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ncteez · 21 days

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NYMPHO [m.l]

If there’s anything in life that Mark wants, it’s to fuck. All day, every day, it’s on his mind. He fantasizes constantly, watches porn every free chance he gets, and ultimately has grown bored of his own hand to satiate his need. or the one where mark is very inexperienced, incredibly perverted, and borderline addicted to sex but cannot, for the life of him, land a girl.

ao3 | m.list | leave feedback and reblog to give mark another boner.

minors do not interact.

WORDCOUNT― 13.8K

PAIRING― mark lee x afab reader

CONTENT― smut, inexperienced but pervy and dominant mark, he kind of has an addiction to jerking off, im not joking like he has a boner every twenty minutes it’s probably a medical issue but, reader is really sex positive and lets mark go absolutely insane on her

NOTE― not proof read// will come back and maybe try to do that…anyway. im back in the game bitches, someone tell mark [DO NOT]!! disclaimer: this is straight up just porn. it had a plot at one point but i deleted all of it and wrote this instead. additionally: this is also posted on my other blog [@simpjaes] for jake so.........hahaha

smut tags under cut::

smut tags― mark isn’t submissive– just a loser, loads of masturbation, also loads of loads lmfao, mark’s dick is 8 inches in this one, public humiliation, dirty talk, teasing, pussy eating / face sitting, mentions of free use, unprotected sex, wayyyy way too much cum, raw grinding, attempts at deep throat, accidental face fucking, finger fucking, suffocation, riding, squirting, implications to the fact that orgasms are not the end of the fic bc they just keep going, some say they’re still fucking to this day.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Feels so good! Harder! Fuck m-”

Mark slams his laptop shut in an exasperated sigh. Frustrated, annoyed, fucking horny.

Always horny. To the point that nothing excites him anymore. Not his hard-on being palmed at by his own hand, not the make-shift pocket pussy he’s made out of household objects, not the porn on page one or on page seventy-three.

Honestly, even as hard as he is now, it’s arguable that he could just start punching his cock and he’d still remain in this state until something changes. And you know what sucks more than not being able to get off? Being hard so constantly that it’s just a state of living at this point.

It’s sad. He could be washing caked ketchup off of a plate and his cock would still lend a little jump. A reminder that his hand is no longer enough. A fucking threat that if he doesn’t sink into a pretty hole soon, he might as well just kill himself.

The idea doesn’t seem too bad anymore, as he lays flat on his back with his cock in hand on his messy sheets. He stares up at the ceiling with another long-winded groan, wondering why he has to have such an insatiable libido and probably twice as much stamina. If he could just get off he’d have at least a little bit of time in his day to feel normal before it takes hold of his brain again.

It’s the fact that he’s grown entirely numb to his own hand and feels like he’s going crazy because he hasn’t been able to hook-up with anyone in nearly a year. Porn is boring, he swears he’s seen just about all of the good, bad, and bizarre. Post nut clarity barely exists because there is no clarity by the time he finally gets that hard-to-reach nut. Bad luck, maybe. Awful fucking miserable luck? That’s more fitting.

For the sake of the girls in this city, perhaps it’s good that he can’t manage to land a hook-up. Surely they’d be unable to walk by the time he gets his fill, that is if he manages to get a fill at all. And it’s gotten to the point that Mark has almost entirely given up on finding a girl at all. One that’s willing to put up with his near-constant need to get his dick wet, anyway.

Almost given up.

A thought crosses his mind as he lazily palms himself with a bored sigh, knowing he’ll end up locked up in an asylum somewhere if this doesn’t stop. The voice of Johnny in his head doing little to make his cock soften, which is…not something Mark is proud to admit.

“Dude, you gotta put a stop to this shit. This is your third laptop this year!” Johnny had said to him. “It’s only June!”

Maybe Johnny was right, and maybe Mark should have downloaded the new app that was mentioned shortly after the scolding rather than immediately going to another, even more, shady porn site. “Heard this one was really good.” Johnny had advertised. “Even got Jisung laid.”

Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt to try another app despite the immense amount of failure Mark has already faced regarding previous attempts with other platforms. After all, if it got Jisung laid, surely it could get him laid too.

Maybe this one really is better.

And at the end of the day, Mark does download the app. After all, creating a profile is easy, finding a girl though?

We’ll see.

・��・・・・・・・・・・・・

Ah. Okay. Nice.

Mark stays glued to his phone all night. He really had no hope that this app would offer him anything more than what the others did. But, oh.

The app allows specific features, most of which are not aimed towards users looking for a relationship. Dick and body sizes are out in the open, there’s sections you can fill out regarding what you’re looking for in a sexual partner, how often you’re willing to see said partner, and if you’re looking for a regular fuck or a one time fuck.

Safe to say, Mark’s profile went a little something like this:

you can call me mark, im 24. just looking for a girl either for regular visits or a one night stand that’s willing to deal with a guy who literally suffers from chronic-boner syndrome.

LOOKING FOR: Female PREFERENCE: One Time Only, Occasional Meetups, On-call, Regular meetups, Permanent Friends-With-Benefits, Secret Meet, Virtual Meet, Audio Meet, Rebound C…[Click to see more] PARTNER REQUIREMENTS: N/A SIZE REFERENCE: 8 ½” hard, 4” soft, 5.6” circumference SEXUAL INTERESTS: Vanilla, Free Use, BDSM, Begging, Breeding, Dom/Sub, Dominatrix, CBT, Role Play, Public Humiliation, Edging, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Phone Sex, Virtual Sex, Group Sex, Humiliation, Cock Play, Cum Dump, Religion, Raw, Multiple Orgasms, Androgyny, Genital Piercings, Older Women, Body Art, Wax, Anal, Financial Domina...[Click to see more]

NOT INTERESTED IN: Cuckolding, Voyeurism OTHER: im not very experienced in most of these, i just watch a lot of porn

Embarrassing? Yeah, probably.

Looks like a lot of women are into that though if his inbox is anything to go by, anyway. With him checking the app every few minutes to find ten new messages? Yeah, they’re feeling him.

He can only imagine what the fuck Jisung had on his profile to actually land a hook-up. Couldn’t have been any worse than his own, after all, Mark is desperate and so was Jisung at one point.

Apparently girls like desperate guys.

Message after message, degrading comments and praise, all from either women clad in leather or sweet looking church girls who must have the app hidden deep within their phones. There’s barely anyone in between those two categories, actually.

“Hi baby boy, you looking for a sugar mama?”

“ur dick really that big? lol, what do you even mean by ‘chronic boner syndrome’?”

“you’re so desperate to get laid, might as well just doxx yourself at this point…please.”

Arguably, these women are very forward and he has a great time sifting through the ones he’s interested in. Scrolling through all of these messages….does not help his case regarding his insatiable need to fuck something either so, naturally, he’s also 100% jerking off the entire time he’s doing this.

Still, never quite able to reach the orgasm he needs by this point.

Up until there’s a message that catches his attention. No degrading, no insults, no borderline-too-kinky insinuations. Which, given, Mark probably shouldn’t have selected the majority of the kinks just to pull more girls, but he did.

And upon reading the message, he almost doesn’t know if this girl is real.

“High libido, no girls around to help you out, I take it? Rough.”

One look at her profile spikes even more interest. Her sexual interests include a list of things he wishes he didn’t fit. But he does, though he’d never admit it. Inexperienced men, losers, virgins, micro-penis, big penis, praise (receiving), body worship��

Oh.

Fuck yeah.

He responds quickly, already feeling the orgasm within him bubble up as he tries to pretend he doesn’t go on a war path of responding to everyone after you, but still. Your message box with him remains in his mind as he awaits the response to his message of “you looking to help me out?”

Every ping on his phone afterwards makes his cock twitch more, makes it dribble out little beads of pre-cum with each pass of his palm, only for him to sigh out of frustration that it’s just another person that wants to devour him whole. Which, he’ll take what he can get if his first choice never responds but still. He wants to get off to you.

He finds himself on your profile more often than anyone else’s too, looking at the same three photos you’ve posted, noting how you don’t seem super active on the app, but active enough to find him by some beautiful grace of God.

You’re kind of perfect, honestly. Fairly mundane compared to most of the women in his inbox, but cool nonetheless. He can tell you have an eye for fashion but it seems to be more geared towards your real life self rather than the secret fetish/kink app you’ve got downloaded.

And that’s the thing. Most of these women, beautiful or not, are dressed in their best sexual attire just to message a possible fuck, while during their daily lives they probably wear conservative dresses and pant suits. Which….arguably that’s kind of hot. Then again, what isn’t hot to him these days?

You though. You have normal pictures posted just like he does. Your tits aren’t out, your legs aren’t open, you don’t have a pile of sex toys behind or beside you and yet still your pictures turn him on more than those who do. Insane how his cock twitches at just these three photos, fucking insane how he grows a near instant obsessed thinking about how you…uh, deal with the losers you seem to be looking for.

Then again, maybe it’s the mystery of what’s under your clothes, or what’s in your stash of sex toys. Oh, whatever you’re hiding has got be so fucking hot. Naturally, he groans at the amount of sexuality you barely give. Thinking far, far too hard about it all, given the circumstances.

Don’t get him wrong, he can get down with the hoes. In fact, he very much wants to get down with a hoe. But man, the way you stand out because you’re somehow….boring compared to everyone else?

Please.

Fucking pretty please, let him in between those thighs.

And just as he scrolls again through your photos, that long-awaited orgasm hits him like a brick.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

A mere two days later you find yourself in the inbox with the self-proclaimed boner-god. He’s since proven his size with photos involving different objects beside said penis, and even a video or two of his frantic hands jerking off to you.

Ah, he’s kind of perfect if you think about it. At first you thought that it was just roleplay for him or something. Where he plays a guy who can’t get enough, though he clearly probably does. It wasn’t until you were woken up at four in the morning with him spamming your inbox that you suddenly realized this dude is actually as desperate as he seems.

Normally, being spammed awake by your phone pinging consistently would bother you. But goddamn was he needing it. Just three hours before now it was mostly casual conversation with him, albeit about hooking-up, but still. The two of you agreed to determine on the following day if you were compatible enough for a meet up. He said goodnight to you, and you said it back.

Then you woke up to three dick pics, one voice note with a borderline pathetic apology (only because you could still hear him going at it), and then like fourteen messages of him trying to wake you up intentionally.

MARK_99 sent you a message: You awake?

Dick pic #1.

MARK_99 sent you a message: You’re so pretty, sorry lol

Dick pic #2

MARK_99 sent you a message: Wake uppppppppppp!

MARK_99 sent you a message: Please? :(

Dick pic #3, precum smeared across his fingers as he grips it.

MARK_99 sent you a message: Do you already have me silenced?

MARK_99 sent you a message: I’d let you silence me hahaha….

MARK_99 sent you a voice memo: “Sorry about all this, I really meant it when I said I have a problem. You should probably just block me because I’m going to end up begging to see you otherwise”

Oh, he sounds like a fucking loser, love that..

MARK_99 sent you a message: your profile says you like inexperience…..well i’ve only slept with like 3 girls, is that inexperienced enough?

MARK_99 sent you a message: do you like to tease guys like that? like edge them and stuff?

MARK_99 sent you a message: oh damn, that’d be so hot

MARK_99 sent you a message: do you like it when guys beg btw?

Etcetera.

And, well, apparently he just has a lot to say. It’s cute how embarrassed he must feel basically getting himself off with a one-sided sext session with you as you were sleeping. At least, you hope he’s embarrassed.

You let his messages simmer for a while, waiting to see if he sends anything else. And when he doesn’t, you respond.

YOURUSERNAME: that was cute.

It’s the way he’s instantly trying to respond that really gets you going. You chuckle first, knowing already that you’d probably help him out based on this situation alone.

YOURUSERNAME: trying to wake me up because you can’t stop touching yourself? :( poor baby.

MARK_99: oh god please don’t say that

MARK_99: im gonna end up awake all night trying to get it to go down again

YOURUSERNAME: that’s good to hear. so you can go for a long time then?

Yes, you’re teasing him.

MARK_99: if you’d let me

YOURUSERNAME: you already got off tonight tho, didn’t you?

MARK_99: i don’t think you understand just how bad it is. i’m already getting my dick out again

You lend yourself a sly chuckle after a deep yawn, knowing for a fact that you’re about to make him prove to you that he’s either still hard or really did get off only to get hard again by a mere few messages from you.

YOURUSERNAME: show me?

And he does. Similar to the other three photos, only this time he sends a short video with his shorts pushed down his thighs and his cock raging hard and pathetic against his stomach. Again, he’s big, that much is true, but the fact that such a dick is always ready to fuck? To the point he’s desperate? To the point he’s embarrassing about it?

YOURUSERNAME: how bad do you wanna bury that in me?

Oh, shit. Mark could fucking die right now. You seem so willing, which is truly what he needs at this point in his sexual sickness.

MARK_99: i’ll come over right now.

MARK_99: let me come over and show you

YOURUSERNAME: let’s wait a bit for that, gotta meet officially before I let you fuck me

And you do intend to make him wait, knowing for a fact that you’re not meeting this guy tonight. There’s too much danger in that. Given how desperate he actually is, you can argue that if you changed your mind upon meeting, he very well may not care. Which, that’s something you need to worry about with any person you meet on such an app, but still.

Public meeting first.

Always.

MARK_99: right, right, that makes sense.

MARK_99: so can i see your pussy then

You stifle a laugh as if the man can hear you, he’d probably like that though. But yeah, no. As much as you know he’d enjoy that, it’s best to let him experience it for the first time in real life if all of this goes well. So, you settle with tits.

Meaning, he has to settle with them too.

And the photo is all but enough for Mark. The ping of his phone was far too exciting with the flash of the image sinking into his eyes. Sure, he wanted to see your hole open for him, he wanted to see your pretty hands spreading your lips for the picture, he wanted to see what he might get to fuck into someday– but…

This is good enough for him, honestly. Seeing your tits alone is hot enough, but it’s the fact that you only barely let him see. The plush skin of your lower breasts are peeking from under the shirt you're wearing, one nipple barely out, the other completely hidden.

He moans out at it, holding his cock tight and painfully as he glares into the screen of his phone. God, he can almost taste it.

MARK_99: thats so hot…but….

MARK_99: pussy….

MARK_99: please show me your pussy

Another chuckle at how desperate he really is. You lower your phone just a bit, not at all intending to show him all of it but you do lend a panty shot with your legs spread. He’ll live with it, he doesn’t have a choice.

And he does live with it because he cums almost instantly upon seeing just your thighs open. He wouldn’t have been able to hit climax so quickly had you already had this photo posted for all to see. It’s the fact that you sent it to him in the dms. It’s the fact that you presumably just took it for him. It’s the fact that he can almost see the outline of your folds, and the lines of your pussy that deserves to fucked open.

When he doesn’t respond immediately, you know it was enough for him. Already you’re preparing to roll back over and get some more sleep, but your phone dings again.

MARK_99: tht was hot lol….um

MARK_99: can u come to the mall tomorrow? i work at [redacted store name], u can come see that im actually very normal if u want

You stop for a second through another yawn, thinking long and hard about it. You shrug to yourself because tomorrow is a saturday and there’s plenty of public spaces to meet him in. And despite how fun it could be to tease him for weeks on end before officially meeting him, you, yourself, have been in a dry-spell lately.

And he fits your interests perfectly. In other words, yeah, you could fuck.

YOURUSERNAME: you sure you’re not gonna take me in the back and fuck me on the spot?

MARK_99: ….would u want me to?

YOURUSERNAME: no, i wanna bring you home if i think you could make me feel good

MARK_99: hahah damn

MARK_99: so you’ll come see me?

YOURUSERNAME: yeah, i’ll come see you

MARK_99: ok cool :)

And then it’s silent for a long while. In fact, you’re nearly asleep again when your phone pings one last time. All you need to see is the notification to know that meeting Mark is gonna be fun.

MARK_99 sent you a message: for the record…i definitely will fuck you good

Sounds promising.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You knew he was cute but holy shit, he’s like, cute cute.

Fucking handsome and charmingly cute.

Perhaps even, hot.

You stand from around a shelf to check him out. That same voice you’ve heard previously rings loud and clear in your head, and his hair is definitely a stylistic mess, the type of hair you can imagine grabbing and tugging to guide a tongue between your legs. His eyes are pretty and piercing yet equally as filled with some sort of wonder. His hands, his body.

Oh wow.

On any other day, you’d think he’s just some poser emo-guy working a shitty retail job so he can buy his first guitar and play it totally out of tune. But on this day, you’re aware that this is a man with a need that you very much wouldn’t mind satisfying.

Seeing him go about his work tasks behind the counter is another thing. Checking customers out both through the register and with his eyes when they walk away. You know he isn’t aware that you’ve actually shown up, and it feels nice to watch him in his element before he attempts to play himself up as a totally normal, cool dude. Especially now that you can see him secretly be a pervert on the clock.

Customer after customer, he smiles at them when he hands them their items, he offers small talk and little chuckles that ring in your ears, and every single time one of the pretty ones walks away, his head turns to watch them leave for a few seconds too long.

Anyone can tell he needs it if they watch him for long enough.

You’re not sure why this guy is getting to you the way he is, but there’s just something about the way that he carries himself in public that turns you on. You already know for a fact that he’s a horny motherfucker. You know that behind those charming smiles and laughs, he’s got a neglected cock needing to be used.

No one else in this store is aware of it. You’re the only person here who knows he was spamming a stranger last night with dick pics and begging to see her pussy.

It’s hot.

And when you approach, Mark nearly doesn’t even know it’s you at first.

“Hi, did you find everything you–” Mark stops mid sentence. “Oh, fuck. You’re here.” He adds, trying to primp his hair into a spot that may look a little better than it did already.

You watch as he studies you for the first time, nervously darting his tongue out and against his bottom lip just for a split second before shifting his eyes behind you, and then turning to look around to see if anyone is within ear shot.

No one is paying attention to either of you, and no one is going to hear what you’re about to say to him. Good.

“Do you wanna see my pussy?”

It’s a joke, mostly. Kinda.

You chuckle at his stunned reaction. His hands move to the counter as he clutches it and continuously looks around to make sure no one just heard those lewd ass words from a girl so goddamn hot. Like, oh god, it’s you. You really showed up to see him and already he’s not acting normal.

No, no. You’re the one acting out of pocket, not him.

“I’m–” He tries to start, but his voice cracks in a very, very, embarrassing way. You hear him clear his throat before continuing. “I’m supposed to be showing you that I’m normal.”

You tilt your head at him playfully, leaning against the counter and pushing your tits together with your arms. You wore this shirt here for a reason, and boy are you glad you did. You watch his eyes go straight to your chest and stay there.

“Public Humiliation.” You echo one of his sexual interests to him from his app profile. “Dirty talk.”

Mark swallows around his words in stunned silence, feeling his cock wake up immediately. Fuck, this is the only place he finds peace of mind from…that. Yet here you are, with that soft and pretty voice reminding him of everything he wants but hasn’t been able to have. Standing there like you know he can’t bend you over right now and make you stop talking.

“Eight and a half inches hard.” You continue, leaning in even closer and moving your hand to the collar of your shirt. Tugging down just a little bit. “Five point six inch circumference.”

Mark squeezes his eyes shut as he leans back with a sigh, pressing his hips against the counter for some sort of relief. To think the “boring” girl on the app wouldn’t be like this? God, he knew there had to be a catch considering you were on that app to find him in the first place.

“Please–” He groans as his ears redden, lazily opening his eyes to look at your tits again. “Please don’t do this to me.”

“I can imagine you’d fit it in me just right, wouldn’t you Mark?” You continue briefly, noting the bulge he blatantly presses against the counter. “Can you say ‘please’ again? It’s kinda hot.”

“Please–” Mark blatantly groans now, his voice sounding hoarse and low. As much as he wants you to keep going, he’s at fucking work. He can’t be doing this.

“Okay!” You gleefully agree as you switch up like you didn’t just fuck him up, lending him a bright and innocent smile as you lean back and away from him. “So you don’t want to see my pussy then?”

His relieved face falls right back into that of pained frustration as he narrows his eyes at you.

“Right now?” He asks curiously, nodding his head without realizing it. Sure, he’s at work but like….your pussy is also at his work place right now.

“Yeah! Can you show me to the fitting room, actually?” You ask, louder this time in case anyone has moved around within ear-shot by now. Can’t make him lose his job, or whatever.

Mark swallows thickly with a nod, his eyes still narrowed at you but his mind racing a mile a minute at the fact that you’re really here right now, and this is what you’re doing to him? Enjoying his pain? Enjoying his suffering? Making it worse?

Five minutes ago he was perfectly fine. You’re using his need against him and god, he loves it. Yeah, maybe he will take you to the back and try to fuck you at this point. Even if you said that you wouldn’t let him…what the fuck is this then?

Really, he expected you to show up with an awkward hello and irritating small talk. He wanted to show you that he’s not always thinking about sex. Except he is, and it seems you want him to. You want him to think about fucking you.

You really just walked into this establishment and asked him if he wants to see your pussy.

Of course he wants to see it. You already fucking know that. He wants to fuck it too, like, right now.

And as he walks you to the fitting room, he has to try his damndest to adjust his growing cock. He nods to each customer as he walks by them, hands repeatedly going back to his lap to hide what he’s packing.

“Here it is.” Mark says in an unfocused voice, nearly staring a hole through you. “Now show me.”

You dip your head in a smile, heading for the room and opening the curtain. Cheap ass store, really, most places have actual doors, but whatever.

It’s easy to step inside and leave the curtain skewed a bit, knowing that Mark is hovering around the room, knowing that it’s probably protocol that an employee assist this space when it’s in use to prevent stealing and to prevent others from walking in on naked customers.

You like the way you see him take peeks, trying to be discreet. You like the way he keeps his hands in front of his lap, hiding that you’ve definitely made him a mess of him already. You love the way he whispers a curse to himself when you sit against the bench in this small room and spread your legs wide open.

You bet he loves the skirt you’re wearing for him today too. Though this wasn’t exactly planned or anything, you didn’t expect to be this turned on upon seeing him act as desperate as he sounds. You wore this shirt so he can look, and the skirt too…but looking this much wasn’t in your mind originally.

He’s hot though. The way he needs it is hot.

“Hurry up.” He groans, trying to make it seem like he’s frustrated but you know it’s just because he’s anxiously horny.

And, well, you’re not actually gonna show him your pussy, but at this point you feel bad because he seems really stiff right now, almost robotic in the way he likely feels uncomfortably aroused in his least favorite place.

“Mark,” You whisper-chuckle. “If you wanna see it, you’re gonna have to come in here and take my panties off of me.”

You hear him sigh, and see his eyes flick back to you through the small open space in the curtain.

“You’re insane. I can’t come in there, I’ll lose my job.” He argues with a hushed tone, eyes fixated on the very panties he wishes he could remove.

Even against his protests though, he reaches an arm in as he looks away. As if on extreme watch of other customers and employees roaming around. Probably pretending to grab a garment that doesn’t work for you, probably just doing normal, good-employee things.

And, well, it’s pathetic really, the way he hopes for more. The way you offer more knowing he can’t get exactly what he wants. You actually feel a bit bad for doing this, especially because it wasn’t entirely in the plan.

You really were just coming to meet him. It’s not your fault that watching him work turned you on solely because you know what he needs. So, you stand and walk towards the curtain, grabbing his arm and holding it in place.

“Well–” You start, pressing yourself against the backside of his fingers, feeling him move his hand slightly against your clit. “Touch it then.”

He goes entirely silent but you feel the way he fumbles his hand, immediately grabbing your panties and moving them to the side just to really feel. And you let him, finding it somehow cuter in the way he doesn’t even ask. He does it like he needs to, like it’s instinctual to touch it. He feels for a second or two, probably closer to about five seconds before you step back. Really, it’s enough for him to know you’re wet, enough for him to suffer, enough for him to want more.

Mark’s brain is on fire at it. Touching it before getting to see it? Goddamn, you’re so fucking mean.

And it’s silent for a few more moments after that as Mark keeps his hand in place, seemingly searching for a pussy just out of reach when you slide the fabric down your legs and place them directly into his hand.

“When do you get off work?” You ask slyly now, ripping the curtain open and moving his hand for him, forcing him to shove your panties in his pocket.

“Uh–” He stutters, swallowing again around his words before clearing his throat of the moan he really needs to let out right now. “Seven– I get off at seven.”

You nod with a smile, leaning in real close before patting his pocket.

“I’ll text you my address.”

And you leave without sparing him another glance, knowing that by the time his shift is over, he’ll probably pounce the second you open your door for him.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Mark suffers through the rest of his shift aggressively trying not to suck on his fingers. Fuck, he wants to taste you so bad, but to go as low as sucking the remnants for several hours just to hold him over? Truly, he’s at his wits end.

Mostly because he absolutely does suck his fingers any chance he gets. Tapping his lips with them as he sees a customer off, licking against them discreetly, trying to make it look normal for him to have his fingers in his mouth so consistently.

It’s not doing anything to hold him over though.

He keeps glancing at the clock, and then at the message that reads your address. Just one more hour and he can leave. Just one more hour and he can bury his cock so deep into you that you’d never think twice about letting him do it again, and again, and again.

Oh god, really, he feels like he’s going insane as he checks out customer after customer. Every word they say somehow reminds him that he’s about to finally get laid again.

“Can you wrap this up for me?” One customer said to him, nodding to a set of candles.

Mark wishes you’d wrap him up in that pussy.

“Do you have this in a bigger size?” Another customer had said to him as they held up a plush sweater.

Mark doesn’t think you’d ever need a dick bigger than his. He’ll fill you up just right.

“69.99?!” One customer argues. “The sign said it was 30% off!”

Mark would sixty nine you all night long if you asked. He bets you taste sweet, you probably get really wet too.

And by the end of the night, rain pounding on the roof, his last customer unfortunately has to hear a low groan leave his throat at their comments. He’s very quick to cover it with a cough.

“Sorry for coming in right before you close, the rain is bad tonight and I forgot my umbrella, thank god you guys sell them! I didn’t mean to drip all over the floor like this, I hope you don’t have to stay late cleaning up my mess!”

“I didn’t mean to drip all over your floor like this” Replays in his head, over and over again. God, he’d make you drip. He hopes you drip all over the floor for him. He’d get on his knees and lick it right up, god.

He needs to leave. Right now.

“S’all good,” Mark shakes his head after the initial moan and cough cover, trying to remain casual. “It’s my job to clean it up, after all.” He smiles, his brain stuck on the feeling of how wet you were when he touched you. Shiiiit. “Have a good night, stay dry!”

And finally, Mark can close out his register and lock the doors. That, he does. Performing his end-of-night tasks at lightning speed with a cock throbbing so bad that he worries he might have to get off in his car before making it to your apartment. He genuinely needs to get off, especially knowing these pretty panties are in his pocket ready to be soaked in his cum.

He doesn’t though, no. He holds off, thrusting his hips up and against the inseam of his pants with every passing second as he drives. He’s practically writhing by the time he gets to your place. Honestly, he moans with each movement because he’s sensitive. It’s so, so fucking sensitive. Everything feels good, he could genuinely cum the second you open your door if he’s not careful.

Careful isn’t something Mark can be at this moment though, not when he lands a single knock at your door and you’re immediately opening it, looking at him with that same fucking evil smile you gave to him while he was at work.

He looks at you and instantly lets out a frustrated moan before stepping in without another word. You feel his hands grab you much harsher than you originally thought he would, but you let him as you laugh out in a nervous chuckle.

“Hello to you too.” You pat him on the back as his arms wrap around your middle. You hear him kick back against your door, slamming it shut before his lips hit your neck.

He isn’t talking but goddamn you can hear what he needs to say through the way he presses his lips against you. He’s rough with it, kissing all across your exposed skin before slipping his hand right between your legs from the back as if he doesn’t have to chase anymore.

You were going to jerk your hips back to make him chase, but his grip is too tight and he’s nearly lifting you off the floor entirely to get a feel. You were going to force him to look at you and the outfit you changed into for him, but again, he’s not having it, it seems. He moans when he moves his lips up and against yours, hot breath desperate and needy as he finally speaks.

“Did it turn you on to torture me like that?” He nearly growls against your lips. “Got me so fucking hard.”

You’re genuinely surprised with how he’s acting and talking. Then again, he’s desperate, that much is obvious if that monster bulge rubbing against your leg is anything to go by. Perhaps he may be desperate, but you guess that doesn’t always mean someone will end up submissive as a side effect.

“It did.” You smile against his lips, pushing yourself forward to try and plant your feet back on the ground, chasing the ability to gain control over him. “Did you like that?”

Mark nods before shaking his head, allowing you to push forward, loving the way your hands reach for him and run through his hair before tugging. He did like what you did, but it doesn’t change the fact that it was fucking torture to stand there at work like he wasn’t losing his mind.

“I’d like it more if we skip all the bullshit,” He starts, hand still attempting to reach the spot between your legs and lips landing at the corner of your mouth. “Could go all night.”

You nod to him, gripping his shirt and pulling him back to your living room couch and spinning him around, only to shove him back.

“Is that a promise?” You ask, looking at the lazy way he spreads his own legs and rests his head against your couch cushions, eyes staring straight at you and cock twitching in his pants. “You gonna fuck me all night?”

“Yeah–” He breathes as if he’s in disbelief, hand reaching between his legs just to grab himself and squeeze as his eyes trail your body. “You have no idea how bad I need this.”

“Show me then,” You nod your head to his length that’s hidden under his pants. “Let me watch you first.”

Mark groans, rolling his eyes back both out of frustration and arousal, but he does as you say. His palm feels better with you watching, at least. He doesn’t feel so numb to the pleasure with you promising your body to him, at least. He doesn’t mind proving his size to you by shoving his pants down to his thighs and presenting said neglected cock to you either.

It’s heavy, dark in color due to the blood that’s likely rushing throughout every inch of it. He feels sensitive to even the air in your living room as he twitches and aches to hear you talk again, to see you in front of him watching how he pleasures himself, wishing his hand is yours.

“You wanna watch?” He says in a low-rumbled voice, tracing his fingers along the head of his cock and seething out a breath through his now, bitten bottom lip. “Wanna know how tight I want you to feel?” He asks now, bold and in the heat of the moment. You watch him when he squeezes the base of his cock tightly, you can almost feel yourself choke at that alone.

“How wet you need to be to take it?” He continues, dragging his hand back and licking his palm before spitting into it.

The wetness against his hand is horrifyingly pornographic. So wet when he reaches back down to his length, allowing you to hear it squelch and slip with ease. His breath is hitched while he does it too, which nearly has you seeing him in tunnel vision.

“Yeah…” You tune into him entirely, swallowing around the lump in your throat and feeling yourself drip already. “I can’t imagine how good–” You cut yourself short to moan at the way his other hand holds his pants down while he jerks his hand up faster and faster. “Oh god, you’re–”

“Wanna see how fast I can cum just looking at you?” He continues, hand only moving faster and faster as his grip tightens more, shamelessly grunting proudly over how he could probably cum now if he wanted to. “I told you, I can go all night.”

You pause, because goddamn. You thought he would be embarrassing, pathetic, needy. You thought he would beg, plead, and cry. But…you feel like you’re the one who needs to do that. God, you’ve never seen a man so desperate to fuck yet be so powerful about it. As if he’s in your face whispering, “You’re gonna let me fuck you, right? You’re gonna love it too, right? You’re gonna let me use you to take care of this little problem of mine, right? It’s what you want, right?”

If he were to say those things to you right now, you’d nod without a doubt. But…he doesn’t. He simply looks at you now, heaving out broken moans that sound too sexy to be considered pathetic. His hips chase each movement of his hand and goddamn does he fuck his fist hard.

Your mind is spinning watching him, knowing that he’s probably going to fuck you twice as hard as he fucks himself. And it’s not surprising to you at least that you can feel your own clit swell and throb for touch too. You easily move your hand between your legs, standing right there in front of him, toying with yourself as if you don’t have the power to ask him to do it for you.

“Ah, fuck–” Mark groans, thrusting his hips up into his hand one last time before strings of his cum make a mess on his shirt. And it seems to go on forever too, spurt after spurt of it pumping out of him alongside his pretty moans and open-mouthed expression. You can feel your body react to him more than it ever has for anyone else, especially in the way….

“God–” You moan yourself now, watching him spread his legs and slouch more against your couch with a relieved sigh from his messy orgasm. But…his cock doesn’t soften. No, it stays stiff and heavy against his stomach, twitching and dribbling more and more of his cum out in little beads.

The proof of his issue is right here, he really can and probably will go all night. And you say nothing else to him after that. In fact, he wouldn’t be able to answer you if you did say something simply because you find yourself stepping up onto your own couch, resting your knees against the back of it, and gripping his hair.

Mark lets out a half-moan-half-hum, as expected, when he feels your hand drag his face under your skirt. You didn’t have to do that, but goddamn does he fucking love it. He loves how he can feel your knees buckle and force you to balance on the couch, loves how your cunt is just as needy as he feels, fucking adores the way you drip all over his tongue when he pushes your panties to the side and starts licking you up.

It’s the fact that he didn’t even have to ask you to put it in his face. The slight taste against his fingers all night at work is nothing compared to the way you drown him now. He needs to do this for you. Hell, he needs to do this for himself.

“Jesus,” You breathe, rolling your hips on his mouth. He’s truly eating you like his life depends on it. You can hear his muffled hums at the taste, you can feel his shoulder shake as he starts jerking off again, you can feel the way his tongue goes deeper and deeper, licking each clench of your walls, only to pull back and suck the wet from your panties in a deep breath.

He coos at it too, as if he’s in love with the moment, as if he truly can’t believe he’s finally got a pussy to lick. And he swallows each mouth full of your slick before muttering curses and promises against your swollen little bud.

“Please,” He moans, nipping and licking against you. “Been so long since I’ve eaten pussy, rub it on me- fuck-” he continues to babble, heat-of-the-moment-talk coming out as far more arousing than cringe if you listen hard through your ringing ears. “Come on,” He continues, now neglecting his own cock and gripping your ass with both hands, shoving you back and forth on his face in painfully slow and harsh grinds. “Come on, harder.”

As if you can function at all right now with how rough he is about trying to pleasure you? Fucking hell, the words ignite something in you as you pull back and away from him. For a split second, you see his blown out pupils and fucked up hair as he licks his lips and presents that shining lower-half of his face to you.

You don’t look for long though, no. Because you’re too busy pushing him to the side and forcing him to lay back on the couch instead. You resume your position afterwards, straddling the couch on either side of his head with your knees and planting your pulsing cunt right on his eager tongue.

“You’re too hot,” You moan, feeling his hands go straight back to your ass to force more of those harsh grinds against him. “If you could see yourself right now–” Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you feel his moaned out chuckle hit you right in the clit. It’s like he knows he makes you feel good, but does he really?

Does he truly understand how fucking good at this he is?

“God, if you could feel how good your tongue is–” You continue, now losing yourself in the heat of the moment, feeling his fingers nearly bruise your ass with the death-grip he has on you.

He nods his head in what little space he has as he spirals into heaven behind his eyes. The smell of you suffocates him, the taste of you drowns him, the weight of you is nothing short of sexy as hell. This is all he could ever want. A pretty girl using and abusing his face, much like he wants to do to you. But oh, there’s so, so much he wants to do after so long of having no one but himself.

Eat you out, finger fuck you, slide his cock down that pretty little moaning throat of yours, grip that hair and kiss those tits. God, he wants to do everything right now but he can’t bear to push this perfect clit off of his lips. He cannot fathom losing the taste of you and the way you clench around the tip of his tongue.

Oh fuck.

“Ahh- '' Mark moans open-mouthed against your clit as his brain hits a wall, his cock standing stiff from behind you as he spills out against himself again. Untouched completely, he cums without any effort where as previously it took him hours just to get off because he’d grown so fucking bored of everything.

You’ve ignited him. His drive is higher than it’s ever been after being neglected for so long. God, he wants to fuck you so full that you can’t bear to leave him.

“Fuck–” He continues, trying to lend licks between his jerking body to keep your arousal peaked. “See how bad I need it?”

He finally manages to pull back, feeling you lift from his face just for a moment after noting the way his entire body is shaking. He’s not having it though, as he cranes his neck in chase of your dripping hole once more.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He adds now, enveloping his lips around your clit again and using both hands to force you right back down on his face.

There, you feel the way he almost passionately makes out with your pussy. As if he’s thanking you for a second orgasm within the past ten minutes. As if he truly can’t stop wanting to fuck something, someone, anything at all.

Goddamn, what a fucking deal. All hail the hook-up app that brought this insatiable sex beast to your apartment.

“Mark–” You start, grinding down for him and feeling his hands now move to rub up and down your back. “Keep your tongue in me.” You choke out, gripping his hair to hold his face in place as you sit his tongue inside of you, short and jerky thrusts forward to bump your clit against his nose.

He’s gotten off twice now, it’s your turn.

And you watch as he drops his arms from you and grips your outer legs through it, letting you use his face until he can’t breathe. Both of you are seeing stars through it, your orgasm bubbling up so quickly that you can barely warn him when your hips halt in a stiffened clench and he’s finishing the job for you.

Your legs squeeze around his head, your fingers pull his hair, and still he manages to find the space to tilt his chin up just to tongue-fuck you deeper, just to rub his nose harshly against your clit, up until he feels your quivering pussy spill all over his chin, down his throat, stealing any breath or moan he could possibly give right now.

You’re out of breath by the time you finally slide off of his face, your hands immediately shooting to both of his cheeks as your sensitive clit drags down his stomach for the easy position change. You wince when you lick against his lips at the sensitivity, being sure to seat yourself right against his cock.

“Hah–” Mark lends a breathy laugh against the way you lick his lips, his hands going right back to your ass and landing a sharp slap to it. “Couldn’t even get our clothes off first.”

You take a second to pull back and look at him, noting the redness against his cheeks and nose, likely from your panties consistently getting in his way and then you chuckle back at him. You’re thankful for the short break the two of you seem to be taking at the moment. Still, you lift up from him just to remove your shirt, exposing your tits in an instant solely because you didn’t wear a bra for this exact purpose.

He’s still hard, despite two orgasms. You feel him rubbing it against you every few seconds, right up against your saliva and cum-soaked panties which, mind you, are insanely uncomfortable right now. It feels as if they’re slicing through your thigh with the force of how Mark managed to keep them shoved out of his way.

“Just lay back,” You smile at him, allowing him a longer rest for now as you take it upon yourself to remove the barriers. “Let me take care of you now.”

Mark has hearts in his eyes as he watches you. Normally, a girl would already be falling asleep after all that, leaving him with not enough orgasms and no actual fucking. It’s not his fault he could do foreplay for upwards of three to four hours before going for the finale. Which, arguably, can and will last several hours longer.

Still, you appear to not be finished either, with your breathless smile and gentle hands. He bites his bottom lip through a smirk as he watches you, tits on full display to keep him satiated for now as you move around on the couch to get his pants off of him. He helps a bit with a little kick, his cock still so sensitive and pathetically weeping for more. He feels lucky to have found you, almost baffled that he may have met his match.

You lend several glances at his cock, not quite realizing the way he’s blinking at you right now. To be fair, it’s only natural to have your attention on that thing right now. You swallow around your nervousness regarding the size but equally want him to fuck you senseless with it. You already feel entirely fucked out, but…that. Oh, that could change your life, probably. You can imagine he won’t be as gentle as you expected before all of this too. Would probably shove it in all in one go and lose his mind at the feeling.

He’s probably going to split you open and make it feel good for you too. Somehow.

Anyway, enough of that. You’ve still got to get his shirt off, your uncomfortable skirt and panties too.

You make quick work of it, as you stand to your feet and expose yourself entirely to him. Mark just watches, humming and moaning at each new expanse of skin you show to him. He keeps his hands to himself though, likely so used to feeling of them that they’d bring no pleasure at this moment if he were to jerk off to you doing this. And you just…look right back at him.

“Come on,” You smile at him again, lending your hand out for him to grab. “Bedroom will be more comfortable.”

Right. Bedrooms exist.

Mark follows, cock heavy and sensitive against his thigh with each step as he tries to get up close behind you. His eyes stay on your ass as you walk in front of him, and it’s not hard for him to keep his hands on it. In fact, he’s touching you as often as he can, trying to remind himself that he’s with someone right now who actually wants him.

You seem to be willing to let him do what he needs tonight, and hopefully it won’t be the only time.

You feel him on you, clinging so closely, hands constantly groping, lips always trying to reach the back of your neck and shoulders, to the point it’s actually difficult to get to your bedroom because you want nothing more than to turn around and shove him against the wall, all to try and take him into your mouth just to see if you can.

He doesn’t really let you think about that for too long though, because the second you get to your bedroom, he’s grabbing you from behind and lifting you in his strong arms. You writhe in his grasp with playful giggles, feeling the strong hold he has on you, keeping you in place against him as he stumbles forward with a deep inhale into your neck.

He’s quick to make his way to your bed, dropping you onto it, flipping you over onto your back, and immediately slotting himself between your legs. He hovers over you for a minute, looking directly into your eyes as his hair falls forward.

Somehow, you’re more focused on his face than you are of his cock that he’s sliding up and down your core right now. You reach up to his hair, brushing it out of his face and feeling the sticky sweat at his scalp.

“Could eat you out again.” Mark mentions, hips thrusting against you but eyes calm and level with yours. “Could lock me up in here and just use me all day if you want.” He continues, partially being serious about it, but treating it as if it’s some kinky joke instead.

Because let’s be honest. If there’s any job Mark could do better than anyone else, it’s be a woman’s fuck toy. Always ready to go, always stiff and horny, always willing to please.

“Could slide in right now and let you feel how hard I am.” His voice gets breathier as he talks, and you can tell he’s just imagining everything he wants to do. He probably worries he’ll have to go home at some point tonight only to resume his search for potential fucks to keep his need satiated.

He probably thinks he’s going to exhaust you.

“Could let you do all of that and more.” You respond, lifting your hips just slightly to press his cock between your bodies, throwing your legs around his waist simultaneously with the way you wrap your arms around his neck. “You want me to lock you up in here?”

Mark nods with a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as if he can imagine it.

“Do you work tomorrow?”

He shakes his head with another sigh, focusing on the way you keep humping up against his length, sliding yourself in whatever way you can against him.

“Maybe I’ll just have to do that then.”

Oh, damn.

The heart eyes are back. The very thought of being in this room all night and all day tomorrow drives his cock to pulse and twitch. Foreplay can come whenever, fucking can come whenever, he can cum whenever. There’s no need for a to-do list. No need for a specific structure of rules on how this needs to happen. Foreplay, sex, sleep. Not with Mark.

Sex. foreplay. sex. foreplay. for hours. He’ll keep you up all night if he can, fucking and sucking every part of you, into the morning hours straight into tomorrow night.

Free use with you from now until you’re tired of him. You can do anything you want to him but for now…

“Yeah?” Mark breathes out in excitement, arching his back slightly to let his cock land against your hole, and then he pushes forward slowly. The bulbous head spreads your lips and stretches out your slick pussy with ease as he continues to speak. “Feel that?”

Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, fingernails already digging into his shoulders at the anticipation as your legs loosen around him. He continues to push forward, inch by inch, painfully slow as if he wants you to feel the burn and stretch even while being as wet as you are.

“Ah–” He confirms for himself as he watches your face, wincing, mouth falling open. “Yeah, you feel it.”

God, yeah. You do. You feel the weight of his size inside of you, stretching you open so good he probably wouldn’t even have to move for it to hurt. But he does move, he does continue to slide in, savoring every second of your walls quivering and suffocating his cock.

“Goddamn,” He groans, lifting up on both arms and bracing himself as he looks down, only to find he’s only slid half of his dick into you, and already you’re about as breathless as he is. “Didn’t realize how tight you’d actually be–”

He chokes when he says it, sliding out little by little before fucking back in, pushing just a bit more into you.

“S’okay.” You try to reassure him, but it’s more for you than it is for him. You really didn’t think a cock could feel so big that it actually hurts, yet, here you are. “I’m adjusting.”

Mark moans at your broken voice, no longer holding himself back to look at your pussy grip him when he pulls out slightly. He looks at your face instead, witnessing how you take all of it in one solid movement from him. All of it, until he can feel his pelvis rest against your clit and your entire body stiffens in a tight hug around his body.

“Mhm,” He leans back down now, humming against your cheek as he tries to control the urge to fuck. “Taking all of it, aren’t you?”

With those words, he slides out slightly before pushing back in again, trying to force your pussy to relax so that he can stop holding his breath. One hand finds its way to your leg to hold onto, the other holding himself up beside your head, and he just…watches.

Little by little, he thrusts. Plunging into you in short-tight snaps of his hips just to watch your tits jiggle with the movements, up until he really, really can’t hold back anymore.

You feel his cock leave you almost entirely, only to slam right back in and cause your vision to go white with a pang of pleasure. Your loud yelp pairs well with his relieved sigh of a grunt, and it appears that this is what breaks him entirely.

That single, full thrust, lets him fall forward and nuzzle his nose against your neck and his body just goes. Instinctually chasing the deepest parts inside of you, hitting your cervix with each thrust only to drag back and make your toes go numb at the way your g-spot feels entirely too sensitive with this alone.

And god, Mark loves the way you cling through it. The way you moan each time he bottoms out, the way your nails cut into his back and the way your legs continuously fail to stay wrapped around him. He…

Oh no.

“I can go all night–” He breathes out through his relentless thrusts, almost as if he’s pleading with you. “I swear, I’m not done–” He continues to cut off his own words with choked moans as he pulls back and leans up, frantically forgetting to apologize over the fact that he’s already about to cum again.

And you feel him try to slide out, that face he made twice before already alerting you that he really must have so much to pump out of himself at this point. You don’t mind if he’s about to hit a third orgasm, in fact, you’re glad.

Your legs hold him in place as he fights to pull out, his eyes snapping to you in realization after the second time he tries.

“No fucking way, you– you want it?” His eyebrows fall into that of a relieved release as he, too, falls right back down against your chest and lets his hips fuck freely.

He’s not controlling it at this point. You feel him stretch you open more through his orgasm, rolling his hips but not pulling out even in the slightest now. Moving back and forth, as if trying to stuff you impossibly full while he releases those thick ropes of cum. It…feels so good even with the way the base of his cock continues to swirl and loosen you up in a painful stretch that almost feels like he’s ripping you open. Still, the pain is gone as he shakes on top of you, in fact, you feel your clit throb at the feeling of how big he is, of how hard he manages to stay.

He didn’t even fuck you that roughly before this, but it feels like you’re already ruined. Ruined enough to want more. Enough to need more.

“Bet that feels good,” You chuckle against his hair, feeling each pulse of him and loving the way he pants against your ear. “Not having to pull out, knowing you can fuck me for as long as you want.”

That only pushes his orgasm to hit harder. He thought he was nearing the end of it, but instead, his body goes into overdrive as more pulses of cum shoot out of him at your words. There’s so…so much of it he can give you. And if this is what you want, he’s the perfect man to do it for you.

“Don’t say that, oh god–” Mark mumbles through the end of his orgasm, keeping himself tucked nice and deep into you as he releases his body weight and makes you feel slightly suffocated under him. “Please.”

Well, he minds his manners well enough, you shrug under him, clenching around his length unintentionally and reminding him that you genuinely can go all night, just like him.

Reminding him that maybe you really will just lock him up in this room all tonight, all tomorrow. He seems into the idea anyway, right? Both of you just free-use sex dolls for the time being…Hell yeah.

And as Mark catches his breath, he finally lifts up, pulling you with him, and sits you directly on his lap now.

“Keep going then, don’t let it get soft.” He nearly whimpers, solely due to the sensitivity his cock is now offering and the fact that after that third orgasm, he truly is gaining the ability to go flaccid between orgasms.

And you follow his direction, though not entirely how he wanted you to. Instead of rolling your hips, you slip him right out of you and sink your face down between his legs, loving the way his cum spills out of you all the while. You don’t even say anything, not that you’d need to. He watches you, a smirk forming on his lips as he raises an arm and throws it over his eyes.

“Shit, You’re so my type.” He groans out of the sexual frustration that still bubbles within him. You look so good down there with his cock just inches from your mouth. God, no woman has been able to go down on him for too long despite really fucking wishing they would.

His hips always lose control, they don’t like face fucking, he’s too big to fit, they’re gagging too much, their jaw is hurting. What the fuck ever. Look at you, blinking up at him like you want nothing more in the world than to take it all down your throat. Ah, fuck, if you did that…

His hips buck up on instinct, forcing you to hold him down with your arms as you lick your lips.

“You really live up to your promise, you know that?” You smile with warmed cheeks as you speak, blowing air gently against the head of his cock. It’s softened up a little, but it’s no longer going flaccid. You’re sure that the second you work it into your mouth, he’s going to be blocking your airways.

Good.

“You say that like I’m not overwhelming you with all of this,” He chuckles as he moves his arm from his face and down to yours. “Most girls would have already sent me home.”

You circle your lips around the bulbous head, tasting the remnants of both you and him as you gently suckle before popping off and licking your lips.

“Well, Mark–” You look back down and lend his cock a little kiss. “I’m not most girls. Besides, most guys get their nut and leave me hanging. You’ve gotten, what? Three orgasms by now? And you’re still in my bed? Wanting me to lock you up tomorrow too? What a fucking win.”

Mark rolls his eyes because you don’t even know the fucking half of it. If he were a normal guy, he probably would have done the same thing. Maybe not to you, but to others? Yeah. The thing is, he’s not like most guys. And you’re right in saying you’re not like most girls either, considering…your sex drive appears to be just as insatiable as his.

“Fuck, let me eat you out again–” Mark groans now, needing to pleasure you again, aroused by the fact that he’s basically met a female version of himself. Even if he’s just exaggerating and making himself believe such a woman could exist close enough to him. “Let me– Ahh…”

You cut off his words, dragging a loud and sensual moan from him as you sink down. Mostly to shut him up, mostly so you can return the favor for him from earlier before letting him have another lick of you. After all, you truly do appreciate him for all of this.

“Mmf–” You mumble unintentionally, feeling each inch of his length that you swallow up pressing your tongue further and further down in your mouth. Up until you’re entirely open mouthed on him, gagging yourself when he hits your throat only to angle yourself up on your knees to point it straight down your throat instead.

It hurts, but you close your eyes in concentration, breathing through each gag, ignoring the dribble of saliva that runs from the corners of your mouth and– you swallow.

Mostly because you can’t suck. Again and again, you swallow around him just to stimulate his length, the girth stretching your lips out to the point you feel your jaw could break, but it doesn’t and it won’t.

Within an instant of taking his whole length down your throat, you feel his hands in your hair. Your ears are ringing, otherwise you would also be listening to him choke on his words at how you’re doing this to him. All of it. You’re taking him in full, not leaving an inch out, seemingly proving that your mouth can be fucked just as good as your cunt.

He’s in heaven, head spinning as you stimulate him through each gag and sputtered out chokes of a moan. He can’t help it when he grabs your hair, he really doesn’t mean it when he pushes your head down while pressing his hips up. Essentially choking you and suffocating you in full with a paused hold.

You brace yourself on his hips when he does this, squeezing your eyes shut and continuously gagging from the way he abuses your mouth with just that small movement, and then– he pulls back.

“Ahh,” He groans, snapping his hips back and holding you by the hair to keep you from chasing. “You like that?” He continues, letting you breathe but not answer at all before he’s pushing your head right back down, holding you there again and fucking his hips up repeatedly into your throat this time.

The sounds are pornographic at best, concerning at worst. You, searching for air somewhere between his thrusts, the sounds of wet sputters, drooling, whimpered groans from him, and desperate gasps and gags from you. Truly, Mark is in heaven right now. With you, specifically, you’ve brought him to heaven.

For you, it feels like he does this forever. You’re losing the ability to comprehend what breathing ever was in the first place, thankfully though, Mark can see the tears pouring from your eyes and feel the way you fall slightly limp, letting him do as he pleases before he realizes– he may actually be overwhelming you now.

He snaps his hips back quickly, pulling you up and off of the last remaining inches of his weeping cock before taking a good, long look at your gasped breath and abused lips. Tongue licking out and eyes stained.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I–”

Instantly you press yourself down on him once again, resuming your original position of sliding him in until you can’t stand the feeling in your throat, gagging and swallowing around him time and time again. You feel proud of it, proud of the pain, proud of the suffocation.

Fucking proud to not be finished with him compared to every other person, apparently.

“Jesus–” He groans now, his entire body slouching against your bed as he slams his head back and starts petting your cheeks. “It’s like you were born for this. For me.”

You hum around the gags, growing accustomed to swallowing him up and feeling your jaw strain. And just a few moments later, you pull up with a deep breath, a smile, and you start rubbing your jaw.

“Maybe I was,” You try to talk dirty, wanting to drive him insane. “You taste so good.” You add, dipping down again to lick a long stripe up the underside of his balls up to his tip. “Any girl should be proud to say you’d fuck her mouth like that.”

A twitch, he rolls his eyes back and clenches his jaw.

“How are you so…” He breathes out, reaching his hands blindly for you, only to feel you shift on the bed and essentially sit your tits into both of his hands. “perfect?”

You shrug when he opens his eyes, you’re now hovering over him, both hands covering his on your tits as you force him to squeeze and grope.

“Maybe it’s best to not ask questions.” You tilt your head playfully. “Besides, if I’m lucky maybe you’ll stop trying to find other girls to fuck. They can’t take care of you like I will, anyway.”

Oh, you damn fucking right they won’t.

“You can have it any time you want.” Mark smiles, relishing in your tits warming under his palms, watching the way you hover over him tall and proud on your knees. “Could play with you every day and never get bored.”

You feel him move his hand from under yours, going straight between your legs and sliding not two, but three fingers into you with ease.

“Still so wet too,” He hums, eyes narrowing at you with that same pretty grin. “You always this horny?”

You shake your head.

“Not usually, you just turn me on.”

Mark feels proud of that. He doesn’t feel like the odd ball with a dick that can’t be satiated no matter how many pussies he plows through in a night. Which, again, for the past year has been a total of zero pussy. You getting turned on by that makes him feel…capable. Makes him feel like maybe he can be put to use by a pretty girl.

Makes him feel like his need is wanted and well taken care of.

“So, I can keep calling you?” He asks now, fucking his fingers up, loving the warmth and slide, anticipating for when he gets to bury his cock in you again.

“Mhm.” You hum, closing your eyes to enjoy the pleasure of how deep even his fingers reach. Kind of ready for him to stop talking and just focus on what he’s doing to you.

“Even if it’s every single day?” He continues to ask, now using his thumb against your clit. “Even if I need you in the middle of the night?”

Anything he wants if he can keep hitting your g-spot like this.

“Yes, Mark,” You sigh out of aroused frustration, now wiggling your hips to chase that stimulation inside of you. “I’ll give you the fucking key to my apartment if you want. Just let you walk right in and start fucking me.”

His fingers move faster at the image, the implication of not just free-use, but true free use. Real free-use.

“Yeah? Wake you up with my cock sliding into you?” He urges you to keep talking, now removing his other hand from your chest and circling it around his cock. “Just walk right in and get my mouth on you while all your friends are here?”

You lend a surprised chuckle, but pay no mind to his words past the arousal it brings to you. You’d tell him about how you have a total of like two friends, and half of the time they’re too busy to show up anyway. Still, the image is hot at the moment. All of it is hot.

“You’d let me?” He continues pressing every button both physically and mentally, unaware of how easy it is for him to talk as if it’s a normal conversation solely because it’s kind of his general state of living at this point. You, on the other hand, are not used to having a full conversation while your g-spot gets abused. “Even if you’re not home? Let you come home and find me fucking myself for you?”

Oh.

“Fuck–” You groan out at the image, feeling his fingers reach so perfectly, thinking of how it would feel to walk into your apartment just to see this pretty man chasing that tight ring of fingers his fist creates. Probably so turned on and frustrated that you’re not home…so frustrated that all he could do is drop to the floor and start fucking. “God, yeah.”

So that’s what you’re into. You love that he’s that pathetic to fuck. And lucky for you, he’s more than willing to continue to be that fucking pathetic.

“Does that feel good?” He hums now, watching how you fuck yourself against his fingers, lifting slightly to lick against your nipple. “Can I use my cock again?” He babbles almost, brain on constant loop of you actually giving him free reign of your apartment someday so he can come and–”Please, do this on my cock.”

This is the second time he’s asked you to ride it, and you think that may be one time too many. You almost feel guilty for taking him down your throat first, but then again, you don’t. Your body vibrates knowing you’re about to split yourself open on him again, only this time having full control.

“You want me to sit on it, Mark?” You smile, thrusting your hips down and sinking his fingers into you so deep that you physically can see his brain malfunction.

The frantic nod he gives is somehow less powerful than how he lifts his hips, forcing you higher on your knees as his fingers slip out of you and immediately land in his mouth.

Man, this guy must love the taste of pussy. The image of him doing that alone is insanely arousing to you as you lend him a short nod and slide back, your pussy sucking in the head of his cock instantly as if the two of you move together so well, that it was only natural to not need a guiding hand for it.

He sinks his head deep into the mattress with the way you try to sink down on him. He holds his breath with those same fingers in his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut at how tight you still are, how wet you still are.

And he’s shocked, almost, at the way you just keep sliding down. Not letting yourself re-adjust to his size, holding your own breath and bracing yourself on his abdomen just to keep balance and you wince through the stretch.

“That’s it.” Mark soothes your hips as you sit, clenching around each one of his twitches inside of you. “Doing so good.” He breathes out this time, trying to hold back his moan just for a moment as he awaits your moan first.

And it comes quickly when you lean back rather than against him, arms by his knees as you practically present his cock to him buried entirely into you with this position. He lifts his head and stares at it before reaching his thumb to your clit, immediately pressing hard circles against it.

“Ride it,” He pleads now. “God, please ride it.” He loses his mind at the image, really, as you do start moving.

Pained whimpers falling from your lips as you circle your hips, fucking just an inch of him in and out of yourself, forcing the deepest part of your pussy to take the abuse more than anything else. And you know he loves it with the way his thumb stops rubbing your clit, with the way he can’t decide on if he should look or throw his head back and fall into the sensation.

It’s really cute to witness, and you’d lean forward to kiss him if you had the strength to do it, but you don’t. In fact, all the strength you have is currently bubbling up inside of you with a sharp, almost burning sensation.

You know exactly what this is. You’ve practiced it time and time again alone in this bed.

“Oh, oh shit, Mark–” You groan as you frantically start moving your hips through the full and splitting feeling of him inside of you. Your voice sounds so panicked, it almost scares him. And honestly? Had he not have finger fucked you against your g-spot previously perhaps you could last longer on him, but no.

“What– What’s wrong?!” Mark’s voice is broken when he quickly leans up, hugging around you as you continue to ride against him, faster now, chasing, chasing, chasing.

Pushing, pushing, pushing.

“No, no!” You moan out, shoving him back against the bed and now lifting entirely from his length before slapping your own clit, fast, rough circled motions before each slap. “Oh, shit!” You nearly yell, witnessing it squirt from your body straight against his abdomen and chest.

Mark just watches, mouth agape and eyes wide.

“Oh–” He stares. “Oh yeah?”

And you’re not even done when he seemingly takes full control. Allowing all that squirt to fall out of you, ignoring your shaking legs, tipping you straight back and plunging his cock right back into that release of pressure inside of you.

“You just weren’t gonna tell me you could do that?” He grunts against your ear, fucking into you so hard and so fast that your orgasm just keeps coming. It feels too good to speak, too good to breathe.

Even as it subsides and you’re trying to catch your breath, he doesn’t let you. He just keeps going, grunting incoherently against your ear, snapping his hips harder than you think he’s probably ever done before.

Honestly, with each yelp you let out, your sensitivity goes from being unbearably painful to–

“Do it again–” He urges you. “Give me another one.” Babbling, cooing, fucking moaning all over your neck until his lips hit yours.

Somehow, that gives him exactly what he wants as he feels your legs tense up and fall open around him. Your pelvis slamming into his so hard that it’s, quite literally, splashing out of you in loud and painful sounds.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He nods and whispers against your tongue, sucking it into his mouth before licking into yours, nearly rabid with the way he’s both kissing and fucking you, he can’t help it. He forgot words the second he felt the gush rush past his length, trying to force it out of you only for him to go harder. Like hell he’s not going to feel you literally squirt on his cock. “So fucking messy.”

At one point, you think you might have actually died. You’re not sure but you swear you saw him fucking you in third person for two solid seconds before being slammed right back into your body. The pleasure genuinely is so overwhelming that…well, suddenly you understand why girls probably think he’s too much.

But goddamn he’s…so good. Like, you remember him mentioning his body count through his one-sided sext session with you and you can argue his inexperience probably made this that much better. He’s a fucking natural.

And as he continues fucking into you, all you can do is lend him a distant smile. You’re definitely not experiencing real life at this moment, and you know he sees it with the way he lifts and keeps his eyes on your zoned out expression.

“Look at you.” He echoes against your walls. “So, so pretty.”

And he just keeps doing that, whispering praises, working you through his presumed last orgasm of the night because he genuinely can’t not fill you up with his cum one last time before letting you rest.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The “rest” didn’t last long, but to be fair you didn’t need it to. All night, and all day. That promise was kept and Mark remained insatiable throughout all the time he spent with you.

To the point you very nearly felt strange about him leaving. Like you’d grown so accustomed to having someone literally attached to you at the dick that you knew the loneliness and silence would hit you a little too hard once he leaves you.

And, well, he does leave in a sense, but not completely.

Though you never truly meant that offer in the midst of sex-talk, Mark seemed to have clinged to the idea of it. Lock him up, but still give him the key.

Never in your life would have imagined giving a person the key to your apartment, and yet…there he goes. Backing out of a guest parking spot in front of your building with your spare apartment key in his pocket right next to those fucking panties.

#NCT smut #Mark Lee smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #mark smut

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peachesofteal · 4 months

Text

Simple Math / Part Seven

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.8k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Brief suggestive content, sex dream. Mentions of domestic violence, stalking. Hospital setting, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear, anxiety. Mentions of stress and weight loss. Soft dads. Little bit of flirting. Simon is... Simon. You get caught in a spell.

Johnny knows this is a dream.

It’s an odd thing, to be conscious of it, to know you’re dreaming but still unable to control your actions. It’s like watching a movie of yourself, but also being yourself, directing your body without having a say in what it’s doing.

He knows this is a dream, because you’re in it. You’re in their home, in one of Simon’s oversized sweatshirts, boy shorts rucked up over the little lightning bolts that arc across your hips, the underside of your cheeks. You’re smiling at him too, like you belong in there, like it’s yours too, and his heart swells, growing to a preposterous size.

“There’s my bunny.” He pulls you into his chest, mouthing up your neck and over your jaw. Your skin tastes like sugar, and when he gets to your lips, his hands shift, sliding down your back to grab two fistfuls of your ass with a groan. “Missed ye.”

“We missed you too.” His fingers trace the edge of your panty line, barely dipping into where you drip for him. “Come to bed, Si’s waiting.” You whisper, stifling a moan.

“Johnny.” Simon calls him, too loudly. He wants to hiss, snap at him about not waking the baby. “Johnny!”

His eyes blink open. White ceiling stares back at him, and he turns his head, finding Simon with a bemused look on his face.

“I was havin’ a great dream.” Johnny grumbles, latching onto him. Simon scoots closer, lifting the back of his hand to his lips with a secretive smile, dotting kisses down to his wrist.

“I know.”

“- and he has access privileges, as long he’s not interfering with care, he’s allowed to be in the room whenever he deems fit. Obviously, in cases where he shouldn’t be, like burn debridement, he’s fine with stepping out, but you should expect him to sleep here.” The nurse nods, nervously peeking over your shoulder at Simon, who’s lurking in the hallway, staring through the glass at the transport techs getting Johnny settled in his room. You catch her eyes, motioning to redirect her attention, and she mumbles a meek apology. “They have a daughter, who Johnny has been mostly separated from since he got here, and he’s hoping to see her often, since she’ll be allowed to visit more freely now. I told him it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Okay.” Her toes tap against linoleum, weight shifting from foot to foot, and you resist the urge to sprint back to her boss and demand someone else. Fuck. Why does Nora have to be on maternity leave?

“This is my favorite patient.” You warn her instead, dropping your voice low, pitching it brazenly serious. “I don’t ever want to see him back upstairs again, and that’s going to depend a lot on you.”

“Okay, okay.” Her work phone rings, and you jerk your head in dismissal, not quite finished, but not seeing a need to continue to harangue her, either.

Simon glances at you from down the hall, head turning once you’re alone. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t call to you, or say your name, but you’re helpless to the magnetic yank of his presence, a beam of gravity dragging you closer until you’re shoulder to shoulder, looking into Johnny’s room. He’s asleep, dark lashes feathered against his cheeks, blissed out and nearly snoring. “This will be great.” You say quietly. “He can see Penny almost as much as he wants down here. There are far less restrictions, and he’s doing so well, there’s nothing to worry about it.” He doesn’t say anything, just watches you with the x-ray vision that peels you open. Like he’s digging around in your head again.

“D’you have a minute?” You blink at him, graceful words dried out and missing.

“Uh, I… yeah, I’m technically off now so. Sure?”

“Have a tea with me? I’ll meet you outside the café, on the patio. Ten minutes alright?” Have a… have a tea with him?

His eyes are heavy. They’re lasered, locked onto yours, brows knitted together in something soft, some form of emotion that you don’t understand, framing his face above the mask. How can you say no?

“Okay, sure. Ten minutes.” You try to hide how your hands shake, tucking fingernail to palm, squeezing tight.

It doesn’t escape him.

You grow more afraid with each day, that nothing does.

The paper cup cradled in Simon’s outstretched grip is like every other paper cup you’ve seen before, drank from a thousand times, with steam wafting from its rim and aromatics spilling out into the air. “Sorry.” You blurt, reaching. His fingers brush against yours, warm contact momentarily stunning you. ‘Thanks.” You lift the tea to your nose, inhaling deeply.

Irish breakfast. With milk. Your favorite.

“How do you know what tea I drink?” You don’t mean for it to sound so suspicious, or aggressive, but it does. It’s nearly accusatory, but doesn’t affect him. He merely shrugs in response.

“I pay attention.” An engine turns over in the carpark, a small car sweeping across the lot as it turns out onto the street. You watch, feigning mild interest, trying to get a closer look at the driver without appearing too fixated. “So.” He sips, and then removes the lid, vapor rising from the top in a delicate little dance. “How long have you been at Addenbrooke’s?”

“A few years.” The answer is effortlessly supplied, like you’re under a spell. Your eyes go round. What are you doing? Crow’s feet crinkle at the corners of his own, and you manage a shaky smile.

“What brought you across the pond?” He jokes, velvet, soothing lilt in his voice.

“Work.” It’s easy to lie about this, the fabrication usually used in casual conversation almost every day with patients and new coworkers, people who are interested in you being from somewhere else, having a different accent, different education, customs, the whole lot. His jaw moves behind the mask, and before he can push the question further, you rush out your own interruption. “Simon, I want… I want to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.” He nods. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s… the other night Johnny said something about,” Your face is nearly scalding, embarrassment laden lump stuck in the back of your throat. “about you and him, and… me, I guess…” you trail off, eyes darting down into the tea.

“Go on?”

“He said that you guys think I’m special, and you- you said-“

“That we’re here for you.” He finishes, nonchalant.

“Right.” You breathe a little easier, knowing he knows what you’re talking about, words picking up steam. “I want you to know that it’s totally normal to feel this way. It happens a lot, you know. Patients and, or their family members, loved ones, they get attached. This affection starts to happen towards a member of the care team because we become that person who… provides care, twenty-four seven. So, you and… and Johnny, feeling like you have this attachment towards me, it’s very normal. Not a big deal.” You finish in one big breath, cutting your ramble short. His cheeks swell behind the fabric, like he’s smiling, eyes squinting again.

“That’s not what this is.” That’s not… what this is? What does that mean?

“What?”

“Transference. That’s not what is happening here.”

“How do you…”

“I’ve had years of therapy.” He sighs. “Are you uncomfortable?” Say yes, the girl in your head screams. Tell him you need it all to stop. That you don’t like them, that it’s inappropriate. You know how this will end.

“No.” You don’t know why you don’t acquiesce to your own good sense, why you ignore the very clear boundaries and rules that have kept you alive this long.

“Bunny, I need you tell me, honestly, if you are uncomfortable.” He levels you with an intense look, seriousness bleeding from his irises to yours. You press your palms flat on the table, quelling their trembling.

“It’s not… it’s not you. Or Johnny.” You whisper, eyes slipping shut. It’s easier that way, to just close them, to hide. To pretend you’re somewhere else, to block everything out.

What the fuck are you doing right now? Your brain screams, but your heart wails.

What is it like, to be loved like that? To be known like that? To be held in someone's heart, cherished and protected?

“Sweetheart,” Simon’s voice is low, calming, and when you don’t answer, one of his hands folds over yours. “are you with me?”

“Yes.” You peek at him, and then fully let yourself look around, steadying the rancid fear that permeates through your body. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” He hums, hand still over yours. It’s warm, and broad, big thumb stroking a slow circle into your skin. “Is today your Friday?” You nod.

“It is, yeah. I’m… I’m looking forward to catching up on some sleep.” He straightens in the chair, shoulders and torso so unbelievably wide, like a long forgotten mythological god. Or the trunk of a massive tree.

“Will you have dinner with us, tonight?” The last of the orange red dawn spills over the crest of the buildings, and the world spins, cold sweat breaking out down your back.

“What?”

“Dinner, with us. I’m picking up takeaway for Johnny from his favorite place as a celebration, for graduating the ICU. We’d love to spend some time with you. Get to know you, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, I…” Say no, you have to say no, shut this down. It’s too much risk.

“No pressure. Just, hanging out, talking. As friends, if you like.” Butterflies thrash in your stomach so violently your knees bounce, and your heart leaps, pitching itself off a cliff like it wants to die.

“Okay.”

“Great. I can pick you u-“

“No! No, I’m fine. I have some errands to run after I get up for the day so, I’ll just meet you here.” It will be just like going to work. No harm, no foul. You can hang out with them, and go home, just like you’re at work. It doesn’t mean anything. It won’t.

You barely sleep. You pace, you nap, you thumb through endless craigslist listings in faraway cities for apartments, you read. You take the long way through the city back to your flat and slowly sift through pieces of your life that you want to keep. Your quilt from home, that’s been tucked away on a shelf. A sentimental trinket that belonged to your mom, also hidden in a drawer. These things that can be removed, without being noticed.

Not that it matters.

He hasn’t been here. Not since the sick shit he pulled with your underwear. It makes you curious when you inspect the undisturbed tape on the back side of the door, the light dusting of baking powder on the bedroom carpet, but not surprised.

It’s not unlike him, to make himself known and then suddenly disappear, the endless mind games partially intentional, and partially something not even he can control.

After all, duty calls.

He could still be in the city. He could still be watching. You don’t know anything for sure.

“Three things you cannot outrun in this world, babe. Death, taxes, and… me.” You mumble it to yourself, the same words that live in your head, in his voice, repeated, pulling a pair of scrubs from your dresser.

But you had been running, and still had your life to show for it.

It doesn’t matter, you know how this will end.

You’ve changed your clothes five times. You hem and haw in front of the mirror, trying not to look too closely at any one piece of yourself, switching shirt and pant combos until you finally settle on your usual, a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt. They’re high waisted, because low rise is not even within the realm of possibility for your hips, and you appreciate how they fit, even if they may sit a little loose right now, given your recent stress levels.

You look fine, you decide. You look professional. You don’t really look attractive, in any way, but the scars on your torso are hidden, and with a little bit of make-up, you think you look presentable. At the very least, you don’t look like you’re half asleep, which is exactly how you feel.

Not like it matters, you chide. This isn’t a thing; it’s just hanging out. You’re going to put an end to this entire charade, tonight.

The train is quiet, and you’re extra watchful. Every face, every movement is logged, every jacket or hat or hood is inspected. Posture, skin tone, height, of every person you pass or see is tabulated and run through your mind. Your brain, a supercomputer in its own right, does it all, seamlessly. It wants to protect you, it keeps you on guard, it can look at a crowd of twenty people all facing the opposite direction and locate a potential threat, just by the shape of the shoulders.

You don’t see him, you don’t feel him, your skin doesn’t prickle, and you let the lack thereof bring you peace, if only for a few moments.

Johnny’s floor is bustling. You wave hi to those you know, checking in with his nurse for a moment, letting her know you’ll be hanging out for a bit. She doesn’t even bat an eye, thankfully, and you try to settle yourself as you turn down the hall.

You’re not prepared for what you find when you knock on his door and slide it open, breath catching for a moment, and you scramble to cover your initial balk.

Their daughter is here. She’s cuddled up on Johnny’s good side, the one without the burnt tissue or recovering surgical wound. She’s asleep, wearing a black onesie covered in skulls, her head tipped back and mouth open, chubby cheeks and sweet little face perfectly content. She’s got her entire fist wrapped around one of Johnny’s fingers, holding it right under her chin like she’s afraid he might vanish while her eyes are closed. “Hey, bun.” Johnny whispers, smiling so wide, two fingers stroking through the wispy curls on top of her head. “We snuck in a visitor tonight.”

“I see.” Your heart trembles.

“Fell asleep right away, next to her Da. Been missin’ him these past few nights.” Simon chuckles, patting Johnny’s leg gently, affectionately. There’s a bag of take out on the table behind him, as well as what looks like an overnight bag, a purple duffel stuffed full. “Price is on his way to pick her up.” Penny gurgles, eyes blinking open in a sleepy daze like she knew they were talking about her.

“Ye’re alright, sh-shh, wee lamb.” Johnny coos. She’s half soothed by his words, but the lights in the room are far too bright, and her small noises waver into a cry, frustrated and tired. He tries move her, cradler her higher up his chest, but his face falls with pain, and Simon swoops in, pulling her into his arms. “Bunny, could ye-“

“Would you-“ They both try to ask at once, and you flounder once you realize the intention, a cranky, sleepy Penelope being pushed into your arms.

“I-“ she wails, interrupting you, bending you to her will without fuss, and you hold her closer, rocking side to side, humming above her ear. Just like the NICU, like a patient, like your stint in L&D, it’s fine, it’s-

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Not fine. It’s not fine. Heat burns in your belly. He can’t call you that, not when you’re holding their baby. “Thank you.” Simon says over his shoulder. He’s moving Johnny, lowering the bed slightly to help reposition him, and they speak quietly to one another, voices low enough you can’t make out any of the words.

“I can help you with him, if you want.” He waves you off.

“I need the practice, won’t have you around all the time anymore, yeah? And once he gets home…”

“Ach. ‘m not paralyzed. Jus’ uncomfortable.” Johnny glowers, pouting, and you roll your eyes, rhythm steady, gently bouncing, letting Penny cuddle into your chest, snuggling her face against your arm and side. She’s beautiful, precious and sweet, cooing herself back into a light slumber, and you smile despite yourself, still rocking after her eyes start to shut. “Knew she’d like ye.” He says softly, and you glance up, surprised by the intensity of their focus, heavy gazes fixed on you.

“She’s very sweet.” Your lips twist.

“She is.” Simon agrees. “We were happy to get her some time with her Da. Good for both of ‘em.” His fingers find Johnny’s cheek, and then their hands meet, a palm pressed to lips, a whispered a I love you.

An intimate moment, as you stand there with their baby in your arms.

“Alright, now that ye’ve done the hard work by gettin’ her back down,” Johnny gestures, urging you to step forward, and you carefully place her back in his arms. For a moment, your faces are level, and you get caught in his eyes, nerves strung so tight they could be a tightrope. “I’ve got her.” Weeks in the hospital, and he still smells like cedar and oranges, woodsy citrus that envelopes you, your lashes fluttering on the inhale. “She likes ye.” He murmurs, breath warm and tickling over your cheek.

“Well, she’s...” you straighten, hands smoothing down the front of your top. They’re moist, somehow, and you tuck them behind your back. “She’s a good judge of character, I guess.” Simon’s phone vibrates, Johnny’s plush smile turning dour, and he sighs.

“Okay baby girl. It’s time.” She cries a little, readjusting to Simon’s hold, and he slings the purple duffel over his shoulder, promising to be right back. Johnny nods, eyes downcast, and his face twists once the door shuts, cheeks turning red, staccato, hiccupped breaths coming fast.

“Hey.” You whisper. “Hey, Johnny.” The chair at his bedside creaks under you, and you lean forward, fingertips lightly caressing the tape residue that still sticks to his skin. You should clean that off.

“’m alright.” His shoulders roll, chin jutting out, brilliant blue gleam in his eyes returning, like storm clouds rolling off after rain. He’s silent for a beat, pinky finger folding over yours. “How was yer day?”

“Oh, it was… fine.”

“Simon said ye were goin’ to catch up on some sleep?”

“Yeah, I didn’t.” You laugh, and he smiles. “I feel okay though. Still awake at least.”

“I’m glad… ye came. I’m sorry if the other night, I was too… forward.”

“That’s okay. You’re just… so flirty, I don’t even know what to do with myself.” You tease, expecting to get a lighthearted quip in response, or a laugh, but he gives you neither, only a serious, sympathetic expression.

“I didnae mean to make ye uncomfortable. Felt terrible, when ye ran off, I-“

“I’m fine, Johnny. You… you didn’t. I mean, it was just… confusing, this is… this is a lot.” He nods.

“I know it is.”

“And you don’t even know me.” His brow creases, focus narrowed in so tightly on you, white walls, white hospital blanket, white everything falling away in a spiral of color.

“I know ye better than ye might think." He cracks a smile. "We want to, if ye’d let us.” No, you don’t. You almost say it. Almost promise him that knowing you would be the stuff of their nightmares, that they have no idea what they’re trying to bite into, or bite off, a near guarantee that it would be than they could chew.

“Well, no harm in making new friends, right?” You entreat weakly, and his eyes flash, ethos of an entire life that you have no knowledge of slipping through, and the dark severity rumbling in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

“Aye, bun. Especially when they look like ye in a pair of jeans.”

Dinner is an idyllic affair. Johnny’s favorite takeaway turns out, is Indian, like yours, and the three of you talk for hours, trading bites back and forth, laughing and listening to stories, discovering little bits and pieces about their lives while running interference on personal questions about yourself, allowing them to dip in skin deep, skimming off the top but never getting further. They tell you about themselves, Penelope, their jobs, how they met, and Johnny confides in you about his sketchbook collection, pages upon pages of charcoal and pencil line work, portraits of Simon and Pen covering each page, landscapes, and the occasional cartoon. Your spine eventually starts to wilt, muscles liquifying into goo that can barely hold you upright, and you curl up in the armchair, chin on your palm, listening to the ebb and flow of their voices as they tell you a particular story about how they came to find their current home, a near slapstick comedy about an interaction with the previous owner. Their voices soothe your restless mind, wrap you in a cozy embrace that feels so safe, so comfortable that you can’t fight the languid, siren call of sleep, eyes drooping into darkness, drifting away on their melodies, content and too tired to rationally put together what’s happening. At some point, something covers you up, knit warmth that is tucked in around your shoulders, your feet, a tender touch on your neck and cheek. A whisper of affection soothes the unease that lurks in the background of it all, and you fall into it lazily, farther into the hold of sleep, something your brain and body are desperate for.

When the lights go dim, you don’t even realize, already lost to the sand of slumber.

Around midnight, you wake with a start. Your heart is racing, triple timing in your chest, and you squint in the dark, trying to parse together where you are, what happened.

Oh no. Oh god, did you fall asleep on them? Did you fall asleep in Johnny’s room?

Simon calls your name. He’s settled in a recliner, head turned your direction, mellow light from the little lamp spilling across his features. “Are you alright?” Your mouth is dry, the web of sleep that holds you in suspension finally starting to wane, fuzzy clouds in your head trying to clear without much luck.

“How long was I out?”

“Four hours.”

“I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head.

“Wanted to let you sleep. I know you were tired, and Johnny was out almost immediately after you.”

“Th-thanks.” Your back groans, muscle and bone grinding together, stiff from sleeping in a cramped position for hours, and you’re surprisingly unsteady on your feet. Simon’s out of his chair in a second, turning around the end of Johnny’s bed to offer you a hand, his other lightly resting between your shoulder blades.

“Easy.”

“Sorry… just… think ‘m more tired than I realized.” It’s dark, and you’re disorientated, woozy, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, limbs and lids still heavy and desperate to fall back asleep.

“I’ll drive you home.” His keys jingle, and you know you should reject him, refute this presumption, push him off, but you can’t string the right words together in your mind, can’t bring yourself to truculently pull away.

So, you don’t. And to your surprise, your shock, it feels… nice. You let him open the door for you, get you settled, you listen to his music on the way, city flying past outside the window, quiet hour of the night crawling by. You let him help you out of the car when you pull up to the curb, and when he asks if he can walk you up, your rational pugnacity is nowhere to be found.

“This is me.” You gesture to the door, fumbling in your wallet for your keycard.

“How long have you been in the hotel?”

“Oh, not long. Reno just started so…” His head turns, surveilling the hallway. You’re in an end room, far from the elevator but close to the stairs, as requested, and there’s a camera that sits on the ceiling, green dot consistently blinking. He glances at it, then back to you, head tilted.

“Are you safe here?” The world goes cold. Your stomach roils, blood draining from your face, and you try to hold yourself steady, mind turning over a million times. You’re overreacting. He’s just asking in a general sense. He doesn’t know. He couldn’t. Breathe. Deep breath.

“I uh, yeah. It’s got a deadbolt.” Along with a door stop alarm, and a security bar. He steps closer, so close that you can smell him, fresh laundry and musk, something spicy lingering there, something dark and enchanting.

“Are you in trouble, little bunny?” You’re in his shadow, beneath the stretch of a mountain, shielded by it, by a monolith so large it could blot out the sun. It overwhelms you, slows the racing pace of your mind, and you try to sort through the merry go round of feelings that are all trying to push their way out of your mouth.

You’ve never felt this. Never felt this… desire, to entrust someone with your life. Never felt this… attraction, this hold that the two of them have on you.

It makes you want to trust them. Makes you want to lay it all out and beg them to help you. Makes you want to close your eyes and leap, praying they’ll catch you.

It’s wicked. It’s dangerous. It’s a fool’s errand.

It’s unfair.

“No.” You whisper. You can’t look at him, and time slows in the silence, your anxiety piquing. Of course, he would assume something is wrong, after witnessing the panic attack. Don’t read too far into it.

“But you wouldn’t tell me if you were, would you?” He’s pragmatic, yet still kind, watching you with intent. It doesn’t allay any of the stress that’s building up the back of your throat and closing it, cutting you off from the oxygen you desperately need.

After an eon, he sighs.

“Okay, sweetheart. You can keep your secrets. For now.” You choke.

“I… I should probably-“ you jerk your head towards the door, half turning away to swipe your keycard.

“Alright.” He moves carefully, dipping low, and you stand immobilized, confused and quivering as his cloth covered mouth presses a slow kiss to the top of your head. It’s like he’s bewitched you, cursed you, and you can’t do anything but stand there, stunned. “Thanks for coming tonight.” You’re a deer in headlights, a rabbit in a scope.

“Simon.” His name is the only thing you know right now, and it comes out reedy, almost a squeak.

“Get some rest. We’ll text you tomorrow.” He pushes the door wide, arm snaked behind your shoulders, and when you don’t move, he urges you forward, an encouraging hand on the small of your back. Your feet blindly stumble through the motions, searching for the light switch, for your sanity. “Goodnight, bun.” He hums, and the door clicks shut, leaving you alone, staring at the beige-yellow paint on the wall.

The afternoon trains are packed. It makes your skin crawl, not because you dislike busy or hectic places, but because there are too many eyes. You force your head to stay up, casually scrolling past the faces that are turned every which way, keeping your back to a corner or window as often as possible. You’re not sure you even needed to take this route, the one where you loop around and change trains twice, but… old habits die hard.

You’re lighter today, mentally. It’s in your steps on the stairs, the way you tilt your face up to the sun, how you bounce and bob a little along to the rhythm in your headphones.

You try not to read into it, too much. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with the good morning text messages from Johnny and Simon, or the hilarious back and forth between them after Simon sent a god-awful joke to the group chat. It has nothing to do with the heat that spreads through your fingers to toes when you think about Simon last night, kissing your forehead.

You slip inside your apartment, popping your headphones free, glancing at the tape and the door jam, before setting your bag on the counter. You idly sort through some mail you left out the other day. Junk, junk, junk, nothing taxing or important, nothing work related or-

A shadow moves. It flickers against the wall by your bedroom, growing larger, stalking closer to the kitchen, to where you stand, frozen, heart pounding in your ears.

This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.

“Hey there, sugar.” He croons, the thick, Texas accent unmistakable, and you breathe his name in horror.

“Phillip.”

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

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notjustjavierpena · 3 months

Note

you have returned! hope you’re doing ok! i miss husband!javi like i’m missing a limb!

this got me thinking about a request - husband!javi having to go away for a work trip for a few days - comes back and like cute family time. once the kids are in bed he just goes crazy about reader, she’s tired but she handled the kids no problem and is kind of like no big deal about it. and he’s just feral at that. she’s such a good mum and he’s so turned on and he missed her and just ugh smut

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Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost

A/N: This is a request from the 17th of October 2023. Anon, I hope you are still with us. I loved writing this for you, and I hope it lives up to your expectations. Thank you to proofreading as always @angelofsmalldeath-codeine !! thank you for hyping me @theywhowriteandknowthings and @pinkypromisepascal 💖❤️

Summary: Javier returns from a business trip after being apart from his family for three whole days.

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18, domesticity, a happy family, javi having a baby in his arms and spending alone-time with his kids needs its own tag, i love yous, pregnancy, playful and teasing hubby, touch-starved, banter, dirty talk, finger-fucking, talk about female masturbation, pussy eating, loud reader, piv sex, riding, nipple sucking, lactation kink, javi gets off on you being the mother of his children, multiple orgasms, creampie, intense sex, bliss, pillow talk

Word count: 8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54409297

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The sound of the door has you sprinting towards it. You throw your arms around Javier’s neck before he even manages to put down his bag, causing him to drop it and make a noise of concern in case its contents may end up spilling out on the floor. If you have to be completely honest, you don’t give a damn right now because you haven’t felt his embrace for nearly three whole days.

“Hola, baby,” he says with a voice that tells you that he is smiling. He holds you close to himself, one hand reaching around your waist and the other one settling on the back of your head. He presses your body into his own, and you try to keep yourself from making a noise that reminds you of a schoolgirl.

Javier has been on a work trip out of state. It happens from time to time that some department of the state gets the not-so-incredible idea of hiring him as a motivational speaker to make their conferences look more interesting than they actually are. Javier hates it but the money is good and his boss always ends up encouraging him in a way that mostly sounds like he has no choice.

You hate it too. The act of sleeping in your bed alone, not feeling his body heat, and not being able to simply reach out for him if you need him, is torturous. Combined with taking care of three children alone, you find yourself slowly becoming a less-than-ideal version of yourself. It’s a stressfully romantic reminder that you can barely function without him.

“Hi,” you grin widely as you pull back to receive a kiss. You splay your palms on his chest, scratching slightly as he pecks your lips repeatedly for a moment. Your whole body feels like it is made up of butterflies fluttering around each other in a romantic dance.

“Thank God that’s over,” he reaches for the suitcase when you finally allow him to step out of your arms. He walks into the kitchen, “They were talking through my whole fucking presentation, and the meetings afterward… I was just daydreaming about coming home to you and the kids the whole time.”

“That bad?” You follow him around like a puppy. If you didn’t know that he would do the same thing had it been you arriving home, you would find yourself slightly pathetic for being such a fool for him.

“I should’ve said no this time,” he says as if it had ever been an option. You nod as he continues, “I do it every year and I feel like an idiot each time.”

“We need the money,” you argue, finally moving away from your husband to go to the living room where Sebastian is lying on a blanket. He squeals in delight at seeing you, and you pick him up with a coo.

“We don’t need the money, we’ve got enough money,” Javier says from the kitchen.

“Come say hi to your son,” you change the subject and hear Javier’s steps come closer.

“Oh, there he is,” Javier says and his voice switches to baby talk as you hand Sebastian to him. He settles him on his hip, bouncing slightly where he stands, “Te he extrañado tanto, mijo (I have missed you so much, my son).”

Sebastian gurgles happily up at his father. His eyes are full of recognition at the sound of the familiar voice. You swear that you can see a little bit of the exhaustion in Javier’s eyes disappear.

“He’s been really patient with his mom these past couple of days,” you say with a chuckle, “No fussing during naps or nothing. Almost like he knew I needed the extra sympathy.”

“Bet your momma handled everything way better than I could, huh? What do you think?” Javier shifts Sebastian to sit on his arm instead so he can blow a raspberry on his face. He smiles softly at you afterward, turning his head towards you so that he and his son are cheek to cheek, “Is that wrong to assume?”

“I still think you’re better with them than me,” you say simply.

He tuts, “Bullshit.”

Sebastian makes another happy noise at hearing both of his favorite voices. He swings his tiny fists, and Javier grabs one of his hands, “If this one wasn’t so fixated on playing peek-a-boo, he’d agree. Suppose we all have our vices.”

You move past him with a roll of your eyes and a smile on your face. You go to check the food on the stove, and from behind you, Javier sniffs the air. He walks to join you by the counter, “What are you making?”

“Tu favorito (your favorite),” you smile at Sebastian instead of looking at him, leaning in to bump your nose with his tiny one. Sebastian grabs at your face.

“No te merezco, mi amor (I don’t deserve you, my love).”

“We eat in twenty minutes,” you inform after lovingly shaking your head at him. He leans in to kiss you again and you know immediately that this is just one of many kisses you will get tonight.

“Where are the rascals?” He asks.

“In the garden,” you reply and open your arms, “Give him here and go say hi. Inés has been going on about you all day, so please save me from hearing more about her super-duper-awesome Daddy.”

Carefully, Javier hands over Sebastian, “I thought you liked her super-duper-awesome Daddy.”

“I think I might actually love him,” you grin and try not to feel silly at your sappiness because you do actually love him so much that it is stupid. Sebastian clings to you as soon as he smells you, resting his head on your shoulder and bunching his fists in your shirt.

Javier kisses you once more before heading to the door to the garden. You hear him leave it open, and watch him go outside and step off the porch with a hello.

“Hey there, gremlins!” He shouts. Inés and Lucas, both engrossed in their own activities, look up at the same time. Their faces light up at the sight of their father, but Inés is the one who makes a noise so loud that you can hear it in the kitchen as if she’s speaking right next to you.

Both of them come charging whilst shouting for him. you smile fondly at the sight of them colliding with their father who lets himself be knocked backward into the grass with a happy laugh. He wraps his arms around them and squeezes them tightly, “How’ve you been? I’ve missed you.”

They both look up at his face, speaking enthusiastically at the same time until he can barely tell what is going on. Their stories of the events of the last three days weave together until it is nonsense, and they don’t seem to notice that he cannot follow along with what they are saying. He ruffles their hair and sits up with them still cradled in the crooks of his arms, “Wow wow wow, uno a la vez (one at a time).”

“I made a tower of blocks that was taller than me!” Inés says proudly and Lucas seems to let her have the spotlight for a moment. He knows that she’ll get distracted and run away soon anyway, giving him his own chance at talking to his father. Inés talks loudly, “Mommy took a picture. She said that you needed the evi— evin— uhh… evindance.”

“Evidence,” Lucas corrects her with a superior smirk.

“That’s what I said,” she huffs.

“Nuh-uh,” her brother protests and ducks out from underneath his father’s arm.

“Ya-huh!” Inés removes herself from the embrace too.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Javier chuckles, “I’ll have to ask mamá for your picture. It sounds really cool.”

“Can we build one together?” She asks with a hopeful voice, “Pleeease.”

“Let’s save it for after dinner, mija (my daughter), okay?” He suggests, “And then I’ll build a tower that’s double the size of you before you gotta sleep.”

“Really? When?” Inés reveals that she still has no real concept of time.

“After dinner, baby,” he says again, winking at Lucas who grins, “Go ask Mommy when we’re eating.”

She is up in no time, running towards you in the kitchen. It leaves Lucas the perfect opportunity to have his moment. He gets up from the ground, his jeans covered in green patches, and starts walking towards the swing set that Javier built a few years ago.

“Dad, you need to see what I’ve learned!” He says.

“Alright, let’s see,” Javier pushes himself to stand with a groan and follows, crossing his arms over his chest and watching his son get onto the seat of the swing. By clutching the chains tightly, Lucas pulls himself to carefully stand up on the swing seat.

Javier finds himself about to protest, instinctively holding out a hand to be ready for a potential fall. However, Lucas seems to have everything under control as he holds the chains tightly with both hands. He speaks as he starts swaying back and forth, looking hopeful for approval from who he knows to be the bravest man in his world, “I practiced all day yesterday!”

“Eres increíble (you’re incredible)!” Javier cheers but then smiles smugly, “Does mom know you’re doing that?”

“She told me not to,” he admits shyly.

“Well, I haven’t seen anything,” Javier winks.

“Thanks, Dad,” it sounds genuine, happy to keep a secret. Lucas lights up, “Wanna see me jump?”

“Even your old dad has limits,” Javier laughs with a shake of his head, “Get down from there. No jumping.”

“Fine,” his son grumbles.

When he is on the ground, you pop your head out of the door to call them inside, “Dinner time, chicos (guys). Lucas, come in here and wash your hands.”

You smile as they approach, and when Lucas has walked past you, you stop Javier in the doorway and curl your fingers around his tie, “You better wash them too, Peña.”

—

The sun hangs low on the horizon when dinner ends. You start gathering the plates and glasses, and Lucas joins in without hesitation which gives Javier a glimpse of what happens when he isn’t home to take care of you. Maybe his son can sense your exhaustion too. He feels a pang of guilt in his stomach but decides to make up for it by getting his daughter ready for bed.

“Come on, mija (my daughter),” he says, picking Inés up from the floor and throwing her over his shoulder to make her laugh, “Pajamas first and then building blocks.”

He carries her upstairs to the bathroom and helps her into her pajamas, braids her hair the way she likes it, and then gets her toothbrush. She spends the whole time babbling about how she’ll grow taller like her mother and thus they’ll have to build a higher tower each day.

“Open up,” he says, sitting on the lid of the toilet with her standing between his legs. He holds her toothbrush in front of her mouth.

“Do you think I’ll be taller than you someday?” She asks with her childlike eyes, and Javier has to tap her chin to make her remember to open her lips.

“No, because I’ll just wear very big shoes, even if my head bumps against the ceiling,” he tells her with a grin, “C’mon, teeth brushing time.”

Inés grimaces but follows through and he has to shush her several times because she wants to keep talking.She even sports impatience on her face as her father wipes down her mouth with a damp flannel to rid it of leftover toothpaste. She looks ready to bolt out of the door, fidgeting slightly on the spot, “You promised we could build a tower before bed.”

“And we can,” he reassures, turning the flannel over to wipe the tip of her nose playfully. She crinkles it and reaches up to rub it afterward when he moves to hang it on the laundry basket, “But we’re getting ready for bed first. Hair okay?”

She nods, not entirely convinced that she gets to stay up longer after having brushed her teeth but when Javier has put her toothbrush back in its place in the medicine cabinet, she beams as he allows her to run off to her room. He follows behind, arms stretched out in front of himself, “I’m coming to get you, mija (my daughter)!”

“Nooo!” She squeals in delight, trying to barricade the door with her tiny body but he is too fast and manages to reach her before she can even close it. He picks her up by her middle and holds her upside down, shaking her gently while she laughs and laughs.

“Mi monita (my little monkey),” he laughs too.

They spend half an hour as the architects of a tall and colorful skyscraper, Inés too impatient to see the tower reach her own height to care much for aesthetics. Javier tries suggesting a storyline of a castle but his daughter shakes her head.

“Stop, Daddy,” she commands and he holds up his hands in surrender.

“So no princesses live here?” He questions, “Not even a dragon? Or maybe a—”

“No,” she deadpans, steadfast just like Javier’s father has told him he was. He smiles when she isn’t looking, not about to get scolded by a 4-year-old for not taking their playtime seriously. He enjoys the little moments he has like these, seeing the way his daughter imitates his own behavior in a way that would make your teasing never-ending if you saw it. At that moment, he despises himself and his job because he has to leave sometimes and thus misses out on things. He should have been here when Inés built a tower as tall as herself by herself, not see it in a photograph later.

Eventually, the construction gets too tall for her to build it even taller. Javier is put to work immediately after she realizes this, and she oversees his work with important nods and looks of assessment.

“Look, Daddy!” She exclaims with each building block that Javier places on top of another. She stands beside the tower because she needs to compare her height to it, and Javier has to keep a hand on her shoulder to steady her when she gets close to making it tumble down, “Do you think it will reach the ceiling?”

“One day I’m sure it’ll reach the moon,” he replies as if it is a fact, “I for sure am tall enough.”

“No, you’re not,” she furrows her brow, thinking, “But we will just have to get a very big ladder.”

Finally, Javier has built a tower double her size. It stands wobbly on the floor. He nods towards it, “There you go, mi amor (my love), do you want to put the last block on top? The triangular one?”

She nods and he notices the telltale signs of Inés’ tiredness because her eyes have started drooping. She rubs them with a little sigh, and then holds out her arms so he can pick her up and place her on his hip.

She places the block carefully on top after Javier hands it to her. It is like all energy reserves have been used up from one moment to another. However, he doesn’t want to risk the unsteady tower falling over in the middle of the night, so he whispers in his most mischievous voice, “Do you want to knock it down?”

“Can I?” She widens her eyes.

“Sí, pero no se lo digas a tu mamá (yes, but don’t tell your mom),” he confirms, “Perhaps a big angry monkey swung from it whilst roaring like this!”

He imitates King Kong the best he can and is thankful she has no clue what it is, and she repeats after him only to push on the stacked blocks until they tumble to the floor. He kicks the remaining pieces with his foot, and she roars again. They laugh together until she yawns.

“Alright, es hora de dormir (it’s time to sleep),” he announces then, and she doesn’t protest. He shifts her slightly in his arms so she can wrap herself around him with both her arms and legs, burying her face in his shoulder. It’s clear that she has missed him. He rubs her back with both hands before holding her in place, moving towards the bed in the corner of her room.

Gently, he lays her down and crouches down beside her afterward. He pulls the covers up over her head on purpose and earns a giggle, “Oh no, where did Inés go?”

“You’re silly, Papá,” she says.

“Go to sleep, baby,” he tells her after tucking her in properly this time, “You are so tired. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you for playing with me,” Inés says with a yawn, turning on her side to look at him better. She softens a little as her eyes start to flutter closed, her father’s hand running over her head. Another yawn comes, “Te quiero, Papá. No me gusta cuando te vas y no me gusta extrañarte (I love you, Dad. I don’t like it when you leave and I don’t like missing you).”

Javier sucks in a breath. He rubs the spot between her eyebrows, trying to keep his composure, “Lo sé, mi vida (I know, my life). I love you too. Sleep well, okay?”

“Okay,” she slurs, and then her breathing slows. He tucks her in one last time, leaning in to kiss her hair softly before stretching carefully to his full height. He makes sure to turn on her night light before turning off the overhead lights, closing the door ever so gently afterward.

He lets out a deep breath right outside her room and smooths two fingers over his mustache. He hasn’t told you about this yet but he is considering quitting his job, has been considering it very seriously since Christmas when he promised to cut down on work significantly to be home a lot more with you and the kids. That and the fact that you are carrying his fourth child, and leaving you home alone with all four in the future just seems cruel.

However, it’s a comment like the one he has just received from his only daughter that sets it in stone. His search for other jobs is not a mere idea any longer but rather a necessity if he wants to continue being happy with his family.

He has to tell you and he is dying to already, but first, he wants to unpack and then tuck Lucas in too. He has three days of goodnights to catch up on.

—

He enters Lucas’ room half an hour later to the familiar sound of his son’s Game Boy, its rhythmic beeps and pings accompanied by the frantic tapping on its buttons. Lucas is sitting cross-legged in his bed, already wearing his pajamas and with his face illuminated by the screen of his console.

“Hey Dad, can you knock? I’m losing my concentration,” his son says without looking up from the screen, already sounding so grown up that Javier has to tighten his grip around the doorknob. Where did the time go?

“Ay, Lucas,” he tuts and crosses the room to stand by the bed, “Soy tu padre (I’m your father).”

“I just really don’t want to lose,” he explains and starts tapping away on the buttons again, his stare still fixed on the little jumping character. Javier waits for a moment, following his game by looking over his shoulder.

When enough time has passed and Lucas seems to relax a bit more, he interrupts again, “Alright, time for bed, muchacho (young man).”

“One more game!” Lucas finally looks up with pleading eyes. The boy sports the same puppy-look in them that you have said Javier does himself, and it was only when he looked into Lucas’ pleading face the first time that he realized what you meant. The look is damn near impossible to say no to.

“Fine, but I’m taking it afterward unless you promise me not to play all night,” he says firmly, “Even Mario has to sleep at some point.”

“I will!” He reassures quickly, “Only five minutes more, I promise.”

“But I want to talk to you about something first,” he holds out his hand for the gaming console, “Dámelo (Give it to me). It’s important you listen.”

“Am I in trouble?” Lucas reluctantly hands his most precious belonging to his father who places it on the nightstand.

“What? No, mijo (my son),” Javier gets Lucas under the covers, tucks him in, and then sits down on the edge of the bed, “How would you like it if I got to spend more time at home with you all?”

“What do you mean?” Lucas tilts his head in confusion.

“Can you keep a secret from Mom?” He asks with a gentle smile. Lucas nods. He continues, “I’m quitting my job soon.”

“Really?!” Lucas exclaims with pure shock on his face.

“Shh, your sister and your brother are asleep down the hall,” he shushes, holding a finger in front of his mouth.

“Really?” He whispers instead.

“Absolutely, really,” Javier whispers back and Lucas’ eyes sparkle with excitement. He sits up in bed, pushing the covers aside to crawl into his father’s arms. Maybe he isn’t so grown up after all. Javier hugs him back and kisses his hair, “I’ve been thinking that spending more time with you, your brother and your sister is what I’ve been missing. I don’t like leaving you here to be the big boy of the house when I’m not here.”

He continues when Lucas tightens his arms around him. He muses, “And even if I’ll still have a job, there’ll be more time for game nights and football in the garden. Would you like that?”

Lucas nods into his shoulder. Javier chuckles softly, "But remember, es nuestro secreto (it’s our secret) until I talk to Mom about it. We want to make sure she's on board with the plan, yeah?”

Lucas pulls back and nods eagerly, looking like he is already daydreaming of the extra time he'll get to spend with his father. However, there’s a tinge of anxiety in his excitement, and his voice is an unsure whisper when he speaks his concern, "Dad, what if Mom doesn't like the idea? What if she gets upset?"

“She understands how important our family time is. Trust me, te prometo (I promise) everything will be okay," he says with a reassuring smile.

“But what will your new job be?” Lucas continues, “Will it be something cool?”

“I think I might start teaching people how to catch bad guys like I used to do,” he shrugs.

Lucas grimaces, “You’re gonna be a teacher?”

“Alright, that’s enough,” he laughs, “Bedtime.”

“You said one more game!” He protests.

Javier gets up to grab the Game Boy off the nightstand. He holds it out for his son and yanks it away when he tries to take it, “One.”

“I promise,” he says and takes it when he is allowed.

“And your father is actually very cool,” Javier moves to turn off the lights. He can already hear the theme tune of Lucas’ game, “Buenas noches (goodnight).”

“Buenas noches, papá, te quiero,” Lucas beams in the few seconds he looks up.

“Y yo a tí, mijo (I love you too, my son),” he says and flicks the switch.

“They’re asleep,” Javier says as he enters the kitchen a few minutes later. He finds you leaning against the counter with a glass of alcohol-free red wine in your hand. The bottle stands on the counter behind you, its contents half-emptied as if it's been your only way of treating yourself in the evenings after the kids have gone to bed. You look tired from having been alone with all three of them - one of them still an infant - for three days and with a secret baby in your belly to top it off.

Chucho had offered to help you out but you had politely declined so as to not ask for too much of your father-in-law, not be too much of an inconvenience when he has so much to do at the ranch with getting ready for the Spring.

“I’m about to be too,” you say after a sip of your glass.

“When I’ve finally gotten you to myself?” Javier tuts and steps closer to you, stopping when he is right in front of you. He checks the baby monitor on the kitchen counter next to the wine bottle and then he takes the glass off your hand, setting it aside as well.

His hands find your sides afterward, cupping your waist for a moment before they slide around your body so he can pull you in for a long and desperate kiss. You rest your arms on his shoulders, cradling his head as he moves his mouth with yours. It is nothing but pure ecstasy to feel him like this again, so much that you forget to breathe and have to pull away too soon.

You know he is the same when he sucks a breath in at the same time as you. However, instead of kissing you again, he lets you catch your breath and hugs you close to his chest. His body feels warm, an instant smile forming on your face as he squeezes you.

“Hi,” you say, sounding drunk despite the wine having no alcohol. His arms are a harbor, the very definition of the end of unhappiness. They’re strong and enough to make your head swim, holding you with the promise of never being apart except for physically.

You feel his breath against your ear, “Hey, mamá.”

“I’m so glad you’re home with me again,” you close your eyes as you inhale through your nose, letting the scent of him flood your system.

Javier pulls back and stares at you for a moment. He smirks, a mischievous gleam appearing in his eyes. Then he lets go of you to reach up and teasingly pull down your top to look down into it.

“Ay, Javi,” you scold with a roll of your eyes.

“What?” He acts oblivious.

“You’re acting insane, and I’m trying to be genuine.”

“I haven’t seen you in three days, mi amor (my love), you can’t blame me,” he protests your accusation, “Besides, this is me being very genuine.”

“Missed you too,” you sigh.

“And I’ve missed you, Jesus,” he wraps his arms around your waist again, pulls you closer to his body, and uses every opportunity to kiss you after each sentence, “Missed these tits. Missed your gorgeous pussy. You gotta let me have it tonight, mamácita.”

“Take me upstairs then,” you lean your head back when he presses his lips to your throat, “We’re not doing it in the kitchen. Against popular belief.”

Javier snorts, “But we always—“

“I said against popular belief, baby,” you stress.

“Fine, c’mere then,” his arms slide down over your hips, and when they reach your knees, he scoops you up with his strong arms and lifts you over his shoulder. You answer with a yelp that turns into a panicked laugh but he simply smacks your ass and starts walking. In the middle of the chaos, you manage to reach for the baby monitor on the counter.

“You are incorrigible,” you say with a dramatic sigh.

“Yes, wife, yes, wife good, I like wife,” he replies in his best caveman accent and you snicker all the way up the stairs, legs dangling over his shoulder and ready to scold him each time he gropes your ass.

When he throws you down on the bed, you are having a full-on laughing fit and the bubbling in your chest feels so good. Even better, when he looms over you by the end of the bed while unbuttoning his shirt, only to crawl on top of you. He kisses your wine-stained lips, scooping you up into his arms and you return his embrace after throwing the baby monitor on the bed.

“I love your laugh,” he says softly when he needs a breath, bumping your noses together.

“You just kidnapped me from the kitchen, that’s no laughing matter,” you tease. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss your neck while you talk.

“Then why are you giggling like a schoolgirl?” He places a hand on your belly that still keeps a secret between the two of you. No one knows yet.

There is concentration on his face when his hand moves up under your top, smoothing the fabric up until you stretch your arms above your head to help him rid it off of your body.

“Hmm,” you think out loud, “Maybe because I have this terrible schoolgirl crush on you.”

“Really? I thought marriage was just a matter of convenience,” he chuckles and kisses your neck again. You lay your hands on his shoulders, smoothing them over the broadness of his bare skin that’s been missing underneath your fingertips and pushing him down towards your chest.

“This is pretty good too, most convenient,” you note with a grin as he follows your silent order, moving his mouth south on you until he plants kisses between your breasts. You reach underneath your back to undo your bra, and he peels it off of you and sighs with satisfaction as soon as he has your upper body naked.

“Look at you,” he groans, throwing the bra to the side and diving back into you. He kisses the swell of your right breast, “You make me so fucking horny.”

You throw your head back as he lets the flat of his tongue trail wetly from one breast to the other. He sucks a nipple into his mouth and earns his first moan, to which he presses his clothed crotch into your thigh to show you how hard he is already.

“I’ve been wet since I saw you at the door,” you admit, “Been thinking of your cock inside of me each night. So fucking lonely without you.”

“You should have called me,” he mutters, mouth going further down on your body until he reaches the hem of your jeans. He undoes the button and zipper, yanking them over your hips and pulling them off your legs.

“I was too busy screwing myself,” you tell him and he immediately finds your eyes. That clearly hit a spot, “You like that, huh?”

“Tell me about it,” he struggles a little with the jeans as they sit around your ankles, but the desperation has him yanking them off with enough enthusiasm to pull you along.

“If you weren’t trying to drag me onto the floor— oh, shit.”

Javier has dragged your underwear along with the jeans, and he is now sinking two fingers deep inside of your dripping cunt and pressing them upwards. It’s what you get for being snarky, you suppose, staring down at him as he fucks you open on his digits.

“Your mouth— ah, put your mouth on me,” you try to command.

“Quiet down, baby. I literally just put the kids to bed. You want them running in here?” He shushes you with an amused grin, adding a third finger to your squelching cunt to make you groan, “While I’m wearing you like a puppet?”

You rock against his hand with a chuckle that develops into a moan, “Imagine the conversation that’ll start.”

“I’d rather have a conversation about how filthy you’ve been while I was away,” he speeds up his fingers to make you cry out against your hand but he doesn’t make you come, changing his mind halfway there to follow through on your request, “No, actually I’ll have you monologue about it because I’m going to eat your pussy as you do it.”

You tremble as he takes your clit in his mouth, easing his tongue over the hard nub over and over again whilst timing it with the strokes of his fingers. You feel so full of his digits, and it takes you a moment to trust yourself not to cry at the ceiling the second you remove your hand from your mouth.

“Took a long shower the day before yesterday, after the kids had gone to school and Seb was napping,” you begin with shaking breaths. You need to start the sentence three times before you can make your words make sense, “Used the faucet on the bathtub and came so goddamn hard. You should’ve seen me with my legs up against the wall.”

Below you, Javier hums in approval and it vibrates through your throbbing pussy. You continue.

“I imagined you going down on me with your warm tongue, circling my clit— yes, just like that,” just talking about it makes you gush from how horny it makes you, wetness dripping past Javier’s lips and into his mouth. He groans against you and mouths at your pulsing clit. You find yourself much closer from how well your body remembers the orgasm you had in the shower; the warm water pounding rhythmically against your clit, your toes curling, and— and.

You grind into his mouth and fuck yourself on his fingers as you come, the hot and heavy feeling of an orgasm crashing over you and intensifying as it peaks. You have to bite your lip to keep from screaming, still not managing to keep the high-pitched ah! from reverberating through the room. Javier’s fingers feel so much bigger inside of you as your cunt strangles them, and when you look down at him, you see that he is crashing his hips against the bed to feel just a bit of relief.

You have lost all restraint in your noises as you feel the pleasure ebb out, leaving you a whimpering and panting mess on the bed that wants it all. Somehow you are deeply satisfied at the same time as knowing that this is not enough; you need all of him, and you need him inside of your cunt until you can barely move from the spot. The fact that your body still works when he pulls his fingers from you is an indication of not having had enough.

“Need to fuck you,” he says from below you, crawling on top of you. He has left a damp spot on the sheets from where his cock has dragged against them, and he looks like he is in pain at this point if he doesn’t get to feel you around him, “Now, mi amor (my love).”

“No,” you stop him as he tries spreading your legs with a gentle yet hurried hand.

“No?” His brows furrow, a protest on the tip of his tongue.

“Let me ride you,” you beg, already pushing on his shoulders and feeling how he is giving in in an instant, “Please, I want you so deep in me.”

“Yes, yeah, okay,” he breathes, moving to lie on his back with a pillow under his head. You shake as you lift yourself to straddle him, holding out your arms in front of yourself to signal that you want him to be close to you. He reads you without you saying anything and sits up in your bed so you can be chest to chest.

You reach beneath yourself to take hold of the base of his cock, holding him in place so you can sink down on his shaft until he is buried inside of you to the hilt. You are dripping wet. The motion of engulfing him in your heat is smooth and effortless, and the moans the both of you let out are closer to whines because you are so starved.

“It’s so good, you’re so wet, baby,” he mumbles quietly in your ear, nosing along the spot behind it. You arch into him, nodding without any words coming to your mind. Instead, you let out a soft gasp as he fucks up into you.

Nothing describes being this close to him after not even being able to kiss him for three days. Other couples would shake their heads if they knew how desperate you get from merely three days apart. You only feel sorry for them. They don’t get how your days are spent with taking every opportunity to lay eyes on each other, breathe and taste each other or even just being able to put a hand on each other’s shoulder, hip, the small of the back.

“Let me,” you pant as he moves underneath you, sending you into a state where you need to concentrate if you want to get out a proper sentence, “I want to fuck this cock. Please, let me.”

Javier stills his hips underneath you. He seems to be holding his breath as he watches you place your hands on his shoulders and then feel them slide behind his head to tilt his head backward. He looks up at you as you start moving on him, rocking in his lap so he barely pulls out of you.

“Come on, that’s a good girl,” he says when he finally sucks in a breath, eyes gazing up at you with a pussydrunk look in them. When they glaze over like this, you know his words will be ravenous and never-ending, “Fuck, baby. That’s it. There you go. Let me touch you so deep inside.”

It doesn’t take long for him to be distracted by your moving chest as you sensually drag your hips over his thick cock. He did tell you that he had missed your breasts but that had been in a slightly playful manner; you never thought that you would actually start to feel beautiful under his hungry eyes. It shouldn’t come as a shock to you because he always knows how to make you feel desirable.

“Attagirl,” he groans, holding your hip tightly with his right hand to help you keep your balance, “God, look at those pretty tits.”

You arch your back as he puts his other hand on your left breast, bending his head down to mouth along the swell until he reaches your nipple. He swirls his tongue once but it is too hard to keep going when you move more frantically on top of him to pleasure yourself, so instead, he wraps his whole mouth around the hardened, spit-slicked peak and sucks until your cunt clamps down in surprise of how good it feels.

“Fuck,” you pant, closing your eyes. The noises of him sucking on your breasts fill your ears and along with how it is making your belly swirl, it makes you impossibly wetter, coating his dick in a milky-white ring. A lewd thought enters your mind. Perhaps, he keeps knocking you up because of this; your cup size has remained the same for a while because you’ve been breastfeeding for months now, and with another baby on its way, you know that the months will keep adding up in the near future.

A drop slips into his mouth and spurs him on to give you a thorough taste. Your brows pull together as a more high-pitched moan leaves your open mouth and he pulls back to shush you gently. Then he sucks greedily again.

You had once asked him why he loved this, and he had replied that the very fact that you were producing milk so sweet to nurture his child went straight to his dick.

“Javi,” you whine to tell him just how you feel. He removes his mouth from your sensitive chest to talk, albeit reluctantly. However, when he notices the change in your sounds and your pitch, he doesn’t want to look away from your face again until he has seen you lose it.

“Oh, you wanna come, huh? Then fuck me,” he says with milk-stained lips. You move desperately in his lap as he spurs you on, feeling the head of his cock dragging back and forth inside of you, laying against your g-spot perfectly if you tilt your hips just a bit. Javier’s eyes burn as they stare up at you but he cannot help himself from occasionally glancing down at your bouncing tits. Your need to come grows, and when you press down slightly harder, you see stars behind your eyelids. A second orgasm tears through you, and one of the hands that has gripped your hip hard enough to bruise comes up to cover your mouth because you start screaming. It’s so intense to have missed him so much.

“There she is,” he growls lowly, watching your face contort with pleasure until tears slide down your face and underneath his palm that’s tightly secured over your whining mouth, “That’s my good girl. You know how to come on this fucking cock, fuck, you feel so good, mi vida (my life), choking my dick. Keep going— no no, don’t stop, ride through it, baby.”

You force yourself to continue moving and keep crying into his hand, wet from drool and tears by now. The oversensitivity is mind-numbing, toe-curling, and somehow still not enough.

“Almost made me come, mi chica sucía y desesperada (my dirty, eager girl),” he says through a breathless chuckle but then raises his brows as your pitch starts climbing once again. You have successfully bypassed your body and started building up another high, “You’re gonna come again? Díos mio (my God), my beautiful wife is insatiable.”

Any chance of talking back at him is lost because you would wake up the whole neighborhood if he dared remove his hand from your mouth. To put his filthy mouth in its place, you start bouncing in his lap to the point where his naked thighs crash harshly into your ass. The sound of skin slapping against skin is dirty but Javier’s desperate groans are obscene. He can barely talk now without his voice wavering, and with the way he repeats himself, you know he is doing everything in his power to let you come one more time before he bursts, “Use my cock, yes like that. K-keep going— you’re gonna make me come. Oh fuck.”

When he notices that you are trying to say something, he removes his hand and allows you a single sentence before clamping the hand down over your mouth again.

“I can’t do it anymore,” you whimper with exhaustion, thighs having started to tremble with the effort you are putting into bouncing in his lap. They hurt at this point, straining despite how much you also use your arms to steer yourself.

“Don’t worry about it, Go until you can’t fucking do it anymore and I’ll take over, yeah?” He nods at you when you make a mhm-noise into his hand, eyes encouraging and his breaths less composed.

When you come a second time on his dick, you falter immediately. The sensation of the pleasure that has built up so fast again crashes down and takes you with it in its fall. You are silent when it’s teetering on the edge, and then it makes your voice crack when you feel the first tug behind your throbbing clit.

There is only the feeling of your convulsing cunt making you believe in a higher power - in this case, Javier fucking Peña - and then said higher power wrapping his arm around your sticky back to lift you up and down. He snaps his hips upwards to use your body for his own pleasure, and after a series of frantic movements, he comes with a groan. The feeling of his warm spill inside of you has you whimpering, and you try your best to rock your hips the best your exhausted body can. If it weren’t for all the dopamine in your system, you are sure it would hurt.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyes. Oh, baby, fuck the come out of me, yes, that’s it,” he chants underneath you as he fills you up, moving to meet you halfway until he also has no more to give. When he stills, he grabs your face to smash your lips together in a messy, desperate kiss that is more teeth than anything else. It feels impossible to get close enough to him, even if your chests stick together from sweat.

A moment later, you fall down onto his chest with a chuckle, head swimming from what you have just done. Your arms lie on either side of his head, and your cheek is pressed into his hair. You can feel his nose dig into your shoulder, inhaling you and your post-sex scent, and his arms tighten around your waist as he hugs you close.

“That was fantastic,” you groan with him still inside of you. He gives you one more thrust, pressing his hips upwards, and you half-moan in oversensitivity and half-laugh in surprise, “Stop it, Peña.”

He laughs breathlessly, placing a kiss on your bare skin. Then he slips out of you with a grunt, and you feel his come drip from you already, down onto his cock and thighs. He rubs your sides with his broad hands, “I have missed you as well, you know.”

“I don’t ever want you to go again,” you demand sillily.

“You say that every time.”

“I mean it every time.”

There’s a pause between the two of you. It lasts several minutes where you just lie on top of his chest. 5, 10, 15 minutes pass. Javier says nothing yet you know him well enough to know that he is considering his words.

“I was thinking of something,” he finally says.

You sit up at that, “What?”

“You know how I said something about work during Christmas? That I wanted to be more home with you and the kids, that it would make me happier?” He begins, looking up at you and not hesitating in his eye contact with you.

You suddenly pay a lot more attention, “Yeah?”

“I was thinking that since I will have a bunch of kids to carry around a lot more years from now, I can’t be running around in the force anymore. My back is fucking killing me, and I also want to make love to my wife on the regular,” he tells you and you know instantly that it’s serious even if he says it with a chuckle, “I was thinking of teaching at the local college. They have a criminology course, and with my time in school with my head in the books - I mean, my bachelor’s degree - it shouldn’t be a problem to get a job there.”

“Are you serious?” You gape at him.

“Yes, of course, I am,” he furrows his brow slightly. Only now, he looks unsure but still keeps talking, “It would mean nothing of this sort either; me going away.”

“Babe, that’s amazing,” you fall down into him again, causing an umph-noise from your husband, and then you crash your lips into his. You kiss him as if your life depended on it, sliding your fingers through his dark hair and tugging slightly as if trying to get him even closer to you.

He looks drunk and disheveled when you pull back again, a goofy and satisfied smile on his face. His fingers scratch slightly along your back, “You’d like that, huh?”

“Yes, please,” you beam with happiness.

“Then you shall have it, mi vida (my life),” his hands travel down to your ass which he gropes obscenely, and when you make a noise, he smacks your right cheek. You feel his cock, hard again, poke into your thigh.

You look down between you, “This is a surprise. I thought you’d gotten old…”

“Like I said…” He grabs your waist and pulls you down to lie on your back. A yelp escapes your lips.

He is inside of you mere seconds after, causing you to longingly whine. He thrusts once then twice, and you throw your head back to take it, “…I’ve missed you.”

FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

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ao3commentoftheday · 6 months

Note

Not really a question, but I wanted to tag onto all the asks people have been sending about getting traction for their fics.

I’ve been writing fanfic for 10+ years now and I know that’s not a lot, and when I first started I was god-awful… but guess what? I was really popular for some reason and I didn’t know why. I guess people enjoyed what I wrote because I clearly had so much fun doing it when I look back on it.

But through the years, my writing has changed and my fandoms have changed. I now write for fandoms that are barely active or have little content to begin with. My last fic has 5 kudos and 2 comments, with 129 hits. Posted two months ago. And I have to ask myself: does it matter what the stats are, when I write for myself?

Before, when I was younger, I loved the validation and attention. Honestly even now, who doesn’t love validation? It tells you you’re good. But what I’ve learned after all this time is that I am good on my own and I don’t need someone to tell me that. I love my writing.

But the most important thing is that I know what my writing means to me and its worth. After all this time, my writing has become my safe space, my comfort zone, the place I can escape to when I am hurt, overjoyed, angry or incredibly sad. My writing is mine and no one can take that away from me.

So at the end of the day, the value of my writing is worth far more than some numbers on ao3 or fanfiction. So I guess what I want to say is: even if 1 person or 100 people read it, your writing is good on its own. You should be proud, because writing is not easy and putting it out there for others to read isn’t easier. The worth of your writing is what you believe it is, not what anyone else says or what numbers say. Just my 2 cents. <3

well said ❤️❤️❤️

#asks and answers

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cupids-chamber · 6 months

Text

— " 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 " | Listen to this on loop for full experience.... ★. Content tags/warnings , 1.1k+ words, gender neutral reader, technically everyone x reader (including staff/not so much RSA), can be seen as both platonic and romantic, angst, mentions of food/eating less (reader no longer has an appetite), reader is tired, reader is having a really bad day, reminder: I haven't written in awhile.

Today was a difficult day, many days have challenged you in so many different ways, yet a keen feeling of gloominess had washed over you this particular morning. Your alarm rang blankly into the silent room, you let out a groan of displeasure as you sat up on your bed, staring blankly at the wall feeling a churn in your gut. The curtains were closed, a small ray of light shone through the empty space between your window and the fabric of the curtain; you took a moment to sit and stretch.

Mentally you cursed yourself, reaching a hand to shut off your phone alarm. Perhaps it was a bad idea staying up late after all, yet how could you resist the urge to finish that new Twisted Wonderland fanfic you found on AO3 recently; The reader resonated deeply with you, and the author's writing was just what you needed. Your eyes stung, you felt like banging your head into your headboard just to stop it from ringing and aching, not to mention you could practically feel the weight of your eyebags.—had you known your body would behave in such a way, you'd have slept at least a bit earlier—Well that's what you're saying now at least, you knew you'd probably repeat the same mistake tonight if another storyline enraptured you just as much as the previous did.

You began standing up, your whole body woozy from the lack of sleep, you found yourself stumbling over something you left on the floor. You recall how tired you were, too done with the day to be bothered to pick it back up. You walked right past it, 'today was going to end badly' you thought to yourself, since your morning had been a dead giveaway.

You pocketed some random snack, as breakfast; Running a bit later as per usual. You'd lie to yourself, saying that you'd get up a bit earlier tomorrow but you knew for a fact that unless a miracle happened, you wouldn't.

The rest of the day was but the same routine, you felt tired all throughout your morning classes, on edge. You would've fallen asleep but you tried to keep your eyes open, as your professor was going over some important project intel that you really didn't want to miss—though you were only half understanding what they were saying—their words felt like gibberish for your only half-functioning brain.

Lunch felt like a chore, despite it usually feeling like a break. You felt like something bad was definitely going to happen, which made you feel anxious; The churn in your gut made it difficult to eat, chew, or drink. Your lunches weren't all that gigantic, as you disliked the feeling of being bloated, yet you barely could find it in yourself to eat. You took a deep breath, you logged into tumblr, perhaps one of your favorite fanfic writers uploaded something new? Anything to distract this heavy mind of yours.

You checked @kalims page first, they hadn't uploaded in a while—It's been a couple days since they've posted; you figured they'd be busy with school… You pondered on the following page for a while, checking @spadecentral‘s blog, they were far more active then most other blogs you’ve been following and their soft and sweet writings was perhaps just what you needed in this tim—They haven’t uploaded in a while as well? You looked at your screen, maybe everyone was just busy with their finals and/or finishing up midterms at this time.

You hummed, scrolling frantically through your follows, you sighed softly, maybe today wasn't the day to read fluff, you started checking yandere blogs; ‘nothing like obsessive men to calm you down’ you thought as you clicked on @writingforatwistedworld‘s blog, you scrolled down..

‘Weird, nothing new..’, it was as if the whole world had conspired against you today, you took a sigh, perhaps @honey-milk-depresso had uploaded something new on her art blog, after all their wholesome tsundere ship art was just the perfect source of serotonin—And if you were just a bit lucky, perhaps she’s uploaded writing onto her main blog an—Oh.. She hasn’t uploaded either?..

Your brows furrowed letting out a tired sigh, maybe you should just listen to some music. ‘How bad could this day possibly go?’—you consoled yourself with those words, as you tried finishing up at least a small portion of your meal.

You forced yourself to clean up and change, crashing onto your bed afterwards. It always felt softer on these sorts of days. Like a welcoming warm embrace, that you didn't want to leave. You took a few moments to vent your stress onto one of your poor pillows, before getting nice and cozy with your warm blankets.

You laid down on your bed, burying yourself in the blankets, as you grabbed your device from near you, turning the brightness to the lowest possible setting, perhaps you should finish your general tasks on Twst before you take a nap..

10 minutes passed and you let out a groan, where did the app go? You never heard of an app disappearing randomly; perhaps you miss-clicked and hid it by accident? A few minutes passed, and you still couldn't find the Twisted Wonderland app, you desperately opened up your computer.. Typing in panic, and yet the official website was gone as well—perhaps it’s just going through some weird update?—Maybe this was only happening to certain servers. You logged into tumblr once again, checking your mutuals profiles and.. some of them were gone? Most of the blogs had nothing from Twisted Wonderland left, the tumblr tags for Twst were completely empty.

Two hours had only passed and your panic grew, it was odd. You scrolled through your mutual’s blogs for minutes on end hoping to find one post about the game which put a smile on your face on the daily... Yet none... You went on AO3 and even checked other websites which you'd only go to out of sheer desperation for content... Yet nothing...

You took deep breaths, your breathing pacing as you scrolled till your fingers began to sting from pressure and stress.. Your back arched, as you stared at the screen with an intense expression, desperately tapping away… finally you entered the app store hoping this was a weird dream or update, like those movies and manga’s and yet.. the app was gone. No mention of it.

You couldn’t even trace a single picture of the game down, not even on Pinterest where everything deleted was still sometimes somehow available.

'Were you crying? You couldn't quite tell, you felt tired, perhaps this fictional world was just something you created as an escape, yet you didn't think you'd get this attached to some characters on a screen, and now that's it's all gone you feel... kind of.. empty.'

‘Maybe it was all just a fragment of your imagination…’

| Masterlist | Kofi | Join Taglist

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airbendertendou · 6 months

Note

May I please get a scenario or hc (whatever is easier for you!) of Rindo’s s/o dying their hair to match his hair color? Like they do it while he’s at work and he has no idea until he comes home. Thank you! I hope you have a good day/night!

synopsis : reader changes their hair to match their boyfie <3 characters included : mikey, ran, draken, koko & bonten!rindou

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

— MANJIRO! ♥︎ you copy his classic, half-up hairstyle ♥︎ doesn't even notice you've changed your hair ♥︎ draken says something snarky abt it like "oh, you're matching, cute." ♥︎ nd mikey goes ??? w his cheeks puffed out from a taiyaki ♥︎ but when he turns to see you ♥︎ it's like the sun shines down onto you carefully ; like angels are singing ; like he's falling in love all over again ♥︎ his head flops onto your shoulder, arms shakily bringing you closer to his hold ♥︎ mumbles something about turning you into a sano /:

— DRAKEN! ♥︎ you go for jus a simple braid, a little piece of hair tugged out ♥︎ he snorts when he sees you, rolling his eyes nd everything ♥︎ but his ears are so so red ♥︎ and hes thought abt how to tell you how pretty you look ; how you need a dragon tattoo now, too ♥︎ shoves you under his arm when you tease him abt his blush, digging his chin into the top of your head annoyingly ♥︎ tugs on that little strand a lot!! jus to get your attention, he swears ♥︎ but has this sort of pride in his eyes when you show your hair off at the toman meeting

— RAN! ♥︎ your hair is styled into two braided pigtails ♥︎ oh hes so smug ♥︎ but also keeps an eye narrowed and focused on anyone mking inappropriate comments ♥︎ we live in a society where pigtails are sexualized ♥︎ twirls your braids the way he twirls his!! ♥︎ will also purposely mess his hair up so you have to fix it for him ): ♥︎ grins at any and all matching hair accessories he see ♥︎ talk him out of getting the giant, obvious bows please

— KOKONOI! ♥︎ can b his bonten hair or his current one! ♥︎ either way, you twist or braid a few pieces of hair to mimic his style ♥︎ hates it at first ♥︎ bc how dare you make his signature style look better than he does ):< ♥︎ ends up liking it bc now he has easy access to kiss your ear nd neck ♥︎ he goes through all the other styles you'd look nice in ; all the colors you could pull off ♥︎ something about your hair matching his... ♥︎ makes you feel more official, somehow

— RINDOU! ♥︎ bonten era ; you get the jellyfish cut! or maybe copy his colors- ♥︎ he knew abt your hair appointment but didnt think it was anything out of the ordinary ♥︎ little did he know.... ♥︎ he just stares ♥︎ like wide-eyed, heartstopping, can barely breathe stares ♥︎ stands to his full height and cups your chin, turning your head gently to get a full view ♥︎ grins w pink cheeks ): kisses the tip of your nose and just continues to stare ♥︎ "all mine......" its whispered before he takes your breath in a kiss ♥︎ He's Obsessed.

——♥︎—— im so sorry for the lack of content lately ); hope this was okay / the format was alright. if youd like to b tagged / untagged in any tokyo revengers content, let me know! ♥︎

🍓FOREVER TAGS : @star2fishmeg ♥︎

🍓 TOKYOREV TAGLIST : @thatpoindexterpixy @night-shadowblood-writes2 @muichirouswifeandhusband @chrofeisnightmaregf

airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

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virgincels · 7 months

Text

ROTTEN LUCK !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. smut, kidnapping, leon is like mentally gone icl, references to past assault and trauma, non-con, manipulation, suicidal thoughts/reference to an attempt, general leon self destructive behaviour, physical abuse, power dynamics, throatfucking, choking, breath play, somno, 1 instance of drugging, unmentioned age gap, anal, he puts duct tape on your pussy ok just once promise it’s not bad, religious references, 1 mention of vomit and piss not in a sexual way, slight misogyny, panic attack

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

anyway, please ignore typos :3 rbs and feedback is very appreciated :3 my medical knowledge sucks, so keep in mind that all of this is off LMFAO crossposted to ao3 (user clitkiss)

two

Lucky. Leon hates that word. He wasn’t lucky to get out of Raccoon City, he was just barely capable, you have to be unlucky to get into that situation in the first place. You’re a lucky guy, Redfield had told him once, Chris not Claire. Claire isn’t daft. And Leon wonders what is so lucky about him. He’s forty-six and all he’s got is his trusty Matilda, his mother’s old Bible, and a failing liver. His luck is preordained by God and it’s a total sham.

Leon Kennedy’s the one who showed up to drill sessions smelling like sweat and cock. Kennedy’s the one that rolls over onto his front and takes it like a good doggy. Kennedy’s green behind the ears, pretty in the face, and that don’t fare well in a boot camp full of men twice his size. Kennedy’s the one brushing shoulders with the President, got the USA’s most prized dick in his mouth and everyone knows that he wouldn’t dare bite down. Golden boy Leon fucking Scott Kennedy would just go ahead and use his tongue to clean up Graham’s ballsack. And you’re calling that lucky? Bullshit.

The DSO’s modus operandi is strikingly similar to that of the BSAA. He is but a cog in a well oiled machine. There’s one difference, not a dog tag to his name. If he dies, then he’ll die nameless, and he’ll be cremated by something nuclear, and it’ll all be for nothing. Ain’t that just the luckiest thing you’ve ever heard?

He has tried to kill himself once or twice or thrice. He lost count after the fifth. The gun jammed once, a bad joke. Left Matilda rendered useless. Was meant to be him, not her. And if Leon’s being honest, every day is an avid attempt, as in the drinking and praying his liver gives out. Once he managed to get halfway there. Doesn’t remember a lot. Just blood. Lots of blood. Why couldn’t you be quiet about your grief, Leon? Claire’s expression had asked, how I am, how Chris is, how Jill is.

‘Cause he couldn’t. He had to go ahead and splatter his grief all over the linoleum floor. Maybe then someone would find him, and they’d mourn him, and they’d feel sorry for him ‘cause he’d pitied himself enough. Leon told her a joke, yapping away like one of those butterscotch lapdogs. Claire said that in South Korea you’re allowed to snip a dog's vocal cords to stop them from barking. Lucky I’m not in South Korea then. She handed him an orange prescription bottle with his name scrawled on it, and that was that. They didn’t speak for a few months.

Once upon a time Sherry needed him, now he needs her more. Needs her to laugh at his jokes, she’s the only one that does. And he needs her to tell him, I love you, Leon. She’s the only one that says that. No one puts up with him like Sherry does. She puts up with him in the way most women do their fathers. Love their dads unconditionally and nothing can ever fix that. Terrible illness that is. So, yeah, Leon Scott Kennedy is far from lucky. Lonely? Oh, for sure. God. He’s so lonely he feels sorry for himself. That’s one thing Leon has always been good at though. Lending himself a shoulder ‘cause no one else will.

His fingers brush yours in the record store. The hairs on the back of his neck stand. Jesus. Is it getting that bad? Leon’s been without a fuck for a few months and he’s already itching. That’s a new low. When Leon looks up to catch sight of who made his dick swell with their fingertips, he catches your eye briefly. A mousy little thing. Easily spooked it seems by the nervous smile you give him.

You’re on the phone, I don’t know what he likes anymore, dad, yeah—I’m trying to find it—Yes, I know who sang Sex and Candy, dad, Kurt Cobain right? Is that the one he likes? Dumbass. No, I’m not wrong, could you put mom on the phone—Hi mom, yes, I know he’s my brother, mom—Ever since he turned fifteen he stopped talking to me properly—I don’t know what she thinks, mom—

A mommy, daddy, a brother, a sister too he assumes. You’re what they call lucky. Nasty undertone you’re using with your parents. If Leon’s mom was still around he’d talk to her so sweet. She’d tell him to pray and Leon wouldn’t resist. Alright, Ma, Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus Tecum— then his voice would trail off, and he’d pretend to mouth the rest of the hymn ‘cause he remembers fuck all.

He wants to knock you around. Shake you till your brains scramble. Wants you to flinch even when he’s being nice. Leon’s nostrils flare when you raise your voice in the slightest, even if it’s playful, it’s plain rude. How dare you? He can’t even begin to fathom how incredibly lucky you are. The thought crosses Leon’s mind once, twice, thrice. Just how suicide did that day back in September. If you can kidnap the President’s daughter from her bustling college campus, throw her over your shoulder like salt, why can’t you kidnap Miss Nobody from a street corner in D.C?

Your figure is distinguished by a single, flickering street lamp. He sees your shadow. Recognises the silhouette by the shapely legs and how your belted coat flares out to create a dramatic hourglass, Leon’s got a good eye for detail. Oh, it’s kinda sexy watching you in the spotlight, like a makeshift cabaret show, go on babe, bust out the flapper dress, he knows his stuff, he read Gatsby back in high school. He listens out for the tap of your heeled boots, click-clack, click-clack, there you are, you don’t even know what’s about to happen, do you? And it really is that easy. Just like throwin’ salt over your shoulder.

Temazepam, loprazolam, lormetazepam, diazepam, nitrazepam. Some melatonin too. Magnesium’s supposed to help with insomnia. How’s he supposed to know what your body reacts to best? Leon’s not your fuckin’ GP. Chloroform does the trick for everyone. Should’ve invited you out for drinks and roofied you instead.

Leon had gone for an old-fashioned method, listen, he was desperate. He doesn’t usually resort to such bruteish tactics unlike the older Redfield, not that Chris would use a morsel of his strength to harm a lady, but it had to be done. Yes, he choked you out. No, he’s not proud of it. He’s actually pretty disappointed in his lack of preparation. Oh, cut yourself some slack, Kennedy, it’s your first time kidnapping someone, and it was a heat of the moment type thing. To Leon’s dismay, that doesn’t last long, duh, he should know better.

While you regain sluggish consciousness on his couch, Leon’s tearing through his kitchen cabinets for anything to settle you down. Ah. That’s right. Ketamine. Ain’t it horse tranquilliser? What’s that doing here? Honestly, he’s got to stop raiding the infirmary for all they’ve got. A high enough dosage will knock you out for sure. If it kills you, then so be it. Beer for guys, wine for the ladies, and Ketamine for random sluts he picks up on street corners.

You’re blinking to clear your hazy vision, feeling around your crushed windpipe to assess the damage, he leans over you like a nurse from hell. The needle breaks your skin easily, so tender, before you have the chance to kick up a fuss, your eyelids turn to lead and close like a toy babydoll’s do when you lean them back.

Fifteen to twenty minutes, google says. Leon gets down to business, strips you of your clothing, takes you to his room, throws you on the king-sized bed that’s warmed only by him. He kept your panties on. They’re light blue and sensible briefs. A buzzer rings out in his head, bzzzt, boring. A million bitches in D.C. and he picked out the most vanilla one. Just his Kennedy luck ain’t it.

One minute. Leon presses his nose to the fabric of your panties, sniffs like a pig does in its trough, isn’t that just the sweetest smell? Fresh cunt. He licks up the print of your pussy, tongue landing on the hardness of your clit.

Five minutes. With your panties soaked with Leon’s spit, he decides to move ‘em to the side, and he groans in delight when he parts your cushioned lips to find that you’re stickier than toffee pudding, drooly cunt reactive to the pads of his fingers, to the tip of his tongue. He pushes back the hood of your bud, gives it a kiss, then another.

Ten minutes. He’s opened you up, gaped you around three thick fingers, Jesus, you’re so tight. It’s like your cunt’s vacuum sealed. Leon’s fingers prod at the squishy opening of your cervix, his thumb circles your clit, presses down like a button and he’s rewarded with another gush of slick. Beer on tap.

You rouse from your forced slumber at fourteen minutes. Huh. He’ll have to up the dosage next time. “Hi there, sleepin’ beauty.” Leon says in a rather cloying voice, amping up the sweetness when in reality he is less than fond of you. The lucky girl. He strokes your head soothingly, hovers over you to keep you in place. The panic sets in almost immediately, flailing limbs, asinine attempts at sentences that crawl up your throat and spill over. Who are you, get off me, get off me, please. What did I do? I’m sorry, please, let me go, let me go, please, I’ll do anything. Albeit your words are slurred, Leon chooses not to hear you.

“Aintcha just the sweetest thing?” He cups your cheeks, gaze so gentle it’s disarming. “I opened you up, didn’t wanna break ya, just wanted you to wake up before we got it on, I’m a real gentleman, you see.” Before he rapes you, he makes sure to ask: you got a rubber by any chance, sweetheart? Oh, and you don’t like that, you really don’t. ‘Cause your face falls fast like a drop tower ride.

The chance to scream is lost on you when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, pushes them down your burning throat till you choke and drool in an unflattering manner. Your jaw is too lax to clamp down on him. Leon takes this opportunity to smear his leaky, fat tip over your folds, pushes past the barriers of resistance and slides into your pre-gaped cunt. Lucky bitch. Lucky fucking bitch. Getting yourself a piece of Leon S. Kennedy’s dick. He reserves that for only the finest ladies, aka any girl that has a nice set of tits and dark hair, greying roots are a new preference.

He’s fully sheathed inside of you, head rubbing painfully against your cervix. Bruising it from the look of discomfort on your face as you make stupid-sounding noises around his fingers. “Fuck, yeah, that hits the spot.” When’s the last time Leon had his way with a girl, wanton fucking, pulling hair, slapping— they all want it soft and sappy these days. And so did he up until a certain point. Up until he tried to kill himself maybe. Something must’ve flipped in his brain, now he’s overcome with the need to mess your pretty face up.

Leon’s forehead presses to your clammy one, your sweat is salty on his tongue when he kisses your cheek. Slightly sour scent, ugh, what’s he saying? Acting like he’s a fear-smelling B.O.W or some shit. Fuck off, Kennedy. His hips aim upwards when your body shifts due to the thrashing you’re doing, with each thrust he bottoms out with a wet squelch, rolls his hips into you at a force that knocks any chance of breath out of you.

“If you were a good girl,” Leon smiles, all teeth. They glint in the muddy darkness of his room, black-out curtains drawn so not even the moon gets to see what he’s doing to you, “then I’d be fuckin’ you real slow, real nice, rub that little clit till you came.” Your wrists are both cuffed within his grip, pinned over your head as he drives into you, as if his intention is to tear straight through you.

The heat in his gut uncoils, but he’s timed himself well enough, pulls out ‘cause god forbid he knocked you up. Knowing Leon’s luck he’d manage it. Then he puts his cock in your mouth, “I got some pliers out back.” He says in warning as he jerks the shaft and your lips hesitantly close around the tip when he gives you a mean look. Total lie by the way, no matter how abnormal Leon is he does not own a pair of tooth-pulling pliers. Shoots his load down your throat, you splutter and push at his abdomen to get him off.

He pulls out in his own time, lays beside you. All of his chakras are aligned. Apparently there’s seven, but Leon’s only got two. And they’re entirely dependent on whether he’s sucked and fucked till he’s thoroughly satisfied. By god he is. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, Et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. That’s the rest of it right. He remembers now. You might just be his saving grace, Lucky Girl. His very own Sancta Maria, Mater dei. Damn, you hear that, ma? Leon’s got it down to a T. Maybe some more pussy will get him singing out the rest of the prayer. He can get rid of that statuette on the mantle, swap it out with you.

He doesn't get a word out by the time you’re vomiting a vile mixture of acidic yellow and his seed down the front of your chest. Retching as you choke on the gift he’d given you.

Leon takes you to the bathroom, forces you into the shower cubicle as he sprays you down, not even waiting for the water to go warm. “Dry yourself off,” he gestures mildly to where there’s a few towels stored.

You don’t come back out of the bathroom for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Don’t even answer when he knocks. Goddammit, Leon. Leave your kidnap victim alone in the room with all the razors, why don’t you? Fucking idiot. When he opens the door, you’re huddled in the corner by the toilet, dry heaving into the bowl and sitting in a puddle of your own piss. Stupid fucking baby. Is this what kids are like these days? When he was your age he made it out of Raccoon City alive, and no one made it out of there. No one lived to tell that story. And you’re here pissing your pants ‘cause he’s given you a nice, hard fucking? He pimp slaps you so hard your teeth clatter.

It takes two weeks for his Lucky Girl to be broken in. Not as long as he expected, so he’s pleased. And when Leon’s pleased, he’s nice. So today you get some screen time. You’re curled into his side, the way a baby bird does under its mother’s wing, squinting at his sixty-five inch TV, egregious really, who needs a screen that big? He’s flipping periodically through the channels whenever an ad break comes on. The 7.45PM news is on. He settles on that and you watch mindlessly, no objections.

The speech blurs like white noise to him, Leon’s not focused until your picture pops up on screen, and he just turns to you with this shit-eating grin. Graduation cap and robe on, all dolled up as you make eyes at him through the screen.

“Baby,” he grins wolfishly, ruffles your hair in a teasing manner, “you look so damn cute there!” Leon watches bright-eyed, suddenly enthralled, they list your name, your height, your weight, all stuff he actually didn’t know ‘bout you. Never bothered to ask. You don’t need a name, you’re just his Lucky Girl. “Don’t like the red lip on you,” he comments flippantly, “A red lip is for whores, don’t you think, baby?”

He was right. You got a daddy, a mommy, a brother and a sister. You’ve got it all. Lucky fucking Girl. A broken sob is torn from your throat, jagged and scratchy as you fling yourself halfway across the room, on your knees as you put your grubby fingers all over his shiny screen. Leon lets you. He finds it hilarious actually. Who’d you think you are? Carol Anne from Poltergeist? Like you’re gonna get sucked into the screen, crawling out the other end like Sadako, back into your daddy’s arms.

Our daughter—My girl, she had her whole life ahead of her—My sister wouldn’t do this—She was so excited to move on after graduation—She’s not the type to run away—My daughter—My sister—Our sister—

Your mother is a mess, barely able to get words out with the way she’s blubbering. “She’s layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t you think, babe?” Leon picks up his beer from the side table, slightly heated under the burn of the lamp. “You look like your daddy, cry pretty like your mama though.”

You stare at him horrified. Jaw hanging open as if it’s unhinged, not in the way a snake does when ready to swallow its prey whole. More in the way of a screaming corpse. When the rigor mortis has worn off, secondary flaccidity sets in, and the mandible drops open. Jeez, tough crowd tonight it seems. Don’t make him sew your mouth up, Lucky Girl. Leon wouldn’t dare, that mouth, that throat is precious to him.

CCTV footage plays on the screen, another sob racks your brittle frame, you didn’t know it was him that day, Leon realises. “Oh, baby, that’s where we met, ain’t that funny?” A blurry image of you on the phone, prattling away to your family like the Lucky Girl you are, he’s just out of shot.

We miss her—Please, if you know anything, if you find anything—Please—

“God, let me get my phone, darling, they look so upset I can’t stand it. I might have to call them up and turn myself in. Give ‘em an early Christmas gift, don’t you think?” If Leon went missing, who would look for him? Hunnigan with all her sharp edges, or Claire with her unwilling loyalty to him? Lucky Bitch. It’s making his temper flare, that’s enough TV time for today.

The screen fades out, goes black when he switches it off. “No, no, no,” you chant, “no, no, no, no, please, please—“

“I’m disappointed in you, baby.” Leon says honestly, sips his beer and laughs mirthlessly. “I thought you’d started to like me.”

You’re not listening, too busy fitting on the rug, grasping at the screen as if you can pluck your family out of it and reunite with them on his living room floor. Leon did think you were getting used to him though. Family’s family, blood is thicker than water. Cum is also thicker than water. And that’s what he’s pumped down your throat nightly in hopes of it clogging up your brain, so you think of nothing but him. Those dogs in South Korea, the ones Claire told him about, he’s got his own special method to take care of your vocal cords. No snipping, no surgery needed. Just the throat training method.

“C’mere, lucky girl.” He clicks his tongue as if he’s calling out for a dog. You lay unmoving, rocking back and forth, whispering to yourself like a crazy person. Bit creepy. Leon stands, he grabs you by the hair and drags you to sit at his feet near the couch. Simple and effective. Backhands you for good luck. He needs it. “Stop your cryin’ I’m getting sick of it.” Leon says, brows wrinkled as he lowers his sweats, brings your head down to rest on his thigh. Your tear-stained cheeks turn him on, the doleful eyes, runny nose. It’s hot. His sad little girl.

“Suck it.” Leon taps the tip against your pouty lips, swollen from his earlier kisses, coats them in his pearly pre, “I won’t ask twice, sweetheart.” You open your mouth, take him like clockwork. He don’t like that attitude. So he pushes your head down on his cock, watches your throat bob, uncomfortably full. Leon pinches your nose, listens to how you panic so nice around a mouthful of dick, gagging in a way you never have before. Not a gag that indicates inexperience, but one that is full of sheer terror, nails leaving red marks on his thighs as you drag them down his skin. Ouch. He’s gotta trim those down.

“You get it now, babe?” Leon hums, he lets you off this time, “Do what I say and it’ll be fine, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Leon,” you nod furiously through gulps of air, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” Fuck. Another one of your panic attacks. He’s not got the patience to deal with this. “I won’t—“ A wheeze, “ I won’t do it—“ A croak, “I won’t do it again.” You’ve learned to handle yourself. Rub your chest with your right hand, stare at the ceiling till you calm down. Leon’s dick is still rock hard. Ready to crack open a walnut.

“Good girl,” he nods, “then get on with it.”

There is nothing you’ve done in particular to set Leon off. He’s just had a bad day. Hunnigan’s senses are much too acute, she thought something was off with him. That put him on edge. So he’s like a ticking time bomb. Just waiting for you to make one wrong move. And you do. You say no to him, pleadingly so, shaking your head as you look at him with your fairytale fawn eyes. Meekly admit that you’re sore and achy and it hurts.

“That’s not your decision to make, sweetheart.” Leon informs you, he grabs a roll of duct tape from the kitchen, nicks at the edge with his teeth and tears a strip off. You bristle, completely still, a thousand thoughts running through that pea-sized brain of yours. “But I’ll be nice today, been waitin’ to fuck your ass anyway.” He puts the strip on your cunt, over your chubby lips to hold them together, it feels strange and icky. The last thing Leon wants to see is blood. He sees enough of that daily. So he’s generous when it comes to prep, busts out the cherry-flavoured lube today, squirts a decent amount on his fingers, cock, and your tighter hole.

You squirm, he watches the unreadable expression on your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest. You’re nervous, but you’re wet, and that makes his chest swell in pride. Lucky Girl finally gets it. One finger slips past the ring of tight muscle, Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, there’s one last line he’s missing. It’ll come to him. Two fingers in, he scissors you open, spits on it just ‘cause it turns him on to see it run down your crack.

That’s enough, Leon thinks when he fits the third. He wants to make it hurt a little. Wants to feel like a big, strong man. He sits back on his knees, flips you over onto your front, he likes you this way. Just takes you in, how your tits hang low, brushing against the mattress when Leon presses a hand down on your back to keep you from arching. He takes his dick in hand and in he goes, easier than he thought. He wonders if you can cum just like this, with his dick pounding your ass.

He fucks like an animal, you gasp and yelp below him, unable to handle it as his hips smack against yours. The duct tape is starting to peel ‘cause your pussy is fucking soaked. That alone makes his balls tighten as he turns you back over to do damage control, and ‘cause he wants to see your face while he fucks. You look like you’re lovin’ it. Alright. So you’re an anal slut. Got it. He pushes back into your ass, groans when you clench around him, the duct tape peeling at the corners, he can’t handle it. Et in hora mortis nostrae. Leon’s mind blanks when he cums, fills your ass and his limp cock slips out. Shit. A-fucking-men. That’s right, he remembers. That’s how you end a prayer.

You don’t cum. He tears the duct tape off clean. You let out a loud ‘Ow, Leon!’ and frown at him. Beads of arousal stick to the piece of tape, your pussy is pulsing, walls fluttering around nothing. Leon kisses your swollen clit, rubs it steadily till you cream on his tongue, sweeter than molasses his Lucky Girl is.

“Leon?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.” You tell him shyly, gaze at him with this dumb fucking smile on your dollface that makes his heart squeeze. God, he’s gotta keep you around, his lucky charm.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil smut #leon s kennedy x you #resident evil x reader

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turtletaubwrites · 2 months

Text

Numbers Game ~ Part 10

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 3944

Ao3 Link

Summary: You find out if your frightening lovers will grant your request. But first, you've got some work to do.

Author's Note: It's good to be back 🐊🤡🗡

RECAP: You gave in to your wicked cravings, and had a mind-blowing night with the villains that own you. They even let your former lover join. Since you were so good for them, they offered to give you whatever you wanted, so you asked for them to be nicer to your sweet, hopeless clown.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Swearing, Smut, Established Relationship, Manipulation, Humiliation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, Hair-Pulling, Degradation, Cunnilingus, Bondage, Dom Crocodile (One Piece), Spanking, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

“What’s this,” Mihawk growled against your ear, his soothing hand starting to tease nails into your skin. “Our little rabbit is going against the one thing we’ve asked of her? Don’t lower yourself for that—“

“Don’t hurt her.”

That bitter snarl was emphasized by what sounded like a chair clattering to the floor along with it.

Mihawk’s fingers found your cheeks, digging in while he kept you from looking toward that voice by the door.

“Both of you need to calm down,” Crocodile scolded, his deep voice echoing through your bones. He brushed Mihawk’s hand away, tracing his own large fingers down the side of your face.

“Our girl is just too sweet. Isn’t that right, babydoll? You wanna please everyone, don’t you?”

A small whine left your throat, your body too spent for anything more.

“I suppose you’re right,” Mihawk relented, returning to his soft touches that made you sigh, but staying propped up on an elbow to toss a threat across the room. “You, clown. Don’t get bold just because we let you wet that pathetic dick of yours. We’re not as sweet as our little darling here.”

“Enough,” your scarred lover rasped, the comforting press of his lips to your temple sending your body into deep, delicious sleep.

Hushed voices pulled you from dreams, until you stretched across the giant bed. A large hand rubbed down your blanket covered back while the voices grew louder.

“How long until our order arrives? My eyes can’t take much more of this,” Mihawk drawled, and you opened your eyes to find him frowning at a gaudy top before tossing it onto a pile of other unworthy garments.

“Less than a week,” came Crocodile’s heavy voice. That frightening face gave you a smirk when you met his eyes, lifting your palm to his lips. “Mm, how’s my girl?”

This has to be a dream.

Melting under his attention, a soft gasp left you when Mihawk’s weight settled on your other side. Long, dangerous fingers caressed your face, before he breathed against your ear.

“Get ready for work, darling. We need more berry to buy you pretty things,” he teased, humming at your soft whines while you reached for him. “Such a greedy little rabbit…”

Crocodile huffed until Mihawk lifted you, carrying you to the large bathroom. He set you down on the plush rug in front of the mirror. Your ragged reflection would have kept all of your attention while the swordsman started the water for you, but instead, you stared at a stretch of that long counter between the sinks. All of your toiletries were lined up there, even the products you hadn’t been able to grab from Buggy’s suite.

“Your shower will get cold,” Mihawk remarked, interrupting your open-mounted confusion to leave a kiss on your shoulder as he left. “Your barely acceptable dress is on the back of the door. Don’t be too long, rabbit. Unless you need some help in there?”

You shook your head at his offer, still trying to jolt yourself awake. Showering in a daze, you marveled at all your little marks and aches, finally waking to the fact that last night had really happened. You had gotten your filthiest wish.

And now, you belonged to them.

A strange sense of satisfied acceptance washed over you as you took care of yourself for the bad men you could still hear speaking quietly in the next room. Mihawk had told you not to take too long, but you didn’t want to rush. You wanted to look your best for them.

And what a feeling it was.

The urge to squirm, to hide from their gaze almost overwhelmed you, but you curled your toes into the carpet, chewing on your lip. Mihawk’s golden eyes pierced you again, a hawk watching its prey before tearing it to shreds, while Crocodile’s pale gaze and subtle smirk raked over your skin with the pleasure of a man who’d just purchased a one of a kind, his prized possession.

Where’s Buggy?

That question bubbled through your mind, but you weren’t ready to ask it yet. At least not until you’d seen if he was in the lounge.

At least not until you’d basked in the feeling of being wanted by these dangerous men.

I really am crazy.

“Come here, pretty girl,” Crocodile ordered, standing up from the edge of the bed. You moved toward his deep voice without a thought, heart pounding in your ears while you craned your neck to look up at him. He hunched low for you to climb into his arms again.

“Oh,” you hesitated, taking a half step back, “I thought since... I know there should be at least one pair of acceptable–”

“I’m offering to carry my sweet girl,” his dark voice rumbled. You could see Mihawk in the corner of your eye, settling back down on the couch to watch the exchange. “Are you complaining about–”

“N-no, sir,” you interrupted him, voice high as you tried to think. “I just think if we look through all the shoes, you won’t have to carry me any–”

Crocodile's speed tore a surprised yelp from you. He didn’t hurt you, but from one moment to the next, he went from towering over you, to sitting back on the bed with you standing between his thighs, his hook around your neck.

“Didn’t you promise to be a sweet girl for Daddy?”

“I…” you breathed, unable to string a coherent thought together while he stroked your hair, that cool metal around your neck making you shiver. Mihawk's quiet laughter floating through the air didn’t help.

“I’ve been letting your feelings for the clown slide, sweetheart. But now you’re interrupting me? Now you’re complaining about me taking care of my girl? Now you won’t even answer a simple question,” he accused, pressing thick fingers into your jaw. “You promised me you’d be a sweet girl, and I don’t like liars.”

“B-but, sir–”

“Still talking back,” he tutted, bringing his forehead down to yours. “And not even calling me by my proper name. Such a brat.”

The fear in your stomach twisted into something else, a breathy moan leaving your lips when he forced you over his knee. Your legs were between his as you were bent over one of his large thighs. His hook hung loose around your throat while your head and arms dangled freely toward the floor on the other side. That deadly metal wasn’t hurting you, or holding your body into any position, but he let it sit against your skin. A constant reminder that you would always be vulnerable, always be in danger, no matter how many pretty words and gifts they showered you with.

The reminder of that danger had heat pooling in your core, your hips lifting up to meet his view. You couldn’t help but writhe, pressing your thighs together.

“Hm, so you’ve been acting up because you’re feeling greedy,” he growled, his warm hand smoothing the dress up your thighs until it collected around your waist, revealing your soaked panties. “Didn’t I already tell you I’d give you everything you want?”

You let out a whine as those thick fingers teased along that flimsy, wet fabric. He ghosted over your clit, trailing slick around your thighs while you ached for more.

“Answer me, brat,” Crocodile fumed, a breathy scream leaving your throat as he twisted those fingers around the middle of your drenched panties to yank them up toward his growling face, creating delicious, almost painful pressure against your clit, the rough pull stretching through your sensitive flesh.

“Y-yes, you did! You promised everything,” you cried out, back arching at the tug of fabric against your hips, sure that it was about to tear.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, d-daddy.”

“That’s a start,” he huffed, dragging your panties halfway down your thighs, while Mihawk continued to chuckle across the room.

“You got something to say,” Crocodile threatened the swordsman, his hand smoothing territorially over your exposed skin.

“Not at all,” your golden eyed lover teased, meeting your fluttering gaze when you twisted your neck to find him. “I’m just admiring your technique. I have a feeling our little rabbit might need to take a few more punishments. I think she might even enjoy it, isn’t that right, slut?”

The sigh his filthy words sent through you loosened your body again, earning a low hum from the man that had you at his mercy.

“If you want us to hurt you, all you gotta do is ask,” Crocodile’s deep voice scolded. His palm smoothed over your ass, your thighs, your dripping cunt, smearing your slick across your skin. “You don’t need to act like an ungrateful little brat.”

His hand lifted, and you’d had a feeling it was coming, but there was no way you could have prepared for the sharp sting of his massive hand. It covered so much of your skin it made you dizzy, yet even through the pain, your core pulsed with heat, toes curling as you arched your back.

“Not even fucking sorry, are you?”

You couldn’t answer through your vulgar moan, or Mihawk’s taunting laughs as he pulled up a chair closer to the show.

“Even after all that attention last night, you still had to act up,” Crocodile asked, dragging a finger through your wet folds. Your sensitive flesh twitched as he teased around your clit, then threatened around the rim of your asshole. “I didn’t think this lovely body could take much today, but if my girl is so fucking desperate for abuse that she’ll act like a spoiled little cunt, then maybe we should stuff you ‘til you can’t complain anymore. Is that what you’re asking for, brat?”

Tears streamed from your eyes that had rolled white from another sharp spank, and from Mihawk’s rough fingers fisting into your hair.

There was no way you could speak. No way you could say yes, or no to anything while your skin tingled with intoxicating pain. You were overcome with sensation, with need, with the freedom of giving up all control.

“Mm, I think our girl is drunk,” Mihawk mused, leaning down to watch your tongue lolling out of your mouth. “I don’t think she’s ready for this sort of fun yet. We need a word, don’t we, little rabbit? Do you need to stop?”

A warbled moan left your throat while he paused.

“Are you ready to have all your pretty holes fucked open again, or do you still need some time to rest?”

This slurred moan came with a pathetic wiggle, bringing soft laughs from both of these bad men.

“Alright, sweetheart. I’ll forgive you today,” Crocodile hummed, Mihawk helping him pull you into his arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and get some breakfast. Then you can tell me all about how sorry you–”

Whining against the heat of his chest, you pulled at his scarf, struggling to get close enough to feel his lips on yours.

“Try not to break her,” Mihawk laughed while you clawed at that silky vest. “I’ve got morning plans anyway. I’ll make sure breakfast is set up after an appropriate amount of time. We still need our little rabbit to do some work today.”

“I’ll be gentle,” your scarred lover threatened, tossing you onto the bed when the door closed. He pulled off his scarf and vest, but left the rest on as he crawled between your legs.

He pulled those ruined panties off of your writhing body, admiring the mess he’d made of you.

“Please…”

“Hm, is that the first thing you should be saying to me right now?”

He breathed against your inner thighs, his fingers playing in the slick around your entrance. You almost got lost again, but pulled yourself into the moment. Those menacing eyes burned into yours while you swore yourself to him.

“I’m sorry, daddy. I promise I’ll be a good girl.”

“There ya go,” he praised, pressing a sensuous kiss to your clit. “All I wanna do is take care of you, sweetheart. Gonna listen to your daddy from now on?”

“Yes, I promise,” you moaned, his tongue already so close to destroying you again

“That’s my girl.”

It was usually Mihawk’s evil voice and wicked words that could make you come in an instant, but Crocodile’s deep rumble of praise and ownership as he lapped up your need sent you screaming his name, mussing up that slick backed hair while you pulled him toward you, coming hard all over that menacing face.

You could barely move while he crawled up your body, letting you lick your mess off of his skin before he kissed you for what felt like hours. He was so much bigger than you, but he never crushed you. Under his touch, you felt precious, like something to be protected, enjoyed, treasured.

It was a whole other high than the one you had felt when he'd bent you bent over his knee.

“Come on, sweet girl. Let’s get some food.”

Crocodile had helped you get presentable again, and you hadn’t argued when he knelt down to carry you. His strong, comforting arms held you through the halls, and you realized that you might actually miss them carrying you everywhere.

What a difference a few days can make.

“Your food got cold,” Mihawk drawled over his espresso. “They’re bringing something else.”

Crocodile lit a cigar after he set you down, that little table on the balcony making you feel suddenly exposed. All the pirates and workers down below could look up and see the ex warlords having breakfast with their pet. Mihawk’s almost bored voice broke you out of those thoughts.

“Your work yesterday was well done. The fact that you were able to secure funding from a new backer so soon is impressive. Do you have other contacts that would be willing to part with a few berry for us?”

“I’m not sure,” you confessed quietly, trying to get back into business mode. “I had quite a few wealthy clients that were loyal to me, and they always have friends in their little rich people circles. I don’t know how many would want to be associated with…”

Your wide eyes flicked between them until Mihawk gave a tiny smirk, Crocodile’s laugh relaxing your nerves.

“I’ve had plenty of dealings with rich idiots,” Crocodile grunted, putting out his cigar as the breakfast plates were taken away. “In my experience, the best way to get them to loosen their purse strings is to make them feel special.”

“Go on,” Mihawk waved his hand, but Crocodile only had eyes for you.

“What do you think would get more of these wealthy fools to throw their berry away, sweetheart?”

Your first thought seemed too simple, and you didn’t want to disappoint the men before you. But your mind went blank, and you didn’t want to take too long.

“A party.”

Mihawk carried you to the lounge, giving a satisfied hum when you let your head fall, resting against the crook of his neck.

“Why do you smell like that,” you wondered aloud, wanting to crawl out of your skin for asking something so rude.

He sat you in your chair, and you thought you were going to get away with it until he perched on your desk, pulling your chin up so he could study you.

“Smell like what, little rabbit?”

“I… I don’t know,” you almost paused, the slightest tilt of his head making you pull panicked words from your lips. “Normally you smell so good, but— y-you still smell good, I just…”

Mihawk gave a real laugh, releasing your chin as he threw his head back. You caught eyes with Crocodile across the room while you waited to see if this deep laughter would be good or bad for you.

“Don’t be so scared, pet,” he soothed, the barest hint of color gracing his cheeks as his breathing returned to normal. “I’m impressed. You’ve shown yourself to be quite perceptive. That can be very useful.”

Dracule fucking Mihawk tapped the tip of your nose.

“Go ahead, rabbit. See what you can smell.”

Dangerous fingers moved in front of your face, and after another moment of fear, you grabbed his arm. Closing your eyes, you tried to be subtle as you sniffed his skin, his sleeve, the heat of his palm warming your cheek while you smelled his wrist.

“It smells… dusty, like you were out on the sand but…” He stayed silent, and you opened your eyes to find him observing you, still waiting. “It’s like dirt, but a little bit sour.”

He kissed your cheek before handing you a notebook and pen.

“Crocodile, our little darling is a bloodhound. Maybe she can be our poison sniffer,” he chuckled to himself, leaving you with an open mouth and zero explanations.

“I think we can find better uses for her.”

“What–”

“You’ve wasted enough time today, rabbit,” Mihawk scolded, cracking a book as he lounged at his own desk.

“Write a list of all of your contacts,” Crocodile cut in, your head snapping toward his desk on the other side of the large room. “Make sure to include personal details, business associations, any leverage that could be used against them, your opinion on how best to gain their support, etc. We’re gonna need a good guest list for that party.”

“But–”

“But what, sweetheart,” Crocodile tested, earning a squeaked, “nothing,” from you before you went to work.

When you dove into this new life, you had done the proper things first. You had resigned from your position, contacted all of your clients to thank them for the opportunity to work with them, and you had turned in all of their private files.

Sure, your personal life was left in shambles, but you hadn’t burned any professional bridges. If you ever needed to leave Buggy, you would have been able to find another job easily.

Although, now you were wishing you’d hung onto those private files. At least you’d kept all of your client’s contact information, if not their financial secrets.

But you did have a really good memory.

Even through lunch and dinner, your mind was caught, pulling up more and more from your memories that could be helpful.

Writing lines of information that could be used to hurt people.

I’m a villain now.

You shook that thought away as you wrote down the details of a mistress and lovechild whose trust fund you’d helped set up discreetly, for a rather impressive fee.

Maybe I wasn’t that good before anyway.

The excuses you’d built up in your mind back then fizzled out when Crocodile took your notebook, carrying you to the couch where Mihawk waited with a glass of wine.

“Can I keep the notebook,” you pleaded, playing with the pen he’d left in your fingers.

“Work’s over. Don’t want my sweet girl overdoing it.”

He tossed the pen aside, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you settled between them. Mihawk brought your fingers to his lips, chuckling softly while you melted into that sinful, green couch.

“Would you like to know what that nose of yours smelled earlier, darling,” the swordsman teased, pressing dangerous lips to your wrist.

Relaxation and curiosity moving through you, but before you could reply, something in his words stopped you. Your tired brain struggled to puzzle it out, struggled to remember what you were missing.

“Where’s Buggy?”

Guilt ripped through you. You’d thought of him once today, and had chosen not to ask about him so that you could keep enjoying yourself.

I haven’t even thought about him all day. I’m such a selfish–

“Why do you care,” Crocodile asked. His voice was even, but with a tension rumbling through it, just enough for your breath to catch. He set his large hand on the back of your neck as he tilted toward you, Mihawk mirroring the turn while he massaged his fingers, almost too hard, into the meat of your palm. Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“You haven’t asked about him all day,” Mihawk noted, that venomous tease coating his words. “Was our little treasure just following orders? Or could it be that you forgot all about that worthless clown?”

A muffled noise behind you made you gasp, the tension on the couch cutting you off from the rest of the world.

“Go on, she finally asked,” Crocodile jerked his head over his shoulder. Mihawk nodded, kissing your knuckles before moving behind the couch.

The swordsman dragged something heavy, giving a small grunt as he lifted Buggy, tossing him onto the coffee table before you.

Buggy’s name fell silently from your lips as his tired eyes took you in.

His hands were bound in large cuffs. Sea prism stone, like the pair his new recruits had been able to steal for him during their escape from Impel Down. It was probably his own pair, trapping his body in one piece while he listened to you enjoying your time with his torturers.

You thought you’d let this guilt go, but it was all piling on again as you watched Mihawk pull the gag from Buggy’s mouth, wiping long fingers on the clown’s deflated, red suit before sitting beside you again.

“My sweet girl was so good for us last night,” Crocodile breathed against your temple, his grip around your neck pressing a little tighter. “You asked us to be a little nicer to the clown, so we were.”

“I…”

“That’s right,” Mihawk purred, rubbing your hand again while he pressed a large key into your palm. “Instead of beating him for his insolence last night, we put his fate in our little rabbit’s hands. How were we to know that you’d forget all about your former lover? We would have given you his key this morning if you’d cared enough about this trash to wonder where he was.”

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” Crocodile soothed, kissing the slow tears that were beginning to stain your cheeks. “We’re not gonna kill him, okay? And we’ll try not to hurt him. We need this dumbass to be the face of Cross Guild, remember? You'll even get spend some time with him, make sure he doesn’t fuck up our little party.”

“I’m okay,” Buggy choked, a failed smile on his lips as he glanced down at the key in your palm. “Mind giving me a hand?”

“Oh,” you spluttered, shaky fingers freeing him from the icy stone.

“Thanks, doll,” he winked, before he was half running, half floating toward the back of the room. Toward the bathroom.

“Idiot,” Crocodile grumbled.

A giggle escaped your lips, and you felt the pressure of sharp eyes. But you giggled again. Your silly clown racing straight to the bathroom after being chained up all day made your cheeks hurt while you tried to fight more laughter.

Especially when he came floating back in, his feet running behind while he propped himself on an elbow on the coffee table.

Possessive fingers dug into your skin, your body relaxing against the touch of the deadly men on the couch beside you.

But even with the weight of their power, their dominance over you, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the ridiculous man on the table. The man who should be angry, or scared, or trying to run away. Who should be scheming, and leaving your traitorous heart behind.

The man who laid there with a wild grin on his face, wiggling his fingers while he gave you another wink with those crystal blue eyes.

“So, I hear my pretty star is throwing a party.”

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

a/n: I missed my Buggy boy so much 🤡🥰 Also, I'm dying to know how you felt about our Daddy Crocodile. I don't think his devil fruit powers would be able to drain all the moisture from me (😅 sorry)

Part 11

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

#cross guild x reader #mihawk x reader #sir crocodile x reader #buggy x reader #sir crocodile smut #mihawk smut #buggy smut #cross guild smut #crocodile x reader #reader insert #fem!reader #one piece x reader #x reader #one piece fanfic #buggy fanfiction #dracule mihawk x reader #smut #one piece smut #turtletaub fics

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358jours · 1 year

Text

Jing Yuan x GN!Reader⎢Bird in my hands

Word Count⎢1840

Genre/Tags⎢SFW, fluff, Reader has wings, wing grooming, softness and non-sexual intimacy, written and posted before game launch⎢Crossposted on AO3

Jing Yuan, now labeled ‘Dozing General’ behind doors, used to reign upon the battlefield in his younger days. His awareness, his foresight, his strategy, his instinct, his strength, all made him terrifying to fight. With the aid of the lighting element, few were the enemies he wasn’t able to take down. Perhaps the no man’s land was waiting to be claimed by him, to be renamed “Jing Yuan’s land”.

He wasn’t perfect of course, he had his share of lost battles. But he had led his men to victory far many more times than he ever had defeat.

Peace has claimed Xianzhou since then. Everything has changed, and no longer does he need to kill for victory. The battles moved from warfronts to conference rooms. Through diplomatic negotiations, treaties, alliances, trades, the living conditions of the citizens improved. His did too.

He has adapted, and every day still uses the many skills he learned on the battlefront. He is meticulous in his routine, planning everything so that no problem arises. Perhaps another person would’ve complained about the mental toll. But he is Jing Yuan, to deal with the consequences rather than preventing them is not his style. Better be safe than sorry as many say, and surely, all of this is why he follows the path of erudition.

He savors peace in his own way. Taking a nap, laying in the sun, going on a stroll, enjoying the way he can just be bored– those are all the fruits of his hard work. His drowsy demeanor makes him appear lazy in the eyes of others, but he is content knowing none have to deal with his “actually acting like a general” persona. It is much less enjoyable for everybody.

He was often compared to a lion back on the battlefield, and it still fits him now, in different ways.

You were attributed to his flagship, the Xianzhou Luofu, not as a soldier but as a scout for reconnaissance and investigation. After all, there is little use in making you a regular fighter when that pair of wings on your back gives you many other opportunities. Bird people aren’t the hybrid norm in Xianzhou as it is the known territory of Foxians.

Perhaps this is why you caught his attention– his subconscious feline instincts reacting to your rare avian attributes. Natural prey and predator, or something along those lines. He had listened to his urges once– to tease you for one of your miscalculations despite being barely acquainted general and subordinate. The face and noises you made had been far too entertaining. Playfully bothering you and seeing your honest reactions to his banter became one of his favorite pastimes.

Which is why when he finds you squirming around, he doesn't announce his presence. You are trying to reach something on your back, stretching yourself into unspeakable positions to achieve your goal, but with no luck. The curses leaving your lips constantly make the general raise an eyebrow. He has never heard you swear this much in a single instance.

As much as your floundering entertains him, it is getting a little painful. “May I help?”

“Ah!” To say you jump in surprise would be an understatement. Your wings flap instinctively, and bam, into the ceiling. Your landing is quite off too. You grasp at the top of your head with your hands, ‘ow ow ow ouch’. Yanqing, passing by right at that moment, laughs his heart out. The loud sound rings out throughout the halls, even after he is gone. Your embarrassment deepens.

Finally you turn around. “Is there anything amiss, General?”

“It seems you are struggling with something. I was wondering if you needed my aid. I’d rather you don’t end up with a concussion.” Jing Yuan laughs.

“I– I’m pretty sure a concussion is harder to get than simply this, sir.” You look at the floor, abashed. He only chuckles, his trademark lazy smile on his face. One moment pass, another, and finally you cave when your eyes meet his. “As for help, well… Something in my wings is bothering me and I don’t know where I put my brush. Just combing through with my hands is usually fine but my arms are errr too short for this I fear. If you have the spare time I would appreciate the help. I’m a bit embarrassed to ask you that as you are my superior though.”

All in one breath. Jing Yuan smiles a bit more. “Of course, to be allowed to touch a bird-person’s wings, isn’t that the highest honor possible?”

Your hands scratch the back of your head sheepishly before you turn around to lead him somewhere else. He follows, nonchalant. Though you’re trying your best not to open them in enclosed space, he sees your wings flutter every now and then. He wonders how long it has been bothering you, where you’re taking him to. The only sounds covering the silence between you two are the clanking sounds of his armor and your footsteps.

He gets his answer when you two walk into a somewhat large room. Judging by the furniture, it’s half a lounge. But by the hammock suspended in the room and personal items scattered all over the place, it’s half a private bedroom. It’s not located in the living quarters either. He sees you remove your shoes and put them in a shoe rack by the door. The tension in your body seems gone in an instant. He inquires then, “Is this your room?”

“Technically it’s no one’s, but I’ve furnished it and have been living in it the longest. Please remove your shoes and come here once you’re done.” You walk to a chest in the corner, and take out a bunch of pillows that you throw on the fluffy rug.

He does as you say and puts his boots by the rack. It’s odd, having to remove his shoes in a bedroom, it’s a habit he lost with time after he was assigned this ship. It’s something he does when he gets back to the mainland, something he does when he visits friends. Even in his own room, he has grown out of it.

The wooden floor creaks under his weight, until his feet land on the soft and fluffy rug. He arranges the pillows around before he sits down cross legged. He’s honestly surprised by how nice it feels.

“Yanqing and I found this room together, it was pretty much empty back then. I was sleeping in the shared quarters, which was quite a problem since every time my wings would move in my sleep, it’d wake someone up. I asked him if I could have it as my own. He already has his own quarters, so I could have it as long as he could visit anytime. He likes to nap in the hammock and take care of his sword here whenever it rains.”

You come to sit before him, your back facing him.

Jing Yuan blinks slowly. His mind is computing what you just told him. He hadn’t considered that aspect of you having those wings, he had viewed them –and you by extension– as an advantageous asset, and forgot to take other situations into consideration. This is proof that he still has shortcomings, even in his meticulous planning. “I apologize, I would have prepared something had I known sleeping arrangements were going to be an issue.”

“Ah no, no, it’s me! We didn’t tell anyone about it and besides, it worked out in my favor at the end of it.” Nervousness suddenly takes over you, afraid you accidentally offended your superior.

“Do not worry, you have not offended me. Besides, this is your personal space, we are equals here. Please don’t treat me as your superior when we are alone, yes?” He only laughs. The second information is something he has to verify himself– “I’m glad you are so close to Yanqing.”

“Ah I wouldn’t call it ‘so close’, I’m not sure if we’re even true friends. He’s a good lieutenant when he needs to be, but the rest of the time he’s… I’m not sure how to say it, I don’t think I’m anyone special to him. He’s so extraverted and friendly, it’s hard for anyone to dislike him, or to not tell him whenever they need help with something. He probably knows all the latest gossip too.” you laugh too.

“That is true. I’m lucky to have him as my lieutenant.” With your back facing him, you don’t get to see his relieved expression, or the way he smiles at you so fondly. “Are you ready?”

“Ah! Yes, of course!” Your wings stretch wide, and Jing Yuan is impressed with the size of them. No wonder sleeping has been a problem for you. “You can pretty much go through the feathers like how you would with your hair. Though they’re pretty sensitive, they’re also sturdier than what most people believe. Do not hesitate if you have to use strength.”

The general hums in response. His hand slowly touches the base of your wings, curious. He has pet small birds in the past, those who didn’t fear him due to his laidback aura. But your feathers are different, for obvious reasons. They are all lined up almost perfectly, their colors much more vibrant up close. They’re incredibly soft to the touch, the smoothness surprising him somehow.

While he’s very tempted to, he has to do more than simply pet your wings. He’s smart however, and figures he can go at a slower pace so he can enjoy this feeling a bit more. It’s a guilty pleasure he won’t mention.

It’s his first time doing this of course, but somehow it feels like he has much more experience. He starts combing through the feathers with much care, paying attention to each bump and irregularity. He massages the wing bone before his hands go back through your plumage. You told him he could use more strength, but he’s skilled enough not to. He removes dead feathers so very softly that you don’t feel it. He notices your form relaxing gradually. Your back slumps bit by bit, your wings slowly getting closer to touching the ground. Pride blooms in his chest.

He’s not sure how much time has passed, but once he’s done with both wings you’re sitting asleep. You stir, and when he realizes you’re about to fall, he catches you in his arms. It doesn’t seem to bother you all that much as you try to make yourself comfortable against his armoured chest. He thinks about his options carefully, what were his planned duties for the day. But… he is the Dozing General for a reason.

He’s careful when he moves to lay on his back, avoiding big sounds made by his armor. You, already in dreamland, don’t seem to mind it and only protest when he moves your head to put a pillow under it.

With the both of you comfortable, Jing Yuan finally closes his eyes.

#jing yuan x reader #star rail x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jingyuan x reader #x reader #x winged reader #hsr #nekonohanashi

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cuffmeinblack · 7 months

Text

Bound in Blood

Sebastian Sallow x f!reader

6.1k words

Summary: After several years, Sebastian is invited to visit by your betrothed, upending the cosy little life you've made for yourself with Ominis.

ao3 link

A/n: I started this ages ago after writing Old Habits as a what-if involving infidelity, which then evolved into a vague idea about a blood kink. It turned out as neither. I enjoy exaggerating Sebastian's darker traits, so I hope you know what you're getting by now. Reader is an arsehole, Ominis deserves better.

He had you pinned to the wall once again, though this time you didn't belong to him—your body was not his plaything anymore. You told yourself as such in an attempt to stave off the lustful hunger that rose like bile in your chest and the ache that settled between your legs. The words were superficial, the truth hidden just below the surface; you wanted him, still. After everything he'd put you through, your heart still ached for Sebastian Sallow.

It wasn't that Ominis was a poor partner, far from it. You loved Ominis deeply, and if the man in front of you simply didn't exist, you felt you could live a long and perfectly content life alongside him. But Sebastian did exist, and he knew exactly what to say; to worm his way into your brain, plant a seed and let it grow and flourish until everything else was deprived of thought and there was only him. Only his idea, his words that filled your consciousness every waking moment and invaded your dreams.

Be mine again.

You'd been down this road once before and had your heart not only broken but shredded, left to Ominis to gently mend. His tenderness and unconditional love had seen you through your darkest days as Sebastian galavanted around the city without a care (or so you bitterly assumed). But there remained a missing part, a gaping hole nobody else could fill.

So here you were against the wall. Your living room wall. You could scarcely believe he was here, and at the invitation of your betrothed, no less. He truly hadn’t changed a bit, neither outwardly or inwardly it would seem—Ominis would be disappointed.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Sebastian,” you said bitterly.

“Don’t pretend to be disappointed. I saw your eyes light up when I arrived. They looked so dull before…what has our dear Ominis been doing with you?” he teased, stroking a finger down the side of your cheek.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of flinching away, only staring into his dark eyes with a bored expression that belied your racing heart. If he felt your pulse or caught the deepness of your breaths he’d know you were lying.

“Does Ominis really give you what you need?”

“He does. He loves me, Sebastian. And I him.”

“What we had was deeper even than love. We bled together. He doesn’t know the true depths of your depravity, does he?”

He was far too close. The grip around your wrist was already starting to ache and numb your fingers with its ferocity, your wand hand utterly useless. You weren’t scared of Sebastian, not exactly; the niggling uncertainty of that thought thrilled you as your body reacted to the adrenaline.

“Get off me, Sebastian. I don’t need your sick and twisted version of love.”

“I’ll ask you again; does he give you what you need? Not what you think you want, but what you really crave? I’ll bet he doesn’t hurt you, not even when you ask him to. No, he’s too good for that; too fucking pure.”

“That’s…not all there is to life. There are more important things than…”

“What could be more important than baring your soul to one another? Your innermost desires, hm?”

Don’t listen. Sebastian was a Siren and you his unwitting victim. A Veela with no shred of remorse, with the power to lure with a look and a beautifully deceptive song. You loved Ominis, and your heart ached with guilt for simply being in this compromising position.

“Ominis will be home soon,” you deflected, turning your head away from him.

Your eyes darted over his arm braced against the wall, his freckled forearm tanned from the sun except for a thin white scar that ran across the topside of his wrist—a memento of your time together. Sebastian sighed as you refused to meet his eyes, releasing his palm from the wall to turn your head.

“I only answered him so I could see you. It’s been a long few years,” he said.

“You should have known I wouldn’t want to see you...”

“That’s not true,” Sebastian snarled.

"You left, Sebastian."

"I regret that every day."

"Did you think I'd just wait around, hoping you'd come back?"

"I didn't think you'd fuck my best friend, that's for sure," he spat.

He sighed, seeing the pain in your eyes as the memories of his departure flooded your mind once again. Those days had been dark, the nights even darker. The only light a dim flame in the form of Ominis which grew brighter with every passing week. He hadn't managed to extinguish the gloom, but had made the path ahead navigable, more bearable.

"I'm sorry."

The apology shocked you, and the sincerity even more so. Sebastian was adept at manipulation but not even he could have feigned the shake in his voice and the glaze of his eyes. Your stomach churned, a turbulent sea that swelled when he touched your cheek. His calloused hands warmed your skin as you instinctively leaned into the touch. How quick your body betrayed you in his presence. Every fibre of your being felt compelled to fall into his arms on the sliver of hope that this time would be different. The thought faintly disgusted you, disappointed by your own weakness and Sebastian's own willingness to hurt his former best friend. You'd hesitated too long, and he'd grown impatient, taking your failure to pull away as consent.

Sebastian honed in quickly, the way he did in battle with swift, precise movements that left little time for retaliation. Your defenses had dropped and he'd taken advantage, capturing your lips before any protest could leave them—not that there was one forthcoming. He felt and tasted familiar and comforting despite everything, even the lingering taste of liquor coating his tongue. His hands barely landed on your waist before they were roaming your body, his weight pressed against you. The hum of deep satisfaction he poured into your mouth spoke of a longing that you echoed as your fingers found that fluffy brunet mane.

Tongues met in a breathy caress, fingers kneading and pulling as if trying to absorb one another, body and soul. The swirling guilt in your gut was almost crushed by the heavy swell of desire—almost. Ominis' words he'd spoken to you years ago came to the forefront of your mind whilst Sebastian was busy making short work of your blouse buttons.

"Let me be your comfort; my heart already belongs to you, all I ask for is time to earn yours."

Your lips froze, body ceasing its response to Sebastian's touch. The sudden frigidity halted his advance, eyes flickering open and lips departing. He pulled away merely an inch, eyes boring into yours in question.

"I can't. I can't do it to him."

Sebastian didn't have a chance to respond with an argument or plea, or whatever he had planned, before the click of a lock jolted you both into action. Your fingers fumbled with your blouse, hastily rebuttoning it whilst Sebastian tended to his hair. He was still far too close, apparently unwilling to part further than a hair's breadth. You slipped away, across the wall and towards the front door to greet who you presumed to be Ominis. Sebastian didn't follow, his scent fading as you made your way down the hallway.

"Ominis, you're back…," you said, hesitantly grasping his hand in welcome.

The remorse of what you'd done felt like a lump in your throat you were unable to swallow, making your voice sound strangled, pitched, guilty. If that were true, Ominis didn't pick up on the change in tone, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek as he pulled off his suit jacket. He stretched as if his body had been restricted by the fabric, finally free to relax. Or so he thought.

"You sound surprised, my love," he commented.

"I'm more surprised that Sebastian is here."

Ominis' eyebrows shot into his hairline; clearly he hadn't been expecting the visit either.

"Since when?" he asked, walking down the hallway.

You fell in behind him, watching him fuss over his shirt collar. As if Sebastian would care about such a thing. Mumbling something about Sebastian's sudden arrival as you entered the living room, until silence fell once more as the tension thickened and then curdled. Ominis must have recognised something; perhaps his scent, which now clinged to you like cigarette smoke. They stood in one another's presence for far longer than was necessary, neither deigning to speak first until you couldn't stand it any longer.

"Sebastian only got here about half an hour ago."

"Indeed. It was nice of you to receive me," Sebastian said with a piercing glare in your direction.

"You came," Ominis said, disbelieving. "If I was honest, I hadn't thought you would."

"Then why write?" Sebastian said with a hint of amusement.

That seemed to pull a small smile from Ominis, and the pair greeted one another properly. They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries whilst you stayed in the background, but never ignored. Sebastian found it so easy to act as if nothing has happened. He'd come with the intention of stealing you away, shredding the last chance of rekindling his relationship with Ominis. Yet here he sat in your house, with your fiancé, sharing details of one another's lives. Had he given up so easily? Or was this merely a sickening ploy to gain access to your lives; to you?

The evening passed with no further misdeeds, only pleasant, if not slightly stilted conversation. One thing became apparent whilst the two men talked—they were very different people. Shaped by years of opposing decisions, their differences so obvious in school were now glaringly so. You wondered if Sebastian would visit again. This encounter had been close to disaster—too close. When Sebastian finally left, you vowed never to make the same mistake again.

3 days later

You wished Ominis would stop mentioning Sebastian. Every time his mouth uttered the name your chest would tighten and an overwhelming urge to run would wash over you. He'd asked you over and over how you felt about the meeting, and so far you'd only managed to mutter a ‘fine’ or deflect the question. By now, Ominis had realised that inviting him back into your life was a mistake, though perhaps not for the reason he thought.

Sebastian had managed to slither into your consciousness and lodge himself there like an unwelcome parasite, feeding off whatever uncontrollable longing you still held for him. The tumbling thoughts refused to be banished even as you made love to Ominis, unable to stop the constant comparisons. Even his dexterous fingers couldn't coax you back to reality, nor the skillful flick of his tongue. The swirling guilt returned with a vengeance as you came undone imagining a certain brunet nestled between your legs. It tore at your heart how much Ominis cherished you; his gentleness had been such a balm when you'd come to him with open wounds. After Sebastian. You let the tears fall after your orgasm ebbed away, silently, with Ominis none the wiser.

“Are you okay, my love?” he said softly into your neck.

His warmth enveloped your back, pale arms flecked with beauty marks wrapped tightly around your waist. You'd loved those marks, still did—but now you thought of myriad freckles on tanned forearms, scarred and roughened. Imperfect. Just like you.

“I am. We should get ready for work,” you replied.

Ominis groaned in assent, reluctantly relinquishing his grip and slithering off the bed with a parting kiss to your cheek. You smiled despite yourself, missing the embrace as soon as it was gone. Settling into your morning routine was easy; showering together, dressing beside each other, eating breakfast by the window. Ominis enjoyed the sun warming his skin as he sipped his Darjeeling. The scene was idyllic, and it filled you with sadness. When had this become not enough? The answer was obvious. Three days ago. Amongst the lure of the unknown, heady passion and danger, the monotony of your safe little life full of love felt suddenly stifling.

“I'll see you later. I may be a little late if the Minister is doing the rounds,” he said, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

Before his lips left your skin, you turned your head to kiss him properly, messing up his neatly knotted tie in the process. As your lips locked as they had a thousand times before, you felt as if it were for the last time. A desperate clinging to what had been that no longer satisfied. You could have wept then, and you did once he'd stepped out of the door.

Sitting and staring out of the window, it took you far too long to muster the energy to stand. You'd be late for work if you lingered any longer on your dark thoughts. You were slipping on your cloak when the roar of fire caught your attention, the crackling from the fireplace all too familiar with the green glow that filled the room. You crossed the room to the fireplace, now settled in a gentle flame and burning embers. There was a face waiting for you; strained, unwelcome, beautiful.

“Sebastian. What's wrong?” you asked, crouching at the hearth.

“You can tell?”

“Of course I can.”

Sebastian hummed, his eyes flicking away for just a second before returning to you with a plea, evident even in the flickering mirage.

“I need a favour.”

“Ominis just left for work…”

“From you.”

“What is it?”

“I need to retrieve something important and I could do with some backup.”

“Backup? Are you expecting trouble?”

“Perhaps,” he said vaguely. “It's at my old home. I haven't been back for a while, but there's something of Anne's I want to retrieve…”

His voice trailed off and the silence enveloped you. You should have said no, that this was none of your concern. You had a job to get to, a fiancé to return to at the end of the day. This was a request from Sebastian, though, and you'd never been good at denying him anything. A vague thought crossed your mind that made you shudder; that he was merely using you and your formidable power as a means to an end, but you buried that along with the rest of the reasons you should have denied his request.

“I'll help. Where shall I meet you?”

His smile tugged at your heart; that particular smile he used when he got his way. Soft and somewhat cheeky that widened his eyes and caused a swell of something you'd fought hard to deny.

“Colliers Street. I'll see you soon.”

With that, he was gone, leaving you with a cold chill despite the still lit fireplace. A flick of your wand extinguished the last of the embers and you stood, hastily fastening your cloak and pulling on sensible shoes for whatever Sebastian had in store. It wasn't likely to be anything mundane. The thrill was what led you to the front door, the curiosity pushing you past the threshold. Down a flight of stairs you fled, around a corner to the brick alleyway where you vanished with a crack, a pull into oblivion, reappearing in a not-all-together familiar part of the sprawling metropolis. You thought you recognised the terraced houses, the height of Muggle architecture with their bay windows and pillared porches; however, the city looked the same wherever you roamed. This street had a hint of impropriety, and more than a little dirt underfoot. Where the fallen women roamed and men of dubious morals stalked.

You spotted him a little further along the pavement, black hood pulled forward despite the daylight. Clearly he didn't want to be recognised by anyone else, and you wondered if whatever business he had might have been better suited to nightfall. He turned to greet you before you reached him, a small smile playing on his lips. You caught the impression of smugness, something he so often carried.

“Why have you dragged me here?” you asked, not speaking his name.

“You don't sound pleased.”

“I'm not.”

“Then why did you come if not for a little excitement in your humdrum life? Surely that office job is stifling enough to warrant skiving off once in a while?”

“You talk as if I do nothing but sit on my behind all day and lament your absence,” you said dryly.

Sebastian merely smirked and cocked his head to indicate you follow, which you did, hot on his heels as he wound his way down the street and slipped into a side alley. Decidedly worse for wear than the one beside your own house, he finally dropped his hood to reveal the mop of fluffy brunet hair and pointed to a door.

“My old flat.”

“You're being watched?”

“Perhaps.”

Further you followed, through the shabby wooden door and up a staircase clad in broken tiles that crunched beneath your feet.

“You lived here?”

“I did, for a while. It hasn't been as cushy as yours and Ominis' years of domestic bliss.”

You noted the bitterness in his voice and felt the twisting pull of pity. Sebastian was brilliant, capable of achieving so much, yet reduced to almost squalor. Despite being exonerated from a sentence in Azkaban, he'd carried a reputation with him ever since. No reputable employer wanted him, and so his bright mind had turned to disreputable sources of income. The pity turned to anger at the injustice of it all.

“Dare I ask who we might expect? I need to be prepared…”

“Men who won't hesitate to kill on sight,” Sebastian cut you off.

“Merlin, what have you gotten yourself into?”

The door to his flat creaked open, not even locked. In fact, the lock looked blasted open. The inside was in a slightly better state than the entrance hall, but still bare and unwelcoming. Windows had been broken, what little furniture remained torn to shreds.

“They've been looking for something,” you commented.

Whoever they were.

“They didn't find it. That's long since gone.”

Sebastian led you through the small rooms to an even smaller bedroom, only distinguishable by the old mattress propped against a wall. He held up a hand for you to wait, casting charms about the place before finally crouching down and waving his wand over a floorboard, no less striking than the rest. You were on high alert, ears pricked and hand twitching as he ripped up the board and delved underneath, retrieving whatever he'd been looking for in a closed palm. The small object fit neatly into his pocket. You didn't have a chance to look, or ask him what it was, before the ambush began.

The wards around the property stopped you from apparating, essentially trapping you both in the murky house as the barrage of red and green light flew from the staircase landing. They had found you, and Sebastian had been right; the jets of light crackled with the familiar energy of unforgiveable curses. You backed into the room and found him, his arm clutching you firmly in place behind him. He was shielding you. If your life hadn't been quite literally in danger, you could have kissed him. Instead, you aimed your wand at the bedroom door and braced yourself for the onslaught.

The thud of footfalls spoke of four or five pairs of shoes all thundering up the stairs. Upon the first wand peeking around the door frame, Sebastian relinquished a full force Bombarda at the unsuspecting attackers as you threw a shield charm around you both, deflecting the debris with ease. You worked so seamlessly together, as if a singular mind, so in tune with each other's duelling styles. A dance; a ballet of destruction. What remained afterwards was nothing less than a ruin, a pile of bodies in the hallway and blood; so much blood. Some your own, some Sebastian's, most from the men you now poked disrespectfully with your foot.

“You got what you wanted, we should leave,” you panted.

Sebastian looked at you in reverence with darkened eyes, a menacing glint now fading with the passing seconds of tension. The inappropriateness of it all was startling, yet you couldn't deny the overwhelming attraction you felt as he stood in his black garb, wet with the blood of his enemies. He reached out, sensing what you could barely acknowledge, and stroked a thumb over your brow. The sting as he pressed the calloused skin spoke of a wound you'd need to attend to, and sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

“I'll take you to where I live now,” he said, leaving no room for debate.

As you left the flat and stepped through the wards, he laced his fingers through yours and turned on the spot, pulling you with him as he apparated. The intense adrenaline still rushed through your veins, coupled with the stress of apparating had you almost bent over as soon as you landed. That same pesky hormone had your feet taking you into another flat, straight into Sebastian's waiting arms, and inevitably his bed. You didn't have much time to take in the decoration, or utter the endless questions you wanted to ask, before he'd claimed your mouth in a kiss that felt like the end of all things. There could be no going back, not now. You'd had a taste of Sebastian and reacted like an addict; he was the purest opium, irresistible and deadly.

As his tongue flicked over your bloody lower lip, you parted your lips for him, your twinned moans meeting to harmonise in each other’s mouths. He maneuvered you backwards, losing patience with your stumbling steps—wrapping his arms under your behind, he picked you up and carried you straight to his bedroom. His mouth stayed firmly on yours until he deposited you gently on the firm mattress.

You watched him flick the clasp of his cloak open and throw the sodden fabric to the floor. Now you saw the product of your expedition. Where his clothes were bone dry and clean, the areas that had been exposed bore the truth. A nasty red gash tainted his freckled face, and you grimaced to see his beauty so marred. Holding out a hand, you beckoned him next to you, and he took the invitation. Your cloak followed shortly, and with more heated kisses exchanged the rest of your clothes were peeled away from aching muscles.

"Remember when we'd finish clearing an Ashwinder camp…,” he reminisced, dragging his lips across your collarbone, “...you’d be covered in blood. Some of it was yours, and I knew it by the taste.”

He nipped lightly at your skin as he travelled to your shoulder, his hands roaming to cup your breasts with a hunger that made your head spin.

“The other, thicker, darker blood was Goblin blood. Disgusting, but somehow delectable on your skin. You looked fucking magnificent...when I licked your wounds. Do you remember?”

You nodded and shuddered with unrestrained arousal as his tongue swiped across the tender flesh on your arm; a Diffindo not quite dodged. The gash stung and prickled with the wet pressure of his tongue, and you watched with rapt attention whilst Sebastian licked the wound clean, humming all the while. His cock grew hard, throbbing, and neglected.

“I remember,” you gasped.

Sebastian’s hand finally slid down your stomach, parting your legs with a gentle nudge. It had required so little effort that he smirked against your skin.

“Sebastian…”

Fingers parted your folds, your head dizzying with desire. He finally looked at you then, lips stained with blood; ragged and dishevelled but utterly alluring. His digits dipping into the well of slick arousal that betrayed your desperate need.

“You were always so wet for me afterwards.”

A whine left your lips and he pushed inside you with little ceremony, drawing a loud moan from you that must have been heard several houses down. Your walls fluttered around his fingers already, legs spreading and back arching to accommodate more of him. Curling and stroking, he brought you to orgasm within seconds. You’d missed him so much, every part of you ached for more. He’d barely let the final wave of release roll over you before he knelt between your legs, his weeping cock proud and deliciously inviting. The thought was coupled with a squeeze of your hand around his girthy length, giving him the suggestive look through fluttering eyelashes that you knew would send him wild with lust.

“It’s been so long since I’ve tasted you,” you sighed.

“There’ll be time for that later.”

Sebastian clearly had other ideas as he wrapped his hand around your wrist and squeezed hard, forcing you to let go of his cock with a high pitched yelp of surprise. He didn’t stop there, roughly pinning both wrists against the mattress as you squirmed against his iron grip.

“I’m going to fuck you senseless,” he growled against your neck.

The room filled with your keening, hands twitching uselessly against his hold. Your hips rose to press against his stiff length; an invitation, or a plea.

“Please…”

“Say it again,” he breathed, cock now prodding at your entrance.

“Please, Sebastian. I need you.”

The voice didn't sound like yours; faraway, quiet and breathy. You were almost unaware of the words whilst caught up in a lustful haze. Sebastian's blood-stained face loomed over you, watching intently as he slid inside you. Every gasp and peak of your eyebrows, the flutter of eyelids as your eyes almost rolled back inside your head. All committed to his memory as he stretched you inch by inch. It was ecstasy, and the ultimate relief to feel him fill you again after so many years. You nuzzled against his neck and took a deep breath, moaning softly as the musk filled your nostrils.

“Fuck, I've missed you,” you sighed.

Sebastian responded with a growl, letting your hands free to grab a handful of flesh at your thigh and deliver a hard thrust inside you. Then your eyes did roll back inside your head, the dizzying force met with your ear splitting moan.

“Of course you missed me,” he breathed, rolling his hips again. “Nobody fills you like I do.”

Crude, but accurate. Perhaps he'd meant a deeper meaning, but he'd still be right on both accounts. Your hips rose to meet him at the top of his thrusts, moving together effortlessly as you'd done so many times before. Nothing had changed, yet everything had. Sebastian was hardened, grittier, and he showed it in the way he pleasured you. The intensity of his gaze would have frightened anyone else, but you simply absorbed the fiery stare, letting him consume your every thought. The chocolate brown irises remained unchanged, reminding you of the boy you'd fallen for and the innocence he'd lost.

Your fingernails dragged down his back, hard enough to draw blood to match the collection of crimson gashes on his body. His bedroom filled with salacious moans as he fucked you hard into the mattress, his rhythm faltering the closer he crept to his release. You weren't ready for him to finish, not by a long shot. He didn't relinquish his control lightly. With a well-placed thumb, you squeezed the still-bleeding gash on his shoulder until he hissed in pain, finally letting you push him back onto the bed.

The glint in his eyes never dulled, only shined brighter as he watched you lick your thumb whilst clambering into his lap. He welcomed you with open arms, gripping your waist to guide you back onto his cock. Sinking onto him made you gasp with renewed pleasure as your fingers threaded through his brunet strands. Tugging his head backwards, you began to roll your hips, angling yourself just right to hit that sweet spot deep inside you. Sebastian responded with a gravelly moan, tugging you down to drive you harder onto his cock.

You settled into a rhythm, fucking him slow and steady as your mind slipped into blissful delirium. You're were moving by instinct alone, focused only on Sebastian—his touch; every delicious sound he made; the heady scent of sweat, blood and sex. Being with Sebastian felt better than it ever had, not only physically, but the connection between you was undeniable. Completely vulnerable, you'd given yourself to him, and he to you. Your souls entwined when your eyes met, an unspoken truth passing between you. This was no mere tryst or meaningless romp; you were making love, and certainly not for the last time.

Sebastian's soft lips peppered kisses along your neck amongst flicks of his tongue and searing bites. He licked your skin of blood, origin unknown, whilst making wounds of his own for you to cherish.

“Shit, don't leave a mark there…,” your weak protest came, not meaning a word.

“Why not? You're mine.”

You gripped him tighter then, taking a shuddering breath as his words slithered into your ear and trailed a path of heat straight to your core. There was no denying the fact, even amongst the sickening guilt of what you were doing to Ominis. Ominis. Sweet Ominis who had suffered more than most and deserved more than what you'd been able to give him. You almost cried, until Sebastian saw the fear and doubt on your face and kissed you hard, giving you a much needed distraction from your guilty thoughts. You reciprocated eagerly, gasping for breath between brushes of lips.

“I'm so close…fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his eyes shut in a silent prayer.

“Seb…”

“Keep going, just like that. Come on, darling.”

He gave your arse a hard smack that made you whimper and summoning the last of your energy, you brought him to the edge and pushed him over with a hard bite on his bottom lip. The tang of blood lingered on your tongue as Sebastian met his release, his cock twitching inside you before he exploded. A final thrust from below sent you hurtling along with him, your orgasm hitting so hard your legs cramped and limp body fell forward onto his chest. He filled you with his cum, pulses releasing thick streams into your cunt until you could take no more. Every wave of pleasure that rippled through you seemed to draw yet more from Sebastian's cock until his lap and your thighs were covered.

“So fucking good…” Sebastian was mumbling.

You had to agree. You slumped against him as your orgasm ebbed away, tired eyes taking in the scene you'd created. It was messy, grotesque, and perfect. Both covered in blood and sweat, it reminded you of those days you'd tried to forget; except the aftermath spent with him. Years spent pretending and hiding your true nature had unravelled in mere days.

“We should clean up. I need to take care of this,” you said, gently probing the sliced skin on his cheek. “At least I killed the bastard who did it.”

“There she is. The fire in your eyes is back,” he said, angling your chin with a firm hand to face him.

You sat entwined as you both worked on each other's injuries. Wand in your hand, you ran the length of his cut with your tongue, earning you a rumbling groan from his chest. A chaste kiss, and you withdrew, pointing the tip of your wand at the seam of flesh.

“Vulnera Sanentur.”

White threads of magic wove their way through the air, pulling the skin taught as the wound healed before your eyes. Healing spells were somewhat a specialty when you'd been through as much as you had. You repeated the process on every cut you saw and Sebastian did the same, until your bodies were whole again. The deep purple bruises inflicted by one another were another matter. They were to be treasured. Next came a shower, and discarding of bedsheets and clothes. Your skin shined, squeaky clean and glowing as you pulled on your clothes, minus the blood-splattered cloak. When you'd finished dressing, Sebastian was waiting, perched on the edge of the bed.

“Stay. Don't go…,” he said, pulling you by the hand to situate you between his legs.

You looked down into his deep brown eyes and your heart almost burst. Tracing his freckles with your thumb, you thought and searched for an easy answer, finding none.

"What about Ominis?" you asked, tears welling.

"What about us? I'll never leave again, I swear it. I'll make an unbreakable vow to prove it to you. Anything.”

“You broke me when you left last time. Ominis was there to pick up the pieces.”

“And I'll be forever grateful, but you belong with me. Do you love me?”

“Of course…yes, I love you.”

Sebastian nodded, guiding you backwards before standing up and striding to a small writing bureau in the corner of the room. You watched him curiously as he rummaged around in a draw and produced something silver, glinting in the light streaming through the window. A knife. A letter opener. The handle was ornately engraved, the blade thin and sharp. You watched him twirl the instrument in his fingers as he approached, your heart thumping wildly.

“What are you…?”

“I'll make a pact. A blood pact. Seems appropriate for us, doesn't it?”

Before you could acknowledge his suggestion, he'd sliced open his palm, the deep red blood welling and pooling at the thin slit. He squeezed his hand shut, droplets splattering to the floor.

“You would do that?” you whispered.

“It works both ways. We swear ourselves to each other. An oath to never leave. Consider this my proposal.”

You thought that perhaps this was insanity as you took the knife from him. You'd finally lost your mind. There were a million reasons not to proceed, but all paled in comparison to the one reason to agree standing in front of you. The blade sliced through your palm like butter, parting the skin to release the deep red blood you needed to make this a reality. Sebastian smiled softly and held out his hand, now completely stained and you took it without further hesitation. He spoke the words out loud to bind you together forever, and you echoed him. You watched in awe as droplets of blood rose in the air and mingled into a single drop; a silver phial materialising around it, signifying the end of the ritual. The precious container fell into your uncut hand, and Sebastian's forehead fell against your own. You stood in silence, breathing together, for as long as it took the cuts on your hands to stop bleeding.

1 week later.

Ominis deserved better. That much was clear as you'd packed your belongings and left a note for him to find upon returning home from work. There was nothing to be gained from heartfelt pleas. You didn't think you could bear to see his heart shatter before your eyes. And so you'd taken the coward's way out. You wondered how he'd taken it, whether he'd suspected anything at all. At least now he could find someone worthy of his love.

You shifted your weight as you waited impatiently for Sebastian to appear, squinting into the dimly lit pub from your perch outside. Your wand hand twitched as a towering figure passed your view, but it was a false alarm. Just another enebriated patron. Standing guard outside the seedy establishment whilst Sebastian made shady deals for artefacts from even shadier traders was quite a change in lifestyle from the Ministry office job you'd held but a week ago. It wasn't necessarily better or worse, only different; satiating another part of you that had always existed, snuffed out until Sebastian's return.

You saw the brunet appear from the back room and meet your eyes with a small nod, indicating a job well done. Even through the fog of the window, you noticed his dilated pupils and unmistakeable flash of crimson on his skin. Saliva pooled in your mouth as you followed him with your gaze. He appeared next to you a moment later, pressing you against the cold stone wall of the pub with a searing kiss, his cock already twitching against your leg. He'd make love to you that night and let you tend to his wounds, washing the blood from his skin with an intimacy nobody else could possibly understand. Of all the terrible things you had done and would do, you had each other through all of it. If there was one thing you knew to be true, it was that you deserved to burn and bleed together.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut #ominis gaunt

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notjustjavierpena · 8 months

Text

Wake

A/N: Finally another part of my darksugardaddy!joel. This has been sitting in my WIPs for a while, and I’m so pleased with how it turned out. Be kind to me as I haven’t written in a while and I feel terrible about starving you all of content.

Summary: Joel comes home to fuck your lights out.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, dub-con with non-con elements, painful and rough sex, p in v sex, choking, passing out, degradation, abusive behavior, creampie, dirty talk, no aftercare, sugar daddy, daddy kink

Word count: 2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50908876

Wake

It’s a late afternoon when you come to a realization; you don’t love Joel Miller, and you don’t think you could ever love Joel Miller. He is everything that you’ve been taught to hate if you want to believe in fairytales. Your parents would disapprove of him so immediately that you’d be terrified of them cutting you off from them if they knew of his existence.

You’ve never had a man be this rough with you, and only occasionally stroking your hair in apology afterward, but you suppose that the copious amounts of money spent on you - clothes that feel like armor around regular men and expensive bottles of wine that might as well have been potions designed to make you insane - is enough to make up for any unpleasantries within what you don’t dare call a relationship.

You don’t love him but you can’t hate him. Not in a way that any other person would. How else would you surround yourself with pretty things? You’re no good at anything else than being what he needs.

Whenever he has had a bad day, you know the roughness will increase. It always starts the same; with a slam of the mansion door and a hungry search for you through the obnoxiously large building. He calls for you and you don’t dare not to answer, and in the end, he finds you in the extravagant living room - one of many - with its gold-rimmed glass tables and Chesterfield couches. You’ve been reading a book, but you put it down the second he enters and don’t even bother asking to read to the next full stop.

“There you are,” he almost heaves for breath with exhaustion from his anger. He isn’t angry at you - you know this - but still, you find yourself treading lightly when his voice is so cold that the living room seems to drop a few degrees in temperature and causing your nipples to harden at the sudden change.

Then, as part of your ritual, he gets a thick wad of bills from the inside pocket of his suit and places it on the nearest surface. A bank transfer won’t do in these situations. He needs something physical, something he can hold in his hand and flash before you, and you know that he wants you to fall to your knees and beg for the warmth and dirtiness of the printed bills against your clean skin.

You’re just about to when he interrupts you.

“There will be more when you wake,” he promises, voice almost too quiet and restrained. Like he is saving his strength.

You notice his choice of words; when you wake.

Wake.

You gulp. You’ll have to take it in stride. You’ll have to play the part.

You rise from your seat and he watches you patiently. You say nothing as you lower yourself onto the glass table and then lie down on your back, knowing it can hold because Joel would never buy a surface that he couldn’t have you on.

You’ve learned not to wear anything too difficult to get out of, so it takes little time for you to pull off your skirt. Though you struggle a bit with your underwear since they’re already damp, sticking to the outline of your cunt and the sight makes Joel smirk like the Devil. Curse him, you think, for knowing that you can barely function when he looms over you like a giant, like a dangerous predator that hasn’t tasted blood for weeks.

When you manage to maneuver your panties down your thighs, he twitches with impatience and curls his whole fist around the cotton fabric. He yanks them down and watches them twist into themselves as he pulls them down over the length of your legs and off your feet.

They catch on your heels for the tiniest second. He gracefully undoes the ankle straps of them and drops each one onto the floor after taking it off. The anticipation is killing you, toying with your ability to breathe properly and even moreso at the humiliation of only wearing your top now.

“Pull it down,” he commands, gesturing to it. You start to yank at the bottom to pull it over your head but he growls, “Down. Not off, stupid bitch.”

Oh.

You pull the neckline down to settle it underneath your breasts, feeling like something on display with the way that Joel takes you in. His cock strains against the front of his pants, his breath uneven, when he cups both of your tits in his hands and pushes them roughly together. His thumbs skim over your hardened nipples, causing you to moan and he responds by pinching them instead until the moan transforms into a whimper.

“I’m gonna fuck you until your pretty little lights go out,” he mutters, pinches, and then tugs a bit on your nipples until you move involuntarily, “Lie still. Don’t give me any shit.”

He takes a step back, his gaze pinning you down whilst he undoes his belt. You refrain from shivering in case he tells you off once more, but you’re so close to doing it when you hear the noise of his zipper. A gush of wetness seeps from you, possibly smearing the glass surface that you are lying on.

“Please,” you say pathetically.

“Please what?” He asks as if he doesn’t care.

“Daddy,” you present your cunt for him by opening your legs and Joel instinctively looks at your quivering slit, “Please fuck me.”

Joel steps between your legs, using his knees to push them even further apart. He towers over you, cock standing impressively into the air after he has shoved his pants and underwear down his thighs. He tuts at the desperate look in your eyes, “I barely make it through the front door before you’re spreading your legs for me.”

You want to argue that he was the one who sought you out, but he might leave you with a throbbing cunt if you have the audacity to play smart with him, so instead you just nod with a breathless ‘yes’.

He places one knee on the coffee table, following up with scooping a hand underneath the small of your back to align your lower pelvises. His grip is so strong, his bare skin, the amount you are allowed to feel, burns against your own. Like King Midas, his touch enriches you, turns you into something as valuable as gold.

His cock breaches your tight cunt moments after. He watches you intently as your eyes screw shut with the inevitable sting that it brings due to his generous girth. He seats himself to the hilt inside of you and reaches something you didn’t even know a man could get to when he presses his hand into the spot where it rests on your back.

“Good girl,” he praises with a strained moan, “How do you feel?”

“Full,” you say shakily and teasingly clench around him.

He takes in a sharp breath, and before you know it, his free hand has come down on your right breast in a harsh slap. He adds to it by palming your throat afterward, tightly gripping it when you try to squeeze around his length again after not having been given time to react to the consequence of doing it the first time. You smirk up at him and he nearly loses his mind.

“God, you just want it bad, don’t you, little girl?” His hips draw back and he keeps you waiting for the briefest second before slamming them forward again. The force behind his thrusts is borderline painful, but the way his hand arches your back makes his cockhead pound your front wall.

The moans you let out are barely there, high-pitched or silent with the way he knocks all wind out of you whilst simultaneously cutting off oxygenated blood to your brain.

He fucks you like an animal, all groans and grunts, sweat dripping from his brow because he is too hungry for dominance to undress. He loves being able to quickly flee the scene afterward and loves leaving you with no clothes on so you cannot follow him.

But it’s not the amount of clothes that he wears compared to you that gets you close to the edge. It is the fact that nothing around you feels real except for him. Even you don’t feel real but rather closer to an inanimate object that only comes alive because of the dark eyes that penetrate your own.

You’ve known this fact for a while. Despite the love not being there, you know that after this arrangement has started - you don’t know what else to call it - his mere looking at you is what makes you materialize.

Your fingers come up to curl around his wrist. You cannot breathe and it fucking hurts, only dulled by the way that your cunt starts to flutter with how close he has gotten you to the edge. You hadn’t expected him to make you come.

With wide eyes, you look up at him in an attempt to tell him what is going on. He holds your gaze, pleased with himself as he drives into you, “I know, little girl, don’t have to tell me, I can feel you.”

You don’t have the guts to fight his harsh hand. You take it with tears forming in your eyes and the feeling of your pulse pounding in your neck where it’s fighting to get past his bruising grip.

“Say it, say that you love me, that you’re nothing without me,” he commands, but when you try to speak it is nothing but a squeak. He has his hand so tightly around your windpipe that you cannot get a word past your lips, drooling and shaking underneath his lack of mercy as your tongue feels too big for your mouth. He grins maniacally down at you as your vision blurs around the edges, “Made you speechless, did I? You filthy whore.”

You have always been familiar with the term putting someone’s lights out, but you’ve never understood the true meaning until Joel came into your life. You come hard, unfolding beneath his touch, with tears on your cheeks - and then there’s nothing.

Like a child falling asleep in a car seat, you have been carried up the stairs and into your bedroom. You sit up in your comfy bed and try to piece together how you have gotten here, and when you realize, it is because of your underwear and skirt messily and hurriedly sitting around your ankles.

You tug your bottom garments up again. There is something sticky between your legs, and you know, immediately. what it is when you start to shift your legs and are hit with soreness. Everything hurts, but nothing seems to be broken or damaged.

You glance to your right and spot the stack of bills that Joel had flashed earlier. It is neatly placed on the edge of the table along with a glass of water and some aspirin. You’ll take them soon, need to feel the ache a little while longer.

Instead of doing what is most comfortable (like taking the damn pills), you reach for the money instead. A delusional person would argue that they still feel warm, the temperature somewhere between newly printed and body heat. You take a few of them in your hand, and then you press them against your skin. The fact that you find it soothing is pathetic.

The wonder and innocence of being carried upstairs as a kid doesn’t translate into adulthood, you think, and then you lay down to fall into a deep sleep.

FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #my writing #sugardaddy!joel

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kalfui · 3 months

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been thinking about aroace alastor a lot, in the sense that ofc this is simply canon and i wouldnt even BE thinking about it beyond a simple "woohoo this is fun, let's think about how that might have affected him and his relationships both whilst alive and after his death and fic and art and the usual joy of character analysis" if it weren't for the fact that it seems to be a flipping fight to just. Have that canon be acknowledged, which is taking up so much energy that it's honestly hard for me to enjoy him as much as I wish, considering this rep is supposed to be For people like me

and I think that's so much of my frustration around all of this, which IS mitigated by just finding a few chill people to follow and focusing on that -- but even then most of my "suggested for you" for this show is alastor x [insert any random main character] shipping/sexual content -- is that this is an offering for people to learn something new and delve into experiences that they may not have thought much about and the ones who know what aroace means, and in particular within the realms of how this character is being written within this particular very-sex-heavy universe (so, not so different from real life), by and large decided to just go "nah." people aren't interested in aroace experiences, and it's weird from a "so you just don't like a large part of this character's canon traits then, do you like the actual character, or just the OC you've made up in your head that happens to look like them?" perspective, but mostly for me it's that a lot of the way people talk/write about this it's like aroaceness is something that needs to be Fixed Somehow, and thank Goodness there's a neat little loophole that we can utilise in the form of "well sooooome aroace people do want to have sex and be in a relationship"

so many of the things I can't help but see, block, move on from, and in the ao3 alastor tag (which, it's frankly wild to me that aroace alastor has to be a specific tag, because so much of it ISN'T that, and even then we have to sift) is either just the equivalent of going "lalalala if I don't think about the aroaceness it's not real" or the even more disturbing "now how do we fix this so that the ace character can still fuck somehow." it's really creepy, and very much how people talk about aspec people irl. it's just incredibly poor taste and shows that this community is still so invisible

people really ought to think more about why this is such an important hill for them to die on that they want to Fix aroaceness in one of the only genre-fiction characters to be canonically such, ON a show where every other character enthusiastically enjoys sex and most of them are in established relationships or various slowburns -- why is the character that is not interested the one that is shipped with every other character to such an extreme?

I feel like anyone writing an aroace alastor that mysteriously can be compelled into sex and a romantic relationship needs to give me a 3000 page essay on the history and philosophy of aspec identities with a special section on aroace representation in media

but ultimately it's just a "look. please be kinder. if you look in our sandbox we have barely any toys, why are you coming into this sandbox to take more of them and then rubbing our faces in it and THEN being rude to aspec people when we say it makes many of us uncomfortable to be sidelined like this?"

I keep thinking of that one screenshot that was going around tumblr of the person who wrote straight brokeback mountain fic that everyone was going WTF about. why is it alright to "headcanon" away canon aroaceness (and mock people who point out its canonicity), but it's largely agreed to be in poor taste to do so with other canonically established queer identities?

I get fandom's not activism, but it sure sometimes can be a yardstick for how much I'd trust people to respect me irl, when I cannot enjoy aroace escapism without being talked over/mocked/yelled at AND having aspec theories appropriated without any understanding of what they actually mean or how they apply -- this history and community is a part of my life, and it's like people are just traipsing mud through it with the lack of respect for it (as lucifer would say "you come into MY house bitch???")

(apologies this got long. you don't have to post if you don't want to, I get that it could be inflammatory and don't want to put that on you, I've just been needing to vent. I just feel like I'm going a bit crazy with how nigh-impossible it is to avoid this -- why am I the one who's having to make all that extra effort to enjoy a character written with my community in mind? don't y'all have enough toys???)

Don't apologize, I absolutely love reading how others feel about this situation, and I completely agree.

I think it's sad how people don't want to think about a characters aroaceness and how it affects them and instead just throw that part of them out of the window. I think it's even more interesting since Alastor canonically thinks that he's straight, but hasn't found the right one yet.

"Headcanoning" a canonically aroace character a different sexuality is so.. I don't even have a word it. Many people "headcanon" Alastor a different sexuality, but keep it canon when it's Angel Dust or Vaggie. Personally, I think it stems from aphobia. Just like you mentioned, people feel the need to "fix" aroace characters, like their sexuality is a messed up or broken part of them. It reminds me of when I used to hear teachers talk about how everyone will someday find love, and the ones who don't will have a huge gap in their heart and be empty. It's quite terrifying just how similar it is. The fact that he, as the only confirmed aroace character, is shipped the most, too, is quite saddening.

It's disturbing how they search and search for stuff to use as excuses when they ship aroace characters. "Aroace people can still date," "It's just headcanons," "Alastor is not canonically aro," and so on.

Ao3 scares me, especially with characters like Alastor. You don't even wanna know how many times I've seen people say, "I know Alastor is aroace, but we'll just ignore that" in fics. Most of the time, they even change his character completely, and he's so out of character.

It also kinda disgusts me with the stuff people say about Alastor, I can be scrolling on Tumblr and a post comes up saying how Alastor would fuck the living shit out of you and it's so fucking disturbing and graphic, I guess this is just how it is generally when people talk about fan favorite characters, but when it's an aroace character too, like.. no, he wouldn't do any of that.. It's so weird. This is what people care about, sexualizing. They don't even seem to care how much of a complex character he actually is, but only how he would be during sex, and it's quite disturbing that most of the time he is the victim to these type of comments.

And, with the amount of hate I've gotten from tiktokers in my comment replies saying how either Alastor isn't aro, how he's just fictional and it's not erasing any representation by shipping him, how aroace people can still date, how Viv allowed them to ship him, and even saying that it's okay to ship him because he's a stereotype and bad rep (???) and whatever else they have to say, I quite literally do not care. I'm not gonna be humiliated into silence, I'm not ashamed about the fact I'm trying to keep these crumbs of representation we have left. "Boohoo, you talk too much about Alastor being aroace," and I'll continue, I think that's a lovely and very interesting part about his character, especially from the time period is from, and the fact he's unaware too.

it's kinda sad how a lot of people don't even know that he's aro, I wouldn't either since all the fandom does with him is ship him. There are so many other relationships people could dive into, Husk and Angel Dust, Charlie and Vaggie, Vox and Valentino, and many more, but yet they go for the aroace character.. Also the fact that since the pilot the character he's mostly been shipped with is Angel, a character who makes a lot of sexual remarks towards Alastor which he very obviously feels repulsed and disgusted by, is kinda just.. where's the appeal when he's clearly disgusted? Is that part of it? I'm glad that there is a side of this fandom where people actually love him for his character and not just because he's attractive.

Other than that, I'm very glad the show itself knows how to show he can have meaningful friendships and platonic relationships with people, such as Rosie, and didn't make him an edgelord that hates everyone and doesn't have friends for some random reason.

Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts with me, I enjoyed reading through it, and again, I completely agree. I just hope the fandom could realize he's a lovely character and that him being aroace is just a part of him like it is of us.

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weemssapphic · 1 year

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Hey I was wondering if you'd be willing to write a Larissa weems X reader (smut with a corruption/marking kink). R is a new teacher and is very young (19-21) but is very smart and passionate about what they teach. The only issue is that due to them dedicating so much time and effort to completing their studies early it means they didn't have the typical college/highschool experience.

Larissa somehow discovers r is a virgin and makes it her life's mission to being the one who takes their virginity. Larissa starts flirting with r more which leaves r a stuttering/blushing mess. Eventually they both get what they desire and Larissa is patient letting r try both being the bottom and top. Featuring some nice cuddling afterwards where Larissa whispers to r that their hers and only hers.

Hers and Only Hers

thank you so much for the request, anon! i'm so sorry it took me so long to write this, the past weeks have been a bit busy and i wanted to do it justice. i hope the wait was worth it <;3 it also got a bit long, oops. ao3 link in title, as always.

warnings/content: nsfw/smut (oral, fingering), corruption kink, marking kink, bit of fluff and cuddling, age gap (teacher!reader is 20)

words: ~4.5k

tags for those who may be interested: @afeatherformills @sapphicsbeloved @scumppa @zephyr-is-tired

Back in school you had always been top of your class, skipping several grades before you had even made it to high school. Thanks to this, you had been able to finish college well before many of your friends had even started, and applied for an open position as the botanical sciences teacher at Nevermore Academy. You’d assumed that being 20 years old and barely older than some of the students would be an obstacle, but apparently you’d made such a good impression on the principal, Larissa Weems, that you’d been hired on the spot.

Your first few weeks at Nevermore had been nice, for the most part. You love being in the greenhouse, working with the plants. Your coworkers are welcoming and treat you like a daughter. Even the students seem to be warming up to you nicely.

But then there is Principal Weems. The woman who somehow manages to turn you into a stuttering mess whenever you see her. A tall, statuesque woman with silvery curls, cerulean eyes, lips always painted a shade of bright red to match her manicure. A woman whose smile always reaches her eyes, making your stomach do backflips whenever it’s directed towards you, bringing a blush to your cheeks and filling your dreams at night. It seems you’ve developed a bit of a crush on your boss.

Larissa is just heading out of her office to meet with Mayor Walker, blazer slung over her arm and keys jingling in her hand, as she hears your voice carry into her rooms from the hallway outside. Her ears perk up in spite of herself, she has been intrigued by you from the moment she first laid eyes on you. She had been impressed with you from the first time she’d seen your resume - such high academic qualifications at such a young age - and since having you on her staff, she had realized just how sweet, genuine and kind you were. She had to admit she was developing quite the soft spot for you.

“Keep your voice down,” she hears you hiss. “The last thing I need is for the students to hear you, I feel like they already barely respect me as it is.”

The voice of another teacher interrupts your own. “Aw come on, that’s not true, they love you! But Jesus, you really haven’t slept with anyone? Ever?”

Larissa feels an unexplained warmth in her cheeks, pressing her ear to the door as your voices drift away down the hall.

“No, I’m a virgin, okay!” Larissa can hear the annoyance and defeat in your voice. “I guess I was just always more focused on school than dating or anything like that.”

Your voice fades into nothingness as you and your coworker round the corner.

Larissa slumps back against the door, hands dropping to her side, instinctively crossing her legs and squeezing her thighs together for friction as a wetness pools between the apex of her legs.

You are a virgin. Of course you are. Larissa can’t explain it but the thought makes her core ache with desire. A low chuckle escapes her lips. You’re too sweet, too innocent. Suddenly a million thoughts fill her head: she imagines her lips on your neck, covering you in marks to show the world she’s claimed you as her own. She imagines showing you what you’ve been missing this whole time, taking your precious innocence, revealing to you the feeling of true ecstasy, making you writhe in pleasure beneath her.

Her lips quirk up in a smile, a plan forming in her mind. She was going to have you - and Larissa Weems always got what she wanted.

Shit. You slept through your alarm that morning and if you didn’t hurry, you’d be late to your first lesson of the day. You practically fly down the hallway, dodging several groups of students, and skid around a corner when you suddenly collide with something solid and fall back. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for the impact that is sure to come, but it never does. Instead, you feel a pair of strong arms slink around your waist and catch you just before you hit the ground.

Your eyes fly open in confusion and you find your face inches away from that of your boss. “Principal Weems,” you squeak out, “I’m so sorry!”

“Please, darling, call me Larissa,” she whispers, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, so close that you think you can feel her lips brush against your skin. The action makes you shiver, and you know Larissa feels this because she’s still holding you in her arms. A heat rises from your cheeks to the tips of your ears and you know you’ve turned beet red.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re blushing.” Larissa smiles warmly, her eyes crinkling at the outer corners. “There’s no need to be embarrassed.” She pulls you up swiftly and you’re nearly flush against her. You have to crane your neck back to look up at her - has she always been this tall? It takes your breath away to look up at her like this.

“I’m just late to class, I overslept this morning,” you twist your fingers together nervously, afraid you’ll be reprimanded by the headmistress.

“It happens to the best of us,” Larissa cups your cheek and shoots you a wink. You are so damn cute when you’re nervous, it takes all of her self control not to shove you against the wall and take you right then and there.

Your heart skips a beat and the air around you feels like it’s thinning. “I’d b-better get going,” you manage to choke out. T-thanks for catching me, Princip- Larissa.”

You don’t look back as you hurry off to the greenhouse, and it’s good that you don’t or you’d have caught Larissa staring at your ass as you’d walked away.

The next time you see Larissa, you’re standing in line at the Weathervane when you feel a looming presence behind you.

“So, what do you usually order?” A teasing voice purrs in your ear.

You feel your cheeks redden involuntarily - your boss should not be having this effect on you.

“Um, coffee makes me a bit jittery so I usually go for hot chocolate,” you pray this doesn’t make you sound lame, you know how dependent everyone seems to be on their morning coffee, but your statement seems to pull Larissa’s lips up into a genuine grin.

“Then you’re in luck, my darling, the Weathervane has some of the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had.” The pet name makes your stomach flip and you swallow thickly, unable to do anything but nod as Larissa stares at you with a fondness in her eyes that you can’t quite explain, but that makes your heart ache with desire all the same.

“What can I get for you?” The barista’s voice snaps you out of your trance. Before you can say a word, Larissa replies for you - “two large hot chocolates please, did you want yours to go?” She looks down at you and you nod numbly. You reach for your wallet but she swats your hand away, pursing her lips as she pays for your drinks.

“Thank you so much, Larissa, you really didn’t have to pay for me,” you gush out as the two of you wait for the barista to make your order.

Larissa waves a dismissive hand in front of her face, smirking. “Please, darling, it’s no trouble at all, you’ll find a way to pay me back.” There’s a suggestive glint in her eyes and the way her tongue runs over her bottom lip, eyes trailing briefly down your body makes an unfamiliar heat coil in your stomach.

She takes her drink in her gloved hand and gives your shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“Perhaps we could come here together sometime.”

Her hip grazes yours as she brushes past you and exits the Weathervane, crossing the street to head towards Dr. Kinbott’s office, leaving you a dizzy, blushing mess.

“Alright class,” you call out as the students stuff their notebooks into their bags. “Don’t forget about the exam on Monday!”

“Oh come on, can’t we postpone it?” Xavier huffs.

“It’s not fair to have an exam on a Monday anyway,” Ajax chimes in, rolling his eyes.

A ripple goes through the classroom, other students murmuring their agreement.

“Come on guys,” you plead. “If you completed the study guide, you’ll do just fine. I will not be postponing this test. Do you complain like this to all your teachers?”

A series of groans reaches your ears and one by one, your students shuffle out. Enid shoots you an apologetic glance and mouths “sorry”, which you appreciate, and you wave her off with a tired smile.

You watch the last of your students file out the door, then turn to your open laptop to get a head start on some grading that needs to be done for next week’s classes when an email pops up in the corner of your screen. You open it and your stomach flips.

Dear Y/N,

I hope your first weeks of classes have exceeded your expectations.

If you have the time, I would love to see you in my office for a chat tonight at 7.

Please, do let me know.

Larissa

Your palms begin to sweat and your mind immediately jumps to the worst case scenario. What could Principal Weems possibly want from you? She’d seemed friendly enough in your last interactions. Maybe even too friendly. Maybe she felt bad for you?

You hold your breath as you type out a confirmation that you’ll be there, then turn back to your grading - not that you can focus on your work now.

6:59pm. You’re standing at the wood-paneled doors to Larissa’s office, holding your breath. You raise your fist and knock twice.

“Come in,” Larissa’s smooth voice sounds from deep within the room.

“Take a seat,” Larissa is sitting behind her desk, leaning back in her leather chair, a pensive look on her face. A fire burns in the imposing fireplace, casting a warm glow over her office.

You close the door behind you and step towards her, lowering herself into one of the plush armchairs facing her desk. Your heart is beating wildly out of your chest, you’re sure Larissa can smell how anxious you are. You rub your sweaty palms on the back of your skirt in a vain attempt to calm your nerves.

Larissa looks composed but within her, a fire burns. She can tell how tense you are and she finds it so very endearing. She watches you chew at your lip and presses her thighs together involuntarily. She wants to see how you come undone, wants to hear her own name tumble from your sweet, innocent lips. Something about watching you squirm under her gaze stokes the fire within her.

“You’re not in trouble,” she coos, and you visibly relax in the armchair in front of her. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. See if you need anything. You’re our only new addition to the staff this year and we haven’t had a chance to properly speak, just the two of us. I trust everyone is treating you with respect?”

“Oh. Yeah, everyone’s been really, really nice. I’ve had a bit of a rough day, but it’s nothing I can’t work out.” You sigh and force a smile, eyes cast downwards, fingers twisting absently in your lap.

Larissa stands and rounds her desk at your admission, leaning down in front of you and taking your chin between her fingers, forcing you to meet her eyes, which are full of genuine concern.

“Has something happened?”

“Not really. My students just like to challenge me every chance they get. I get it, I’m pretty close to their age, but it’s frustrating.”

Larissa nods her understanding. She’s inches away from you now and your breathing is shallow, the tension in the room now thick enough to cut with a knife. Your gaze flickers down to her cherry-red lips and when you look back up, you notice a hunger in her eyes that wasn’t there before, widened pupils staring back at you. Larissa’s thumb traces the hollow of your cheek, causing your breath to hitch, and suddenly she’s leaning in, brushing her lips softly against yours.

Your pulse skyrockets, you can feel your heartbeat in your throat. It’s not that you don’t want this, of course you do, you’ve wanted it from the moment you laid eyes on the woman. You just hadn’t realized she’d also wanted it.

“Larissa?” You pull back, dazed, your eyes search hers. Her gaze is soft and reassuring, but there’s something else there. You’d seen it in movies, read about it in novels, but never had a look like this been directed at you before. Lust. Pure, unadulterated lust.

“Is this okay, Y/N?” Larissa whispers urgently, cupping your cheek and running her thumb over your bottom lip.

You nod fervently. “Yes. Absolutely.” Like hell you were going to waste your one chance with Larissa Weems.

Larissa moans and pulls you in for a searing kiss. Her tongue swipes at your lower lip and you part your lips, allowing her to explore the planes of your mouth as her hands drop from your face to your waist, pulling you up out of the chair and flush against her. You aren’t sure if it’s the warmth of the fire or your close proximity but your entire body is burning, a pleasant tingling sensation settling in your stomach and moving its way through your limbs.

You pull apart and her mouth is on your ear, her warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“Tell me what you want, whatever you want, and it’s yours.”

You hesitate, frozen in place, fear bubbling up in your stomach and rushing through your veins like ice.

“Ihaven’tactuallydoneanythinglikethisbefore,” you mumble, eyes locked in a staring contest with Larissa’s black heels.

“Darling,” Larissa hooks a finger under your chin and forces you to make eye contact with her, which makes your cheeks burn - you’re sure your entire face is on fire now. “You’re going to have to speak up, I can’t understand you.”

You suck in a deep breath. “I’m a virgin.”

There’s a moment of deafening silence, but the hunger in Larissa’s eyes never dies. Instead, her pupils are blown wide, you can see her clench her thighs together out of the corner of your eyes, she looks ravenous.

You are surprised when Larissa offers you a hand and guides you to a door on the far right of her study, that leads to her private quarters.

“I thought we might be more comfortable here,” her voice drips with lust as she closes the door behind you, allowing you a moment to take in the sight of her lavishly decorated bedroom, complete with a massive, queen-sized bed at the center.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I want to,” you reply quickly, far too quickly, and you want to hit yourself for being so eager, but Larissa seems to find it endearing, as she smiles at you and guides you towards the bed.

You sit gingerly on the edge of the bed and Larissa places a hand on each of your thighs, parting them gently and simultaneously pushing up your skirt, letting out a groan as she sees the damp patch at the center of your cotton panties.

“We haven’t even gotten started and you’re already so wet for me, hmm?” Her finger teases your core, which is absolutely drenched at the mere thought of her, and you stifle a moan, throwing your head back at the touch.

“Ah-ah, let me hear you. I want to hear every sound you make, okay?” Larissa coos. “Don’t hold back on me.”

You draw in a ragged breath and nod, already dizzy from the idea of Larissa inches away from your dripping cunt.

Larissa plants a trail of kisses along your jaw, moving down the column of your neck until she is at the base of your throat, swirling her tongue over your pulse point. She begins to suck, gently at first then harder, eliciting a soft moan from deep within your throat as she nips at your skin, leaving a small red mark behind.

Smirking at her handiwork, her hands come to a rest on your chest, fingers hovering over the buttons of your blouse.

“I’ve wanted you from the second I first laid eyes on you. Such a pretty, innocent little thing. May I?” The question is doused in carnal desire, Larissa’s voice low and wanting.

“Yes,” you whisper, your eyes following her fingers, long and slender, as they deftly work their way down your top, pushing it down your shoulders and then moving to the zipper at the side of your skirt.

You feel exposed, sitting on Larissa’s bed in just your bra and underwear, face and chest flushed, but something about Larissa’s tender gaze and soft touch make you feel safe. Her hands move from your flesh to her own, tugging at the zipper of her cream colored dress, and your eyes watch as she drags it down her curves at a tantalizing pace until it pools at her feet.

Larissa’s knees come up to straddle your lap, pulling you further up the bed with her until you’re resting against her pillows. She’s hovering over you now, one hand on either side of your head, your bodies pressed against each other.

“Are you comfortable?” Her lips brush against yours and you whimper, nodding into the kiss, which Larissa deapens with a groan.

Her hand comes down to your side, moving under your back to unclasp your bra and pushing it to the side to grant herself access to your breasts. She kneads at the soft flesh, flicking her thumb over your nipple until she’s satisfied with how hard it is, before moving to your other breast.

Her mouth finds your throat again, her tongue lapping at your skin, swirling, sucking, claiming you as her own with a series of marks you’ll have to find a way to cover in the morning.

You hiss as her warm tongue slides over the sensitive peak of your hardened bud, earning a grin from the woman above you. Her mouth moves lower and lower, inch by inch, an agonizing journey of open-mouthed kisses down your ribcage, stomach, hip bones, leaving a trail of red lipstick smudges and purple hickeys. Your back arches into the sensation, chest heaving.

Larissa slows when she reaches your thighs, hands coming to rest on your hips and gently tugging at the cotton covering what she has been longing to stake her claim on.

“Hips up,” she instructs and you oblige, allowing Larissa to pull your panties down your legs and toss them unceremoniously across the room.

Larissa stifles a groan when her eyes meet your pussy. You begin to push your thighs together subconsciously but Larissa’s hands stop you, spreading your legs.

“Don’t be shy, darling,” she coos, pressing her lips to your inner thigh, and you feel yourself drip at the action. “Look at that pretty little cunt, so ready for me.”

The coil behind your navel tightens as Larissa’s kisses come closer to your core, until - finally - her lips make contact with your center. Her tongue traces a path through your folds, from your entrance to your clit, gathering your juices in her mouth. She moans at this first taste of you, you taste even better than she could have imagined. The scent of your arousal floods her senses and spurs her on as she begins to lap your pussy, enjoying the unfiltered moans that are escaping your lips.

“Fuck- Larissa,” you moan as Larissa’s tongue begins to circle your bundle of nerves. Your knuckles are white as you grasp desperately at the sheets, head tilted back in pleasure. You spread your legs wider, arching your back and rocking your hips into her mouth.

“Look at me,” Larissa demands. You force your eyes to meet hers, both of your pupils blown with desire. Larissa has never looked sexier, her lipstick smudged, chest heaving. Your juices glisten on her chin and the sight brings a blush to your cheeks. “Who do you belong to?”

The question alone nearly snaps the hot coil in your stomach, goosebumps erupting all over your body. You’re so desperately turned on by her.

“You.” The answer comes out in a breathed whisper, your hips twitch wantonly toward Larissa, you need her again. She takes your sensitive bud in her mouth, sucking gently. The vibration of her moans against your pussy have you bucking your hips up, desperate to get more friction, when you feel nimble fingers trace lazy patterns at your entrance.

“Fuck, Larissa, I need more,” you mewl, your hands coming up to rest on the back of Larissa’s head, pushing her closer to your dripping cunt. Larissa hums and you can feel her smile as she pushes two fingers inside of you, beginning a slow, steady pace. Your nails scratch at her scalp as you ride her face, pushing your hips forward to take her fingers deeper.

“Yes, right there, right- ahh- Larissa!” Larissa makes note of every sound coming from your mouth, how your body responds to every touch, enjoying how she’s able to make you come undone. She’s drunk on the feeling of you, the smell of you, the sound of you. So innocent, so sweet - moaning above her, screaming her name in a moment of pure desire. Knowing she’s the one to be able to give you this experience.

Your thighs begin to tremble as Larissa’s fingers curl inside of you, drawing a strangled moan from your lips as you teeter on the edge of your orgasm. Larissa’s tongue sucks at your clit, her fingers increasing their pace, your legs shaking as the coil in your belly snaps, rocking your hips into Larissa’s face as you ride out your high.

She flattens her tongue against your cunt and laps up the juices flowing from you with a satisfied hum, coming up to lay beside you and latching her lips onto yours, allowing you to taste yourself on her tongue.

“You did so well for me, love,” she whispers, caressing your cheek. “Do you need anything? Water? Do you want me to clean you up?”

You appreciate the sentiment but the thought of stopping without being able to worship the goddess in front of you is disappointing. You hesitate a moment before reaching behind Larissa’s back and stopping your fingers at the clasp of her lacy bra. She’s watching you curiously and her breath hitches audibly at the touch of your fingers.

“May I?” Larissa nods, cheeks pink and pupils wide and you know you’ve never seen anyone more adorable or sexy. You undo the clasp of her bra and a moment later, your hands are on her matching panties and she’s helping you tug them down her legs.

“Show me what you like.” You need to know how to worship her right. Larissa whines, bringing her hand between her legs. She props up her leg so that you have a perfect view of her glistening cunt, absolutely drenched only for you. You can feel yourself getting wet again, your own cum pooling between your legs and dripping down your thighs. Your gaze is fixated on Larissa’s long fingers as they run through the length of her own folds to coat themselves in her slick. She reaches her clit, allowing her head to fall back as her fingers draw languid circles over the sensitive nub.

A groan falls from your lips and Larissa’s sapphire eyes meet yours. She stops pleasuring herself and instead her fingers circle your wrist, gently guiding your hand to her center. She mewls as you tease her entrance, allowing her legs to fall open and pushing her hips towards you in a desperate attempt to get you closer, growing impatient with need.

You dip two fingers into her center, pushing gently, watching in amazement as Larissa’s eyelids flutter shut, her mouth parting to let out breathy groans of affirmation as you bring your thumb to her swollen bundle of nerves.

The moans she lets out begin to get filthier and filthier as you pick up your pace, eyes trained on her core.

“Does this feel good?”

“So, so good, Y/N,” Larissa groans, eyes rolling back in her head as your fingers find the spongy spot inside of her. “Deeper - right there, just like that.”

Larissa grasps forward to weave her hands around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a bruising kiss. Her tongue moves against yours, her breathing hot and needy. She whines into your mouth as your fingers pump in and out of her, and her fingers find purchase in your hair, curling themselves in your tresses and pulling back gently.

Your eyes are wide with lust as Larissa’s arousal drips down your fingers, a pitiful moan falling from your lips as you feel Larissa begin to clench around your fingers as if trying to keep you there. Throwing caution to the wind, you add a third finger, eliciting a delicious gasp from the woman in front of you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come!” Larissa’s thighs begin to shake, hips thrusting up erratically to meet your fingers which are knuckle deep in her cunt, stretching her out, curling into her sweet spot. You watch in awe as Larissa slowly comes undone, her fingers tightening their grip in your hair as she shudders against you, her essence leaking out of her center.

Not breaking eye contact, you bring your fingers to your mouth to suck them clean, moaning at the taste of Larissa on your tongue. You have never tasted anything so divine. Larissa crawls over to you and sinks back onto the pillows with a sigh, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Come,” Larissa whispers softly, and you allow her to wrap her arms around you. You relish the feeling of your bodies pressed against each other, enjoying the warmth of her bare skin. Her fingers trace the bruised marks she’d made with her mouth, her touch light as a feather. She entwines her long legs with yours, rubbing your calves together gently.

She allows you to bury your head in her neck and you breathe in the scent of her, sweat mingling with musky perfume and the smell of her sheets.

“You did so well for me, my sweet one. Thank you for trusting me,” Larissa coos, rocking you against her, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Larissa ducks her head down, her breath on your cheek causing you to shiver pleasantly as she whispers her next words. “You are mine, darling. Only mine.”

“I am yours,” you whisper back sleepily, the adoration in your gaze mirroring her own as you snuggle into her chest, sighing contentedly. The pads of Larissa’s fingers stroke up and down your arms as she waits for your breathing to even out before allowing herself to follow suit, thinking to herself that she would gladly spend every night like this with your head on her chest and your legs tangled in hers. Your words echo in her head as she drifts off to sleep - you are hers.

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #principal weems x reader #principal weems #larissa x reader

809 notes · View notes

emepe · 1 month

Text

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: The killer has the police fooled. Meanwhile, you and Eren enjoy more of each other’s company.

— Content warnings: slightly nsfw, dry humping, make out, mention of stalking, murder, mention of torture, mention of rape.

— Notes: Welcome to chapter 7 <3 If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, lmk. Happy reading!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

lost signs

“Detective.”

A meek voice pulls Levi's attention from the paperwork scattered across his desk, as a fresh manila folder is promptly set down before him.

“The notes on the autopsy.”

Every other task is instantly abandoned as the raven-haired man grabs the folder and goes through the pages of the autopsy report, along with the notes provided by his subordinate.

Less than an hour later, Levi's knocking on the door of his captain's office, staying true to his habit of walking in before being invited.

“What do you have there?”

Erwin Smith barely spares a proper look at Levi as he continues scrolling through a file on his computer.

“Carly Stratmann's autopsy notes.”

Erwin simply nods, not showing much interest in the topic but not yet doing anything to shoo the stoic detective from his office.

“You're the lead detective on this case. Don't tell me you need me to hold your hand for this.”

Levi clicks his tongue at the remark, but straightens his posture to keep up his stern appearance.

“I think we need to raise a few alarms.”

Erwin shoots a menacing look in his direction, but purses his lips before he can spout another sharp remark.

Levi Ackerman hasn't been working the homicide department for long — just barely a couple of years after transferring from property crime, and just as many major cases under his belt.

His sudden need to raise alarms doesn't come as a surprise to Erwin. The man's got good instincts, albeit he's a bit too quick to act on them for Erwin's liking at times. And that's when he intervenes to rein him in.

On a day when he's so burnt out from work, the task is even more annoying to take on than usual.

“Is it the same M.O. as the Langnar case?”

“Not exactly, but—”

“I'll stop you right there, then,” Erwin firmly says, holding a hand up to make his point, hoping he can cut today's coolly disguised frenzy short.

Though calm and collected — practically icy — on the outside, detective Ackerman has been letting his personal convictions sway his thinking since the Langnar murder.

Erwin doesn't care to know much about his subordinates — it's just a job — but he knows Ackerman has a beloved niece of similar age to the recent murder victims living in the city, and it doesn't take much to deduce that's where his hidden worries stem from.

“There aren't many coincidences, it's true,” Levi states, resisting the urge to harshly spit the words at his superior. After all, a man who wants to be heard, has no need to raise his voice. “But even if these are isolated cases, it wouldn't hurt to… I don't know, set up a curfew… send out more units to patrol at night. Erwin, two women were murdered without a trace of DNA from the culprit.”

He sighs, then mutters the next few words under his breath.

“That's not a fucking coincidence.”

Erwin leans forward into his desk.

“Alright, Ackerman, I'll humor you for a minute.”

His hands clasp together, his chin resting on top as he formulates a question.

“Aside from the lack of DNA and the fact that they're women, is there anything in the autopsy reports that's enough to suspect we've got a serial killer in our hands?”

Levi tenses his jaw, tongue rolling against his cheek before sourly replying.

“No.”

Erwin's eyebrows rise as a sign of finality. But Levi stands his ground, taking his gesture as defiance.

“I get your point. Stratmann could have nothing to do with Langnar. Maybe it was someone they knew or maybe it's not. If that's the case, are two criminals better than one? Is that what we're hoping for?”

Erwin's stern gaze falters for a split second, but he recovers just as quickly.

“How do we discard a serial killer in the making? What if this person hasn't fixed themselves on their M.O.? We can get them early in their career if we make a move right n–”

“We can't make moves based on gut feelings.”

Erwin's statement makes Levi shrink back for the first time since walking into the office.

“Langnar was tortured. Her injuries were consistent with weeks of trauma. Choked, handcuffed, cut, beaten, sliced at the mouth post-mortem, and dismembered. A very tedious and meticulous process, wouldn't you say? She had to have spent weeks in captivity and that points to either a person who was close enough to lure her into their trap or a stalker who observed her before kidnapping her.” He gestures for Levi to hand him the file in his hands, snatching the folder and ripping it open once he's close enough. “Stratmann was sliced at the neck, choked beforehand, raped post-mortem. It's sloppy and clear to have been done on a whim.”

“She was left in a dumpster, too,” Levi reminds him. “Just like Langnar.”

Erwin presses his lips into a thin line, his thick eyebrows weighed down with severity.

“That's not enough to go off of. We can't cry ‘serial killer’ over one measly coincidence.”

Levi can feel himself wavering at Erwin's arguments.

“Can we at least impose a curfew?” he asks.

Erwin heavily sighs, enough for the movement to be caught on his now slumping shoulders.

“As I said, bring me solid proof of a connection and we'll talk.”

“Okay. Spill,” Mikasa orders as soon as she scurries out of the bathroom and plops down criss-crossed on the sofa.

It's Saturday night and you and Sasha are staying over at Mikasa's place for a girl's night.

The living room floor is littered with blankets, cushions and pillows, and the television is playing a random horror movie that has gone ignored since Sasha wondered out loud how Eren was doing a few minutes ago. She seemingly asked nobody in particular, but it was clear you were meant to respond with both girl's eyes set on you the moment the green-eyed man's name came up.

You figured the sleepover was a cover for an ambush. The girls formed a separate group chat for just the three of you, coincidentally the day after your first date with Eren and have been asking to get together for the past week.

You tug nervously at the sleeve of your pajama top, shying away from the expectant gaze that seeps through Mikasa's face mask.

You shrug.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Who made the first move?” Sasha asks, scooting closer to you as if that means she'll get more details.

You ponder for a moment. It's hard to tell. Eren was first to ask you out two months ago, but you were the first to kiss him last Saturday. In a way, you both had a chance to steer the wheel.

When you explain this to the girls, they swoon, falling into a fit of excited giggles.

“I never pegged you for the bold type,” Mikasa grins, lightly smacking your shoulder. “I bet Eren loved that.”

Sasha nods in agreement, giddy.

“I can't believe you didn't tell us right away,” Mikasa pouts.

“I don't think you would've remembered, Mika,” you say. “You had three Long Islands that night.”

“Still, it would've been nice to know,” she sighs dramatically.

“Okay, so you got together the night of the Halloween party,” Sasha reviews. “But what about the day we went to Sunrise? I totally thought you guys had a thing going on back then. I mean, Eren never left your side, even before you got hurt.”

The apple-picking trip seems like so long ago, but the memory remains fresh in your mind. You smile at the mental image of Eren's serious expression as he claimed to never have been so curious to know anyone before you.

“Oh my gosh,” Mikasa squeals, aggressively smacking Sasha’s back as she's reminded of something. “She was feeding him peanuts on the way there. They were so shy, it was adorable.”

Instinctively, your hands come up to cover your face in embarrassment. It didn't even register until now that the people in the backseat witnessed the awkward exchange.

Now that you've tasted the lips that brushed against your fingertips that day, the reminder seems even more embarrassing.

You smack your cheeks lightly in an attempt to ground yourself. The girls watch you amusedly, exchanging knowing glances in between.

“Have you guys… you know.” Mikasa raises her eyebrows suggestively.

Warmth floods your cheeks again.

“Not yet,” you murmur. “We're taking things slow.”

She looks surprised, but nods in support.

“Of course,” she says. “Slow is good.”

“Says the girl who pounced on Jean after one of his gigs because she was jealous.”

“Hey!” Mikasa whines, growing shy at the accusation. “I had to get a message across. He was being petty.”

Sasha throws her head back in laughter.

“No, he was just stupid. He had no idea you liked him back until that night.”

Your gaze flickers between the two girls as you piece their conversation together.

A blushing Mikasa picks up a cushion and chucks it at Sasha’s face who easily avoids the blow and laughs at the raven-haired girl's pout.

“Whatever,” Mikasa groans. She turns to look at you, features instantly shifting into a more cheerful expression.

“So how do you feel?”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“About Eren.”

“It's only been a week,” you explain.

“So?” she shrugs. “You guys have been spending a lot of time together, haven't you? Armin told me Eren's been driving you to work everyday. That means you've had a lot of one-on-one time.”

Shyly, you lower your head, focusing your gaze on the black and white pattern of the comforter laid beneath you. Your fingers mindlessly trace over the texture of the fabric.

“I guess so.”

Both girls smile.

“So what's the verdict?” Sasha asks.

“I… I really like him,” you sigh, lips tugged into a smile. “Like… really really like him.”

Another round of excited squeals and giggles echoes through the room.

Their thrill only encourages you further, pushing you into a tangent of how thoughtful Eren is and how he always manages to hold you with so much care, bringing you peace each time he's close.

“He makes me feel safe. Is that weird to say?”

Mikasa shakes her head as she peels off the mask from her face, wrinkling the sheet into a ball and chucking it across the room to the trash can in one corner. She misses by an inch.

“Not at all. I don't mean to sound old-fashioned but you have to be with someone who makes you feel cared for.”

Sasha hums in agreement as she shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth. She holds a finger up, asking you to wait for her to gulp down the snack.

“And someone who makes you laugh, also very important.”

You nod along with Mikasa.

“Oh, and… well, when you get to it… someone you're sexually compatible with,” she adds. “People like to pretend it's not a big deal but it really is. Sex is okay but great sex with someone who knows how to touch you is where you find out if you're in sync. There needs to be communication and understanding and care. It's so fucking important.”

Mikasa looks down at her friend as she pats her head affectionately.

“You're so wise for someone who doesn't have a boyfriend.”

Sasha quirks an eyebrow.

“Hey, just because I'm not blurting it out to everybody doesn't mean I don't have anything going on.”

Mikasa hums contemplatively.

“Do tell.”

The conversation takes a turn to Sasha’s latest sexcapades, and you take turns with Mikasa to look surprised at the stories she shares.

By the end of the night, when you're all teetering the edge of sleep with a third movie serving as background noise, your mind drifts back to the emerald-eyed boy who makes you laugh so easily, draws every emotion from you, and cares for you like it's what he was put on this earth for.

Water pools at your feet out of thin air. You’re stuck in a dark void with no end, yet the water your eyes frantically search the source of keeps rising at a startling speed, soaking little by little into your clothes until it weighs you down.

Running seems futile. The void has no end and the water keeps steadily climbing up your body, so who knows how long you’ll have until you’re fully submerged — with no exit in view. Even if you could run, the weight of your drenched clothes would only pull you back. But you can’t even move anyway, you realize. You’re stuck in place, feet unable — or unwilling — to even take a couple of waddling steps.

The water is up to your hips now. With trembling hands, you reach down and scoop at the liquid. It’s thick and with a smell so rancid it stretches through the infinite length of the emptiness you stand in. The water’s filthy.

Your hands drop at your sides in an unsettling daze. The next second, your breath grows shallow and you start pulling at your feet as the water reaches your neck. Tears prick at your eyes as you cry at your feet, begging for them to move, to lift from the ground so you could at least make some weak attempt at reaching the surface for air.

Suddenly, a light. Pure white shines brightly from far ahead, where a golden silhouette stands at the threshold between darkness and light — the void’s borders. The other person bangs their fists at the invisible wall keeping you apart, yelling something you can’t make out. Are they yelling at you? No, they don’t even seem to notice your presence. So who are they yelling at? Up at the sky… They’re yelling something up at the sky. But what are they saying? Who does the golden silhouette even belong to?

Your left foot unsticks from the ground unprompted. A sharp breath is all you take before you make your first step toward the light, hand midair to call for the figure’s attention. Just then, an unknown body pulls you into them from behind, crashing your body down into the murky water, where your lungs fill with filth and your eyes flutter shut.

You wake with a small gasp coming through your lips. Still stiffened by the strange dream, your eyes are all that wander the unfamiliar room. The television is set to a screensaver, likely triggered by an extended lack of attention to whatever on-demand production was playing before you fell asleep. There’s a clutter of takeout containers on the coffee table and used glasses with remnants of soda that can safely be assumed to be flat by now.

Slowly, you stir on the velvet green sofa you’re lying on, when you take note of the firm hold around your waist, followed by the soft exhales released onto the crown of your head. You look down at the familiar watch wrapped around the wrist of the hand that holds you in place.

Oh, you think. That’s right. I’m at Eren’s place.

He’s been having trouble catching up on work, meaning he’s had to stay up late for the past couple of nights. He’s a stickler about getting a good night’s rest, so the temporary change in work shifts has thrown him off quite a bit. You told him to stay home and rest — that you could go to the movies another time; next Sunday was fine with you — but he insisted on seeing you, even if it meant a more casual hangout in his living room with Chinese food and a comedy-drama film from the 2000s playing on the TV.

At some point in the evening, the late hours caught up to him all at once and he even managed to get you to stay with him, wrapped in his arms as his sleepiness found its way to your body as well.

Craning your neck, you peer at Eren’s sleepy face from the corner of your eye. You smile. He’s got an innocent look about him even in his sleep. His lips are parted just enough to take and release soft breaths. You sink back into the couch, wiggling around to find the comfortable position you were previously in.

Eren feels you moving and his arm instantly pulls you closer to his body. His warmth transfers through every layer of clothing, enveloping you in a warm embrace. In his sleep, he mumbles a string of words you can’t quite comprehend under his breath, but the vibrations against your back coax you back into a peaceful slumber.

The next time you wake up, it's already getting dark out. The coffee table has been cleared of its mess, and the body lying behind you is no more. Forced by the absence of his arms around you, you trudge out of the living room to look for him as you rub the sleep from your eyes.

He's in the kitchen, back to you, filling a glass with cold water from the fridge.

Leaning against the threshold, you watch him adoringly, marveling at his toned figure from behind. He chugs his first glass of water down, refilling it as soon as he finishes. As he brings the glass to his lips once more, he turns around, eyebrows rising slightly when he takes in your presence.

“Boo,” you smile, standing straight and making your way over to him.

He abandons the glass of water as soon as you meet him, opting to use his hands to push you closer to him by the small of your back as yours rest on his shoulders.

“Did I wake you?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“Just felt lonely, all of a sudden.”

An amused air blows through his nose.

Your hands find a way to his hair, fingers carding through the strands as he keeps his gaze fixed on your face.

His hair has gotten longer, and the strands around his face now cover his forehead, tickling the skin. It’s not messy, by any means, but it gives him an edgier look. The duality of Eren Jaeger’s appearance is a wonder to you. He’s got a way of tipping the scales between cute and sexy with every little thing he does.

You smile at the few rebellious locks that poke out, still fixed in the angle provided by his nap.

“What?” he asks, mirroring your smile.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you murmur.

“I’ll get a haircut soon, don’t worry,” he replies, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth, amused by the way you follow after him once he starts retreating from the contact. He kisses you once more to keep you from pouting.

“I didn’t say anything,” you chuckle. “If you want to grow out your hair, that’s fine. You don’t have to keep it short. I was just pointing it out.”

He shakes his head, humming in denial.

“Nah. This part’s starting to bug me. I just haven’t had time to get it cut,” he explains, brushing back the hair covering his forehead. He proceeds to squeeze your waist on either side. “But what do you prefer?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter with a shrug.

“Gun to your head, which looks better?” he smiles.

His extremist question earns him an eye roll but you answer him nonetheless after a beat.

“I like your short hair,” you finalize earnestly.

He grins, cupping your face with one hand as he places a kiss on your cheek — then on your jaw, and one in the crook of your neck.

“Yeah?” he murmurs against the sensitive skin.

You nod, a small smile dancing across your lips at his tender affections.

“You look very handsome with a clean undercut. The day I met you I actually thought you were really good-looking.”

He pulls away from his task on your neck to stare at you in disbelief.

“And yet you refused to go out with me. I can’t believe you.”

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment.

You laugh. The sound swells him with pride — it lights up the room.

“Looks aren't everything, dummy. You're so shallow.”

It's your turn to feign disappointment while he stands there, amused.

“Right, right,” he nods. “I forgot you fell for me because I'm a strong and dependable man.”

He flexes his muscles, making a whole show out of his pointed remark.

You roll your eyes, but the warmth creeping up your face is hard to deny.

“Isn't that right?” he teases.

You don't humor him with an answer — there's no real need for it.

With his hands settled comfortably on your hips, he guides you backward, until your back is pressed against the counter, before he hoists you up and sets you onto it with ease. You welcome him between your thighs with a smile, breath hitching when he caresses your knee over your jeans and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“My baby,” he coos, pressing an open-mouthed kiss onto your skin.

You giggle at the teasing meaning behind the affectionate name, heart fluttering at the feeling of him smiling against your skin.

The both of you keep your positions for a while — him breathing in your perfume while you stroke his soft hair tenderly.

Being with Eren feels so easy. It's a wonder how comfortable you feel with barely a week tallied for your relationship. Each morning and evening when he drives you to and from work have definitely helped.

After your sobbing confession outside of your apartment, you apologized for making Eren feel as though he was troubling you by being so attentive.

All the accumulated trauma in your heart had ironically made you the perpetrator of making him believe there was no real place for him in your life even after you accepted his liking for you. He didn't ask any followup questions that night, but he understood and vowed to be patient.

You're still trying to be okay with that — his unmoving loyalty. But it's easier to accept when you remind yourself he wouldn't stick around if he didn't want to.

Looking down at the boy in your arms, you smile. He can be so childish at times — teasing you, insisting you hold him, easily shaken by a few late nights. And yet there was something so comforting in his behavior. He's always so happy to see you, making sure to clock in quality time hours — not that he didn't enjoy the daily drives, but it wasn't exactly a date. Not to mention his unwavering need to make sure you're safe. At least his rare stubbornness has good reason.

Reluctantly abandoning the comfort of your neck, he lifts his face to meet your eyes. His gaze bores into yours, engulfing you in warm pools of emerald.

A lazy grin takes over his features.

“I like that,” he murmurs.

Your eyebrows twitch in confusion.

“This,” he explains, bringing a hand to your head and mimicking the strokes you've weaved into his hair. “It feels nice.”

An airy chuckle escapes your lips and you make a point to stroke his hair more.

His face hovers over yours. His hands rest on either side of you as he leans into your affections. His eyes flutter closed as he sighs at your touch.

You look up at him mesmerized by his angelic features. It's true you've always thought he's handsome, but this closeness makes you appreciate every detail of his face even more. His long lashes, the faint freckles on his nose, the thick eyebrows that are softening with each feel of your fingers combing through his hair, the perfect plump lips that whisper your name.

It makes your heart pound against your ribs loudly, the sound echoing in your ears as your hands grow sweaty.

That's when you decide to pull him in for a kiss. His eyes flutter open for a split second of surprise before they close again, at peace and happy. Your hands lose themselves in his hair as his wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter by the small of your back.

The contact is painfully slow, with measured pecks in between deeper kisses. He melts into you, lips softly grazing yours, breath fanning across your mouth as he nips at your bottom lip with his teeth to later soothe the area with his tongue. His lips slot warmly between yours, dragging out at a snail's pace before coming back.

The tip of his tongue pokes between your lips, shy but determined to be granted the access you so easily provide. A soft moan bubbles up your throat as his tongue caresses yours with vehemence. It's unusually hot, but the foreign feeling of his tongue in your mouth is greatly appreciated, marked by the way you desperately try to pull him even closer, in hopes that he can swallow you whole.

The pit of your stomach flutters and stirs with the most pleasant tingle when one of his hands travels to the back of your neck and he pushes his hips against yours. Despite the layers keeping you apart, it's easy to tell he's grown hard from the sweet exchange. He's rock solid under his pants, the delicate moans that bounce off your tongue and onto his making him bigger with every passing second.

He knows you can feel it, but you don't seem to mind, your head too dizzy with the collective sensations being fed to your body — his warm tongue, his bulge brushing your most sensitive spot over your jeans, his left hand holding you in place by the back of your neck while the other firmly squeezes your waist as he's consumed by the passionate kiss.

You cling onto him, thighs drawing closer to keep him flush against you. His hips roll against yours, brushing so deliciously against the spot that's growing wet beneath your clothing that it sends a tickle up your insides.

He sucks on your tongue, the act drawing more lustful mewls from the back of your throat.

You're feverish, your face burning when your shirt happens to rise, exposing your midriff to his calloused fingers which were so careful not to touch any new skin before the incident.

There's a string of saliva that connects your mouths when you finally break your fervent makeout. His lips are swollen and glossy with your saliva, as you're sure yours are with his.

“Eren,” you weakly whine in between breaths.

“Hm?” he hums, as he parts from your mouth to leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck.

You shudder when he swirls his tongue against your sweet spot before gently kissing it.

You whine his name again, though your voice has a stronger shape to it this time.

He turns to face you, pecking your lips just once before easing his grip on your body.

“I know,” he murmurs. “Slow, I remember.”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

His nose brushes against yours as he tilts his head to press a calmer, cooler kiss onto your lips.

“I want to, by the way,” you admit bashfully, avoiding his blown pupils and opting to look at a blank point on his shirt. “Just… not yet.”

When your gaze flickers to his, he's looking down at you warmly.

“I understand,” he murmurs.

Your eyes flit toward the window, reminding you of how late it's getting.

“I should go, it's already dark out.”

Eren nods, pulling back from the counter until you both notice the tent in his pants. You tear your gaze from the area, searching for something of interest elsewhere.

He blushes, ready to express an apology for his body's reaction to your wanton moans and feverish kisses, but you hop off the counter and trail off to the living room to search for your jacket before he can, leaving him to softly laugh at your meek behavior as he makes his way to the bathroom.

When he comes looking for you in the living room a couple of minutes later, you're seated on the couch, waiting patiently for him.

You smile upon his return, no trace of embarrassment left on your features.

“Do you really have to go?” he asks.

Your expression softens but you nod.

“We have work tomorrow. And I know how you get if you don't get your beauty sleep,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, but wears a playful smile nonetheless.

“No. I mean,” he takes a deep breath. “You could stay the night… if you want to.”

His voice grows timid with every word as he gauges your reaction to his offer. He doesn't want to be pushy, by any means, but he hopes you'll accept.

He watches you chew on your bottom lip, unsure of what to say.

“Unless, of course, that goes against the whole taking-things-slow agreement,” he awkwardly laughs. “But I just… figured you should know… I wouldn’t object to you spending the night. No funny business. Just… to sleep.”

A breath of relief pushes past his lips when a small smile finally grows over your previously troubled features.

“Maybe not tonight,” you say. “But I’ll think about it.”

His lips curl inwards to hide his smile before he holds his hand out to you so you can head out the door together.

Eren swings your linked hands as you travel down the hall from the elevator. It's a habit he's developed over the past few days after seeing you cry for the first time.

The image lingered with bitterness in his head the entire night. It still pops up every now and then, reminding him he has to do everything in his capability to keep it from happening again.

As you walk to your door, hands comically swinging more aggressively each time with Eren's playful attitude, he marvels at your laughing face, feeling at ease with everything concerning you.

He finally eases up on his swing when you reach your door, but your fingers remain laced with his until you absolutely have to part ways.

“Sorry I was so tired today,” he says, holding your hands up to compare the difference in size. He presses his palm against yours, eyes shimmering at the sight before he grabs your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. “I'll make it up to you next time.”

“I don't mind just hanging out,” you say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “It's fun.”

He smiles as he watches you fish your keys out of your jacket pocket with your free hand. The click of the lock always comes before letting go, but it's fine because he still gets to see you tomorrow morning for the drive to your office.

You turn to him, leaving the keys dangling on the lock as you drape your arms around his neck.

“By the way,” you murmur, pressing yourself further into his chest when his arms wrap around your waist. “You can spend the night at my place, too, if you want.”

His features twitch and his eyes light up with interest at the offer.

“No funny business,” you add, before pressing a kiss on his cheek. “Just to sleep.”

He laughs.

“Of course. What kind of guy do you take me for?”

You smile, affectionately brushing your nose against his with your eyes closed.

“Just thought I'd let you know.”

“I’ll think about it,” he murmurs mockingly, echoing your response from earlier.

You look up at him quizzically.

“Do I sense some competition over whose apartment we stay at first?” you accuse.

“I’ll get on my knees if you want,” he quips without missing a beat, not bothering to be cool about the topic.

You giggle.

“Perfect. I love pathetic men.”

He stifles a laugh, eyes twinkling in amusement as a reflection of yours. Then he turns on a comically serious expression.

“Baby, I’m as pathetic as they come,” he firmly states, which makes you laugh even more.

“You're such a dork,” you giggle.

He hugs you tightly, playfully rocking your connected bodies in the middle of the hallway as he peppers your face with kisses, relishing in your amused squeals.

The giddiness in your expression remains even after you're both standing still and he's no longer attacking you with kisses.

“Thank you for making time for me,” you smile. “I mean, you already do so much with driving me to work and everything. If you’re ever not in the mood, you can—”

He cuts you off with a chaste kiss to your lips.

“It’s my pleasure.”

You bite back a grin and nod.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs before letting go and beginning his journey out with backwards steps.

“Bye, Eren,” you smile.

Before he can turn on his heel, you catch up to him, instantly making him drop his confused expression for a much softer one when you press your lips against his in one last kiss goodbye. When you pull back, he's got a goofy grin on his face as he waits for you to explain yourself.

You smile shyly.

“For the road.”

November 4, 2024

I found out where my angel lives. It's not too bad a place, but I'm sure she'll like the room I'm fixing for her better. I'm working on a way to get some of her favorite things over to my place. Hopefully she won't miss them too much before I can reunite her with them.

I'm so relieved. It was worth keeping an eye on her for the last few days. The only downside to come out of this is that I have to see that jerk's stupid face everywhere. He just can't leave her alone for a damn second.

It pisses me off to see him touch her like it's nothing. That should be ME kissing her and making her laugh. Not him. He shouldn't be allowed to touch her. Still, she looks so happy each time. But I can't be mad at her. I could never be mad at my angel. She'll realize soon enough that I'm the one meant for her. I just have to suck it up in the meantime. It's bad enough that I have to keep my distance for now but do I have to see her smiling at the wrong guy, too? I can't take it.

She's gotten prettier. It seems impossible but it's true. I could look at her for days on end — and I have the past week as proof. Her smile is brighter and she's practically glowing. It only makes the wait even harder but I still have so much to get done for her arrival. I can't wait to see the look on her face when I finally bring her home with me so we can be happy together.

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 8 months

Text

"Daddy Please" Murder Daddy Kinktober 2023 Day 3 Stepdad!Dave York x Reader

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. This blog is a personal space and I write predominantly smut, with some dubcon and other Dead Dove Do Not Eat level content. I will always pre-warn for anything triggering and will always endeavour to include tw/cws in the tags, and warnings at the top of my fics. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact. Specific Warnings: Daddy Kink, Sex Work, OnlyFans, Cam work, Infidelity, Step-Cest, Dave York(he always needs his own warning), Possessive!Dave, Men being sexist dicks on the internet, choking, degradation, rough sex, rough oral sex, exhibitionism. Let me know if I missed anything! Graphic made by me, does not convey shape, race, or hair colour of reader, the panties just looked so good, no use of Y/N.

Summary: Your hot stepdad Dave York catches you creating OnlyFans content. [Read on AO3] - [Ko-Fi]

Dave

“Honey? I’m home!”

Dave calls from the front door as he shucks off his dress shoes, hoping beyond hope that his wife was home and his stepdaughter – you – were not. But silence is all that greets him, neither of you it seems are home. He sighs to himself and heads straight for his basement, or his man cave as your mom calls it.

He descends the stairs slowly, fatigue making his body sag, frustration making his neck ache from strain. He’s been gone two weeks on a business trip in Hawaii, to you and your mom, it was some tax scandal for a congressional race in Arizona. In reality, it was a hit on some one-percenter who had fallen on the wrong side of a cartel.

Money can’t buy sense.

He thinks to himself as he throws his suit jacket and briefcase down on the tan, L-shaped sofa in the middle of the basement. He flicks on the TV to check the news and as expected, his hit was on every channel. He smiles morbidly to himself at his anonymous infamy. He groans and stretches as he looks around the bare, dark wood panelled walls, he really needs to remember to decorate this space someday.

The TV runs as background noise as Dave steps into the small office to the right of the basement. He strips bare, his clothes pooling at his feet as he locks the door behind him. This room is more his own, a double bed with crisp white sheets dominates the room. A desk and computer with multiple monitors squeezed into the right side of the room, and a door leading to his ensuite. A small dresser acts as a nightstand wedged between the wall and the bed.

The small space comforts him, one door in, one door out. No windows, no surprises. He lets out a long, heavy sigh of relief as he lets himself relax for the first time since he left two weeks ago. Dave pads into the bathroom and showers, brushes his teeth, and shaves the two weeks of stubble from his face.

Suitably refreshed he throws on a pair of sweatpants and flops down into his leather office chair. He wakes his computer from sleep and pulls up his VPN, scrambling his IP manually before logging into a private browser. Some of it is habit, some part of it is to make sure his wife never sees his browsing history. He doesn’t bother with headphones, no-one is home, and he probably won’t last long anyway.

He almost feels ashamed, sneaking around like a teenager, but when your mom refuses to so much as touch Dave when you’re around, he feels like he has no other choice. The video starts and the streamer is nowhere to be seen, her usual purple sheets are made neatly, her blackout curtains drawn as always. But there’s something new, something that Dave feels uneasy about.

A string of bumblebee fairy lights; hung over her headboard. Double layered in a rainbow of colours that pulse and fade like fireflies in the Summer. Something about it is too familiar, something he feels like he should recognise. He shakes himself out of it, turning to the comments to smirk at their desperation as the stream officially starts with her usual greeting.

“Hey there Daddies, you miss me?” The sweet lilt of his favourite OnlyFans streamer, Princess Luna, is like music to his ears as he feels his cock hardening before she’s even on screen. Comments flash up in the live chat straight away, and Dave chuckles to himself.

He never comments, he just subscribes on his private credit card, tips generously, and almost never misses a stream. Especially when it’s her. He feels superior to the others, never begging for attention, just admiring her in a way he feels no-one else can. He knows he’s being more than a little delusional, but he doesn’t care.

Moments like this, he can forget about how miserable his marriage is.

ImUrDaddy: Oh baby where’ve you been? Daddy’s cock has missed you.

StepDadz129: Fuck Princess, come on let us see you. Daddy needs you.

PDaddy1$: Stop teasing me Luna darlin’, show me that tight little cunt.

The messages keep on coming but Dave isn’t looking anymore, all he sees is Luna sliding into view. As always, Luna’s face is covered with an elaborate masquerade mask. This one is a deep burgundy with black lace forming a veil over her mouth, with gold filigree in swirling baroque floral patterns around her eyes giving her a mystical air.

Her dark red lace panties and bra compliment the mask as she settles on her knees in the middle of her bed. He slips his cock out of his sweatpants and takes himself in one hand, sliding over the soft foreskin languidly as he takes in her breasts. Salivating at the way they swell over her lacy cups, begging to be freed.

“I’ve missed you Daddy, been so tense these last few days, missing my step daddy so much.” She continues and Dave groans audibly at the taboo pet name, his cock already fully hard.

“He’s been away for two whole weeks, and all I want is him to stuff me full of his fat cock until he spills his load in me.”

Dave tries to push the nagging feeling in his mind away, something is off, but he grits his teeth as he focuses on the beautiful woman on screen, her hands already pulling her lacy bra down over her pert nipples. He slowly pumps his cock, desperate for release but he’s not going to let himself go. Not yet. The shows only just begun.

~*~

You

A knock at the front door startles you, your two fingers are deep inside you as the stream begins to heat up.

“Shit,” You curse to yourself and quickly spring up from the bed, “Sorry Daddy, I’ll be right back.”

You hear the comment notifications go wild in your wake and you silently bless whatever distraction has come up. Your viewers are going to be so thirsty for you once you get back. You shoulder on a black silk robe embroidered with white cranes and loosely tie it around you.

You hurry down the stairs, eyes glued to your phone where you watch the comments come in on the stream.

PDaddy1$: Baby! Come back you were doing so good for me!

ImUrDaddy: Aw baby don’t be a brat, I know there’s no-one there!

StepDadz129: Bitch!

You roll your eyes, clicking the mute button on the one comment before you hop down the bottom step. You check yourself out in the hall mirror for good measure, modest enough to answer the door but slutty enough to raise an eyebrow. You grin triumphantly and open the door wide, clinging to the edge of the door to greet them.

~*~

Dave

Rage courses through Dave’s veins as he sees the slew of abuse popping up on the chat the moment Luna disappears. He hates it when the entitled pricks come out to play.

His head snaps towards the basement stairs when he hears the sound of someone in the hall upstairs. Immediately Dave switches into work mode, ripping the desk drawer almost off the runners as he snatches up his pistol. He snaps in a mag and stuffs his achingly hard cock back into his pants.

He stalks back up the basement stairs, breathing slow, regulating his heartbeat as he prepares to face the intruder. He cracks the basement door open and sighs with relief as he quickly flicks the safety on his gun before stowing it in the back of his waistband.

It’s just you.

He thinks to himself as he eyes you from behind, the basement door has a perfect view to the front door, and more importantly your bare legs. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the silk robe hugging your curves so beautifully. He hears your flirtatious giggle and if he wasn’t already hard, he knows he would be just at the sound of it.

Get it together, that’s your stepdaughter.

He scolds himself internally, but thinking it only makes him ache more. Isn’t that exactly what he was just watching on OnlyFans? He shakes himself out of his dark thoughts just as you finish signing for the parcel.

“Thanks dude, have a great day!” You call to the delivery driver and Dave makes his exit hastily. He closes the door without a sound and creeps back down to the basement.

Only once he’s back in his chair, watching abusive comments piling up in the live chat does he let out the breath he’s been holding. He stows his gun once more and waits for Luna to return.

She steps back into view with her phone in hand, black robe with embroidered white cranes on the hem. She’s texting in earnest before throwing the phone back down on the bed. A notification comes through on Dave’s phone and if he wasn’t already joining the dots the confirmation makes him almost come in his pants. The text comes through, from you.

Hey Dave, package for you on the kitchen counter, can’t wait to see you later! Xx

His heart is in his throat, surely it has to be a coincidence, some fucked up twist of fate. That can’t be you? You can’t be Princess Luna, surely?

“Sorry Daddy, a parcel came for you, left it on the kitchen counter for you.”

Then he hears it clear as day, you alter your voice a little, maybe you use software, or are just that fucking good an actress. He honestly can’t tell.

But the moment the robe drops from Luna’s shoulders he just knows.

“It’s you.”

~*~

“So where were we Daddy?”

You ask to the webcam, mask secured, and panties pulled to the side, aimed directly at the professional camera you have mounted on your desk. You pull your phone back up to check the messages once more.

A litany of abuse for leaving too soon from your lowest tier supporters, typical. You have to have thick skin in this line of work, so you just mute a few before a familiar username pops up. Your eyebrows raise in surprise, it’s your favourite customer. The faceless, voiceless patron of your works that simply pays your highest tier, tips often, and not once has he given you abuse.

DukeSilver09: Hey there hon, don’t listen to these pricks, you’re doing a great job for me Princess.

Your cheeks heat up at his kindness and for the first time, you’re not just getting off to your own fantasies.

“What’s your story then Duke Silver? Fan of Parks and Rec?”

DukeSilver09: Yeah, my stepdaughter recommended it to me for when I’m travelling.

Your brows furrow for a second, trying to remember if you’d recommended it to Dave, or if it was just some crazy coincidence.

“Good taste, you fuck her yet Duke?”

You feel your orgasm building as you work a third finger inside you, rubbing your clit frantically as you imagine it’s Dave on the other end of this conversation. God, you wish. All you’ve wanted since they got married last year was to get him in your bed.

A girl can dream.

DukeSilver09: Not yet, but I think I’m about to get lucky.

“Good for you Duke, fuck her like the good little girl she is.”

You’re vaguely aware of the other men in the chat, some loving this interaction between you, some jealous, some angry, but you don’t care. All you care about is this stranger bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

~*~

Dave

Unbeknownst to you, Dave is leaning against the wall opposite your bedroom, waiting, phone in hand as he continues to watch you. He has headphones in to make sure he can still hear you without alerting suspicion. Dave types out a reply instantly.

DukeSilver09: She’s no angel, trust me, I know she’s filthy. I see the way she fucks me with her eyes at dinner.

Dave watches as you convulse on the bed, fingers working into your wet pussy, the squelching almost audible through the door. But maybe that was just his imagination running wild.

“Oh fuck, yeah? Well make sure to make her pay for being such a slut, sounds like she deserves to be punished.”

He groans aloud at that, and you freeze on the screen, Dave curses under his breath as he clamps his mouth shut.

This was stupid, fuck get out of there.

“Daddy?”

Dave looks down at the screen and sees that the livestream is muted, the sound hadn’t come from his headphones. He looks up and watches in disbelief as you open the door, robe on, mask off. Looking at him with a knowing look that would make even the toughest man flinch.

But Dave’s no ordinary man.

~*~

You

Dave stands there for a moment, frozen in place, but his face is anything but shocked. His one eyebrow is cocked, his plump lips curved up into a smirk, making his cheek dimple.

“Hey there Princess, what’re you doing in there? Got a guy over? You know how your mom feels about you having the door shut if you have visitors.”

“Nope, no-one here but me, Da- Dave.” You falter, already the taboo falling too easily from your lips.

It can’t have been him? Surely not, this is just some fucking weird coincidence, right?

“Then you won’t mind if I come in? Check on those fairy lights?”

“I don’t think-!” You start but Dave has already crowded past you, you suddenly realise he’s only got sweatpants on, his body heat rolls off onto you as you take in the painfully obvious erection straining against his pants.

“Well, well, this is what you’ve been up to.”

Dave purrs, picking up the mask you were just wearing, turning it around in his deft fingertips as he looks at the livestream. He’s just out of camera-shot as he grins at you wickedly.

“Dave please, don’t tell mom.”

“About which bit?”

You give Dave a confused look, breathing becoming laboured as panic sets in.

“What do you mean?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper at this point, and you feel compelled to shut the door behind you.

“What don’t you want me to tell her?” He asks, one long stride and he’s got you backed against the door, his free hand circles your neck, gently, a promise more than a threat, “That you’re whoring yourself out to dirty old men online?”

“Dave please, I can-!”

“Or that you’ve been waiting for me to stuff you full of my fat cock until I spill my load inside you?”

Your brain short circuits as you realise it is him, there’s no doubt now, he’s been watching you for months.

Did he know it was me?

“Dave please, it was all for show, I promise.”

Dave clicks his tongue in disappointment, but his hand tightens around your throat as he uses his thumb to nudge your jaw to the side. He leans in, pressing his rock hard, aching dick against your bare stomach as he rubs his cheek against yours.

“You sure honey? Because I’d be mighty disappointed if that was the truth.”

You moan, the sound escaping you before you can even think to stop it, you roll your hips up against him and wrap your arms around his neck before turning to face him. Your noses press against one another as you look up through your lashes into his hooded, lust-drunk eyes.

“You mean it Daddy?” You breathe as you brush your lips against his, your whole body vibrating with arousal as his breath fans against your skin, foreheads pressed together as you try your hardest to hold back.

“‘Course sweetheart, how could I not? You’re fucking gorgeous.”

“But what about-?” You begin to protest, and whatever you were about to say is lost as Dave’s lips crash into yours.

His free hand drops the mask before pinning your hip to the door. His broad hand sears against your skin as he grinds down into you. You moan into his mouth, giving him access before he even asks, letting him lick into your mouth with a hunger you’ve never known from a partner.

He dominates you, claims your mouth in a ravenous need that has you whimpering as you spread your legs for him, hitching an ankle around his leg, pulling him in closer as you run your fingers through his hair. You tug firmly and the growl he makes almost has you coming right there and then.

“Dave the stream.” You pant as you both come up for air, but a darkness falls over his vision. You already know what he’s going to ask before he says a word.

“You got another mask I can borrow?”

Your stomach flutters as you realise what he’s suggesting. You’re about to fuck Dave for the first time, on live stream for fucks sake. Your viewers are going to fucking love it.

“Stay here.” You breathe against his lips, taking control for a second and your heart flutters as Dave’s eyebrow raises in amusement. You’re filing that reaction away for later.

You bend over, making sure to brush up against Dave’s rock-hard bulge as you do, and pick up your mask, re-seating it before heading back into view of the livestream. The sound of comments firing in the background makes your stomach flutter in anticipation. You rifle under your bed for your box of props.

“Here you go Daddy.” You purr as you prance back to the doorway.

“Fuck.” Dave rasps as he twitches in his pants. He puts the black and gold mask on, smirking down at you as you bite your lip at him.

“Follow my lead, yeah?”

“Sure baby, it’s your show.”

You lean up to press a soft kiss to his lips. It’s an oddly intimate act and you almost regret doing it until you see the lazy smile spread across Dave’s lips.

You turn to go back to your stream and before you’re even back in shot you feel the sharp slap of Dave’s palm on your ass and you yelp. You look back with a playful look as you roll your eyes at him.

“Hey there Daddies,” You say with a soft, sing-song lilt to your voice, “Sorry about that, I almost got busted! Daddy came home and I had to pretend to be a good little girl.”

You chuckle giddily as you watch the comments flood back in, all positive, begging for you to continue.

The violent banging on your door startles you and you yelp.

“Luna what the fuck are you doing in there?” Dave roars, loud enough for your viewers to hear and the comments go absolutely wild.

“I’m not dressed please don’t come in!” You feign as much panic as you can, pretending to fumble with the computer controls.

“You got a boy in there? I’ll fucking kill him.” Dave roars as he rips the door open. You stand up and clutch your discarded robe against your chest.

“Please, it’s not what it looks like, please don’t tell mom.” You mimic your terrified tone from earlier but both of you now know it’s just an act.

“What the fuck?”

Dave steps into view and you all but whimper as you see the murderous look in his dark eyes. He looks from you to the computer, and back again. His chest heaves and you take a step back, you’re not sure if you planned to or not but the intensity is more than you expected.

“Please, let’s just talk about this.”

You plead as he crosses the short distance to grab you by the throat, harder than before and you audibly gasp as he takes off his mask. You watch as his eyes scan the stream, making sure he’s only visible from the neck down.

“You wear these fancy masks to hide your whoring from the world huh? Give me one, I’m not about to get caught fucking you on some sick little porno site.”

You make a show of turning to the camera, lace-covered breasts front and centre as you pretend to grab something from the shelf behind. You turn and tilt up onto your tiptoes to replace the mask on Dave’s face. You pout a little. As much as you know it’s necessary, you want to see him, all of him, when he fucks you.

“Good girl, now,” He growls, shoving past you to sit on the end of the bed, “Convince me not to tell your mom, show me if you’re good enough to keep a secret for.”

He’s a fucking natural, lined up perfectly in shot so that you can sink onto your knees in front of him. The notifications are going wild, the cheesy sound bite of a cash register opening and closing as your fans tip you firing faster than you’ve ever known.

“What if it’s too big, Daddy?”

“You’ll make it fit Princess, I know you will.”

You nod slowly and peel down the waistband of his pants and gasp at the sight of him. He’s uncut, thick, and a nice size. A Goldilocks dick, not too big, not too small. You salivate at the sight of him and look up to see his hungry gaze locked on you.

You pull his foreskin back gently and mewl at the sight of his pre-come smeared over his angry red tip. You lap gently at the mess and hum at the salty, bitter taste of his come.

“Good fucking girl, knew you’d be good at sucking dick, bet you’ve had hundreds of cocks stuffed down your throat.”

“Nuh-uh,” You say loud enough for the microphone to pick up, “Only you Daddy.” His dick twitches wildly at that and he looks down at you in shock, you see the real fear of this being your first-time flash behind his eyes and you subtly shake your head. He narrows his eyes and nods imperceptibly in understanding.

“Fuck, been saving yourself for me Princess?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

You punctuate it with a short, wet suck of his exposed tip and he groans, fisting one hand in your hair, shifting slightly on the bed angling it so that the stream can just see your profile as you suckle on his tip.

“See fellas, this is what you get when you’re nice to her.”

You whimper and feel the slick dripping down your legs as you sink lower onto Dave’s gorgeous cock. It’s so smooth, his foreskin making it a dream to sink down onto. He hisses as your lips and nose press into his pubic hair.

“Good fucking girl.” His voice is ragged, and you look up to see his plush lips parted, veins in his neck bulging. You bob your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks out as you flick your tongue against his head every time you come back up his shaft.

“She’s got such a fucking pretty little mouth, don’t you think?”

He shifts on the bed again until he’s standing, you have to sit up on your knees to keep him in your mouth. His face is out of shot, and he looks down at you with care in his eyes. He mouths down a “You ok?” At you and you smile, nodding as you take him deep.

“Shit, look at you.”

Dave’s Hand in your hair becomes possessive as he rolls his hips slowly into your mouth, you gag a little and tears spill from your eyes as you try your hardest to keep it together.

“Doing so well for me baby, making Daddy feel so good.”

You whine at the praise and his willingness to call himself daddy. He lets you take his cock for a little longer before he rips you off with a snarl.

“Need to fill that little pussy up, c’mere.”

Dave pulls you up into his arms and kisses you deeply, tongue licking into your mouth, tasting himself on you with a moan as he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He sits down on the edge of the bed once more before turning you in his lap, his cock sliding between your clothed folds as he holds your back flush against his chest. One hand is wrapped around your throat as his other trails down your body to your soaked panties.

“You been saving this for me too?”

He slowly peels them away to the side, exposing your wet heat. You arch your back as he glides two thick fingers through your folds. It feels so much better than you could have imagined. His calloused pads rake through you, teasing at your hole before gliding back up to your clit, rubbing slow, intense circles around your swollen bud.

“Yes Daddy, want you to be the only one, want you inside me. Daddy, please?”

You squirm in his lap, rocking your hips so you coat his length with your slick as it glides through your lips.

“Slow down baby, not going to last if you keep doing that.” He whispers in your ear, chuckling slightly as he nips a warning into your neck. You hum and slow down, but you don’t stop.

“Please Daddy, can’t wait any more, need you.”

It’s only half an act. You’ve dreamt of this for months, desperate to have him. You watch how your mother spurns him, how she hides her phone when he’s around. You know she’s not being good to him.

“As you asked so nicely.”

You’re caught off guard as he notches himself at your core and with one hand on your hip, the other tight around your throat, he drags you down onto his cock.

You cry out in ecstasy as you feel every inch of him pressing into you, every ridge and vein as he forces you down to the base. You’re grateful that you worked yourself open with three fingers earlier or this would have been way too much.

“Look at that baby,” Dave hums against your skin, looking into the camera over your shoulder as he tilts your head down to look at the screen, “Look at how pretty you look all stretched out on my cock.”

You pant heavily as you get used to his girth, it’s blinding. You’ve never had someone fill you just right like this, like you were made to be split open by him. You whine impatiently and a hard slap comes down on your right ass cheek. Dave’s cock twitches up into you as you yelp and mewl at the painful pleasure rocking through you.

“Naughty girl, so eager to get fucked, what would your mother say if she could see you like this?”

Dave taunts you as he moves both hands to your hips, pulling you further back into the bed so he can brace his feet on the sheets, holding you up for the camera to see you suspended above him. You know it’s for show, you know it’s all a fantasy, but in that moment, you lose yourself to Dave.

“Touch yourself baby, need you to milk this fat dick until you’re full of me, y’hear me?”

“Yes Daddy, want you to fill me up, fuck your cum deep into me.”

“Good fucking girl.”

Dave snaps up into you without warning, his pace brutal as he fucks you just right, kissing your g-spot with the head of his cock as you swirl your fingers aggressively around your clit. You feel your release building like a crescendo. The symphony of Dave’s hungry, aggressive grunting as he fucks you harder and harder with every thrust; and the staccato of desperate moans that escape your lips are all you can think about.

You’re about to come as Dave pushes you forward onto your hands and knees, he fuses his hips to yours, not letting you go for a single second as he pushes your head down onto the edge of the bed.

“Fuck yeah, let them see you, how fucking drunk you are on my cock, dirty little slut.”

“Fuck yes, Daddy, fuck me deep, fill me up with your come Daddy.”

The words fall from your lips without prompt or encouragement, you’re coming so hard you can’t keep your eyes open any more, your legs tremble and your arms feel like lead as pleasure rocks through you like no other orgasm you can remember.

Dave keeps fucking you as you whimper and shake from exertion and overstimulation. You let him use you, let him fuck down into you with such force you swear you’ll feel him for weeks. But you don’t care, pleasure ebbs through you like a heartbeat, stopping only as Dave’s hips snap into you one last time as you hear him groan in your ear. He falls against your back, holding you close to him as he releases inside you, pinning you to him as he pants and whines in your ear.

“Such a good fucking girl.” He rubs his nose along the column of your neck and suckles your earlobe into his mouth.

“All for you Daddy.”

You eventually ease off of his lap and turn the stream off without your usual sign-off. You don’t give a single shit about your viewers right now, all you can think about is Dave and the blissed-out look on his face as he watches you, propped up against your headboard.

“So, that was something else.”

You say with a giggle and the smile that spreads across his face has butterflies exploding in your chest. The love, the affection there is something more than just some kinky fantasy.

“Yeah,” He wheezes as he rocks up onto his feet and scoops you up into his arms, bridal style, “Let’s get you cleaned up yeah?”

His whole demeanour has changed, gone is the dominant Dave who just fucked you within an inch of your life, right here the Dave you know so well. Caring, soft, yet still so fucking hot.

“Ok.” You mumble into his chest as you flop against him.

~*~

Hours later and your mom still isn’t home, Dave still hasn’t left your bed.

“We don’t have to do this again y’know.”

You eventually say what you’ve been trying to bring up for hours. You’re snuggled into Dave’s chest, under your freshly made sheets, watching some shit on Netflix. He sits up immediately, pulling you up to sit next to him.

“Is that what you want?”

There’s a vulnerability on Dave’s face that makes your heart clench, a myriad of emotions floods through your system. You dip your head, avoiding those soft brown eyes that you adore.

“No, I just, you’re married to my mom.”

Dave’s calloused hand cups your cheek tilting your head up to look at him.

“And where do you think she is tonight? Where she’s been the last six weekends in a row?”

Dave’s eyes are deadly serious, there’s an edge to his tone that arouses you, it’s possessive, frustrated, but most of all passionate.

“Do you want to keep, uh, seeing each other?” You ask as your eyes drop to his lips and you can’t imagine not kissing them again, not feeling them on your skin.

“Yes.”

Dave’s answer shocks you, not for his admission but for how firmly he says it, how much passion and surety he can pack into a single syllable.

“Good.”

You respond in turn before pulling Dave down on top of you, crashing his lips into yours as his hips slot between yours like you were made for one another.

What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

Tags: @yvonneeeee @notsosecretspy @jadealicious06 @famouslyanonymous @harriedandharassed @casa-boiardi @pimosworld @brittmb115 @bitchwitch1981 @cool-iguana @beefrobeefcal @lucyeyelesbarrow @anoverwhelmingdin @beskarandblasters @wannab-urs @pastelnap @patti7dc @gasolinerainbowpuddles @jksprincess10

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