. You notice how his eyes flicker down and away from your face, "Well, you're givin' me a good view of those pretty tits and I can see how hard your nipples are".

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you're quick to readjust the angle of your phone but you stop when you hear his husky voice, "Nah, don't hide them from me, princess.".

"They look too fuckin' good for you to be hidin' them. Got me all hard and shit” Rafe confesses, pausing for a second until an idea popped into his head, “Matter-of-fact, why don't you put on a little show f'me?" he suggested. He can't help but grin when he notices how you look away from your phone's camera, "Gettin' all shy on me now?". 

“I’m just not sure if it’s a good idea” you muttered, “Why not? We’ve been talkin’ for about a month now, even gone out together a few times” he pointed out. He noticed you were still looking away from the camera, “Hey, look at me”. You turned your head, looking back at him through the call, “It’s just some harmless fun, s’all”.You stay silent, receiving a faux pout from him, “‘You don’t trust me or somethin’?”. You chew your lip nervously, still hesitant about putting on a show for him. 

He notices your hesitation, “You can trust me, princess. I promise this is for my eyes only, you know I don’t like sharing. The fuck would I share what’s mine with anyone else, huh? Your pretty little body is only meant to be seen by my eyes, no one else’s.”. 

“C’mon baby, give daddy a show, show him what’s his”. 

That’s all you needed to hear from him, the promises that he wouldn’t dare to show anyone because you were his and only his. “Okay,” you nodded, earning a grin from him, “Good girl. Why don’t you start by showin’ me those pretty tits of yours, hm?”. 

You hold your phone with one hand while your other reaches for the hem of your tank top. You slowly pull it up your waist, hesitating for a second before pulling it up further, revealing your bare tits. He licks his lips, letting out a low groan, “Fuck, baby. Lemme see you play with ‘em”. Your hand moves to cup your breast, squeezing it before you capture your nipple between your thumb and forefinger, pinching it before moving to the other. 

His eyes are glued to your tits, “Squeeze them together and spit on them for me, baby”. You do as he says, squeezing the plump flesh together, gathering spit in your mouth before letting it dribble down. He watches as your spit lands on the top of your skin before it slowly drips down between the valley of your breasts. His hand moves to palm his hard cock through his pants, “Shit…thinkin’ about how pretty they’d look covered in my load instead”. 

You can’t see what he’s doing but based on his groans, you have an idea of what he was doing while he watched you. “Alright, baby, flip the camera and remove your shorts” he instructs, to which you listen as you press the ‘flip’ button on your phone. Your hand slowly pushes the waistband of your shorts down your hips until you are left in just your panties. His voice is gruff as he speaks, “Atta girl, slowly remove your panties f’me. Need to see that pretty little pussy”. 

Your hand hooks into the elastic band of your panties, lifting your hips up as you slowly pull them down before tossing them to the side. You prop your legs up, keeping your feet flat on your mattress before spreading your legs.

“Shit…prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen” he groans, “Do daddy a favor and play with yourself. I need to see your wet cunt stuffed with your fingers”.

His words caused your breath to hitch in your throat and you can feel your clit starting to throb with need. Rafe sat up against the pillows of his headboard as he watched your hand slipping between your thighs, rubbing circles against your clit with your nimble fingers.

“That’s it…gonna show me your fingers stretchin’ that tight little cunt?” he breathes heavily, his hand moving up and down his length faster. A small gasp escapes you as you push two of your fingers into your sopping wet hole. 

Your slick coats your fingers, allowing you to pump your fingers in and out. Rafe continues to watch, his thumb pressing against the flushed tip of his cock, spreading his precum as his fist moves up and down his length. 

You let out a soft mewl, grinding your hips down against your fingers the moment you curl them. “You can barely take two of your own fingers. Shit, baby, you think you’d be able to take daddy’s big, thick cock?”. 

“I-I’m close” you stammered, feeling your walls clench around your fingers. His ears perk up at your words, “Flip the camera back around, I wanna know what your face will look like when you’re cumming all on my cock”.

You quickly flip the camera, your face casting onto his screen. He watches as your eyes flutter shut and your lips part, crying out as you come all over your fingers.Your chest rises and falls as you come down from your orgasm, your eyes remaining closed. 

What you failed to realize that night was from the moment you removed your top, Rafe had been screen recording the entire interaction. Something you didn’t find out about until a few days later when you were scrolling through Twitter and the video appeared on your feed. 

The video was clearly cropped to avoid showing your face and you knew this was all Rafe’s doing. You weren’t thinking straight when you grabbed your car keys and made your way to Tanneyhill, pulling right into the Cameron’s property before storming up towards their front door. 

Just as you were about to bang on the door, the door opens, revealing Rafe, who wore a smug look on his face. “Was just thinkin’ about you” he grinned. “Take it down” you demanded, making him shrug in faux confusion, “Take what down?”.

You give him a look, “Oh, that video” he nods, “Yeah, I can’t do that” he tsks. “Rafe, I’m being serious. Please, just take it down” you plead with him. 

“What are you so worried about? At least your face isn’t showin’, right?” he points out, “But could you imagine if your face was shown?”.

“It’d be a real shame if someone were to post the uncropped version, ya know” he licked his lips, “Cause then everyone would know what a whore you are”.

Your eyes avert his gaze, “You think anyone would want you after they see that shit?” he lets out a throaty laugh, “I’m the only one who wants you. I can even prove it to you”.He grabs your chin, making you look up at him, “I meant what I said, I wouldn’t share what’s fuckin’ mine unless I have to teach you a lesson. So if I were you, I’d be a good girl and listen, yeah?”.

rafe cameron m.list taglist

tagging: @oceandriveab / @babygorewhore / @xxbimbobunnyxx / @drudyslut / @sturnioloshacker / @lilacheavenn / @starkeyisthelastname / @rafesthroatbaby / @rafescurtainbangz / @espressomunson / @ihe4rttwd / @rafecameroninterlude / @rafeinterlude / @redhead1180 / @nemesyaaa / @hallecarey1 / @heartsforvin / @eddieslut69 / @eternalbuckley / @kisses4angel / @hyperfixationgirl / @emilysuperswag / @flvredcas / @starkeysheart / @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles / @amandabbbbb / @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account / @spid6y / @peterpan-neverfails / @zyafics / @chimindity / @rowans-posts / @native2princess / @crvptidgf / @rylie-m / @maiiuelle / @rafesfuckdoll / @shawtycoreee / @fae-of-prey / @rafeyswrd

[ro-is-struggling]

Earn It || Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: While Spencer was away on a case, you had no better idea than to send him spicy pictures of yourself as a way to encourage him to work harder to get home fast. You ignored his warnings and orders to stop and now that he was back home it was time to face the consequences of acting like a spoiled brat. 

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, porn without plot, established relationship, dom!spencer, sexting, masturbation, bondage, dirty talk, cum eating, deprivation of touch used as punishment (if that makes sense? idk it's just porn)

English is not my first language

Word count: 3300

Notes: idk what this is, I have had this idea in my mind for a while now and I only wrote it because someone left me a nice message praising my spencer smut, so enjoy, I guess

You were buzzing with anticipation, counting down the minutes until Spencer got home. You knew you'd be in trouble —it was clear from the short messages he'd sent you—, but that was part of the fun. You had crossed the line this time. The messages you had sent him while he was stuck at work could only be described as torture. But you couldn't be held accountable for your actions, at least not completely. You missed him-his touch, his lips on yours, the sound of his voice calling your name-and you wanted to make sure he knew it. 

Spencer had been away from home for too long, working a few states over to catch a killer who targeted young, blonde women. It was apparently a tough case so for the last few weeks you had to settle for talking to him on the phone late at night. Hearing his voice before bedtime was nice, comforting, but over time it stopped being enough. You missed having him by your side at night, feeling his warmth and the touch of his fingers on your skin. You missed his kisses, his soft lips caressing your body while you whispered his name into the darkness of the night....

It was clear that phone calls were no longer enough to satiate your need for him, so in a moment of impulsive arousal you decided to give him a little incentive to work harder to come home to you. You were simply showing him what he was missing.

The first picture you sent him was simple and tasteful, a conscious choice intended to lure him into your trap. It only showed the lower half of your face, your lips drawn into a sad pout. It also showed part of your chest which was covered by one of Spencer's shirts. It had the first few buttons undone, showing your collarbone and the mound of your breasts, but nothing more. You sent it with a simple 'I miss you', hoping he had his phone nearby to see it.

His reply came not long after, and you almost felt bad for what you were about to do when you read his innocent and oblivious 'I miss you too :(‘. You replied with another photo, this time much more revealing. The shirt was unbuttoned now, revealing the cute red lace bra that hugged your breasts. It was Spencer's favorite and you knew it was going to have the desired effect on him. 'I wish you were here...' you wrote before you sent it. And without waiting for a reply you sent him another picture, this time showing the full lingerie being, posing in a provocative way. Without hesitation you wrote 'to rip it off my body' and pressed send. 

You knew your little plan had worked because Spencer didn't answer for quite a while. He had seen the messages, but he was probably too stunned and busy to reply to you. When he finally did, it was a warning. 'Behave.' was all he wrote back, but you ignored it. In the next picture you sent him you had removed your bra, your hard nipples framed perfectly in the picture. Two of your fingers were lost between your lips, the red lipstick slightly smudged at the corners. 'I wish they were your fingers' you typed and Spencer's reply was another warning. 'But I guess mine will have to do for now' you ignored him once again, sending him a video of you burying those same fingers inside you as you moaned his name. 

Your provocative messages didn't stop until you came, but even though you knew Spencer had seen them, he didn't reply. Nor did he call you that night like he had been doing every day. He was silent for two whole days. Two long days in which you kept wondering if maybe you had taken things too far. It was torture waiting for some kind of sign from him that would bring you some relief, but when you read the message he sent you knew that had been his intention all along.

'I'm on my way home. I want you in bed wearing the red set by the time I get there.' was all he wrote and you knew he was angry. Spencer was going to make you pay for behaving so badly and you couldn't help but wonder what method he would use to teach you a lesson. Punishments were always creative with him. Spencer wasn't very keen on violence during intimacy, it reminded him too much of his job, you supposed. He was rough in bed when he was in the mood for it and never objected to giving you a spanking or two when you deserved it, but he didn't enjoy making you cry in pain or leaving severe marks on your skin. 

Spencer was more of a soft, pleasure dom, which meant that most of the time he was more intense than aggressive. He loved the irony of using pleasure to create pain, often overstimulating you to the point that your body would scream for him to stop. His domination over you was more subtle, more psychological, so his punishments always had a hint of irony in them. The worst one —and at the same time, the best one– had been once you had come without his permission. His way of teaching you a lesson that time was forcing you to cum over and over again, attacking your abused pussy with his fingers, his tongue and a vibrator without giving you hardly any time to recover between orgasms.

You wondered if Spencer had something similar in mind, the very idea frightening and exciting you at the same time. Your clit throbbed between your legs, your panties ruined with your arousal before Spencer even got to lay a finger on you. That was the effect he had on you. All he had to do was send you a stupid message and your whole body would begin to tingle with anticipation, waiting for his command.

When you heard the sound of the apartment door opening you almost jumped out of bed with joy. There was nothing you wanted more than to run into your boyfriend's arms and shower him with kisses as you told him how much you had missed him. But you knew you couldn't —or, rather, shouldn't— do that. Spencer wanted you in bed, wearing his favorite lingerie, and that's exactly what you did. Even though it was a little late to play nice now, you didn't want to give him any more reason to prolong your punishment —whatever it was. So you settled on the bed, putting yourself in a suggestive pose and waited patiently for Spencer to enter the room.

He took his time and you knew he was doing it on purpose. Your punishment had begun the moment you decided to ignore his warnings and now you had no choice but to accept it. Listening to his footsteps walking around the apartment, knowing that he was only a couple of feet away without being able to do anything about it was a real torture, but you deserved it.

"I'm disappointed in you," was the first thing Spencer said when he finally entered the room. He had that hard look in his eyes that he always gave you when you disobeyed him - the one that told you it was in your best interests to listen to him. His pupils were widened, the beautiful hazel color almost completely taken over by the darkness of desire in his eyes. You shifted nervously on the bed, suddenly feeling small under his intense gaze. Spencer walked toward you and you felt like an animal trapped by the predator that wanted to eat it. There was nowhere to run.

"You've been a very bad girl," he clicked his tongue in disapproval, bringing his hands to his neck to loosen the knot of his tie. "Teasing me with those pictures while I was at work, ignoring my warnings, cuming without my permission." Spencer shook his head and you sunk your teeth into your lower lip. The tone in his voice —too calm for someone in his position— almost made you regret your little stunt. Almost. "If you want to act like a spoiled brat, I'll treat you like one."

Spencer ordered you to sit on the bed with your back against the headboard. You obeyed without question, knowing that this was not the best time to complain. You watched him remove his tie in one tug, twisting the soft fabric in his hands before approaching you. He was careful in tying your wrists to the headboard, his fingers barely grazing your skin as he made sure to limit your movements, leaving you completely at his mercy. It was torture to feel him so close and not be able to touch him. Not to mention how incredibly frustrating it was that his hands barely rested on you when it was strictly necessary, as if your skin was burning him. You hated it, but when you let out a whine of protest, Spencer gave you a look that let you know it was best to keep your mouth shut. 

"You're going to stay there and keep your eyes on me at all times." He stated with a calmness in his voice that should have alarmed you. But instead of wondering what he was up to —and what that calm meant to you— your mind was distracted by the slow movement of his hands as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing himself to you. " Now you'll know how I felt when I saw your pictures and those videos of you pleasuring yourself while I was stuck at work, unable to do anything about it."

Spencer moved closer to you, leaning down to be at eye level with you. The air caught in your throat as you stared at him, fearing that your mere breath might somehow cause him to pull away from you again. His gaze was firm, intimidating, but hidden among all the desire and lust you could still make out a glimmer of the characteristic softness in his eyes. It was an interesting contrast, captivating. It reminded you that no matter how rough he might be at the moment, the sweet, loving, everyday Spencer was just a word away.

You could hardly believe he was touching you when he took your face in one of his hands. His warm, slender fingers pressed over your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout. He used his grip to tilt your head up to make sure your eyes never left his at any time. He had you trapped between his hand and his eyes, frozen still as you anxiously awaited his next words.

"Now you'll be the helpless one. You'll be the one that has to sit back and watch as I pleasure myself, tied to the bed, unable to do anything to relieve the pressure between your legs."

After removing the last of his clothes, Spencer settled himself on the opposite side of the bed. He made sure you had the best view of him and his hard cock before he began to pleasure himself. Your eyes followed the movement of his hand as if you were being hypnotized. Up and down, up and down, his hand moved along his shaft while his mouth let out the sweetest moans you had ever heard. Every little gasp he let out went straight to your center, that throbbed desperate for attention. Spencer sounded desperate and you wondered if he hadn't relieved himself since you had sent him those pictures.

You fought your bonds without even realizing it, your body responding in its own accords to Spencer's stimulation. He didn't scold you for it, on the contrary he seemed to enjoy it. He increased the pace of his hand slightly, his eyes never leaving your figure. The way they roamed over your body —slowly moving down from your face to your neck, stopping at the curve of your breasts before trailing their way down your abdomen and to your legs— almost felt like his caresses. If you concentrated hard enough you could feel the ghost of his fingers following the path of his eyes. But it wasn't enough, not when you were trapped listening to Spencer's moans, watching his hand move up and down his cock as his tip leaked precum. Your mouth watered at the sight, yearning to feel the weight of his cock against your tongue. You could almost taste the salty treat on your tongue, your brain recreating it as best it could. It was criminal that he wouldn't let you touch him when he was so close to you. 

"Like what you see?" Spencer mocked you as a pathetic whimper managed to escape your lips. "It's such a shame you were so bad 'cause right now you could be the one touching me... And I could be pleasuring you."

"Yes, please! I'm sorry, I won't do it again. Just please, I need it." you begged, momentarily excited by the mention of him pleasuring you. You were willing to do anything to end this torture. 

But Spencer wouldn't budge. "Oh, I know you do, baby. I can see the wet spot in your panties from here. But I can't give it to you. Only good, obedient girls get what they want and you have been very, very bad."

He enjoyed every second of your torture, delighting in the whimpers you let out and the way you struggled against your bonds. Your body squirmed deliciously on the bed, protesting against the lack of attention. Spencer responded to your whimpers with moans, being more vocal than usual to prolong your torture. Every sound he let out increased the fire in your stomach along with your frustration. Your pussy tightened around nothing, desperate for attention. The pressure in your tummy was too much, almost unbearable. You needed relief, whatever would help you take the edge off. 

You didn't even realize you were squeezing your legs together until it was too late. You were desperate and while the little friction your thighs provided as you squirmed was not enough, it was better than nothing. Your clit pulsed with every little movement, your juices trickling down your legs and making your job easier. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate on the subtle tingling between your legs to see if you could increase the pleasure that way somehow. The moan that fell from your lips was pathetic, a mixture of pleasure and frustration that alerted Spencer to your little trick just as you were getting somewhere.

You snapped your eyes open as you felt the impact of his hand against your calf. Spencer gave you a stern look, his expression blank as he forced your legs apart again. "You do that again and I won't let you cum tonight, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir!" you whimpered, feeling your hope renewing at the promise of a future orgasm. "I'm sorry! I'll be good, I promise."

It was real torture to have Spencer so close, naked and stroking his cock inches away without being able to touch it. His moans were getting louder and louder, his words dirtier and more condescending —praising your expression of desperation and mocking the way you twisted against your bonds. Your desperation increased along with the speed of his hands, which worked increasingly faster to bring him to the edge of pleasure. He was close, you could feel it, and as pathetic as it sounded, so were you. Your underwear was ruined, soaked with the juices of your arousal. Spencer hadn't touched you, but you were sure that a simple brush against your clit was all you needed to reach your climax.

"Was it worth it, baby?" He managed to say between gasps. "Was it worth it to disobey me? Sending all those pictures just to end up like this, tied to the bed, forced to watch me pleasure myself while you get nothing." 

Oh Spencer was enjoying torturing you way too much. He wanted to break you, push you to your very limit and hear you beg for his forgiveness. He wanted you to earn your relief just as you had earned your punishment and he wasn't going to stop until you begged for mercy. In another circumstance you might have put up more of a fight, after all, it was always fun to riled him up. But you were far too desperate to feel his touch to play hard to get. You needed him, you'd been apart too long and you couldn't stand the distance a second longer. 

"No, it wasn't! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it. I should have listened to you. I won't do it again, I promise! I'll behave! Just, please... please." There was no way to hide the pathetic tone in your voice. You were so frustrated, so needy for attention, that you could almost feel the tears burning in your eyes. You were willing to cry if that's what it took to earn Spencer's forgiveness. You would do anything to feel his hands on you.

"Oh yeah? You'll behave?" He spoke as if he didn't believe you, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he increased the pace of his hand. "Will you stop acting like a spoiled brat and be my good, obedient little girl?"

"Yes! I'll be your good girl, I promise! I'll be so good for you, sir! Please."

Suddenly, Spencer stood up from his place on the bed, approaching you in a couple of steps. "Open up then." He commanded bringing the head of his dripping, reddened cock close to your lips. You didn't need him to tell you twice, tilting your face up as you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, eagerly waiting to taste him.

"That's it, that's a good girl... swallow it, swallow all of me... good girl." Spencer moaned as he came in your mouth, his hand stroking himself until he shot the very last drop of cum on your tongue. The squeal of bliss you let out at the taste of his salty flavor was pathetic, but you were too far gone to care. You eagerly swallowed everything he gave you, devouring it as if it were the sweetest candy. 

Spencer mumbled sweet praises as he came down from his high, caressing your head with his usual softness. It was a small action, but you missed his touch so much that it was enough to fill you with joy. You thought you were finally in the clear, that you had received your punishment so well that Spencer would show you mercy and finally let you touch him. But when he sat down across from you again and looked into your eyes, you noticed that the intimidating darkness was still present in them. You struggled against your bonds once more to see if he would take pity on you and untie you. But he answered you with a click of his tongue that stopped you immediately.

"You did such a good job for me, baby."  Spencer's voice was barely a husky whisper. He brought one of his fingers up to your cheek, collecting the drops of his cum that hadn't made it into your mouth. You tried to lean into his touch, but he removed his hand quickly, bringing his finger to your lips. He didn't have to tell you what to do, you automatically opened your mouth and wrapped your tongue around his finger, tasting his relief. 

"But your punishment isn't over yet. You earned your relief, but haven't earned my forgiveness yet. You still don't get to touch me. Now open those pretty legs for me. I'll give you what you want and we'll see how much you can take."

[kenananamin]

Where did Nanami go?

a small collection of events where the people around nanami wonder if he's been abducted by aliens where they switched his brain after seeing how different he is with you (but they love it and keep hoping to see more) fluff, nanami being the best boyfriend, fluff literally just typed this all in one go and did not edit. lol enjoy!

nanami is the 'i'm not reading all that, im happy for you or im sorry that happened' person to gojo. but you send one long long message to nanami and gojo glaces to nanami's phone and just sees his whole screen covered in one long blue bubble. he asks if you're ok or if he needs to step away to call you but all nanami says is no and starts reading the message. gojo sees nanami read a bit, then types a small reply, presses enter for the next line, reads some more, then another small reply, and repeat. is he replying to every single sentence in your message?!

gojo gets curious so he leans a bit closer to actually see the message. it was not an emergency... but your review and interpretation of the 2009 movie Mother?!

gojo leans back shocked. nanami would never reply to such long messages he'd send. if the message was longer than 4 lines, then nanami might never even reply to it. but he's carefully reading your message as if it was the latest report that would be the difference between life and death in the next fight. he's replying to every single point you're making and are those emojis?!

gojo is floored, truly baffled and entirely speechless.

gojo wonders, what movie can i watch that might interest nanami and get him to reply to me in a message longer than a sentence?

———

gojo and itadori walk out of the school with nanami. it's time for nanami to clock out but gojo and itadori are heading out to try a new restaurant that evening. nanami gets a call at 6:01pm while he's still walking with them and stays back a few steps to answer your call. nosy gojo perks up his ear to listen if nanami's voice changes when he answers your call. it's not too different but gojo swears it did change a bit as if there was a little smile on his face. there was.

you ask nanami if he'd like to join you for dinner at a restaurant after work and nanami just asks for the address and says he's on his way. he excuses himself from the guys and gojo wiggles his eyebrows as nanami says he's got somewhere to be. yuji continues to talk about the last movie he saw that he loved but megumi kept rolling his eyes at.

gojo and yuji get to the restaurant after their leisurely walk and see nanami - wait! nanami setting the table?! they're both shocked bc even though their steps were unhurried, it's not like they took a long time to get to the place. you walk into the restaurant and spot nanami wiping what would be your side of the table with his hand, wiping anything that might have been missed by the cleaning cloth.

"kento!" you smile and jog to the table. he looks up and smiles when he sees you, but the smile drops when he spots the open mouthed gojo and yuji you just passed by. you stop walking and turn to see who or what he's looking at.

gojo snaps out of it and goes to introduce himself to you before leading the group of three to the table that nanami is now standing next to. he had heard about you because he pestered nanami enough to tell him about your existence and your name, and that's really all gojo knew. he asks nanami how he got to the restaurant so quick and nanami blandly replies that you work nearby and he wanted to get there first aka he lightly jogged but gojo didn't need to know that.

nanami was kind of expecting it but it still surprised him a bit when you extend a courteous invitation to gojo and yuji if they'd like to join you both for dinner. what was not a surprise was that gojo immediately sat down. yuji hesitates a bit but you tell the young man to sit and assure it's ok. nanami sighs but decides to just roll with it and goes to slide out your chair so you can sit. gojo and yuji give a quiet 'ooooohh' to the action and nanami just shushes them and sits next to you.

nanami is stiff at first and you notice so you slide your hand to hold his under the table. gojo notices the action though and feels like giggling and kicking his feet for his friend. it still takes a while for nanami to relax a bit but he eventually slumps a bit in his seat and smiles a lot easier after a few drinks w you. gojo and yuji stick to their sodas and nanami is happy to order wine for you both.

gojo and yuji make easy conversation and everyone genuinely has a nice dinner. nanami is ready to say bye to the guys as you finish a conversation with yuji about a show. gojo and yuji excitedly watch you both walk away as nanami keeps a hand on your lower back to lead you down the street then moves to hold your hand. they start giggling out loud, a little too loud, when you step even closer to hold his arm with your other hand and lean your head on his shoulder as you walk back home.

———

yuji excitedly goes to nanami to ask if he can join you guys after work. nanami is confused but yuji tells him to check his phone. you had asked if he wanted to visit an ice cream parlor and bakery with you and that you had asked yuji for the name since he brought up the place at dinner.

“we were talking about the show hannibal and she recommended a movie if i liked that show so i did the same and recommended something. she said she'd let me know what she thought the next time she saw me but i didn't know when that'd be and i think she read my mind so we exchanged emails,” yuji rambles nonchalantly about exchanging information with his girlfriend.

"nanamin, i thought you didn't like sweets?" nanami confirms that he does not care for them but you like them and he always finds another bread or alternative to eat as you eat your sugar-filled dessert.

yuji gives a thumbs up and that the man has his respect. nanami tries to ignore the comment… but the compliment feels nice. what didn’t feel so nice was two other kids attaching themselves to yuji and nanami for the ice cream.

he gets in the car and looks back at nobara, yuji, and megumi through the rearview mirror and hopes you don’t mind these kids attaching themselves like leeches on your date. and you don’t mind, it was nice to finally meet some of the people he’s talk so much about and you liked hearing new stories about him.

you’re getting a couple samples and pass them to nanami once you’ve tasted a bit. he wouldn’t get a full ice cream for himself but he could do samples... and indirect kisses. you read his mind (bc you were thinking the same) and try to flirt and raise your eyebrows at nanami seductively but shy away and start to laugh instead. nanami know what you were trying to do yet again and he finds it endearing every time you do it. he pulls you in from your waist and leans down to kiss your bare shoulder thinking the kids are too busy looking for their own desserts to notice. they were not busy, they were looking and saw it all.

the kids are shocked, nobara is taking notes bc she wants that romantic gesture, yuji wants to cheer him on, and megumi's eyes widen but he wonders just how long nanami's been hiding this side of himiself. all in all, all three kids want to see this side more and start planning ways to go out with you both again.

———

nobara and maki go shopping for some spring clothes and as nobara is talking about a store she saw while maki got an iced coffee she stops in her tracks. nanami is inside the store they were about to pass and he's standing as still as a statue... holding a couple shopping bags in one hand and a purse on his shoulder. maki follows nobara's gaze and chuckles but prepares to walk away. nobara grabs her arm and pulls her into the store but hides behind a rack to keep watching nanami.

you come out of the dressing room in the perfect little black dress and nobara and maki can't help but stare in appreciation and awe. they were impressed by how you looked but even more impressed when nanami took out his phone and took a picture. even from afar, they could tell it was a damn good picture and that that man knew your angles.

———

gojo wants to go to a club. he knows nanami will say no straight up so he starts the conversation with, "hey you know what y/n might like?" gojo tries to sell the club the best he can but nanami just says ok and walks away.

gojo texts nanami later that night to ask (plead) him if he'd want to go and all nanami says is that you both will meet him there. gojo hums as he gets ready and arrives to the club. he sees you and nanami walk into the dark and loud room but immediately notices nanami's black button-up that has the top few buttons opened and no tie, and your little black dress. it's shorter (and honestly sexier) than what gojo imagined you'd wear in an outing with nanami but he has to admit that his pair of friends were a damn wonder to look at. he discreetly takes a photo of you two and sends it to nanami. it becomes nanami's favorite photo.

gojo compliments both of you and you thank him saying you had told nanami he'd look great with that simple button-up and gojo agrees. nanami blushes a bit at your compliment. gojo asks about your dress and you laugh recalling when you were getting ready. you had asked nanami if you could wear the dress since you weren't sure if it was too short and he just nodded and basically said 'dress slutty, i can fight' (not in those exact words but that's how you registered it and you fell even more in love with the man). nanami really did not care about what you wore, he would definitely voice if something was not appropriate but he has not said anything about any of your clothes since you've met. gojo couldn't even laugh at nanami's response to your question, he was impressed and turns to nanami to give a thumbs up (and writes that down to use later).

———

all the students sit with nanami and gojo in the cafeteria. they're sitting around waiting for their meal after their mission when nanami remembers that he promised to call you after he was done. he had accidentally let it slip that the mission seemed dangerous and you asked if he could spare a moment after the mission to call or text you to make sure he was fine.

he excuses himself and gojo faintly hears your voice before his friend fully walks out of the cafeteria for his call. immediately after nanami leaves, the students huddle closer to the table and start talking about you. gojo is kind of shocked by the student's reactions but they all look at him and in their own way talk about how much they like you for nanami. a cold and serious man has the embodiment of bubblegum on his arm and they loved it. gojo joins his giggling students and nanami waits a moment outside the cafeteria door to listen to his team rave about you before walking back in with a light blush on his cheeks.

[lymtw]

When Toji finds out that you get yourself off when he's not around, he's blatantly offended. You recognize jealousy on Toji's face when you see it. It's not always pretty, but sometimes you think it's the most beautiful way you'll ever see him. He looks at you with those eyes. Those merciless, yet disarming, green eyes. You've told him before that they are one of your greatest weaknesses, and since then he uses them to his advantage at any given chance.

Shiu called Toji to notify him about a last minute mission, and though you begged him to stay, he reminded you of how this could be the one that brings both of you out of the struggle to make ends meet.

You were blinded by the amount of time you had spent with him. A week straight, no interruptions until Shiu called. It was one of the best weeks of your life, and that only further devastated you when you couldn't talk him out of leaving.

To make things worse, he wasn't able to reconcile with you and comfort you before he left. Shiu was rushing him, but all he could think about was how you turned your back to him, not even wanting to look at him before he left.

He answered Shiu's phone call for three seconds, an enraged, "I'm going. Jesus, fuck," before hitting the end call button. He stands at your shared bedroom doorway for a few seconds more seconds, still only getting a look at the back of your head. "I'll be back, princess. Gonna make it up to you, so wait up for me."

—

The mission wasn't difficult at all. It was so easy that he even attempted to contact you while he scouted the close quartered area. You didn't pick up a single one of the six calls he made, letting them all go straight to voicemail each time. It was irritating. He wanted to hear your voice, he wanted you to listen to him, he wanted to tell you that he was rushing this mission so that he could sprint home to you.

Once he got his dirty work done, he tried your phone again, and again, but you were still letting his calls go to voicemail. So, he decided to text you.

Babe, answer.

I know you're upset, but i'm on my way home now

Baby, please

You read his messages, sighing before throwing your phone across the room. He never says no to Shiu when it's about a job. You've accepted this before, but after spending a whole uninterrupted week with Toji, feeling like things would remain that way for longer than they did, it was hard to remember that life was gonna merge back in again at some point. Your vacation hours would run out and you would have to go back to work, and Toji would be hired to hunt someone down again. It was just disheartening to find out that it would happen so soon, and that Toji would jump back into routine so quickly.

You see one of his shirts at the end of the bed and reach for it. It was flipped inside out and balled up, so you know it was worn by him. Just holding it in your lap, you can smell Toji's scent. You bring it up to your nose, and your heart begins to race. Toji wore this. He's not there with you, so that's the closest you'll get to him until he's physically in front of you again.

You bury your face into the rolled up shirt, inhaling deeply. The scent really works at pushing you to forgive him for leaving. His scent was debiliating. It brought vulnerability to a moment where it was just you on the bed you share with your man. You were missing him and wishing he weren't so obligated to his work. It stirred up feelings that couldn't be contained.

In this whirlwind of emotions, you couldn't reject the feeling that blazed in you the most. Your need for him. Your desire to have him all over you, with those hands that don't quit when you waver between feeling like you've had enough, and wanting more of him than ever.

You crawl back to the top of the bed, Toji's shirt dragging on the sheets beneath your palms. Your shorts are peeled off and tossed to the floor. You grab his pillow from his side of the bed, slipping it between your thighs before laying down flat on your stomach. You spread his shirt out on your pillow, and lay your face on it, allowing your mind to fill with thoughts of Toji. You used this internal shrine to fuel the languid roll of your hips against the pillow.

Toji called one more time. He was two minutes away from the house. Your phone is on silent mode, still on the floor on the other side of the room. Besides, you were too distracted to see your phone screen light up, anyway.

"We're literally here, already. Quit stressing," Shiu says when he sees Toji scoff after putting his phone down, a deadpan expression on the former's face. The second the van stops, Toji hops out, and without another word to Shiu, he slams the door shut.

The door barges open and slams shut behind him. Had you not been in your blissful haze, you would have been concerned. Toji's footsteps echo on the hardwood floor as he looks around in search of you. You're not on the couch, you aren't in the kitchen. Where the hell could you be?

"Ma," Toji calls, walking through the hallway. He peeks into the bathroom, not digging further because the light was off. He hears heavy breathing nearby, so he keeps going down the hall. It's one of two doors. Luckily, he chooses the right one.

He slowly creaks the door open, his shoulders dropping immediately at the sight on the bed. He sighs in awe, leaning against the doorframe.

Your hips rolled a little faster against the pillow now, your arms curled tightly around the pillow for your head. Your face remained buried in Toji's shirt, your moans muffled as you gnawed on the black fabric. You were so close to unraveling, you could feel it building up in your lower abdomen.

Toji really liked the little arch you made everytime you pulled back and then dragged forward to get the longest amount of friction between your legs. He could see your body trembling, and your moans were getting louder.

"Oh, Toji..."

The monster in his pants came to life, prominently bulging through his pants.

"F-Fuck... fuck me, please," you gasped, keeping your rhythm but grinding harder against the pillow. "Oh fuck, oh fuck..." you moaned, higher in pitch as you reached the brink of orgasm. You dragged your panty clad cunt across the pillow one more time before completely falling apart on it. Cries of pleasure shamelessly filled the room as you continued to shakily rut against the pillow through your peak. You whimpered, your abdomen quivering with your shuddered breaths as you kept grinding.

Toji's boxers were drenched with precum, just from watching you go wild on a pillow. You were thinking of him while he was gone. You wanted him. You called his name while you got yourself off to his scent on a shirt he wore yesterday, and now you're just there. A breathless, panting, needy, beautiful mess.

Toji straightens his posture and enters the room. He sees your phone on the floor and picks it up, the screen lighting to show his most recent missed calls. His footsteps pull you out of your climactic trance, a starry-eyed look on your face when you see him approach the bed.

"Couldn't pick up the phone even once?" He presents your phone to you. "Too busy fucking yourself on my pillow?"

"Toji..." you start, waved off immediately by his hand.

"Heard my name in there a couple times, princess. Thought you were upset with me." His eyes rake down your body, focusing on the way your thighs clamp around his pillow. He sees the wet spot on the front of your panties, and for some reason feels envy begin to bubble up in his stomach. His hand reaches for the elastic band of your underwear, simply feeling the material that hugs your hips.

"I was," you mumble.

"Uh-huh. So, instead of waiting for me like the perfect angel I thought you were, you made yourself cum on a pillow?" He scoffs. "Don't know about you, but that's borderline selfish to me." He notices the involuntary pout on your face, your guilty eyes trying to hold eye contact while he scolds you. "I make you cum. I fuck you until your damn claws are digging into my back. Tell me, doll, and be brutally honest, for me. How is it not enough?"

"I missed you..." you say, a last resort. All you can do is back yourself up now.

He laughs in disbelief. You really were ruled by your own desire. "Try again, doll."

"I needed you, Toji, and the closest thing to your presence was your pillow and a stupid shirt you wore yesterday. We have a dirty clothes hamper, you know?" You point at the tall basket in the corner of the room. "Maybe this wouldn't have happened if you had thrown it in there."

"Show me," he says, a twisted grin on his face.

"What are you talking about? Show you what?"

He pulls the pillow through your thighs so that you're centered on it again. "Show me how much you missed me." He sits in front of you, his hands resting on your hips. "Show me how this flimsy replacement for me, made you lose your shit."

You sit there, flustered by his silence as he watches you, waiting patiently for his hands to get gentle friction from your skin.

"Oh, you need some help winding up? I was so sure you were good at this, seeing as though you made yourself spill, but, guess not." He looks down at the front of your panties. The wet patch was growing with no movement from you at all. This made his ego sky rocket, but also reminded him of how unpredictable you could be. "I'm not gonna hold your hand the whole time, baby. You're supposed to be putting on a show for me."

His grip on your hips tightens and he starts assisting you with rolling your hips against the pillow. He watches your face, a bright shade flourishing on your cheeks when you make eye contact with him. It was like he had a spotlight on you, and he was expecting you to perform well for him under the harsh light.

You let out a shaky breath, your palms settling on his thighs. Your head hung low, hiding the bashful look of bliss on your face. It was a gesture that Toji did not approve of.

"Let me look at you," he says, still maneuvering your hips in a constant rhythm. You lift you head but turn away from him. "Keep those eyes on me." He manually turns your head, one hand releasing your hip in favor of forcing you to look at him. His hand returns to its spot when he has your glossy eyes on his. "I'm right in front of you. There's nothing over there that demands your attention, so focus."

"Toji," you whine, humiliation flooding your body.

"Gonna let go in a few seconds, so you better fall into some sort of rhythm, doll."

You try to pretend like he's not there, but it's hard to do so when he's staring straight into your soul. Watching every expression you make, watching every tremble of your lips, every swipe of your tongue. You feel total vulnerability.

His hands are off and you stutter for a second before picking up again.

"There you go," Toji mutters. You took control, and ground yourself harder against the pillow.

"Toji, touch me, please." You pull your shirt off, baring more of yourself to Toji. His lidded eyes take in the newly exposed skin. He can see your breasts rising and falling now as you breathe, and he can't deny how badly he wants to hold them. He gives in, his hands going to your back to unclip your bra. His hands immediately grope your boobs, testing the malleability like he always does. They're just so perfect.

"Aren't you a sight... You just have to be so fuckin' pretty all the time, don't you?" He rolls your nipples with his thumbs, taking in the way you shudder at the contact. "Fuck, it's hard to stay mad when you look like that."

You feel that familiar ache begin to form again, when the roll of your hips starts leaving a lingering pleasure behind.

"You're about to cum again, aren't you?" Toji asks, knowing the answer. His eyes are narrowed on you, his dick twitching even if his blood is boiling at the thought of you enjoying this so much. You're doing those little arches again where you pull back and your stomach is quivering every time you drag yourself back forward.

"Mhm..." your nails dig into Toji's thighs, using them as leverage to facilitate your movement even more. "Toji, can I cum?" you ask, your submissive tendencies coming out right on time, as usual. You like handing over control to Toji, even if it means you don't get to cum when you're seconds away from being an absolute mess. "Toji, can I, please?"

How can he deny you when you've complied with what he asked you to do? How can he turn you down when you're so driven with pleasure that you look like you're about to cry just from slowing down for a couple seconds, awaiting his response?

"Only if you do it on my hand." His hands still your hips, holding you down firmly to stop your movement completely.

"What?" Your cunt aches from holding back. It's pulsing, craving the return of stimulation.

Toji's hand slides into the front of your underwear, cupping your slickened folds. "Do it on my hand," he repeats.

"O-Okay," you comply, once again. You start rocking against his hand, the roughness of his skin adding more friction to your sensitive core. You were bound to snap any second now.

"God, you're so wet, ma. All for me?"

"Mhm... all for you, Toji," you whimper. "Gonna..." you gasp. "Oh, fuck-"

Toji devours your expression and the shaky pressure of your silkiness against his hand. His pupils are enormous, ridding him of almost all the green in his eyes. He loves the sounds you make, he loves that you adjusted to the spotlight he put on you and gave him the best show, but most of all, he loves that this was all the product of you just missing him.

You're left breathing shakily, your head hung low, and your eyes lidded with exhaustion.

"Did it feel the same?" Toji's voice brings you back. His hand retracts from your underwear, and he gets a good look at what you left behind on him, wiping it off on his shirt. It'll be removed soon enough, anyway.

"Not at all." You giggle. You look at him, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks. "You're irreplaceable, baby. Inanimate objects don't do it for me like you do."

He chuckles. Your voice is adorable, all quiet yet still able to communicate your reassuring words.

"I need a nap," you mumble, retrieving your shirt from the end of the bed.

"Wanna shower with me, instead?"

Your attention directs towards him like a homing bolt of lightning. He gives you a smug grin, and you know exactly what he's thinking.

"Spare me some company and one of those massages you're so good at giving, yeah?"

You give him a deadpan expression, almost refuting him until he hit you at another point where he knew you were weak.

"Please, mama?"

[ham1lton]

kiss me thru the phone!

pairings - logan sargeant x law student!reader (no faceclaim).

warnings - nothing <3

summary - oscar has a new number. no problem! until logan realises he hasn’t been texting his friend his breakdown but rather some random girl. well… let’s hope you have some good advice at least.

— part four of my 500 followers celebration ♡ —

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liked by yourbffname, classmate2 and 237 others.

yourusername: coffee, studying and taking candids of my bestie. isn’t she so pretty when she’s in the midst of a academic breakdown?

view all comments

yourbffname: fuck u!!! that picture is kinda cute tho. can’t even see my dark circles 😩

-> yourusername: you’re v gorgeous to me!!!

classmate2: those cookies look amazing 🤩 we need to go for some!!

-> yourusername: yess!!! we should. after tomorrow’s lecture okay for you?

-> classmate2: yes!! 🫶🏼

yourmum: keep up the good work honey!! proud of you!! make sure to drink water and take breaks :D

-> yourusername: ofc!!! can’t wait to come home and see you!

yourchildhoodfriend: can’t believe u got into harvard. rory gilmore wishes.

-> yourusername: you’ll always be the lane to my rory babe <33

-> yourchildhoodfriend: imy!! come home soon!!

-> yourusername: i will!! me and u and the arcade?

-> yourchildhoodfriend: it’s a date! 🥰

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liked by yourbffname, lilymhe and 348 others.

yourusername: england was great. shout out to auntie k! oh, i also met some dude. anyone recognise him?

view all comments

logansargeant: he kinda fine 😩😝😜

-> yourusername: he is… too bad he’s mine 🙄

-> logansargeant: when she claims u in public 🤤 >>

oscarpiastri: never seen him before… he a little close to the camera though. if i was you, i’d run.

-> yourusername: good idea. i already got my nikes on.

-> logansargeant: 🙄🙄🙄😒😒😒👎🏻‼️

lilymhe: lovely meeting you babe!!

-> yourusername: yes u too!! need to hang out again soon <3

-> lilymhe: we can ditch our bfs again 🤩

-> alex_albon: ????? NO 😰

yourbffname: girl… did you get the goods?

-> yourusername: the lewis hamilton signed cap?? ofc. think of it as a thank u for motivating me to even do this. <333

-> yourbffname: omg i could kiss u on the mouth but i won’t bc logan might kill me. that last pic a lil scary…

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author’s note: PLEASE ignore the shitty photoshop job on the text messages. the app is usually use to make these texts decided to stop working so i need to find a new one 🙄 also if u guys liked this… u should read my other logan fics — summer lovin’ and manifest it! 😜

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