#instead of just a closed door that i sit at and hope will open

[ariestrxsh]

🖤 content warning: 🖤 smut, blowjob, voyeurism, blackmail, mean!roughdom!chris

🖤 author's note: 🖤 part two is going to be some of the filthiest, roughest shit i've ever written, so proceed with caution.

🖤 summary: 🖤 your manager, chris, finds out you've been giving away free drinks at your bartending job, and he blackmails you. he won't tell your little secret as long as you can give him what he wants..

this story was requested/inspired by this ask 💖 (promise that i will be serving filth in part two)

Closer part one

You rolled your eyes when you walked into work, saw the schedule, and realized who you were closing with.

You loved everything about being a bartender. You liked serving drinks, flirting with the customers, and listening to music all night. You made decent money, and you even liked your coworkers. Well, most of them.

The one thing you couldn't stand about your job was Chris, your manager, who was insufferable to work with. Anytime the two of you shut down the bar together, he'd waste time either playing around on his phone, sitting in his car smoking weed, or hiding in the backroom doing god knows what. This meant you'd end up doing most of the closing tasks alone.

All Chris really did was count the money and lock the door at the end of the night, and it always pissed you off that he got paid more than you. It's not like he was better-qualified for the position or had a better work ethic than you did, but he'd landed himself a position in management because the owner was his best friend's dad.

"Can't wait to close with you, sweetheart. You always get us out faster than I do with any of the other girls," Chris grinned at you with a tooth pick between his teeth while he leaned up against the stainless steel counter in a black tanktop and jeans.

"Wow, that's crazy, because we'd get out even faster if you could go one shift without getting high in the parking lot, and instead helped me rinse out all the beer taps," you snarked back.

"You know, I have way more important shit to worry about than wiping down surfaces. That's why I have you," Chris remarked, flashing you a smirk and brushing the back of his hand across your cheek. You pulled away and scoffed at him. "Love when you play hard to get," Chris whispered before wandering off towards the back. You rolled your eyes.

It was Friday night, which meant it'd be busy, and you were hoping to pull in enough tips to make rent by the end of the shift. You were getting into a flow, mixing drinks, and engaging in witty banter with some out-of-towners when your eye caught Chris heading out to the parking lot. There was a pretty blonde girl with him.

You finished serving the drink in your hand and turned to your coworker, Sam. "Hey, cover me while I go have a cigarette?" You leaned in and asked. She gave you the thumbs up. You went to the back, shuffling around in your purse for your American spirits.

You weren't gonna spy on Chris. You were just curious to see where he was going, who he was with, and what they were doing. Okay, fine. You were spying on Chris.

You made your way outside, sparking up the end of your cigarette, and heading towards the back of the building where the smoking area was. You didn't see Chris or the girl anywhere at first until your eyes landed on Chris' car. Chris was in the driver's seat, and it looked like he was alone.

That was until you saw that Chris had a fistful of her blonde hair in his grip, bouncing her up and down on his lap. You studied Chris' expression, the way it was steeped in desire, the way his jaw hung slightly open, and the way he was peering down. He was definitely getting head in his car.

The girl's head bobbed up down, disappearing and reappearing behind the dashboard. You knew you shouldn't be watching, and you always thought you'd be grossed out if you ever caught Chris doing anything like that, but you couldn't take your eyes off him.

You sat there, taking drag after drag off your cigarette while you watched Chris enjoying himself in his car. In your deepest, darkest fantasies, you wondered what he sounded like behind the glass windows.

A wetness started to pool between your legs, and it's not that you were jealous that you weren't the one doing it, but.. fuck, were you a little jealous? You watched in awe until you'd smoked your cig all the way down to the filter.

You knew it would be hard to hate Chris and be annoyed with his closing process when your mind was overwhelmed with daydreams about sucking him off. You threw your cigarette on the ground and smushed it into the asphalt with your sneaker.

Thankfully, the night stayed busy, and you were able to keep your mind off the incident momentarily when an older gentleman who immediately caught your eye walked in through the door and sat at the end of the bar. You noted how handsome he was with his salt and pepper hair, his nice suit, and his intense stare. He looked like he could be in his forties, but you didn't mind. You liked older men.

"Whatcha drinking?" You smiled, approaching him. "A double of your finest scotch. Neat," he replied, looking deep into your soul. What a refined drinking order. He paid for his scotch right away, probably not planning on staying very long, but the two of you hit it off.

For next hour or so, he nursed his drink while you got to know a little bit about each other. You learned that he was a professor who taught philosophy, and he learned that you were a avid lover of philosophy. The subject had meandered towards absurdist theory and Albert Camus' works.

"You know, I remain unconvinced that life or anything at all really, has any meaning," you leaned onto the bar, looking into his dark, sultry eyes, "if there is no inherent meaning, then that takes all the pressure off." You grabbed his empty glass off the counter between the two of you, and you gestured to see if he wanted another.

"Please," he accepted, "don't you think it's a little sad if you don't give life some kind of meaning?" He squinted at you, trying to pick your brain.

"No, not at all, because we humans subconsciously give meaning to nearly everything that happens in our everyday lives, and it actually distorts our view of objective reality and keeps us assuming and imprisoned to a slew of reactions based off of a bunch of self-drawn conclusions," you replied, "plus if I were sad about life not having any meaning, I'd be a nihilist, not an absurdist." You topped off his glass and slid it over to him with a smug look on your face.

"Hmm. Smart girl," he responded, picking up his glass and taking a few sips. You liked that you'd found a man who could actually hold an intellectual conversation with you, and you boldly requested his number. He wrote it down on a napkin and slid it over to you.

"Does this mean I'm gonna see you again?" He stared at you longingly. "It can mean whatever you want it to mean," you smirked at him.

When he finished his drink, he pulled out his wallet to pay, but you stopped him. "Last one's on the house. Thanks for the mentally stimulating discussion. I don't get much of that around here," you insisted.

"Maybe that's because you're talking to boys instead of men," he suggestively raised an eyebrow at you and left you a generous tip before leaving the bar.

Shit. You hadn't even caught his name.

The rest of the night went well. It was fast-paced, everyone was in a good mood, and the tips were flowing in. Last call rolled around, and you started to clean up your station. "Who was that pretentious douchebag you were talking to?" Chris came up behind you, rasping directly into your ear and startling you, causing you to drop a shotglass.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think he sounded a little jealous.

"Shit!" You exclaimed, bending down to clean up the broken glass. Chris' eyes were drawn to your perfectly-shaped ass that your jeans hugged so well. "He teaches philosophy at the University. But I didn't catch his name," you replied.

"But you got his number," Chris snatched the folded napkin hanging out of your back pocket. "Give me that back!" You exclaimed, reaching for it as Chris held it above his head.

"I'll give it back to you, but first. You and I need to talk," Chris' tone got a little more serious. "About what?" You asked, picking up on the sudden shift in his voice. "You know, Professor Pretentious was drinking Macallan Scotch Whiskey, don't you?" Chris inquired as if that was supposed to mean something to you. "And?" You asked, shrugging at Chris.

"Do you have any idea how expensive that shit is and how dead you would be if Boss Man knew you were giving it out for free to old men you wanted to bone?" Chris leaned in close and gave you a disappointed look. "Well, we won't know, because he won't find out about it, will he, Chris?" You shot him a look.

"Well, the cameras show you handing him two drinks, but his bill only has one listed," Chris responded, indicating he had evidence. "Chris, come on. You wouldn't do that," you sneered at him. "Sure, I would. Unless you give me something I want. Then I won't tell boss man, and I'll give you professor dickhead's number back," Chris smirked at you deviously.

"What do you want?" You rolled your eyes, not really having a choice but to hear him out. "I'll think about it. In the meantime, I'm gonna go do inventory and count the safe, and you're gonna clean this shit up. Fucking loser," Chris said, motioning towards the broken glass on the ground and rolling his eyes. Then he left out the front door, presumably to go smoke weed in his car.

The clock hit 2:00 a.m. It was the end of the night, and no thanks to Chris, all your closing duties were done even earlier than you'd expected. The two of you were the only staff still there, and you were ready to hear whatever sick ultimatum Chris was about to give to you.

You trudged into the office where he was sitting on his phone with his feet kicked up on the desk. "All done, princess?" Chris asked, lustfully glancing you up and down. "Ew, don't call me that," you responded. "Why? You like it too much?" He chuckled at you.

"What's it gonna take for you to keep your mouth shut and give me back my future husband's phone number?" You crossed your arms, avoiding addressing his accusation. Chris fixed his contemplative eyes on you and gave you a bit of a malicious grin, "All you have to do is let me fuck you."

You were immediately taken aback, thinking you didn't hear him right. "What!?" You swallowed hard and narrowed your gaze at him. He stood up and got into your face, making you feel small and weak. "What? You liked watching me get head in the parking lot, and now you're getting all shy on me?" Chris cooed, stroking your cheek with his knuckles.

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, and you found yourself unable to say anything. You were completely humiliated by the fact that he'd seen you peeping on him.

"Don't worry, princess. I won't tell anyone you like to watch. But I will tell Boss Man about the scotch if you don't let me do whatever I want to you," he said in a low, sexy voice, his carnal needs carved into the expression on his face.

"It kind of feels like you're not giving me a choice here," you studied his hypnotic blue and eyes and your gaze fell to his full lips.

"Well, then here are your choices. Let me spell them out for you. First scenario, I tell the boss, you get fired, you go work at a new bar, and you never have to see me again. Second scenario, you get on your fucking knees and you let me use that little back-talking mouth of yours and whatever other way I want to have you, and I'll make this whole problem of yours disappear," he winked at you and leaned in, chuckling into your ear,

"And if you choose the last option, I'm just letting you know in advance, I like it disgustingly rough."

part two coming soon 💖

taglist: @bsturnzmtt @sturniolo-girl @munchingmini @butterbean-01 @coolasice01 @theyluvme-2315 @zariyam @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @miss-delicious @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @mattsfavbigtitties @new2024cats4life @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @sturniolosweetheart33 @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @sturnrc @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @aalirosesblog @hrtz4alex2211 @luvhsien @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @karttpet @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @slxtformatt @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mynameisuser834 @mattlover-00 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @m11rx

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

hii i was wondering if you could do logan with reader that owns a cat and the cat acts JUST LIKE HIM and he cant stand it until reader points it out. thank you!!!!

I loved this request! I have my own little cat, so I wanted this to be as well written as possible. I'm sorry it took so long to be posted. I hope you like it! If you do, please like, comment, and reblog! It really helps me with motivation to keep posting on here <3

This is my kitten rocket 🤭

Logan was never afraid to meet anyone in your life. He had met your friends and family; he met your colleagues and even your old roommate, but for some reason, everyone is telling him he should be afraid to meet your cat.

Logan can remember every warning he got from the people in your life when they found out he hadn't met your cat yet. "Oh, that's her baby" "Oh he has brought a lot of joy into her life since she found him, he really is her number one" "That cat hates anyone that comes over-I swear it's crazy" "Her cat is just very territorial, very protective" "Make sure you wear shoes, he goes for the toes."

He scoffed at these warnings, it's still just a cat. He wanted your cat to like him, of course he did but he also wasn't afraid to meet the damn thing. He knew you loved you cat, that was your baby, and you took care of him more than you took care of yourself something Logan hated, but he didn't think it mattered what a cat thought of him.

You usually would stay at his place after a night out, but for the past few dates, you two went back to your place instead. It wasn't a big deal, but you were worried for how your cat would react to a strange man coming into his territory. "He just doesn't like people Lo', I don't want him to lash out at you." He could hear in your voice how worried you truly were, and he tried his best to reassure you that the cat and him would get along just fine.

He lied to you. Logan can't stand that fucking cat and that cat has it out for him too. The first night the cat didn't even come out of hiding, it completely broke your heart and Logan ended up leaving a bit earlier than planned because you were worried for your cat's wellbeing, as he was leaving he heard you cooing at the cat calling him your baby and your handsome man and though he'd never admit it aloud a twinge of jealous did echo through Logan's chest. The next night the cat did come out of hiding, just so he could attack Logan's legs. When Logan didn't kick him across the room like he wanted to you came and put the cat in your bedroom. "I am so sorry!! Are you okay??" You exclaimed while you closed the door to your room before trying to check on his scratches even though they healed before you could. He grumbled... sort of whined a bit too, and honestly, he was enjoying the attention, so maybe he milked the injury? Sue him.

What really pushed him over the edge was your cat literally pushing him over the edge. It was around 1 in the morning, and you had just fallen asleep. Logan was holding you in his arms and trying his best to fall asleep himself when the door to your bedroom creaked open. Logan, now fully awake, sits up, trying not to disturb you and is greeted with a sharp meow and sharp little claws to the stomach. "Mother fucker" Logan mumbled under his breath as he pushed the cat off of him, "why are you even in here?" he asked quietly so he wouldn't wake you but sharply enough to try and scare the cat away. The cat meowed louder than before as if he was arguing back and went to lay on your chest, purring as he curled himself into a ball. Logan was pissed but he tried to stay cool and just ignore the cat, then around 4 in the morning, Logan was awoken to his body meeting your bedroom floor. When he stood up, he looked at the bed and saw your fucking cat in his spot. "That's it." Logan had enough and grabbed a blanket before going to the couch.

You woke him up hours later, very confused as to why he was on the couch and was replaced by a cat in the middle of the night. "Baby?" You asked softly, handing him his cup of coffee, "don't. Just don't." He grumbles and sips his coffee, sending your cat a glare as he walks around smugged.

Logan refuses to lose against a damn cat!

It's just a stupid cat, not even 4 months old yet. So why was he letting its behavior get to him so much? Because it was your cat, and even if Logan wasn't ready to admit it yet he really did love you and for some reason you loved that asshole cat more than the world so for fuck sake that cat will like him even if it is the last thing he does in his very long life.

Honestly, it was truly ironic if Logan took the time to think about it. Your cat was a grump. He didn't want people around unless he allowed them to be around, and even then, he wanted his distance. But not when it came to you. When you were around, that cat was glued to you and had the loudest purr Logan had ever heard, and your cat really did get protective of you. It was something Logan had never seen before. Usually, cats don't care, but if you came home upset, the cat wouldn't settle down until you did, too. If he took the time to really think about it, maybe he could see the resemblance the cat shared with another grump you have allowed into your life that you loved more than the world.

Tagging:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

[queenshelby]

Daughter Dearest (Part Eight)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (47) x Step! Daughter (21)

Warning: Infidelity, Smut, Dysfunctional Family

Tag List will be updated soon! Please comment and engage!

After Cillian disappeared, you managed to pull yourself back together and went upstairs to shower off the sweat that still permeated your body, but thinking about what you had just done and experienced with him, the anger inside you flared up again.

How could he have just left you like this after  what you both had just done together?

You expected him to stay, kiss you some more, prolong that intimacy for just a little longer, but instead, he just vanished, and it was hard not to think that he was ashamed of what happened.

Ashamed that he had just slept with his stepdaughter.

The guilt he must have felt though was one of the things that drove you even more towards him. But the shame and the cold apathy he displayed after everything was heartbreaking and frustrating.

You felt used and discarded, as if you were nothing more than a quick release to a deep craving he had and, with that on mind, you quickly finished  washing up before wrapping yourself in your towel.

You rushed out of the bathroom, hoping to avoid seeing Cillian before you could get dressed in the privacy of your bedroom and whilst you had considered to confront him, you quickly shook of that idea after realizing that it would be a waste of both of your time as he seemed to have made up his mind about the whole ordeal already. 

"Fuck," you cursed to yourself before slamming the door to your bedroom shut and leaning against it, closing your eyes and taking long, deep breaths.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and the aching throb from the aftermath between your legs reminded you of what had just transpired.

It made you wonder if that was just a dream - how could something so forbidden, so intense feel so right?

Anger overtook your emotions again, causing you to pick up a box of photographs you took before throwing it across the room. 

You breathed deeply and looked around the bedroom, surveying the damage. The box had shed its contents on the floor, but you didn't care and slumped on to your bed instead, which is when you heard a knock on the door.  It was soft, hesitant but still perceivable. You hesitated for a moment, considering whether to respond or pretend you weren't there. But eventually, curiosity got the better of you and you called out a cautious, "What do you want?" 

The door slowly creaked open, and Cillian stepped into your room. 

"I just wanted to talk ," he said quietly, his eyes downcast. He looked vulnerable, almost like a lost little boy.

You remained silent for a while, looking up at him and feeling a rush of conflicting emotions. You wanted to scream at him, to tell him how hurt you were by his actions. But at the same time, you couldn't deny the deep connection you felt towards him.

"You could have talked to me downstairs instead of running away," you said finally, breaking the silence.

Cillian looked up at you with a pained expression. "I know and I am sorry, but I am just confused," he admitted. He took a hesitant step towards your bed before sitting down on it, by your side.  "I haven't been happy for years, but I...," he trailed off.  "I..." he gasped before finally finding the words. "I am sure you agree that, all things considered, this was a huge mistake Y/N," he said in a low voice. "You are my fucking stepdaughter," Cillian said, struggling with his emotions as he looked at you, lying in your bed.

"Yes, it's wrong Cillian. I agree. But I do not agree that this was a mistake," you  disagreed, looking at him steadily. "I preempted this and I think you did too, so how could you call this a mistake?  We both came into this with our eyes wide open," you whispered, reaching out to touch his hand. "Despite, I don't want to think of my first time with a guy as a mistake," you said, causing Cillian's chin to drop.

"Your first time?"  Cillian repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand moved to cover yours, entwining his fingers in yours as he looked at you with confusion on his face. "Why didn't you tell me?"  Cillian asked softly, squeezing your hand gently.

"I don't know," you replied, your gaze dropping to your lap. "I guess I didn't want to ruin the heat of the moment. Despite, it's not that I am a virgin. I just never had sex with a guy. Only girls," you mumbled, feeling vulnerable and exposed under his gaze.  You looked at Cillian, who was still holding your hand and could tell that he was slightly taken aback.

"I shouldn't have left you like I did Y/N. I am sorry ," Cillian said, trying to make amends. "I just, fuck..., I wanted you so much and it scared me," Cillian confided in you.

His gaze drifted to the ground momentarily before meeting yours again. You could tell that he was struggling with his guilt, and that he truly did care for you.

"I know and I feel the same, but we did what we did, and we can't change it now," you whispered back. "So lets please agree that this wasn't just a stupid mistake, but rather something we chose to do, realising that there would be consequences." 

Cillian nodded, his eyes still focused intently on yours. "Alright, but what now?" he asked. "How do we move forward from this?"  Cillian asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he searched your eyes for an answer. "Because we both know that this cannot happen ever again," he told you and you took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I don't know," you admitted, sighing deeply until Cillian spoke up again. "What do you think?" you asked.

"Well, maybe it's best if we pretend that this didn't happen and that we did not cross that line," he told you reluctantly, knowing that this would be for the best 

You nodded, but you looked unsure. "Is that really what you want?" you asked gently.

"I think it would be for the best Y/N ," he replied silently and gravely. His face had tightened, making his sharp features even more prominent and, for a moment, you saw something akin to pain flicker through his eyes before he averted his gaze.

You nodded again, but you couldn't help but feel that this wasn't the end of the story. That there was more to come, and that the tension between you was far from resolved.

"Okay, let's do that," you thus told him. "Come tomorrow we will never speak of it again," you added and, for a short moment, there was an awkward silence that hung in the air between you two as you both realised what you had done.

"Alright, from tomorrow then, this never happened," he whispered before caressing your face gently with his fingertips. "Which means we still have tonight though, right?" he whispered,  his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, sending shivers down your spine.

You nodded, unable to find words in response. All you wanted to do in this moment was kiss him, touch him, get lost in his intoxicating presence once more.

"Then, let's make the most of it," he said, his voice thick with desire.

He pulled you closer, his lips crashing onto yours in a fiery kiss, his tongue demanding entry into your mouth. Your hands instinctively went to his hair, pulling him closer as you deepened the kiss.

Your tongues danced together, and the kiss quickly became frenzied and hungry.

Cillian's hands roamed down your body, cupping your breasts over your towel before sliding under it to feel your bare skin. You moaned as his fingers found your nipples, already hard and sensitive to his touch.

"Just so we are clear, this still counts as a one time thing, correct?" you whispered as you broke the kiss, looking him in the eye as you spoke.

He nodded and leaned down to kiss you again, the heat and passion between you igniting as if it had never been extinguished.

"I am sorry that I left you there, in the living room, by yourself before," he said again as he pulled back from the kiss.

"Well, you better make it up to me then," you told him, before pulling him close to you once again.

Cillian made a strangled noise in the back of his throat before flipping you onto your back, his body pressing down on top of yours.

He caught your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue plunging deep into your mouth. Your body ignited under him, lust surging through you.

"I will ," he promised roughly, his teeth scraping down your jawline while his hands worked their way down your stomach.

You gasped as his fingers slid between your legs, finding your throbbing clit and rubbing it in circles. She arched her back, giving him easier access as your body heated, needing more.

Cillian slipped a finger inside of you, satisfying a primal hunger that was still burning deep within him. You moaned, your arms wrapping around his neck.

Your body tensed as he found your g-spot and ground his finger against it expertly.

You writhed under him, feeling his heavy erection press against your leg.

"Cillian," you moaned, your body begging for the release it craved. "Please, I need you inside of me," you whispered in his ear before biting down on the lobe, causing him to groan with pleasure.

He didn't need any more convincing. Cillian pulled off his t-shirt and boxer shorts while you unwrapped yourself, the white towel landing somewhere on the floor . The sight of your naked body underneath the dim light left him speechless. His eyes traveled over your soft, heart-shaped curves while your eyes investigated his arousal.

"Fuck, Y/N," Cillian muttered under his breath. "You're so goddamn beautiful."

"Uh-huh ," you managed to say, barely able to string a coherent thought together as Cillian's hands roamed over your body.

He leaned down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. You moaned, your back arching off the bed.

Cillian took that as a sign to continue, his teeth scraping over your sensitive nipple while his hand wandered down your body.

His fingers found your clit again, rubbing circles over it as his mouth traveled to your other nipple."Please fuck me already ," you whimpered, the anticipation building up inside of you.

Cillian didn't need to be told twice. He spread your legs wide open and positioned himself between them, his tip brushing against your slick entrance. He teased you for a few seconds before pushing into you gently, causing you to cry out in pleasure.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he pulled out of you slowly. "You are not too sore?" Cillian asked in a hoarse whisper, as he slowly moved back inside of you, causing you to gasp with pleasure.

You shook your head as a response, wrapping your legs around his waist and urging him to move deeper. Your heels dug into his back, pulling him closer as your slick walls tightened around his shaft. Cillian groaned, the sound reverberating through your room and igniting your body into a blaze of passion.

"Why do you feel so fucking good?" Cillian groaned as he bottomed out inside of you , planting himself deep within your warm embrace before you grasped on to him and demanded to go on top, to ride him.

You were wetter than ever, your pussy eagerly clutching at his cock as you rode him like some sort of ravenous demon. He knew you needed it as much as he did and you forgot all about how sore you actually were from the constant penetration. 

Cillian was lost in you, his mind a haze of pleasure as you ground your hips against him, every glide of your pussy against his pelvis pushing him closer to the edge.

Cillian felt his balls tighten as a tingling sensation began to build at the base of his spine, and as you squeezed him with your legs, he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

"Don't stop, Y/N - fuck, I'm so close," he managed to say between his labored breaths.

You answered with a deep, desperate moan, your eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure overtook you. You could feel your body shaking and, with each passing second, the fire between your thighs began to burn brighter than ever."Oh god, please, yes. I want to feel you cum inside me again," you moaned as you moved up and down on him, feeling him grow impossibly bigger inside you.

He grabbed your hips and thrust upwards as you moved down, meeting your movements with his own. The room echoed with the sound of your skin slapping against his, your gasps, and moans of pleasure filling the air.

With each thrust, Cillian felt like he was losing himself more and more, letting the pleasure consume him until he couldn't think straight anymore.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, and his arms felt like jelly beneath him as he held on to you tighter, wanting to feel every inch of you.

"Fuck, Y/N," Cillian moaned as your walls tightened around him, the pleasure overwhelming you both. "I'm so close."

You nodded, unable to speak anymore as you threw your head back, letting out a guttural cry of pure bliss.

You had never felt anything like this before, a wave of pleasure that washed over you so completely and overwhelmingly, you could barely register the shock of it all as you orgasmed. 

Your hips were still pumping back and forth against him, milking Cillian for every last drop again, and he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his seed coursing through his veins.

"I-I'm cumming," he gasped, his fingernails digging into your ass cheeks as you felt him swell, then pulse inside of you, sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you.

"Oh god, Cillian!" you cried out, your own orgasm still ripping through your body as he spurted again and again into your welcoming heat. You dug your fingers into his shoulders, feeling him shudder beneath you as you rode out the incredible spasms that accompanied your climax.

Cillian groaned as he erupted deep within you, feeling your walls tighten around him as you moaned incoherently in ecstasy. Your legs were trembling uncontrollably now, exhaustion kicking in as you slowed your movements and eventually came down from your pleasure-induced haze.

The only sound that could be heard in the room was the sound of labored breathing - yours and Cillian's.

You collapsed on top of him, feeling his heart beat rapidly beneath your breasts, his spent manhood still buried deep inside of you.

Your bodies were both slick with sweat, your breaths heavy and unsteady. A feeling of exhaustion, coupled with a deep sense of satisfaction washed over you like a wave, leaving you feeling completely spent.

Cillian wrapped his arms tightly around you, holding you close to him as he pressed soft kisses against the side of your neck. You shivered, feeling a fresh surge of desire flow through you at the sensation, your pussy clenching around his still semi-hard shaft.

"Mmmhh...you still feel so good inside of me, Cillian," you murmured softly, nuzzling your face into his neck and breathing in his scent. His arm tightened around you in response, and you sighed with contentment.

The heat between your thighs slowly dissipated, leaving your body feeling warm and sated.

Your mind was still in a hazy daze, but as the sweat on your skin dried and the tension in your muscles began to ease, you knew that you both needed to get some sleep.

Eventually, Cillian broke the silence.

"I don't think I had sex that good in...I don't know...ever," Cillian murmured, his voice thick with pleasure and exhaustion.

"Oh please, as if,"  you murmured back, your own voice tinged with amusement as you lifted yourself of him. "You would have slept with many women in your days. Models, actresses , women you met on set, I am sure you had a wide selection to pick from," you replied nonchalantly, a small smile playing on your lips as you collapsed next to him. 

"Yes I have had my fair share of sexual partners in the past, before I, you know...," he began to say and you interrupted him.

"Before you met my mother ," you acknowledged with a smile playing on your lips, causing Cillian to nod, which is when you asked him a question that had been playing on your mind for a while.

"Did you ever cheat on her before?"  you asked him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cillian looked at you for a moment, considering his answer carefully. "No," he said finally, "I never did. Not once. I got close, but I never went through with it because, at least until now, I respected her enough not to," he explained and you nodded understandingly, feeling a surge of gratitude towards Cillian for being honest with you. 

"Do you love her?"  you asked, unsure if you wanted to hear his reply.

Cillian's gaze softened as he looked at you, taking a moment before he answered. "No," he admitted quietly. "But I love Sadie and I love what we achieved together," he  went on, rubbing his hand over his face with tired resignation. 

"Is Sadie the reason why you married her ?" you questioned, allowing the conversation to go where no one had ever dared before.

"Pretty much," he replied, his tone softening as he gazed at you fondly, "I got married because of convenience after your mother told me that she was pregnant. It was a decision I made, thinking it would make me happy because I never really fell in love with anyone, but I wanted a family, you know," he said sadly.

You nodded, understanding what he meant. It wasn't uncommon for people to marry for reasons other than love, and Cillian had been honest about it. It didn't excuse the fact that he had been unfaithful, but at least it gave you some insight into why he made that choice.

"I am sorry," you eventually  whispered, reaching out to take his hand in yours.

He looked at you with a mix of emotions swirling in his eyes - sadness, guilt, and something else that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

"Don't be," he whispered back, squeezing your hand gently and you didn't know what to say after that, and the silence stretched on between you two as you both tried to process what had just happened.

"So what about you?" Cillian eventually asked after contemplating his question. "Why did you not have any other guy before me?" Cillian asked, tracing the outline of your hand with his fingers. "Because you are stunning and smart,..." he trailed off and you sighed, turning to face him.

" I've had girlfriends, and I fooled around with guys before," you explained. "But I don't think I was ever really attracted to guys in that way until recently," you confessed. "You are just different from the guys I have met," you told him softly, reaching up to stroke the stubbly jawline of his ruggedly handsome face. 

Cillian leaned in and captured your lips in another deep, passionate kiss. This time it was slow, lingering, and filled with tender emotion. You could hear your hearts beating in time with each other, and it felt like you were lost in a dream.

The weight of your decisions was incredibly heavy, yet all you could feel in this moment was a powerful connection between you and Cillian.

You kissed like this for a while  , with your hands in each other's hair and bodies pressed close, as if you couldn't get enough of one another. It was like a magnetic force was pulling you together, and you were both happy to give in.

Eventually, the kiss slowed, and both of you broke away breathlessly. The room filled with post-coital silence, the tension now finally dissipated.

"Well, it's getting late, we should get some sleep," you whispered, still wrapped in the warmth from each other's bodies.

"Yeah, I suppose so," Cillian replied, trailing a finger lightly along your shoulder.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" you asked softly, looking up at him through your eyelashes and Cillian hesitated for a moment before nodding.

"Alright," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper as he pulled you close and wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly as if he never wanted to let go. You rested your head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

It was steady, rhythmic, and oddly soothing. You closed your eyes and felt yourself drifting off to sleep, wrapped in the warmth and safety of his embrace.

Tags:

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[piplupod]

life is actually so easily wonderful if the abusers are not around. heaven on earth. i can breathe for a few days <3 i've already gotten so much done and its only been 24 hours. i have 48 more hours of this relief to savour.

[mbat]

its so annoying wanting to come out to my dad but its also the most terrifying thing in the whole world so i keep hoping he will just take the hint and put it together himself even though he probably wont and he really should hear it from me anyway

[oreo-creampie]

‘𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐧 (𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦-𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝 & 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝)’

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: pervert!reader, bdsm, service sub!reader, dom!toji, dom!sukuna, dom!suguru, dom!satoru, gang-bang, degradation/praise/mocking/taunting, daddy/princess, pain kink, mind break/dumbification, overstimulation, they all got big dick, vibrator, collar and leash, light bondage, blindfold, voyeurism, biting, spanking, some face spalling, drinking satoru's cum outta a pussy sleeve, double penetration, dacryphilia, some cervix fucking, light belly bulge, squirting

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 𝟏𝟒 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬/𝟑.𝟗𝐤

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: sukuna/toji/gojo/geto foursome??? w/ heavy degradation andddddddd dumbifiction and they’re like rlly mean to reader lolz. u can do anything else u want i trust u

fey: the way i've been fixated on writing this is ridiculous, gangbang requests are my fav / @omgeto / @lov3rbody hope you don't mind me tagging you girly thought you might enjoy this one

Waiting with your legs spread, rubbing a vibrator on your clit. Tonight you’re a nameless glory hole for a random guy to fuck and cum in. It's your guilty pleasure to be whored out and degraded.

If only it were by your handsome, muscular roommates. They could pass you around like one of their fat blunts.

Scarlet states on your sex room's ceiling speakers. "A group of four is coming. Ya gonna enjoy them, rowdy hotties. They might last a while." Moving to the edge of the bed, where you bend over, legs spread.

The door slides open and closes behind the silent group. You're anticipating lewd, crude comments, large hands on your hips, and a warm, hard cock in your needy cunt. Slipping the vibrator inside you, moaning.

"Aren't you gonna use me?" Spreading your cunt apart with your fingers. Letting them see the toy pulsing in your cunt. Rubbing your clit, whining. "Please, I'll be a good slut." Stuffing the toy inside, groaning when it touches your sweet spot.

You hear a familiar deep voice, “You'll be a good slut for daddy n' let me get my moneys worth outta your sloppy cunt.” Clenching the toy pulsing in your cunt. Heating up in embarrassment, quickly standing up and turning around.

Whimpering his name, "Tooojiiinn?" The sweet pleasure from the vibrator keeps you from sounding firm. Your thighs trembling, knees weakening, sitting down. They've caught you being a slut.

Toji slips off his shirt quickly. "You'll gonna be fucked too stupid think straight so we'll keep it simple for you. Dirty slut call us daddy." You're done for.

Spreading your legs open, slipping the vibrator out by the long string-like rubber piece. You cunt spams when you rub your clit. Curling your toes into the sofa carpet, Loudly moaning, "Whatever you want Daddy." Toji slips his sweats off.

His cock is thicker than you thought. With puffy veins, you want to trace with your tongue. He's going to break your cunt with a cock like that.

Suguru folds his shirt and pants, setting it on the door side counter. "Whatever we want, good little slut." Sukuna and Satoru throw their clothes together in a small pile. All of them are beautiful, with thick pecs, washboard abs, meaty arms, and muscular thighs

Sukuna snaps "Good slut my ass!" He playful glares, a predatory smirk on his kissable lips. "Fuckin' whore lied to us, said she was hanging out with some friends." You want to sit on his beautiful tattooed face.

Toji adds, "If ya us the truth we could have just tied ya up at home." He picks up a thin collar, with its leash attached.

Swirling the toy on your clit. "Didn't feel like advertising I'm submissive at a BDSM sex club occasionally. What if I got designated to a whore instead of a friend?" Joining in for Sukuna's horror movie nights. Random late-night drives with Satoru and Suguru. Toji's fat blunts and warm cuddles.

These were things you don't want to miss out on if they see you differently.

Satoru spits into his large palm, smearing it over his head. Lightly pumping his hand over his pale pink head. "Aw, don't worry you're always gonna be our lil princess. " He smears the thick pre-cum seeps from his slit with his thumb.

Toji wraps the collar around your neck. Tugging on the leash, forcing you off the edge of the bed and onto your knees. "So you told a little lie to your friends because you thought we'd shun ya for being a slut." He winds the chain around his big rough hand. Yanking you forward, you brace yourself on Toji's thick muscular thighs.

"Yes, I'm allowed to keep things private. 'Side now ya know, ya know my safe word, limits. Are you gonna keep bein' a meanie or are ya use me?" Sticking your tongue out. Toji slaps his heavy cock on your tongue.

He glides his cock into your mouth. "I've always wanted to bully ya more when ya call me a meanie." Gagging you, holding your head in place with a large hand. Pumping his cock in your mouth. You suck in your cheeks, keeping your tongue out, relaxing your neck.

Suguru encourages you, "Hold your hands out for Satoru and I." A large hand guides yours to their warm cock. Swirling your fists, gliding your hand along the length of their cocks.

Satoru croons, "Hmm your hand is so soft 'round my cock." Suguru's droops underneath his weight, too thick for your fingertips to touch. Satoru is a couple inches longer, slimmer but reasonably thick, with more puffy veins.

Your cunt clenches nothing, your slick dripping down your thighs. They are all so big, your cunt is going to be sore for days after this. Are you going to walk after this? They could take you home with them, and you could call it a night.

Anyone after Suguru, Satoru, Toji, and Sukuna would be a disappointment anyway.

Filling your lungs when Toji glides his cock out. He steps aside for Sukuna to stand next to him. "Wondered if your cock was tattooed." Wrapping your lips around Sukuna's light tan thick cockhead. Bobbing your head, groaning, taking him in deep long strokes. Gagging occasionally.

Sukuna wonders, "Is that the only thing you wondered about us?" Loudly slurping, sucking, swirling your tongue around his cock. Gliding him deeper, gagging yourself when your nose touches the short patch of Sukuna's dark hair. Sliding him out with a pop, his cock hangs, too heavy to stand up.

Kissing Sukuna's fat balls, sucking them into your mouth. Toji pulls you back, "Tell us what goes on in that perverted head of yours. Or you're not cumming." It's getting you off to have so many thick cock in your face. The slick sounds of their fist gliding along their cocks goes straight to your cunt.

Letting Satoru go, replacing Toji's hand. There is more space between your fingertips than with Suguru's cock. They're impossibly thick, able to split your cunt open and leave you gaping.

"You're cocks makin' my cunt soaking wet." Biting your lip, fighting the uncertainty. Kneeling, surrounded by four beautiful muscular men with big cocks and heavy balls they're intending to empty in your cunt. "But I dunno if I can handle all four of you. All of you are huge, but I wanna try." Turning your head, kiss Satoru's pale pink cock head.

Trailing kisses along the puffy vein, dragging your tongue up to his head. Licking up his salty sweet pre-cum. Sucking on his balls gently, swirling your tongue. Satoru croons, "Stupid little slut is trying to take on more than she can handle. "s hot makes me wanna break her."

Suguru groans, "Aww, we're too big for our little princess." Steadily pumps his cock, swiping your thumb over his head. Suguru has the prettiest cock and balls. Taking a moment to admire his thick thicks, heavy balls, and pre-cum dripping from his fat head.

You croon, "Some of the biggest, pretties cocks I've seen." Letting Suguru go, fondling Sukuna's balls. Switching to Suguru's cock, leaving Toji to stroke his own cock.

You feel the leash move as it switches hands. Sukuna, Suguru, and Satoru shift, closing in when Toji walks off. He suggests, "We should tie her up, blindfold her, and make her guess whose touchin' her." You hear a chair scrap as he moves it closer.

Struggling to take Suguru deeper, he pushes your head down with a large hand. Sukuna suggests, "The leash is long enough that it can bind her hands." Gliding your hand from massaging Sukuna's balls to stroking his thick cock. Swirling your fist, keeping a quick and steady pace.

Gliding Suguru out of your mouth with a pop. "Still new to this but I can handle two." Letting Sukuna go, twisting your hands behind your back for Satoru to bind with the chain. Satoru slaps your ass, slipping his fingers between your legs.

Satoru drags his fingertips along your wet slit, swirling around your needy hole. "You look so beautiful princess with that collar around your neck, tied up." Whining, trying your best not to rock your hips back when he pulls away.

Suguru orders, "Stand up." Quickly rising, "Good girl." Toji has a blindfold, Sukuna has lube and a buttplug. "Are you gonna be a good, little glory hole?" Suguru twists you around, bending you over the edge of the bed.

There's a pleasurable thrill you feel in your cunt from being manhandled. "Please use me. I want my meanie roommates to bully me, and fuck me stupid. Wanna be a dirty cock hungry whore." Suguru yanks on the chain, pulling your head back, blindfolding you.

Suguru lets you go. Another pair of large hands spread your cheeks. Too rough to be Suguru's. Digging in his nails and taking a large bite of your left cheek. "Toji, Nn Daddy!" He groans when you cry. "Know your hands anywhere." He bites your other cheek, gliding his fingers to your slit.

You're trapped between the bed and Toji. "You're always pulling me onto your lap and teasin' me by rubbing my thighs getting so close to my cunt." He curls his fingers into your soaking wet, tight cunt. "I want you to fuck me in front of everyone, make me your whore." Your cunt squelched when he pumps his fingers.

Toji croons, "Right a fuckin' way. Proud of ya." He spread his fingers apart, spitting into your cunt. Stuffing it in with a loud groan, "Fuck you're so damn wet, dripping down your soft thighs." He drags his nails, scratching your cheek down to your thighs. Squeezing, savoring how his fingers sink into your squish.

Squirming, the sweet firey pain of Toji's scratches adds to the sweet pleasure of getting finger fucked. Hearing Suguru, Satoru, and Sukuna groan as they touch themselves to the sight. Waiting for their turn to use your soft body. It turns you on m.

Toji groans, slapping your thigh and watching it jiggle. "Having your tiny, soft body to fold in two n' fuck mindless is makin' my night." Pumping both his fingers faster, stroking your sweet spot.

Toji croons, "The things I've been wanting to do to ya." It's only taking a few strokes from Toji's fingers and the pressure-building snaps. Intense sweet pleasure tingling in your cunt consumes your whole body. Moaning, clenching his thick fingers.

You plead, "Nnn cumming! Nng your fingers feel so good in my cunt. Mmm wanna make your cock feel good, wanna make you cum Daddy." Toji glides his finger out, roughly slapping both cheeks. Smearing your cum with each heavy spank.

Sukuna groans, "Fuck she's so hot cryin' from getting her cheeks beat. Hit her harder, make our dirty little whore sob." You jolt forward, the bed preventing you from getting far. Firey pain erupts from each harsh slap.

Crying, trembling, struggling to keep your feet planted flat. Toji glides his cock "Stupid slut is getting off on her it. She's clenching, begging for a cock." It's hot how vulnerable you are, tied up, blindfolded. Bent in front of a large, muscular man with his cock throbbing.

Your dripping wet cunt is his to use how he wishes. "Please use me, let me be your stupid little cock sleeve." He lines his cock up, lightly gliding just the tip in. Fighting the urge to rock your hips back.

He glides his fat head in. The soft ridge of his cock head tugs your tight cunt before slipping out. Sliding himself in, "Dirty fuckin slut letting anyone use your cunt. Gonna fuck ya so hard that your glory hole breaks. You won't be thinking of anyone else but me after this." He leans over you, rolling his hips forward.

He tugs on your leash. Pulling your head back, making the collar dig into your neck. Straining your pleads, "Fuck me, please! Please! Fuck me!" The bed dips, a rough hand grabs your chin and warm cock nudes your lips. Opening your mouth, sticking your tongue out.

Toji bites your shoulder, whining, your cunt clenching Toji's fat veiny cock. Suguru reminds, "Let the whore try to guess if she's not too stupid to." Which canceled out him.

"Satoru's hands are too damn soft." Toji picks up his pace, fucking his fat cock into you harder. "Nootthim!" Your words slur together with a moan. You're unable to keep your thoughts together.

He roughly slaps your face. "Say it you cock drunk slut." Your cheek stings, cunt clenching Toji's veiny cocky. "You're only purpose in life is to take fat cocks. That's all our greedy beautiful whore is meant for." Sukuna roughly fucks your mouth.

Choking you with his cock, gliding his cock out and slapping you across the other cheek. Toji hits your ass, digging in his nails and jiggling your soft fat. Sukuna pulls his cock out with a soft pop.

Collecting your breath, begging "Sukuna please! Daddy please. I'm only good for taking fat cocks and dumping cum in. I'm a dirty perverted slut who can't get enough of having her cunt played with!" Your cunt quivers around Toji's cock, squeezing him tighter than before. Your thick slick gushing down your thighs as you cum.

Trembling, unable to think straight. Giving in to nothing but the pleasurable feeling of getting fucked stupid by Toji's fat cock. Every puffy vein getting thicker, the twitching of his cock. He's so close to spilling in your soaking wet, tight cunt.

Sticking your tongue out, with a swift thrust, Sukuna buries himself in your hot, wet mouth. His large balls smack your chin.

Satoru moans, "Fuck couldn't help from cumming with our pretty dumb little slut begging like that." Sukuna rips your blindfold off. Groaning when he sees your tearful eyes. Tugging on the neck, choking you with the collar, fucking your mouth faster.

Suguru suggests, "I bet our cum dump is thirsty. Make her beg for it." You want to drink Satoru's cum. Not care if it tastes good or not. If it made their cocks hard you'll be their pretty cum thirsty slut.

Sukuna groans, "Fuckin' crybaby slut knows how to take it." Toji's thick hot cum spills trickling from his head. Then shooting out in thick, short bursts. Fucking it deep, smearing it with sloppy ragging thrusts.

He groans, "Pretty little cock sleeve can take all my cum in her tight sloppy cunt." Slowly gliding his cock out, stuffing the cum that trails after his cock. Keeping some of it from spilling out easily.

Toji slaps your ass one more time. "Pretty little slut! Hmm her fat cunt looks good dripping cum." Sukuna glides his cock out. Undoing your bound wrists, yanking your leash, dragging you onto the bed.

Flipping you over, and getting on top of you. Sukuna pins you in a mating press, dipping his head and biting your breasts. Flicking your nipple with his tongue. With your hands free you dig your nails into his back. Scratching alongside his tattoos.

Sukuna groans, rocking his hips, gliding his fat cock on your sloppy cunt. Sinking his teeth in deeper. You slide your hands into his pink hair, pulling to hear him moan.

Suguru and Satoru climb on the bed, hovering on either side of your head. In Satoru's hands in the pussy sleeve full of cum. "Please lemme drink your cum, I'm a thirsty whore." Licking your hand, cupping Suguru's balls, massaging them gently.

Sukuna lets your breast go, pinching your other nipple. Pulling on it, making you arch your back and cry. You can feel it in your clit. Sukuna lines up his veiny tattooed cock with your cum filled cunt.

His abs flex when he slams his cock in. Sukuna's using his strength and weight to restrain you in a tight mating press. Pinning both legs by your side, keeping you from running away or even wiggling. Making you take the full harsh force of Sukuna's thrust.

Opening your mouth, Satoru touches the rim of the pussy sleeve to your bottom lip. His liquid cum trickling onto your tongue. It's sweet, with a slight thickness. "Good fuckin' slut drink my fuckin cum make my cock hard again." Wrapping your fingers around Suguru's head, swiping your thumb over it.

Swallowing the mouthful of Satoru's cum. Sukuna's fucking your cunt too roughly. Your stomach bulges with his cock head hitting your cervix. "I can see how deep I'm going in my thirsty cock whore sloppy cunt." Toji left you feeling sore. Bringing an overwhelming sensitivity.

Your sloppy cunt can't take anymore. "Too much! Can't your cock 's too big, going too deep innnn mmy" Sukuna picks up his speed. Unable to focus on stroking Suguru's cock crying, "Cunt so sore from Toji's fat cock. Too much!" Pushing Sukuna's abs, failing to get away.

Sukuna grabs the vibrator you left on the bed. Clicking it on, holding it to your puffy clit. Snapping at you, "No safe word means I don't fuckin' care. Shut the fuck up and choke on his cock." Crying, warm tears trickling down your face.

Suguru lightly slaps your lips with his heavy head, smearing his pre-cum. "Took two cocks to break her, pathetic." Suguru straddles your neck, Sukuna holds the toys still on your clit. Adding too much pressure, the uncomfortable pain conflicts with the sweet pleasure of his cock stroking your sweet spot.

You're unable to decide if it hurts or feels good when his cock hits your cervix. Giving into every sweet pleasurably painful sensation, not bothering to think. Wanting them to use your body for their pleasure.

You're their cock hungry, dumb little slut. You don't need to think, you just need to take their cocks. Satoru croons, "It's too much, too deep!" Suguru gags you with his cock, his balls hitting your chin.

Clenching Sukuna's cock, you're so close to an intense peak. "Fuck!" You can feel Sukuna's thick cum spurting from his fat head. He glides his large hands down your thighs, squeezing your hips.

Wrapping your legs around his slim waist, pulling him closer. Getting off on Sukuna fucking his cum in your sloppy cunt with Toji's. "Nnn how can her sweet cunt get tighter?" He swirls the vibrator on your clit.

Suguru slips his cock out, letting you breathe. Sukuna twists your nipple, crying from the sharp pain. Suguru shoves his cock into your mouth. Covering half your face with his balls. Groaning, he's gotten hard again quickly.

Grabbing Suguru's cock, swirling your fist, pumping your fist along his thick veiny cock. “Hmm as good as your hand feels I need to be inside ya princess.” Letting Sukuna go, he glides his softening cock out. Handing the vibrator to Suguru.

Suguru pulls away. “Toru let me get her on my chest, we can share her messy cunt.” Satoru whines, giving a couple more quick pumps. Fondling your sore breasts, rubbing your nipples with his thumbs.

He croons, “Dunno if our princess can handle that. She was strugglin’ to take Sukuna.” Choking you with his cock, grabbing muscular his thighs, digging your nails in. “Won’t it be too much for our glory hole? We’ll have to carry her to the care after this.” Gliding himself out, dragging his balls across your face.

Sticking your tongue out, happily groaning. “Course a whore like you would get off to that.” Suguru slaps your cunt. Whining from the sweet pain, clenching nothing. Wanting another thick cock stretching your aching cunt despite you previous claims.

Satoru pulls away, Suguru grabs your leash yanking you up. Your collar pressing into your sore neck. Scrambling onto your knees, he pulls your back to his. You whine, “Imma dirty slut who loves her daddies cocks and balls.” He roughly slaps your clit then holds the toy to it.

Whining from the stinging pain and overwhelming pleasure. Jerking your hips back, involuntarily running away from the intensity. “Aww is it too much for your sore cunt? Poor little whore.” His mocking shouldn’t sound so sweet.

Satoru gets off the bed, the toys capturing his interest. Shifting through the dildos, you don’t know which one he picks. Suguru lines his cock up, slamming himself deep with one harsh thrust. Closing your eyes, bracing yourself for whatever pace he sets.

Suguru gets you on your back, laying on his chest. Your legs hooked over his forearms and his hands clasped behind his back. Pushing your head down, you can see Toji jerking off with a pussy sleeve.

Gliding it along his cock, staring your sloppy cunt split open by Suguru’s fat cock. “Don’t worry princess I’m going again after they’re done with ya.” You can’t respond when Suguru rocks his hips. Gliding his mind numbingly fat cock in your sloppy cunt. Sukuna’s and Toji’s cum trickling onto his balls with your slick.

Satoru climbs onto the bed with a thin, pulsing dildo. Spitting on its head, gliding his hand along it. “You can take it, let us fuck your beautiful cunt till our cocks won’t get hard again.” He glides the toy in alongside Suguru’s fat cock.

“Fuck! Fuck! Nnng it’s makin’ her cunt into a vibrating pussy sleeve!” Slowly fucking your aching, sensitive cunt. You can’t manage a single thought, don’t care to even try.

You can’t process what their saying. It’s as if something in you snaps. It doesn’t matter when you feel this good. “Nnn! Ahhh nnn!” Mindlessly moaning, Suguru’s fat cock is pressing the pulsing dildo to your sweet spot.

Curling your toes, trembling, pleading, “Please! Please!” Splaying your fingers on Satoru’s thick pecs when he leaned over you. Lining cock up, Suguru pauses for Satoru to glide his cock in.

You’re quivering from the intense burning pleasurable pain of your cunt stretching to take another cock. With a thin pulsing toy stuffed, “What is our slut begging for? Your stuffed full of all you need, cock and cum.” Whining, clawing Satoru’s chest when their heads hit your bruised cervix.

Tightly grabbing Suguru’s thick bicep, moaning when he flexes. Their cocks aren’t the only big their about them. Thick pecs, washboard arms and meaty arms, your trapped between. Taking their throbbing cocks. Your cunt seeming to vibrate around them with the toy stuffed in you.

Suguru groans, “She’s too cock drunk to do more than beg. Fuck that’s gonna make me bust. We fucked our dirty little slut dumb.” Timing their merciless thrusts, rubbing each other’s cock inside your pulsing, clenching cunt.

One head hitting your cervix after the other. Your getting off on the pleasurable painful feeling more with each stroke. “She’s so beautiful crying with not a thought behind her pretty eyes.” He grabs your leash, tugging on it despite Suguru holding your head. Forcing you to watch them double stuff your dripping cunt.

Suguru’s deep groans and Satoru’s breathy moans sound so sweet. He croons, “Does having your messy cum filled cunt ruined feel good?” Satoru presses the other vibrator to your clit, and your hips are bucking. Twisting away from their harsh, quick thrusts.

Thick warm cum squirts into Satoru’s abs and trickles onto Suguru’s balls. Loudly moaning, unable to form words. Your cunt spasming, toes curling, eyes rolling back. Satoru swirls the toy on your clit, fucking you harder.

Messing up his well-timed pace with Suguru, who ruts into you faster. “She’s shaking, sweet little whore. Let’s see how many times she can cum before her cunt breaks.” The force of their thrusts makes your stomach momentarily bulge. Showing how deep they are reaching.

Satoru glides his hand along your body, pushing on your stomach. Whining the pressure making you feel their thick, throbbing veiny cocks hitting your cervix better.

oreo cream-pie’s m.list

[iisasxia]

No matter how much you tossed and turned, no position was comfortable enough to sleep in. At this point you sighed out of annoyance before sitting up. You thought about what you could do to get yourself to sleep when you noticed something shine in the corner of your eye. His room key…

Bakugou had given you his dorm key to use wherever he wasn’t there and you needed something or just wanted to stay in there. You haven’t used it since you haven’t found a need to but with how you feel right now, you didn’t hesitate to pick it up and make your way to his dorm.

Once you got there you were hit with a wave of nervousness, what if i wake him up? Your thoughts only lingered the longer you hesitated so you gently knocked on the door, once you got no response you realized he was asleep. Now it wasn’t uncommon for either one of you to climb in the opposite’s bed to sleep. Usually he didn’t even use the door but went through your balcony instead. Which after since time you learned to leave open just for him.

You quietly opened the door and the soft light from the hallway showed his sleeping figure sprawled out on his bed. You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looks. Once you closed the door you made your way over to his bed, kicking off your slippers before slowly and quietly climbing into the space next to him. He moved a bit but didn’t seem to wake up, he must have been really tired because usually he’s a light sleeper. You got comfortable on the side closest to the wall.

You were facing him as he laid on his back, no sheets on him or anything, how he usually slept, meanwhile you had tons of blankets on top of you. His hand was against his pillow and you hesitantly reached out for it before gently cupping his hand with both of yours and pulling yourself closer to him. You finally closed your eyes and could feel yourself drifting off to sleep, finding comfort in his warmth.

“Couldn’t sleep?” as usual, his voice was always raspy when he was half asleep.

“Mnm.” you mumble as you felt yourself getting more tired, you couldn’t help it, not when you found him so comfortable, plus.. he made you feel safe.

He kept the hand you were holding still as he used his other to hold your waist and pull him closer to you, almost on top of him. He softly exhaled before turning his body a bit to face you, his eyes half lidded as he looked at you, now finally asleep before he placed a kiss to your forehead.

“Thank God you took that damn key.” he whispered to himself, a soft smile forming on his lips before he fell back asleep.

Realistically he used to leave his door locked because he threatened to murder Denki anytime he tried to wake him up or if Kirishima and Sero decided to burst into his room to drag him somewhere. Once you two started dating he’s left his door unlocked at night hoping you’d stop by, whether it be to sleep or just because you feel like invading his space. But Bakugou wouldn’t tell you that.

At least not now, not while he’s waiting to say “I love you.”

[ghostsangel]

Totally free to say no but would you be willing to write something about Ghost's girl not introducing him to her family and she gets a little squirrely if the conversation is brought up until Ghost sees an invitation to her sister's wedding and she reluctantly asks if he'll be her plus one. Only for him to find out it's not her being embarrassed of him or not wanting them to know about him, it's because they're fucking awful to her... If you wouldn't mind doing a plus size reader if you do that would be amazing! Thank you! Your writing is amazing!!

omfg i love this concept<3

simon ghost riley x plus-size!reader

tags/warnings: fatphobia, reader’s mom is a bitch, soft and protective simon. no smut in this one! just fluff.

Simon is a little worried.

You two have been together for over a year now, and he’s never heard you mention your family. He’s told you about his, sure, but every time the conversation shifts to yours, you begin fidgeting in your seat and avoiding eye contact.

“Oh, I haven’t spoken to them recently.”

“We’re not very close.”

“I don’t wanna talk about me. How was your day?”

Simon always thinks the worst—you’re too ashamed of him to introduce him to your family. Part of him understands. He’s a giant scarred man who looks scary at any point during the day. Maybe your parents were mega religious and would think he’s some sort of demon come to possess you.

So, Simon eventually just stopped asking—especially when the last time he asked you, he pressed for more information and you almost broke down into tears. He couldn’t stand to see those crystalline drops prickle in your eyes and your lower lip wobble, so he just tugged you into his lap and wrapped his arms around you until you calmed down.

He dropped the subject.

Until today. He sat on the couch, some cop show playing in the flatscreen you two hung in your living room. He hears the door open, watches you trudge inside, your brows pulled together and a frown on your face.

“What’s the matter, doll?” He asks, eyes running down your body slowly. He loves your body—your big soft tummy and thick thighs that he suffocates himself in. Your large breasts that somehow your bra can’t even contain and your plump ass he loves to squeeze with his large hands.

You sigh, holding up a piece of card stock. Shuffling over to him, you sit on the couch, your legs slung over his lap.

“My sister is getting married,” you mumble, so low Simon can barely hear you.

His eyebrows shoot up, his hands splaying out across your thighs, rubbing small circles into the skin. He says nothing—doesn’t wanna push you for more info.

Your eyes flick from the invitation to his face, taking in the handsomely scarred skin. The scar runs across the whole left side of his face, and it’s part of his beauty. You reach up, running your fingertips over the scar, laughing softly when Simon kisses your fingers.

“D’you wanna be my date to the wedding?” You ask reluctantly, avoiding eye contact in hopes you won’t see how uncomfortable you are.

Simon stifles the urge to light up, sit up straighter. Instead, he nods nonchalantly, quirking his lips up into a half smile. “Sure, baby. Anything for you.”

That’s how the two of you wind up walking into an elegantly decorated villa. Simon thinks you look gorgeous—a pretty emerald dress that clings to your curves in just the right way. He found a suit that somehow fit him, and your eyes graze over his thick muscled figure. He looks sexy.

You’re holding his hand tightly, almost like an anchor, your hands sweaty. It isn’t until you see your mother that your heart starts pounding in your chest and you tug Simon closer.

His eyes flick down to you, giving your hand a squeeze and a kiss on the top of your head as your mother waltzes over. You have her eyes, but that’s all. She’s wearing an elegant dress that clings to her tiny waist, and her eyes flit from Simon to you, a hint of disdain in her eyes.

“Glad you could grace us with your presence,” your mother says stiffly, her eyes rolling down to take in your outfit.

“Mother,” you mumble, clenching Simon’s hand. “This is my boyfriend, Simon.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says gruffly, holding out a hand.

Your mother doesn’t take it, simply nodding at him and curling her lip up at she takes in the sight of him. He lowers his hand, and you feel his body stiffen.

“Really, you’d think for a wedding you would wear something a bit more…appropriate,” you mother spits out, her voice low.

You freeze, unable to come up with a response. Her words take you back to years of verbal abuse—“Do you think you need a second plate?”, “Come on, dear, why don’t you go take a walk with your sister to burn those calories!”, “You’ll never find a boyfriend if you weigh as much as you do.”

“I see you still haven’t lost the weight,” she continues, her eyes hard. “I thought you’d finally make an effort for your sister’s wedding. She looks beautiful, by the way. Size 2 wedding dress. Unlike you—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Simon’s voice is gruff and low. His eyes flick to your face, taking note of the tears welling in them and the way your eyes are glued to the floor. His free hand clenches into a fist, and he understands now why you never want to speak about your family.

“I was speaking—”

“Well, you’re done now,” he says, his eyes dangerously cold. “Don’t know who the fuck you think you’re talkin’ to, but this is my girl. She’s fuckin’ perfect, and if you say one more nasty thing about or to her, I’ll pop out your eyeballs with my fingers.”

Your mother’s mouth hangs open, and you blink back the tears and look up at Simon, grateful he’s there. Grateful he’s in your corner and that he loves you. You squeeze his hand, and he smiles down at you.

“I never have been spoken to like this—”

“Well, someone should.” Simon tugs at your hand, pulling you against him. “We’ll be going now. Don’t expect to hear from us. Have a terrible life.”

He leads you away from your bewildered mother, out of the villa and to his car. He bends down, wiping at your eyes with his thumbs, concern in his own.

“You alright, baby?” He murmurs softly, cupping your face.

You nod, looking into his eyes. “I couldn’t say anything,” you mumble. “Every time she opens her mouth, I freeze. I’m so—”

“Shhhh, love.” He leads you to the car, opening up the passenger side door. “Come on. Let’s go get ice cream and go home. I’m itchin’ to give you some proper lovin’.”

He squeezes your thigh all the way home, the two of you eating ice cream and laughing, Simon trying to take your mind off of the terrible encounter with your mom.

And when the two of you get home, he strips you bare and worships your body until you’re crying out his name.

[d0rothydraws]

Luke and Kieran bet you to call Sylus a good boy. Without thinking, you accepted. Content: Light choking, Deep throating, Body worship, praise kink and general highly sexual themes

w/c: 3.8k

ao3: Here

part 2: Here

a/n: This is my first actual Sylus fic I hope I did him justice. The idea of calling him a good boy popped into my head and I ran with it. loosely based off of the oasis card. i could do a part 2 to this if people want it. low key nervous about posting this i havent posted smut in 2 years

Luke and Kieran bet you to call Sylus a good boy. Without thinking, you accepted.

And now, you were at an auction, insisting you came along. Teasing you for being clingy, Sylus accepted your company and now the two of you were sitting at a large dinner table surrounded by very powerful and Important men. They were talking in a language you didn't understand but you didn't really care. Your mind wasn't on the auction or the weapons they were bartering. Your mind was on Sylus. The man beside you so close you could feel the brush of his thigh against yours under your dress.

You tried to be calm. Confident. And for the most part besides your heart that was beating out of your chest, were doing a good job. Even as you moved a hand under the table onto his thigh.

The reaction was minimal, yet the fact you got a reaction in the first place was a good sign. His hand that was holding a steak knife, cutting into his meal tightened. Pausing for a moment before continuing.

You trailed your hand over the inseam of his thigh, a gentle feather light touch. You felt him stiffen under your hand. You knew how sensitive he was. He leaned his lips to your ear, his voice a low rumble.

"Bored with the auction, sweetie? You're the one that asked to come along." His breath was hot against your ear and yet you didn't falter. Your hand resting on the muscle of his upper thigh.

"I can't understand what they're saying. Of course I'm bored." You muttered back quietly only for him to chuckle, sitting back straight in his chair.

You moved slow, your fingers trailing higher up on his thigh until you trailed a finger against the zipper. A hand moved to hold your wrist, firm as his fingers wrapped around your hand.

"Sweetie." He said, his voice having an edge to it. You could feel how your touches have effected him. The warmth under your hand half hard. You bit back a smirk. But before you could continue or respond, the men at the table stood. Large double doors opened as the men entered.

You tried to pull your hand away, getting ready to stand to follow. It was time for the auction to begin. And yet, his grip tightened. Finally you looked up at him as he stood, still holding your hand. Following his lead he walked you into the room. His silence was loud.

The room was filled with rows of chairs and at the front, a stage with cases and boxes. As you went to sit down, Sylus pulled you closer, landing on his lap instead. You gasped softly, looking up at him but his eyes were trained on the stage.

"Just sit still and behave, sweetie." He said into your ear his arms wrapping around your waist ignoring any looks.

You took in a deep breath, feeling him still half hard under you. The auction begun, bids flowed in as they showed off firearms more expensive than you could even comprehend. You bit you lip, getting an idea as your heart spiked.

It was a handgun. Nothing like you haven't seen a million times you were sure Sylus probably even had that exact one. Yet, you hummed, faking interest.

"That one. I want that one" You whispered, leaning your head back against his shoulder as your ass pushed more against his hips. You felt him take in a sharp breath.

"Really out of all of the ones that's the one that catches your eye?" He said with an amused tone, not knowing what game you were playing but he knew that there was one. "I have about 50 of that exact model you can pick from." He said, leaning his lips against your ear, his hands moving to your hips, holding you firmly.

"But I want it." You pouted, looking up at him. "One of my own." His lips twitched into a smirk, an eyebrow lifting.

"One million" he said, his voice cutting through the crowd. Silence settled for a moment before another man with a thick accent countered.

"Two million"

Sylus' eye twitched. All of this trouble for a small hand gun. It wasn't worth more than one, he would know. But he knew the man was just bidding against him to spite him.

"Ten million." Sylus said. A few murmurs erupted. The man who was countering gave a loud scoff. The bid was completed.

You leaned your lips up, brushing against his ear.

"Good boy."

A hand moved to cradle your neck, not choking but still form. You could feel his body stiffen under you. His cock twitching under you. Your body heated up, breath growing hotter at his reaction.

"You're playing a dangerous game, kitten." He purred in your ear, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. You should stop. You finished the bet. But the adrenaline was addicting.

"I'm just telling the truth." You replied back, his hand still firm on your neck, the other around your waist. "I'm not satisfied yet, though." You purred, your hand moving to curl at the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He made a low sound. "Buy me another one. Be a good boy, and buy me another gun." You breathed into his ear, your voice was hot, needy. Greedy.

His hand on your neck tightened, his hips twitching against your ass as you felt the hardness under you build. Your eyes closed as you let out a heavy breath, blushing as your body began to tingle. You expected him to tell you to shut up. To mock you for calling him that. Not to be into it. Though he didn't outright say it, you could feel how he was slowly losing his handle on the situation.

Instead, he chucked. Soft lips pushed against your ear. "You're pushing it, sweetie." He growled softly, his nails biting the sides of your neck as his words sent a shiver down your spine. You knew you were playing with fire. But with his hand around your neck, people around you glancing to look at the man who just spent 10 million dollars on a simple handgun, you felt over confident.

"Oh sweetie," You retorted, refusing to give in so easily. You knew he liked a fight. "I'm not the one with a hardon right now from being called a good boy."

Your body was standing suddenly, your legs moving to the door before your mind caught up. Sylus' hand in yours as he practically dragged you out of the building. The ride back was quiet, yet the air was thick. You knew he was probably cursing his decision of bringing his bike and not a car, your chest pressed against his back, thighs against him as he drove as fast as the motor would let him.

You didn't have a chance to move off of the bike before his hands were pulling the helmet off of your head. His eyes dark as they looked into yours. His touch was exceptionally gently considering how you figured he'd be treating you right now. His fingers traced your jaw, guiding you off of the bike with his other hand. His hand wrapped around your hip, pulling you flush to his. Sylus' other hand taking your chin between his fingers. "You've been nothing but trouble tonight, kitten." He said, his tone unreadable as his thumb traced the bottom of your lip. You flicked out your tongue, bringing it into your mouth. His lips twitched into a smirk. "What's got you so riled up tonight?" He said with a chuckle, pressing the pad of his rough thumb against your tongue before pulling it back, smearing your saliva over your lip. "I had a bet. And I won." You said, a playful glimmer in your eye as you finally admitted what had been on your mind. "I had a bet with the boys that I wouldn't survive if I called you a good boy." You moved your hand to his cheek, trailing down the muscle of his neck. "And from what I've seen," Your voice dropped to a whisper. "You liked it."

"What a silly bet." He muttered as his hand on your hip pulled you closer. "What makes you think that I liked it?" He said raising and eyebrow. "Why tell you when I can show you." You whispered before moving to take his hand on your hip, thankful that he was following your lead for a change. Though it was always hard for him to deny you.

As you closed the door behind you, you looked up at Sylus, taking a slow breath. You could cut the tension with a knife. Yet, he didnt make a move. He knew this game, and he was willing to play it. At least, until he wasn't. As you stepped closer to him, a hand moved down the buttons on his shirt. "You know, you really are beautiful." You whispered, your words genuine.

"What, are you just going to praise me all night?" He said, a half laugh half scoff as he slid his fingers over your shoulder and under the sleeve of your dress. Your hand on his chest became more firm as you popped a couple of the buttons free. "Yes, actually." You said simply as his shirt opened to expose his chest. You seen his stomach contract as he took in a breath. "Now, lay down on the bed."

It seems you struck a nerve because he listened without protest. Shrugging off his shirt as it fell onto the ground, he laid on the bed. His eyes glued to you as you followed him, straddling his hips as your thighs rested on each side of his body.

You started with his neck. Your lips grazed the skin as you kissed him gently, trailing and peppering kisses down his jaw. "You're listening so well." You breathed against his cheek, his body tense as you rested your hands on his chest. "You really are a good boy." You giggled. He frowned, his eyebrows knotting. "Don't mock me." He grumbled, his breath hitching as your hand gently trailed over his chest. Your lips grazed his as you spoke. "I wouldn't dream of it." Your lips pressed against his in a slow, tender kiss. Your fingers circled his nipples. His breath hitched against the kiss as you added more pressure. You moved slowly. Your movements unrushed, tender. As if you were worshiping him. And in a way, you were. You wanted to overwhelm him with praise. With soft touches and kisses. He shivered softly as you pinched his nipples between your fingers. You broke the kiss, lips caressing the corner of his lips. "I could kiss you all night." You breathed before moving lower on his body. Your hips moved making him grunt as you adjusted. As your tongue trailed the canyon of his chest your hands moved against his sides. You felt his muscles, how they twitched under your hands. How his breath was heavy, his hips starting to become more active as he slowly became more needy. His hand moved to curl into your hair. His head leaning back as his eyes closed. A low sigh leaving his lips as he felt how your soft hands caressed his strong and admittedly tired body. As he felt your tongue flick against his nipple though, his hand tightened in your hair. A low groan that went straight between your thighs filled the room. Letting out a shaky breath in anticipation, you flicked your tongue a few more times. As the bud hardened, you wrapped your soft lips around it, your eyes looking up at Sylus through thick eyelashes only to find him looking back at you. His face was flushed, his eyes slightly glassed over. You had never seen him like this before.

You pinched his other nipple, twisting it between your fingers softly as you sucked the other one and then after a few moments you switched. His hips arched against your body, feeling his thick need tight against his pants from nothing more than a few kisses and touches. "I didn't know you were so needy." You whispered as you began to move lower. Your lips trailed down his stomach, feeling his abs flex under you as you reached his belt. "I like it." You purred, licking the wet patch through his pants earning a low groan from him. "Kitten if you keep teasing me I won't be able to stay still." He warned, his voice strained. The sound of his voice made you shiver, a soft hum of arousal leaving your lips as you looked up at him. Your tongue sticking out to lick the spot again, slowly.

"You can handle it." You said, smirking as you used the words he used against you so long again against him. You slowly sat back up on your heels as you looked at him. "Now, be good and undo your pants for me baby."

His large hands moved to his belt, his hips raising as the sound of metal echoed as he undid the belt, sliding it off and letting it fall off the bed. His hands trailed over the button of his pants. You watched with heat in your eyes as he circled it sensually before popping the button open. His thumbs hooked under his underwear and pants, pulling them down with one movement.

You licked your lips as you looked down at him. Pants around his thighs, his cock hard and dripping onto his stomach as his hands finished adjusting his pants. As he moved his hand to curl in your hair again you pulled back, smirking.

"You didn't ask to touch me first." You said in a playful tone as your finger trailed the thick vein on his thigh up to his cock. He twitched, taking a sharp breath.

"Can.. I touch you?" He asked, oh so obediently. It made your heart flutter.

"No." You said with a low purr as you moved back down between his thighs. Lips trailed up the thick muscle, licking that same vein that your hands trailed seconds before. As he was about to argue, a grunt filled the room as you licked up the bottom of his cock before taking the tip past your lips.

His hands clenched, nails digging into his hands as he struggled to obey your command. You looked up at him, slowly lowering your mouth lower, lower and lower. Your tongue pushed flat against the sensitive tip as you took him entirely into your throat. He groaned louder, his mouth opening slightly as he twitched, his hips shaking as he felt your throat tighten around him as you swallowed his cock.

"Fuck kitten." He moaned, his eyes never leaving you as his breath became labored. You moaned around him, feeling yourself struggle to breathe around him. He was so thick, so large that he reached the base of your throat. Your eyes rolled as you began to bob your head.

He couldn't stop himself from thrusting into your tight little throat. You said no touching, but never not to move. And now, you couldn't talk with your mouth occupied. So, he took full advantage of the situation.

You gasped around him as he met your lips, a wet sound filling the room as his hips thrusted against you. He reached deeper in your throat, swallowing around him he moaned, his head falling back. Giving in, his hand finally curled in your hair. Fingers wrapping tightly around you as he held you still. "I'm sorry, kitten. You're too good." He growled as he rutted into your mouth. A low moan fell out of your bruised mouth as you were silently grateful for the turn of events. As his thrusts became more uneven and his cock swelled more against your painfully tight throat you groaned as hot cum flowed against you. A few more thrusts before he slowly pulled out, a sheen of sweat on his body. His cock, still half hard laid against his stomach. You panted for breath, air painfully filling your lungs again. Gently he brought you up to his lips, kissing you slowly as his hands rested on your waist.

You pulled back giving him a pout. Your voice strained and raw. "That's not how it was supposed to go." You grumbled but blushing as his hands trailed down your waist and to cup your thighs.

"Mm but you would have done the same thing if you were in my position, sweetie." "No, I have more self restraint than you."

"I don't believe you." He whispered, a low chuckle. "Let's test it, shall we?"

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

hayloft

a/n: so…. i watched twisters…………

summary: “so what you’re saying is that you just came in here seeking shelter from the rain?” a smirk dazzled his features, “out of every shed and every other barn you passed on your way back to the house, you conveniently chose this one which I just so happen to still be in from when you poked your head in earlier,” his gaze briefly dipped down to your soaked through, and now sheer, t-shirt.

warnings: farmhand!tyler owens x farmer's daughter!reader, smut, farmer au, secret relationship, established relationship, bull rider!tyler, rain, sex on a hayloft, kissing, dirty talk, oral, facesitting, manhandling, impact play, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, wrote this in the middle of the night oops, click here for the prequel to this story

word count: 1673

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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Rain splattered against the barn door as you fought to tug it closed, droplets whipped your face until the very last second when you finally managed to latch it shut. 

“Hey,” a deep timbre crackled from behind you, causing you to whirl around. 

“Oh, hi Tyler,” a smile couldn’t help but creep up on your features as you spotted the painstakingly handsome farmhand, “what are you doing in here?” 

A chuckle then bubbled out of him as he leaned the long pitchfork in his grasp against a nearby wall.

“My job, ma’am.”

“Of course, right,” one of your hands shot up to wipe your wet face, though without much success as your palms too were completely drenched. 

“Better question is,” he took a step closer to where you stood, dripping onto the dusty barn floors, “what are you doing in here?” 

“Oh, well, I was just coming home from a ride on Blue when the rain came pouring down, so–” 

“So what you’re saying is that you just came in here seeking shelter from the rain?” a smirk dazzled his features, “out of every shed and every other barn you passed on your way back to the house, you conveniently chose this one which I just so happen to still be in from when you poked your head in earlier,” his gaze briefly dipped down to your soaked through, and now sheer, t-shirt.

“Hm,” you hummed through your smile, “yeah, that really is convenient,” neither denying nor affirming his accusation as you then teasingly twisted away from the close proximity his slow stride had created.

Catching the ladder that led up to the open hayloft, you slowly began to climb it. 

“Just what are you doing now?” you heard from behind you. 

“You said you were working,” you glanced over your shoulder, successfully catching Tyler staring at your ass through your jean shorts, “so I’m getting out of your hair.” 

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?”

“That’s right,” you reached the top and plopped yourself down on the planks, “I’m kind that way. So now, just go back to whatever you were doing, lifting heavy things or whatever,” you waved a vague hand down at him in hopes that he would put on a show for you and let you ogle the way his muscles flexed beneath his tight shirt. 

But he didn’t pick the pitchfork back up. 

Instead, he simply blew out a soft chuckle, gazing up at you as a light shake found his head, staring up at your drenched visage just a moment longer before he began to climb the ladder as well. 

A giggle rolled off your tongue as he reached the top, a gentle sound that he then swiftly smothered as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, still balanced on the ladder, clutching onto the sides as he reached you, sitting cross-legged on the floor before him. 

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” 

“Me?” you tilted your lips out of his reach, “I am an angel. I’ve never done anything wrong in my life,” a grin accompanied your jest. 

As he climbed the rest of the way up onto the loft, you didn’t shift away to make room for him, only leaned back on your forearms as he blissfully crawled to settle above you. 

When you raised yourself up to kiss him once more, you only got to taste him for but a moment, only shyly managing to sink your fingers into the hem of his shirt, before he denied you of any more. 

“I swear to god, it’s like you want your daddy to catch us with the way you keep throwing yourself at me.”

Letting out a light-hearted scoff, you said, “excuse me? First of all, it’s raining and even if it wasn’t, he’s not coming down here, not this time of day, and second of all, talk about yourself, sir,” you hooked your legs up and over the small of his back, “you’re the one always stealing kisses from me even when you know he’s around,” you counted, “oh, also that one time in the tool shed? It doesn’t matter that you covered my mouth, he for sure knew something was going on in there,” Tyler’s smile only brightened at the recollection, “and don’t even get me started on the way you’re always looking at me.”

“How do I look at you?” 

“You know how…” you laughed, melting under his gaze, “you’re doing it right now.” 

“Oh, am I?” he acted as if it wasn’t completely on purpose how his eyes undressed you, “I’m sorry, I hadn’t noticed.” 

Leaning down to capture your lips once more, a light squeak then escaped your lungs as he suddenly rolled over onto his back, onto a low pile of loose hay, dragging you along with him.

But as your body rested atop his, completely plastered against one another as his broad hands took their time raking down your curves, a soft chuckle rumbled in his chest and vibrated against your tongue. 

“Oh my god, you’re so fucking wet,” he laughed, playfully giving the drenched denim clinging to your ass a swift tap. 

Pushing yourself up a bit more, you spotted the splotchy stamp you’d transferred all down Tyler’s front. 

“Yeah well, I was just caught in the rain, what do you want me to do?” 

“It really did get you good, didn’t it?” you felt his hands shift and nimbly undo your shorts.

“Mhm,” you nodded, blinking down at him as he yanked your soaked shorts down and tossed them off to the side, onto a hay bale. 

“You mind if I check something real quick?” he playfully asked, scooping his grasp down to curve securely around the plush of your bottom. 

“Not at all,” you smiled before a sharp yelp then suddenly erupted out of you.

Tyler knew he could toss you around like a ragdoll, a skill of his he wasn’t at all shy to lean into, especially now as he yanked you closer, all the way up his frame till he settled you just above his face.

“Tyler!” you laughed, squirming lightly as he pulled you further down against him, letting his nose nuzzle against the sliver of your underwear before he placed a sloppy kiss against them. 

With his wide palms still glued to your butt, a few of his fingers stretched out to catch the hem of your panties and tug them to the side, granting himself the full access he desired. 

As he began to eagerly lap you up, he briefly murmured against you, “yeah, you really are completely soaked,” conjuring a hazy laugh to rip through you as your head tipped back at the pleasure. 

Teasing your little clit till your thighs began to shake on either side of his face, you felt his hands briefly migrate up your back and guide you to collapse entirely above him, bending you forward and letting your forearms land in a soft pile of hay for support. 

His strong arms then scooped back down to your ass, blanketing them around your hips as he brought you even closer to him, evidently not that desperate to let himself breathe any time soon as your all-consuming presence above him was the one and only thing he desired. 

With the way that he devoured you whole, not long passed till you were cumming all over his face, whimpering and trembling against his unyielding efforts. You barely let yourself catch your breath before you crawled back down his form, lazily kissing the taste of you off of his tongue as you worked at freeing his hard cock that strained in his jeans.

Your frame stayed plastered against his own after you sank down upon him, your tits in the soaked shirt smooshing against his chest. With your panties still clinging just off to the side of your cunt, you only let yourself shutter at the stretch a shy second before your trembly thighs raised you back up to find a slow rhythm.

“Fuck…” he groaned, tilting away from the breathless kiss, “ride that cock–, shit, you’re so good,” he nearly hissed at the way you rolled your hips, your silky walls clinging around his girth, “that’s my girl.” 

“Yeah, well I partly blame you for finally explaining to me how exactly it is you ride those crazy bulls,” you spoke about his daring side gig, “how you stay on, tame them.”

“Yeah,” an airy chuckle slipped out of his lungs, “you might just give me a run for my money if I ever get you up on a real one.” 

“I thought that’s what I was doing now,” you smirked down at him as you rocked your hips even further down against his, grinding the length of him dizzyingly deep inside of your pussy. The comment however also earned you a slap across the ass, causing the laugh hiding just behind your lips to finally break free, “hey, I’m not wrong, you are an animal!”

Burying one of his hands into your hair, he uttered against your lips, “well, if I’m an animal, then you’re one too,” nearly growling as he held you close and let himself buck up into you, meeting your slow bouncing halfway, “we’re cut from the same cloth you and me.”

“Yeah,” you moaned, digging your weak hands into his shirt and surely stretching the cotton out, “you and me…”

Tilting your head just far enough back so that he could catch sight of how your eyes began to roll in your skull, he groaned, “fuck, you’re so beautiful… so fucking perfect and warm, tight, fucking squeezing around me so good, and so fucking wet…” a chuckle slipped out of you both at the double entendre, “you messy girl… my messy little fucking girl… you’ll never get to dry off if I have a say in the matter… let you stay just completely soaked for fucking ever and make it so easy for me to just do anything I want…”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[grugruel]

The Artist and the Flower

Pairings: Benedict bridgerton x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Sexpollen

Masterlist

Summary: A mysterious flower brought back from Colin's travels put you and Benedict in a curious predicament. Resulting in sex and other things.

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: sexpollen, friends to lovers, passionate sex, pinv sex, oral sex (female recieving), rough sex (blink and you'll miss it), choking, praise, pet names (princess, girl, woman, lady.), "I love you", mating-press, missionary, creampie. (Think that's all)

AN: not yet proofread! Hope you guys enjoy!

Approaching footsteps roused my mind. They thudded dully against wooden floorboards–pausing only to whisper mutely, 'This is not funny. Where are you?'

I tried to focus on my breathing, fingers working sluggishly as they wiped themselves clean against the bottom hem of my dress.

'Woman!' The voice was shrill and urgent this time, ringing terribly in my ear. The sounds of it's accompanying steps diminished as they hurried past my position on the floor, all dizzy on my knees.

'Benedict!' I hissed. The bright interior blurring as I made to stand up, legs wobbly beneath the unsteady weight of my torso.

There was a muffled squeak through the wall, shoes whirling against polished wood. Indicating him turning on his heel. 'Most, esteemed woman?' He tried again, punctuating the words as he half joked, half not. Simply hopeful hollow flattery would spur me into giving further clues to my whereabouts.

'Get in here at once!' I threw my finger toward the floor, as if he could see me do it and I'd sucesfully conveyed the sense of urgency. But the world spun suddenly, and I staggered a few steps until I caught myself on the nearest wall. The window I'd opened wasn't doing much except chilling my damp skin with the occasional draft.

With a last few steps, he darted to the door that separating us and four quaint knocks rapped aginst it. I gritted my teeth, annoyance taking over the hand. 'Yes, come on in.' Still, I willed my voice into the least irritable tone I could muster. This was not his fault, after all.

'Ah–' he sighed and pushed the door open. '–godess. . .' There was a mocking tone to the word and a satisfied grin on his lips, but it quickly fell as his eyes scoured over my appearance and utter devastation replaced it.

I wiped my forehead free of the beading sweat, and it too, began to tingle just like my fingertips had–to my horror, I realised–I'd probably just added more of whatever that dust was into my system. Now seeping through my skin and diluting my blood, impairing my usually keen senses with whatever toxins it provided.

He hurried to my side in big, worried strides to lay and arm around my back, steadying me when I couldn't steady myself. 'Wha-' He couldn't even form a word of surprise, his jaw slack as he gestured with his free hand to my dishevelled appearance. 'Why are you in Colins room? In this, state?' He quickly added. If I wasn't mistaken, which I might very well have been considering I didn't have full use of my mind. But, I could almost detect jealousy in his tone.

He would get the wrong idea, about Colin. 'Well,' I tried being nonchalant, tried to act like the places he made contact with my skin did not burn for him. I screwed my eyes shut and pulled all my focus into an answer. 'The wine got to my head, and I realised,' My words came out sluthered and slow. 'I hadn't been in here before, and. . .' My head began nodding of its own accord, already finding my unsaid words agreeable. '. . .it had to be remedied.'

'Of course, of course it did.' Benedict sighed, his shoulders shrugging in exasperation as he began looking around, presumably to find something for me to sit on, but his eyes fastened on something else instead. I cringed, for his eyes darted from the open rucksack, then back to me. The look he gave me was nothing but disapproving. But goodness, he was stading so close. His breaths warm against my cheek and mildly stained by alcoholic bevrages, much like mine must've been. But oh, the fire in his eyes gave me quite a start, not that I was fearful of it. In fact, I found the opposite to be true. It almost felt as if I had abaorbed it, and it traveled downward. . . 'You went through his belongings?'

My mind froze, the newfound aching in my body too distracting. 'I. . .' I felt my eyes narrow and forehead furrow, my dull reflexes attempting a poor pretence of thoughts. 'I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry. But there was this box, with some strange flower inside. . .' I trailed off. An amused, tipsy smile making it's way onto my face as I noted his incredulous expression.

His hands slid down my arm, and the sensation traveled straight to my core. Causing the need to stifle a moan arise.

'And you thought it a good idea to touch a foreign plant of which you know nothing of?' He spoke fast, too fast for me to keep up. Especially when goosebumps ran rampid in the wake of his touch, when my core ached for him to continue, to push his body further into mine. My heart beat too fast, his hand too close to the pulse point on my wrist.

My hand found it's way beneath his jaw, a wide grin splaying across my face. 'Wine will do that to a gentlewoman.' I explained, sluthering slightly. But feeling no more explanation to be necessary.

He screwed his eyes shut and stood completley still for a moment, I could almost see the thoughts swirling in the crammed space of his mind. 'Well,' he looked at me once again, searching my eyes. 'What gentleman would I be to leave a woman in need to her own devices?' He opened the box and grabbed the flower without hesitation, feeling its vevelty petals, rubbing the dust between his fingertips and then- tasted it.

Currents of static electricity zapped beneath my chest, spreading throughout me body. Everything happened so fast. And all I could do was watch, very intently, as the pads of his middle- and index finger made contact with his tongue, swiping clean against it. Lips then closing around them to suck whatever remained off. The heat building in my body was nothing short of sinful, and the thoughts–my thoughts–were even worse.

'Let's go.'

'Pardon?' Precious air left my lungs, leaving me breathless.

'Dinner with the Bridgertons.'

'I figured it to be out of the question.' My expression confounded.

'Colin is already downstairs, and we must find out what exactly that plant is-' He stopped. Eyes all of a sudden distant as they grazed over my features, landing on my lips. He still held my wrist, stroking the inside with gentle circles.

'Ben?' It was summer in the country, this much I knew. But surely, the temperature could not rise as fast as it just did. Sweat was pooling at my back, beneath my bust. And I began to wish, that he would simply. . . Lick-

'We must go.' I declared, clearing my throat. Hoping the words would snap us out of our trance.

'Right, of course.' He nodded, a blush sweeping across his cheeks. His eyes suddenly keen to examine the floor. But he kept his han his hand on the small of my back, urging me down the halls of the big house. Ocassionally, he'd scrunch the fabric of my dress, feeling the flexing of my back beneath the tips of his fingers. It pulled my attention to the sensitivity of my skin, and the pleasure his small, simple action gave me.

The next thing I knew, I was being helped into a chair at the center of the dining table. Benedict laid a hand on my shoulder that was meant to be reassuring, but it had an impact much more wicked on me. He took the seat across from me, and oh so conveniently placed himself next to Colin. Conversation grew heavy as Violet became quite inquisitive with her children. Eloise's debut, Anthony's proposal plans, and who he was planning on the recieving end. I would usually have been elbow deep in the gossip and drama, but my mind was elsewhere, muddled or perhaps tainted, as I couldn't focus on much of anything. Their voices grew sharp in my ears, the candlelight too bright for my eyes.

Ben leaned in to whisper in Colin's ear, who's eyes grew wide. Looking at me with growing worry, in fact, he almost looked like he would be sick.

I could understand why. Slouched in my seat, looking generally ill and doing more drinking than eating. Which was most likely only adding to the growing problem rather than subduing it. But oh, was he handsome. Flushed, he combed a hand through his hair. Slicking it with the dampness from his forehead, his eyes darting over my figure every now and then. Whatever that flower was, it seemed to be getting to him too. Colin opened his mouth to answer Ben.

'How are you dear, you look a little I'll.' Violet asked with genuine worry, interrupting the boys hushed conversation and turned them onto me with anxious eyes.

'I'm well.' I smiled, feeling as though my own voice was not mine.

Ben's eyes creased, a grin spreading over his lips, and then began giggling.

The conversations cut, and everyone stared at him. 'Are you quite alright, dear?' Violets eyes were full of concern, now placed upon him instead. I didn't yet know if it was warranted or not. But I was glad he pulled any lingering eyes from my current state.

'I apologise.' The words were strained as he pushed them out between more fluttering giggles, leading him to cover his blushing face. 'Her lady just told me something stunningly funny, that is all.' Benedict gestured to me, his eyes glinting with mischief. That little-

'Truly?' Violet smiled expectantly, something like understanding in her eyes. That cunning look she always gave her children when she knew something they didn't. Perhaps she'd taken my demeanour as that of a girl with a hidden crush, only anxious under the gaze of her love. She wouldn't be entirely wrong. Long had I known the Bridgertons, and even longer had I liked Ben.

I cleared my throat, blinking away the haze in my eyes. 'I'm uncertain of its propriety. . .' I tried to redirect, a drop of sweat sliding down my temple as I nervously glanced around at the members of the family. And ufortunately, I felt a bubbling up inside my chest, a composition of my own laughter. 'It was, uhm. . .' I paused, working hard to keep a smile from creeping onto my lips. Trying desperate to think of something to say. Anything, really.

'Well, let's hear it.' Anthony said with a grin, and the rest of the table agreed. Eloise being little more than a heap of snickers, Colin seeming to be the only one who gained little to no amusement from the situation.

Watching my struggles and deeming them incredibly funny, Benedicts giggles evovled and he burst out laughing. I was second behind him, but the table quickly joined in with a chorus of incredulous chuckles and wild looks of incomprehension. 'What is the matter with you two?' Eloise asked, her eyes watery as she clutched stomache.

We locked eyes, Ben and I. Both now scorching, judging from the trickling sweat on his neck and the tickling down my back. Warmth spread throughout my chest, and something fluttered in my stumache. Something was terribly wrong with the flower for me to feel so deeply, so suddenly.

Colin took his chance when Benedict had calmed himself, leaning in to whisper in his ear. Ben's face offered an array of reactions ti every word spoken. Confusion, surprise, anger. It was enough for me to conclude that something was not right, and that was when his eyes went wide. 'Then why would you not keep a lock on it, brother?' He shouted, his voice much louder than anticipated. Worry grew in me as I carefully studied their expressions, replacing all my previous feelings of joy. Colin whispered again, his lips moving eratically as he shook his head, clearly distressed and displeased. Ben's eyes locked on mine a second time, again, they were full of fire. However, something told me it was not of the same sort I'd seen earlier today, this was not anger. No, it was something else entierly. 'Pardon us, drar family. But the lady and I must be excused.' He claimed suddenly, turning to his mother and Anthony. 'We have urgent business that need tending to.'

'–my parents estate. . .' I cut in, sensing the graveness behind his words. It cant be good if his mood had changed so quickly. The family gave me an odd look, and I scrambled further, not wishing for them to get the wrong impression. 'The art- the art in their estate. We had a Lively discussion before dinner. . . Hence the art. Because he's an artist.' I paused my rambling lips, they did me more bad than good. I stood hastily, the rich pulsing around me as I did so, almost knocking the chair to the floor. I smoothed my dress out and exited the diningroom with an "excuse me" and a unecessary curtsy.

Rushing down hallways, I brushed my hand along the wall for support. Benedict's footsteps only a pace behind my own. He placed a hand on my hip, to brace me or simply because he wanted to fell me, I did not know.

Stopping outside my rooms, I urged him to explain. 'Apparently,' he began, rubbing the nape of his neck. I knew that tell. 'It's not, good news. . .'

I leaned back against the doorframe, my body drenched in sweat. The wafting of my fan doing nothing to help. 'Benedict Bridgerton, tell me immediately.' I growled.

'Its an aphrodesiac. It means-'

I expelled a strained breath. 'I know what it means, Ben. Continue.' The air blew against the exposed skin of of my chest, cooking it effectively.

Benedict hesitated, none of this was proper. Yet, his eyes lingered on the growing goosebumps over my breasts. His gaze sliding to my throat, watching it bob as I swallowed a big breath of air. 'We are friends Ben, discussing such things educationally does not betray social rules.' I tried to convince us both.

He nodded absentmindedly, his eyes snapping back to mine with a newfound reverence. He himself staggering as his balance perception had been knocked down a peg. It was really starting to get to him, so I grabbed his jacket to steady him. 'Its pollen is poisonous in large amounts, If consumed and left untreated, lethal.'

I swallowed again, the world spinning as my mind fumbled his words, turning them over and over in my head. 'Considering the side-effects,' I gestured with the fan between the two of us. 'I gather we have large amounts in our blood.'

To this he nodded, the uncertainty in his eyes replaced with a wicked smile spreading across his lips. 'Clever girl.'

His praise felt like a punch to the gut. Although not knocing the air out of me, it did leave me in pain. 'And how do we cure it?' I tried to distract myself, my breathing was growing uneven, my thoughts a haze. And Benedict Bridgerton, looking more and more like something I'd like to devour.

His hand braced against the doorframe above my head ti stabilise him, his tall frame nkw looming over me, our faces stopping only a few inches appart. 'By working it out of our systems, by executing certain activities,' he murmured, studying me under hodded eyes and parted lips. 'The burning needs to be sated. If not, it will develop into fever, the throat will close and-'

'Alright, that's quite enough.' I gestured for him to stop. My lip trembling, my body burning as I looked at him through my lashes. 'What exactly are these activities?' I had a feeling, a hunch, where this was going.

'You must forgive my crudeness.' He took my hands in his free one, managing to wrap his considerably larger one around both of mine. 'By love making.' He was even closer now, his nose touching my cheekbone as he whispered in my ear. 'Sex.' His breaths were ragged, on edge. His tongue darting out to wet his lips. He stopped himself, closing his eyes. His forehead lulling against mine. Most likely taming himself jusy like I had to, trying not to think of the multiple worst case scenarios.

'We cannot stay out here, somebody will see us.' I warned, my nose rubbing against his. My body so taunt, tense, it needed desperate release. My spine was still recovering from that word. It had shaped a ball of anticipation in the pit of my stumache. It could ruin me, my prospects. I only just debuted. But- sex. . . That was all I wanted in this moment, and I wanted it with this man.

I looked him in the eyes and opened the door to my bedchamber. 'I love a tragedy, an epic story of true love ending in death.' I whispered, moving my hands around his. 'But we are not lovers.' Taking a few steps back, I led him inside. 'So, lets make this count.' He followed me willingly, his eyes loyal and round like a puppy's as he gazed at me with adoration. And the door fell shut behind him.

'What if we were?' His voice was low and burdened with lust. One hand coming to stroke a few strands of hair from my cheek.

I blinked, barely comprehending his touch. 'We shall not perish, Benedict. I refuse.'

'No, but we could love.'

'What?' My brows furrowed.

'Perhaps, you could find it in your heart to love me, as I have always loved you.' He paused. The next words were heavy as they hung from the tip of his tounge. 'Let me make love to you.' His voice vibrating from the strain of on his chest. He took a step closer, his chest pressing flush against mine. 'Let me teach you.' His voice was pleading, and I had to crane my neck to keep his eye contact. 'Marry me. . .' His hands cupped my face. '. . .marry me.' he leaned in, whispering the words against my lips.

I nodded slowly. 'Teach me.' And our lips clashed together.

Years worth of structural limitations evaporated, society and politics a thing of the past as Benedict raised my skirt, found purchase under my thighs and pulled me into his embrace. His skilled tongue finding its way into my mouth with ease.

He walked us backward, gently laying me down on my bed despite the urgency of our lust. 'What do you need?' He asked through muffled moans, his lips busy with mine. I could not think, nothing about my being would work with me. 'Talk to me, what do you need?' He breathed, voice almost a whimper as his hands squeezed my hips, urging me to answer.

'You,' I managed. 'I need you.' I could feel him smile against my lips.

'Do you trust me, love?'

'Always.'

He pushed off me, hooked his hands under my knees and pulled me to the edge of the bed.

Then kneeled.

Benedict, the man that he is, stood on his knees before me. Between my legs, he smiled a wicked smile. My body was limp in his touch, completely at his disposal. The aching cravings of my core did not care what he did, as long as it was he who did it.

His hands dove under the hem of my skirt, tracing my legs upward, hitching the fabric on his wrists. He stopped above my knees, kneeding them thoughtfully as his eyes searched mine. It took my mind a second to wrap around his request, it was already so painfully clear to me that I would agree at any given moment of our time together that I could not fathom him wanting further confirmation. 'Yes. . . Please.'

He wasted no time. He was hungry. He flipped the skirt over my abdomen and got to work. Immidietly lowering himself onto my mound, lipping a stripe from my core to my clit and he moaned.

A shuddering whimper left me, if it was from his reaction or the sensation of his tongue I would never know. Proudly, he wrapped his lips around me clit and vegan sucking, licking and nipping. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt before, my fingers could never compete with his expertise. My body wriggled involuntairly, compelling him to hold my hips down with one hand, and taking it as a sign to slide the other along the inside of my thigh and burry a finger inside me, pumling it in an out.

I cried out, covering my mouth as my free hand dove into his hair. Pulling and scratching, I urged him to continue. But somewhere inside me, worry built. What about him? My eyes glanced over the still beading sweat on his forehead, afraid it might be the fever Ben had spoken of. 'What about you?' I whimpered, stroking his hair in a gentler fashion as he continued his contrasting assault on my mound.

'What about me?' He moaned, voice muffled by my skin and shrugged, sliding another finger inside me. His eyes studying my reaction, the way my body moved. I cried out again, biting my lip this time to stifle it as my other hand entwined with the one he held at my hip.

'Is it enough for you?' The words were expelled on an exhale, my voice pitched from continously pleasure, but beneath there was worry. And he noticed.

He chuckled breathely against my clit. 'I do not care about me.' His eyes met mine, and a strike of lighting shot through me, a whimper escaping me with furrowed brows. And he continued with a groan. 'Giving you pleasure is all I need.' And added a third finger, curling them inside me. Their size was admirable, especially as they hit some special spot inside me.

My back arched and a tidal wave of pleasure rolled over me, the pressure that'd been builing in my stumache finally released.

He watched me intently. 'Let me hear you.' He requested, continuing to move his fingers as he helped me through my orgasm, palming himself through his pants with his free hand. I obliged him. A string of curses unbefitting of a lady left my lips in whimpers.

'It takes talent to make such vulgar words sound pretty.' He licked another stripe along my folds, gathering my orgasm on his tongue and swallowed greedily. A strained grunt left him, and he collapsed into my lap, a shiver running through his body. My hand left his to brace myself on my forearm, gathering a better view of him as I combed my hand through his hair soothingly, and that's when I noticed the wet spot on his pants. I gasped. 'It was truly enough for you?' I ovserved him in awe, the aching beginning to roar inside me yet again.

'I told you,' He panted, sucking his fingers clean between his attempts to catch his breath and tilted his head to look up at me. Such a sinful act embedded so innocently. 'You are enough for me, pretty girl.' Now it was not only mor core which ached, but my heart also. Still on his knees, he let himself regenerate in my lap whilst his adoring eyes romaed my face. A show of devotion, of resignation, of love.

I moved to sit, his head still in my lap as he circled his arms around my waist, gaze still locked on mine. 'I love you.' I whispered, brushing the damp hair from his forehead.

His eyes softened impossibly more. 'I've always, always been in love with you. Since the first week of our meeting.'

My chest ached. 'Why have you never told me so?'

'Throwing our friendship away based on chance was not odds I was willing to risk.' He hugged me tighter, then stood up. 'But im afraid, that were not out of the woods yet.' He said, un buttoning his shirt and pants. 'Im feeling quite feverish.' His eyes glistened with mischief, and let the coat fall from his shoulders.

'If you want me again, you need only say so.' I smiled, now it was my time to look up at him with loving eyes.

'I want you again.' He removed his shirt, and I hade to collect my breath for a second. 'Stand, my love. We will do this properly.' He took my hands and helped me to my feet, turned me around and undid my dress and corset. Again, It made me realise just how much experience he had.

When I stood in only my chemise, feeling naked and vunerable. He stood in only his breeches. Nothing my nervous state, he said. 'We can leave it on, love.' Searching my eyes.

But I shook my head, if I was to have all of him, he was to have all of me. 'Please.' I whispered, motioning for him to take it off me. And he did, it slid down my body easily. Gradually exposing every inch of skin only me and most likely my maids had seen.

He stood struck for a moment, unmoving, unspeaking. Until- 'I do not deserve you.' He awed, 'Beautiful, beautiful woman.' Reaching his hand out to stroke my biceps, my abdomen, eyes searching mine before they traveled further up.

'You do, if any man ever was to. It would be you.' I promised him, and at this he blushed. I grabbed his hand and laid it atop my breast. With a groan, he stepped closer. His free hand cupping my face as the other massaged my breast, and his lips met mine. Softly, his hand slid around my back, guiding me back knto the bed, laying me carefully down on the pillows. 'Princess.' He breathed, sat back and removed his breeches. I did not have time to fawn over his size until he was on me again. Hooking my leg on his knee, he spread it wide. Bracing on a forearm, his face was inches from mine as he lowers himself on top of me. His thick length grazing my clit. Sensitive and burning, still–I noticed. The polled had yet to leave our system, perhaps it deadliness had subdued, but it's symptoms were yet in full effect.

Benedict nuzzled my cheek. 'Tell me what you want.' He whispered in my ear.

'You, all of you.'

'Be more specific, dearest.'

I swallowed, my breathing growing heavier. 'Sex.' I murmured, and his lips formed a smiled against my jaw. 'I want sex.'

'I would want nothing more than to give it to you.' He breathed, and lined himself up with my entrance. Then pushed himself in, gently, but consistently. My whimpered only spurring him on, not stopping until he reached the hilt. He'd done his job well, since I easily adjusted around him. 'Good girl.' He whispered, tracing kisses from my lips to my neck. 'Taking me so well.'

I ached, arching my back, I needed more. My skin was growing more and more sensitive. 'Please, Ben. . .'

That was all he needed to hear. He pulled out and thrusted into me again, moving my entire body with each stroke and it was like nothing I've ever felt before. 'Holy-' I interrupted myself with a moan.

He chuckled, but truthfully it was more of a moan. 'Feel so good.' He murmured against my skin, kissing the tender spot between my shoulder and throat. 'Like I imagined.'

Pause. He's thought of me? In this way? With. . . women, by himself?

'When, tell me when.'

'Always. I thinn of you when I lay with other women, I think of you when I touch myself.' His hand ran down my body, squeezing my breast as he drove himself deeper. And I had to wonder–were those acts specific details of his dreams, desires? 'You occupy my mind, always.' He said quite breathlessly.

'Show me, show me how you want me.'

He pulled out if me, hooked my legs over his shoulders and thrusted back in. Every rut of his hips hitting that sweet spot inside me, wrecking me over and over again. Strained breaths against my throat became the outcome of his efforts, as the power behind each thrust pushed me deeper into the mattress. 'What else, show me what else. I'm yours.' I moaned.

His lips found mine, and his hand my throat. Gently, he enveloped it. Softly, he squeezed. 'Say it again.' His lips murmured against mine, kissing them between every breath he labored.

'I'm yours.' I whispered, and he groaned. A particularly forcefull thrust was made into me. He was never rough in anything he did, but he put his back into it. Always the gentleman, never the brute. I've never been happier for a man to be so contrasting.

The burning, the aching, the pressure. It was all towering, waiting to be pushed over at any second. 'Mine,' he moaned. 'My love.' His pace quickened and ruts hardened. He was as close as I was. 'I love you. . .' He whimpered and spilled himself inside of me. And I came a second later, irregular thrusts carrying me through my blinding orgasm. 'I love you.' He told me over and over again as he let my legs fall to his sides, and collapsed onto my smaller figure. With his head on my chest, I held him. 'I love you too.'

'Marry me, then.'

'Give me a ring, then.' I giggled. He made to stand up, to slither out of my embrace. 'Not now!'

'Tomorrow, then?' He laid back down, this time wrapping his arms around me and pulled me close.

'Tomorrow, then.' I confirmed. Id never been so happy as in that moment.

[ceilidho]

sundog

prompt: Simon comes across a girl when she's recently been evicted and takes her back to his place, despite her reservations (nsfw, 8.5k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

-

The circumstances of your life change so abruptly that you lose sight of it for a moment. 

Then, you’re out on the streets with the clothes on your back and a suitcase packed so full that a sweater sleeve sticks out where the zippers meet. The locks to your apartment have already been changed. You know because you tried them anyway, desperately hoping that the eviction notice taped to your door might have been misplaced.

Evidently not. The keys don’t work. You contemplate chucking them on the walk out, but instead you keep them close like a talisman of protection, though it’s failed to live up to its purpose so far. 

You’ve got it under control for a day. If by ‘under control’, you mean experiencing a full body panic attack in the locker room of the twenty-four hour gym down the street from your old apartment. The staff gives you uncomfortable looks when you come in on the verge of tears with your suitcase rolling behind you, but they let you in because your membership is up to date. If you can count on anything in life, it’s consumerism. 

That doesn’t last long though, mainly because a locker and a wood bench won’t cut it in the long term. You sleep in the back of the local library until a stern-faced, if pitying, librarian threatens to call the cops on you. Pity isn’t sympathy, evidently. 

Gym management threatens to cut the lock on the locker you’ve been using as temporary storage space. Matter of fact, they say, you can’t be using the locker room as your quasi apartment between the hours of nine P.M. and seven A.M. just because everything else in the city is closed. Go home, they say. 

What home, you don’t say, before packing up your things and heading out on your way. 

If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s capitalism. 

You didn’t think this kind of thing could happen to someone like you. Someone like you being an ordinary person. Homelessness always felt like a far away concept. But the world is cruel and life is brutal. What you didn’t realize before was that, at any moment in time, you’ve been closer to poverty than wealth, and here you are now, sitting in the park with your suitcase between your legs, the sun rapidly setting behind you, your phone at ten percent battery, and nowhere to go because your family is, frankly, nonexistent, and your friends, for lack of a better word, have almost entirely washed their hands of you.

Sorry, they’d say, the frown emoji expressing something like pity at a distance. We don’t have a couch to spare. 

I can sleep on the floor, you’d texted back. They’d gotten cagey after that. People like to be wanted only to a certain extent.

You can feel the panic rise up in you, too big to contain. It comes out in the form of blubbering tears and snot running from your nose. Big, hiccuping sobs. It’s not pretty. Passersby avert their eyes for the most part, save for the ones that eye you with something bordering on perverse delight and that’s what finally makes you get up and speed walk away, lest they feel compelled to approach you. 

But even in the tailwinds of summer, it gets cold outside at night. Worst of all, as the evening grows dark, the streets empty out until you can’t help but feel like a beacon with your little rolling suitcase. It clatters against the sidewalk as you try to hoof it down the street, looking for any shop still open to loiter in. Most close after nine though. You’ve googled homeless shelters, but the sheer anxiety keeps you floundering around up and down the streets instead.

It feels beyond helpless. You’re in a state like you’ve never been before, crying under a streetlamp because you needed a moment just to get your bearings. 

What you know now is that this world is a house of false bottoms. You thought the circumstances of your life could never change. You were never well to do, but you were doing well. The sight of the unhoused sitting with their backs to the brick and mortar stores on your walk home or congregated in a park in the middle of the city with their tents and shopping carts used to fill you with immeasurable pity, maybe even a quiet moment’s reflection; now, you see them as kin. 

Easy, isn’t it? To slip between states. To go from solid to liquid to gaseous. Easier than you ever could have expected. 

When it starts to rain, you almost close your eyes in relief. Anyone could’ve predicted this. 

You almost don’t respond to him at first, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk to avoid any bumps. Also, it never pays to look up at a man barking at you, especially not when he’s barking something like, Girl or Bird, turn around. 

Then he says it again, closer this time, and you’re forced to look up, if only to see who’s approaching you. Your suspicion melts away to distrust at the sight of the man stalking towards you. Distrust with a touch of trepidation—maybe outright alarm. Surely no man his size wearing a balaclava tucked into a hoodie straining around his arms would have innocent designs on you. 

He’s one of the bigger men you’ve ever come across. You look across the street to see if there’s a bar missing its bouncer, but all the shop fronts are dark like the ones on your side. 

You don’t bolt at the sight of him, but it’s a near thing. He appears from nowhere, and yet there’s nowhere for him to hide. Not with the size and breadth of him damn near taking up the whole sidewalk. His demeanour and stride evoke such a sense of authority that at first you mistake him for a plainclothes man, and wouldn’t that be just the icing on the shit cake of a week you’ve been experiencing. But something about him says otherwise. 

“Plan on catchin’ your death out here?” he asks, and you shiver. Not from the cold, but from the sound of his voice. 

You’re not used to talking to strangers. A month ago, you would’ve ignored the man lambasting you for being out in the rain; maybe crossed the street and hailed a cab instead. You don’t have those kinds of options anymore. The only thing left in your repertoire is to shout back. 

“I’ve got mace!” you yell out, your voice a hoarse rattle carved out from hours spent crying. 

“That’ll do ya fuck all out here,” he says, a touch condescendingly. “You lost or somethin’?”

“I’m not lost,” you sniff, rubbing the snot away from your nose with the end of your sleeve.

“Then get home instead of roamin’ the streets. You’re askin’ to get snatched up, bird.”

The threat of that has been lingering in your head these past few days, even stretching back to the very first moment that you noticed the sign on your door, but now it has its intended effect. You shake. 

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Bloody hell,” he sighs. “Why the fuck not? Need someone to call you a cab?”

“I got evicted. I don’t have a home,” you say, and sniffle when your nose leaks again. Saying it outloud brings tears to your eyes again, a pressure building behind your orbital sockets and down to the tip of your nose. 

You must look like the saddest thing in the world standing there in the rain under the dim light of the streetlamp, the pole looped with graffiti and old gum. When the man berating you for being out in it takes a step forward, coming into the light, you can finally make out the bored depths of his eyes. A deep brown. Entirely unimpressed with the picture in front of him, maybe even a bit peeved. 

Your socks are wet and your shoes squelch when you take a step back. You pull the sheer sweater tighter around your frame, but it does nothing to protect you from the damp, frigid air. 

“You been out here long?” he asks, taking another step closer. Not tentatively either. His gaze sweeps over you proprietarily, taking stock; his arrogance comes as an afterthought. He’s not rubbing it in your face that he can do whatever he likes—he just does. 

You wheel your suitcase around in front of you to put something between the two of you. “…Just today. The gym kicked me out.”

You sound petulant, words chewed between your lips and teeth; begrudgingly admitting to the various pitfalls of your existence. All the bad luck. It’s shameful to admit to losing complete control of your life. 

“Haven’t ya got any family, girl? Friends? What’re they letting a girl like you stay out on the streets for?”

You could be sick on the pavement. “…That’s none of your business.”

His eyes go flat at that, unimpressed. “You always this nasty to people tryin’ to help?”

And you’re not. That’s the part that grates the most. You’re all soft underbelly; no bark, no bite. It’s inconceivable that this could’ve happened to you—inconceivable because your head is filled with false promises and mythologies. The myth of exceptionalism. This happens to other people. Not good girls that go to college and get their degrees and find a stable job. 

They’ve pulled the rug out from under you so fast that you haven’t even toppled over yet. That’s how quick it all happened. 

“What help are you?” The bite comes out of nowhere, fueled by bitter humiliation and resentment for the predicament you’ve found yourself in. “Are you gonna put me up in a hotel?”

“Think I’m made of money, bird?” he asks rhetorically. 

“You’ve probably got more than I have.” 

Now you’re weepy again at the thought. Down to your last hundred dollars and you’re in between jobs at the moment. It might’ve been easier to haul yourself out of poverty if applying for jobs didn’t require a mailing address. That’ll be your first priority once you find a place to live. But conversely, how are you meant to find housing with no proof of income? Landlords laugh in your face before slamming the door shut. The conversations are circular, but they always come to a grinding halt; that’s the only thing you’ve learned to expect. 

The worst part of this whole conversation is that it doesn’t follow any of the scripts you’ve previously memorized. When have you ever had to deal with a man interrogating you about your place of residence? It makes no sense. 

It’s inconceivable to imagine that this is happening to you, but it is. Life comes at you hard, with a razor’s edge. Sharp enough to cut, to lacerate. 

“You need a place to stay,” he states bluntly. 

“It’s fine. I’ll—I’ll find something.” 

“You could come home with me.” He says it so bluntly that for a moment all you can do is blink. Surely you misheard him. Surely a man of his size and breadth, dark mask obscuring his face, wouldn’t be daft enough to ask a woman he found on the street to come home with him.

The offer, as well-intentioned as you hope it is, puts you on edge. “No, that’s…that’s alright. I don’t want to…put you out. I was going to look up nearby shelters.”

“Shelters’ll all be full this time of night,” he says. “Never been on the streets?”

You clenched your teeth, nerves starting to get the better of you. 

“I can go to a church,” you say, voice terse now, frayed with nerves. 

He snorts. “Haven’t been to one in a long time, but pretty sure those close too, pet. It’s late.”

You sway on your feet, the suitcase at your side the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Dead ends everywhere you turn. You’ve always thought of yourself as resourceful; that if push came to shove, you’d figure your way out of any sticky situation. That smacks of arrogance now. All your suppositions are dissolving right in front of you, your own self-image along with it. 

A heavy foot stepping into a puddle brings you back to focus. The masked man is closer now, within arm’s reach. Your heart jumps into your throat. He towers over you, monolith man; big as a sequoia, or other deadland creatures that vanish out of sight when you catch a shadow out of the corner of your eye and whirl around to look it dead on. 

“I can’t go home with a stranger.”

You know you’re not supposed to put your faith in strange men. Bad things happen to girls that go around trusting any man that offers up their help. 

The fist in your chest loosens infinitesimally when the man reaches up to pull the mask off his head. He’s every inch the brute you imagined in your head—blunt chin and crooked nose, a nasty scar running up his lip. There are scars all over his face, in fact—bisecting his left eyebrow and down his cheek. The blond hair on his head is slightly grown out, like he’s used to keeping it neat and tight but it’s been awhile since his head has seen a razor. His beard grows in a bit patchy, the burnish gold of a five o’clock shadow.

You frown. “Is that supposed to make me trust you?”

“Well, now we’re not strangers, are we?”

“That doesn’t—that doesn’t change anything! I still don’t know you.”

He shrugs. Takes a step back. “Suit yourself then. No skin off my ass.”

Your stomach roils, anxiety coming back with a vengeance. You hadn’t noticed it recede since the man started talking to you, but you notice its return. When he makes a move to turn back around, you lurch forward, your hand extending out and fisting in the side of his shirt. He pauses, then looks down at you. 

“…Where else am I supposed to go?” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Could sleep on a bench in the park.”

You glare at him through tear-soaked eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. You’re shit out of other options at this time of night.”

“So, what? Now it’s-it’s my fault or something?”  

His eyes don’t exactly soften, but they lose their hard edge. 

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. Not cautioning you, just stating a fact. “You coming or not?”

Disaster seems like a given at this point. At least you could pick your poison. 

Words are beyond you though, so you just bite your lip and nod, eyes downcast now. 

What else is there for you to do but follow him after that? You trail along after him like a sad, wet cat left out in the rain. 

He finds her wandering the streets with her pretty little suitcase rolling over every bump and crack in the sidewalk and there’s no fighting the urge to drag her home. 

She doesn’t look like a runaway. Just a poor thing down on her luck. Her cheeks practically glisten with her tears when she looks up at him with her big, pathetic eyes, and it makes his cock plump up against his thigh. 

That’s not what this is about though. Simon presses his hand against his dick to rub out some of the ache while she flutters around the bedroom and reminds himself of that again. He didn’t take her home to maul her like a dog. He dragged her back to his flat because she looked wounded and scared out of her wits. 

He can be good every now and then. 

“Sit down, will ya?” he grunts, tugging her down onto the couch when she flits across the room to grab more of her shit out of her suitcase, glancing down at him apprehensively on her way by. She yelps when he sends her sprawling onto the couch. 

His flat isn’t much. A one-bedroom above a laundromat; eggshell walls and torn up baseboards because he hasn’t gotten around to fixing the place up. It’s better than sleeping on the streets though, he knows that much. 

Simon’s no stranger to that; if being in the military taught him anything, it was how to survive regardless of circumstances. In the weeks after his medical discharge—his knees beyond busted, basically bone on bone, and even these days, though he works more to have something to do than to earn a living, they still scream at him when he puts too much weight on them—he wandered aimlessly for a bit, crashing on Gaz’s couch for a bit and sleeping on benches for a spell after that before finding his footing again. 

Simon ignores the way that she yaps at him though, used to tuning people out. He flicks on the television and flips to a show that looks vaguely entertaining before getting up and ambling over to the kitchen. 

“D-do you want me to help?” she asks from the kitchen, tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. 

She reeks of the need to please. Desperate; cloying, sickly sweet like flowering dracaena. It clings to her like a perfume, silk-wrapped and packaged just for him. It could give a man like him indecent thoughts. His thoughts already tend towards the impure. 

He must eye her like a ravenous animal because she flinches suddenly under his gaze, eyes flicking away nervously before meeting his again. Good girl, Simon wants to say. Eyes on me. 

“Sit down,” he barks instead, and relishes in the way she sits back down with her hands tucked under her thighs. 

She’s really a pretty little thing. A shame that he found her out wandering in the rain, out where any man with worse intentions could have stumbled across her. The thought alone could drive him to violence. Again he stares at the back of her head and the slope of her shoulders, evaluating. His bloodlust dulls to a simmer. It pounds in his ears like a dull drum, but at least now he can hear again. 

Anyone else could have found her first, but they didn’t. He did. That tempers the homicidal impulse thrumming in his blood. She’s in his flat now, freshly showered and skin still damp. When she looks over her shoulder, it’s him she sees. 

Poor bird with her clipped wings. She’s not in danger of flying off anytime soon. The thought placates him. Tucked away in his cage, he doesn’t have to rend anyone limb from limb.

It’s been years since he traded in his fatigues for a hi vis jumpsuit, but some days he misses it so acutely that his hands shake and his vision fades in and out. This is one of those days. He toys with the idea of reaching out to Price in the morning to learn more about her, but then discards the idea. Better if it comes straight from her.

Besides, he doesn’t like asking for favours anyway.

“Name’s Simon, by the way,” he grunts, nostrils flaring when he sees her flinch at the sound of his voice. “Riley.”

“Oh,” is all she says. He waits a beat.

“Gonna give me your name, bird?”

She does, voice squeaky like it’s said under duress. That pisses him off more. 

He's not much of a cook, but he can whip up something quick, so he tosses one of his frozen meals into the microwave and sits her in front of the TV while she shivers and shakes on the couch.

They eat in silence, the TV on in the background. It’s the only noise besides the soft sound of her chewing. Simon can tell she’s gone hungry in recent days by the voracious way she eats, unable to keep herself from shovelling the food into her mouth. She seems almost embarrassed by it after swallowing her last bite, looking over at him from the corner of her eye like a guilty dog. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on the TV instead.

He can tell she wants to say something. A shit childhood and two decades in the military have left him with the ability to sniff out tension, and it comes off her in waves. After putting her plate on the coffee table, she sits back against the couch and squeezes her fists over her lap. Gnaws her lip and casts furtive glances in his direction. When the tears build up on her waterline, his cock twitches. 

“What?” he barks after the umpteenth sniffle, twisting to face her. 

“I—um—I just wanted to say thank you,” she whispers, her head still tilted downward, trying to make herself small enough to go unnoticed. 

Simon stares down at her, unblinking. He half wishes she’d cry a little more, just a few tears to soothe the beast in his chest. It’s better for her that her eyes remain dry. He doesn’t think he could hold himself back if one slipped down her cheek right now. He’d have to grab her by the nape of her neck and twist her over the side of the couch, shove down both their drawers and feed his cock into the warm, wet slot between her legs. Pummel her little cunt until his spend leaks out in thick, viscous globs, until her thighs shake so violently that only his hands on her shoulders and his shaft shoved deep in her pussy keeps her upright. 

He can almost smell it from between her legs, throbbing with gratefulness. He stares down unabashedly at the spot between her legs. Let her say something about it. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says instead, tilting his head when her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. “‘Was nothing.”

“No, it was really nice of you,” she insists, speaking more forcefully after gathering up some of her courage. “What if I…—you took a stranger into your house.”

That gets the blood pumping. “Gonna gut me while I sleep, pet?”

It’s half deranged that his cock chubs up in his jeans at the thought of his little bird with a knife in her hands, hands dripping with wet, dark blood. He shifts, readjusting himself so the metal teeth of his zipper don’t bite into his dick. 

She frowns. Endearing. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Not really good at looking after yourself, are you?”

“I am—it’s just…” tears build up on her waterline again, “it was one thing after another. I couldn’t get it all together.”

Pity isn’t an emotion he’s accustomed to feeling. Simon’s not even sure if that’s what he’s feeling now. It’s more like the bastard child of pity. 

He lets her off to bed with a warning not to fuck with anything in his room. She skitters off quickly after that. Her cute little ass follows her into the room until she shuts the door behind her, hiding it from view. He huffs. Being good never gets him anywhere.

He lets her run away though because he can’t tarnish everything he touches. Some things deserve to stay polished. 

Instead, he brushes his teeth and washes the last of the dishes before turning in as well, getting a clean sheet out of the linen closet to drape over himself. The couch isn’t nearly long enough for him to stretch out on, not like the king sized bed in his room; there’s already a spring poking him right in the middle of his back.

Sleep won’t come easy tonight. 

Simon wakes up on the couch with a kink in his neck. He lays there for several minutes gritting his teeth until the worst of it passes. When he sits up, his back cracks and pops, joints loosening only reluctantly. His age is getting away from him again; the wear and tear on his body finally starting to catch up. There’s only so much abuse he can put himself through. 

The morning races on outside his front door and he has work to get to, but his body orients towards the closed door of his bedroom almost without his say. It creaks as it swings open. 

In the slowly dimming haze of sleep, he must have subconsciously thought he dreamt the night before because seeing the girl from yesterday curled up in his bed halts him in his tracks. Her suitcase is open on the floor beside the bed. She must have changed into her pyjamas after slinking away last night because he doesn’t recognize the little cotton shorts hugging the swell of her ass and the shirt riding up over her belly button. 

Despite the perfunctory morning jerk he gave himself just ten minutes prior, his cock twitches in his work pants, gaze locked on the underside of her ass, the flesh peeking out from beneath her sleep shorts. 

The hunger ebbs out of a deep, cavernous hole in him. A heavy, oppressive heat; lust so gnarled and twisted that he hardly recognizes it. He can see it play out in his mind—crawling over the bird’s prone form and turning her over onto her belly, his knees on either side of her legs, cloaking her. Tugging down the zipper of his pants and wrenching those slutty shorts down to mid-thigh before burying his shaft in her hole. Little bird that followed him home, sleeping in his bed. She should thank him for his help with a wet hole. 

Simon takes a step into the room and then stops. He won’t—can’t—

His teeth grind together from how hard he clenches his jaw. 

He stands in the doorway and watches her sleep in his bed for longer than he should. Only when he feels something ugly well up in his chest does he finally bark out her name, snorting softly when she jumps and nearly falls right off the side of the bed. 

“Get up,” Simon grunts. “And make yourself something to eat. I’ve gotta head out.”

He walks away before the befuddled look on her face makes him crack a smile. 

She tiptoes out a few minutes later, still in her PJs. Her wary glances tick him off. For the effort it’s taken him to keep his hands to himself, he deserves more than her shifty looks, scoring him like he split her little peach open in her sleep.  

Breakfast is an uncomfortable affair. It’s partly his fault, but he doesn’t apologize for it. They eat in tense silence until it’s time for him to head to work. 

“Don't think about leaving—any of my shit gets nicked and it's your ass.”

He leaves her with that warning, slamming the door behind him.

Your heart goes quiet at the dawning of your new life. 

Adjusting to your new reality takes a bit of effort. The first few days with Simon feel tenuous at best. You worry constantly about doing something wrong and finding yourself back out on the streets. You’re thankful to the point of pandering, apologizing for any sudden move or sound that you make. You can tell it annoys him. 

The real work is recontextualizing your perception of yourself. The world feels strange now that you’re outside of it; alien somehow. You used to think of yourself as somehow inextricably woven into the fabric of society. The thought of losing everything never even occurred to you. It never even presented itself as a possibility. You worried about homelessness the way people worry about quicksand—in some nebulous way touching on the real without being absorbed by it. 

And now you are cut from another cloth altogether; abruptly, without any warning. You used to feel like one with the rest of the world, a kind of kinship based less on parentage or ancestry and more on inner nature. Weren’t you the same as any of them? But now the drapery has been pulled down and you know—you are not the same. 

Your future used to shimmer under the surface like a bioluminescent fish, but now it’s just a ghost.

He tells you to stay put when he goes to work so you do, spending the days puttering around the apartment, watching TV, and cleaning. There’s not much else to do. It’s almost a relief, to be honest. You’ve spent so much time without a place to call home that the second someone offered you one, the outside world became anathema in your head. You couldn’t step foot out of the front door even if you wanted to. 

Tears well up at the smallest thing. You blubber over not being able to work the coffee machine in the kitchen. When the sound goes out on the TV, you cry so hard that it leaves you woozy. You’re lachrymose, downtrodden. Soul a startling verdigris; your waterlines might as well be white with encrustations of salt. 

He must notice the dark cloud following you from room to room, but he doesn’t bring it up. You’d find it tactful, but you know him a bit better than that. 

Then Simon brings home a cat after his shift one day and you don’t know what to say to that.

Thank you doesn’t seem to suffice. I love it doesn’t cut it close. The truth of the matter is that words only ever approximate the feeling; they can get close enough to give you a glimmer of what’s stashed inside, but you can’t pry them all the way open. So you take the off-white cat from him when he practically tosses the poor thing into your arms, and stare up at him wide-eyed, eyes already watering for reasons once again unbeknownst to you. 

“Thank you for taking him home,” you say, already on the verge of tears.

He stares down at you, unblinking. You’re learning to read into his silences though. 

“Don’t expect me to take care of it,” he says instead of accepting your thanks. “If you can’t handle it, it’s going back outside.” 

You hold the cat tight to your chest, staring up at him with horror until the little beast nearly scratches your eye out in an effort to squirm out of your arms. 

At first, you’re not sure what to make of it. It can’t be a peace offering because, apart from the rare occasions where you manage to get on his nerves (not wholly impossible, but you’re learning how to stay on his good side for the most part), you and Simon get along pretty well. You coexist, at least. He cooks, you clean. 

It’s likely a distraction, you finally realize, something to keep you from moping around the apartment all the time, listless and directionless. Despite the fact that you’re no longer in any immediate danger now that you have a roof over your head, misery still clings to you like a second skin. The relative safety of Simon’s flat has actually only given you a chance to really properly mourn the loss of your former life. 

Training the cat to wear a harness without tipping over (the little drama king) and taking him on his first walk outside (just a little turn around the block, though you half jump out of your skin whenever you cross paths with another person) gives you enough of a sense of purpose to propel you through the next week. 

You can tell that Simon thinks the cat is more trouble than it’s worth, especially when it decides to fixate on the one person in the flat that doesn’t pay it a lick of attention, but still it makes your heart melt to see it curled up by his side when you watch TV together at the end of the night. 

“Is this normal for you?” you ask, hands folded in your lap.

His gaze doesn’t move from the television screen. “Is what normal?”

“Taking in strays.”

He snorts, then takes a second to answer. “No.”

You wonder if he intends to sound as caustic as he comes across. The truth is self-evident though. Words only mask the real, and the real in this case is that Simon Riley is a man that feeds and takes home strays. He can grumble about it all he wants. It’s a bit demeaning to think of yourself that way, but once again, the truth is what it is. 

You study him from the corner of your eye until bedtime rolls around again. He’s become the most interesting thing in the world to you, through every fault of his own.

If he didn’t want you to fixate on him, he wouldn’t have left you home alone with nothing else to do. 

“Bird!” Simon roars from the other room. “The cat’s pissed on the floor again.”

You spring out of bed before Simon has a chance to toss it out onto the balcony. 

It feels temporary up until the first time you use Simon’s address on a job application. It stands out stark on your phone screen, black on glowing white. You’ve always preferred it to dark mode, though that preference has fluctuated in recent weeks as you’ve spent more and more time on your phone. 

This is the first time staring at the screen without blinking for a prolonged period of time that hasn’t left you with a throbbing migraine. 

He tells you to stop bothering him with stupid shit when you ask him if it’s alright to use his address. That answers that. Guilt lingers on the periphery of your mind the first time that you do, but then the application is submitted. An innocuous grey box that redefines your whole world in a way that [Thanks for applying!] doesn’t seem to encapsulate. 

Your old friends come next. They come back one by one, guilty, furtive looks aplenty. You Facetime the one who wouldn’t let you sleep on her couch while sitting on Simon’s bed. When she asks you about your living situation, all you tell her is that you found a roommate. It doesn’t feel right to give her more information than that. What has she done to deserve your honesty? 

You manage pleasantries and a half decent conversation, but truth again lingers at the back of your mind. The unspoken reality that this person—someone you trusted—could’ve been there for you in your time of need but chose to look the other way instead. Like taking you in would’ve been some big, terrible thing. 

The body forgets everything except what hurts it. The body remembers nothing except what helps it survive. 

Gratefulness lodges into your heart like an arrow shot from a castle’s ramparts intent on your demise. You could pull it out from the other side and succumb to blood loss, or you could push forward, lay siege to the man hidden inside its walls. 

And you do. You want to show him every grateful inch of you. Even when it only results in more upset. Simon comes home to the smoke alarm blaring and a small fire in the microwave before he bans you from the kitchen altogether. You only cry for an hour in the bedroom with the door shut before he drags you out to takeout on the table in the living room. It’s an improvement. 

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle into your veggie burger, on the verge of tears again when you glance into the kitchen to see most of the mess still there. 

“It’s fine.”

“I just want to—I wanted to make it up to you…for taking me in.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” he says brusquely, dismissing you. His tone tells you to drop it, but that seems as likely as you growing wings and flying away. 

“Yes, I do. You let me stay here when I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“If you want to make it up to me, take care of the cat and stop leaving your shit all over the bathroom. Found your knickers on the floor after you showered yesterday.”

Your face goes hot at that. You have nothing else to say. 

Your attraction is a banal consequence of living under the same roof as him. There are only so many times he can come up behind you while you’re making your morning cup of coffee and swipe your mug before taking a sip from over your shoulder, barricading you against the counter. Acutely aware of the size of him with the way he’s pressed up against you. 

You lose your train of thought whenever Simon wanders into a room. He lumbers in like a beast, steel-toed boots covered in mud and dust, ignoring the way you scold him for walking around the apartment in his shoes. Just cocks an eyebrow and stares down at you knowingly, like he can see right through you, knows that you’re only squawking and flitting around to hide the way your thighs rub together. 

“It’s my fuckin’ flat,” he says instead of pointing out that your pussy’s wet because she knows there’s a man in the house that could take care of her proper. You know it too. 

“I live here too, you know,” you huff. “I can’t wash the floors every time you come home.”

“Thought I was doing you a favour letting you live here.”

His words would fill you with righteous indignation, but they don’t because his actions don’t line up. You study him like a moth under glass, enthralled by the parts of him that used to frighten you. 

It’s more than that though. He’s wedged himself into the hurt place in your heart, holding it up like Atlas. 

You really do think that there’s something so special about him that you’ll never be able to articulate. Simon is everything you didn’t know you desperately wanted. The longer you live with him, the harder it is to deny how much you need him. 

You will show your gratitude though. Every tender, aching morsel of it. 

The little peach she grinds on his thigh is wet and ripe. Simon doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t need her gratitude; if he wanted it, he would’ve taken it already. But he doesn’t shove her out of his lap either. It’s not his problem if she thinks it’s necessary or not.

Maybe it’s not solely for his benefit, he concedes when she winds both arms around his neck and pushes her supple tits into his chest, climbing over his lap until her pussy is pressed right up against the cock fattening up in his jeans. She whimpers like she’s in pain. 

Must not come a lot; he knows she at least hasn’t in recent days. Simon’s always been a light sleeper—he’s sure he would’ve heard any desperate attempts to get herself off in his bed, the springs creaking under her weight, her hushed, bitten off moans leaking out from under the doorframe. The thought riles him up more than he thought it would. 

Still, Simon doesn’t lift a hand to help the poor bird in his lap as she grinds down on his length. His arms stay stretched across the back of the couch, hips canted just enough to give her a perch and nothing more. 

She gasps every word into his ear, voice all pitched and breathy. “Ah, ah, ah—thank you, thank you, I…—can I please have it? Please, please let me, Simon, pleasepleaseplease—”

It feels like everything they’ve been through so far has been leading to this. He’d smelt it coming like blood in the water. 

All week, his bird has been sitting on her hands and trying not to give herself away. Cloaked in a nervous, frenetic energy. Anticipatory. She’d doe-eyed him the night before and begged him to sleep in the bed with her instead of wrecking his back on the couch, but he’d ignored her in favour of watching Argentina decimate Croatia in the semi-finals. It must have not sat right with her though because she’d been broody from the moment he left for work until he got home, steering him into the kitchen and practically hand feeding him before coaxing him into the living room to watch a movie while she cuddled up beside him.

That hadn’t lasted long. 

“What’s gotten into you, pet?” Simon asks, hardly dissuading her when she presses petal soft lips to his jaw and nuzzles, breathing heavily. His heart swells. Desperate little slut. 

“Took care of me,” she mumbles, almost slurring her words. “Always taking care of me, Simon.”

There’s no denying how hard it makes him to think about being her protector. The littlest things make her smile. Even the bloody cat had her trailing after him for a week straight after the fact, eternally underfoot. Always trying to curry favour. Eager to please. 

Her worship leaves him unbalanced. Unstable even. A train careening off its track, the massive weight of catastrophe right behind it. The sense that life will never be the same after this. His surface level indifference is underscored by steeled self-control. He keeps his arms on the couch because he knows the second he puts them on her, it’s over. There’ll be no holding him back anymore, no possibility of him ever letting her go back out into the real world. Lock jawed, teeth sunk into her tender underbelly. 

“Told you, you don’t owe me nothing,” Simon murmurs, curling his hands under her ass. 

“Then—then…—I don’t know, pretend it’s just for me.” It’s a joke because they both know it’s not just for her. When her eyes sparkle with amusement, his cock throbs.

He lets her ruck the shirt over his head and struggle with his belt until she manages to unbuckle it like he has no say in the matter. She’s far less considerate with her own clothes, shucking them off and nearly ripping her knickers in the process, which almost prompts him to take her by the wrists and slow her down. He likes the lace and frills. 

It’s a fight to fit his cock into her hole, as slick as she is. Coin slot tight; he almost breaks and tells her to take it easy when she reaches behind her to line his shaft up with her entrance and sits down, just barely stretching around the mushroomed head of his dick before wincing, tears springing into her eyes. 

Simon does break when she tries to sink down another inch, thighs shaking violently. “Right, get off—you ain’t ready for this.”

“I am!” she insists, face screwed up in a scowl and a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. “Just—I can do it, Simon—”

“No, you can’t. You’re rushing and hurting yourself—”

“Wait, okay, wait, I can…just give me a minute, okay?” she begs, and he doesn’t tell her that he’d give her all the time in the world. Stay on this couch until the flesh fell off his bones. He’s waited so long; what’s a little longer? 

Besides, the sight of her stretching herself out with her fingers is reward enough. She whines into his shoulder and shudders when she has to force another finger in before she’s ready. Too eager. It could give a man a complex. His blood is already scorching him from the inside out, too hot for his veins.  

He considers helping her out, but watching her writhe and struggle in his lap is far more enjoyable. 

He stopped paying attention awhile back, too focused on cupping her tits and running his tongue around the budded areola, sucking her pert nipple into his mouth, but she couldn’t have gotten to more than three fingers before running out of patience and lining him up again. This time, she sinks a bit deeper on the first stroke, still choking on her breath but forcing herself to take a bit more. 

“You’re alright—you’re alright,” Simon murmurs, stroking a hand up and down her back while she impales herself on his length. She’s still too tight to take him comfortably, sweats and shakes over him. He pinches her nipple to distract her from the pain and smiles when she yelps. 

She melts all over him, slick drenching his shaft and lap, her tongue lapping at the sweaty skin of his neck. Honeysuckle fragrant; the sweetest thing he’s ever known. Silken, tight. Fits like a glove around him. 

He could lose himself in her. Piston into her until the thought of where he begins and where he ends dissolves into the tight warmth between her legs.

His bird is a greedy girl. She uses him like a toy to get herself off, bouncing in his lap and mewling into his ear everytime his cockhead nudges against her cervix. Too big to fit all the way in. 

“You do this a lot, pet? Fuck every man that lends you a hand?” he pants, taunting her.

“No!” she snarls in his ear, feisty and sharp-toothed. Her nails dig into his back, scoring white lines into his skin. The shiver that wracks him is so violent that his arms tighten around her waist reflexively, making her gasp. 

It doesn’t matter whether she does this often or not; the only thing that matters is that he’s the only man that gets to fuck her from here on out. Still, winding her up is half the fun. 

“Perfect girl,” Simon chuckles, breathless. “Made for me. Got m’self a pet right off the street.”

And he did, didn’t he? Went wandering out into the night and came home with a bird fluttering her wet little wings. 

His conscience is clean. He could’ve tied her down, kept her right where he wanted her (in his bed, his flat, the yawning cavity of his chest—) but his self-control remains unparalleled. Tough as nails. Strong as steel. And now look at what he has as a reward for his patience—a fever-hot cunt around his cock and delicate fingernails scratching the base of his skull. 

A pretty bird that’s made his chest a cage. 

The world goes vertical, horizontal. Fluid; sliding away from him. Something crashes in the background, so far off in the distance that he can hardly make out the sound. 

He opens his eyes to find the ceiling staring back down at him, and then her face, hovering over him on the carpeted floor, her hands kneading the muscle of his chest. Her brows are drawn tight now, pinched. She stares down at him, past him, gaze like a transparent veil. 

“Gi’me…gi’me…” she pants, barely able to pull herself off his cock. 

He has to dig his fingers into her ass and pull her off, ignoring the way she whines and begs him to fill her back up. Ignores it because he knows what’s best for her; knows how to take care of what he owns. 

When he bucks up into her, she chokes, fingers nearly yanking his chest hair out. 

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s pretty,” he breathes. Snaps his hips up into hers again, relishing in the way she squeezes tight around him, almost to the point of pain. 

His pleasure always comes jagged though. Whether the ache of his joints or nails tearing up the skin of his back and chest. Vicious and messy—how he likes it. She gives him everything he could want and more. The hand dug into his chest right above his heart could pierce right through the flesh and tear it out.

He pulls her all the way off his cock just for the pleasure of hearing her beg him again, then pulls her up his chest and eats her out until the beast in his belly calms down. 

He yields to her whining only after a good few minutes. Soft bastard. Drags her back down until her soaked hole mouths at the head of his cock and he thrusts back up inside. Home. It’s his now, whether she likes it or not. Simon guesses he’s lucky that she wants it too; if he had to convince her, he would, but her desperation is just another gift for him to savour. 

“Squeeze me good, bird. Say thank you—” thank you for taking me home, thank you for keeping me– almost spills off his tongue, but he reigns it in. She knows what to be thankful for. 

“Nngh, Simon,” she sings, fucking herself on his cock. The sweetest sound he’s ever heard. 

Simon’s never felt bigger than under his sweet bird. Thighs spread so wide around him that he knows she’ll ache in the morning. Brutish hands groping her thighs and waist and tits, rough against the softness of her skin. Stuffed full of a big cock, not even to the root; she bites right through her bottom lip when Simon pets at the thin skin stretched around his cock, her gaze wounded, overwhelmed. 

Nearly blacks out at the thought of cramming a finger up there too. Only faint concern for her well-being tamps down the urge. 

“Come on, fuck—that good, pet?”

“R-right there, oh god, ohgodohgod—”

He lets her ride him until she comes, until he comes, until his spend is blistering hot in her cunt, drooling down the length of his cock, frothy white with her cream and his come. 

It’s a sight to look at. Gets him right in the chest. Nothing like times of yore; this is something with meaning, with feeling. When he lifts her off, his seed trickles out of her soft hole in white globs and makes his chest ache. It doesn’t matter whether it takes root or not. All that he needs is already here. 

Beautiful and rare as a sundog; haloed by light. All this time, he dared not think this could be it. 

He thinks he’ll love her with the same ferocity Icarus had on his descent.

She shivers when he traces his fingers up her spine. “N’more. M’tired.”

“Wasn’t gonna, pet.”

The bedroom then. She twitches in his arms when Simon carries her to bed and pats his chest approvingly when he slides in beside her. 

He could’ve told her that it’d end up this way. He smiles indulgently when she shifts and splays over his chest, her nose nudging his nipple. Already fast asleep. 

In the morning, you sit across from him, half a grapefruit in a bowl in front of you and a mug of coffee, black. 

“I think I want to go back to school,” you say, apropos of nothing. The spoon clinks against the inside of the bowl. 

“Yeah?” he says, only half-listening. 

“I can always get a part time job on the days when I don’t have class. I never liked my old job anyway.”

“Do whatever you want,” Simon grunts. “Not my problem.”

Under the table, your cat’s tail curls around your ankle while he waits for you to sneak him the scraps. 

You smile.

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Writing Prompt #5

Damian does not glance back at Bruce when he knocks on the door. Instead they both wait in silence.

After a moment, the door opens.

"Hello," Jasmine, Jazz, Fenton greets politely, unsurprised to find the Waynes on her doorstep. Damian's expression grows ever darker at this revelation.

"Hello Ms. Fenton, are your parents home?" Bruce asks, placing a firm hand on Damian's shoulder, to ground as much as to restrain. To his credit he does not shake it off.

"No, they're out of town for a conference," the eighteen year-old says, opening the door wider. "But I think you'd better come in."

Bruce would normally decline, but Ms. Fenton is a legal adult and he has already, even unknowingly, waited 16 years. Damian makes the choice for him, striding past the threshold.

"Please take a seat," Jazz says as she leads them to the living room. She ignores Damian's swinging head as he takes in the home. It is deceptively large, a 90s style house filled with modern furniture. The walls are bright, with purple and green accents that would normally feel garish but somehow work. The stairs leading to the second floor are lined with family photos that Bruce yearns to take a closer look at. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

"No, that's alright, thank you," Bruce says, taking a seat on the long plush couch. A men's windbreaker lies haphazardly thrown across one of the arms. A closed container of Oreo cookies sit on the coffee table next to a physics textbook open to chapter 16, half covered in highlighter and filled with sticky notes. There's a child's painting framed next to the tv, a handprint made to look like a thanksgiving turkey in bright blue.

For the home of experimental scientists, it is cozy and well lived-in.

Damian repeatedly glances at the stairs through the doorway.

Bruce clears his throat. "We were hoping to--"

"I've texted--oh, I'm sorry," Jazz says, having spoken at the same time. Bruce gestures for her to go on.

"I've contacted Danny, he should be here soon. He was out with some friends." Jazz explains. As she hadn't pulled out a phone in their presence, Bruce can only deduce they have some sort of camera at their front door. This also explains Ms. Fenton's complete lack of surprise at their appearance.

"So you know who we are." Damian says, the first words he's spoken since they arrived at the house and the longest sentence he's spoken since they arrived in Amity Park.

"I do," Jazz says, calm in the face of Damian's clearly simmering anger. Bruce trusts him not to attack Ms. Fenton, but he still watches him carefully.

"He told you about me," Damian says. It is the same question, but it is also not.

"He did," Jazz says.

Damian swallows. "I see," he grits out.

Jazz's neutrality slips and her face softens in sympathy. "Damian," she starts hesitantly, but before she can say anything else the front door opens.

A moment later Bruce's son walks through the doorway, and Damian is on him.

This is what Bruce hoped to prevent, but despite his numerous checks of Damian's luggage his son has still managed to smuggle a small dagger, which he now produces and swings in a calculated arc at Daniel Fenton's jugular.

Danny dodges cleanly, and dodges every swipe thereafter in a manner that speaks to continued practice long after his time at the League. Damian is a perfect product of his training, but it is up against Danny his flaws come to light. He is just as good as he always was, but Danny is better.

In a matter of seconds Damian grows frustrated and sloppy in his attacks, completely atypical for him. Danny takes Damian out at the knees and pins him down with one arm, pressing his face into the carpet.

"Calm down," he orders. His voice is deeper than Damian's at sixteen to his twelve, the accent that still traces Damian's words completely gone from his speech. Damian growls and thrusts his head back into Danny's face, meeting it with a sharp thunk. He rolls up as Danny recoils, putting distance between them. Danny glares at him from several steps away, hand to his forehead. Damian tosses the dagger into his other hand as he charges, and to Bruce's surprise Danny does nothing more than turn his face to the side, allowing Damian to draw a sharp line down his cheek.

Damian stops dead in his tracks.

"Are you done?" Danny asks, blood beginning to pool at the seam of the cut.

Damian's expression is stricken, eyes stuck on the blood starting to drip down his brother's face.

"I said, are you done, Damian?" Danny asks. His voice is cold.

Damian hears him this time, and he flushes red. "I--you--"

Danny sighs. He looks at Jazz, whose expression is back to carefully controlled.

"Are you alright?" he asks her. She nods.

"You left me," Damian accuses, standing there holding his bloody dagger limply.

Danny turns back to him, raising an eyebrow.

"You left me," Damian repeats louder, rapidly blinking.

"Yes. I did." Danny provides no excuse nor any explanation. His stance is unyielding.

Damian's eyes bounce wildly, shifting to Jazz and Danny slides smoothly in front of her, protectively. He looks at Damian warily, not as if he is his brother, but as if he is a danger. Damian flinches.

Hope is the last to die, Bruce thinks, watching as that last bit of hope Damian had is extinguished, the knowledge working its way through every inch of his body like ice in his veins. His eyes darken. He turns and runs from the room, the front door slamming shut not a moment later.

Jazz stands up, pulling a few tissues from the box on the coffee table. She presses them to Danny's face, cupping his cheek until he holds it himself. "I'm going to go get the first aid kit," she says gently. It is a thinly veiled excuse to leave them alone, and Bruce is grateful for it as she heads for the stairs.

They both wait until her footsteps have faded, taking each other in. Bruce looks at his mother's eyes and the sharp turn of Talia's nose. Damian's everything, four years older.

"You shouldn't have come here," Danny says, throwing himself on the armchair Jazz has just vacated.

"You know who I am," Bruce says carefully.

Danny glares. "I've kept your secret. She nor my parents know."

"I know," Bruce says. "That's not what I meant. You know who I am. And who I pretend to be. So you know I am familiar with masks."

"And?" Danny asks, looking vaguely bored.

"And so I can recognize when someone is wearing one. Damian will too, once he's calmed down."

Danny's expression sharpens. "No, he won't. Because you are going to go to back to whatever bed and breakfast you're staying in, pack up, hop in your private jet and fly him back to Gotham immediately before the League realizes you've gone. If they haven't already," he mutters.

"This is about the League then," Bruce says. "Do you not believe I can protect you?"

"I don't need your protection," Danny snaps, and watches Bruce actively extrapolate with a dawning resignation. "So this is the World's Greatest Detective at work," he says, slumping bonelessly into his chair, the first teenager-y thing he's done.

"Damian's in danger from the League," Bruce says. Danny glares from his slump. It's almost cute. "And as long as the League doesn't know about you, he's safe."

"Draw your own conclusions," Danny says, baring his teeth. Damian often makes the same face. "As long as you leave."

"I can protect him. I can protect you both," Bruce says. "Let me help you."

Danny closes his eyes. He centers his breathing in an exercise someone has clearly walked him through in the past. Bruce would bet money on the adoptive sister waiting patiently upstairs.

"Mr. Wayne. You are not my father," he says. "My trust in you extends to the point that I left Damian in your care, but that is where it ends. And that was when it was sanctioned by the League. By coming here you have endangered those sanctions."

Bruce disregards the sting, doubling down on his analysis. Talia had left Damian with Bruce well after Danny had left the League. But Danny speaks as if the decision had been his.

Or perhaps, Bruce realizes, it is not that Danny decided upon it, but that Danny allowed it to continue.

Bruce takes a second to review what Oracle had gone over with him before they left for Amity. Daniel Fenton had by all accounts, since leaving the League, lived a fairly normal life. His adoptive parents were eccentric scientists dabbling in the occult but their findings that bordered pseudoscience circulated a very niche community of like-minded eccentrics. The bulk of their income came from alternative energy, a more viable source of study that they'd veered harder into in the past year or so, a government contract with the EPA currently in the works. This had in part funded a vacation to an all-inclusive resort the family had taken that past summer.

Danny received average grades in school, above average in science and mathematics, declining sharply in his freshman year and sophomore year before evening out around the second semester. He had gotten into fights repeatedly with one student in particular, suspended for two weeks following an incident that resulted in a the student receiving a black eye. Teachers reported him to be highly intelligent but distracted and removed. They had recommended he be evaluated for an attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. He had no social media. He had missed multiple picture days. The ones he had attended he was sneezing, or a blur of movement, even going so far as to fall off his stool, legs flailing. Bruce had drank up every last one as Barbara had waited patiently.

A normal life. A family vacation to Bermuda. Average grades.

His freshman year, distracted and removed. The same year Damian had arrived at Bruce's home. Masks upon masks.

"You have informants within the League," Bruce says. Danny, to his credit, has no discernible tell. But there is no other explanation. "What will you do, if they find out you are alive?"

"That is none of your concern," Danny says, but he might as well be saying whatever I have to.

He never stopped practicing, after all.

"If they go after Damian, it is my concern."

"And that is why you need to take Damian back to Gotham before they do." Danny says. "I will take care of it."

Damian had barely spoken since he had realized Danyal was alive. But Bruce had seen the reverence in his eyes as he looked at the file.

"الوريث الصحيح" he had murmured. The rightful heir.

"You are proposing going after the entirety of the League with no backup," Bruce says. "Even if you think they won't kill you, you won't win either."

"Maybe they will," Danny says lightly. "Kill me. That would also work."

Bruce inhales sharply. "Danny," he starts.

"Go home, Mr. Wayne," Danny says, pushing himself up with one hand. The other still clutches the wad of tissue to his cheek, partially soaked with blood. "Go take care of your son."

"I'll go," Bruce says, "I'll take him to the Watchtower. And then I'll come back."

"Mr. Wayne-"

"I should've come for you," Bruce interrupts. "Sixteen years ago. I should've come for you."

Danny's brow furrows. "You had no idea I existed."

"But if I had. I would've come. I never would've left you there. And now that I know, I am not leaving you now."

For the first time Bruce watches Danny be completely caught off guard. He openly gapes at Bruce.

"You would've died," Danny lands on, voice thin. "They would've killed you."

"Unlike you, I would've brought backup." Bruce says, mimicking Danny's lightness.

He's lying. Sixteen years ago he would've thrown himself at the League to save his newborn son without a plan, without a thought beyond rescuing his baby.

Danny barks out a laugh. "You would've laid siege to Nanda Parbat with The Big Blue Boy Scout?" he looks wistful. "That would've been rad."

Bruce sees his opening. "Danny," he stands, eye to eye with his son. "Let me help you."

Danny evaluates him. "The Batman," he says softly. "I didn't want you to come, then. I didn't need one more person I had to prove myself to. All I wanted was to live amongst the stars, in the quiet of the cosmos."

"You want to be an astronaut," Bruce says. At Danny's cocked head, he says without shame, "I read your essay on personal heroes. You wrote about Edward White. Ad Astra Per Aspera."

Danny smiles slightly, sadly. "It is a rough road."

"You can be whatever you want to be," Bruce says. "I won't stand in your way."

"Even if I want to be Danny Fenton?" he asks.

"Even then."

Danny sighs. "I don't need your help Bruce," he says. "No," he says as Bruce opens his mouth. He pulls the wad of tissues away from his cheek. Underneath the splotches of dried blood the gash in his face has cleanly knit itself together, a faint white line now all that remains.

"I don't need your help," he says clearly. He holds a palm forward, and a green fire grows from its center, until the flames are licking delicately up his fingers.

"I know The Batman does not kill. But I am not a Robin. I am something else entirely," Danny says, his eyes reflecting the green of the flames. Or not, as he looks up at Bruce, his eyes green all on their own. They are sad. This is why he stayed away, Bruce realizes. Not out of fear. Danny is not afraid. Danny is tired.

But for his brother, Danny will wake up.

"And If the League takes one step towards Damian, I will raze them to the ground."

[gracexthoughts]

intrusion 

jacaerys velaryon x wife!reader

warnings; assault, blood and fighting, break in, cursing, pretty typical for canon universe level of violence, no use of y/n or character description, men being creeps summary; from this request. two intruders, sent by the greens, stumble upon you in their search for rhaenyra and decide to take you as their prize instead a/n; i love this request sm and wrote this kinda fast so apologies for any mistakes. please do not read if any of the above is triggering to you. i put *** on either end of the physical attack on reader if you want to avoid it

The night has been restless for you. A storm lashes at the island Dragonstone towers over; rain and lightning and thunder tearing at the walls of the keep, wind howling against the window pains. Your husband, Jacaerys, is still gone after being sent to treat with some ally. He has yet to return, and you cannot help the worry that has wormed its way into your chest. The storm has held him up, you repeat to yourself, sighing as you toss in bed to lay on your back. Even though you’ve only been married for a few moons, the bed feels too large without his warmth next to you. 

Lighting illuminates the room, and the door to your chambers bursts open as thunder claps, covering the sound of the wood banging against the stone. You bolt up, hoping to see Jacaerys, but instead, you are met with two pairs of unfamiliar eyes. 

Two men stand in the doorway of your chambers, one tall and skinny, a white scar across his face shining in the torchlight, and the other short with muscles pushing against the seams of his clothing. Fear seizes your heart as they examine the room. “Who are you?” you demand sharply, attempting to cover the fear in your voice with the commanding tone you hear Queen Rhaenyra use so often. 

“That’s not the bloody Whore Queen,” the stout man grumbles in a Flea Bottom accent, lowering the torch slightly. Whore Queen, they called your mother-by-law. The Greens sent them, you realize, your heartbeat increasing its pace.

“That’s the bastard prince’s bitch,” the taller one sneers, kicking the door closed and stalking forward.

“Where’s your princeling at, girly?” the other coos, placing the torch in the sconce near the door. As they come closer, you scoot away on the bed, their eyes like rabid animals circling prey. 

“The library,” you lie, “He’s due to come to bed any minute.” Your hand slowly moves under the pillow behind you, searching for the small dagger Jacaerys insisted you sleep with since the attack on his mother by Ser Arryk. The men look at each other, evil smiles splitting their faces. 

“Just came from the library,” the shorter man sneers, stepping up onto the platform the bed sits on. 

“No bastards there. Seems like you’re all alone,” the tall man coos, biting his lip as he stands at the foot of the bed. Your fingers close around the cool hilt of the dagger as the blankets of the bed are ripped off you. You don’t move, keeping the dagger hidden under the pillows, even as the men scan your figure, only clad in a silk nightdress. 

*** 

“Leave now, and the Queen and the Prince will reward you; I’ll ensure it,” you say, your voice beginning to quiver slightly in fear. 

“Oh, the Queen and Prince will reward us, alright, just not your lot,” the man at the foot of the bed smiles menacingly. “Hold her down.” The man at your side reaches out for you, and you slash at him with the dagger, managing a deep cut on his arm. The man stumbles back, a raging yell from his lips. 

“GUARDS! HELP!” You scream, trying to move to the left side of the bed, but your leg is pulled back, and your arm that holds the dagger is pinned down to your side by a heavy boot, a rough hand covering your mouth and muffling your screams. 

“Shut up, idiot,” the taller man grumbles to the other, who still wails, before turning back to you, “I heard you were a feisty one,” he laughs as he hovers above you, wrenching the dagger free and bringing it up to your face. 

“Little cunt, more like,” the man you cut grumbles, glaring at you as tears of fear blur your vision. 

“You’ll be fine. Help me with her, would ya?” The two men grab your arms and legs, dragging you from the bed. You cry out as you land on the hard stone floor.

“Shut up!” One of them growls behind you, pulling you up by your hair and covering your mouth. You squirm and fight as best as you can, but the men have the advantage and chuckle at your feeble attempts as they shove you up against the wall. You cry out again as your head connects with the wall and they begin tying your hands with rough rope as you pray silently to any god who will listen.

***

Before they can secure the ropes completely, blood sprays out of the taller man’s chest as a sword splits him in two. The hands on your limbs relent as the man is pulled off you, revealing Jacaerys, sword dripping with blood, face dark with rage and hair wet with rain. 

Jace tosses the man to the floor before his eyes turn predatorily to the stockier man who draws a short sword from his belt. You watch in shock as your husband engages with the man, attacking him with more vigor and bloodlust than you thought possible for the sweet man you know. You back away hurriedly and crouch in the corner of the room, desperately trying to get as far away from the fight as possible.

A hand pulls your attention from the fight, and you flinch away before turning to see the Queen, your mother-by-law, reaching for you. Her face is soft but urgent. She goes again for your hand, pulling you to her and helping you stand. She pulls you into her, taking care the shield you as gentle arms wrap around your shaking body, not caring that the blood on your front will stain her gown. You cling to her desperately, listening to her whispers of comfort, and turn your head to see Ser Lorrent pushing the intruder to his knees in front of the Prince, his blade to the man’s throat as more guards rush into the room. Jacaerys stands over the man menacingly, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breath, blood pooling from a gash on the intruder’s leg onto the stone floor. 

“Your friend is lucky I gave him a quick death,” Jacaerys growls, glaring at the man on the floor as he crouches down in front of him like a predator, “You won’t be so. I’ll be sure to send The Usurper a message with your head, once I’ve made you pay for touching my wife.” You’ve never seen such rage in your husband before; his usually so soft and sweet amber eyes now contorted with hatred, the flames from the torchlight reflecting in his eyes as if the fire is inside him. His sword drips with blood, mixing with the blood pool on the floor and yet there’s not a scratch on him. Rhaenyra squeezes you tightly for a moment before releasing you and stepping forward. 

“Take him to the dungeons, have two guards on duty at all times, and summon the maids,” commands the Queen to Ser Lorrent, who nods and drags the man from your chambers, a trail of blood in their wake. You watch, without moving from your corner, as Rhaenyra cups her son’s face before taking her leave and the guards, and Jacaerys turns to you; all the hardness in his gaze melted away and replaced by wide eyes full of concern. He speaks your name, his voice cracking slightly at the sight of you, and you throw yourself to him. His sword clatters to the ground as his muscular arms catch you, a hand cradling your head against his chest and the other wrapped around your waist tightly. Your knees give out as the shock leaves your veins, and the pair of you drop to the floor. 

“How did-” 

“The storm made the flight back harder than I expected. I was on my way up when I found a dead guard. They’d pushed the body behind a pillar, but I still saw it. I thought they’d come for Mother again, so I ran to her chambers first. When I saw her undisturbed, I just knew,” Jace explains softly, brushing your hair soothingly, his thumb wiping away tears and blood spatters from your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, my love. I should’ve been here. I should have come here first, I-I’m going to kill them all for laying a hand on you.”

Jacaerys’ mind is reeling and he’s sure he has never been so scared as he was when he found those men attacking his wife, his love, his heart. His more violent side, one he pushes down for the sake of decency, itches to storm down to the dungeons and torture the man who dared hurt you, to make him pay for every second of pain he caused you, to fly to King’s Landing himself to find those responsible for this night and add their blood to his blade. But you need him more in this moment and he is ever at your will.

“S’not your fault,” you say softly, your voice weaker than you’d like. Jace opens his mouth, but two maids enter the room, clearly having just been woken, eyes wide at the state of your chambers. 

“Pardon, my prince, my lady,” the elder of the two says softly, dark blue eyes full of sympathy. Your husband helps you stand, his arm staying protectively around your shoulder. 

"Let us wash and try to find sleep," he says softly to you before turning to ask one of the maids to make the bed in your old chambers and run you a bath. Jacaerys wraps his dark red and still-damp cape around your shoulders before leading you down the halls to the chambers you lived in before your marriage. The familiar surroundings comfort you as Jace leads you to the couch before starting a fire in the hearth.

Soon, the bed has been made up and a hot bath drawn and your husband dismisses the maids, thanking them for their help at such late hours. Jacaerys gently helps you undress and step into the bath. Kneeling outside, he helps wash away the night's evidence, softly sponging the blood from your skin and wringing it from your hair. You lean into his soft touch, finding comfort in his presence and care. Few words are spoken between you as he cares for you but in this moment, his presence is all you want. You can sense the anger in Jace lingering under his skin, needling at his mind, but he stays by your side, whispering promises that he won’t leave you, that he’ll always protect you; your wellbeing more important to him than anything else in the world.

Once you are dressed in a clean nightgown and all blood cleansed from both of you, the pair of you crawl into bed together, your head on his broad chest, allowing his heartbeat to lull you back into a sense of safety. It is not until the first rays of light begin to shine through the curtains that you both find sleep, but you do eventually, wrapped in the loving embrace of each other.

[kaivenom]

One Piece men reaction to you stealing their signature clothes

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Trafalgar Law, Eustass Kid, Killer

Masterlist

Luffy

He is running thru the deck, absolutely nervous and irritated, ¿where is his hat?, he is almost having a panic attack.

Suddently he saw you fishing on the border of the deck with his hat on.

He instantly deflates like a balloon, you two are dating and he ussually lets you use his hat but it's the first you steal it without permission.

He approaches you from behind and wraps his rubber arms around yourself, enough silent to scare you but enough strong to not let you fall.

"Hi captain, how are you doing?"

"I tought my hat disappeared, i was scared, you know it's important to me." his voice sounded a little sad, you must have given him a lot of trouble.

"Sorry gorgeous, i wanted to fish but the sun it's too hot and you were sleeping so i took it, i shouldn't have done that."

"You can take my hat, but please, tell me next time."

"Of course i will, not doing this again, i don't want you to have another rough wake up." you give him a little kiss on the nose, you know he loves it.

"And if you want to fish tell me first, i want to fish with you..." a little of his ussual child behaviour is back.

"But you were sleeping," he hid his face on your neck.

"Then wake me up."

"You don't like that."

"I like it when you do it, and i can always sleep here." he placed his head on your lap and fell asleep again.

Zoro

It was a crazy idea, but you wanted to try it.

You stealed his haramaki while he was sleeping and you had a goal in mind with that.

You were in front of the mirror, trying to clip the haramaki tight enough to make a top for you.

You almost got it, it was starting to look good.

Then the door opened and Zoro appeared with an irritated look.

Then he saw you and his mouth dropped almost to the floor.

"What were you..." he didn't finish the question, instead he was doing hand signals.

"I thought it would look good." you are now blusing, a lot.

"You.... you can't...." it sounded like Zoro couldn't talk properly, that's when you saw he was blushing too, "You look very good on it," he covered his face with his hand.

"Thanks, i am glad you are not mad."

"I am mad but you look pretty, i hope you didn't break it."

"No, i am just clipping it, no sewing." he got behind you and put his hands on your waist.

"I can help, but later i will get a reward for contributing in this model's look." you laughed.

Sanji

He has a set of jewelry which consists on a necklace, a ring and a bracelet.

There are some ocasions that he lets you have one of the three, but you wanted to try it all.

Today he was doing dinner and you hugged him from behind.

You felt him tense but he was still cutting the vegetables, but now at a slower pace.

You were already wearing the ring so you showed it to his face and then got to his neck and unclipped the golden chain.

His breathing was starting to hitch, he isn't sure if he would be able to turn around and ask you what you were thinking.

You put the necklace on you neck and then you move your hand to his wrist.

Now he is completely unable to continue doing his chores.

You uncliped the third item and put it on yourself.

He finally turned around and saw you admiring how his yewelry looks on yourself.

"What are you doing." he was trembling.

"I wanted to see how good they look on me." you showed the ring and bracelet on his face again.

"And you need it to do it like that? mon amour." and then Sanji got a nose bleed and needed to sit down.

Trafalgar Law

He was so inmerse on his book that he didn't sense you enter the room and take his hat from the table.

He told you he couldn't sleep with you that night but you needed to feel him close so you stealed the hat, carefully.

At the end he finished his readings sooner so he got to your bedroom, he was so tired that he didn't noticed he wasn't wearing his hat.

The surprise came when he got to your side and saw his hat on you.

He blushed a lot, almost tripped, you looked so cute in his eyes.

He is not the one to think someone is cute but you always manage to make him flustered.

He wanted to wake you up and kiss you but after some thinking, he realize he is too tired to do it, so he waited to next morning.

When you woke up you were really surprised, Law tends to sleep on his side of the bed keeping distance from you, but this night he was trapping you with his arms.

You were unable to leave his embrace, but you aren't complaining about it.

Eustass Kidd

You were really cold, the winter island was giving you a hard time.

So you took his coat to get out of the ship to do some shopping.

When you came back his yellings were audible from miles away, apparently he tought someone was making jokes on him.

When he saw you getting on the deck with his red coat, he almost choked.

He really liked seeing you with his coat (his nose almost bleed) but he needed to keep his reputation.

He yells at you trying to discipline you on public (not to much).

When you both got into your room he tried to make it up.

"Don't think i will forgive you." you said while laying on bed.

"I have a reputation, but i didn't meant to be so rude."

"i am not hearing an apology."

"Sorry." He is red as a tomato.

"Good boy." you patted his head carefully while his arms embrace you.

"It suited you very well." you laugh when he hid is face on your chest.

Killer

Another heart attack, he never goes outside without his helmet, so when he wakes up and couldn't find it, he starts to anxious.

Early enough he discovers that you are on the bathroom cleaning it, repainting it and fixing it.

When he opened the door it was like you both became deers looking at car lights.

You were sure he was going to be mad at you but seeing someone being so preoccupied with his favourite.

"You could have said something:"

"I wanted it to be a surprise, plus this thing is nasty as fuck." his big muscular arms went to your waist.

"Thanks." he rubbed his head to yours and lowered himself for you to put the helmet on him.

"No." you pated his blonde hair, "this thing is still wet, so you have to wait."

"Kid is going to kill me if im late."

"Don't worry, we can manage to dry it fast."

[bitchesuntitled]

Wrong Delivery

Summary: Sleepin' with the hot construction guy doing the remodel at your work, he winds up buying flowers for someone else...

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI go on get! No outbreak/pre outbreak(you decide), fluff, smut, miscommunication, cussing, oral f!receiving, unprotected piv(don't do that, make smart choices), cream pie, Joel being a dork.

A/N: First time I've ever actually finished a Joel story I started working on! Many thanks to @strang3lov3 for the encouragement and taking a look at this, @jay-zzle as always for giving me ideas and making moodboards for me because I hate doing them myself! ❤️❤️❤️

🌹This is for @morallyinept’s flora & fauna challenge! 🌹

Divider provided by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist||AO3 Link

As you rush into the building, trying to avoid the construction team surrounding the place, a timid smile crosses your face when you spot Joel, the man responsible for why you’re running late this morning. Instead of getting ready for work like you were supposed to, Joel Miller decided he wanted to spend his morning coaxing another orgasm out of you, as if the three last night weren’t enough. It’s been a couple of months of this. 

It had never been your intention to start sleeping with the hot contractor who had been doing construction at your place of work, you both just happened to be at the same bar one night. One thing led to another and now it’s been this, whatever this is.

“Mornin’ guys,” you say passing the crew, each giving their own sort of greeting back, be it a grunt of acknowledgment or repeating the greeting.

“Mornin’ ma’am,” Joel says with a cheeky smile, “Runnin’ a little late?”

“Yeah, woke up late,” you shrugged, feeling your face heat up.

“There you are!” Becky shouts, making her way towards you, “Angie is up my ass right now about where you are with those reports you said you’d get done yesterday.”

“On it,” you sigh, “Nice talking to you Joel.”

“Oh!” Becky said with a smile, grabbing his bicep, “Hi Joel! You guys sure have been working hard on all of this.”

You try to keep your eyes from rolling at Becky’s consistent attempt at flirting with Joel. She has definitely tried her hardest to get his attention, made cookies “for the crew” but only handed some of them to Joel, tries to talk to him every chance she can, wearing lower cut tops so her cleavage is on full display, batting eyelashes and laughing at any dumb thing he says. It’s starting to get on your nerves, if you’re being honest. Making your way to your desk you open the drawer, shoving your purse inside before closing it and turning on your computer. You open the teams app, sending Angie a quick message to let her know you’ll put the file with the reports in the folder outside her door, grabbing the file and making your way to her office.

Becky is still talking Joel’s ear off and you have to stifle your laugh, watching his eyebrows scrunch together and his polite nod before excusing himself. She catches you as you're on your way back to your cubicle to start the work day.

“That Joel Miller is a man,” Becky sighs, walking beside you, “The things I would let him do to me.”

“Oh jeez,” you laugh awkwardly, sitting down at your desk.

“I wonder what his dick is like,” she continues, “I bet it’s big.”

You turn to your computer hoping she can’t see the look on your face because then the jig would be up.

“Uhm,” you say, clearing your throat, “You better be careful. Don’t wanna get turned into HR.”

—

“Hello,” a frazzled delivery guy announces himself at the entrance to your cubicle. “I have a delivery for you, miss.”

“For me?!” Becky asks excitedly, seeing the bouquet of flowers. The delivery guy nodded, handing her the flowers. “Who are they from?!”

“Uh… Joel Miller?” The guy says, looking at his sheet. Your jaw drops upon hearing his words. Why on earth would Joel send Becky flowers?

“Oh my god!” Becky squeals with delight, grabbing the card, “Aw! Look! It says darlin’ on the envelope!”

Becky opens the card, reading it aloud:

“Figured a pretty lady like you should have some flowers to look at. Been havin’ the time of my life gettin’ to know ya and would love to take you out. He signed it off with a heart and J. Miller! How sweet is that?!”

Beside yourself on handling this, the only thing you could think of was finding the man himself. If this entire thing between you two was just for fun so be it, but you needed answers.

“Real sweet,” you mutter standing up, “I’m…  uh… I’ll be back.”

“Okay.” Becky hums dreamily, staring at the flowers on her desk.

You make your way to the front of the building, spotting Gus, one of the construction guys.

“Can you tell Joel I need to talk to him?”

“Sorry ma’am, he had to leave earlier, something about Tommy.” Gus shrugs. 

“Uhm… okay.” You nod, deciding to make your way to the breakroom, sitting at one of the tables trying to collect your thoughts. Maybe it’s for the best that he left. That way the entire building wouldn’t see you blow up. Are you even still supposed to see each other tonight? That had been the plan when he left this morning. What the actual fuck, you think to yourself, give annoying ass Becky flowers to ask her out, and then fuck you? That two-timing son of a bitch!

“So fucking stupid,” you mutter to yourself.

—

You make it through the workday, as best as you can, trying not to think of Joel and how mad you are all while Becky continues to talk about him all day. What should she wear, wondering where he’d take her, what they would do, should she sleep with him on the first date. Hopefully, the Excedrin will kick in soon to help with the teeth grinding headache you’ve had all day. Walking to your car Becky’s shrill voice rings out wishing you a good evening.

“Yeah, you too,” you grumble, pulling your car door open and throwing your purse inside. You’re still so mad, fuming, seeing red as you drive towards your place. Once getting home, you quickly change into comfy clothes, and see you have a text from Joel.

JMiller: Can’t wait to see you beautiful ;) Leavin’ Tommy’s

You scowl looking at the text. How do you even respond to that? Petty, that’s how.

You: K.

You see the text bubbles pop up, disappear then pop up again before his face shows on your screen with an incoming call.

“Hello,” you snap.

“Hey,” Joel says hesitatingly, “Bad day at work?”

“Well, Becky got some lovely flowers delivered at work.”

“Oh?”

“Yep,” you say with a harsh pop at the end.

“And?” Joel asks, “Is that it?”

“Delivery guy and card said they were from you.”

“Fuck me,” Joel groans “Those were not for goddamn Becky!”

“Sure about that?”

“I got them for you.” Joel argues.

“Yeah, okay.” You huff into the receiver, rolling your eyes. “Look, I get it. It’s fine if you didn’t want this going anywhere but you could’ve been honest with me about it.”

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel groans, “I do want this going somewhere! Like I said, the flowers were for you!”

“Sure,” you say, shaking your head, “Just be honest, Joel. This has just been fun, that’s it. You’re getting your dick wet, stringing me al—“

“God damn it! I am telling the truth!” Joel growls, cutting you off. “I even have proof!”

“What proof?!” You spit back, “The proof of the flowers you sent Becky? Yeah, I saw them, and the card too. Sweet touch signing it off with a heart and then your name.”

Suddenly there is a knock on your door. You cock your head to the side, hearing the knock sound through the phone as well. Of fucking course, Tommy’s is a five minute drive to your place, making your way to the door you swing it open to see Joel standing there. His nostrils flared, phone held up to his ear, dropping it and angrily stuffing it back into his pocket.

“Just give me five minutes, I swear, they were meant for you and I have fuckin’ proof,” Joel says, holding up a piece of paper.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You groan, smacking your phone onto the entry table.  “Why are you here?”

“I was on my way home from Tommy’s. Figure I’d come here first,” Joel says, holding the paper out to you, “Go on, look at it.”

You grab it, glancing it over. Farrah’s Flowers printed at the top, with your name listed as the order’s recipient, eyes bulging out of your head as you look at him.

“Told you.”

“Wait, then how the fuck did they get to Becky then?”

“Somebody fucked up, that’s all I know but that is my copy of the receipt for buyin’ them in the first place, and that is your name on it,” Joel smirks in triumph, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

Your shoulders relax as you open the door wider, motioning your head for him to come in. He gives a subtle nod, making his way into your home, you slump against the door once it’s closed.

“Joel,” you start, “What the fuck are we?”

He cages you against the door, pushing his lower half into you. You sigh, looping your arms around his neck, looking at those dark chocolate eyes.

“Well,” Joel says, kissing your cheek, “I want you,” placing a soft kiss against your lips, “More than just for sex,” he whispers, against your lips breathing in each other's air causing you to feel a dizzying arousal. Lips collide with him in a hungry kiss, tongues rolling against one another, gasping when his hands creep down to hook around your thighs lifting you, grabbing onto your ass before pulling you away from the door and carrying you to your bedroom.

Joel lays you down on your bed hovering over you, never breaking away from your lips, licking into your mouth with desperation like this might be his last chance. Arousal begins pool in your underwear. Hands gliding down his back, feeling the warmth radiating from him, lifting the bottom of his shirt until he finally lifts to fling it off.

“Don’t want anyone else,” Joel husks, lightly biting your neck, causing you to moan at the sensation of his teeth against your skin, “Just you.”

“Joel,” you whimper as his hand travels down the length of your shirt, pushing it up to expose your tits, ducking his head down. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the stiffened peak before switching to give the other equal attention, kissing a trail down the soft flesh of your stomach until he reaches the top of your leggings.

“Can I?” He asks, looking at you, fingers hooking into your waistband. You give a firm nod and he pulls them off along with your underwear. He sighs once they are off, using his shoulders to spread your legs further apart, “So fucking pretty,” he hums, nipping and kissing along your inner thighs, slowly making his way to your center.

You can feel his breath against your folds, trembling with anticipation for his tongue and lips to make contact, letting out a soft moan Joel begins lapping at your folds, sucking your bundle of nerves into his mouth. Tongue massaging circles against your clit.

“Fuck,” you moan, raking your fingers through his hair and lightly tugging.

Joel’s hum reverberated into your core. His mouth opened and he began to fuck you with his tongue while firmly holding your gaze. You’re back arched at the sensation, letting out a gasp. You roll your hips against his face, his nose pressing deliciously against your clit. He grunts, moving his thumbs to spread your lips, licking a stripe up to your clit and sucking it into his mouth. Your legs begin to shake at the sensation.

“Oh my god, Joel!” You whine, arching your back, feeling the band tightening within your core, begging for release. Joel sinks two of his thick fingers into you causing you to cry out, moving them to massage that sweet spot against your walls, “Yes! Oh my god, fuck!” You could feel the smug smirk on his face, knowing you’re about to come.

“Come on,” he coos, firmly licking your bundle of nerves “Let me have it baby.”

You cry his name out over and over as you feel the waves of pleasure crashing through you. He continues lapping at your folds, wanting to make sure he gets every last drop before you push his head away. He crawls up the length of your body, the denim of his jeans scratching against your skin.

“Good?” He asks, you nod giggling and he smirks, grabbing the nape of his neck you pull him closer to your face, looking into your eyes he whispers a hi. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, surging forward to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groans into your mouth, grinding his bulge against your center, the rough denim providing friction against your core. His hand moves to his belt, swiftly unhooking it and unbuttoning his jeans. Hands sliding down to help him push the denim off his hips, boxers following suit. You grip his hard length, stroking it from tip to base. Palm spreading the precome over his long thick length. Joel lets out a soft moan at the touch.

“Want you inside me,” you whimper, rubbing his cock against your slick heat. “Please.”

He bats your hand away, grabbing his cock to tease your folds more, rubbing his tip up and down your slit. You let out a moan when his tip catches against your entrance. Only for him to slide back up to your clit, rubbing agonizingly slow circles against you.

“Joel,” you begged, titling your pelvis, “Please, please fuck me.”

Joel smirks, sliding his cock back down to your entrance, feeding you his bulbous head. You writhe, feeling the stretch. He sinks into you slowly, filling you up until his tip kisses your cervix. Fingers gripping his back, each of you letting out a satisfied moan.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel murmurs into your neck, nipping and sucking on your pulse point, letting you adjust to his size, “Best pussy ever,” placing gentle kisses along your jaw.

“Joel, move,” you plead, hitching your legs up on his waist, “Need you to move.”

He pulls out slowly before snapping his length into you again, letting out a shaky breath at the harshness of his thrust. Your grip on his back tightens, sinking your nails into his skin. He lets out a hiss as he rocks his hips into you, trying to find that spot that makes you see stars. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, “Don’t want anyone else, darlin’.”

Breathy moans shared between kisses, sweat slicked skin gliding against each other. He pushes your thighs back further into a mating press, finding that sweet spot inside your walls.

“Oh my god,” you whine, back beginning to arch, “Right there!”

His cock massages that spot with every stroke, causing your muscles to tighten. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening, walls beginning to flutter around his shaft as he drills into that spot over and over.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel growls, feeling the heat of his skin slapping against yours, “I need you to come, baby. Ain’t gonna last much longer.”

You moan wantonly as you feel his dick twitch inside of you. Joel holding out to make sure you come first. The coil in your belly finally snaps, sending you over the edge, white hot electricity flowing through every limb. He thrusts into you harshly half a dozen more times before his hips stutter.

“Only you, darlin’, only want you,” he grunts, as he empties himself inside you, painting your walls with his sticky release, “only want you.”

Joel collapses, holding himself up by his elbows on either side of your head, nuzzling his nose against yours, placing soft kisses against your lips.

“Only want you,” he sighs.

—

You spent the next hour, in each other's arms, talking, snuggling and kissing.

“I can’t believe you would think I’d want Becky,” Joel booms with laughter, eyes crinkling around the edges. You smirk playfully, slapping his arm.

“Look,” you giggle, “I didn’t know if her flirting finally wore you down!”

“Hi Joel!” He says in an exaggerated high pitch, batting his eyelashes, “My, you sure have been working hard!” he adds with a girly giggle, lifting his pecs to create some sort of cleavage.

“Oh shut up!”

“Did you see the flowers though? Like actually look at ‘em?”

“Not really,” you sigh, playing with a loose thread on your blanket.

“Purple tulips for new beginnings and love,” Joel says, planting a kiss on your cheek, “Jasmine for devotion,” he continues, kissing your other cheek, “and pink roses for appreciation,” he smiles before kissing the tip of your nose.

“Really?”

“Yep, the florist helped me pick them out,” Joel says, grabbing the back of your neck pulling you into a kiss, “Told ya they were for you.”