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onlyangel4 · 12 days ago

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littlest fan. roman reigns.

roman reigns x pregnant!reader

synopsis: when you spot a kid wearing your husband's merch you call him over to give a little boy the surprise of a lifetime

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shopping had always been something that you enjoyed but you enjoyed it even more now that you were pregnant. getting to shop for things for the little baby boy that you were currently growing made you even more excited for his upcoming arrival.

today was a regular off day for roman, he liked spending as many off days as possible with you. he had been feeling ten times more protective over you than usual, something that you did not know was possible.

you had convinced roman that you needed to go get a few more bits for baby boy, despite having two cupboards full of baby stuff, and he agreed to come with you, he liked being by your side and seeing you smile when you saw some of the cute stuff that baby boy did not need but would get anyway.

as you walked into the mall roman turned to look at you, "i've got to go get a couple things from the other side of the mall and i really don't feel like making you walk all that way, shall i meet you in the toy shop"

"yeah of course my love, could you pick up some chocolate", you gave your husband your best puppy eyes, "baby boy really wants some"

roman laughed shaking his head at your bullshit, "of course he does", he dramatically rolled his eyes before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before leaving your side to go and get the bits that he needed.

you headed into your favourite toy store, one with something for kids of every age but you made a beeline to the baby section.

as you browsed through the baby section of a store, something caught your eye from the other side of the store. a little boy, maybe fi six or seven years old was stood proudly in a OTC hoodie, gripping a toy championship belt like it was his most prized possession. his tiny fingers traced the gold plate, and the determined expression on his face made your ovaries burst.

you couldn’t resist, crossing over to the other side of the store next to where the boy was standing. you looked down at the boy giving him a smile "i love your hoodie! are you a big fan of roman reigns?"

the boy’s eyes widened with excitement, his head snapping up to look at you, excited to just get to talk about his favourite person. "he’s my favourite wrestler ever! he’s the strongest! and one day, i’m gonna be just like him!" his enthusiasm was contagious, and you let out a small laugh, resting a hand on your belly.

"he is very strong isn't he", you spoke and the boy beamed up at you yapping your ear off about your husband as you tried to keep a straight face.

after a couple minutes the boy's mother walked over to the two of you, "i really hope he isn't bothering you"

"no not at all", you responded, "he is just telling me all about roman reigns"

"oh jack loves him", his mother spoke ruffling his hair before the boy announced that he was going to look for a roman action figure.

once jack was out of earshot you turned to his mother, "can you do me a favour?"

the woman quirked an eyebrow

"can you keep jack here for a little longer, i know it sounds weird but you really want to trust me on this one"

his mother looked at you face etched with confusion but she nodded her head in agreement, going to find her son to distract him for a bit in order to keep him in the store.

meanwhile, you pulled your phone out of your pocket immediately finding you husband's contact info.

you dialled your husband's number and he picked up on the second ring, his familiar deep voice coming through the speaker.

"you miss me already, baby?"

you rolled your eyes playfully, "i always miss you, but that’s not why i called."

"what’s up?"

you turned slightly, watching as jack enthusiastically browsed the wwe section of the toy store, his little hands eagerly flipping through the action figures. his mother did her best to keep him distracted, giving you time to execute your little plan.

"you need to come here right now."

there was a short pause. "what did you find?"

grinning, you glanced over at jack again. "not what, who. there is the cutest little boy wearing your merch"

roman chuckled on the other end, but you could hear the curiosity in his voice. "oh yeah?"

you nodded even though he couldn’t see you. "he’s wearing your hoodie, holding a toy title, and has been telling me all about how you’re the strongest ever."

roman sighed dramatically, the sound of footsteps through the speaker alerted you that he was already leaving the store he had been in. "you’re trying to make me soft, aren’t you?"

you giggled. "i think our baby boy’s already done that, love. but seriously, you need to come meet him. trust me."

"i'm already on my way", he spoke and you smiled brightly, you had him wrapped around your little finger.

you hung up and turned back toward jack’s mother, who was still watching you curiously. "i promise this will be worth it," you assured her.

she tilted her head, still confused. but she seemed to actually trust you.

a few minutes passed, and then you felt a shift in the store. it was subtle, but you noticed it immediately. a few heads turned. people whispered. the energy changed.

and then there he was.

roman strolled into the store, effortlessly commanding attention even in just a hoodie and joggers. his dark eyes scanned the aisles until they landed on you, his lips twitching into a small smirk. you nodded your head in jack's direction and his gaze shifted to jack, who was still focused on the action figures, oblivious to the presence of his hero.

clearing his throat slightly, roman took a few steps forward and crossed his arms. "you find a good one yet, little man?"

jack froze.

for a moment, he didn’t even turn around, as if his brain was refusing to process what he just heard. but then, slowly, his tiny hands lowered the action figure he was holding, and he turned on his heel.

the second his eyes landed on the roman reigns standing before him, his jaw dropped.

his mother gasped beside you, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. she had not been expecting that.

roman smirked, squatting down to jack’s level, resting his arms on his knees. "what’s up, little man? i heard you’re my biggest fan."

jack still hadn’t moved. he just stood there, staring up at roman with his mouth slightly open, as if his brain had completely short circuited.

you bit your lip, trying to hold in a laugh. "jack, sweetheart, say something," his mother encouraged.

jack blinked rapidly, his small hands gripping his toy title even tighter. then, in the quietest voice, he whispered, "oh my god."

roman chuckled, reaching out to gently tap the centre plate of jack’s toy championship belt. "you think you could take my title one day, lil man?"

that seemed to wake jack up. his chest puffed out, and he gripped his belt with newfound determination. "one day, i will!"

roman threw his head back in laughter before nodding approvingly. "that’s what i like to hear. you’ve got the confidence for it."

jack’s mother shook her head in disbelief, still covering her mouth. "oh my god. you’re actually here."

you smiled. "told you to trust me."

"sorry if my wife spooked you, she has a soft spot for the child fans", your husband spoke, "i hear wrestling is a big deal in your house?"

she exhaled shakily, still overwhelmed. "yes, we watch every week. jack won’t let us miss a single match. you have no idea what this means to him."

roman grinned. "i think i do."

he turned back to jack, who was still practically vibrating with excitement. reaching out, roman ruffled the boy’s hair before taking the hoodie’s front pocket and signing his name in bold letters.

once he had spent a little bit of time with jack roman chuckled, standing back up. he looked over at you, his gaze softening as his eyes flickered down to your belly. his large hand found its place on your bump, thumb brushing against the fabric of your shirt.

"i can’t wait until that’s our kid one day," he murmured.

"you won't be waiting long, i feel like i'm about to pop", you spoke to him

roman smirked. "i can't wait to meet the littlest member of the bloodline", he spoke pressing a kiss to your forehead

from beside you, jack grinned up at roman, holding one finger up. "i acknowledge you!"

roman threw his head back in laughter again, shaking his head as he knelt down for one last fist bump with the kid. "good man."

jack's mother, who had been wiping away a tear, suddenly turned to you. "you know," she said softly, "watching the way you two are together i can see you’re going to be amazing parents."

your heart clenched, warmth spreading through you. roman’s hand squeezed your side, his quiet way of agreeing.

you smiled. "that means a lot. thank you."

she chuckled. "oh, trust me, i mean it. your baby is going to be so lucky."

as you and roman walked out of the store, his arm securely wrapped around your waist, you could still hear jack excitedly shouting, "i just met Roman Reigns! MOM, I JUST MET ROMAN REIGNS!!"

you glanced up at your husband, who was grinning ear to ear.

yeah, you were going to be great parents

and you couldn’t wait.

#wwe fic #wwe #wwe fandom #wwe fanfiction #wwe smackdown #wwe raw #world wrestling entertainment #wwe x reader #wwe x you #wwe x y/n #roman reigns #the tribal chief #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns fluff #roman reigns smau #roman reigns x y/n #roman reigns x you

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riptides-n-roses · 10 months ago

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prey - the bloodline (18+)

⛧ pair - the bloodline (roman reigns, jimmy uso, jey uso, solo sikoa) x reader

⛧ warnings - unprotected p in v. primal play, degrading, masturbation, lots of positions, exhibitionism, cre@mpies, oral (m! and f! receiving), crying (from pleasure), obviously minors should not be interacting ♡

⛧ this is also my very first smut so please be patient with me as i didn't have any proof-reading done :(

⛧ the bloodline has been chasing you all night backstage. scared to your wits, you thought you have found somewhere safe to hide, hoping to escape. only to be caught and surrounded by the four men, hungry of whatever they wanted from you.

⛧ word count: 3.7K

Run

The only word circling your head. You were backstage, running as fast as you could to get away from four hungry men, chasing you like fresh meat. The Bloodline has had their eyes on you for a while now. They took notice on how you wrestled against the different female superstars. They have watched your every move. And now, they are hunting you down. But why?

You were so exhausted, barely able to catch yourself and you heard the twins call out for you.

“Mamas, there’s no need to run away!”

“Come on out, darling. You can’t resist us and you know it.”

You ignored their taunts and hid behind several crates, taking your chance to catch yourself. Panting from how much you ran, adrenaline spiked to a level you have never felt before. Noticing a small crack of light through the crates, you slowly made your way to it, peeking out to see if any members of The Bloodline were nearby. Not to your surprise, you see Jey and Solo standing nearby, talking about where they last seen you.

“I could’ve sworn she went that way.” Jey whined. “Do you know where she could be?”

Solo shrugged.

Jey sighed “Keep looking. I’m going to find the Tribal Chief and see what he says.”

That’s when your heart stopped. Roman Reigns. The Tribal Chief. The Head of The Table. He was looking for you as well. He is usually patient when it came to getting what he wanted. He was an enigma when it came to that. It would feel scary to be in front him as he was your predator. If he were to find you, who knows what could’ve happened.

It was a game of chance, where you wouldn’t know what would happen if any of them found you. You quietly let a sigh of relief, after seeing the two figures walk away in separate directions, only to realize you were still hiding. You quickly held your breathe, trying to contain yourself from panicking, planning a way to escape and leave the arena. You slowly got up and left the crates, and started walking until you felt a pair of arms swoop you up.

“Found you, sweet thing.” It was Roman. He set you up on his shoulder and carrying you away from the crates. “Did you seriously think you could escape your Tribal Chief? How adorable.” He cooed.

You felt your heart beat fast. You were caught. You didn’t know what was going to happen to you. You were trembling on his shoulders, unaware as to why he wanted you in the first place. As Roman made his way to the other 3 men while carrying you, he was smiling, finally catching what’s been driving him wild.

“Damn Ro. Looks like you found her” Jimmy chuckled. The four men then went to take you to a car, opening one of the car doors and gently placing you in a seat. You couldn’t speak or do anything. You froze in fear, afraid of what they wanted.

.•°☆.⋆｡⋆☆•˚｡⋆｡˚•☆˚｡⋆.☆•°.⋆

You were brought to a hotel room, placed down on a bed with a blindfold covering your eyes so you couldn’t see what the Bloodline were doing. Your breath hitched feeling four hands gently exploring your body, not knowing that the twins were testing your limits – admiring how your body reacted to their fingers.

“Enjoying yourself, mamas?” Jimmy playfully asked you, feeling his hands grope your breasts. You felt your panties get damp from all the sensations you were feeling in that moment – your legs pathetically trying to close.

“Do you know why we were looking for you all night?” Jey chimed in, slowly making his way to your pants “You drive all of us mad – ever since you came here, you’ve made quite a name for yourself. The way you compete, the way you talk, hell, everything about you makes us hungry.” Your cheeks were warm to this reveal – You were too afraid to even come close to any member of The Bloodline. The way they took down every single opponent that dared to cross them, especially the Tribal Chief. You were craving for at least one member of the faction to fuck you braindead, probably never expected for something like this to happen. You lost your train of thought feeling a pair of lips going up your neck, making their way up to your ear.

“Tell us, Y/N” Jimmy whispered. “Aren’t you hungry for us too?” You gasped feeling him nibble on your ear as Jey began to take off your pants. “You don’t have to be shy.”

You were about to say something before you felt your top and bra come off, shivering from the air hitting your nipples. Jimmy hummed in approval before he started to tug them roughly.

“I…” You started to respond, taking a breath, “I am” The four men chuckle to this reveal.

“In that case, sweet thing.” You hear Roman tease. “Let us have our way with you." After those words were spoken, Roman took a seat, admiring the show as Solo stood beside him, hungrily watches how your body twitches with each gentle touch. Finally, Jey removes your pants to reveal a soaked cunt covered by a pair of panties, eagerly waiting to be used. He kept eye contact with you as he took your underwear off just waiting to see what he’ll do next.

“I think we know how this will go now, darling” Jey finally responded. “Don’t you agree, uce?” looking at his twin brother. “Oh certainly.” Jimmy added “Here, mamas spread your legs and relax.”

You spread your legs wide, allowing Jey to get a better view of your glistening cunt as he begins to hold your legs apart. “You look so delicious; I wonder what you taste like.” Jey growled. As you opened your mouth, you felt his warm tongue slide up and down your clit, not breaking eye contact watching as you melt in front of all four men while blindfolded only seeing pitch black. Jimmy began playing with your hard, sensitive nipples as he started to leave steamy kisses all over your neck. You whined from the sensations you were feeling, the steamy kisses, rough hands groping you, a warm tongue playing with your clit, sliding up and down. Roman smirked seeing you moan and whine, begging for more, feeling his bulge throb through his pants, trying his best to not pounce and do whatever he pleased to you.

“F-fuck!” You sobbed, shaking from Jey’s tongue going in and out of your pussy, your breast being played with and kisses being left all over. You felt like you were going to explode, feeling your stomach tighten from the sensations. “Please…”

“You’re going to cum, baby?” Jey teased as he stopped licking your pussy, allowing his fingers to circle your clit. “Come on, make a mess all over yourself. We want to see it.” You couldn’t take it anymore, “I-I need to- “

Before you could finish, your face was turned and you felt Jimmy kissing you roughly, muffling your moans and cries as Jey removes his fingers and plunges his tongue deep in your pussy again, Jimmy squeezing your tits hard and rough as he continues kissing you. As you finally hit your orgasm, you whined into Jimmy’s mouth, cumming all over Jey’s face, your legs trying to close. You could hear Roman chuckle as he watched you ride out your orgasm, Jimmy finally letting your mouth rest, a trail of spit following as well.

With a nod of approval from Roman, finally Jimmy took the blindfold off you – allowing you to see everything surrounding you as your clit throbbed for more attention.

“Ready for more, baby?” Jey asked you, taking his shorts off to reveal his hard cock. Your eyes widened, thinking to yourself how you’ll take it, or how it’ll fit in you. “Now now, mamas. Don’t forget about me either.” You turned your head to see Jimmy without his pants and boxers as well, your cheeks becoming warm. “Now turn over. Jey is going to fuck you while you suck me off.” You turn around to face Jimmy and position yourself on all fours. Making sure your pussy was exposed in front of Jey, you gasped feeling Jey position himself, slapping his tip onto your clit. “Easy doll.”

You cried out feeling Jey push himself into you, your clit throbbing from sensation. It was thick and a little painful, small tear forming in your eyes.

“Aww. Is Jey too much for you mamas? Here.” Jimmy teased, slapping his dick on your face before pushing it in your mouth. You began to adjust to Jey’s size, muffled moans escaping you while you began to bop your head up and down on Jimmy’s length. Jey starts to thrust slowly into you, making sure that you’re not in any pain. His thrusts began to slowly speed up, making your walls clench. Both twins groaning from how good you feel – Jimmy making you take every inch of him in your mouth, his hands grabbing your hair tight and pushing you down further, making you gag a bit. “Fuck, mamas.” Jimmy growled “Your mouth feels amazing.”

Jey chuckled giving you a hard slap across your ass, as his hips buck up with yours, “You like how I fuck your pretty cunt, baby? Do you want some more?” Your sounds were a mix of moaning and trying to grasp for air from how tightly Jimmy was using your hair as handle bars. God, you felt so full, finally getting what you craved for. Finally, being stuffed in a way you haven’t felt before. Both twins’ thrusts get harder and faster, making your stomach tighten again – slowly reaching your second orgasm of the night.

Your muffled moans were driving Roman crazy, waiting impatiently to fuck your brains out. Solo, who knows he’s next, has been watching how your body reacted to each thrust in your pussy and mouth – feeling his bulge get harder and harder with your soft cries and moans.

“Are you ready, baby? I’m going to cum soon – I’m going to fill your tight pussy with my cum.” Jey groaned, feeling his cock throb inside of you. “Me too, mamas? Are you ready for me to fill your mouth while you cum too?” Jimmy chuckled. You looked up to the eldest twin, nodding quickly with blurry eyes, feeling your stomach tighten. “Good girl”

With Jey picking up his pace, thrusting disgustingly faster, you whined feeling your stomach tighten even more, like a jack in the box.

“Get ready, doll”

You finally reached your orgasm, your muffled screams tighten your pussy as Jey thrusted one more time, - making his seed explode deep in you. Jimmy pushes your face down, his cum going to the back of your throat, growling as all three of you ride out an orgasm. Jimmy slowly pulls his cock out of your mouth, allowing your lungs air while Jey slowly pulls out of you, your pussy leaking with his cum and throbbing from the roughness. Your entire body shaking from how hard you came this time. Jimmy gently lifts your face up with his finger, giving you hot kisses all over your lips “That was amazing, mamas. You did so so well. Now it’s Solo’s turn – Be good okay?” You nodded as he gotten up, pulling his pants back up and giving you another kiss.

Jey gives you a gentle slap on the ass again, as he also gets up and puts his pants back on. “I’m so proud of you, doll.” He turns your face to meet his and gives you a sweet little kiss before he leaves with his twin out of the room.

Your breaths were hoarse, your abused throat made it hard for you to get more air. You looked and see Solo and Roman look at you with full amusement. Roman gives a gesture to Solo, allowing him to have his turn playing with you.

As Solo gotten closer to you, he gets his pants off, his dick poking through his boxers. Your brain still foggy from your previous orgasm, you look into his eyes with pure lust – You can’t wait for what he wanted to do to you.

“Ready for more, princess?” he asked, his hand reaching down to your clit, sliding his finger up and down. You whine from how sensitive your cunt was – you could already feel how wet you were getting again. “Answer me.”

“Ye…Yes.” You replied, wanting Solo to abuse your holes. He smiled and puts his tongue into yours, having a hot and steamy kiss session – Feeling his fingers play with your clit a little faster. He was amused with the way you whine and cry for his fingers to go inside your walls - still throbbing from Jey. “Good. Now lay on your back.” He chuckled removing his fingers from your sensitive hole. You were getting impatient, laying on your back against the soft pillows, spreading your legs. Solo’s eyes were full of hunger and lust for you as he removed his shorts. Your clit throbbed from the sight of his hard, thick cock – just ready for him to make you cum again. Solo positioned himself, slapping himself on your cunt, trying his best not to push himself all the way in you.

Without warning, he slowly pushes himself into you, growling from how wet you were, your whines making your walls tighten – He was incredibly thick. You felt like his cock would poke through your stomach. He gently grabs your throat, squeezing a bit as he thrusts into you, your choked cries making him go harder. “Fuck, princess. You’re taking me so well.” His praises make you look into his eyes begging for him to go faster.

“Y-You’re so big! I’ll cum too fast” You moaned, loving how rough he was thrusting into you – forgetting that Roman was next, you felt your stomach tighten scared of what he’ll do to you. As Solo pushed in and out of you, he burrowed his face onto one of your tits, roughly sucking your nipple as his grip gotten a little tighter on your neck.

“You’re gonna cum again, Princess? I know you want to.” Solo groaned, knowing he was getting close from being rough with you, lifting his face away from your tits and seeing your eyes roll back. You were trying to make sentences but your stomach kept getting tighter. This was exactly what you wanted. “I’m trying not to cum too fast. You’re so tight and needy. You’re doing so good.” He released his grip on your neck and intertwined his fingers with yours, your other hand touching his face.

“I.. I need to cum!” You sobbed, small tears forming from how rough Solo’s thrusts were – his fat cock continuously hitting your sensitive spots. “Yeah? You wanna cum? Cum with me, princess. I got you.” He teased as his thrusts get sloppy – knowing he was holding back from releasing his cum in you.

You let out a high-pitched scream, as you came all over Solo’s cock, one last thrust before his seed burst in you, your vision only seeing white. You knew exactly what was about to happen next. After riding out your orgasm, Solo pulled out of you and leaned in to kiss you deeply, his fingers playing with your hair. “Fuck, princess…You drained me. Let me fix you up.” He gently lifted you up, making sure you weren’t hurt or anything before he kissed you again. Your eyes turned to see a sexually frustrated Roman, sitting in his chair, looking directly at you. You knew he was going to be the roughest with you. Solo then got up, putting his pants, and fixing himself back up.

After he left, you slowly turned to Roman. The Samoan man cocked his head to the side, admiring how your breath hitched from how many rounds of sex. Your pussy still throbbing and leaking cum. He enjoyed seeing how your face looked, hungry for whatever he wanted to do to you. Your stomach dropped when Roman finally got up from his chair making his way toward you.

“Come here.” He motioned for you to get closer on the edge of the bed. Without hesitation, you crawled up to him, your eyes looking into his. He smiled, admiring how exhausted you looked, your hair all messy. “Look at you, still horny after two rounds. You’re a dirty slut, aren’t you?” his words with a sexual undertone. Your cheeks were warm to his degrading. His rough hands exploring your body as you shivered from his touch. You wondered what he might do to you. Noticing his large bulge on his pants, you slowly reached for it. He took noticed and chuckled. “Go ahead, babygirl.”

With his approval, you slowly pulled down his pants, revealing his huge, veiny cock. Your mouth watered from the sight in front of you. You stuck your tongue out and gave soft kitty licks to his tip, he grabbed a handful of your hair and pushed your head further down his shaft. You gagged from how big he was, your pussy throbbing for some attention. While sucking him off, your fingers made its way to your clit, making small circles around your pearl – a wave of goosebumps hitting your back. Your muffled moans and grasps for air turned him on. He was amused to how tiny you looked under him.

“That’s right, baby. Take every inch of my cock.” Roman muttered, admiring the way you kept your eyes on him while your lips were around his cock. You could feel yourself getting wetter to his words, your throat being abused over and over. His praises made you throb with impatience, just begging for him to be inside of you.

His grip tightening around your hair and pushing your head down even more, making you gag from his thick length.

You felt so unclean – rubbing circles on your clit, desperate to slip a finger in your walls, sucking every inch of him and not breaking eye contact. You wanted to please him. Your cheeks were warm as he thrusted in your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat. Your gags made him want to force his seed down your throat. But he had another idea. What seemed like an eternity, he ripped his cock out of your mouth.

You choked, pouting that he didn’t fill your mouth with his seed. Roman placed his grip on your throat – he loved seeing you beg for his attention, beg for him to use you the way he wanted. “Impatient, are we?” He mocked how you wanted more with a flirtatious tone. You wouldn’t dare to speak.

He chuckled and in that second, he swiftly picking you up, taking a seat on the bed, and set you down on his lap, aligning his cock to your pussy – You gasped feeling his tip slowly stuffing you, adjusting yourself before he pushed his whole length into you. “Oh fuck..” You cried, wrapping your arms around him as he stretched you out, “I know, babygirl.” His words made you clench – making you fight the urge to cum right there on the spot.

His hand placed on your hip, the other grabbing your ass cheek as he began to thrust in you, deep, slow strokes to let you adjust to his size. You tightened your arms around him, holding him tightly as waves of pleasure hit your body. His gaze on your face – he loved how your faces looked while he stuffed you of him, your mouth open with your tongue out. Your breasts jiggling from each bounce on his cock. He loved how you melted for him – how you craved for him.

“You’re so cute like this, baby. The way you melt from how I fuck you. Is that what you’ve wanted for sometime now? Come on. Tell me how bad you wanted this.” His words muffled from your chest. Your breath was shaky, moaning from how he hit your spot everytime he thrusted into you.

“So bad…” You whined. Wanting him to go faster, You could feel your orgasm coming soon.

“Good girl. For now on, you’re going to be my little toy. Only I can touch you and fuck you like this. Understood?” He ordered, tightening his grip around you and thrusting faster.

“Ye-Yes Ro-“

“Yes what, baby. Say it correctly.”

“Yes…D-Daddy..”

“Good girl.”

You throw your head back, not realizing that you signed yourself with him, to be his to use, to make others aware that you belong to him. But you didn’t care. You craved for him to use you like this, for him to hunt you down like this, to be his prey. Your stomach started to tighten as he lifted his head up and kissed your roughly – the sensations you were feeling in this moment made you not want it to stop. You wanted him to keep fucking you like this, you wanted him to make it known to everyone that you’re only his.

“You feel so good, babygirl. You’re taking me so well.”

His praises made you whimper, getting desperate to cum all over his cock. Swiftly, He laid back making his cock stuff you further.

You sobbed into the crook of his neck as his thrusts get faster and sloppier, knowing he was going to cum soon. He felt so good inside of you, you were begging for him to cum in you. You whined when you felt him deliver a harsh slap on your ass and gripping it tightly. You dug your nails into him from how rough he was with you.

“Daddy’s got you, babygirl. Fuck you feel so good.” He growled, knowing he was getting close too. You felt yourself getting closer.

“I-I need to cum! Please, daddy. I need to- “You moaned, your legs beginning to shake. “I know, babygirl.” He growled, admiring the way you were holding back.

You screamed as you came undone on him, your eyes rolling back from the sensation, Roman following behind as he held you tightly as he came, emptying his seed inside of you. His dark chocolate eyes staring into your face – his lips quick to meet with yours and leaving hot kisses all over your face.

“Holy shit…” He groaned, keeping his cock in you as you rode out your orgasm. You and Roman were breathing heavily from the intense round of sex. Your eyes never leaving his before he kissed you again.

“You’re mine now.”

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niccolites · 2 months ago

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green cliffs: - lessons in mortality. chapter four

highlander!soap x fem!reader. cw dubcon and period typical violence. read on ao3 here

There is a large exhale of wind as night turns into morning. You roll around in unfamiliar sheets, plotting how to escape when you are next given the opportunity.

Johnny’s father had been a saving grace. Although he accepted that you and Johnny were already wed, he had wanted it officialised at a wedding for everyone to see before he could allow you and Johnny to stay in the same bedroom together. You were granted to stay in Johnny’s chamber while Johnny would take one of the many guest rooms. With how you are woken up, you imagine that it hadn’t made much of a difference, your innocence already compromised anyway.

You were used to the wake up from Ian, the pinch of his fingers on your cheek as he was already half telling you what needed done - feed the chickens, brush down the horses, check on the stock at the back of the cupboards. You wake up, half hopeful, cheek already smarting as if in preparation of him. Johnny blinks down at you, half-lidded. Beautiful but terrible.

“I’ll be back soon, angel,” he murmurs into the tilt of your neck, leaving a slick kiss there that has you shuddering. You swallow down the urge to snap at him to get off of you, letting him do as he wishes for the moment. Your compliance earns you a hand down your side, Johnny huffing as he rounds his palm over your hip.

He lifts his head, suddenly, gazes at you for a moment. You blink up at him, the image of docility, which has him squinting. You stay still, let him cup your jaw in the broad of his hand. His hair is mussed up from sleep, fluffy and loose in the morning. His beard is only slightly thicker than it had been when you had first met, a little darker.

His pupils dilate then pinch, taking in the expressions of your face. “Ah willnae be gone long,” he says, serious in a way that sends a different kind of shake through you. A warning. You nod as best you can, your chin digging into his palm. He squints for another moment. His thumb digs into the soft give beneath the bolt of your jaw. Just before you can crack under his hard stare, it dissipates and he dips his head to steal another kiss from you. “Wait fer me,” he bids you, and leaves.

You watch from the window, as he takes his horse from Mrs Duncan’s nephew - the stablemaster. You sit at the window, holding your chin like a phantom ache that Johnny has left behind. You can see his head, no bigger than your nail, tilt back as if seeking you out in the window. You doubt he can see you but he stares for a moment, hand near his clavicle as if in prayer before he bows his head and Cerberus starts to move.

You sit and wait, watching as he starts the journey towards the small village just outside of the Keep. He gets smaller and smaller, barely a dot in your vision and then not even that.

You jump up and stride over to Johnny’s desk. The clothes that you had left yesterday are folded neatly on the ornate chair. You had managed to salvage your stays from your dress before it had been spirited away by Mrs Duncan at some point while you were away from Johnny’s room. Your new dress is a softer cotton, a light blue skirt and a thick, dark woolen shawl that you tie around your clavicle. The bag filled with what little things you had managed to bring with you sits in the chair, ready to be picked up and returned to where they belong.

You do your stays up slowly, knotting the string up your chest. Johnny has barely been gone for part of an hour. Although you would be on foot, you didn’t want to chance him spotting you while you were still so near to the Keep.

In the dark of Johnny’s room, the smell of him buried in his sheets even though Mrs Duncan had replaced them, you had planned. If Johnny was less eager, maybe you could have waited for a better opportunity to attempt to run away, but you had felt time slip from endless into mere hours, minutes.

You don’t know where the closest priest is, likely in that small village just outside the Keep, but Johnny hadn’t seemed certain. His father had been discussing how the vicar may have been summoned to another village to perform burial rites just the other week, and so may still be making that slow journey back.

It is a risk, stealing away and going towards the village, with the chance that the first stable you approached, Johnny would appear. But, it was one that you would have to take. It would be too noticeable if you were to take one of the horses at the Keep’s stable, and you didn’t know how long the journey home would take on foot.

You tidy the bed, as if smoothing away any evidence that you had ever been there in the first place. You half-expect someone to catch you in the corridor, stop you and ask where you’re going. The few maids that pass you may give you a second glance but they keep quiet, scurrying like mice to wherever they need to go.

You exit out into the foreground, feel the sun beat down on your face, familiar, like an old friend. Long days out in the field, tilling until blisters form on your palms. Your skin itches with the sudden craving for it, and you set out, nose like a bloodhound. You don’t belong here, trapped in a room with Johnny and soft dresses. You need dirt under your hands, you didn’t realise until it was taken from you.

You cross the open ground of the Keep, people milling around as they go about their day. You reach the stone entrance, hesitate for half a moment before stepping from gravel into grass. Muscles tense as you wait for something to happen, for someone to stop you. The cacophony of noise behind you doesn’t suddenly stop, no one seems to take much notice.

You take another step then another, wanting to run, to get as much distance between you and the Keep as possible. You know you shouldn’t, though. You’re still in view of the Keep, and you don’t know if anyone is watching you too closely, but if they are, that may send them chasing after you. Better to walk, worst case you can always say that you were looking for Johnny, lovesick in the preparation of your nuptials, barely able to stand a morning away from him.

You imagine that Johnny will move on swiftly. Maybe rage when he first finds you gone, if you were trying to flatter yourself. However, another maiden would be in distress, and Johnny would swoop in and the story would repeat itself. You had half a mind to ask if you were the first woman that Johnny had brought home in such a manner, but had decided to leave it be. If you weren’t, you were likely to be replaced soon in any case.

It feels good to stretch your legs, stretching out your back as you go. You reckon that Ian will have something to say about your newfound laziness, a harsh wake-up required to get back to the realities of farm living.

You try to keep your mind occupied, but you drift back to thoughts of Johnny. You can vividly feel the press of his nose into your temple. His hands on your skin, rough and skirting, always shifting against you, as if trying to touch all of you at once. The dark hair across his chest, the thick press of muscle against his skin. You imagine another woman in his room, letting him kiss her the same way that he had with you. There is a bitter taste in the back of your throat but you ignore it. Only you can taste it after all.

Within the hour you have crossed the open grounds and are on the cusp of the village. It had been bustling when you had originally passed through, crowds of people at the market, selling and buying from stalls. Now, everything is still, a gust of wind blowing between cottages and whistling in a way that has the hair on the back of your neck rising.

The warmth of the sun seems trapped on the rooftops, unable to reach you on the ground. You hesitate, grass under your feet turning to dirt that has been packed in after being walked over so many times. There could be another village that you could visit, that you could beg a horse from, or even just directions and walk. But, you barely know the area, and another village could be a day away, and you could be heading in the completely wrong direction.

You shuffle, uncertain, and turn to look back at Dundardy Keep. Easily a mile away now, but you imagine that you can see the shadows of people in all of the windows. Watching you, keeping an eye in Johnny’s absence. You think you can see a figure, near the entrance of the Keep, and you wonder if you are being followed after all.

There’s nothing to be done for it. You step into the village, and make your way forward.

The loose fabric on a stall shifts against the wooden plank of its counter, wriggling like a hand in your direction. You stand in what seems to be the centre of the village, a loose circle, surrounded with abandoned stalls and a few cottages before they span down different paths into more homes.

You can hear the faintest sound, a murmur in one of the cottages. The lively scene that had welcomed Johnny is long gone, everyone gone into hiding. Nothing had been said about the village last night. Just that the local vicar may be in another village. Contrasted with the liveliness of the Keep, you think that you may have stepped onto another country, one with an absence of residents.

You head down one of the paths, a few minutes later, emerging onto the other side of the village. There is a stable here, with a few horses, and the sight of them nosing at some hay, as normal as can be, fills you with a sense of relief. Here is reality, as welcome as a bowl of warm soup.

You stretch your hand to one of the mares, and she lets you pet down her nose, nickering at you softly. You worry your lip looking over your shoulder. The village is in hiding, no one is around to help you out. If you cannot get directions, at least it would be less exhausting to be heading in the wrong direction if you found this out on the saddle.

It feels wrong to steal, especially in the shadow of a Laird. Your own village were tenants, but Ian had always dealt with the rent, always spoken with the men who were sent out to collect. This close by to the Keep, you imagine the crime is tenfold, and the punishment even steeper.

You feel owed this, though. Dragged out here by Johnny, you feel that you deserve to help yourself out. Besides, once you were back in your home, you could return, ride one of your own horses and guide this one home. Johnny would likely be back in the Keep in that distant future, another bride on his arm. Hopefully, this one would be a bit more excited by the prospect.

You unclip the latch of the stable door, the horses huffing as you step inside. There are saddles hitched to the back wooden wall and you consider taking one as well before you deny yourself. It is one thing to steal a horse (borrow, you remind yourself), but it is another to just help yourself while you’re at it.

You do take some reins. You had ridden bareback on a horse before, but you hadn’t without reins, and you didn’t want to find out just now if you had the gift for it. You come back over to the mare who butts her head into your chest, affectionate in a way that has you giggling before you hush yourself.

You secure the reins in place before you toss them over the length of her neck, about to turn to guide her out of the stall when you feel the heat of a body behind you.

“Helping yourself out, eh?” A voice hisses, then there are hands on your upper arms, digging into the flesh. You don’t recognise it, and that makes your blood cool before it heats again, hot panic that almost spooks the horses when the man drags you out and you kick out, frightened.

You are tossed into the ground, a familiar experience that has you gasping. If the voice wasn’t Scottish, you might think that the last few days hadn’t happened and you were back on your farm.

You attempt to scramble backwards but the man is too quick. You are grabbed by your hair and dragged upwards. The man starts walking and you have no choice but to keep your pace with him, a hand on his wrist that is in your hair, as if to lessen the pain stinging your scalp. He’s muttering to himself, calling you a dirty thief, how you will seek penance. With the vicar seemingly gone, you wonder what that penance will look like.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, and regret it when he yanks on your hair to shut you up.

“Shut yer thievin’ mouth,” the man hisses at you. He’s much older than you, balding and worn looking. You think of those Englishmen who had treated you like a plaything. Only that third man had looked at you with true hate, the way that this man does. It cows you, forces you to lower your eye as best as you can.

You are brought back through those empty paths that you had walked down, and brought to the chapel near the side of town, where your captor kicks the door in and throws you inside before slamming the doors shut again. It’s quiet here, here is where the sunlight had been trapped, filtering in through the weak windows and caught in the pews.

You rub at your scalp, gingerly, and get yourself up, looking up the aisle to look at the pulpit at the end. This is likely where the Sunday sermon is read.

Ian was always more religious than you were. He always recited his sermons before bed, whereas you had only ever believed in God when you thought He may smite you.

You sit on the pew next to you and look over that confessional booth. Johnny may be a sinner, but he clearly believed if the reason he hadn’t fully taken your innocence was any type of evidence. You wonder if he had ever been in that confessional booth. Wonder if there was enough time in the world for him to confess his wrong doing to you. Or maybe it was all overshadowed by his saviourism.

You are bought with Englishmen blood. You worry your hands in your lap, wringing your fingers together. Wonder if Johnny will be back in time to watch his father’s people take your hand for thieving.

The doors swing open again after a few minutes, and you expect to see the man who brought you here, and he is at the front. He also seems to have brought the entire village with him, streams of unfamiliar faces all peering through the doorway to glare at you.

Half-hysterical, you wonder if they really are going to take your hand after all.

An hour later, they still have not taken your hand, but you wonder if they may do even worse than that. This is no longer a chapel, no longer a church. This is a courtroom, an impromptu hanging of the witch. You had thought that your crime was attempting to steal a horse, but instead it was disrupting their peace. One of the village’s sons had died, and everyone had been in mourning, waiting for the vicar to come back to read the burial rites again, just as he was doing for another village.

You don’t dare say a word, let them discuss your crime amongst themselves. You don’t even know how the boy had died, if it had been an accident, or an illness. You know that you have done wrong in attempting to take on their horses, even as justified as you had felt at the time. Out of some kind of penance, you decide to let them do as they wish, and then hopefully you can continue your plan of escape. Ian will welcome you back, one-handed or not.

The weeping mother casts a hateful look at you, as if you had been the reason her son had died in the first place. You squirm beneath her gaze, hot shame curdling in your stomach like an old friend. You had been brought to the front of the congregation, stood in front of the pulpit. A sad mimic of a Sunday sermon, in which you are preached to instead.

It’s a mob, even as they play sensible. Listing your crimes, but you hear the creep of mania in everyone’s mutterings. A child is dead, and no one is to blame. These people want someone to rip apart, and you have given them half a reason. You can hear them starting to talk themselves into a hanging, perhaps even throwing you down the local river.

“There’s nothing to be done for thieves,” the man who caught you demands, addressing the room. “Take a hand, and they’ll steal with the other!” He throws his arms out in gesture to you, damning you.

There’s a murmur of agreement, every casting you a distrustful look as if you could be stealing again as they speak. You try to stand as meekly as you can, but it seems to make things worse, if possible.

Everyone is speaking over each other, demanding justice, but you don’t think they even know for what. The doors open but barely anyone notices, and in walks Mrs Duncan’s nephew. He takes in the sight of the crowd and catches sight of you. You wonder if maybe he will speak in your defence, if he’ll tell anyone that Johnny will be expecting you back in his room in the keep, and if you aren’t there, but rather dangling from a rope, then he may be more than a little upset.

He says nothing, but gives you a long look before he stays in the doorway, foot holding it open. Shoulder against the frame as he watches the room. No one gives him a second glance, too caught up in their own rabble.

You stand there, and let them yell at each other, deciding your fate. Only stirring when you are grabbed again, and spun around. You are facing the pulpit the wrong way now, back to the crowd. You only have a moment to wonder what it is that they are planning to do, before your hands are braced on the box, and someone must rear their hand back and the strike of a whip slices down your back.

Even through the wool covering and the fabric of your dress and shift, it is a sharp sting that slices into your skin. You shriek, try to dart away, or turn around, but there are hands on your wrists, holding you to the stand and the whip cracks against your back again.

You feel each leather tongue of it lick its sting on your back, quickly following with an agony that settles into the muscle and has you arching as if to get away from it. You think about the man in your village, how his back had been carved into, flesh ripped open as they did this on his bare back. You cannot even imagine, even as a lesser version happens to you. An extra step of pain, like a new colour that hasn’t been invented yet.

You can hear them chanting for someone to rip open the back of your dress, they want to see the whip slice down into the bone. They want blood, want it to cleanse you. The heat of a body at your side, fingers digging into the back of your dress as if to make this reality. The rip of fabric, the cheer of the crowd as the untouched skin of your back is exposed, ready for the kill.

Everything is stopped with a bellow at the door. You know it’s Johnny, and relief sags in your knees before a different type of fear takes its place. “What the fuck is goin’ on here?” Johnny shouts, and he must be shoving people out of the way if the scuffle you hear is any indication.

The hands on your wrists are gone. You turn around to catch sight of Johnny, cracking his fist across the face of the man with the whip. The two men who had been holding you in place seem to be trying to get past as they see what their future has in store. You see them back away, stumbling into a pew and freezing as they watch Johnny rear his hand back again.

You blink tears out of your eyes and watch as most of the village floods out of the chapel, some staying and watching in horror. Johnny has the man who whipped you flat on his back, Johnny’s fist crushing into the delicate skin of his face over and over again, until there is nothing recognizable about him.

The sound of sobbing jolts you back to yourself, as you realise it is not your own. “Johnny - Johnny stop it!” You shout, falling forward and catching Johnny’s hand as he rears back to swing again. He shakes you off, forcing you back and into a pew which shrieks as it scrapes against stone. That sound seems to shake Johnny somewhat out of it, and he puffs, trying to catch his breath.

“Get him out of here,” he growls, forcing himself up and leaving the man on the ground. The man gurgles a little from what may be his mouth, blood frothing a little. You can’t look away from it, horrified. The justice for those Englishmen had been death and there had been something kind in that. This man doesn’t seem able to breathe, his nose crushed and flattened.

A couple of villagers scoop him up and cart him out, scuffling as they try to move as quickly as they can. The chapel is quiet besides the sound of breathing when the door finally swings shut at last.

Johnny stares at you, face still. You expect him to start on you next, maybe grab you and shake you around some. It’s frightening, how he just watches you, a faint twitch in his eye. The terrible urge to apologise sits in your throat but you swallow it down. You feel like you have been caught doing something wrong, even though you were just trying to get home.

“Vicar Jamie,” Johnny finally says, voice raw. His white shirt is stained in blood again, shifting down his chest and exposing the hair that grows there. You remember the bath from yesterday and flush, turning your head to who he is speaking to in order to distract your mind. A small, stout man, very haggard looking but dressed in Catholic finery stands near the doorway.

“Johnny, my boy, let us reconvene on this tomorrow, perhaps, give us some time to clean ourselves up,” the vicar tries to interject, but Johnny turns on him with such a veracity that has him shrinking.

“Now,” is all Johnny snaps out, mouth pulled back in a snarl that shows all of his teeth. His right hand drips red, a warning in itself.

The vicar nods, fumbles with his hands for a moment before he makes his way to the front of the chapel, neatly arcing around the smear of blood next to Johnny’s feet.

Johnny’s gaze returns to you, hot on your face. You hold your dress up on your chest, feel the cold air hit your back that has you shivering. His gaze holds no pity for you, and after a moment you glare right back at him.

The vicar shifts the stand that you had been shackled to, to the side and takes its place, avoiding your eye. Mrs Duncan’s nephew, who had stood at the door, takes a seat in the askew pew, face still as he watches you. A witness you realise, and a kick like a startled hare almost sends you tearing down the aisle.

Johnny’s hand on your upper arm catches you before you can seriously begin to run, yanks you into place.

A moment taken out of a play. You and Johnny, side by side. Your back exposed out of your ripped dress, a scared vicar who won’t look you in the face and a witness to your humiliation. Blood, cooling on the stone a step behind you, coating Johnny’s hands and his clothes.

You lean too far out of Johnny’s hold and you feel the tightening of his fist and you return to your place.

It's a sad affair, the vicar stumbling over his words as he binds the two of you together. Johnny is a barely controlled rage next to you, you can feel the shake of his fingers on your arm, squeezing and letting go, over and over. You don’t even have the official binding ceremony, the fabric that should tie your wrists together, the prick of blood. The vicar pauses as if to consider this, but quickly skirts past this as well. Likely, too much blood for a wedding ceremony already.

The vicar has barely finished before Johnny is snapping at him to get out. It’s a quick escape, a puff of air in your ear as he darts past you, Mrs Duncan’s nephew following shortly behind. The door snaps shut, fate sealed.

“What are you doing here?” Johnny asks, hot air huffing out of his mouth into your face.

You keep quiet, silenced in the face of his true anger. Before you had argued, snapped at Johnny, here is the first instance of genuine fear you have felt because of him. The anger he has that led to the murder of men who had hurt you, perhaps pointed at yourself for the first time. You wonder if he’s going to wrap his hands around your throat, squeeze like he seems to want to. There is a strange sensation of vulnerability, knowing your back is exposed even though it is hidden from Johnny’s view.

His hands come up and you flinch, missing the growl of frustration that comes out of him as they settle on your shoulders and wrestle you forward into your chest. “Why did they do this to you?” he asks, palms against your collarbone. The wrest of control, firmly in his hands.

You can’t look him in the eye, settle your eye-line on his clavicle again. The smooth skin, hidden in the dip of his throat. The itch from that horse ride - a lifetime ago - reawakens and you lift your hand, curl your finger in there. Feel the vibration as he grunts, feel the dip of his harsh swallow. Your name calls your attention. You look up, his eyes are dark, mad, even. You give into his tyranny. “I was trying to take a horse,” you admit. His nostrils flare, anger cracking across his face and you just barely stop yourself from flinching back from it. “I’m sorry,” you add, pathetic. Escape plan ruined before it even really started, you have nothing left to be prideful about.

He shudders, lowering his head to yours, the gulf of space now swallowed up with his proximity. You let out a meek sound when his forehead hits against yours, like he wants the bone to touch. “An’ Ah was out, findin’ us a priest to marry us, and you were tryin’ tae sneak out while m’back was turned,” he hisses out, hands clenching on your collarbone again, muscle and bone grinding against each other. You blink up at him, resigned to your fate. You felt the bite of teeth days ago, and had spent all of this time trying to hide from it. But, the stench of blood sticks and you must now reckon with it.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. Feel all of it, the drag of emotions as they sweep through. The mare out in the stables had been a lifeline and when you were dragged away, you felt it like the loss of Ian all over again. Leaving him behind had been one thing, but every attempt to get back has been a lesson in humility since.

You are a human, in the wraps of terror left by a god. Swallowing a cry that lingers in the back of your throat like a sickness, you hesitantly tilt your head back and nudge your nose against Johnny’s. He freezes, hands going still. A breath, shared between the two of you. Here is that smack of flesh after the fall, a day late, but now it registers. It was likely even before he woke you up with his mouth on the back of your neck. A lion lying with its mouth open, you were halfway down his gullet before you even noticed where you were.

Your husband now, you think, half-crazed, before you inhale his breath and press your mouth hesitantly to his. It’s clumsy, you only half know what you’re doing but he presses forward with a hunger that almost has you reeling back again. Johnny is a man to be offered an inch and takes a mile, his hands on the back of your head, pressing you closer to him even as he leans in.

You only half know how to kiss him, but you barely get a chance to learn before he is pressing your mouth open with his. Barely a moment to gasp in a breath before his tongue is against yours, slick and invasive.

You stumble back, still holding your dress up with your hands before you stumble into a pew. He pulls back for a moment and you barely manage his name before he’s picking you up and thudding down to his knees, dragging you down with him.

The cold stone sends a wave of cold through you that has you keening away from it and into the warmth of Johnny’s chest. He lets go of your head and it thuds against the ground, his arms worming around your back, skating past the ripped open seams of your dress and onto the bare skin of your back. He moans, deep and wanton into the curve of your chin, gives you a quick nip there before he drops his head into the crook of your neck.

“I’ve been so patient, wanted it tae be right between us, angel, didnae want to ruin us,” he groans, hands greedy on the bare skin of your back. “But, it’s alright now, I’ve done it right, jus’ let me -”

He barely seems able to finish a thought, tugging your dress down, dragging your torn slip and underskirts with it. He barely manages, as unwilling as he is to get off of you as he does it, so they end up pooled around your waist, nipples pebbling in the cold. He coos down at your chest, pinching one of your nipples meanly until you hiccup.

“Johnny, can’t we go back to the Keep, I won’t run again, I swear,” you start, feeling overwhelmed tears start to prick in your eyes. You don’t want it to be like this, on the cold floor of an unfamiliar parish. You aren’t sure of the technicalities of what comes next, your father hadn’t been forthcoming when he was alive, and your brother refused to say, always deeming it unladylike to ask. You knew it was something frightening, and heard some of the women describe their husbands as beasts during the act. You know how the animals look as they do it, saw the rutting of a stallion in a mare once, how she had shrieked as she was mounted.

“You were the one tae drag yerself out here,” Johnny points out, half-muttering to himself. He gnaws on your collarbone before he gives you a sucking kiss there. “Ye’ve made yer bed, sweetheart.”

He shifts himself up onto his knees and lifts your ankles up, yanks your skirts and dress down, tossing them over his shoulder with barely a glance. You’ve been bare in front of him before, not even a day ago, but this feels different. He looms over you, eyes dark as they seem to take in every inch of you. The stone beneath your back is cold, leaving gooseflesh all over you as it steals your heat.

He splits your legs across his lap and you jump, hand trying to reach down to cover the apex of your thighs but he catches your wrists in one of his hands, transfixed with his gaze between your legs. “There she is, oh angel, she’s so beautiful,” he murmurs, a thumb reaching down to pull the seam of you further apart, something that has you squirming in shame. “Knew ye would have such a sweet cunt, so pretty.”

“Don’t look down there, it’s unseemly,” you protest, voice weak. Your thighs clench with the need to close but you only end up squeezing your knees on his waist.

“All mine,” he continues to mutter, thumb coming up to round over the top of your sex, a feeling like a curling heat in your stomach starting up. It has you jumping, hare kicking out its legs before a hand soothes over its ears, pins them down. Your reaction seems to gratify him, has him rubbing his thumb until it’s almost mean, eyes hot on you for even the smallest reaction. You start to whine, deep in your chest, the feeling just on this side of just too much.

“Johnny, Johnny, please,” you sob, barely understanding what it is that you are pleading for.

He lets up, petting down to your entrance which you can feel flutter at the press of his fingers. He pushes and you feel his finger push into you, a whine coming out of you like a wounded animal. He pants, not even blinking as he watches it, barely pausing before he’s pushing in a second finger, which almost has you bucking him off. He shushes you, half distracted by the sight of your cunt swallowing his fingers and leaving them shining. “So good, angel, so good,” he mutters. You hate that the praise has you trying to swallow down any of your complaints.

He lets go of your wrists and they lie, useless across your belly. Still watching his fingers move in you, his other hand tugs over the sash his kilt has made over his chest, yanking on it until it unravels and it is also tossed to the side. Lifting your knee to press a clumsy kiss to the side of it, he lets it drop again and pulls his hand away from your sex with a mournful noise and pulls off his white shirt.

Now that both of you are naked, Johnny seems to get quicker, breath coming fast. He quickly hitches your legs further up his waist and drags you closer to him. Stone scrapes at your back and you hiss, which he barely acknowledges with a quick kiss to the underside of your breast.

He drags his hand up your slit and gathers the slick that has gathered there, and slides that over his cock, moaning with his mouth hanging open as he looks at you beneath him. “Been dreaming o’ this, bonnie. Knew it was you, was always you,” he murmurs, smoothing his other hand over the curve of your hip, as if memorising the shape of you by hand. “Nothing wrong wae it now, jus’ the two o’ us, always, always.”

He braces one of his hands just over your shoulder, the other to guide his cock to your sex and notches it against your hole. It looks monstrous, now that you can bring yourself to properly look at it. Nothing like the faint sight of it you had seen in the Bible once, the mushroom head is red as Johnny pulls back skin to expose it. He intends to push it inside you, just as he did his fingers, but the head of it looks to thick to manage it.

“Johnny, it’s not going to fit,” you start to say, but that just makes Johnny groan and shush you, giving you a squeeze on the hip.

“Of course it will, angel, ye were made fer me,” he tells you, and you can see the pull of muscle in his bicep as he starts to push.

For a moment, you think that you’re right, it’s not going to. But, then, you can see the give of muscle, the parting of flesh and see yourself swallow the head as a tremor runs through you. A strange, foreign feeling. It feels half-invasive, as he pushes into you, the rest of you transfixed by the furrow of his brow as he watches the parting of your flesh around him.

“Oh, oh fuck, angel, oh shit,” he curses, continuing the slow guide into you until you feel it stop, as if you cannot take anymore.

“Johnny,” you sob, looking back down to see only half of him is inside of you. “Johnny, take it out, I can’t -”

“The best cunt ever, the prettiest girl, fer me, all fer me, oh angel,” he rambles, eyes rolling back into his head as he shifts his hips. Pulls out of you just enough to push back in. You whimper with it, as he tries to grind even more of himself into you.

It's not working, leaving you sniffling beneath him until he grunts in frustration and brings his thumb to your clit and starts to work you in little circles.

His other hand hoists your thigh further up his waist, and he catches sight of your teary expression. Forces what must be an attempt at a soothing smile but all you can see is the clench of his jaw, the sharp edge of his teeth. You wonder if he likes the look of the pinch of your brow, the part of your mouth as you start to loosen up just a little. Even the few tears that drip down your temples. His hand on your hip smears blood into your skin, but you barely notice, trying to catch your breath.

“There we go, c’mon jus’ relax, honey, make it good, there we are,” he coaxes you, a tendon throbbing in his throat. His thumb on your sex makes everything a little slicker and more of him disappears into you, until he finally bottoms out, his thighs pressed flush against the back of yours.

A whine escapes you, painful and high and you cling to Johnny’s chest, coarse hair scratching at your palms. “Johnny,” you start again, unable to look down at yourself again, see the ugly stretch of yourself around Johnny. Everything throbs, you can feel him in your lungs, buried deep and irrevocable now.

Johnny is out of it, both his hands brace over your shoulders now, a tremble in his broad shoulders. You can see the white of his eyes, unreachable, as he groans long and drawn out. “The tightest cunt, knew ye would be so sweet fer me, dreamt of this, of you,” he rambles, pulling his hips back just enough to snap them back into you.

“I can't,” you stammer, but he just shakes his head roughly at you, beyond words. Braces himself on his knees and starts to grind against you. Pulls himself out and then pushes back in. It's a strange sort of pleasure. The stretch of flesh smarting a little before the clumsy rhythm starts to warm you up. Sweat slicks your back until the stone beneath you is warm with the fever spreading through you.

Johnny seems to come back to himself for a moment, thumb dropping back down to the peak of your sex, roughly rubbing circles in time with his thrusts. The pinnacle of the male body, all dark hair and rippling muscles, all bearing down on you. You can see the tense of muscle triangulating at his abdomen, flexing with each thrust into you.

He quickly seems to forget about you, hand dropping away in favour of sliding around to the small of your back and hitching you up. Your hands scramble for purchase, clinging to his forearms as both his hands keep only your shoulders against the ground.

“Johnny, no, don’t,” you protest, mouth opening on a shaky breath out as his thrust into you feels dirtier like this. You catch sight of the altar, the smooth wood built by holy men at their parish. Blasphemous, to consummate like this in here, Johnny makes it filthy, something that you imagine must be wrong even as you start to twitch your hips towards his thrusts, wanting it.

Your protests just make Johnny groan, your hips still propped up on his thighs, but he bends his torso down to press against yours. His head against your clavicle, you can feel the sweat building on his forehead smear against your skin. “Yeah, Ah’m a dirty man, aren’t I, sweetheart?” he asks you, biting at the side of your breast before broadly licking at your nipple, both of you whining together when that makes you clench around him.

Everything is slick, you can hear a wet sound as he works between your thighs and you want to cringe, ashamed even as you barely understand. You can hardly think, a fever in you that is spreading, but Johnny is burning even hotter. You slide your hands up to his biceps and cling to the hard muscle there as he thrusts into you.

Breathy sounds are punched out of you, punctuated with each collision of Johnny forcing himself deeper into you. It's lewd, the smack of flesh, but you feel hazy, dreamlike. Johnny continues rambling above you, his mouth working, the scratch of his beard across the soft skin between your breasts, but you can barely hear him.

There is a rising heat within you, and it spreads like disease through you, muddying your thoughts until you tilt your head back. Dig your temple into stone as if to try and grind your mind back into your body.

You’re wrestled back into yourself, Johnny refusing to let you look anywhere else. You understand why those women described their husbands as animals. Johnny is a huffing beast above you, slavering over you he gives and takes, over and over until you are senseless.

He stills, groans deep in his chest, his forehead resting on your chest, and you feel the twitch and sudden heat of him spending himself inside of you. The fever stills and festers in you, leaving you feeling itchy. Johnny snaps his hips a few more times, then drags it out, lazy as his mouth drools into your skin. Stills inside you, but you feel high-strung, still too tense.

Your hands twitch, fingernails catching against taut skin. Johnny huffs, amused but breathless. “I’ve got you, m’girl, so greedy, eh?”

You have half a mind to protest, he's the one who’s swallowed you whole, not the other way around. But your mouth opens and nothing but a choked whine spills out when his hand drops down to your sex again and works you over.

Still buried so deep, every flex is different like this, Johnny groaning his agreement into your sweaty skin. “Johnny, Johnny, please - !” You beg, legs kicking out as your vision gets blurry, and suddenly your back bows, a sob bursting out. A fresh slick of liquid around Johnny, and he thrusts lightly, half-soft now, whining at the overstimulation of it.

He keeps going until you start to squirm too much, almost launching yourself across the floor and he stops, laughing into the curve of your breast, still half whining to himself. He smooths his hand up your thigh and to the curve of your backside. You can feel the wetness of his fingers, but you feel too dazed to be too embarrassed of it.

“Knew ye’d be so good,” Johnny murmurs, squeezing at your backside. You hum, bone deep exhaustion dragging you down. You lift a hand up and drag it into his hair. He melts, his weight digging you further into the floor.

You become aware of the sopping wet beneath your thighs, wincing as you shift your hips and feel wetness slide down and join the sweat that you have left on the stone. Sweat cools in the divot of your throat, the small of your back, sticking between you and Johnny. The length of his body pressed against you, hard muscle against the soft give of your skin. He seems to like it, a hand squeezing at the give of your arse, the other smoothing over whatever flesh you have left to give him.

“We should get up,” you murmur, your chin on the crown of his head. He huffs like a lazy dog, but after a moment where you think he isn’t going to get up at all, he finally starts to shift with a sigh.

Johnny reaches between your thighs and pulls himself out of you, you wince at the stretch, watch with morbid interest at the white shine left behind, caught in the hair that covers the base of his cock. Johnny is equally as enthralled with what he’s made of your cunt and it’s only when your thighs squeeze shut that he shakes his head and stands. He gives you a firm pat on the backside before he hoists you up, a mean laugh at your squeak. “C’mon, up we go, lassie,” he says, teasing and light. He seems fond now, still a little more harsh than you want him to be, but he nudges his head against yours again, a mimic of how you were as you were joined. “Nothin’ between us, now, ehh?” he adds, blue eyes digging into yours.

His nose nudges against yours, your skin buzzes with the remnants of his touch. There is no stone left unturned, everything split apart under Johnny’s hands. Ripe fruit, ripped open and left to rot.

“Nothing,” you echo, and he smiles like the sun. There is man’s blood on his right hand and you can smell the metal of it when he cups your face and brings his mouth back to yours. A clash of teeth as you bite back even as you are swallowed up.

“Let’s go home,” Johnny murmurs, pulling back with a slick noise as your lips separate. You don’t think you know where that is, but you let him gather your skirts back up to half cover you before he gives you his kilt and fastens it around you. Damning, to wear the red of the Mactavish clan. The final nail in this coffin, solidifying who you are now.

Cerberus is outside, pawing at the ground and snapping his teeth at any of the villagers who get too close. Before you are ushered onto the saddle and away, you catch sight of the mare you had been about to escape on. Your bag of your belongings from home sits abandoned in a heap next to the stable. Your spare cloak, your spare shift. The last remnants of home.

It is all swallowed up as Johnny stands in front of you. You let him hoist you up and you curl into him as he slots into place behind you. The world is caught around the edge of Johnny’s shoulder, filtered through into your vision.

Cerberus starts a slow canter back to the Keep, and you dig your forehead into Johnny’s collarbone. Every step takes you further from your land. Johnny’s hand on the curve of your tummy, his chin on the crown of your head. There is a bottomless feeling in your stomach, but Johnny smooths his hand over your belly and catches it in the palm of his hand.

#johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #cod x reader #cod fics #nic writes #highlander au #green cliffs #started this fic doing 3K chapters. this is 8K. head in my hands.gif #spent a long time wrestling with this one but the wedding was always gonna be rough #quick tho #respect you johnny soap i stand on business mactavish he gets stuff done !!#cw dubcon

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xoxorealitygalore · 3 months ago

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Twin Baby Surprise

Jey Uso x Black OC

Summary: Jasmine experiences severe abdominal cramps and is forced to call for an ambulance. While waiting for help, she lies down in bed, only to be shocked when she discovers a baby crowning between her legs. With no time to spare, her boyfriend’s son must step in to deliver the baby, which turns out to be twins.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the living room. Jasmine sat on the couch, attempting to relax after a long week of work. She’d planned to spend the afternoon quietly, maybe catching up on a few shows or reading, but her body had other plans.

The first sign of discomfort came as a dull ache in her lower abdomen. At first, she thought it was just indigestion or perhaps a sign that her period was approaching, but the pain grew steadily worse, sharper and insistent.

Jasmine pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to breathe through the cramps. They felt familiar, like menstrual cramps, but more intense. She shifted uncomfortably, hoping the sensation would pass, but instead, it only deepened, tightening around her like a vise.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearing 4 PM. Joshua had gone out with his twin brother, Jonathan, for a haircut, leaving Jasmine alone at the house with his 12-year-old son, Jeyce. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out what was happening. The cramps didn’t feel like anything she had experienced before. Her hands trembled as she reached for her phone, attempting to call Joshua, but the pain was so overwhelming she could barely focus.

Suddenly, the cramps intensified, bringing with them a wave of nausea. Jasmine staggered to her feet, clutching the couch for support. Something wasn’t right. She needed help.

“Jeyce!” she called out weakly, her voice shaky. She moved toward the hallway, but her legs felt like jelly beneath her. She stumbled, falling back onto the couch, gasping for breath as another wave of pain struck.

Jeyce appeared in the doorway, his phone pressed to his ear. He looked concerned, his brow furrowed as he glanced at her. “What’s wrong, Jasmine? You don’t look good.”

Jasmine tried to speak, but the words got stuck in her throat as a fresh contraction hit. Jeyce quickly called 911. Jasmine winced, clutching her stomach and letting out a soft moan. Jeyce, realizing something was seriously wrong, quickly pulled the phone away from his ear.

“Operator, I need an ambulance,” he said, his voice calm despite the rising panic in his eyes. “My dad’s girlfriend is in pain. She looks really sick.”

He listened to the operator’s instructions, nodding as he repeated the details of their location. Jasmine’s breath came in shallow gasps, and she struggled to sit up. “I… I don’t think I can wait,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Jeyce’s eyes darted between her and the phone. He could hear the calm instructions from the operator, but he couldn’t focus on them. Something felt wrong—this wasn’t just a stomachache. The pain seemed to build, like an unstoppable force pressing down on her. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening, but everything was happening too fast.

“Jasmine, do you want to lie down?” Jeyce asked gently, moving to her side. He was still holding the phone, but the urgency in her voice made him shift into action.

She nodded, her eyes wide with fear, and Jeyce helped her to her feet. With his support, she managed to make her way to the bedroom, where she collapsed onto the bed, her breath quickening with every passing second. The room felt too hot, the air thick with panic, but she couldn’t control the sensations racing through her body.

“Just breathe, Jasmine,” Jeyce said, his voice steady as he tried to offer comfort. He didn’t know what else to do but follow the operator’s directions to the best of his ability. The calm tone in the operator’s voice only seemed to heighten the sense of urgency within him.

But as Jeyce stood by her side, Jasmine’s gaze shifted downward. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized something was happening that she couldn’t explain. Between her legs, a dark shape was emerging, a faint pressure she hadn’t felt before. She froze, her breath catching in her throat as the realization slammed into her like a freight train.

“Oh my God…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What… what is happening to me?”

Her body responded on its own as if some primal instinct had taken over. The pressure between her legs grew, and she instinctively placed a hand there, feeling the unmistakable sensation of a baby crowning. Jasmine’s eyes widened in horror and disbelief.

No. This couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t pregnant. She wasn’t prepared for this.

“Jeyce,” she gasped, trying to form words as she reached out to him, her hand trembling. “There’s… a baby is coming.”

Jeyce’s face went pale as he looked down, his eyes locking onto the sight of the baby’s head emerging between her legs. His mind was racing. He had never seen anything like this. He didn’t know what to do. He was just a kid.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” he whispered to himself, his heart pounding in his chest.

Before he could process everything, Jasmine let out a pained cry as another contraction rippled through her. Jeyce’s instincts kicked in, and he immediately crouched down beside the bed, his hands trembling as he reached for the towels nearby. His gaze shifted between Jasmine’s face and the baby emerging from her body.

“Jasmine, just keep breathing,” he said, trying to steady his own breathing as he wiped his hands on the towel. “I’m going to help you. Just stay calm.”

Jasmine’s hands gripped the sheets, her knuckles white as the next contraction hit. With a deep, guttural push, the baby’s head fully emerged, followed by the shoulders, and then—finally—the tiny body slipped free, into Jeyce’s waiting hands. He gasped, staring at the small, fragile figure in his hands. The baby let out a soft cry, a sound that echoed through the room.

For a moment, Jeyce was paralyzed, unsure of what to do next. His heart was racing in his chest, but he knew he couldn’t waste any time. He gently wrapped the baby in the towels, trying to keep her warm and comfortable. As he looked down at the tiny, squirming baby girl in his arms, he felt a surge of responsibility he couldn’t explain.

“Jasmine, it’s okay,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You did it. The baby’s here.”

But Jasmine wasn’t done. Another contraction tore through her body, and she gasped, her face contorting with pain.

“There’s another one,” she whispered in disbelief. “There’s another baby…”

Jeyce’s eyes widened. Two babies. Twin babies. The reality of the situation began to settle in. He couldn’t just sit there and wait for someone else to come. He had to act. He had no choice.

“Just breathe, Jasmine,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice steady as he watched her push again. The second baby came quickly, sliding into his hands just as easily as the first. He quickly wrapped the second baby in a towel, glancing between the two tiny girls in his arms.

Jasmine collapsed back onto the bed, her body trembling with exhaustion, her chest heaving. The pain had subsided for now, but she was still in shock. Twin girls. Twins. How was this even possible?

The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance, and Jeyce’s breath caught in his throat. They were coming. Help was on the way. But for now, he was the one who had delivered them.

Minutes later, Joshua burst through the door, panic and confusion on his face. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on Jasmine, lying exhausted in bed with the two newborn babies in her arms. Jeyce stood beside the bed, his phone in hand, snapping pictures of the scene.

“What the hell?” Joshua whispered, his voice shaking as he approached the bed. He glanced between Jasmine and Jeyce, the overwhelming realization dawning on him.

“Dad, I… I delivered them,” Jeyce said, his voice soft but filled with pride. “I named them. Jamari and Jamya.”

Joshua’s heart swelled with emotion. “Jeyce…” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m so proud of you. Thank you for looking after Jasmine. And your baby sisters.”

Jonathan entered the room behind Joshua, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the two tiny girls in Jasmine’s arms. He stepped forward, his face filled with astonishment.

“Twin nieces?” Jonathan asked disbelief in his voice.

Jeyce nodded, his smile growing wider. “Yeah. Twin girls. Jamari and Jamya.”

Jonathan immediately pulled out his phone, eager to share the news. “Everyone needs to know. Our family is going to flip out when they hear this!”

As the family gathered around, Jasmine felt a warmth she hadn’t expected—a feeling of safety and love, even in the chaos. The twins were finally here, and despite the shock and the surprise, everything was going to be alright.

She smiled softly as she looked down at the two tiny faces in her arms. Jamari and Jamya—her daughters, their arrival was unexpected but now the greatest blessing of her life.

jasminetheannouncer and uceyjucey

Liked by jonathanfatu, romanreigns, trinity_fatu, and 998,201 others

jasminetheannouncer Unexpected blessings 💕 Two little miracles arrived today—Jamari & Jamya. Feeling overwhelmed with love and gratitude. 💖👶👶 #Twins #NewBeginnings #Miracles #Blessed

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Next: Twin Baby Surprise: The Interview

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justsomebatfamstuff · 1 year ago

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Prompt idea

What of instead ‘Depressed/Abused Tim with no inhibitor because of some drug and tries commit unlive, making Batfam realises they phucked up’ we got Tim who tried eating his phone or just doing every thought that just came to mind like,

“TIM! DON’T PLAY DARTS WITH THE NEEDLES!”

“GET FUCK OFF ME REPLACEMENT!”

“FATHER! DRAKE BIT ME!”

And like so on, and by the end Tim’s phone has been smashed into bits, half of the medbay was destroyed, and Tim had to be removed from a watchlist for sending out nuke warnings as a prank.

#bitch only sent the warnings to certain people #the location was smth like deez nuts #Alfred wrestling the phone out of Tim’s mouth #batfam #batfamily #tim drake #dick grayson #jayson todd #unhinged tim drake #damian wayne #based on how I would like to eat my phone #not to be taken seriously #I love all forms of Tim fanfics #fic prompt #dc prompt

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blindmagdalena · 1 year ago

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Guilty Pleasures ( chapter three )

18+ 7.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, assault (not perpetrated by HL), violence, smol murder, manipulation/gaslighting, hurt/comfort. nebulously takes place post s1. part 3/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander will do whatever it takes to convince you that he's the hero you need.

It’s shortly after one o’clock when Homelander knocks a whimsical melody against your office door, deciding he shouldn’t be precisely on time, lest he look as eager as he feels. He can already smell your perfume wafting through the doorway–the same scent he feverishly pumped his cock to the night before–as a teaser of what’s to come.

“Come in,” you call from the other side.

Homelander takes in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He screws his eyes shut, pinching his expression in a tight squeeze before he replaces it with a flashy grin, squaring away his anticipation in favor of his showman persona.

“Goooooood afternoon,” he drawls, strolling in with the same feigned level of confidence he’s entered every other moment of your life since stumbling across you, whether you knew it or not. He’s taken aback almost immediately, slowing in how he closes the door behind him.

You look nicer than usual. Your hair is styled with more conscious effort, and he’s been in show business long enough to recognize the makeup on your face. The shine of your blouse is a quality silk blend, and he can’t hear the scrape of cheap cotton underneath it anymore. No, you’re wearing something nice below, too. His lips slowly spread into a self-satisfied smile.

You dressed up for him.

Homelander takes the seat set across from you, sweeping his cape to the side with a flourish. He watches you tuck an empty container–your lunch, presumably–into a side drawer of your desk. His eyes closely track the way you lift your thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipe residue from it, sucking the mess from your digit. A distinct pang of arousal hits him just watching your cheeks hollow.

Imagine what she could do with that mouth.

“And good afternoon to you, Homelander,” you respond, straightening up in your seat. His gaze briefly dips to the swell of your breasts as you adjust yourself, casually dusting away any remnants of your lunch. Saliva gathers on his tongue at the instant memory of you scantily clad in your sleep wear, nothing but a thin sheet of worn fabric between you and his hunger. His eyes snap back up before you can take notice of how they wandered.

Lucky for him, you’re busy splaying out the folder he brought you the day before, scanning over the list of bullet points he’d slapped together for the sake of having enough talking points.

“I wanted to start with your concerns regarding the marketing for your upcoming miniseries,” you say, glancing up at him.

He clicks his tongue. “Wow, alright. Straight to business then,” he says, absently rolling his palms over the ends of the armrests on either side of him.

“I’m very bad at small talk,” you say. Probably to diffuse any notion that you were being rude on purpose.

“Ch’yeah, I’ll say,” he says, smiling thinly. “Lucky that you’re good at your job.”

“Shockingly, I was actually a personality hire. I don’t know what any of this means,” you say, matching his thinly veiled snark while gesturing to the spread of documents in front of you. He snorts softly. You have a knack for using that sharp wit to diffuse, but he doesn’t feel manipulated. You actually are funny. “I was hoping you’d explain your concerns.”

Smooth segue, he thinks, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. He’s worked enough interviews to know when he’s being led, but he takes the bait anyways, widening his smile.

“Sounds great.”

Homelander knows that you’re sharp, good at your job, but he needs to needle you into giving him what he wants. He wants to understand you, and the stack of his films he found hidden in your apartment. What he gets in the meantime is ample taste of your silver tongue, parrying his every jab with an equally sharp counter.

He can’t keep the smile from his face.

Gradually a level of familiarity slips into the air between you. He can see some of that tension in your shoulders easing. He’s steadily wearing down the walls you’ve managed to construct.

“I still think audiences will be confused,” he says, feigning a profound concern, stretching out the time of your little appointment.

“Well, audiences are a lot like celebrities,” you say, the hard candied shell of your professional exterior thinning with every back and forth, poised to crack at any second. “They’re smarter than we think they are.”

“Oohh, ouch,” he purrs. “Nice backhand you got there.”

A twitch at the corner of your mouth. He knows you’re fighting a smile of your own, and pride blooms warmly in his chest. He likes sparring with you, but he likes pleasing you even more.

“I disagree about market confusion. Your diehard audience will already be up to speed, your broader target audience will show up for anything with your face on it, and anyone more casual than that likely won’t have seen the miniseries anyways, so there’s nothing to confuse it with,” you say, scanning down through one of the pages of the document he gave you.

Perfect opening.

“And which audience is it you fall into, exactly?” He asks, cocking his head a degree. “I mean, given your position, I have to imagine you’ve seen my range of film and television.”

“I’ve done my due diligence,” you say vaguely. You’re good at answering without answering. Normally it would irritate him, but your forced aloofness combined with your closely guarded–and inexplicably secret–veneration of him makes it into tantalizing bait begging for the sharp sink of his teeth.

“So you’ve seen all my movies, then?” He extrapolates, setting a line of his own.

You chuckle, gaze flickering to him before back down to the pages. Too brief a glance to even come close to satisfying his hunger. “I didn’t say that.”

He scoffs lightly. “But you’re a fan of mine?”

“I definitely didn’t say that.” He can sense he’s hit a vein, and like any good predator would, he’s eager to bite into it.

“C’mon. Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he continues to prod, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

You inhale a breath that you barely prevent from sounding too obviously irritated. His grin remains untarnished by the scrutiny of your unwavering stare. There it is, that’s what he wants. The weight of your gaze upon him, evaluating, taking him in fully. He doesn’t care how he gets it, he just knows he wants it.

“You are shy,” he accuses, knowing you aren’t.

“I’m not shy, I’m a professional,” you say curtly, the scratch of your pen scathing while you write notations on the document.

Good, he thinks. More likely to slip up now.

“Jeeze,” he laughs. “You’re wound up tighter than my fictional manager in Darkest Day.”

“You didn’t have a manager in Darkest Day, that was Origins,” you correct. After a beat, your hand stills.

Homelander’s gaze slowly slides to meet yours. He watches your face fall and clicks his tongue. He positively relishes how your mask of indifference slips into subtle dismay at your misstep. Such a simple bit of trivia, and yet it spoke volumes.

Got’cha.

“You do watch my movies,” he said, tone dropping to a near whisper. He revels in the quiet way you groan, leaning back in your chair.

“Only the ones I was paid to,” you say, straightening up in your chair, but he can hear the defeat in your voice.

“Liar,” he says through his perpetual grin. “Don’t be embarrassed. How long have you been a fan?”

“Stop,” you say, burying your face in your hands. Oh, this is good. Was he your first crush? Your favorite hero? He must be still, judging by the flush of heat moving through you. All that pretense, all that haughty glowering, and beneath it all you’re a fan girl. He almost laughs at the thought of the face you’d make if he called you that.

“Which was your favorite?” He asks, burying the knife deeper, eager to cut through flesh and muscle and bone to get to the heart of truth beneath. “Bright World? Rise of a Hero? Justice Dawning?”

“I despise you,” you say melodramatically, digging your thumbs into your temples. “Also, Justice Dawning was cheesy, I’m offended you’d even offer it.” You try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that secret little smile sneaks onto your lips it brightens Homelander’s eyes, reflecting your amusement back to you. Not just that, but amplifying it.

“You’ll learn to love me,” he tells you with confidence. You drop your hands, looking at him with subtle surprise. He holds your gaze. The earnestness of his words seems to dispel your mortification and replaces it with something more difficult to define, but he likes the shine it brings to your eyes.

The taste of your defeat is sumptuous. He’d prefer licking it straight from your tongue, but he’ll settle for this for the time being. An easiness settles into the air between you, deeper even than before your hackles rose with the lurking reality of your hidden opinion of him. It’s like a bubble has popped, dissipating uncomfortable tension, replacing it with something warmer.

He has every intention of turning up the heat even further.

The meeting moves forward. You work your way through his folder, and during a natural lull in conversation, he finally broaches the topic that’s been plaguing him since he stepped into your office.

“So,” he begins, interlacing his gloved fingers in his lap. “Gonna tell me what you’re all dressed up for?” He asks, wearing the same smile and speaking in the same tone he had when he baited you into admitting your secret love affair with his cinema.

He wants to hear you say that it’s for him, but he’ll settle for a flustered deflection. They’re as good as the same.

“Oh,” you huff with an airy little laugh, the sound like silver bells chiming. “I have a date tonight.”

You say something else, but Homelander doesn’t hear it over the tidal-like rush in his ears. He watches your pretty lips form words that he can’t understand. Everything falls out of focus as he tightly reins in the white hot rush of furious jealousy that floods his gut and erupts up the back of his throat like bile. He swallows the burn of it, jaw tight, and manages a tense smile.

“Great,” he barks, not realizing–or perhaps not caring–that he interrupted you. “First date?”

“First date,” you confirm, your tone less conversational than it had been a beat ago. The walls are going back up, but he’s too fixated on what feels like a stabbing betrayal.

“Exciting,” he says, adjusting his tone and mannerisms until they once more resemble something genuine. Something civil, despite the hostility in his gut. “Someone you know? Going anywhere special?”

“No, and not really,” you say evasively. He loathes how withdrawn you’ve become. You should be pleased he’s put off. Gloating even. It’s proof he cares, isn’t it? “It was his suggestion.” His. The leather of Homelander’s glove creaks subtly in the fist he makes. “I forget the name of the place,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

His right cheek tics. Liar, liar, pants on fire. People always underestimate his ability to read them.

You’ll learn not to lie to him.

“But you have an out if you need it, don’t you? Someone to bail you out in case he turns out to be some kind of freak,” he says, huffing the word with a lick of venom. It takes significant effort to keep the disdain from his face to imagine you as you are now sitting across from some nobody schmuck, lit by candlelight and smiling sweetly for them instead of for him.

“I always do,” you say, smiling thinly. He curates his own tone often enough to hear it in yours, and it pierces his ears like a thistle. He taps his fingers on his thigh, scrounging for something, anything else to needle you for, but your responses don’t give him much to work with.

“Well. If you did need someone–”

“I’m a big girl,” you interrupt, surprising him. He’s rarely interrupted. “I can take care of myself.”

At that, a thought strikes him. The slack line of his lips curls into a thin smile, and his hands relax on the armrests of the chair.

“I’m sure you can.”

Shaking off the aftermath of your one-on-one with Homelander proves to be more difficult than you’d anticipated. You replay it nearly moment for moment in your mind while freshening up after work.

Homelander has an uncanny knack for moving through demeanors as though he’s trying hats, determining which one best suits the situation. One moment he’s a slick carnivore licking his chops in anticipation of his meal to come, and the next he’s every ounce the hero they market him as. He’d been relentlessly charming during the meeting, his charismatic smile becoming one you’d wanted to earn again and again.

Then came the news of your date, and all at once Homelander possessed the ominous calm of a sentient statue. The moment still sends an eerie chill down your spine, even in recollection. How radically his appearance can change with mood or thought alone. You’d hate to ever see him truly angry.

“Get a hold of yourself,” you say to the bathroom mirror. You have a date tonight, and the last thing you need is to bring this kind of nervous energy to it. Powers or not, the commonality of man is easy to rely on, and you’ve developed the tactical mindset of an aloof cat. Never beg for what can be given freely. Never give more than you get. Never settle. “Be the cat,” you tell yourself affirmatively.

A directive which, unfortunately, winds up being exceedingly easy to follow through the course of your date. James, bless his heart, struggles to wring more than the occasional piteous chuckle from you. Conversation with him is akin to drinking seltzer water–he is neither offensive nor particularly exciting, being only a step above plain water.

Perhaps James’ blandness isn’t entirely his own fault, but rather the basis of comparison he is subjected to. Throughout the night, you find yourself critical of the way he looks at you–or rather, the way he fails to look at you. Your thoughts keep drifting back to your meeting with Homelander and the way he looks at you. The intense ocean-blue caress of his eyes summons a blush to your cheeks even in hindsight.

He looks at you in a way that no one else does. It's as if he's trying to memorize the smallest details in your skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind your guarded gaze. He has a stare determined to lay you entirely bare to him.

James’ wine dulled ogling could hardly hold a candle to that. Looking into his eyes, you see only the planning for whatever dullard comment he was going to make next.

Still, it’s not until the end of your date–an exceptionally long two and a half hours thanks to a mishap with your order–that James displays a behavior unsavory enough to elicit a truly unpleasant feeling in you. He’s quite clingy after a few too many glasses of wine. He walks you out of the restaurant with an arm around your waist, and more than once you have to bat his hand away from the seam where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.

“You in the parking garage or the back lot?” He asks, smiling in a way he must mean to be salacious, eyes half-lidded like he’s lost control of them.

“The back lot.” Parking was a nightmare with how late you arrived after work. “Is that where you are?” You ask, hoping it isn’t.

“No, no, I actually took an Uber in,” he says, and you know immediately by the way he starts tapping your hip with his index finger why he chose to do that.

“Want me to wait for you here until your Uber arrives, then?” You ask, turning out of his grasp to stand face to face with him outside of the restaurant. It’s late enough now that the streets have calmed some, at least by New York’s standards.

James’ expression falters, but he tries for a recovery with a hopeful smile. “Well, you know, I was sort of hoping we might continue this elsewhere,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. Is he trying to look suave?

“Oh, no,” you say, putting forth your very best sympathetic head tilt, matched with a well placed brow furrow. “No thank you.”

This time his expression doesn’t recover. His hands lift from his pocket and he makes a helpless gesture with them, very nearly pleading. “Really? I thought we were having a nice time.”

“And I’m so glad for that,” you say, and even you can hear the corporate edge sliding into your tone, which doesn’t seem to soothe him any. “But it’s for the best that we part ways here, James. Thanks for your time.”

“But–” Your inarguable dismissal staggers him. He gropes for recourse. “I paid,” he blurts out, which proves to be his final mistake.

Your polite facade drops. “For what?“ His booze addled panic shifts into confusion. “F…For dinner, but I didn’t mean–”

“And that entitles you to fuck me?” No sense in mincing words now.

His expression morphs again, this time into mortification. “No! No, but–”

“You thought this would be a transaction? God, and here I was thinking your gravest flaw would be how mind-numbingly boring you are. But to be boring and stupid?” You scoff, waving a dismissive hand. “Goodnight, James,” you say, the kindest dismissal you can muster. You turn on your heel before he can sour the evening any further, and luckily for him, he doesn’t pursue you further.

Unbelievable. As if you hadn’t offered to split the check. As if he expected it to be a transaction that he cashed in your bed. As if the cost of dinner was worth anything more than a polite smile from you. As if.

New York doesn’t sleep, but it does grow very, very dark. You’re on a narrow street, not an alley exactly, but not a main road, either. Still riled up, you bring up the parking app on your phone as you walk, swiping through to get ready to pay for your crummy back lot space. A clatter brings your attention up, and that’s when you see them—two men. One wearing a black leather jacket, the other with a kerchief slung around his throat.

You stop walking, caught between turning around, which would mean putting your back to the men up ahead, or continuing forward, which would mean passing within arm’s reach. They haven’t noticed you yet, or at least they’re pretending not to, but now they look right at you and smile.

The men don’t look dangerous, not like they do in the movies, but you know that means nothing—plenty of the worst people in the world looked safe. Yet the longer you stay put, the more you sense the ill intent wafting off of them like cheap cologne. “Hey, baby,” says one of them, moving toward you. “You lost?”

“No,” you say curtly, taking a step back. “Not lost. Excuse me.”

“You sure? We’re real good with directions,” says the second man, leering. Your eyes snap between them, phone clutched tight in your hand. “Y’look like you could use some.”

“No,” you say again, louder. How loud would you need to be for anyone to hear you over the sounds of the streets? Panic swells in your throat.

You don’t know how they got so close so quickly, but as you turn to run, a hand catches your collar. The guy in the leather jacket wrenches you back against him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your phone clatters to the ground.

“Hey now, what’s the rush?” He asks, yanking you backwards. “Get off me,” you snarl, but he’s squeezing you tightly across the chest, making it hard to think, let alone breathe. You struggle until you feel something hard dig into your hip. A knife? No. You realize coldly that it’s a gun, the handle of it jutting out from his waistband and digging into you. In a desperate bid, you twist in his grip, trying to grab it.

“Careful,” says the other one, moving in front of you, closing in. “She’s got spirit.”

You kick out at the other guy but he jumps back, laughing at you. They’re both laughing, relishing in your fear. Your fingers skim the gun, but you can’t quite get it.

The first man’s breath is hot and sour on your cheek. “Come on, now, let’s have some fun.” You slam your head back into his nose—or try to, but you only manage to clip his chin. Still, you hit bone, hear the crack of a tooth, and just like that you’re free, stumbling to your hands and knees as the man reels. You hit the ground hard, the shock of landing lancing pain through your arms and legs. The gun tumbles from his waistband. Without thinking twice you lunge for it, fingers successfully closing around the grip right before one of the men grabs your ankle and pulls.

The street bites into your elbows and scrapes your knee bloody as you twist around and raise the gun, barrel leveled at the man’s heart. “LET GO!” You scream, heart hammering against your chest. “Oh shit,” says the man in the kerchief, eyes wide at seeing you armed, but the other one sneers at you, blood spilling from his mouth. There’s fury in his eyes, and the unmistakable intent to hurt you. “You ever held a gun that big, baby?”

“Let go,” you say again, voice firmer than the tremble of your hands. Your finger flexes on the trigger.

“You even know how to use it?” He asks, using his grip on your ankle to pull himself over you, his other hand falling to your thigh. He gives a pointed squeeze as he lifts himself up to tower above you. He reaches to take hold of you again, but you won’t let him. Can’t let him.

“Yes.” You squeeze the trigger as you say it, bracing for the recoil, the bang. It’s always so loud in the movies.

Nothing happens. You panic, looking at the weapon in your hands in dull shock. The safety isn’t on. You pull the trigger again, but the chamber rings hollow. It isn’t loaded. You look up at the man as his shadow falls over you. He bares his teeth at you, painted an ugly dark red with the blood spilling from his mouth. The man laughs, a short barking sound, and knocks the gun from your hands with a harsh slap. It goes skidding away.

“Stupid bitch,” he says, raising his boot as if you were an oversized bug, something to crush. You close your eyes and scream as he brings it down hard.

Or at least, he started to, but his leg locks up halfway, and then he topples, a single horrifying sound leaking from his clenched teeth. Your eyes open just in time to see his body hit the ground, a smoldering wound smoking from his chest. An instant later, the second man falls. This time you see the flash of crimson light that drops him.

Homelander’s cape billows in the wind with all the majesty of the flag it’s designed after as he descends from the sky. He lands in front of you, backlit by the distant street lights that give him an artificial glow. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel delivered straight from some market tested Heaven.

“Hey, you hurt?” He asks, reaching for you.

Awestruck, all you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. Tears well in your eyes. Shock is setting in the aftermath of all that adrenaline in your veins crashing your system. Through the blur of your tears, Homelander’s expression shifts from concern to that of determination.

“It’s alright, I’m here now. They can’t hurt you,” he says, bringing your arm around his neck while he slips his own around your waist, effortlessly lifting you from the ground. Before your gaze can drift to the corpses–whose burning flesh you can smell mingling with the acrid city air–Homelander rotates, taking them from your line of sight.

With a flourish, he unhitches his cape from his shoulders and swings the fabric over yours. It settles on you heavier than you expected it to be, and impossibly warm. Moving back in, Homelader readily takes you back into his arms. He cradles you in his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other drawing lines up and down your back.

You try to choke out a sound, to ask him, how? How did he find you? How did he know you needed him? But none of the noises you make form any actual words. Your throat is too tight, and your tongue feels too big for your mouth, gnarled silent by panic. Everything is just too much. Your breaths only grow sharper as tears burn hot streaks down your face.

“Sssshhhhhhh,” he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take the weight of your body from you. His hold is compressive, but not oppressive. It takes everything you have left to lift your other arm around his neck while the sobs overtake you. He continues to hush you, whispering a menagerie of honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.

I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

You cry harder, coiling your arms tighter around his neck. He lets you cling to him, lets you sob away your makeup and soak the collar of his suit with the mess of it.

You don’t know how much time passes in your addled state of panic, but eventually your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder. Your body isn’t convinced that the danger has vanished yet, eager to turn to flight now that your fight has gone.

“That’s it, just like that,” Homelander praises. “Breathe. Breathe. Good… Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly,” he tells you. The weightlessness you feel in his arms helps the idea, helps you to feel like you aren’t being crushed by the terrible weight of such a moment of horror. That’s all it had been, a moment–two at most–and yet the torment of it had felt hours long. Exhaustion falls over you in the wake of adrenaline, and you’re glad for Homelander’s arms around you. You doubt you’d be standing without them.

“Home,” you manage to croak. “Please.” You can still smell the man’s sour breath, the memory even more powerful than the stench of reality.

“I can take you home,” he coos, maintaining that same soothing tone of comfort. “Is that what you want?”

You nod, focusing instead on the vetiver fresh smell of him. You’ve never been near enough to him before to notice it, but now you fixate on it. Anything to drown out the stink of the alley. He smells so much cleaner, like fresh linen drying over green grass in the summer sun.

His arms flex around you before he adjusts them, lifting you smoothly into his arms. Your stomach flips the way it does when you go down a hill in the backseat of a car, gravity loosening its hold on you. You can feel the motion all around you, the wind ghosting over you, but Homelander himself feels motionless against you.

Flying. He’s flying. And so are you.

His cape shields you from the night air bite, pulled snug around you and secured where your bodies are pressed together. You haven’t felt like this since you were a child, cradled with such care and strength that feels beyond your comprehension. Homelander serves as both place and person–somewhere safe, someone kind–and you tuck yourself closer into the sanctuary of his arms, hands fisted in the protective fabric of his cape.

“I’ve got’cha,” he assures you, voice warm in your ear.

Without a shadow of a doubt, you believe him.

Homelander doesn’t need to ask where you live. It’s an easy detail to brush off if you question him. He doubts you will with the way you’re clinging to him, though. You feel good in his arms, settling so naturally against the contours of them he might convince himself you belong here. He doesn’t mind your weeping when it comes with your arms around him, fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.

A small shiver rolls down his spine.

Of all the ways Homelander expected the evening to unfold, he hadn’t properly anticipated you. While he cradles you, he replays again and again the moment you were snatched. You fought without hesitation. You wrenched the gun free. The fierceness in your eyes as you aimed it had been exquisite. The resolve in your gaze as you fired it even more so.

He’d known you were confident, but that kind of clawing survival can only be learned of a person in action. He’s known many supposedly strong people–supe and human alike–who walk as stone giants, but shatter like glass when faced with any real danger.

You couldn’t have known that you weren’t in any real danger. You couldn’t have known that he’d told those thugs to scare you, but not hurt you. You couldn’t have known he’d ensured the gun wasn’t loaded. You fought as though it was for your life, and it enthralled him.

He hadn’t planned on killing them in front of you. They would have been loose ends to tie up after his heroic rescue, but somewhere along the line that stupid bastard lost the thread. He hurt you, bloodied those pretty knees of yours, and he moved to strike you. To grind you beneath his heel as if you were the vermin instead of him. For that–and for so flagrantly going against Homelander’s own direct order–you witnessed his downfall.

As far as he’s concerned now, everything happened precisely as it needed to. You’re in his arms now, and he’s still half hard from witnessing you choose fight when your instincts kicked in. You’re too fragile to choose it so readily. Your bones feel bird-like compared to the scope of his strength. Hollow and brittle. You would make for a hell of a supe, though.

Still, he won’t break you. He’s spent his entire life learning what it takes to snap bones like party favors, and more crucially, what it takes not to. Yours are safe from him. In fact, you’re the safest person in the whole world now.

Homelander glides down to a soft landing on your driveway. Your car will be an issue for another time. For now, he walks you to your front door before gently placing you on your feet.

“Believe this is you, young lady,” he says, leaving space for plausible deniability. If it occurs to you to interrogate him about it, it doesn’t show on your face. With hands still softly trembling, you fish your keys out of your purse. He watches you fumble with them for only a moment before he steps in behind you, one hand gripping your upper arm to steady and pause you while the other covers your shaking hand, helping you to slide the key into the lock and turn it.

Your hand fits nicely in his.

“Thanks,” you whisper. It’s the first thing you’ve said since asking him to take you home. He takes the liberty of opening the door for you while he’s at it, swinging it wide to allow you in. You grab his forearm, and he thinks you’re only balancing yourself, but when you don’t let go he steps with you, letting you lean on him as you guide him into your home. He closes the door behind the two of you, smiling to himself.

He may not need an invitation to enter, but it’s charming to have one.

Your movements are stiff, a slight limp to your gait. You fell hard, and the delicate flesh of your knee had ripped apart against the concrete when you were dragged. You hesitate at the stairs, but Homelander doesn’t. You inhale sharply when he scoops you back up into his arms with ease and starts up the stairs. He keeps his gaze ahead, but he can feel yours on him.

“Thanks,” you say again, the word barely more than a hiccup, adjusting his cape over yourself like a blanket.

“It’s what heroes are for.” He smiles. It’s a party line, one he’s said a hundred thousand times before, but you make him mean it. This is what heroes are for. To be worshiped and loved, understood deeper than pop stars and false idols like them. There’s a reverence in your stare that transcends the vapid starstruck way most people look at him. You understand now. You know how much more he is.

He brings you to your bedroom and sets you on the edge of the bed, adjusting his cape back up over your shoulders. You’ve scarcely let go of it since he wrapped you in it. Will you sleep with it tonight? He bets you will. The thought sends a pleasant tingle through him.

“Alright, let’s get a look at those knees,” he says, crouching in front of you. There’s blood running down your left shin. He lifts the edge of your skirt hem just enough to catch a glimpse of shredded skin. It looks rough, dirty and embedded with bits of debris. He blows out a breath. “Got a first aid kit?”

You nod numbly. “Under the bathroom sink.”

It’s odd to see you so subdued. He forgets sometimes that you humans can be as emotionally fragile as you are physically. Surely the death of two measly thugs isn’t enough to break you.

Rising, he moves to your bathroom. He feels slightly unbalanced without the sway of his cape behind him, the garment as integral to his physicality as any limb. He rummages through until his hand lands on a bright red fabric pack with a zipper. He gives it a little toss and catches it, bringing it back to you, alongside a wetted towel. He gives the pack a victorious little shake.

“H’okay, down to business.” Homelander kneels before you, splaying open the kit and placing it on your lap. He’s never used one of these before, but he’s pretended to do it on set. How different can it be? He cups your leg, thumb absently smoothing back and forth on your skin while he uses the towel to gently wipe up the blood, dirt and debris from your shin and knee.

You flinch, tense a moment before you relax. “Homelander, you really don’t have to–”

“Am I doing a bad job?” He asks, glancing up at you through his lashes. There’s a playful lilt to his voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, the smallest hint of exasperation in your voice. He’s pleased to hear it. Perhaps you’re less wilted from the encounter than he thought. “I just mean that I can–”

“I know you can,” he says, and this time he definitely sees a flare of annoyance. You don’t like being interrupted any more than he does, but you don’t protest further. He smiles, triumphant, and focuses back on the task at hand, petting you the same way one might soothe a wild animal.

There’s a novelty in doing this for real that he hadn’t anticipated. It’s entirely unlike wiping away congealed red corn syrup from an actor. Your skin is sweeter, softer. He suddenly resents his gloves for the barrier they provide, despite his usual reliance for that very thing. He’s meticulous in flicking out the little stones embedded in your skin, spotting each one with ease.

Next, he tears open the alcohol wipes with his teeth and uses them to disinfect, rubbing at the sores. You flinch, sucking in a loud breath through your teeth. “Oopsy-daisy,” he says, switching to gently patting. He has no real concept of what you’re feeling right now. He’s never had a scraped knee before. The scientists at Vought had to get much more creative in order to gauge his capacity for healing.

He imagines they were disappointed to realize that, once damaged, he healed as slowly as a human.

“How’d you find me?” You ask, snapping him out of his unpleasant reminiscence. Your shock seems to have worn off entirely. You look more present, alert to his every move.

“Heard you scream,” he answers simply, unraveling a roll of gauze. That much is true.

“But how? How did you know where I was?” You push, watching him wind the white material around your knee.

“I didn’t,” he lies smoothly. He’s followed enough scripts in his life to do so very well. “If I’d known exactly where you were, I would have been there sooner. I was minding my business on 5th Avenue when I heard you. Familiar voices can…” He makes a vague gesture. “Cut through the din. Voices I want to hear.”

He thinks he catches you flush at that. Just a touch. He bites back a smirk, pleased with himself. Does it matter if it’s true when it makes you look at him like that?

“I didn’t know your hearing worked like that,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of his cape.

His gaze flickers up every so often to watch your finger pick at the seam, inexplicably charmed by it. “Well, there’s some things not even a super fan can glean,” he teases, securing the gauze with tape. He expects to see a familiar indignation in your expression, but when he looks up, he’s caught off guard by the unmistakable fondness in your eyes.

“I was over the moon when I got my job at Vought,” you say quietly, like you’re whispering in a confessional. “I always wanted to work with heroes.”

“With me?” He pushes, lifting his brows.

Very slightly, you smile. “Yeah. With you.”

“Busted,” he says, his own voice equally soft.

You give him a little nudge with your foot. “Gauze won’t stay by itself. Need to use a roll of self-adhesive wrap,” you say, plucking the beige roll from the kit. He likes the shy warmth in your voice. He would have done much worse to see this side of you. Have the intimacy of your pain, fear and relief all to himself. This glowing affection you’re so full of. He feels drunk on the cocktail of it all.

“Right, obviously,” he says, taking the wrapping from you. “I knew that.”

“Probably should have put a gauze pad under it, too,” you continue, eyes heavily lidded, expression soft.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he laments, affixing the textured bandage around the gauze. You laugh, and the sound of it feels like a space he could belong in.

He checks your other knee, your elbows and your palms, but nowhere else on you calls for anything more than some antiseptic and a few bandaids. With the wrappings secure, he shuffles the mess of supplies haphazardly back into the kit, zipping it up much more bulging and misshapen a state than he found it in. He pushes it under the bed with the towel atop it, standing.

“Good as new. Or close to it,” he says, making a small show of dusting off his hands for a job well done.

You stand, letting his cape slide off of your shoulders for the first time since he put it on you, the fabric pooling on the bed. You step forward, and of all the things he expects in this moment, you blow them out of the water by suddenly wrapping your arms around him, the soft curves of your body slotting against his in a way that trips something primal and needy in him. He puts his arms around you the second the shock wears off, holding you with the barest fraction of his strength.

Tension drains from your body. Were you nervous he wouldn’t reciprocate? It’s an endearing thought. He gives a deeper, brief squeeze. He can’t remember the last time someone held him.

“Thank you,” you say after a long beat, drawing back. He reluctantly loosens his grip, but not by much. He’s loath to relinquish you so soon after he’s gotten hold of you. “It’s not enough, but I don’t know what could ever be.”

I could make a few suggestions, he thinks, but he doesn’t give voice to the lewd thoughts that follow.

“I’ll never forget what you did for me tonight,” you say. Your face is so near to his, it makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the curve of your lips as you speak.

Instead of responding, Homelander leans in, eyes falling shut.

“Oh,” you say sharply, your soft body suddenly going tense in his arms, stopping him in his tracks. Both of your hands are braced against his chest now, creating a distance that feels craterous.

He blinks, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“I’m really tired,” you say, tone shifting to mild diffusion. It reminds him of the way you spoke to James, and his ego stings with both the rejection and the comparison. He’d laughed listening to you reject that pathetic, simpering man. It seems less funny now.

He scoffs an incredulous little huff. But I saved you, he thinks, indignant panic flaring in his chest. To his dismay, however, the thought doesn’t sound like his own voice. It sounds like James’.

But I paid!

Repulsed, Homelander swallows the thought like bile. If the comparison comes so readily to his own mind, there’s no way you won’t make the connection yourself. He feels his skin prickle like there are fire ants crawling beneath his suit. The memory of James’ pathetic begging is the only thing that keeps his composure together.

“Of course you are,” he says tightly. His smile is forced, slightly too wide. “You should sleep. Rest up. Take the day off tomorrow,” he says stiffly, rattling off lines like they’re pre-recorded. Only then does he surrender his hold on you, hands moving to his hips instead. You take a step back, and he stands straighter to disguise the sting of rejection.

“Thank you,” you say, tone indecipherable. It’s full to the brim with something, but nothing Homelander can parse in his current state. “I–”

“No need,” he dismisses, jumping on the opportunity to end the conversation on his terms. “Really. Just doing my job,” he says, tossing you a little two-finger salute off of his brow, already moving towards your balcony door. You don’t move, watching him from the foot of your bed, arms wrapped around yourself.

“Catch you at the office,” he says. He knows he’s speaking too quickly, but it’s all he can do to keep himself in check. Anger and misery broil in him like vinegar and baking soda, the caustic brew threatening to erupt.

“Okay,” you say, which isn’t particularly what he wants to hear. He turns his back to you, and his smile drops, his ego violently stung. With a force that billows wind through your bedroom, he takes off into the night sky.

You just weren’t ready, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. It’s easier to be angry than embarrassed. He wants to make as much distance between himself and your rejection, flying higher and higher until frost begins collecting on his lashes. He flies until there’s no sound, no oxygen, no life but his own. He flies until gravity releases him and he can finally relax, suspended by cold, vast space.

The earth glows beneath him, reflecting the light of the sun where it illuminates a distant portion of the globe.

Closing his eyes, he tips his head back.

He’ll fix this.

( chapter four )

#heavy breathing #icb i actually did it #tysm to everyone who let me scream and cry at them about this fic as i wrestled nonstop with it #homelander x you #homelander x reader #x reader #homelander fanfiction #yandere x reader #my writing

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mrsarcherofinfamy · 3 months ago

Note

Hi can you please do a Damian Priest x Reader where the reader and Damian are dating and she gets jealous about him and Kayden are making TikTok videos together ( I love Kayden and her videos ❤️). And a fluff at the end.

●Damian Priest x Reader●

____________________________________________________

*Y/N's POV*

Sitting in the passenger's seat in my best friend Zelina Vega's car, I am scrolling on TikTok as she is driving us to our next location. I come across Kayden's video and the corner says "POV: he asks you to drive." I watch it and as the camera turns towards the passenger seat, Damian's body comes into frame making me gasp.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Kayden posted another video. And apparently she is driving Damian to the next show. When he told me he was going by himself."

"Girl.... I told you he was no good for you."

"I know. You have told me multiple times."

"Yes I have. And now he is over here taking videos with Kayden acting like they are together. Again. Maybe when we get to the hotel, you take him off your reservation for the room and make him have his own room. He didn't tell you he was going with Kayden than he can be surprised about his own hotel room when he gets there."

"I guess you are right. I am very pissed off about this."

"Give him a taste of his own medicine."

I shake my head, close my phone and lay against the seat starting to fall asleep.

____________________________________________________

*at the hotel*

We walk up to the counter and a nice lady greets us.

"Hello ladies. How may I help you?"

"I'm checking in for Y/N."

"Y/N and Damian?"

"No. Just Y/N. I don't want Damian on the reservation anymore."

"Okay. I can do that for you. Give me a few minutes."

She goes on typing on the computer while we wait. Zelina goes to another lady to check in. The lady gives me my keycard and all the information making sure Damian has been taken off the reservation. We grab our belongings and head up to our hotel rooms. I say goodbye to Zelina, swipe my card and enter my room. I throw my bags on the bed and flop down next to them. Next thing I know I am fast asleep.

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

*later in the night*

"Y/N! Y/N!"

I sit up, rub my face and try to understand why I hear someone yelling my name from the hallway. I get up putting my shirt and sweatpants back on that I apparently took off some time while I was sleeping. I walk up to the door and listen to who is shouting.

"Y/N! I will break down every one of these doors until I find you!"

"Please calm down."

I open the door and slightly look out seeing Damian looking super angry standing in the hallway and Kayden in front of him with her hands on his chest trying to get him to calm down. I open the door and lean against the doorframe crossing my arms. He sees me and pushes past Kayden walking up to me.

"Y/N! Why did you take me off our reservation?! You have someone else here?!"

He pushes me out of the way of the door and walks into my room. A tear rolls down my cheek at the questions he just asked me. He starts walking around my room looking for someone when I am the only one in my room. Kayden comes up next to me, puts a hand on my shoulder and looks in at Damian.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you in any way. If there is anyth....."

I stop her before she keeps talking.

"Its not you. You didn't do anything wrong. He lied to me. And now he thinks I'm cheating on him."

"I'm gonna go."

She turns and runs down the hallway when I turn looking at Damian who is standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed. I close the door, turn to look at him and cross my arms as well.

"Care to explain why you took me off our reservation?"

"Care to explain why you lied to me and got a ride from Kayden?"

"I didn't lie to you! Kayden is my friend! I asked her to drive me because I was exhausted from having the main event of Raw! You already left with Zelina! I didn't wanna fall asleep behind the wheel!"

"You told me to leave with Zelina! That you would be fine driving by yourself! You didn't even text me to tell me you were going with Kayden! Than you keep making these tik tok videos together and everyone thinks you two are together and dating! Like you left me behind! You barely take pictures with me but you take videos with everyone else! How do you think I feel?!"

"I don't know how you feel because you never talk to me about your feelings!"

"I try but you never seem to have time to sit down and talk! You are either wrestling or hanging out with your friends! Then when you come back home to me, you go right to bed! When is there time to talk?"

He stares at me, looking like he doesn't know what to say. I wipe the tears that have seemed to start running down my face as I just laid out all my feelings to Damian. I take a deep breath and sit down on the bed.

"Y/N, I'm sorry...."

"Damian, I don't wanna hear you are sorry. I love you. But you really need to work on communication with me and spending more time with me. That's all I ask."

He kneels down in front of me putting his hands on the top of my knees looking up at me.

"Babygirl, I love you more than you will ever know. I will work on communication with you and we will spend way more time together that you might get sick of me."

I giggle looking at him. He puts his hands on my cheeks looking at me smiling.

"I promise Y/N. With my whole heart. I love you."

"I love you too."

He pulls my face to his and kisses me hard. He starts pushing me back on the bed climbing over top of me still kissing me. Seems I will be in for a long night.....

THE END.

#wwe #writing #imagines #wrestling imagine #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #wwe fics #wwe fiction #wwe fluff #wwe fic #wwe fandom #wwe damian priest #damian priest fic #damian priest imagine #damian priest x reader #damian priest #charley's fics

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pussyhoundspock · 5 months ago

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One of the best things supernatural ever did was Mary Winchester unfridging that choice was like worth the price of admission (eight million mediocre seasons) alone

#spn #i think the only spn fics i wrote back in the day i stand by now are the mary pov ones and maybe the wrestling one

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daddyhausen · 10 months ago

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「 COMMISSION FOR : @kashmirclam 」

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡「 JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY 」｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 WWE MASTERLIST 」 | 「 DOMINIK MYSTERIO MASTERLIST 」

「 COMMISION INFO 」 | 「 LIKE MY WORK? BUY ME A COFFEE — KOFI — DXDDYHXUSEN 」

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 SUMMARY 」 — dom is a little jealous that you’re spending all your time around a certain blond haired narcissist

「 WARNINGS 」 — 18+ [ MINORS DNI ] smut, dom!dominik, sub!reader, brat!reader, brat taming, hair pulling, spanking, degradation, jealous sex, rough sex, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, male + female orgasms, multiple orgasm, squirting, internal cumshot, vaginal creampie

「 WORD COUNT 」 — 2.9k

「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x dominik mysterio

「 GENRE 」 — smut

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 TAGLIST 」 — @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @mjfass @wardlow @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @legit9thlunaticwarrior @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @harmshake @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @ripleyswife @selena-tyler-564 @auburnwriter @alyyaanna @nightmare-viper @nev-danielgarciawife

「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」

｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡｡･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

dominik’s heavy footsteps trudged through the backstage area, echoing with the unbridled jealousy that raged within him, as if his furrowed brow and tightly pursed lips weren’t a definitive indication. he was never one to shy away from displaying his jealousy, especially when it came to you. he’d seem it just before his match, you engaged in a particularly flirty conversation with one narcissist logan paul, who’d taken quite a fancy towards you himself, despite your relationship status. now you were not stupid, a little naive at times but certainly not stupid. flirting back seemed like a natural playful response despite his more devious intentions to bed you himself. despite the constant avoidance of eye contact the more persistent his flirtation became.

dominik’s eyes held heavy with jealousy, annoyance moreso. the browns of his irises seem to hold more crimson in rage over anything. a small huff of a breath prominent against his lips, his chest tightening with proactive rage, threatening to spill as the blond’s fingertips lightly grazed your forearm with devious intent. dom’s throat ran dry, even in an attempt to wet his lips only left him feeling parched, the anger within him never subsiding. his gaze tunnelled at you and the blond, everything else but faded black in his eyes as he made a beeline towards the two of you.

his movements were subtle, he did not want to start a fight in catering despite his more protective instincts desiring otherwise. he remained outwardly patient, lips folded into a tight scowl, back pressed against the wall, listening in on your conversation.

he watched the way your lashes fluttered softly each time you blinked, the soft creases of your eyes crinkled each time you smiled. the sweet giggles left your lips, flowed off your tongue like angelic hymns. to dominik, he knew logan was not competition when it comes to your relationship, but something about the way he was able to make you laugh so easily, it irked dom. he’s the only one who’s supposed to make you beam like that, the only one who has the damn privilege of making you smile! hell, he knows he’s the only one who's ever made you beg, fall to your knees in a fit of pleas and whines, practically grasping at his thighs in a desperate attempt to please him. he’s the only one who can stuff your mouth so full of his cock that it leaves bruising in the back of your throat, a sight he most definitely enjoyed.

dominik kept his gaze fixed on logan now, the prick's eyes staring down at you with a subtle yet lustful intent, and you were none the wiser of his intentions. poor, naive girl. he watched the way logan’s hands swiped away a stray, curled lock of your hair, one that resides by your neck, his fingers dangerously close to your breast, but subtle enough not to cause a stir. dom’s eyes darkened, the rage burned with him. fuck subtly, he once again made heavy trudges towards, the two of you, completely bypassing logan, his hand wrapping around your wrist, practically dragging you behind him.

his steps were wide, determined. you were pretty much hobbling twice your normal speed behind him.

“dom! what the fuck?-”, your retort was loud and intentional. in which you hoped others would gain notice of your boyfriend’s unprecedented behaviour.

still, dominik remained silent. moreso in order to hold his tongue from exploding. the tightness of his drip increased on your wrist, the eventual arrival in the parking lot only prompted him with a two word response.

“get in.”, his hand wrapped around the door handle of the passenger side of your rental car. his knuckles bleached with anger. you stared at him for a moment, absolutely dumbfounded at your boyfriend’s highly irrational behaviour.

“now!”.

the subtle widening of your eyes went unknown to him as you stepped into the car, a soft scowl forming across the curve of your lips, more so of a pout than the former. the slam of the car door left a dull ringing in your ears for less then a second, the recoil shaking the car slightly. dominik entered the car beside you, hands gripped on the steering wheel with a tightness that could rival even the strongest of men. the skin around his knuckles were already void of colour, somehow the appeared more pallor the tighter he held it. somehow, you could not shake the thought of said hand around your throat, grasping tightly, enough to constrict your airways but light enough to leave you in such a wondrous dizzy haze.

the car ride was met with silence. a painful one that was undertoned in malice. dom’s gaze was fixated on the road, all dark and brooding, the veins in his forearms pulsing with anger.

“you still didn’t answer my question”.

your words fell on deaf ears as dominik continued to stare invisible daggers through the windscreen, as if his gaze was piercing the glass.

“dom, answer me-”.

you slapped his arm lightly in an attempt to rouse him out of his enraged state, to no avail. dom continued his tunnelled glare, not breaking his stare, he didn't even acknowledge your presence even upon arriving at the back at the hotel.

“get out”.

he continued to respond in stern short sentences. his gaze still purposefully avoided yours.

“get the fuck out of the car.!”.

his words were spiteful and bitter, like venom dripping from the tip of his tongue with each syllable.. when you did not budge, barely moved an inside aside from a subtle flinch at the loudness of his voice, he grabbed your wrist, dragging you from the passenger seat, a small sudden yelp left your lips. in any other situation you would have stood your ground, retorted with a flurry of curses and insults. dom’s possessiveness had never held a forefront within your relationship previously and seeing him act out in such a way, as immature as it would seem to some, to you it was rather arousing.

the way his eyebrows were tightly knit with an accompanying scowl, eyes heavy set with rage and jealousy. you were his and his only. the only thing so pure and untouched by others, he was the only one allowed to revel in your flesh, let the taste of you mingle on his tongue. even by the sheer grip around your wrist others could tell you belonged to him, not just in the context of a relationship, but primally, you were meant for him, your entire existence, at least romantically, revolved around him.

as he practically dragged you up the stairwell, your apartment only being an hour or so drive from the arena, speckles of dusk still littered the sky as it slowly blended with nightfall amongst the horizon, the glow gave his skin a more honeyed complexion, the same can be said for his eyes, more amber despite how darkened with rage they seemed.

he was quick as he unlocked the front door, his movements did not falter once, even in his enraged state. if anything his hands held more precision than normal. the soft click of the lock met your ears, dominik shoved you inside, his hand rested on the small of your back, yet he made no attempts in touching you further. instead, he stood still, his body towered over your meek form, arms folded across his chest, as he stared down at you with what could not be described as hatred, more or less, disappointment that you would stoop so low as to converse with the likes of logan.

“tell me what you did wrong”.

it was not a question. more so a demand.

you stared at him, your gaze matched the disappointment his eyes held, albeit more rage held in yours.

“what i did wrong?”, a scoff fell from your lips, an emphasis on “i”. dominik simply nodded, unmoving in other aspects. “talking to someone isn’t a crime-”.

“well i wouldn’t consider what you were doing to be “talking’”,

dominik’s voice lowered an octave, an accusatory tone laced in his words. you narrowed your gaze at him.

“so what?, it's a bit of harmless flirting, that just the way i talk-”.

dominik scoffed. “and how do you think he would have interpreted that, huh?”.

dominik stepped closer to you, his frame pinned you against the wall, his palms flush against the wallpaper, your head entrapped between them.

“you know i don’t like you talking to him”, he cocked his head to the side in some sort of pseudo-playful facade.

“you don’t get to decide who i talk to-”.

“this is different”.

“how?”.

“because he likes you! how are you so blind as to not see that?!”.

in your peripherals you noticed dominik’s fists clenched together, his knuckles matched the paleness of the wallpaper. his jaw set, teeth grinding in frustration.

“oh my god dom, you’re acting paranoid!”.

he shot you a glare that was a mixture between confusion and anger. he let his left hand fall from beside your face to hover just above your shoulder. he still remained silent.

“or maybe, just maybe you're insecure”, you accused. “you're so worried that he could steal me away from you at any moment”

“me? insecure?”, dominik let out a sarcastic chuckle. “and i’m sure as hell, not worried about that prick taking you from me, you wanna know why?’.

dominik took another step towards you, his body pressed flush against yours. hips lips lingered centimetres from your own.

“because i. own. you”, his statement was simple, once that only made you shake your head in response..

“oh, but i do, princess. all those times i’ve made you scream and beg for me, left you dripping my cum”.

he paused for a moment, his top lip brushed against your cupid’s bow.

“your body was made for me to fuck”.

your breath involuntarily shuddered at his statement.

“and he will never know what it is like to fuck you, have you scream his name because that…is only for me’.

his hand rested upon your hips, his thumb swirled languid circles into the flesh, slow yet meticulous as he trailed it up your waist, his fingerprints created small divots in your skin, ones that made your breath quiver on exhale. he took notice, a small smirk crept upon his lips, his tongue lightly flicked across his teeth, canines gently grazed against the fleshy appendage.

“oh? you’ve gone quiet now, huh?”, his breath fanned against your neck, lips moved in featherlight touches as he spoke. “where’s the brat i was talking to before, hmm?”.

you remained silent, defiant before him, you did not give him the satisfaction of a response. but deep down you knew he was right, no other man had made you feel the way dom did. his presence itself was alluring, it drew you in, as if he was the only man on earth in your eyes.

his gaze bored into yours, it left you with a slight sense of unnerve.

“don’t worry princess, before the night is over, i’ll make you scream for me”.

his movements were agile, taking a fist full of your hair, as he tugged at the roots, with all intention of being rough. you gave a small yelp in response, still did not offer him a concise and clear sentence.

“still not talking, huh?”, his words muttered against your neck. “i’ll put that pretty mouth to better use later, but now…”.

he paused, as he inhaled the sweet, flowery scent of your perfume, his breath hitched in his throat as the subtle fragrance of jasmine met his lungs.

“i’m going to fuck your brains out”.

dom was far too impatient in his own right to drag you upstairs to the bedroom, instead, he placed a hand onto your shoulder, he forced you down onto your knees. your initial thought was that he was going to abuse your throat for a while like he’d previously mentioned. rather he simply stood behind you, his foot pressed between your shoulder blades, he left you pinned and prone against the bottom step.

“dom what the hell-?!”, you finally seemed to acknowledge him, in lieu of the fact you’d become so incredibly wet by his dominance.

with a lack of response on his part, the sound of his zipper hastily coming undone was enough to prick your ears up with intrigue. his foot still present on your back, the shuffle of his jeans as he pulled them halfway down his thighs. his fingers still woven in your hair, the other hand fisted his swollen cock. he gave a soft grunt in reaction to his own touch.

“keep still for me”.

his fingers traced against your clothed cunt, your body stiffened against the sudden pressure at your core. he hummed, satisfied that he’s already gotten you so sensitive. he let the digits slip into the waistband of your leggings, his fingertips danced across your clit, as they dipped into and between your soaked folds.

“mmm, so wet… you like me being rough with you?”.

it was a rhetorical question and he knew it. he knew you enjoyed being toyed with , thrown around and preyed upon like a piece of meat. he pulled his fingers from between your folds, eager to fill you up. then again, eager wasn’t exactly the word to describe it, more so impatient. he did not utter another word, instead, he bunched up the fabric in his hand, scrunched between his calloused fingertips, as he ripped a hole directly down the seam, your panties on full display for him.

you gasped at the sensation, cool, midnight air hitting your semi-exposed cunt, the pool of wetness that built on the fabric certainly did not help with the chill. dominik let out a soft hum in satisfaction, his fingers once again weaved their way into your panties, this time not to toy with you, to simply slide them out of the way for easier access. he removed the pressure of his foot from your back, it allowed you some reprieve and slightly better breathing room. He knelt behind you as he stuffed his cock between your folds, instantly feeling the warm, wet stretch of your cunt as he filled you to the brim.

“fuck…look at that, princess. didn’t have to prep you or anything”.

his words held a small lilt and a chuckle at the end of his sentence. his hips were ravenous in their motions, denied the time to adjust to the size of him, simply to mould the shape of his cock within you with each thrust. he wanted to be quick, to prove to you that he did not need time or patience to prove who you belonged to, just the sheer force of his cock would be enough to have you worship the ground he walks on, completely subservient to his needs.

“you know that he would never fuck you this good, baby”.

he mentioned logan again, all without mentioning him by name, as if it was an insult to his tongue for him to utter.

“mmm fuck…”

your whimpers muffled against the polished redwood of the staircase. cheek pressed firmly into it, a small pool of drool gathered around your lips,. making the wood glisten under the dim yellow glow of the hallway lights, the only source of illumination of your semi-exposed figure, a sort of luminescence that made you radiate with the aura of a siren or some other mythical succubi.

“so fucking tight”, dom’s teeth bit at his bottom lip ravenously, almost drawing blood just from the pressure he put on it. “you take my cock so perfectly, princess”.

his moans escaped his lips in stuttered grunts, only paused to inhale with each violent thrust every time his hips connected with yours.

“only need my cock to satisfy you…”.

you remained silent, only moans spilled from your lips in the absence of words, his cock filled you up completely, the vicious slap of skin against skin, his tear-inducing thrusts accompanied the pleasured sounds. you felt so full with him, his meaty cock filled your slick cunt, gummy walls clenched around him with tight pulses.

“gonna fill you up…so he knows you belong to me”.

dom had every intention of doing so, even as he felt your impending orgasm, the contractions around his cock closed in with shortened intervals, your cunt drooled as slick glistened down your thighs. he knew you would revel in it, in the pleasure he provided, in the warmth that he’d fill you with, you’d savour the feeling as if you could taste it. his hand wrapped in your hair, he tugged tightly as your head flung back in pleasure and with the force of his movements, your cheek sticky with spit. he made no attempt to announce his orgasm, a simple grunt on his part was all it took to let you know, and the viscous warmth that spread through your loins, heat pooled in your belly. before you could even savour the sensation, he pulled out, with the lack of acknowledgement of your own orgasm as the feeling slowly dissipated. a small whine left your lips, your own orgasm slowly ebbed back into nothingness.

dom gave a small chuckle, he simply admired the sight of you all spread for him, your cunt leaked with hot ropes of his lust, you whined, almost begged for him to, at the very least, reach your peak before he stopped. he noticed the way you made an attempt to stand, your thighs shook, quivered with pleasure. he made no effort to help, he insisted that you crawl on your hands and knees if you had to.

“get your ass upstairs princess, i’m not done with you yet”.

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#{ my fics : 🤍 }#dominik mysterio #dominik mysterio x reader #dominik mysterio smut #wwe imagine #wwe imagines #wwe smut #wwe fanfiction #wwe fics #wrestling imagine #wrestling smut #wwe

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onlyangel4 · 21 days ago

Text

slip of the tongue. cody rhodes. smau.

cody rhodes x tattoo artist wife!reader

synopsis: after a slip of the tongue the wrestling community is shocked to find out that cody has a family, but there had been clues all along.

faceclaim: ryan ashley malarkey

author's note: please can we pretend the dogs are the same colour, plz and thank you

2020

y/ntattoos

liked by americannightmarecody, y/bff, user1 and 430,291 others

tagged: americannightmarecody

y/ntattoos: now that this tattoo has been revealed to the world i can tell you all that i am the one that defaced the american nightmare's neck. the last photo is evidence of how stressed i was that day.

view all 12,190 others

americannightmarecody: you had no reason to be stressed

y/ntattoos: i was tattooing a public figures neck, i was shitting myself

y/bff: i remember getting a stressed facetime call from you

y/ntattoos: i think i cried

user1: ever since i saw this i have been searching for the artist

user2: my worlds have collided, i have been following you since you tattooed harry styles

user3: i would stressed too you did so well!

americannightmarecody posted a story tagging y/ntattoos

written: glad you all like the tattoo, y/n did a great job

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

2021

y/ntattoos posted a story tagging heavenlycafeatl

written: people always ask me how i get through a whole day tattooing, truth is i get this kiwi lime redbull from the same cafe every single day, if you are ever in atlanta you need to try it.

americannightmarecody posted a story tagging heavenlycafeatl

written: being in this neck of the woods means my favourite breakfast place ever

∘•��··············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

2022

y/ntattoos posted a story

written: guys i'm a mother now

americannightmarecody

liked by samizayn, y/ntattoos, rhearipley and 1,009,112 others

americannightmarecody: everyone meet hawk

view all 56,192 comments

rhearipley: i need to meet him now

americannightmarecody: he will be coming on tour with me

user4: sir my ovaries are on fire

liked by y/ntattoos

user5: oh my god cody in his dad era

liked by y/ntattoos

user6: can i get this picture tattooed on the inside of my eyelids

liked by y/ntattoos

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2023

y/ntattoos

liked by americannightmarecody, harrystyles, samizayn and 682,981 others

y/ntattoos: just a little life update, ever since i qualified as a tattoo artist 17 years ago i have been working non stop. and it has paid off, i co own jet black heart studios and i love my job. but that being said, i need a little break.

my books will be closing from june this year, i will be back, i just don't know when. i will still be helping y/bff run things behind the scenes but i am going to put my feet up and have an extended vacation, because god i need it.

view all 19,722 comments

rhearipley: girl you deserve this break

user7: you have been working non stop, take as long as you need

user8: put those feet up girl

user9: gonna miss seeing those kickass tattoos but you deserve this break

wwe posted a story tagging americannightmarecody

written: following an injury sustained last night cody rhodes will not be attending any live events for the time being

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2024

americannightmarecody

liked by y/ntattoos, samizayn, cmpunk and 1,342,877 others

americannightmarecody: finished the story… but this isn’t my greatest chapter. ❤️

view all 87,234 comments

samizayn: can't believe i was there for such a monumental moment

americannightmarecody: thank you for being there

cmpunk: the best to ever do it

y/ntattoos: so deserved

liked by americannightmarecody

user10: caption hinting that there is so much more to come from mister rhodes

y/ntattoos posted a story

written: i haven't stopped smiling all week

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2025

codyrhodesfan

liked by user11, user12, user13 and 36,812 others

codyrhodesfan: guys what the actual fuck was that. for those that aren't watching live cody just made a massive slip.

he was doing a promo following the events at the elimination chamber calling out john cena.

"after what john cena, travis scott and the rock did to me i can barely recognise myself, people have been asking me what happened, people have been so worried about me, my children- shit", he started laughing shaking his head, "well yeah my children don't recognise me".

he finished the promo but it was obvious that he was stressed about what he had said, he was pictured on a phonecall out the back of the arena.

view all 5,791 comments

user11: CHILDREN plural

user12: baby momma gonna kill him tonight

user13: this man has a whole ass family and we just assumed that he was single

user14: my jaw dropped as soon as i heard that

americannightmarecody

liked by y/ntattoos, samizayn, randyorton and 1,568,283 others

tagged: y/ntattoos

americannightmarecody: so i fucked up, but now is a good time to introduce you to my beautiful wife y/n and our twins delilah and wyatt, the greatest chapter in my story.

view all 91,112 comments

randyorton: i can finally talk about my god children

americannightmarecody: i'm still surprised you weren't the one to leak it

y/ntattoos: i love you (and your big mouth)

americannightmarecody: you wouldn't have me any other way

samizayn: oh how i wish i was there when y/n realised how bad you messed up

americannightmarecody: trust me, you don't

user15: twins! oh my god

user16: she is not what i imagined cody's wife to look like but she is so stunning

user17: i bet he is gassed he can finally show off his hot tattooed wife

134 notes · View notes

sydsaint · 1 year ago

Text

Protective Solo owns my heart <3

Summary: the reader is Nick's assistant who finds herself in Logan Paul's line of sight. Much to her dismay. Lucky for her, Solo Sikoa seems to have a soft spot for her.

Smackdown is well into its program on a usual Friday night. You've been tentatively seeing to all GM Nick Aldis' needs as his assistant.

"YN!" Aldis catches your attention with a shout as he's looking down at his phone.

"Yes, sir?" You answer his prompt with enthusiasm.

Nick glances up from his phone and nods out toward the locker room area. "Could you please go and fetch Paul Heyman for me?" He asks you. "And Solo as well."

"Sure." You nod. "Can I ask what for? Just in case they ask?" You ask him.

"Just a meeting," Nick replies vaguely.

You nod and take off for Roman's spacious locker room. You come up on the door with 'The Bloodline' scrawled across the door. You knock briskly on the wood and wait for an answer.

A few seconds later, Jimmy Uso cracks the door open and peers down at you. "What do you want, shortie?" Jimmy wastes no time in confronting you.

"Mr. Aldis has asked to see Paul and Solo." You explain. "May I come in?" You ask him politely.

Jimmy narrows his eyes at you and glances around the empty space behind you cautiously. He glances back down at you one more time before he begrudgingly steps back from the door and lets you inside.

"Thank you." You nod at Jimmy and step through the door. "Excuse me, sorry to bother you, Roman." You turn your attention to Roman lounging in his chair. "Mr. Aldis has asked to see Paul and Solo." You explain.

"What for?" Roman quirks a brow at you.

You bite the inside of your lip, wishing that Nick had just explained what his intentions were with Solo and Paul. "I'm sorry, he just said it was for a meeting." You explain sheepishly.

Roman's jaw twitches and you watch him beckon Paul over to his side with the subtle flick of his wrist. You remain by the door and watch Paul and Roman whisper to one another for a moment before they both turn back to you.

"Take Solo with you." Roman turns to Solo and nods in your direction. "Paul will join you in a few minutes."

"Oh, okay." You nod and glance at Solo standing stoicly on the other side of the room.

Without a word, Solo stalks over to you and waits for you to leave. You offer Roman a small smile and turn around back to the door.

Solo reaches over you and pulls open the door. You nod at him in thanks and step out into the hall. Solo follows and shuts the locker room door behind him. You wait for the door to shut before starting your journey down the hall silently.

You've been working for Nick for a few months now as his assistant. Roman and The Bloodline have been a nuisance for Nick since he took the job, and you as well. But there's just something about Solo that draws you to him. Despite his stoic nature.

"Sorry to take you away from Roman so randomly." You attempt to make small talk while you walk.

"Don't worry about it." Solo replies dryly.

You nod and continue on the journey back to Nick's office. You get to the door and Solo once again steps ahead of you and grabs the door for you. "Thank you, Solo." You offer him a thankful smile.

Solo nods and you head inside the office. "I have Solo here, Mr. Aldis. Paul will be joining us shortly." You inform Aldis before stepping back over to your desk.

Nick beckons Solo over to his desk and you busy yourself with work while the pair chat. Paul shows up a few minutes later and comes over to your desk.

"Miss LN." Paul greets you. "Sorry for the delay." He offers you an apology.

"No problem, Paul." You reply. "Mister Aldis will see you now. He's with Solo chatting at his desk." You nod toward the boss's desk.

Paul heads over to Nick's desk and you once again get back to your work. A few minutes later Paul and Solo whisper to one another for a moment before Paul points over to you subtly. Solo nods and walks over to your desk.

"Is there something you need, Solo?" You look up from your work at Sikoa.

"Nah." Solo shakes his head.

You nod and Solo remains posted up by the side of your desk. Paul and Nick remain at Nick's desk chatting about something or other.

A few minutes later, the office door swings open and Logan Paul comes sauntering in with a self-entitled smile plastered on his face. "YN!" Logan walks over to you, making a note to ignore Solo. "How's it going beautiful?" He asks you.

"Logan." You reply dryly. "Mister Aldis is busy at the moment." You warn him.

"Fine with me." Logan leans over to your desk. "I came by to talk with you." He winks at you.

Your jaw twitches in annoyance at Logan's advances. Solo catches the subtle gesture and eyes Logan out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm a little busy, Logan. Sorry." You attempt to politely get him away from you.

"No trouble, babe." Logan shrugs. "I can wait." He continues to lean against your desk.

You let out a small sigh, tapping your pen against your palm. Next to your desk, Solo matches your sigh. You watch from the corner of your eye as he uncrosses his arms and steps up to Logan.

"You can go ahead and leave." Solo sizes up Logan. "Now." He stares at Paul with a no-nonsense look.

Logan laughs and turns to Solo but second-guesses himself when he sees the look on Solo's face. Logan backs off and glances at you one more time before he scoffs and exits the office.

"Thanks for that." You turn to Solo after Logan slams the office door.

"He come by often?" Solo leans back next to your desk and crosses his arms over his chest again.

You nod, recalling all the times you've had to put up with Logan meandering around the office when you're trying to work. "Only when he's bored." You answer Solo. "Which just happens to be almost always." You snark.

Paul and Nick finish up their conversation so you don't catch the flare in Solo's nostrils. Paul walks over to your desk and collects Solo before both of them head out.

Nick walks over to your desk after the pair have gone with papers in his hand and questions ready to fire at you. "Did I hear Logan Paul in here a minute ago?" He asks you.

"Mhm." You hold your hands out to receive Nick's papers. "Sikoa scared him off." You muse. "What are those for?"

"Just some copies I need to be made up," Nick replies. "I really should have a talk with our United States champion about his manners." He sighs to himself.

You nod and take the papers. Nick walks off back to his desk and you neatly put the papers into a pile before taking them over to the copier in the other room.

It takes you around 15 minutes to make all the copies that Nick needs. When you come back into the office Nick is talking in a rushed and concerned tone with a couple of the security staff.

"Is there something going on, sir?" You drop the papers at your desk and hurry over to Nick's.

"It seems that Mister Sikoa has decided to teach our US champ some manners himself." Nick turns to you. "The pair were just separated after getting into a brawl backstage." He explains.

Your eyes widen in surprise at Nick's explanation. "Oh." Is the only reply you can muster.

"I'll go have a chat with Mr. Paul," Nick adds. "I trust that you can handle speaking with Mr. Sikoa?" He asks you.

"Of course, sir." You nod. "What would you like me to tell him?" You ask.

Nick bobs his head in thought for a moment before he answers you. "Just please let Mr. Sikoa know that he cannot go around assaulting people backstage. Especially champions." He informs you.

You nod and head off to the trainer's room that they've got Solo waiting in. You nod to the security officers at the door and they let you in.

Inside the trainer's room, Solo is being treated for a minor cut to the eyebrow from the fight. You walk over to him and dismiss the trainer cleaning up his cut.

"That cut looks like it stings." You comment.

"It's fine," Solo replies.

You nod and bounce on your feet, unsure of what to say. "Can I ask who started the fight?" You ask him.

"I started it," Solo replies plainly. "And ended it." He adds.

"Right." You nod. "And can I ask why?"

Solo looks at you through the blood trickling down his face. But he doesn't have to say anything to answer your question. "Yeah...I know why." You bite the inside of your lip. "But you didn't need to. I don't need any help in dealing with Logan Paul." You insist.

"Kind of seems like you did," Solo replies, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"I-" You take notice of the smile he's trying to hide. "Okay!" You stifle a laugh but not the amused smile on your face. "Thank you, again, Solo." You thank him in a whisper. "Clean him up and then he's free to go." You turn back to the trainers. "Don't let it happen again, Mister Sikoa!" You glance at him and raise your voice.

Solo nods at your raised tone. "Yes, ma'am."

You exit the trainer room and head back to the office with an amused smile on your face. When you get back Nick is already back from his chest with Logan.

"I presume that your conversation with Mister Sikoa went well?" Nick asks you.

"It did." You nod and sit back down at your desk. "I don't think that this will be happening again." You assure him.

Nick nods and sits back down at his desk ad well. "Yes, I don't think so as well." He agrees with a knowing smile.

#wrestling #wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfic #wwe fic #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling fanfic #wrestling fic #wwe x reader #solo sikoa #solo sikoa x reader #the bloodline x reader #syd's wrestling fics

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wherescody · 4 days ago

Text

back marks

Cody Rhodes stood in front of the mirror in his locker room, rolling his shoulders and wincing slightly. His back was a patchwork of faint red marks, standing out against the usual bruises from training and matches. He smirked to himself. If only the WWE Universe knew the real reason behind them.

"Yo, Cody, you ready?" a voice called from the hallway.

"Yeah, be right there!" he replied, shaking his head as he grabbed his ring jacket.

Just then, YN peeked into the room, her eyes immediately locking onto his back. Her face turned pink. "Oh my gosh… Cody."

He turned with an amused expression. "What?"

She rushed in, grabbing his arm and turning him toward her. "What? Look at you! Your back looks like you wrestled a wild animal!"

Cody chuckled. "Technically, I did—and I lost." He winked, making her groan and bury her face in her hands.

"This is so embarrassing," she muttered.

Cody gently pulled her hands away, grinning. "Hey, don’t be shy now. You weren’t exactly holding back last night."

YN swatted at his chest. "Stop!"

He laughed, leaning in. "I kinda like it, you know."

She blinked. "The marks?"

Cody nodded. "Yeah. They’re proof that you’re my toughest opponent." His voice was teasing but warm.

YN groaned, hiding her face again. "You’re gonna be the end of me."

Cody pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. "Nah. But you are gonna be the reason I wrestle tonight with some extra battle scars."

Before she could protest, the PA system blared: "Cody Rhodes, to gorilla position. You're up next!"

Cody slung his weight belt over his shoulder, starting toward the door but pausing to glance back at her. She was still standing there, chewing her lip, looking equal parts flustered and guilty.

He smirked. "Don’t worry, babe. I’ll handle my opponent… and later, you can help me recover."

And with that, he walked out, leaving YN standing there, heart racing and face burning.

Yeah… she was definitely in trouble.

YN paced Cody's locker room, nervously biting her nail as the Monday Night Raw main event played on the monitor. Every slap, every suplex, every brutal landing made her wince.

Especially when Seth Rollins, ever the opportunist, noticed Cody’s back.

"Ohhh, what happened there?" Corey Graves' voice rang out on commentary. "Looks like Cody went through a war before he even stepped in the ring!"

YN nearly died on the spot.

"Oh my gosh," she whispered.

As if things couldn’t get worse, Seth pointed at Cody’s back mid-match and smirked. Then, in classic Rollins fashion, he dramatically ran his fingers across the scratches.

Cody let out a grunt of pain but powered through, eventually hitting Cross Rhodes for the win. The second the bell rang, YN rushed toward the curtain, ready to check on him.

When he finally stepped through, sweaty and exhausted, she was already fussing. "Are you okay?! Did that hurt?!"

Cody blinked at her, then laughed. "That? Babe, I get hit with steel steps for a living. A few love taps aren’t gonna break me."

She groaned. "Cody, they talked about your back on commentary."

He smirked. "Oh, I heard."

YN’s face burned. "I hate you."

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. "No, you don’t. But I do need a shower. Care to keep me company?"

She gasped, shoving him playfully. "You just wrestled a whole match. I’m not coming near you until you wash off all that sweat."

He smirked, leaning in. "That’s fine… but just so you know, once I do get cleaned up, I might just have to return the favor."

YN’s heart nearly stopped.

Cody winked, grabbed his towel, and headed toward the showers, leaving her standing there, flustered beyond belief.

She was so in trouble.

YN sat on the hotel bed, hugging a pillow to her chest as she replayed the events of the night over and over.

Cody’s scratched-up back on full display. Seth Rollins mocking him in the ring. The commentary team making it worse for millions to hear.

She groaned, burying her face in the pillow. "So embarrassing…"

Just then, the bathroom door swung open, and there stood Cody Rhodes—fresh out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips, steam rolling behind him. His damp blond hair curled slightly, and a knowing smirk played at his lips as he rubbed his neck.

"So, wanna tell me why you’re pouting?"

YN peeked at him, still mortified. "Because I basically exposed you to the entire WWE Universe!"

Cody chuckled, crossing his arms. "Babe, it’s not that deep." He took a step closer, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "If anything, I think it’s kinda funny."

YN groaned. "Cody, Seth Rollins saw them. Corey Graves saw them! The entire world saw them!"

Cody sat down beside her, leaning in. "And? Now everyone knows I have the toughest manager around."

YN’s breath caught in her throat.

Before she could respond, Cody gently took the pillow from her hands and tossed it aside. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he tilted her chin up.

"Though," he murmured, lips just inches from hers, "I think it’s only fair I win this round."

Her stomach flipped. "Cody…"

"What’s wrong, sweetheart?" he teased, brushing his nose against hers. "Shy now?"

Her heart pounded as he lightly tapped her nose with his finger, smirking.

"You left scratches," he whispered. "So maybe I should leave a little reminder, too."

YN let out a shaky breath, knowing full well she was so in for it.

And by the time the sun rose, she had a feeling Cody Rhodes would get his revenge.

#cody rhodes #cody rhodes x reader #cody rhodes x you #wwe #wwe imagine #world wrestling entertainment #codyrhodes #wwesmackdown #wwe x reader #wwe x y/n #wwe fic #wwe one shot #cody rhodes imagine

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usomads · 2 months ago

Note

Can you do a Valentine’s Day story with Kenny Omega x Fem Reader ?

Kenny and the reader are married and have a romantic night together consisting of dinner , and a romantic bath leading into love making. Thanks in advance!

You Taste Better // Kenny Omega x Reader

Author’s Note -> Happy Valentine’s Day! I’ve been so busy recently between moving, visiting family, and then some things that have come up but I’m hoping I get a little more consistent with writing pretty soon. I’m not usually one to write about fluffy stuff like this, but since the day calls for it I guess I’ll do it.. just this once 😉 as always, happy reading!

Pairings -> Kenny Omega x Fem!Reader

Warnings -> Fluff galore, Cursing, Hickies, Fingering, Handjob, Unprotected P in V, Not Proofread, MDNI

Word Count -> 2.3k

Valentine’s Day: a day for extravagant gestures, lavish gifts, and world-class dinners. But this year, your first Valentine’s Day married to Kenny, things would look differently. He insisted– begged even, that the two of you stay home and he’d handle everything.

“I got this,” he’d said confidently this morning, kissing your forehead and disappearing into the kitchen.

But now, as you stood in the doorway, arms crossed in amusement, you watched your husband fumble his way through cooking dinner for the two of you. Adorned in a simple black tee and sweatpants, Kenny was the epitome of domestic charm– if not a little bit chaotic. Steak sizzles in a pan while a pot of mashed potatoes sits abandoned on the counter, a wooden spoon resting near the edge of the countertop.

“You’re supposed to stir those, babe,” you pointed out, holding back laughter.

Kenny turned, a sheepish grin on his face. “I was… getting to it.”

You shake your head, walking over to him and taking the utensil from him, giving the potatoes a much needed stir. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, planting a soft kiss to your hair and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re interfering with my master plan,” he murmurs, lips brushing the skin under your ear.

“You looked like you needed some help, babe.”

“I’ll admit to needing you, but that’s nothing new.” His hands slide down your waist, pulling you closer to him. You breathe out a sigh, now having your own troubles focusing on the potatoes. He chuckles at you, kissing your temple before pulling away to finish with the steaks.

Dinner eventually made its way to the table– not perfect by any means but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You and Kenny sit across from each other, candlelight flickering between you, casting a warm glow on his face. He pours you a glass of wine, making a toast to another year together.

“To my beautiful wife,” he says, his voice soft now. “The one person makes every win, every loss, and everything in between worth it.”

Your heart melts at his words and you know for a fact that right now, there is no place you’d rather be than here. No five-star restaurant, no elaborate trip, nothing could compare to the serenity of this moment. As chaotic as it was trying to get dinner together, you wouldn’t trade this for the world.

You continue with dinner, making conversation and occasionally flirting and cracking jokes back and forth as you finish your meal. The two of you finish eating and Kenny stands first, gathering your plates and placing them in the kitchen before coming back to the table and extending his hand to yours– taking it and leading you upstairs. The second you step foot into the bathroom, your breath hitches in your throat. The tub was already filled with warm water and full of bubbles, the air thick with the soothing scent of vanilla and sandalwood. Rose petals decorated the water and tile floor, with dozens of candles flickering around the room– the only source of light.

You turn to him. “When did you do all this?”

Kenny smirks. “I have my ways.”

With gentle hands he undresses you, his fingers trailing slowly down your arms before guiding you into the water. Warmth envelopes you, relaxing your muscles as you watch Kenny undress himself. He slips in behind you, pulling you into his chest. His arms snake around your waist as he presses a soft kiss to your bare shoulder.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N,” he murmurs.

You lean back against him, sighing contentedly. “Best one yet, baby.”

The two of you relax in each other’s embrace, soaking in the moment– one that you don’t get often with how often he’s on the road. You feel the water ripple beside you as he brings his arms out of the water, cupping water in his hands as he rinses your hair. He reaches for your shampoo– the one you bought specifically because he loves the scent, and gathers some in his hands before lathering it and bringing his hands to your hair. He massages your scalp, his hands warm and deliberate, working the soap through your roots and ends before rinsing it out. He follows with body wash, his body wash, and rubs the skin along your shoulders and chest– kneading the tension out of your muscles. The soft glide of his fingers sends shivers along your spine and soon his lips follow, brushing the sensitive skin of your ear once more.

“Kenny…” Your voice barely whispers.

He hums, his hands drifting lower. “I told you– I got this.”

The water ripples as he turns you to face him, rinsing the soap from your body. He watches the water cascade from your skin, his eyes dark with something deeper than just affection, then brings his hand to your cheek. His thumb brushes your lips before capturing them in a kiss– slow, passionate, and filled with all the love in the world.

You melt in his arms, your fingers threading through his damp hair as his hands explore your body under the water. His touch is gentle yet firm, teasing yet possessive. The steam wraps around you both, the heat between you far exceeding that of the water.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his lips swollen and red from the kissing, his breathing heavy. “You are so damn beautiful.”

Your heart races as he trails his kisses lower, his mouth finding the most sensitive spots along your neck, your collarbone, and lower still. His fingers ghost over your thigh, spreading warmth in their wake.

“I think we need to take this somewhere more… comfortable,” he whispers, his voice husky.

You nod, breathless, as he stood, water dripping from his toned body. He holds out his hand, helping you out of the tub before wrapping a plush towel around you. But the moment your feet touch the floor, he lifts you into his arms, carrying you into the bedroom. You take in the sights around you– rose petals scattering across the bedroom floor and your shared bed, a bottle of Dom Pérignon resting on ice, and a plate of chocolate covered strawberries.

A giggle escapes you. “So, dinner and a bath weren’t enough?”

Kenny smirks, sitting you on the bed gently. “Oh love,” he murmurs, he presses a kiss to your cheek, “the night’s just getting started. Here,” He hands you a flute of champagne. “To us.”

You both sip your glasses as he reaches for a strawberry, swirling it in the air playfully before bringing it to your lips.

“You know, they say strawberries are an aphrodisiac.”

You smirk, staring into his eyes as you take a slow bite, your fingers brushing his. “Mmm… then I guess you’re trying to get me in trouble tonight.”

He laughs, taking another sip of his champagne. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m just celebrating.”

You raise your glass to his, your eyes darkening with something deeper. “To celebrating, then. And to you– my favorite indulgence.”

You clink glasses, sipping slowly, your eyes locked on one another over the rim. You reach for a strawberry, holding it between your fingers before pressing it gently against his lips.

“Your turn.”

He takes a bite, licking a stray bit of chocolate from his lip. “Delicious. But I think you taste even better.”

He groans softly, setting his glass aside before leaning in, his fingers tilting your chin up. Your lips meet, warm and unhurried, tasting of champagne and chocolate. His hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer and guiding you towards the center of the bed. Your fingers intertwine themselves in his hair, tugging gently at the strands along the nape of his neck, drawing a soft groan from his lips. The towels that had clung to your bodies were now long gone, laying on the floor in a heap as you were now chest to chest– skin to skin. The warmth radiated between you, heartbeats in sync, moving together as one.

His fingers trail down your body faintly, ghosting along your freshly bathed skin directly where you needed him most. They danced along the flesh of your thighs, moving ever so delicately towards your aching heat as his lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, nipping and gently sucking fresh marks along your jaw. You whine in a mixture of pleasure and frustration, your body calling to him for more.

“Be patient, baby,” he breathes into your skin, “I’m in no rush tonight.”

Kenny’s lips find yours once more and you sigh in content, his fingers growing closer and closer to your glistening core. You shiver when his digits finally reach you, your eyes fluttering closed as he drags his fingers through your wetness, finding your clit and rubbing soft circles into the swollen bud. You hiss, your head falling onto the mattress as you finally feel relief from this burning tension. Your hips unconsciously follow his movements, your body desperate for more– dying for more.

You weren’t the only one silently begging for release, however, as his hardened cock pressed into your thigh– and for a moment you swore you could practically feel him throbbing against you. You wrap your fingers around his shaft, pumping his cock with your hand, earning a guttural moan from him. His head falls in the crook of your neck, soft moans and groans being breathed into your ear as you stroked him. It was then that his fingers teased your entrance, entering you one at a time, and thrusting into you with slow and deliberate movements.

His voice is husky and full of lust as he whispers in your ear, “Fuck, Y/N… still so fuckin’ tight for me…”

“Means you gotta fuck me more, baby,” you breathe out, the curling of his fingers inside you having you nearly breathless.

He growls, lifting his head and resting his forehead on yours. His eyes are trained on you, watching your face contort with the slow thrust of his fingers as he himself tries to keep his composure from your touch on his cock. He pulls himself away from your hand, removing his fingers from inside you much to your protest, and instead teases your entrance with the tip of his cock.

“Later. Right now,” his lips brush against yours, mere centimeters away from pressing them together again, “I wanna make love to you, baby.”

You gasp as his length slowly enters you, stretching you around him– your walls molding to the size of him. You’ve had sex with Kenny countless times, but he never fails to take your breath away every time he pushes himself inside you. His eyes stare into yours as you bite your lip, and you’re convinced you’ve drawn blood, but all of your thoughts melt away as Kenny stares at you lovingly while he buries himself deeper inside you. He stops as he’s bottomed out inside you, a breathy moan falling from his lips as he locks your lips again, devoting every ounce of love and passion into the kiss. He doesn’t stop kissing you as he begins to rock his hips against yours, his cock slowly thrusting inside you.

Whimpers and moans escape you with every movement of his hips, your body overcome with pleasure as he delivers on his promise to make love to you. He pulls away from your lips, breathing heavier as he brings your legs to his hips, letting them interlock around his waist as his slow thrusts continue. You moan his name like a mantra, the sounds of your lovemaking echoing your shared bedroom.

“O–oh, Kenny…”

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so beautiful.” He peppers kisses along your cheeks, and with each new location they find he utters compliments, affirmations, and most of all– proclamations of his love for you. He feels your pussy flutter around him with each sentence, your body telling him you believe each word that falls from his lips, but most importantly– that you’re close to your release. His fingers find your clit once more, resuming his soft circling motions which makes you cry out for him even more.

“K–Kenny, baby, I–”

“Eyes on me, baby…” he mutters, “Wanna watch you cum for me. I’ve got you.”

Your eyes open to his already looking into yours, and you feel it. The love, the passion, the desire, all combined and manifested into one single gaze. It’s this gaze that sends you over the edge, your orgasm rippling through you– powerful and warm, just like him. His follows suit, his eyes never leaving yours as he releases himself inside you.

The two of you ride out your respective orgasms together, heartbeats still as one, the rise and fall of your chests in unison. Nothing else matters in this moment, the entire world has completely faded from existence– it’s just you and Kenny. The two of you. Together as one.

He pulls out of you slowly and you whine at the loss, feeling incomplete without him consuming every ounce of you, and he chuckles– pulling you into his chest.

“So, how’d I do, baby?” he mutters, placing a kiss below your ear.

“Not too bad, so long as you don’t forget about those candles like you did the potatoes.” You giggle, gesturing to the candles in the bathroom, still burning bright.

“Fuck!” Kenny scrambles out of bed, running to the bathroom as you laugh at him, your heart full of nothing but love and admiration– despite the domestic chaos.

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