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pucksandpower · 24 hours ago

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Car Trouble

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: in which it starts with Max insisting that you borrow one of his many cars while yours is in the shop and somehow turns into you being dragged away in handcuffs because (according to your jealous housemates) the only way you could ever afford a car like that is by having stolen it … suffice to say, your protective boyfriend is less than amused

Warnings: law enforcement abuse of power

The thing is, you know it’s a gamble the moment you put the key in the ignition. Your little car, a 2004 Fiat Panda with a chipped paint job and a suspiciously rattling exhaust, has been teetering on the edge for months. But it’s all you have, and it’s gotten you this far.

Except now, as you sit in Max’s driveway, the dashboard flickers ominously, a banner of orange warning lights. You groan, lean your head against the steering wheel, and curse under your breath. Maybe it’s the alternator. Or the battery. Or the car’s just finally decided it’s had enough.

Max is at his kitchen window, a mug of coffee in hand, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. He steps out, still in his Red Bull Racing hoodie, hair a mess, and jogs over. You don’t even get the chance to open your mouth before he’s leaning down, peering through your open window.

“Car trouble?” He asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Take a wild guess,” you mutter, throwing your hands up.

He chuckles, low and warm. “Let me have a look.”

He gestures for you to pop the hood, and you do, reluctantly. Max circles around, lifting it with a practiced ease, his brow furrowing as he inspects the engine. You know he’s not a mechanic, but he knows enough to recognize that it’s bad news.

“I think it’s, um, all of it,” he says, voice laced with amusement. He looks up at you. “You really drove all the way here like this?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say defensively. “It was fine when I left. Mostly.”

Max gives you a pointed look but lets it slide. He straightens up, wiping his hands on his jeans, and nods toward the house. “Come on. I’ll call someone to get it towed.”

You hesitate. “Max, I can-”

“I know you can,” he interrupts gently, eyes locking with yours. “But why should you?”

He has this way of cutting through your defenses with a single look, and it’s infuriating. You sigh, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut. Max winces, raising an eyebrow.

“Easy. I think she’s suffered enough,” he teases.

You glare at him, but he’s already dialing a number, one hand braced on his hip, the other holding the phone to his ear. He’s so calm, so unbothered, like this is just another Friday, and your car isn’t smoking in his driveway. It makes you feel small, somehow, and a little embarrassed.

“Hey, mate. Got a Fiat here that needs towing. Yeah, looks pretty bad. Can you get someone here today?” Max pauses, glancing at you, then back to the ground. “Nah, it’s not mine. It’s my girlfriend’s.”

The word hangs in the air, filling the space between you. It’s not the first time he’s called you that, but every time he does, it sends a little thrill through you. You shove your hands into your pockets, kicking at the gravel with the toe of your shoe as he finishes up the call.

“Right,” he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “They’ll be here in an hour or so. Want to come inside?”

You nod, following him up the steps and into the house. It’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. Max leads you to the kitchen, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air. He pours you a cup without asking, handing it to you as you sink into a chair.

“So,” he begins, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “What’s your plan?”

You shrug. “Get it fixed, I guess. If it’s even worth fixing.”

“It’s not,” he says bluntly. “That thing’s a death trap.”

You know he’s right, but hearing it out loud stings. “I can’t just buy a new car, Max.”

“I’m not saying you should,” he replies, voice softening. “But you can’t keep driving that. It’s not safe.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that makes you feel like you should say something, but you don’t know what. Max watches you carefully, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in your head. He always does that — wants to fix everything, make it all better. And it’s sweet, but sometimes, it’s exhausting.

“Look, I have an idea,” he says finally, pushing off the counter and walking over to you. “You can use one of my cars until yours is sorted.”

You blink up at him. “Max, I can’t-”

“You can,” he insists, a determined edge to his voice. “And you will. You need a car, and I have plenty. It makes sense.”

“It’s too much,” you protest, shaking your head. “I can’t just borrow one of your cars like it’s no big deal.”

“It is no big deal,” he counters, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s a car. I have, like, a dozen of them. And I want you to be safe.”

The logic is sound, but it still feels wrong. You open your mouth to argue, but Max holds up a hand.

“Let me finish,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re here for the weekend, right? We’ll get your car towed to a shop, see what they say. In the meantime, you use one of mine. If they can’t fix it, we’ll figure something else out.”

“Max-”

“No arguments,” he interrupts again, smiling faintly. “Please. For me.”

You huff, staring down at your coffee like it might provide some kind of answer. When you look up, Max is still watching you, his expression soft and earnest. He’s not going to let this go, you realize. And maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

“Which one?” You ask, finally relenting.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “The DBS.”

Your eyes widen. “The Aston Martin?”

He nods, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yep.”

“You’re insane,” you say flatly. “I can’t drive that.”

“Sure, you can. I’ll teach you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?” He steps closer, dropping to a crouch in front of you so you’re eye to eye. “That you don’t want to accept help from your boyfriend? Because, if that’s it, we’re going to have a problem.”

His words catch you off guard, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want you to have it. Just until you’re sorted.”

You let out a long breath, your shoulders sagging as the fight leaves you. “Fine. But I’m not keeping it.”

“Deal,” he says instantly, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

There’s a beat of quiet as he stands, pulling out his phone again. He’s about to dial when you speak up.

“Wait.”

He pauses, glancing at you. “Yeah?”

You chew on your bottom lip, considering your next words carefully. “Are you sure? I don’t want to scratch it or-”

“Hey,” he cuts you off, voice gentle. “It’s a car not a piece of priceless china. It’ll be fine.”

His nonchalance is almost infuriating, but you can’t help the way your heart swells at his unwavering confidence in you. He believes in you, even when you don’t.

“Okay,” you whisper, and it’s like something shifts in the air between you. Max’s gaze softens, and he reaches out, squeezing your hand.

“Good. Now, let’s go get the keys.”

***

It’s raining, and the house smells like damp clothes and stale toast. Chloe stands by the living room window, holding her cup of tea, her gaze idly drifting over the dreary street. The drizzling rain matches her mood, which is sour on a good day and worse now that she’s been stuck inside with a mountain of uni work she has no interest in.

A sigh escapes her lips, louder than she means it to, but no one’s around to hear. Her housemates — well, most of them — are scattered across campus, probably doing something useful with their lives. And then there’s you. Always flitting in and out with your head held high, like you’re too good for this dump of a house.

Chloe rolls her eyes at the thought of you. She’s been harboring this quiet disdain ever since you moved in. It’s irrational, she knows that. You haven’t done anything to her, not really. But there’s something about the way you carry yourself, always so composed, so put together, that grates on her nerves. And lately, you’ve been acting … different. Happier, even. Chloe’s seen you, the way you disappear for the weekends, only to return with that smug smile. It’s not hard to guess why.

Chloe knows you have a boyfriend, though you’ve been annoyingly tight-lipped about it. She’s overheard snippets of conversation, seen the texts you try to hide when someone else walks into the room. But still, she can’t figure out why you’re with someone who clearly has money. A lot of money. The kind of money girls like you — girls like them — don’t get near unless there’s some major luck involved.

As she stares out the window, she suddenly sees something that makes her pause. Her tea sloshes dangerously close to the rim of the mug as her hand freezes. There, pulling into the lot, is an Aston Martin. Glossy, sleek, and roaring like a mechanical beast as it glides through the rain. The headlights cut through the fog, and the car comes to a slow, calculated stop directly in front of their house.

Chloe’s brow furrows, her pulse quickening. What in the world …

She watches, transfixed, as the driver’s door opens, and you step out, closing the door behind you like it’s no big deal. You glance around the street, pulling the collar of your jacket higher against the rain, completely oblivious to the fact that Chloe is practically burning a hole through the window with her gaze.

“What the hell?” Chloe breathes, her voice sharp in the stillness of the room.

Her eyes narrow as you cross the street, keys jingling in your hand, moving with an air of confidence that has no right to belong to someone pulling up in a car like that. Chloe watches every step, every casual flick of your wrist as you lock the car and walk toward the front door.

She should turn away, pretend she didn’t see anything, but her brain is spinning, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. That’s a three-hundred-thousand-pound car. You can barely afford rent, let alone something like that. Her mind races with the only plausible explanation — there’s no way in hell that car belongs to you.

Chloe slams her cup down on the coffee table, not caring that it splashes tea everywhere, and darts toward the stairs. She takes them two at a time, bursting into her flatmate Amelia’s room without knocking.

“Amelia! You won’t believe this.”

Amelia looks up from her laptop, startled. “Chloe, what the-”

“Come here. Now.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, spinning on her heel and rushing back down the stairs, Amelia reluctantly trailing after her. Chloe pulls her toward the window, jabbing a finger in the direction of the car still parked outside.

“Look,” she says breathlessly, her words tumbling out too fast. “Look at that.”

Amelia leans closer to the window, blinking at the car through the rain-streaked glass. “Is that an Aston Martin?”

“Exactly.” Chloe’s voice is a mix of disbelief and something darker. “And guess who just stepped out of it?”

Amelia frowns, her brow creasing. “No way. You’re joking.”

“I’m dead serious. She just parked it like she owns the place. What the hell is going on?”

Amelia lets out a low whistle, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, that’s … that’s not normal.”

Chloe folds her arms, pacing the length of the room now. “She’s probably stolen it. I mean, there’s no way she could afford something like that. Do you know how much that car’s worth?”

Amelia shakes her head slowly, eyes still glued to the car outside. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s her boyfriend’s?”

“That’s what I thought,” Chloe snaps, “but come on, who does she know that has that kind of money? I don’t care who her boyfriend is, something’s off.”

They both fall silent for a moment, the only sound the rain tapping against the window. Chloe’s mind races, jumping to conclusions faster than she can keep up. Everything about this feels wrong. She’s always suspected there was something up with you, but this? This is something else entirely.

Amelia breaks the silence, her voice hesitant. “Maybe she’s just lucky? I mean, maybe he’s, like, rich-rich. You know?”

Chloe scoffs. “No one gets that lucky. And she’s been acting so secretive lately. What if she’s involved in something shady? I mean, who just pulls up in a car like that?”

Amelia shrugs, clearly unsure how to respond. But Chloe’s not done. There’s a fire in her now, a burning need to know what’s going on. You’ve always been too quiet, too private, and now it’s all starting to make sense. There’s no way you’re as innocent as you pretend to be.

She whirls back around to Amelia, eyes blazing. “You know what? I’m going to call the police.”

“What?” Amelia’s eyes widen in shock. “Chloe, are you serious? You can’t just-”

“Yes, I can,” Chloe cuts her off, already reaching for her phone. “She’s clearly up to something, and I’m not going to sit here and let her get away with it.”

Amelia tries to protest, but Chloe’s mind is already made up. Her fingers fly across her phone screen, dialing the non-emergency number. Her heart pounds in her chest as the call connects, and she presses the phone to her ear, pacing as she waits for someone to pick up.

“Chloe, this is crazy,” Amelia says again, her voice laced with anxiety. “You don’t even know-”

“Shh!” Chloe hisses, waving a hand to silence her.

Finally, the line clicks, and a calm voice greets her. “Thames Valley Police, how can I help you?”

Chloe takes a deep breath, her voice steady as she launches into her story. “Hi, I’m calling to report a suspicious vehicle. It’s parked outside my house, and I’m pretty sure it’s been stolen.”

The operator asks for details, and Chloe rattles off the make and model of the car, her eyes never leaving the Aston Martin still parked outside. She glances at Amelia, who’s biting her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation, but Chloe’s too far gone to care.

“I just … I know the girl who’s driving it, and there’s no way she could afford a car like that,” Chloe explains, her tone sharp. “I think she might have stolen it.”

The operator asks a few more questions, and Chloe answers each one with growing confidence. She can feel it in her bones — something’s off, and she’s not about to let it slide.

When the call ends, Chloe lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her hands shaking slightly as she lowers her phone.

“Chloe, you didn’t have to do that,” Amelia says quietly, her voice full of worry. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong,” Chloe insists, her jaw clenched. “You’ll see. The police will sort it out.”

She turns back to the window, her eyes narrowing as she watches the car, half-expecting something to happen. But nothing does. The car sits there, pristine and out of place, mocking her with its sheer audacity.

And you? You have no idea what’s coming.

***

It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon — one of those rare breaks between classes when you can actually catch your breath. The rain’s let up, and a misty sun filters through the clouds, casting a soft glow over the pavement outside. You’re halfway up the stairs to your room, your backpack slung over one shoulder, when there’s a loud knock on the door.

The sound is sharp, authoritative, and it echoes through the house, stopping you in your tracks. You glance down, frowning slightly. It’s not like you’re expecting anyone, and the others aren’t home yet. Maybe it’s just a delivery.

But then the knocking comes again — louder, more insistent. Your unease deepens as you drop your bag and head back down the stairs. By the time you reach the door, a faint prickle of anxiety is buzzing under your skin.

You pull the door open, and there they are — two uniformed officers standing on the doorstep. They look serious, their expressions neutral but firm, and you feel your heart sink. This isn’t a casual visit.

“Can I help you?” Your voice is steady, though confusion laces each word.

One of the officers, a tall woman with cropped brown hair and a no-nonsense gaze, steps forward. “Are you the owner of the Aston Martin parked outside?”

The question takes you by surprise. “Um, no,” you say, blinking at them. “It’s not mine, but-”

“We’re going to have to ask you to step outside, please,” the other officer, a man with a stern jawline and dark eyes, interrupts. He glances over your shoulder, as if assessing whether you’re alone.

“What’s this about?” You can hear the uncertainty in your voice now, a sharp edge creeping in. “The car belongs to my boyfriend. I’m just borrowing it-”

“Step outside, miss,” the woman repeats, her tone brooking no argument.

Swallowing hard, you do as you’re told, stepping out onto the front stoop. The chill of the autumn air hits you, and you wrap your arms around yourself instinctively. This isn’t making any sense.

“I don’t understand,” you say again, a little louder this time. “What’s going on?”

The officers exchange a look, and then the man speaks. “We received a report that the vehicle may have been stolen. We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Stolen?” The word feels foreign on your tongue. “No, it’s not stolen! I told you, it belongs to my boyfriend-”

“Do you have any proof of ownership?” the woman asks sharply, cutting you off. “Registration documents, anything like that?”

You open your mouth, then close it, frustration building. “The registration is in the glove compartment. If you just let me get it-”

“Stay where you are,” the man says firmly, holding up a hand to stop you. “We’ll check it ourselves.”

“Can’t you just let me show you?” You take a step forward, but both officers tense, their hands hovering near their belts. Your heart stutters in your chest, a cold trickle of fear sliding down your spine. “I’m telling the truth! I can unlock the car and show you. Please, just let me-”

“Miss, please calm down,” the woman says, her tone laced with a warning. “We’re following protocol here. If you cooperate, this will go much smoother.”

“But I am cooperating!” The words burst out, your voice rising despite yourself. “I’m not lying. It’s my boyfriend’s car, he let me borrow it while mine is in the shop-”

“Miss, we need you to step away from the vehicle,” the man says again, more forcefully this time. He pulls out a small notepad, flipping it open. “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

You hesitate, caught off guard. “Max,” you say finally, your voice faltering slightly. “Max Verstappen.”

There’s a pause — one that stretches uncomfortably long. The officers exchange another look, something almost skeptical passing between them.

“Right,” the woman says slowly, like she’s testing the words in her mouth. “And you expect us to believe that Max Verstappen, the Formula 1 driver, lent you his Aston Martin?”

“Yes!” Your hands are shaking now, anger and disbelief mixing with fear in a volatile cocktail. “Why would I lie about that? Just let me-”

“Miss,” the man interrupts, his tone hardening. “We need you to turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

The words hit you like a slap, knocking the breath from your lungs. “What? No, you can’t-”

“Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” he repeats, each word clipped and precise.

You look from him to the woman, desperation clawing at your throat. “Please, just let me open the car. I can prove it’s not stolen. Please-”

But they’re not listening. Before you can say another word, the woman steps forward, reaching for your arm. You flinch back instinctively, panic flaring in your chest.

“Don’t-”

“Miss, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” the woman says sharply, grabbing your wrist with practiced ease. She spins you around, her grip firm but not painful, and then you feel the cold, unforgiving bite of metal as she snaps a pair of handcuffs around your wrists.

“No, wait-” You twist, struggling against her hold, but it’s useless. The cuffs dig into your skin, and you can’t breathe, can’t think.

“Please, I didn’t do anything! You’re making a mistake!”

The man steps closer, his face impassive. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence …”

His voice blurs, the words running together in a nauseating hum. You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes. “No, no, please, I didn’t steal anything! Just call Max, he’ll explain-”

“Miss, we’re taking you down to the station,” the woman says, steering you away from the house and toward their patrol car parked at the curb. “We’ll sort this out there.”

“Wait!” You stumble, the cuffs biting into your wrists as they push you forward. “You’re not listening! The car isn’t stolen! If you just let me get the registration-”

But they ignore you, their grips unyielding. The street seems to tilt and blur as they guide you toward the back of the car, your shoes scuffing against the wet pavement. Everything feels surreal, like you’ve been dropped into a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

The woman opens the back door, and the man gives you a gentle but firm shove. You fall into the seat, the leather cold against your legs. They close the door with a solid thunk, the sound reverberating through your bones.

“Please,” you whisper, leaning forward as much as the cuffs allow. “You’re making a mistake. I’m telling the truth …”

But they’re already walking away, their voices low as they talk to each other. You catch fragments of their conversation — words like “protocol” and “standard procedure” — but it all feels distant, unreal.

You slump back in the seat, staring blankly out the window as the patrol car starts up, the engine a low, steady hum. The world outside blurs into a swirl of gray and green as they pull away from the curb, and your mind races, panic and disbelief tangling together in a messy knot.

How did this happen? One minute you were heading to your room, and now you’re being carted off to a police station like some sort of criminal. It doesn’t make any sense.

You try to replay the last few minutes in your head, searching for something — anything — you could have said or done differently. But there’s nothing. They weren’t listening to you. They didn’t care about your explanation. They just saw a girl with an expensive car and decided you must be guilty of something.

Tears prick your eyes again, and you blink them back furiously. You can’t fall apart now. You have to think, to figure out what to do next.

Max. You need to call Max. He’ll sort this out. He’ll tell them the truth, and they’ll have to let you go. But how are you supposed to do that when they’ve got you locked up in the back of a patrol car?

The drive to the station feels like it takes forever, each second dragging out in painful clarity. You try to keep calm, to breathe through the panic tightening in your chest, but it’s hard when every bump in the road makes the cuffs dig deeper into your skin.

Finally, they pull up in front of the station, and the officers get out, coming around to your side. The door opens, and the woman leans down, her expression unreadable.

“Come on, miss. Let’s get this sorted out.”

You nod numbly, letting them help you out of the car. Your legs feel shaky, your whole body trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. They lead you up the steps, through the front doors, and into a small, sterile room that smells faintly of disinfectant.

“Please,” you say one last time, your voice breaking. “Please, just call him. He’ll explain everything.”

But they only exchange another glance, and the woman shakes her head slightly. “Let’s get your statement first, miss.”

And then they’re sitting you down, the lights glaring down from above, the cuffs still biting into your wrists. And all you can do is sit there, your heart pounding in your chest, as the nightmare continues to unfold around you.

***

The fluorescent lights above hum softly, the cold, sterile environment of the police station pressing down on you from every angle. It feels like you’ve been here for hours, your wrists still red from the handcuffs, a dull ache in your joints from sitting on the hard chair. Every second stretches, torturing you with the weight of waiting.

You're trying to stay calm, but your thoughts keep spiraling — back to the car, back to the police showing up at your doorstep, back to the way they refused to listen. Your voice shakes every time you try to explain, but it’s like they can’t hear you. It’s suffocating.

Across the room, the officer — her name’s Thompson, you think — sits at her desk, flipping through some paperwork. The sound of pages turning feels louder than it should. Every time you shift in your seat, she gives you this look, like she’s annoyed by your very presence. Like she’s waiting for you to break.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“I want to make a phone call,” you say, your voice cutting through the stillness. You sit up straighter, your hands balled into fists on your lap.

Thompson doesn’t even look up. “You’ll get your chance,” she says dismissively, still flipping through the file.

“No,” you say, firmer this time. “I want to make it now. I have the right to make a phone call.”

This time, she looks up, her expression flat. “You’ll have to wait.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” you snap, surprising yourself with the force in your voice. Your patience is gone, the fear of being trapped in this nightmare pushing you into desperation. “I know my rights. I’m allowed one phone call, and I want to make it.”

Thompson raises an eyebrow, like she’s weighing whether or not you’re serious. After a beat, she sighs, pushing the stack of papers aside and standing. “Fine,” she says curtly. “One phone call.”

She leads you to a small side room — bare, with only a table, a chair, and a landline phone sitting in the middle. You sit down, and Thompson places the phone in front of you like it’s some kind of offering.

“One call,” she says again, her eyes narrowing. “Make it count.”

You don’t hesitate. You dial Max’s number, your fingers trembling slightly as you press the buttons. The ring tone fills the room, each ring stretching out the time between your breaths. You press the phone closer to your ear, your heart pounding.

It rings once. Twice. And then-

“Hello?”

Max’s voice comes through the line, smooth and steady, as if he’s just woken up from a nap and isn’t even remotely phased by the sudden call. But you know him better than that — there’s a sharp edge beneath the surface, a protective tension that’s always there when it comes to you.

You swallow hard, fighting back the lump in your throat. “Max …”

There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his tone shifts — serious, focused. “What’s wrong?”

“They arrested me,” you say, the words rushing out before you can stop them. “The police — they think I stole your car.”

There’s silence on the other end, just for a second. Then his voice drops, low and dangerous. “What?”

You feel the weight of his anger through the phone, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you feel a flicker of relief. He’s going to fix this. He’s not going to let them treat you like this.

“They showed up at the house,” you explain, your voice trembling slightly. “They wouldn’t let me get the registration. They didn’t believe me when I said the car was yours. They just-”

“Where are you?” His voice cuts through your explanation, sharp and commanding. “Which station?”

You glance around the room. “Bedfordshire Police Station. They won’t let me-”

“Stay where you are,” he says, his voice brooking no argument. “Don’t talk to anyone else. I’m on my way.”

The line goes dead before you can respond, the dial tone ringing in your ears. You stare at the phone for a moment, your heart racing. You know Max is angry — no, furious — but that anger isn’t directed at you. It’s for them, the people who put you in this position.

Thompson steps back into the room, her expression unreadable. “Finished?”

You nod, handing the phone back. She doesn’t say anything as she leads you back to the main room, but you can feel her eyes on you, judging, assessing.

You sit down again, your legs shaky, but now there’s a quiet fire burning in your chest. Max is coming. He’s going to make this right.

The minutes tick by, painfully slow. Thompson goes back to her paperwork, the other officers moving around the station like it’s just another day. But for you, every second is excruciating, the tension building in your chest like a storm.

Then, finally, the door to the station swings open with a heavy thud, and you hear the low murmur of voices — followed by a voice you’d recognize anywhere.

Max.

You can’t see him from where you’re sitting, but you can feel the shift in the room. There’s a sudden stillness, the officers glancing up from their desks, their postures stiffening. Even Thompson’s face changes, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she composes herself.

You strain to hear the conversation at the front desk, but it’s muffled. Still, you catch bits and pieces — his name, the car, your name. And then there’s the sharp, unmistakable edge of authority in Max’s voice as he says something that makes the desk officer sit up a little straighter.

Moments later, the door to the holding area swings open, and there he is. Max strides in, every movement purposeful, his eyes locking onto you immediately. There’s a fire in his gaze — controlled, but fierce — and the tension in his jaw tells you everything you need to know.

He’s not just angry. He’s livid.

“Max …” Your voice is small, a mixture of relief and shame. You hadn’t wanted to drag him into this mess, but you also know that no one else could’ve handled it the way he can.

He crosses the room in a few quick strides, his hand reaching for yours. “Are you okay?” His voice is low, steady, but you can hear the tightness underneath it.

You nod, but tears prick at your eyes. “I-I didn’t know what to do. They wouldn’t listen to me …”

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve got it from here.” His tone is resolute, his eyes never leaving yours.

Then, without another word to you, Max turns to face the officers. His entire demeanor shifts, his posture straightening, his presence filling the room with an air of control that demands respect.

“Who’s in charge here?” He asks, his voice calm but unmistakably authoritative.

Thompson steps forward, though there’s a flicker of hesitation in her movements. “I am,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “Officer Thompson.”

Max doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “You arrested my girlfriend under suspicion of theft. I’d like to see the evidence you have for that.”

Thompson falters, her eyes flicking over to the other officers. “We … we received a report of a stolen vehicle, and-”

“And instead of verifying the ownership, you decided to arrest her?” Max’s voice is cold, each word measured. “Did you even check the registration in the glove compartment?”

Thompson’s jaw tightens. “We were following standard procedure. She became agitated and-”

“She was agitated because you were treating her like a criminal,” Max cuts in, his tone sharp. “You had no reason to arrest her. If you had checked the registration, you would’ve seen my name on it.”

He takes a step closer, his presence towering over Thompson, making her shift uneasily on her feet. “Do you know who I am?”

There’s a beat of silence. The room feels like it’s holding its breath.

Thompson nods slowly. “Yes. Mr. Verstappen, we-”

“Then you know how much trouble you’re in,” Max says, his voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. “You’re going to release her. Now. And then you’re going to issue a formal apology.”

Thompson blinks, clearly taken aback by his bluntness. “Mr. Verstappen, I understand your frustration, but we were simply-”

“Don’t patronize me,” Max interrupts, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room. “You’ve already made a mess of this situation. Don’t make it worse by pretending this was some kind of mistake. You arrested her because you assumed she didn’t belong in that car. Because you didn’t bother to listen.”

Thompson opens her mouth to argue, but Max doesn’t give her the chance. “I’ll be contacting my legal team,” he says, his tone firm. “And if you don’t release her immediately, I’ll make sure this becomes a very public issue.”

The threat hangs in the air, thick and heavy. Thompson hesitates for a moment longer, and then — finally — she nods.

“Release her,” she says quietly, signaling to one of the other officers.

The relief that washes over you is immediate, your heart pounding in your chest as the handcuffs are removed. Max’s hand is on your shoulder in an instant, grounding you, his touch warm and reassuring.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice softening as he looks down at you. “We’re getting out of here.”

You nod, letting him guide you out of the station. But before you step through the door, you glance back at Thompson, who’s still standing there, her expression strained.

Max pauses, following your gaze. He meets Thompson’s eyes, his expression unreadable. “Don’t ever treat her like that again,” he says quietly, the words carrying more weight than any threat could.

And with that, he leads you out into the cool night air, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you step outside.

***

Max’s fingers are wrapped tightly around your wrist, his grip firm but not painful, as he guides you toward his car in the station’s dimly lit parking lot. It’s quieter out here, the cool air thick with the scent of autumn leaves and something sharper — the lingering smell of petrol. The night is still, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of chaos you’ve just been dragged through.

But Max’s silence is unnerving. He’s holding onto your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

He stops in front of a sleek, black Porsche 911 GT3 RS, the kind of car that turns heads and raises eyebrows. It’s an aggressive machine, all sharp edges and raw power — just like Max right now.

“Get in,” he says, his voice low and controlled, as if he’s holding back a storm. He opens the passenger side door for you, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

You hesitate for a second, looking up at him, trying to gauge his mood. “Max-”

“Get. In,” he repeats, enunciating each word with a finality that leaves no room for argument.

You slip into the passenger seat without another word, the leather cool against your skin. The car’s interior is immaculate, everything in its place, the faint smell of new leather lingering in the air. Max rounds the front of the car and slides into the driver’s seat, his movements tight and controlled. He doesn’t say anything as he starts the engine, the car roaring to life with a low, throaty growl.

He peels out of the parking lot with a precision that feels almost surgical, his eyes locked on the road ahead, his jaw clenched. The silence between you is heavy, charged with an emotion you can’t quite name.

“Max-”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” His voice cuts through the quiet like a blade, sharp and accusing. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Tell you what?”

“That they arrested you,” he says, each word bitten off like it’s leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “That they-” He breaks off, shaking his head like he can’t even bring himself to say it. “Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

You swallow hard, your gaze dropping to your lap. “I-I didn’t want to worry you. You were probably busy, and-”

“Busy?” He lets out a short, humorless laugh, his eyes flashing as he glances at you. “You think I care about being busy when something like this happens? When you’re involved?”

“Max, I didn’t want you to-”

“To what? Be pissed off? Too late for that,” he snaps, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. He takes a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel loosening slightly. “What happened, exactly?”

You tell him, your voice halting at first but gaining strength as you recount every detail — the officers showing up, the handcuffs, the questions, the disbelief when you tried to explain the car belonged to him. Max’s expression darkens with each word, his jaw set in a hard line.

“They just … wouldn’t listen,” you finish softly, staring down at your hands. “I told them it was yours. I even tried to show them the registration, but they didn’t care.”

“They didn’t care because they had already made up their minds,” Max growls, his voice a dangerous rumble. “They saw you and assumed you didn’t belong in that car.”

He exhales slowly, trying to steady himself. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the way he’s fighting to keep his temper in check.

“Why would they think the car was stolen in the first place?” He mutters, more to himself than to you. His fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel, his mind clearly racing.

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Someone must have reported it,” you say slowly, the realization dawning on you as you speak. “Someone must have seen me with it and assumed …”

Max’s gaze snaps to you, sharp and focused. “Who would do that?”

“I-I don’t know.” You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “It could’ve been anyone. The car … it stands out. Maybe someone thought it looked out of place at the house.”

Max’s frown deepens. “No,” he says firmly, his eyes narrowing. “No, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone who knows you. Someone who knew that wasn’t your car.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and damning. Someone who knew you. Someone who saw you with the Aston Martin. Someone who-

“One of your housemates,” Max says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur.

You open your mouth to protest, but then you stop, the pieces falling into place in your mind. One of your housemates. One of the people who knows you can’t afford a car like that, who might have thought — wrongly, jealously — that you had gotten your hands on it through some shady means.

Max’s eyes are hard, unyielding. “It has to be,” he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Someone saw you with the car and called the police. There’s no other explanation.”

You take a deep breath, the realization settling in your chest like a lead weight. “But … why would they do that? Why would they assume I stole it?”

“Because people are idiots,” Max mutters, his gaze flicking back to the road. “Because people are jealous. And because they didn’t like seeing you with something they thought you shouldn’t have.”

There’s a bitter edge to his words, and it makes your heart ache. Max has dealt with his share of jealousy, of people looking at him like he doesn’t deserve what he’s earned. He knows what it’s like to be judged, to have assumptions made about him based on nothing but surface impressions.

But this is different. This is personal.

“Whoever did this,” Max says, his voice low and controlled, “is going to regret it.”

Your eyes widen, a pang of fear and something else — something almost like excitement — flaring in your chest. “Max, wait-”

“We’re going to your house,” he continues, his tone brooking no argument. “We’re going to find out who made that call, and I’m going to make sure they understand exactly what kind of trouble they’ve caused.”

“Max, no,” you protest, your voice rising. “You don’t have to do that. I-I can handle it. I’ll talk to them, I’ll-”

“No, you won’t.” He glances at you, his eyes blazing. “You’ve been through enough tonight. I’m handling this.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the look on his face stops you cold. There’s a steely determination in his eyes, an unshakeable resolve that tells you there’s no point in fighting him on this.

He’s already made up his mind.

“Max, please-”

“Enough,” he says softly, but there’s no gentleness in his tone. “I’m not letting them get away with this.”

You fall silent, your heart racing as the car speeds down the quiet, empty streets. The tension in the car is suffocating, but there’s also a strange sense of relief. Relief that he’s here, that he’s taking control, that he’s going to make this right.

You know you should feel bad, should feel guilty for dragging him into this mess. But right now, all you feel is a fierce, overwhelming sense of gratitude.

Max’s hand finds yours again, his fingers lacing through yours, squeezing gently. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m going to take care of it.”

You nod, swallowing back the words you want to say — the apologies, the pleas for him not to do anything reckless. Because you know it won’t make a difference. Max is stubborn, determined, protective to a fault. And when it comes to you, he’s willing to do whatever it takes.

The drive to your house feels both too long and too short, every second charged with anticipation. When Max finally pulls up outside your shared house, he cuts the engine and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“Stay in the car,” he says firmly.

You blink, surprised. “What?”

“Stay. In. The. Car.” He enunciates each word with that same controlled intensity, his eyes boring into yours. “I’m going inside.”

“Max, you can’t-”

“I can and I will,” he interrupts, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I’m not letting you go in there and face them after everything that’s happened tonight.”

He reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soft, soothing gesture. “Just stay here, okay? Let me handle it.”

You want to argue, to tell him it’s not necessary, but the look in his eyes stops you. There’s a fierce protectiveness there, a determination that makes your chest tighten.

“Max …”

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice softening. “Just this once. Let me take care of it.”

You hesitate, then nod slowly. “Okay.”

He leans forward, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your forehead before pulling back. “Good.”

And with that, he steps out of the car, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. You watch as he strides toward the front door of your house, his shoulders squared, his posture radiating confidence and control.

But the second he disappears from view, you find yourself reaching for the door handle. You know he told you to stay in the car. You know he wants to protect you.

But you can’t just sit here and let him fight your battles for you.

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open and step out into the cool night air, following him up the path toward the house.

***

The door swings open with a resounding bang, ricocheting with enough force to make the picture frames on the adjacent wall rattle. Every head in the common room snaps up, eyes wide and startled as they turn toward the unexpected intrusion.

Max stands in the doorway, the very picture of barely restrained fury, his presence so commanding it seems to suck the air out of the room. His gaze sweeps over the small group of people lounging on the mismatched sofas, taking in their shocked expressions and slack-jawed stares with a level of disdain that’s almost palpable.

“What the hell is going on?” He demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl that reverberates through the room.

No one answers immediately. They’re all too stunned, too caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the tall, broad-shouldered stranger radiating aggression. It’s Chloe who finally finds her voice, pushing herself up from her seat on the sofa and taking a hesitant step forward.

“Um, excuse me, but who are you?” Her voice wavers slightly, but she lifts her chin defiantly, trying to project an air of authority. “You can’t just barge in here like this.”

Max’s eyes lock onto her, and something in his gaze makes her flinch back, the confidence in her stance faltering. He doesn’t bother answering her question. Instead, he turns his head slightly, calling out over his shoulder.

“Come in here,” he says, his tone softer but no less commanding.

You step into the doorway behind him, hesitant and unsure, your gaze flicking nervously between Max and your housemates. You don’t miss the way their expressions shift when they see you — surprise, confusion, and something darker, more judgmental, flickering across their faces.

“Y/N?” It’s Amelia who speaks this time, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on? Who is this guy?”

Max’s jaw tightens, his gaze still fixed on Chloe. “I’m Max,” he says curtly, as if the name alone should explain everything.

It clearly doesn’t. The blank stares from around the room make that abundantly clear.

“Max Verstappen,” he adds, impatience lacing his tone. Still no recognition. “Formula 1 driver? Y/N’s boyfriend?” He tries again, a hint of disbelief in his voice now.

A flicker of something like realization crosses a few faces, but Chloe just scoffs, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yeah, sure,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “And I’m Lewis Hamilton.”

Max’s lips curl into a cold, humorless smile. “Trust me, I would never want to be him.”

The comment flies over Chloe’s head, but it’s enough to send a ripple of laughter through the room. Max’s smile fades as quickly as it came, his expression hardening once more.

“I’m her boyfriend,” he says again flatly, jerking his head in your direction. “And I’m here to find out which one of you decided it was a good idea to call the police and have her arrested.”

The laughter dies instantly. The air in the room thickens with tension, eyes darting from Max to you and back again.

“Arrested?” Amelia repeats, her voice rising in pitch. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Max snaps, his gaze still boring into Chloe, like he can see straight through her. “One of you called the cops and reported her for driving a stolen car. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

A murmur of confusion ripples through the group, genuine bewilderment on most faces. But Chloe’s eyes dart away, a flicker of guilt crossing her expression before she schools it back into one of indifference.

“What — no, that’s ridiculous!” She says, her voice a touch too high-pitched. “Why would any of us do that?”

Max’s gaze narrows, his eyes zeroing in on her like a hawk spotting prey. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet. “You tell me.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and heavy. Chloe shifts uncomfortably, her gaze flickering toward the others as if searching for support. But no one says anything. No one moves.

“Look,” Chloe finally says, trying for a breezy tone that falls flat. “If she got arrested, that’s … that’s not our fault, okay? Maybe there was a misunderstanding or something.”

Max’s eyes flash, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the barely restrained fury simmering beneath the surface.

“A misunderstanding?” He repeats, his voice deceptively calm. “Yeah, I’d say there was a huge misunderstanding. Like the fact that you assumed she couldn’t possibly be driving that car legitimately. Like the fact that you assumed she’d have to steal it to have something that nice.”

He takes a step closer to Chloe, and she instinctively steps back, her expression faltering. “Whoever made that call didn’t just cause a ‘misunderstanding.’ They caused a whole lot of trouble for no reason other than pettiness and jealousy.”

“Hey, wait a minute-” One of the other housemates tries to interject, but Max doesn’t even spare her a glance.

“Do you know what it’s like to get a phone call telling you the person you love is sitting in a cell?” He asks, his gaze never leaving Chloe’s face. “Do you know what it’s like to hear that they were treated like a criminal just because someone here,” — he practically spits the word — “decided to be a self-righteous, vindictive bitch?”

The room goes deathly silent. Chloe’s face has gone pale, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, no words forthcoming.

“Max, maybe we should-” you start, reaching out to touch his arm.

He cuts you off with a quick shake of his head, his eyes still locked on Chloe. “No. She needs to hear this.”

You shrink back slightly, your stomach twisting with a mix of anxiety and something else — something like relief. Because as harsh as Max is being, there’s a part of you that’s grateful. Grateful that he’s standing up for you, that he’s putting words to all the anger and frustration you’ve been bottling up since this whole nightmare began.

“You don’t get to treat people like that,” Max continues, his voice low and cold. “You don’t get to make snap judgments about someone based on what you think they deserve. And you sure as hell don’t get to sic the cops on them just because you’re too insecure to handle seeing someone else with something you want.”

Chloe’s lips tremble, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape route. “I … I didn’t …”

“Didn’t what?” Max demands, his voice rising. “Didn’t think it would matter? Didn’t think about the consequences? Or didn’t think you’d get caught?”

The accusation hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. No one moves. No one breathes.

“I didn’t think-” Chloe starts, but the words catch in her throat. She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I just — I thought …”

Max lets out a short, harsh laugh. “Yeah, you thought. That’s the problem.”

He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, steadier, but no less cutting.

“You know what? I don’t even care what your excuse is,” he says quietly. “Because there is no excuse. Nothing you say is going to change what you did. Nothing is going to make up for the fact that you had her dragged off in handcuffs for no reason other than your own messed-up assumptions.”

Chloe flinches at the words, her shoulders hunching as if she’s trying to make herself smaller. You almost feel a pang of sympathy for her — almost. But then you remember the cold metal of the handcuffs around your wrists, the humiliating feeling of being treated like a criminal, and the sympathy evaporates.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Max says, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re going to apologize. Right now. To her.”

He steps back slightly, giving Chloe a clear line of sight to you. She hesitates, her gaze flicking up to yours, and for a moment, she just stares at you, her eyes wide and fearful.

“I … I’m sorry,” she finally mutters, the words barely audible.

Max’s gaze hardens. “Louder.”

“I’m sorry,” Chloe repeats, her voice trembling. “I-I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand. I just … I thought the car was … that it wasn’t …”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish. But she trails off, her face crumpling with guilt and shame. It’s not much of an apology, but it’s more than you expected.

You take a deep breath, nodding slowly. “Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

Max nods once, satisfied. “Good. Now, if I ever hear about you pulling something like this again,” he says, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “you’ll regret it. Understand?”

Chloe nods frantically, her face ashen. “Y-Yes, I understand.”

“Great.” Max turns away from her, his gaze softening as it lands on you. “Come on,” he murmurs, reaching out to take your hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

***

The Porsche purrs along the quiet stretch of motorway, the engine’s deep growl a steady undercurrent to the conversation hanging in the air. It’s late — well past midnight — but neither of you seem in any hurry to get home. There’s a lingering tension, a heaviness that neither of you know quite how to disperse.

Max’s hand grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles stark against the leather. You watch him from the corner of your eye, the faint glow of the dashboard casting shadows across his face. His jaw is set, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that betrays the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

He hasn’t said much since leaving your house. Just a few clipped sentences, terse reassurances that he’s not mad at you, that you didn’t do anything wrong. But the words feel hollow, inadequate against the weight of what happened tonight.

After a few more minutes of silence, Max finally speaks, his voice low and controlled. “I talked to the mechanics earlier today.”

You blink, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. “The mechanics?”

“Yeah.” He glances at you briefly before returning his gaze to the road. “About your car.”

Oh. You feel a pang of anxiety, your stomach twisting unpleasantly. You’d almost forgotten about your poor, beat-up little car, abandoned at some garage in Milton Keynes. “What did they say?”

Max hesitates, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “It’s … not good.”

You swallow hard, your heart sinking. “What do you mean?”

“They think it’s beyond saving.” His voice is careful, as if he’s trying to break the news gently. “There’s too much damage. The engine’s shot, the transmission’s on its last legs … basically, it’d cost more to repair it than it’s worth.”

You stare at him, uncomprehending. “But … but I just had it serviced a few months ago,” you protest weakly. “It shouldn’t be that bad-”

“It’s not your fault,” Max interrupts gently. “That car’s been through hell. It’s a miracle it’s lasted as long as it has.”

“But I can’t just … give up on it,” you say, a note of desperation creeping into your voice. “It’s my car, Max. I need it.”

“You need a car,” Max corrects softly. “Not that car. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I can’t afford a new one right now. I still have to pay for-”

“Hey, hey.” Max’s hand leaves the steering wheel to rest on your knee, squeezing gently. “I’m not saying you have to buy a new car.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicion flaring. “What are you saying, then?”

“I’m saying,” Max begins, his tone careful, measured, “that I’ll get you a new one.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, your mind struggling to process what he’s suggesting.

“No,” you say finally, shaking your head vehemently. “Absolutely not.”

Max’s brow furrows, his gaze flickering to yours. “Why not?”

“Because … because that’s ridiculous!” You sputter. “I’m not letting you buy me a car. That’s way too much.”

“It’s not too much if you need it,” he argues calmly.

“Yes, it is!” You insist, your voice rising. “It’s too much, and it’s not your responsibility. I’ll figure something out-”

“Like what?” Max challenges, his voice sharpening. “What are you going to do, keep borrowing cars you’re hesitant to actually use? Take public transport everywhere? What happens when you need to get somewhere and you don’t have a ride?”

“I’ll manage,” you say stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest. “I always have.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to anymore,” Max snaps, his frustration breaking through. “Why won’t you just let me help you?”

“Because it’s not your problem to solve!” You shout back, the words bursting out before you can stop them.

Max goes silent, his gaze turning stony. For a few long moments, the only sound in the car is the steady thrum of the engine and your own harsh breathing.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach twist. “You’re my girlfriend. That means if you have a problem, it is my problem to solve.”

The certainty in his tone makes your breath catch in your throat. You look at him, really look at him, and see the determination blazing in his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw.

“Max …” you begin softly, but he cuts you off with a quick shake of his head.

“No, listen to me.” He takes a deep breath, his hand tightening on your knee. “I know you’re independent. I know you’re used to handling things on your own. But this isn’t about money, or pride, or any of that. It’s about making sure you’re safe, that you have what you need to get around. And right now, that means getting you a new car.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he presses on, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“Let me do this for you,” he says quietly, almost pleadingly. “Please.”

His sincerity takes the wind out of your sails, your protests dying on your lips. You stare at him, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders.

“But … it’s just … too much,” you say weakly, your resolve crumbling.

Max’s expression softens, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think so. And even if it is, I don’t care. You’re worth it.”

The simple, earnest declaration sends a rush of warmth flooding through you, your heart swelling in your chest. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you blink them back furiously, refusing to let them fall.

“Why do you have to be so damn convincing?” You mutter, half exasperated, half amused.

Max’s smile widens slightly, his thumb brushing gently over your knee. “It’s a gift.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he says dryly, his eyes twinkling with a hint of humor. “So … you’ll let me do this?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. It still feels like too much, like accepting would be crossing some invisible line. But there’s a part of you that knows he’s right — that trying to handle this on your own would be stubborn and impractical and would probably end up causing more problems than it’s worth.

And more than that, you can see how much it means to him. How much he wants to do this for you.

“Fine,” you say finally, letting out a long sigh. “But only because you’re so damn insistent.”

Max’s grin is dazzling, the relief and joy in his eyes almost overwhelming. “Good. I’ll start looking for something first thing tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind the gesture. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he counters smoothly, his grin widening at your soft, exasperated laugh.

“Cheesy,” you accuse, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“Maybe,” he concedes with a shrug. “But it’s true.”

You shake your head, your heart feeling lighter than it has in days. “I’m still not letting you get me something ridiculously expensive,” you warn, trying to sound stern.

“We’ll see,” Max says noncommittally, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Max-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he says quickly, holding up his free hand in mock surrender. “We’ll get something practical, okay? Something that’s safe and reliable and not … ridiculous.”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “Promise?”

Max’s smile softens, and he nods, his gaze holding yours steadily. “Promise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, a sense of peace settling over you. Maybe it’s not ideal, accepting something so big from him, but … maybe it’s okay to let him take care of you, just this once.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

Max’s smile is soft and warm and full of so much affection it makes your chest ache. He leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. “No, thank you.”

1K notes · View notes

lamefish · 2 days ago

Text

kento nanami is an anniversary man. nsfw

you think it's sweet, how he has the date of big events in his life on memory. when it's a loss, he'll take the day off to remember, with his head in your lap as he tells stories of whomever has passed. you listen intently, ask questions about them and watch as your husband recounts every good thing about a person.

he celebrates the good, too. almost excessively. the date you met is circled on the calendar, and kento will wake you up with breakfast in bed and a day of doting to show you just how important this anniversary is to him. you turned his world upside down in the best of ways, and what kind of man is he if not one to celebrate the light in his life?

of course, your wedding anniversary too. it's the one he goes all out for: more often than not you put a weekend aside to take a trip and spend some uninterrupted time together. you'll act as newlyweds again, because you still feel like newlyweds despite the passing years, and you'll be reminded over and over just how lucky you are to have found your soulmate in a man like kento nanami.

a man who is sentimental, and so very in love with you. and also celebrates the first time you had sex.

that first year, he had spent the day doting on you so profusely that you were convinced he was going to propose. he was pulling out all of the stops, taking you out fopr an expensive meal, dosing you with fine wines and so many kisses you could get drunk off the taste of him alone. he took you home, ran you a scented bath and took care of the house while you relaxed.

and of course the night ended in mind blowing sex—as your nights usually do. he had insisted on fucking you in missionary despite his recent penchant for taking you from behind and, once he has ripped two orgasms from you and was working on your third, he let it slip.

“we made love for the first time a year ago today,” he whispers against your lips, cock pulsing inside of you as he reaches deep inside of you. “just like this—looking into each others eyes, three orgasms from you, two from me. fell in love with you that night, do you know that honey?”

“you kept track of the day?” you cant finish your sentence without a moan breaking from your throat. “kento, you’re something else.”

“of course i did. it’s an important date, reaching such intimacies—feeling these beautiful velvet walls of yours for the first time… i’ll never forget it.”

you laugh, though it’s quickly swallowed by a kiss from your lover. he rocks his hips into you, feels every inch of his veiny cock disappear inside. he looks down to watch himself sink into you, though his gaze his brought back when you speak.

“three.”

kento blinks. “three what?”

“orgasms from you. you said you had two, but you came a third time right at the end—i milked you dry and you were so sex-drunk and exhausted but you insisted on making me food.” you reach down and grab his hand, the one that had been cupping at your chest, and hold it up for him to see the gentle scar that runs across his thumb. “you cut yourself slicing the bread because i fucked you mindless.”

it comes back to him in gentle flashes. you had, in fact, milked him of a third release. he had just been so out of his mind with nerves and pleasure that the memory had washed itself clean from his mind. he scolds himself mentally for ever daring to forget a detail about being intimate with you, but smiles.

“i remember,” he says. “you told me sex made you hungry so i wanted to incorporate it into your aftercare…”

“silly man,” you wrap your legs around his waist and lick your ankles behind him. with a gentle nudge, he’s forced that tiny bit deeper inside of you. “my silly man.”

kento moans—his eyes flutter shut and his lips catch between his teeth. he adores you—he really does. so much so that the sheer memory of his first time with you is quickly becoming too powerful of a memory to have.

and you, his beautiful other half, laid beneath him with lustful eyes and parted lips, smile up at him. “are we recreating our first time, ken? is that what this is?”

he nods, a little wordless as he tries to keep his mind straight.

“then i think you know what i’m going to do to you, my love.”

he smiles. “milk me for all i have. it’s all yours anyways.”

you lean up and kiss him. it’s slow, gentle, like your first kiss with him was. you taste him wholly on your lips and thank all the divine beings that may exist for putting such a man in your life’s trajectory. his cock twitches inside of you, he fills you out so perfectly.

still, you smile as you roll your hips up to meet his. “just let me handle the aftercare this time.”

#kento nanami smut #nanami smut #nanami x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami

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smutoperator · 2 days ago

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A Night to Remember

Shin Yuna x Male Reader (+5 more guys)

Tags: anal, backseat foreplay, blowbang, bush, couch sex, double penetration, facefucking, filling every hole, free use, fuckdoll, gangbang, golden shower, queefing

Word count: 5109

Yuna was getting herself ready for a special night. After taking a shower, she put on lipstick, combed her hair, and looked at her beautiful self in the mirror until she received a text message.

"Are you still going out tonight?" you sent a message to Yuna, who stopped to read it and reply. "I'm getting ready now, hope you bring the whole team, I want to fuck them all" Yuna replied, already showing her naughty intentions.

Yuna finished dressing herself up, putting on a beautiful dress that barely covered her ass, and went outside, where a huge car with your crew of friends inside was already parked waiting for her. "Good night," you greeted Yuna in the driver's seat as she fit her tall, slim body inside a packed car with 6 guys inside.

"So, where are we going tonight?" Yuna asked. "A very nice spot, but we have to keep it a secret," the guy in the front passenger's seat answered her. You kept trying not to distract yourself as you drove the crew to the destination, but Yuna was right in your mirror's sight in the backseat of the car, making it very difficult for you to concentrate.

Yuna smiled as the guy looked at her. "Ohhhh a secret, I'm ready for you guys to give me a great surprise," she said. "You can count on it," you told her as the two dudes on the backseat alongside Yuna started sharing kisses with her, you reaching her hands on her legs while they touched her dress close to her tits.

The touching got more and more intense. "Looks like I'm getting in some trouble tonight," Yuna said as the guys' wandering hands kept touching her hot body in every spot.

Yuna opened her legs in the backseat of the car, unveiling her white panties under her dress. As soon as she did, the guy in the front passenger's seat pulled them to the side, only to be surprised by the massive bush she spotted in her pubic area.

"Damn, that's quite a big bush," you said as you looked in the mirror. "Well, I usually keep it fully shaved down there but for tonight I wanted to be a little wider and keep it untouched," Yuna said. It was the first time you had seen her with a bushy vagina but you enjoyed seeing it, indeed, it felt very different and gave her a more mature aura.

You guys hadn't even arrived at your destination, but Yuna was so tempting you were already running your hands all over her pussy. In the middle of her sexy bush, her throbbing red lips appeared, her rubbing her clit and teasing the crew while you filmed them. Soon, the guys were digging their hands deep inside her cunt, leading her to smile brightly.

Yuna pulled her panties down, handing them to you as the guys kept massaging her spot. You smiled as you sniffed her underwear, the amazing scent of her pussy impregnating your nostrils and getting you even hornier. Yuna tried to grab her panties back, but you pushed them out of her reach. "They are mine now, you don't need those for tonight," you told her as both of you laughed.

The guys in the backseat pulled Yuna's dress to the side as well, unveiling her perky and delicious tits in the process. Yuna moaned and smiled as both guys to her side dove to suck her boobs like hungry babies while she rubbed her clit. And that was just the start.

"Are you guys gonna fuck all my holes tonight, pass me around and share me?" Yuna asked. "Yes, and we are gonna cum in all of them too," you answered. You always loved that Yuna always asked the right questions, she had no fear of openly talking about the way she wanted to get used, fucked, pounded, truly a girl that was horny 24/7/365.

"Fuck, ahhhhh, you're getting me so wet," Yuna moaned as you reached to finger her clit and prepare herself for a special night. You guys finally reached the destination, climbing upstairs to the secret house you had rented for tonight. "That's it, it's going to happen, I'm gonna get passed around until I tap out," Yuna said, already heavily anticipating the special night.

"Hi boys," Yuna greeted your crew as she was the last to arrive in the living room. "Hey hey hey," you greeted her back as the guys were chilling in the room with their t-shirts already out and their muscles in full display. As Yuna was still mesmerized, you surprised her from behind, grabbing her tits as the guys one by one got out of their chairs and started surrounding her.

You kiss Yuna's neck as hands run all over her. "That's so fucking sexy," she says. "Fuck, I wanna taste all of you," she continues as you pick up her phone and film her getting groped from all sides by your crew, her tits popping out of her dress already. But Yuna is unfazed, as she moves in your direction and rips your belt off in one go, quickly getting her hands on her most coveted prize.

Yuna grabs your already hard cock and starts massaging it. The other guys quickly get jealous, answering by ripping her dress apart. Yuna smiles as she gets stripped naked and her dress tossed to the floor. One guy sucks her tits while another runs his hand over her belly.

Yuna quickly gets on her knees as she gets surrounded by cocks from all sides. You're the first to serve her, putting your meat right in her horny mouth and filming as she sucks it. Rotating in a clockwise direction, Yuna goes through each guy's cock, sucking them to perfection as she puts their shafts deeper and deeper in her throat.

"Give me all those cocks please," Yuna commands as she reaches the final guy in the circle, jerking his cock off hard and deepthroating him. She keeps moving from guy to guy. When your turn arrives again, you grab her head and fuck her pretty face, shoving it in the direction of your crotch and enjoying the gagging sounds that come out of her mouth while your balls hit her chin.

"Choke on this dick, bitch," you tell Yuna as your meat bulges under her cheeks. She tries to push back but you quickly show her who's in control, taking another round of fast thrusts into her mouth as you grab Yuna right by her long hair and make her gag on your cock.

"It's free use night, guys," you tell your crew as Yuna moves to please the other dudes. She bobs her head on the next cock, but just like with you, quickly gets her face pounded once again. She looks at you with her big eyes wide open and jerks your cock off while choking on the dude's dick, finishing with a gagging deepthroat.

Yuna gets hornier and hornier, making insane moves with her mouth as she gives head to all your crew, stuffing her mouth full of cock and deepthroating them one by one while giving her attention to at least two more cocks as she jerks them off. "Pound that fucking mouth," you tell your friends, who follow your instructions perfectly, grabbing Yuna's head and thrusting their huge cocks right inside it as soon as she starts sucking them.

Yuna remains surrounded by cocks for many minutes, enjoying every second of it as she gets to taste multiple flavors of man meat. Rapidly moving her head from one cock to another, Yuna quickly takes control of the situation, you guys struggling to keep pace with her fast-moving mouth that jumps from cock to cock with ease.

You try to tame Yuna with another facefuck, to no avail as she handles it with ease and slowly rises to be the star of the show. Your cocks are now at her mercy, Yuna now choking on every dick that gets in her sight, handling the plowings to her face like a champion.

"YEAHHHHH!" Yuna enthusiastically screams as you get behind her and bend her over. She knows what's coming and can't wait for the real fun to start. "Are you ready to fuck me? Stuff all my fucking holes?" Yuna asks, grabbing two other cocks to keep sucking while you shove yours in her pussy. "AHHHH," she moans as your large meat penetrates her cunt, making her go even crazier and bounce her mouth from cock to cock on the opposite side.

"OH FUCK," Yuna screams as you start giving her pussy the first thrusts while she gets spit-roasted, the guy with the cock in her mouth always fucking her face. "OH FUCK THAT FEELS GOOD," she keeps moaning as your cock gets deeper inside her.

You detach Yuna from the other guys cocks, grabbing her slim waist and pushing her supermodel body in your direction. "FUCK YEAH USE ME, AHHHHH, AHHHH" she screams as she gets plowed from behind in a standing doggy position and grope her cute tits. The other guys don't stand idle, worshipping her hot body with kisses and licks as you stretch out Yuna's tight, bushy pussy.

"OH GOD I LOVE YOUR COCK, OH YEAH, FUCK, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH" Yuna moans as she rolls her eyes with you pounding her harder and harder from behind, her slim body jiggling at each thrust you give deep in her cunt. After a few more poundings, you drop her to keep sucking the other guys' cocks, watching as she goes full slutty and deepthroats them one by one.

"Oh yeah, give me all of them," Yuna begs as she's encircled again and you guys slap your cocks in her pretty face and then plow it one by one. She sticks her tongue out, giving each guy a no-hands blowjob while always keeping her hands occupied jerking other cocks off. "Yes baby, such a good girl," you say as Yuna endlessly bobs her head on those big cocks, covering them full of her nasty saliva.

"Come on, bitch, suck those cocks," you tell Yuna, giving her cute big pale ass a spank as it lines behind you. She immediately follows your orders, giving the guy in front of her a soul-sucking blowjob, you pick up her phone to film it as she stays glued to the guy's balls. "Oh damn it," the dude says as his massive cock just disappears inside Yuna's sexy mouth.

"That's right," you tell Yuna as another guy spanks her ass while she bends over once again to lick your shaft. With her pussy ripe for the taking, the other guys line up behind her, ready to use her in heavy rotation.

"It's free use time," you tell the guys as Yuna chokes on your cock. "HMMMM, HMMM, HMMMM," she moans as her mouth gets stuffed full of your meat and her cunt gets stuffed too. "YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, AHHHHH," she continues to moan as one dude grabs her waist and plows her from behind. Yuna gets caught by surprise with his hard thrusts but quickly searches for your cock to put it back in her mouth and for two more on her side to jerk it off.

Yuna gets used nonstop, as each guy fucks her harder than the previous one, while your cock holds a monopoly of her mouth. "DON'T STOP, I WANNA FUCK ALL OF YOU" she says, tapping her clit as she gets her bushy pussy destroyed by your crew of monster cocks, you taking advantage to film her getting fucked hard from behind as your friends' cocks rotate in her holes and her tits bounce like crazy.

"Give me more," Yuna begs as she sticks her tongue out to suck more cock, you filming all of it from her phone as she's got one cock in her pussy, one in her mouth, and two in her hands. You quickly move back into the circle, as your friends use Yuna like a bunch of horny animals and you don't want to be left behind on that, muffling her moans as she gets put on all fours by one of the guys and begs him to use her. "OH YEAH USE MY PUSSY," she says as she drops her head to the floor.

You get back behind Yuna, watching as one of your friends stretches her needy cunt out and makes her moan hard, capturing a perfect shot of her big ass. "Who wants to go next?" the guy fucking her announces, suddenly picking up the pace and delivering a final handful of hard thrusts in her pussy that make her scream as his cock hits Yuna's cervix. "AH, AH, AH, AH," she moans, as you prepare to take your turn in her next.

You give Yuna's sexy ass a tap before firmly gripping her from behind and taking her pussy at full speed. "OH YEAH, OH YEAH, OH YEAH," she moans as you turn her into your free-use fleshlight, clapping her fat cheeks hard before lifting her body, carry-fucking her in front of your friends. "MORE, MORE, MORE, TAKE IT, TAKE IT, TAKE IT," Yuna says as you push your cock upwards and make it bulge under her belly while one of your friends reaches to pinch her tits as her body gets drilled up in the air.

"Serve those cocks," you say as you put Yuna back on the ground and spank her butt once again. She quickly crawls towards your friend's throbbing rods, vigorously sucking them off before landing on your cock and having her face plowed hard as soon as it hits her mouth.

One of your friends grabs Yuna's body and shoves her on the couch, her quickly getting on all fours for another round of fucking and spit-roasting. "Yeah give me more," she begs as you move the couch into a better position to allow your crew to attack Yuna's body at every possible angle. The guy answers spanking her butt and shoving more cock in her mouth, but Yuna now is in full control. "Shit, that bitch still tight after all that fucking," the guy taking her pussy says.

"Yes, I'm your dirty slut, fuck me until I tap out," Yuna begs and moans as another guy takes his turn in her pussy. As soon as she senses a new cock coming in, Yuna moves her large hips and spins on it like the good whore she is, her cheeks jiggling at each thrust her pussy gets, Yuna showing that she can take on a whole crew of guys and come out on top.

You take another turn on Yuna's pussy, grabbing her hair as you start pumping her cunt hard. "Yeah, yeah, take that cock you stupid whore," you dirty-talk her. "OH YEAH," she screams as the hair-pulling gets stronger and stronger, loud noises coming out of her fat cheeks every time you hit deep in her pussy. "I fucking love it," she announces as you keep messing with her hair. "Yeehaw," you say as you intensely pull her hair and another guy chokes her. "Take that fucking dick," you tell Yuna as you only push harder and harder in her pussy. "YES," she happily obliges, getting destroyed like a fleshlight.

The next guy in line rotates Yuna's body, lifting one of her legs as he fucks her while you line up in front of her for Yuna to taste your cock. "Hmmm delicious," she says, sticking her tongue out and grabbing her jiggly tits while her bushy cunt keeps getting drilled. "Keep using that bitch," you tell the guys. "Yes, use me, shove all those fucking cocks in my mouth," Yuna rapidly answers.

You quickly oblige and stuff Yuna's mouth full of cock. On the other side, the guys keep drilling her bushy pussy nonstop, groaning hard as her tight hole pushes them to the edge. "Oh shit," one guy says, having to hold himself not to blow his load early in her pussy. The couch free use spit-roasting fun continues, each guy taking his turn on Yuna's young pussy and sexy mouth. "Hell yeah, what a slut," one of them says.

Yuna rolls her eyes as she's turned into a full-time cocksleeve. One guy pulls out, and the next one is quickly in, her mouth and pussy are used to the fullest as she now dives to suck the guy's balls. Each fuck is faster and harder than the one before, but she holds her own amidst a horny horde of monster cocks passing her around.

"Let me ride this big cock," Yuna tells you, who quickly sits on the couch as she sits on your cock. "Look at me doing all that work, fuck" Yuna says as your cock instantly disappears in her pussy. Yuna rides you like a demon. "Oh yeah, yeah, yeah," she moans, her bounces being fast and well-paced, all that while grabbing a pair of cocks to jerk off and one to suck.

"OH FUCK YEAH," Yuna moans as your big cock impales her cunt all the way deep. "She's loving this," one of the guys comments just as you spank her ass. They are mesmerized by the way she bounces on your cock and surprised you haven't blown your load in her pussy yet, given how insanely she moves her hips up and down that big fat pole.

Yuna increases the pace of her ride, putting your cock at her mercy. "HMMM YEAH, YEAH, YEAH," she moans, her large hips moving fast as her pussy grinds all over your dick, you are forced to flip her around not to cum early.

But Yuna wants more, quickly opening her legs as she gets herself on the couch in a missionary position, letting you keep penetrating her pussy "Oh yeah, yeah, yeah," she keeps moaning as her cunt gets plowed while another dude feeds her your cock for her to suck. "Stroke that fucking cock," you tell her.

Yuna does more than that, diving under the guy to lick his balls and asshole. "Oh fuck," he moans as Yuna rims the guy to the fullest. Seeing it, you quickly have an idea.

"You like licking assholes, how about we fuck your asshole, slut?" you ask Yuna. "Oh yes, please, fuck my asshole," she begs and gets it as you insert your cock in her tight backdoor.

You show no mercy towards Yuna, pushing your cock as deep as you can in her butthole from the start. "Oh my God," she moans as you attack her anal hole. "Come on guys, let's take turns fucking her ass," you command as another cock replaces yours in Yuna's ass and claps his balls against her cheeks. "Oh yeah, I need all those cocks one by one in my ass, use that fucking hole" she begs.

The crew keeps taking turns assfucking Yuna on the couch, much to her enjoyment. "Oh it feels so good," she softly moans, reaching for the other guys' cocks as the next guy in line drills her ass the hardest. "OH FUCKING YES, USE THAT ASS, YEAH, YEAH" she begs as the guy starts choking her.

"PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, DESTROY MY FUCKING ASS," Yuna begs as her butthole gets drilled almost to the point she starts losing her breath. As soon as the anal fucking is done, Yuna spreads her ass for your crew, showing you the big gape you left in her bum. "I want the next cock," she pleads as a tattoed dude stuffs her anus next and fingers her cunt, teasing her ass putting his cock in and out of it, before giving Yuna a rough drilling that makes her body bounce while pinching her clit.

Yuna laughs as the cock rotation in her ass keeps going. "I'm your fucktoy," she says as you come in again, her long legs now over the head as the couch quickly turns into her favorite place to fuck. "Yes, please, use me, keep using my ass" she begs, fisting her long fingers in her pussy while she gets assfucked. "Say it again, you look so sexy saying those dirty words," you tell her. "USE MY ASS, PLEASE, USE ME LIKE A FUCKING FUCKTOY," Yuna answers and soon tells the guys what she wants next.

"I want two cocks inside me," Yuna begs. She gets up and sucks your cock as one dude lets her sit on his and starts drilling Yuna's cunt from down low. "AH, AH, AH, AH, OH FUCK, OH FUCK" she rapidly moans. You soon come in and shove your cock back in her asshole. "YES I WANT TWO COCKS, PLEASE," she demands.

Yuna feels happier than ever as she's got a pair of cocks stuffing her needy holes. "OH MY GOD," she moans as you and your friend pump her in perfect sync. "OH YES, FILL UP MY FUCKING HOLES, THAT FEELS SO FUCKING GOOD" she commands as you keep pushing your cock deeper and deeper into her asshole. "Oh yeah I feel so stretched out, my tight holes getting shaped by those big cocks," she moans.

"Fuck my ass deep," Yuna begs as your full length is buried in her asshole and you pound it balls deep. Your friend does the same with her pussy. "PUSH THOSE BIG COCKS IN ME, I WANT MORE," she says, reaching to suck another guy and go airtight.

Yuna spreads her cheeks as you let your friends take turns stuffing her ass. The only sound you can hear now from her is Yuna choking on another cock as she gets stuffed airtight. "Take it, bitch," you say as you watch her get plowed from behind. "AHHHHH, FUCKKKK, IT'S SO FUCKING BIG" Yuna screams, getting caught by surprise as your friend attacks deep in her ass.

Yuna gets mounted as the airtight double stuffing continues, and more guys rotate in. "I'm ready for the next fucking cock," Yuna says as the next guy fucking her ass chokes her and pushes her body in his direction hard. "I'M YOUR FREE USE WHORE, I LOVE WHEN YOU SHARE ME," Yuna screams just as her pale ass gets spanked and the guy fucking her from behind grabs her hair.

"Oh my God, five cocks at once," Yuna says as she bobs her head on your cock. She isn't lying, leaving only one of the guys out of the fun as she strokes two guys, you stuff her in her mouth and two more dudes penetrate her pussy and asshole. The dude fucking her ass pushes her face in the direction of your cock, forcing her to deepthroat it, while the guy immediately to your side hits her pretty slutty face with his big fat cock.

"YEAH, YEAH, I CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF ALL THOSE COCKS," Yuna screams as she keeps getting used to all directions. You grab her head and fuck her face once again, "Shit, girl, you're amazing," you praise her as the airtight DP keeps going on, Yuna rolling her eyes as she gets turned into a full-time cocksleeve.

"Holy shit," the guys fucking her from behind groan as Yuna's ass gets smashed between their muscular bodies. "So good, so good," Yuna says as she guys plowing her pussy thrusts from down low. "FUCK IT'S SO BIG," Yuns screams as she gets surprised by your cock hitting her ass and then grabbing her by the waist and clapping her cheeks.

Yuna flips around as she sits her ass on your cock, ready to get double stuffed in reverse this time. "Oh yeah, right in my ass," she says as she impales herself on your dick, opening her legs as you finger her cunt while she's anally drilled. "YES I LOVE BOUNCING ON YOUR COCK, BEING YOUR LITTLE TOY, YOUR SLUTTY FUCKDOLL," she says as the other guy's hands are all over her sexy body now, two guys groping her tits as she bounces on your cock.

One by one, the guys spread her legs and enter Yuna's wide-open pussy, sandwiching her as she gets pounded balls deep in both holes. You let another guy provide the anchor role as Yuna spins on his cock before fully sitting her ass on it. "I want more," Yuna says as you give her what she wants, stuffing your cock deep in her bushy pussy in a mating press position, her cunt queefing as soon as you penetrate her.

"AH, AH, AH, OH YES, RIGHT THERE," Yuna moans as your cock hits deep in her pussy. "That's so fucking hot," she says as she gets sandwiched between two monster rods pumping her hard. "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, THIS IS THE BEST THING I'VE EVER DONE," Yuna says as you stretch her pussy out. You let the guys have fun, Yuna in a completely submissive position to their cocks entering her. "Is that what you want, baby?" one of them asks. "Yeah, that's what I fucking want," she answers.

The double drilling of Yuna continues as she gets passed around like a hot potato, challenging every guy to fuck her. Once she's done, you pick Yuna up and stick your cock back in her pussy, with another guy coming in as you two perform a standing DP on her. Yuna moans hard and gives you a naughty stare as she gets drilled up in the air. "I'M YOUR FUCKDOLL, DADDY, DON'T STOP USING ME," she says.

Yuna rises to the challenge, bouncing on both cocks despite being suspended in the air. "I love the way you fuck my pussy and my ass at the same fucking time," she says. You open her legs and drill her cunt, before letting Yuna bounce on the other guy's ass and get back to being double stuffing in the couch, her pussy queefing more than ever.

"AH YEAH, FUCK, UHHHH," Yuna moans as her cunt gets drilled fast. "Give it to her," you tell the guys as her pussy gets drilled while the guy on the bottom fucking her ass chokes her. You come in and let her suck your balls and rim your asshole. "HMMMM, HMMM," she moans as you sit on her face and she keeps getting sandwiched, her body jiggling as the guys give her cunt very hard thrusts.

Yuna takes one more round of a traditional airtight cowgirl stuffing, with you taking her in the ass as she gets all her holes filled. You pound her asshole hard while the guy fucking her face makes her gag on his dick. She looks very wasted at this point, after over 40 minutes of getting turned into a cocksleeve

"I want you to cum in me," Yuna begs as you guys start going for solo rounds with her. You are the first as you start pumping her bushy pussy, groaning as her walls squeeze your cock. "I want cum in all three of my fucking holes, in my pussy, in my ass, in my mouth," she begs as you keep pounding her while she fingers her clit.

Yuna spreads her cunt and plays with her clit as you fuck her. "Fuck my pussy until you cum in it," she begs, giving you a naughty smile. "Give me all that fucking cum," she says. "Are you ready for it?" you ask her back. "YEAH! GIVE IT TO ME." she enthusiastically answers.

"AHHHHH FUCK," you groan as Yuna's tight walls squeeze your cock and make you fill her pussy to the brim. You pull out just in time to decorate her bush with cum as well, her spreading her lips to show your semen oozing out. "I'm ready boys, I want more," she says, rubbing her clit and fingering her cunt in anticipation;

The next guy comes in and puts his cock in her asshole. "AH YES, GIVE ME YOUR COCK, GIVE ME YOUR CUM," Yuna begs as he gives her slow pumps into her tight anus. "Oh I can feel it," she says as he bursts inside her asshole not even 10 seconds in, her anus now dripping full of cum as she grabs a bit to taste it.

"Round fucking three," Yuna says as the next guy comes in, already jerking his cock off and ready to ejaculate in her pussy, stroking his dick inside her and giving another load to her cunt. "Oh I love feeling it dripping out," she says, spreading her lips again to catch the cum.

"Three more to go," Yuna says as the next guy shoots his load in her mouth, licking her chops. Another load in her face comes next. "All of it, give me all of it," she begs, sucking and licking the guy's cock after he finishes in her face. "Give it to me, oh yeah," she says as the final guy groans and gives her face a third load, her licking his tip afterward. You then come in and give her midriff a final load, covering her navel full of cum. "Oh wow, so much cum, seven loads for this fucktoy," Yuna says as you guys turn her into a cum dump.

"I want to remember this night forever, come here guys," Yuna says as she walks in the direction of the mirror, grabbing her phone. "Hope you recorded a lot while the other guys were fucking me," she tells you. She lets everybody come into the frame, taking a picture of her with the crew, her body completely sweaty and full of fluids, especially cum. If the night ended right there, it would already be an amazing night, but you had one final idea.

"Yuna, can you get on your knees, I have one final surprise for you," you tell her.

"Of course, Daddy, what is the surprise?" Yuna asks, getting her face right on the sight of your crew's cocks. You are the first to move, hitting her with a surprise yellow jet of piss right in her face. The other guys follow your lead, turning Yuna into a massive urinal as her body drips full of pee, her trying to get as much as possible into her mouth, gargling and swallowing all the yellow liquid that comes into her sight.

"Wow, that was amazing, turning me into a cum dump and a piss dump," Yuna says as your crew leaves, only you and her still at the house, her looking at you with her typical fuck me eyes. And you can tell she's not going back home.

"Daddy, can you fuck me again?"

#yuna smut #itzy smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader smut

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shawtuzi · 3 days ago

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imagine smoking out ur bfs!choso & armin and milking them at the same time….whew i just got chills

cw include: some drug use, oral m! receiving, overstimulation, milking, choso blacks out lmao ( boarder credit @/bernardsbendystraws)

“i feel like m’gonna fuckin’ p-pass out,” choso sniffled, hand trembling as he brought the almost finished blunt to his kiss bitten lips. his hips weakly bucked upwards to start fucking your hand, obnoxious shlicking noises echoing throughout the room—armin and choso’s shared dorm room to be exact.

armin was next to choso, practically melting into the bed as you continued to stroke his dick. shiny pearls of pre seemed to endlessly leak from his tip, creating an even bigger mess in your hand.

you were cockdrunk as ever, moaning around their dicks as you took turns taking their tips into your hot mouth. choso was the whiniest of the two no doubt, moaning and babbling about how good he was feeling like a bitch in heat—he was too cute :((

choso shakily brought the blunt to armin’s lips, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip as he watched armin french inhale the drug. “jesus you’re so—hah! m-messy y/nnnn,” just as armin finished his sentence you had deepthroated his cock, fresh hot tears now brimming at your lash line. his dick throbbed in your mouth, the two thick veins on the underside thrumming against your skillful tongue.

you pulled off his dick with a lewd pop! your focus now on choso’s full balls. choso sucked in a sharp breath, nearly dropping the blunt in the process. you sucked one of his balls into your mouth, internally cooing at choso’s pathetic, flushed face. “m’gonna cum baby,” choso’s voice cracked as he whined out to you, abs clenching as his fourth orgasm of the evening was approaching.

“m-me too,” armin slurred, throwing an arm over his eyes. you licked up the base of choso’s cock to the tip, sucking the reddened muscle greedily before moving onto armin, giving his dick the same treatment.

if the ppl living on choso and armin’s floor didn’t hate them before then they certainly did now, because the symphony of pornographic moans that could be heard were just straight up unholy. that’s why you loved smoking them out so much—they were a couple of screamers and you thrived for that shit.

choso flopped on his back, just like armin, his hips thrusting wildly into your hand. armin’s big hand rested on top of your head, gripping onto your hair as he fucked your throat raw. armin pressed his foot against your clothed cunt, grinning to himself when he felt your throat tighten around him.

“hah! hah! s-shittt,” armin damn near shouted, his thighs trembling as he finally released his fourth load down you throat. choso wasn’t far behind at all, his hips stuttering when you tightened your grip around his tip. ropes of his milky white release coated your hand, dripping from your knuckles and onto his shaking thighs.

“f-fuck i think he might’ve passed out again, dammit y/n you always do this to him,” armin chuckled, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “s’not my fault he’s such a slut for a blowjob,” you giggled, grabbing some nearby tissues to clean yourself up.

the two of you cleaned choso up, giggling quietly to yourselves as you pulled his sweats up. “he’s so cute,” you cooed, brushing the stray baby hairs from his forehead.

956 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 18 hours ago

Text

Simple Math / Part Twenty

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.1k words - AO3 Tags: 18+ mdni, nurse reader, feelings of fear and panic, PTSD, references to domestic violence. Trauma, blood. Flashbacks. Dubious ethics and morality, dark content.

“Are ye comin’ inside?”

“I need a minute.” He needs more than a minute. He needs days, weeks. Needs to wind back the clock and slam it into the ground, over and over again, until the springs and hands and tiny numbers splinter into pieces.

Failure. He failed. They failed.

They failed you.

“Wait, go back.” The video pauses and rolls backward, all the way until Simon tells Kate to stop it when you step out of the elevator. “What’s in her hand?”

“Dinnae,” Johnny’s nose is practically touching the screen.

“The recording is pretty low quality; I’ve tried enhancing it with no luck.” Kate’s voice crackles through the speakers from the other side of the laptop, the other side of the world. This is the first time they’ve managed to get a hold of her in weeks, and even now, the connection is half static.

“Looks like a piece of paper, or a picture?” Johnny murmurs, leaning back.

“This is just before she bolts,” the playback continues, and they watch as you walk down the hall, bright smile fading when you reach the corner. “She’s here for a minute and then runs…” Simon is glued to the screen, forward on his haunches, and Johnny rubs his back, kneading his knuckles into that ever-present knot in his shoulder. He watches your head turn, your back stiffen, and Johnny sucks in a breath.

Kate nods the confirmation. She’s already put the puzzle together.

Graves.

You’re reacting to Graves, seeing Graves. Entire demeanor shifting, changing from their sweet, smart girl with newfound confidence, to a deer, shocked and startled, running from a scope.

Graves.

It’s simple math. Plain as day. You take one look at where he’s come around the corner, running his mouth, chewing that fucking gum, and split.

It’s Graves.

And it all makes sense.

“-you don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t understand. He’s chased me across the world, he always finds me, no matter what, no matter what I do”

“He’s in the military. Some sort of security work, department of defense, or something. He never really talked about it.”

“He always finds me.”

“He has resources. Has followed me across the globe more than once. My only saving grace is that when he has to work, he has to work, and it’s usually for long chunks of time.”

“I’m originally from Texas.”

Texas. Texas. Texas.

There was a conversation, months ago, that slipped through Simon’s fingers. A wisp of a suspicion, one pushed away by doubt, by disbelief.

Not possible. A coincidence.

He was wrong, about being wrong. He was right, all along.

Johnny nearly flips the table before Simon urges him back down. “Where… where does she go after this?”

“She gets the car,” Simon answers, timeline clicking into place, “she borrows that gits car, comes home, packs a bag, and runs.” Johnny’s hands are shaking, fingers white against his knees.

They’ll kill him. He’ll paint the walls with Phillip’s blood. They’ll do what should have done in the first place.

He should have protected you, should have seen it all clearly. Should have applied more pressure and made you crack, if only for your own safety.

He failed.

They failed.

“That piece o’ shite, I’ll-“

“Kill him.” Simon finishes simply, and they exchange a look. A promise without words. Simon will shatter his skull between his palms if he has to.

Johnny nods. The gears are already turning. Are they so different from a man who has stopped at nothing to drag you back to him?

No.

They'd burn the world for you, to protect you, to bring you home to them.

Kate clears her throat. “There’s more.” More? “I was checking some records, looking at her last clock out, when the last paycheck was paid out and I pulled her personal information, her medical chart.” Kate’s tone is wary, hesitant, and Johnny straightens.

“What is it?” There’s a pause on the other end of the line, unsure trepidation that’s so unlike Kate the hair on the back of Simon’s neck stands up.

“Kate…”

“She’s pregnant.” You could hear a pin drop. Johnny’s rage turns to panic, and an ocean of blood rushes in Simon’s ears.

“She’s- she’s what?”

“She’s pregnant. By now, she’s probably twenty weeks, maybe? I’m not sure. I don’t know much about those things, but her chart notes say both of them are… were in good health. Low risk.”

“Twenty weeks,” Johnny echoes, faraway look in his eyes.

A baby. You’re pregnant.

Pregnant. Pregnant and alone, and scared. Running away.

From them.

Simon’s trying to wrap his head around it, but he can’t. The information doesn’t fit. It doesn’t make sense.

“If she’s twenty weeks, then she’s been pregnant since before she left.” Johnny’s talking to himself at this point, because Simon can’t force his mouth to make words. “Why keep it a secret?” Kate is telling them something about index hits and cameras, but it all amounts to nothing after you board the train, and Simon still fails to make a sound.

And then, she piles it on.

“Graves is in the wind.” Simon’s heart stops like he’s been struck by lightning, electricity jolting him alive.

“How?”

“He went offline. No traceable activity in the last week or so. Last known location was Texas. After that, I’m not sure. Yet.”

‘He can’t be in the wind,” Johnny whisper shouts, all too aware of Penny upstairs, napping. “We need to know where he is. Now.”

“I’m doing all I can. He has resources too, you know. A lot of them.” The screen goes black for a second, before she reappears, lips pressed into a grim line. “I have to go. I’ll keep you updated. Sorry guys.”

They can only nod.

It’s clear as day, what happened now. How you saw them in the hallway, how you drew the conclusion, one that seemed so painfully obvious, connected the dots that appeared in your mind, stringing together bits and pieces until it all made sense.

He knows what will have to happen now. They both do.

Simon presses his forehead to Johnny’s. “We’ll find her.”

“An’ bring her home.”

“No matter what.”

The rest is left unsaid.

You’re having a dream.

It’s a lovely one, more of a memory than anything else, but a dream, nonetheless.

“This still feels like a bad idea.”

“Isnae, ye’ll do great bun. Jus’ the ‘hawk now.” You’ve already finished the sides of his head, which were easy enough, but using actual scissors to cut hair is well outside your wheelhouse.

“What if I mess it up?”

“It’s jus’ hair, pretty girl. It grows.”

“How’s it going out here?” Simon leans out the sliding door, Penny in his arms, and you try to plead with him with wide, nervous eyes. He chuckles. “Looks good so far.”

“See?” Johnny smiles, one of the big ones that stretches his whole face and makes your knees weak. Penny loves them too, and she claps her hands together, giggling.

“But… I don’t… I’m going to mess it up.” Johnny stands, warm hands on your arms.

“Ye could shave me bald and wouldnae mess it up, bun.” You nod, but the acid, noxious taste of worry is still there on your tongue.

“I just… I…” you’re starting to shake a little, fingers squeezing together. He tugs you into his chest, kisses your temple.

“Ye’re alright.”

“I know.” You do know. You’re safe. They’d never hurt you, never betray your trust or even yell at you, but muscle memory doesn’t forget. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Ye dinnae have to be sorry.”

“It’s okay, bunny.” Simon murmurs, but it’s not.

Is this how you’ll spend your whole life? Afraid? Shaking?

No.

Not anymore.

“If I ruin his hair… it’s not my fault.” Simon chuckles.

“We’ll blame him.” You turn back to Johnny and put your hands on his shoulders, taking a deep breath, surveying the mop of unruly brown strands, and he covers one of yours with his own.

“It’s okay. If ye-“

“No, I can. I can do it.” You don’t know why you’re so nervous. It’s just a hair cut, for crying out loud, but for some reason it feels like plunging into the deep end of a pool. “Okay,” you breathe, making the first snip. He nods encouragingly and you roll your shoulders.

“See? Not so bad?”

“Not so bad.” You cut again and again, trying to manage it all into a proper length, shaping as best you can.

Each snip, something grows. Your hands tremble a little less, your jaw unclenches, lips flexing upward into your cheeks. You breathe deeper.

When Johnny turns around, he doesn’t care about his hair, or the slightly uneven chunks, or the fresh clippings on his shirt.

He cups your face, kissing you before pulling away to rub his thumb across your cheek.

“There she is.”

Spring rain. There’s nothing like it.

It washes away the gloom of winter. It’s the turning of a page, the spine of a brand-new book snapped open with a splintering crack. Cabin fever becomes walks in the park, lunches and coffees outside, hanging out on balconies and patios.

Dead things turned to soil now sprouting new life.

Like you, you guess.

You’ve been dead before. If someone looked really closely, they could see it in your eyes. The grey of decay, the separation of iris and pupil. Dead and brought back not quite right, every time. Sally, stitched together incorrectly, the wrong pieces of patchwork, poorly aligned.

Every time he ripped another piece of you away, you found a different one, one less like you, to put in its place.

Every time, until you weren’t you at all. Until you were a girl in a mirror. Until you were a ghost.

It makes sense that you don’t know yourself now, haven’t known for years. On the run, there’s not a lot of time to stop and consider things like that, those pieces. Coffee or tea? Chocolate cake or vanilla? Do you like snow? Do you like the beach?

Do you like yourself?

You could have had these answers, you think. Could have learned these things, if it hadn’t turned out the way it did. If Simon and Johnny hadn’t turned out to be a hydra, mouths open, waiting to devour you.

Sunbeam kicks. They nail you in the bladder, and you wince, rubbing over the crest of your belly. “You’re killing me, you know that?” You feel like you’ve been hit by a bus, every day. The aches and pains are never ending, your back and hips screaming by the end of a shift. You can’t sleep, the heartburn makes it hard to eat, you’re never comfortable.

The whole time, you curse them, Simon and Johnny.

Their fault, it’s their fault.

And yours too.

But no matter how tired, how sore, how cranky you are, you can’t bring yourself to regret it, and in your dreams, it’s like all the bad, all the awful betrayal didn’t even happen. You dream of a family with them, Penny holding her little sibling, the five you together. It’s all been buried in your mind, too deep and nearly impossible to dig out. The visions of them, the longing, the good memories. You’re infested with them.

You didn’t want this. You wanted them, you wanted it all, and that might be the hardest thing about it. You weren’t given a choice, this decision was made for you, taken from you, just like almost everything else.

Except little sunbeam. You wanted them, chose them, will choose them, over and over, forever, keep them safe, make sure they know they’re loved.

No matter what.

It’s the train, always the train.

Not the long rail train, the commuter train. The one that takes you to and from work, the one that’s sometimes-standing room only, though most people offer you their seat, which is surprisingly kind, compared to where you’re from.

Regardless, you feel the gaze on the train, and no matter how hard you scan, dissect, watch the people around you, there’s nothing. All three faces, three sets of eyes, three profiles, are never anywhere to be seen.

It’s overwhelming, unsettling. The stress of this prickling unease combined with the stress and physical strain of your job is taking its toll on both you and Sunbeam, as the midwife likes to remind you.

Take it easy, take some time off, try to relax. Stay hydrated, eat well.

Yeah… okay.

You rub your belly anxiously, tugging your hood farther over your head, trying to look around without being so obvious.

“Excuse me?” You jolt, startled by a man standing at your elbow, pointing to a vacant spot on a bench. “Would you like my seat?” His smile is subtle, matching an encouraging but not overly intrusive demeanor.

“Sure, thank you so much.” He nods, stepping to the side, into the space between the seat and the divider, close to the door. You try to swing your backpack in front of you, but it gets caught, and he snags it before it falls. “Sorry, thanks.”

“Of course, no problem.” You give him another glance. Really handsome, rich brown eyes you could get lost in. He’s got a baseball cap on, but it’s not pulled down over his face like your hood, he’s not trying to hide. “I’ll move when your stop comes up.”

“Okay, it’s not for a while so, no worries.” He might be kind, but he’s still a stranger, and you’re not going to divulge anything specific. Stranger danger.

Not everyone is a threat but…

“How far along are you?” You blink.

“Uh, about twenty-five weeks, give or take a few days.” He nods.

“My wife is due next week; it’s been a rollercoaster.”

“Yeah, it’s not the easiest.” You laugh, a little apprehensive, but also, a little glad, secretly, to have a casual conversation with someone. He sticks his hand out.

“I’m Kyle.” Your tongue rolls with the practiced name you’ve memorized, the one you’ve drilled into yourself over and over again. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.” The next stop is announced, and he moves gracefully, reaching for his bag and tugging it over his shoulder, barely giving you a second glance.

“This is me, have a good day.”

“Thanks.” He doesn’t look over his shoulder at you when he’s getting off, doesn’t watch you through the window from the platform. He’s completely uninterested, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

The box is delivered on a Tuesday.

The Scottish government gives you almost everything you need. Clothes, thermometers, baby books, a changing mat, a mattress, a sheet, a blanket, the list goes on. The box even doubles as a bassinet.

You cry over it. Rifling through everything, tears drip down your cheeks and you bury your face in your hands. You didn’t get to share an ultrasound with anyone, or have a shower, or hold someone’s hand to your belly as sunbeam kicked, but there’s this. A box full of baby stuff, a box that says no matter how hard it is, you and sunbeam will have a good start. Even Sunbeam’s room is halfway sorted at this point, crib set up, dresser half stocked with clothes, collection of diapers and burp cloths and bottles starting to pile up in various places in their room. You’ve made it comfortable, slowly, mix matched furniture and all.

Every day feels like a year, but as each one passes, you slowly adjust to a new normal, a new life. Something you made, again, from scratch, for yourself, your survival.

And now, for Sunbeam.

One day, maybe it will feel like home.

You really need to stop buying so much crap at the store.

You practically have to drag your grocery loot into the elevator, bags overflowing with fruit, vegetables, cans of formula. Random cleaning products, stuff for baby proofing, a new candle.

Apparently, some call this nesting. You just call it annoying.

You lean against the wall and close your eyes for a moment, shifting your weight to alleviate the pressure on your spine.

Thirty weeks.

Ten weeks left.

Ten weeks left. It’s wild to even think about, to even say to yourself, or out loud. You’re going to be a mom in ten weeks. Going to have a whole human depending on you for every single thing, in ten weeks.

You’ll be alone, with a newborn, in ten weeks.

Alone.

It still aches. Stings. Salt in the wound-

Lit end of a cigarette against your skin.

You instinctively cup your belly, thumb rubbing over where one of your burn scars has been stretched by Sunbeam, and shiver.

You’re fine. You’re safe. Get it together.

“We’re home!” You announce to no one, no one except Gus the goldfish who’s swimming circles around his bowl. You got him two weeks ago on an impulse, following a pathetic, sad desire all the way to the pet store.

It’d be nice to have something to come home to.

You tap a few flakes into the water and watch him gobble them up, oddly soothed by his presence in the flat.

This is how far you’ve fallen. Taking comfort in a damn goldfish.

You blow out a breath and fall onto the couch, swinging your legs up onto the cushions, dragging the pillows under your ankles, or what used to be your ankles. They’re more like overstuffed sausages now, tops of your sneakers cutting into your skin. Every chance you get, you’re finding places to sit at work, caught yourself leaning most of your weight on your patient’s beds, more than once. Thankfully, your coworkers are overwhelmingly understanding.

And when you come home, you do this. Collapse on the couch. Talk to a goldfish, or Sunbeam, or both.

The oddest trio: Mom, baby, goldfish.

You manage to limit yourself to three bites of ice cream before putting the carton away in the freezer. You’re supposed to be watching your sugar intake, apparently, not because you’re at risk for gestational diabetes, but because Sunbeam is already projected to be on the bigger side.

You look mournfully at container, spoon still in hand.

One more. What’s it going to hurt? One more bite isn’t going to turn Sunbeam into a giant, it’s-

Knuckles rap against your door.

Your blood goes cold, colder than ice, and you instinctively find the floor, crouching by the fridge, using it to shield yourself, keeping away from the door’s direct line of sight.

The knocking gets louder.

Someone’s saying something on the other side of the door, but you can’t hear it over the buzzing, beeping sound in your ears.

How.

How? How did it happen so fast? Where did you fuck up?

The fear you once felt for yourself pales in comparison to the true fear you feel now. You’re supposed to protect Sunbeam, supposed to keep them safe.

You’re supposed to be a mom.

A sob claws its way out, and you clap your palm over your mouth, agony squeezing your heart, panic clutching your throat in a vise, choking off your air, throttling you until you’re gasping.

You should run, should sprint into the bedroom and grab the gun from under your mattress, should start crawling out the window to the fire escape.

You should do these things, but instead, you’re trapped, immobile, watching with horror as the deadbolt turns horizontal, sliding the lock free with a bloodcurdling click.

Your baby. You were supposed to keep your baby safe.

You failed.

You stand, so unsteady you have to support your weight by leaning against the counter. The only thing in here are kitchen knives, and you rip two from the block, one hiding behind your back, the other brandished in front of your body like a sword.

You’re going to die.

But not without a fight.

Tears wet your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you choke, sliding a hand over little Sunbeam, “I’m so- so sorry.”

The creak of the door handle is unmistakable, a metal whine scraping against the frame. You close your eyes.

“Bunny.”

Your heart stops.

The men you thought love you are standing just inside your kitchen, the sight of them turning your stomach, their eyes flicking between you and the shiny, sharp knife in your hand.

Johnny inches forward, his voice a low, gentle murmur, one that cracks your heart. “It’s okay pretty girl, we’re here to take ye home.”

“Get away from me.” The knife is practically rattling in your hand.

"It's alright. We’d never hurt ye, either of ye. We know what ye saw and-“

“N-no,” you sob, voice cracking, shoulders shaking, “don’t come near me.”

“Put that down, sweet girl, it’s alright.” Simon edges around the counter, caution and wary weighing his steps. They’re supposed to be muffled you think, soft, but they ring so loud.

“Stop!”

“Just let us explain, give us a minute-“

“I saw you! I saw you w-with him.” Your vision is blurred by tears, and you look down at your belly, desperate. “Just let us go, please. Don’t- don’t let him-“

“Listen to me, sweetheart. We have nothing to do with Phillip.” His name makes your flinch, and you inch backwards.

“You know him.”

“We do. He tried to kill us, betrayed us, on a mission. Nearly succeeded with Johnny.” The words conflict, mash together into a scramble you don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.

More lies.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know, I know you don’t. I wouldn’t if I was in your position either, but we’re telling the truth.” You shake your head.

“No. You’re just… you’re just trying to trick me.”

“We’re not,” Johnny murmurs, “We’ve always told ye the truth, bun. And we’d never hurt ye.” He steps forward. It’s too close, way too close, and you pivot, both knives still clutched in your hands.

“Put them down.” Simon instructs, a little bit of steel in his voice now. He can obviously see the one behind your back, and your heart starts to sink.

There’s no way out. You should have run when you had the chance.

Stupid.

The girl in the mirror stays silent. She says nothing.

For all you know, she’s dead already. Killing blow dealt by your own hand.

You think about Sunbeam, all warm and safe, protected from the world, and despair swells in your chest, an entire ocean beneath your feet, waiting to swallow you up, drag you down and drown you.

“Now, sweetheart. We don’t want you to hurt yourself.” You laugh. It’s a sickly, nervous thing, too tinny and high pitched.

You’re falling apart. You’re not a fighter, you’re a runner, shot lame in a race rigged against you from the beginning. They’re closing in, wolves stalking the bleeding lamb between them, predators about to fall on prey.

“Don’t,” whisper, fingers tightening around the knife in front of your body, unable to hold it steady through the trembling.

“Bunny, listen to us, please.” Johnny is reaching and you get trapped in his gaze, spiraling into the swirl of misery and fear, mirroring your own. “I love ye, we love ye. Ye belong with us, at home, where we can keep ye safe.” You slam your eyes shut, trying to block him out. “I’ve loved ye since the day I opened m’eyes and saw ye leaning over the bed. We’d never hurt ye, we jus’ want to take ye home.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Simon moves. One powerful, huge step, and he’s on you, grabbing your arm, applying pressure to your knuckles to release the knife.

You scream. It’s instinct. Everything shuts down, narrowing down to one objective.

Run.

“Johnny,” he half shouts over your keening, holding gentle pressure against your arm as you try to rip yourself free. “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay.” You thrash, trying to twist out of his grip, shoulder shrieking in pain, and he goes with your momentum, providing slack so there’s no tension in your arm. “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself sweetheart, you’re okay.”

You’re not.

You’re not okay. You’ll never be okay.

The walls close in, and it all becomes so clear. Your future, what will happen if they take you, if you leave here with them.

They’ll take Sunbeam. They’ll turn you over to Phillip, throw you out like trash, and you’ll die.

Are you going to let it happen, just like you let everything else? Are you going to roll over? Let it all be stolen, again and again?

No.

Simon reaches for the other knife and you swing it wide, slicing through the air until the blade meets flesh.

He hisses. Blood spills, drips down the handle, coats your fingers, and you stand there, frozen, gobsmacked.

Did you-

Did you just-

“Johnny,” he barks, but it barely registers, you’re too transfixed by the blood, hypnotized by it, too entranced to even register Johnny at your side, too stunned to see what’s in his hand.

A needle.

He whispers your name, cradles your face-

And then everything goes black.

#peaches writes #ghoap x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap

629 notes · View notes

hyperfixiation-station · 2 days ago

Text

Behind Enemy Lines Pt.1

CW: Torture, Canon-typical violence, talk of derealization, disassociation Summary: You were a friendly medic, captured years ago and held prisoner, forced to do do the bidding of your captors. Years later, a man by the name of Ghost is dragged in and changes the trajectory of your life. A/N: I had severe ADHD, and i am unmedicated rn, and it makes it really hard to work on things unless I get the hyperfocused drive for it, so I'm sorry I'm so bad at making the other parts to my fics. Know that I will never abandon them. it just might take me a while. idea part 2

You fought back, at first. Way back when you first got captured, taken from your base camp and dragged through miles and miles of harsh terrain, blindfolded and bound. A medic you were, yes. But your team had trained you with the best of them. You spent the whole time trying to escape, kicking and screaming until they bound your legs and gagged you. You spent the first month of captivity refusing to talk to them, hissing and spitting and pretending their punches didn’t hurt. But it didn't take you long to realize it was better to cooperate, or to at least be civil. Civility got you less broken bones, less pain, more rations, more sleep. Cooperation didn’t come till later, when you finally realized your team wasn't coming for youthey were dead but you didn't know that.

Surprisingly, the whole mouth-getting-sewn-shut didn't happen till a couple years in... they were torturing someone, a man who said he had kids and a wife at home, whose only wish was that they left something recognizable of him so they could get some closure. You begged them to stop. Begged them to stop when his wounds became too numerous to count, too much for you to handle. Begged because you started to care for him as he told you about his son and daughter, how they want him home for Christmas(You didn't have the heart to tell him Christmas was 6 days ago) Told them that he would die no matter what you did if they continued. Well, they didn't stop, and he did die... and you found yourself ringing in the new year by being strapped to a table.

“We warned you to stop talking with him.” They said as they clamped the metal shut over your forehead and chin, holding you in place. “We told you to not get attached, but since you can’t seem to do it on your own, we’ll help you.” The feeding tube came 2 weeks later, shoved up your nose when they realized you were starving...they couldn't lose their favorite medic of course.

You stopped paying attention to the passage of time after that, spent most of your days drifting in and out of reality, moving through the motions with a practiced ease. And it would have remained that way, if it wasn’t for a man in a skull mask with a team- a family- looking for him.

Your first introduction to him ended up with you getting a broken nose. Per usual, you were shoved into the cell, medical kit in hand, ready to fix up whatever damage your captors had done the their poor prisoner.

The mask he had been wearing when you saw him dragged in was gone, and he had a gash that went all the way through his cheek that would need stitching up. You pull out your equipment, moving slowly towards his bleeding face.

he headbutted you the moment you got close enough for him to reach, and the crunch of bone and the gush of warm blood followed, not that you noticed. You were still in that dreamlike state, not quite tether to reality in the way you should be. You barely noticed when they tranqued him, and the only reason you didn't finish his stitches is because you passed out too(it’s hard to breathe through a bloody, broken nose)

The next time you approach more carefully, but he’s no trouble. Mostly because they left him completely strapped to the table this time. Today was a rare day, a time when you could actually feel your feet on the ground rather than just see them. You feel bad as you wipe him down, your eyes flicking over the myriad of scars on his body. What’s one more you think to yourself as you get to work stitching a stab wound to his thigh. Just barely missed the artery here…that could have been bad news. Okay tie it off and- there we go. I think the only other thing that need to- oh, is he…talking to me? I should probably pay attention to that.

“-here?” His voice is gravely, though you suppose yours would be too after being tortured. He stares at you expectantly, and you shrug. You don’t know what he said, and even if you did, you couldn’t answer. You just move to his wrist, snapping the bone back in place. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t make an actual sound, which surprises you. But you don’t dwell on it, wrapping a bandage around his arm and moving to exit the room.

“Y’ no’ g’nna lemme off?” His voice sounds, “they said y’ would.” You spin around, staring at him. You're not stupid. And even if your…bosses had said that, you still wouldn’t do it. Being trapped in a room with a man who is at least a foot taller than you and looks like he could kill a man with his glare? No thank you.

You take a step back, heading towards the door. The man lets out a sound you would barely qualify as a laugh. “Sm’rt then.” He says to himself, “No’ gonna be that easy.”

The next time you go in, you can't help but wonder what they want from this man. By now they usually would have killed him off. Oh well, not your job to wonder. You clean him up, splinting the fingers they had broke when he talks to you again.

"why don't y' let me die?" He says, voice just as gravely as before, "Put me outa m' misery?" You don't respond, just keep taping his hand. IT's something you ad asked yourself, right at the beginning. It would be kinder for you to just let your patients die. But you couldn't do it. Partially because you were punished anytime someone died before your captors wanted them to, but also because you were a medic. YOu were there to heal. You couldn't stomach letting someone die by your hand.

"Answer me!" The man snarls, bringing you back to the present, "For god's sake y' never talk, fuckin' mute." You don't respond, of course. Just finish your task and leave him to his thoughts.

He’s angrier after that time, you’ve noticed. The few times you're actually present, he’s fighting you. Usually not with words, but he bucks and doesn’t hold still. He’s tried to grab your medical supplies countless times, and one time you actually had to be pulled out because he jerked his arm while you were stitching him and somehow managed to drive the needle into your own hand. The few times he does actually yell at you, you’re usually not paying attention. You can catch words like “Dishonorable” and “Disgraceful”. You aren’t entirely sure of the context of the words, but you can guess. You’ve treated enough prisoners who think that you are the world's worst human being, a blight to the medical field, to guess what he's trying to tell you.

It's funny though, this man so full of hate. Because, for the first time in goodness knows how long, your feet are on the ground, and your head is level. Something about this man, his angry, uncrushed demeanor, even after weeks of torture, stirs emotion in you that you can’t quite identify. And maybe you should be grateful, thankful your head is on right, but you're not. You so desperately want to go back to that place of apathy and detachment, where your emotions weren’t so strong, were the pains of mishealed bones and poorly healed scars didn’t plague your waking moments.

Or maybe it wasn’t the man- The Ghost, as you found out he was called. Maybe it was the fact that something in the air had changed. The air was electric, charged with tension so thick you could feel it even alone in your cot. They were watching you, you could tell. Could feel their eyes tracking your movements in a way they hadn’t since first giving you freedom to move around.

You're not sure why. It’s not like you have anyone to go home to. You were an only child, and your parents had died long before you reached 18. All you had was your team, a team that had seemingly abandoned you. So why would you leave? There was nowhere to go. And yet they watched you. Was it because you were becoming more aware, more grounded then you had been in a long while? Was it the man, Ghost, who had them on edge?

The answer came two days later. You were in Ghost's cell again, desperately packing gauze into a gaping hole on his side. You don’t know what had happened, but for the first time in years you were dragged from your cell, your captors muttering under their breath in a language you still didn’t understand as they thrust you into his cell. Blood was everywhere. Your best guess was that Ghost had been struggling and an instrument had slipped and gouged out a hole in his side. So here you are, packing gauze into the wound as you try to figure out what to do to keep him alive with your rudimentary supplies.

You pack another piece of gauze in just as the door goes flying open. Men, dressed in black, wearing the same mask Ghost was, come bursting in.

“Get back!” The one in the front yells at you, gun pointed in your face. You shake your head, hands pressed against Ghost’s wound.

“Now!” You make a protesting noise, trying to gesture with your chin. The man looks down, eyes widening.

“Aw shit- are you the medic?” You nod almost desperately. The man looks at you again, staring at your hands. They are shaking, pressed against the wound as you try to keep Ghost from bleeding out.

“Fix him.” The man snaps. You shake your head and look up at the man, trying to communicate that you need more supplies.

“Use your words.” The man gabs the gun at you, indicating he wants you to get on with it. You stomp your foot, shaking your head again.

“What, what's that supposed..…you can’t speak, can you?” You nod, glad he finally got it. The man groans, lowering his gun.

“You’re coming with us, but you make one wrong move, and I mean one, I will put a bullet through your brain before you can even speak. Got it?” He gestures to the other two men with him, and together you lift Ghost up, carrying him out to safety.

A/N- anyways, here's part one. Sorry if it disappoints anyone

tags, sorry if i missed any:

@redzluvvesage @just-a-harmless-potato-05 @vesna-the-spring @princess312 @norsehorseofcourse-blog @bonniperinktrance @soggywafflezz @littlebunie @sirbonesly @havoc973 @mommymilkers0526 @thegreyjoyed @pinkiliciousgunp0int @poopoobuttsy @darcellethedreamer @kamote-kuneho

#cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #cod #ghost fanfiction #ghost x reader #call of duty #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #angst #no beta we die like men #Behind enemy lines

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 3 days ago

Text

Neighborly (Part 3/Ending)

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: SMUT, vaguely dom Ghost, unrealistic recovery time from near death experience/hypothermia, cuddling for medical reasons, implied medically-related stripping, implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

The next day, Ghost had you write a list of things you needed from home. He assured you Johnny wouldn’t be stepping foot in your place, but that did leave you on your own with the Scotsman while the giant lumbered through the snow to pack an overnight bag on your behalf.

Your extremities still had fits of unpleasant tingles, but when Ghost examined your hands and feet, he assured you there shouldn’t be permanent damage. First degree frost bite at worst. He praised your choice in winter boots, thick socks, and heavy mittens.

You’d asked how he knew.

“Had some experience. Nothing to worry about. Trust me.”

Instantly flustered, you’d looked down at the huge socks over your hands, fighting away the question of which man they belonged to, and assured him you did. Stupid, since you barely knew him, but you did, and much more than you should.

It didn’t matter if the man was handsome under that mask or ugly as sin. His voice did things to you. It made you want to sin so much he looked like an angel. And the way he handled you in bed, if only platonically, woke your libido from hibernation. Which was un-fucking-fortunate, all things considered. You’d be a horrible lay at the moment with your chapped skin and lingering exhaustion.

Besides, your neighbors were definitely in a relationship.

As you dozed after a cup of sugary tea, Ghost stepped away to speak with Johnny. You could see through the open door when the big man seized his partner by the back of the neck, leaning forehead-to-forehead as he rumbled something in that intoxicating voice. The mask didn’t come off, but you’d definitely spied a tongue stretching the knit to stab into Johnny’s mouth. Hands went to waists, drifted to asses, displayed affection they probably didn’t realize was so public.

You tried very hard to actually go to sleep after that. It wasn’t like you’d meant to creep on them. And they were the ones who chose to make out in front the invalid’s open damn door.

But it put your thoughts in a tailspin, and everything overwhelmed you. A near death experience preceded by robbery and car problems made for a long day. Waking up in your neighbor’s boyfriend’s arms and realizing they’d seen you naked took the knot of emotions and twisted. Then there was the fact that Ghost was likely elbow deep in your underwear drawer – again for platonic reasons – and it wound you up in the worst way. You were a fucking mess. A wad of feelings without an outlet.

You needed to get off and have a good cry. Either or both. And you weren’t in a position to have either.

When you’d suggested going home, Ghost shut you down before you even finished the thought.

“We’ll take care of you. Owe you, yeah? Besides, you’re still recovering.”

So, you wrote the damn list, asking for your comfy clothes, your toothbrush, phone charger, and other necessities. You resisted asking for your favorite throw blanket or the heavy, knitted monstrosity you tried knitting a few years back that was almost a sweater. Nothing you loved was safe around Johnny, and you didn’t want to be a burden, anyway.

Fuck.

Right.

You were a burden.

When you felt a bit better, you’d handle the empty mugs on the nightstand. What else could you clean? Efficient as Ghost was, he was babysitting for two adults. There must be a mess to clean, laundry to fold, something.

You’d make it right. When you’d put some distance between your waking thoughts and death’s shadow.

Trying to think your way out of the lingering pain with your thighs clenched and your glare drilling into the far wall, you almost managed to dissociate for a beat.

Until he knocked.

“Hey.”

Fucking Johnny.

You rolled over, glowering with the blankets up to your nose. Ghost should hurry and come back.

“’M so sorry, hen.” Failing to take the hint, Johnny inched into the room. His folded arms and heavy frown left him looking severe. The boyish illusion was missing. He was all bulging muscles, faint scars, and dog tags.

You’d wondered more than once if he was military. If he was, you’d bet anything Ghost was, too.

“I almost died,” you mumbled, speaking through the blankets. “I would’ve helped with whatever you needed if you’d fucking asked.”

His eyes snapped shut. His head dropped. Deep breaths lifted his shoulders, and he looked like he was in genuine pain.

Good. That made two of you.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Aye.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Aye.”

“You almost got me killed.”

“Aye.” Eyes wide, hands pressed to the foot of the bed, he towered over you, bubbling over. “I’ll make it up to you. Whatever it takes.”

He was practically panting, trying to escape his guilt. Just one more thing he wanted from you: absolution. A knight seeking a quest of atonement.

If he could take away the memories of betrayal and isolation as you felt your mind break and your body fail, that would work. You almost found enough spite in your heart to say it.

“I thought we were friends.” Half confession, half accusation.

“We are, bonnie, I swear –”

“No, we’re not.”

He clenched the blankets, white-knuckled with wet eyes that promised rain.

“Bonnie –”

“Stand down, Soap.”

You both turned to find Ghost peering in from the hall. He held a duffel bag, lightly dusted in snow that hadn’t quite stopped falling. Doordash had arrived with your order.

He set the bag on the end of the bed, nudging Johnny aside and nodding towards the open door. Johnny got the message, slinking out with his tail between his legs.

“Brought your things. Feel up to a shower? It would probably help at this stage. I’ll set out some towels for you.”

“Thanks.” You ignored Johnny, grateful for the escape Ghost offered from both the conversation and the room. “That sounds great.”

“I’ll get things sorted, then.”

He left you to choose your things from the bag, disappearing into the ensuite you had yet to explore. You got what you needed. Toiletries. Robe. Toothbrush. Just the basics. You’d address your hair later. And… everything else, really. You weren’t ready to see your clothes sitting folded in a tidy pile on your neighbors’ bathroom counter, even less so on their bed.

Ghost reappeared, and he pointed out the towels he’d prepared. “Assume your shower’s like ours.”

“Probably. Thanks.” Again. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Take your time.”

A nice sentiment, but you really couldn’t. You practically jumped out of your borrowed clothes as the water heated, and you got in when it was just north of tepid. You would not use all their hot water. By now, they had to be running on generator power. The power always went out for a day or two when the big one hit. All it took was one tree.

Still, once the sweat and stress-stink washed off, your hand lingered over your chest, an echo of your host’s. He hadn’t gotten frisky. He’d been entirely respectful. But if his hand had strayed even a little…

Or a lot.

Shit. Fuck. No.

You could not get off in your neighbors’ shower. That was out of the question. Even if they didn’t hear you, it was… rude.

Your core ached, stirred from passive aggression to full on fit by the water and your overactive imagination.

Enough. You were clean. You needed to stop.

So you finished your shower (and nothing else) in record time. You wrapped yourself in your robe, wondering if Ghost had packed any sports bras comfortable enough to sleep in.

Both men were waiting for you when you emerged.

“Uh…” Were you supposed to get dressed in the bathroom? Shit. You should’ve…

“Thought it was about time you got that apology,” Ghost said. He stepped closer. His fingertips brushed over the back of your hand, conjuring goosebumps like magic. “You’re cold again.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, aye.” Johnny winked. Caught himself. Cleared his throat. “Really am sorry. Wanna prove it. First step towards reparations, aye?”

He inched closer as he spoke, and Ghost stepped back to give him space. You held your ground, but only out of confusion. You technically had more skin covered than you had since they rescued you, but you were hyper aware of the loose knot holding the robe closed.

“What did you have in mind?”

Tea? A year’s subscription to a meal delivery service? A note?

His eyes flicked to your lips. “Thought I could warm you up.”

Your brain sputtered. It even made a sound like your engine had when it ran out of gas.

“I don’t think I understand.”

“I think you do.”

He wasn’t touching you. Yet. But his breath fanned over your lips. His body heat reached through your robe.

His partner was in the fucking room. “You’re in a relationship.”

“Already discussed it.”

You turned to Ghost, shocked, but he was relaxed. Almost casual about his boyfriend seducing the neighbor in his bedroom.

“We both like ya, bonnie,” Johnny whispered in your ear.

You shivered.

It sounded like such a bad idea.

But you wanted it. You wanted a real apology, and a reason to forget it all ever happened.

“How about it?” Johnny was hovering. Waiting for the green light. “Let us make you feel good?”

One more time, you looked to Ghost. You had to be sure. You wanted his permission. His confirmation. He nodded. So did you.

With one hand on your cheek, drawing your attention back to him, and one on the back of your neck, your neighbor pressed you into a kiss. There was no demure pecking. No sweet warm-up. Lips, tongue, and teeth leapt into the fray at the first trumpet blast.

A gasp gave him a window of opportunity, and soon you were eagerly kissing him back, yanking on his stupid mohawk for vengeance and a pitiful attempt at control.

Johnny licked a moan out of your mouth. He scoured your whimpers clean, gulping them down with a happy rumble.

“The best apologies are given on your knees, don’t you think Johnny?”

A silent exchange passed between the men, and Johnny was all smiles.

“Couldn’t agree more. Here, sit down, pretty girl.” He arranged you on the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees to keep the kisses coming. He plucked the robe’s knot free and tugged it open. His lips stayed on yours as fabric fell away from your shoulders, legs, and chest, pooling around your wrists. There was no time for the usual, momentary panic of finding yourself naked for the first time with a new romantic partner.

One more peck, and a whispered, “Lie back, bonnie.” And he was working down your sternum, pushing your knees apart. “Gonnae give you an apology you never forget.”

The apology came letter by letter, spelled through your folds. The S snaked around your entrance, looping over your clit. The O stayed there, spinning around your bud. The Rs wandered, following the O’s path before tracing each side of your entrance. The Y started at your base and swept up, teasing either side of your clit in turns.

He said it over and over again. The clever rhythm had him smiling against you as you tugged at his mohawk, trying to chase each sensation. But his hands were strong, and he kept you spread and stationary. At the mercy of his repentance.

The Os never circled long enough, and his tongue dipped inside just enough to remind you how much you ached for more on every Y.

It was driving you crazy, and tears of frustration gathered, blurring his self-satisfied gaze. You’d had it with him. Even when he went down on you, he took his own pleasure first, playing games you had no spoons left to enjoy. You wanted him to take care of you like he’d promised. You wanted to lose yourself. Wanted to feel desired. Wanted to feel good.

Your whining plea didn’t sound at all sexy to your own ears, but the way the tongue shook with suppressed laughter between your legs proved someone was having a good time.

Solid heat you’d learned to recognize in your sleep slipped up behind you. Long, thick fingers petted back your sweaty hair, and a hand pulled you back, urging you to relax into a solid chest. Ghost, once again coming your rescue.

“Be good, Johnny,” he rumbled. “Stop teasing.”

Eyes glinting, your tormentor’s face appeared. He licked his lips with a wolf’s fervor, eyes flashing from yours to Ghost’s.

“Yes, sir.” His voice had gone rough. Deep. You shuddered, and he squeezed your thighs. “Mind givin’ me a hand, LT?”

Ghost huffed, almost a dry laugh, and his hands left you. You had a mind to complain again, but then his grip appeared under your knees, lifting and spreading even farther than Johnny wheedled earlier. You were obscene. You were desperate.

“You doing alright? Let us make you feel better. Give Johnny the chance to start paying you back for all the trouble he’s caused, yeah?”

One hand clamped onto his arm, unsure whether you planned to push it away or simply cling on. As you vacillated, Johnny craned forward, blew on you, and you spasmed. Your free hand jumped back to Ghost’s balaclava, and you knew what you wanted.

“Yeah. I’m alright. Please.”

“You heard the woman.”

“Happy to serve.” Johnny grinned, nearly feral, and lunged forward with fresh determination.

Now free, his fingers pulled you open, giving him better access to the mess he’d made with all his teasing. His tongue pressed hard, spearing deep as it could reach. It worked relentlessly, trying to scoop out every last drop, but the slick only grew, and he returned to your clit.

Ghost held you at an angle that defied your attempts to ride Johnny’s face, and you turned into a twitching, writhing mass in his lap. When his partner started suckling your bud, you shrieked, and Ghost crooned. His thumbs worked circles in your flesh, soothing the edge of delirium rising with your pleasure.

“Good girl. There you go. Finally letting us take care of you.”

A finger pressed inside, petting and curling as it hunted for the right spot. Every muscle rolled, trying to participate, to join the dance, and then Johnny found what he was looking for, and you screamed.

He’d tormented you so long. You didn’t have a chance to give a warning or brace for the snap. Your orgasm practically exploded, and for a minute you couldn’t even breathe. Everything froze, trying to catch and keep the high as your vision went white and your ears rang. Your thoughts ran slow and thick, like honey in winter, just soft enough for Ghost’s words to penetrate.

“How you feelin’? Rung out or ready for more?”

What a stupid question. Appreciated, but stupid. You’d ask for more until your voice gave out.

You consciously, carefully unclenched your fingers from his mask, from his sleeve. He still held you open, shivering and bare apart from Johnny’s face, still pressing slow kisses with tongue and teeth anywhere he was tempted to taste. Glimmers of firelight caught in the arousal smeared over his cheeks.

“More.”

Johnny muttered something very Scottish you couldn’t quite make out through the fading white noise in your head. But your eyes worked perfectly well, and he put on a show, yanking off his shirt, showing off like he used to when he shoveled the drive.

“Tell her, Johnny,” Ghost prompted. “Give her everything you’ve been thinking since you moved in here.”

“Fuck.” The Scotsman worked his belt free as talked, staring at you. His eyes roved, chasing the paths his tongue had traveled, rising to your heaving chest, to your face, so close to his LT’s commanding gaze. “Heard the neighbor was a hermit. Expected – doesnae matter. Prettiest hermit I’d ever fuckin’ seen. Showin’ up with biscuits and makin’ friendly.” The belt swished free from its loops and clattered to the ground. “Had me graspin’ after my manners with one look. An' after I tried catchin’ your eye in the snow, you took care of me an all.” He popped his button free. The zipper went down. “Wanted to bring ya inside and make things cozy. Had to wait for Ghost. Had to let ‘im see ya. Let him understand.” His hand slipped under his clothes, bringing a swollen red tip peeking over the elastic of his underwear.

“Should’a heard him on the phone,” Ghost murmured in your ear as Johnny pushed down his remaining clothes, already hard and weeping for you. “Thought he was gonna come to just the thought of you some nights. Started giving me ideas before I even had a chance to thank you for minding him.”

Naked, practically glowing in the fire, Johnny swooped down for a kiss. He squeezed a breast, thumbing the nipple relentlessly until you broke for air. Everything about him hummed with energy. A livewire sparking over the street. “Wanna fuck you. Please? Please let me fuck you, bonnie. Sweetest little cunt I’ve ever had. Please?”

Standing where he was, and held as you were, his dick rubbed against you as he spoke.

You were going to combust, and you’d enjoy every fucking second of it. All thoughts of snow and ice had melted. Everything had turned to steam.

“Yes.” He’d dived to work a hickey into your neck during your brief hesitation, and you fought to even whisper your answer. “Please.”

He lined up, rocking shallowly once, twice, and pushing home in a long, burning stroke. You yelped, and he moaned, both going still until the sting had passed. By the time you nodded your permission, he had his hands on your hips, trembling with need.

He fucked you like he was dying. Like you were his last meal and the only lifeline thrown in a storm. It was months of yearning, months of confusion and false starts and greedy hunger that spilled over and burned you like hot wax. There was no shelter – not that you wanted any – and you once again seized Ghost’s arms because they were the only fucking thing he’d let you reach. They would take care of you. You weren’t allowed to do any of the work. Not in that bed. Not that night.

Johnny keened, huffing and growling and whimpering as he went faster and faster. He brought you so far. So close. Just a little more.

But not enough.

His hips stuttered, his head bowed, and his warm release splashed out.

“Fuck.” Blushing from exertion – and probably something else – he looked up from where he was still balls-deep to sheepishly meet your eyes. “I swear, never finished so fast in my life. Didn’t get you there in time, did I?”

He pulled out, and you dropped your head back on Ghost’s shoulder with a wail of frustration. You were too close to stop now. You reached down to touch yourself, but before you could rub one out, Ghost shifted. He moved closer to the edge of the bed, dropping one of your legs to swat your hand away from your clit.

When you didn’t fight him, he reached behind you, and you both heard and felt him work his cock free.

“May I?”

Too horny and too frustrated, you nodded wildly. “I said I trusted you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

He didn’t pick up where Johnny left off. Thick fingers that had really only held you up to this point reached down, groping over breast and belly to reach your center. Long strokes kept the spark in your belly alive as he ran his hand over you, lubing his fingers in the mixed spend.

One dipped in. He paused, considering. Then a second joined.

“Minute I saw you at the door, knew you were a carer,” he said. “Knew it’d been so long since someone took care of you that you’d forgotten how a good neighbor should act.” The fingers curled, scissored, working you with clear and vulgar intent. “Wanted to be more than neighbors. Had to close that door quick. Every filthy thing Johnny said hit me, and I wasn’t fit company.” The full implications of that didn’t quite hit you in the moment, but a hazy vision of him watching you through the windows, palming an erection sent your cunt fluttering.

A third finger. All together, they were wider than Johnny’s cock. A deep breath helped. The thumb flicking over your clit like a moth drawn to a porchlight did more. “Had to figure out how to fix all the fuck ups then. So many delays. Took too damn long.” He pulled his hand free, denying you release.

“You said you’d take care of me.”

“We will, sweatheeart. Easy now.” His hand hovered in front of you, fingers spread so he could watch his good work cling and drip like a liquid spiderweb between his digits. “Fuck. You’re perfect.”

He spread his knees, pushing yours wider, and he lifted you up until his dick rubbed over your entrance. Even without looking, you could tell he was massive. You’d need to relax. You’d need to trust him.

Unlike Johnny, he took things slow. He read every flutter and clench, every gasp and hiss like he was fluent in your personal language of carnality. The stretch constantly rode the edge of too much, but it touched places no one else had reached, stuffed your senses full of bliss. And he was so careful. Tactical.

When he’d sheathed himself, his hands slid to your thighs, positioning you in a similar way as before.

“Think you’ve got more apologizing to do, Johnny.”

“Yes, sir.”

You’d closed your eyes at some point, overwhelmed by everything Ghost had to give, but you snapped to attention when a tongue ran over your clit. Johnny smiled up at you, pleased as punch. Devious fucker.

Ghost thrust, and the sound he pushed out of your mouth was pure filth. Helpless, you made it again with the second push. It happened again and again until it became an unbroken string of praise and pleas. Johnny made a game of keeping his tongue on you, pulling back, going still so Ghost would bounce you along it as he drove into you.

A hand pressed over your lower belly, and you moaned in tandem with Johnny.

“Fuck, Simon. Can feel you moving in her.”

After Johnny’s performance, Ghost clearly had something to prove. The first time you came, you clenched so hard on his dick it actually slowed him down. You thought that would be it, that he’d ride high to the end having achieved his goal. Instead, he kept going, fucking you brainless as Johnny actually giggled below. A second climax left you boneless, and by the third you’d entered a fugue state. Ghost slowed down until you could respond (I’m okay.) and then he drove you over the edge until you forgot how to count. Johnny offered kitten licks and praise throughout. When Ghost finally finished - pulling you flush to his chest and panting in your ear (Good fucking woman.) it was Johnny’s attention to your clit that broke you. He sucked and worked his tongue under your clitoral hood like he was sucking nectar from a honeysuckle blossom.

But you were tapped.

“Can’t. Too much.”

Johnny disengaged immediately, and two pairs of hands lifted you from where you sat impaled. Soft words and warm washcloths bathed you in the afterglow. Gentle suggestions guided you under the covers, and a familiar touch turned you to rest with your back to a heated chest. Warmth crowded in from the front, too, murmured joy and praise leaking through the haze to find you.

You didn’t even realize as you slept that you’d found something far better than a good neighbor. But that understanding would come with the dawn, a cup of tea, and a suggestion to go thrifting when the weather broke so you could find a matching set of truly hideous mugs.

#fic: neighborly #ghoap x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader

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blushsturns · 3 days ago

Note

what if u write a fic where chris ties down sub!reader and he edges her until she's literally sobbing shaking crying

title: tied up

warnings: daddy kink, edging, pet names, rough sex, unprotected p in v

w/c: 1325

as much as chris loved seeing your pretty face all dumbed out and spent, there was something so intoxicating about seeing you like this; face buried against the sheets with your hands skillfully tied behind your back, ass up and your needy pussy on full display. all for him.

fuck, what a sight to see. you looked so fucking perfect and he couldn’t get enough of how well your pussy took his cock as he slammed into you repeatedly, hitting your sweet spot with each and every thrust. your legs started to shake uncontrollably, a string of muffled moans falling from your lips.

“you’re taking it like such a good girl, aren’t you, ma?” he grunted out through gritted teeth as his hands grabbed onto your ass cheeks, fingers digging into the flesh causing you to push your ass back against him. “such a good girl f’me.”

his thrusts were relentless and your body was full on shaking uncontrollably now. your hips rutted back against him to try and match his rapid paced thrusts as he pounded in and out of your tight heat vigorously. the way your tight pussy swallowed him whole each and every time he pounded into you was such an intoxicating feeling and he was fucking obsessed.

chris was a freak in the sheets and you fucking loved it. you also loved the aftercare you’d receive once he was finished with you, but it always left you sore and unable to walk properly for days after. chris fucking loved knowing he could do that to you.

your moans were becoming more intense, your arms stayed tied behind your back as he pounded into you relentlessly. you tilted your head to the side to breathe, choking out a couple moans as you look back at him with pleading eyes. you could tell you were about to cum. your stomach tightened, fire coursing throughout your veins. “daddy i’m gonna cum. can i cum?” you asked him through choked moans, pushing your hips back into his as he continued to fuck into you.

he growled at this, shaking his head at your words. once he felt your pussy start to flutter, signaling you were about to cum, he abruptly (and oh so rudely) pulled out of you causing a whiny groan to leave your lips. “no. you absolutely may not cum.” he said through his clenched teeth, anger building up inside of him.

you felt yourself on the brink of tears at the sudden loss of his cock no longer inside of you, your pussy clenching onto nothingness. this wasn’t the first time you have witnessed chris like this in bed. you loved every single second of it. the pure dominance, the roughness, the ability to make you feel so fucking good that you are brought to tears. he’s denied you of orgasms before, but this one seemed to be the worst one yet.

“chris.” you cried out, looking back at him with tears now spilling down your cheeks, rutting your hips back against the bed in hopes to grind against something, but his cock now was rubbing against your ass cheeks. “please. please let me cum?”

he shook his head in disbelief at your pleas, a darkened chuckle emitting from his lips. he lifted his hand up and instantly made contact with your ass cheek, causing your body to jolt forward and let out a sharp gasp. a pinkish colored hue was visible on your danity skin, both of his hands kneading your ass cheeks in smooth, slow circles. you moaned at the feeling, your core throbbing and dripping wet with your arousal. “you can do better than that, princess. beg for it, like the dirty little whore you are. come on. i know you can do it.”

you loved seeing him like this. even though he was teasing you beyond belief, it was so fucking hot to see him in his element. you looked back at him with pleading eyes, tears streaming down your already tear stained cheeks. “please, daddy! let me cum! need you to fuck me until i can’t even stand straight. want you to pump your cum deep inside of you and fill me to the brim. need you to fuck me like the dirty slut i am.” you choked out your words, rutting your hips back and letting out a gasp as you felt the tip of his cock again your glistening folds once again. “please daddy! fuck me and let me cum! i’m all yours. use me as your personal fuck toy.”

you could hardly see him now through your blurred vision before blinking back more tears, your arms aching from being tied up behind your back as you impatiently wait for him to listen to your eager pleas.

chris grunted in response to your pleas, running his tip along your folds repeatedly, licking over his lips in a hungry motion. “such a dirty little whore. begging to be fucked like one. need to cum, baby? that’s so cute. i don’t think you’re ready for it.”

“daddy please! i am ready! i need it.” you cry out, rutting your hips back to feel his cock slowly slide into your tight heat once again causing your head to roll back against the pillow and immediately moaning out in pure ecstasy, your moans muffled against the pillow.

he lets out a growl, shaking his head at your desperation. he was getting fed up with it, but also with the fact that he was also edging himself in the process which wasn’t fun at all. “fine. you can be a dirty little whore and take this cock and cum all over it. but you also have to let me cum deep inside of this tight little pussy too.” he grunted out, running his tip up and down your glistened wet folds.

chris begins to thrust back inside of you, allowing you to take every inch of him until he’s balls deep inside of you. you let out a loud cry, your face pressed against the pillow. he grabs onto your ass cheeks for leverage as his thrusts grow more erratic, signaling his release was rapidly approaching.

your pussy swallowed his cock so nicely, squelching sounds of your arousal surrounding his thickened cock as he pounds into you relentlessly, hitting your g-spot with each and every thrust. “fuck, such a dirty slut.” he grunts out, sweat pooling against his hairline and down to his forehead as he speeds up his thrusts.

the only sounds in the room are of your bodies making contact and your breathy moans. you were so close and now that he gave you permission, you can fully let go. “g-gonna..cum!” you cried out against the pillow, your words muffled against the fabric as you thrust your ass back into him.

he raises his hand up to smack your ass once again before gripping onto it roughly to hold onto it as he continues to pound into you, the feeling of your pussy beginning to flutter and clench around him causing him to let out a throaty groan. he was so damn close to his orgasm. “yeah? you gonna cum all over this big fuckin’ dick baby? do it. prove to me how much of a fuckin’ cockslut you are.” he spoke through gritted teeth, his head lolling to his shoulder as he continued to pound into you.

after giving you the permission finally, you came all over his cock and he filled you up to the brim. your arms went limp as they fell to your sides, your body falling onto the bed as his release spills out of you.

chris was great at aftercare, grabbing a washcloth to clean you up, water for you to drink and cuddle you underneath the sheets.

sure, he edged you, but at least he gave you what you wanted in the end. after all, he wanted it too.

taglist-

@sturnshood @strangelife122 @jessie-essie @giveheavensomehell @rina3476 @chrissturnioloslvt @sturnslutz @sturns-mermaid @matthewsturnsgf @christmastreecake @rinahasspots @222wall876 @chris-hallelujah @izzylovesmatt @strniloslvts @oopsiedaisydeer @sophand4n4 @sturniololuv08 @xclusivedesires @mattsplaything @katiebug3851 @fetusjikook @poppingmypussy4chris @mattsbunnyxx @pair-of-pantaloons @chrissweetheart @slutformatt17 @sturnl0ve @pasteldreams @h3arts4harry @marrykisskilled @wh0remikasas @sturnzslut @camzeecorner @alesturniolos @emely9274 @2muchofaslvt @y3sterdaysproblem

thanks for the request! you guys can send any more requests to my inbox!

-nessa ღ

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #sturniolo #sturniolotriplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo fic #sturniolo fic #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #blushsturnsღ #anonsღ

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sloaneispunk · 2 days ago

Text

“once smitten”

frontman!in-ho x you

what if in-ho falls for gi-hun’s sister in the games?

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ ༊· ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

“excuse me, i-” in-ho tried to introduce himself.

“ah, you’re so stupid! how could you take an invitation from a stranger?!” gi-hun scolded you as you stood like a little kid before him, head down with your hands behind your back.

“oh, yes, how can we help you?” jung-bae chuckled awkwardly, turning to face in-ho.

“i was just wondering if i could join your team, i saw that-”

“you’re saying that to me?! you came voluntarily too, again!” you shouted back at your brother, cutting in-ho off again as the team tried to de-escalate the situation.

“give me one moment.” jung-bae excused him, pulling you aside, away from gi-hun to calm down.

“i’m sorry.” apologised gi-hun as he turned his attention towards in-ho, looking him up and down once. “i’m gi-hun, that’s my sister y/n.” he said, pointing to you as you slumped onto the ground.

“ah, i must have caught you guys at a bad time.” in-ho sniggered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“no, no. everything’s fine here, you’re welcomed to join us.”

in-ho gave him a grateful smile, walking towards you, brushing skimmed past gi-hun.

“hi, you’re y/n? i’m assuming?”

you nodded, “you had to ask my brother for permission to join?” you jokingly said.

in-ho took a seat on the floor beside you. “what happened? if you don’t mind me asking.”

“gi-hun didn’t come home for a year after his first game. went on like a lunatic about it when he did come home. then, he was gone, next thing i knew i was ‘happily reunited’ with him again here.”

of course in-ho had already knew all that, but it was part of his ruse to get closer to gi-hun.

“but whatever, it doesn’t matter anyway. i can take care of myself, i don’t need him.” you scoffed, arms crossed.

in-ho couldn’t help but grin at the sight, you were sulking in a corner with him, about the one thing that was possibly the least dangerous in the whole game.

“well, looks like i’m gonna be here for a while so, you know where to find me if you need me.” in-ho said, nudging your arm.

you giggled. “thanks, i didn’t catch your name.”

“young-il.”

“young-il…” you tried it on your lips, it sounded right.

“i’ll see you around.” he winked before he got up, walking off to join the rest of the team.

after that interaction, you couldn’t seem to get him off your mind. somehow, someway, it always went back to in-ho. when you and him were apart, you keeping away from gi-hun, you would sneak glances at him. sometimes, he would even already be staring, making you a blushing mess as you tried to cover it up by looking elsewhere.

after the second game of ‘six-legged pentathlon’, you were sat on your bed with the team surrounding you, all eating the food they had given you.

at that point, gi-hun was fuming. you couldn’t deny that you haven’t been pissing him off but who was he to say anything? afterall, he was the one that abandoned you for this stupid game.

“y/n, finish your food.” gi-hun told you sternly when you left the remainders aside.

“i’m not hungry.” you said monotonously, not meeting his eyes.

“you’re not going to have energy to play the next game if you don’t.” he scolded, raising his voice.

“who cares?”

“y/n. finish it now.”

“or what? you’re gonna disappear again? are you gonna leave me again?” you retaliated, sneering when he didn’t reply.

suddenly, he shot up, grabbing you by the collad as he slammed you into the wall. you screamed, but was silenced when your head came into contact with the rough surface.

“enough, gi-hun!” you heared in-ho yell, “put her down!”

then, you were being dropped to the ground. in-ho ran towards you, grabbing a hold of you before you could fall.

“are you okay?” he asked, brushing your hair aside to see your face.

but you couldn’t reply. you could only look at the ground, tears hitting the floor underneath you.

in-ho couldn’t be assed about anything else at that moment, he gently escorted you to the exit which was heavily guarded. without a word, the guards opened the door, letting you and him both leave without question. maybe if he was in the right mind, he would have been more careful about blowing his cover, but luckily for you, he wasn’t.

in-ho walked you to the bathroom, effortlessly lifting you onto the sink. he took a moment looking at your pitiful form, he felt his heart break.

“can you look at me?” he whispered, waiting for permission before he lifting your chin with his fingers. “let me see your pretty face.”

as you locked eyes with him, you could feel the embarrassment bubbling in your stomach. you were so weak, so vulnerable now before him. “young-il…” you managed to choke out.

he didn’t need anything else, he knew exactly what you needed at that moment, leaning forward to pull you into his embrace. the second you had your head on his shoulder, you sobbed. no one, not even you, knew if he was because you were scared, or angry, or hurt, but he was everything you could feel at that moment and nothing else mattered.

a few minutes passed, when you eventually calmed down and pulled away, you let out a laugh. in-ho was confused, did he do something wrong?

“thank you, young-il.” you smiled sadly at the man before you.

internally, he let out a sigh of relief. “are you feeling better?”

you nodded. you lifted your hand, touching the back of your head, causing you to wince in pain. “shit.” you cursed under your breath as you looked at your hand, a small trace on blood left on it.

“c’mere.” in-ho instructed, inspecting your wound. “it’s okay, i think it’s just a graze.”

he helped you clean your wound, taking care of you like you were his own treasured item, each movement acted out with upmost care.

“he’s not always like that.” you broke the silence as he hummed. “i don’t know what this place has turned him into.”

but in-ho didn’t care, you had just given him another reason to carry out his plan against gi-hun.

when the two of you headed back to the room, gi-hun ran to you.

“i think you should leave her alone from now on.” in-ho stepped in when he got too close for his liking.

“but y/n-”

“fuck off.” maybe it was a little more than personal now, but either way, he didn’t like the idea of gi-hun coming close to you again.

that night, you slept with in-ho by your side, you cuddled up to his side as he sat still on the bed, careful not to move. in-ho didn’t sleep for the whole night, he was too busy admiring your sleeping form and savouring the feeling of you cuddled up next to him. it made him wonder if this could be what it could be like outside the games.

maybe the you and him would have an apartment, maybe even a dog. it would be the epitome of a perfect life. everynight after work he would come home to you, being welcomed by your hugs and kisses. he smiled hard even just from the thought of it.

much often, when his thoughts had gotten the better of him, he would place a kiss on your forehead or draw cute little patterns on your arm.

y/n, y/n, y/n, what were you doing to him?

#frontman #frontman x reader #frontman x you #hwang inho #inho x reader #inho x you #squid game #squidgame season 2 #lee byung hun x you #lee byung hun x reader

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poguehearted77 · 2 days ago

Note

rafe with pogue!reader with a mouth. she’s so sweet unless you don’t deserve it. and we all know rafe has done some things to get him in the dog house. she’s not afraid to put anyone in their place. but he finds that bending her over id the best way to shut her up.

mmfff. I love this ask.

Pairing: Sweet Girl! Reader x Rafe Cameron

a/n: answering some requests bc i'm finally back lolll

Rafe considers himself a lucky man to have a girlfriend like you--the luckiest, some would say, and he wouldn't disagree. You're sweet, kind, empathetic and probably too good for him if he's being honest.

You're the girl who bakes fresh bread and brings it to the nursing home on the weekends and volunteers her time at the local food banks whenever you have the chance.

It's a stark contrast to your stone-cold boyfriend who was rarely caught smiling in the presence of others except for his closest friends, but even they had a hard time making plans with him.

He's hard to get a hold of, and no one understands that more than you do at this moment. You're currently sitting at the elegantly set table in a reserved section of the Italian restaurant Rafe had booked just for the two of you.

Your diamond-embroidered watch which was a valentines gift from your overbearing boyfriend receives another frustrated glance from your intense stare. With precision the minute hand strikes, signifying the top of the hour and the end of your patience.

You couldn't believe Rafe had stood you up, despite your efforts to call him and the few gentle reminders you sent to his number. They were all in vain.

"Would you like more bread, ma'am?" The waiter comes back for what you guess is the fourth time in the last twenty minutes. Your cheeks rose over at the repeated question, realizing you'd have to admit that there was no one joining you any time soon.

"No, I'm alright thank you. Just the check will be fine." Your words paint a perplexed expression on the waiter's face before he visibly understands what's happened.

The waiter is sweet when he returns with the bill, "He's an idiot."

You didn't quite catch what he whispered under his breath, "Pardon?" His shoulders relax as a small smile graces his lips, "The guy's an idiot for standing you up." It's said thoughtfully, not with any ulterior motives, and you agree, feeling what was just surface-level disappointment morph into a simmering bitterness.

Rafe was going to deal with a bitch at home.

You found yourself stirring your freshly blended smoothie behind the kitchen island as Rafe continued his desperate attempts to get back in your good graces. "I'm so sorry, baby. The meeting went long and I couldn't get out of it." His hand tries to wrap around your waist from behind and you smack him away.

"Don't even, Rafe." The words come out through clenched teeth. He's startled but not surprised. He's seen this side of you before, though only once when a rude cashier had been insulting to your mother at the store.

"How many times do I have to say I'm sorry? The meeting ran longer than-" You don't even give him a chance to finish when you interrupt, "Oh my god, Rafe. Leave me alone!" You scoff, trying to push past him with your drink in hand but he holds you at the waist, cautiously taking the cup from you and placing it on the counter behind him.

He holds a stern gaze as he talks down to you: "Listen, I get it. You're upset, but you're not even giving me a chance to expl-" He tries to reason with you, but you don't want to hear it from him.

"Shut Up." You make dead eye contact, his towering height not intimidating you in the slightest. You're pissed off and now Rafe is too. Within the blink of an eye Rafe had you pinned down to the cool marble of the island with an arm behind your back.

"Ow~ Rafe!" You whine and he chuckles. "M'sorry baby. Am I hurting you?" He tightens the hold he has on your pinned arm, pressing his hips into the fat of your ass giving you a vivid understanding of where your attitude was taking you.

"You're such a fucking-" With his other hand he forces your head back down against the counter roughly but making sure not to hurt you. "Don't you dare." He warns from behind and you bite your tongue at the harsh tone he was using. He was not in the mood to play around.

"I'm sick of you avoiding me. I'm tryna talk to you-- tell you I'm sorry and you're not fuckin' listening." He curses as he lets your arm go, now moving its way under your dress the caress your ass.

He leaned forward, ensuring the breath of his words would tickle the shell of your ear as he spoke. "Such a shame too, you're usually such a good listener. A good girl." An icy chill runs down your spine as you feel him flip up the fabric of your dress.

There's a laugh, one of amusement.

"No panties? Thought I was supposed to be going to dinner with my girlfriend, not a whore." Your lip is tucked between your teeth when you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. "Huh? Where's all your backtalk now, dollface?" You whine, arching your back up against your boyfriend.

"Rafe please-" He doesn't let you beg before he's sliding himself between your soaked folds, letting himself be overcome by the wet, hot sensation of your contracting walls. "Tell me you forgive me," He all but purrs in your ear. His words paired with the way his cock stretched you so good, you almost said it.

Almost.

"Fuck you."

He made you eat those words. The way he pistoned his hips into yours over and over with no remorse filled the kitchen with the lewd sounds of flesh against flesh. Your acrylics scratched against the marble tops desperately searching for something to hold on to.

"Say it." He grits and you shake your head, pathetic moans slipping with each thrust he gives you. "N-no!" He angles his hips, the head of his cock perfectly hitting the sweet spot. "Oh fuck- Rafe! I'm-"

"I won't let you finish until you say it-"

"I forgive you, fuck! I forgive you. Let me cum, please please-"

He gives you everything you need to stumble over the edge of ecstasy and more, he finishes soon after you. His weight leaning on your back, feeling his chest heave as he catches his breath.

"The waiter called you an idiot, you know." You mumble, cheek still pressed against the counter. "I am an idiot. I'm sorry, baby. Let's put this gorgeous dress to good use and let me make it up to you."

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bdbueckers · 2 days ago

Text

ballin' pt.2 | p.b

"i just finished on you, i just did it on you"

paring: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut, fluff, dom!paige, sex, strap usage, dirty talk, hair pulling, oral (both receiving.. partially), spanking, squirting, gets a little sappy at the end ofc, if i missed anything feel free to lmk!

word count: 2.5k

summary: your girlfriend reminds you just how much she loves you and only you.

author's note: pt.2 is here! i hope it ends up being everything y'all hoped for, if not more. feedback is appreciated as always and feel free to send asks with regards to this fic or maybe even something else you think i could write. alright, enough yapping from me..enjoy! x (once again if you hate it do NAWT fucking tell me)

read the first part here

“we’re not even close to done. strip.”

she looks up at you, demanding, anticipating. already ridding herself of the rest of her clothes.

reaching behind you undo the knot at the nape of your neck. your dress falls, finally revealing your top half completely. paige leans up to attach her mouth to one of your nipples, always quick to give them her undivided attention.

“every part of you is so perfect baby, fuck.” she moans, mouth open and her tongue out circling your hardened buds.

your hand holds the back of her head, pushing her farther into your cleavage. your head lulls back, mouth open in a silent moan at the feeling of her hot mouth on your skin and the cool air that follows when she switches from right to left.

paige slides to the edge of the bed, forcing you to stand so the rest of your dress could fall, pooling at your feet. she pulls her head back from your chest and her eyes are met with you fully naked for the first time tonight.

your heart hammers in your chest as she eyes from head to toe, her bottom lip between her teeth when she catches a glimpse of your folds. placing a hand under her chin you lean down to bring your lips to hers once more. almost as if for good measure, ensuring that this moment was real. when you stand again you already see her reaching towards your bedside table for a certain detachable piece of silicone.

“p, can i help you put it on?” you utter, voice lower than you realized.

with a slight nod she beckons you closer, but not before stopping you a few inches from her with an extended hand on your hip.

“on your knees.”

not even needing her to finish saying all three words you dropped down, eye to eye with the harness and strap in her hands. grabbing it from her you begin to secure it. stopping when it was on her, you trail languid kisses up and down her upper thighs and hips, hands sliding up her abs and resting just underneath the curve of her tits.

with a hand on the side of your face she forces you to look up at her.

“i’m getting impatient.”

“oh and you were talking about me earlier?” you asked, leaving another kiss on her lower stomach right above the strap harness.

“how about you put your mouth to work on my shit instead of running it so much, hmm?” paige grabs you by the crown of your head. not even waiting for an answer from you.

wetting your lips you wrap them around the tip, moaning at weight on your tongue. gradually taking more of “her” in your mouth you make the mistake of looking up to gauge any reactions she might be having. she’s already looking back at you.

forcing your head down until your nose meets her stomach and you’re gagging she begins to rut into your mouth a little, relishing in the gurgling noises coming from you.

“fuck, that’s right baby. get it wet.” she hisses, only throwing her head back momentarily before gazing down at you again.

paige and her strap were almost inseparable. any time she got the opportunity to fuck you with it, it became an extension of her. if you hadn’t known any better you’d think that she could actually feel it. that’s just how she was.

“hmm, i think that’s enough?” she questions, a smirk painting her lips. with her hand now on your ponytail she’s tugging you off of her cock. you whine a little as you feel drool slipping past your lips and dripping down your chin slightly.

“if this shit was really mine i’d cum all over your face right now,” paige starts.

she can see how you press your thighs together even tighter, your clit begging for some kind of attention.

“i know you’d look perfect. you’re already sucking me off like your life depends on it, imagine you covered in my cum.”

“p…baby please” you huff, already wet all over again and ready to be filled to the brim.

“you know i like it when you beg.” she says, roughly bringing you to your feet with that same hand holding onto your hair. as soon as you’re standing you'rer pushed on to the bed again. you don’t even need her to tell you before you’re on your hands and knees with your ass in the air.

you hear her take in a sharp breath before you feel her hand come down on your ass, the now lubricated tip teasingly rubbing up and down your sopping wet cunt. you almost fall right into your stomach at the contact, letting out a mix of a whine and a groan.

she leans down, her chest pressed against your back as she uses her hand to continue dragging the strap through your folds.

“c'mon baby, gotta tell me how bad you want it.” she whispers in your ear.

instinctively pushing back into her you huff a bit, knowing that you needed to say something because she absolutely would drag this out.

“paige, fuck– please i need it, i wanna feel you so bad, i need you inside me now.”

“more.”

oh my god.

“nobody fucks me like you do baby, i’ve been thinking about this all night, please”

“you sound so pretty like this princess.” you can almost hear the grin in her voice.

as your brain registers the praise you feel her roll her hips forward, immediately bottoming out.

your jaw goes slack and you feel like you could scream but the lack of air in your lungs from the sharp breath you’ve just taken in makes it a little hard.

“shit, look at how you’re sucking me in already.” she groans, eyes never leaving your pussy as it swallows her inch by inch.

it doesn’t even take her a few strokes before she has one hand gripping tightly onto your hip and another pressing down on your shoulder blades to keep your back arched. she’s plowing into you at this point.

you can’t control the noises that leave you. from the squelching of your pussy and whatever manages to come out of your mouth it's all extremely lewd, the thought of how loud you’re being never crosses your mind.

“tell me how it feels.” she demands.

you try to speak but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a whine as you face plant into the mattress.

not going for that paige grabs onto your ponytail, yanking you back until your body is pressed against hers. her thrusts don’t still or slow.

“am i fucking you dumb baby? better say something or i’ll stop.” she pants into your ear, tonguing your earlobe.

“mmm– it feels so good p, please don’t stop!” you yelp, as she releases her hold on you pushing you down into the mattress, somehow pumping into you faster.

“i can’t. believe. you. think. i. would. ever. want. to. fuck. somebody. else.” she says, punctuating each word with a thrust into your leaking hole, each stroke surprisingly feeling deeper than the last.

she brings down a hand to your clit, making tight circles upon contact.

“paige!” you gasp, reaching back to attempt to get a hand on her stomach to disrupt her thrusts. she immediately moves it away, smacking her lips together.

“you wanted it, so take it. don’t ever try to push me away.” she mutters, one hand now holding yours behind your back.

your chest is burning from how hard you’re breathing, your throat dry because you can’t keep your mouth closed, drool pooling beneath you on the duvet.

paige uses her free hand to deliver a quick slap to your clit, causing you to produce a moan that’s borderline pornographic.

she watches you clench around her.

“you liked that?” she lets out almost mocking you.

“yes, oh my god–YES”

your feel her fingers on your clit again and you screw your eyes shut.

“p, you'resogood–shit please don’t stop, i’m gonna cum!” your words now slurred together.

“i bet you are. c’mon, give it to me.” she moans, getting off on the sight of you like this.

paige doesn’t let up and soon you’re panting ridiculously fast as you feel static from your head to your toes, creaming her strap.

“oh baby, look at you…so messy.” paige groans, slowing her thrusts to get you through your high but never coming to a complete stop. just milking you.

after a few more delicate thrusts paige pulls out of you and watches your hole clench and unclench, muttering a breathy “fuck” from behind you.

she helps you roll onto your side to catch your breath as you collapse. you can’t help but grin to yourself like an idiot. you feel her peppering feather light kisses all over your forehead, cheeks, and down your neck as you relish in the feeling of your orgasm.

“i do remember you sayin' sumn about how you wanted to fuck me until you pass out...” you hear from the foot of the bed.

lifting your head slightly you see her reaching out to grab your ankles and pull you towards the foot of the bed once more.

“what are you–“

“let me clean up the mess you made.”

your eyes go wide as paige spreads your legs rather gently placing kiss after kiss to both your inner thighs, her veiny hands firm in their hold on you to ensure that you can’t squirm out of her reach.

your breathing is airy and uneven again when you feel her getting closer and closer to your cunt, obviously still covered in cum.

“paige, i don’t know if i can–“

“you can. and you will. one more and then i’m done with you…for tonight.” she responds, not entertaining the idea of you getting out of this.

her breath is hot, hovering over you. you weakly lift yourself only your elbows to watch as her tongue wets her bottom lip and juts out once more to lick up your pussy from your leaking hole to your clit.

you gasp loudly, your head falling to one shoulder. paige’s eyes are low as she holds eye contact with you for a second. she moans and they immediately shut when she tastes you.

she sucks your clit between her lips before circling her tongue around it a few times, you moan and your legs threaten to clamp shut around her head but her hands are there to pry them wide open again.

you let yourself fall off of your elbows, chest heaving and you let out a whimper when she pumps her tongue into your hole.

you’re so sensitive this brings tears to your eye. you reach down and tangle your hands in her hair that’s a mess now, vastly contrasting how it looked earlier in the night. you think about pushing her head away but as much as it hurts it feels so good.

you feel greedy almost. already chasing your third orgasm of the night.

pulling back from her assault on your clit paige uses two fingers to circle your hole teasingly and then spread your folds. she gathers all of the saliva in her mouth before pursing her lips and spitting onto your cunt, connecting her mouth to you again shaking her head from side to side.

your eyes roll back into your head and a noise leaves your mouth, half a moan and half a sob.

“shit–baby i’m close please don’t stop”

using the same hand that was just in you, paige reaches up to pinch one of your nipples. her mouth never faltering in motion.

this sends you over the edge. covering her hand with yours you’re screaming her name as tears roll down your cheeks. your back arches off of the bed as paige’s tight grip holds you down.

your eyes are so far into the back of your head that you think you see white for a second. then your stomach is tight and you get a sudden and overwhelming urge to pee.

that’s not what’s happening.

paige’s mouth is wide open as you squirt, covering her chin, her chest, and the sheets beneath you. if you had the mental capacity to give a fuck you’d be a little shocked but right now it didn’t matter.

you can’t help but sob uncontrollably now, your pussy worn out and the rest of your body exhausted as well. paige disconnects herself from your lower half and is quick to hover over you kissing away any tears that continue to fall. she’s cooing in your ear in admiration, still a bit in awe herself.

“shh, it’s okay. you did so good for me baby, took it a fucking champ.” she whispers, laying beside you whilst laying an arm over your midsection as you begin to calm down.

you’re nothing but a sniffling mess but you try to pry your eyes open and you get a slight glimpse into the same blue ones that got you in this position.

leaning in paige places the softest kiss possible on your lips. you kiss back with the last bit of energy you have left before taking a deep breath as everything around you fades.

you don’t know how much time passes but when you blink back to consciousness you’ve been wiped down and you’re wearing clean clothes. your head rests on paige’s chest and her fingers trace shapes into the skin that’s exposed at your hip with your shirt ridden up.

turning your head slightly, careful not to disturb paige as you can tell she’s in and out of sleep herself.

“look who finally decided to wake up,” she teases, “i got a little scared when your eyes closed and didn’t open again but when i realized you actually did pass out i had to stop myself from laughing.”

in disbelief you smack your lips and push at her chest, “you’re fucking ridiculous.” you say before also letting out a chuckle of your own at the irony of the situation.

“no, it seems like i…fuck ridiculous.”

“there’s no way you’re dead ass right now.”

“oh but i am.”

ignoring the way you roll your eyes she pulls you closer to her with the same hand that was already on your hip. kissing your forehead and resting her head atop yours.

“thank you for tonight,” she whispers, grinning when you instinctively lift one leg to wrap around her waist, getting as close and comfortable as possible.

“i should be thanking you,” you begin to respond before yawning and burying your head into the crook of her neck. “tonight was perfect, i don't think i've ever cum that hard in my life.”

"you're welcome, you know i'm always at your service."

chuckling again in disbelief you gaze up at her one more time.

“i love you.”

"and i love you. only you, forever and always you. never forget it.'

you both finally shut your eyes and the night ends somehow better than you could’ve possibly imagined. you’re fed, fucked out, and quite literally wrapped in love.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige x reader #paige bueckers fic #wlw fiction #wcbb x reader #wcbb smut #bdbueckers🍓#namz🍓

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ditzydoe444 · 2 days ago

Note

Beefy ak Jason using doll reader as nothing but a free use fleshlight anytime anywhere he wants :3

Also may I be 🪼?

MDNI 18+

a/n: you've been added as 🪼 anon!!

“bed now,” jason grumbled lowly the moment he stepped into your room, his large imposing figure hovering over yours. he was big in every single possible way, broad shoulders, thick and muscular thighs and biceps so damn big he could crush your skull.

the moment you laid on your back on the mattress waiting for him, he roughly tugged you forward by your ankles towards the edge of the bed. jason wasted no time taking his cock out of his boxers, pumping it quickly in his hands.

“gonna be good for me hm?” he taunted, watching as you nodded obediently. “i’ll be good to you,” you spoke softly, eyes glued to him gently pumping his thick cock. “good to who? finish the sentence doll.”

“g-good to you sir,”

he sly grin appeared on jason’s face, “that’s exactly what i wanted to hear, now since you were so obedient i’ll reward you yeah?”

jason fucked you like his own personal toy, it was free-use at home. he would take you in the shower, against the wall, bent over the counter or sprawled out on the couch. he fucked like an animal, rutting against you at a speed that made you so dumb you were babbling and drooling like a dumb animal.

jason wasted no time shoving his cock into you, splitting you in half from the sheer size of him. “so damn tight as always aren’t ya?”

he took great pride in watching how fucked our you got, the way your eyes would roll and shut tightly as the most pathetic moans left your body. “s-so big,” you whined, your fist gripping the mattress tightly.

“shut up and take it.”

jason was never one to tolerate your behaviour, his only solution? to fuck you dumb, sometimes if you were too bratty he would edge you until you cried and fixed your attitude. jason didn’t do the lovey dovey love making, he was rough and passionate, getting every single bit of your last drop, essentially milking you dry.

the room was filled with noises from the bed creaking, his groans and your whines and mewls. “squeezing me so damn tight like a toy.”

you were his toy, his own personal fleshlight to fuck and fill with his cum. jason had no shame in making you his cum dump, filling you to the brim until it leaked from your thighs. it didn’t just fill your cunt, he filled every single hole.

he would fuck your ass, making a cream pie, then fuck your mouth until you were drooling with his cum.

“this is just the beginning sweetheart, don’t get too dumb yeah?” jason groaned as you squeezed tightly against him.

it wasn’t just his dick that he knew how to use, it was his fingers, the way they rubbed against your clit as he fucked you was enough to send you over.

“g-gonna come jay,”

jason chuckled, “already coming so soon? we just started sweetheart, need you to keep your stamina up ok?”

“but i can’t hold it,” you whined as he pressed down on your sensitive nerve, your swollen and puffy folds taking him tightly.

“you can come sweetheart, but trust me, we won’t be stopping anytime soon.”

#anon 🪼#jason todd #ch: jason #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd smut #dc smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood smut #red hood x reader #dc jason todd smut #dc jason todd #dc fanfic #dc characters #arkham knight smut #arkham knight x you #arkham knight x reader #arkham knight jason todd

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megamindsecretlair · 3 days ago

Note

hey i just need something real nasty between husband and wife with mr.aaron (i say it key and peele😂😂) with some angst before the actual plot🤭

A/N: Ask and ye shall receive, beautiful.

Made You Fall For Me

Pairing: Husband!Terry Richmond x Wife!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. Cursing, teasing (fem and male receiving), PIV, oral (female receiving), Reader is able to be picked up, use of pet names, angst. Mentions of death of a loved one, trauma. All consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: It had been two weeks since the anniversary of Mike’s death and Terry still beat himself up over it. Tired of Terry not letting you in, you join him in the shower and show him that he has a life to lead right here and now with you. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog

Word Count: 5,371k

AO3 Link

A/N: Thank you so much for dealing with my hiatus. I'm stronger mentally than I have ever been. Definitely worked on myself and stopped being so hard on myself. The kind asks really helped me find my way back, so have this smutty fic as a giant thank you! Thank you so much for all your continued support! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

Terry sighed as he entered the bedroom. You looked up from your phone to watch your husband.

His tall frame moved fluidly around the space, taking off of his pants and his shirt. It was soaked through having just finished at the gym. He sat on the edge of the bed to fling off his socks and toss it in the knit hamper.

“Hey babe,” you said.

“Hey baby,” Terry sighed.

You stared at the back of his head as his shoulders drooped the longer he sat on the bed. He looked so…dejected. Like someone sucked the air from his tires. You leaned up and let your powder blue throw blanket fall from your shoulders.

This was the second week in a row that your husband was still in this funk. Two weeks since the anniversary of Mike’s death where it seemed like Terry relived it all over again. It started with a dream, the very moment he ran into the hospital carrying Summer. Hopped up on adrenaline, a bullet in his shoulder, and him looking for the next threat.

Then he would slowly withdraw mentally, checking out of conversations. Floating through the motions of going to work and getting back home. You were worried that he would get into an accident but he was able to operate on auto-pilot, navigating the world just as he normally would.

It was both sad and amazing that he was able to do so. But this wasn’t your husband. This was a guilt ridden man who sometimes realized that he had no family. You were his family, of course, but he had no living blood relative alive. Mike was his one and only connection and that was severed by hate and pride.

“Baby, will you please talk to me?” You asked. You fiddled with the edge of your phone. He wasn’t facing you, but you were still nervous to look at his face. You didn’t know which would be worse. Hearing you and choosing not to speak or not hearing you at all because he was lost somewhere you couldn’t reach?

“I-I’m trying,” he said. He tilted his head to the side. You longed to comfort him, hold him, console him in some way. But every time you reached out, he would stare at you as if he couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel you.

You didn’t know how to help him through this. You’ve lost people, sure, but you always had enough family and friends to fall back on. You didn’t know what it was like for him and he was too stubborn to let you take some of his pain.

You moved forward and crawled on the bed towards him. He stiffened as you got closer and you wrapped your arms around him anyway. You held on and placed your hand over his heart. It beat rapidly beneath your fingers and you inwardly sighed in relief. He was still in there. His heart still beat.

“You have to stop beating yourself up about this. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself forever,” you said. You kissed his back and rested your cheek on his skin. He was always so warm, like your own personal fire pit. But due to the sweat, he was cold and clammy.

“I was supposed to protect him. That was my one and only job,” Terry said.

“You were supposed to love him. But what happened was out of your control,” you said.

Terry sighed and stood up, breaking your embrace. He hung his head as he walked to the bathroom. The door closed decisively and you flinched from the harsh sound. The light turned on underneath the doorway. The shower turned on and you didn’t hear anything further.

Some days you wanted to knock your husband’s teeth in. His overprotective instincts went into hyperdrive, past the point of what was healthy. He refused to think of himself and the consequence be damned. Other times, you just wanted to wrap him in a floofy blanket and never let him out of your sight. You couldn’t very well fault him for wanting to keep you safe when you were the exact same way.

But this…it varied on when he’d be able to pull himself out of this. Sometimes you’d say or do something to bring him back. Sometimes he’d take a deep breath and release that dark cloud. And sometimes, he’d disappear for a whole day and return back to the sweet, loving man you married.

But fuck this. You missed your husband. And you were tired of seeing him walk around like a zombie. You got out of bed and headed straight to the bathroom.

Steam rushed out and passed over your exposed skin. You closed the door behind you and noted the discarded underwear on the floor and a red towel on the edge of the sink. Terry’s silhouette moved just behind the foggy glass doors.

You quickly stripped, flinging your lavender sleep set to the ground with his briefs. You stuffed your bonnet beneath a shower cap and slid the glass doors back. Terry looked over his shoulder at you and you entered the spacious shower behind him.

The custom shower with tiles painted in different shades of brown was roomy enough for about three people comfortably if they were all intimate. Water cascaded down from a waterfall shower head, pouring down over Terry’s strong body. Water dripped from the edge of his wide nose, his full lips, and his well-defined chest. You followed the trail of water down his belly and over his long, thick dick. Water fell down in his long legs and huge feet.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I’m taking a shower,” you said. You shoved past him and grabbed your wash cloth, pulling it under the spray of water to get it wet.

Terry huffed. “Had to be now?” He asked.

“Yup,” you said, popping the ‘P’. Instead of grabbing your favorite soap, you grabbed his and lathered up the wash cloth.

“C’mon,” Terry said. He tugged on your arm for you to turn around.

You did so and slapped the wash cloth against his chest. “I miss you,” you said, cutting off whatever he was about to say. He closed his mouth and grimaced, jaw flexing.

You flattened both of your hands against his chest and stepped closer. Water hit your back at a lukewarm temperature. You had no clue how he could shower like this but that wasn’t the point. “I miss my husband and I need you to come back, right now,” you said.

Terry closed his eyes and his long eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. His mouth worked like he wanted to say something but the words never came. Whatever he wanted to say lodged in his throat and he couldn’t choke it out.

“So after this shower, you better step out of it and remember that you did everything right for Mike. And he made his own choices. That’s not your fault. It has never been your fault. And it’s time you accept that,” you said.

You moved the wash cloth over his skin, scrubbing him down. Soap transferred to his body in thick suds, falling down his skin. He watched you and shut his mouth as you scrubbed him all over his chest and moved on to his arms.

His eyes never left yours as you massaged the cloth between his fingers. He sighed and hummed as you found tense spots. You rubbed him deeper in those areas, working out the tension.

You maneuvered behind him so he could rinse and then washed his back, creating big circles of soap. You moved down to his ass, teasing him a bit. He grunted and then chuckled. Well, that was a good sign. If he was chuckling then at least he was starting to relax.

You washed down his legs, tickling him in areas. He danced out of your way and you warned him to be careful in this slippery ass shower.

“If you die, I’ll bring you back and kill you again,” you warned.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said and smirked.

You worked your way back to his front. His dick twitched and bobbed in your face. You looked up at him and his head was tilted to the side as he looked down at you. Fuck, he was pretty like this. Above you, staring at you, and in all his naked glory.

He needed to walk around like this more often. For your eyes only. That beautiful male body needed to be on display 24/7.

You looked at his dick and then slowly dragged your eyes up his body and back to his striking ocean eyes. He took in a deep breath as his mouth curved upward. The rise and fall of his chest had an answering throb in your clit. You dropped to your knees on the hard flooring but it barely registered in your mind.

Your husband worked his way back to you in the best way you both knew how. Sex was everything to the both of you. The one way you knew you were on solid ground. From the moment you two met, it had been electric and consuming. Always finding ways to touch each other or be near each other and breathe each other’s air.

You dragged the wash cloth over his dick. At the first press of your hand, he hissed and jerked his hips towards you. You steadied your left hand on his hip and then stroked him with your right.

He lifted his head towards the showerhead and let the water run down his face. Since he leaned back, water fell on top of your head and face but you kept looking towards him and the look on his face.

He was hands down the most beautiful man you had ever met. And the kindest. He wasn’t always nice. He had more than enough words to say about folks that crossed him. But he was always kind, always treated people with respect. And he was a gentleman on top of it. Always opened your doors, always stood on the side of the street closest to danger. Every day, you found new ways to fall in love with your man. You only wished he’d forgive himself.

“I love you. And I miss you. I need you to come back,” you told him. You increased the pressure, giving him long, slow strokes. All the way down to his base, squeezed, and then worked your way back to his tip.

He groaned and rolled his neck, moving his hips. Your pussy throbbed seeing cum leak from his tip. He leaned one hand on the side of the shower, fingers pushing into the grooves.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“You have to let me in when things get dark, Terry. I don’t like feeling like I’m on the outside,” you told him.

Terry nodded his head and his eyes turned darker. But he didn’t look so far away now. His eyes were clearer, more present. “I hate feeling like I failed,” he said. His jaw flexed and you matched him stare for stare.

“You did everything you possibly could. You deserve a life too. Not to punish yourself for the life Mike doesn’t have,” you said. You paused stroking and let the sound of the shower fill the room.

Steam rose to the ceiling in wispy clouds. Soap and water rushed down Terry’s body. His chest rose and fell in heaving sighs but then evened out. Once his breathing returned to normal, you began stroking him again.

He groaned and dropped his head as you increased your strokes. You watched his face and watched the emotions play across his features. His lush lips parted and he moaned, deeply and guttural. “I’m gonna bust,” he moaned.

“Give it to me,” you whispered, just loud enough to be heard above the spray of water. You kept your same pace and three strokes later, Terry’s dick throbbed and his cum splashed onto your neck and titties.

Terry’s moans were sweet music to your ears. You grinned evilly and kept stroking. He jerked and stuttered with chuckles and reached out to still your hands. He huffed and chuckled, giving you a saucy wink.

He pulled you up by your arms and crushed his lips to yours as soon as you were within reach. He grabbed the cloth from your hands and hung it on the lip of the shower door. He cupped your neck in both hands and angled your face to meet his rough kisses. You moaned into his mouth. You missed this. You missed him. So damn badly.

The ache in your chest finally lifted now that your man was back. He healed and soothed with every kiss, every swipe of his tongue, every caress of his thumb on your wet skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he harshly whispered between kisses.

“It’s okay,” you whispered back.

Terry pulled back and looked into your eyes. He narrowed his and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “I will call and get help later today. There’s no excuse for how I’ve been acting. You deserve better from me,” he said.

You tilted your head and kissed his wrist. “I do. But I also know we’re in this for life. So I need you to let me in more,” you said.

Terry nodded. “I promise. Thank you, for sticking with me through this shit,” he said.

“That’s what wives are for,” you said with a giggle.

Terry took a deep breath and then a mischievous gleam made his hazel eyes twinkle. A smirk curved his lips and he began to massage your neck. You hummed and your eyes drooped. “Husbands are for protecting you and taking care of you, right?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said slowly, eyeing him. He was up to something…

Terry flipped you around and pressed your chest against the glass shower doors. You cried out from the sudden cold on your nipples as he pushed until your titties flattened against the doors. He kicked your legs wider to spread for him and your body shivered from his casual roughness.

“T-Terry,” you sighed.

Terry locked your arms behind you, hooking his arm around your elbows so that you were unable to move. Terry licked the shell of your ear and you shuddered. He slipped his free hand around your throat to pull your neck back and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna make up for my bullshit,” he promised with heat laced through every syllable.

“Terry, you don’t–”

Terry cut you off by moving his hand from your neck to his dick. He ran the tip through your dripping folds and then plunged inside with a rough thrust. “Oh shit!” You cried out, twisting your hands to try and slow him down. But because he had your arms trapped, you had no choice but to take his dick.

He angled your hips into a more comfortable position and then he slipped his hand back around your throat. He grunted with every deep thrust, filling you up, and making you take it.

“Too much, too much,” you whined, trying to lean away from him. Terry pushed into you harder, pinning you to the door, while he continued to fuck you. Your forehead leaned on the doors and your breath fogged up the glass with your moans and sighs.

“You can take it, baby,” he said, sinking you deeper and harder onto his length. He kissed your neck, licked and nibbled in areas, and moved upwards to your ear. “I love you so much. And I know I’ve been an ass. I haven’t been fair to you,” he whispered in your ear while he continued to dig into your guts.

You weren’t quite prepared for him to be so sweet and so nasty all at once. He gave you no time to fully hear his message or fully focus on his dick inside you so you were stuck in a twisted limbo. Suspended between absolute pleasure and your heart swelling with emotions.

“That ends today, okay? I’ll prove that I’ll do better,” he said. He grunted and cursed under his breath.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you moaned.

“That’s my job as your husband. And it’s a job I take seriously,” he said. He smiled against your neck and then pulled you into a rough kiss over your shoulder. Your lips danced and played with each other as your orgasm rushed to the surface.

You began to cry and stutter as it washed over you. Terry moaned as you squeezed around his dick. “Fuck, that’s it,” he panted into your ear.

When you came down, Terry let your arms go. He slipped out with a grunt and stepped back. You missed the heat of him instantly. He rubbed the feeling back into your arms from having them bent back for so long. He grabbed the discarded wash cloth from the top of the shower and rinsed it out.

He lathered up with his soap and then carefully washed down your back and your ass. His finger slipped between your cheeks to tease as he washed you down and you giggled with him.

Terry turned you around and washed down your front. Washed the cum from your chest that didn’t rinse off from the water. You smiled at each other, finding your way back with every swipe of the cloth across your titties, your tummy, and down your thighs. He ran the cloth between your legs, careful not to get soap in between, and you moaned just from having his hands on you again.

His lips on yours. His eyes seeing you again after weeks of zoning out. Hints of your husband poked through that barrier he erected and now you were let in behind the wall. You grinned at him and leaned on your toes for a kiss.

The kiss was meant to be innocent and sweet, just something to show that you loved him. That you were there and never letting him disappear again. But Terry kissed you deeper, grabbing you about the neck once more and crushed his lips to yours.

His tongue slipped inside and then he gently nibbled on your bottom lip with his teeth. “Terry,” you sighed. Your stomach flipped with desire. Pussy throbbing. Once wasn’t nearly enough.

“I know,” he said. He lifted your chin and brought you in for a sweet kiss. He deepened the kiss even as he maneuvered you towards the shower wall. He lifted you by the ass to wrap your legs around his hips.

“Fuck,” you cried out. It never ceased to amaze you that he was so strong. He worked hard in the gym to take care of himself but also to lift every pound you had. He lifted without effort, without strain, and grinned when he caught the look on your face.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Terry said. He stared into your eyes as he pushed back into you. Back into your warm, wet heat and you both groaned as he pushed in slowly, all the way down to the base.

Your nails dug into his back and shoulders, clutching on for dear life. He was huge and thick. Long. He pulled back and then sank in once more, repeating this over and over to make you feel every last inch of him. Feel his mushroom head push against your soft, spongy walls welcoming him in.

Your mouth dropped open, needing to release something. A cry, a moan, a word. Nothing came as he stroked into you, increasing with each one. Soon, he was slamming into you. His wet, loud strokes echoed in the tiled shower and your cries soon joined it.

“You feelin’ me?” He asked.

You nodded. You adjusted your arms around his neck and he dropped his forehead to yours.

“Look at me,” he whispered. You locked your eyes with him and it somehow made his strokes even more intense. He throbbed inside you.

“You feel me. Right here and now. I’m not going anywhere. I’m never going away again,” he moaned while he stroked.

“Terry,” you sniffled.

Fuck, this was all you ever wanted. You didn’t need him to be perfect. You didn’t need him to be a textbook definition of a husband. You just wanted him present and with you. Sharing his pain and his joys. Sickness and health. Better and worse. Those were the vows you swore before a room full of your close friends and family.

“I feel you. I feel you right here,” you promised.

Terry switched up his strokes, getting deeper than before and bottoming out. You both groaned and threw your heads back, getting lost in the sensation of him filling you up. Connecting the both of you. As close as you could possibly be to another human being.

Terry leaned down and kissed you, playing with your lips, even as his hips slammed into you over and over. Pressure built in your belly, making your thighs quake and your arms tremble. “Terry, please, I can’t,” you begged. It was too much. It felt like you were out of control, out of your norm, unrooted.

Terry only continued exactly what he was doing. “You’re taking me so well, baby. You can keep going,” he said.

Your eyes swam and your vision turned blurry as you clung to him and came undone on his dick again. Your cries were loud enough to echo and bounce off of the tiled walls and ceiling, giving you a feedback loop of your own pleasure. It amplified your orgasm and you shut your eyes and surrendered to the overwhelming feeling.

Terry kissed you all over your face, neck, and shoulders. He pumped you into you until his own hips stuttered and shot loads of thick cum into your pussy. You whined and shivered as he fucked his cum deeper and deeper.

He slowed to a gradual stop and you stayed connected like that while you both recovered. Water still pelted the both of you and you kissed on each other, soaking up the moment. Terry leaned over and turned off the water, still holding you.

He smiled and kissed your lips. He nuzzled your nose. “Missed this,” he said.

“Me too,” you said. You kissed his cheek.

Terry carefully stepped out of the shower with you still wrapped around him like a spider monkey. You were glad. Because now that you had him back, you weren’t ready to let him go. As if you would keep him here with you by sheer force of will.

He moved the towel from the edge of the sink and placed you down, slipping out of you. You kissed and loved on each other while he dried the both of you off. Greedy for more, you reached between you to play with his heavy balls.

Terry groaned and tilted his head down at you. “You sure you wanna do that?” He asked.

You continued fondling his balls, rubbing them between your fingers, and making him moan. His hips canted towards yours and you bit your lip, needing him back inside. Two orgasms weren’t enough. No number would satisfy you.

“It’s been too long,” you pouted and looked at him.

He chuckled and kissed you, taking possession of your poked out lip. He suckled on it and you moaned, feeling your pussy respond and ache from just this small action.

“Get that sexy ass on our bed. Let me clean up in here and I’ll take care of that,” he said.

You pouted again and whined but he bit your lip. “Now.” He deepened his voice and arched a perfect eyebrow at you.

You rolled your eyes and his eyebrow lifted higher. You grinned and hopped off the sink. While being punished for your attitude would be fun, you just wanted him right now. No extras, no games. You wanted to enjoy him and enjoy his body.

He smacked your ass as you walked out and he chuckled after you shrieked and hid your ass behind your hands. You skipped to your bedroom and laid down on your bed. Cool air blew across your damp skin but it wasn’t freezing or uncomfortable.

The temperature was just right to make you hyper aware of your body. Of the feel of your skin and the thorough fucking Terry just gave you. Your pussy was still sensitive but you couldn’t resist teasing your clit. You ran your other hand along your skin, your belly, and your titties. Squeezing your nipple between your fingers and moaning from the dual sensations.

“Terry…” you called out, drawing out his name. If he didn’t get in here soon, you were about to take matters into your own hands.

The afternoon sun was setting low, rich oranges and golds slanting through your curtains and casting a warm glow about your room. Most days, you hated that your place faced east and west, but on lazy days like today, it was perfect.

Terry moved about the bathroom, you had no clue what he was doing. So you closed your eyes and continued to play with yourself. You grew wetter by the second, your mind filling in with images of Terry’s broad chest. His narrow hips. That monster he had between his legs and the unbridled pleasure he managed to provide every single time.

God, you loved that man. In every which way you were able to get him. You didn’t have the words to convey it but you’d spend the rest of your life trying to find them.

You moaned as your imagination took over. Replaying what happened in the shower, the look on his face, the fire in his hazel eyes. You sighed as Terry entered the room.

“Oh, you bold,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

You didn’t stop though. You spread your legs further and shifted on the bed so that he could get a clearer view. “All warmed up for you,” you teased.

Terry’s eyes dropped to the core of you, at the way you held your pussy lips open. Your other hand teased around your clit in figure eights, dipping into your pussy every so often to gather up more essence.

Terry’s tongue swiped out to lick from one side to the other. Your fingers lost their rhythm. “Keep going,” he commanded.

You whined and started up again but you couldn’t think straight. Not with him leaning against the wall looking at you like you were a five course meal and he was a starving man. When you just couldn’t find that spot again, Terry smirked and walked closer.

“What happened?” He asked.

“You,” you said.

Terry smirked and took his time kneeling at the edge of the bed. He grabbed your thighs and pressed his thumbs to your inner thighs, massaging them. “Fuck,” you moaned and twisted, trying to close your legs and trap his hands there.

“Naw. Open back up. That’s what you get for trying to handle it yourself,” he said.

“It’s been too long since I’ve seen you,” you said and smirked. Terry lifted an eyebrow but his eyes were still on your throbbing pussy. He had to see how you were clenching around nothing. Clenching and reaching for him.

He leaned down and kissed your clit. He retreated too quickly for your blood and you whined, pushing your hips back towards his face.

“I’m still apologizing so I won’t make you beg this time,” he said. Without further ado, he dragged his pink, juicy lips through your folds, hunting for your clit. His tongue darted out and teased, dragging the tip through your folds. His tongue was warm as it flattened against your clit and he licked.

“Fuck!” You screamed out.

Terry smiled between your legs before getting down to business. He suckled and licked and nibbled while he feasted on your pussy. Your pussy throbbed and ached while he slurped up your essence noisily.

“Fuck, baby. Right there,” you moaned.

Terry locked in to the spot and swirled his tongue around in tight circles. You clutched to the covers, nails digging in for dear life as you twisted and jerked. You reached down to grab onto the back of his head and push his head deeper.

Terry placed his hands to your thighs and pinned them to the bed while he ate you out, never stopping for breath. He just ate like a man possessed until you were twitching and crying out on his tongue, reaching your climax in record time.

Terry continued to eat you out through it, whispering into your pussy how perfect and sexy you were. How much he had to make up for. Your throat was scratched raw from all the moaning you were doing, too spent to respond. To tell him that he didn’t have a damn thing to make up for. His pain was valid and he had a right to see it through, but he had to see it through. Not just disappear into his head.

None of that came through. Your vision swam as you looked at the popcorn ceiling, too blissed out to form a coherent sentence. Terry replaced the view of the ceiling, leaning down on his fists, as he smirked at you.

“Still with me?” He asked.

“Always,” you sighed.

He chuckled as he climbed onto the bed. It dipped beneath his weight, jostling you a bit. His knees pushed your legs on top of his thighs. His eyes sparkled as he slipped into you, meeting no resistance from your pussy.

“Shit,” you grunted. You pushed feebly at his chest. Not necessarily to make him stop, but fuck, you needed time to recover. Time to catch your breath. He stole the motherfucker, the least he could do was let you gain it back.

“Nothing feels better than this,” he said. He sank deeper into you, making you curl into him and squeeze his hips with your legs. He grabbed both of your hands and pinned them above your head, poking your chest out for his lips to capture your nipples.

He suckled on them, going back and forth between the two, while he fucked into you lazily. Unhurried. Like he managed to pause time long enough to focus on delivering you pleasure. His eyes found yours and he smiled, his dazzling grin turning you stupid and pliant.

He groaned as he felt your body relax and he dug into you, harder, deeper, faster. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you,” you moaned.

“Cum with me, baby,” he said.

You whined and focused on cumming with him like he said. You could feel him throbbing inside you, close, oh so close. You panted, sweating, legs trembling, back bowing. He leaned to one side so that he could slip his free hand between your legs to play with your clit.

Your moans increased to a near panic as your orgasm came running at his beck and call. You cried out and your squeezing pussy milked him. He moaned and dropped his head as he spilled into you over and over, his body trembling from the force.

He kissed your cheek but you otherwise laid there and enjoyed the feeling of him crushing you to the bed. Who needed oxygen anyway?

Your stomach rumbled, breaking the beautiful silence after such a powerful moment. You both laughed as it rumbled again. Terry released your hands and you covered your tummy. He pushed your hands away with his chin and then kissed your belly.

“We’re gonna need another shower and then I need to feed my wife,” he said.

“Feed your wife or feed your wife?” You asked, waggling your eyebrows. You were spent and tired but you could find another round in you for him. Always for him.

“Both, nasty ass,” he said. He stood up and then pulled you with him to stand as well. He gave you a sweet, tender kiss and promised over and over with both his tongue and his actions that he would become a man worthy of your love.

The end.

I love you all. The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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