#Benjamin from Swallowed

[its-me-sage]

Cooper and Nicholas- AAAAHHHH

[hadesrise]

## one true love !!

summary──── ben feels true love with you, his enemy, and finds himself able to break from the toxic masculinity he surrounded himself with.

pairings──── soldier boy / benjamin x anti-hero!male reader

warnings──── nsfw content, porn with too much feelings, fluff, slight angst, foul language, probably (very definitely) ooc soldier boy, top!reader, sub!bottom!ben, gentle love, praise kink, hair pulling, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, vibrator, pet names ( love, baby, pup, etc. ), short oral ( r. receiving ), love-making, mating press, missionary, riding, aftercare, light D/S dynamics, pillow talk, a lot of vulnerability, ben proposes to reader unexpectedly, enemies in forbidden love, internalised homophobia, morally grey!reader, possessiveness, homophobic slurs, canon typical misogyny, reader’s anti-hero name is lucifer, reader has magical powers

author’s note──── i might’ve made him too soft and vulnerable, so forewarning that he doesn’t show much of his asshole side in this fic. the ooc warning already says much, i guess?

MINORS DNI !!

Peaceful jazz music and well dressed crowd fills the grand hall decorated in gold curtains, men and women from different wealthy families flaunting around their riches with drinks in hand. Adorned in nothing but expensive attires that feeds off of the poor were most guests that have been invited to celebrate another success of Vought-American with a superhero movie that starred its own team, Payback, while the heroes themselves remained in their pretty little costumes for the publicity and fame.

Cameras, photographers, and journalists lurked in the corner section of the hall, where they’ve been assigned to fulfil their destiny of capturing significant moments that are interesting enough to be written on headlines or shown on television.

Nights like this were when Soldier Boy wanted to beat the shit out of Vought employees for their incapability in making celebrations entertaining. The lack of excitement and chaos infuse Ben with excessive boredom that just gives him the urge to shoot himself in the head, all of its professionalism becoming nothing but a burden and straight up pain in the ass. He’s been hardly enjoying the night, having to put up with Crimson Countess attached to his hip at all times to keep appearances, which he admits is worse than fucking a loose cunt. It didn’t make him feel better that Stan fucking Edgar was watching, making sure things are under control.

The jazz music suddenly stops short with a loud screeching sound that has everyone covering their ears in pain, startled murmurs filling the air as all eyes turned to the stage where a famous band stood, confusion also plastered across their faces. One of them repeatedly presses down on the piano’s key, frowning when it does nothing as if it lost its function all of a sudden. Sensing the panic slowly rise among guests, Stan opens his mouth to speak, only for his words to die in his throat when the lights begin to flicker.

“You know, I’m quite displeased to not have received an invitation.” Deep, resonant, husky voice littered with confidence and cockiness erupt out of nowhere as the flickering lights return to normal, an utterly familiar figure making themselves known.

Gasps, of either excitement or fear, falls from everyone’s lips to your powerful presence that almost immediately caused a shift in atmosphere. Soldier Boy’s breath hitched, feeling his throat dry as he cleared his throat and swallowed.

You don’t miss the quick look of surprise and panic flashing across Stan’s face before they were hidden behind his casual mask of greedy businessman, making the corner of your lips twitch up.

“You’re simply not welcome here, Lucifer.” The man uttered with barely contained irritation despite his best efforts to remain calm, spitting your antihero name — given by, not Vought, but the public themselves — in distaste.

Amusement emerge on your expression, completely unbothered by the antagonistic perspective Stan sees you with.

There’s an underlying overconfidence and arrogance to the way you hold yourself, a man who clearly knows how influential and threatening your own existence is and isn’t even apologetic for it. It wasn’t just for a show — you knew you mattered, knew exactly your worth, and didn’t hide behind the fake persona of a beloved public figure that pretends they’re enjoying a single bit of what they’re doing. Your ego and pride seemingly rivals that of Soldier Boy’s yet yours come more naturally, like you were born with it without the need to develop them in amidst of your life to trick yourself into feeling more relevant. You held charisma, a charm that seems to pull people closer to you despite the dangerous, deceitful, fucking jackass attitude you had that’s supposed to be driving them away. It makes Ben want to either punch your face or suck your cock like a fag whore.

“Fair enough,” You shrugged. “But I certainly make parties more fun. You could learn a couple or two from me.”

Stan’s eye twitches in annoyance at your arrogance; it’s much worse that he can’t use anything to stomp on it because your ego wasn’t fragile like the others. While most men, supe or not, wrap their self-importance in toxic masculinity in order to feel superior than they actually are, you were fully comfortable with yourself. Your emotional capacity was extremely high that developed you to become invincible against criticism or rejection. He can attempt to hurt your feelings, manipulate you, use your own ego against you all he wants — none of it will force you to surrender or submit no matter what because you, quite simply, loved yourself too much to be under power hungry maniacs.

When Stan can’t seem to muster a snarky remark, you smirk and invite yourself in, walking further into the grand hall as you snap your fingers, the white bright lights turning into colourful disco lights with your magic.

You stared at the band members on stage, eyes glowing red, and forcefully overtake their minds to play an upbeat party worth music instead of the boring jazz they did. It’s not that you dislike jazz music, it’s peculiar and beautiful on its own, you’re just not really fond of formal parties where everyone’s required to be in their good behaviours, barely having the time of their life if not to shove their riches down less wealthy people’s throat, which you don’t particularly find amusing or fun at all.

It seems to excite the guests, some of them even beginning to bop their heads to the catchy rhythm, moving their previously still bodies along with the beats. Energy surges through them, life revealing itself within their eyes that was filled with misery before you barged in.

“Let go of the fucking formality, ladies and gentlemen.” You grinned wide with your arms spread open to your sides. “It’s time for a true fun party!”

Ben was in awe when all cheered at your declaration, how quick you were able to turn this entire place into your own playground despite the hosts — authorities — being present, how much of a natural you were at gaining people’s faith and attention without doing more than show up and be yourself.

It should be making him envious; he’s doing all these heroism, model, actor bullshit and hiding behind a perfect macho-man façade to be loved and paid attention to for fuck’s sake, and yet it’s so easy for you to bend people at your own will just by being yourself. He should be pissed as he always did when others get the spotlight more than him, but Ben couldn’t find it in himself to.

How the fuck is he going to be pissed when you look so disgustingly hot doing all of it?

“He’s fucking doing it again,” Countess seethes through gritted teeth, glaring at you. Her little tug on his arm snaps him out of daze as he shifts his gaze to her. “Taking all the attention away from you. With the rate he’s going, I wouldn’t be surprised if he interrupts everything you’re in.”

Ben had to pretend to irritably clench his jaw, and smiled with sarcasm. “As if I’d let him. Fucking asshole needs to be put in his place.”

He knew you heard him when the corner of your lips pulled up in a smirk, one of your brows raising to shoot him a challenging look. It sends a thrill down Ben’s spine as he scowled, giving you a death glare that everyone sees for it is; rage, hatred, despise.

“Pleasure to see you here, Soldier Boy. Crimson Countess.” You greet in a feigned enthusiasm, swiftly taking a cocktail from the waiter that just passed, and approach them in all your glory.

“Fuck you,” Soldier Boy quickly snarled as Countess spits, “Get the fuck away from us.”

Amusement instantly cross your face, nearly making both of them want to punch you. “So much for greeting lovebirds in clown costumes,” You dejectedly say with a hand over your chest for dramatic effect, in contrast to the mocking way in which you spoke. “C’mon, I just made this boring, useless party worth your precious little time. At least now you can stop being a pussy hiding behind an awfully constructed television personality.”

That strikes a nerve in Soldier Boy as his face hardened and a cold look appeared, stepping forward warningly, “I’d choose my next fucking words wisely if I were you.” Countess tugs his arm in a nervous manner while scanning their surroundings, taking notice of people watching your interaction.

You meet his glare with a calm yet daring look and leaned closer, “I wouldn’t. I know I can beat you.” Your eyes glowed in red once again as you grinned confidently.

Ben’s hand twitched, but before he could make a move, a woman approached you from behind and tugged on your elbow, interrupting the little rivalry you had going on. “I’m sorry, do you mind if we dance and have fun for a bit?” She shyly but bravely asked you, not even sparing Soldier Boy a glance.

An unimpressed look flashes in your eyes that only Ben took notice of, the subtle annoyance to the woman for cutting into your rather hostile conversation. You, however, plastered on an emotionless smile within a split second, not giving anyone the chance to see through you. “I’ll lead the way,” You barely looked at him before walking off with her to the centre of the hall where bodies swayed to the beat.

It takes everything in Ben not to square up and make a mess of this party when you started dancing with her, your body dangerously close to hers as she stares at you with a look that made him want to strangle her slim neck. As if you’re a divine sculpture created by Gods, like you’re the entire universe, most precious being to ever exist in this planet, like she knew everything about you when she, in fact, absolutely did not. But he does.

And Ben knows he’ll be screaming your name, holding you impossibly close to him, digging his nails onto your back as you grind into him — everything she wished you’ll do to her — when all of this shit show is over.

At the end of the day, no slut or pussy fucker would come home to you but him; you’ve chosen him despite the countless amount of people throwing themselves pathetically at you, and Ben will make sure he’ll forever be the only one who does.

Lewd squelching, sucking sounds fill the dimly lit bedroom of your home as the stench of sex and arousal surround the air, more prominent due to your and Ben’s enhanced senses. You sat comfortably against the headboard of your shared bed with Ben in between your legs as he sucks and slurps your cock, taking it as far as he can in his mouth and gagging. Tiny muffled moans or groans escape him occasionally, hips grinding against the mattress to stimulate his own aching dick while the vibrator you bought for him nestled deep inside his prepped hole.

“You love my fuckin’ cock so much, don’t you?” You chuckled hoarsely, almost degrading, and Ben shudders. “It’s alright, love. m’not goin’ anywhere.” Your fingers tread through his hair, gently scraping your nails against his scalp, making him groan as his hips stutter.

Maintaining eye contact with you, Ben inhales a deep breath through his nose before taking your cock further down his throat, tears gathering in his eyes when he nearly gagged. A genuine smile adorns your face when he looks at you expectantly, the most beautiful green eyes you’d ever seen holding desperation and self-doubt. Pleading expression that he shows only to you.

“You want me to praise you, pup? Call you good boy?” He whines in response — God, that fucking sound you know he’d rather die than let anyone else hear. Ben doesn’t have any idea how much it affects you, the fact that you’re the only one whom he allows a vulnerable side of him show.

Realising he has to earn what he yearns for, Ben gently wraps his hand around the base of your cock where it didn’t fit and starts to bob his head. You moaned softly, throwing your head back; the sight being such a blessing to Ben’s eyes that makes his own cock throb and needy. He swirls his tongue on the underside of your shaft, his free hand gripping your thigh for support.

“Doin’ so good, love. You’ve gotten better at this,” You cooed, petting his hair and gently thrusting up into his throat. Ben closed his eyes, a blissful look appearing on his face as he relaxed and allowed you to move instead.

The trust and faith Ben has in you makes something explode within your chest, heart swelling in love and adoration at your troubled yet adorable partner.

Building a healthy and trustful relationship with him was more difficult than anything you’ve ever done before, considering the absolute bigotry his father forcefully fed into him and all the unresolved issues he had with himself. Despite the tough and harsh exterior he constantly put on, you had seen right through him when you first met — those broken spirit that yearned to be loved or needed by people hiding behind his douche, Soldier Boy persona, a man that his imbecile of a father always wanted him to be. It amused you as much as it squeezed your chest; one of the first strongest superhero being a fucking attention starved bastard was undeniably funny, but pitiful. It’s also why you fell in love with him.

You’ve accepted that Ben was always going to have a deep rooted homophobia in him, that there won’t be a day where you’ll be seen in the public with him holding hands like star-fucking-crossed lovers, that he’ll always be too much of a pussy to be fully himself — but you never expected him to be so open, comfortable, with you like this to the extent of willingly trusting you with a needy and desperate version of himself.

Benjamin is laying his heart out bare for you to take, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to make love to him or fuck his brains out. You decided with the former.

Confusion settles on Ben’s expression when you gently pushed his shoulders to make him pull away, a sudden worry if he’s done something wrong, but all thoughts flies out the window after you passionately smashed your lips against his and guided him on your lap. Ben gasps when you pulled the vibrator out of his hole and replaced it with your thick fingers, hooking his arms on the back of your neck.

“So good, love. Lookin’ all pretty for me.” He moans at your praise, the compliment making his heart flutter rather than boost his ego.

“s’for you…” They come out in whisper from his lips, littered with slight reluctance around the edge, but you hear it loud and clear. “All for you. I— fuck… just for you,” He grinds on your fingers, crying out when you curled them just right to stimulate his prostate.

You almost feel dizzy for his words that he’s never uttered before.

The utmost pride he upholds made it difficult for Ben to completely submit to you, often being a disobedient brat that needs to be put in his place or a quiet, reserved man that’s embarrassed to be loved by another man which causes him to be tense for the first half of this activity — so seeing him like this, hesitantly yet openly letting you in to his comfort zone, spilling the thoughts he’s always been fearful of admitting, holding you tight to him as if you’d slip from his grasp if he let you go, was pleasantly surprising. Your heart flutters, butterflies filling your stomach as the urge to protect and gently take him apart piece by piece runs like electricity through your veins, fuelling your desire for Ben.

You thrust your digits with gentle pace, Ben’s hips moving on its own to chase the pleasure. “That’s right, baby. All f’me, yeah? My pretty darling?”

The gentleness of your whispered voice and your eyes staring at him with pure love sends shivers down his spine; Ben holds your face and nods, pulling you in for a kiss. You can feel his suppressed fear through his desperate lips, the doubts that lingers in his mind that you might see him differently for being so vulnerable like this, and you quickly silence his thoughts by slipping your tongue inside his mouth.

Ben mewled when you add another digit in him, now having three fingers penetrating his hole, as he breaks the kiss to breathe for air. There’s a hazy look in his tearful eyes when he meets your gaze, “Take care of me, please.”

You groan at the plea, immediately pulling your fingers out to instead align your cock with his entrance. Ben must’ve been waiting for so long because he doesn’t hesitate to sink down on it almost in an instant, a loud collective moan escaping the two of you. Your hands gripped his hips while he rested both hands on your shoulders, and fuck he felt so fucking good. The way his warm, tight velvety walls deliciously clamp around you as if swallowing your cock whole, the way his divinely beautiful body perfectly fit against yours like he was made for you.

“fuck… you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” You praised, kissing up his throat as he threw his head back in pleasure. “Completely mine, so is Soldier Boy. Everythin’ about you, Ben. It’s all mine.”

Ben nods vigorously, gripping the back of your neck and starting to ride you at a perfect pace, tiny sounds escaping his mouth. Slipping his fingers through your hair, he gently tugged on them just enough that had you groaning, and laid his forehead to rest against yours. “Y-yours- ah… Yours as… as much as you’re fucking mine,” He grunts out, possessiveness hanging onto his every word that shot excitement through your body. “No one gets to f-fucking have you… oh fuck—!” He cuts himself off with a strangled moan when you snapped your hips up.

“Yeah? Not even that slut that danced with me on the dance floor?” You teased, smirking.

His bright green eyes seem to darken as he sinks even further down on your cock, forcefully stretching himself out, hissing at the delicious pain. You moaned, wrapping an arm around him to pull him to your chest. “Fuck, especially her.” Ben almost growls, one hand coming up to wrap around your throat, feeling you throb and seemingly get bigger inside him due to it. “You… belong to me, o-only me.”

You hum, moaning softly when he squeezed your jugular just right. “Always, my love.”

Relief washes over his entire body as he begins to roll his hips and move again, leaning down to suck and kiss on your exposed collarbone. “Oh fuck… It’s— a-agh…! Tell me- tell me, please…” He whined desperately.

Ben needed to hear you say it, have the promises of you completely belonging to him nailed into his brain so he’ll never feel insecure or doubtful again. He’ll never admit it, but you always know every little thing that goes on inside his head, those haunting words of his father that seems to have a tight grip over him. You’re the only one that could see right through his soul; someone exactly opposite from his father, someone who fearlessly challenges the normality or ancient traditions, someone who actually have their shit together that enabled you to be mature, wise, unapologetically yourself.

You were extraordinary in every way possible, and Ben knew his inner vulnerable — not quite the man his father wanted him to be — self was safe with you. Always secured. Never judged nor ridiculed, instead embraced perfectly by your strong and warm arms that shields him away from the mental, emotional harm.

He knew you would catch him when he falls. You would keep him and his treasured thoughts safe. You weren’t afraid to love him loudly, wholeheartedly, and Ben allows himself to be brave just this once without thinking about his fears.

Trailing one of your hands up his nape, you pull him back to a searing kiss, pouring all the desire and love into it. Ben melted, his hand on your throat loosening as you gently twist your bodies around to lay him down on the bed without pulling out. He whimpers and chases you when you detached your lips from his, which nearly made your heart explode.

“I belong to you, my love.” You whispered, kissing down his neck and chest, thrusting your cock sensually slow inside him. Nothing quite like the animalistic sex you two usually have due to your powers, but it was more right than ever. “My heart, my body, my soul, my spirit. All for you, belong with you.”

Ben feels as if his heart would hammer right out of his ribcage from how rapid it was beating.

Your soothing yet powerful presence all over the place, hovering over him and embracing every bit of the damaged part of himself that he refused to acknowledge. There’s resistance gnawing on his skin, the unhealthy urge to push you away and guard himself again with a thick wall despite being the one who willingly showed vulnerability, but Ben uses all of his ability to shove it down. He wanted to listen to your overwhelmingly romantic and gentle words that he’s been taught men should never utter, he wanted to be held with so much care like he was your most prized possession, he wanted to be actually loved. For once, he wanted to allow himself to not be drowned in the toxicity his father had force-fed him with.

It doesn’t take you a second to notice him relaxing even further underneath your body, practically leaning onto your existence as the pretty noises escaping his mouth seems to gradually get louder, like he stopped holding himself back.

An awe surrounds your expression, genuinely taken aback by him letting everything go, and a soft sigh of pleasure falls from your lips. “That’s it, baby. You make the most prettiest sound. Don’t hold back,” Cooing gently, you adjust your hips and rolled into him, brushing his prostate at a perfect angle.

Ben keened, arching his back. “Fuuuck… oh, please. Deeper.”

You obliged, keeping the same slow and sensual pace but pushing further inside. “You’re made for me, aren’t you? Just as I’m made for you,” You sharply snap your hips once to emphasise, and he cries out. “We’re one, my love. No one can have me, I come home to you and only to you no matter what.”

His breath hitched, the pleasure and your words sending explosions of euphoria into his brain, nodding mindlessly at your promises. “Y-yes, fuck… I’m- I’m yours, too— ah, hng…” Tears spill from his beautiful green eyes as he spread his legs more wide, one hand grabbing your wrist that was propped beside his head to stabilise your body, almost clinging onto you while the other scratched against the mattress. “F-fucking Christ, always- always yours.”

“I know,” You softly acknowledged. “Always mine, no matter how much some part of you can’t accept it. I can see right through you, love. I understand everything about you.”

“I- oh yes! There, fuck!” Ben sobs when you start picking up your pace, hips bucking against you. “Y-you do… God, you a-always fucking do.”

That causes a grin to spread across your lips before you leaned down to devour him again.

Truth be told, Ben was afraid of how much you saw everything he’s been trying to hide all his life. It takes a bit of his soul every-time he learns to be indifferent, more sick and twisted. The innocence in him had died out long ago, but the desperation of a child never vanquished — the pathetic, ruined and heavily deprived of any love someone that he always forced himself to forget or get rid of, was seen entirely by you without much effort. He didn’t need to say anything, you always understood all the hidden insecurity, longing, pain, and fear nested deep in his mind. You also understood why he was the way he was, why he does what he does, who he had to become.

To be loved is to be seen and understood, he guesses.

A love he’s never thought he’ll ever experience from anyone, let alone his supposed enemy. You gave it to him, though. All so willingly, happily, like he was meant for it, like he was always meant for you.

Strangled, loud moan was forced out of him when your hand wrapped around his achingly hard dick, making him feel dizzy from all the overwhelming desire and pleasure. Every bit of love that emits from your touch sends a frying electricity through his veins, fulfilling his inner thirst that was supposed to be unquenchable.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck—!” Ben wails, arching his back and digging his nails on your forearm as your thumb rubbed his sensitive slit and smeared precum all over. “C-close… oh, Christ! Cummin’, cummin’, please—”

“It’s alright, Ben. I got you,” You purred, slamming your hips down on him. “Let go, cum for me.”

As if that’s all the permission he needed, Ben instantly tumbles over the edge with a loud breathy whine as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, sticky loads shooting out from his cock to his stomach. Body spasming and head thrown back, letting his mind-blowing orgasm wave right off of him, still clinging onto you. You gritted your teeth when his hole tightened impossibly around you, feeling yourself throb and ache to release.

Ben — in spite of his cloudy, mushed state of mind as well as hazy and cock-drunk look in his eyes — suddenly wraps both strong legs around your hips to keep you in place, which forces you forward to bury yourself deeper inside him, eliciting a growl of curses from you.

His mouth splits into a dumb, shit-eating grin. “Inside, baby. Fill me up… give me all you got. I need you.” He moves his hips and squeezes down like a fucking expert prostitute, and it’s enough to have you let out a guttural groan as you spilled inside his tight hole.

Ben released a shattered breath, moaning delightfully at your warm cum that taints his insides, his hand that was gripping your forearm moving down to caress his belly where he could feel you finishing.

It makes your breath hitch; the action sparking a deep hidden desire and possessiveness within you that you’ve had shackled for so long in order to not be too greedy.

But Ben, oh your precious Benjamin, pressed down on his perfect belly and whined so brokenly that tugged the strings of your heart, as if he wanted something so unreachable. He attempts to bury his face on the pillow in what you recognised as shame and you quickly hold his face to keep him from hiding from you, subtle concern glimmering in your gentle eyes.

“What’s bothering your mind, love?” You whispered with such carefulness, afraid speaking too loud would break the bubble of sensitivity that surrounded the two of you as you pressed a light kiss on his temple. “You can tell me, Benji. It’s not embarrassing nor shameful.”

Ben’s heart swells at the way you cage him in your protective arms and words, the back of his eyes stinging from the tears that threatened to come out. He doesn’t deserve you; he never did, but you’re so good to him and he doesn’t think he can live without you. No, he knows he can’t live without you.

What would he do without your captivating eyes looking at him with so much passion no one ever gave him before, your gentle voice uttering such carefully crafted words that embraces rather than cut through him, your big and muscular yet warmly protective arms holding him like he was a treasure to behold, your soul healing and rebuilding every damaged bit of his spirit like it was your purpose? What would he do without you?

And fuck, everything would be so much easier if he wasn’t a fucking man. If he wasn’t such a pussy who’s afraid of risking everything.

You gently roll your hips against his, slow and steady, as if to comfort his nerves and overthinking thoughts with a soft pleasure.

Letting out a quiet, breathy sigh, Ben holds your face close and internally fights back against the restraints that wanted to keep him from opening his soul up to you. “We’d be… We’d be so much happier if I wasn’t a fucking man,” His whispered voice breaks at the end.

His heart ached and so did yours, a realisation dwelling on you of how serious Ben actually was with your relationship. It comes off as an unexpected admittance. While you knew he did love you like you love him, you didn’t think it was to this extent of imagining the countless possibilities if either of you was a woman instead, much less he’d think of himself to be the woman. It was odd and so unlike him — true love brings out something within people, you suppose.

Tears glimmered in his green eyes that’s filled by storm of emotions.

Ben hated this, hated you for making him such a crybaby and a pussy, but he’s so in love with you it fucking hurts. He doesn’t know what triggered him to be an annoying, pathetic, insecure loser the moment you held him. God, he’s Soldier Boy for fuck’s sake!

Then, you look at him with so much tenderness like he hung the moon and was the only thing that grounds you down to earth, and Ben realises it’s this.

“You’re such a fucking fool,” You affectionately cursed with a tone barely above whisper before pressing a lingering kiss on his lips. “I wouldn’t have spared you a glance if you weren’t. Women never captivated me, love. Only you.”

Wrapping his arms around your back and burying his face on the crook of your neck, Ben inhales your scent as you gently rock your bodies together. “Love me more,” He almost demands, voice low and trembling.

You smiled, “Of course, Benji.”

Pressing a sweet kiss on his head, you grab the back of his thighs and push them to his muscular chest, Ben’s flexibility despite his well defined physique making it easier for you to fold him. In a swift motion, you slam down on him, beginning to pound away the loud thoughts that made home in his mind. Angelic, high pitched sounds escape Ben’s mouth with each rough thrusts, bordering on pornographic. The blissful look across his face enhance his already ethereal features, and you can’t help but stare intently at him.

“You look so beautiful like this, love. Taking me in so well, letting me cherish you.” You praised, earning a needy whimper from the love of your life. “My Benjamin… my brave soldier.”

At the unexpected pet name, Ben’s body jolts and a choked sob erupted from his throat, suddenly pushed over the edge as he cums undone on his stomach. “F-fuck!”

“G-god, baby…” You groaned, shuddering in pleasure at the way his gummy walls spasms around your girth. “Drivin’ me insane, y’know that? Cummin’ with just my words alone? Shit, wanna fuck you hard and love you at the same time.”

Digging his nails on your back, Ben attached his lips on your collarbone with an intent to leave several possessive marks, making you jut your hips forward. “D-do it, fuck me.” He mumbled breathlessly.

That’s the only permission you needed to let go of your own self-control and just rut into him like an animal, thrusting your cock with more vigour and roughness that forced the headboard to repeatedly bang against the wall. Feeling the way your shaft practically drill into and rearrange his guts that brought immeasurable ecstasy, Ben finds himself finally unable to make out a coherent thought as drools drip down his chin. The two orgasms you milked out of him already left him sensitive enough, his thighs quivering under your grasps.

Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and wet squelches filled the room, accompanied by feral noises of both of your moans and grunts.

It’s nearly incomprehensible how you’re able to quickly switch between loving him and treating him like a slut next, a perfect balance to Ben’s constant yearning for admiration or appreciation and his tendency to always be an inconsolable brat that needs to be put back in his place.

He feels so complete and whole, so loved. And so so fucking dumb for your cock. He could stay like this forever without heavy expectations weighing over his head all the time, just taking you whole and letting you ruin his body, looking all pretty and beautiful for you. Yeah, he can do that. Being pretty and sexy has always been a talent of his, after all. He can even learn to cook for you like a fucking perfect, pretty housewife, maybe you’ll stuff him full of your cum again while at it and tell him to keep them in. Fuck, he can do that too. He wants to do that.

“Oh fuck, Ben…” An almost pornographic, low growl rumbles from your chest when he squeezed down on you, his warm walls fluttering against your girth from the imagination. The coil in your stomach tightens as you twitched inside him, too close to your high.

“I- ah—! Please, pleaseplease—!” He babbles, one hand shifting to press your ass and push you in deeper, syllables slightly slurred from how cockdrunk he was.

Understanding his wordless signal, you increase your pace with an angle that drives your instincts wild, a chill running through your spine from the overwhelming pleasure. Seeing Ben completely fall apart and surrender underneath you gives your ego an infinite boost, the powerful man such a sobbing, wrecked, pretty little mess just because of your cock. Drunk in every little euphoria and precious love you feed him. Oh, how fucking adorable and gorgeous he was.

Before long, Ben feels you throb inside him and pulls you in with what little willpower he had left, clumsily slipping his tongue in your mouth, overwhelming you with different sensations of his body against yours. It’s enough to have you harshly ram your hips down in one swift motion and empty yourself inside him, a loud wail of your name leaving Ben’s lips as he finishes as well. You feel his body tremble violently due to overstimulation, breath stuttering.

“You look so fucked out,” You laugh breathlessly, hips softly grinding to ride out your climax. “Still fuckin’ hot when you’re all dumb n’ mindless.”

Petting his disheveled hair, a soft contented hum leaves Ben as he closed his eyes and nuzzled to your touch. The entire erotic sight of his hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, tears staining his cheeks, hazy look across his eyes, and swollen lips sends amusement and satisfaction through your veins — you definitely fucked whatever self-loathing thoughts he’s had out of his head.

Having completely spilled inside him, you moved to pull out only for Ben to groan in protest. “Stay the fuck in,” He grumbled, panting to catch his breath.

“I need to clean us up, love.” You gently say, but kept yourself sheathed inside him as your lips attach to his neck. “Wanna take care of you properly.”

Ben quietly sighs in content, “You already do.” Before he tilts his head to capture you in a passionate kiss. You slowly pull out of him in amidst of the moment, holding his face and reciprocating with equal passion.

He breathes low and heavy when you start to wipe him up with a wet towel you magically conjured up, running it across his body gently as your other hand massaged his sore hip with such tenderness. Your eyes taking in every part of his physique feels much more innocent now compared to before, deep appreciation and subtle awe flashing across your irises the more you stare, which causes his cheeks to tint slightly. You find it adorable how shy or embarrassed he gets whenever you look at him like he’s something born out of the stars in contrast to the overinflated cockiness he displays when others compliment him; it just proves he feels different, more special with you.

You shoot him a gentle smile that makes his brain shut down and his heart jump.

Christ on a cross, just what did you fucking reduce him into?

“Will you marry me?” The words had left his mouth before he could even process.

You froze, eyes wide as you snapped your gaze to him at the same time his own widened in shock. Fuck, did he just say what he thinks he did? After you fucked him ‘til he couldn’t even speak properly? God, his legs feel wobbly after all that delicious pounding of your dick in his tight little—

His distracting thoughts were interrupted by your hands cupping his cheeks and forcing him to look at you. There’s a bit of doubt lingered across your expression, worried that you mistakenly heard him, and Ben’s gaze softened. “Will you marry me?” He repeats quietly this time with genuine emotion, wiping away your worry.

Excitement and happiness seem to explode within you as you beam; “Yes! Fuck, yes, I’ll marry you.” However, your smile slowly deflates and a foreign look of insecurity replaces the joy surrounding you. “Are you… are you sure? You’re not pushing yourself?”

Confusion spreads across his face, “Why would you think I am?”

“It’s just not that easy to break away from all the homophobia, love.” You softly remind him. “You’re still having a hard time accepting it, could barely even call yourself the right term. You’re afraid, and that’s fine. We can continue on like this. You don’t have to marry me because you feel obligated to.”

Ben frowns, his hand pulling you down to the mattress at his side as he props up on his elbow and stares at you incredulously. “You think I wanna fucking marry you just ‘cause I’m guilty about hiding this? Did it ever occur to you that I actually fuckin’ love you?”

You smile to yourself; what a long way it took for him to just be able to admit that. At least he’s letting himself know he can be vulnerable with you now, compared to when he was convinced you’ll despise his inner self — a big fucking pussy, he says — and completely shut himself off in the beginning.

“Hey,” He grabs your chin to make you pay attention. “I know I still don’t do enough to show you, but I do. I really fucking do, baby.”

You look into his captivating green eyes for a second before releasing a deep breath, “I know. Trust me, you don’t have to do enough to show it, I can already tell. And I love you too.”

Ben nods and kisses your lips, lying down beside you. Your hand instinctually attaches to his waist, caressing his soft skin and shooting warmth throughout his body.

He can’t help but stare at your features, the way you look different now from how you looked at the party you crashed earlier. A certain amount of coldness, hostility and displeasure usually lurked your expression in a daily manner — hidden behind the undeniable charisma and obnoxious arrogance — directed at others that told exactly what their worth to you was; nothing. Ben hasn’t seen a day you were even remotely pleased by someone in the long years of knowing you, the people who attempted to get in your good graces often ended up screwing everything up instead and irritating you enough to kill them off.

But with him, you wouldn’t even spare him a cold glance. Your gaze twinkling with a pleasant spark, always warm, always comforting, always proud. God forbid you look at him with hatred like you’re supposed to. So affectionate for a man who’s been named after the Devil by the idiotic public that only sees what you let them see.

It is then had Ben realised; to him, true love is you.

True love is when you embrace a part of him that he deems undesirable, mend his broken soul, and melt the ice of deep rooted trauma surrounding his heart — it is when Soldier Boy doesn’t drive you away from seeing Benjamin, an ordinary boy from South Philadelphia who desperately wanted to make his father proud. You see them as one, as equally significant parts of him.

Good fucking Lord, he was a gigantic imbecile if he didn’t want to marry you, even if the idea still makes him feel quite… odd. Fuck’s sake, he really needs to learn how to deal with this homophobia bullshit, doesn’t he?

Ben licks his lips anxiously, reluctance plastered on his face. “I… I actually got the rings,” He hesitantly admitted.

Your eyes widened. “You did?”

“I- Jesus Christ, of course I did! I know I don’t fucking do shit like that, okay?” He snapped before quietly muttering, “Just wanted you to believe me when I propose.”

“I do,” You don’t miss to give him comfort, grabbing his hand. Ben’s nerves soothes at your touch. “I just thought we still have a long way to go and you need more time to figure yourself out.”

He shakes his head, “Gotta claim you before some fucker decides you’re free for them.”

“Yeah?” You smirked, raising one eyebrow. “Could’ve gone with a collar, y’know. It would get your point straight across. Plus, it’s more visible.” Tapping your neck to emphasise, which made Ben swallow.

Yeah, you’ll look good with a collar in his colour. You can even wear both. That’ll definitely get his point across to anyone that even looks at you. Maybe next time, he decides.

A mischievous smirk spreads across his lips, “That’ll fucking work best. Think I could put a leash on you too?” He teased, letting out a chuckle and sliding his hand up to your neck and hold you there.

“Mhm, fuck yes,” You almost purred from how pleased you were at the idea.

Ben laughs, lightly squeezing your neck in affection before turning around to rummage through the cabinet on the side of your bed, pulling out a velvet box that’s in the shade of his green. You could tell he was enthusiastic and overwhelmed with emotions from the way his hands slightly trembled, though you made no mention of it to avoid bursting his adorable bubble.

His grin was as bright as the sun on a sunny day when the ring perfectly fits around your finger, already snuggling comfortably on your skin and bringing a weight of new purpose in life. You slip the other ring on his as well, feeling the entanglement of your destiny with one another, the red strings of fate on both of your pinky fingers thickening. It’s a sacred oath that ties you to each other forever.

Warmth spreads around your chest at the fact it’s his first time giving you a gift and it’s something so unexpectedly intimate. A silver engagement ring with a ruby in his shade of green and his name engraved on the inner side; practically a part of his soul, settling itself home around your finger. You shift your gaze to the one he wears — the same silver ring but with a dark red ruby instead, your signature colour, and you assume also have your name engraved on the inner side as well.

A big, significant step for a man who’s constantly afraid of what others think about him, and you couldn’t be more prouder.

Lying back down on the bed together, Ben turns his back on you and scoots closer to your chest, making you smile when he grabbed your wrist to pull your arm over his torso. He always loved being hugged by you from behind despite the fact he’ll never admit it out loud; as much as it sounds pathetic and unmanly, he doesn’t argue with himself of how it gives him safety and protection from the harsh judgmental world. Being in your arms always dissipated the cruel words of his father carved in his mind.

You gently pulled him closer to your body and pressed a kiss on his shoulder blade. “Don’t have to rush about coming out, love. It’ll take more than a simple courage to be open about something considered taboo by our society. You’re still dealing with personal issues, we’ll focus on that for now.”

Ben’s heart warms at your consideration, unable to resist the urge to stick to you like a glue as he leans back on your chest. “How the fuck did you do it? This feels like a pain in the fucking ass,” He muttered disdainfully, though there was a hint of willingness in his tone, like he’s willing to make an effort just for you.

You shrugged, “m’not exactly shaped by my childhood trauma, Benji, and I didn’t like my parents that much. Never really gave a fuck about somethin’ that has no benefit to my life whatsoever.”

“Entitled asshole,” He laughs.

“So are you,” You teased, making you both erupt in loud laughter.

I could get used to this, Ben thinks as genuine happiness glows bright in his heart, your love anchoring him and providing a solid land for him to stand on. Dealing with his own problems doesn’t sound so bad when you’re there for him every step of the way. With your protective arms around his body, both Soldier Boy and Benjamin knew their heart will always be safe with you.

For once, Ben believes he can finally learn to create a family of his own.

Until disaster struck and life suddenly decides to not be fair on someone as fucked up as him — ripping his world apart into shreds in the form of coward, betraying bastards known as his fucking teammates.

© all rights reserved to hadesrise ──── stealing, plagiarising, or using my works for monetary gain is strictly prohibited. ask permission before reposting or translating.

[mercy-burning]

…I Wonder

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader becomes a full-time nanny to three-year-old Benjamin, but what she doesn’t realize is just how hard the job will be— not because of the child, but rather her growing attraction to his father. Category: Mature (18+) Content: adults with age gap, drinking, dry humping, oral sex (both receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, “little girl” nickname, cum play, praise Word Count: 11k (idk how this keeps happening lol)

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This fic is titled after and loosely inspired by "Pony" by Ashley Monroe. It's not required listening, but obviously I recommend the song. It's been a favorite of mine since I was a teenager obsessed with Dean Winchester, so... that probably explains a lot about why I am the way I am... LMAO anyway, enjoy <3 I had a blast writing this one!!

———

ACT I: If I Had A Baby...

The first job I ever had also happened to be the best job I ever had. I was twenty years old, and I found an ad in the paper searching for a full-time nanny to a little boy. I didn't think anything of it, other than I desperately needed the money and I didn't mind babysitting. A few years out of school with no plans to attend college and no solid idea of what I wanted to do with my life, I wasn't sure if I'd even get hired. I was almost certain that no one would want a college-aged kid with no stable ambitions or previous job experience, but I was desperate. And CPR-certified.

It was a start. A shot in the dark.

By some miracle, Spencer Reid apparently was also desperate enough to be willing to take a chance on me.

He explained over the phone that he was away more than he'd like to be, and even if he tried to work from home, doing FBI work and raising a toddler alone at the same time was nearly impossible. I agreed to an interview, absolutely elated that I had a foot in the door and the bright beacon of hope for some sort of routine. Something to occupy my time and something to care about, to care for.

I was expecting the work to be... not hard, necessarily, but I wasn't naive enough to believe that taking care of a child was a walk in the park. There would surely be tantrums or bouts of "I miss Daddy!" or refusal to eat what I made him for lunch... I knew going into these interviews that I would be signing up for a major responsibility that meant a lot, not only to Spencer but also to his child. I had to prove that I could do my job and do it well. That alone was a challenge, but one I was willing to work with. I was ready for it.

What I wasn't ready for, however, was the betrayal I felt when my brain failed to warn me of the possibility that he was not only a single father, but a hot one.

The second I showed up at his door and he opened the barrier between us, I swear it felt like the sun swallowed me whole and burnt me to a crisp. He smiled brightly and introduced himself, and I was done for.

"You must be Y/N! Hi, I'm Doctor Spencer Reid."

Doctor? So he was smart, then, too. Perfect. The Trifecta of Peak Hotness had been achieved. That instantly made this new job ten-times harder than I anticipated, and I hadn't even started yet.

I wasn't sure I could go through with it at first, but the more we talked, the more I relaxed, and I felt sympathy for him. He was a genuinely kind and loving parent who wanted the best for his son, a three-year-old named Benjamin who loved dinosaurs and airplanes and Cheeto Puffs. I didn't get to meet him that day, since he was with his Aunt JJ (who, the way Spencer told it, was most likely feeding his Cheeto Puff addiction as we spoke), but if the interview went well, I'd get to meet him in the next week.

I mulled over my options and almost decided not to show up for the next interview; to call and tell him I'd changed my mind or something, but it pained me to even imagine the disappointment in his voice had he asked me why. For whatever reason, the vivid image of a toddler pouting and crying to his father because he had to leave, and that no one wanted to care for him burned itself into my soul until I relented and just took the job anyway.

It was fair to at least meet the kid first, right?

Benny was insanely talkative— but not really conversational. Most of the time I tried to keep up, but his mouth was moving a mile a minute, and the conversation always ended up falling flat on my end, so I pretty quickly decided to give up and enthusiastically let him carry it.

He had his father's brains as well. For hours that first meeting, he sat there and read me passages of aircraft encyclopedias, and in between two random sections I politely requested that we move on to dinosaurs (which were infinitely cooler). And then, in that adorable toddler voice that made it impossible to be irritated, he looked up at me with wide eyes and said, "I read all my dinosaur books last week. This week is for airplanes."

Spencer looked like he was going to divert the conversation entirely, perhaps suggest that Benny do something else while we talked some more, but who was I to interrupt the kid's routine and crush his dreams? If I was going to be his nanny, then I was going to have to make him like me. Right?

So, I nodded like I'd never considered it and encouraged him to keep going. To which he did, very happily.

Spencer seemed happy, too. He was always delighted to see Benny when he came home from work, but there was something about the way he relaxed and perked up all the same at my first interactions with his son that twisted my gut. What that man was filled with at the sight of me wasn't just joy, but hope, too, and regardless of where that joy and hope came from, it was an incredibly dangerous thing to notice as a young woman.

It was way too easy to fall into daydream territory. I was alert and attentive when watching Benny, of course, but the second Spencer walked in and completely knocked the wind out of me with that joy and relief radiating from his perfect smile, it was like a screw came loose in my brain and turned me into a feral, horny beast. And then I would return home, alone with my thoughts, and I couldn't divert them from the wild direction they took.

At first it was just your standard wet dream, a girl lusting over the older man she nannied for. It was purely pornographic and provided nothing but short-term relief until I saw him in person again, which frustrated me.

I almost thought about quitting, or saying I was looking into schooling so I could cut down on my hours, but...

That wasn't fair to Benny. He and I had actually formed a pretty stellar routine, if I do say so myself.

And every time I thought about leaving, I couldn't help but think about what I would tell him. Would I even tell him anything at all, or would Spencer just omit me from his life completely and give him an explanation in my place? Who would watch over him after I left? Someone old and mean who made him eat vegetables instead of Cheeto Puffs, and demanded he read to them about dinosaurs instead of airplanes, not giving him the option to develop his curiosity in whatever way he chose? Who would tuck him into bed on the nights his father was late or out of town, and would they sleep on the couch soundly and happily like I did?

I hated even thinking about it.

And then there was the first paycheck.

Truth be told, I hadn't even thought about the money, not after I met the boys and introduced them into my daily routine. I remembered Spencer telling me after my first day alone with Benny that he wouldn't get a paycheck to me until the start of the next month, and I was okay with it. Really, I was just focusing on trying not to drool for the entire conversation, but I digress.

Payment completely slipped my mind.

And then I showed up to do my job, and Benny was nowhere in sight.

"Where's the little guy?" I inquired, looking around and hearing nothing either. "He's usually waiting at the door for me like a dog."

Spencer laughed and concealed something behind his back. "He does really enjoy his nights with you... He's actually staying with JJ and her kids tonight, though. Our schedules opened up and she offered to take him for the night. I was going to call and tell you, but I wanted to give you this, anyway."

He handed me an envelope, folded over but not sealed. I took it with an, "Oh," unsure of what it was until I saw the corner of the check. It felt rude somehow to open it in front of him, but his presence was so overwhelming anyway, especially being alone with him, that I needed something to occupy my hands and my thoughts and just about everything else I had in my possession.

At first, I thought it was a joke. A prank. It was too good to be true; He was just messing with me and would hand me a fifty-dollar bill on my way out for my trouble. Surely, if not that, then it was a mistake.

I didn't know how long I'd stood there, staring at the paper with whatever expression was all over my face, but it must have been too long and too concerning because Spencer sounded worried when he asked, "Is there something wrong?"

I blinked for a moment, then finally had the courage to look him in the eye, my mouth completely dry. "You are not giving me five-thousand dollars right now."

"Well... No, technically, I'm giving you a check for five-thousand dollars. What you do with it and when is completely up to you, but... You deserve it. Y/N, you've been a Godsend, and Benny and I are lucky to have you around. Thank you. Very much."

I didn't even think about it. It was an insanely kind gesture, and I was in such a state of shock and gratitude and mind-numbing attraction to him in that moment that I leapt forward and flung my arms around his neck, tears stinging my eyes.

He hugged me back tightly and laughed, allowing me to cry my thanks into his shoulder as we nearly tumbled into the coffee table.

ACT II: If I Was A Lady...

The months flew by, and before I knew it, it was Benny's fourth birthday.

Spencer and his friends heavily involved me in the planning process, a gesture that surprised me, but that I obviously would never be thankful enough for. It's not like I hadn't ever known a loving family or anything, but they were all so warm and welcoming; it was like I'd been friends with them my whole life. My chest bloomed brightly with every laugh and every hug, and I don't think I could have been any happier. I felt like I belonged there.

It was a day, and night, I would never forget.

Everyone had left, and Benny was fast asleep in his bed. Spencer and I looked down at him with smiles so bright, if they'd actually radiated any light the poor boy would have woken up.

"Ah, the cake coma," I laughed quietly, Spencer guiding me out of the bedroom. I couldn't stop giggling even as we walked—Admittedly, I was a little buzzed on champagne. Still, Spencer laughed with me, and we sat down on the couch. I could tell he was exhausted, but happy.

"I still have to clean all of this up..." It was more of an amused I'll-do-it-tomorrow statement, but I had this drunken simmering need to please him so badly that I shook my head and hit his arm.

"No. That's my job. I'll take care of it, you just take your beautiful ass right to bed, you hear me?"

He raised an eyebrow but laughed at me anyway, clearly amused by my banter. "Maybe I shouldn't have allowed the underage drinking after all..."

"Oh, please. I'm not even drunk, just a little loose. Besides, I'll be twenty-one in a couple of months anyway."

"Mmmm."

I hadn't realized how much closer we'd gotten until just then, when he hummed and looked me over. I could feel his breath on my face, and our limbs were just barely touching. Suddenly it was like my entire body was numb, sizzling everywhere we touched, and the champagne had become a part of my bloodstream. The fizz was all I knew, all I was.

Spencer's eyes found mine, and they didn't look away. They pulled me in slowly. I was powerless to stop it, not that I'd ever want to...

In fact, I very eagerly melted into him the second our lips found each other. My head swam, my fingers started tingling, and I was very aware of every movement we made. I straddled his lap, and he welcomed me with open arms, pulling me flush against him as his tongue darted out swiftly to taste mine.

I couldn't believe it was actually happening. Every few seconds I kept thinking to myself, this feels like a dream... It has to be a dream... Between the pent-up attraction I'd been accumulating for him over the last few months and the alcohol that loosened me up and dissolved any ounce of common sense I possessed, I felt like I was in a different world entirely.

He hardened underneath me and my nerves went nuclear, instinctively forcing my body to roll over his. I ground my hips, aching to feel that sweet friction that I'd only felt once before with another man— so long ago and so unbelievably dull in comparison to the sensations I was feeling in Spencer's lap. I was only barely experienced with sex, but I was experienced enough to know that I didn't have anything to be nervous about; This man would take good care of me. I felt it in my bones.

The thought alone sent my body into overdrive. I whined and rolled my hips relentlessly, wishing I was completely bare and feeling him so deep inside me that his absence would leave me haunted. I wanted to feel him forever. I wanted him to ruin my life and claim me as his own, until there was absolutely nothing left of me.

His hands cradled my head reverently as he continued to kiss me deep and slow, raising his hips up to meet mine and aid in getting me off. The gentle tugs of his fingers through my hair and the warm hums of encouragement he offered to my mouth as I climbed higher and higher towards that precipice of pleasure made me weak. I felt so fragile in his arms, like I was meant to be right there, allowing him to guide me wherever. I would have done anything for him, anything so long as he kept holding me and making me sigh—making me glow.

"Fuck—I'm gonna come," I exclaimed in a broken whisper, breaking apart from his mouth to bury my face in his hair. He brought his hands down to my hips then, groaning as quietly as he could into my neck as he helped me rock back and forth across his lap.

It wasn't an earth-shattering intense orgasm by any means; there wasn't nearly enough stimulation for that. But I was so wet and aroused that even the low, quick and burning pleasure that shot through my core for a few seconds was enough to satisfy me. I wasn't in any position to complain.

That was, of course, until I reached down to touch Spencer's belt, and he pushed me away. Not aggressively, but his hands—which had been so gentle and welcoming just moments before—had gone rigid. Frozen and firm, like he'd just been scared half to death.

He scrambled out from my reach and put so much distance between us that I went cold. My name tumbled from his lips in a regretful sigh, and it stung.

"We can't ever do that again."

"Okay," was all I could manage to say. I was still tingling all over, like my whole body had fallen numb and was now just warming up to the idea of having senses again.

"That was irresponsible. And I'm too old for you."

"M-hm," I agreed absentmindedly.

"You should go home."

"Okay."

"I'll call you a cab."

"Thank you."

I went home that night with a deep twist in my gut that wouldn't go away. The rejection hurt. It scared me, too, wondering if I'd still have a job when I woke up in the morning. Was that the last time I would ever see Spencer? And Benny? Had I really just screwed up the best thing that ever happened to me?

I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back on Spencer's couch, getting myself off in his lap and reveling in his embrace. I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, hating myself for being so reckless, and even more so for not regretting it a single bit.

After I was finally able to get a solid couple of hours of sleep, I had a text message from Spencer waiting for me when I woke up.

I sincerely apologize for last night. The job is still yours, but I also understand if you don't want it anymore. Take a few days, whatever time you need, and let me know.

I was relieved, of course, but also deeply curious to know how we would keep things professional after something like that. I guess I was just mostly surprised that he was willing to, considering he seemed pretty rattled by it.

Still, If he was willing to try, then so was I.

I'm sorry, too. I wouldn't give up you and Benjamin for the world. All is well?

He texted back almost immediately; All is well.

It only clicked into place a few months later, once the initial shock of our "escapade" had faded away and we could return to business as normal. Because, really, the truth was we couldn't return to business as normal. We tried, but he never looked me in the eye for longer than a second at a time, he refused to touch me in any way, careful not to even brush my hand as he handed me my monthly check, and his small talk was even more painful than it had been previously.

Still, I continued to be Benny's nanny—and best friend, according to Auntie Penelope, much to her dismay. I still loved that kid more than anything in the world, and I still, unfortunately, wanted his father to kiss me again.

I was willing to let it all go, though, to admit that it was a silly stupid crush that could never come to anything and just deal with it like an adult, and then I had to overhear the motherfucker when he came home one night. I was resting on the couch, about to open my eyes when I heard the door open, but then I heard a voice that wasn't Spencer's. It was his friend, Luke.

Spencer cut him off then. "Quiet, please."

There was shuffling, keys being set down, and then a small laugh as they got closer to me. I didn't move a muscle, focusing only on my breathing. "Right. Don't wake the hot nanny, got it."

"She's right there," Spencer hissed, and I tried not to laugh. My insides flared to life as he added, "And I asked you not to bring that up..."

"Oh, come on, Reid. You have the hots for her; big deal. It's normal."

"So? I'm... I'm technically her boss, and she's far too young for me. It's not right, and you know that."

"Whatever. You do what you think is right, man, but I'm telling you; Ignoring it is only going to make you more stressed."

Spencer mumbled something incoherent, and the two shuffled off into the kitchen for God-knows-what. All I could think about was that he wanted me. It was probably killing him just as badly as it was killing me not to give into each other again. My mind was racing, my heart beat violently in my chest, and I knew then that I had to pretend to wake up or else I'd sit there and burst into flames.

I had to leave. I had to do something; What, I didn't know, but this revelation had me reeling and feeling a myriad of things, and I needed to sit with them, preferably alone so I wasn't tempted to just jump him on the spot.

"Did we wake you? I'm sorry." Spencer's kind voice warmed me from the inside out as I shuffled into the kitchen to say goodbye.

I quickly gathered my things and avoided his gaze. "Oh. No, you didn't. If you're back for the night though, I'm gonna go home. I'm exhausted."

"Little guy was that rambunctious, huh?" Luke joked.

I smiled and gave him a wink. "Oh, no. He was an absolute angel, as always. His daddy raised him well. Goodnight. See you tomorrow, Doctor Reid?"

He cleared his throat, rasping out, "Yes, tomorrow. Goodnight."

"Night."

I tried not to run mischievously out the door, willing my legs to be normal. But the second there was a tangible barrier between us, I bolted to my car, high on adrenaline and unable to wipe the smile from my face; I was wide awake.

Eventually, though, I realized it would be absolutely stupid to do anything about it. Did it boost my ego and my mood? Absolutely. It also softened the blow of his avoidance and his initial rejection that night; All of his behavior made much more sense. Sure, I was a little disappointed that he wouldn't entertain our mutual desire, but as long as it was there... It couldn't be that bad, right?

Wrong.

I'd gotten a text from him earlier in the day, asking if I could come over last minute to watch Benny. I wasn't going to say no, obviously, but when I got there to see him dressed up, I shot up an eyebrow.

"A little fancy for work, yeah?" I told him, hanging my keys up and listening for Benny.

"Oh, I'm... not going to work, actually. I, uh... I have a date."

I froze. I panicked. I didn't know what to do, what to think, or how to react. Naturally my thoughts immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario—visions of Spencer sleeping with another woman, someone older and not a nanny. Someone who was distinguished and well-read and smart, someone like himself. Someone who was more inherently right for him. It... made me sad.

Admittedly, I felt stupid even thinking that way. It wasn't my right to dictate his dating life, no matter how badly I wanted him; I knew what he tasted like, knew how it felt to come undone in his embrace, and yet I wasn't entitled to him solely based on that.

Still. It doesn't mean I had to like it.

"Oh... Um... Good for you," I told him, nodding and turning away in case he tried to profile me. "Have fun."

He said goodbye to Benny a few minutes later, and then gave me a polite, transactional wave on his way out the door. It shut, and it felt like my chest was collapsing.

But I was only able to wallow for a few seconds. Benny tugged on my sleeve and looked up at me quizzically.

"Auntie Y/N, are you sad?"

His sweet face lifted my spirits like it always did, and I didn't have the energy to think about the other emotions that were swimming around in my chest anyway. So I smiled at him and picked him up, shaking my head. "Not anymore, kiddo; I get to hang out with my favorite person!"

We spent all night munching on Cheeto Puffs and building Lego sets, and it was unsurprising to me that by the time I'd finished one, Benny had finished three. Still, our sets combined to make a larger one, and then we were able to give the people names and backstories and adventures.

Either time passed very quickly, or Spencer didn't last very long on his date, because the front door opened and I was surprised he was home before I could put Benny to bed.

"Daddy!" he exclaimed, running and dropping his half-eaten Cheeto Puff in my lap. I laughed and tossed it in the trash can on my way to the door, greeting Spencer, who was hugging his son tightly and making him giggle profusely.

"You're home early," I observed as he set him down.

"Had to make it home before curfew, of course." A joke. He was deflecting. I kind of hated that I felt relief at the insinuation.

"Of course," I agreed.

"So, what did you guys do while I was gone?"

Benny jumped and grabbed his father's hand. "Auntie Y/N and I made a whole Lego village! It has a library!"

"It does?" Spencer asked bending down to his level and positively beaming. The sight made my chest tighten.

"It really does! Do you want to come see?"

"Oh, absolutely. I just have to talk to Auntie Y/N first, and I'll be right in, is that okay?" He nodded and Spencer ruffled his hair. "Okay. Say goodnight."

Benny turned and ran to me then, and I squatted down to hug him. "Goodnight, Auntie Y/N. Thank you for building with me."

"Oh, you're welcome, kiddo. You're an excellent building partner; The best in the business."

He laughed and scampered off to his bedroom, and as I stood up, I felt Spencer's eyes on me. I couldn't decipher what the feeling was on his end, but regardless, it burned a hole through me and made my heart pound in my ears.

"How'd it go?" I asked casually, dusting Cheeto off my jeans. Did you do it just to forget about how much you want me? Did it work?

He shrugged and leaned against the counter with a lazy smile. He almost looked exhausted. "I'd have much rather liked to be at home with my boy and his best friend to tell you the truth."

My heart was racing, and I couldn't help but wonder what he was getting at. Was he fucking with me? Or was he simply telling the honest, innocent truth, while I was letting my lust take the drivers' seat and go searching for some insane imaginary intention to help along my hot-single-father/nanny fantasy?

Suddenly, I was the one who felt exhausted, and Spencer could tell. He shifted and continued talking. "Thank you again for staying with him on such short notice."

"Oh, anytime. It's what I'm here for. In fact, feel free to go on all the bad dates you want."

I don't know why it came out of my mouth, but I was glad that Spencer laughed. Still, I scrambled to get my keys and walked past him to leave, kind of embarrassed by the verbalized impulsive thought regardless.

His hand grabbed my arm gently before I could leave, and my heart caught in my throat. I dared to look up at him and immediately felt that familiar heat return to my core, suddenly very fragile under the weight of his gaze.

He studied me for a moment before he let go of my arm and cleared his throat. "Goodnight."

I couldn't help the feeling that he wanted to tell me something else. He did say he wanted to talk to me before putting Benny to bed, after all... So, what? That was it?

It was stupid, and I should have just told him, "Goodnight," back, but those damned impulsive thoughts kept dancing on my tongue with reckless abandon, and I couldn't stop them from escaping. So, without another thought, I tilted my head and asked him instead, "Was she my age?"

Spencer stared at me, something darkening in his eyes when he responded, "No."

I threw back one of his considering hums, glancing down at his lips before looking him directly in the eye and giving him a firm, "Oh." There were plenty more things I could have told him, none of them appropriate. But I figured I'd already had enough pushing my luck for the night, and reached for the doorknob instead of dragging it out. The night would end like it always did, with a formal, professional farewell.

I was about to finally tell him, "Goodnight," but his hand came down very gently over mine and rendered me silent. Our eyes met once more, and a shiver ran down my spine.

"Even if she had been, she wouldn't have been you."

And then he opened the door for me, and I walked out without another word, my head spinning and my heart threatening to give out on me. He hadn't even kissed me, but he might as well have; I was just as breathless.

ACT III: He Is Nice, But He Looks So Mean.

I was actually littered with nerves walking in the door the next time I came over to watch Benny.

I hadn't heard anything from Spencer for a week, until he called and asked me to come over for the night to watch him while he went to work. I was going to do it with no questions asked, obviously, but because that insane confession was echoing in my mind on a continuous loop since it happened, I couldn't even bring myself to think about seeing him again and knowing... I had no idea what reaction my body was going to have to being in his presence again.

It scared me, but also deeply excited me.

Once my body had enough courage to step through the doorway, my heart rate sped up exponentially, and then upon seeing what was in front of me, it stuttered with a terrifying halt.

Warmth flooded my veins and brought a smile to my face when the four-year-old boy I nannied for and loved more than anything threw his hands in the air and yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Happy Birthday!"

He ran up to me and nearly toppled me to the ground, and on instinct, my arms reached out to pick him up as he hugged my neck and listed off the things he did to celebrate.

"Daddy said your birthday was yesterday, but we wanted to give you a party just like you did for my birthday! So we went to the store and got you ingredients for your cake, and we made it just for you!"

"You did?" I exclaimed, setting him down and letting him lead me to the kitchen where the cake was sitting out on the table, clearly homemade by two boys who didn't know the first thing about baking or decorating anything. Spencer was standing across the kitchen table with a proud, albeit I-know-it's-not-much-to-look-at smile, but I barely had time to thank him before Benny told me about the process, step-by-step.

As he went on, I nodded and admired the cake, complimenting the purple and green swirls of frosting (his favorite color and mine, he explained), and the trail of assorted candies in the shape of a stegosaurus in the middle (my favorite dinosaur).

"Do you love it, Auntie Y/N?"

I hugged him again with tears in my eyes. I tried not to actually cry, but the tugging at the back of my throat and the blurring of my eyes was extremely difficult to push away. I realized then, as Spencer watched me with his son and looked like he might have been ready to cry himself, that it wasn't worth trying to hide. I was extremely moved and even happier in that moment than I think I'd ever been. I loved that man and his child more than anything I'd ever known.

So, I blinked hard and let the tears silently descend down my cheeks, kissing the side of Benny's head as I told him, "I love it so much. And I love you so much. Thank you."

I looked up at Spencer and said it again. "Thank you."

He nodded, reaching for the star-shaped candle next to the cake. "You're very welcome. Benny, do you want to help Auntie Y/N light the birthday candle?"

The boy squirmed in my arms and I let him down with a laugh as he excitedly reminded us, "That's my favorite part of birthdays!"

"I apologize if you find an eggshell," Spencer warned a few minutes later, slicing the cake after the song had been sung and the candle had been blown out. He slid my plate over and handed me a fork. "Benny and I did our best to fish them all out, but it's... surprisingly harder than it looks."

As Benny nodded in agreement, I looked down at him and took a forkful of cake. "Oh, I don't have anything to worry about. I'm sure you two are excellent eggshell fishermen."

The four-year-old giggled, but his father sighed as if to say, Don't say I didn't warn you...

To no one's surprise but Spencer's, the cake was delicious. I may have played it up for dramatic effect, putting on a whole show as I chewed and considered every bite, playing as if I was unsure and really critiquing the dessert. I set my fork down and looked at Spencer with squinted eyes, then slowly to his son. The suspense was obviously killing him, his small limbs bouncing with anticipation and a smile that suggested he was going to urge the verdict out of me if I didn't announce it very soon.

I decided to spare him the wait.

"Benjamin Reid... That might just be the best cake I've ever had."

"Really? No eggshells?"

I laughed, reaching to give him a high-five as he beamed up at me with sparkling eyes and a wide-open smile. "Not a single one. You should be very proud of yourself. You and your dad, both."

Benny hugged me again, and I glanced over to Spencer, who was slicing another piece of cake and staring at me with that intense look in his eyes, a satisfied half-smile adorning his face. A rush of heat came surging through my bloodstream like a tidal wave, and I had to look away from him or I was afraid I'd collapse on the spot.

Benny didn't know it, but he was saving my life in that very moment, as the three of us ate cake together. I refused to look at his father. I needed literally anything else to keep me from even glancing his way, and my four-year-old best friend's rambling habits were the perfect focus.

He told me more about his process for decorating the cake, and while I was genuinely a little surprised at how much thought there really could have been with the task, with an ever-moving mind like Benny's, it was actually quite clear by the end of it. It charmed me to no end and filled me with pride to know that I'd had enough of an impact on him to trigger this level of detail and consideration. Again, it's not like I'd never had people who cared about me before, but when it came to the Reids, my heart sang a tune I'd never heard, and it was the most beautiful, brightly vivid sound I'd ever had the pleasure to hear—to feel.

I was thinking too much about it, letting the song swallow me whole as tears stung in the back of my eyes and threatened to fall again, when Spencer's phone buzzed on the table. The sound grounded and intrigued me, even more so when he glanced up at me for a moment, right before directing his words to his son.

"Benny, Uncle Will is outside. Is your bag ready?"

He jumped from his seat and nodded. "In my room."

"Okay. Before you grab it, say goodnight to Auntie Y/N."

I felt the toddler's arms hugging my legs, and turned all my attention to him, refusing once again to look at the man whose eyes I could feel burning me alive with something deeply ravenous, begging to be unfettered. I had a feeling, creeping over my senses like a thick blanket of ivy, that I wasn't making it up and letting my desire for him take the wheel, either; Just as the loving, family-friendly song in my heart had been—bright and vivid—this feeling was just as much the same in its intensity, only echoed with a sound that felt very much like those dark, low hums Spencer always emitted alone in my presence. I felt it all around me and hoped to God that I wasn't about to leave this place feeling like a hopeful, stupid idiot.

"Goodnight, Auntie Y/N. Did you like your birthday?"

"I did, Benny," I answered in earnest, ruffling his hair. "You're very thoughtful and kind. Thank you so much."

"I love you, Auntie Y/N."

I squeezed him tight and made sure he understood every word as truth when I told him, "I love you, too."

ACT IV: When I Grow Up, I Wanna Be Your Girl.

The apartment was quiet when Spencer took Benny outside to meet with Will. I did my best to keep myself busy, cleaning up forks and plates, and wiping down the counter tops while simultaneously ignoring the hammering of my heart against my chest. The organ wouldn't calm down, even as I hummed to myself. It's like those nerves that I had walking through the front door that night never actually went away— only subsided for a little while in favor of wholesome celebration.

Part of me wanted to flee, but I knew it wasn't an option. Not really. I had to at least talk to Spencer and thank him for the effort. Perhaps I was good enough of an actress that I could pretend to have been ignorant of his glances all night, or at least that they didn't affect me like he maybe wanted them to.

Catching myself in the act of overthinking again, I grunted and slammed a glass of water, willing the fresh liquid to wash away any insanity. There was no use going through all the possible scenarios in my head, not when there wasn't much time before Spencer returned. No matter what happened, I wasn't going to be prepared for it.

I certainly wasn't prepared for the way my heart practically leapt out of my chest when he returned, softly opening and closing the door. It took everything I had not to turn around and allow him to see how nervous I was. I kept my back turned, hoping and praying I wasn't visibly shaking as heavily as I felt. I was warm all over.

His presence behind me was dense and ever-present― almost suffocating. I took my time drying off the plates and forks I'd washed while he was away, hearing him rustle around without a word or acknowledgement of me, and then he finally spoke. I almost dropped a fork.

"Why are you doing my dishes, Birthday Girl?"

"My birthday was yesterday..."

He laughed and came up behind me, a gentle hand on my lower back as the other reached around and took the silverware from my grip. I relented, feeling myself numb at his touch and trying to steady my breathing.

"Yes, but we're celebrating today. In my household at least, that means you're not allowed to do any work."

I turned around to face him as he set the fork down on the counter, his other hand still hovering over my back. It returned to his side, disappearing into the pocket of his pants as I crossed my arms and looked up at him. Thankfully, despite the constant whirring of nerves and desire coursing through my entire being, I was able to hold a conversation without hesitation.

"You're not my dad."

Another amused grin. "No, I'm not. But I am your boss. And as your boss, I'm asking you to take the night off and enjoy yourself."

The way he was staring down at me seemingly punctuated his words with a gentle seduction that made me ache with need. I was getting stronger and bolder by the second, leaning forward just enough to be toe-to-toe with him.

"Okay, then, Boss... Tell me, are there any restrictions to enjoying myself in your household? Because..."

The second I heard that familiar hum rumble from his chest, I knew I was in danger― glorious, beautiful danger. His eyes glanced down at my mouth for a second before returning to my own, his body leaning into mine and his free hand reaching out to trap me against the counter.

I tilted my head and brought my fingers up to toy with the tie hanging from his neck. "I am all grown up now, after all..."

"And I suppose you know exactly what you want..."

"Mm-hmm," I drawled, pulling him in closer by the tie. Our lips were barely touching by that point, and I felt my head start to pulse with anticipation as he urged me to go on.

"Well?"

"I want to be yours."

He hummed again, pushing his body to mine and bringing the pocketed hand up to hold the side of my head. "Mmm, Darling, you always have been."

And then he kissed me.

He tasted like sugar, but his intentions were anything but sweet. His mouth devoured mine with a fire that threatened to turn me to ash. Every sense I had was alight, engulfing me in a heat so intense that it was all I was sure to know for the rest of my life. It's all I wanted and all I needed.

I met his intensity with eager hands, exploring the planes of his body as his tongue did wicked things to my own. This time I didn't even need the champagne; I was dizzy on Spencer alone. The fizz boiled me from the inside out and urged my limbs to cling to him like it was my life's purpose. Hell, for all I knew, it was my life's purpose― to burn for him and let him consume me. To revel in his dancing flame and allow it to become my life force. I wanted it more than I'd ever wanted anything.

And I was sure to let him know that, too, refusing to hold back the string of whines and moans that escaped me every now and again. The hand that had been resting on the counter behind me came down to grip and hike up my thigh, our hips colliding just as beautifully this time as they had the last. The memory caused another wanton sound to tumble from my mouth, and Spencer caught it greedily, pulling back for air long enough to squeeze my thigh and sing me a praise of his own.

"God, I love the sounds you make..."

His lips were on mine again before I could respond, but I didn't even need to. Not verbally, anyway; I guided his hand down the side of my face and over my chest, pushing my body into him and feeling his fingers tighten. His kisses grew hungrier, and suddenly I was starving.

I was finally able to break away from his mouth in favor of tasting the skin and stubble along his jaw. Then, I buried my face in his neck and reached for his belt, praying he wouldn't jump away like last time.

Thankfully, he didn't. His grip on both my breast and my thigh tightened again, but he didn't pull away from me. His breath didn't even hitch.

I took that as a good sign and slowly undid his belt. The sound alone was enough to send a jolt of excitement between my thighs, though the visions dancing behind my eyelids of what I planned to do in just a few moments helped my pleasure immensely. I dragged my tongue softly along Spencer's neck before freeing the belt and sinking to the ground alongside it. His hands fell away from my body and chose to root in my hair instead. The gentle tugging at my scalp admittedly made me stumble, but not out of discomfort; I was actually quite surprised at how much I liked the feeling.

Spencer noticed, humming again with amusement as I went back to tugging down his pants. Still, he said nothing, instead watching me intently as I continued my journey.

I didn't hide the desire I felt as I palmed the length of him through his underwear. In fact, I couldn't decide if I wanted to keep my sight leveled or to angle it up at him, because it was a damn good sight either way; The sensual nature of my fingers gently caressing him, knowing what was resting beyond that thin layer of fabric and imagining how it probably felt to him, or the thick and domineering air between his face and mine, his gaze committing every movement I made to wicked memory...

With a sigh, I opted to lean forward, ignoring the sharp bruising on my knees and putting all my focus into the task at large.

Spencer seemed to tell I was thinking too much, gently massaging my scalp and cooing, "Have you ever done this before?"

Yes, but... "Not with anyone I've actually wanted this badly..."

"Mmm, that does make a difference..." he observed. "Whatever it is that you need to be comfortable, Y/N― tell me. Okay? Promise me you won't hurt yourself in any way just to please me."

A surge of heat exploded through me at the intensity of it all. He was sincere, and by the sound of things, sympathetic to my overthinking. It was another show of just how much I wanted him to guide me, to hold me in his comforting, knowing embrace and show me exactly how life should be lived. Every life experience there was to know, I wanted to know it with him.

"I promise," I told him firmly, not breaking eye contact as I tugged at the cotton between us.

His eyes struggled to stay open when I finally gripped his cock, feeling the weight of it in my hand and bringing it to my mouth. I glanced down then, taking in every ridge as it disappeared slowly down the length of my tongue. I reveled in the taste, in the fullness I felt the deeper it went, and once it hit the back of my throat and caused me to choke and pull back, I angled my eyes back up at his face to find the most heavenly sight I'd ever seen.

Spencer watched me all the time. I was no stranger to his intense gazes. But when I looked up at him that time, his mouth open and eyes so deeply darkened with need that they could have drowned me, I truly thought I might have died and entered the afterlife. Perhaps that was dramatic, but there was no other possible way for me to describe the feeling that coursed through me in that moment. Suddenly I was chasing it, longing to be in that state of euphoria forever, and my mouth eagerly went to work in pursuit of it.

I took my time, exploring the ways he could fit in my mouth and the ways my tongue could cover the length of him. I went in search of any pleasure point I could find, occasionally looking up to gauge his reaction and finding nothing but those beautiful, salacious pools of liquid gold.

Eventually, I was brave enough to take him to the back of the throat again, holding him there and seeing how long it would take before I felt the air leave my lungs. I repeated the process a few times, stroking him with my hand in between gasps of air and shivering at the way he tugged my hair. My vision was starting to blur, but I persisted, aching to know what he tasted like as he came undone.

Unfortunately, it wasn't in the cards for me to find out that night.

I whined as he held my head away from him, praying he wasn't backing out.

"Stand up, please," he asked softly. It sounded like he'd been breathless, and maybe he had. The thought that I had that effect on him calmed my nerves and made me dizzy as I stood, and his hands cradled my head once again.

"You are so good," he whispered, kissing me deeply. I melted into him, only for him to pull back and continue his praises. "So beautiful..." Another toe-curling kiss, and then, "So perfect."

My eyes fluttered shut as his mouth moved over my jaw and to my pulse-point. "My good, sweet girl," he murmured, and the words caused me to clench around nothing.

"Please."

The word fell out of me with a whimper and at its urgency, Spencer's mouth attacked my neck with a gentle, hungry bite that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Follow me."

And I did. I always would.

As much as I would have loved the opportunity to look around his bedroom and make banter about what I discovered on any normal day, my brain was so overwhelmed and numb with desire that the thought hadn't even crossed my mind.

Not that I would have had the time to think about it anyway; He was on me the moment my legs touched the edge of the bed, devouring my mouth once more and pulling me into his atmosphere with fervor. Willing myself to get even closer to him, I brought my fingers up to thread through his hair and was rewarded with another gentle tug of my own.

Suddenly I was extremely hot, squirmy and anxious to break free from the confines of clothing, and Spencer could tell.

He broke apart with a laugh, bringing a hand down to trace the collar of my shirt. "Have you no patience?"

"You're the one sucking my face like it's the end of the fucking world," I breathed when he shifted the collar and exposed more of my skin to the air, earning me another low grumble of a laugh.

"You're not complaining are you?"

"God, no."

"Mmm, good," he hummed into my cheek, reaching down and tugging my shirt over my head. The fabric caught on his nose for a second, bringing a laugh to the surface of my tongue before he swallowed it with another kiss and tossed the shirt to the ground.

Warm, nimble fingers spanned my bare stomach and thoroughly explored the surface area of me, up and up until they slipped under the backside of my bra.

"Is this okay?"

I pushed myself into him and nipped at his bottom lip. "Yes, Doctor."

Goosebumps littered my arms as he deftly unhooked the bra and slid it off my body, and I barely had time to take a breath before he was kissing me again, pawing at my chest and slipping me his eager tongue. My senses were on overload, that hot pang of need pulsating between my legs as I then fell backwards, letting him lay me down and settle himself between them. His kisses traveled lower, tongue darting out to flick over my peaked nipple, and I involuntarily arched up into him.

No one had ever paid this much careful attention to my body before—It was always a quick pleasantry to get out of the way before the main course. But the way Spencer held and touched and tasted me felt like a crash course in intimacy. He was still hungry for me, obviously, but he made it feel like it wasn't just about the destination. He savored each and every second of the moment in all its pent-up, beautiful glory.

Which is why, when he finally slipped a hand down the front of my pants, he seemed delighted to find that I was practically soaked through my panties already.

His middle finger pressed firmly at my clothed heat, and I sighed into his mouth.

"Look at what I've done to you... Poor thing. You're just aching to be filled, aren't you?"

My head had no choice but to arch backwards as I moaned into the open air at his words, my legs clamping around his hand. "God, Spencer, please..."

"So I'm not wrong, then?" he mused, teasing me some more and just barely pushing the fabric aside. I squirmed and lifted my hips, trying to guide him in the right place, but he pulled away from me then, leaving me cold.

Only a second later did the heat return; Spencer stood at the foot of the bed and gently helped me scoot to the edge. He removed the rest of my clothes and stared down at my bare figure as he unbuttoned his shirt, debauchery settling in his eyes as they raked over me. With careful consideration, once his shirt was on the floor with the rest of my clothes, he came down and caressed my inner thigh, slowly spreading my legs apart.

"You're so wet and needy, I'm willing to bet you don't even need me to prep you..."

All it took was one lithe finger to prove his theory correct. It slid into me with ease, and I whined out at the contact. One finger swiftly became two, and after a few slow pumps with no resistance, he seemed satisfied. "Mmm, that's what I thought... You've been ready for me for a long time, haven't you?"

"Uh-huh," was all I could manage under the circumstances. Every word and every touch was rendering me incapable of anything more complex.

He removed his fingers from me then, and leaned down to nudge my nose with his own. "How are you feeling?" he asked me in a whisper, fluttering a gentle kiss over my lips as his cock barely teased my entrance. It was such a simple question, but it only deepened the desire I felt for him— It was gentle and attentive and intimate...

"Never better," I responded earnestly.

"Yeah?" he cooed. He pushed into me slowly then, and I gasped at the pressure. "Are you ready to take it?"

"Uh-huh," I stuttered once more, crying out silently when he finally bottomed out and ground his hips in a slow circle against my own.

"Tell me what you want, little girl," he begged sweetly against my lips. "Please, I need to hear you say it."

I gripped his shoulders and pulled back a little to hold his gaze, almost gasping out again at the way his hips pinned me down. It was difficult to form the perfect sentence, but I figured I didn't really need to say much at all― only the whimper-y, pathetic truth, which was, "I want you so bad..."

"As you wish."

The words barely left his lips before he began to move, hooking my legs around his forearms and spreading me apart further. He fucked me deeply, and with a steady pace that knocked the wind from my lungs and already had me seeing stars. That had never happened before.

Spencer could tell, a grin forming on his face as he freed one of his hands and softly traced my jaw. "Better than you thought?"

Absolutely. But there was something about that cocky grin on his face and the lilt in his voice that made me want to be difficult. I struggled to talk through heavy breathing, but I managed to choke out, "Don't... flatter yourself."

I don't quite know what I expected, but it was a bit of a shock to me when he hooked his thumb into my mouth and pressed down gently on my tongue, quickening his pace inside me and making me gasp out again.

"Aw... Are you not enjoying yourself?" he pouted without a single hint of sincerity; He knew I was.

I cried out and involuntarily closed my mouth around his thumb, my insides burning alive at all the sensations coursing through me. My cunt clenched around him, and he cried out himself, laughing softly as he did so. "That's what I thought..."

I wanted to watch him the way he watched me, to study his features and his movements and take it all in with reverence, but he was too fucking good at this. He was so skilled in the art of rendering me senseless, all I could do was lay there and take it. He gave himself to me in the most intimate, soul-crushing way, and I wanted to bask in it forever.

His other hand snaked along the inside of my thigh and held me open for him as he looked down, watching himself fuck me. I barely caught glimpses of his wandering gaze, wondering how he could be so focused when it was taking everything I had to stay cognizant. I blamed it on my lack of experience with good sex, and silently vowed to myself that one day I would return the favor.

Until then, I would lay at Spencer's mercy and take pleasure in the simple fact that he was willing to give me this― to give me a piece of himself that would no doubt ruin any other partner. He was setting the standard and exceeding it simultaneously. He was kind and caring and considerate. He was thorough and thoughtful.

And he was making me come. Hard.

The orgasm hit me out of nowhere, my body stuttering in quick, pulsing flashes of pleasure that got stronger and stronger each second. Spencer fucked me through it with ease, never missing a beat. His thumb slid out from my mouth and down my chin, allowing me to cry out for him all I wanted, which, seemingly was his goal.

"That's my good girl," he breathed, his voice tight. Perhaps he wasn't as put together as I thought. "Let it all out for me... Please..."

Please... God, that word sounded so good falling from his lips. It echoed in my mind as I gave him what he wanted, though not from choice. It was like his movements and his words were designed specifically to draw the sounds from my body. I would have given them to him anyway, but I didn't have to try, and that was the magic of it all. He knew exactly what would keep me mewling through the most intense pleasure of my life, and I was more than happy to allow him the pleasantry.

His orgasm came at the tail-end of mine, and though I was steadily growing tired at the exertion, I found the strength to clench around him again, recalling how he'd reacted before. I reached for his hand and allowed him to lace our fingers together as he came with a loud shuddering sigh.

Finally, I was able to focus, another chill running its course through my nervous system as Spencer pulsated inside me. His movements faltered as he spilled over, filling me so deep that I had no choice but to gasp again. My name sounded heavenly on his tongue as it danced in the air behind curses and sighs, and suddenly I understood why he enjoyed hearing my sounds so much. The warmth that bloomed in my chest as I watched and felt and heard him come undone above me delivered me to the most prideful of feelings.

I watched as his face relaxed, felt as his body eased and fell away from mine, and before I had time to even think of what to say, he was moving, kneeling at the end of the bed and spreading my legs again.

Oh, my God...

I couldn't even tell if I said the expression out loud, but I certainly felt its gravity in my bones, low and reverberating as Spencer inspected his work.

His fingers barely caught what had leaked out, and then his tongue followed suit, licking a gentle hot stripe up the seam of me. My fingers clutched at the comforter underneath me, searching for any sign of stability as my senses started to lose control once more.

"Darling," he praised, kissing the inside of my thigh, "you took me so well..."

I was halfway through telling him, "Thank you," when he started licking at my clit, making me stutter. He took his time, tasting me thoroughly while filling me with his fingers. Between drowning in the residual pleasure of my previous orgasm and also in the sounds he was making below me, it wasn't long before another one approached. It was sharp and quick, making my back arch up off the mattress as Spencer sucked my clit into oblivion.

Rather than incoherent cries of pleasure, the only thing that dared to leave my mouth at the sensation was a very loud, very appropriate, "Fuck!" to the evening air.

The curse tumbled out over and over again as the orgasm rocked through me, and he pulled himself away from me at the end of it with a shit-eating grin. "Such a dirty mouth..."

It took me a few seconds to catch my breath, shivering as he climbed back up on the bed and laid beside me. "You're one to talk, Doctor."

"I guess I'm a poor influence. Sorry."

It was mostly a joke, but I could tell that he believed there was some truth to his words. I did my best to reassure him, not only because he was my boss and I needed to reinstate the idea that we both made the decision to sleep together, not just him, but also because I secretly hoped he wouldn't regret the decision at all— regret me. Selfishly, I wanted to know if he'd consider keeping me around as more than just a nanny. I wanted to know if there was even a slight chance that this wouldn't end in total emotional disaster.

"You have nothing to be sorry for... Nothing..."

Spencer studied me for a moment, something settling in his eyes that I couldn't quite place, but it felt... warm. It was a different warmth than the searing heat that his gazes had radiated before. Perhaps it was wishful, foolish thinking, but I almost imagined it feeling akin to the realization that you were falling in love— the type of warmth that terrified yet excited you all the same, that triggered your nerves and also gave you hope.

It reminded me of that dangerous, beautiful hope that lingered in his smile every time he'd come home from a long day at work to see me and Benny safe and sound in the comfort of his home.

His hand gently brushed mine, I laced our fingers together, and that's when he finally responded.

"Neither do you, you know... I meant what I said. Every word." His fingers tightened in mine, and I felt myself become breathless again. "You're perfect. And I'm lucky to have you."

"You're just saying that because it's my birthday," I joked, trying to keep myself from crying in front of him. I didn't know why that was so important to me, especially considering just a few hours ago I'd decided not to hide the truth from him, no matter how emotional and teary of a truth it was.

Spencer pressed his forehead to mine, sighing my name through a smile. "You are... the best thing that has happened to me since Benny. I was afraid to admit it at the start, but... You're so good to him, and so good to me... I genuinely don't ever want to know what life would be like without you."

I couldn't help it then. My vision was suddenly obscured by tears, and I was blinking them away, letting him capture my lips in a tender kiss that rivaled any other.

I prayed in that very moment that there would be more like them in the future.

CODA: All My Rings Will Be Made of Gold.

Turns out, there had been plenty more, and then some.

It's hard to choose a favorite, though obviously I'm quite biased when it comes to my boys. So, I suppose it's easy for me to recall the night I got engaged as my favorite.

I wasn't nannying for Benny anymore; He was in school during the day (Kindergarten! I cried dropping him off on his first day, and Spencer had to console me with kisses and ice cream), and by that point I'd been moved into the apartment for almost a year.

I was out grocery shopping, and when I came home, there were flowers all over the floor, bright colors scattered in an obvious trail that led to the bedrooms. I didn't quite understand what was happening, but my heart still hammered in my chest, unable to shake that feeling of warmth and hope.

"Boys? What are you up to?" I called, dropping the bags off in the kitchen and following the flowers.

They were both kneeling on the floor of Benny's bedroom, Spencer with an open ring box in his hand, and Benny with a piece of paper in his.

"Will you be my mom?"

Really, how could I have said no? There isn't a world in which I ever would have, but even still. Benny was unable to sit still, waiting for me to answer him, and I remembered the night they presented me with that first birthday cake of many for years to come. He was the same way then, happier than ever to surprise me, and meanwhile all I wanted to do was burst into tears over how much love I was feeling.

Unlike that night, however, I was simply unable to tease him with the anticipation of an answer. I couldn't even pretend to consider it, not for a moment. It was the easiest answer I'd ever given. To this day, it still is.

Benny ran up and hugged me the tightest he ever had before, and Spencer got up from the ground to meet us, slipping a thin gold band on my finger as I repeated the word to him through the tenderest of kisses.

"Yes."

THE END.

[callsign-swan]

The Floyd Boys

Chapter One

Bob can't stay in California after his soon to be ex wife leaves him and his son. Returning to Montana, he enrols Mason in a new school. With a new teacher. A new teacher who happens to be kinda cute, actually.

"You're gonna do great," Bob Floyd whispered as he tied his little boy's shoelaces.

Sucking in a breath, Mason Floyd nodded his head. "I'm gonna do great," he whispered, staring into his dad's blue eyes. "I'm gonna do great." He grabbed the straps of his bag and held onto them, determination on his face.

"Glasses check."

Both boys pulled off their glasses. They used their shirts to clean both lenses and put them back on their faces. "Ready?" Bob asked, grabbing his keys and reaching for Mason's hand.

"Ready."

Mason Floyd was Bob Floyd's mini me. He was the tiny version of Bob, had the same brown-y red hair Bob had grown out of by the time he was a teenager. He had the same wire framed glasses as Bob, picked out at his last appointment to match his daddy.

The Floyd Boys, that was what Penny Benjamin used to call them. It had been so hard to leave California, to take Mason across State lines, back home to Montana. But he knew it was the right thing to do.

Locking the front door behind them, Bob took Mason out to his truck. He helped him to climb onto the front bench, buckled him in, and went around to the other side. He climbed into the drivers seat, started the engine and drove away.

The housing situation was only temporary, one of the guest houses on his parents ranch. It was usually used for ranch hands, but those ranch hands were currently in trailers up the mountain, taking care of the cattle. A temporary situation, but a perfect situation while they had nowhere else to go.

From their porch, Bob's parent's waved as he drove past with Mason. Mason waved back with enthusiasm, his face glued to the window as they went past the horses on the ranch.

Reaching forward, Mason turned on the stereo. Immediately, it began playing the CD they had listened to for the last leg of the journey, the CD of the songs Mason's auntie Nat had burned onto a disk for him.

Natasha Trace. Bob and Mason both missed her. They missed the entire squad, but they missed her most of all. She was there when Bob's ex wife revealed she was pregnant. She was there when Bob proposed (actually, she had tried to talk Bob out of it. She saw the red flags that Bob only saw now that they were separated). She was there when Mason was born, for all of his birthdays and when Bob and his ex wife split up. She was there, helping him pack up his things for Montana.

It was unusual, how quiet Mason was. The only time he was quiet on the journey to Montana was when he was sleeping. He looked like an angel when he slept, but Bob did have to reach over while driving to pull off his glasses.

"It's okay to be nervous," Bob said to his son.

Mason swallowed. His bag was still in his lap, held close to his chest. "Really?" He asked, his lip wobbling.

"Yeah, Mase." The school was in view now, but Bob pulled over before they got there. "I'm nervous too, buddy."

Mason looked up at his father. "Why're you nervous, Papa?" He asked.

Breathing in, Bob looked through his window. It was a familiar neighbourhood, a familiar school he was sending Mason to. His school, the elementary school he had gone to when he was a kid.

"It's just different out here. That's all." He patted his thighs and pulled his keys from the ignition. "Different isn't always bad, Mase. We're gonna do great out here."

Opening the door, Bob stepped out of his truck. The truck he'd bought here in Montana when he was a kid. The truck he took with him when he joined the Navy. The truck to California, to Top Gun. It was a full circle moment.

"C'mon," he said, opening the door and taking his son's hand. "You're gonna do great," he reaffirmed.

"I'm gonna do great."

Holding his daddy's hand, Mason Floyd walked towards the school. He had a million things to be anxious about. What if the other kids didn't like his glasses? What if they didn't like his bag? What if they didn't like that he was the new kid and he was from the West Coast?

Bob took him up the steps. Last time he had been in this school, he had been begging his dad to let him go to the rodeo. He'd had bull rider dreams back then, before he'd joined the Navy.

Bob checked his phone, checked for the classroom number. He remembered being a kid, seeing other kids, younger kids, being brought into the school with their parents. Back then, the dads had all been wearing cowboy hats. That was the type of town they lived in.

Classroom 3B. Bob released a breath as he stood in front of the door. This was it, Mason's first day of school. "You're gonna do great," he said again.

"I'm gonna do great."

Bob pushed open the door.

"Hi, can I help you?"

He looked towards the desk as he walked into the classroom with Mason behind him. Mason squeezed his hand and Bob squeezed back. "Hi, I'm Bob. I'm here with my son for his first day of school."

You put your glasses on the top of your head and stepped around your desk. "Oh, hi!" You called as you strode towards him. You fixed your skirt, smoothed it down, and gave him your name.

"This is Mason."

Mason Floyd. You had been told about his integration into your classroom a week ago. All the way from California. You didn't know much else about his situation, but you had him sitting beside one of your best students.

You crouched down in front of him, met the blue eyes of the little boy hiding behind his daddy's legs. "Hi, Mason," you said gently and gave him your name. You checked your watch. "You've got a little bit of time until class starts. Do you wanna hang out in here or do you wanna come and meet some of the other kids?"

Mason looked up at his Daddy. It was cute, their matching glasses, matching blue eyes. Mason had his daddy's cute nose, too. "Go on," Bob said gently and nodded his head towards you.

Mason looked back at you. "Can I stay here?" He asked in such a sweet, small voice.

"Of course you can, sweetheart," you replied and glanced up at his dad. But you quickly returned your gaze to Mason. "I'll show you where you can sit. Do you wanna read a book or do some colouring?"

Finally, Mason let go of his fathers hand. You stood up straight and offered him his own, taking him to sit at his new desk. "And here you've got a drawer where you can keep your pens and pencils," you began as Mason opened his bag.

He pulled everything out. A dinosaur themed pencil case, wipes for his glasses, an inhaler. You pulled out his drawer for him and Mason put all of his things inside. "Tell you what, I'll get you some colouring pencils and we can make a label for your desk!"

Mason let himself smile. "Yes please," he said politely.

Bob watched Mason as he settled in your seat. He let his eyes moved to you as you ran back towards the front of your classroom. Reaching into your bottom drawer, you grabbed a plain label sticker, cut it from its role, grabbed an already organised pencil pot and took them over to Mason.

You set him up and he began drawing. Colouring, writing his name boldly to show that the desk was his own.

As he did, you walked back to the front of the classroom. "He's gonna do great here," you said, folding your arms over your chest. "Have you got any concerns or anything you wanna talk about before the kids come in?"

Bob shook his head. "Just worried about him," he said, keeping his voice quiet.

"How did he get on in California?" You asked, glancing back towards Mason. He kicked his legs as he coloured, seeming perfectly content. Bob had no reason to worry, clearly.

"Things were different in California," Bob muttered, mostly to himself, and rubbed his hand over his face. "He's gonna like it here, I know it."

You leaned against your desk, both palms braced. "What made you move to Silver Ridge?" You asked with a smile, crossing your legs at the ankle.

Bob's smile was small, almost as if he was trying to hide it. "Uh, I'm actually from Montana," he answered. "Grew up here, before I joined the Navy."

"Navy, huh?" You asked. The smile still hadn't fallen from your face. "That's pretty cool! So, you like boats?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I'm a Navy pilot, a WSO."

Your brows furrowed, but you were still smiling. Before you could ask any questions, before you could ask what a WSO was, the bell rang. "Shoot," you said and pushed away from your desk. "Well, it was really nice to meet you, Mr Floyd. Maybe you could tell me what a WSO is when you come to pick Mason up."

You led him over to the classroom door. "I'd like that," Bob said as you pulled the door open for him. He turned on his feet and waved to Mason. "Bye, Mase!" He called.

Two seconds later, Mason was out of his chair. He ran towards his dad and threw his arms around him. "Love you, papa," he whispered, holding Bob there.

When the other children came into the classroom, Mason let go of Bob. He walked back into his seat, pulled his label from its backing, and stuck it to his desk drawer.

As you held the door open, you watched as Bob walked down the hall and out of the school. Cute, very cute, actually.

You couldn't wait for pickup time.

[jjmbbg]

"Push, push, push"

cw: soldier boy x fem!reader, unprotected sex p in v (no hat, no party), slight degradation, hair pulling, spanking, orgasm denial lol sorry.

(pics from pinterest)

The room felt heavy, the thick, hot air increasing the sweat on your body, the salty drops sliding between your breasts as he held your jaw tightly, tongue sticking out your puffy lips after all the rough kisses and bites Ben gave you. He tugged your lower lip with his thumb, opening even more your mouth eagerly and sliding his thumb there. You whimpered and started to suck on his thumb, shutting your eyes close as you tasted his skin.

"Keep sucking, sweetheart" he growled, eyes fixed on your chest as it moved with every breath you took. Your tongue swirled around his digit, opening your eyes to look directly at him. "That's it, beautiful. Look at you and at those pretty lips, full of my mere thumb"

Your hands reached his knees, leaning forward to keep his thumb in your mouth, your sides brushing against his sweatpants.

It was unfair seeing him all dressed while you were naked and on your knees, eyes fixed on his. You dug your fingers on his knees, biting his thumb a little.

"What? You've got something to say?" he raised an eyebrow, pulling out his finger from your mouth. "What is it?"

You swallowed hard, staring eyes and dilated pupils as you looked at his handsome face, then you leaned on him, cheek resting on his thigh.

"I need you" you whispered, rubbing your cheek on his sweatpants, looking up to him. "Please, I'm all naked and just for you... please, Ben..." your voice was soft, filled with lust and love, eyes searching for his, for the approval.

Benjamin chuckled, enjoying the show you were doing to him, for him. You were just a messy little thing, eager to please his every command, just so he he could give you more than just a feather-light touch.

"Get up, sweetheart" he commanded, palming his lap tentatively with one hand as he used the other to pull you from the forearm to sit there abruptly. You sat there, your breasts jiggled right in front of his face, making him smirk amused. "Such a pretty little girl, aren't you?" his question was rethorical, but you nodded at his question, squirming on his lap, feeling your core dripping wet, aching and clenching around nothing.

He smiled as you desperately started to rub your pussy on his clothed crotch, leaving traces of you arousal on his sweatpants, the wet stain of your juices making his cock harden even more, poking you heat.

"Stay still, baby" Ben grumbled, stopping your hips with a bruising grip. You whined at that, a cute pout adorning your lips. "I got you, alright? Just don't get fucking desperate. You're acting like a bitch in heat" his stubble brushed roughly on your bare shoulder as he bit your shoulder, leaving marks of his perfect teeth. "Get on your fours, now"

His voice was husky, full of determination and possession, denoting the control he had over you, knowing how bad you loved when he handled you. You nodded at his order, climbing off his lap on shaky legs, your thighs wet from your arousal and pussy throbbing around nothing.

You rested your hands and knees on the bed, arching your back a little as you looked at over your shoulder with hooded eyes, catching on him standing up from the bed, taking off his t-shirt and yanking down of his sweatpants along his boxers, making you gasp. You've seen him naked tons of times, but every time you saw him he made an impression on you, he made you feel even more eager.

Ben smirked, positioning behind you and gripping your hips roughly, knowing his fingers would leave marks on your soft skin, and pulled you against his aching cock, sliding his cock through your slit, covering it in your arousal. You moaned loudly, pushing your hips further against him, encouraging him to sink into you, presenting yourself eagerly.

"You want it, don't you?" he teased you, pushing just the tip between your slick folds, nudging past them. "I was right, you're, indeed, a bitch in heat. But don't worry, baby, I'll give you what you need"

Without warning, he pushed his whole length inside your throbbing pussy, the abrupt movement made you stagger a little, but his calloused hands kept you in place as he started to pound into without mercy and with deliberate movements, never losing the rhythm.

You let out a high pitched, brittle, pleasure filled squeal that had you almost mewling, eyes rolling back in ecstasy and gummy walls squeezing him again. His cock slid in and out easily, maybe it was due to your arousal that was wetting your cunt more and more, dripping down between your thighs until reaching the bedsheets.

"Oh, God!" you moaned when one of his hands left your hips, hitting sharply on one of your asscheeks, a dull sound that, when it collided with you, left its hand perfectly marked on your soft skin. "Ben- oh, fuck!"

A mocking smile graced Benjamin's lips, who continued to push his hips roughly against yours, kissing your cervix sweetly with the tip of his cock. Every vein of his shaft was caressing your channel, splitting you open, taking you to the highest point, clouding all your senses and filling your head with nothing but his cock.

Your head fell down with the pleasure, only to moan out loud when you felt a huge hand grab a good portion of your hair, pulling it back to bring your head back to its previous height. The sharp pain of the pull with the sensation of his dick sliding in and out was driving you nuts, Ben's roughness weakened your legs, but the only thing keeping you in place was his free hand, which occasionally slapped your butt, seeing it jiggle and getting red.

"Head up, and don't even think about lowering it, or I swear you won't reach your precious orgasm, sweetie" he mocked, a with a mischievous smile. "Your hair looks pretty in my hand. I should do this often"

You let out a mix between a broken chuckle and a gasp, eyes shut tight as he drank into the perfect way you took him, the perfect way he filled you. Your hands clung to the sheets on the bed, knuckles turning white due to the force you were using. The sound of the skin slapping against each other, his grunts and your moans were the music you needed.

Your walls fluttered around his shaft, squeezing him, and you felt your lower stomach tighten, and right at the second you felt that you would explode right there, Ben stopped, making you groan in frustration.

"Ben! Please!" you begged trying to move your head to look at him, but he tugged your head, keeping it in front. "Fuck, please"

"Nah, wanna see how long you can hold it" Ben grumbled, pulling out of you, His voice spilling a touch of perversion and mockery. "Think you can do it? Bet you can"

You rolled your eyes, the feeling of your pussy dripping down your thighs making you squirm.

This was gonna be a long, long night.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

benjamin ‘dex’ poindexter + animalistic, primal sex = some real nasty filth.. 18+ fem!reader. 807 words cw. spit, usual filth,creampie. mdni I am actually ovulating rn so im scientifically and justifiably horny

⎯ ☆ ⎯

dex had you right where he wanted you, in every sense of the word. 

body and mind completely and utterly in tune with him above, your focus still quite sharp despite it being over an hour in. 

you lay beneath him on his bed, ankles lazily crossed over his lower back — both hands pinned above your head by his singular one. tight grip to ensure they stay in place. his other hand rests firmly under your jaw, palm pressed to your throat to keep your head tilted back. essentially allowing him free-roaming access to you.

his face is close, open mouth ghosting your chin as he breathes heavily against it. his cock continuing to skillfully, orderly, drill into you, a precise pattern of each thrust naturally being put into place over time. sweaty, sticky skin practically fused together.

every snap of his hips elicits deep, guttural pants from you, each roll of his dick knocking all the more sense out of you. you truly were going cockdrunk and dex loved it. he loved to watch the lust cloud your eyes, to see them grow heavy and flutter closed. to watch your brows knit and twist, to watch all of your internal feelings rise to the surface — allowing him to see on your face just how good he’s making you feel.

he nips at your chin, holding the fleshy boney point between his teeth for a few seconds before sealing it with a kiss. soothing over it with a small tender act. he adjusts over you, face getting closer to your own.

“you’re all mine,” he utters, eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes.

his thumb itches upwards and begins to run along your lips, pad tracing your parted mouth — his eyes following the movements. he applies faint pressure to your bottom row of teeth, the action silently instructing you.

“open up,” he whispers, never once faulting in the rhythm of his thrusts. 

you do as asked and open your mouth up more. he lines up with you and spits onto your tongue, the lewd act like he’s claiming ownership. continue to brand you as his despite no change being made to your relationship. 

maybe he was just feeling particularly territorial tonight.

he closes your mouth in a similar way to how he opened it: thumb pushing your lips together, holding it there for a moment like he was getting you to swallow. he taps your cheek as if to offer you silent praise, dark eyes keen as he watches yours light up beneath him.

dex presses a quick half kiss to your lips and sits back on his heels, simultaneously releasing your arms and face in the same motion. you waste no time reaching for him, your fingers wrapping themselves around his wrists, holding onto him as he in turn holds onto you: grasp firm on the sides of your waist, grabbing and dragging you to meet his thrusts. 

his gaze leaves yours and diverts down to the lewd view below, his eyes intently following the messy plunging of his cock into you. and while his attention remains solely on you, yours does him. you watch the flexing of his biceps, the way the muscles bulge and tense, the veins that run the expanse of his arms growing more and more prominent.. 

he finds himself growing lost in you, the way you feel and the way you sound all hindering any remanence of his control. he was growing pussy drunk, completely and utterly disorientated within you.

you too shared a similar, very similar, experience. the new angle hits into you differently, the change pushing you further and harder towards the edge. and without much time to prepare, you reach it again for the umpteenth time tonight. cunt convulsing and clamping around him with your climax, hips jittering and grinding against him.

your orgasm knocks him off his tracks and he joins you mere seconds later. head tilting backwards, deep, full pants falling from his lips — the intensity of it all stripping him of breath.

his drilling winds down to an eventual halt, cock stilling inside you before he pulls out. his eyes lower to watch the rather vulgar, messy display: his cum slowly seeping from your cunt, leaking down and onto his sheets. and he saves yet another mental image for safekeeping.

dex eases himself into you once more, cock growing soft and sensitive from its extensive use. and with the full length of his dick nicely snuggled inside again, he hovers over you, propping his weight on forearms beside you. 

the darkness in his eyes subsides and what replaces it is far sweeter, far more tender. he soothes over the marks he had made earlier on: sealing kisses into the reddened patches along your chest and neck, replacing the hurt with something much more gentle. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[eepwtf]

PUNISHABLE—soldier boy x catholic boy part 2

find part one here ⤷ part numero uno

warnings; religious guilt and themes, power dynamics, somnophilia, degradation and humiliation kink, jerking off to underwear (i think my boy has a fetish for that, ben lock your underwear drawer), handjobs, jerking each other off, blowjobs, (not lasting even a minute because first time blowjob, ben being a little shit about it) wc: 5.5k

“you’re such a fucking perv,” benjamin continued, his tone light, almost conversational, as though discussing the weather. “jerking off into my underwear like some desperate little bitch. did you think i wouldn’t notice?” he pressed harder, his hand gripping you through the fabric, and you couldn’t hold back the quiet whimper that escaped your lips.

“liar,” he sing-songs, his tone dripping with regalement. “you act like such a good little saint, all those prayers, all that piety—s’just a cover for the filthy little pervert hiding underneath.”

after that night, you couldn’t look at benjamin the same way. the memory of his hands on you, his voice low and coaxing, lingered like a brand burned into your skin. it churned in your gut, twisting and gnawing until it felt like your insides were corroding, eaten away by the acid of shame. each time you saw him—his easy smirk, the casual way he draped himself over the furniture, the faint smell of him that hung in the air—you felt your stomach turn, the shame rising thick and bitter in your throat.

you couldn’t stay in the room. the air felt too close, too full of him, his presence pressing against you like a weight you couldn’t bear. so you fled. the small catholic temple on campus became your refuge, though it offered no comfort. it was little more than a cramped chapel tucked into an old building, the stained glass faded and chipped, the pews scarred with years of scratches and carvings. the faint smell of candle wax and incense clung to the air, mingling with the scent of mildew from the damp stone walls. the temple became a tomb, and you were the corpse, rotting from the inside out.

you spent hours there, more time than you did in class or the dorm. you’d sit in the shadow of the crucifix, its weathered wood warped and splintering, staring up at the lifeless eyes of Christ as if begging him to look back. the silence was oppressive, heavy and suffocating, but it felt right—like the weight of your sin, tangible and inescapable. you sat for hours in the shadow of his body, staring at the weathered wood, splintering and warped, as if waiting for him to come alive and condemn you. his hands were outstretched, pierced and bleeding, his face frozen in agony. you imagined he looked at you with that same pain, that same accusation, and it broke something inside you.

you tried to pray, the rosary beads dug into your palms, leaving angry red marks that faded too quickly to feel like real penance. you clutched them tighter, grinding the crucifix into your skin until it almost bled, muttering the Act of Contrition until the words blurred together, but the guilt remained, festering like an open wound.

o my God, i am heartily sorry for having offended Thee... the words came out cracked and hollow, meaningless, swallowed up by the suffocating silence of the chapel. …because i dread the loss of heaven, and the pains of hell... but it was too late for heaven. ...but most of all because they offend Thee, my God...

the guilt felt like chains around your chest, tightening with every syllable, dragging you down into an abyss you could never climb out of. …who art all good and deserving of all my love. You didn’t deserve his love. you didn’t deserve anything.

you took to kneeling on the cold stone floor, refusing the comfort of the pews. the sharp bite of the stone against your knees felt like punishment, the only tangible way to feel the weight of your sins. sometimes you stayed there until your legs went numb, until the pain turned into a dull ache and then into nothingness. other times, you pressed your forehead to the ground, curling into yourself like a body at a wake, wishing the earth would swallow you whole.

your whispered prayers became desperate, broken things, half-choked with sobs you tried to silence. “i’m sorry,” you’d mutter, over and over, your voice cracking. “God, i’m so sorry. please, forgive me.” but no forgiveness came. only silence.

at night, you dreamt of fire. the memory of benjamin played on an endless loop in your mind: his hands gripping you, his voice low and coaxing, the heat of his breath against your skin. it burned you from the inside out, an inferno you couldn’t escape. when you closed your eyes, you could still see the smirk on his face, the way his gaze had locked onto yours in the mirror. “such a pretty mess.” the words echoed in your skull, a taunt, a curse, a brand seared into your very soul. you felt it sinking into your flesh, carving itself into your bones. you’d wake up gasping, clawing at your skin, trying to scrape it away. but it was always there, a stain you couldn’t wash off.

you thought about confession, about spilling your sins to the priest behind the screen. but the idea of speaking the truth aloud, of hearing it in your own voice, made your stomach churn. The words “i touched myself, i wanted him, i wanted it” felt too filthy to utter, even in the privacy of the confessional. so you stayed silent.

the darkness festered inside you, growing like a sickness. you began to wonder if this was your punishment—not the fires of hell, but this slow, quiet decay. a part of you hoped it was, because it meant God was still watching, still listening, even if only to damn you.

and yet, no matter how much you prayed, no matter how deeply you knelt, the memory of benjamin lingered. his touch, his voice, his scent—they wrapped around you like chains, dragging you down. you were no longer yourself. you were a sinner, a vessel for guilt and shame, rotting in the shadow of the cross.

each day bled into the next, the hours merging into a haze of suffocating monotony. time slipped through your fingers like sand, gritty and coarse, leaving only the weight of your sins behind. the chapel became your entire world, a dim, crumbling sanctuary where you sought absolution and found only torment. you avoided your dorm, your classes, even the dining hall—anywhere benjamin might be. the thought of facing him, of seeing his smirk twist into something cruel or indifferent, made your chest seize.

still, he haunted you.

he was in every shadow, every flicker of light that danced on the stone walls. his voice lingered in the back of your mind, a low, mocking drawl that you couldn’t silence no matter how many Hail Marys you whispered. and the worst part? it wasn’t just shame you felt.

in the deepest recesses of your mind, where the guilt couldn’t reach, a darker truth festered. you wanted him. you still wanted him. the memory of his hands on you, the sound of his breath in your ear, the warmth of his body pressed close—it didn’t just torment you; it consumed you. late at night, you found yourself replaying it all in your mind, over and over. your body betrayed you in the quiet, a burning need rising up that you couldn’t suppress no matter how tightly you clutched the rosary, no matter how fervently you prayed for absolution.

the shame was unbearable, searing hot and cloyingly thick, but it wasn’t enough to stop the betrayal of your own body. your cock ached, straining against the fabric of your sweatpants, a constant reminder of your weakness. you rolled onto your side in your bed, clenching your fists, digging your nails into your palms until they left crescent-shaped marks. you whispered prayers under your breath, begging for the ache to subside, for your body to stop betraying you. but it didn’t.

it never did.

and then there was benjamin, sleeping across the room. the rise and fall of his chest, slow and steady, filled the small space with a rhythmic calm that only made your torment worse. the soft sighs he gave in his sleep, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the way his lips parted slightly as he breathed—it was maddening. you hated him for being so effortlessly beautiful, for existing in a way that made it impossible for you to look away.

your hand found its way to your cock before you could stop it, the need too overwhelming to resist. you pressed your face into the pillow, biting down hard to stifle the shameful sounds threatening to spill from your throat. your other hand clutched the rosary still tangled around your wrist, the beads biting into your skin as you stroked yourself, slow and deliberate, trying to stay quiet.

your eyes stayed fixed on him, on the faint glow of moonlight that traced the curve of his jaw, the soft shadows that played across his face. each breath he took seemed louder than the last, each shift of his body under the covers like a whisper meant only for you.

it was wrong. it was so fucking wrong. but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t stop. the crucifix above your bed seemed to watch, its lifeless eyes boring into you as if condemning every shudder, every gasp, every sinful thought. you imagined Christ’s agony, his blood dripping from the crown of thorns, his body nailed to the cross for your sins—and here you were, defiling his sacrifice with every stroke, every filthy thought. it should have stopped you. it should have made you fall to your knees in repentance. but instead, it only made the guilt more unbearable, the shame more suffocating, until the pressure inside you broke. your lips moved in silent prayer even as your strokes quickened, the contradiction tearing you apart. "forgive me, Father," you whispered, your voice choked and broken. but even as you begged for absolution, your body craved release.

your gaze flicked to benjamin. he had shifted in his sleep, one arm flung above his head, his shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of skin. the sight made your mouth go dry, your hips bucking into your fist as a low, shuddering moan escaped you. you imagined his hand replacing yours, his voice a low, mocking drawl coaxing you to give in. the thought alone sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your breaths coming faster, more desperate. “ben,” you whispered, the name slipping past your lips before you could stop it. the sound felt sacrilegious, an invocation of something dark and forbidden.

the beads of the rosary dug deeper into your wrist, the pain grounding you even as your strokes grew frantic. pre-cum slicked your fingers, the wet sound obscene in the silence. the shame was suffocating, a thick, rancid weight that settled in your chest, but you couldn’t stop. your gaze stayed fixed on him, on the soft curve of his jaw, the soft fluttering of his lashes. the ache inside you swelled, sharp and consuming, until it was too much to bear. your body convulsed, thick spurts of cum spilling over your hand, your hips jerking against the mattress as you bit down hard on your pillow to muffle your cries.

the shame was instant and suffocating, crashing down on you like a wave. you froze, your body trembling as the reality of what you’d done settled over you like a shroud. benjamin stirred, a soft murmur escaping his lips as he shifted again, his face relaxing back into the peaceful stillness of sleep. you watched him, your heart pounding in your chest, and the weight of your sin crushed you.

you wiped your hand on the sheets, bile rising in your throat as the reality of what you’d done sank in. you whispered a broken prayer, the words cracking in your throat, and vowed never to give in again. but deep down, you knew the truth. you would.

the shame should have stopped you. it should have dragged you to your knees, should have compelled you to throw open the chapel doors and confess everything—every sinful thought, every wretched desire, every stroke of your hand that mocked the sanctity of your faith. and yet it didn’t.

the guilt had only festered, growing into something dark and rotten that you couldn’t contain. and now, hidden beneath your blankets in the suffocating quiet of your dorm, it had led you to this. benjamin’s underwear was clutched in your trembling hand. you’d stolen it—there was no other word for it—plucked it from his laundry basket earlier that day when the dorm was empty, your chest pounding with adrenaline and revulsion. you had told yourself you wouldn’t do anything, that you just wanted to hold it, to feel the weight of him, the scent of him.

but now, here you were, your cock throbbing in your palm, slick with pre-cum as you wrapped the soft fabric around yourself. it was warm from your grip, but not nearly as warm as you imagined it would be if benjamin were still wearing it. the thought sent a shiver through you, your hand tightening as you began to stroke yourself again, this time slower, more deliberate. the waistband of the underwear brushed against the sensitive head of your cock, and you bit down on your lip to stifle a groan.

in your mind, benjamin wasn’t asleep in his bed across the room. he was here, standing over you, wearing nothing but the underwear now wrapped around your cock. you imagined the way it would cling to him, the fabric stretched taut over his hips, his cock outlined against it. you imagined the heat of him, the weight of him pressing against your palm as you slid your hand beneath the waistband, your fingers brushing against his skin.

you imagined him smirking down at you, his voice low and mocking. "you couldn’t help yourself, could you?" he’d say, his tone dripping with condescension. "you’re so fucking desperate for me." your hips bucked at the thought, the motion jerking the fabric tighter around your cock. the shame clawed at you, hot and suffocating, but it only made the pleasure more acute, more overwhelming.

you closed your eyes, the image of benjamin vivid behind your eyelids. you imagined his cock hard against the fabric, slick with his own pre-cum, mixing with yours. you imagined the way he’d groan, low and guttural, as your cum spilled over the fabric, soaking it, staining it. your hand moved faster, the friction of the fabric almost too much, almost unbearable. the scent of him clung to your skin, faint but intoxicating, filling your lungs with every breath. it was wrong—God, it was so wrong—but you couldn’t stop.

"ah—fuck, ben," you whispered again, the word slipping out unbidden, dripping with need and desperation. the sound of his name on your lips sent you over the edge, your body convulsing as your cum spilled over the stolen underwear, thick and hot and endless. for a moment, you couldn’t move. the shame was immediate, cold and biting, sinking into your chest like a blade. the crucifix on the wall seemed to loom closer, its lifeless eyes staring down at you in silent condemnation.

you looked at the mess in your hand, at the fabric now stained with your sin, and bile rose in your throat. you felt filthy, wretched, unworthy of the air you breathed. but even as the shame suffocated you, even as the bile threatened to spill, a darker thought twisted its way into your mind. you imagined slipping the underwear back into benjamin’s laundry basket, unwashed, unclean. you imagined him putting it on, feeling the dampness against his skin, not knowing—never knowing—that it wasn’t his sweat, but yours.

the morning light filtered through the blinds, casting golden streaks across the room. you pretended to sleep, curled beneath your blanket as benjamin stirred in the bed across from you. your body felt heavy with the lingering weight of guilt, your stomach churning as the events of the night before replayed in vivid, shameful detail.

you could hear him moving around—footsteps padding softly across the room, the faint rustle of his laundry basket as he dug through it. your pulse quickened, a sick sort of dread rising in your chest as you realized what he was doing. you squeezed your eyes shut, your breathing shallow and uneven, your entire body tensed as you waited for the inevitable moment when he would find it. the underwear, his underwear. covered in your mess.

the sound of fabric being shifted stopped abruptly, and for a moment, there was silence. your heart pounded in your ears, so loud you were sure he could hear it, but you didn’t dare move. “fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, and your stomach twisted into knots.

you risked the smallest glance, peeking through your lashes just in time to see him holding the underwear up, his brow furrowed as he inspected the faint, crusted stains on the fabric. your breath hitched, panic clawing at your throat. he knows, you thought, the words ringing like a death knell in your mind. but then he shrugged, tossing the underwear onto his bed. “guess it’s just detergent or something,” he said to himself, his voice casual, unconcerned.

relief flooded through you, hot and dizzying, but it was short-lived. because then, to your absolute horror, he began to undress. you turned your face back into the pillow, your entire body trembling as you tried to feign sleep. but no amount of self-control could stop the way your breath quickened, the way your cock stirred traitorously beneath the blanket as you listened to the soft rustle of his shirt being pulled over his head, the faint thud of his sweats hitting the floor.

and then, the sound of him slipping on the underwear.

you couldn’t see him, but you didn’t need to. the image was burned into your mind: benjamin, his toned body half-dressed, the stolen underwear hugging his hips, clinging to him. you imagined the fabric pressing against his cock, damp and sticky with your dried release. “shit,” he muttered suddenly, a note of irritation in his voice.

and then, benjamin turned. you quickly shut your eyes, feigning sleep as your heart hammered in your chest. the sound of his footsteps grew louder, closer, until they stopped right beside your bed. “you awake, perv?” his voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine.

you didn’t move, didn’t so much as twitch, praying he’d lose interest and go away. but instead, benjamin chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through the quiet room like a taunt. “yeah, that’s what i thought.” you felt the blanket shift, a slight tug as he pulled it down just enough to reveal your growing bulge. the cool air hit you, making your cock twitch beneath the thin fabric of your sweats, and you cursed yourself silently. “look at this,” benjamin murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. his palm pressed harder, rubbing against you through the fabric. you bit down on the inside of your cheek, struggling to suppress the gasp threatening to escape.

“can’t even keep it down in your sleep,” he said, palming you through the fabric. “what were you dreaming about, huh? was it me?” you wanted to die. you wanted to disappear, to sink into the mattress and never resurface. your hips shifted involuntarily, just slightly, into his touch. it was instinct, pure and pathetic, and you hated yourself for it. and oh, benjamin didn’t miss it. “oh, you like that, don’t you?” his fingers curled around the outline of your cock, stroking slowly, teasingly, as if to prove his point. the friction of your sweats and the heat of his hand made your entire body tense, a shudder running down your spine.

“bet you’d like it even more if i used my mouth,” he mused, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “or maybe my hand. would that make you feel better, freak?” your breaths came faster, shallow and uneven, as his hand moved with deliberate, maddening slowness. you could feel the heat of his palm, the friction of your sweats against your sensitive skin, and it was driving you insane. “you’re such a fucking perv,” benjamin continued, his tone light, almost conversational, as though discussing the weather. “jerking off into my underwear like some desperate little bitch. did you think i wouldn’t notice?” he pressed harder, his hand gripping you through the fabric, and you couldn’t hold back the quiet whimper that escaped your lips.

benjamin froze, his smirk audible even before you opened your eyes. “oh,” he said, dragging the word out, his voice dripping with mockery. “so you are awake.” you couldn’t help it; your eyes cracked open, just barely, and you met his gaze. his green eyes were bright with amusement, his smirk sharp and predatory. “figures,” he said, his voice soft and cutting. “couldn’t even keep up the act, could you?” before you could think of a response—or even move—benjamin’s hand moved again, his strokes deliberate, slow enough to make you squirm. you hated him, hated yourself, hated the unbearable heat pooling low in your stomach, but most of all, you hated that you didn’t want him to stop.

and then, to your shock and mounting arousal, he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of your sweats, his touch hot and unforgiving against your skin. benjamin’s smirk only widened as his fingers curled around your bare cock, stroking with a firm, teasing grip that made your breath hitch. he watched your face, his green eyes sharp with predatory amusement as he took in every twitch of your features, every shudder of your chest. “look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and taunting. “so fucking hard for me. bet you’ve been dreaming about this for weeks, haven’t you? jerking off into my underwear, imagining my mouth on your cock.”

the words sent a fresh wave of shame crashing over you, burning hot and stifling in your chest. the guilt churned, twisting your stomach into knots even as your hips bucked into his hand, completely betraying you. you felt trapped between the two warring parts of yourself—the part that wanted to resist, to run, and the part that wanted nothing more than to give in, to let him ruin you completely. “you know what your problem is?” ben said, his grip tightening just enough to make your vision blur. “you’ve been holding back, keeping all that tension bottled up. you’re so fucking repressed it’s almost sad.”

your throat tightened at the accusation, the words hitting a nerve you didn’t even realize was raw. he wasn’t wrong. every day spent in the chapel, every whispered prayer for forgiveness, every shame-fueled confession—it had all built into this. the weight of your own guilt loomed heavy over you, wrapping around your chest like a vice even as benjamin’s touch ignited a fire deep in your core. “you probably think this is a sin, don’t you?” he whispered, leaning in close enough that his breath was hot against your ear. “some terrible, shameful thing. but you don’t look very sorry to me.”

his voice was like a devil on your shoulder, coaxing you further into the abyss. your lips parted, a faint, broken sound escaping as his hand moved faster, slick with precum now, the obscene sounds of his strokes filling the air. “you’re not gonna pray your way out of this one, baby,” benjamin murmured, his tone mockingly sweet. “but don’t worry—i’ll take care of you. all you have to do is let me.” before you could process what was happening, he dropped to his knees, his smirk softening into something almost reverent as he looked up at you. the sight was enough to steal your breath—benjamin, kneeling between your legs, his hands on your thighs as he tugged your sweats down just enough to free your cock completely.

“fuck,” he muttered, his eyes darkening as he took you in. “look at you. so hard, so desperate. you’re fucking dripping, sweetheart.” you wanted to deny it, to shrink away from his words, but the evidence was undeniable. precum beaded at the tip, glistening in the soft morning light. benjamin’s thumb swiped over it, smearing it down the length of your cock, and you couldn’t hold back the broken sound that escaped your throat. he gripped your cock at the base, his hand firm and unyielding as he guided it toward his lips.

the first touch of his mouth was almost too much. his tongue flicked out, teasing the tip, before he took you in slowly, inch by maddening inch. the heat of his mouth was overwhelming, soft and wet and perfect, and your hands clenched the sheets in a futile attempt to ground yourself. “ben—” you choked out, your voice cracking as your head fell back against the pillow.

he hummed around you, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. his eyes flicked up to meet yours, sharp and teasing, as he took you deeper, his throat constricting around you in a way that made your vision blur. “relax,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to speak. his lips were slick and red, glistening with saliva and precum. “let me take care of you, sweetheart. just let go.”

you wanted to. God, you wanted to. guilt clawed at your chest, sharp and suffocating, as your mind flickered with memories of whispered sermons and fire-and-brimstone warnings. this was wrong. every touch, every flick of his tongue, every obscene sound he made was a nail in the coffin of your soul. but benjamin’s mouth was so hot, so wet, and his hands gripped your hips with a strength that kept you grounded, kept you present. “you’re thinking too much,” benjamin said, his voice low and commanding. “stop fighting it. just let me make you feel good.”

he didn’t give you a chance to argue, his mouth enveloping you again with a renewed determination. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he worked you over, his pace slow and deliberate, savoring every moment. you barely lasted a minute. the pressure built too quickly, the heat coiling tight in your stomach and shooting down your spine. your breaths came faster, shallow and desperate, and you tried to warn him, tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you.

“don’t you dare,” he murmured, his voice muffled around you. “i want it. cum for me.” the command was your undoing. with a choked cry, you shattered, your hips jerking as you spilled into his mouth. stars burst behind your eyes, your entire body trembling as the release hit you like a tidal wave. benjamin didn’t pull back, didn’t flinch. he took everything you gave him, his throat working to swallow it down, his hands steady on your thighs as he held you through the aftershocks.

when he finally pulled away, his lips were swollen, his smirk impossibly smug as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “damn,” he said, his tone full of mockery and amusement. “came so fast i barely got started. guess all that religious repression really does a number on you, huh?” you buried your face in your hands, your cheeks burning as fresh waves of shame crashed over you. But benjamin wasn’t done.

benjamin didn’t hesitate, tugging his sweats down in one smooth motion. the sight hit you like a punch to the gut. he was hard—thick, flushed, and straining against the fabric of the underwear you’d stolen just last night. your stomach churned when you noticed the faint, crusted stain near the waistband, the humiliating evidence of your lack of control.

“unbelievable,” benjamin said, his lips curling in disgusted amusement as he ran a hand over the bulge. “you actually came in my underwear.” he let out a short, derisive laugh, holding the elastic band out so you could see the stain more clearly. “for this?” He shook his head, the smirk tugging at his lips making your stomach flip. heat rose to your face, shame and arousal twisting together into a nauseating cocktail. you tried to look away, but your body betrayed you again, your cock twitching faintly despite the raw, overstimulated ache still pulsing through you.

“oh, no,” ben said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low timbre. “don’t you dare act embarrassed now. not after everything.” His green eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unyielding. “you’re into this, aren’t you?” you shook your head weakly, your voice caught in your throat, but benjamin wasn’t buying it. “liar,” he sing-songs, his tone dripping with regalement. “you act like such a good little saint, all those prayers, all that piety—s’just a cover for the filthy little pervert hiding underneath.” before you could muster a response, Benjamin grabbed your sweats and yanked them the rest of the way down, leaving you completely bare beneath him. his gaze swept over you, predatory and hungry, and your stomach flipped at the way his lips curled into a smirk. “you’re hard again,” he pointed out, his voice thick with amusement. “didn’t even give yourself a minute to recover, huh? you really are desperate.”

benjamin stepped back just enough to hook his thumbs into the waistband of the said stolen (and stained) underwear, dragging them down his legs with an exaggerated slowness that had your pulse hammering in your ears. when his cock sprang free, flushed and leaking, your breath caught. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“close,” benjamin quipped, his grin widening into something wicked. “but i don’t think He’s gonna save you now.” he wrapped a hand around himself, his thumb swiping over the head to gather the bead of precum there. his gaze flicked to you, his smirk deepening when he saw the way your eyes lingered.

“guess i can’t blame you for wanting me so bad,” he said, his tone almost mocking. “look at what you’ve done to me.” he gestured vaguely to his cock, his hand stroking slowly, deliberately, as if to taunt you further. the heat of his body was overwhelming as he climbed onto the bed, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your thighs. the heat of his body was overwhelming, his cock hovering just above yours, so close you could feel the faint pulse of it. the sight of him straddling you, his lips twisted into that infuriating smirk, was enough to make your breath hitch.

“i should make you clean up your mess,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, sending a shiver down your spine. “wouldn’t that be fair?” you swallowed hard, unable to respond. your mouth was dry, your mind spinning, every nerve in your body alight with tension. “but,” he continued, leaning down until his face was only inches from yours, “i think i’ve got a better idea.”

before you could process what was happening, benjamin reached down, his hand wrapping around your cock again. his grip was firm and confident, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head in a way that made your hips jerk involuntarily. then, to your absolute shock, he shifted, pressing his cock against yours. the heat of him, the weight of him—thick and pulsing beside you—sent a bolt of arousal shooting through you so intense it made your vision blur. benjamin hummed, clearly enjoying your reaction, as he wrapped his hand around both of you, his fingers curling tightly to hold you together.

“fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice low and strained as he began to move. his hand stroked the length of both of you in a slow, maddening rhythm, the friction electric. the slick mix of precum made the slide effortless, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body.

your head fell back against the pillow, a choked sound escaping your throat as the pleasure built quickly, overwhelming you. benjamin’s gaze stayed locked on your face, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he took in every twitch of your features, every broken gasp that slipped past your lips. “look at you,” he murmured, his tone thick with mockery. “so fucking desperate. you’re not even trying to hold back, are you? just letting me ruin you completely.

you tried to shake your head, to deny it, but the words caught in your throat, tangled up in a mess of shame and arousal. your hips bucked helplessly into his hand, chasing the friction despite the raw ache of overstimulation. “s’not true,” you choked out, your voice weak and trembling.

ben laughed, low and derisive. “no? then why are you fucking into my hand like a goddamn slut?” his words cut deep, but the pleasure was overwhelming, drowning out everything else. the tension coiled tight in your stomach, building faster than you could control. benjamin’s grip tightened, his strokes growing firmer, rougher, as if he could sense how close you were. “pathetic,” benjamin said, his voice a low, teasing growl. “you’re gonna cum already, aren’t you? can feel it—feel how close you are.” he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “do it. make a fucking mess. show me how much you need this.”

his words pushed you over the edge. with a low groan, your body tensed, your release hitting you like a tidal wave. hot, sticky ropes spilled across your stomach and benjamin’s hand, the sensation so intense it left you trembling beneath him.

but he didn’t stop, his hand stroking both of you through the aftershocks, drawing out every last ounce of your pleasure. his own breathing grew heavier, his pace quickening as he chased his own release. “fuck,” he muttered, his voice tight as his hips jerked forward. a moment later, he came, his cum mixing with yours in a sticky mess across your stomach and his hand.

for a long moment, the only sound in the room was the sound of your ragged breathing. benjamin sat back slightly, his chest heaving as he looked down at the mess between you. “well,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “guess you weren’t the only one who couldn’t hold back.” you groaned, your cheeks burning as you turned your face away, but benjamin only laughed, leaning down to press a kiss to your jaw. “don’t worry,” he murmured. “i think it’s cute.”

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Fic Titles: Song Edition

Part V

Baby you gave me bad ideas - This is the last time, The National

All of your demons will wither away - Demons, Fatboy Slim feat. Macy Gray

His love is my favourite - Kill this love, Blackpink

Three points where two lines meet - Tessellate, alt-J

Kings of imagining things - The long haul, NO

Swallow all our pride - Fairytale gone bad, Sunrise Avenue

Keep your hand in mine - So cold, Breaking Benjamin

Take this veil from off my eyes - Doin' time, Lana del Rey

Unforgiven, I'm a villain - Unforgiven, Le Sserafim

Let me sleep in your arms - In your arms, Stanfour

All of my thoughts of you - Graceless, The National

Stay cool (it's just a kiss) - Talk too much, COIN

There was nothing to fear and nothing to doubt - Pyramid Song, Radiohead

I know it's pain (but I really want it so bad) - Want so bad, Lee Know + HAN

We could leave in the morning (and go all night) - They own this town, Flora Cash

You'll be the saddest part of me - The Loneliest, Måneskin

Don't need to say goodbye - The Call, Regina Spektor

When I'm alone, I'd rather be with you - 3005, Childish Gambino

It's just me and your ghost - me & ur ghost, blackbear

Tell ′em all I said hi - I said hi, Amy Shark

We don't gotta be in love - One of your girls, The Weeknd feat. Jennie, Lily-Rose Depp

The distance between you and me (it never seems to disappear) - Maybe if, BIBI

Say what you want (I'll keep it a secret) - One of your girls, Troye Sivan

I'm surrendering tonight - Collide, Rachel Platten

That's what you get when you let your heart win - That's what you get, Paramore

Give me a sign, I want to believe - The Ballad of Mona Lisa, Panic! at the Disco

Just a game that can't be won - Always on the run, Isaak Guderian

Your lips should be saying the same thing - Really, Blackpink

Still, I'm under your control now - Number 1, Nico Santos

Embracing all my scars and imperfections - Comflex, Stray Kids

More titles!

[occamstfs]

Tailgating

Uptight Benji tries to force his way though rowdy tailgaters to get to work. How was he supposed to know the stupid game was such a big deal? Seems he’ll be learning in short order after having a beer or two to take the edge off.

Spin on one of my favorite older stories on here, also named Tailgating! Slightly shorter fratification, burps and personality changing sunglasses ahead! Also only a few days left to vote for the Talismen finale, there's a clear favorite but anything can happen! Enjoy this little ode to sweaty bodies and hoppy breath! -Occam

The roads around the campus library are closed for the big game, but Benjamin was still determined to host his Office hours. He knew there was some kind of football thing today but had no idea it was apparently the biggest of the year. Some bowl game or massive rivalry or something, He didn’t care- doesn’t and will never care, in fact . He’s done good work avoiding the jeering crowds of drunkards so far as he sneaks across campus. Nearing the home stretch however it’s clear there is no way around. He must somehow power through the horde.

Benji makes it a few good yards into the festivities unassailed, dodging elbows and spilled drinks like the best of them. Unfortunately the prudish academic takes time to grimace and sneer when one of the behemoths burps loud enough to make him flinch, pausing just long enough to become irrevocably caught in the chaos. 

Like an animal held by the scruff of its neck, Benjamin finds himself in the clutches of Bruiser, president of the school’s new Beta Delta Alpha chapter. “Yooo lil bro! What’s up? Looks like you’re not havin’ a good time?” Stuck in a meaty hand and between instincts of snide remarks and swift flight he opts for smarmy sarcasm, “Nono you bovine brute I’m having the time of my life on this commute.” Bruiser narrows his eyes, “hmmmm I dunno dude.”

Feeling the man’s sweaty, surely beer-covered palm soaking through his shirt he swats at it, “Ugh, the idea of work foreign to you hedonistic morons?” Bruiser’s lip twitches into a smile as he reaches to grab something with his free hand, “ohhh you’ve got work lil bro?” The hairs on the back of Benji’s neck stand on end as he feels something shift in the man’s expression and he tries to bolt away, Too Late.

Bruiser forces a massive mirrored visor onto Benji’s eyes and the prude freezes. His vision is shaded a dark burnt orange and his eyes scramble, the only remaining part he seems able to move himself. Bruiser releases his shoulder and pats his back, “Welcome to the party bro hahah!” Benji cannot see the man’s own eyes glimmering through his new visor, though as he leans in close all his senses are overwhelmed by how powerful the scent of beer is on his breath, “Here lil bro, let me help you chill out.” Despite disgust, despite fear, despite everything in him begging him to flee, the scent of beer on Bruiser’s thick breath fills him with an overwhelming thirst.

Benjamin doesn’t know how a tall boy ends up in his hand, but he can guess what is soon to happen when Bruiser turns to shout, “Yo bros! Lil Benj over here is gonna kill a tall boy in one gulp!” Through his tinted visor he sees the can raise to his lips, no one can see his eyes widen from fear as beer begins to pour into his mouth. Try as he might to slow the flow, to close his mouth, to not swallow he is totally unable to move. And then, his eyes lose focus for half as second, why would he want to stop drinking it?Did he like beer? As it continues to flow into his mouth he can’t imagine not liking it? ‘S pretty good. Despite his body willing itself through the can, in its paltry state he could never manage to drink this quickly. Rivulets of the swill spill out of his cheeks and down his jaw, staining the recently shaved upper lip and cheeks darker, a mustache never given the chance to thrive begins to sprout. Benji’s throat burns from the effort of racing to down the drink, through with each gasping swallow it becomes easier, more adept at performative drinking competitions, tight to the can his mouth widens into something cruder, made to be loud. And then he’s done

Tossing the can to the ground without a care Benjamin stands, swaying back slightly despite having only had the one drink. His hand pats his stomach and it jiggles slightly, the tall boy must be expanding in his stomach or something. He grimaces as it grumbles, his neck reflexively tenses as he feels a burp coming up. He can’t, no surely not- the glasses squeeze tighter on his head and he laughs once, wouldn’t it be funny though?

Bruiser watches with as smile as he sees the meek man’s torso begin to fill out as he fights the urge to burp. Beneath the visor his eyes surely go glassy as his midriff is exposed and soon enough covered by a treasure trail climbing up towards his chest. Buttons begin to pop from the beer-stained collar of his shirt as something a little less defined than pecs begin to hang on his chest. Impatient with the nerd’s hesitation, Bruiser steps in and pats the man on the back. 

With the slightest encouragement from his bro, er- from this frat bro, Benji lets loose. *BRGURRRP* It lasts a few seconds, it’s not alone *BUURRP* Immediately Benji’s mind returns and he again tries to take control of piloting the machine that is his body. His arms feel heavier as they hang limp from his shoulders, his neck falls back as from another back pat and the shouting of Bruiser he burps again, *BURRP* shorter, deeper. He feels his arms straining his sleeves and a gut that shouldn’t be there pushing against the buttons of his shirt.

Stains begin to make themselves clear in his pits as he grows sweaty from the effort of, drinking? Growing? Struggling to keep his mind? His declining mind accelerates as the smell of his own musk begins to assail his nose. He’s unable to fight the urge to laugh as a hand unfamiliar, clumsy and thick scratches into his pits. He has the clear memory of putting deodorant on his almost hairless pits this morning before leaving the house for, uh- surely not to come here right? 

No no, he had something to do. It’s Saturday. Usually on Saturdays he has work? “YO BENJ!” Bruiser shouts into his ear, “YOU WANT ANOTHER DRINK?” Benji nods wordlessly as whatever shred of himself is left in his mind tries to remember. Yeah he had work, it’s why he’s wearing this button up- He looks down to see a stained shirt, skin clearly peaking through a litany of tears through. He grumbles as his head hurts, he scratches at his itchy chest as it begins to pattern with hair. Suddenly his nose twitches as he smells something. 

Grimacing at the stink he moves to smell his own pits and laughs once more, unaware he’s caught himself in some perverse feedback loop. Man though, he would’ve sworn he sprayed some axe before heading out? He scratches his chin with his pit-sweat covered fingers as he remembers sniffing them at the house and flinching before spraying the forests with at least a few coats. Yeah he’d never leave for, uhh- looking down he sees the shirt has now completely shredded off, leaving him topless as his beer gut continues to fill out and shift 

His once waifish treasure trail spreads to cover his thickening waist as he grows a beer belly that makes it clear this is not his first rodeo. Looking down at his meatier torso his mouth falls open as his struggling mind grinds slower, he’s not- this isn’t him. His body rocks as Bruiser returns and throws an arm around him, “Sorry it took so long BJ- You know how it be huhuh! Had to show a couple bitches who was boss!” 

Benj reflexively raises a fist to bump his bro, discarding a bottle he can’t remember downing to do so, nor does he realize that he seems to be in control of his body once more. Scratching at his crotch he goes to grab the drink Bruiser brought him and he remembers he can always ask his main bro what’s up, “Yo uhhhh, Bruise? Did I have somethin’ tah do today?” Bruiser smirks as he hears the man’s plodding, clearly thoughtless voice, “Fuckin’ yeah bro! You had to show those fuckers who’s boss!”

BJ stares mouth ajar for a few seconds as his existence recontextualizes itself. Sure he’s a student but C’s get degrees huhuh, Bruise’ll have a job for him at his dad’s firm when he graduates anyway. The new tank’s mouth grows into a wide smirk as he remembers that the only thing college is about is having a blast. “YEAH DUDE!” All eyes turn as the man’s new voice tears through the tailgate party, “LET’S SHOW THOSE BITCHES WHAT A REAL FOOTBALL TEAM LOOKS LIKE!” Foam sloshes out of his cup as he raises it in the air, before pouring it on himself and shouting some more.

His resounding cheers are echoed by the crowd of people around him, many almost spitting images of himself and Bruiser. Burly beer soaked men guffawing and toned men only concerned with vanity muscles, all drowning themselves in jungle juice until the game starts. Most frats on campus have sororities over for the shindigs but not the ΒΔΑ guys, no their quarry is all those fuckers who think they’re too good to have a good time. BJ smirks as any prior desires are completely paved over by the idea of molding some pansy little fucker into a real man, just like him, just like his pres.

Indeed he and Bruiser go about the crowd like predators, hungrily seeking out people who were harangued to come to the game. Offering wallflowers drinks and watching as their hair bleaches platinum, pecs bursting through newly bought faux jersey’s. Giving frat-thirsty twinks a chance to become their quarry sweat stained sunglasses and delighting as they fill crop tops to bursting, new furry bellies and hairy below the belt bulges making their intentions clear for all.

 In no time at all Bruiser has a platoon of brother’s behind him, all suddenly excited for the game and otherwise finding the newly stubbled mouths of their fellow brothers. The president’s eyes scan the rowdy crowd around him with glee, excited to sample his new brothers after the game, but none is he more excited to ravish than his new number two, BJ.

When kick off nears he bumps his new brother on the shoulder, the same he clutched when the fucker thought his prissy little job was important. “Yo bro, game’s about to start- Let’s head on in-” BJ’s glassy eyes wrinkle with a smile as he begins to stumble alongside his bro, excited to watch his team stomp. Excited to just watch another game. “LET’S FUCKIN’ GO BRO!” His drunken voice dull and louder than he could dream to near before meeting Bruiser

Even as Brusier clutches his ass his mind stays focused on the upcoming game, though his cock bulges in his shorts either way. His own hand clutches at his bro’s defined waist. God it’s been like a decade since the last rivalry game, and to watch it right by his Bruiser. Man, BJ wouldn't miss this for the world. 

[its-me-sage]

Cooper Koch the man you are 😩

[vunblr]

An Unfinished Goodbye

Pairing: Ex-husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Jealous Bucky. Slight angst.

Summary: Bucky tells himself he’s only watching over his ex-wife and son for their safety. But when someone threatens to alter the status quo, his distant vigilance falters.

Word Count: About 2.6k

note: Sidestory to The Weight of Choices. I wanted to explore things in the time window between their divorce, and the story of the main fic.

Bucky let himself linger in the neighborhood often. Too often. He told himself it was for her safety, to make sure no remnants of his past ever came close to the life he’d left behind. But the truth? The truth was much harder to swallow.

So here he was again, parked inconspicuously down the block, watching his old household from the safety of shadows. Nearly two years had passed since the divorce, yet his surveillance routine hadn’t faltered. He called it caution. Vigilance. Love disguised as duty.

But something had shifted over the past few months. He’d noticed a pattern: Wednesdays, late afternoons, like clockwork. She would leave the house with her bag slung over her shoulder and a bounce in her step. She wasn’t dressed for a date: no makeup, no particular effort in her outfit. Casual, comfortable, but... somehow purposeful. She always walked, sometimes taking Benjamin along, though not often. Her destination was only three blocks away, a quaint bookstore with dark wood paneling and colorful window displays.

At first, he dismissed it as another errand. But as the weeks passed, he couldn’t ignore how much time she spent there. The store was small, not the kind of place where someone could lose themselves in endless aisles of books. She never came out with stacks, just one or two bags that didn’t explain why she lingered inside for nearly an hour each time. It intrigued him.

What was she doing in there? Who was she talking to?

He had no right to feel like this, not after everything he’d done, not after he’d been the one to walk away. But knowing that didn’t make the questions stop, nor did it ease the tightness in his chest every time he imagined someone else making her smile the way he used to.

Bucky shifted in his seat, gripping tightly the steering wheel. He knew the store was safe, he’d checked it out the first time she visited, a quick sweep of its modest interior to ensure there were no hidden dangers. But that was before he noticed the pattern. Before he noticed him.

The clerk.

Attractive in an unassuming way, clean-cut, and friendly. The type of guy who probably didn’t carry the kind of baggage he wore like a second skin. He’d seen the way the man smiled at her, the easy banter as she lingered at the counter. It didn’t take a genius to see the man was interested. But what stung more was the question that haunted him every time he saw them together.

Was she interested, too?

-----

The first time Bucky walked past the bookstore on a Wednesday afternoon, it was a coincidence, or so he told himself. He’d been in the area, making one of his usual rounds to ensure Hydra remnants weren’t stirring trouble when he saw her through the large display window.

She stood at the counter, leaning slightly, with her bag hanging loosely off her shoulder. Bucky slowed his pace, his eyes drawning to her like a magnet. Her lips moved as she spoke to the clerk, and then she laughed. He couldn’t hear the words, but the warm smile she gave the man was loud enough to make something twist painfully in his chest.

His steps faltered, but he forced himself to keep walking, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He didn’t look back.

The second time, it wasn’t a coincidence.

She didn’t see him, of course. She never did. He’d become an expert at moving through the edges of her world without disturbing it. That afternoon, he lingered across the street, leaning casually against a lamppost while pretending to check his phone. She was there again, standing at the counter. The clerk handed her a small brown paper bag with a flourish, and her head tilted in a way Bucky recognized, a sign she was amused. The way the clerk smiled back was almost smug, and Bucky’s jaw tightened before he realized what he was doing.

It wasn’t jealousy. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t about him. He was there to make sure she was safe, not to… what? Spy on her? Analyze every smile and gesture? No. That wasn’t why he was there.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

By the fourth Wednesday, Bucky had stopped pretending. He started arriving just before she did, timing it perfectly so he could loiter nearby, feigning to check the notices on the community bulletin board. He didn’t always stay long, just enough to see her walk in, to make sure nothing seemed off. He wasn’t watching her. He was watching over her. There was a difference, even if it felt like splitting hairs.

That day, though, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing through the window. Just a quick look, nothing more.

And there was the clerk. Smiling. Laughing. Reaching across the counter to tap the back of her hand, like he was entitled to.

His stomach churned, and he didn’t wait to see how the rest of their interaction played out. He turned on his heel and left, quicker than usual.

-------

The afternoon pick-up at the kindergarten next day was as uneventful as ever. Bucky leaned against the frame of the door, arms crossed, watching as Benjamin rushed to shove the last of his toys into his tiny backpack. The teacher smiled at Bucky, offering a polite nod before turning her attention back to the other children.

“Ready, buddy?” he asked when Ben finally zipped up the bag with a triumphant grin.

“Yep!” the boy chirped, slinging the strap over his shoulder and racing over to grab his dad’s hand.

They walked back to the car, and the boy chattered about his day: the finger painting, snack time, and the new dinosaur toy one of the other kids brought. Bucky listened, smiling faintly, trying to savor these rare moments of normalcy.

When they reached his apartment, Ben bounded in, already pulling out his toys and making himself at home. Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He set down Benjamin’s backpack and started unpacking it, pulling out pajamas, a toothbrush, and a small paper bag. The bag’s contents caught his eye, a glossy new children’s book with a vibrant cover featuring talking animals.

“Where’d this come from?” he asked, holding it up for the child to see.

“Mom bought it yesterday!” Ben called from where he was lining up his action figures. “She said it’s funny, and I wanted you to read it to me tonight.”

Bucky swallowed hard, tightening his fingers briefly around the book. It was a small thing, a routine purchase for their son. “Sure, pal,” he said, forcing a smile. “We’ll read it before bed.”

-----

That night, with Benjamin tucked under a warm blanket and already halfway to dreamland, Bucky opened the book. He flipped through the first few pages, skimming the cheerful illustrations, until something yellow caught his eye.

There, stuck neatly to the inside cover, was a post-it note.

His stomach twisted as he peeled it off. The handwriting was neat and precise, the kind of deliberate script that came with care.

"For Benjamin and his supermom. If you ever need a moment to yourself, you know where to find me. Coffee’s on me."

For a moment, Bucky just sat there, with the note pinched between his fingers, and his jaw clenching tighter with every passing second. He read it again, and then again, as if repetition might dull the sharp edge of what it implied.

The clerk wasn’t just leaving a kind gesture for Benjamin. This was for her, testing the waters, pushing the boundary between friendly and…something else.

His chest tightened as he looked down at his son, fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in his father’s mind.

He ran a hand over his face, letting out a slow, controlled breath. He knew he had no right to feel this way. He was the one who left and broke her heart. She deserved a chance to move on, to be happy. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t interfere, wouldn’t sabotage any future relationships she might find.

And yet, as he sat there in the dim light of his living room, with his son’s soft breathing being the only sound breaking the silence, all he could think about was the smile she gave the clerk, the ease of their conversation. It twisted inside him, the raw ache of knowing she might be moving on, that someone else might be filling the space he’d left behind.

The book lay open on the coffee table, the colorful illustrations staring up at him like an accusation.

He should be happy, he knew that. If the clerk was kind, if he made her smile, then wasn’t that what Bucky had wanted? To know she was safe, loved, and cared for by someone who didn’t carry the weight and dangers of a bloody past?

But it didn’t feel like that. It felt like something had been ripped out of his chest, leaving an empty, hollow ache. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.

What was he going to do? March into the bookstore and tell the guy to back off? Make a scene, all because he couldn’t handle the sight of her moving on? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. It was pathetic and out of line.

----

Bucky told himself to sleep it off, to push it down and let the night take the edge off his emotions. But when he slipped under his covers, the darkness only seemed to amplify everything: the sting of the note, the look on her face when she laughed with the clerk, the ache in his gut.

He turned onto his side, then his back, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers he couldn’t grasp. Hours passed like this, his thoughts circling the same drain, relentless and unyielding.

He fell into a fitful sleep sometime near dawn and woke up with a headache pounding at his temples. Dropping Ben off at kindergarten helped distract him for a while; the boy’s energy was infectious, and Bucky managed a real smile when he waved goodbye, watching him run inside without a second glance.

But once Ben was out of sight, the intrusive thoughts returned.

‐-----

He later met up with Sam at a quiet café in the city to discuss a potential mission overseas. A dangerous arms dealer had resurfaced, and Sam was talking about intel, tactical approaches, and backup options, but Bucky only half-listened. He nodded in the right moments and offered a few curt suggestions, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Sam noticed. He always did. “You good, Tinman?” he asked, giving him a sidelong glance, his voice dipping in concern.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, too quickly. He took a long sip of his coffee. “Just a rough night.”

Sam’s brow furrowed, but didn’t push. He knew Bucky well enough to recognize when to leave things alone. “Alright. But if you’re not up for this trip, just say the word.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky insisted, setting the cup down a little harder than he meant to. He forced a smile. “Besides, what else am I gonna do?”

Sam’s grin softened the tension between them. “Yeah, well, we both know you’re bad at sitting still. Just… if you need to deal with whatever’s got you distracted, handle it before it blows up in your face.”

Bucky’s smile faltered, and for a moment, he wondered if Sam could see straight through him. “I will,”

The day dragged on, filled with errands and prep for the potential mission. It was late afternoon when he realized where he was, standing across the street from the bookstore, hidden in the shadow of a building.

He shouldn’t be here. He knew he shouldn’t be here.

But he couldn’t leave, either.

The clerk was inside, bustling about, turning off lights and flipping the sign to Closed. The street was quiet, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows. Bucky’s pulse thrummed in his ears as he watched the man lock up, and a spring in his step made Bucky’s jaw clench. He didn’t know this guy’s name, and he didn’t care to know it. All he knew was the way the man looked at her, and it was enough.

Bucky stepped forward, letting the streetlight catch his face just enough for the man to see his cold and unyielding expression. He took his time, closing the distance with the kind of deliberate, measured steps that always made people nervous. He wanted the clerk to feel it, to know exactly what this was.

“I’ve seen the little note you left,” he said quietly, in a low rumble that carried in the empty street. He didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t need to. The menace was in the calm, the quiet control. “And I need you to know something.”

The clerk swallowed hard, taking a half-step back. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t-”

Bucky’s eyes were steely as he interrupted. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with... and I want you to stay the fuck away from my wife.”

The words hung between them, heavy and deliberate. He knew he shouldn’t have said it -my wife- but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to leave an imprint, to sow the seeds of doubt and fear. The man’s face paled, his eyes flicking between Bucky’s unyielding gaze and the empty street behind him as if he was already considering his escape.

“I- It didn’t mean anything,” the clerk stammered, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I was just… being friendly, I swear.”

Bucky leaned in closer, and his voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I don’t care what you meant. If you dare to leave another one, if you talk to her again, if you so much as breathe in her direction, I’ll know. And trust me, you won’t like what happens next.”

He let the threat hang between them, it wasn’t neccesary to elaborate further for the man to understand. The clerk nodded frantically, backing away, nearly tripping over the curb in his haste.

Bucky stepped back, letting the shadows swallow him again. He watched as the man stumbled away, disappearing down the street at a near run.

------

The next Wednesday, she walked into the bookstore as usual, expecting to see the familiar face behind the counter, the charming smile, and the warm greeting. Instead, a tall, bearded man she’d never seen before looked up from behind the register, offering her a polite but distant nod.

“Um, hi,” she said, trying to keep the confusion out of her voice. “Is Matt not working today?”

The new clerk shrugged. “He switched to the morning shift this week. Said he wanted more daylight hours,” he explained casually, returning to the task of rearranging colorful bookmarks without much thought.

“Oh,” she replied, caught off guard. Matt hadn’t mentioned anything about changing his schedule. For a moment, she couldn’t shake the odd twist in her chest, a mix of confusion and something that felt uncomfortably like rejection. It was silly, really, but she’d thought there was a small connection between them, a hint of something starting. But clearly, she’d been reading too much into a few friendly gestures.

After a quick, half-hearted browse, she left the bookstore sooner than usual, with a distant expression as she stepped back onto the sidewalk. Her mind churned with a muddle of questions and disappointment, feeling foolish for thinking there had been something more.

Of course, Bucky was there, watching from a safe distance as she walked out of the bookstore, with a subtle sag of her shoulders. He knew exactly why; he’d made sure of it.

It was pathetic, really. He’d driven off a harmless guy, because he couldn’t stomach the thought of her finding comfort or affection in someone else.

He swallowed hard, staring at her until she disappeared into the crowd. He’d done it again, made things harder for her, twisted the knife he’d already lodged in her heart. But despite the suffocating shame, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[trulyumai]

Pizza and Mishaps

Synopsis: You have captured Poindexters' attention. Always, he waited for you, watched and listened for your arrival to the shared complex. This time, he caught you waiting in the snow for your delivery driver. And who was he to leave you all alone? Warnings: Brief mention of stalking, light obsession, watching, pining. Fluff! So much fluff. Pairing: Benjamin Poindexter / Reader

The snow had been falling since before noon, whisper-quiet and relentless. By six o’clock, the city had turned to static—blanketed cars, muffled traffic, and sidewalks packed in white silence. You stood at the top of the apartment building’s front steps, bundled in a thick blue sweater with the sleeves tugged over your hands, peering out into the icy swirl with expectant eyes. Somewhere out there was your pizza. Probably lost. Maybe frozen.

Ben had been standing by his door for five minutes.

He hadn’t meant to. Really. He was just heading out to grab his mail—something he already did three times a day now, ever since you moved in two months ago. Not to stalk. He wasn’t like that. He was just...paying attention. Just in case you needed something. Like protection. Or salt for your stairs. Or someone to talk to when you were walking back from the subway with your headphones in and that look in your eyes that meant today had been a lot.

But right now? You weren’t even looking at him. You were watching the snowfall like it was something sacred, nose pink from the cold, bouncing slightly on your toes like it might speed the delivery up. You looked ridiculous. And beautiful. And warm, somehow, even standing in the chill.

Dex’s throat felt tight.

Your sweater was oversized again—he liked when you wore those, how they made your hands disappear and clung just enough to your shape when you moved. This one had little flecks of silver woven into the threads. He’d noticed them when he passed you in the stairwell that morning. Now the hallway light caught them again, soft and shimmery like frost.

He had no business looking at you like this.

You weren’t for him. You were for good people. People who didn’t have to clench their fists just to stay calm. People who didn’t sit in the dark at night trying not to think about the way your shampoo smelled when the wind caught your hair on the balcony. He wasn’t supposed to want anything.

But God, you made it so hard.

Especially when you turned suddenly, catching him there—standing with the mailbox open like he’d forgotten what he was doing.

You blinked, then smiled. “Hey, neighbor.”

Dex swallowed. “Hey.”

Your cheeks puffed a little as you breathed into your palms for warmth. “I think my pizza’s dead in a snowbank. Starting to lose hope.”

He smiled faintly, trying not to let it reach his eyes too much. “Need a search party?”

You gave a little laugh. “Only if you come with a shovel and thermal goggles.”

Dex hesitated. Then stepped forward, slow and careful. His boots didn’t make a sound on the carpet. You always smelled like cinnamon in the winter. And he was close enough now to see the flutter of your lashes where snow had started to collect on them.

“You really shouldn’t stand out here too long,” he said gently, voice low. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m okay,” you said, and nudged him with your elbow, teasing. “Just being dramatic.”

He could feel the echo of your touch long after it was gone.

“Still,” he murmured, shrugging out of his own black coat. “Here.”

You blinked. “Ben, no—I’m just waiting—”

He didn’t say anything. Just held it out, eyes fixed on the pink of your nose and the way you were starting to shiver beneath that sweater. Not for long. But enough.

You stared at him for a beat.

Then slowly, you took it.

He hadn’t expected you to put it on right there in front of him, but you did—slipping into the warmth of it with a quiet sigh, tugging it around you until it swallowed the sweater whole.

“...Wow,” you mumbled. “Okay. This is really warm. Like illegally warm.”

Dex smiled, barely. “Military-grade.”

You looked up at him with those eyes of yours—mischievous, unguarded—and he swore his heart did something it shouldn’t have. Something not normal. Not safe.

“Thank you,” you said softly, then leaned against the rail again. “You’re always so nice.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

So he stood with you.

Waited for your pizza with snow collecting on his hair and hands shoved in his pockets like it might keep all the things he wanted to do—to you, for you, because of you—from showing on his face.

And when the delivery car finally came, skidding through the snow and crunching to a stop on the curb, Dex didn’t say anything else. He just opened the door for you like he always would.

Because for you?

He’d be good.

Even if it killed him.

[marifilue]

Aftermath

Wordcount: 1.1k

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Tags: Angst, comfort, griefs, situationship

Oneshot: Finding Matt the morning after Foggy incident (Daredevil Born Again episode 1)

A/N: This man broooo, I just want to hold him and pampered him whilst whispering everything will be okay. He been trough too much they gotta stop this menace.

Matt Murdock is a very complicated man, the kind of complicated that makes your conscience tell you to stay away for your own good. But the way your body rejects distancing from him weighs much heavier.

You’ve been on a few dates with him—more than what would usually be labeled as casual. But by mutual agreement, you never put a label on anything. Not when you first found him, half-dead in a trash dump. Not when the hospital buzzed with stories of a patient who kept showing up battered, rumored to have been beaten by a man in black. Or when frightened women admitted that same man had saved them. It was him—the legend himself.

You wanted to believe in what he does—you’ve seen the innocent faces he’s saved and the justice he’s delivered. You’re not against it, not at all. But being involved with him romantically was a pain you never knew existed. You’ve healed nasty wounds throughout your medical career, but the one Matt left open in your heart? That one feels beyond repair.

It was a slow morning, like usual. You were making coffee in your Chelsea apartment, savoring the quiet before stepping into the never-ending chaos of your workplace. With your mug in hand, you turned on the TV, expecting the usual New York news—violence, crime, and a glimpse of what might be waiting in the emergency room.

"Two vigilantes clashed in a Hell’s Kitchen bar last night. Daredevil was seen fighting against another masked figure in blue. Many civilians were injured, and two confirmed dead. One of the victims was Franklin Nelson, former defense attorney at Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz, and now part of Nelson, Murdock & Page."

"The suspect, Benjamin Poindexter—a former FBI agent—was severely injured during the altercation. He is currently under heavy NYPD surveillance at the hospital."

You had to sit down. Your knees suddenly felt weak. Foggy? This couldn’t be right. The TV’s noise faded into the background as you struggled to take a deep breath.

Matt. Is he okay?

The coffee in your hands had gone cold, but you barely noticed. Your fingers tightened around the mug, trying to ground yourself, to stop the rising panic clawing its way up your throat. Foggy is gone. The words felt unreal, like a cruel mistake, something that would be corrected in the next news update. But the screen kept playing, the anchors moving on as if they hadn’t just ripped a hole in the world.

Your phone was within reach. You could call Matt. Should call Matt. But what if he didn’t answer? What if he did? You weren’t sure which option scared you more.

Instead, you grabbed your coat and keys, moving on autopilot. You needed to see him, to know he was alive, to—God, you didn’t even know. Be there? Hold him?

The hospital was a blur. You barely registered the familiar hallways, the worried glances of your coworkers. The ER was busy, but your mind was elsewhere.

It wasn’t hard to find him.

Matt was in one of the dimly lit waiting rooms, sitting alone. His hoodie was rumpled, streaked with dried blood. His knuckles were raw, split open in places, but he hadn’t bothered to clean them. His face bruised and there's a small cut in his lips, shoulders were curled in, rigid, like he was trying to make himself smaller.

You had seen him battered before. Bruised, stitched up, barely holding himself together. But this was different. This wasn’t Daredevil after a fight. This was Matt Murdock drowning in it.

He must have heard you enter, but he didn’t move. His body tensed, just slightly, like he was bracing for something.

You swallowed, your voice quieter than you intended. “Matt…”

For a moment, nothing. Just silence. He looked up at you for a brief second. Without his glasses, you could see the way his eyes were glazed over before he quickly dropped his head again, fingers reaching up to wipe at his eyes. Not a single proper word left his mouth.

Your knees felt weak as you sink into the chair beside him. His hands were clasped together so tightly his knuckles had gone white. A tremor ran through his fingers, almost unnoticeable, but you saw it. Felt it.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Matt didn’t react, didn’t even breathe for a second. His head was slightly bowed, you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed against the weight of it all.

“He's gone.. He didn’t deserve this,” he murmured. His voice was steady, but you could hear it—the cracks beneath, the guilt gnawing at the edges.

You shook your head. “Matt, don’t—” You raised a hand to his shoulder, feeling the tension knotted beneath your palm as you gently tried to ease it.

“I put him in this.” His fingers tightened, nails digging into his palms. “I killed him as surely as if I’d done it myself.”

“Stop,” you said, firmer this time. “This isn’t your fault.”

Matt let out a breath—shaky, bitter, like he wanted to laugh but couldn’t find the strength.

"Doesn’t matter," he muttered. "It won’t bring him back."

The weight of it settled into his bones, pressing him down. His breathing was shallow, his body stiff, like he was trying to hold himself together through sheer force of will.

You hesitated for only a second before reaching out, prying his hands apart. They were ice cold. When you laced your fingers through his, he didn’t pull away, but he didn’t squeeze back either. Not at first.

Then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours.

"Have you eaten anything?" you asked softly.

He exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, not quite anything. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

He didn’t answer, which meant no. Not that you expected anything different.

"I can get you something," you offered. "Just wait here, I'll—"

His fingers tightened around yours. It wasn’t a desperate grip, but it was enough to make you pause.

"Just stay," he muttered.

Your chest ached at how quiet he sounded.

"Okay," you whispered, shifting closer. "I’ll stay."

For the first time since you’d arrived, Matt exhaled—a deep, shaky breath, like he had been holding it in for hours. Then, slowly, he leaned into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder. His grip on your hand didn’t loosen, as if letting go would shatter the fragile moment.

You turned slightly, resting your cheek against the top of his head. The scent of blood clung to him, but beneath it was something familiar—something undeniably Matt. You gave his hand a small, steady squeeze, grounding him in the only way you could.

You didn’t know what came next. You didn’t know if Matt would let himself grieve, or if he’d bury it beneath guilt and anger until it tore him apart.

But for now, he held onto you. And maybe, that was enough.

[midniqhtt]

peter benjamin parker ft 2 harry osborn

masterlist • marvel • 05/26/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 you wear those shoes and I will wear that dress I @waitimcomingtoo

you and Peter are just friends but he accidentally kisses you goodbye.

𑣲 stolen moments I @/waitimcomingtoo

your secret relationship is exposed when Peter returns from a mission bruised and bloody and you comfort him in front of everyone

𑣲 the great war I @/waitimcomingtoo

Peters double life causes serious strain on your relationship.

𑣲 burnt face and second base I @/waitimcomingtoo

peter can’t seem to stop accidentally hurting his crush.

𑣲 my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand I @/waitimcomingtoo

when peter learns you have healing powers, he starts faking injuries to come see you until he gets seriously hurt.

𑣲 bringing sexy back I @/waitimcomingtoo

peter tries and fails to seduce you

𑣲 dos oruguitas I @/waitimcomingtoo

after the events of NWH, Peter becomes a regular at your coffee shop and convinces himself that you’re starting to remember him.

𑣲 just to learn that you never cared I @/waitimcomingtoo

always leaving class together to go fight crime leads people to think you’re dating when in reality you’re barely even friends. That is, until you agree to fake a relationship to keep your secret life a secret

𑣲 smell ya later I @/waitimcomingtoo

you get a new body cream that allegedly attracts spiders, and someone else

𑣲 the script I @/waitimcomingtoo

you and Peter break up once you find out his secret and he falls apart

𑣲 meet me behind the mall I @/waitimcomingtoo

after getting ditched by your friends, you spend a day with Peter in the mall, who’s secret you recently figured out

𑣲 this means war I @/waitimcomingtoo

Peter and his crush on you feel threatened when your childhood best friend Harley Keener comes to visit and clearly harbors feelings for you

𑣲 one more to see you I @/waitimcomingtoo

in an effort to see Peter again, you Dream Walk and learn it’s consequences

𑣲 U.N.I pt2 I @webslingingslasher

frat!peter

𑣲 frat!peter blurbs I @/webslingingslasher

𑣲 frat!peter I @/webslingingslasher

𑣲 unknown sender I @/webslingingslasher

𑣲 campus I @/webslingingslasher

Peter has never had a one night stand, but when he meets you at a party that changes, until he has to pretend he never wants to see you again.

𑣲 cherry lube I @/webslingingslasher

𑣲 begin again I @/webslingingslasher

You've lived next door to Peter your whole life and the last nine years you've detested him. Now you're going through a breakup and it's nice to know someone's awake with you. Even if it is Peter Parker.

𑣲 frat!peter I @/webslingingslasher

𑣲 please call me peter I @shawnxstyles

you haven’t been able to come with anyone besides yourself, making you think something’s wrong with you. once you go to the gynecologist, dr. parker shows you that you’re just fine.

𑣲 the last time I @wokeupinmars

Peter's on the verge of losing you after disappointing you yet again.

𑣲 medic in lace I @madlittlecriminal

peters hurt but doesn’t care once he see what you’re wearing.

𑣲 fangirling over spiderman I @parkerpeter24

reader fangirls over spiderman to peter not knowing it’s him.

𑣲 possession I @silkscream

peter parker is not himself when he falls into your universe. it must be a curse that he finds himself tethered to you. the darkness inside him has never wanted anything more.

𑣲 swallow me I @/silkscream

it’s halloween! you unexpectedly cross paths with the Real spiderman. at least you think it’s really him. why does he sound exactly like the cute boy who sits next to you in class?

𑣲 need to know I @motherofdogs1010

When she was ready to get back out on the dating scene after dumping a certain Winter Soldier, Y/N was a woman ready to get back out there. She just never expected to find herself in a relationship with a certain nerdy spider.

𑣲 naked pt2 I @reese-tasteslikepepsicola

In which Reader walks in on a naked Peter, Reader laughs, Peter becomes insecure. Reader decides to show herself naked back in the worst moment possible.

𑣲 swing by I @sunshinesteviee

peter is a fellow teacher, and is also your best friend at work. he helps you bring spider-man in to meet your class, but something about it seems a bit suspicious.

𑣲 picture perfect I @mattymattymerduck

You’re hired to kiss Spider-man for the Daily Bugle’s next Spidey-centric article.

𑣲 potential customer pt2 pt3 pt4 I @int-writersmind

you work at a record store, bored out of your mind, until peter parker walks in and catches you eye.

𑣲 lost the game pt2 pt3 I @nexusnyx

The explanation your mind settled for was that whoever lived under that mask, also lived somewhere close by. It explained the first time you found him limping and bleeding on an alley, and it explains how you evolved into his personal caretaker for the wounds and afflictions of Spider-Man's after battle consequences. The only thing it doesn't explain, however, is why through the thick and convoluted webs of your strange situationship, a certain tension has built between you two. Palpable. Physical. As electric as some of his tales, and as dangerous as he is. The tension between you and Spidey grows, and it grows, and it grows. One day, it snaps.

𑣲 physics and english teacher love affair I @certifiedlovergirlsstuff

those two teachers that students are always interested in their relationship status.

𑣲 celebrity crush I @cantstoptheimagines

You have a crush on Spider-Man, unaware that he’s the one you spend all your time with.

𑣲 indefinitely you pt2 pt3 I @spider-stark

In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

𑣲 sunset lovers I @duskholland

you’ve never met your soulmate, but you know his handwriting like the back of your hand—literally. every word your soulmate writes on his skin appears on yours, and vice versa. you’re desperate to meet him, but until the universe decides to introduce you, you’re stuck with scribbled smiley faces and chemistry formulae.

𑣲 like the stars we're destined to die out and i'm destined to lose you I @msgorillagripcoochie

you had finally gotten the happy ending you so desperately wanted but when gwen is gonna die, you know you have to save her even if you die

𑣲 lead the way I @foreverrogers

you find out your best friend has never had sex. who else would be better to show him just how good it can be?

𑣲 if i could die in your arms I @selfcarecap

When another Peter Parker shows up in your world, you give him a chance to have one last moment with the love of his life, someone who looked exactly like you, but also someone who died in his arms.

𑣲 masterlist I @spidey-webz

𑣲 request I @luveline

𑣲 pretty girl I @lovelettersforthedamned

a soft morning with peter

𑣲 down bad I @lanadelreyscokewhor3

Peter Parker constantly nags you, and you hate his guts (naturally). So what better way to mellow the hate by being paired together for a class project? And why, if you hate his guts, do you want to touch him so bad?

𑣲 request I @forever-rogue

𑣲 scared to breathe I @mgparker

seeing you again was too much for peter, so much so that shutting you out seemed like the only thing he could do.

𑣲 no location found I @im-sleepdeprived

𑣲 shy shy shy I @biblio-smia

harry osborn

𑣲 request I @arkhamsrevenge

cuddling harry

𑣲 make you better I @stickymolasses

You're Harry's nurse and you can't help him feel better physically anymore, so you resort to playing therapist.

[oceansmotion]

Welcome to Gaudy Shore!

Power, fame, wealth— for decades, Sims have come to Gaudy Shore seeking fortune. On the outside, the glitz and glamour are dazzling, but the dark, seedy underbelly of the city casts a long shadow. Will these families shine bright, or will the shadow swallow them up?

Featuring 12 households, Gaudy Shore sees the return of some much beloved and missed families from Sims 1! Set 25 years in the future, this hood can be played as a companion hood to Pleasantview, or on its own.

Every family has their own storytelling album so make sure to check them out!

Keeping reading to learn about the families in Gaudy Shore!

Returning families:

The Mashuga Family

Content to dance the night away, - every night, for decades, - Frankie and Sylvia Marie have taken a hands-off approach to raising their children. Now that they're in their twilight years, what are their kids willing to do to get what they believe is owed to them?

The Hick-Charming Family

Elden only ever wanted what was best for his family, but somehow got himself involved in shady dealings. Charleigh is young and full of life, but will that get her into trouble with the boys? And will Clarke ever leave her bedroom?

The Jones-Smith Family

The Jones-Smith family has been a pillar of the community for decades, and the death of Chris has sent everyone reeling. Nick has vowed to honor his mother by setting his career aside to focus on his family, but that's easier said than done.

Michelle loves to dance, sing, and drink the night away, especially after the death of Mama Chris. Is her new interest in the town magnate genuine, or just another way to extend the party?

New Families:

The Banks Family

Rich, powerful, beautiful— the Banks family is known throughout town for everything beauty-related. Obsessed with only herself, will Arie uncover her husband's secrets? Lux thinks of himself as a good man, but is he really? Will Benjamin choose to follow his heart or his mind?

The Ramoz Family

Nora has always dreamt of being a famous movie star but has found mild success in the writing and voice acting world. Can that be enough for her, or will she strive for bigger and better things? Julien had his heart broken by his two best friends in the world. Can he ever forgive them? And will Carlos find himself involved in the shady underbelly of Gaudy Shore?

The Ermírio de Moraes Family

Wealthy, powerful, lonely, José has it all… except love. Is he blind to reality, or is this new relationship the real deal?

The Jenkins Family

Naive, sheltered Alyssa has lived her life under the strict thumb of her mother, Miriam. Will she be willing to ruin someone else's life to get the love and affection she's always desperately craved?

The Nelle Family

Quiet and reclusive, only a few Sims in town really know the Nelle family, but it doesn't take a genius to notice that something isn't quite right with them.

The Waltzman Family

Ever the partier, Wesley finally grew up and changed his outlook on life, but this has left him a little over protective of his sister, Wilma. Will he ruin her chances at happiness? And will he find love despite his ties to another?

Heartbroken for years, Wilma has finally gotten over her first love… or has she? She just met Donovan, but will her wandering eye lead her to her family's demise?

Four strangers living under one roof and a fresh divorce. Can Walda and Walter Waltzman get along after their divorce, or will they disrupt the perfect harmony Ines and Fernando Ermírio de Moraes have enjoyed for decades?

______________________________________________________________

Gaudy Shore features 12 playable households, 20 community lots, 3 apartment buildings, and 10 empty houses all built by me , except for Cafe Petit, a lot bin cafe (I like to think of it as a chain). Terrain also made by me. The hood comes with its own unique townies and strays; a few townies even own and work at some of the business around town!

This hood is not CC free but it isn't a lot

CC that I didn't use a lot of and the hood is fine without:

Wire Fencing by Cyclonesue on TSR

Stair Wall Fix by JRW on MTS

Photos & Plaques Hide with Walls Down by Numenor on MTS I used A LOT OF PICTURES taken with the career reward camera and the walls are very cluttered with photos, so I do recommend this mod.

Diagonal 3t2 Bungalow Windows by Nysha on MTS

Natural De Fences by Rosebine on MTS

CEP by Numenor on MTS

CC that will alter the hood significantly:

Bespoke Build Set by Bespoke on MTS

Shiftable Everything by Lamare on MTS

______________________________________________________________

I've been working on this hood on and off for a long time now, and I'm so happy that it's finally finished. It is definitely a labor of love and I hope you enjoy it <3 While Gaudy Shore was originally intended to be a subhood to complement Pleasantview, there are no ties to PV at all and can be played on its own. Please make sure to check out all the story images I included, I had a lot of fun taking them! For those adding the hood as a subhood, José, Michelle, and the Waltzman kids have which apartments they are supposed to be in at the end of their bios. And for the retirement home, I left it as a normal residential lot, but can also be converted into an apartment lot, or you can maybe use dorm doors, or mods to set each apartment to the correct Sim.

I have also gone through every Sim to set their intended names across all languages, so if your game is not in English, the Sims should still have the names I gave them!

Thank you to everyone that helped me along the way and play tested the hood for me, I really appreciate you <3

Download Mainhood || Mediafire Box

Download Subhood || Mediafire Box

Terrain Only || Mediafire Box

If the names got scrambled, you can use this program from MTS to fix them, it's really easy! Can also be used to fix any other neighborhoods that get messed up :)

Please let me know if the subhood version works as intended and does not yeet itself out of the game, test on a testhood!

Edit: Only download ONE version at a time.

another edit: Unfortunately it seems I had the super duper hug bug in this hood, but as long as you have the fixes for it, it's absolutely not a big deal. Simply google "sims 2 super duper hug bug" to read about it and get the fixes and you're good to go. If you already have the fixes, this will not affect you :)

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Buried in the Wreckage

Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x FiskDaughter!Reader

Summary: Fisk's daughter is expected to fall in line with her father on the verge of becoming the most powerful man in New York. Desperate for answers—or maybe just closure—she visits Dex, knowing that some things can’t be undone, and some wounds never heal.

Author's Note: S4 spoilazz ahead. Nerds beware.

The weight of the city felt heavier tonight. The neon glow of Hell’s Kitchen bled into the rain-soaked streets, but all she could see was him—Dex—plummeting from the rooftop, arms flailing before his body hit the pavement with a sickening crack. The sound echoed in her ears, looping like a cruel refrain. She had seen a lot of brutal things in her life, but that? That was different.

Her hands trembled as she clutched the edge of the sink in her father’s penthouse. The water was running, but she wasn’t washing anything. She was just there, staring at her reflection, seeing the dark circles under her eyes, the way her lip trembled no matter how hard she pressed it together.

Dex was alive. That was the miracle. The curse was that it didn’t matter.

The moment he woke up in the hospital, he was already as good as gone. The charges against him were airtight. Attempted murder, endangering the public, impersonating Daredevil. Life in prison. No appeals, no deals—just a cell and a locked door.

And she? She was expected to keep moving, to forget, to stand beside her father as he prepared to be elected mayor of New York City.

Like she could just erase Dex from her bloodstream.

A sharp knock at the door jolted her back to reality.

She inhaled, steadying herself before pulling it open.

Her father stood there, tall, imposing, always dressed like he was already in office. His expression didn’t betray much, but she saw the tension in the way he clasped his hands together.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She wanted to laugh. Ready for what? Pretending like her world hadn’t just shattered? Smiling at crowds while Dex rotted in a prison cell?

She swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah.”

Because that was the thing about being Wilson Fisk’s daughter.

You never let them see you break.

She left her father’s office without another word, walking down the long, marble-floored hallway, past the aides and security who barely acknowledged her. She was expected to fall in line, expected to be the daughter of a soon-to-be mayor.

Expected to forget. But she couldn't.

The moment she stepped outside, the bitter cold hit her like a slap. The city pulsed around her, alive, demanding, but she didn’t feel any of it. Her feet carried her forward, instinct more than intention.

Before she even processed where she was going, she found herself standing at the gates of Ryker’s Island.

The guards barely batted an eye when she checked in for visitation—Fisk’s name still carried weight, after all.

And yet, as she was led through the cold corridors, past rows of cells filled with men who had no future, the weight in her chest only grew heavier. The noise, the stench of concrete and metal—it all felt suffocating.

She had spent her whole life walking through halls of power, through places that demanded strength, control. But this? This was different.

This was Dex.

And she didn’t know how to face him.

The prison walls loomed over her, stark and suffocating under the fluorescent lights. The air was stale, thick with the weight of unspoken regrets and lives reduced to metal bars and numbered uniforms.

She sat stiffly in the visitation room, her hands clasped tightly together on the table. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. Hey, Dex, sorry you fell off a building? Sorry you’re in here forever? Nothing felt right. Nothing felt enough.

And then he was there.

Dex walked in wearing that orange jumpsuit like it was just another uniform. His hair was a little shorter, his face a little leaner, but his eyes—they were the same. Cold, calculating, assessing her in the way only he could. But underneath that steel edge, she saw something else. A flicker of something familiar, something he used to reserve just for her.

He slid into the chair across from her, resting his cuffed hands on the table. "Didn’t think I’d see you here."

Her breath hitched. She had prepared for a lot—anger, indifference, maybe even relief that she’d come—but not this. Not the way his voice made her throat tighten.

She forced out a breath. "Where else would I be?"

Dex huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, I don’t know. Celebrating your father becoming the most powerful man in New York?"

Her jaw clenched. "You think I give a shit about that?"

"You should." His voice was flat, but she knew him too well. He was bitter. And why wouldn’t he be? He was locked in here, and she was still free.

But she wasn’t. Not really. Not when he was in this place. Not when every breath she took felt like it belonged to someone else.

She reached for his hands before she could stop herself, fingers ghosting over the cold metal of the cuffs. "Dex, I—"

"Don’t." His voice was sharper now, cutting through whatever fragile moment had been building. He finally looked at her, really looked at her, and she saw the exhaustion there, the resigned acceptance. "There’s nothing you can say to fix this."

Her lips parted, but no words came. Because he was right. She couldn’t fix this. She couldn’t undo what had happened.

So she did the only thing she could—she squeezed his hands, holding onto him like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"I just needed to see you," she whispered.

Dex exhaled, something in his posture shifting, softening just enough. His fingers curled slightly under hers, the smallest acknowledgment that he wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be.

For a moment, the bars, the prison walls, the time they’d lost—it all faded.

It was just them. Just this.

And then, too soon, the guard stepped forward. "Time’s up."

She swallowed hard, blinking back the emotion threatening to break through. Dex leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable again, slipping behind the armor of someone who had nothing left to lose.

She stood slowly, reluctant, her hands lingering on the cold metal table. "I’ll come back."

Dex didn’t nod. Didn’t say anything at all. But as she turned to leave, she felt it—the weight of his eyes on her, following her even as the door shut behind her.

And for now, that was enough.