sentiencereal - Tumblr blog

sentiencereal · 3 months ago

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Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: daddy kink, somno.

You’re slow to wake up.

Mouth half open on the pillow, bead of saliva pooling at the curve of your pout with a hand tucked under you chin like an angel, you’re still drifting somewhere in dreamland, your body far more aware than your mind. It’s late, and lazy, and he’s already handled all of the puppy’s morning duties and showered. He decided to go back to bed afterwards, sliding behind you under the covers and locking you back against him, leaving you no room to move, or pull away as he slid two fingers down your belly to your clit. You’re a heavy sleeper, making soft little sounds and whimpers plenty, but still no signs of waking up, even as you shifted, unconsciously giving him better access, allowing him to slip two fingers inside you and slowly stretch.

You’re ready. He’s taken a slow, methodical approach, carefully stretching tissue and muscle to be more accommodating, though he knows no amount of prep will soften the initial pain.

“Mmm,” your head turns, lashes fluttering, and he closes his mouth over yours, slipping his tongue behind your teeth and bringing you into consciousness as gently as he can while his arm wraps like steel around your hip, fingers firmly buried inside you, palm grinding against your clit.

You come to all at once. Every sense igniting, a ripple of awareness bringing your legs closed tight at his wrist.

“Shh, you’re okay.” He murmurs against your ear, pinning you to the mattress with his weight. Your instinct is to push away, evade the overflow of thought and feeling, but he’s too heavy. You’re trapped. Overflowing with sensation, clit pulsing under his touch.

“Wh-what-”

“Sleepy girl, slept right through daddy putting his fingers inside you, didn’t you?” Everything about you is dazed and open, wanting, trusting, and you nod hurriedly.

“Daddy,” you moan, pushing your hips back towards his, “d-daddy, I’m-” He slows, and you whine in protest.

“You’ve been so good, taking daddy’s fingers, letting him stretch you out. I think you’re ready.”

“Ready?” The last syllable rings with confusion.

“Ready for your daddy to fuck your sweet little pussy.” You shiver, a ripple cascading from head to toe, unbidden moan slipping from your lips. “Do you want that? Want daddy’s cock inside you?”

“Y-yes,” he flicks your clit and returns to his previous rhythm. “Yes, please, oh- please.” You’re lost to the impending orgasm, already there with a flick of his wrist, quickly rocketing up and over, riding his hand, twitching and crying.

Daddy, daddy, daddy.

“I’m sorry I’m so tired.” You’re still nestled into him in bed, cheek to chest, slipping in and out of snoring as he turns the pages of a paperback.

“It’s okay baby. You work hard, you need rest.” It’s a slow Sunday, and you need it. Eight to ten hours a day on your feet, constantly moving, kneading, lifting, rolling… it all takes a toll, one he wishes he could alleviate, though he’d never take your passion from you. He’s grateful it’s there, fulfills you, brought you to him.

Right now, there’s nothing to do but take care of you, and Duchess, who’s snuffling at the foot of the bed, little puppy belly turned up towards the ceiling, paws in the air. You yawn.

“I need a vacation.”

“Mmm,” he strokes a line down your back, chasing the goosebumps. It’s not a terrible idea, take you away for a bit, get you out of town and into the sun. Maybe… “Where would you go?” Your brow crinkles.

“I don’t know… I’ve always wanted to go to Lisbon. For the bakeries. And the beach…” You trail off and avert your eyes. “I’ve always been… it’s too much to go alone and I don’t really have anyone…” your pulse flickers under your jaw as he cups it.

“I’ll take you, sweetheart, if that’s what you want. I’ll take you anywhere.” Lisbon is more than doable, it’s safe, and easy for him to navigate. It won’t be an issue.

“Really?” You brighten, lip tucked beneath teeth, corners lifting into a smile.

“Of course.” He’d give you anything, everything. Take you anywhere. A yawn drags your mouth into a circle. “Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit longer.”

“‘m not tired anymore.” Brat. He raises an eyebrow, and you look away sheepishly. “Okay well… maybe for a little.” Good girl. “Can we take Duchess to the park? Later?” It’s your new favorite thing. A long loop down the street to the green space and back, a solid rhythm he’s working to settle you in so you can continue the habit when he’s away.

“Sure baby. Now close your eyes.”

“Open.” He forks another bite of pancake into your mouth. “Good girl.” Pancakes. He’s gotten pretty good at it, using your moods, emotions, as a barometer for what will make you happiest food wise.

When you’re tired and a little bit cranky, it’s breakfast for dinner.

He managed to get you outside for a bit, walking beside you and Duchess at a leisurely pace, soaking in the small bits he’s never truly enjoyed. The sapphire blue shade of the sky, the chirp of the bugs and birds, quiet lap of the pond. He’s always walked with purpose, never for love, for the act of it, but now, taking his time with you, living with you, he gets it all, experiences the world as you do, eats up every single second. Just being able to take a leisurely stroll with you and the dog is more than he’s ever expected for his life.

It was a nice little outing, followed by a shower before he put you right back in bed, settling you in the nest of pillows and blankets. Even after a day of slipping in and out of a nap, you’re still exhausted.

“Daddy.” You’re waiting for the next bite, mouth open, Duchess at your side watching intently like she’s going to get some pancakes too.

“Sorry sweet girl,” he scrapes another piece free across the plate for you, pleased that you’ve eaten three fourths of your dinner. You reach for a piece of bacon, chewing thoughtfully, untangling a snare that's caught some of your words, and he waits. Always.

“I was thinking…” when you don’t continue right away, he places a hand on your thigh, the skin to skin soothing the turbulent chaos in your mind, the things trying to sort themselves out. “I um, I saw the motorcycle in the garage the other day…” pleasantly surprised, he nods encouragingly, and you swallow. “I was wondering if maybe, you- we- you could take me on it?” He hasn’t been on the bike in about a year now, content to let it sit in its spot until he had the time, the energy to take it out. The joy of riding has never faded, but it’s different now. He used to ride because a part of him hoped the road might take him, might end him, though it’s been a long time since then, a long time since the darkness controlled him. Now, the bike waits for him, waits for when he has a moment to himself, a moment he can relax and enjoy it.

This will be the perfect one.

“You want to go on a bike ride baby?” You look up at him through your lashes.

“I always thought it might be cool to know what it’s like.” Brave girl. You’re still a bit unsure, and he casts the plate aside to hold your hands in his.

“I’ll take you, but following your rules will be very important. You’ll need to listen to me at all times, and tell me if you’re scared. Do you understand?” It will be a lot. Loud. Intimidating. An overall new experience he’ll have to coach you through, but he knows you can do it. You nod excitedly.

“Yes daddy I do, I will. I promise.” The fork and plate rattle, and you squeal. “Duchess!” She's licking a string of syrup off her nose, clearly pleased with herself. The rest of your dinner is gone, and you’re trying hard not to laugh as he barely suppresses his own. It’s easy for him to get distracted around you, easy to forget the rest of the world when he’s got you here where it’s safe, in his home, where he doesn’t need to think about anything else, threats, fears, chaos. It doesn’t surprise him he forgot about the plate and put it down in reach of the dog.

You sigh, mischievous spark in your irises like a bad little girl who knew all along. “Oh well. Guess she was hungry.”

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sentiencereal · 4 months ago

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Pen Pal

Bored and lonely you discover the world of prison pen pals and take on a recently convicted drug lord as yours.

AO3 w.c- 3,783 A/N- I'm not sure where I was going with this tbh. Just a fun little exercise I think. Also I wasn't going to proofread but I'm glad I did because there were so many grammatical errors 💀

Tags/Warnings- Inmate!Valeria, Friendship, Implied Developing Feelings, Open Ending, Prison, Post-Modern Warfare II

Beep.

You slide a can of soup across the scanner. It's dented at the edge and has an ugly yellow 'Half Off!' sticker falling off of the side.

Beep.

You work efficiently. Zoned out and scanning on autopilot, almost lulled into a trance by the robotic beeping of the other scanners around you. It's a scorching summer day and the AC is on full blast. Chilling you through your thin work uniform and sending your skin puckering with goosebumps.

Beep.

You scan the last item, a bag of whole grain bread and plaster a half-dead customer-service smile on your face.

"Thank you for shopping with us today, do you have a points account with us?" You ask. The man's face twitches with annoyance. He was probably bothered about signing up while he was shopping and you long to tell him that you hate it too, but you'll get into trouble if you don't ask.

"No." He replies, moving to start bagging up his groceries.

"Would you like to sign up for one? You can get forty-"

"I'm good, thanks." He interrupts you. The man bags his items and hurries off, leaving your till empty.

You sigh and lean against the counter. Resting your head on your hand. You feel exhausted. And not from the kind that can be fixed with a full, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep. (Not that you're getting that either.) It's the kind that seeps into your very bones and infects your blood like a disease. You can't believe you have at least fifty more years of this before you can retire. Muffled laughter to your right draws your attention and you glance over. Seeing two of your coworkers, Adrienna and Catalina, deep in conversation.

"I just can't believe he was actually a woman this entire time!" Adrianna says. Catalina nods eagerly.

"No, I know, I was shocked. Obviously, women can be evil and powerful or whatever, I just never thought about it much." Catalina replies.

"Are you guys talking about El Sin Nombre?" You ask, wanting to join in. "Did you know she was a part of the special forces for a while?" You look at the two women expectantly, but it seems they're too engrossed in each other to have heard you. Embarrassed, you awkwardly scratch your arm and glance around, wondering if anyone saw you getting ignored.

Las Almas was being terrorized by a faceless individual going by El Sin Nombre. Essentially the boogeyman. Nobody knew what he looked like or who he was, but everyone knew of his cutthroat cruelty. He popped up overnight like a pimple right after the death of the previous reigning drug lord, La Araña and his son. El Sin Nombre was bigger and badder. Had more men, more fire power, more control over the government. You still remember the events that led to her getting caught.

Foreign military had rolled in like they owned the place. Making everyone uncomfortable, almost as much as violent armed men that used to patrol the streets did. In a matter of days chaos erupted and the little quiet town of Las Almas was sent into a state of emergency. Especially when one of the militia groups went rogue and started raiding homes and illegally interrogating and accusing citizens of being involved in the cartel. You remember how scared you felt when you locked yourself down in your little apartment. Having to listen to the angry shouting outside and gunfire.

All of that resulted in the infamous El Sin Nombre being apprehended and arrested. Her identity being revealed to the public days later as Valeria Garza, a former Mexican Special Forces officer. Previously dishonorably discharged for killing hostages in some mission years and years ago. You had seen her picture on the news. Of her being led into the maximum security prison on the outskirts of the city. Privately, you thought her to be a good looking woman. Short dark hair, tan skin, and a face matured by age. Severe dark brown eyes narrowed defiantly. She exuded confidence and power, even in her mugshot.

But that's the last time anything excited has happened in Las Almas. You sigh and flick a dust ball off your register. That, and the recent break up you went through. Though even that was hardly interesting. Just two people who decided they were no longer compatible anymore. But you still miss them. Life is so lonely, even when you're surrounded by other people.

Six hours feels more like six days. But finally, you get to clock out and go home. Enjoying a warm, safe walk back to your apartment. Once inside however, you're less eager. It's quiet and empty inside your home. The only thing waiting for you being a sink full of dishes and a frozen TV dinner in the freezer. You change into shorts and a t-shirt and chuck your uniform into a corner. You pause by the sink and ultimately decide that it can sit for a few more hours. You treat yourself to computer time instead.

Having no social life, you spend most of your time scouring the internet for entertainment and communities you could squeeze yourself into. But even people on the internet fall into exclusive cliques. Your posts go ignored and you're too shy to even try using discord. So you content yourself with lurking instead. Your guilty pleasure is Reddit. You like reading other people's stories and discussions. You can pretend you're the jury passing on judgement though you rarely ever engage past upvoting or downvoting.

While you're scrolling through various different posts, one catches your eye and you click on it to read more. It's someone talking about their prisoner pen pal. Sharing some funny excerpt from one of their letters. The seed of an idea starts forming in your mind. You do some cautious research and find that there's a whole community surrounding the art of writing incarcerated people. Curiously, you do some deeper digging. Finding official websites with inmate's profiles. It's encouraged for them to stay in contact with the outside world. Something to do with helping with rehabilitation or something.

You look up all the female prisoners located in Las Alms. Browsing through an official government website. A familiar picture stops you from your bored scrolling. Dark hair and dark eyes glower at you through your computer screen. Along with a list of her name and public info. Valeria Garza, inmate 9989, and a long, long laundry list of crimes. She's currently being held in a penitentiary. Excitement gathers in your gut. You could send her a letter. Then you frown. Can you send a letter to someone in maximum security prison? You quickly google it and feel relieved to find that you can.

You push your laptop to the side and grab a pen and paper. Giddily writing out an introduction for yourself and asking her about herself. You re-write the letter a few times, the corner of your living room slowly growing with crumpled paper balls. At last, an hour and a half later, you perfect your first letter. Carefully reading it over. Though you're not even that hopeful she'll read it, let alone respond to you, you still grimace at the thought of it reading as awkward. You envelope it, write down the details on the face of it and then set out to hand it over to the post office.

* * *

Weeks pass by without a response, and even though you knew the likelihood of receiving one was low, you still find yourself feeling disappointed. It's probably for the best anyway. You shouldn't be starting up a communication with an infamous drug lord anyhow. You go about your life with ebbing excitement. Carrying out your grocery store shifts with all the enthusiasm of a rock. Life continues as usual. Customers continue to be entitled and borderline incompetent, your coworkers continue to ignore your exitance when they aren't asking you to cover their shifts, and you remain friendless both online and in real life.

But when you check your mailbox and sift through the bills, a certain envelope catches your eye. It's not the formal the kind that comes with bills. It's a letter, you realize with growing excitement. And it came from the Las Almas Penitentiary.

You hurry inside and slam the door behind you, throwing off your shoes with glee. You plop yourself down on your sofa and tear open the envelope, sliding out the letter inside. The scrawling handwriting is small and neat, but hard to read but it'll take a little more than illegibility to deter you.

'Hello. I was surprised to receive mail from a name I didn't recognize. I had assumed you were a journalist of some kind, but it was refreshing to learn that you are not. It's very sad that you're so desperate for human connection that you're resorting to writing letters to prisoners. I'll entertain you for now. There's not much else to do in here.

The food here is terrible, thank you for asking. I miss warm, home cooked meals. I miss fast food too. No, it's not scary in here. It would be for someone like you I expect. My reputation serves as a Sheild, though there are a few ballsy women who want the recognition that would come with killing me. They'll never be successful, of course. They do make us do work. I'm on janitorial duty. I have the very elating task of scrubbing toilets. With how filthy this place gets you'd think none of these women were ever potty trained. Most of them are just sick freaks who get off on making messes, I'm sure.

It's hard receiving news in here. Even with the contacts I do have. Anything interesting I'm missing out on in the outside world?'

The letter is fairly short, and a little cutting. Her snide comment about you being desperate, in particular. But you're too excited over actually getting a response. It's like being noticed by a celebrity. You re-read it, then grab a pen and paper and start working on your response. At first, you tell her how happy you are to have received a response, but then you realize that'll just earn you more mockery and snide remarks. So you scrap it and start over, trying to seem calmer and more collected. You express your sympathy for her food situation, and for her work situation. There's not much to tell her about the world. Because it hasn't really changed since she was arrested. You tell her as much, wondering if she'll feel relieved or disappointed by that fact.

You're in much brighter spirits after mailing off your letter. So much so that sometimes when you smile at customers and tell them to have a nice day, you actually mean it. Even staying late to cover Catalina's shift doesn't dampen your mood. You do inventory and clean and then walk home. Valeria's letter comes in two weeks later. In the same generic envelope, they give to all the prisoners. You curl up on the sofa and tear it open, a cup of warm tea beside you.

'Your sympathies are appreciated. It's a little disconcerting to hear that nothing has changed. It feels like all the work I did was pointless and I left no impact at all. I'm hoping that my presence is at least still felt on the streets of Las Almas. It would be terribly embarrassing for my efforts to have resulted in nothing changing. And so soon, too. I worked too hard to make Las Almas stronger.

Never mind that though. Aside from your desire to connect with anyone regardless of their quality as a person, I want to know why you chose me. You clearly know who I am and what I did. Are you a hybristophile? The more dangerous the better? You'll be sorely disappointed to find that I'm not receptive to that kind of thing. I have no intentions on entering a relationship. Especially not one borne from some odd fetish.

And to answer your question, yes people have sex in the showers. There's no such thing as shame in here. The water is also always cold. And shoes are a must or else you'll get a fungal infection in your feet. Showering is another thing I miss terribly. I haven't felt clean since I got here. You mentioned that you work at SunTown. How's that treating you? Do you plan on working there forever or do you have better plans for your life?'

You're offended that she thinks you're talking to her because you're weird. And you're hurt that she's brought up your job and the course of your life. As a matter of fact, you don't have any higher plans for your life. You've considered college many, many times but you can't think of anything you'd like enough to invest that time and money into. That being said, you don't want to work at SunTown Grocer for the rest of your life. But you suppose you shouldn't be shocked by her rudeness. Criminals aren't renowned for their manners.

You write her a response. Choosing to be a little abrasive yourself and subtly mocking her own predicament. You tell her you're a free bird going where the wind blows you. Code word for 'I have no direction in my life.' You also deny the hybristophile accusation. And call her presumptuous for assuming you were seeking a romantic relationship from her. You're bored and lonely, and conversing with a criminal kills two birds with one stone. You also have no intentions of trying to court her.

* * *

You and Valeria exchange letters back and forth over the course of four months. Slowly building an unexpected bond. Her snide comments become less hostile and more teasing, and in turn, you become more confident with your replies. You even open up to her about your life. Things deeper than just you not liking your job. You tell her about your ex, about your coworkers that you want to befriend but can't seem to no matter how hard you try. You also tell her how you're struggling with bills. Everything seems to be raising but your salary.

A week after you send your letter, a black duffel bag filled with five grand mysteriously shows up at your door. You almost choke at the sight of so much money. You know it has something to do with Valeria. and the thought makes you nervous. Her sending you money wasn't your intention when you told her about your financial struggles. You just wanted to vent. She never mentioned if she still had contact with her remaining free cartel cronies, but you suspect she does. This all but confirms it for you. Nothing else would explain the sudden appearance of money right after you complained about. What worries you is it potentially being dirty money. But shamefully, you don't turn it away. Valeria doesn't mention it in her reply letter, and you don't either.

What she does mention, is her desire to see who she's talking to. Something that makes you nervous. You're not sure if you want a drug lord knowing what you look like. But you started it by writing to her in the first place. And she has your address anyway. It really can't get worse than that. What's really making you nervous though, is what she'll think when she sees you. It would be so humiliating if she thought you were ugly and decided to stop talking to you. But you take a picture of yourself anyway. Dressing up casually but also nicely and using the best lighting and angles you can. You land on a nice picture of you by your living room window and print it out. Stuffing it into the envelope alongside your letter. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you walk down to the post office and hand it over.

The wait for her reply feels much longer than usual. There's a heavy fear inside of you that she won't respond at all. Getting ghosted by an inmate would probably be your last straw. But that doesn't happen. Her letter comes in two weeks later like always and you nervously read it.

'You look so much more normal than I was expecting. I'm actually kind of disappointed. I thought you'd be hideous from the way you describe yourself and how other people seem to treat you.

Anyway, I've added your name to the visitors registry. As nice as it is looking forward to your biweekly letters, I'd like to speak to you face to face sometime. It would be nice not having to wait weeks for a reply to a simple question. It would be nice to receive a casual visit for once. Come Thursday at six, we can have a real conversation then.'

Her assessment of your looks should offend you. But somehow being called 'normal looking' by Valeria makes it sound like a compliment. You re-read the last part of her letter multiple times. Wondering if you're seeing things right. She wants to meet you. Well, she's decided that you will meet by the sounds of it. You could just not go, but you know you'll be there after work.

Thursday comes fast and your shift goes by even faster. You're nervous and giddy to meet your pen pal in person. It occurs to you while you're stressing over your outfit that your feelings may have developed past curious. You don't want to dwell on that though. Choosing to ignore the idea completely. There's no future to be had with a convict who's going to spend the rest of her life behind bars.

The drive to the prison isn't too long. You're stopped at the gate and made to show your I.D. The man takes his sweet time to check if you're on the visitors list before finally letting you through. You find a place to park and walk inside, entering the lobby. There are a few people waiting in chairs. Some looking very down. You walk past them to the man at the front desk. He types away at the computer without acknowledging you. You stand there few a few awkward minutes, waiting for him to notice you but when he doesn't you clear your throat.

"Um, hi," You start. He looks at you with a bored expression. "I'm here to visit someone."

"Name?" He says. His voice is as inspired as he looks.

"Mine?" You ask uncertainly.

"Yes. And the prisoner you're here to see." He sighs.

"Oh." You tell him your name. "And I'm here to see Valeria Garza?"

At her name, the man perks up, one thick brow raising.

"... Okay. Go right through there. You'll be searched and then let through to the visitor's area." He tells you, pointing to a doorway to the right. You walk over and let an officer pat you down. you're nervous, like you accidently shoved all kinds of illegal things in your pockets on accident. But you're deemed safe and let through.

The room looks like you'd expect it to. One long table stretching from one side of the room to the other. with glass separating the visitors from the prisoners. There are three other people visiting, talking through a phone connected to the table. At the very end, clad in a beige jumpsuit and staring right at you is Valeria. Not wanting her to see how nervous you are, you walk towards her and take a seat in front of her. She looks different in person. Her hair is longer, and she looks tired. But there's still an aura of defiance surrounding her. Her expression is cool and detached. She picks up her phone and you do the same.

"Hi." You say.

"Hello." She replies. She doesn't say more, just blinks at you calmly. You shift in your seat. Is that it? All that anxiety and excitement just for some polite greetings?

"You're better looking in person." She speaks. Your face warms at the compliment. Yeah, you're definitely not harboring just friendly feelings for her.

"Thank you. You look... well." You say.

Valeria scoffs.

"As well as anyone in prison can look, I suppose. I'm certainly overdo for a haircut. I haven't had my hair touching my shoulders in years." She says.

"Oh. Well... it looks nice." You reply, smiling lightly.

Valeria's lips twitch upwards. "I guess it does. How have you been? Still trying to befriend those girls?" She sniffs disdainfully.

"No. They don't want anything to do with me and I'm fine with that." You say. Though you're still kind of sad about it. It's probably not personal but it's hard not to take it that way.

"Good." Valeria shrugs. "They're just a waste of time. Better to surround yourself with good, intelligent friends then to befriend just anyone because they're convenient."

"Intelligent huh?" You say dryly. It sounds like Valeria's referring to herself. She seems almost pleased to be your only real friend.

Valeria leans back in her chair.

"And how have you been financially?" She looks at you closely.

You stare back. "I've been good. Got some help from someone." You reply vaguely. Aware of the guards behind you.

"Good." Valeria nods assuredly. She leans closer and when she speaks again, her voice is lowered conspiratorially. "I'll be getting out soon. I wanted to tell you in person." Your eyes widen.

"They're releasing you already?" You ask quietly. You thought she got life. She smiles knowingly.

"Something like that." She says. "I thought you'd want to know. Seeing as we're such good friends and all." She says it like it's a secret that only the two of you share.

You smile back at her but something twinges in your gut. She makes it sound so sinister. You have a sneaking suspicion that something big is about to happen.

"Oh. Yeah, that's great to hear." You finally respond. "We can actually hang out."

"Mhm." Valeria nods, looking pleased. "It's good to have friends you can count on. Someone unassuming who will have your back."

You shift, feeling unsure now. "Of course. That's what friends do for each other."

"Good. I'm glad you agree." She says calmly. "I'll be seeing you real soon, and there won't be a sheet of plexiglass between us then."

Your time runs out and you stand. Looking at her through the glass. Something in her words tells you that's she's up to no good. And now you're somehow involved whether you want to or not. You just hope your feelings don't cloud your mind from doing the right thing.

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