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moonchild6969 · 11 hours ago

Text

Locked Out of Heaven 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Music flows from unseen speakers. The boat rocks slightly as Nick makes his way back. You crane to see him as you lay on the beach blanket, the sun beaming down on the lazy stir of the waters.

He lowers himself next to you and sighs. He bends his arms behind his head. You can’t help but notice how the muscles bulge, not just his biceps but his chest. He’s so perfect.

He slowly turns his head to look at you. You wince and give a sheepish smile. He shifts onto his side, keeping himself propped up on one elbow and tickles along your side.

“Come here,” he moves closer, his hand crawling along your stomach. “You look so good, baby, you know that?”

“I... do? I mean—You do too.” You flutter your lashes as you stare at him. “Sorry, I...” you giggle and it sends a flurry through your guts. “I’m sorry, I—I—don’t know what to do.”

You cover your face, mortified at the confession. He grabs your left hand and gently moves it away. You drop your other and stare up at the sky, just below the glare of the sun. He guides your hand to his chest.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he drawls. “You just chill. Be you.”

He pets your cheek with his knuckles. He leans in even closer. You lock up as your eyes meet his. They are even bluer than the sky. You gulp and he tickles down your throat.

“Princess,” his lips brush yours. “I need you so bad.”

“Oh,” you bat your lashes.

“Can I have you? Pretty please?” He begs.

“Ummm...”

“All of you? Please. It hurts, baby. You don’t want me to hurt, do you?” He rubs his thumb along the front of your throat, his breath fluttering over you.

Your heartbeat pounds like thunder. You press your fingertips into his chest and nod. Your tongue sticks the roof of your mouth and you cough out your answer. “Y-yes.”

“Yeah? You want me too?” He rubs his nose against yours. “Tell me you do.”

“I... I want you,” you pet his chest. “Nick, really, I do.”

“Mm, I’ve dreamt of you saying that.” He growls and slides his hand up to the side of your head.

His thumb and index form a vee around your ear as he cradles your skull. He tilts your head and kisses you. He plunges his tongue past your lips and groans as you close your eyes. Your heart races as the noise of the slapping waters and the music fade to a drone.

The world zeroes in on you. Your skin is on fire, your blood is ice cold, and your nerves vibrate. You slip your hand up around his shoulder and moan into his mouth. You’ve never felt anything like this. You can feel everything so much.

He turns his body as he smothers you. He slides his arm under your head as he turns his chest parallel to yours. His fingertips massage your scalps as he drinks you in.

His pushes his pelvis against you, rocking slightly. He hooks a leg around yours and pulls it away from your other. He trails his hand down your neck and tickles along your chest. He gropes you as you feel along his neck, the tendons taut with his hunger.

He lifts himself and plants his knees between your legs. He holds himself just above you as his lips slip away from yours. He kisses your cheek and jaw, pecking along your neck as you squirm. His breath sends shivers over you as he descends.

He traces your collarbone with kisses and buries his face in your cleavage. He kneads you through the fabric and teethes at your skin. You moan as a whirlwind swirls behind your rib cage. You can hardly breathe.

He nuzzles you as he follows the strap of the bikini behind your neck. He tugs until the ribbon slackens. You gasp and try to catch the top before it falls away. You cover your self as he licks the curve of your tit.

“Princess,” he rasps and you look down at him. His eyes blaze up at you. “You said I could...”

“I... yes,” your arms are stuck for a moment. They won’t obey. Finally, you peel your hands away. He purrs and dives back in.

He flicks his tongue around your nipple and you squeal. The sensation tangles in your core. You heave and arch your back.

You catch the back of his head and urge him on. Your fingers twine into the thick strands of his hair. You look down at him, lifting your head higher to see him, the silver threads in woven through shining in the sun. There's a flicker of doubt though it fades into the flames of his touch.

He nibbles on your pebbled bud before he parts and tends to the other. You moan and drop your head down. You bend one leg as your cunt clenches needily. He laps and licks and nips as you melt into the blanket.

He fondles your other tit as he drags his mouth lower. He leaves a smear of saliva along your stomach, teasing you as he wanders back and forth, nibbling at those places that make you twitch or whine.

He traces the edge of your bottoms with his nose then tugs with his teeth. You gasp and wriggle as he snarls. He pushes the tails of the coverup away from your thighs and loops his thumbs in the ties along the side of the suit. You quiver and reach to stop him as a glimmer of doubt fogs your eyes.

“Nick...”

He hushes you as he pulls until the knots loosen.

“Nick, please... I’m... scared,” you puff out.

“Baby,” he slowly drags the suit down. Your hands shoot down to cover your pelvis. He tuts and catches them, pulling them away. “Why you scared? Huh? I’m not hurting you.”

“I... I...” you stammer.

You shiver even as the sun beats down and speckles your flesh with sweat. Even as you feel flames consuming you from within. Even as his warmth floods into you.

“Hush, baby, I got you.”

He pushes himself back and gets on his stomach. He frames your pelvis with his hands, his thumbs petting the short tuft of hair along your vee. He hums and bows his head, inhaling your scent and exhaling it back on you. His breath dampens the wiry curls.

He buries his nose into you, rolling his head, and tilts back as his tongue swipes along your lips. You gape down at him as his eyes flick up to meet yours. He purrs as he delves deeper, his cool tongue gliding between your hot folds.

You bite your lip and drop your head down as you moan. The melding of hot and cold flows through you, unfurling from your core. You twitch and dig your nails into the blanket beneath you.

He spreads his tongue wide and drags it up your cunt, tasting you with a hum. The rumble that rises from his chest stokes the swelter inside you. You arch your back deeper, pushing into his mouth and push your heels down into the floor.

His mouth laps loudly as he groans and growls rise from him. He feels around blindly and takes your hand. He puts his on his head. Instinctively, you urge him on, clutching him as you rock your hips.

His tongue flicks around your clit and he teases lightly with his teeth. He seals his lips around your swollen bud and sucks. You cry out and spasm. You heave and thrust your chest out, your body contorting like an ocean tide.

You yank on his hair as he tends to you. His hand crawls up your thigh, his other slipping beneath your bottom as he gropes you. He tickles your leg up to the crease of your cunt.

He moves his head in tandem with his tongue. He eats you up as he pokes along your entrance. He rubs you as the slickness glosses over his finger. He grunts as his finger dips into you, as if surprised by how easy it is.

He pushes in, just the tip, then draws back out. He smears around your juices then delves back in. A little deeper. He pulls in and out, further with each plunge. You quake and clasp onto his head with both hands.

His tongue circles your clit as the pressure pulses in that one spot. He curls his finger inside of you, rocking his hand slightly as the weight thrums. You gulp and gasp, fighting to catch your breath.

You tear your hands from his head and slap your palms on the floor. You lift your head and shoulders and squeal as the tension bursts and spills from your core. He keeps going, guiding you through your orgasm as you writhe and whimper.

You fall back down, panting, legs quivering, heart thumping. He turns his head back and forth, rubbing his beard against you as he hums. He drags his chin along your folds and slowly raises himself up to look at you. The dark hair along his jaw glistens with you.

“Mm, princess, you’re so sweet,” he growls and licks his lips.

He looks down, his finger still inside you. He pulls it out and flicks it between your folds. He trails back to your entrance and presses another fingertip there. He wiggles two fingers into you. You groan and reach weakly to stop him, barely grazing his forearm.

“Please,” you murmur.

He pushes in to his knuckles. You bend your legs as he kneels between them, watching his hand as he wiggles his fingers inside you. He turns his hand and puts his thumb to your clit. You squeak.

He tilts his hand steadily, falling into a rhythm. He squeezes so the heat twists between his fingertips. He bends over you, hand still moving, and he kisses you. You can smell and taste yourself on his lip. You shudder and run your hands along his shoulders and down his arm. You squeeze his bicep and moan into him.

Your walls clench him as you cum again. You nearly bite his tongue as the waves crash down and consume you. Your turn your head and he presses his lips to your cheek. He chuckles as he feels you clinging to his fingers.

“Baby, you’re doing so good,” he slithers. “Huh, that feel good?”

“Yessss,” you drone as your lashes flutter.

“Mmm, good girl,” he kisses you before he sits up again.

He slides his fingers out of you and wipes your juices down your leg. You lay weak and quivering, the coverup is wide open around your naked body, the bikini hanging below your chest, the bottoms crumpled between your thighs. Each breath rises and falls heavily.

He raises himself on his knees and hooks his thumbs under his waist band. You stare. You can’t look away. He stretches it away from his body and around his rigid length. He pushes them down his thighs and stands to strip entire.

His dick bobs before him as he looks down at you. You stare at it. It’s... well. You think it looks pretty big. You peek down at your body and put your legs together. You don’t think it will fit. That though makes your stomach ripple. Inside?

He gets back to his knees next to you. He takes your hand and pets your knuckles. He kisses them as he caresses your palm. He examines it like something precious as he pushes it flat.

He guides your hand down to his dick as he kneels beside you. His chest strains as he curves your fingers around him. Thick, firm, the veins swollen and hard against your palm. He pumps you down and back to his tip. He quakes against the motion.

“Mmm, princess, do you feel how much I need you?” He growls.

You blink and nod as he keeps your hand moving slowly; down, up, down, up.

“Slow, like that,” he purrs. “You keep going, baby. Gotta make sure we’re both ready.”

He drops his hand away from yours and looks down. He watches you play with him. You see how his stomach tightens as he braces his thigh. He groans and chews his lip.

Your gaze falls to your hand. You’re enthralled by the sight of what you’re doing to him. You squeeze harder and he groans. His breath juts out of him in short puffs. His nails dig into the muscle of his thigh.

“Yeah, like that,” he goads. “Just a little more...”

86 notes · View notes

moonchild6969 · 11 hours ago

Text

Locked Out of Heaven 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You cling onto the strap of your bag, wringing it as your nerves build with each step. You're really doing this. You're going out with a boy. No, a man.

You stop short, a few feet from Nick's car. You gulp. What would your dad say? What would he do if he found out? How much would he really care? He only cares about your grades.

You stare as you weigh the decision. He's not going to find out. Austin won't even know you're gone. So why are you suddenly so afraid?

Nick's headlights flash and he rolls toward you. You turn to face him as he pulls up. You smile to hide the tremor in your chest.

"Hi," you squeak as he lowers his window.

"Hey, princess? You forget something? What's the matter?" He asks.

"Oh, uh, I don't know," you look back at the house. "I... no. I..."

"Get in, baby." He reaches over to pat the passenger's seat. "Boat's waiting."

You stutter step then stagger around the car. You fumble with the handle and swing the door out. You fall in, ready to dissolve into mist, and shut the door with a jarring snap.

You're so anxious, you could explode. Before you can even reach for the seat belt, Nick's on you. He cradles your cheek and slips his hand down to your chin. He holds you firmly and leans in, brushing his nose against yours.

You shiver at his closeness. His warmth swathes around you and his scent stains your breath.

"You miss me?" He purrs. "I missed you, princess. All I've been thinking about is you. About us."

"Um, yes," you babble and nod into his hand.

His lips curve and he presses them to yours. You brace his forearm in surprise, his veins bulging against your palm. His tongue dips into your mouth and he growls. He leans further over the space between the seats, smothering you.

When he parts, you're dizzy, lips puffy, and cheeks burning. You stare at him dopily. You push your thighs together and tilt your pelvis. That tingly coil winds through you.

He wears short-sleeve white button up with a blue line at the edge of the collar. And pale blue shorts that cut off high up his thighs. He wears those loafer-type shoes with the little nautical knot. Boat shoes? His gold chain sparkles above his chest and his pinkie ring encircles his finger.

"I got everything you need, baby. Don't worry. It's all on the boat," he pets your cheek with his knuckles. "You're just going to sit back and relax. Let me take care of you."

"Al... alright," you wisp.

It's going to happen. You felt it. In his urgency. You know what he wants. He hasn't been subtle. You think you want it too. That must be what makes you so squirmy.

"It's gonna be a great day. Just us. At last." He looks over the steering wheel and buckles his seat belt. You do the same. "Sun, drink, each other..."

He grips the wheel with one hand and slaps his other onto your thigh.

"We got all day and I'm going to take my time, baby. I'm gonna make you feel like the princess you are." He slowly pushes down on the gas. "You don't gotta worry about nothing."

💜

The water gently stirs as you walk down the dock. Nick has your hand in his as he guides you along the shore side. There are other boats tied off there. Luxurious boats with upholstered seats and cabins, large steering wheels and monikers written across the sides.

Austin has pictures of a boat like this on his socials. He went off with his friends last summer and came back hungover for a week. Your dad let him sleep it off while you did his dingy laundry.

A ripple flows through you. Something like anger. Irritation. Your brother gets to go off and have fun without question. Even your dad goes out for drinks or goes golfing or whatever else he likes. Why is it so bad that you do anything at all? If your dad even knew about the trip to the gelato shop, he’d be barking at you for wasting time.

You sigh. Nick squeezes your hand as something jingles in his other. He tugs you back before you walk off the side of the dock.

“Woah, baby,” he draws you to face him. “Don’t want you falling in.” He kisses your forehead and the heat of his lips pulls you back to the present. “Whatcha sighing for?”

“N-nothing. I...” you look around, searching for anything to say. “I’ve never been on a boat.”

“Gonna be a lot of firsts today,” he winks and brings your hand up to kiss your knuckles. “You stay here. Keep clear of the edge for me, princess.”

He lets you go and shakes the keys in his other hand. You fold twine your fingers together and press your palms to your stomach. You turn to watch him as he nears the edge of the wooden planks. He hops across onto the open rear of the boat, easily launching himself over the gap.

He steadies himself and ducks under the roof. You listen to his steps as the boat shifts subtly. You rock anxiously as a cool breeze brushes across you.

He appears again and bends to slide out a board hidden beneath the floor. He extends it over the space between the dock and the boat. He straightens up and reaches to you, one foot on the ramp.

You untangle your fingers and take his hand. He guides you firmly across onto the polished flooring. You glance around at the open space at the back of the boat, just behind the cover sitting area of the cabin. White leather and azure cushions. A table mounted between the benches, a narrow doorway to the front of the boat with the driver’s seat.

“Wow, this is yours?”

“Sure is,” he drags his hand up your arm slowly. “Ours.”

You look at him, your heart pumping. You smile. You peer back at the dock.

“Oh... I...” You watch a woman on another boat, in a sarong and sun hat.

“I told you. I got everything figured out,” he rubs your shoulder. “Just a minute.”

He turns and goes to slide the board back under the floor. Then he stands and unmoors from the post. The boat rocks with his steps.

He strides back to you and points to the bench. “That’s yours there.”

There’s a white and blue beach bag on the seat. You hadn’t paid it much attention at first glance. You tilt your head curiously.

“You get into your bathing suit and I’ll get us asea,” he coaxes.

“Oh, uh, okay?”

“One thing at a time, right?” He purrs and leans in to kiss you. You close your eyes as a thrill rolls over you. Too far. No going back.

“Yes, Nick.” You murmur as he parts, cradling your face as he brushes his nose up yours and once more presses his lips to your forehead. He hums.

“Good girl.”

His reluctance has his hand lingering on your neck before he pulls back. He turns and struts through the cabin to the front of the boat. He drops into the driver’s chair and you watch him swipe up the keys from the little tray beside the wheel. He turns the engine and the rumble startles you.

You approach the beach bag. You peek inside as you touch the side. You reach in to pull out the bikini top. Oh. You only ever wore a one-piece with shorts. Your dad made you keep a tee shirt on even. This is less than you could even imagine.

You run your finger over the patterning on the triangle of fabric. White with lilac vines printed onto it. It’s pretty and the straps are like thick ribbons.

You glance at Nick and the boat lurches. You land on the seat with a gasp. He looks back.

“You okay? Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I’m good,” you sit and dip your chin, examining the top. Your hands tremble. You peek at him again. He’s focus on steering.

You nod, goading yourself into it. You unhook your purse from across you and put your phone inside. You push it against the back of the sofa bench and drop your shoulders. This is what you want. It has to be.

You peel off your shirt and look down at your bra. Plain, white, boring. You reach back to unhook it, another wary look at the driver. He’s unconcerned as the boat bobs over the waves.

You take off the bra, your nipples hard from the air breezing through, or maybe the anticipation. You tie on the bikini top and it does little to hide them. Your chest feels like it will spill out at any moment.

You stand and search for the bottoms. Not much more than the top. You quickly change into them. You try to stretch the fabric across your bum but it only covers half your cheeks. You chew your lip.

You take the flip flops sticking out of the bag and put them on. You fish around again and pull out a sheer purple cover up. It opens in the front and has little tassels dangling from the short sleeves.

“Alright,” Nick proclaims and makes you flinch.

You bend to gather up your clothes and stuff them away in the bag. He stands and turns, ducking into the cabin then stands straight. He looks you up and down as you cross your arms.

“Princess,” he breaths as he grabs your wrist. “Let me see.”

He takes both your arms and pulls them apart. His eyes rove up and down your body. You shiver as the cover up falls open.

“Oh...” he utters.

You stare at his shirt collar, face ablaze. Is he disappointed. You brace yourself for it.

“Wow,” he slips his hands from your arms and frames your hips. “Baby, you look amazing.”

“Um, really?” You jitter in disbelief. “Er, thanks.”

“Baby, baby, baby,” his thumbs dig into your soft flesh. “We got all day... so you gotta make me go slow.”

“Oh,” you gulp.

“I could...” he begins and chuckles. He shakes his head and pokes his tongue into cheek. “Come on, let’s get settled.”

He lets you go and pops open the top button of his shirt. He goes down the row and pulls apart the fabric, revealing his muscled torso. He strips away the linen shirt and tosses it carelessly onto the bench. You gape at his chest.

“Like what you see?” He taunts and you look him in the face, shrinking in embarrassment.

“I--I--”

He snickers. “It’s all yours, princess. You don’t gotta be shy.”

“I... okay. I'll try.”

“Baby, I got you, alright?” He drawls. “Come on.”

He takes your hand and guides you onto the back of the boat. As it rocks with the water, you’re put even more off-kilter. He squeezes before he releases you again.

He peers around and grabs a striped fabric chest. He flips the top and pulls out a large beach blanket. He spreads it over the flooring. He goes back to the cabin and grabs some cushions and tosses them down too. He plunks the chest at the edge of the blanket.

“Got drinks, got snacks,” he reaches inside, “but most important, sunscreen.”

You nod. He takes out the bottle of cream and wiggles it at you as he comes closer. He touches the edge of the cover-up. “Take this off. I’ll get you.”

“Huh, oh?” You look down and shrug. You let the sheer fabric fall down your arms and pile at your feet. You’re too stunned to catch it.

“Come on,” he gets down on his knees. “Relax, princess.”

He tugs until you get down to. He taps the bottle on the blanket. “Lay down.”

“Uh, okay...” you lay on your back, chest rising and falling quickly as your chest hammers.

He shifts onto his butt and flicks the cap open. He squirts the cream into his palms and rubs them together. The coolness of the lotion is as jarring as the feel of his hands. He starts at your neck, smearing across your collar bone and to your chest.

He drags his hands down, spreading it diligently before squeezing more from the bottle. You twitch as he gets to your chest, poking his thumbs under the edge of the bikini to get cream there too. He rubs it into your skin as your nipples poke against the fabric.

He continues on to your stomach, massaging as he goes, then does your arms, kneading your hands delicately as he gets between your fingers. You’re paralysed as he plies the UV to your skin.

He pokes your thighs, “come on, baby.”

You hesitate before you spread your legs. You squeak as he gets between them on his knees. For a moment you think...

He claps his hand on your thigh and smears the cream into your skin. He squeezes and his fingertips sends sparks through you. You spasm and squeal as he hits every nerve. You wriggle at the unbearable tingle.

You giggle as the sensation turns ticklish. He chuckles too and purrs, paying close attention to your thighs. Pushing his thumbs in until your clasp onto his wrists.

“Nick!”

He smirks at you. “These are nice,” he clamps tighter on your thighs. “You know that?”

You whimper his name again. He pulls out of your grasp and drags down your legs to your feet. When he finishes your soles, he clucks.

“Turn over.”

You blink but do as he says. You flip onto your stomach, feeling the jiggle of your bum as the bathing suit rides up. He hums.

“Oh, princess,” he drones.

“I... sorry,” you reach to fix the bottoms.

He tuts and swats your hand away.

“It’s all mine, baby. Don’t you worry. I want every part of you,” he shoves your hand down so it bounces on the floor. Your knuckles ring with the impact. “I told you, relax.”

He gets up on his knees and blends lotions into your shoulders and down the back of your arms. Then he coats your back and hips, following the curve of your back to your bum. He massages the rise of flesh and bends to kiss the swell. You squeal in surprise and he nips you.

“Mmm, delicious,” he snarls and runs his thumbs along the crease below your butt. You wince and ball your hands.

He continues along the back of your thighs, even more sensitive than the front, and you squirm. You can hear him breath, almost growling. Your own breaths puff out in a storm of excitement and fear.

As he gets the back of your calves, your head swims. He raises himself up and moves beside you. He caresses your arm.

“Now let me see that pretty face.” He grits.

“Sure, uh,” your turn over again and sit up.

He rubs his hands together then cradles your face. He uses his thumbs to cover your cheeks with cream and traces your features. He runs his palms over your face gently and caps off the application with a longing kiss on your lips.

He hovers just before you. “My turn.”

He lets you go and lowers himself down. He hands you the bottle and you take it, dazed as your skin thrums. You watch him as he pushes his chest up just slightly and your eyes scale down his torso. Where do you start?

You dollop the lotion into your hand and mash them together. You start at his neck, feeling his throat bob. He purrs as you get to his shoulders. The firm muscle makes you quiver inside. Then his chest... oh. It feels so nice. So strong.

You retreat and focus on his arms. There’s muscle there too and the thick veins on his forearms have you squeezing your thighs together. His hands are bigger as you focus on them and rubs the cream into his rough palms.

As you ply the sunscreen to his stomach, you feel it clench. You recoil as something catches the corner of your eye. You gasp and stare at the front of his shorts. You can see him inside, nearly bursting out as he bulges beneath the waistband.

He lifts his head and groans.

“It’s okay, baby, I won’t bite... yet,” he snickers. “Keep going.”

You nod and bite your tongue. You put your hands back on his stomach and trail along his sides, sure to get every bit of skin. Your eyes flit back to his shorts. Your insides tighten. You shake at the flicker in your mind, the thought of grabbing it...

Instead, you shift and move to his thighs. As tempting as it is, you’re still terrified. You’ll work up to that. Eventually.

94 notes · View notes

moonchild6969 · 11 hours ago

Text

Locked Out of Heaven 10

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You’re content, relieved even, to be alone. Even if only to clean the dishes. The moment free of your father’s derision, of Nick’s smirks, and your brother’s beastly chewing is almost bliss. Or would be if it weren’t for that incessant buzzing.

Each time you think it’s done, that the lull stretches too long, it starts again. Just a short vibe to remind you. How can you forget as you’re throbbing against your panties, slick to the point you feel it with each shift of your thighs.

You hear your father’s voice outside. You can’t make out his muffled words and as Nick’s timbre answers it, you shudder. You bite your lip as the thought of him makes you quiver. He sets something alight in you that you don’t understand. You’re scared but excited; confused but enthralled. You want to hide from him yet you just can’t stop dreaming of him.

You rinse another plate and let the water trickle off before you set it in the rack. The back door swings open and you twitch. You peek over, expecting your dad. It’s not him.

“Right back, Chuck, getting a call,” he tosses over his shoulder.

He steps inside and closes the door as he reaches into his pocket. He stops just inside and grins. You lean your wrists against the sink and stare at him. He pokes his tongue into his cheek and crosses the tile.

“Look at you. Such a good girl, cleaning up,” he stops close to you, near enough for his heat to cloud around you. “Dirty girl, you’re gonna have to do something about yourself.”

He slides his phone from his pocket and holds it up. You stare at him, the faucet spraying down as you grip the sink. You shiver out a breath.

He drags his thumb around the screen and the buzzing starts anew. It’s constant and intense. Your thighs shake and you push them together. You whimper.

“Nick,” you eke out.

“Shhh,” he hushes and steps behind you. “Be a good girl. You make too much noise and you’re going to get caught.”

He presses himself to your back, tilting his pelvis until you feel that part of him. You flinch and curl your fingers tighter around the counter. He nuzzles your head as he stretches his arm over your shoulder to show his phone.

He swirls his thumb so more of the circle illuminates. The toy jitters harder, pulsing in your walls, the node on your clit sending tingle down your legs. You can’t help but lean back into him, otherwise you might collapse.

“That’s it, princess, you like that?” He puffs into your hair. “Like what I can do to you?”

“Nick,” you croak again.

He tuts and kisses your crown. “Shhh. Baby. You gotta be quiet.” He rolls his hips against. “Gotta wait. Hm? When we can do this for real.”

You squeak as he braces the counter next to your hand with his other. He moves his thumb again.

“Wanna do it like this? You can stand up? Like this?” His hand brushes over yours and up your arm. He drops below and feels along your pants. He cups his hand, pressing a finger against the toy, pushing it firmly against your clit until you feel the quake in your teeth.

He groans and rocks his hips, as if he’s actually... doing it. You gasp and close your eyes. You put your hand on his and squeeze your thighs tight.

“I definitely want you in my lap,” he snarls. “You like that idea? Think you can take it?”

You babble and he clucks again. He puts his phone down and covers your mouth. Your lashes flick open as he rubs the toy so the vibrations beat behind your ears.

“Gotta keep it down,” he girds. “Daddy’s just outside. You don’t want him to see what you’re up to.”

You whine into his palm. Your eyes speckle as the toy has you overworked. Your insides clench and your cunt throbs. You push your head back as he inhales the scent of your hair.

His pelvis tilts as he continues to rub his bulge against you. He hisses and your shallow breaths mingle. He purrs as your head lolls and he kisses your cheekbones.

You’re senseless. Oblivious to all but him. You don’t think about your dad or your brother or the running water.

“You gonna come out on my boat and have lots of fun, huh? Gonna let me treat you right? Gonna treat me right?” He growls and nips your ear. “Baby, you know it hurts me, right? How you got me waiting. You know I never waited this long.”

You twitch and he presses his lips to your temple. You curl your fingers around him as the tendrils unwind. You cum in a spasm. You know he can feel it. You can too. It soaks right through your pants as he rubs you past the point of satisfaction.

“Yeah, princess. I’m gonna give you everything,” he wiggles his fingers frantically before peeling his hand away.

He backs up and turns to lean on the counter. He smells his fingertips and chuckles. He smirks at you and sighs. He looks down at his pants. You can see the shape of him clearly through them.

“Like I said, I’m saving it for you,” he adjusts his belt and feels beneath to guide his tip under it. He winces. “And you’re gonna keep me from hurting.”

“Um... yes...” you murmur dumbly.

“Good girl,” he winks and turns to scoop up his phone. “Send me some good night pics tonight. Tide me over until I got you to myself.”

“Erm... my dad... has my phone,” you sniff as the toy keeps it urgent tempo.

“Mm, when you get it back. I’ll stay up,” he insists. “I wanna see what you’re sleeping in tonight, okay, baby?”

“Okay,” you agree.

He grins and pets your cheek. He pulls back and struts away. You wait until he’s outside then lean on the counter and whine. He forgot to turn it down but you don’t dare take it out. You don’t want to let him down.

💜

“I expect a spotless house when I get back. And I want all your grade reports waiting,” you dad extends the handle of his suitcase. “Tell your brother to do the lawn.”

“Yes, sir,” you stand on the bottom stair, arms crossed, holding back a yawn.

It’s early. Just six o’clock. Your dad didn’t bother with Austin but he made sure you got up to see him off. After all, he only expects your brother to do the bare minimum. A baseball scholarship means education is tertiary at best.

“You’re an adult. Best start behaving like one sooner than later,” he reprimands.

“Yes, dad.”

He sighs. It’s not the first time he’s gone away. He travelled for work a lot when you were in high school but since, he never spent more than a day or two away. This will be longer. A week at least.

“Make sure your brother goes to the cages. He needs to keep in shape.”

“Yes, dad.” You repeat.

“Alright then. Don’t forget to enable the system at night.”

“Got it.”

His brows flick up and he turns away. No hugs, no love yous in this family. He rolls his bag after him and opens the door. It closes and leaves you in silence, in the grimness of the muted daylight rising behind the grey curtains.

You go back upstairs and hide in your room. Not to sleep. Once you’re awake, there’s no going back. It’s just habit. That’s what you do. Sit alone and wallow.

You laze around for a while until you find the energy to open up your laptop. Then a textbook. It’s not even eight and you’re in study mode. It’s so usual yet you feel like you’re falling behind. You have to review the whole last chapter before the next.

You hear Austin in the hall. He’s up early. You look at the door curiously but don’t bother going to check. He’s always mean in the mornings and if he’s up already, it can’t be good.

You sink back into your work. You make careful notes, copying over diagrams and tracing out concepts. A cacophony from downstairs gives you a start.

Your phone vibrates and undercuts your concern. Your dad kept it a full day after Nick stopped by. You learned your lesson.

You grab it and check the message. Nick?

‘Dad gone?’ The text is simple enough. He would know when your dad is leaving since he passed off the job yet you’re a bit unsettled by his almost preternatural sense.

‘Left at 6. Studying. 😊'

You put your phone down as you hear a deafening metallic thunk. You rush out and listen from the top of the stairs. You can hear Austin and his buddy, Jessie. You go down and tiptoe to the kitchen.

“It’s gonna be hype,” Jessie says, “a whole keg. Deryck says he can get another. You know Selena will bring vodka and get loose--”

“The hell do you want?” Austin sneers as he catches you in the doorway.

“Sorry, I heard a bang--”

“And? Why don’t you go back to your room? And keep your mouth shut.” He snaps.

“I was only... seeing what was going on--”

“It’s none of your business. What you can do is stay the hell out of my way.”

“Oh, okay,” you back up. “Sorry.”

He rolls his eyes and turns his back to you. “You know if she’s bringing Cassandra?”

“Bro, everyone’s coming,” Jessie says. “We gotta get that slide set up. Oh and some drink stations.”

You scurry away. You wouldn’t ever tattle. It’s not your business. Austin seems to think you’re some sort of snitch though. You’re not sure he really knows much about you considering he only every thinks of himself.

You go back upstairs and shut your door. You should charge your headphones. It’s probably going to be a loud day.

Your phone distracts you before you can do that. Nick again.

‘On my way’. Huh? What does he mean?

You recoil as if you’ve been slapped. You know better than to argue. You just wish there was more detail. That you knew what to do...

On his way? For what? What about Austin and all his friends?

You look down at your pajamas. Floral capris and a matching tee. It’s something an old lady would wear.

Get dressed. Simple. Little steps.

You open your dresser. It’s all the same. Plain, uninteresting, boring. You find jean shorts that go to your knee and a tank top your father would never let you wear on its own. Today, you won’t cover up.

You spend some time trying to pretty yourself up. Your hair and face always frustrate you. You don’t think you look entirely hideous but you just don’t look like those other girls. Like Selena or Cassandra.

Your phone vibes. A longer drone that shakes your whole desk. You answer the call but can’t get your voice out. It’s him.

“Outside, baby,” Nick drawls. “You ready?”

You cough out your voice, “ready?”

“Yeah. I told ya. We’re going out on my boat. Just the two of us.”

“Oh-- today?”

“Yeah, today.”

“But... what do I... er... I never...”

“Princess, you just bring yourself, I got everything else figured out,” he coaxes.

“Um, okay, I’ll be out...” You say.

“I’ll be waiting,” he purrs. “Like I have been.”

“Okay, uh, bye.”

“Bye, baby.” He cooes.

You hang up and look around. You shouldn’t just leave. You need to study. You need to keep an eye on the house. Austin’s going to make a big mess and he won’t be the one punished for it.

You stand and sway on your feet. You can clean up when you get back. If Austin gets to have his fun, why can’t you? Dad doesn’t have to know. He hasn’t found you out yet. Heck, he’s so disinterested in anything but your grades that he won’t suspect a thing.

And you want to go. So desperately. You want to go with Nick and feel special, the way he makes you feel.

You snatch up your phone and your purse. You go to the door and listen. You don’t hear your brother or his friend. You emerge and their voices are dulled by the walls. You peek out the window at the end of the hall. They’re in the backyard.

You spin and hurry to the stairs. Your heart is in your throat. You barrel down and stop at the bottom to step into your shoes. You look back one last time then flit through the doors.

This might be your only chance ever to have fun. You’re going to take it.

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moonchild6969 · 11 hours ago

Note

You're new in town and the sheriff stops by to tell your how things work around his county

Too Easy

Summary: Sheriff Bodecker gets up close and personal with a single woman moving into his county.

Warnings: Assault, Corrupt cops, Implied violence, Sexism. Please let me know if I missed any.

A/N: Reader is plus sized, female. No other physical descriptors used.

Lee licks his lips as he watches you get the last box from your truck. The neighborly thing to do would be helping you, but he likes watching your curves as you move and bend over. Wouldn't be too neighborly showing up to help with an obvious hard-on.

He'd heard the little house on Knox Rd had sold and was surprised to learn it was bought by a lady. The realtor said it seemed like you were fresh from a divorce. Lee huffed. With a body like yours, you must've been cut loose for your personality. No moving company, no help? You're probably one of them "independent women" types.

He'll teach you better.

For now, he'll let you get settled. Once he gets over the shock of how pretty you are and how much he wants his hands on those hips of yours.

About a week later, Lee knows he's got you figured out. He's been watching you like a hawk and learning all about you.

You're as sweet as you look, getting along well with just about everyone. He almost pulled his gun on the young Arvin fella when he shook your hand. Lee's got it bad for you and he knows it. If he wasn't already married he'd pick you up in a heartbeat. As it is, he's looking forward to getting the benefits without the hassle of a wedding.

The fact you live alone almost makes it too easy for him. Good thing he's never had a problem with taking the easy way. Besides, he can be nice, if you'll let him.

There's a knock at your door and you rush from the kitchen with a cheerful, "who is it?"

"Sheriff Bodecker, ma'am."

You open the door with a small frown that brings out the cutest lines in your face. "Can I help you, Sheriff?"

"We got some reports about Ol' Bob doin' a bit o' thievin'." He lays the accent on thick to get you to lower your guard thinking he's just a good ol' boy.

"Oh no!" your hand flies to your face in concern.

"Bein' new in town you're more'n likely to be a victim," he explains, leaving out the fact that there is no Ol' Bob. "Do ya mind if'n I check to make sure your place is secure? I'd hate to have him take somethin' precious o' yours."

"Of course, Sheriff! What do you need from me?"

"With yer permission I'll check the locks on these here doors and windows. Did ya have 'em changed before movin' in?"

A look of concern crosses your features. "No, I...I didn't think to!"

"Well fer now I'll go ahead and check 'em. But tomorrow you best be headin' to Billy and Ralph's hardware to get some replacements. I'll even come by and make sure to help you install 'em properly."

"Thank you, Sheriff, but you won't need to do that. I'm pretty handy."

Lee fights the irritation he feels at your comments. Just as figured, you're an "independent" type. He's gonna have to fix that.

"May I still come in an' check on your windows?"

"Oh, yes! Of course!" You smile widely as you gesture for him to enter.

"Thank you," he nods, smiling at how easy you're making all of this.

He makes a good show of checking some of the windows, giving himself a better idea as to the layout of the little house. He can't have you hiding from him when he's hungry for a rendezvous.

Your kitchen is smelling heavenly, he thinks. It's a damn shame you're not looking for a man, you'd be getting all the good, and bad, men courting you. But since you'd rather be all alone, he gets to treat you like a whore.

"You mind me askin' what your cooking? Smells divine," he praises, getting you to walk closer to the counter.

"Oh, it's just a strawberry pie," you coo. "Though it is about time to get it out of the oven."

Lee steps away as you put on some oven mitts and bend over to get the pie. He licks his lips and readies himself.

As soon as you close the oven door and set down the pie, Lee pulls back his arm and smacks your ass. You let out a yelp and turn to him, eyes full of confusion and fear.

"You've got quite the peach," he purrs. "Been wanting to get my hands on it since you moved in."

"Sh-sh-sheriff, that's not--"

He crowds closer to, pushing your back into the counter.

"Not what, darlin'?"

"Not...not right! You're the sheriff!"

"Which means I'm the man in charge," he replies. "I get to choose which rules get enforced and which ones can be ignored, and by which people."

"But...but..."

He chuckles coldly. "And ain't nobody gonna believe you, either. An outsider to the community? A woman living on her own? They'll be marching you through town with a scarlet A on your chest."

"I...I can go above your head!" you argue, tears forming in your eyes. "State police, FBI, even!"

"Even if they would listen, you'd never get to 'em before my boys get to you, hurt you badly, and leave your body where no one will find it."

"Your deputies are in on it?" you gasp.

He laughs, "not them. People much worse than them. Ruthless people who, if you're nice for them, will give you a quick death instead of a slow one at their hotel with them other girls."

A sob escapes your lips and Lee starts fondling your breasts.

"And damn you'd make those O'Donovan boys a lot of money."

"O'Donovan? The...they run the Heavenly Rest?"

"They're the ones. And they get one notice from me that you're trouble, they will make you wish for death."

"Roger that!" you shout, making him pause long enough for you to headbutt him.

Lee staggers back a few steps before charging towards you, ready to hit back. You easily dodge the blow and head towards the front door, Lee giving chase.

The second he steps outside, though, he's greeted by a couple of State Police vehicles. Some of them with open doors and officers pointing guns at him.

He angrily raises his hands in surrender.

The tallest officer steps forward and Lee recognizes him.

"Captain Rogers," he spits. "Fucking golden boy. Since when do you send innocent women to do your dirty work?"

"The Detective here was only too happy to sign up," he shrugs. "And I can't argue with the results. She even got you to give up your partners."

Lee's eyes furrow in confusion for a moment before turning into rage. "Recording device?"

"Yup," Rogers confirms. "We were expecting this to take a lot longer but, lucky for us, you're too easy."

Tagging: @alicedopey; @blacksilks; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @iwudbutnah; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly

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moonchild6969 · 2 days ago

Note

Ok but toxic!dad!rafe where this don’t effect the children’s life but when it come to the mother of his kids he’s still very overprotective. I mean she is a MILF.

This is the best thing I've ever heard anon I hope both sides of your pillow are cold.

Toxic!Rafe as a dad?

Surprisingly present.

His kid adores him, and in their eyes, he’s just their cool, protective father. He spoils them, takes them out on the yacht all the time, and he makes sure they have everything they could ever want. He told himself he would never be like Ward if he ever became a father, and he- for a change- was living up to his word.

But when it comes to their mom? That’s where the real problem is.

Because Rafe does not change when it comes to Y/N.

Y/N falling pregnant, certainly wasn't planned. It wasn’t supposed to happen. She was young, she had a future and more than anything, she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to stay with Rafe, let alone have a baby with him. She didn't tell Rafe right away. Not because she was hiding it, but because she knew- deep in her gut- that he wouldn’t react like a normal person. She needed time to think, to weigh her options, to figure out what she wanted before he got involved.

But Rafe found out anyway.

Y/N had been so incredibly careful, she didn't leave any trace of the positive pregnancy test in Tannyhill; but he just knew her too well, sensed that something was off when she stopped drinking.

“What?”

His voice was quiet at first, his brows furrowed, like he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing. But then the realisation hit. His blue eyes darkened, his jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, the room suddenly feeling too small. His voice was calm, but there was something dangerous underneath it.

“You were gonna tell me, right?”

“Rafe, I—I don’t know what I’m going to do yet—”

Wrong answer. His hand shot out, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

“The fuck do you mean, you don’t know?” His breath was hot against her face, his fingers digging into her skin.

“That’s my kid, Y/N.”

Her stomach churned, her heart hammering against her ribs.

“I just- Rafe, I need time to think—”

“No, you don’t.”

He cut her off, shaking his head like the idea itself was ridiculous, angrily running a hand through his messed up hair.

“You don’t need to think. It’s already decided.”

She tried to take a step back, but his grip tightened, his other hand settling on her waist, firmly keeping her closer to him.

“We’re having this baby.”

Her breath caught in her throat as the words passed his lips, tears stinging her eyes before she could stop the feeling.

“I don’t- Rafe, this is my choice—”

His fingers pressed harder, his face inches from hers.

“No, it’s ours.”

Even now when they have a child together, he still watches her like a hawk. Still gets unreasonably possessive when she dresses a certain way, still makes a scene when he catches another man looking at her for a second too long. And she knows better than to fight him on it- most of the time.

It’s a summer afternoon, and she’s lounging by the pool, drink in hand, wearing a bikini that makes Rafe’s jaw clench. The sun was high, casting a golden glow over her as she adjusted the thin strap of her bikini top. It was tiny- too fucking tiny. The black fabric barely covered her tits, which, thanks to breastfeeding, were even fuller now, spilling slightly over the edges. His jaw clenched as his gaze dragged down, taking in the way the strings hugged her hips, digging into soft, newly gained curves that had him gripping the bottle in his hand just a little harder.

His friends are over, and while they’re talking, his eyes keep flicking toward her, watching the way the fabric clings to her curves. And then- Topper nudges him, nodding toward one of the new neighbours talking to her.

Rafe’s face goes dark.

She’s laughing at something the guy said, totally unaware of the way Rafe’s grip tightens around his beer bottle. He doesn’t make a scene- not yet- but when the guy finally walks away, Rafe strides over, towering over her as she peers up from her sun bed. His voice is deceptively smooth, but she knows that tone.

"Having fun, baby?"

"Yes."

His fingers skim her thigh, tracing the edge of her bikini bottoms.

"You looked like you were having a little too much fun."

She sighs, pushing her sunglasses up to rest on her head, she had a feeling she knew exactly where this was going.

"Seriously?"

"Dead serious." He leans down, voice dropping.

"Go inside and cover up."

She scoffs, shifting to sit up, the towel underneath her crumpling slightly as she moved,

"It’s our backyard and it's a pool party-."

"-I don’t give a fuck."

"Rafe, you’re being ridiculous."

"Yeah?" His grip tightens on her thigh.

"Then why’s he looking at you like he wants to fuck you?"

Her stomach flips.

"Stop," she hisses, even as heat creeps up her neck. But Rafe just smirks, leaning in so only she can hear.

"Maybe I should remind you who you belong to, huh?"

Her breath catches.

And the way he says it? The way his hand tightens on her thigh, just enough to send a warning? It sends a shiver down her spine, even as she glares at him. Because she knows- if she doesn’t listen now, he’ll make her.

Somehow, their kid never see this side of Rafe, he makes sure of it.

To them, their dad is just protective, he just 'cares about mommy so much!'. They never see the way their mother bites her lip in frustration when Rafe pulls her away from conversations. They never see the bruises he leaves- not always from violence, but from gripping her too tight, kissing her too hard. They don’t hear the way she argues in hushed tones behind closed doors, or the way she eventually gives in and melts into him anyway.

Because as much as she hates his jealousy and his control, she loves him too much to walk away.

He is the father of her child after all

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moonchild6969 · 4 days ago

Text

I am supposed to be studying literary theory but what if Strict Daddy!Curtis Everett…

Pairing: Strict Daddy!Curtis | Bunny Baby!You.

Warning(s): Strict ddlg, Daddy!Curtis, Baby!Reader, fear/intimidation kink (it's Curtis), minor fluff, allusions to punishment and whipping, Daddy kink, pet names, shy reader.

“Bunny!” Your Daddy, Curtis Everett calls as he enters the apartment. His huge form passes through the crack he made for himself before closing it behind him with his foot. “Get in here!” The stuffed paper bag that he holds to his chest crinkles against his leather jacket as he locks the door behind him.

“Bunny!” Curtis calls into the quiet house again when you don't show up like you're supposed to, his dark eyebrows furrowing as he looks left and right before relieving himself of his jacket and discarding the article on the couch. “Little g—”

“Coming, Daddy!” You obediently respond at last, putting your joystick down and rushing out of the bunny cave your loving Daddy made for you.

A smile makes its way onto Curtis' face when you finally appear on the horizon of his sight. “Careful” he cannot help but instruct out of instinct when you begin to bolt in his direction without a second thought. “Easy, baby” he chuckles at your excitement as his huge form takes a seat on the couch. His words make you come to a screeching halt because disobeying Curtis is never in your best interests. “Now,” he says only once you've fully stopped. “Come here” he holds out a hand for you, his heavily built and tattooed arm stretching in the process. You politely accept his hand and gingerly sit down on his lap, the movement making the silky bunny ears on the top of your head to slide down just a little bit as you do.

Even after all this time and the things Curtis has done to you, your cheeks flush a hot red from how shy he makes you feel.

“I got you something” the baritone of his manly voice is velvet to your ears as he presses his bearded cheek into your arm.

“Really, Daddy?” You excitedly turn all your attention to the package he is now unwrapping.

Curtis hums and his long fingers expertly work the paper. Your Daddy is good at knowing and doing everything. “Here, hold it” blood drains from your face and your smile falters when the object comes into view.

You go speechless, not that you know many words in his presence anyways.

“So, what do you think?”

You blink as you slowly accept the instrument in your hands, timid fingers slowly feeling its expanse. A whimper is all you can let out when your finger catches on a crevice.

“Do you know what this is, bunny?” You tense up when his muscular arms wrap around your waist, the ink on them nearly causing them to appear as snakes.

You don't know what to say. And you are not sure that even if you knew what to say, you would have wanted to.

“Of course” the vibration of his mirth nearly caves your shoulder blades in. “Too small and dumb to know such things, aren't you, baby?” Your hands go to collapse so Curtis supports them with one of his own. “It's a bullwhip, baby” the man takes one of your hands in his to help your fingers feel the hide. “And it's a really good one too, hand braided and all, rather expensive.”

You are nervous, confused and scared. “B- But… w- why, P- Papa?” Your strangled voice is barely audible.

Curtis smirks when he hears the name you call him. You only do that when you're extremely small or intimidated.

“For when you misbehave, silly!” He says in a ‘cheerful’ tone but you know him too well. Your back arches and you crane your neck from the sensitivity when Curtis strokes your cheek with the tip of his nose. “Are you going to misbehave, bunny?” Though his words are a sensual whisper in your ear, the menace that they hold is clear as the sky on a sunny day.

“N- No, D- Dada…” You gulp at how the whip feels against the pads of your fingers.

“Then we've nothing to worry about” but he knows. And you do too. It is in the smugness of his voice and the wavers of your breathing, the snort he lets out and the way you pout.

It will come. You are bound to slip. He spoils you too much for you not to. And when you do, Curtis will be there. With this very whip between his tattooed hands.

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moonchild6969 · 4 days ago

Text

nobody thinks what i think 😔

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moonchild6969 · 4 days ago

Text

Prized Possession Masterlist

Pairing: Curtis Everett x female!reader

Summary: You're the scary mobster's sweet, pretty prize.

Warnings: Mob AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Dark!Curtis. Reference to violence and death but nothing is shown. Non con. Unprotected sex. Allusions to kidnapping and captivity. Angst. 18+ 🥵😈

Status: In progress

🥵 Indicates explicit sexual content. 😈 Indicates dark content.

Prized Possession 🥵😈

Exposed 🥵😈

Public Displays of Possession 🥵😈

Barter 🥵😈

Ramifications 🥵😈

Drabbles, Headcanons, Imagines, Etc.

Would Curtis want Reader to embrace his world?

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moonchild6969 · 4 days ago

Text

Title: O U T S I D E [3 of 10]

Pairing: Ex-Con!Curtis x Southern!Reader

Summary: Your older brother is out of jail and back home, but old habits die hard, and you find yourself caught between what you need, and who can give it to you when Curtis Everett starts hanging around again.

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Mild Stalking, Recreational Drug Use, Intimidation, Crime, Gang Activity, References to Past Physical and Emotional Abuse, Murder, more tags to be added

A/N: sorry this took so long!

The inside of the Jag is cool, like he’d kept the car running while waiting for you. You still feel… adrift after your conversation with Professor Greenbalm, your fingers tracing random patterns on the leather seat beside your leg.

I’m failing.

Sure you could have done better on the midterm, and you were still missing one paper—but failing?

“Sweetheart are you hearing me?” Curtis rests the hand that isn’t on the wheel over your own, and you jolt in response.

“What? I’m—-sorry, I’m…” You trail off, not wanting to tell him.

“It’s okay. You can tell me over lunch.”

“What? I don’t—” Lunch? He was supposed to be taking you home. “I thought you were taking me back home?” You recall his easy smile. I was in the neighborhood.

“Ladybug you said yes five minutes ago.” You don’t remember. You suppose you could have mumbled a despondent yes to his suggestion for food if you know yourself, but honestly the moments you aren’t concentrating on are blurring together into a meaningless gray soup, buried underneath the rubble of your dreams. You have to find a way to fix this, you have to—

“Besides, you look like you could use some cheerin’ up.”

You glance at yourself in the rearview, messy hair falling across your face, red-rimmed, puffy eyes and a swollen nose. You let out a self deprecating laugh.

“Yeah. I probably could.” Curtis is a good driver, navigating the heavy traffic with a practiced hand. You sneak a peek at him, watching his stoic profile. He’s handsome, in a forbidden sort of way. He’s your brother’s friend, after all, and you know they roll together. It sours the warmth in your belly when he purrs your nickname from the driver’s seat.

“Somethin’ on your mind, Ladybug?” He asks without looking, and your cheeks heat.

“Just… seeing a lot of you, lately, s’all,” you reply, playing with the hem of your shorts. “What? Did I cross somebody and not know it?”

“Maybe I just like seein’ you.” He grins, those storm-blue eyes catching yours in the rearview. “You’re practically family, after all.”

You snort. “Practically.” Curtis had practically lived in your house, sleeping on the pull-out couch in the living room before your mother had sold it for the sectional. You’re not sure what happened to Curtis’ own parents, you’d never met them. Squinting at the past in your mind’s eye, you can remember maybe seeing his mother through the window once or twice, but her face is as blurry as the memories themselves.

“Your parents still live in the city?”

Curtis shakes his head.

“My mom’s down in Florida now,” he says as he pulls into a parking spot. “Dad passed while I was locked up.”

“Oh—I’m, I’m so sorry.” You bite your lip. “I’m sure everybody says that, I just, I don’t know what else to say,” you admit.

“I don’t miss him, Ladybug, so don’t be sorry.” He pockets the key before reaching for the door. “Now let’s get you something to eat. When’s the last time you ate anything that wasn’t microwaved leftovers?” Embarrassed, you climb out of the Jag. For the first time you get a good look at the restaurant’s exterior. It’s a brewery, with fancy stills positioned in front of the large windows. It says Porter’s Point on the door in chunky script, and a blast of welcoming air conditioning hits you in the face when Curtis opens the door.

The hostess seats you with menus, and you settle across from Curtis, fidgeting awkwardly. This is the second time you’ve seen him in less than a week. How had he known when to wait? Where to wait? And moreover—why? What possible reason could Curtis Everett have to want your company?

“School goin’ okay?” He asks, taking a sip of his water. “Seemed upset earlier, when I picked you up.”

You swallow thickly. “It’s okay.” You’re not sure if you’re reassuring him or yourself. “I’ve got it under control.” All you have to do is get back on track. Get a study schedule going around your new obligations. Somehow, the task feels bigger than it sounds.

He raises an eyebrow. “Lyin’ to me, Ladybug? You know better.” Curtis takes a slow sip of his water. “Tell the truth, now, Sweetheart.” It’s true that Curtis had always had a… knack for knowing when you weren’t being honest, but you’re surprised to note that it still works, that the skill hasn’t atrophied with time. Your shoulders slump defeatedly.

“I’m failing.” You draw a finger around the rim of your water glass. “And my professor, who happens to be my advisor, is—I just, I can’t fuck this up.” Like I fuck up everything else, you think savagely, hands curling into fists on the table. He clucks his tongue at you.

“You’re not fuckin’ it up.” Curtis’ normally stoic face is surprisingly empathetic, his dark eyes locked on yours. “C’mon, Ladybug. You’re allowed to make a mistake.”

“That’s just it,” you reply. “I can’t. I have—I have a lot riding on this, Curtis. I can’t afford to fail.” Once the fellowship is filled, it’s filled. You’ll have to find another way to get your name on the cover of the Washington Post or the New York Times while working full time and barely scraping enough together to make the ends even come close to meeting.

No, the fellowship at Hyde University is your only ticket out.

“And you won’t. You gotta give yourself some grace, Ladybug.”

“What I need’s better tipping customers,” you mutter, grimacing at the thought of your last paycheck. It had barely gone beyond groceries and a few bills. “And for Damien not to have people in and out at all hours of the day and night so I can actually study.” Curtis grimaces at the mention of your brother’s name. You wonder if they’re not getting along—you haven’t really seen him at the house, lately, just outside mostly, like he’s avoiding your brother. You don’t blame him—you’d do the same thing if you could.

“That bad already, huh?”

“Just…” You can’t help but peek around, just in case. “I think he’s dealing again. And, I know it’s… what you do, but…” you clench your fists.

“What I do’s a whole lot different than what he does.” Curtis says softly as the waitress approaches to take your order. You’re set to order the cheapest thing on the menu—a burger—but Curtis orders for you. “We’re both gonna have the oxtail, Darlin’. And hers with extra gravy, she likes that.” Your face goes hot as you mumble a thanks when she takes your menu.

“How do you remember so much?” You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s been more than half a decade.”

“Never forgot, Ladybug.” He smiles again. “When you’re inside… it’s hard not to think about the things that bring you joy.” Your face goes hot in less than half a second.

“What, Damien not a good cellmate?” Curtis actually rolls his eyes at this.

“C’mon, Honey. You think being in prison was fun?” He asks, shaking his head. “You don’t have a lot of things inside, Ladybug, but what you do have is time. Time to think.” No. No no no no. This isn’t happening. It can’t be. You don’t need this, the weight of his unresolved feelings, another layer of complication you don’t have time or energy to sort through.

“And you thought about me?”

“I did.” Over his shoulder, you spy the waitress with the plates. Your stomach turns and suddenly your hunger is gone, replaced by apprehension. “I wanted to write. Didn’t think you’d answer, though.”

“I wouldn’t have.” You say, looking down at your hands. “I was angry.”

“Here you go, and the one with extra gravy,” the waitress sets down the food in front of you, her plastic smile belying the wary look in her eye. The air is thick enough between you to cut with a plastic spoon—let alone a knife.

“And are you still? Angry at me?”

Just say no. Just say no—“Yes. A little.” You know you shouldn’t admit it—but he’ll know you’re lying. He always does. “I know you stopped selling, after Neesh…” you trail off, your eyes burning.

“I did.” You shouldn’t believe him, but you do. Curtis is a lot of things, but he isn’t a liar. Jail hasn’t changed that. You take a few bites of your food—it’s good, but you can’t focus on it. You’re too busy thinking about what you might have missed, how you ended up sitting across from your ex-con brother’s ex-con friend, confessing that he wanted to write to you while he’d been locked up. You know every other girl on the block would be more than flattered—

But all you feel is anxiety.

“You don’t have to look so terrified, Ladybug,” he chuckles. “I’m not gonna eat ya.”

“No, just write letters to me, apparently.” Curtis laughs loudly, and your face goes uncomfortably warm again.

“I’m a good writer, if I do say so myself.” He polishes off what’s left on his plate as you continue to work on your food. “Ain’t got no need to write you letters anymore, though,” he says, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“You’re right here in front of me, Ladybug,” he says softly. “Anything I got to tell you I can say to that pretty face.”

—

Friday nights at the club are always busy, guaranteed moneymakers, and tonight is much the same. You’ve got more full tables than you know what to do with—two bachelor parties, a business meeting and a few rowdy frat boys. They’re all howling at the stages with wide, glassy eyes, and though you’re less than happy to provide them the liquid courage to act so abhorrently in public, you keep a smile on your face as you do so.

Tonight’s costume is some sort of I dream of Genie rip-off complete with a pink face veil, your midriff bared by the uncomfortably daring harem pants and crop top. One of the frat boys leans over as you’re running their latest round of Pabst Blue Ribbon to the table, leering at you as he pops the tab on the can. One of them is wearing a jersey from your same community college, which suddenly makes you glad for the veil.

“I dream of you in my lap,” he laughs, elbowing his friend hard. “Think we can make that happen?” He reaches for you, his fingers catching your gauzy sleeve. You snatch your arm away, scowling.

“No. And don’t touch me.”

He lifts his arms up, mouthing ‘woah’ as he leans away with a cartoonish expression of shock on his face.

“Well, sorry,” he says, pitching up the end of the word so you know he doesn’t really mean it. “It’s a compliment. Lighten up.” He squints at you as you back up. “Hey, aren’t you in my civics class?” You wish you could melt into the floor and disappear.

“No.”

“No, I really think you are.” He leans closer, squinting before a grin spreads across his face. “Yeah, you’re in McNulty’s class, aren’t you? Wednesdays?” Your stomach drops.

“You’re thinking of someone else.”

“Am I?” He leans closer. “I don’t think so—”

“Yeah, well, you are. Do you want any other drinks?” You cut him off, grabbing the empty cans from the table. “Or do you need to see I.D?” You snap. The guy huffs, looking pointedly at the stage as you stomp back to the bar, your heart hammering against your ribs. Great, you think as you set your tray down too hard on the bar-top. And I bet he stiffs me now.

Farrah shoots you an apologetic look from across the bar.

“Tough night?” She asks, emptying the cans into the recycling.

“Just assholes.” You mutter. “Always assholes.” To your dismay, even as your other tables empty and refill, the table of rowdy young men remains, growing drunker and more belligerent by the round, howling and jeering their way through two different dancers before finally leaving.

When Howard cuts you from the floor, you make an effort to clean fast, quickly sweeping and mopping your section.

“You’re in a hurry tonight,” he says as he inspects your floors. “Someplace special you need to be?”

“I was actually hoping to talk to Frank.” You peer over his shoulder—it isn’t hard, Howard is shorter than you by a full head—toward the bar. “He’s in the back, right?”

“Yeah.” Howard grunts. He swipes a finger down the length of one of your tables, checking for sticky spots. “Fine. Go ahead.” He signs off on your long checkout slip before waving you away. You make your way behind the bar, twisting your fingers together nervously. Frank owned the entire club, plus two others elsewhere in the city. He usually only ever came in for one of three things, to pick up his money, to interview a new girl for the floor or the stage, or fire someone. As you rap on the partially open door to his office behind the bar, you see he’s doing the first of the three.

Thick silver rings are stacked on most of his fingers, clicking together as he flips through bills. He’s wearing part of a suit, the jacket resting on the chair behind him.

“Come on in, Sugar. I can see you lurkin’ in the doorway.” He says, not looking up from his counting. “Siddown.” The air in here smells like cigar smoke and cologne. Nervously you step inside, putting your bag down on the floor as you settle into the chair opposite him. With a large hand he sweeps the money to one side, stacking it neatly before folding his hands together on the desk.

“Mr. Matheson I—”

“Frank.”

“…Frank.” You repeat before continuing. “I, um, I have to scale back my hours a little.” He frowns.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Care to elaborate? See I just made next week’s schedule…” He trails off, looking up at you expectantly.

“I, well, I need more time for school, and I don’t make enough on the weeknights to really justify how often I come in…”

“I see. Well, you’re a reliable girl, Sugar. I’d hate to see you go. But if you’re wantin’ more weekends, I could swing that.” He smiles. It doesn’t seem warm, though, more like a formality, a necessary gesture he knows he needs to complete rather than something genuine.

“You could?”

“Oh yes. I’ve got plenty of good stage shifts—”

“I’m not looking to dance,” you say quickly. cutting him off. “Just table shifts. Like we talked about when I got hired.” Frank nods understandingly, though his expression doesn’t change, like what you said doesn’t matter.

“Of course, of course. I just wanted to let you know they’re open. If you’re interested in less hours. The base pay’s higher too, you know, take-home’s not bad. Bigger tips, less tip-out.” He shrugs. “It’s a good deal.” Frank nods, like he’s agreeing with his own supposition.

“I just don’t think I’m…coordinated. Enough.”

“Nonsense!” Frank’s booming laughter feels condescending. “You’ll do fantastic. I can put you on a few training shifts with Terri, you’ll pick it right up—”

“Thanks. For the vote of confidence, but I really just want floor shifts.” You repeat. You bounce your leg nervously. “But thanks.” He pauses for nearly a full minute, and you cannot help but feel dissected, like he’s sizing up every part of you. You get the distinct impression that it doesn’t really matter what you want.

“No problem.” He says at last, leaning back in his chair. It creaks under his weight. “So you want I should take you off weeknights, then?” Frank busies himself digging a cigar out of the desk. He holds it between his teeth as he produces a little silver cutter to snip off the end.

“Yes, thank you.”

“But you’ll think about it, right? Stage shifts?”

You grit your teeth. “Yeah. I’ll think about it.”

—-

When your taxi finally does drop you off at home, the mail is sitting on the mat out front, still uncollected. You scoop it up before opening the door, toeing off your sneakers when you step inside. There are at least four envelopes of varying ‘important’ colors; yellow, red and orange, to let you know that something time-sensitive is inside each one. The brief sigh of relief you’d allowed yourself upon exiting your uber seems to get sucked right back in again, your shoulders tightening with tension as you head for the kitchen.

You drop the envelopes on the table, your gaze darting between them as you try to figure out which one to open first. Maybe I should flip a fucking coin, you think dryly, reaching for the yellow.

GEORGIA POWER CO.

Utility Billing Office

(508) 437-8890

To the residents of 134 Oak Terrace, Unit 507B,

We are sending this letter to inform you that our records indicate your account ending in #4063 is delinquent in the amount of $348.37, including a past due balance of $186.43. Please remit payment as soon as possible to avoid cancellation of services by 9/3/25. If there are any questions regarding your balance, please contact our customer help line.

Your hands are clammy, cool beads of sweat pooling at the nape of your neck as you reach for another. They’re all the same; power, internet, cellphones, water—

DELINQUENT, the letters shout up at you from the table as you rest your pounding head in your hands. Delinquent, Delinquent, Delinquent. Hot, angry tears well up behind your closed eyes, leaking out through your fingers and down your cheeks.

This family is a fucking black hole.

Guilt settles on top of the shame and frustration already weighing heavily on your shoulders. You know you shouldn’t think it, but you do. A sinkhole of debt and drama destined to drown anyone foolish enough to wander into it, and you’d been unlucky enough to be born in it. You feel that ache in your chest again, that desperate, trapped tightness that makes you want to claw your way out of your skin and escape out into the night.

A hundred dollars here, two hundred dollars there, little fires all for you to put out while your mother does God knows what with her own money. For the second time today you find your throat tight with enraged tears. It isn’t fair.

It feels almost childish to think it; after all you’ve always known the world was not an equitable place—and yet you cannot stop wondering what sin you’d committed to deserve this. Where the fuck is the money going? Your hand curls into a fist on the table. You’re tempted to storm upstairs into her bedroom and ask, but the knowledge that she’d sooner swallow a fucking tack than answer keeps you rooted to the spot.

Numbly, you tack the notices to the refrigerator door with a magnet rather than throwing them away, before heading up the stairs to your bedroom. It’s nearly one in the morning, but Damien’s light is on, and as you pass the door the sounds of conversation and movement are obvious, even from outside. Down the hall, your mother’s television lights up the opposing wall, a sure sign that she’d passed out inside without turning it off.

You close your door as far as it’ll go, before reaching for the bass hanging on the back of the door. It doesn’t work—something with the pickups, the guy at Guitar Center had said when you’d brought it in to fix—but you find comfort in holding it, plucking the strings the way your father had taught you before he’d left.

You pull down your headphones from the bedpost and lay back, the bass on your chest. You lay there in the quiet you have created, staring at the ceiling as your fingers pass over the strings, feeling the vibration against the palm of your hand.

I wish you took me with you.

to be continued…

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