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mypoisonedvine · 9 months

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"𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄'𝙢 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪." | dark!jackson rippner x reader

(I'm sorry but also no I'm not because wes craven knew exactly what he was doing when he put that line in the movie... he fucking knew...)

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 | after following you for weeks as part of his job, jackson got a few ideas in his head about making you his, but finding out you had a boyfriend meant he needed to change his approach.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 | just under 9k (wow what the actual fuck)

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | DARK NONCON SMUT (18+ only, don't keep reading if you're not physically or emotionally mature enough to manage your own content consumption please and thank you), knife kink, stalking, forced exhibitionism, forced infidelity, humiliation, vaginal and anal sex (whoops), pain kink/painal, ass to pussy (god this fic is disgusting lmao), hair pulling, brief breeding kink/forced breeding, some angst but really it's just filth

once again, this is a dark character being dark and I don't wanna hear y'all acting brand new about it so no hate please. that said, if you do enjoy this (which I very much hope you do) please consider reblogging to support my work :) comments are especially appreciated and literally make me so so happy!!

Following you was just part of the job— and Jackson did not like his job mixing with his personal life.

The problem was, he hadn’t had much of a personal life lately. No time for it; one or two hook-ups, women he met in bars, but that’s it. And believe it or not, he wanted more than that. Nobody would accuse Jackson of being sentimental— not really an attitude you can have when you organize illegal weapons sales and political assassinations— but he wasn’t made of stone. He wanted to be able to share at least part of his life with someone… or, you know, have a nice set of legs waiting for him at home that he could get between every night. Either, or both, would do.

It was an unfortunate coincidence that his realization that he wanted a girlfriend, or at the very least a plaything of his own, came right around the same time that he started to follow you. He was only doing it to pick up on your habits, figure out a way to get to you so he could blackmail you into being his inside man for his next job. It was supposed to be pretty simple: you were a museum events coordinator in charge of an upcoming lecture series which would feature a speech from a Bolivian presidential candidate who was unfortunately unfriendly to cartels. The American government not only endorsed him, but had him under incredibly tight security. This speaking event was going to be a rare chance to get to him in a public space without metal detectors, and Jackson was being compensated generously to ensure your museum would let a few extra attendees in the back.

But see, the Bolivian presidential election was the last thing on Jackson’s mind as he watched you through your window. His eyes drifted all over you, mesmerized by the way you prepared yourself for your day— styling your hair in the mirror, smoothing the wrinkles in your white button-up, pulling those stockings up your thighs…

He caught himself biting his lip and shook it off, straightening up in the driver’s seat of his car; he knew he should probably leave then, beat you to your work and then wander into the museum to feign interest in a few artifacts before striking up a conversation. But he loitered a bit longer, letting himself imagine how quickly he could rip off those clothes you were so thoughtfully dressing yourself with.

Eventually, he managed to pull his attention away from you and start the car, sighing as he tried to remember his plan of attack for ‘accidentally’ meeting you later today.

The museum might’ve been interesting, if he wasn’t so distracted by you. He was loitering, hands in his pockets, pretending to look at the paintings and artifacts as he waited for you to be near enough to strike up an innocuous conversation with. Early in the day, he saw you give a tour to a couple considering the museum for a wedding location, but kept his distance— it could be a while before you were available and he didn't want you to notice him yet, or he'd have to justify having been in the museum all day by himself.

For the first time since he’d started this job, Jackson felt slightly nervous to speak to you. It was always a big step, going from following someone to actually approaching them, but usually it didn’t give him any specific emotional reaction. Sure, he might feel a certain amount of pressure to do this correctly lest he blow the whole thing by tipping off his target, but he never was worried something would go wrong. This time, though, he felt his heart picking up every time he glanced at you from across the museum, closer to you than he’d ever been. His palms were even a bit clammy when he saw you walk by and realized this was the moment he needed to strike. God, did he really have a crush? How pathetic… but he couldn’t worry about that now, he was about to lose his chance as you brushed by him quickly.

"Miss?" he got your attention, gently touching your shoulder through your shirt as you passed by; you seemed a little startled by the physicality, yes, but not exactly offended.

"Oh, um— can I help you?" you said. He’d heard you speak before, on the wiretap and all, but it was a little different in person like this— and directed at him.

"I was gonna ask you about this sculpture, if you didn't mind," he explained with a gentle smile.

"Oh, well, one of our dosants would love to talk to you about our collection—" you began, starting to look for the closest staff member designated to help him, but he interrupted.

"So, you don't know anything about the stuff here?"

Your attention moved back to him and you smiled to hide your obvious defensiveness. "No, I do," you assured, "I actually am uniquely equipped to tell you about this sculpture: I studied Incan art specifically during my master's program."

He gave his best 'quietly impressed' face and nodded; he knew he could get you with that, you had kind of a know-it-all thing going on, which he happened to find annoyingly attractive. "Alright, then tell me about it," he challenged.

"Well," you sighed, crossing your arms as you looked at the piece, "we got this one a few years ago, it's actually a ceremonial vessel— there’s the llama head and the bird on this side here, those were both animals with a lot of cultural significance…”

As you pointed out elements of the vessel, he leaned in ostensibly to look at where you were gesturing— but it was all an excuse to get close to you, warm you up to him.

“They would’ve used this to pour essentially a form of beer on the ground,” you continued, “in hopes of increasing the strength of the crops and fertility."

"Fascinating," he smiled at you, and you didn’t back away when he stood closer. Like fish in a barrel. "How old is it?"

"It's estimated to be about four or five hundred years old,” you explained.

"Wow," he nodded, looking at the stone carving behind the glass again. "It's interesting to me that humans have always made art— and always been superstitious. Though I have to be honest, if I was living before the invention of birth control I don't think I'd be praying for fertility."

You smirked a little, and he hoped he hadn't gone too far— but it was fun to look at you and know what you must be thinking about. He could only hope that you were thinking about it with him in mind.

“Jackson, by the way,” he introduced himself, “my name’s Jackson. It feels unfair that you’ve gotta wear the nametag and I get to be anonymous.”

You laughed a little, glancing down at the silver nametag on your blazer and then back up at him. “Fair enough; welcome to our museum, Jackson.”

“So, wait,” he tilted his head, “forgive the late reaction here, but— if you’ve got a master’s degree of that caliber, how’d you end up as an event planner?”

“Well, believe it or not, the position does require historical knowledge,” you explained. “I started in curation, though— just moved to events because I was too cooped up in the back offices… I like meeting new people.”

Although Jackson would never consider himself particularly empathetic, he did think he had a decent sense of people— specifically, when they were lying. And that felt like a lie— a white lie, maybe, but still. A lie you were telling yourself most of all, that this was what you wanted to do. And it wasn’t that he really thought you disliked your job, moreso that his two weeks of following you did not indicate you harbored a strong desire to meet new people. You were a total homebody: rejecting offers to go out for drinks or dinner from friends and coworkers, staying up late watching TV instead of hitting the town or something, shrinking into your room every night and staying there until it was time to go to work again. He’d only seen you leave your house once that first weekend, and it was to pick up groceries— that’s it. No hot date, no concerts… almost no social life at all. Either you stayed late at the museum, or you went home.

And he also found that annoyingly attractive. Jackson, after all, was a workaholic himself; he imagined he would go out and do fun things, if he had the time, but right now nothing sounded better than going home and cuddling up with a sweet girl like you, being lazy couch potatoes together, resting after a long day of espionage, cyberterrorism, actual terrorism, and whatever else his work day got him up to.

….Jesus, when did he get so goddamn sentimental?!

“It certainly seems like a unique job,” Jackson replied.

“Every day’s a little different,” you agreed.

“Sounds like my job,” he snorted, “but I don’t work with other people much— I think it would be more entertaining with other people around. Especially when they can tell me everything there is to know about Incan art.”

“Okay, I don’t know everything,” you backpedaled, not seeming to really notice the larger sentiment of his statement, “but I can certainly hold my own. I like to think we all have something we know a little too much about, and could ramble for ages about.”

“Yeah, I hope so, or we’re just weirdos,” he chuckled. “For me it’s probably cocktails. I’m not an alcoholic or anything— I actually don’t drink that much, just socially, you know— but I have this thing where I can guess anybody’s favorite drink order.”

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he smirked, “but hold on, I can’t guess yours until I really get the vibes.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “yeah— vibes, sure.”

“Hmm,” he pondered, narrowing his eyes as he looked you up and down, biting his lip like he was really thinking about it.

Here was the hard part: he really hadn’t seen you go out for drinks this whole time, so he was actually going to have to guess. Of course, the fun part of this game was not actually getting it right— if anything, it worked better when he got corrected. All he really needed was to get you alone long enough to tell you who he really was, what he needed from you, and how he was going to motivate you to do it… but if he could actually seduce you first, that would be a hell of a bonus.

“I’m thinking something a little sweet, not too fruity though,” he thought aloud, “something classic— you have an old soul, I think.”

You seemed to be a little surprised by that analysis, but he figured that meant he was mostly right.

“Your cocktail of choice is, obviously, a sidecar,” he announced.

For a second, he thought he might have got it from the way you smiled, but then you started to laugh. “You were on the right track,” you admitted.

“Damn,” he snapped his fingers in playful frustration. After a pause, he realized, “you’re not gonna tell me?”

“I figured I’d give you another guess,” you explained.

“Or,” Jackson countered, “I could take you out tonight, and you could show me yourself. Your drink order, I mean.”

Alright, that was forward, but he figured he’d been doing well so far. Instead, though, you tensed up a bit, causing Jackson to knit his eyebrows together for a moment. “I would, really, but, I have plans tonight… with my boyfriend,” you said.

He swallowed behind a barely-suppressed frown. Following you for all this time and he hadn’t noticed any boyfriend; were you lying just to get him to back off? You’d seemed so flattered before. “Oh?” Jackson tried to get out in his most neutral voice. “That’s great— is he taking you somewhere nice?

“Even better,” you blinked quickly, a shy smile lifting your face. “He works here at the museum, but he’s been gone almost an entire month to pick up some artifacts from around Eastern Europe… hasn’t even been able to use a phone out there. So he’s promised to come over and give me a first look at everything he got, and apparently he’s brought something just for me, so…”

“That’s sweet,” Jackson replied, willing his nostrils not to twitch. “Nice to know he was thinking of you all the way over there. I travel a lot for my work, actually, and it’s… hard to find somebody loyal these days.”

You nodded in agreement, sighing slightly. “Yeah, it is.”

“I mean, gone for a month, no communication, no reminders of you— just out there surrounded by opportunities and nothing keeping him from them,” Jackson went on. “That’s a lot to get through without at least one drunken encounter.”

You furrowed your brow, looking at him with a sort of grimace. “I… I guess,” you mumbled in reply. “I do have a lot of work to get done so I think I’ll just let you explore,” you decided.

“What if I have more questions about the pieces?” he asked.

“Try reading the little plaque underneath it,” you suggested flatly, already turning and walking away.

Jackson watched to leave for a second before scoffing to himself. Bitch. But it didn’t make a difference anyways: one way or another, he was going to get to you— for the sake of the job, of course. Although this boyfriend character was certainly a spanner in the works of his secondary plan to get you in bed, Jackson had to admit that he was ultimately an advantage for his actual purpose with you: an attachment, something he could exploit to get what he wanted. Do what I say, or he gets hurt.

Of course, he knew he should use that to make you be his inside man for that stupid lecture series— he wasn’t going to get the second half of his payoff until the cartel had their chance to make an example out of the visiting politician. But, as a small smile crept over his face while he walked out of the museum, he realized that he could use his leverage for so much more than that.

The door was unlocked when you got home; beaming, you realized it meant that your boyfriend beat you here, and was likely waiting for you just around the corner.

“Babe?” you called out, shutting the door behind you and shirking your purse and blazer to set down on the wooden credenza.

And yes, he was waiting for you around the corner alright, but you gasped in shock and felt your stomach sink when you saw him. He was bound to a chair with zipties, restrained at his wrists and ankles with tape over his mouth, looking a bit roughed up and absolutely terrified.

“Oh my god!” you gasped, running to him, but he oddly seemed to pull away from you as much as he could when you tried to break one of the ties. “What the fuck, what’s— oh my god, are you—?” you rushed, not even knowing where to start and just focusing on freeing him. But he just kept letting out muffled grunts and shaking his head— like he didn’t want you to keep going. Of course, you’d been so shocked by it that you hadn’t even considered why he looked so scared, why he seemed to want you to get away from him: whoever did this was still in the house.

It seemed obvious in retrospect, but it was too late now; you screamed when someone grabbed you, but the sound was muted by a hand over your mouth. “Shh,” a voice beside your ear soothed as a blade pressed to your neck. “Nobody’s going to get hurt if you behave.”

Your boyfriend hung his head defeatedly, and you thought you heard the sound of him crying though it was hard to tell.

“You missed him quite a lot, didn’t you?” the man asked, and you wrinkled your brows together as you wondered how he could’ve known that he was gone for a while. “Left you all alone here, poor thing— probably got all worked up, lonely, needy… like three nights ago, when I saw you through your bedroom window, touching yourself."

Your face burned with humiliation— not even that he saw you doing that, really, but just knowing he'd been watching you for god-knows how long. That made you feel more violated than anything.

“Wanted to help you so bad,” he purred, “but I had to wait. I’m not waiting anymore— you’ve got me feeling pretty fucking impatient these days.”

You kept thinking about what you could do to get him away from you— his feet were just behind yours, you could stomp on his shoe and hope it hurt enough to distract him, or maybe you could wrench your elbow back into his side— but with the knife at your throat, you were afraid that he’d be faster than you if you tried anything. “Please just— don’t hurt me, please,” you begged, whimpering a little, not sure what else to say at a time like this.

“Oh, honey,” he cooed, “you sound so sweet when you’re scared.”

It was the way he said that word: sweet. It reminded you of before, something you’d done your best to forget about all day. Something a little sweet, not too fruity— that weird guy at the museum, he’d said it just like that. “Oh my god,” you breathed, “it’s— it’s you.”

“You remember my name, don’t you?” he smiled.

“Jackson,” you recalled, “you— oh my god—”

“I’m sure you’re a little relieved,” he chuckled, addressing your boyfriend with a grin as you turned your head enough to look up at his semi-familiar face. “She was so into me when we met today at the museum,” Jackson informed him proudly. “You wanted me to fuck you then, didn’t you, baby?”

“No I fucking di—” you began to deny with a sneer, but he quieted you with a finger over your mouth— of course, a finger from the hand still holding the knife, to remind you exactly why you should stop talking.

“Now, try anything, I might just have to hurt you— or, better yet, your shitstain boyfriend over there,” Jackson warned. “I’m just waiting for an excuse to break a few of his fingers. Don’t give me one.”

Swallowing, you shut your eyes for a longer moment— you couldn’t believe this was actually happening, like one of those horrific news articles you read before bed just to torture yourself. Like one of those horror movies guys think are campy and fun but give you the most awful sick feeling because that could really happen. And now it was really happening, and your first thought was somehow to wonder what you did wrong to let this happen.

“So, are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked, tilting his head down to look at you questioningly.

You nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” you answered quickly, and he snarled with frustration.

“No, baby, say it like I said it,” he insisted, his tone a warning not to test him again.

“I’m gonna be… I’m gonna be a good girl…” you choked out.

“Whose good girl?” he taunted, and you groaned as you shut your eyes, feeling him pull you closer to him and press his face close to yours.

“Yours! Your good girl,” you spat out, breath picking up as you heard him purr against your cheek. “Jackson— please, you don’t… you don’t have to do this. Please don’t do this.”

You shivered as the knife pressed against you again and moved from your neck down to your shirt, gently slicing off the top button and exposing a little more of your chest. “Mm, but I want to,” he explained, “wanted you since I first saw you.”

You hated the realization that he likely first saw you quite some time ago, before you ever knew he existed, and that he’d been waiting for this ever since then.

“I think it turns you on, knowing I can do whatever I want to you,” he presumed, cutting off a second button from your shirt.

“Please just go,” you begged, starting to properly cry as his teeth grazed your neck. “You’re right— you can do whatever you want. I can’t stop you. Isn’t that what you wanted to prove? Just… just don’t make me—”

“Make you?” he repeated. “No, no— you wanted me. I could tell. Only thing stopping you was him.”

He pointed towards your boyfriend with the knife in his hand, who looked devastated and horrified to say the least.

“You could do better, by the way,” Jackson informed you. “You should be with somebody who can really treat you right.”

Another button fell to the floor; your bra was visible now, baby pink lace, and your nipples hardened from the cool air on your skin— that, and the way Jackson’s breath fanned across the nape of your neck.

“Are you getting wet for me, baby?” he whispered to you as his knife trailed delicately over your skin, tracing the curve of your breasts. “Think it’s time for me to finally give you what you need?”

You took a deep, but shaky, breath as you tried to put on a brave face and brace for what was to come. “My… my bedroom is upstairs,” you whispered, and Jackson laughed in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Oh, eager already,” he taunted.

“I just wanna get this over with,” you insisted.

“Sure,” he said facetiously with a mischievous smirk and a wink to match; you felt like you were gonna be sick. “But bedrooms are a little, you know… basic? That’s probably what you’re used to, real traditional stuff: missionary, in the bed, in the dark, for a few minutes on weekends only. That’s the vibe I’m getting, at least. You’re not used to being with somebody romantic— you know, spontaneous.”

He turned you around to face him, making you yelp a little as he spoke by your ear.

“Somebody who just has to have you; right here, right now,” he cooed, running his tongue along the outside of your ear before suddenly kissing roughly along your neck.

“N-no, please,” you begged, imagining the humiliation you were in store for if he really did fuck you on your living room floor in front of the man you loved. “Please, I— I said I’ll be good for you, just— take me to my room, please.”

"No, baby,” Jackson purred as he held your chin, “let’s show your little boyfriend here what you look like when a real man fucks you, huh?"

Whining, you jerked your arms forward to try to break away, but it only ensured the bruises his fingers would leave on your skin.

A second later, you were shoved to the ground, and he was on top of you wearing a wide grin. You could hear your boyfriend kicking and screaming in the corner, but your attention was more focused on Jackson starting to open his belt.

"Fuck! Get the fuck off of me!" you yelped, kicking and shoving as hard as you could and finding each one more helpless than the last. "You— you fucking piece of shit!"

He smacked you across the face only to pull it back harshly by the jaw, glaring into your eyes. "Better be careful with that dirty mouth," he warned, shoving two fingers between your lips until you gagged on them. "Don't need to wash that out with soap, do we?"

As you choked, you shook your head, hoping it would be enough of an apology to get you some air.

"How about come?" he joked, making you gag for more than one reason, and he laughed at the tears that rolled down your temples.

He took his fingers out of your mouth and reached down to his fly again, letting out a small satisfied sigh as he freed himself. You sobbed a little when you accidentally caught a glimpse of his erection in his hand; he grunted when you tried to push him off again, and responded by grabbing both your wrists and pinning them down above your head. He hummed as he stroked himself a bit, looking down at you trapped under him.

“Thought you said you were gonna be good for me,” he recalled, chuckling when you bit your shaking lip. “You sure you don’t need me to hurt Romeo over there, give you a little motivation?”

You shook your head. “No— I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say. Don’t hurt him.”

“Open your legs,” he ordered.

Hesitantly, you lifted your legs up a bit and spread them, cringing at the happy groan you heard when your skirt started to roll up your thighs.

“Don’t move your hands,” he warned before he let go of them, leaning back and looking down at you: spread out under him, his for the taking.

He snapped off the last few buttons of your shirt, humming when your torso was exposed further. His hand started at your neck and ran down to grope your chest through the lacy bra; he purred, pinching your hardened nipples until you were forced to react.

Pulling it down, he took a quick breath at the sight of your bare tits— his chest rising and falling— and he set his knife aside to knead them both with a hum. "Been thinking about these for a while…" he mumbled. You gasped when he leaned down and captured a nipple in his mouth, suckling with a wide mouth as you scrunched your nose and looked away. Still, it made your insides pulse when he swirled his tongue around, only to pop off a second later and move to the other. "Damn," he breathed, leaning back again to move his attention lower.

Starting at your knees, he rubbed your legs carefully, moving a little higher every time until he was gripping needily at your thighs; his own breathing was a little faster as he did it.

You hadn't exactly imagined how this would be, obviously, but you still were surprised at how long he was taking. Was he just trying to build up the anticipation to scare you? Or was it for his own benefit?

He was gentle for just a few seconds before suddenly flaring his nostrils and ripping your stockings open. Through the new hole in the fabric, he rubbed your panties and you bit down on your tongue to avoid crying any harder.

“Fuck,” he breathed, then laughed, as he pet your cunt through the lace— they matched your bra, of course. Your boyfriend was coming back from a long trip, you’d wanted to do something nice for him… that idea backfired completely. “All dressed up, matching and everything… you’re too good to me, babydoll.”

You were about to correct him, make sure both of them knew that this had nothing to do with Jackson, but your open mouth only let out a gasp when Jackson pulled your panties aside to touch you.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned when he slid two fingers between your lips. “So wet. Fuck. When’d you get like that, huh? Hmm, it was the knife, wasn’t it?”

He looked over at your boyfriend and gave him a terribly smug look while he slipped a finger inside your hole.

“Women like a sense of danger,” he informed the tied man flatly. “But… I think your girl likes it even more than most.”

You flexed on his finger, turning his attention back to you, and he licked his lips as he slipped another finger in until you winced.

“That’s too much for you already, baby?” he noticed. “Fuck, I might break you…”

He curled the fingers inside you, clearly trying to get you warmed up for him, and you shut your eyes tight in hopes your face wouldn’t show any reaction. There was a sense of relief when he stopped and pulled his fingers out, but it didn’t last long since the next thing he did was grab your jaw and press those fingers to your lips.

“Ever tasted yourself before?” he asked, and you tried to turn your face away but it was useless. “Come on, it’s good, I’ll show you.”

He licked his own fingers first, moaning in satisfaction as he did it.

“Fuck, it’s sweet,” he promised. “Now you try it.”

This time, when he put his fingers to your mouth, you opened it and let him push them inside. He slid them over your tongue, watching you with dark eyes.

“Suck them,” he instructed you quietly, almost a whisper, and though your cheeks burned you wrapped your lips around his fingers and hollowed your cheeks. “Mm, that’s it— see, you can be a good girl. Knew you could.”

You were panting a little, for some reason, when he took his fingers away, leaving your mouth slack and wet. He brought his hands down to his fly to finish freeing his cock, and you looked up, to the side, basically anywhere but at… that.

“Look at it,” he encouraged you, and you shook your head. “Don’t you wanna see it before I put it inside you?”

You figured you could get him to shut up if you just did it, so you went ahead and took a glance down at his erection in his hand, only for a terrified whimper to catch in your throat.

“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he grinned. “Trying to remember the last time you had a dick this big, right?”

Trying to figure out how that’s supposed to fit.

“Get on your hands and knees for me,” he demanded suddenly, sitting back enough to get you room to do it.

You hesitated, and he suddenly looked angry as he grabbed your wrist and yanked you up a bit until you yelped.

“Go on! Hands and fucking knees, did I stutter?” he ordered, louder.

You were a little sore and weak all over, and it became even more apparent when you awkwardly got up off the floor; you avoided your boyfriend’s gaze as you took the position, opting to just stare down at the rug under you instead, suddenly fascinated by every detail in hopes it could somehow distract you from this. From the feeling of him delicately pushing your skirt up over your ass and his hands all over you, from the way he pushed your knees apart with his own and settled between them, from the sick drop in your stomach as his cock’s head rubbed over your clit and lined up to your opening. Yes, it sure was a riveting pattern on this rug alright…

But, of course, Jackson wouldn’t let you get through this that easily. “Beg for it,” you heard his firm voice from behind you.

“Jackson, come on, I—” you choked, “I— just—”

“It’s okay, babydoll, go on…” he egged you on, as if shyness was the reason you were hesitating.

“Please…” you began, shutting your eyes tightly. “Please fuck me.”

You tried not to react too much when he pushed inside, but it was big, and he himself let out a husky groan at the feeling as he filled you. You managed to stay silent at first, but a little squeak came out halfway through, and it turned into a loud sigh when he was all the way inside. “Fuck,” he breathed, dropping his head back with a breathy laugh. “Fuck, it’s tight. Guess that’s what happens when nobody’s here to treat you right— and I don’t just mean because he was out of town. I can tell nobody’s given you what you need in a long time…”

Before you could wonder what could possibly make him capable of telling that, he took a tight hold of your hips and began to fuck you— slower than you expected, but not quite delicate.

Shaking, you tried to keep yourself propped up on your wobbly arms as he set his pace, and tried to keep yourself quiet while he did this. The last thing he needed was any more reasons to think you liked this.

Still, you couldn’t fight the whimper that came when he suddenly slammed himself into you, rougher than before; your thighs even quivered for a moment. “Fuck,” you choked out, under your breath, and he hummed back at you as he sped up a little.

“Not too deep, is it?” he asked, though it didn’t seem like he was actually concerned for your well-being (obviously). “Not used to anything this big, huh?”

You were afraid he was going to force you to answer that, but instead he surprised you by putting a hand between your shoulder blades and shoving you down; you gasped and grunted when your chest pressed to the floor, your face thankfully turned to the side against the rug— but unfortunately, it meant you were looking right at your boyfriend. You had to shut your eyes, too ashamed that he was seeing you like this.

“There, you like that better?” he purred as he held your hips up against his, but the new angle only forced him deeper until you were choking on nothing with every thrust. Your hands searched wildly along the floor for something to hold onto, but eventually just had to settle for gripping the rug for dear life. “Mm, fuck, s’good— you feel so fucking good, baby…”

The compliment sent an unwilling shiver up your spine, and your back arched even deeper than he’d forced it to. It was too much, it was all far too much, but your toes were curling inside your (ruined) pantyhose and you bit down on your lip without thinking about it.

“Oh, see how much she likes it?” Jackson grunted, apparently still addressing the captive boyfriend in the chair— you really wished he would just leave him out of this. “Fuck, what a pretty little whore…”

Not only could he switch from sickly-sweet to rageful in a moment, but you realized that he could somehow seem to be both at once. Still spitting out praises and insults all at one, he fucked you rougher and meaner as your moans— pain or pleasure, you couldn’t tell anymore and you didn’t want to— grew louder. He kept getting more aggressive— harder and faster, harder and faster— until you were all but screaming and you couldn’t keep your hips up anymore. Each thrust pushed you down until you were flat against the floor, but he kept fucking you and holding the back of your neck. One thrust seemed to go too deep suddenly, and you yelped as you reached back to try to grab his thigh out of instinct.

“Shh, shh, s’okay, baby,” he assured with a hiss. “Fuck.”

But he kept doing it, kept fucking you deep (if a little slower) as you whined and shook under him. “Jackson,” you heard yourself breathe, “please— I-I can’t—”

“God,” he growled, “say my name again. That’s so hot.”

You hadn’t meant it like that, but now it was too late. “N-no,” you tried to deny, but that didn’t last long as he grabbed you by the hair and forced your head up, laying over you enough to speak right against your ear.

“Say. My fucking. Name,” he spat.

“Jackson,” you choked out against the strain on your throat from having your neck cranked back like this. “Jackson, f-fuck—”

He groaned and dropped your head, propping himself up so he could fuck you faster again; his gaze moved down to where his body filled yours, where each thrust made your ass bounce under torn pantyhose…

As he slowed down for a moment, panting, you wondered if maybe it was almost over— maybe it already was, but that seemed too good to be true. He was still holding you down just as hard, anyway; he put his whole weight on your arms as he turned to look at your boyfriend tied up in the chair.

"Does she do anal?" Jackson asked him point-blank.

Your struggle renewed as you screamed angrily— but you couldn't keep it up, it fell into a helpless sob a moment later. Your boyfriend didn't give much of an answer— couldn't, really, on account of the duct tape— just kicked around against his restraints again.

Jackson shrugged as he looked down at you crying under him. "Well, you do now," he decided, pulling out and spitting into his hand.

You’d never felt so helpless, laying there on the floor while he pushed his fat tip up to your puckered hole. “Please,” you begged for mercy, but you didn’t even have the energy to lift your head from the rug and it was all muffled and pathetic.

“It’s really not that bad,” he insisted as he started to press forward, but your whole body jumped and you let out a loud whine when his head slipped inside with a sort of pop— all that pressure giving way to a sick, stinging stretch.

“Oh my god oh my god,” you whimpered, feeling goosebumps break out all over your body from the sharp pain. “I can’t— please, I really can’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna go real slow,” he promised under his breath, moaning loudly as he pushed in a little deeper. Laying on the floor like this, there was really nowhere for you to go, no way to run from the feeling. “Just breathe, long slow breaths— focus on staying relaxed.”

Frustratingly, it was actually pretty good advice; it certainly didn’t make it painless, but when you shut your eyes and thought as much about breathing and as little about anything else as you could, it helped.

“See? Just relax, babydoll,” he whispered, but relaxing could only do so much as he slid the rest of the way in and you felt like your whole body might go numb. Your eyes rolled back, your insides (all of them, it seemed) flexed, your heart was pounding… you felt sick, and disgusting, and used.

He breathed heavy as he laid his weight on top of you, slipping an arm under you to wrap around your shoulders and neck.

"Fuck, that's a tight fuckin' ass," he grunted, laughing a little as he glanced at your boyfriend, slowly beginning to move again. "This one's got you spoiled, huh? How'd a loser like you get your hands on a perfect fucktoy like this?"

He bit down on the shell of your ear as he picked up his pace quickly— way too quickly— and soon he was growling each time he slammed his hips against your ass. You couldn’t even tell what noises you were making anymore…

"But you're gonna be mine now," he whispered to you. "Oh fuck, s'all gonna be mine. Gonna fill these pretty holes of yours every fuckin' day."

You dropped your head down defeatedly onto the floor, though shocks of pain were still making your fingers and toes curl while he roughly fucked your other hole.

“Yeah, fuck, you fuckin’ like it,” he snarled as he fucked you faster. “Needy little slut. You like getting all your holes filled, huh?”

You simply bit down on your lip, not realizing it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Answer me," he insisted.

"I-I don't like it," you said— quietly, because if you spoke any louder it would've been mostly unintelligible with sobs.

"Huh?" he taunted, leaning in closer.

"It hurts, Jackson," you choked, pleading.

“No?” he noticed, feigning shock with heavy sarcasm in his tone. “Are you saying you don’t like it up the ass?”

“Please, please,” you choked out, “fuckin’ hurts— god, please, hurts—”

"You don't like it, sweetheart?" he cooed at you, cloying condescension dripping from every word as he roughly pet the hair out of your face. You whined and shook your head. "Well, I could always put it back in your cunt, would that make you feel better?"

He chuckled at your grimace of disgust.

"Is that too dirty for you?" he wondered, clicking his tongue. "Aw, it's okay, just gonna give you what you wanted— hold still, baby."

You winced when he pulled out of your ass, only to whine as he slid back into your cunt; you hid your face, feeling how absurdly warm it had become from all this, and tried not to think about how dehumanizing what he had just done to you was.

He picked his pace right back up when he entered you, letting out a deep groan of satisfaction. "Oh my god you're fucking dripping, is that from being fucked in your little ass?" he noticed. "Jesus Christ, wettest fucking pussy I ever had... somebody likes it dirty, hm?"

You wanted to deny it, but he wasn’t lying about your physical reaction; you were soaking, and you didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like you found much pleasure in that experience physically, it was rather agonizing— and then there was the thought of it, of knowing you’d been used that way, and it just made you feel dizzy and weird. Regardless, it was true… your body responded even when your mind was running in circles convincing itself there was nothing enjoyable about this.

“Such a pretty thing,” Jackson purred at you as he sped up again, shaking your whole body against the floor— that arm around your shoulders was the only thing keeping you from being pushed away, and he held you tightly like he really was worried you’d get away somehow, even though you’d stopped resisting quite a while ago.

At least it didn’t hurt anymore— except that you were still a little sore, and he was holding you too tight and his weight made it hard to breathe, and you were probably going to get rug burn, and you felt disgusting. But in a literal sense, it hurt less.

“Think I need to turn you over and get a good look at that pretty face,” he decided, pulling out of you and rolling you onto your back. Maybe it was just because you knew it was only for a moment, but being empty wasn’t as much of a relief as you expected. You were pretty much limp by this point, letting him turn you over and simply looking up at him blankly. “Oh,” he said as he smiled proudly, “look how fucked out you look— and I’m not even done with you yet.”

Lifting your legs and pressing them against your chest, he slid back in until he was deeper than you thought possible, and you gasped and shivered helplessly. “F-fuck, wait—“

He started to fuck into you quickly, and you nearly screamed, reaching down to try to hold his thigh or push him back or something to keep him from going so far inside you, but nothing deterred him. For how drained you were a moment ago, the shock of this gave you renewed energy, and you hated feeling your walls bear down on him in sick, overwhelming pleasure. “Oh god,” he moaned, “so fucking good.”

As hard as you were trying not to be loud, your efforts were lost when he reached down and roughly rubbed at your swollen clit; again, you tried to reach to stop him, holding onto his wrist and pushing his hand away with all your strength, but he bested you easily and kept going. “Fuck!” you screamed. “Please, please— it’s too much, I—”

“It’s okay, baby,” he soothed, watching proudly as your back arched and your head tilted back with a gasp.

You hadn’t even realized you were building to an orgasm— you would’ve sworn you weren’t, before, but now you felt all sensitive and sticky, and his thumb on your clit was relentless, and the shivers that had been running all over you all evening were turning into hard, heavy jolts of— of something. Something you’d been holding back longer than you realized. Something you hadn’t felt in much, much longer than three weeks.

“It’s okay,” he kept encouraging you with a proud grin that turned into a growl through his teeth as he fucked you harder. “Show him what it looks like when you’re not faking it, babydoll. Show him who you really belong to now.”

“Please,” you cried, the word barely spoken and more just a shape you made around your cries. If he didn’t stop now, you wouldn’t be able to, either; you were spasming uncontrollably, inside and out, it was just getting worse and worse (or better and better, depending on how you looked at it).

It felt fucking good. You would die before you admitted it, but you didn’t have to— it was obvious. And it was overtaking everything now, even your shame, until for one impossible moment, you were completely shameless. You weren’t sure you had ever felt quite like that before— not just physically, but spiritually. Shameless. Even though all you’d felt until now was ashamed. “Good girl,” Jackson praised you, though it was sort of lost on you as you were coming down from a high that hit you hard enough to not even feel real until it was nearly over.

It was like time had slowed down, and then snapped back to superspeed, to hyperreality, when he finally pulled his hand away and let you have a small reprieve.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come, oh my god," he gasped, his voice getting oddly high-pitched as he said it. "Want me to come inside, babydoll, or paint that pretty face?"

“Not… not inside,” you warned, just conscious enough to remember that.

“Mm? Why not?” he smirked.

You were still blinking away the blurriness in your vision, panting, trying to process all that you’d just felt— so you really didn’t have any energy for stupid questions like that. “What?” you just asked groggily. “Why… why do you think?!”

He just laughed briefly— more like a hum— and kept going. Of course, you should’ve known he’d do it once he realized your boyfriend didn’t; but wasn’t it enough that you and your boyfriend used condoms and Jackson had already gone past that?

“Just— just don’t,” you begged again, shut up with a firm hand over your mouth suddenly as he grunted lowly above you with each thrust.

“Fuck,” he said, a sort of warning though it wasn’t specific. “Fuck!”

He bit his lip when it happened; you shut your eyes, not wanting to see his face all slack and flushed like that with his hair falling forward and his neck and jaw flexing. But closing your eyes only made the feeling inside you more undeniable: the rush of warmth, the flexing against your walls as he pushed himself in as deep as he could. You whimpered a little, though you weren’t sure it was audible to anyone but yourself, and Jackson sighed as he emptied himself into you.

He took his hand away with a deep breath, and all you did was let your mouth fall open and your eyes blink numbly— what else was there to do?

As he caught his breath, he laughed a little, very softly; he put his hands on the floor beside your head, propping himself up but letting his head hang down loosely for a second— he was still smiling.

“You’re… you’re really something else, you know that, babydoll?” he informed you.

You didn’t say anything, and he sighed again just before he pulled out— you both winced, for different reasons, and he took a moment to hold your legs open so he could look at what he’d done to you; you felt filthy and exposed like that, but you were too weak to try to stop him or even to close your legs.

“Now that’s just beautiful,” he decided in reaction to whatever he saw; you didn’t want to picture it, how stretched out and used up you must look, but you could feel his come oozing out, running down.

Some of the numbness was already wearing off, at least physically, and you were beginning to realize how purely un-ergonomic it was to get fucked on the floor. Your back and shoulders were sore, your legs were tight when you finally got to lay them down again after being held up for so long… you tried not to imagine how long you’d be feeling the effects of this, wearing bruises and feeling knots and having to know exactly where they came from.

“Come on,” he mumbled as he lifted up your limp upper body, pulling you closer to him. He held your face for a second, petting your cheek which was still a bit clammy with sweat. “Kiss me,” he demanded, though he said it somewhat softly; you didn’t actually sit up and do it for him, but you let him press his lips to yours and you tried your best to half-heartedly mirror his movements as he did it.

He held your head and neck more firmly and slid his tongue into the kiss, making you whimper a little but that was the end of your protest. You thought it was a little strange that he wanted to kiss you now, but maybe it was just a matter of claiming you in the final way since he’d pretty much covered all the others.

When he broke away, he brushed his thumb over your cheek and smiled at you sweetly.

It’s over, you told yourself, hoping to feel more relieved. It’s over, he’s finally done with you. You did it. It’s over. But as those words repeated in your mind, you only felt emptier than ever.

“Look at your boy over there,” Jackson mumbled beside your ear, a smirk on his lips as he shook you a bit with the arm around you. “You see it, don’t you? He looks different now.”

You dared to glance at your captive boyfriend, who you realized you hadn’t heard muffled protests from in quite some time. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, but dark, too; his stare was heavy and piercing. You suddenly felt sick.

“He looks at you different now.”

You bit down on your lip as it started to shake; you felt worse than ever with him looking at you like that. Things hadn’t been perfect before he left— nothing’s ever perfect— but they were good, and easy, and now you felt like he hated you. But what had you done wrong? All you’d done was try to keep him unharmed by appeasing this awful, horrible person…

Jackson had already been speaking quietly, but he dropped his voice down to whisper as he rubbed your shoulder. “I don’t think he’ll look at you the same way ever again,” he posited, and you swallowed as your stomach dropped.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you whispered under your breath.

“He’s never seen you like that before,” Jackson explained, “and he understands now that he can’t do for you what I can.”

Jackson brought his hand to his own chest as he said that, but then reached up to wipe up another tear that rolled down your cheek. “Please,” you said, looking at your boyfriend though he wouldn’t meet your gaze, “don’t— don’t think that I— it’s not my fault! I didn’t want this to happen!”

“Shh, you don’t have to lie anymore,” Jackson cooed at you, “we’ve all seen the truth now, it’s alright.”

You were exhausted, you were devastated, you were too overwhelmed to even feel terrified anymore; you dropped your head onto Jackson’s shoulder defeatedly. After all you’d been through tonight, you were starting to lose track of what was real anymore.

He let you cry quietly against him for a while, petting your head, until finally breaking the silence. “Now, the thing is, there’s actually just… one more thing I need you to do for me,” he admitted, and you started to cry harder again.

“Please— please, I did everything you asked,” you sputtered out through your tears, “you took. Everything. From me.”

“Hold on, that’s not true,” he frowned, “you’ve still got your cuck boyfriend over there, even if he’s not quite what he used to be— you still love him, don’t you? Can’t help that?”

“O-of course I do,” you insisted, feeling oddly guilty as you said it.

“So, you don’t want me to hurt him?”

Even if this was the end— even if he would hold what was done to you against you, which would break your heart— you couldn’t have that on your conscience. You shook your head.

“I didn’t think so,” Jackson nodded, “you’re too sweet for that. I won’t hurt him, and I’ll let him go, if you promise to do what I ask you to.”

“What more… what more could you possibly want…” you breathed, shaking your head, trying not to imagine what else there was for him to do to you.

“Something a lot less fun than what I wanted before,” he smirked. “What I need from you now is purely work-related.”

You wrinkled your brows together with a sniffle as you began to slowly compose yourself. “Work…?”

“Let me tell you a little bit more about what I do for a living…”

#jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner dark fic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #red eye fanfic

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cybunii · 2 months

Text

HIDE AND SEEK

“Let's play a little game and have fun”

a/n: so glad this is finally finished >< I do have a part two planned but I have NO idea when that would come out. this is the longest thing i have written so far- pairing: Leon Kennedy x GN! Reader tw: stalking, dub/non-con, slight mentions of somnophilia, intercrural sex/thigh fucking, gaslighting, murder and drugging, Leon is a prick :3, obsessive and manipulative behavior, possible kidnapping, etc.

It was safe.

You lived in a relatively small town, and never seeing any reports of kidnapping or murders on your TV made life easy to live. The worst things to happen were food shortages because of the slow drivers, or maybe the power going out because of the awful storms.

You never had to worry about anything. You worked at the little grocery store on the corner, going between the deli and the floral department when needed. After working there for years, you knew everyone who lived there, eventually knowing their names and where they lived. You had made it a point to talk to everyone you saw, wanting them to feel welcome and seen, it was just a small habit you picked up.

It wasn't the most exciting job in the world, but it was nice to be able to pay rent and have a routine. The days when partners would come in gushing about who they were buying flowers for were your favorite, let it be birthdays, holidays, or just a random event. It made your day, and you weren't even the one receiving the flowers.

It seemed like you were the outcast in the town, not because no one liked you, but because you didn't have kids or a partner. It didn't bother you about the kids, you were never too fond of having them. Cute, but not for you. The partner subject was a harder thing to explain, you were used to living and being alone so it didn't bother you much.

You always thought of that as you made the arrangements, the feeling of someone putting their heart into making something so special for you.

This puts you to right now, placing together an arrangement while Mrs. Green talks about her grandkids. You often wondered if she actually liked them with how much she complained about them. They were bad kids though, and got into trouble every week.

“…And of course Parker has to follow in Taylor’s footsteps and tear up the place, knocking over my expensive vase- the one you got me for my birthday-” She explains, covering her mouth as she realizes what she said. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry…”

You shake your head and put on your best fake smile, holding up a hand to ease her worries.

“It’s quite alright Mrs. Green, you know how kids are.” You shrug, but internally your wallet dies. You hunted for that vase for hours, finally getting one on sale for roughly $260. Damn those kids.

She wraps up the conversation maybe a few minutes later, rattling off some reason about cooking her famous chicken again.

You lived next to her and smelled whatever she cooked while you had your windows open, if the smells were any indication, she was a damn good cook.

I mean anything smelled good to you. You weren’t a 5-star chef or anything, but you could cook decent meals. Better than the college route of sandwiches and noodles. Those were the days.

It doesn’t take long for the day to end, only having a few people working in the store meant shorter closing hours, and getting to go home earlier than most was a perk. You walk out after closing up, locking the door, and practically crashing into Mr. West, basically the head of the events committee for this town.

“Woah! Be careful there sweetheart.” He said, chuckling like he wasn’t the reason of you almost falling on him.

“Sorry, what’s up?” You asked, actually interested this time. The last time he planned something, the entire town showed up, it was one of the most exciting things to happen in this town in a while.

“Well, I came to formally invite you to the little get-together I’ve been planning for the new neighbor, I want to help make them feel welcomed here.” He grins, clasping his hands together as he talks, I guess that makes sense, everyone here knows each other so a new person joining may feel out of place, almost like a new kid joining a new school. Possibly horrifying to experience.

“A new person? Where at?” You ask, not seeing any empty buildings near your house. Then again it had been a while since you last looked, and the Gold family has been strangely absent.

“Right on the corner, lil white house with the blue shutters?”

You nod in acknowledgment, suddenly knowing where that one is and frowning at the fact.

That house has been abandoned for years, I mean long before you even moved into your little place. The blue didn’t look as vibrant and the white was a sad and dirty grey.

The inside of the house is just as run down as the outside was. Broken furniture litters the house, most have fallen from their resting places and piled up on each other. The walls are cracked and the floor is covered in dirt and grass that have grown inside the house.

“Ah, yeah. That one…”

Mr. West nods, almost uncaring about the state of the house. “Yup, been meaning to sell that house for ages. Nice to see some new meat round here.”

“Guess so, but I’ll be glad to take you up on that offer. What’s the details for it?” You ask, taking out your phone.

He practically swats your phone away, shaking his head in disappointment. “Ah don’t worry about that old thing, I got letters to send out, you’ll see it when it arrives!” He bids his goodbyes and quickly walks off down the sidewalk, assuming he’s knocking on the door of your neighbors next.

On your journey back home, you take an extra second to look at the house, it being the same way you remembered it. You thought they’d at least try and clean it up, but maybe the person isn’t here yet. The mailbox at least looked new, a nice shiny baby blue color, the black numbers on the side reading “205.”

If first impressions mean anything, the entrance having some pop to it makes it easier on the eyes and matches the house too.

But something about the house seems off. You can't put your finger on it, but something feels...wrong about it.

But maybe that's just the strange aura the abandoned house brings. You continue the trek to your house, thinking about the invitation that the city council member gave you previously before reaching your street. The quiet road is mostly void of any human activity, with the occasional leaf floating down on the wind and the birds fluttering through the air.

Having no information on it so far makes it hard to plan anything out, especially if the letter gets sent too late.

You stop in your tracks at the small glimpse of color resting on your doormat, squinting your eyes at it and deciding it’s too far away to actually tell what it is.

You make small strides to your front porch, your pepper spray in hand when you pause, almost laughing at the fact that you almost pepper sprayed a bouquet of flowers. You frown and pick it up, the display of flowers similarly close to the arrangement you made earlier that day.

You suspiciously inspect it with squinted eyes, turning it around before finding the note secured by a ribbon that’s wrapped around the middle.

“Thought you deserved these more. <3”

That’s nothing short of weird.

Not only did the note have some sort of…stain on it, the handwriting is damn near illegible, barely being able to read the poorly attempted cursive on the small note.

You don’t even know who sent these but it already seems annoying. No return address and no name means there’s someone too shy to approach you, a loser in your eyes. Could be a cute loser, those are fun.

You shrug it off and walk in your house, flowers in hand as you place them on the kitchen counter, scouring your cabinets for a vase that’s suitable for them. You know it’s your work, just strange on how it ended up back in your hands. You grab the glass from under the cabinet, putting fresh water in it as you trim the bottom of the stems, carefully setting them in the vase on the counter. You’d have to pick up flower food later, but you can always do that tomorrow, not like you don’t already have a shift at the grocery store in the morning.

It’s a weird, possibly fucked up scenario, but It’s almost sweet in a way. Maybe in a school girl way, with your crush or secret admirers sticking notes or love letters in the slots of your locker. Grinning as you show your friends, the ecstatic look on their faces as they encourage you to go over to them, to thank them or ask them out on a date.

You’ll have to think of consequences later.

But now? You’ll happily sip your drink and stare at the flowers, daydreaming about who could possibly be your secret admirer.

The next day at work is just as boring, but this time your manager Beck did assign someone to your department, so now you’ll only have flowers today. She is in the office today, and you being her favorite employee, she often hangs around, picking up scraps and putting together some of the orders.

“You hear about the new guy?” She asked, lazily throwing together another order of red roses.

New guy huh? Guess Mr. West didn’t mention who the new neighbor could be.

“Somewhat, already got an invite to that huge gathering West is planning.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes at the mention of both the gathering and West. They were together at some point, could be rumors, but you can’t deny seeing her knuckles turn white on occasion as she clenches her fists together. Just hearing about him must make her angry.

“I heard. Can’t wait for that.”

“It won’t be so bad, maybe it’ll be nice to get the town together again. Especially for the all-famous new guy.” You offer with a shrug, knowing you could care less about all of it.

It’s not like you hated the poor guy right off the bat, but with every conversation being centered around him? It makes him seem like the next Jesus Christ. With even you knowing about him, the entire town is probably waiting for his arrival. And you know these people, already have assumptions based on his name, of which you don’t even know. You’d almost feel bad if you didn’t already have your own assumptions.

He better live up to the hype, or these people will eat him alive.

“…you know, I actually saw him when he was touring the house,” Beck says with a grin, and you already know the look on her face. She’s a romantic at heart, can’t really blame her.

“Oh yeah, panty-dropping?”

She laughs and rolls her eyes, but you know it’s true. She’s attractive, but her college days will never leave her. You cannot forget the drunken stories she’s rambled to you about them practically lining up outside her dorm, and honestly? Good for her.

Only action you get is from whatever you watch on television, or recently that weird-ass admirer situation. You keep your mouth shut about that, not that you don’t trust her, but she’ll make it a much bigger thing than you need right now. The last thing you need is more attention for this weird display of affection.

“Well, he’s kinda tall, intimidating but has a cute baby face- Oh! And the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever seen.” She smiles, practically glowing red.

“Sounds boring, there’s like a million of those already.” You shrug, crossing your arms after putting down the completed order.

“This one is different! There’s something about his eyes, he’s mysterious.” She nods, a mischievous expression on her face.

“Right, I’ll see for myself whenever this party happens.”

Beck waves you off with her hand and goes into the break room, maybe to smoke again, it has been a while since her last break.

It’s been a while since your break as well, and no one is near the counter, and you’ve finished all your orders for today. What harm could a break do? You follow in her footsteps and walk back to your locker, opening it and sifting through your bag. After a few moments you forget what you’re looking for, but the lack of your lighter makes you pause.

Very small thing, but still noticeable. You step outside and eye Beck up and down with a suspicious look, squinting your eyes at her.

“What?” She asks, blowing out the smoke.

“Did you grab my lighter? It’s gone.”

She raises an eyebrow and shakes her head, pulling out her bright yellow lighter. “Nope, got mine right here. Anyone else smoke?”

“Nah, just us. Damn, I liked that one.” You feel your pockets one last time and lean against the wall, now having to buy yet another lighter.

“How do you keep losing yours?” She laughs at you, and you shrug, not like you have any idea. You have a good memory but misplace the small things, you think it’s only natural.

“No clue, maybe I’m being haunted.”

The woman laughs again and shakes her head. "Haunted by who? A ghost with something to gain from you? I heard that is an incredibly rare phenomenon."

It doesn't seem crazy, in fact, the idea feels...plausible. The spirits that haunt this area are mostly vengeful, but that still doesn't explain why they would send you things. What would a vengeful spirit have to gain from giving you gifts?

“Yknow, I’ve got this other guy, names L? Supposedly runs a business catching ghosts, people eat that shit up. He’s basically swimming in money.” She nods with a serious look, pointing her finger at you.

And? Yeah okay- Sometimes you can’t tell if she’s actually serious or just fucking with you.

You don’t offer up a reply, instead staring at her with a disappointed look. She shrugs in response, taking a drag off her cigarette.

She continues smoking, blowing out a puff of grey smoke that wafts up and drifts away in the wind. It has a pleasant smell, the scent of flowers and honey-like fruits. It is soothing. The woman's expression remains as nonchalant as it was previously.

“Might head in, heard someone at the counter.” It’s cutting your break a few minutes short, but not like you can do anything else.

Have to add that to your list of things to do later.

Care about the consequences of keeping the flowers, buy a new lighter, and use your break time wisely.

You make a mental note of those three things. The rest of your shift goes as smoothly as expected, though you have a nagging feeling that there is something off about the house you saw earlier. That feeling, mixed with the strange gifts and Beck's strange comment has your mind racing.

That night you had to close late, the customers obviously not understanding closing hours. You get people need food, but they could’ve cleared their schedules or something- Maybe even get there the next morning when you first open. Beck couldn’t close because her cat sitter said he got sick, so she had to rush home and get him to the vet- which is unfortunately hours away.

You make your rounds through the store, jotting down the few things that need to be stocked in the morning. And also make sure no one is trying to stay overnight, kicking those people out is the worst. The last time someone had hidden in the break room, practically scaring the poor new girl to death, she didn’t stay long after that.

A small clang gets your attention, the sound only being noticed because of the dead silent- and hopefully empty store.

Two things could happen here, either someone is here and fucking with something, or it’s an animal of some kind.

You don’t want to deal with either.

You unhook the pepper spray from off your belt, gripping it in your hands like it may fall, almost like a greedy spoiled kid with anything. Unable to let go, and won’t without a good reason.

Your reason?

Nothing being here.

You stalk around the corner with quiet steps, frowning when you hear the small taps of your shoes as they carefully touch the ground when you walk. Damn these shoes and this slick ass floor. You’re hyper-focused on any noise that your ears can pick up, but of course your brain has to imagine hearing footsteps all around you. Another clang has you looking towards the break room, now registering the sound as the locker opening and closing. Walking towards the sound makes your heart race, the loud thumping beats filling your head as you take more and more steps towards the room.

Rushing around the corner has you panting and hyperventilating, aiming your pepper spray at the lockers - seeing a masked figure quickly slip out the back door, completely dressed in black.

You run after them, knocking the door open and running into the parking lot. After a quick and very thorough search, it was like they disappeared. There’s no one walking or anything, only the sound of the wind filling your ears.

A quick walk back to the break room and you’re searching the lockers, praying that they didn’t steal or break anything. Everything is perfectly fine, until you step towards your locker. Nothing seems out of place, but your gut tells you something is in there, something’s wrong.

You take a deep breath and swing the locker open, squeezing your eyes shut so hard you start seeing shapes. Nothing popping out at you has you opening your eyes again, glancing down at your once empty locker with an expression of disbelief- and maybe a small hint of…disappointment?

It’s your lighter. A small note attached to it reading, “Sorry :(“

…

What?

You know it’s whoever gave you the flowers, I mean they find your house, your workplace, and locker, steal your stuff, and then return it?

You were barely angry about it, only annoyed, and that’s all it took for them to give it back to you? Especially in the weird way that they did.

They had to be nearby to hear that conversation you had with Beck, whether outside or inside the store. But no one being there makes you pause.

It makes you wonder how long they’ve been watching you.

The chill that runs down your spine and makes your entire body shiver makes you consider finally setting up those security cameras around your house. You may not be able to do it at the store, but damn this stalker being able to free-roam your own house.

Makes you consider buying another weapon as well, pepper spray is temporary at this point, people can still fight with their eyes closed.

It being almost midnight puts a stop to enacting any of your plans, you'll just have to invest a pretty penny in the morning to get those cameras, then spend the entire afternoon planning out and placing the cameras around your house.

Even if you are the only one to see the footage, the thought of having cameras watch you is almost creepy in a way. Like an instant goosebumps kind of feeling. Just gross, can't explain it.

A quick walk back to your house has you calming down some, despite it being night, the street lights do good work to light up the streets, and hearing the small buzz come from them is soothing in a way.

You stop by your mailbox first, your morning shift crossing with the path of the mailman's schedule. A glance through the letters and you stop at the bright pink one, immediately knowing it has the details of the gathering.

Ripping the top off and skimming through the small writing makes you want to crumble the letter up in your hands, just tossing it out into the street. Of course, it's tomorrow, well technically today since it's well past midnight now.

The only good part is that it's around five, which gives you time to sleep and prepare some weird side dish. It's much better than trying to pick out a gift for the random guy, that's a hair-pulling kind of stress that you definitely dont want to deal with right now, or ever.

That night you actually managed to have a full night's rest, no randomly waking up or any nightmares to scare you half to death. The bright lights peaking through your blinds make you immediately cover your eyes, stretching your legs out and hearing the small pops.

Sitting up makes you jolt a bit, and the sudden realization of something wet between your legs makes you groan. A quick look under the covers has your mind reeling, it's definitely not your period, and it's all over your thighs and underwear.

You dont remember having a dream that good to literally come everywhere, let alone have it look like this. Tossing your clothes and sheets in the washing machine and taking a hot shower has you relaxing and not paying any attention to it.

You have better things you need to worry about today.

The letter only contained the dishes already being brought to the event, a small note at the bottom explaining to try and bring a dish everyone can eat. Could be easy enough, you could just go to the store and grab a fruit plate or something. Doesn’t take much time to get and is somewhat inexpensive.

Plus-

Everyone knows this main event is not about the food.

Around roughly 4:45, you pull up to an awfully crowded building. With most of the parking spaces being filled and people having to stand outside due to the inside being packed, you dont have high hopes for a stress-free night.

These people are good people, and you get along with them just fine. But having to be at an introduction party is the worst. Having the same conversation over and over again isn't exactly your idea of fun.

And with how many people are here?

You should practically have sorry on speed dial anytime you may bump into someone, I mean- god forbid you dont apologize for what they did. Of course, everything is fine, you might explode if someone elbows you again but it's all chill! Complaining and daydreaming have you slowly exiting your car, fruit plate in hand as you try to find the food table.

A reunion. Always something to complain about, whether the food is too dry, the children are annoying, or the awkward moment when that one neighbor drinks too much and starts to talk about his latest conspiracy theories.

A lot of families have those members you wish you didn't know. But, hey, that's the price you pay to be related to someone.

And two conversations later you finally set it down 20 minutes later.

You glance up at the poorly taped banner on the wall, holding up a nice welcome greeting.

Leon, huh?

Puts a name to the face you haven't seen yet.

There's something ominous in the air about party's dedicated to a single individual.

Maybe because everything is out of your control, with every person here dedicated to making the honored person the center of attention.

Of course, that is exactly why he might enjoy their party. But for a newcomer, it feels like being thrown into a lion's pit, surrounded by a pride of unknown beasts.

In moments like these, you wish it was just a normal party, where the stakes were lower, and the random people and neighbors were your friends.

It's not that they're rude people. You're just more of an introvert, wishing you had some kind of anchor for yourself, a familiar face or a friendly voice.

Beck hasn’t even shown up yet, leaving you standing in the corner watching the others, sipping on a champagne that tastes like perfume.

You push yourself off the wall and crash into someone, the champagne spilling all over your neck and outfit, the sounds of their apologies drowned out by your thoughts.

The smell of spilled champagne fills your nose, and the apologetic sounds from the stranger fills your ears. You are sure to apologize as well, as the liquid stains your clothes and spills onto the ground as well.

The stranger seems nice, though unfortunate that the two of you crashed into each other, and both of your outfits are now wet and sticky.

The stranger doesn't seem very upset or annoyed by your spilling your drink over them, and you apologize profusely.

A moment passes, and you lock eyes with this strange person. The two of you laugh, the embarrassment fading away as both of you realize that it was an unfortunate accident.

Both of your attention is focused on each other now. The two of you lock eyes, and you can't help but notice how attractive this stranger is. It’s not about his overall appearance or personality, it’s the eyes that are drawing you in. Like a siren call, they practically pull you in, drowning in a sea of the most beautiful blue shade you’ve ever seen.

“What an awkward first impression, kinda ruined that. I’m Leon, by the way-“

He chuckles, extending his hand out and shaking yours with a firm grip, the feeling of rough and calloused palms against your own is almost calming in a way.

“I’d stay and chat for a bit but I should get cleaned up…” You chuckle awkwardly, gesturing towards the champagne that nearly drenched you.

“Ah, I am sorry again. I should’ve paid more attention.” Leon frowns, looking you up and down, almost analyzing the mess he made of you.

A quick nod and you’re off to the bathroom, staring in the mirror as you dab your neck and chest with a damp paper towel. The odd but familiar scent of the towel fills your nose, almost like a wet stale cardboard smell.

You toss them in the trash when you’re done, admiring your appearance in the mirror before stepping back out of the bathroom. As you step out of the bathroom, your eyes are quickly met by the stranger you met earlier. Leon seems to be making a quick beeline towards you, the two of you catching up after the awkward spill.

Leon eyes you with interest, his shy but flirty demeanor becoming increasingly obvious to you. “You clean up real nice.”

You feel your cheeks flush at his comment about you cleaning up nicely. It seems that your efforts paid off after all. You didn’t dress up for him, let alone dress to impress. But god do those words make you happy.

You smile at him, unsure of what to say next. He seems a bit flirtatious, which is certainly intriguing.

You can't help but feel your heart pounding like it never has before. The two of you lock eyes for a moment, and your breathing grows shallow as you take him in fully.

He stands a bit taller than you are, his dirty blonde hair framing his face just right. The way that he stands gives you a sense of security, and his expression is one that speaks volumes. The lights reflected off his soft features, almost making him glow. Maybe Beck was right, he may be average, but there’s something else there.

There is something intriguing about him, something that attracts your attention, almost begging you to investigate more. While he might be average-looking, his presence is anything but, and you are sure to discover what hides below the surface of those gorgeous eyes.

You find yourself caught in conversation with Leon for so long, that the moments start to slip away as you talk away the night. The feeling of being energized is almost invigorating, as the two of you laugh and enjoy each other's company. It's hard to imagine that only the champagne is causing the buzzing feeling in your body, it is certainly more than just that.

The night continues on, and the two of you keep talking, enjoying each other's company. The more you engage in conversation, the feeling underneath your skin starts to grow almost intense, and it becomes harder to ignore it, or how you feel about this stranger. You can’t tell if the pounding in your head is because of the alcohol or him, his gaze towards you sending chills down your spine, goosebumps trailing their way down your arms.

Leon seems to notice something is off, and the expression he presents is one of concern. "Is something wrong? You look sick..."

It takes every ounce of willpower to keep yourself collected, and your shaking heart under control. "It's nothing, just had too much to drink... maybe," you finally say, giving a half-smile and trying not to show how nervous you are.

You can't help but feel your heart beating like an angry drum. You're almost certain that he can see the signs of your drunken affection for him, and you are sure to grow more and more embarrassed with every passing moment.

It seems like Leon is trying to offer support, but to you, this just feels like a game of hide and seek, each side trying not to show their cards too early. A cat and mouse chase, the game only ending when the other party gives in.

“I’m fine, promise.” You wave off his concern, swirling your drink around in your glass in an attempt to focus on something other than his face.

"Okay, if you're sure..." Leon says, his tone expressing that he sees right through your bluff.

He seems to notice you trying to distract him from the situation, and his expression softens slightly. He seems to pick that up, and the conversation continues.

You can't help but feel a tad bit awkward, so you focus on your drink to avoid looking at him. The swirling glass keeps your vision occupied, but your mind is still focused on the face you tried to avoid.

The conversation continues, and there is little to distract you from the awkward situation between you and Leon. The buzz has only grown more intense, almost making it hard to think straight at moments. Your heart is beating and your mind is reeling, tiny specks of black spotting your vision.

“I’m gonna get some fresh air,“

As the words begin to leave your mouth, his features shift to one of confusion, disappointment, and hints of something else that you can’t quite place. "... you're leaving?"

"I'm just...." you try to reply, but the words get caught in your throat. "I'll be back, just need some fresh air," you finally manage to stammer out, the expression on his face adding fuel to your lie.

He only nods in response, and you stagger off to the exit, trying to escape the overwhelming feelings flooding you.

You rush past the other partygoers, ignoring their looks and questions as you try to escape to the privacy of your car. The air is refreshingly cool compared to the crowded party inside, and you can finally breathe. You don't bother leaning against the wall, and instead make a dash for your car.

The freedom is refreshing, and you open your car door to find a quiet space where you can collect your thoughts. You still feel a weird mix of emotions inside you, but in the car, you have some time to calm down.

The drive back home is a surreal experience, as the intense feelings of embarrassment and concern start to settle in. You get home and flop onto your bed, letting the plush pillows and soft blankets ease your mind as you fall asleep in a matter of minutes.

You fall into a deep sleep, but the feelings still linger. However, the soft embrace of sleep makes the feelings more bearable, and you finally allow yourself to rest.

The hangover is the first thing that hits you as you wake up, along with the pounding of your head and the aching pain in your body. Itchiness washes over you, feeling like a lingering reminder of the previous night. No wonder you woke up with a headache, considering the amount of alcohol you probably put away last night.

The little bit of alcohol seems like it affected you more than it should have, given the fact that you aren't a lightweight. Why did you have such a strong reaction to a small amount of alcohol? Was it the stress of the situation, or was there something else going on?

You take the pill killers and swallow the cold water with some difficulty, the scratching in your throat making it difficult to swallow. You hope and pray that the pills will kick in soon, as the pounding in your head is unbearable.

The feeling of the pills finally kicking in makes the headache much more tolerable and the itchy feeling under your skin shifts to something slightly less unbearable. You still feel the heat beneath your skin, and you know that the strange feeling hasn't gone away, but it's certainly become more manageable.

As the pills take effect, you're able to gather yourself for a shower. The hot water pours over your body, and it's heavenly. Not only does it bring the pain of your hangover down to a much more bearable level, but it even helps to calm the strange feeling that has been creeping underneath your skin as well. The heat from the water feels divine, and you find yourself lingering in the shower far longer than you intend to.

You step out of the shower, all clean and dressed with a light snack eaten. The lingering effects of the strange feeling are finally bearable, and you're ready to face the world again.

You leave your house and make your way to the hardware store, hoping that they will have the security cameras that you're looking for. The walk there is pleasant, and the breeze is helping to clear out the last bit of the strange feeling you experienced the night before.

As you enter the hardware store, you are relieved to discover that they do, in fact, carry the security cameras that you're looking for. The person working there is super friendly and knowledgeable, helping to guide you to the right section of the store.

It's nice to be able to get some answers about what happened a few nights ago, and the purchase will certainly make you feel safer in your own home.

You're staring at the two boxes, considering one white shade or the other, when a familiar voice breaks your concentration. It's Leon, and it seems he followed you to the store?

He seems to recommend one shade over the other, and you take his suggestion to heart. The ghost white seems to suit the color of your walls much better, although the seashell has a nice pinkish hue to it.

"I'll take the ghost white, then," you say, and turn to give him a smile.

“What are you doing here?” You ask as you turn around, spotting his empty basket in hand.

"I, uhh..." he falters for a moment before continuing. "I was actually headed here to buy some things as well." He gestures to the store, but his eyes seem to be fixed on you instead.

He seems to have something else to say, but he's hesitant. You get the feeling that he's trying to find the right words, and he seems to be avoiding making eye contact.

“I hope you find them all right, they seem to have everything here!” You quickly reply, snuffing out any hint of awkwardness.

He seems to relax a little, as if relieved to shift the topic away from anything tense. "Yeah, they really have everything here. They've got everything I was looking for."

The awkwardness between you seems to have faded, and you feel a bit more comfortable. The conversation is back to being a bit lighthearted, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of both of your shoulders.

You bid your goodbyes and walk back to your house, holding the bag of freshly bought security cameras in your hand. Hopefully, they’ll blend nicely into your walls, Leon seemed to think so.

You arrive back home with the two boxes of security cameras in hand and start to consider how to best set them up. You quickly decide the two outside and one in your bedroom, with the last remaining one being a bit of a mystery.

The living room would be a natural spot, but it's pretty open, and doesn't really make sense to have a camera there. The kitchen and dining room are an option, but those rooms could be considered too far away from your bedroom to really be effective at helping your paranoia.

You sit there for a moment, considering options of where the last camera could go. There are so many rooms, and so many different areas to consider, and you can't help but feel overwhelmed.

Finally, you make a decision. The last one will go in the basement, and the basement could use something to watch over it. The basement is an eerie place, with a large variety of odd and old items. The basement is not the neatest place in the world, but that works in your favor.

You just make sure that it isn't pointed directly at any one thing, but rather in a way that you can watch everything.

You download the app on your phone, which allows you to view all of the cameras at any time. The basement camera is running smoothly, and the stream is clear. You can see the entire room at all times, though you can't detect any obvious signs of intruders or anything out of the ordinary.

It's a relief to have the cameras installed, and the house feels a bit more secure.

Back upstairs, you toss the empty box and paper away as soon as you return. You won't need the physical reminder anymore, as the code is easy to remember.

You sit on the couch and feel a feeling of peace wash over you. The cameras are set up, and the inside and outside can be monitored now. It feels comforting, and you hope the cameras will help deter any intruders from targeting your home, or better yet- whoever that one person was.

A few days pass without any issues, and you feel your stress levels ease. Each peaceful day that goes by brings relief, knowing that the cameras are doing their job and nothing strange is going on.

It's weird to think the strangest thing to happen is tourists flirting with you at your job, it's the truth. Every time you have to deal with one, you wonder how dumb they can really be. You wish you could smack them with the bouquets you sell, and make them regret ever coming over to your counter. But of course, you can't because that's not "Customer Service Friendly.” Ugh.

You almost start to forget about your worries, and life seems to return back to normal. The cameras are doing their job, and it seems like everything has been sorted out.

Leon has become a frequent person in your life, and you find yourself seeing him in almost every place you go. It seems that your paths often cross, even when you aren't necessarily expecting it.

Despite your issues with Leon earlier on, he has turned out to be an alright person. He hasn't done anything malicious like you had assumed, and he seems to be an honest person at this point.

Beck still hasn't messaged you or anything, so it's been quite lonely without anyone to talk to. Leon has been the only person keeping you distracted from loneliness, and it's kind of refreshing to have someone new to talk to and hang out with.

Getting to know him in such a short time has been a bit of a surprise, as he's shared quite a bit with you.

You learn about his life as a retired police officer, that he lives with a German shepherd named Lola, and that he currently doesn't have his family. The only other aspect about him that you haven't learned yet is his romantic life.

It's certainly understandable that he would keep his romantic life to himself. You don't go around advertising the fact that you're single either, so you get where he's coming from. It's just a private part of someone's life, and it's not something that needs to be discussed unless it's brought up by the person directly.

It feels like there's more to him than just the police officer part, the German shepherd, and the lack of family. You kind of feel like there's more to the story when it comes to him.

Which leads you to now.

You had invited Leon over for dinner, hoping that the house setting would make him feel more comfortable to open up and share more with you. You don't know what it is about him, but there's definitely more to his story than just his career and lack of family. He has some kind of wall around him, and maybe the more peaceful setting of the house will help him relax and share more.

The doorbell rings, signaling the arrival of Leon. You take one last glance in the mirror, making sure everything looks perfect before heading down to answer the door. You open the door, greeting Leon with a smile and leading him inside.

The dining area is all setup, a delicious meal waiting on the table. The candles are lit and the mood is quiet and peaceful. The smell of the food you cooked wafted through the air, mixing with the warm and light scent of the candles.

Leon seems to be a bit sheepish as his eyes reach the table and linger on the candles and expensive dishes. "You didn't have to do all this for me..." he says, his tone of voice soft but a bit anxious.

You smile and reassure him, "Don't be ridiculous, It's nothing. I just thought I'd make you a nice meal. I've been wanting to cook for someone, and it seemed like a good opportunity."

He seems to relax once you assure him, though he still seems a bit nervous. He is not used to this, the kindness that you're showing him. It's more than what Leon is used to. He almost looks uncomfortable.

You take your seat at the table, motioning for him to take his as well. The candles light the room with a warm and dim glow, adding to the pleasant atmosphere of the dinner. Leon sits down at the table, looking at the food with a bit of a smile. He looks nervous still, but there is some kind of small enjoyment on his face. The dinner looks inviting, and Leon seems to be slowly growing comfortable with the situation.

You continue to chat over the delicious dinner, and the conversation flows smoothly for both of you. Leon is enjoying the food and seems to actually be enjoying the conversation. It's the first time you've gone this deep into your friendship with him, and you can't help but feel glad that he is enjoying this night so far.

You both finish eating, and you start putting away the food. You're now standing at your sink as you start washing the dishes, Leon coming over to help and washing the rest of them.

"Let me help you with that, I don't mind at all," Leon says, taking the dishes from you and helping to wash them. "I'm used to doing housework, so I can help finish these with you."

You feel a bit of resistance to the idea, wanting to handle it on your own. But, it seems like Leon is not accepting refusal as an answer.

Instead, he is taking the dishes from you and helping to wash them himself. There is a sense of kindness and politeness in his voice as if he is offering a helping hand, and you can't bring yourself to deny him. You're not exactly sure what you did to deserve this level of kindness, but you're certainly not complaining.

"Well, thank you. I appreciate the help," You say, giving in and washing the dishes alongside him. "It's no problem really," Leon says, washing the dishes. The two of you scrub away at the dishes, and for a while, there's nothing but the sound of clattering dishes as the water washes over them.

Leon seems more comfortable now, and you notice that he's smiling a bit more as the dishes are cleaned. He does seem a bit restless though, unable to stay still for a long time. Messing with his clothes, bouncing his knee, fiddling with the dishes. The silence is peaceful though, and it's nice to have this small moment with Leon.

You glance over a few times and see Leon's gaze landing on the sharper cutlery, and you notice that he seems to be running his fingers along the sharp edge as if he is contemplating something. It's like he's considering whether or not he should be allowed to use those utensils, as if they're forbidden fruit or something. You can't help but feel a bit uneasy about the way he keeps looking at them. You watch cautiously as he continues to run his fingers along the sharp edge as if testing it out. There's a bit of worry in your mind when it comes to letting him hold these knives, as he seems to be entranced by them in some way. The thought of letting him get near them is making you feel a bit uneasy, but you don't want to be too controlling and tell him he can't touch them.

You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should say anything at all, but your worry over the situation is too much for you to let go. You finally ask, "Is everything okay?"

Leon stops and turns to face you, his attention returning to you. "Hmm?" Leon hums, and you notice he's snapped out of the trance he was in. "Oh, yeah, everything's alright. I'm just cleaning the knives," he says, holding one up and scrubbing it.

You furrow your brows a bit at that comment, not wanting to push it further than that. If he says things are alright, then you might just have to take him at his word. It's no use pushing it further if he seems to be content, and you don't want to make things awkward or uncomfortable now.

As you finish up your portion of the dishes, you head over to the counter to dry your hands off with the hand towel. You keep glancing over at Leon, and he's still washing the dishes too. You're feeling ready to rest, but it seems like Leon is just finishing up his portion now. You watch him for a few moments as he finishes up the cutlery, wondering how much longer he'll take.

"I really do want to thank you." Leon suddenly says, the shift in his tone causes you to freeze a little bit, your brow twitching slightly at the ominous undertones it brings with it. You wonder what could have caused this change in the tone of his voice. The sudden seriousness that has come over him is unsettling, and it's almost as if he sees you in a different light now.

"You've been so nice to me, I can't help but feel touched," he says, still looking down at the dishes he's cleaning. This shift is alarming, especially with the way he's not even looking at you anymore.

You laugh awkwardly, trying to pass off his words with a joke. "No need to get all sappy on me," you echo back, hoping that he'll laugh along with you.

"Just wanted us to talk more, have a nice dinner between friends…" You repeat back in an attempt to be lighthearted and not make the situation too awkward.

"A friend, hm?" he says, finally taking his eyes off the dishes and looking up at you now. His gaze is almost piercing, and you can feel that he is studying you with his full attention. The way he's looking at you now makes you feel exposed, almost like he can find some hidden flaw with just one glance. His stare is almost piercing, and you feel like you're being studied from every angle. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you, and what he could be thinking right now.

"Well, we are friends," you reply back, feeling quite uneasy with the way he is looking at you. You don't like the way he's studying you like this, as if he's trying to find something wrong with you.

"That's what I've considered you as this entire time," you continue, trying to keep the sour feelings at bay.

Leon's gaze shifts and his entire demeanor changes in a jarring way. One moment he was focused on the dishes, and the next he was looking at you with an intense gaze that sends chills down your spine. You stare back at him with hesitation, and in just a split second you can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of uneasiness wash over you when you see him looking at you like this.

The silence between you two is thick as you stare at each other, and it's as if everything else in the world has stopped. You can't help but feel a sharp feeling of nervousness building inside you, making it feel almost as if you're in the presence of danger. You can't place exactly what changed about him, or what caused this shift in his demeanor.

His laugh echoes in your ears, but the low and rumbling sound only serves to further distress you. This whole situation is unsettling and it's making you question everything. The whole time you thought you were simply having a nice dinner with a friend, but it appears the situation is a bit more intense than you thought.

"Is that what you think this is?" he asks you, raising an eyebrow.

"This friendship?" you ask, and you feel a bit taken off guard by the question. You stare back at him, your eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion.

"What do you mean?"

"Is that what you think this is?" he asks again, and this time his tone is darker. You can't help but feel uncomfortable with the way he's looking at you when he says those words. It's as if he's challenging you in some way, and the vibe of him seems to have changed.

You can feel a mixture of confusion and anger wash over you as you narrow your eyes at Leon. You feel like he is implying something different, and you don't like it at all.

"That's all I think you are at the moment, nothing more," you reply, trying to keep your cool. You don't like the way this conversation is going, and you don't want to get too frustrated and ruin everything.

"Well, I'm sorry if you aren't satisfied with that outcome," Leon replies, his tone taking on a more ominous feel to it. Your confusion is growing at this point because everything he's saying seems to carry a deeper message. "But I dont think you understand what you're saying..."

"What do you mean by that?" you reply, feeling like the conversation is getting a bit intense now. The way he's talking has taken on a more ominous feel to it, and you can't help but feel a bit uneasy now.

"I dont understand what I'm saying?" you echo back, looking at him with a cautious expression. You're not sure what he means by that, but you're starting to get a bad feeling in your gut.

"I think you're just confused is all." He replies nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

You can't help but feel a moment of frustration when he replies with a casual shrug. Was he just messing around with you? Was that threat in his words supposed to be some kind of joke?

"Confused?" you repeat back, but there's a bit of a frown on your face now. You're starting to feel more than just a bit confused, as he seems to be toying with your emotions. You're not sure what game he's playing at, but it's starting to bother you.

"Okay, I dont understand what's going on here. But I'm not comfortable with you being in my house anymore, I think you should leave." You say, shaking your head, shifting your weight back and forth as you speak, the motion soothing you.

He seems taken aback by this sudden dismissal, his expression darkening somewhat as he looks at you with a look of surprise and something else. It's like he's trying to hide his anger, but you can't help but feel the threat of it lurking in his eyes.

"I'm not leaving," he replies, his tone shifting back to one of arrogance. He doesn't care that you're not comfortable with this situation, instead, he's demanding that this conversation continue.

You feel like you're being backed into a corner, and the thought of being forced to engage with this anymore is making you feel uneasy.

"I said you should leave." You repeat yourself, doubling down on your decision.

"No, you should think things through and realize that you want me here." He says, his tone shifting from one of arrogance back to a threatening aura. It's a bit unsettling how quickly he shifted to this, with such a demanding tone. The conversation shifts in tone once again, and he is back to being arrogant and demanding. He doesn't plan to leave just because you told him to, and you're starting to feel uncomfortable with being in this situation with a person so hostile and unyielding.

You quickly size him up, your eyes widening when you spot the tightly gripped knife in his hand. The sudden change in his attitude and that tight grip on the knife make all the pieces click together for you, and suddenly everything makes sense. Your instincts take over, and you become alert to being in a potentially dangerous situation.

Leon notices your shock and tries to take advantage of it, lunging at you with the knife, aiming for your stomach. The sudden lunge catches you off-guard, and you flinch at the action. You can't help but start to feel a rush of fear as the knife aims for your stomach.

You react quickly, dodging out of the way and punching him square in the jaw, sending him flying towards the floor.

You scramble away and run as fast as you can in the direction of your bedroom, closing the door behind you and locking it tight.

The adrenaline coursing through your veins makes your heart beat faster with every step, and you can feel your breath coming out in quick, shaky breaths.

You look around your room in a frenzy, using your new found strength to push your dresser in front of the door. You’re sure any police officer knows how to pick a lock, especially the basic ones that are in these old houses. In a panic, you try to find a place to hide and scan the room for somewhere to hide, your eyes landing on your closet.

You move toward the closet, and you're careful to open and shut the door slowly. The inside of the closet is dark and cramped, making it feel more creepy than comforting. You try to ignore the feeling of claustrophobia that is creeping into you, and you duck down as you pull the door closed behind you.

The moment you duck into the closet, you hear the sounds of footsteps rushing up the stairs. You realize that your bedroom is the last room in the hallway, which means it could take him a while before he reaches you.

But, he's going to get to you eventually and you start feeling a bit of panic in the back of your mind.

Would anyone find you when he reaches you? Could you be recognizable to the poor neighbor who finds your body when he’s done?

You begin to get more and more anxious as the footsteps draw closer, the tension and fear of waiting for the inevitable reaching a fever pitch.

You sit there in the closet, hiding and waiting in the darkness. You know that the longer this goes on, the more danger you're in, and you can't help but shake slightly at the thought.

You hear the slam of the guest room's door as it burst open, followed by the quiet sounds of rustling that fill your ears as he searches the room. It's an eerie noise, and it sends shivers down your spine as you realize he's getting closer to you. You clutch your hands, trying to keep your breathing quiet and steady as he gets closer.

The silence is overwhelming, as you try everything you can not to make a sound. You hold your breath as you hear Leon searching in the bathroom now, the rustling sound of the curtain pulling back catching your attention, your racing heartbeat growing stronger and louder as he gets closer. The tension is building, and the thought of him finding you is causing you more distress than you would like to admit.

You can hear the chuckle of Leon's voice as he reaches your bedroom door, and you hold your breath even tighter. He's getting so close now, and you can feel yourself starting to tremble with fear. His voice carries with it a sense of dominance and arrogance, and you can almost imagine the smirk he's giving you right now.

You clench your fists tightly as you hear Leon's voice talking to you through the door.

"I know you're in there. Why are you hiding? Do you think it'll help you?" he says, his voice sounding smug and superior. He sounds like he's enjoying this situation a bit too much, and your heart starts pounding in your chest as you hear the confidence in his voice.

The silence is almost deafening when you don’t respond, and you sit there listening to your rapid heartbeat and your slow breathing. There's so much tension in the air, and you feel like your heartbeat is going to explode out of your chest.

The silence lasts for what seems like an eternity, but you close your eyes tight, hoping that he'll just give in and leave you alone. And, it seems your prayers are answered, and there's only silence for a few moments before the sound of footsteps heading down the stairs makes you sigh of relief.

You sit in the closet, letting out a sigh of relief when you hear the footsteps heading down the stairs instead of coming toward your closet door. The tension is starting to ebb slightly, and you feel an overwhelming sense of relief wash over you. You feel like you can finally breathe again, and you start to slow your breathing as you try to calm down.

The sound of the dresser scraping against the floor escapes your notice as you try to take deep breaths and calm yourself down. You miss the sound of the footsteps moving toward the door, letting your heart beat faster as you bury your head into your hands. You miss the subtle noises that would have warned you of what was coming.

When he rips open the closet door, you let out a sharp gasp and freeze, staring up at him in fear as he stares back with that smug expression on his face.

"Found you."

word count: 10k

If you wanted the dinner to go differently :)

#cybunii #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #suggestive #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #leon scott kennedy

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prolix-yuy · 6 months

Text

A Gift of Light and Joy

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader "Conejita" (Plus Sized Reader)

Summary: Javi wants to spoil you, but his good intentions put you in a difficult position.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), cumming on someone, minor cum play, negative body image, toxic shopping culture, some angst, Javi is clueless about women's clothes shopping but he makes up for it.

Notes: Happiest of happy birthdays to my darling, my sweet friend, the indescribable @ezrasbirdie! I was planning to post this around November but I couldn't pass up a chance to give you a fun little Javi present. I am so lucky to know you and get to yell about stories together!

While in the two previous stories Conejita wasn't described as plus sized, I always headcanoned that she was from the start. There are a couple references to the previous stories, but you can also dive in right here! Like most stories this is me working through a few bad experiences of my own, and while Javi may be a little thick in the beginning he will get to make up for it.

Cross-posted on AO3

Continued from On the Right Flight and A Bearable Weight

“I have a surprise for today.”

Javi’s gleeful face ramps up your own excitement as he ushers you into his car.

“I thought we were going to have a picnic?” you ask as he flops into the drivers seat, curls bouncing almost as much as he is.

“That was my distraction,” he says, picking up your hand and kissing the back of it. Your heart still flutters, even months after that first one at the stroke of midnight.

Dating Javi had, of course, been just as much of a step off the deep end as you thought. Even being close by now that you’re back in LA for work and he’s hobnobbing with the Hollywood elites, some days getting dinner feels like making a doctor’s appointment. Matching schedules down to the half hour, groaning when something comes up. But it’s all worth it when the stars align and he’s on your doorstep with all-encompassing hugs and breathless kisses.

At first Javi’s dates were low-key and low-stress - a day at the beach, movie nights of course - but as you got closer and closer he started to take you places that had dress codes and extravagant names. He always beamed like you were the only one in the room, but you’d been in enough spaces you didn’t belong to feel eyes and judgements skitter across your back.

You could be poised, and knowledgeable, conversational and charming, but nothing changed how you looked. Javi was always dripping in Armani, Burberry, Brioni. Your paltry wardrobe didn’t stand a chance. Every new art show or movie premiere sent you running to a department store to find a new dress (pretty girls on their rich boyfriend’s arm didn’t reuse eveningwear) and inevitably you’d be pinched or poked or squeezed into something not made for you. Long minutes spent in the bathroom wondering if Javi would notice the bra strap divot in your shoulder, or the dark lines of seams pressed along your skin. Pretending you enjoyed slipping into a silk robe every time you spent the night was more palatable than the embarrassment of wriggling out of shapewear in front of him, or refusing to let him undress you in case a zipper pulled too tightly.

Unfortunately, you didn’t hide your discomfort as well as you imagined. Sometimes you caught Javi’s concerned look when the built-in corset made you squirm in your seat, or when you winced at the chafe of your heels.

So when he parks his car on Rodeo Drive he’s the picture of pride and sunshine. You, on the other hand, leave your stomach on the sidewalk behind you.

“I wanted to do something special,” he’s saying, muffled words bubbling up as your feet trudge to a gleaming glass door. There’s security inside, sales people scattered around holding hangers up to discerning buyers. “And before you say anything about money, I don’t want you to look at a single price tag.” Javi turns your face to him with a gentle nudge, breaking your doom stare through the glass. “I want to spoil you a little. You never let me spoil you.” His pout brings a little smile to your face, dipping in to kiss him.

“We can do anything Javi. I don’t need things,” you try to deflect, hoping you can convince him away from the inevitable rejection you’ll receive inside.

“Just one time?” he asks again, soft brown eyes imploring you. How could you say no?

“Okay,” you breathe out, steeling yourself for the worst as Javi beams back at you.

“I thought this place would match what you like,” he says as two suited doormen guide you inside. It flutters your heart. He’s right, you’ve always liked this designer’s silhouettes and styles. It’s exactly what you’d choose…if you were several sizes smaller.

“Hi, do you have an appointment?” a small-framed woman with black plastic glasses and a bouncy ponytail asks. She’s dressed head to toe in the designer’s current collection, sleek black throughout with stylish red earrings that dangle down her neck. Her smile isn’t as cold as you might expect. You’d heard horror stories of snide sales people practically insulting clients to get them to spend more.

“Yes, Gutierrez,” Javi offers smoothly, placing a grounding hand on your lower back. “For my girlfriend.” You shoot him a lopsided smile. He doesn’t get the chance to say it often, but when he does you love the way girlfriend rolls off his supple lips.

“Ah, yes, miss…” the sales woman begins, letting you offer your name. You catch a fleeting look of concern cross her face. Her cheek sucks in like she’s chewing on it, smile still bright but eyes more cautious.

“My name is Melanie, if you’d like to follow me to your consultation space,” she says, leading you and Javi to a curtained-off partition with several chairs, a changing room and a pedestal that makes your stomach flip.

“So what are you here to find today?” Melanie asks. Javi settles in a chair, spreading his knees and leaning back so sexily you can almost forgive him for the anxiety pumping through your veins.

“Whatever my Conejita desires,” he says, and you’re torn between smacking or straddling him. Melanie turns her attention to you and you wrack your brain.

“I guess…a dress would be nice?” you say. Javi reaches out to squeeze your hand reassuringly, adoration so clear in his eyes. He truly has no idea it’s the most likely to have ease in the sizing. You might make it out with one and blame it on not wanting to overspend. Javi would get his wish, and you would make it out with most of your ego unscathed. Win-win.

Melanie leads you out of the space and into the clothing racks. The choices are sparse, a few items hung per rack in an exclusivity motif. As soon as you’re out of earshot she starts chatting.

“Your boyfriend is very sweet to be treating you today.”

You hum and nod, chewing the inside of your lip. Some of the pieces are very pretty, flattering cuts and classic shapes, but none of the silhouettes look large enough for you.

“Does he…do this often?” Melanie asks carefully, and when you look at her you see an understanding that soothes you ever so slightly.

“First time.”

“A surprise.”

“Yeah, pretty big one.”

Melanie smiles at that, arms wrapped around an iPad. Her nails are very pretty tapping against the device.

“Let’s take a look back here,” she says, leading you off the main floor and further into the store. The racks are fuller back here, but not nearly enough to make you think success is within reach. Your chest tightens, but you put on a cheery smile when Melanie turns back to you.

“Men are just…so thick sometimes,” she sighs, and the sharp change makes you bleat out a laugh. “I’m sure Mr. Gutierrez has the best intentions in mind…”

You nod and finish her sentence.

“...but you don’t have anything here for me.” Her hands clutch at the tablet again, going white around the knuckles.

“We might have a few things, but they’ll be simpler. Not like the current collection.”

“Simple is fine,” you rush to say, her smile making your own come to the surface.

“Okay, let me go digging. I think we can make it work. I’m…” She pauses to clear her throat, lowering her voice. “I’m sorry this isn’t fun. I hate it. I just want everyone to feel happy in their clothes, not…left out.”

You turn your comfort to her, squeezing her shoulder.

“I appreciate you trying to help.”

Melanie scurries off to the backroom, leaving you on the bustling floor with ten other women who could slip into anything off the rack no problem. Weaving aimlessly, you peruse the dresses. Each one holds promise, which only makes it more disappointing when the tag numbers run too small. But you’re keeping positive, searching for Melanie’s bouncing ponytail returning with anything. You’d gush over a mumu.

“Excuse me,” comes over your shoulder, and you turn to another sales woman hovering expectantly behind you. Her brow is lifted high, barely waiting for you to shift before tugging a garment off the rack. She turns quickly, but in the split second before you see it. That stomach-dropping look that screams good luck slathered in sarcasm. Your throat clenches, hands coming to your middle and you wish you could just collapse into yourself like a dying star.

“Fuck this,” you whisper, tears shining in your eyes as you hurry back to the consultation space. You’ll tell Javi you have a headache, that you’re too hungry to shop right now, anything to convince him to get the hell out of here.

“Cone…” he says as you burst in, snatching up your purse and steeling your voice. The sunshiney excitement trades quickly for concern. “What is wrong? I promise the cost…”

“Actually, I don’t really…I don’t…” You try to get out your white lies with an even tone but when Javi cups your face in his large hands your composure crumples. A fat tear breaks rank and rolls down your face, Javi’s eyes widening with shock.

“Conejita, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” His eyes darken a fraction. “Did someone say something to you?”

Your heart skips a beat, which you blearily file for later introspection. Resting your head on his shoulder, he envelops you in his arms. Orange peel and musk surrounds you, Javi’s soothing hands traveling up and down your spine. When your breaths stop warbling you pull back, wiping your face.

“I’m sorry…” you start to say, but Javi moves you to sit. He drops to a kneel, clasping your hands in your lap.

“No, Conejita, you are not apologizing for one second. What has upset you? Was it someone out there?” When you shake your head, his eyes soften. “Was it me?”

“Oh Javi,” you sign, squeezing his hands. Your lashes are still wet with tears, but you can see his dread so clearly. “I really appreciate this, all of it. I’m sure it’s flattered lots of people before. But I’m…me.” You release a big breath, the pain of keeping all your anxieties in finally easing. “I can’t shop at places like this, Javi, I don’t…they don’t make clothes like this for people my size.”

Javi’s concern smashes into confusion.

“But they must have seamstresses in the back. They take your measurements, no? Find an acceptable piece and tailor it?”

The laugh you bark out is watery but it does raise the corners of your lips.

“Men have it so easy,” you bemoan. “I think the closest size I saw was still in the single digits. And even then, the numbers rarely mean anything.” Javi’s confusion only deepens.

“But how do you know what to buy? Surely the measurements are the same. Inseam, waist, sleeve length, how can it be so different?”

“Javi, I’m rarely the same size at the same store.”

Javi sputters. “That’s madness. How does anyone put up with that?”

You giggle lightly, the tears finally receding. “I just go to the department stores. More variety, more sizes. No pushy sales people. Though Melanie is really nice.”

“But you are still uncomfortable,” he says, stroking his thick thumbs along the back of your hands. “I did not want to say anything, but I noticed. You do not seem to feel good in the nice things you wear.”

You shrug. “It’s not perfect, it’s just…easier.”

His eyes implore up at you. “I wanted you to feel good with me.” Your heart patters, Javi’s face falling. “But I have made it worse. Please forgive me, Conejita, I truly did not know this would be so painful.”

You pat Javi’s cheek and give him a quick kiss. “I know, Javi. I know you didn’t mean for it to be.” A tap on his nose makes him smile. “But next time, when the lady doth protest too much, maybe listen?” Javi’s cheeks pink as he nods.

“Shakespeare has always been wiser than me,” he jokes as he helps you back to your feet. He leads you back to the front of the store with one hand on your back, and for a few seconds you do feel like the most beautiful person in the room. Women looking at you in awe, Javi’s fingers pressing in a way that’s subtly possessive. You could be lady Godiva riding a Shetland pony and not feel a lick of shame when he looks at you like that.

“Mr Gutierrez!” Melanie calls as she hurries up to the front to intercept. Her hands are empty, which is a relief.

“Thank you for your help, I just don’t think there’s anything for me here,” you say in a practiced tone that makes Javi pull you closer and Melanie’s eyebrows knit in the middle. She nods, extending a folded piece of paper to Javi.

“I’m sorry they didn’t have something for you today,” she says, and Javi takes the proffered paper. He leads you out of the store and into the fresh sunlight of the street. Unfolding it, he raises an eyebrow then secrets it away in his jacket pocket.

“What was that about?” you ask, tucking your arm into his elbow. He shakes his head.

“Nothing important. What is important is going to get some lunch, then we are going driving with the top down and dinner at my place after.”

“Javi…” you say with a little warning, but he tuts at you as his long stride pulls you down Rodeo drive.

“I know, I know what you will say, but bear with me because I am learning how to love you the right way. Today was not so good, but I would like to try and make it better.” He slows down when he catches your wide eyes and dazed smile. “What? What have I said now?”

“That you love…” the last words disappear on the wind as Javi’s smile crinkles his eyes.

“Of course, Conejita. Dios mio, of course I love…I love you,” he rushes out, barely able to finish before crashing his lips into yours. Wide palm cupping your head, you couldn’t care less that you’re making pedestrians part around you. Javi loves you, even if he’s a little clumsy about it. But when someone wants to learn to love you the right way…how can you not love every atom of them back?

The following weekend finds you in one of the lesser-used rooms in Javi’s house, sitting on a chair by the window. He deposited you there with a cappuccino and a promise to wait, so now you’re doing just that. Javi does love surprises, but you never expected Melanie to walk in the door.

“Oh my god, hi,” you manage to get out, standing up to shake her hand but are treated to a tight hug instead. She looks brighter, lighter than the last time you saw her, black ensemble traded for a pale blue button-up and floral patterned pants.

“Javi told me it was a surprise, and I want it on the record that after this one he’s not allowed any more!” You sit across the little cafe table from her with visible confusion.

“I am a bit…lost…as to the surprise,” you giggle out nervously, which has Melanie opening a smart black bag and taking out folios and fabric swatches.

“I’ve been trying to get my stylist business off the ground and…” She pauses for a moment before making genuine eye contact. “And if there’s anything I was meant to do, it’s find people clothes that make them happy. So I offered him my services and he’s…well, he’s been very generous.”

Pride swells in your chest. So Javi.

“So what we’re going to do today is figure out what you like, don’t like, colors, styles, and then I’ll start building your wardrobe. Sound good?” Melanie’s smile is contagious.

“Sounds amazing.”

You don’t quite understand every step of the process. At one point she drapes color swatches on your chest like a bib and you can’t help but giggle. But it’s fun, maybe for the first time you can remember. She writes down that you hate side-seam zippers and skirts cut above the knee. That you love color but not too garish. And when you catch Javi pacing outside the glass door to the patio, peeking in anxiously every five minutes, your smile softens. She probably doesn’t write that part down. That’s written on your face.

You can’t stop twirling in the mirror, inspecting from every angle. You try to scrutinize, but you can’t find a single thing wrong.

It’s perfect.

After the wardrobe cleanout, the basics overhaul, and the lengthy plan Melanie made, she asked a thrilling question.

“What’s the first piece you’d like me to find?”

“I’ve always wanted a little black dress,” you replied, and her smile almost eclipsed her face.

“I have the perfect one in mind.”

She wasn’t kidding. It’s full and flouncy, smoothing in all the places you normally criticize and accentuates your figure in the best ways. The fabric is sumptuous under your fingers, just the right weight without dreaded sheerness. You can imagine yourself with hair done up, your favorite lipstick, Javi’s hand on your lower back, that possessive glint in his eyes. All of the excitement makes you spin three more times, the room tilting briefly before you catch Javi standing in the doorway.

“Hey!” you call out breathlessly, smoothing the skirt again. “It’s the first thing Melanie’s sent over. I…oh my god, I love it so much.” You turn to look in the mirror again, and in the reflection you see Javi’s mouth parted, eyes dragging over you. His fingers are rubbing together at his sides and…is he clenching them?

“She took everything I said and just found the most perfect dress.” Your thumb catches in the fabric and you spin back around to gasp, “And it has pockets!”

You’ve barely taken your hands out of them when Javi is on you, all greedy mouth and firm hand on the back of your head. His tongue demands on your lips, slipping inside when you gasp for him. Arm banding around your back, he steadily walks you backwards towards the bed.

“Conejita, mi amor, eres tan hermosa,” he pants, his wandering hand settling on your ass and squeezing. It crackles between your thighs, white-hot arousal at how he holds you. Javi has always been generous in bed, and highly competent, but this is a side of him you haven’t seen. Maybe briefly when he asked you if someone bothered you at that awful boutique store.

Before you can rationalize anything further he guides your hips down to the bed, teetering on the edge. He quickly drops to his knees and dives his hands under the skirt, sliding one knuckle along the seam of your pussy.

“Javi…” you squeak out, but his touch leaves to curl around your underwear and yank them down your legs. The rip of a seam makes arousal gush between your legs, spreading them instinctually. He licks his lips before fisting your skirt above your waist and ducking down to taste you for too brief a moment. Your hips buck, teeth nipping at your inner thigh before he lifts up to kneel between your legs.

“Javi, the dress,” you caution, and with a sweeter smile he shifts his knees to make sure the fabric isn’t trapped between. When his eyes meet yours again he plants a hand by your head and laps between your lips, slow and sensual. The clink of his buckle coming undone aches deep in your core, fisting his button-up across his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Conejita, I just…cannot control myself when you look so beautiful,” he confesses as his fingers tease at your entrance. A choked whimper ekes out as he opens you up on two, pumping mercilessly into your clenching heat. He swears in Spanish into your neck, and your quiet whines grow to moans when his thick cock begins thrusting into the crease of your hip. His panted breaths start to take on a rumble, then a growl as his fingers match his shallow thrusts. Overwhelmed, you grasp at what words will make him give in.

“Javi, please, oh my god, please fuck me,” you finally manage, rocking your hips with his frantic pace.

“You’re ready for me?” he husks, your vociferous affirmations drawing his fingers out to leave you achingly empty. He slicks his cock with you, lining up and pressing just the head in before he plants his hands by your head and just…looks at you.

“Dios mio, eres una diosa,” he breathes, all of the sweet man you love. Grabbing around his wrists, you roll your hips down to sink more of him inside. He stretches you so deliciously, filling your cunt and lungs.

“Take it, Javi,” you rasp, head tossed back. “Show me I’m yours.”

Javi bites his lower lip and looks at you with a depth you crave. Infatuation and devotion and a desire so hungry you want to sate him for hours. In a dizzying flick of his wrists he now presses yours into the bed.

“Mine,” he purrs, and the snap of his hips as he buries himself flush draws a lusty cry from your lips. “My beautiful Conejita,” he grits out, grinding his hips deep to press punishingly into your g-spot. You writhe under him, legs clamped around his waist as he slides out just enough to punch back in. “You are mine, aren’t you?”

“Oh fuck, Javi, yes, I’m yours,” you beg, and it’s exactly what he needs to begin fucking you earnestly, scooping his hips to drive deeper and deeper. The friction of his grind strums your clit just right to tremble around him. Pinning you with a rumble, he fucks you into the mattress until his wandering hands can’t stop from palming your breast, rolling your nipple through the fabric. The spike of pleasure urges you to meet him stroke for stroke, riding him just as hard back. He grabs your chin just firmly enough to coax more slick to coat his cock, guiding you back to his demanding mouth. He steals your breath, sucking your lower lip between his teeth and groaning when you shudder around him.

“Not going to last, mi amor,” he whispers, lacing your fingers together as his thrusts lose rhythm.

“Cum on my pussy,” you plead, and with a strung-out moan he pulls out just quick enough to cover your mound with his hot spend. It drips lewdly, sliding to gather in the crease of your thighs. His eyes are fixated on it, the brand of his lust sticky on you. Your orgasm tips over as he slides his thumb through his cum to press firmly on your clit. His name is all you can manage as pleasure laps over your skin, his touch grounding as he praises you over and over.

In the afterglow, Javi folds the length of your skirt well above the mess he made.

“I will be sure to send this to drycleaning before you want to wear it,” he says, pulling a juddery giggle from your chest. He stands oh shaky legs and you glimpse his wet cock in the vee of his open pants, realizing you just fucked like college kids so horny for each other they couldn’t even undress properly. It makes you giddy as he brings over tissues to clean up, careful not to leave any of his spend where it could stain. When he’s finally satisfied he drops down on the bed, opening his arms for you to snuggle into. Once fitted together, eyes heavy, he murmurs in your ear.

“It wasn’t the dress.”

You hum sleepily, sitting up to look into his sated face.

“You are most beautiful when you are happy,” he says, the earnestness earning him another sweet kiss.

“I am very, very happy Javi.”

He doesn’t need to tell you that he is. It’s written on his face, and in his heart.

END

#javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x you #javi gutierrez x f!reader #javi gutierrez x female reader #javi gutierrez fanfiction #tuwomt fanfiction #tuwomt fanfic #the unbearable weight of massive talent fanfiction #prolix fics

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themidnightcrimson · 1 year

Text

Mentor—part one. | w. maximoff

summary: in which you are wanda's young newlywed neighbor, and she graciously offers to mentor you on wifely duties.

warnings: 1950s!wanda, top!wanda, innocent!reader, magically enhanced strap, strap sucking (r giving), riding (r receiving), manipulation, corruption, let's pretend they had straps in the 50s, my coochie was niagara falls after writing this

this post is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.

masterlist.

Manicured fingers pushed the thin curtains to the side as green eyes peered through the window. It was the first time Wanda had ever seen you. She saw your husband first, stepping out of the driver’s side of the car before going to the trunk and picking up one of the many boxes that were stuffed in there. She noticed that the For Sale sign planted in the front lawn of the house had a big, red sticker slapped across it that read SOLD. Then she saw you.

You stepped out of the car wearing a pretty green dress that was short enough for the breeze to flitter it up your thighs. Your red lips parted in a smile as you embraced your husband, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing him before he turned to take the box inside as you took a smaller one out of the trunk.

Wanda was always friendly with her neighbors but not close with them. Agatha was her closest neighbor, although that was not from Wanda’s end of the friendship. But when she watched you walk up your driveway to your newly bought house right across the street from hers, then stop and slowly turn around, your eyebrows sewed together as if you knew someone was watching you, she couldn’t help but let her interest pique.

Wanda was quicker to get close to you than she was with any other new neighbors she had before. She brought you casseroles and cakes and invited you to barbecues and dinner parties. When you attended a pool party at Dottie’s house and wore such a teasing one-piece swimsuit, she found herself obsessing over you every minute of the day. As she kissed Vis goodbye every morning, she would watch you kiss your husband goodbye instead of watching Vis’ car leave like she usually did. When she would fold clothes and wash dishes, she wondered what you looked like doing the same. She started to call you nearly every day when both of your husbands were at work. She would keep you on the phone for hours, asking you questions that started to become more and more personal.

Your husbands also got close. Wanda always got excited when you and your husband would come over so the men could drink and watch TV while you and Wanda prepared dinner in the kitchen. She realized quickly that you were quite young and still a newlywed; you’d gotten married right before moving in across the street, which was only a month ago.

Wanda also learned that you were quite an innocent little thing.

“W-what?” you choked on your lemonade that Wanda had made extra sugary for you since you were a ‘sweet girl’. Her question had taken you off guard so that you had coughed mid-sip of your lemonade, the drink splattering down your chin.

Wanda quickly leaned forward from where she sat rather close to you on her sofa, wiping the lemonade off your chin and lips. “It’s just a question, sweetheart,” she said in a comforting tone as she licked the lemonade off her fingers. Your cheeks burned more at the sight of her red lips sucking her finger than at what she had asked you.

Wanda had asked about your sex life. You figured that was probably common for housewives to talk about amongst one another. Your husband was outside helping Vis repaint the picket fence around their front yard, so it was just you and Wanda alone.

“Um,” you began, your heart beating hard in your chest as Wanda calmly watched you. Her red hair was made into perfect curls that rested around her neck, her deep red lips taut as she waited for your response. Wanda had taken you in under her wing as the new couple in the neighborhood, and you had appreciated her guidance and her friendship. It was the only real friendship you ever had, in fact, since you had gotten married off so soon in your adulthood. But Wanda seemed to get very personal sometimes, and sometimes she lacked an understanding of personal space. You had lost count of all the times she had let her hand rest on your lower back for lingering moments. She was very touchy—always grazing your arm or touching your hair. Recently, she’d gotten comfortable enough to touch your face, whether it was caressing your cheek or wiping lemonade off your lips. You weren’t quite sure how to voice your concerns about the closeness of your friendship, but Wanda was older and wiser and certainly had more girl friends than you did; so you went along with all of it in your shy, timid way that Wanda found incredibly endearing.

“Our sex life…” you breathed, lowering the icy cup of lemonade to your lap as your cheeks blushed. “Well, it’s, um…” you began, before you looked back up at her. “Isn’t that thing sort of… private?” you chuckled nervously.

You were afraid you had possibly pushed Wanda away or made her feel uncomfortable that she had offended you, but she only grinned and tilted her head. “No, darling, women talk about those things together all the time! Go ahead, I’m all ears.” She lowered her head, and you didn’t catch the darkness under her brow.

“Well, it’s…” you said again, shifting on the sofa and trying to figure out what you wanted to say. “It’s not very…good.”

Wanda’s brows sewed together in concern. “You mean the sex?”

Your entire body was heating up due to the explicit topic of your conversation. “No—I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m as…experienced as he is.” You glanced past Wanda to see your husband through the window, crouching by the fence with Vis. It was true that you had been harboring an insecurity about your ability to please him. You’d never been with anyone before him, and in your month of marriage, the few times you had been intimate with each other always fell below the mark. You had expected great passion and pleasure, but all you got were a few thrusts before he rolled over and went to sleep.

“Oh, honey,” Wanda cooed, reaching forward and placing her hand over yours. You startled at the touch as Wanda scooted closer to you so that you were almost touching. “That must be so difficult, especially since you haven’t been married that long at all.” You nodded as she moved her hand to your hair, tucking some of it behind your ear. There were a few moments of silence before she suddenly said, “You know, I think I have a great idea.”

Wanda planned it all so perfectly. She set up a hunting trip between Vis and your husband that would put them hours away in the forest for a whole night. They were to leave after dinner and return at lunch the next day, with Wanda preparing dinner and you preparing lunch for them to pack. Your hands trembled the entire time that you cut the sandwiches and packed them safely in brown paper—you were entirely uncertain about Wanda’s plan that she only vaguely explained to you.

She said she wanted to be your mentor. Since she was older, wiser, and more experienced, she said she had so much knowledge to offer you about the intimacies of marriage. You hadn’t quite caught her drift until she told you to stay the night with her while your husbands were gone so she could teach you some things—about how to please your husband. You expected her to have some sort of sultry magazine to show you, or perhaps she would simply sit you down while you had a private moment and tell you some tips or tricks. You never expected what Wanda really had in mind.

The four of you ate dinner at Wanda’s dining table, and you were silent for the majority of the time, too nervous to eat much. Wanda was cheerful and charming as ever, and your husbands took off once they were done eating. You helped Wanda to clean up the table, complimenting the dinner and helping her to wash dishes. You didn’t say anything about what was going to happen afterwards, nor did she, as if it was just a perfectly normal dinner between two women.

The time came when the kitchen was all cleaned up and the leftovers were put in the fridge, and Wanda turned to you. She smiled softly, reaching for your hand and taking it in her own. “Follow me, sweetie.”

You found it hard to breathe as Wanda led you up the stairs of her comfortable home, bringing you into her bedroom. It felt wrong to be there in such a private room that she shared with her husband, although it was just a normal bedroom with a perfectly made-up bed and a bathroom attached to it. Wanda kicked off her heels in the corner, and you did the same, feeling the carpet soothe your aching feet.

“Now,” Wanda sighed, standing in front of you and caressing your arm, which both soothed your nerves and worsened them. “You told me that you’re a little…innocent in the area of…wifely duties,” Wanda said her words carefully, having to stifle the crawling smirk on her lips as excitement whipped within her. Her heart was beating hard in her chest with anticipation as you stared at her nervously. You were so young and so innocent, and while she had felt a swirl of guilt when she made this devious plan, she assured herself that she was only being a good mentor to you—even if it was to her own greed and fascination with you.

“So, I’m going to mentor you tonight,” she continued, rubbing her palm over your shoulder and letting it cup the side of your neck. “We’re going to pretend that I’m your husband, and you are your own pretty little self,” she said quieter, and the casualness with which she spoke made your face go red. This couldn’t be normal, you thought to yourself, but you reminded yourself that Wanda knew so much more than you and that you should trust her.

Wanda looked over your face for a moment before she suddenly leaned closer. You froze, confused at what she was doing, until her breath fanned across your mouth and her lips pressed against yours. It was a fleeting kiss, because you jumped away from her touch and placed your hand over your lips, eyes wide.

“Wanda!” you exclaimed as your lips buzzed from the brief kiss that had you instantly feeling so many different, confusing things all at once.

“Sweetheart, relax,” Wanda purred with a smile as she neared you, placing her hand back on your neck. “I’m your husband, remember?” Her hand settled on the curve of your waist, and a wave of heat passed through you all at once. “Surely, you kiss your husband, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you stuttered as you looked up at her, the room starting to spin. “But—”

“Shhh,” Wanda shushed you, pressing her red fingernail against your lips. “How am I supposed to help you learn if you won’t let me teach you?” she whispered lowly, leaning down close again. You held your breath as you felt her lips graze yours, your varying shades of lipsticks mixing as she tantalized your lips. Something about this felt so wrong that you were about to crawl out of your own skin, but something about it also felt so right as Wanda pressed her lips against yours fully, her eyelashes tickling your cheek as they closed.

You were like a statue as Wanda moved against your frozen lips, until she pulled away to whisper against them, “Kiss me back… kiss me like you kiss him.”

She gave you a moment to nod before she kissed you again, and this time you moved your lips against hers. You had never thought much about how you kissed your husband, but in that moment, kissing Wanda, you considered every move and felt desperate to kiss the right way, the good way, in whatever way made her pleased.

So caught up in trying to kiss her well enough, you didn’t notice that your lips turned hungry and the kiss fiery. Finally, Wanda pulled away, and you instinctively chased after her lips until she gently kept you away with a hand on your chest. She looked down at you, smirking, and you realized you had completely ruined her lipstick that was now smudged all across her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, shrinking within yourself at embarrassment over being too eager.

Wanda shook her head and cupped your cheek. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. That was great. You’re very good at kissing.” Her voice sounded strained as she discreetly licked the taste of you from her lips, and you worried that you had made her uncomfortable.

You blushed under her stare as she slowly backed away from you towards the bed, sitting on the very edge. “Undress,” she simply commanded you, and the order made you stiffen.

“Undress?” you echoed.

“Mhm,” she hummed, something glinting in her eyes as she stared at you.

“Completely?” you squeaked. Only your husband had ever seen you naked before, but even with him you had never undressed in front of him while he watched.

Wanda nodded, letting her palms rest on the bed as she leaned back and crossed her legs, squeezing them rather hard together. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s part of the lesson.”

She was right. Did you expect her to just kiss you forever and suddenly you would be perfect in bed? Hesitantly, you started to unbutton the buttons of your dress, one by one, noticing the way Wanda’s eyes followed your fingers. You took in a deep breath and let the dress slip down to your ankles, revealing your frame dressed in only your undergarments now. Wanda’s lips parted at the sight, but when you made no motion to take the undergarments off, her perfect brow arched high on her forehead.

Complicitly, you reached to your back and unhooked your bra, letting it fall before you slipped your panties down. Goosebumps rose on your skin, and you resisted the urge to cover your private parts as you stood completely nude in front of Wanda who sat on the bed and darkly watched you, eyes raking down your figure as she sucked her tongue. Finally, she filled the silent air between you. “You are beautiful.”

Not letting too much of her lust for you show, Wanda snapped out of her trance and motioned for you to near the bed. You complied, following her finger until you stood right in front of her. Wanda eyed your body with hunger as she placed her hands on your waist, letting them glide upwards and turn inwards at your chest, taking both of your warm, soft breasts in her hands. Alarms blared in your mind at the touch, though it was not because it was uncomfortable, but rather because your nipples hardened at how much her gentle touch pleased you.

“You are so perfect, sweetheart,” Wanda breathed, and you wondered why she seemed as on edge as you were. She squeezed your tits, which caused you to let out a tiny squeak that made her smile. “Does he tell you how pretty you are?”

Your face grew even hotter at her compliments. Your husband had of course complimented you every now and then, but he never admired you with his eyes the way Wanda was. He never touched you just to feel you and appreciate you. He never had to control his breathing while letting out his compliments to your beauty. You had never felt this way before.

Wanda let her hands fall down the flat of your stomach, turning outwards to slide around your hips and down your backside, stopping to gently grab the hills of your ass. Your breath hitched at the feeling of her warm, soft hands grabbing you, and the way that her eyes seemed to darken by the second.

“So perfect,” she mumbled under her breath as she moved her hands to your thighs, gliding upwards until she let one hand slip between them and cup your heat. You jumped at the sudden contact that felt rather intrusive, but Wanda just marveled at how wet you didn’t even realize you were. “My, my,” she whispered as she soaked her fingers in your wetness, and as her fingers brushed your clit, you felt the heat in your face drop to your stomach and blossom there. When her fingers started to move towards your entrance, your hand involuntarily snatched her wrist. Her eyes flickered up to yours again, seeing the hesitant look on your face. “Trust me, sweetheart.”

You needed to trust her if you wanted to learn—you knew that. Although you kept your hand on her wrist, you loosened your hold, allowing her to slip one finger inside you. You heard Wanda gasp as your eyes closed at the penetrative feeling. She let her finger submerge deep inside you, curling it and swiveling it around to feel every inch of you.

“You are so tight,” Wanda groaned, using the next few silent moments to simply feel you.

Then she dragged her finger out and, to your utter shock, slipped it in her mouth. Your mouth fell open in surprise when Wanda’s green eyes fluttered shut and she let out a sensual moan as she sucked on her finger that was coated in your arousal.

“W-wanda,” you stuttered, and she opened her eyes and removed her finger to look at you, licking the remaining taste of you from her lips. “I’m really appreciative that you’re trying to help me, but… How is this going to help me better please my husband?”

Wanda gave you a warm smile and stood up, taking your face gently in her own. “I was getting to that, sweetheart. Stay here—I’ll be right back.”

You watched as Wanda disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. The room feeling cold and quiet now, you sat down on the edge of the bed and hugged your body. Was this normal? Was this wrong? Why was Wanda able to get you wetter and more riled up than your own husband? How would he feel if he knew that Wanda had seen you and touched you like that?

Before you could further dissect the complexities of the situation, the bathroom door opened. When you looked up to see that Wanda was standing there completely naked, except for something strapped onto her hips, your mouth fell open.

Wanda’s eyes ate you up predatorily as she sauntered towards you, but your eyes were stuck on the long, thick thing between her legs. “What is that?”

Wanda neared you and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Some call it a… marital aid. It’ll help me teach you how to make your hubby feel good.” She was getting tired of having to refer to your husband to get you to cooperate, as she wanted to just have you all to herself. She didn’t want to scare you away though, which was also the reason why she went into the bathroom so she could snap her fingers and use her secret magic to enhance the strap-on dildo.

You eyed the thing fearfully as Wanda crawled onto the bed and sat against the pillows, spreading her legs a little bit as her strap pointed upwards. She tapped her thighs and gave you an assuring smile.

More curious than anything, you crawled up the bed towards Wanda, and once you had gotten over the object between her legs, you couldn’t help but stare at her nude body. She was so beautiful and so perfect, and she giggled when she noticed the way your eyes trained on her bare chest as you kneeled between her legs. Your cheeks blushed as you realized she had caught you staring, and although you felt the need to apologize, you felt that wasn’t the strangest thing about this situation.

Wanda reached out and stroked your hair as she began, “Tell me. Have you ever pleasured him… orally?”

Your eyes widened as you slowly shook your head, feeling embarrassed that you hadn’t done that with your husband yet. He was more traditional and never did anything outside of missionary that lasted thirty seconds.

Wanda smirked, excited to be the first one to have your mouth. “You do know what I’m talking about, right?”

You nodded from under her hand stroking your cheek. “I’ve heard girls talk about it before…”

Wanda nodded and then placed a hand on your shoulder, guiding you down. “Lay down on my lap, dear.”

Slowly, you lowered until your elbows were laying across her thighs, and her strap was inches from your face. You looked up at her doe-eyed, noticing the dilation in her pupils. You didn’t know that Wanda about to feel everything she was going to make you do.

“Okay, now just put your mouth on it,” she told you, unable to find any better words for what she wanted you to do. You looked at her hesitantly, so she gently stroked your hair. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart. I’m going to teach you how to use your mouth.”

Nervousness filling you, you opened your mouth and placed it around the large object, closing your lips only a few inches down it. Your mind started to process the fact that this object was much larger than your husband.

Wanda had to bite her lip to keep herself from moaning at the sensation. Cradling your head, she recovered herself to tell you, “More, baby. Put it all inside.”

Obeying her, you lowered your mouth down and down, trying to take it all in until the tip suddenly hit the back of your throat, inducing you to gag. Scared, you instantly removed your mouth from her, looking at Wanda with frightened eyes that involuntarily watered.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Wanda assured you, leaning forward to give you a kiss that, admittedly, calmed you down. “Go slow, my love,” she whispered, leaning back again and guiding your head back towards her strap.

Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself that you needed to be good to please. So you opened your mouth and slowly took her length into it again, and when you gagged again, you tried hard to keep your mouth on it.

“Good girl,” Wanda said in a rather breathy voice. “Now suck.” Her hand was tangled in your hair as you suctioned your mouth, and you felt her fingers tug on your hair.

“G-good,” she breathed, “Now move your mouth up and down, okay? I’ll guide you.”

Her hand guided you by your hair to move your mouth up and down her cock, and you didn’t stop to think about how she could have felt you sucking. Each time the tip hit your throat, you silently gagged, and after a few minutes, your face was covered in tears and saliva.

“So good,” Wanda breathed, letting her eyes close as she felt you suck her off. She had been so curious as to how your mouth would feel, and now that every glorious inch was inside that warm, wet mouth of yours, she was in heaven. Your hair looked so pretty splayed across her thighs, your ass on display as you kneeled forward, the way your face had grown red and wet from your tears. She was lucky that you weren’t looking up at her when you started to grow comfortable and suck even harder, swirling your tongue around her length, because the look on her face was pure pleasure.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” she told you, and she couldn’t help but thrust her hips up a little into your mouth, listening to the sounds of you choking on her. She was struggling to control her breathing, and when you noticed and lifted your head to ask her what was wrong, she pushed it back down, lodging her cock deep into your throat. “You’re doing so good, sweetie,” she choked before she could no longer speak, having to bite down on her hand to restrain her moans as she came in your mouth, hips stuttering as her hand harshly tugged your hair.

Nearly blinded from her orgasm, Wanda quietly panted as she came down, watching you still work her strap, oblivious to the fact that you had just gotten her off.

“Alright, that’s enough, sweetheart,” Wanda said, and you lifted your mouth off her cock. She could have came again just at the sight of you, lips all red and swollen, saliva covering your chin, tears glistening on your bright red cheeks. Some of your mascara had melted around your eyes, and you looked so perfectly ruined. But she wasn’t done with you yet, not when she finally had you doing everything she asked. She was greedy, especially when it came to you.

“Hop up,” she told you, guiding you to sit up on her lap. She could feel your wetness on her thigh that had amplified while you pleasured her. She took a moment to kiss you, straightening your hair and wiping the liquids from your face.

“I’m assuming you have never ridden him?” she asked while her thumb swiped across your puffy lower lip, and you shyly shook your head. Wanda smiled at this also as she reached under you and took her wet shaft in her hand, letting the tip push against your entrance. Your eyes widened as you grabbed onto her shoulders. “It’s just the same, except you’re on top, doing all the work,” she told you as she swiveled the tip around your hole, her breath shaky. “This is very important for you to learn,” she said more firmly, and eventually you nodded in agreement.

She slid only the tip inside you before taking your hips and guiding them down. You hissed as her cock started to fill you, too focused on the stretch between your legs to notice Wanda’s subtle groan.

“It’s so much bigger than him,” you whined as pain filled you, but Wanda’s hands kept your hips under her control.

Wanda inwardly smirked at the compliment. “You can take it, sweetheart. Just keep going.” Wanda’s eyes fluttered closed when she finally felt herself all the way inside you, and it took all the strength within her to not flip you over and start fucking your tight pussy until it was completely ruined.

You whined and nuzzled your face against her shoulder, afraid to move your hips from the pain. Wanda, though eager, let you sit still for a moment, trying hard to keep her own hips still. Eventually, she started to guide you up, and you struggled through the pain as she slowly slid you up and down her length.

“You’re doing so good, sweetie,” she purred, again thankful that you weren’t looking at her as her mouth fell open. She let you go slowly for a few minutes until she could tell you were getting used to the pain. Wanda was growing way too frustrated, so she breathily commanded, “Ride me—faster.”

Lifting up from her shoulder, you noticed a strange look on Wanda’s face. Nonetheless, you did as she said, moving your hips on your own. Her strap was so deep inside you that as the pain melted away, pleasure throbbed within you. The stretch that previously hurt now felt like euphoria as you started to bounce on her strap, catching your own rhythm.

Wanda was about to go mad from having to control herself and her expressions, gently rubbing your lower back to make sure you felt okay as you started to ride her. She watched in adoration as you let out little moans, your eyes fluttering closed. She felt your walls clenching and throbbing around her, and you were so slick and wet that your juices dripped down on her thighs.

“Just like that,” Wanda gasped, letting out a guttural moan that made your eyes snap open.

“Wanda, what’s wrong?” you asked, assuming that the expression on her face was one from pain. You started to slow down, but she grabbed your hips and forced you to keep going, and the pleasure that brought you made you completely forget everything else.

Wanda thrust her hips upwards in motion with your own, fucking you so hard and so deep that your vision started to grow splotchy. You felt this strange pressure in your lower stomach, your insides starting to pulse and tingle as if something was about to happen.

“Wanda,” you pleaded, tapping her shoulder. Her eyes were closed in a concentrated look as she fucked you onto her strap, taking complete control. “Wanda!” you exclaimed, and she finally opened her eyes to look at you with concern. Worried she was really hurting you, she was about to stop until you said, “I feel like I’m going to pee.” You said it with such conviction and embarrassment that she almost laughed, until she realized that you had apparently never orgasmed before, not from yourself or your husband.

“Shhh,” she shushed you, thrusting up even harder. “It’s okay, just keep going.” She was starting to sweat, and you could see the glisten on her forehead as her cheeks reddened.

All thoughts of how this was going to help you please your husband left your mind as that pressure grew strong within you. You squealed and buried your face in Wanda’s neck, losing all inhibition and throwing your arms around her neck as she kept fucking you. Finally, that pressure broke, and pure bliss washed over your entire body. You couldn’t control the shrieks and moans that left your lips, and Wanda couldn’t control her own as she came inside you, her hands bruising your hips as her thrusts stuttered. You felt fire all over your entire body, but it felt so amazing. It was like there were a hundred heartbeats all going at once inside you, and when you finally started to calm down, you had never felt more relaxed.

Whatever had happened to you had happened to Wanda also, because when you pulled away to look at her, she looked just as spent and out of breath as you were.

Remembering the situation, Wanda regained her composure and grinned at you. “Good, very… very good.”

You let your finger wrap around one of her red curls, and Wanda grinned up at you. You felt something… different. As you thought about going back to your husband and doing with him the things Wanda had done with you, you didn’t want to do it. You had never felt with your husband the things you had felt with Wanda in your short time together. You didn’t even want to leave her arms, whining when she started to move to get up.

Surprised, Wanda leaned back down and snaked her arms around you. “You don’t want to get up?”

You shook your head, just staring at her as if she was a new creature you had never seen before. Not even having to ask why you were staring at her so, Wanda just held you closer to her, keeping herself inside you as she whispered in your ear, “I can’t wait to show you so many more things.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #lesbian #lgbt #marvel #smut #nsft #dark!wanda #dark!fic #wanda maximoff x f!reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x y/n #50s wanda #mommy wanda

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

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AITA for blocking my business partner and our mutual friends?

First of all, I want to establish that I'm not an idiot. I don't think I'm the smartest person in the world, I didn't do very well in school, and I'm generally a bit forgetful. I've been struggling with undiagnosed mental illness and neurodivergency for my entire life. My family growing up was very anti therapy and I've only recently brought anything up to a doctor. However, I like to think I manage myself pretty well. I have my own systems for doing things, and they may be unconventional, but it works. I've come to terms with the fact that no matter what I do, I'm going to have to work a lot harder than the average person and get a lot less credit. That's just how it is. I have two jobs, one of which is at a restaurant, and the other is a business that I started with my friend. It's still fairly small and local, but I'm really proud of how far it's come.

Me and my business partner, we'll call her Shelly, have a group of friends that we hang out with from time to time. I honestly don't like them very much, but Shelly, who has been my best friend for over a decade really enjoys hanging out with them, so though I've expressed to her that I want to start seeing them less, I've stayed friends with them, both to make Shelly happy and to avoid any drama that might be caused.

Among this group of friends is someone we'll call Dianne. Dianne will insult and berate me consistently, and then insist it was a joke. Nobody has ever laughed, and I have told Dianne that I don't find any of it funny. The other members of the friend group (aside from Shelly) said that this is just how she expresses that she likes somebody, and tried to make it seem like playful banter, but the insults are incredibly one-sided (I've never said an ill word about her to any of them, and especially not to her. I'm not rude.) and she never insults anyone but me and sometimes Shelly.

Recently ( a couple months or so ago) she started taking digs at my intelligence, as I have been a few minutes late to a couple of our hangouts, and I have trouble with my left and right. I said explicitly that I don't like it when people treat me like an idiot. I tried to be polite, but I won't stand for that. Also, being late and directions are very common things for people to struggle with, so I don't understand why that insinuates that I'm at all unintelligent. She also may have gotten this idea because I don't tend to laugh at her jokes, which are mostly things like "that's what she said" and other cheap and immature sex jokes. She usually tries to brush off the fact that I don't laugh by saying I must be dumb because I don't get her jokes. I do, they're just not very clever and I clearly have a different sense of humor than her.

I just kept trying to avoid any sort of conflict, because the rest of the group makes Shelly really happy. But then it started to get worse. The whole group seemed to be influenced by these jokes, and stopped expecting me to be able to do anything. I wasn't even the designated driver anymore, even though I'm usually the obvious choice because I don't drink. Dianne told me I'd probably crash because she didn't think I could read street signs. I've driven her home multiple times (during none of which she's been sober enough to remember my driving ability) and I've never driven at all irresponsibly while any of them were in the car. The whole group, aside from Shelly, began making jokes about how I was the resident airhead. For my birthday, Dianne got me a toddler sippy cup, and a card that said "Congrats, you're 2!". Get it. Because I'm so stupid I'm basically a child. Ha ha. So funny I forgot to laugh.

The last straw for me was when Shelly sent me a business email that was like "Are you going to be able to get the books done in time?" and basically told me to make sure I wasn't lazy when it came to keeping track of the sales, even though I've never been late with that kind of stuff. I really care about our business, and I keep track of all of the financials and do our taxes. I don't have a degree or anything, I could never afford college, so I emailed Shelly back very passive-agressively about how if she doesn't think I can do it in time, she can hire a real accountant.

We met with the friendgroup the next day and I was incredibly pissed. Dianne made another dig at me, something about our business probably going under because I'm too incompetent to do anything. I snapped. In the midst of yelling at her, I said "I am not stupid. You don't get to treat me like I am." and she said "But aren't you, though?" and I stormed out. I blocked everyone, except for Shelly.

I texted Shelly and said that she could be friends with whoever she wants, but that I'm never speaking to any of them ever again. Shelly said that I was being overdramatic, and that they're all being awkward to her now because they know that we're such good friends. I apologized for putting her in a position where she felt like she was in the middle, but told her that I was not about to take any more of that treatment. I told her I'm disappointed that after all this time, she let other people dictate the way that she sees me. When her new friends call me stupid, I can let it slide off of my back, but when my best friend of over a decade starts treating me like I'm incompetent and I can't get anything done, that really hurts. She told me that I need to learn to take a joke. I blocked her too after that. We've continued having meetings and being mostly civil, but we haven't spoken outside of that, and all the friendship is gone.

I'm mostly concerned about how this situation is going to affect our business, because I have worked so hard and I'd hate to see it fail because of petty drama and insults. I'm now feeling like I made a huge mistake by blowing up. Should I have just kept quiet to protect my job and friendship?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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nicoline1998enilocin · 8 months

Text

Such a tease

PAIRING | Ransom Drysdale x Best Friend!Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 3.1K

SUMMARY | You're spending the afternoon at a lingerie boutique to find the perfect set for your date later that night. You decide to tease your date a little and send him a photo, but in a rush you accidentally send it to your best friend instead. How will he react to getting such a spicy picture from you?

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Best friends to lovers, smut [ Edging, oral (F receiving), overstimulation, squirting, use of a safeword, protected sex, implied aftercare ], angst,

A/N | I want to thank @avengersfantasies for helping me with this one when I couldn't figure out how to continue; you're a lifesaver! 🖤

Likes, comments, and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💚

Divider is made by @firefly-graphics | 18+ banner is made by yours truly

Main Masterlist | Ransom Drysdale Masterlist

You're looking through the endless lingerie options for your date tonight since you and Kenji plan to have a hot and steamy date. When your eye falls on a set of red lingerie, you pick it up and go to try it on.

As soon as you close the curtain behind you, you let out a sigh and start taking all your clothes off, ready to slip into the pieces of red lacy fabric you picked up.

The bra slips on like a glove, pushing your boobs up perfectly, making them look irresistible. Next up are the panties, and you turn around to look at yourself. You have never felt more beautiful and are not even finished yet.

You pull on the stockings and slide the garter belt into place, hooking the ends to your stocking to keep them in place perfectly. Now all that's left is to tie the bit around your neck like a collar, making the chain attached to the garter belt fall between your boobs.

When it's on, you gasp softly at how perfect you look because every inch of lace hugs your curves beautifully. It is molded to your body like a second skin, and that's when you think of a mischievous plan.

You stand sensually, making your boobs pop even more, and snap pictures with different poses. When you're about to send the perfect one to Kenji, one of the sales associates suddenly interrupts your train of thought.

"Ma'am, can I help you with anything?" she asks, and you accidentally tap Ransom's name instead of Kenji's, sending it to your best friend instead of your date. Not that Ransom minds seeing you in lingerie.

"Uhm, no, thank you! I'm taking this set, so I'll be with you in a few minutes," you say, feeling the embarrassment washing over you while you change out of the lingerie and back into your regular clothes.

You calm yourself down a little before walking to the register, and the woman politely smiles.

"That will be $125, please," she says, and you nod, getting out the cash to pay for it. When that's done, the sales associate puts it in a bag, and you're on your way home to start getting ready for your date with Kenji.

You just pulled out of the parking garage and turned on your podcast for your drive home when suddenly you're getting a call from your best friend, Ransom.

"Hi, Ran-" is all you can say before he cuts you off.

"My house. Thirty minutes. Wear that lingerie you showed me," he says before hanging up, and you're confused about what he's talking about.

Only when you're home and getting ready to get out of your car can you look at what he meant, and you realize the photo that was supposed to go to Kenji went to Ransom instead.

You close your eyes and think about the mistake you have made. But then again, this is the universe telling you to finally admit your feelings to your best friend.

You leave your car and go inside to change into the brand new lingerie - putting on a cute red dress over it.

Once ready, you return to your car and exhale as you climb into the driver's seat. During the drive, you're nervous - your hands drumming against the steering wheel as you try to keep your thoughts together.

You've done what Ransom asked and are at his house a little under thirty minutes later; it's good he lives close. When you leave your car, you wipe your sweaty palms on your dress and adjust your hair again before walking to his door and using your key to let yourself in.

"Ransom?" you call out, hearing your voice echo against the walls of his house.

He walked into the hallway with assassin-like steps - complete silence as he approached you. He looks like a predator hunting down its prey, and before you can even say a proper hello, his lips crash onto yours.

His actions take you aback, but you hadn't expected anything else to happen.

When you didn't turn down his kiss, he deepened it, and you let his tongue pry your lips apart - moaning into your mouth. Your hands make their way into his hair, and he pins you against the wall - letting you feel his growing bulge. You gasp when you touch him, and he pulls away from you, smirking seductively.

"See what your little outfit did to me?" he asks, and you want to answer, but it feels like your throat is filled with cotton balls.

"I- I didn't-" is all you can say, but he doesn't let you finish; his lips crash back onto yours, and his hands move to the knot on your dress, untying it swiftly, and it falls open.

"Oh fuck," he whispers to himself as he takes a step back, and takes in the sight of you covered in red lace, the chain between your breasts and the red stockings.

You let the dress fall to the floor, and that's when Ransom picks you up and quickly throws you over his shoulder on his way to the bedroom.

He thought about taking you right then and there but ultimately decided against it as he wanted to make you feel special for the first time.

"What are you doing? Where are you taking me?!" you yelp as he easily lifts you, everything suddenly upside down, and his hand is lying on your ass to ensure you're not going anywhere.

"You'll have to wait and see since you've been such a tease to me," he says, and you can't help but squeeze your thighs together at the thought of what he might do to you.

You were prepared for many things, but Ransom edging you for over an hour was missing from the list of things you were ready for.

"R-Ran, please!" you wail after he builds you up again, to pull away at the last second before you fall over the edge. Right now, you hate him more than anything, but you can't go anywhere.

Your limbs have turned into nothing but complete jelly under his touch, and Ransom's reveling in the thought, saying the filthiest things while still buried between your thighs.

"Hm, this cunt is so sweet; wish you'd have let me have a taste sooner, Baby. Will fucking ruin you for everyone else like the needy slut you are for me and my dick," he says, a moan escaping your lips at his words.

"Please..." you whine; your release is so close yet so far away at the same time, but this time Ransom does let you cum; however, he doesn't stop there.

"Makes me so fucking hard when you beg like a slut, when you're begging me to let you cum. If you're such a needy slut for it, you better cum now," he says, setting a brutal pace with three of his fingers inside and his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking the life out of it.

"FUCK, 'M CUMMING!" you scream out, and he keeps doing the same thing until your juices squirt out, and he knows the edging was well worth it now.

"Such a perfect slut for me, huh? Squirting for me like that," he says, and you whine softly as you come down from your high, but Ransom doesn't grant you that luxury.

He barely pulled his fingers out of you, allowing his tongue to lap every last drop of your juices as he fucks you with it.

"C-can't take more!" you tell him, but Ransom's determined to pull one more out of you. He needs one more orgasm before he's even going to think about filling you with his cock.

"Yes, you can, Baby. Just need one more from you now, and then I'll let you suck me off like a perfect slut," he says, his tongue going back to fucking and lapping your juices, his thumb now pressed on your clit until you fall apart for him again.

Loud moans echo through his bedroom and house, but you're too far gone to even worry about that. You're too wrapped up in pleasure and the thought of Ransom making you feel this good to care about anything other than him.

"Tastes so fucking sweet, Baby, tastes like peaches, and I can't get enough of it," he says as he attaches his mouth to your clit again, sucking and licking, but it is too much this time.

Tears are starting to form in your eyes from the overstimulation, and you're working up the courage to keep going and give him everything he wants, but you can't. You can't take anything else he's providing you right now.

Before you can fully comprehend what's happening, your mouth opens slightly, and you say it softly and barely audible. Still, Ransom hears you perfectly fine, stopping his motions immediately and stepping away.

"Red."

The two of you never talked about safewords, but that doesn't matter as Ransom backs away regardless, afraid he did something to hurt you.

"Shit..." he whispers to himself as you curl up into a ball and move back to the headboard of his bed. You feel bad about using the safeword even though you know it was the right thing to do.

Tears keep streaming down your face as you rock back and forth, your arms wrapped around your knees after you pull them up to your chest. Your eyes are closed, and that's when you suddenly hear Ransom throw a punch against the wall of his bedroom.

"Fuck!" he grits out through his teeth as he looks at his hand and back to you, looking scared out of your mind as big eyes are looking back at him.

He slowly walks over to the bed with his hands held up to show he's not going to hurt you and touch you without your permission, but it doesn't calm you down.

"Get out," you say before he can even reach the bed, and he looks down with defeat, but he does as you say, wanting to give you back the power over the situation right now.

You stay in his bedroom for an unknown amount of time while gathering your thoughts about what happened. It's not that you don't want him because you do, but he went too far by ignoring you, and that's what hurt most.

You feel incredibly bare in just your lingerie, so you go over to his wardrobe, fishing out a pair of joggers he never wears and one of his sweaters to make yourself feel a bit more comfortable.

You strip yourself out of everything except your panties and put on Ransom's clothes, ready to see him and talk about what has happened.

Ransom sits at his dining table, one of his hands in his hair while the other is getting iced. He looks up at you as you walk into the dining room and smiles at seeing you wearing his clothes.

"Can I sit here?" you ask as you point to the chair directly across from him. He nods as he looks up at you, and you can tell he's been crying, too, by the look of his bloodshot eyes.

"I'm sorry-" he starts, but you raise your hand, notifying him that now's not the time for him to talk. Right now, you have something to get off your chest, and this is the perfect moment to do just that.

"I want to start by saying that I'm not mad at you at all, Ransom," you say, and he looks up at you, the fact that he went too far still fresh in his mind.

You stretch out your hands, and he puts his free hand in it, letting yours envelop it. The softness of your small hands contrasts his big, calloused hands, making him chuckle softly.

"It's so cute," he whispers as he looks at your combined hands, and you chuckle at the sight.

"It is, but I want to admit something to you. I've wanted to tell you something for a few months, but I needed to figure out how or when. I- I have a huge crush on your Ransom, and I'm not sure when it developed, but I figured you don't feel the same, so I just kept it to myself all this time," you tell him, your heart fluttering a little now that your secret is finally out in the open.

"And I have to say that even though you went over my boundary and I had to safeword, I'm glad you did respect it when I used it, despite us not having talked about it. I do want to continue what we were doing if it is okay with you, but I do want to ask you to be gentle with me this time because I cannot take another version of what you did," you say with a polite smile, stroking Ransom's hand with your thumbs.

"God, I- I don't know where to start," Ransom says, gathering all of his courage to tell you how he feels since talking about feelings does not come naturally to him.

"The beginning might be nice," you joke, and Ransom can't help but laugh at your simple comment. This is precisely why he fell for you all this time ago. How sweet you are, your caring nature, your stupid jokes, all of it. And now that he knows you feel the same, he won't waste another second.

"I have feelings for you too, Y/N. Hell, I'm fucking in love with you, even!" he shouts, a burst of booming laughter following his statement.

"Been in love with you for I don't know how long, and now that I know you feel the same, I'm not planning on hurting you like I did, ever again. I am so sorry you felt the need to use it, but I also want you to know I'm proud of you for doing it. I'm sorry it had to come to that point, but I will make it up to you in every way imaginable," he says.

"I love you, Ransom," you say before getting up and walking to his side of the table. He moves back so you can sit on his lap, and you gladly do.

You get seated sideways to cup his face in your hands, stroking his smooth cheeks softly before leaning in and molding your lips to his perfectly. Two pieces of a puzzle, sliding right into place as they belong to one another.

When you pull away, he follows your lips for another, but you're just a little faster than him, much to his disappointment.

"I want to do this the right way, Ransom. Please take me out on a date and ask me to be yours. We both know I will say yes, but until then, I just want you. Ransom, all I want is you," you whisper in his ear, and a warm feeling spreads across his cheeks at your words.

"And how do you want me, Baby?" he asks, and you get a mischievous smile.

Your lips ghost softly over his lips, to his cheek, and you let out a warm breath on his ear before telling him how you want to fall apart while riding him so good he won't be able to think of anything else but you.

Now here you are, sitting on his couch in the living room, both completely naked while you bounce slowly up and down on his rock-hard cock. At least you still had the sense to make him put on a condom because if it were up to him, he'd slide in immediately.

Soft moans leave your lips while Ransom's hands touch you everywhere they can, from your shoulders and arms to your back and waist, to your hips and ass. Not a single inch of you is left untouched.

Your hands slide over his prominent muscles in his arms, broad chest, and chiseled abs; he looks like a Greek God. And the fucked out look on his face? Even better.

"I love-" is all you get to say to Ransom before your phone rings, and you lean back to grab it from the table behind you, showing Ransom who's calling you.

"Pick it up while you keep riding me so good, Baby. Want him to know it's me who makes you feel this good. That you're mine, and I'm never letting you go," he says between some groans.

You slide the incoming call button to the right, putting it on speaker, just as Ransom grabs your ass to give himself some leverage to fuck up into you as you pick up the phone, making you moan loudly.

"K-Kenji, hi! I'm a b-b-bit b-busy," you say, and you can hear the guy on the other end let out a deep sigh as he hears the skin against skin, your moans leaving your lips, and the groans coming from Ransom.

"Don't fucking bother to contact me ever again, you fucking slut," he says before hanging up the phone, and you drop your phone on the couch before letting yourself fall forward to kiss Ransom fiercely.

"Hm, I'm the only one who gets to call my girl a slut when I'm railing her," Ransom grits out, but he doesn't slow down in the slightest, instead only picking up his pace even more.

He keeps hitting your sweet spot repeatedly, and before you know it, you're falling apart on his cock, just like you said you wanted to. It only takes a few more thrusts from Ransom before he spills his seed into the condom, wishing he was shooting it into your bare cunt instead.

"F-fuck, feels so fucking good when you cum for me," he says, slowly riding you through both your orgasms until you're completely fucked out, your head lying in the crook of his neck.

"Love you so much, Baby. Can't believe I didn't tell you that sooner," he says, and you just hum in response, getting sleepy after the way he made you cum for him.

You stayed on the couch for a little longer before Ransom picked you up and carried you to the bath. He slipped in and put you on his lap, your head resting against his shoulder as he carefully washed your body.

"Thank you, Ran. Love you so much," you say when you're both done, and he gives you one of his shirts and a pair of his boxer briefs to wear to bed.

"I love you too, Baby. And I plan on making the date I'm taking you on unforgettable," he says as he snuggles you into his chest. The two of you fall asleep not long after that, and you've had the best sleep in a while snuggled up in his arms.

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joebrrrow · 1 year

Text

Refunds || Joe x F!Reader (NSFW)

You were no stranger to Joe’s hijinks.

word count: 3,237

warnings/contents: blowjob, daddy name-calling (i'm sorry joe i'm just saying what we're all thinking), dom!joe/sub!reader dynamics, rough sex (i'm sorry joe), choking, full mind-break, degradation (but also, like, praise), bimbo behavior-fication, dirty talk

author’s note: crawling out of my hole to give you this filthy filth in celebration of the bengals going to the AFC championship! now excuse me i must go take a cold shower and get to my scheduled exorcism because i need church after writing this.

don’t be shy to like and reblog if you enjoyed. as creators say, likes are amazing but reblogs go a long way in sharing my work. thank y’all!!!!!

For more of my smut, read Sturdy. For fluff, check out Capturing You, because your girl can do both. <3

enjoy under the cut!

No matter what, Joe was a winner to you.

And you never really let it get to your head too much, especially when you were watching him from the stands, whatever the team’s score was. You were endlessly proud of him, win or lose, because you’d been there from the very beginning. Even when he was still at Ohio State and barely even saw the field, you gleamed with pride. But honestly, it had been pissing you off a little bit—and you’re typically mild-mannered, some might even go as far as saying meek—to hear everyone doubt Joe, and the whole team for that matter.

“It’s just trash talk, baby,” Joe would soothe you the moment you heard about all this bullshit about neutral sites, ticket sales. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and reached over to close your laptop, cutting out the noise in a way. “If that gets to ya, you should hear what some guys say on the field.” He cracked a grin and that made things better.

You tried out logic for a while. It wasn’t like pre-selling tickets to a matchup was unheard of; it was basically customary in any sport. Even protocol. And that satiated you for now. You didn’t notice, but Joe actually liked seeing a little bit of that fire in you—this newfound willingness to prove someone wrong. You were always someone who didn’t care too much about what others thought, which was why he wanted even more to win against the Bills on Sunday, just for you; because as much as you were proud of him no matter what, he also liked your praise just as much. He wanted to make you proud.

So come Sunday, when it was the fourth quarter and the Bills were too behind to catch up to the Bengals’ score and that timer was running out, you couldn’t hide how happy you were for him. You watched him from the stands with a big stupid smile on your face because this was who Joe Burrow was—your Joe. He was a winner, a champion, and the sooner people started to realize that, the better. And what a helluva way to prove them wrong with just four words:

“Better send those refunds.”

—

You sat there, mouth slightly falling open. The bright light of your phone’s screen illuminated your face in the otherwise dark parking lot, at a gas station somewhere in the outskirts of Cincinnati, about five minutes away from yours and Joe’s place. You were catching up on all the social media, retweeting things, reposting stories, acknowledging everything you could that was singing Joe’s praises because goddamn if he didn’t deserve it. And that was when you caught this clip of Joe’s postgame interview.

Better send those refunds.

You were no stranger to his hijinks. You loved how fired up he got after a great game and an even better win. You loved how he was slowly opening up to the media, showing a little more of the goofy person you know him to be (though you secretly wished he’d kept it all for you). But this… Something was different about this.

You were suddenly startled by Joe opening the door to his car, entering the driver’s seat and handing a plastic bag over to you. Without much thought, you grabbed it. “What’s this?” you asked.

He snickered at this. “Your snacks, sweetheart.” Oh, that’s right—you had run out of your celebratory post-game Oreos at the house and wanted him to grab a quick pack.

With a chuckle, you played it off. “Thanks.”

He started the car and began pulling out of the parking lot, but not without question. “You good, baby?”

“Yep,” you croaked out. You turned beet red and thanked God it was dark outside so he couldn’t see. You both laughed about how your voice broke just then.

A few seconds passed before you spoke again. You willed up some confidence. “It’s just… You know, I can’t let it go. About how they were selling those tickets before they even knew who was going to play in the Championship.”

“Ah, I know, babe.” He reached over and patted your knee. “But that doesn’t matter, ‘cause we’re gonna be there next week.”

“I know, I know, but… What was it you said at that interview after the game? ‘Give the tickets back,’ or something like that?” You purposely watered down his words, wanting him to correct you.

“Nah, nah, you’re butchering it,” he said, laughing. “I don’t remember what I said, really.”

“Oh, c’mon. You remember,” you insisted teasingly. “I bet you had it bubbling up. You thought of it last week, probably, and kept rehearsing it over and over again so you got it right by the time you had to say it.”

Joe scoffed, reaching over and ruffling your hair. “Where’s this comin’ from, bug?” His sweet little nickname for you. He always treated you like you were small, and you liked that. But you didn’t want to sink into it, not yet—you wanted this first.

“Just say it. You remember what you said.”

“Hmm.” At a red light, he stopped the car and looked over at you. His perplexed expression was smoldering even when dimly lit crimson.

Biting your lip, you waited.

“I know what I said,” he finally confessed.

“Yeah?” you squirmed a bit in your seat. The light was still red.

“I said, ‘Better send those refunds.’”

“Mmm.” You couldn’t hold back your whimper. It was involuntary. Sometimes it shocked you, still, the effect that Joe Burrow had on you. Even after all these years. But you caught yourself and added, “Mmmhmm. That’s what you said.”

He didn’t let you get away with it, though. He never did.

As the light turned green, Joe slowly accelerated forward; you were the only car on these quiet streets. He said nothing. You bit back your smile as you looked out of the window, pretending like nothing happened.

Then, you felt it. He brought his right hand down from the wheel to pat your knee again, but it wasn’t a silly pat this time. He started rubbing his huge hand on your knee, slowly lowering it to your inner thigh. You thought his touch was going to burn a hole in your leggings. But you weren’t done.

“Better send those refunds,” you repeated, somewhat more enunciated, voice a bit breathy. But you didn’t want to make it obvious that his touch had already gotten to you; that you’d already been soaked from the moment he got back in the car. You let out a soft chuckle. “I mean, it’s true. They knew better than to doubt you.”

“Hmph.” Joe seemed to be satisfied by your words.

“I mean, right? God, this should show them that they’re stupid for even thinking about selling those tickets in the first place, whether it’s protocol or not,” you continued. His hand on your thigh just kept moving higher and higher. Your next words came out with a slight gasp: “You’re the fucking best, Joe. And if they don’t know that by now…”

When his hand finally snuck between your thighs, thumb rubbing against your warm pussy over your leggings, you let out a slutty moan. “Daddy.” It was, like that whimper earlier, involuntary. Conditioned.

“Shh. Tell me.” It was the first time you’d heard his voice in a minute, and it was suddenly colored so deep, lustful.

You knew what to say. “I just think you’re—you’re the best, daddy.” Your confidence had waned off a bit, replaced by this slightly bimbofied persona only he knew how to dig out of you. “And you’re so right… they better send those refunds.” You nodded, biting down hard on your lip as he rubbed your clit in circles. You looked at him even if he wasn’t looking at you back; his focused expression as he drove was all you needed to keep getting wetter and wetter.

But you were suddenly disappointed as you felt the car slow down and pull into your house. Those were the fastest five minutes of your life. You wanted it to be like the last time you got frisky in the car, Joe so desperate that you pulled off to the side of the road and fucked you right there. You supposed this was better, though; you could both get out of your clothes easier and didn’t have to wrestle with a pile of winter coats. (It was summer the last time you had car sex; your tiny shorts were easy to pull off.)

“Let’s go,” Joe spoke, stepping out of the car. He was calm as you both headed inside the house.

You dropped off your coat and bag on the wall hook by the door and pathetically set the plastic bag on the kitchen island, feeling his presence somewhere behind you. You looked up at him, biting your lip, seeing him standing in the doorway. He’d taken his shoes and coat off already, just in his warm-ups. When you caught his gaze, his ocean blue eyes looked expectant of you.

“Yes, daddy?”

That was enough to set him off. He walked over to you, towering over you and backing you up against the kitchen island. You gulped, looking up at him. You loved when he made you feel small.

“Better send those refunds.”

You feigned confusion. “Huh?”

Abruptly, he grabbed you by your waist and turned you around, bending you over the counter. He had a fistful of your hair and his cock pressed hard against you, and you felt him breathing in your ear. “I said, you’d better send those refunds.”

“Y-yeah,” you nodded, looking at him through your peripherals, brows curled up. Your mouth hung agape, moaning as he reached his free hand down and grabbed your ass. Just from this, your head was already swirling with dumb pleasure. “Right away, daddy.”

He turned you around and pulled you onto your knees by your hair. You braced yourself by grabbing his thighs and didn’t dare break eye contact from him. Even if his bulge was right in your face. This was the first time in a long time, since the beginning of today, that he’d gotten a look at you. He smirked; you knew he thought you were gorgeous, he didn’t have to say it. This was about him.

“Suck my cock.”

You did as you were told, pulling down his sweatpants and not even allowing yourself a second to admire his length. You took the shaft in your hand and directed the tip of his cock into your mouth, closing your eyes as you expertly began sucking him off. There was no slow burn here; that already happened in the car.

Joe still had your hair in his hand, and it gripped tighter as you blew him. “Mmm. Fuck, baby. Just like that,” he growled. He broke eye contact from you for a moment to lean his head back and close his eyes, focusing on the sound of you gagging over his cock. You took him as far as you could then fucked the back of your throat with the tip of his cock, which was slick in your drool. Your hands held onto his thighs as you whimpered with your mouth full. Even though he wasn’t looking at you, you didn’t break eye contact from him; it made you so wet to watch him go all primal.

Then he grabbed two fistfuls of your hair to make pigtails. You knew that he wanted to control your mouth, so you held your hands behind your back like a good girl and you let him throw your head back and forth against his cock. Your eyes welled up with tears.

He looked down to watch you as he fucked your throat, and he looked so proud to own you. It made you want to be even better at being throatfucked, like you would go to college and get a degree in being a good throat to fuck if you could. You wanted to serve him in that way. You made filthy, wet gagging noises, and babbled when you could; your face was coated in your own drool.

“Alright, get up,” he said, pulling his cock out of your mouth and hoisting you to your feet by your pigtails. He let go of your hair and you sighed in slight relief from the new lack of tension.

“Y-yes daddy,” you gurgled out. Your makeup was ruined, but you still looked pretty to him. He kissed you messily, grabbing both of your cheeks with one hand of his squeezing your face together. Then he gave your face a nice, solid slap.

“You gonna be a good girl for daddy, huh? You gonna take this dick?” he asked, breathless.

You whimpered and nodded. “Yes,” you whimpered. “I want it. I want it so bad. Please.”

Satisfied with your pleading, he forced you on your stomach, bent over against the kitchen island. He pulled down your leggings and lifted your jersey up, and as you watched him over your shoulder, you caught his smirk. Of course you were wearing his number. You knew he liked seeing you wear it and loved fucking you in it even more.

With one hand on your back and the other on the base of his shaft, he slowly directed the tip of his cock inside of you, not shy to groan as he felt how wet you were. “Fuck. Look how wet you are,” he said, tone as if to humiliate you, but you loved it when it came along with praise. “You’re fucking soaked. Are you that much of a slut that seeing me win gets you this fucking soaked and slutty, sweetheart?”

You whimpered, finding yourself almost begging for him to slide in all the way. “Y-yes, daddy. I’m a slut,” you barely got out. Your words were somewhat nasally and high-pitched; you were almost full bimbo at this point. “Please. Please.”

He chuckled at this, pulling back out. He rubbed his tip along the wet, slick slit of your cunt. “Please what?”

“Daddy. Daddy, please fuck me. I can’t take it,” you begged. “I’ll—I’ll get on those refunds right away, daddy. I should’ve known better.”

Joe growled. Satisfied, he shoved deep into you, and held his cock there; you felt his balls graze up against your clit.

“Ah!” you moaned. You braced yourself against the kitchen island, staring at the Oreos.

Then, Joe started to fuck you.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and everything went black. You bathed in the pleasure that was his cock pummeling your tight little pussy. You loved how rough he was being. You were losing yourself. You were being owned by Joe Burrow. You were his piece of pussy, and only that.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” you moaned in conjunction with each thrust of his as he took you from behind.

His hands gripped tightly on your waist, letting out primal groans as he fucked you hard. He wasn’t holding back, and you loved it. “Oh, c’mon, baby. You better get to it,” he spoke, breathily, and yet confidently. “You were gonna do something for me, weren’t you? Before you went all brain-stupid and cock-slutty for your daddy?”

You hated how easily his words came out when all you could think about was his dick obliterating your pussy. The words were jumbled in your head: “Refunds, better send.” And they came out repeatedly in whines. “Refunds. Daddy. Send. Yes. Fuck. Me.”

One of his hands left your waist and you almost began sobbing at that lack of contact only if he didn’t reach up and grab your throat, pulling you up from the cold marble of the kitchen island so you could stand up a bit and watch him fuck you. He held your throat tightly, and you looked over your shoulder as best as you could to catch a blurry image of the most handsome fucking man you’ve ever seen hammer into you. He shoved his thumb in your mouth and you sucked happily. You repositioned your hands on the counter to hold yourself up and continue to be a good slut. His other hand spanked your ass.

“That’s right, baby. Better send those refunds like the stupid fuckin’ bimbo you are,” he growled out, words accented with that smirk you knew he wore while he fucked you. “Take this big fuckin’ daddy cock in your wet, tight little pussy, baby.” His hand left your throat only to dig under your shirt and grab your tits, tugging that bralette down and off your tits. He roughly pinched your nipple and you whined out. Your tits bounced freely in rhythm with his incessant, merciless fucking.

“D-daddy,” you whined, desperately.

“Aw, what’s that? You can’t say anything?” There he was again, pulling out coherent sentences while you babbled.

You’d gone full bimbo by this point. You were far gone, and your only compass was his dick inside of you. You knew nothing else about fuck-all until his cock was drained inside of you, and you would be a good slut-servant until he was done.

But goddamn, you were about to cum. “I—” you whimpered out. “If you keep fucking me like that, daddy, I’m gonna cum.”

He laughed at this. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm. Put your—daddy, please—”

You didn’t have to finish your sentence. Joe knew what you needed. His hand left your tit if only to grab your throat again, and his other hand held onto your waist, keeping you still. Otherwise, you’d squirm away from him. He knew you were uncontrollable when you came.

“What’s that, baby? Use your words for daddy, c’mon.” He smirked.

“I’m gonna—” you cried out.

He timed his thrusts with these next few words, feeling close to climaxing himself: “You’d. Better. Send. Those. Fucking. Refunds. You. Fucking. Slut.”

And with that, you came hard all over his cock, clenching your tight, wet walls around him. “God, daddy! I’m cumming! Yes! Don’t stop!” You closed your eyes and indeed, squirmed around a ton, and he had to hold your waist to keep you still.

“Fuck. I’m gonna cum, too, baby.” He grunted, wrangling and fucking you at the same time, and at the feeling of your walls clenching around him, shot his white hot load deep inside you. You felt him filling you up, the warmth of his load sinking deep into your stomach. You both slowed down, breathing hard.

With him still inside of you, you slumped forward, laying your top half down on the counter. You looked over your shoulder up at him, then cracked a grin.

And he broke into a smile, too, gleaming with pride. He’d never admit it, but you turned him into such an animal. It was even sweeter when the clouds had all cleared and all you both felt was bliss.

You lifted a heavy, lifeless arm to reach across the counter. You pulled the plastic bag closer and took out the package of Oreos. Barely functioning and breathing hard, you put all your effort into ripping that stupid, plastic seal off the package, revealing three rows of double-stuffed sandwich cookies. You pulled one out and offered it over your shoulder to him. “Want a celebratory Oreo, champ?” you asked.

He took it with a snicker. “Yeah, sweetheart. I sure do.”

#joe burrow #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow smut #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x reader #myfics*

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unpretty · 1 year

Note

I am absolutely living for the vibe talk and wondered if we could get a vibe tour or smth? Or just your absolute faves bc your reviews are really honest and fun!

yeah sure let's discuss various toys, not including my many bellesa toys previously mentioned

thoa, son of clithulu, by fantasticocks! i got a pre-set color because they were on sale but by default they do customs. i know i said internal doesn't do it for me but like. i still like it. it's just not going to get me there, is all. basically everything else by fantasticocks is too big for me. i am a delicate flower. i have not yet tested using it with a harness but i feel like it would work. they also have tentacle dick packers if that's relevant to your interests. i still want to find a cute box or chest to keep it in where it won't get linty and weird and i am accepting suggestions.

the luvli ditto 2 is a piece of shit. i'm so mad about this one. the idea is that you can wear it during sex, because the internal part is thin enough to fit a dick next to. what it actually does is fall out and do jack shit. this is one of the more expensive toys i've bought in my life and has sucked the worst. absolute loathing.

RIP the lelo nea 2. the buttons are a pain in the ass but it was cute, quiet, and discreet. until i fell asleep and didn't realize when i woke up that it was sandwiched firmly between my thighs. twice. and it ended up in the toilet because i was sleepy and had to pee. i cannot possibly justify buying it a third time but maybe if your labes are less powerful you will not have my idiot problem.

the lelo gigi 2. got this in a sale bundle with the nea and figured maybe i'd finally find something resembling a g-spot that would do it for me. i didn't.

the picobong remoji. for some reason when i bought that nea+gigi bundle from nea it included this for free. it has an app. i tried it once and it sucked. i don't think my girlfriend could use it long distance even if i wanted her to. i think all the app did was make it vibe to music, which is a lot like those weird vibe pattern settings i never use but worse. absolutely bizarre.

for a long time this extremely generic glass dildo, available wherever cheap glass dildos are sold, was my only dildo. because i was fucking broke and glass was the only thing i could buy that cheap that i trusted. if it says it's bodysafe silicone and it's only twelve dollars it's lying. also i wanted something as easy as possible to sterilize in case of butt stuff. anyway i still have it, it gets the job done if you want to pretend you're fucking someone with an inhumanly hard dick. perhaps some kind of living statue, or gargoyle. hypothetically.

this isn't the exact rabbit that i snapped in half in high school but it's close enough. i have never bought another.

the tokidoki x lovehoney unicorno magic wand. it's just a regular magic wand with a unicorn head on it. you can actually remove the unicorn head to make it a regular magic wand but i don't. it turns out the presence of the ear is vital for me and otherwise i would find it useless. it's too goddamn big. it's the size of a small car. i'm still mad i didn't get the scene kid looking one in black. this one's been my daily driver since the nea broke. can't run out of batteries if you have to plug it into the wall!

#original

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milknhonies · 3 months

Text

The Negatives of Shooting People

Chapter 5 || MasterList || Chapter 7

Chapter Summary: You get the ultimate privilege of meeting Nicholas Tortano who grants you the ability to surprise August Walker

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Sexual tension, P in V intercourse, fingering, petnames, dubious consent, hate sex, rough sex, gun violence, threats with a gun, forceful handling, belittling, manipulation The reader vomits and is kissed briefly at some point. Mentions of dacryphilia, sadism.

Pairing: Kingpin!August Walker X F!reader

Word Count: .I dont honestly know but it's definitely more than 6k

Author Notes: the chapter and editing process was very rough I'm very sorry full stop my life has been in a business because I'm trying to find a new place to live and I've started going to the gym and missing out on a lot of sleep. I'm about to pass out which is why I'm posting this now. Again sorry for any mistakes granrma and otherwise

Inspiring Song: "girl with one eye " Florence and the machine. (Yes I know it's a sapphic song- I sing it like every day but let me have this pass to add it in)

08:09am Monday 19th August 2024, Robertson, Brisbane.

'What the hell is she thinking?'

Henry shook his head as he reached the complex exit and walked out onto the street to the waiting car.

He wanted to smirk but the frowning scowl would not drop from his face.

'If I was anyone else, God what I'd do to her-' his hand clenched the passenger side door handle hard and slammed loudly behind him. His eyes shut and his head tossed while the car swayed and rocked.

Jude, his driver and loyal friend smirked, “You must like this one...or is there a pile of meat up in that apartment that I need to fetch? I can call Riggan the pig farmer in the Lockyer Valley, anything left over he can throw in Wivenhoe dam.”

August sighed and chuckled, "She's alive and well. No sweet treat for Coles piggies...but...I need you and Wesley to look into the Pig she has been accompanying."

Jude smiled and leaned over, clicking the button of the glove box compartment. Inside was a yellow envelope. August's eyes fluttered before his face broke out into a grin.

"You are a fine friend Jude," he said as he plucked the envelope and spilled the printed notes out onto his lap, "Do you ever sleep? Jesus mate."

The raven hair man giggled and started the car to a silent hum.

As the driver put a hand behind Augusts car seat and reversed the car out onto the main roads he smugly said, "I take pride in investigating, especially bastards like him."

August's fingers flicked through the pages of graphic intel. With racing eyes he soaked up the words and photos. Lloyd Hansen...an absolute moron. His nose flared at what he was reading. He grit his teeth. Especially when he recognised a name in bold he hadn't thought about in at least half a decade.

"Well, well, well, he's got kittens for sale," August scoffed.

Jude hummed, "And meddles in the dogs pack, it would seem little Nicky is out of the jailhouse."

Both men smirked. But August was by no means pleased.

He was grumbling to himself. You were now sticking your toes into the deep end of the pool without floaties and he was worried he wouldn’t be able to catch you in time for the dunk.

Entering his club, sneaking in with the detective, he didn’t think you were dumb enough to think you’d distract him... He read through your charade the moment his eyes laid down on you from above walking in with that man.

His eyes and ears were turning red.

It was tricky but thankfully he had the means to warning that cop not to touch what belongs to him...however how close could he really get to that bastard without potential outlash. He knew he needed to order another grandeur meeting. While everyone was in town, it might be his only opportunity.

When August forced you to watch the murder of the embezzler, he had every hoping intention that it would persuade you to never talk to the cop again. A normal undercover pig would’ve stopped the show then and there, called back up.

But there was no back up...no...there was only sweet little innocent you and your pathetic phone camera. If Lloyd was after information he would’ve wired you up...Lloyd wasn’t there for him...he was there for some selfish reason...

When you ran off and pulled the alarm a dozen things went through his head. You were going to get yourself killed if you kept running. So he chased you. If the other men of his circle saw August Walker hunting, they would have been inclined to hunt you down too. And if they caught you...they would have done more than rip your head off.

He couldn’t tell you. He wasn’t sure how. You were already distrusting and scared of him there was no way he would be able to explain all the details and with your pure heart, you wouldn’t understand his world and why his side of the fence did such heinous things.

But...he would keep you safe. He wanted to gain your trust while not mistaking his authority...he knew what he had done was traumatizing.

He was no stranger to rape. Especially the european parties...those special events where he would join his friends like Kenny Strong and Arthur Kingsley ran the highlife of elite gentlemen and some lucky women born into those elite families. He wasn’t entirely fond of the practice. He didn’t like to beat women, but he did love to tie them up and humiliate them to tears.

Something about crying made his cock hard- no, something about you crying did...

He made you cry and he tried to bend you to his whims...he had already begun the conditioning where you would call him Daddy to gain his affection and praise. It pleased him significantly. He would shield you from those terrible memories even if it meant torturing you into talking about them. Externalising, confessing, it was all a form of therapy and he knew he had finally cracked the surface of your mind. He wouldn’t break you but he would chop at you and cut the mould. He would heal you. He would rebuild you and give you all the happiness you could ever want.

Sitting back and shoving those papers into the glove box he licked his bottom lip in thought.

When he woke up that morning, he watched you sneak out of the room. He smiled and amused himself. He watched the cameras from his phone. You were in his room...now that was very silly...he watched you choose his shirt and his shorts. He bit his lip to hold back a laugh. You looked so confident but so ...innocent...particular. He watched you grab a knife from the kitchen, he half heartedly believed you were coming back to stab him.

When your hands reached for the glass doors he launched up. He hadn’t warned you about Kal and he knew that dog could rip a man up, probably kill you easily if his fangs cause your wrist or neck.

He wanted to spank you and fuck you hard until you screamed mercy for trying to run away.

Rather he chose a simpler and easier punishment, one you essentially consented to the night before. Watching you suck cock was an interesting spectacle. There was a certainty you’d never done it before or not that many times before.

As you gagged on his cock with those big beautiful eyes of yours, he imagined all the things he’d buy for you...all the things he’d do for you... You might’ve been on your knees but something screamed at him to serve you as a slave.

Jude broke the silence eventually. He smirked, “So, am I right? You like this one?”

August smirked back, “’Like’ isn’t a word I’d be using.” He was fucking obsessed.

09:06am Monday 19th August 2023, Woolloongabba, Brisbane

You didn’t make a call. You couldn't. August broke your phone as you recalled.

You showered and scrubbed your face until you could feel the slight peel of your skin. It stung, but it was better than the sting you felt from the memory of his cum over you...in your mouth. You brushed your teeth for probably fifteen minutes just to erase the muscle memory of his cock brushing the back of your throat.

You changed out of August’s clothes and threw them into the bin. You couldn’t take off the collar and it made you feel suffocated. The kitchen scissors managed to scratch up the leather but the metal ring that encased inside was too strong.

You shook your head and felt nausea rise in your belly again. Without any food, all that came out was bile and acidic spit. You fell to your bedroom floor and started hitting the carpet, awful noises of grief and need bellies from you. You felt strangled. You huffed and spat random threats and insults, pretending he was there to hear them...he...August or your father? It didn’t matter.

You clenched your fist and smacked your head trying to regain your thoughts.

You kicked your dresser and rose from the floor. You found your bus pass and left the apartment, walking out in some jeans and a loose tshirt with a pair of running shoes.

The bus trip wasn’t a far trip to the police station.

You didn’t have the intention to report the kidnapping. No, no...now you were pissed off. You were scorned more than once by men around you. There was only one person you could trust in this world.

“Hi,” said the administration clerk, “How can we try an help today?” You fought the urge to roll your eyes, 'oh bitch if only you knew.'

“I’m after Detective Lloyd Hansen, is he here?”

You needed to confirm if the man was still alive. When you pulled the alarm, things were run or die in that moment. You hoped the man had the wit to run instead of confront the mafia or whatever this criminal group was.

The office was feeling slower today. It was filled with idle chatter and coffee machines grinding beans and a printer scanning documents.

“Do you have an appointment today?” she hummed, tapping at her keyboard.

You blinked and your teeth sneered.

You almost strangled that worker with the telephone cord. No. You didn’t have an appointment.

You just wanted to see he was alive. To tell him you were alive...and to collect your fifteen thousand promised reward for your “services”.

Your hands uncontrollably slapped on the desk cause the admin clerk to roll a little away in their office chair.

“I want to see the detective, now.”

“It’s alright Sandra...I can see her...” Lloyd said behind you. You flipped around. He was coming out of a small cubicle.

He looked...tired...shocked...relieved. it was all over how he looked with his loose tie, bags under his eyes and the clench of his hands on some paperwork.

He slowly stood to you and guided you away from the service desk. He whispered, “The white corolla...I’m about to finish shift.”

09:14am Monday 19th August 2024, Sunnybank, Brisbane.

You remembered his car well. The day he drove you home, you were so scared and confused. That day you’d reported that August may have sexually assaulted you...that day he definitely did...

This time you weren’t waiting in the cold for Lloyd, the sun was hot and beating down.

He came jogging down the front stairs of the station and hastily unlocked the car.

You wordlessly slipped in and buckled up.

When he got in he slammed his door a little too hard. He pressed his face to the top of his wheel and swore softly.

“I thought,” he swallowed nervously and sat up to look you up and down, “I thought he really had killed you. I tried calling thirty fuckin times these last two days. What happened? Were you hiding?”

Two days....god...you had been gone, missing, for that long?! Missing Friday...return Sunday.

You shook your head, “I was the one who pulled the alarm Lloyd...he knew what we were doing...he was going to kill you. When I made a run for it like everyone else in the club, he managed to track me down...he...” you trailed off unsure if you wanted to repeat the actions, the words, the confession.

Licking your lips you said, “August Walker is a dead man walking...and...” your stomach started to growl, “I’m starved, and I’m sorry to be bitchy but you...you at least owe me a meal Lloyd.”

Two days...you had only a few pieces of chicken in two days. No wonder you felt like total crap.

Lloyd didn’t argue. He took you straight away to the closest fast food drive thru. You ordered so much and Lloyd didn’t dispute a single item. He settled for a simple burger, fries and larger soft drink.

Lloyd drove you both to the kangaroo point lookout, it wasn't too far from where you already live. You stared out at the city buildings and Brisbane River with a strained sigh.

You chewed silently on a nugget for a moment before you explained what happened. How you were caught, how you almost got away...

“Jesus,” Lloyd rubbed his eyes and sighed, “I...I think I...I’m sorry I took you for granted Y/N. When I left the building I search everywhere for you. I thought...well- I didn’t know what to think.”

You munched on a handful of fries, you didn’t care if you looked like a pig as you did it. Stuffing your cheeks full of a burger and then a massive gulp of an extra large drink. You swallowed and thrived off the heart burn aching in your chest, reminding you you’ve eaten too quickly.

You burped and then softly moaned, “I need to feel safe.”

“You need to move...Y/N please,” The begging in his tone was loud and clear. There was serious fear in Lloyd.

You wouldn’t submit to August Walker and you refused to run from him. You were now met with the choice...you were either going to destroy his reputation or literally destroy him....your blood pumped loudly. He made you talk about your father....your fucking father...and on top of that, he made you call him daddy.

What mind fucked you was how you were yet again able to walk away...not unscathed but definitely alive.

“No,” you dismissed unwrapping your second burger, “He will find me...I know he will...and even if he kept me alive both times, a third is pushing my lucky, I know you understand that.”

Lloyd shook his head at you and put his hand over your burger, stopping your next starved bite, he hissed “You think staying where you are is safer? You don’t know-“

“Lloyd!” You snapped, you slapped his hand back and shoved your pointer finger into your chest, you sucked down a shakey breath, “...I know...I do know. I need to protect myself when he strikes again...it’s worse now...I have too much collateral... He let me witness that murder in the club.”

The detective raised his brows at you, “You mean...” the blood drained from his face.

“Cameras were in the VIP rooms Lloyd,” you grit your teeth and glared at the view of the city buildings, “I saw a lot more than just a fucking man’s brains being blown out from his skull, hookers, coke... Auctions...he’s got it all in The Lion Lounge.”

The detective rest his fingers on his top lip. He was slowly nodding.

You sucked down a long drag of your straw and gasped, asking in the same breath, “Lloyd I want a gun. I won’t let him rape me again.”

You needed the protection from August or any man he sent to kill you.

Lloyd chewed his bottom lip and shook his head.

“Do you have a gun license?”

“Do I look like I have one?” you snipped. You knew it wasn’t fair on him for your attitude but you didn’t have the time to focus on his hurt feelings in regards to your mental health and physical safety.

“Have you ever even shot one?”

“Nope. But it only takes one shot to kill him close up.” You threw the wrapper out of his car window and rubbed your face.

If he didn’t come near you, he would be safe, and you could just work on collecting evidence for the courts.

The detective sucked his bottom lip and shook his head, “It’s too dangerous.”

“Oh piss off!” You stomped your foot and twisted your body to face him, you grabbed his loose tie and tugged it as you seethed, “Lloyd, you practically thrust me into his arms and you have the gall to say now, me owning a gun is ‘too dangerous’?”

He gently grabbed your wrist and pulled his tie out of your fingers as he shook his head at you. His nose flared and he started to raise his voice at you, spit flying from his mouth as he hit the wheel with the palm of his hand. You expected a detective to hold a little more composure.

“Fine. Fine! But are you really willing to go to prison for life if you do manage to kill him? Think about this logically.”

His eyes were wide and his brows twisted with worry.

You fell quiet. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to stamp your foot again and scream that you’d spend two lifetimes behind bars if it meant his demise...except...was your demise worth the cost of his? Would you drown with him in the end of all of this if you killed him.

You noisily sucked at your straw.

“No...” you whispered, you didn’t want to cry in front of Lloyd but your tears were coming up, beading in the dips of your lids.

“No, that’s right,” Lloyd rubbed your shoulder with his thumb, “He isn’t worth it.”

Your lip pouted, “Why can’t you just...arrest him.”

He sighed and rubbed your back as you started to break down into pathetic frustrated sobs.

“Lawyers, laws and money,” he whispered and fluttered his eyes shut, “He has his ways. The only way we can take him down is if he is caught doing the hefty, big crimes. If I could’ve gotten the proof of the weapon dealers he would’ve been considered accomplice to the crime.”

“S-so if...if you..” you wiped you snotty nose on the back of your arm, “If he was caught on camera...he’d be sent to prison?” You started to laugh mechanically, “What if...what if I let him rape me. A nanny cam on my night stand or something?”

The office shook his head for the dozenth time, “By the law that wouldn’t be considered rape...only a messed up porno, especially if they see you set up the camera.”

Your fingers aggressively clenched another handful of fries, you didn’t eat them, you just threw them back into the bag.

“...I...what do I do Lloyd?” A fear of hopelessness tapped your brain.

He was quiet for a solid minute. He stared at you all over. You knew the bruise on your face was visible. He kept looking at your cheek instead of your eyes. And his gaze fell down to your neck. “It’s a collar Lloyd...he chained me to a bed for two days...”

His lips parted and with a impatient voice he asked, “Do you have a gym membership?”

“No? Why?”

He started his car and made you put your seat belt back on, “Okay, I don’t care, you’re getting one, right now."

Your eyes shrunk, “Why?”

Lloyd gruffly snarled, “Because I’m going to teach you how to fight.”

He would teach you at least some self defence. August might’ve been twice your size but if you could get the chance to get away...Lloyd would make sure you would take it..

05:30pm Monday 19th August 2024, East Brisbane Anytime Fitness Gym, Brisbane.

“Again.”

Your back hit the padded wall, your knees hit the floor as you cupped your middle and tried not to puke up the fast food from earlier.

“We have been at this for three hours!” You groaned, trying to use the foam wall to stand up again.

You were convinced Lloyd liked to beat you around, the red marks and bruises that were rising were the evidence.

“Until you can take me down,” Lloyd nudged you with his hand causing you to almost fall back down, “We aren’t leaving.”

You hissed angrily and stood up tall “Fuck sake.”

You held up your arms like he showed you. He started throwing his blows, you blocked him with your forearms and ducked away from his large swipes. He kicked your ankle and watched you crumble to the ground again.

“Watch your feet.” He scolded, “You are smaller and surprisingly speedy, use that to your advantage!”

You rolled your eyes and bit your lip. Getting to your feet you pushed up and launched your body at Lloyd who was checking out one of the yoga classes in the other room window.

He crashed to the floor. Your knees straddled his hips as you huffed with glee, “Ha! Home time!” your palms rested on his naked sweaty chest.

He chuckled and shook his head. He pushed you up by your hips. He shut his eyes, panting, “Again...then home time.”

You grumpily groaned, “Fine!” your ribs hurt bad and your knees felt swollen.

It was agreed by you both that if you needed to reach out you needed to use a burner phone or a payphone. Any calls or emails were going to be noticed.

When you felt the spray of the hot shower water at home, you cried. It felt good. You touched the collar still around your throat. Training to protect yourself reminded you the pain was worth it.

10:16am Wednesday 21st August 2024, Brisbane CBD

“Mr Luther, I’m so sorry for not calling in sick,” You wrung your hands in front of your boss, “Please forgive me for the unwarned absence.”

“Please!” He laughed heartedly, “I just assumed you were clicking some more photos!” He stood out from his chair and sat on his desk above you, “Did you hear about Walkers club almost burning down?”

Looking down at your lap, you reminded yourself that Mister John Luther was not a man included in the circle of trust. Nor were you convinced he understood the severity of the crimes the criminals he wanted to chase for gossiping stories committed. Your hand touched the ends of the scarf you wore, covering up the hideous black leather around your neck. You tried all morning to cut it off with a pair of scissors but you came to feel the metal circlet inside and gave up. There was a hole in one of the bottom cabinets where you had kicked in a hole...that was okay, you had an extra fifteen thousand pounds in your bank account.

You assumed Lloyd finally sent the money through.

“Did it?” you coyly asked.

“No clue how damaged the place was but the massive party was cancelled. The fire engines went zooming down this street Friday night.”

“What happens now then?” You glanced up at him and chewed the inside of your cheek, “With the smuggling case?”

“Put on hold for now,” he sighed and squeezed your shoulders, “I don’t have any sources about the next possible meet and greet. I was hoping you could keep the same production rolling. I have a new project involving a Nicholas Tortano. I want to get an interview with him.”

You didn’t recognise the name at all. Your fingers pinched at your long sleeve shirt. “An interview?”

Luther nodded, he winked and went back to his desk draw, slapping out a manilla folder.

He rubbed and clapped his hands, pushing and opening the new case to you.

“He has a history of his employed persons going missing. He has criminal history ties with Irish gangs and the italian mafia. I have a page of questions, I would like someone to ask him.”

You cleared your throat, “Me?”

Wagging his finger the elder man laughed, “No one has quite the balls as you deary...”

It sounded...Too dangerous.

“In that case,” you shuffled forward in your chair, “Can I be paid upfront for this job?”

You would not die at the hands of one gangster when you had your eyes set on another. Luther almost looked like he was going to tell you to get the fuck out of his office until he looked at your photos of August you’d taken. He was quickly reminded you had the best skills and to lose you would be suicide for his paper... You were the best thing to have happened to him. He accepted.

You sat in your work cubicle and aggressively jabbed at the key pad of your work phone. It’s not hard to find phone numbers. Nicholas Tortano had a nickname, “The Black Dog.” He was caught by paparazzi coming out of court a few times. His business empire related to charities. He was a philanthropist with a dirty history of crime connections. He had only been found guilty of third degree murder but many news articles in the past twenty years all labelled him as a omen of death, because anyone that had done him wrong was found dead not too long after...

You found the phone number and took a lucky gulp. There wasn’t an address for any business so if no one picked up, you were worried Idris might fire you for that mere disappointment alone.

The phone rung out once. You dialled again, the receiver picked up. You held your breath.

“Hello, Tortano and associates, who is calling?” the masculine tone soothed out.

“Hello, my name is Y/N Y/L/N, I’m a journalist from the local paper. Is there a chance I may be able to book an interview with Nicholas Tortano?”

There was a steady silence and a soft hum, “What does this pertain to?”

You rubbed your eyes and looked over the notes Luther had given you in the folder, “....People think he is ‘a mass murdering psycho with a thirst for crime’, I’m hoping to ask him some questions to seek the truth.”

“How ludicrous,” the man chuckled, “I am a gentleman. A businessman. Not a criminal.”

You strained over the phone as you spoke to the secretary, “I am sure but this is in regards to Mister Tortano.”

The phone went quite again, you thought maybe you’d lost the connection.

The sweet condescending waved through the sound, “I am he...are you free today for lunch?”

With widened eyes your voice caught in your throat. You felt like an idiot...you never imagined he would answer the call to his own company. CEOs never answer the call of a civilian first hand...

You cleared your throat and nervously clicked a pen, “I am, where would you like to conduct this meeting.”

You could hear him click something too. He sounded warm, and inviting on the phone, “Do you like Italian? Have you ever heard of Vapianos?”

A tiny smile touched your lips. When was the last time you were asked out to lunch? Your eyes rolled, for fuck sake, this was a job...not a date.

“I don’t mind it.”

11:54pm Wednesday 21st August 2024, Brisbane CBD, Vapianos.

Nick Tortano had invited you to a side of town with skyrise buildings. The Vapianos restaurant was on the bottom floor of some massive buildings.

You wrapped your scarf around your neck again. The leather was tight around your throat. It was like he was there with you...holding you...as you cried over a father that you loved and hated.

You shook your head and looked down at the notebook and piece of paper you were given by Luther.

You looked around at the tables and the waiters. The place was sparkling with a quality of...the wealthy and corporate. The palm leaves, the tinted glass windows that raced from floor to ceiling, the champagne glasses on a nearby table. It was all glorious decoration.

All the people there were beautiful...not a single appearance that resembled you...a pauper.

The awkward steps you took towards the receptionist resembled a weak lamb. You felt stupid for being there.

The server looked you up and down and it caused a sting to any confidence you had left. You touched your scarf.

“Hello, I’m looking for a Mister Tortano we have a meet-”

A hand glided across your back, you jumped a little and became confronted with a pair of dark brown orbs and handsome white teeth, “Hello, Miss Y/N.”

Nicholas...he was tall and wearing a simple sweater. Despite his causality he held an air of regality. Not to be overly romantic but you felt he would be a stunning prince if he was a royal member.

“I hope you don’t mind but I’ve had them set a table already.”

He held out an arm to you.

“Not at all,” You flushed and happily accepted it. You tucked it around and let him lead you carefully to a table. There was a set of plates and two wine glasses.

“Just give me a second or two to set up, is it alright if I tape your voice?” you asked reaching into your handbag.

He pulled out a chair for you and explained, “I would prefer no tapes, but I’m not adverse to photography.”

It wasn’t an unusual request. Lots of people didn’t like the sound of their voice. He must’ve been one of them.

It didn’t matter, photos were more your talents anyway.

“In that case, may I take the photos first and then perform the interview?”

He nodded and flashed a bigger beautiful smile.

“Where would you like me?”

You pulled out a office camera from your bag, you didn’t have time to go home and grab one of your ten others. You started to turn it on.

“If you could look away from the lens, relax your shoulders, lean back and look like you’re thinking. No smiling.”

“Do I look ugly with a smile?” he cheekily asked.

You couldn’t help but smile. He was charming and flirtatious and incredibly handsome.

“Terribly,” you teased, “No, my boss would just prefer a little more seriousness I believe. To make the page appear professional...plus the topic regarding the article with a smiling photo you’d look like a madman.”

He nodded promisingly and fell into the pose. When he heard the camera clicked a small smirk pulled at his lips before quickly trying to compose his face.

When the photos were finished you stuffed the camera back in your bag. He relaxed from his falsified stern appearance.

Now came the interview. You pulled out the sheet of questions Idris provided. Under no circumstances were you meant to ask anything but these....except....the questions....well...they were...

“So, you...ugh...hold on a moment....”

How many people have you killed?

What is currently the cheapest drug you can achieve from your circle?

Are you a homosexual?

What the fuck?! You weren’t even sure if you were legally allowed to ask these questions due to discrimination laws.

“Um...I...”

He smiled at you from across the table. You felt a pearl of sweat forming on your forehead.

“Stage fright?” Nick asked softly, tilting his head. He snapped his finger and a waiter came over and poured water into two cups. A basket of breadsticks were placed in the centre.

“No, well...yes...um. the questions I’m meant to ask you I stupidly didn’t read before coming here...” your cheeks felt warm. The embarrassment rose fast.

“So they’re not your questions?” his eyebrows lifted. His finger traced the lip of his glass.

“They’re my boss’s but I said I would ask them.”

Nicholas' lips parted back into a smile, “Enlighten me, I will be less offended knowing they’re not from you.”

You smoothed the paper out on the table and pulled out a notepad, clicking a pen after finding the least offensive one you licked your bottom lip and stuttered, “How...how would you describe yourself?”

He sighed and held the cup to his lips, “Vain, rich with a dominating grace.”

Those weren’t usual qualities someone described themselves as, usually people preferred to remain humble and soften their reality. It was an interesting new perception to attach to Nicholas Tortano the criminal who covered his wrong doings with funding medicine for sick children.

You noted it and looked at the page again to try and find another less offensive question. Frantically your finger scrolled down all the words. Your heart started to pick up. These were so ridiculous and disgusting. Right I go the jaws of the black dog- that’s what Luther had done to you.

You shyly laughed, “hmm, I...let me...-”

Nick slapped the cup back on the table. His smile had fallen, “Politely, Miss Y/N I don’t like my time to be wasted...how about you hand me that piece of parchment.”

He reached over with lightning speed. He pinch the paper and dragged it to him.

“Hey!-”

“Now now, here’s what we will do,” he peaked up at you and licked his bottom lip, “I’ll answer these questions and so will you.”

You lifted your chin and looked at him cautiously.

“But they’re not for me.”

“That doesn’t matter, I can see you’re nervous darling...so...let’s break tension.”

He trailed his thumb down the page and sighed, “Let’s see...ah yes I see how these would make you less inviting to involve yourself.”

After a moment he glanced and smirked at the questions, god you could throttle Luther right now for letting you go through this stupid interview.

“How many years did it take you to be where you are now as one of the most notorious crimelords?”

You tried to put on your best smile, “...yesterday...I stole this scarf...” you lied.

“Why Miss Y/N you must be a terrible influence!” He feigned a gasp of horror which made you lightly giggle, “I don’t label myself as a crime lord. As over the phone I stated simply, I’m a business man...my business so happens to involve crime. I’ve been in this business since I was thirteen years old. My first offence was Car theft. That was almost twenty years ago.”

Your throat shut. He was in his forties!? The damn bastard had the option of early 30s or maybe 20s if he shaved off his stubble entirely.

He looked between your face and your hands, “Are you going to write that down or do I have to do that too?”

You blinked and jumped with a start of noting down the new information, “Oh yes! Sorry!” Scribbling quickly you watched him, watching you...he was staring...like you were...something unusual.

“How many sentences have you been charged with?”

You shrugged unsure why you felt ashamed to say, “None.”

The pen in your hand twirled as the handsome gentleman scratched his nose, “Too many...in all up it has kept me behind bars for nine years total but I’ve been in and out for years. I only returned to the public eye a month ago.”

“Woah,” you whispered.

Nine years? A month? You didn’t have a lot of time to research him considering the call for lunch was so quick and speedy.

His fingers tapped the table softly. He shrugged, “Its not as bad as tellie makes it out to be...in fact it’s a way to network well. You can learn lots of new tricks when you’re forced into tight confinement.”

You started to take dot points. It’s interesting...being in prison for nine years...not all together but all total. Making connections and friends inside prison didn’t really click at first. You always assumed prison was a scary and lonely cell where you had to pee in front of everyone.

Nick looked back at the page and laughed, he rubbed his mouth and shook his head, “Are you a homosexual?”

You also laughed but it was more a awkward shyness, “No, I think I’m bisexual if anything but strictly gay I’m not. I can’t understand why that question would be even asked, I’m so sorry.” You grit your teeth and looked away.

He tilted his hand and shrugged, “It’s vicious rumour that I’m a pillow biter...I am not a homosexual.”

Its all he said. And that was something you really didn’t like writing down...it was so unnecessary.

“What is currently the cheapest drug you can achieve from your circle? Miss Y/N don’t tell me you sell drugs?” he giggled and folded the paper back a little.

'Jesus Christ'Luther!!!...you really wanted me to ask that!?' Your fists clenched under the table.

You dismissed it and grinned, “No, I do not. Sorry to be so boring....you?”

“Paracetamol,” he answered, “I can sell you some right now, I like to keep some nearby.”

Anyone could sell paracetamol...he deliberately said that, you knew.

“After the interview I think I might just,” you laughed and rubbed a little at your temple.

“How many people have you killed?”

You gasped. Your chest was like a loud metal band concert with your heart as the instrument racked, you didn’t understand how that was possible.

“None.” Well...your father....maybe...Nick didn’t need to know about that.

The philanthropic crime lord aka ‘businessman’ remained totally silent. Your hand paused.

“Are you not going to answer the question?...”

He put the paper down and plucked the menu, he unfolded the cardboard covered in matte black and gold designs, he looked down at the wine selection, “I think you might need to do something for me to answer that.”

“What?” you wanted to say you’d do it. But why would you promise anything to a man with his bad record.

“I’d need you to kill someone. And you don’t strike me as a murderer Miss Y/N.” His dark gaze flickered up at you, “Now...what would you like to eat?”

You bit your lip. He’s definitely killed before, or else he would’ve just said no. He wanted to you to know he was a murderer...you knew because his eyes remained perfectly still as he said it. No tremble or lying shame in those pupils.

You sat forward and drank a bit of your water.

Perhaps meeting Nick wasn’t just a benefit for the paper gossip. Maybe he could help you...you heard his voice ask you another question, probably about the menu, you do not remember...instead your thoughts tumbled out of your lips.

“....do you sell weapons Mister Tortano?”

The question caught him off guard. They weren’t on the paper your boss provided.

“Weapons?” he asked cautiously.

Shit, you had gone too far now to recall your thoughts, “Would you sell a gun to a woman even if she doesn’t have a license?”

His eyes sparkled.

“Whatever would you want a gun for Miss Y/N?” he leant back in his chair and pressed his fingers to his lips.

You tried to explain, but it was hard. You looked over your shoulder. It was too public to be discussing this. You whispered, “... There’s a rat who won’t leave me alone. I’d like to scare him...”

His eyes narrowed a little at your speech. He knew you weren’t being literal, so he replied coolly, “Are you asking for a gun or pest control?”

You whispered again, “A gun.”

He fluttered, you could tell he was staring down your shit to check for a wire.and clapped his hands loudly. The entire restaurant went from idle chatter and laughter to utter silence...it was eery...like a dream or a nightmare.

Nick shouted at the top of his lungs, echoing off the walls, “Leave us!”

The entire assembly of guests started to rise from their chairs. They packed up their brief cases and hand bags. Abandoning the half eaten food and untouched wine and champagne. Your nose wrinkled. What the fuck... they were all heading to the stair well, ignoring the elevators.

You looked back at Nicholas, confused, wondering if he meant you to leave too...you pinched the table cloth worryingly.

“Have you thought it through?” Nick asked now that the restaurant was empty, and quiet.

“What?” you didn’t understand. The entire perception of Nick Tortano was collapsing. He was so powerful...all those people were his. All of them under his thumb...all of them so obedient...

“Do you intend on threatening or killing?”

You felt trapped by his words.

“That’s my business Mister Tortano, politely speaking...” how could you confess to your intentions.

It was bad enough that he knew you wanted a gun.

You wondered if there was any chance you you make a run to the doors and run away. You were stepping from one scary man to another at this point.

After a while of sitting ashamed in silence, he stood up from his chair. His fingers lazily brushed the table, until he paused in front of you. He dragged his hand under your chin. He made you look at him, standing above you. His hand violently tore off your scarf and he tutted, “Is he the one who put the collar on you? The man to cover you in bruises? Might need a better foundation darling...I’m not stupid. I’d like to know if it’s going to reflect back on me. What’s the chaps name?”

You didn’t like how personally close he was standing above you. You felt small and trembled beneath his pinning dark brown eyes...they were practically black like some soulless shark. His white teeth looked starved.

You lied again, “...Lloyd...Ha-Han-Hansen...” perhaps Lloyd could handle Nick? But how? He couldn’t handle August. You regretted saying his name but that was it...you threw the only friend you had under the bus.

“Hmmm can’t say I know him well...”

“He’s um...a lawyer,” you lied again.

He smirked and whispered, “Is he?” his eyes narrowed with a glint of mischief.

He flipped his cardigan sweater up, on his hip, inside tucked in his jeans was a scary black gun... A hand gun.

“Well I do hope you get what you want out of him,” he pulled out the gun and set it on the table in front of you, “Here, consider it a gift...I find your disposition incredibly pleasing...”

You glanced at the gun and felt a rush of something...adrenaline? Anxiety? Arousal? Something became alive...

“I need to go. I’m so sorry,” you rushed to stand up, you pinched the weapon and carefully tucked it into your hand bag, “I need to leave.”

This was too easy. Far too coincidental. Maybe this was your father's spirit watching over you?

“Until we meet again,” he chuckled and stood aside. You could hear his wickedly laughter as you fled to the doors. As the doors closed behind you, you could see in the distance, Nick standing by the windows smelling your scarf deeply. Your hand touched your throst and felt the jagged material. You weren't sure if you wanted to go back for the scarf. Watching him press his face into the soft material- the action was perverse...he was perverse...just like August. A mighty shiver rolled up your spine. You didn’t have time to worry about that.

You were filled with all the raw emotions of the last month. Anger, grief, revenge....

You now had a gun... The power to wield death easily. Now you just needed your chance.

You kept hearing Lloyd in the back of your mind...would killing August be worth your own life?

Especially life in prison.

You shoved it back and focused on the pain you felt, the agony as you cried in his lap under threats of his spanking. He wiped you when you used the toilet...he called you puppy...he forced you to cum and cry....he made you beg and suck his cock just to hold you...he treated you as a subhuman.

02:06pm Wednesday 21st August 2024, Woolloongabba, Brisbane

You opened your front door, slamming it behind you. And as you started to slide the bolts and chains, you heard something down the hallway...a small crash? No? A grunt...

Angry eyes and a sneer grew on your face. You marched down, your father’s door was wide open.

And there the fucker was. August... Folding clothes into your father’s bed from a washing basket.

You saw red.

“Wh-what the fuck...get out!”

He lifted his head and finished folding a pair of your jeans, your head leaned back to your bedrooms opened door before you looked back at him inside your father's room.

“Your home is a mess,” He said nonchalantly, “I won’t have you stomping around in squalor.”

He had gone into your room and cleaned it. And on any given day, that would’ve earned a man a blowjob, not him though, no...he was in your space and invading your life too much.

With a flared nostril you snarled, “I am giving you five seconds to leave. Or I'll-”

He snickered at your defiant demand, “Or what? You’re going to call the cops?”

You didn’t want to kill him here...You dug into your hand bag and it felt impossibly slow and heavy in your hand. You pointer the gun at his head and fought the trembling in your body and your voice, “Or you’re going to choke on your own blood August.”

His eyes widened, he didn’t expect your display. He paused and continued to fold the laundry. You didn’t like being ignored and moved inside of your father’s room. It wouldn’t be the first time a man died in this room.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” He said without a single hint of fear.

You held the gun now in both hands. You stood strong and came closer around the bed.

You scoffed, “No, of course not, you manipulate me, drug me, hit me, and raped me but 'oh nooooo I won’t shoot you'?”

He smiled and shook his head slowly. He appeared so unafraid and that caused a spit of hate to hit your face. You wanted him to be on his knees, begging for his life, pleading for forgiveness while he pissed himself. This was not at all what you imagined, him folding the washing and sorting to find pairs of socks.

“One,” You said.

He sighed and threw your underwear back into the basket. He started to walk around the bed gradually.

You screeched, “Two, stay the fuck away from me!”

He stopped and raised his hands. Slowly he perched himself on the corner of your dad’s bed.

“Three,” you said a little shakily. He still didn’t flinch. You felt suffocated. Why wasn’t he scared?

You pissed in his lap when he pointed one at you in the club. This wasn’t fair.

Tears uncontrollably started to fall from your eyes. You didn’t want to kill him...god you hated him...but if he wasn’t going to beg you, you didn’t want to kill him. Especially in this room...besides ...what would you do with his body?

“F-four, don’t make me do this August!”

You moved closer and closer until the tip of the metal weapon pressed into his forehead.

It was now or never...“Pl-please, don’t...” you begged, hoping he would walk out of the room and apartment. You squeezed your eyes shut.

You pulled the trigger and screamed as you did it. The trigger didn’t move...it felt stuck. You pulled it again and nothing happened. You opened your eyes and noted how the gun hadn’t gone off and August was still happily breathing with a dark, sadistic grin on his moustached lips.

“Five...” he hummed and wrapped his palm around the barrel, pulling it up and tugging it away from your trembling hands, “your safety is still on, and...” He clicked off the top and sighed, “It’s not even loaded.”

You crashed to your knees and vomited right over his leather shoes. You weren’t prepared for the rush of exhaustion to hit you. Your body shook. Your fingers clenched the soaked carpet. The metal of the unloaded gun lifted your chin up. Tears ran down your cheeks beautifully.

“Tell me, did the piggy give this to you?”

Your swollen lips blubbered, “No!” Lloyd didn’t need any more wicked men following him around.

You shut your eyes and sniffled. Surely August would kill you. This must’ve been some sort of a strike three, yes?

“Then where did you get your paws on one of these?...” he bit his smile lip.

“A friend...” it wasn’t a total lie. Nick liked you, you somewhat found him intriguing. Yes you’d only met that day...but he was a friend now for a moment in your mind.

August pulled you up into his lap by your hair. Hot lips pressed into your neck and nuzzling your ratty leather collar, “You were really going to kill me...weren’t you?” he cooed as you started to sniffle and choke on your tears, “You pulled that trigger. I underestimated you sweetness...don’t worry. I won’t punish you for that.”

He cupped the back of your head, pulling you in for a big kiss. His lips soft, but his hand tight and filled with dominance.

You felt light. He was kissing you just after you vomited. Gross.

He pulled away and spat at the floor, he chuckled and pressed his nose against yours.

“In fact...I got you a gift.”

You whined and fluttered your eyes, “I don’t want a gift from you.”

You weren’t mentally prepared for any sick sexual torture he had in store for you. You could see his jaw shift and his eyes dash back and forth.

“Are you sure? I think you’ll like it.”

Your hands touched the collar hopefully. Maybe it was the key?

He slid his hands under your armpits. You heard your bag hit the dry side of the floor.

He lifted you with ease to your feet and pressed a hand at the small of your back, pushing you to the bathroom.

He was so huge compared to you. The lower ceiling made you have a flash of worry...what if he hit his head?

He was fine.

He turned on the shower and peeled away your clothes. He wasn’t rough, and he wasn’t leering...he was soft...and patient. He pushed your long sleeved shirt up and gasped at the sight of bruises Lloyd created from the gym. His thumb unkindly pressed into one. You whined and tried to step away but your ass pressed into the vanity sink.

He knew he hadn’t given you these.

“And who has my puppy been playing rough with? Don’t tell me you’ve spread your legs for someone else now...”

He turned you around slowly, inspecting the marks he had not made on your skin. His hands palmed over your flesh.

The steam from the shower began to whaf out. You tried to not imagine the water bill ticking up.

He pinched your bra off and watched your arms circle to cover your chest.

He turned you back to face him. Unbuttoning your jeans, he tugged them down and helped take off your shoes. He pressed his lips to a bruise on your outer thigh. The temptation to throw your knee into his throat was great.

His hand cupped the back of your knee. His nose was so close to your underwear covered pussy, you could feel his hot breath tickling your clit.

Your panties were gradually pulled down to your ankle and you used his shoulder for balance as you stood out of the flimsy material.

He stood back and opened the shower door for you. He left the bathroom door open and you didn’t want to risk a punishment for locking him out. He took your clothes to the laundry and heard him open your cleaning supply closet where you kept a mop and broom and vacuum cleaner.

As you soaped your body, the suds building along your skin and back you sighed. The collar rubbed against your neck. It was a reminder...

He was powerful. He was scary and you were risking death. You had just tried to kill him...at any moment he could bash your head in until your skull caved, no one would find you for days...maybe weeks...he said he wouldn’t kill you but that was before you pulled a gun on him.

You were angry at yourself...angry at Ben....why would the gun be empty?! Couldn’t Nick have told you that? Maybe he assumed you knew how to handle one...

August came back into the bathroom after ten minutes of cleaning. You didn’t dare to leave the shower in that time.

He was back. And now...he was naked. You uncontrollably worried and pressed your back into the bathroom tile. He stood into the shower, stealing the hot spray when it hit his back.

He was so hairy, and huge. He was like a bear.

You gulped and glanced at his dick. He was flaccid but you knew he could fuck you with a soft dick or just his hands alone.

He held out his hand and whispered, “The soap, please.”

Your hand shook as you shakily handed over the small white bar. It was the cheapest shit on the shelves you could find.

Now you regretted not spending the money you saw in your bank account. You would die feeling poor.

You tried to cover your nakedness. A hand between your thighs. You felt the bareness and cringed your face. He would’ve waxed you again or shaved while you were ‘in his care’ after the club incident.

The huge man started to rub the soap along his thighs and his arms and chest.

He smelt of your vomit...he cleaned it up for you...his clothes...you could hear the laundry machine.

He either was cleaning evidence or he was staying the night.

His face...was soft. He wasn’t angry...he was deep in thought... He was pleased. The faintest of smiles was on his furry face.

When he was finished. He touched your waist and pressed you to turn around him in the cubicle. Now the hot water covered your shivering skin. He rubbed some more soap into his hands and rubbed the bubbled into your skin. Along the back of your neck he rubbed and pinched. A tiny moan imminently slipped from your lips. You hoped he hadn’t heard it.

He did...

You knew he was gliding his hands down to your bottom and rubbing the darkened skin he planted when he spanked you. You hissed and softly swore as his thumb pressed in. A small threat, a warning? A reminder...

He touched you everywhere except your tits and your cunt...which shocked you as you braced from his hands every time they drew near those areas. The sense of denial played in your mind.

Your body felt warm...humming as it was teased.

He did touch the leather around your neck and tutted at the parts you damaged with scissors, where the metal you couldn’t cut poked out.

Turning the shower off, August opened the door again and guided you out onto the soft floor mat. He took a towel from the vanity draw and wrapped it over your shoulders like you were some kid at the beach.

He wrapped a towel around his waist. His body dripping and soaking into the edge.

You were poked out of the room and made to go into your room. Your dad’s door was still open however and that made you uncomfortable.

On your bed...was a box....

The gift...was an actual gift!? It was wrapped in white and gold paper with a pink tulle ribbon around it.

You shifted your towel around to wrap yourself in and looked between the man leaning on the doorway and the wrapped box on your bed.

He nodded to it. Open it. A silent command.

Your curled your lips into your mouth as you pulled the tulle ribbon away and scratched the paper back.

A deep gasp left your chest, “A phone?...”

It was one of the newest if the models you used. This type of phone usually cost three thousand dollars!

Behind you the awful man laughed softly, “For stepping on the one from the club.”

The tiny smile that was coming to your lips, disappeared. If he hadn’t reminded you of that night, you might’ve kept smiling. Your fist clenched. You were angry. Did he know how scared you were as you ran in the dark? Did he know you hated him even more because of this gift. This wasn’t a gift, this was a bribe...

Your jaw ticked and you turned on your heel, you held your towel tightly, “I am not saying thankyou.”

He chuckled at that and nodded, he tilted his head to the side and wagged a finger at you, “I swear every time I see you, you become twice as fiery.”

When he stood forward you got scared and tripped back and fell onto your bed. The phone box slid to the floor. Your heart raced. You noted how you accidentally flashed him as the towel fell from your hands.

He paused, not moving any further. He could see how frightened you were. And if you didn’t know any better...he didn’t want to scare you today.

His smile fell and he sighed, “Before I forget...your sex toy arrived.”

You crept off your bed as he left the door way. He was quickly back before you could make an escape.

He held a box and threw it to you. Without thought you let go of your towel and caught the box with the erotic images and product on it.

Stark nude and wet you stood. You turned away from him and put the box with your newly bought toy on the bed. You put your phone box beside it.

He was watching you with bird eyes as you tried to pick up the towel and cover yourself again.

“So let me see,” he hummed, he crossed his arms over his chest and clicked his tongue, “First you threaten to kill me,” he pushed away from the door, “You then attempt to actually kill me,” and he shakes his head chuckling, “and now I find out my cock isn’t enough to satisfy? Good heavens...have I neglected my greedy little puppy?”

Your hands lifted... Your towel was loose but you had tucked it to your body. You prepared your fighting stance like how Lloyd showed you.

“Get out...” you spat.

“No,” he smirked, “I will not.” He launched forward.

He grabbed your towel and you slipped from the material. You ran around his body, ripping his towel off as you ran out.

You slipped on water droplets in the hall and slid down the hall to the kitchen.

As he came around the corner, you flung a cupboard door open hard that smacked his hard in the face. You smiled hearing his painful groan.

"Fuck!"

He pushed it back and tried to grab you as you ran around the mini island. You threw his towel at his face as you made a rush back to your room. You managed to lock a chain and bolt on the bedroom door. You panicked and climbed under your pathetic single bed. You heard him behind the wood.

“Open up little puppy...or I’m gonna huff...” he said, “and then I’ll puff...”

When you made no sign of opening the door and remaining beneath the bedframe. The door burst open. The locks tore through the metal nook. He walked through. He nakedly crouched by the side of the bed and sighed at you curled up under your bed. He shook his head and softly smiled. He laid flat on the floor beside you.

“Watcha doin down there sweetness?”

You felt a breath escape you. A soft laugh. Was he fucking serious?!

“Hiding,” you mumbled into your wrists.

He fluttered his eyes shut. His hand rested on his Bare stomach.

“Well I found you, so you might as well come out. You’re black and blue. I don’t want to drag you over the carpet, don’t want rip up your knees pup.”

You couldn’t understand why he kept calling you that. You weren’t a puppy...you...you were human and you still weren’t sure how that pet name even fit you .

You knew he was right though, there was only way out and it didn’t matter. You would need to face him. If he wanted to kill you, nothing could’ve stopped him from strangling your throat. After a minute or two you finally gave in... Wiggling your butt from under the bed. He moved up to his knees. He watched you stick your head out and shimmy to the open air.

You knew trying to run out the door was useless and there was no other locks other than the front door. You rubbed your lips, staring at the broken locks and the door that hung off only one hinge...you really hated him...

His large soft hand rubbed your cheek and the back of your neck, cupping you closer to his body.

Both in your knees, he pulled you into his chest.

You pleaded softly, “Please...”

“Kiss me puppy,” he begged and looked down at your lips. You glanced to his eyes and shut yours as your pushed your face up.

He was gentle. His tongue poked Into your mouth and your lips closed. He kissed you and sucked on your bottom lip loudly. God it felt good. It felt hot and inviting. This kiss was like a deep hot bath or a cosy blanket. His hands squeezed your arms and cocooned you closer to his damp skin. You just wanted to wrap yourself in his body and sleep...except your body felt attacked by an invisible electricity, like a dozen bees rumbling down from your chest to the folds between your thighs.

Your could barely breathe.

When he pulled back he shuddered, “Are you turned on?”

You gasped, “No, why would I-”

“You’re trembling.”

“I’m scared,” your nose twitched and your gazed over his chest, feeling his cock twitch against your belly.

He chuckled and shook his head, he pressed a hard kiss against your cheek, “Merely two sides of the same coin...”

You whimpered and felt his hands smooth down your ass to your thighs. He lifted you up and pushed you onto your bed. You were at the same height now. Him kneeling on the floor with your sitting on your bed.

“You are safe, trust me,” he kissed your lips briskly, “Say it.”

“I...” you hesitated, “I am safe...and I trust you.”

His thumb pressed under your jaw, he kissed you again, “Good girl. I am not going to hurt you...truly...I promise.”

He dragged his lips down to your chest. He sucked in one of your tits. His lips smacked as he licked and sucked around your skin, you felt strange. Dirty but in a good way. Your own back curled to push into his mouth.

He pulled up after one satisfying suck, “That felt good yea?”

“S-so good,” you stuttered. Your cheeks felt warm it was like you were drunk but you knew you had a full sober conscious..

“Would you like to feel that again?” he asked, his hands ran up your thighs, spreading your knees.

You sighed as his thumb licked at your clit. You rocked your hip a little and whined. Fuck it felt good.

“Answer me puppy”

“I- oh god- I want to feel that again.”

He kissed your belly and pushed you back a little. Your head thudded against the wall. Your hands shakily grasped some pillows and put them behind your back. Your gleaming cunt glistened...that was totally you...no lube...no spit....just your arousal alone.

“Look at this pussy.” He marvelled as he pushed two fingers inside. You gasped and let out a feral moan.

“It just swallows up my fingers...do you like my fingers fucking your wet pussy?”

You whined and but your lip. When you didn’t answer, he pulled them out. He started licking them lewdly as he waited for your reply.

“I...” Your hands covered your eyes as you moaned, “I don’t know.”

“Are you turned on?” he asked you again.

“Yes,” you admitted. You just wanted his fingers back there again.

“Do you want my cock?” He purred in a soft belittling time.

“Y-yes...” you almost sobbed. God admitting it now made yourself sick. How could you admit to that? Your entire goal was to kill him. Take him down. Destroy his reputation. But here you were.

In your bedroom, crying for him to fuck you with his huge dick.

He climbed on top of you and tugged your ankles over his waist.

You felt his hard head press into your hole. His cock popped inside and his hips started the deep defend inside of you. He held your hips, lifting you up.

“Do you hate me?” he crooned, his teeth gnawed at your earlobe.

“I do,” you growled, in his ear, “fucking hate your guts.”

He laughed and groaned, “You hate my fucking guts?”

“Yes, fuck,” you gasped and scratched the back of his neck.

He was stretching you out and you drowned in his touch. You felt his cock tapping at your special spot and felt your knees clench tighter around his ribs.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked despite being balls deep and jerking his hips into yours.

“Yes. Oh god,” you gargled as he decided to slam himself harder and faster. Your nails dug into his biceps. Your teeth were grit tightly. You kept swearing. It hurt and felt so good altogether.

“Who do you belong to?” he sighed, his eyes winced while your pussy clenched him tightly.

You grunted angrily, “No body.”

He punctuated with his jerking hips, “You. Belong. To. Me.”

“N-no!” You yelped, his finger curled under your collar and tugged up you neck until you were forced to put yourself up on your elbows. He slowed his speed but kept his deep entrance.

“Oh but you do puppy, you do. You already know it. You just don’t want to admit it.”

His other hand pressed against your clit and your eyes rolled a little. Your nostril flared. Fuck that was painfully good. He tugged you up by the leather strap until your nose pressed against his. His moustache tickles against your lip.

“Whose collar is around this throat?” he growlee.

You grunted, “Yours.”

“That’s right...it’s. Mine. My. Collar.”

He kissed you hard and possessively. Not once did he let the collar go. He shoved his mouth into your ear as he ground down hard inside your cunt.

“Would you fuck any other man with this collar on?”

Your hand hugged the back of his neck and scratched, “No!”

“So tell me, who do you belong to.”

Your gasped, spit flying from your mouth against his as you said it, “Y-you.”

“That’s right, good puppy. You belong to me. I own you. You are my pet. You are mine to look after...mine to protect.”

It was a mantra, a speech that planted itself into your mind as a new fact...like a new commandment that always had been yet unspoken until now.

“Say it you little bitch,” he barked.

“Yours, I’m yours,” your eyes rolled as you started to cum, your words caught in your mouth until you Released a ear piercing scream, “I belong to you!!”

You felt him cackle as you wailed through the orgasm. The pressure was like a water balloon bursting in your belly and shooting a burning pleasure through your cunt.

It took you a while to calm down. You sobbed. The pleasure was too much...you felt confused and consumed. His cock twitch and he grunted loudly before freezing. His cock moved again and you felt him pull away, his cum rushed out and dripped out of you.

You felt full and empty. It was an unusual sensation.

He was sweating, your were drenched. Leaning over your trembling body, he pressed a soft kiss to your temple and sighed, “what are you?”

“Yours,” you whined.

He chuckled and shook his head. His fingers pinched your jaw, “No, what are you to me?”

“I...” you paused and blinked lazily. Your brain was too fuzzy. “I don’t understand...I don’t know.”

Your hand wandered up to your throat. His hand was fiddling with the metal. You heard the collar pop and click. He pulled the collar away and threw it over his shoulder, “You’re my puppy.”

"And..." You voice rattled through your teeth, "And you're...daddy?"

He kissed you again and nodded, "Good girl."

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers. .

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

#tnosp #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat

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fantastic-nonsense · 1 year

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Harley Quinn's insane popularity during the mid-2010s is a super interesting phenomenon precisely because her abrupt rise in popularity was less about her unique appeal as an individual character and more about everything else DC Comics was doing at the time

Harley's New 52 aesthetic revamp from her classic harlequin costume to a corset, booty shorts, and two-toned hair happened entirely because people loved her look in the Arkham games and DC was trying to capitalize on it. Also almost entirely on the basis of her popularity in those games (and because the company was in desperate need of positive PR after mass criticism about their treatment of female characters in the early New 52, including Harley), editorial greenlit a solo book for her.

Her 2014 solo book outsold most of DC's line partially because of the character, story, and the creative team of course; there's no way it could have been that successful without people liking those things. But its success was massively helped by Harley being one of the few characters who (outside of Glass's Suicide Squad run, which was promptly yeeted into oblivion and never mentioned again) wasn't completely fucked over by the reboot and whose book DC editorial largely left alone during the notoriously micromanaged New 52 era.

She also had one of the few decent "fun" books at a time when DC's offerings were mostly either grimdark and edgy, disliked, or doing something radically different with their protagonists than normal (for example...Lobdell's Teen Titans and Red Hood and the Outlaws, making Supergirl a Red Lantern, and having Dick Grayson fake his death and go undercover as a super spy), making Harley Quinn a breath of fresh air for anyone seeking to escape the melodrama of Forever Evil, Future's End, and Convergence or find a new book after the ones they were reading ended or became unpalatable.

Over in the DCEU, people had two lukewarm movies they weren't really that excited about despite starring DC's Trinity. And then you got Suicide Squad, which was kinda hot garbage and a critical failure but made bank and had the wonderful Margot Robbie playing Harley Quinn. No one else really made it out of that movie looking good, but Margot's depiction of Harley was widely praised and her look in that movie became wildly popular, selling tons of merch. So DC went "oh she's a seller!" and then greenlit the Harley Quinn cartoon and Birds of Prey 2020 while generally refusing to acknowledge that the lack of decent DCEU movies overall, Robbie's performance compared to her co-stars, and Harley's grunge Hot Girl look were the main drivers of Harley's seemingly unique popularity following the movie's release.

Basically: Harley got incredibly lucky because she got a major internal editorial push as a character at the exact same time basically every other character whose comics would have normally outsold hers got fucked over, and then got lucky twice when DC cast Margot Robbie to play her in Suicide Squad while the movie's Hot Topic Aesthetic™ was still somewhat en vogue.

Combine those two things with the fact that her relationship with Poison Ivy (an A-list Batman Rogue) was confirmed at the same time same-sex marriage was legalized and DC was looking to promote a diverse character slate...and you get the wild popularity she's enjoyed since ~2012 that nonetheless is obviously starting to slowly return back to base levels. Which you can tell when you look at, for example, Harley's sales numbers post-Rebirth/Infinite Frontier (since facing actual competition from DC's staple characters) and the number of new Harley-led projects that have been greenlit since the 2020 management massacre that took out Didio.

At the end of the day, The Harley Phenomenon is less about Harley Quinn and more about what happens when a company capitalizes on a character's aesthetic appeal and Cool Girl Status while largely abandoning the goal of making quality content starring the rest of their staple characters. She's certainly popular on her own and has individual appeal, but she never would have achieved the level of mainstream popularity she's enjoyed over the past 10 years without an astounding set of major coincidences all falling in her direction.

#dc comics #harley quinn #comic book history #dceu #margot robbie #long post

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anamericangirl · 15 days

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Remember when Baby Driver got low DVD sales because it came out between Theatrical and DVD release that Kevin Spacey was a child predator? Remember when one of the most amazing movies of all time got low sales because one actor in the movie had sex with a minor, and therefore it was morally wrong to give him money according to the internet, and therefore the other over 1000 people who made the movie and all the other actors and the amazing director all got paid significantly less because ONE actor in it was problematic?

Nah, Girl, I'm not surprised people voted in that stupid ass poll. It makes perfect sense to me. These fucking whiny little pussies can't handle finding out that something was only 99.99% flawless.

You would be fascinated if you looked into the JoCat controversy. JoCat, an animator on YouTube, has made over 20 cartoons about trans pride, LGBT pride, etc. But his fanbase recently discovered a cartoon he made 2 years ago called "I Like Girls" in which he tells everyone he is cis and heterosexual, and now his entire fanbase is turning against him and sending him death threats.

You should also check out Ethan Klein getting canceled by his fans. Same story.

These are people who will say "the correct things" for years, getting a huge fanbase following them of rabid liberal-left people who worship them, and then they say ONE THING that the liberal-left disagrees with, and they're as good as dead to their entire audience.

That poll and anyone voting in that poll is case in point proof that people can't handle finding out that one little iota of a percent of the thing they worship is slightly flawed.

Which is just so ironic because these are the same people who preach about fat-shaming and ableism as though everyone should be considered perfect despite their flaws, but heaven forbid that hilarious video you just finished laughing at was made by a guy who's Pro Life.

Indeed. I was not actually surprised or shocked that people were voting in the poll as well, this is the internet and more specifically this is Tumblr and if people exist who care about "pRoBlEmAtIc" media and will vote about it in a poll Tumblr is where they will be. But that's even just our culture now, like you mentioned.

I'm more just taking the opportunity to let those type of persons know that they are ridiculous and we all notice their virtue signaling and hypocrisy.

People like that are always up in arms about something but it's always the wrong thing. They love delving into people's past to find the one thing that person has said that disagrees with their narrative and put them on blast for it as if it's an unforgivable sin not to be an insufferable leftist with insufferable leftists viewpoints 100% of the time.

I hope every single one of those people either grows up and turns away from that nonsense and makes amends to everyone they hurt or gets a taste of their own medicine.

#anon #answered

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sweeter-innocence-fics · 2 years

Text

I'll Paint You Wings (One-Shot)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader x Chrissy Cunningham

Work Summary: What if, instead of Chrissy getting Vecna’d when she went to Eddie’s trailer, she got railed?

Series Masterlist.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5029

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist info.

Notes: Chrissy, Reader and Eddie are all bi btw. Mentions of shitty parents and sex while moderately intoxicated.

Update: There's now a sequel.

Update 2: It's now a series.

---

There was a warm, pleasant feeling in your stomach as you pulled into the high school parking lot. It wasn’t a feeling you ever thought you’d associate with high school, but you’d graduated a year ago, and you were here to pick up your best friend. Tonight, you and Eddie had plans. Plans that involved a few beers, a couple of joints, and would inevitably end with his face buried between your legs. You were just good friends like that.

He wasn’t there when you arrived, so you leant against the hood of your car. Eyes closed, you let the sunlight warm your face. You didn’t open them until you heard a heavy thump beside you and the entire car bounced.

“Eddie!” you admonished. “You’re gonna kill my car!”

He was sitting on the hood, grinning at you. “‘Kill’?”

“You’ll kill the suspension or whatever.” You waved a hand dismissively at him. “You know what I mean.” Shoving him off the hood, you made your way around to the driver’s side.

“Hey, um.” He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, which stopped you in your tracks. He sounded almost nervous. Eddie was never nervous around you. He’d been your best friend since middle school. “Is it cool if we stop by the woods? I have to meet a new customer.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Sure?” It wasn’t exactly an out-of-the-ordinary request, so why was he acting so weird? “Who’s the customer?”

Eddie didn’t answer until you were both inside the car with the doors closed. “Chrissy Cunningham.”

“Chrissy Cunningham?” You thought your eyebrows couldn’t get any higher, but there they were. “The cheerleader?” She had been the year below you at school. “…She’s hot.”

You’d never really gone in from the pageantry of cheerleading, but you could appreciate the spectacle of a bunch of hot girls doing gymnastics.

“Don’t objectify her,” Eddie protested. You snorted. “And yes, the cheerleader.”

You let out a low whistle. “What is little miss head cheerleader doing buying drugs from you?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Do you think she’s a narc?”

Eddie chuckled a little. “No, I do not.”

He didn’t seem to have much to say about Chrissy, so the conversation shifted onto lighter topics. You needled him for a hint about the upcoming Hellfire campaign, but as always, he was tight-lipped about it. In no time, you were pulling up to trail that led to the picnic table in the woods.

Chrissy was already there when you arrived. Her head whipped around at the sound of you two approaching, but her posture relaxed a little when she saw Eddie.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” she said. She was smiling but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. Eddie walked over to the table and sat down across from her. You opted to lean against a tree, watching the scene from afar.

“There’s nothing to worry about, okay?” said Eddie. “No one ever comes out here. We’re safe. I promise.” Chrissy’s eyes flickered to you for half a second, and, finding you looking straight back at her, she quickly looked down at the table. Eddie looked over at you, and you shrugged. “She’s a friend of mine, okay? You can trust her.”

Chrissy watched as Eddie opened his lunchbox. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “So how does this work, exactly?”

Eddie rested his face on his hand. He never could sit still. “Oh, just like any other old sale, except, uh, cash only, and for obvious reasons, no receipts.”

This wasn’t a side of Eddie you often saw. The two of you had a playfully adversarial relationship. You would insult each other and roughhouse, but at the end of the day you were still best friends. With benefits, of course.

But with Chrissy he was being exceptionally gentle. It reminded you of a time when Eddie had found you crying in your car after a group of jocks had made fun of you. You’d hated the idea of seeming weak in front of him, but he never made you feel weak. Instead, he drove you home and watched a movie with you, holding you until you felt okay again.

And over the following week he’d systematically keyed every single one of those jock’s cars. That was just his way, and you loved him for it.

You watched his face as he talked money with Chrissy. She was evidently nervous, but he was guarded too. Maybe he’d taken your suggestion about her being a narc seriously. Or maybe he didn’t like the idea of selling drugs to someone who had no idea what they were doing.

Either way, when Chrissy was startled by the sound of a squirrel running up a tree, Eddie grimaced and closed his lunchbox. Feeling a little uneasy, you walked over to the table and perched on the edge of it. You exchanged a look with Eddie.

“Hey, uh, we don’t need to do this,” he said to Chrissy. “Just give me the word and I’ll just walk away. Okay?”

“Nobody would even need to know you were ever here,” you said gently. She was clearly amped up, so you hoped having the presence of another girl would put her at ease.

“No, it’s not that, I don’t want you to go,” she said, looking down at the table again. “It’s just… Do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?”

Eddie tilted his head, trying to catch her eye again. After a moment, she looked up at him. “Oh… You know,” he said, casually. “Just… on a daily basis.”

Chrissy looked at you then, and you shrugged. “Sure,” you said. “The world sucks. And it’s all out of our control. That’s enough to make anyone lose their mind. That’s why we self-medicate.” You tapped on the lid of Eddie’s lunchbox.

“I mean, I feel like I’m losing my mind right now. Doing a drug deal with Chrissy Cunningham, the queen of Hawkins High.” He smiled at her then, a touch of mocking in his tone, but still kind. She smiled back at him hesitantly. “You know… This isn’t the first time we’ve… um… hung out.”

You felt your stomach jolt. Eddie had never mentioned anything about Chrissy to you before. Why hadn’t he mentioned it? There was a pang of something like jealousy in your chest that you tried to quash. You looked over at Chrissy, who looked just as confused as you felt.

“No?” she said, eyebrows drawn together.

“You don’t remember?”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head slightly. You watched Eddie. He had the hint of a smile on his face. You knew that look.

“That’s okay,” he said. Before she could respond, he grabbed at his chest and threw himself backwards onto the ground. You barely reacted – it was a display of dramatics that you were used to – but Chrissy cried out, confused. “I wouldn’t remember me either, Chrissy.” When it was clear that Eddie was unhurt, she began to laugh nervously, confusion evident on her face. “Honestly.” Eddie dusted himself off. “Do I have stuff in my hair?”

Chrissy was laughing properly now. “Yes, you urchin,” you said, beckoning him towards you. He came willingly and you plucked several leaves out of his curls.

“You don’t remember me?” he said to Chrissy, arms folded across his chest. They were both laughing. Eddie tended to have that effect on people. Or at least he did when they bothered to get to know him.

“I’m sorry,” said Chrissy, still laughing.

“Middle school, talent show.” And suddenly it came back to you too. You knew exactly what he was talking about. You had been in denial about why you wanted to watch the cheerleaders perform even though cheer was totally lame. Just like Eddie, you were a sucker for a pretty girl in a short skirt. Eddie leant his head against your knees and let you play with his hair. “You were doing this cheer thing. You know.” He moved his hands to imitate a cheer routine. “The thing you do. It was pretty cool, actually. And we were with our band.”

“Corroded Coffin!” Chrissy’s face lit up as she remembered. You had to admit you were surprised. A smile spread across your face at the excitement on both of theirs. Eddie leapt to his feet again and clapped.

“Yes, you do remember!” He pointed at her, grinning.

“Of course, with a name like that, how could I forget?”

“I don’t know. You’re a freak,” said Eddie. That drew a little laugh out of you, and he shot a wink in your direction.

“Welcome to the club,” you said.

Chrissy had a lovely smile. This wasn’t anything like the fake cheer smile that she plastered across her face every time she performed. She looked genuinely happy. It was cute.

“No, you just… You look so…”

“Different? Well, my hair was buzzed and I didn’t have these sweet old tatties yet.” Eddie pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal one of his tattoos.

“You played guitar, right?”

“Uh-huh. Still do.”

“And you were on the drums?” she asked, turning to you.

“That’s right,” you said.

“I knew I recognised you from somewhere,” she said. “I remember thinking that your hair was awesome.”

All ability to be suave and confident went out of you with that compliment. Not that you had much to begin with. An embarrassingly girlish giggle escaped your lips, and Eddie gave you a knowing look.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice a little higher than usual.

“You should come see us,” said Eddie. “We play at the Hideout on Tuesdays. It’s pretty cool. We actually get a crowd of about… five drunks.” Chrissy laughed at that too. “It’s not exactly the Garden, but we gotta start somewhere, right?”

You looked at Chrissy. Her eyes were firmly on Eddie. Again, you had another uncomfortable twist in your belly, but this one was different. You weren’t sure if it was Chrissy or Eddie you were jealous of.

“You know, you’re not what I thought you’d be like,” said Chrissy.

“Mean and scary,” Eddie suggested, hiding his face behind his hair.

“Yeah.” Her reply was soft, barely there.

“Well, I’m not the one you need to worry about,” he said, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “This one here though, she’ll tear your face straight off.”

“Eddie,” you admonished, elbowing him in the chest. “I’m not mean to anyone who doesn’t deserve it. And I don’t think you deserve it,” you said to Chrissy.

“Besides.” Eddie leant on the table again. “I kinda thought you’d be mean and scary too.”

“Me?” Chrissy breathed.

“Terrifying. Alright, so.” He put his lunchbox back on the table. “The other good news? Flattery works with me, so 25% discount. The half, fifteen bucks.” He placed the bag on the table in front of her. You watched the happiness fade from her face just a little bit. “You’re robbing me blind here.”

Chrissy looked down at the table again. She couldn’t meet Eddie’s eyes. “Do you have anything… maybe… stronger?”

Eddie looked at you then, uncertain. You decided to step in. “What about this…” you said, leaning across the table. Chrissy’s eyes flicked to you again. “We go back to Eddie’s place, have a beer or two and a joint, and if you still feel like you need something stronger after that, well, Eddie will have his stash on hand?”

“That works for me.” You weren’t sure, but you thought you detected a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

Chrissy had biked to the woods, so you fit the bike into the back of your car as best you could and drove over to Eddie’s. The sun was starting to set as you pulled up to the trailer park. Chrissy looked around, clearly still a little nervous, but said nothing.

You watched her as Eddie fiddled with his keys. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but didn’t know how to word it.

You decided to try and help her out. “Your uncle working tonight, Eds?”

He looked at you with a grin. “Yeah, we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

“Perfect.”

Chrissy seemed a little more relaxed as she stepped through the door into the trailer. She looked out of place here. She looked around with curiosity, but not judgement.

“You live here with your uncle?” she asked.

“Yup. He works nights, so we don’t have to worry about him. Make yourselves at home.”

As Eddie disappeared into his room, you went straight for the fridge. “You want a beer?” you asked Chrissy.

“Uh, sure?” She looked a little uncertain as you grabbed three beers.

“Don’t worry,” you said as you opened a bottle and passed it to her. “What’s mine is Eddie’s. And vice versa.”

Chrissy took a tentative sip as you cracked open yours. “So… You come around here often?”

“Are you kidding? I spend more time here than I do at home. I practically live here.”

“How come?”

You hadn’t been expecting her to pry, so you shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, you know. Parents suck.” You tried to play it off like you were joking, but she didn’t seem all that convinced.

“Huh.” She was watching you with curiosity.

“What?”

“Nothing… I just…” She looked out of the window, staunchly not meeting your eyes.

You were about to probe further, but Eddie appeared, holding a bag of his own weed, rolling papers and a grinder.

“Sit, sit,” said Eddie, gesturing at the couch. You opened his beer for him and set it down on a coaster. Chrissy seated herself awkwardly – the couch was old, and sagged under the weight – and you sat down next to her. “And what were you two ladies talking about in my absence?”

“You,” you said without missing a beat. “We were just discussing what a stud you are.”

“No, we weren’t.” Chrissy giggled at that as Eddie looked at you incredulously.

“Get rolling,” you said, nudging his knee with a socked foot.

Conversation got easier. As it turned out, when Chrissy got high, she got even gigglier than usual. That was alright with you. It was a nice ego boost to have a hot girl laughing at all your jokes. When she passed you the joint, you could taste the traces of her cherry lip gloss on the end of it.

Her hair was coming down messily out of her ponytail. It suited her. She seemed relaxed. The trailer was warm, but especially where her thigh was pressed against yours.

“I gotta go take a leak,” Eddie announced suddenly, and you tossed a cushion at him, almost spilling his beer. Chrissy was holding onto your arm, giggling. “You,” he said to Chrissy. “Keep an eye on her. She’s liable to make a mess.” You flipped him off.

As soon as he had gone to the bathroom, you turned to Chrissy. “You wanna go check out his music collection?”

“Are you asking if I wanna go snoop in his room? Because the answer is yes.”

“Hell yeah.”

Chrissy got up off the couch with considerably more grace than you did. Even while high and a little tipsy, she was athletic. You were clumsy, and the weed and booze only made you clumsier. With Chrissy’s help, you managed to get to your feet without tripping over.

“Come on.” You kept one hand on her arm as you tiptoed into Eddie’s room and closed the door quietly behind you.

“He’s gonna wonder where we’re gone,” she said, and you shushed her.

“He’ll hear you,” you said, and then you devolved into giggles. You flopped down on the bed. After a moment, Chrissy followed suit.

“Where’s this music collection, then?” she asked.

“Under the bed. But don’t go digging down under there.” You grabbed her arm. “You don’t know what you’ll find.” Chrissy giggled nervously. “He’s gonna lose his mind when he realises you’re in here.”

“Why?” Her voice was soft and breathy. Here in the dim light of Eddie’s room, her eyes sparkled brighter than any star you’d ever seen. She was beautiful. Of course you already knew that, but right now, you felt it.

“Eddie’s not used to having hot girls in his room.”

She scrunched up her nose at you in confusion. “I thought you came around here all the time?”

“I don’t count,” you scoffed, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m not hot.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You shrugged, but Chrissy’s warm hand on your face turned you to face her. Her expression was serious now. “You really think you’re not hot?”

Your stomach twisted awkwardly. Stupidly, you felt like you might cry. The weed and the beer took away the filter between your brain and mouth. “I’m not hot like you.”

“Look at me.” Reluctantly, you rolled to face her. You were both lying on your sides, looking at each other. Her hand was still on your cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

“Chrissy…” You could almost feel your heart beating. She was close enough that you could smell her breath. It smelt like beer and weed and cherries. You wanted to taste it.

“I’m serious. You’re-”

You cut her off by closing the distance between you and pressing your lips against hers. Half a second later, you pulled back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, sitting up. You had just ruined everything. Everyone was going to know now. As nice as Chrissy seemed, you knew that there’s no way this would stay under wraps. Tears stung your eyes. “I don’t know what-”

Chrissy pulled you back down and you landed flat on your back. You closed your eyes, half expecting her to hit you, but the blows never came. Instead, soft lips pressed against yours.

This time, you got to appreciate the way she tasted. The cherry lip gloss was smeared all over both of your lips as she straddled your lap, her bare thighs smooth and soft under your hands. Her fingers tangled in your hair.

“Chrissy,” you gasped, and she slid her tongue between your lips, tasting the inside of your mouth. Your fingers flexed against her thighs and she let out a soft little moan.

Neither of you heard the door open, but you did hear Eddie’s sudden intake of breath. Chrissy rolled off you immediately, pulling her cheer skirt down to cover herself. Anxiety was radiating off her in waves as she glanced from you to Eddie and back.

“I should go,” she said. She looked as though she might cry.

“Don’t leave. Please.” You hated how pathetic and desperate you sounded, but you really, really wanted her to stay.

“It’s okay,” said Eddie, raising both hands placatingly. “I’m not gonna tell anyone.” Chrissy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and you realised she was crying.

You shuffled over to the edge of the bed and looked up into her eyes. “I’m bisexual,” you said. It wasn’t something you often said out loud, but you felt like it needed to be said. “And Eddie knows that. He would never tell anyone about me, or you. You can trust him.”

“Really?” She looked over at Eddie.

“Of course,” he said. “Who would I even tell?”

“Jason.” Her voice trembled as she said her boyfriend’s name.

“Fuck that guy,” said Eddie, and a laugh bubbled up from between Chrissy’s lips. “Seriously. You’re my friend now, and I’d protect all of my friends with my life.”

You reached out and took Chrissy’s hand. “You okay?” She nodded.

“Do you want me to leave you guys alone?” Eddie asked with a shit-eating grin. “Only, I can’t help but notice that your boobs are escaping.” He pointed at your chest. You looked down, and sure enough, they were practically bursting out of your top. You adjusted them casually.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” you said.

Chrissy looked from you to Eddie and back. “Wait, you guys-”

“We’re friends with benefits,” said Eddie.

“Best friends,” you supplied.

“Best friends. With the best benefits.”

“That… makes a lot of sense, actually,” said Chrissy, sitting down on the edge of the bed again.

Eddie cocked his head to one side. “How so?”

“Well… At first I thought you two were dating, because you seemed super close. But then you kissed me,” she said, looking at you. “So I figured you were just friends. But this tracks.”

You shrugged. “If you say so.”

There was a pause. Eddie leant on the doorframe. “Well, if you ladies need me, I’ll be in the other room blasting music. Be good to each other.”

“Wait!” Chrissy called out to him before he could close the door. Both of you were looking at her now. “You could… stay?”

You looked at Eddie, and he met your eyes with a wolfish grin. “Just to clarify,” he said, “would you want me to stay as a spectator? Or as a participant.”

Chrissy looked at you again. “Whatever you want. If that’s okay with both of you.”

“I’m down if you are,” said Eddie, and you nodded.

Gently, you pushed Chrissy back so she was lying on the bed, and then climbed on top of her. As you kissed her, your fingers skating up her arm, you felt Eddie’s hands on your hips. His fingers clumsily found the front of your jeans and flicked open the button.

You pressed your face into Chrissy’s neck. She was making such pretty little noises. You wondered if you could make her scream. At the same time, Eddie was tugging on your jeans. You wiggled your hips to help him pull them down. As soon as they were off, Eddie wasted no time, laying kisses on both of your ass cheeks.

You pulled down the front of Chrissy’s uniform, revealing a plain black bra. “Can I?” you asked, fingering the straps.

“Yes,” she murmured, breathless.

She arched her back, allowing you to get your hands underneath her to unhook her bra. Behind you, Eddie was running his fingers over your clothed cunt and watching your wetness seep through the fabric.

“Damn, Chrissy hasn’t even shown you her boobs yet and you’re already soaking,” he said, tugging your panties up so they were pressed tight against your pussy. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips, and Chrissy let out a soft giggle. Your hand curled around the front of her bra and pulled it off her.

“Much better,” you said. Chrissy’s boobs were milky-white with pert nipples as pink as her cheeks were right now. You took one in each hand and they fit easily. Her chest was rising and falling with each heavy breath.

Your lips closed around one nipple at the same moment as Eddie decided to put you out of your misery. He pushed your panties to the side and slipped one finger inside you.

“Eds,” you moaned around Chrissy’s nipple. Chrissy’s fingers tugged on your hair, holding you tight against her. As you sucked, your name fell from her lips, and you clenched around Eddie’s finger.

Chrissy hooked one leg over your hip and ground against you. “Please,” she murmured, and you couldn’t say no to that.

You crawled down her body, dropping kisses on every bit of exposed skin until you were between her thighs. You could feel Eddie grinding against you, two fingers inside you now. Looking over your shoulder at him, you let out a long moan as he pressed right against your g-spot.

From there, it was a scramble to find a condom and put it on. Eddie stripped completely naked before lining himself up with your aching hole.

Meanwhile, you were pushing up Chrissy’s tiny cheerleading skirt to reveal a pair of white cotton panties with a large wet patch. You couldn’t hold it in any longer. You needed to taste her. As you tugged her panties down and slid your tongue between her folds, Eddie pushed into you. That drew a deep moan from you, and Chrissy grabbed your hair again, tugging on it harder.

You let her manoeuvre you however she wanted. You were intoxicated by the sweet tang of her cunt. Behind you, Eddie was fucking you slow and deep, and you knew he was trying to make this last.

As you swirled your tongue around her clit, Chrissy said, “Have-” A sharp intake of breath cut her off. “Have you ever done this before? How are you so good at this?”

Your cheeks were burning. You pulled back slightly – just enough to slide two fingers inside her and feel her clench around you – and said, “Yeah, a couple of times.”

Eddie’s steady presence kept you grounded. His firm hands – one on your hip, the other reaching around to play with your clit – and the heavy weight of his cock inside you were familiar. They were safe. Chrissy was something entirely different.

“With who?”

You pinched her clit between two fingers, and her thighs trembled around your head. “There’s a gay bar a few towns over that me and Eddie go to sometimes. The ladies there taught me a few things.”

“Can I come with you?” The question surprised you, but she was clearly so horny and desperate for release that she’d say anything right about now.

“Sure,” you said, humouring her, before diving back into her cunt.

“I want to learn,” she said, breathlessly. “Will you teach me?”

That, combined with a particularly hard thrust from Eddie against your g-spot, pushed you over the edge. Eddie swore as your pussy squeezed him, your body shuddering with the strength of your orgasm.

He pulled out, leaving you trembling. Chrissy’s grip on your hair loosened, so she was stroking it rather than pulling it. Your arms were shaking and you could barely hold yourself up.

“Hey,” Chrissy murmured. “Roll over for me.”

Sated and submissive, you lay down on your back. Eddie put his hands on your thighs, rubbing soothing circles there. His cock was still rock hard, now glistening with your juices.

Chrissy’s slender fingers found the bottom of your shirt and pulled it off over your head. Between the two of them, they stripped the rest of your clothes off you, and then she straddled your face, her ass facing towards you.

“Come here, Eddie,” she said, and as soon as he stepped close enough, she pulled him into a kiss.

Her pussy was inches from your face. You hooked your arms over her hips and pulled her down onto your mouth.

“You like how she tastes?” asked Eddie, and you were about to respond when you realised he wasn’t talking to you. Chrissy had lips wrapped around his cock, sucking your juices off him. You moaned in surprise. “There we go. Good girl.” Chrissy let out a soft little whimper.

Eddie was holding onto her now-messy ponytail, guiding her head up and down on his cock. You held onto her thighs tighter and pressed two fingers inside her again. Your lips moved backwards and your tongue just grazed against her asshole. She moaned loudly then, her juices dripping down your chin. You let her grind back against your face, riding out her own orgasm.

“Fuck, that’s so fucking hot,” muttered Eddie, speeding up his thrusts. Chrissy’s hands were on his hips, her nails digging into his skin. It didn’t take long before he was cumming too.

For a while, the three of you sprawled out on the bed, in various states of undress, trying to get your breath back. Chrissy’s fingers were lightly intertwined with yours. You closed your eyes, savouring the moment.

“I meant what I said, you know,” she said.

“Huh?”

“About wanting to learn. Will you teach me?”

“Teach you what?”

“I want to go down on you,” she said, and your cheeks suddenly felt very hot.

Eddie leant up on one elbow, studying the two of you carefully. “You know, I know what she likes. I’m sure I could talk you through the basics.”

That was how Chrissy Cunningham ended up between your thighs, one of your legs thrown over her shoulder and the other being pinned down by Eddie.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he murmured as she licked tentatively at your clit. “That’s right. Press harder. She likes it like that.” Chrissy’s tongue laved over you with more confidence now. “How does she taste?”

“Good. Really good.” Every word sent a puff of air over your already over-sensitive cunt.

“Now try putting a finger inside her.”

Chrissy’s delicate fingers parted your lower lips and then she slid the middle finger inside you. Her fingers felt so different from Eddie’s, and so different from your own.

“You should be able to find the g-spot if you just-” Eddie grabbed her wrist and twisted her hand, guiding her, until-

“Oh my fucking god,” you moaned. This was all too much. Chrissy let out a little laugh, her hair falling in a halo around her face. She had two fingers pressed deep inside you, rubbing over that most sensitive spot.

She lapped up the juices that had just gushed out of you. Eddie’s spare hand found its way onto your breast, squeezing it in a manner that was surprisingly soothing.

“You’re being such a good girl for me and Chrissy, aren’t you sweetheart?”

“I’m a good girl,” you half-slurred. You were almost delirious. Chrissy’s tongue was doing such sweet and sinful things to your cunt.

“Pinch her clit,” said Eddie. “She likes that.”

She followed his instructions, sending a jolt up through you. Your back arched up off the bed, and you humped back against her hand.

“You like that?” she asked breathily, flirtatiously, sensually, and that was all it took. You squirted, a rush of liquid drenching her face and hands. Still, she didn’t stop fingerfucking you until you muttered out a quiet plea for her to stop.

“Holy fuck,” said Eddie when your heavy breathing had evened out. “Did you squirt?”

“I’ve never squirted before,” you said, and a wide, genuine smile graced Chrissy’s face.

“Really?” she asked.

“Really.”

“Guess I must be pretty good, then.”

“Shut up,” you said, pulling her back down for another kiss.

Sequel.

#chrissy cunningham x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x reader #eddie munson x reader x chrissy cunningham #eddie munson x you

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