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hannibals-favourite-meal · 9 months ago

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.⋆｡Take Care of Her for Me｡⋆.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x plus size reader x Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish

Simon is a bad man. He’s rough and dark and his little bird is far too good for him, that’s why he gives Johnny her first

Warnings: virgin!reader, threesome, bit of soap x ghost, SMUT, size kink, voyeurism, grinding, literally ‘just the tip’, use of y/n, tiny bit of Simon being insecure, reader and Simon live together, drinking, some guilt, loss of virginity, birth control mention, m masturbation, unprotected sex, possibility for whole 141 fun WC: 5.2k

Minors DNI

A/N: I know it's my birthday but I hope you guys enjoy this gift for you!

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Oh.” The word escaped her swollen lips involuntarily and Simon bit back the urge to wince. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates, her hands trembling as she sat back on her heels. “I didn’t…” She trailed off.

Simon cupped her full cheek, guiding her gaze back up to him. “I told you I wasn’t exactly small. We don’t have to, not if you aren’t ready.” She nodded absentmindedly then seemed to catch herself and shook her head.

“No, no I’m ready. It’s just- you’re so big, I don’t think you’ll fit.” Her head tilted cutely as she nuzzled into his naked palm, soaking up all the skin he let her feel. Her delicate hands moved away from the band of his black sweatpants and instead clung to his meaty thighs. His cock throbbed where it lay on his stomach, the tip already leaking just from his sweet little bird pulling him out.

Her thick body fit perfectly between his legs, her shoulders holding his knees apart as she knelt on the floor in front of their plush couch. Her sleep shirt had already been shed, leaving her in just a bra and panties that had Simon’s mind going fuzzy with arousal. “You’ve barely fit two fingers in me,” she muttered wistfully, her thick lashes fluttering, “this is.. a lot. But I wanna try, for you.”

Simon’s hold suddenly turned firm as an image of her sprawled out on their bed, whimpering and whining, tears rolling down her cheeks as he back arched desperately all while he forced himself into her tight cunt. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to keep a level head. “No birdie, not for me. This is all about you.” He released her cheek in favour of leaning forwards and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his lap.

He shuddered as her soft backside rubbed against his cock so he quickly readjusted his hips to tug his sweats back on properly. She watched him with a pout which he kissed away. “Can we at least try tonight? You already ate me out before dinner and played with me during the movie. Maybe I can suck you off? I might be able to fit you in my mouth.”

“Are you tryin ta fucking kill me?” He groaned, his self-control beginning to wane.

She snuggled into his chest, her nails gently trailed down his front as she shrugged. “Want to make you feel good too, even if you can’t quite fuck me yet.” Simon sighed.

He knew how eager she was for him, her fuck-me eyes were almost constant whenever he was home from deployment. If it were any other circumstance, he would bully his cock into her perfect cunt without another thought but his birdie was a virgin and he had made a promise to himself a long time ago that he would never cause her pain in any way. Simon was not a good man but for her, he wanted to be better.

“Alright, we can try something.” Her yelp made him smirk as he stood up abruptly, keeping her firmly in his arms.

“Simon!” Her arms flew around his neck, bouncing with each step he took up the stairs.

Her laughs quickly turned into moans as he dropped her on the king size bed, his weight keeping her whole body pinned to the duvet, his lips descending on her neck. “Fuck Si.” This time, it was her legs that parted, allowing his body to slip between them. She could feel the warmth of his cock even through their clothes, throbbing and hot with the promise of what the apex of her thighs contained.

His hand wormed its way between their bodies, thick fingers thrummed against her mound. This was normal, expected, the roughness and desperation of his touch a welcome salve to her overheated skin. A brief distraction from just how fucking horny he made her. He plucked at the band of her panties as his lips collided with hers. Their teeth clacked together with the force of his kiss, the muscles along his spine rippling beneath her fingers like he were a wolf, ready to take down his prey.

The fist planted by her head curled into the pillow as she nipped at his bottom lip all while her hips rolled into his hand, begging him to keep going, to finally give in to what he had been dangling in front of her for months. “Please,” she whined, nails digging into his back, “please I need more.”

Electricity shot through her as his hips jerked forwards, his hard cock bumping against her neglected clit. “Fuck.” He growled, pulling back just enough to shuck the rest of their clothes off before he was right back on top of her, now nothing between them.

His cock early nestled against her folds, sliding up and down with every small movement he made. “Just the tip birdie, ‘m gonna give you just the tip.” But his promise rang hollow, his voice already dropped low and coated with his darkest desires.

One of her legs wrapped around his thigh as he slowly pulled back, positioning his uncut head at her entrance. “Just the tip.” He spoke almost to himself and gently pressed forwards.

Y/N threw her head back, her mouth dropping open. A breath escaped her and Simon groaned. She was far tighter than he could have ever imagined, even with his head barely halfway in. Her leg squeezed around him as her back lifted from the bed. All Simon wanted to do was to keep going, force himself into her like he craved but he grabbed onto the frayed edges of his mind with the last of his restraint.

Just as the tip finally, finally breached her warmth, she found her words. “Too much, too much.” Suddenly her nails in his back, her face pressing into the pillow, her tensed legs were not her mounting desire but all blaring sirens that sent a shot of panic down his spine.

A single tear rolled down her cheek before he came back into himself with a jolt. “Fuck, fuck.” He grabbed her thigh with a deathly grip, keeping her still as he dragged his hips back and regretfully left the heaven he had almost found. Her body relaxed into the bed spread as soon as she was empty again, her hold on his back waning but her touch remained on his tattooed skin.

“Stay there.” Her whine of protest made his stomach drop but Simon still stood from the bed and made a b-line to the bathroom. He kept his eyes down, avoiding his own reflection as best he could while wetting one of the washcloths from the shelf next to the sink. He already knew exactly what he would see if he looked up and right now, he could pretend that monstrous reflection wasn’t him because she needed Simon, not Ghost.

By the time he slipped back into the room, she was already beneath the covers, the bedside lamp had been turned on, warding off the encroaching darkness. Her smile was hazy and small but it was genuine and Simon breathed a sigh of relief. She lifted the blanket for him to slip in beside her, an invitation he didn’t think he could ever refuse.

The smell of sweat and laundry detergent and something that was uniquely her enveloped him as he curled his massive body around her soft one, cradling her to his chest all while he wiped away the soreness from her. Her head fell to the crook of his neck, brushing her nose against his pulse.

The washcloth landed in the hamper with a dull plop, sparking a small giggle from the woman before it was muffled as Simon pulled them both down onto their backs.

“I’m sorry I scared you Si.”

“Can never scare me love, yer just a little puppy.” She lavished him with a glare but still sagged down onto his chest, letting out a little sigh.

“‘M scary.” Simon just scoffed and kissed the top of her head as he clicked off the lamp.

“Very scary.”

——————

The pub was mostly empty by now, leaving only the five of them in a booth in the back and a couple stragglers by the bar. Y/N was wedged between Simon and Gaz, drunkenly giggling at a story she’s heard ten times before though Simon figured she was laughing at Johnny rather than with him, his accent almost too thick to even understand at this point. Price had just sat back down, delivering the last round of drinks for the night onto the sticky table.

“And then the nun fell off the bike.” John finished the story for him with a roll of his eyes. “Are you ever going to come up with anything new?”

“My stories are great! Birdie thinks so, she laughs at them every time!” Johnny’s arm swung across the table, almost knocking over Gaz’s pint.

“Steady on Soap.” He warned, making Y/N giggle again, undermining the Scot’s point entirely.

Simon hooked a broad arm over her shoulder, tugging her closer to his as he glowered at the younger man. “You don’t get to call her Birdie. ’Specially not after you destroyed the front lawn trying to show off on MY motorbike.” But Johnny just scoffed and sipped at his beer, shooting a wink in the woman’s direction.

“I think I did ya a favour, those peonies were atrocious. Weren’t they lassie?” She turned her face into Simon’s arm in some vain attempt to keep back the heat that rose to her cheeks at the sudden attention from Johnny. Her fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket in a much too similar manner to how she would cling to him when Simon decided to torture her with his lips and words.

His right eye twitched imperceptibly.

“‘Sides they came with the house didn’t they? Ya needed a remodel.” Price snorted into his whiskey but it was Y/N who spoke up.

“I liked those flowers, they were the most ugly shade of orange.” Johnny’s smirk turned into something softer, something sappy and wholly foreign on the young soldier. His blue eyes, though dark with his drunkenness, sparkled under the dim lighting of the bar. Simon knew that look because it was the same one he held everyday since she had stumbled into his life and his heart. But where he expected jealousy, rage, at his lieutenant for even daring to look at his birdie like that, all he felt was a bubbling warmth deep in his stomach.

Gaz slipped from the booth, muttering something under his breath about a smoke, Price following quickly behind him, shooting a look at Simon before they disappeared through the front door. Without missing a beat, Johnny slithered his way into the now vacant seat beside Y/N, propping himself up far closer than would be considered friendly.

“Then how ‘bout I come over and plant ya some new ones.” Simon was sitting so close to her, he could feel the way her plush thighs clenched together as her breath hitched. “How bout it hen?” He purred, the alcohol on his breath strong but it was nothing compared to the weight of his gaze as it slowly trailed down her form, then turned to Simon.

“Think you’ve had enough MacTavish.” Simon growled, suddenly breaking Johnny from his trance. The man reared back like he had been burnt, ripping himself from the booth with a stumble. His eyes were wide with panic, his voice and hands shaky.

“Sorry hen, think L.T.’s right, I should probably get home. G’night.” He was out the door before either of them could think to protest, even living behind his beloved leather jacket on the seat.

Simon tucked Y/N closer to his side, laying a kiss on her head. “I’ll call us a cab.”

By the time the taxi had dropped them home, Simon and Y/N had almost completely sobered up though they were each still buzzing from the night. He had been quiet the entire ride, his eyes pensive and thoughtful but as soon as the cab vanished down the dark driveway, something inside him snapped. A strong arm was wrapped firmly around her thick waist, keeping her upright as he kissed along her exposed neck, the black medical mask he had been wearing for the night hanging over just one of his ears. Her keys rattled against the lock, quickly getting lost to the feeling of his lips on that one particular spot that made her body go fuzzy.

“Si, you’re making this really hard for me.” He grunted against her skin and pushed his hips into her soft ass.

“And you’re makin’ me hard, seems fair to me.” She finally got the key in the lock just as he grabbed at the front of her jeans, his thick fingers going for the button. The door slammed against the wall but neither of them cared about a potential hole in the drywall at that moment.

Simon grabbed her by the back of the neck and kissed her with so much force that she had to hold onto his forearms to keep from tumbling over backwards. They stumbled blindly to the couch, their lips firmly locked together all while Simon lifted her into his lap. Her thighs bracketed him as she buried her fingers into his cropped blond hair.

“What’s gotten into you?” She gasped, pulling back just enough to fill her lungs before diving back into his embrace.

His hips bucked up into her as a hiss of words forced themselves from him. “Had a thought at the bar.”

“Hmm?” This time, it was her lips on his throat, distracting the normally stoic man. He gripped at her ass for some semblance of control which was quickly slipping away.

“Johnny should have your first time.” All of her movements ceased. “You like him.”

“Si-“ She tried to pull herself from his arms, her cheeks heating with her shame. She couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“No. You do, it’s ok. I like em too, you aren’t special.” He teased, running his thumb along the apple of her cheek. Her breath caught. “He likes you, more than a little bit.” She shook her head firmly but Simon knew that she was thinking about it.

“You’re my boyfriend, not Soap. I want you.” His lopsided smile almost distracted her enough to kiss him again.

“I’m not gentle, not in the way you need for your first time and we both know that I’m too much for you to take. So-“

“You want me to fuck your best friend.”She finished for him. There was a beat of silence and then she pulled herself from his lap. “I don’t know about this.”

Simon stayed seated where he was but sat up fully, watching her every step as she paced around their living room. “I’ll be there too, not letting that mutt be alone with you so he can try to steal you away.”

“Yet you’ll let him sleep with me.” His smile grew. Y/N shut her eyes and took a deep breath before a smile of her own began to bloom. “Ok, but I want you to fuck me right after.”

“That, Birdie, I can do.” With one swift movement, he yanked her back down to his lap and kissed her before he could run off and get Johnny to come over right that second.

——————

Simon had been out of the house all day and for that, Y/N was grateful. She knew he was going to talk to Johnny today and knowing her boyfriend, that meant that tonight, she would be popping her cherry. He left with a tender albeit lust-filled kiss when he got up in the morning and a whispered promise that she should ‘get some rest’.

So she’d taken the day for herself; a long, luxurious bath in their massive tub, complete with shaving practically every inch of her body, then a nice coffee and breakfast and by lunchtime, she was deep in a book of poetry Gaz had recommended. The text arrived right when she had gotten up to make herself a cup of tea.

We’ll be home by 7.

A shiver of fear and excitement rolled up her back. This was it, after a year of taking it slow, all the angst of being with a man who was considered to be dead to everyone save for only those closest to him, and the anxiety of a multitude of ‘firsts’, finally they could take the next step. Even if they needed a bit of help.

And she certainly wasn’t opposed to the man helping her. Johnny was sweet and goofy in the best ways possible. Where Simon had been a solid wall of scars and fear, Johnny was a book that fell open the moment Simon had finally introduced them. He was easy to be around and Y/N couldn’t deny that she had gotten a small crush on the man when he tripped over himself to order her the most atrocious sounding cocktail just to get a smile out of her while she was having a terrible day. She also saw the way he made her Simon relax even through the thick shield of his mask.

She eyed the side table by the bed where she kept all her private toys but quickly dismissed that idea. Instead she wandered down the hall, intent on pouring herself a drink just to take the edge off. She could only imagine what would walk through that door.

“This punishment for flirting with your bird, Ghost?” Soap was doubled over, struggling to catch his breath with the full kit he donned plus the training dummy he had been forced to carry on his back. Ghost crossed his arms over his chest, remaining silent where he stood at the side of the field. “Look, had one too many. Can ya blame me for getting friendly with a pretty lass?” The sun was high in the sky, the temperature rising steadily but still, he had made his sergeant run laps while the newer recruits were posted with Price for the day.

The pack and dummy slid off his back, landing on the running track with a thud. “Alright, what’s really gone on? This is bigger than what happened the other night.” Ghost’s shoulders dropped as his chest heaved with a deep breath. He nodded towards the benches which Soap gladly collapsed onto.

Silence descended on the two men as each sat with their thoughts. Johnny knew that Ghost would talk when he was ready, and he could only hope that he wouldn’t be murdered for finding his best friend’s girlfriend absolutely gorgeous.

“I want ya to fuck her.” Johnny’s neck popped with the force at which he snapped his head over to Ghost who was already looking at him.

The rumble of a car’s engine sounded above the din of soft jazz from the speakers. Yet the house remained still, tensed for what was to come. The car door opened then slammed shut. Simon.

The second door was much more cautious, barely making any noise when it closed, even the crickets hiding in the long grass along the drive were louder than his footsteps on the gravel. Johnny.

Y/N smiled to herself and tugged at the silky nightgown she saved for special occasions. Already, she was trembling with excitement, arousal dripping onto her bare thighs (she thought it better to forgo panties entirely rather than have another obstacle in the way).

“Birdie?” Simon’s voice was thick with his lust. Her fingers curled into the dress’s hem as she called back.

“‘M in the bedroom.” She hoped they heard her tone was sexy rather than the desperate whine it came out as. She readjusted herself so she sat up on her knees in the centre of the bed, a position she knew made Simon short circuit every time. There was a muffled conversation from downstairs then, the stairs creaked with the weight of both men. Y/N swallowed thickly as the footsteps paused right outside the door.

“Ghost-“

“No, hear me out. She’s-“ He scrubs a hand over his cheek, pushing his mask out of place. Johnny stays quiet. “She’s a virgin and I’m- we’ve tried but no matter what we try, it’ll just hurt her. I know how ya look at her. I know how she-“ There was a hidden ‘I’ in there as well, “looks at you. We both want this, we both want your help.” Soap folded over himself, his head falling into his hands.

“Christ Ghost.”

Simon groaned as soon as he saw her, his brown eyes almost rolling back into his skull. “You damn minx.” She half-expected him to jolt forward and sweep her into a kiss but instead, he stepped to the side, revealing a nervous Johnny who was still standing at the top of the stairs.

“Johnny.” She smiled at him.

“Hi hen.” He took a tentative step forwards, blue eyes flicking from her to his superior, then back to her. Simon pulled the black balaclava off his head and tossed it onto the plush chair in the corner of the room. Johnny took a steadying breath before his knees brushed the side of the bed. He glanced at the larger man one more time and then he finally reached out, cupping her jaw more gently than either of them thought him capable of.

“God yer gorgeous.” Heat crawled up her neck as another drip of wetness rolled down her thigh.

“And she’s ok with this?”

“More than you know.”

“And you?” Johnny flicked at the lighter in his hand, a nervous habit he could never quite break. Ghost eased himself back against the wall behind them, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“You know the answer to that already.”

Their first kiss was gentle, tender in a way that made her insides ache. Johnny’s lips were soft, a stark contrast to Simon’s but a welcome change nonetheless less. Y/N took his free hand into hers as she slid her fingers of her right into one of his belt loops. He made a desperate noise against her lips.

“I’ll be gentle.” He whispered, his thumb brushing the soft skin of her face.

“I know.” The next kiss was more heated but just as caring. His touch travelled down from her face to the small of her back, the rough tips of his fingers tracing the length of her body before gently laying her down. Her nightgown slipped up her thighs as Johnny climbed between them.

The mattress by her head dipped making Y/N open her eyes. Simon sat half on the bed, his shirt already off. “Ya want Johnny ta take care of ya?” The smell of his cologne and Johnny’s sweat made her head spin. Simon tsked. “Words birdie.”

“Want him bad Si.” Johnny moaned into her neck as she ground her hips upwards, catching the bulge of his cock against her mound. He grabbed at her waist, encouraging her movement. Simon chuckled and reached between them, tugging the silky dress up and off.

Johnny’s eyes went wide. “Ya didn’t tell me just how pretty she was naked.” He cupped one of her tits, as if testing its weight in his palm.

“I thought it should be a surprise. But you’ve imagined her like this before, haven't you MacTavish?” Instead of answering, Johnny buried his face between her tits, occupying his lips with memorising the taste of her skin. Y/N clutched at his back, her giggles interchanging with her moans.

“Be nice Si.” She gasped as he took one of her nipples into his mouth

Simon just scoffed and leaned over, placing a kiss to her forehead before he stood up but not without a squeeze to Johnny’s shoulder. “You stop the moment she says.” He warned, earning an eye-roll from the sergeant.

“She’s in charge.” He confirmed before returning his attention back to the set of perfect tits laid out before him, this time he leaned his weight onto his right hand as his left brushed against where the ache he caused her continued to grow. He brushed her cunt with the tips of his fingers, gathering as much wetness as he could. “Shit, this really all for me?”

She bashfully turned her head into the pillow. “Don’t tease me Johnny.” So he didn’t. He caught her thrumming clit with his thumb as he eased his middle finger into her tightness. In and out, in and out, curl, in and out.

Her whine was muffled by Simon’s groan from the other side of the room. She forced her gaze to him, only to be met with the sight of her huge boyfriend spread eagle in the chair facing the bed, his pants undone, huge cock in his hand. Already his face and chest were ruddy with a deep blush, his huge thighs tensing and intending with each upward stroke of his hand.

Johnny’s teeth sunk into the fat of her breast, distracting her from the stretch as he added a second and then a third finger. Y/N’s back arched from the bed. “Johnny-“

“Jus relax for me hen, let me make ya feel good.” His lips latched onto her throat, somehow finding that one spot that made her legs tremble. She grabbed at his shirt as her stomach grew tight and then, she fell.

“Fuuuuck, god please!” She moved her hips with his hand, chasing her orgasm until her cunt began to ache for something more. “Please Johnny, please I need you inside me now.” He followed her tugging hands up until he was firmly nestled against her, his shirt now off and his wet hand undoing his jeans.

“Whatever you want hen, ‘m here for you.” Apparently Johnny had the same inclination against underwear as Simon did, his cock easily sprang free, bumping against his taut stomach. While not as big as Simon’s, Johnny was no less intimidating. Thick and cut, his head now almost a dark purple and throbbing with his eagerness to be inside her.

Something flashed in his eyes and he quickly glanced at Simon. “Condom?” Y/N pinched his chin and brought him back to face her.

“Birth control. I need you inside me. Now.” Goosebumps exploded along his arms.

“Yes ma’am.” He notched himself against her entrance and with one solid nod of consent, Johnny finally pushed into her.

The pain was almost muted by the buzz of her orgasm but she could still feel the burn of the stretch and the small pinch at her tightest point. Her nails bit into the muscles of his shoulders but he never faltered for a second, only cooing soft words of encouragement into her ear as he rocked forwards until he was buried to the hilt.

“Fuck.” She couldn’t even tell whose voice that was, too lost to the feeling of being so full for the first time in her life. As soon as she relaxed her grip, Johnny pulled out halfway and thrust back in as gently as he could. This feeling was so utterly foreign but so familiar, a burning heat that ignited her nerves.

He slipped a hand beneath her raised back, letting him press in deeper, hitting a spot inside her that she never thought existed. “Thas it hen, just keep breathing. Doing so good fer me.” His accent grew thicker as he hissed, her cunt clamping down on him in a way that made his head spin.

“More.” She moaned, lifting her wide hips. Johnny obeyed immediately.

The mattress springs groaned with each deep thrust, matching Y/N’s moaned cries. The burn had become a delicate pleasure that was quickly becoming all-consuming and it seems that the man inside her wasn’t faring much better, nor was Simon.

His head was thrown back against the top of the chair but his eyes remained on them, his eye-lids half-closed, revealing only the blackness of his pupil as he watched. His knuckles were white with how tight he held the base of his cock, trying to stave off his end until it was his turn. Johnny’s face was flushed, making his blue eyes shine even bluer. A vein on the right side of his neck pounded with his heartbeat and all Y/N wanted to do was to bite it. His abs flexed with each thrust, a rhythm that sent her up a spiral of ecstasy.

“Johnny, Johnny.” She chanted, her leg wrapping around his waist, heel against his perky ass.

“Good girl. Takin it so good.” Suddenly, the fire burned brighter and she let it overwhelm her. “Fuck hen. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She rippled around him, forcing his orgasm from him.

As soon as Johnny’s body went lax above her, Simon grabbed him by the back of his neck and smashed their lips together in a borderline violent kiss. “Good lad.” He growled into his mouth as his fingers curled into his now dishevelled mohawk. He pulled Johnny backwards, his softening cock falling from her with a wet pop.

“Finally.” Y/N was suddenly flipped onto her front and before she could even get her bearings, Simon slammed into her. Even aided by her wetness and Johnny’s cum as lube, the stretch was still almost blinding. A shrill cry left her lips but it did nothing to hinder the man above her, she didn’t want it to.

He punched into her with a force that made the headboard slam into the wall, cracking the drywall. “So fuckin tight. Won’t last.” His hands clamped down on her hips, no doubt bruising them but he wouldn’t stop, not now, not when he could unleash every single drop of desire he had ever felt for her.

Warm lips kissed at her cheek and neck as Johnny’s hand pressed against her large stomach, slowly moving down to where she and Simon were connected. He strummed her overworked clit. “Fuck! Do that again.” And like the good soldier he was, Johnny obeyed his lieutenant’s orders, guiding her into yet another earth shattering orgasm.

Simon practically howled as he forced himself entirely into her before he finally filled her with everything he had.

“Fuckin hell.” He groaned and crumbled onto the bed, a hazy smile on his face. Y/N rolled onto her side, fitting into Simon’s outstretched arms, her back to his front.

Johnny stood at the side of the bed, still naked and awkwardly watching the couple hold each other as he was trapped feeling like an outsider even if they were only able to be like this because of him.

Without a word, she held her hand out to Johnny. He looked at it, then her, as if he were trying to defuse a bomb and not thinking about how his best friend’s girlfriend was inviting him into their bed to cuddle after he had just fucked away her virginity. Then, he took it.

Her soft body easily moulded against him as he slipped under the covers beside her. Their legs tangled together and he rested his head on her pillow.

“Thank you for being here Johnny.” She whispered, placing a gentle kiss to his swollen lips.

“Y’know what they say, two’s a crowd, three’s company.” She rolled her eyes.

“We could always add more.” Simon teased, his arm wrapping around the sergeant’s back to draw him closer to them.

“Don’t ruin this Si.”

“Yeah Si.” Johnny parroted.

“Watch it Soap.” He grumbled.

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hopesangelsprite · 11 months ago

Text

The Summoning

Pairing: Vampire!Illumi x Reader

Summary: Being immortal can grow very old, very quickly and Illumi's found that out the hard way. The only reasonable solution would be to find a suitable playmate, right?

Warnings: mentions of blood/death/murder, biting, size/strength difference, fingering, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, dacryphilia, breeding kink, degradation, female ejaculation, manipulation (vampire compulsion)

MINORS/AGELESS ACCS DNI

Viewer discretion is advised.

Oh, and my love

Did I mistake you for a sign from God?

Or are you really here to cast me off?

Or maybe just to turn me on

Illumi watched with half-lidded eyes as his servants removed a corpse from his feet, nothing left of the younger male but an empty, soulless husk. How many had he gone through now? 30? 300? Whatever the death toll was, it didn't matter. Illumi no longer cared for numbers, the sheer quantity of his years on earth drawing him to the conclusion that they were overrated.

"Bring me the next one.", he ordered while leaning further into the large throne chair he'd taken residence in, "If this one doesn't satisfy me, I'll be draining one of you in their place.". Illumi let threat roll off his blood-stained lips easily, keen on fulfilling it should he be presented another weakling.

There was a brief silence before the doors to his quarters opened, your figure edging closer uncertainly. The closer you got, the better he was able to analyze you. Unlike his previous victims, there were no tears in your eyes or trembling in your limbs. Though you eyed him warily, he sensed you were more curious than afraid. You were quite attractive, as well; with smooth curves just barely concealed by what was left of a skirt and halter top. As you finally got within arm's reach of him, you sank to your knees with fluttering lashes.

Illumi's cock twitched at the sight, the position giving him a perfect view of your tits and exposed thighs. "Do you know why you're here, pretty thing?", he inquired whilst making a mental note of just how fragile you were in comparison to him. To any mortal man, you'd be considered healthy, maybe even too much so for those on the weaker end of the male spectrum. To Illumi, however, you were nothing but a doll, a plaything he could bend and contort to his undead heart's content.

"I was running from my old life... I was promised shelter.", you answered after a moment and Illumi chuckled. He leaned forward, crimson tongue flicking over glinting fangs, and grasped your face with a large, ring-laden hand. "There's no safety for you here, little doll, only death or imprisonment.", he drawled out, keen eyes catching the way your thighs pressed together at his touch. With one hand, you removed his hand from your face, head turning to place a kiss on his palm. The other you placed on his dark denim-clad thigh, fingers tracing patterns into the coarse material. "Then I should aim to please, no?", you inquired as your hand crept closer to his belt.

'Cause these days

I would be lying if I told you that

I didn't wish that I could be your man

Or maybe make a good girl bad

A smirk graced Illumi's lips at your insinuation, lust deepening within him as you carefully undid his belt's clasp. So, he leaned back, dark eyes watching you like a predator behind inky tresses. He pushed his hips forward to allow you better access to him, reveling in the tiny gasp you let out upon freeing his cock. His skin was milky, fading into a pretty pink closer to his weeping tip; a few veins adorned his shaft, a little longer than he was thick. Your mouth watered at the sight, core moistening as you took him into your hands.

Illumi groaned at the softness of your skin against his, catching his bottom lip between a fang as you gave him a few experimental strokes. You shuffled closer, knees no doubt bruising from the floor's harsh surface. You placed your chin on his knees, inquiring eyes boring into his as you swiped a thumb over his leaky slit; you were seeking permission, how wonderfully submissive of you. "Go on then, have a taste.", he permitted with a lazy nod.

His breath caught in his throat as your warm, plush lips enveloped his cockhead, your tongue following shortly afterward. You kissed him wetly, the taste of precum unfamiliar yet welcomed. You took him into your mouth once more, this time sucking him as far back into your throat as you could. A deep, satisfied hum rumbled through Illumi's chest as he watched you begin to come up for air, a blood-stained hand tangling itself into your hair to stop your rising and push you down further. "Now, now. Don't underestimate yourself, darling, you can take a little bit more.", he mewled over the sound of your gagging, "Can't you?".

Illumi finally let you up after a few moments, cooing at the sight of tear-streaked mascara kissing your cheeks. Still, your eyes only held a strange look of awe and adoration; one that Illumi found himself mirroring as you continued to suck him off ever so sweetly. Illumi hissed as he pulled you off his cock, leaning down to catch your lips with his. He deepened the kiss as he guided you from the floor onto his lap, the taste of his arousal on your tongue only making him harder.

As Illumi broke the kiss, lips dipping to nip at your neck while his hands slipped underneath your skirt, a low curse escaped him as his fingers met your bare, soaked core. He found his sanity waning. "Nothing underneath?", he hummed as he brought your face close to his, "What a pretty little slut you are.". He locked eyes with you, eye contact unwavering as he pushed two long fingers past your entrance and began searching for that soft, spongy spot he knew would have you singing praises.

You whimpered upon the intrusion, thighs quaking as he began scissoring you open. Illumi took your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, enjoying your breathy moans and the noises coming from your sopping cunt. "Feels good, doesn't it.", he chuckled as your hips began rutting against his palm, "I think we both know what'll feel much better, though.".

I've got a river running right into you

I've got a blood trail, red in the blue

Something you say or something you do

The taste of the divine

Before you could reach your high, Illumi pulled his fingers from your cunt. Without a second of hesitation, he shoved those same fingers into your throat as he pulled you down onto his cock, allowing very little protest as your pelvises met abruptly. More tears welled behind your lash line as you adjusted to the stretch of him overfilling your pussy, tip nuzzled snuggly against your cervix and g-spot. "Filthy fucking whore.", he spat as he pulled his fingers from your mouth and began manhandling you up the expanse of his shaft, "My filthy fucking whore.".

You cried out in pleasure as he pulled you back down, setting a quick and unforgiving rhythm. Illumi watched your tits bounce beneath the fabric of your top ruefully as he continued to use you like a doll. He growled as he tugged at its neckline, hips bucking up into you as it freed your breasts with a loud rip. You shivered as Illumi leaned forward to take one of your nipples between his teeth, gently tugging at it before swirling his tongue around the sensitive flesh. He continued his ministrations, switching between left and right, with a single hand keeping a bruising grip on your hip while the other busied itself by rolling your clit between its thumb and index finger.

Illumi felt your soft walls flutter around him and he groaned into your skin, pulling your body impossibly closer to his. He released your tit with a loud pop, hips pistoning his cock into you faster as he licked a stripe up your chest and neck. It didn't take him long to find your pulse, suckling over the skin while imagining just how sweet you'd taste. Soon, his cock was throbbing in perfect time with your moans, his high growing closer and closer the more you called out his name and begged him to slow down. Instead, he removed himself from your neck, pulling your forehead against his to lock eyes with you.

The air between and around you quickly grew tense, a steady thrum of energy bringing you closer to your high as Illumi's dark eyes melted into a bloody, crimson shade. "Cum for me.", he moaned into your mouth, head dipping to pierce your skin with his fangs. Without warning, your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, curses and pleas tumbling from your lips as the stinging pain of being bitten melded into overwhelming pleasure. Your mind grew numb as you came, your arousal spraying over Illumi's lap as he drank you in. And you let him, body trembling and unable to come down from the violent high he'd brought upon you.

You've got my body, flesh, and bone

The sky above, the earth below

Nothing to say and nowhere to go

A taste of the divine

Illumi released your neck after a long moment, tongue lapping up a few stray beads of blood as he pulled your hips flush against his and filled you with his seed. Another tremor crept down your spine at the sudden hot, sticky substance filling your womb, Illumi whispering sweet nothings and pretty vows into your ear to coax you out of the trance he'd locked you in. You blinked once, then twice, to clear the white spots and tears from your vision.

"There you are, little one.~", he purred before placing a kiss on the now bruising bite mark he'd given you, "Was afraid I lost you for a second.". All you could do was whimper, slumping forward to rest your head in the crook of his shoulder. Your scent faintly mingled with sex and iron filled his nostrils, tempting him to finish draining and breeding you. He let you rest, though, leaning back into the chair with his cock still plugging you full as he, too, drifted into sleep for the first time in centuries.

Besides, the venom and cum in your system would need time to take effectively.

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miguelhugger2099 · 1 year ago

Text

Hands

Summary: His hands are...big. A/N: I saw someone say this mans hands are 11 inches and i genuinely started tweaking. bro. his hands are larger than my head......

Miguel x Reader, Fluff?, Little suggestive, Drabble,

Spider-Man 2099 was probably one of the biggest Spider-Man ever. Well, if you're not counting the robots and dinosaurs–Miguel O'Hara is abnormally large for a human. Half-Human.

Standing at a whopping six foot and nine inches, his bulky build didn't help with his intimidating aura and height. So yes, he was tall but also wide.

Which also meant that everyone, at least, most people were shorter than him.

You could tell that it even became a problem. While talking to him, he'd have to bend his neck to talk to you. His posture would slouch just so he could hear you speak. When he'd look away, Miguel would rub the back of his neck, massaging out the knots that were forming from craning his head down so much to talk to the other Spiders.

You've seen tall people and you've seen others with muscles–however you were more focused on something smaller. As Miguel would type away on his monitor, viewing and discarding dim yellow screens in the air, you'd not so subtly stare at his hands. A part of you was amazed and a part of you had some sort of sick guilty pleasure watching his fingers move around. You coughed into your fist and looked away when Miguel snapped his head down at you, the familiar heat crawling up your neck.

“What?” He grumbles, his eyes squinting down at you.

“Huh? Wuh?” You turn your head around, pretending to think he's talking to someone else.

Miguel rolls his eyes, a soft scoff escaping his lips before he grabs your chin. Your breath gets caught in your throat. Miguel’s fingers squishing your cheeks and pulling you forward to him. His fingers stop near your temple and you can barely hear his voice through the haze of your mind.

“Wait–wait, say that again?” You whisper while Miguel just stares at you.

He lets go of you and you miss the heat from his palm. “You obviously aren’t focused. Either get it out of your head or leave. I don’t need someone distracted right now.” He tsks and focuses back on the monitors, hands waving in the air. You shuffle from side to side, clenching and unclenching your hands into fists. You fought with yourself wondering if you should let the impulse get to you. “Can I see your hands?” You blurt out. Miguel freezes but his eyes are in a confused wide stare at his screen. “What?” “For like a second!” You defended yourself, holding out your palms and raising your eyebrows in a pleading way. Miguel looks between your hands and face, an uncomfortable and confused glint in his eyes. Pouting, you take it as rejection, sniffling dramatically to yourself. But Miguel looks away as he places his hand in yours gently. You gasp in happiness and bring it up to your eyes. You press your thumbs to his palm, both of them looking tiny. Pressing harder, you notice little slits of his talons coming out and you giggle. Pressing over and over again, you watch as the little claws extract and retract repeatedly. Miguel’s eyebrow twitches. Then using one of your hands, you place yours and his hand together, wrist to wrist as close as possible. You blink and take a closer look at the size difference. Your entire hand barely reached past his palm, his fingers even longer.

While you marveled at how giant Miguel was, Miguel looked down at you with a flushed expression. Blush scattered across his cheeks as he noticed how small you were compared to him. He knew he was a big guy–he knew that compared to him, everyone was pocket sized. But particularly about you, it was more in his face. He had an urge to wrap his fingers over yours, wanting to see how it would engulf yours. You move his hand to the front of your face, your nose bumping into his middle finger. Even then, his hand was still very much larger than your head. “Holy shit. Do they even make things in your size here?” You laugh, your breath hitting his suit and he feels the warmth of your laugh through the fabric. Miguel squirms slightly, watching how his hand is covering your entire face. If he wanted, he could grab you right now. He could grab you, pick you up, cover your blabbering mouth easily, and maybe he can easily push your head into the mattress with a single hand– Miguel burns, looking away and pushing your face away from him. You yelp and stumble back from the force, catching yourself before you hurt yourself on the floor. “OW?” You glare at him. He’s turned away from you, back to bringing up video files and camera recordings of different universes. “Get back to work now.” He growls and you dust yourself off with a huff. You take another glance at him before sighing and facing the other way–failing to notice the tips of his ears a dark red shade.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara imagine #atsv x y/n #atsv x reader

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theoraeeken · 11 months ago

Note

I saw a post a while ago about Tommy and Buck running into Buck's exes, but I'd be interested in them running into Tommy's exes (boyfriend and/or girlfriends)

i spent such a long time fleshing out an OC for this tiny little oneshot but i could not get this out of my head gfhdhsjjdf.

EDIT: okay this isn't tiny and maybe i got over excited.

bucktommy / rated t / prompt requests still open

"Tommy?"

Chim stops mid-sentence, hands still up in a gesture, and his mouth is a little open as he looks over Buck's shoulder, behind him. Hen and Eddie seem similarly afflicted. Confused, Buck turns around, and-

Woah.

Buck's not unfamiliar with attractive people - he works in an environment with a lot of hot, athletic people, who do insane, heroic things, and since discovering that he's playing equal time for both teams, the pool of people that are nice to look at has grown considerably. That's a given. But... woah.

Green. Very green eyes.

"Dan! Oh, shit, how long has it been?" Tommy grins, getting up quickly enough that his chair scrapes against the concrete.

Hen and Chimney are doing their freaky psychic parademic mind melding communication thing, which mostly involves a lot of eyebrow movement and head tilting, and Eddie is glancing from Dan to Buck like he's nervous. This was supposed to be a chill little brunch, a catch up between friends. It's nice, being able to bring his partner to brunch like this, the same way Hen brings Karen and Chim brings Maddie. He never brought Ali, or Taylor, or any of his girlfriends. For reasons he could never quite pinpoint, he never wanted to let his worlds collide like that.

But Tommy is already part of his world. He's got inside jokes with Chim and Hen that Buck still doesn't quite get. He brings his own stories about the job, and he can laugh at everyone elses without getting maudlin and worried the way any of Buck's exes would. Tommy is as much a part of Buck's world as Buck is of his.

Except, Tommy's world apparantly has other things in it. Like Dan. Dan with the very green eyes, and the black hair swept carelessly back off his face like he thinks he's a 90's movie star, a little grey peppered at his temples and a t-shirt that has to be at least two sizes too small. Dan with his arm around Tommy's shoulder, and a 1000 watt smile dangerously close to Tommy's mouth, like he's not 100% committed to pulling out of this extremely long hug.

"What are you doing in California? You miss the sunshine?" Tommy asks, his hand still very noticably on Dan's hip.

"Don't even say that, those Oregon winters are no joke," he huffs, "Nah, I'm down for my sister's wedding."

"Emily's getting married? What the hell, she was barely out of college last time I checked."

"Yeah, Tommy, that was six years ago," he laughs, "All grown up now, marrying some IT geek from San Diego. Don't know what he did to deserve her, but my balls have been well and truly threatened if I give him anymore shit."

They chat for another few minutes, completely oblivious to the audience they have, oblivious to the way that Buck's hands are clenching into fists under the table. Tommy's usually so poised, straight-backed, almost stoic. Even his humour is deadpan, but Buck relishes the moments where he can tease easy smiles and full body laughs and dorky jokes out of him. Dan and his pretty eyes seem to have that down pat, too.

"Uh, I feel like I've crashed a party here, Tom."

Tommy blinks, looking back over at their table.

"Shit, sorry," he says, "I should have said. These are the good folks of the 118 firehouse. You probably know Hen and Howie by reputation, and this is Karen and Maddie," Tommy indicates each of them in turn, and they give a wave, "That's Eddie, and this is my boyfriend, Evan."

He says is so casually, like it costs him nothing, and it drags a smile out him the way it always does. Boyfriend. Buck stands, offering a hand. There are still half-cresent marks on his palm from where he'd dug his nails in.

"Good to meet you, man."

"You too, Evan."

"Buck," he says reflexively, "People call me Buck."

"Sure," he says easily.

Tommy is staring at him, face unreadable, but he smiles anyway, polite, almost professional.

"This is Dan Archer, and he used to be the best damn EMT in California," he says, clapping him on the shoulder, "until he deserted us for the PFR."

"Portland, huh? That's a good department to work for, from what I hear," Hen grins, "You guys were trialling those new electric ambulances in 2019, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Dan laughs, "All green, baby. Not that it matters when you're pulling another hiker out the Cascades in mid-December, but for some reason no one wanted to put the funding into my caterpillar-tread gurneys idea."

Chim snorts, "Shit, that's a good one. We should start lobbying for that, Hen."

"Ain't that the truth," she mutters.

"I don't have that problem," Tommy says smugly. Dan punches him in the arm, "You wanna stick around? This place some amazing bruschetta."

The collective inhale the table takes is probably loud enough to hear across the street. Eddie puts his coffee down like he's worried he's going to have to do something that involves having both of his hands free, like restrain Buck.

"Nah, I'm just doing a coffee run, then I've got to get back to the pre-festivities festivities," Dan shrugs, apparantly oblivious, "And maybe buy a shotgun to clean somewhere in view of Samuel."

Tommy laughs, "Give 'em hell, Archer. And don't be a stranger."

"You neither, Kinard," he grins, "I'll take you up on that bruschetta before I head back North."

"You better."

Tommy sits back down, and puts a hand on Buck's thigh. Nothing salacious or suggestive, just the weight of his palm and the heat of his skin. Familiar. The group lapses back into the same kind of easy chatter that they had before. Maddie and Chim talking about something cute Jee had done last week. Hen recounts in detail the call out they got that ended with having to deep bleach the inside of the ambulance. Buck takes a hold of Tommy's wrist, feels his pulse against his fingers, a steady, paitent beat.

Tommy's mouth paints lines of heat against Buck's shoulders. He's on his stomach in Tommy's bed - their bed, really, with how often Buck is here these days - propped up on his elbows. There's a book open on the pillow in front of him, something he found on Tommy's bookshelf about the history of the American rail network. It's been open on the same page for the last ten minutes, Buck's eyes somewhere in the middle distance.

There's temptation here, in the form of Tommy's half naked body pressed up alongside his, the hand on his lower back, his mouth. But Buck's mind is going a mile a minute.

"Baby," Tommy murmers, lips pressed to the nape of his neck.

"How do you know him?"

Tommy stills, just a moment where he freezes, before he exhales.

"I don't know if I like you thinking about other men while I'm trying to seduce you."

"Well, he is a very handsome man," Buck mutters, before he can help himself.

Tommy snorts, "Seriously?"

"It's ridiculous," he grumbles, "He's a paramedic, not a model. What's he even-"

Tommy muffles his laughter into Buck's shoulder, his body shaking with it. It should irritate him, it should make him feel belittled and mocked, but the way Tommy curls over Buck's naked back, smudging kisses into his hair and muttering his name softens the blow.

"I'm being an idiot, aren't I?" he says flatly, and it just makes Tommy laugh harder.

"No, Evan, you're being jealous, and possessive, and very sweet," he says, indulgent. Tommy is always indulgent with him, and Buck aches with how much he doesn't deserve it, "I know there's no way for me to say this without it sounding sarcastic, but I really do think that you glaring daggers at my ex like you're thinking about burying him under a carpark is extremely attractive."

Buck huffs, "So, he is your ex."

"Yes, he's my ex," he says, trailing a finger down the dip of Buck's spine, "We dated for nearly a year, the first year I moved to Harbour. He was my first serious relationship after I came out."

Buck doesn't really know what to say to that. Tommy represents a whole lot of firsts to Buck. First kisses, first touches, first fucks. Not first ever, obviously, but a kind of first all their own. And maybe Buck is always going to be a too much, too fast kinda guy, but he can't imagine getting over that, getting over him. Not even after five, six years.

"It ended amiciably. He got the job offer from Portland. Captaincy. Dan's job is important to him, too important to pass it up. I understood that."

"Do you miss him?"

Tommy kisses his shoulder, "All the time. He's been a good friend to me over the years."

"Do you see him very often?"

"Handful of times, since he moved," Tommy smiles, curling his fingers into the hair at the back of Buck's neck, "Came down for Harris' retirement. Couple years ago, we met up while he visiting family. I went up to Portland last year, too."

"Oh?" Buck says, feigning indifference and probably missing it by a mile, "How was it?"

"It was great. Awesome city. Great hiking in the area, and the ceremony was beautiful."

"What ceremony?" Buck asks, jerking up.

"You would have cried," Tommy continues like he didn't even hear him, like he didn't almost just headbutted in Buck's eagerness tosit upright, "I bet you always cry at weddings, but you definitely would have cried at this one. I bawled like a baby."

Buck shoves at Tommy's chest playfully, and he bounces when his back hits the mattress, laughing again.

"What wedding?"

"Dan's wedding," Tommy grins, "to his husband, Jake. Who he loves very very much."

He groans, shoving his head into the pillow, but Tommy doesn'tlet him mope about it for very long. A strong pair of hands roll him flat onto his back, and Tommy wastes absolutely no time in covering his body with his own, pushing between his legs and kissing him halfway to stupid. Which doesn't bode well for Buck, who's pretty sure he was more than halfway there already.

"You're ridiculous," Tommy says fondly, pressing a kiss to Buck's cheek.

"I know," he sighs, "I'm sorry."

Tommy kisses him again, before propping himself upon his elbows, "We're gonna talk about this properly tomorrow, about you being this worried about me... leaving? Or being interested in other people? Whatever it is, okay? We're gonna talk about it, because I don't actually want you to be upset, Evan," he says softly, "but you don't need to apologise for being jealous. It's just an emotion."

"Not the best emotion on me, though," Buck sighs, "It's not even rational."

"Maybe," Tommy shrugs, "but I wasn't lying when I said I like it on you sometimes. I don't regret my relationship with Dan, so what's rational about me liking how much you wish you were the only one who has ever touched me?"

Tommy's got a talent for taking Buck's most ridiculous thoughts, his worst traits, the ugliest sides of him, and rearranging all the pieces so that they actually make sense. He's so steadying, like a hand on his back while he feels like he's constantly walking on a tightrope. All of it is like water off a duck's back to Tommy, even when it feels like Buck's about to drown in it.

"God, please just kiss me," Buck whispers, half because he wants to, he always wants to, and half because it minimises the risk of saying anything else stupid, like 'I hate your gorgeous hero of an ex just because he got to kiss you before I did', or 'I like myself better when I'm with you than I ever had before', or 'I love you', or 'please don't talk about weddings around me because I'm terrified of the images in my head right now and how good you look in a suit'.

"Yeah?" Tommy breathes, his mouth hovering just over Buck's, "You gonna be thinking about him again?"

"Thinking about who?" Buck mutters back, just to be a brat.

Tommy laughs, a gentle, soft little thing that's so, so fond, but he kisses him anyway.

#bucktommy #tevan #911 #911 fic #**writing #bucktommy tag #thank you for the prompt!!!! <333 #this really got away from me but i have Feelings about them

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holylulusworld · 1 year ago

Text

Overdue

Summary: You’re a strict librarian.

Pairing: Mafia!Steve Rogers x Librarian!Reader

Warnings/Tags: short reader, mafia au, size kink (Steve), kidnapping?

I changed by posting schedule to match @navybrat817's Monday ask. Go, have a look a her blog and stories.

I had this one in my finished WIPs so here we go with Steve Rogers saving us from our job and boring Mondays. :)

You yawn and rub your tired eyes. It’s a slow day today. The library is almost empty, except for two teens hiding between two shelves to make out. You give them a pass for now if they don’t overdo it.

You turn your attention toward the books on your desk. Your colleague left them there after their shift for you to take care of. Just like always, they are selfish and lazy.

You huff and throw the pencil in your hands onto the desk. Your eyes are blurry, and you are ready to fall asleep. With only the two teens around, you allow yourself to close your eyes for a moment.

Close to drifting toward your favorite fantasy you sigh dreamily. Your bed is calling for you, and you already miss your fluffy pillows. “So…tired…”

The door suddenly slams open, hitting the wall and you shriek in terror. Even the teens stopped making out to watch a tall man step inside the library.

He sticks out of this place like a sore thumb in his black slacks, black turtleneck sweater, and expensive grey overcoat. You can’t see his shoes, but you assume they’re expensive too, just like the rest of his outfit.

“Hi,” you put on your best-faked smile. If only he stayed away, you could’ve daydreamed a little longer. “What are you looking for?”

“A book,” he gruffly replies, eyes roaming the library. It seems like he’s searching for more than a book. “Where do I find the—” His tongue darts out to wet his perfect pink lips, “law books?”

“On the left side, the third shelf. Are you looking for a specific book, Sir? I can tell you where to find it if you know the title,” you offer, but he shakes his head. He’s halfway toward the shelf before you end your sentence.

You huff and turn your attention toward the stack of books left on your desk. You still have to handle the books, check them for damage, scan them, and return them to the shelves.

Engrossed in your task you don’t hear the man return to your desk. He clears his throat, drawing your attention toward him. You flit your eyes up to watch him run his hand over his thick, but well-trimmed beard. His blue eyes search yours for moment before he speaks again.

“How can I help you, Sir?” you repeat the line you said so often in your life you can’t even count it anymore.

“I’m looking for a book,” he repeats, earning a smirk from you. “A specific book.”

“Do you have a title?” You slowly get up from your swivel chair and round the desk. “Sir?”

“Hmm…” he simply watches you step next to him. Compared to him, you’re small, tiny even. “You’re short.” He states a fact you already know about. “Very short.”

You frown at his attitude. Yes. You are short. This doesn’t give him the right to call you short. “What?”

“Oh, that’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he takes a step closer to get a better look at you. “It’s cute, really.”

“Cute?” you are fuming and would love to shove your shoe up his ass. But you cannot risk getting caught while hurting a customer. “Do you know the title of the book, yes or no.” Your polite smile is fading, and you can barely hide that you’re pissed at the stranger.

“I know the title,” he lowers himself to whisper the title in your ear. “Do you have that one?”

“Yes,” you spin on your heels and march away, not waiting for him to catch up with you. He’s a stranger at this place, but you know it like the palm of your hand.

“You’re not very talkative,” he comments while following you.

“It’s not my job to entertain the people coming here. And it’s forbidden to be too loud at a library.”

“Ah,” he laughs. “You’re very strict, huh? I like someone following rules. I have a few too.”

“Hmmm…” you browse the shelf, finger sliding over the back of the books. “There it is.” You pull the book out of the shelf to hand it to the man. “That’s the one you are looking for.”

“You’re very helpful too,” he muses while his eyes roam your smaller figure. “How long are you working here?”

“Do you want to borrow the book? Are you already a member of our library? If not, you can fill out the application form.” You point toward the application forms on your desk. “I must warn you. Do not overdue the books, Sir.”

“Doll, do you honestly believe I came here for a book?” His features darken, and he licks those plump lips again. He dips his head to drink your trembling form in. “Do you?”

“What?” You splutter.

“You, out!” He jerks his head toward the teens. “Now!” They run out of the library, never looking back. “And you…” He turns back toward you, still that smirk on his lips, “will come with me.”

Your eyes widen in fear. “No.” You shake your head. “I won’t go anywhere with you. I don’t even know you, Sir.”

He chuckles darkly. Before you can blink you end up thrown over his shoulder. You slap him and scream. It’s no use. You wiggle and beg but he walks out of the library, with you hanging over his shoulder.

“I told you to take the day off, doll,” Steve laughs as you mutter under your breath. “Sometimes your man must take matters in his hands…”

Read more: In time

Tags in reblog.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #mafia au #mobster au #librarian reader #short reader

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kpopsexstories · 7 months ago

Note

Hey! Can you do a Jaemin x bottom male reader smut where M/R has a muscle kink? If so, that'd be amazing. Thanks! <3

QUICK FIX GAY #3: NCT Jaemin X Male Reader Muscle Kink

This is a 100% gay story. Check out this post for my straight smut and this post for more gay smut.

Pairing: Top NCT Jaemin x Bottom Male Reader

Content: Muscle appreciation, Lotus/Face-off position

Type of Sex: WILD

Word Count: 1,345

“Can I touch?” you asked and leaned in close.

Jaemin's face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Sure,” he said and spread his broad thighs wide, stretching his tiny shorts over his boner.

“Oh, no,” you said and laughed. “I meant your muscles.”

You gently placed a hand on Jaemin's bare shoulder. “Oh,” he said and quickly closed his legs. He looked embarrassed. “Yeah, go ahead.”

You traced your fingers over his smooth skin. You felt his strong arms and gave his biceps a squeeze. Jaemin sat still and shirtless with his eyes closed, and enjoyed the sensation of your soft touch.

Your eyes and mind were fully focused on his gorgeous, muscular body. You moved your hand down his arm and up again, then to his flexing chest and down to his abs. He was leaning against bed frame and when your fingers tickled his torso he tensed his muscles, making his front toned and hard.

“Ah, fuck,” you moaned and adjusted your position. Simultaneously, the bulge in Jaemin's tight shorts grew.

Your fingers reached his defined v-line and pinched the seams of the shorts. Jaemin – aroused by your sensual touch – adjusted his position too, causing the boner to brush against your arm.

“Ughn,” he whispered and opened his mouth, the pressure on the tip of his dick sending wonderful and erotic sensations through his body.

Your hand slid slowly over the shorts and down to his broad thigh. He spread his legs wider and his knee rested in your lap. You squeezed the thigh with the full size of your palm, your fingers barely even covering half of his thick leg. You pushed harder on his skin as the wonderful, erotic tingle spread through your own body too.

“Please,” Jaemin moaned still with his eyes closed. “Don't tease.”

You smiled wide to yourself. “Okay,” you said softly, and moved your hand quickly to his solid bulge. You squeezed the outline of the hard boner and he raised his ass high from the bed, pushing his dick into your hand with lust and passion.

“Mm, please,” he whimpered and flexed his sexy muscles.

You better give the man what he wanted.

*****

“Ugh, uhhh, huuh,” Jaemin moaned and panted each time he pushed his dick back inside your ass. He hadn't moved an inch form his spot, still sitting on the bed leaning against the bed frame. But by now he was butt naked – as were you – and you were in his lap intimately riding his cock.

Your hands and eyes were still fully focused on his muscular body. Each time the man thrust slowly but passionately into your body, stretching your hole wide and filling it with his solid dick, his chest and abs tensed. You squeezed various parts of his body to feel their intricate details and the powerful flexing.

His chest was big and could hardly fit into your hand. His shoulder was broad with long and distinct veins. Even there you could tell that he worked out a lot.

His biceps altered between being big and soft, and firm and toned, each time he pulled on your hips and ass to make you roll faster over his pulsing boner.

When he thrust into you by raising his ass slightly, his thighs below your cheeks became hard as rock. His strong legs could lift you with ease, and the movement made you feel amazing things.

Your dick was resting on Jaemin's abs, gliding up and down the waves of his stomach with each slow but firm jolt. Pre-cum seeped out of the head, which was then smeared across his abs by the gliding motions of your shaft.

Jaemin's skin became wet and slippery. Your dick was hard and became lubricated. It felt incredibly erotic the way you rode him.

Jaemin's orgasm was fast approaching. He put an arm around your back and pulled himself toward you, while spreading his legs wider below you. He used his hands to rock his ass back and forth on the mattress, and the bed began to bump against the wall.

You raised your ass slightly and locked your body by tensing your muscles. With one hand on Jaemin's shoulder and the other pressing against his big, hard chest, you sat on your knees and let the man jam himself into you at an ever increasing pace.

Jaemin's skin began to glisten. His whole front became sticky and moist – not just by pre-cum – as he perspired, and the sheets and pillow behind his back became soaked.

“Huuuuh, uuhhg, ahhhh,” he repeated louder an louder.

“Mm, holy shit,” you exclaimed in a low voice. The way his cock stretched and filled your hole was intense and wonderful.

Your hand soon slipped down the chest and abs one last time, where you found your own dick and wrapped your fingers around the shaft. You began to stroke and pleasure your pulsing boner, while Jaemin's throbbed inside you.

His firm grip around your back and hip tightened. You could feel his imminent eruption. His muscles stopped going soft between thrusts. His entire, sweaty body remained hard, and his face tensed as he grimaced and clutched his teeth.

“Ahh, fuuuck,” he ground loudly when he was so close to the edge even his strong muscles struggled to stay in control. ”Mm, fuck, you're so hot!”

You held your breath to feel every detail of his hard and slippery dick inside you. He rubbed you fast, hitting just the right spot, until he came and his entire body jolted.

He practically threw himself at you. You caught him in your arms and wrapped them around his neck and shoulders. He buried his face in your chest while you squeezed him around the sides with your knees and thighs.

“Ahh, fuck!” he repeated. He began to breathe heavily, heaving for air against your skin. His sweaty forehead slid up and down on your chest while his thrusting hips caused your body to shake and bounce on his dick.

Throughout it all your kept your hand firmly fixed around your shaft. You flapped your hand furiously, panting into Jaemin's hair while jerking off between your moist bodies.

The head became red as your fingers prevented blood from reaching it. The sea of pre-cum in which it had bathed caused a wonderful sensation. Soon, pre-cum was not all that came out of your rock hard boner.

Your face crumpled. You grimaced and held your breath. Then, when you released, your breath became deep and heavy in an instant.

“Ahhhh, Ahhhh, Yeees, fuck my ass!” you pretty much screamed when you orgasmed.

You shot your load onto Jaemin's flexing abs, soaking his front in white liquid. He abruptly raised his head and stared up at you, to protect his face from the ejaculation.

When you were done and your body sank onto his lap, the back of your hand slid through the sea against his abs, gliding all over his sperm-drenched and wash-board-like stomach.

“Holy fuck,” Jaemin said. He was still trying to catch his breath.

“Damn,” you moaned and chuckled. “That was incredible!”

You looked down at Jaemin's droopy face. “Yeah,” he said with his mouth half open, his body still heaving and thrusting gently.

When you both calmed down, you returned your focus to his muscles again. He relaxed and leaned back, his big hands and arms resting on your thighs while you gently stroke his chest and sides.

“Fuck you're hot,” he said and looked up and down your front.

“No, you're hot,” you said and giggled, smiling wide back at him.

Even when his muscles were spent and dormant he looked broad and fit. He occasionally tensed up which felt great between your legs, his dick at half attention inside you.

You were so glad he let you touch him like this, and totally happy with his big muscles in any state.

Oh, how hot his chiseled body was, and how erotic and sensual they made you feel. The man was nothing short of perfection.

266 notes · View notes

netherfeildren · 2 years ago

Text

Pink : Part II: I See Your Father as My Father

Series Masterlist : Part I : Part III

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Inappropriate relationships; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms; Ass play lite; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Praise kink; Aftercare; Size kink; Spitting; Come eating; Thigh fucking; Oral sex

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 12.3K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

2. I See Your Father as My Father

When he swings the door open, he’s still half pulling a t-shirt over his curl messed head, faded gray, rust orange longhorn across the front, a flash of hair sprinkled belly. All man, man, man. It stretches over his broad shoulders so the holes strewn there stretch and gape wide making your face heat unbearably. And he’s struck silent for a second, realizing it’s you taking up space on his front porch, trying to hide against the shadow of the wooden beam at your back, ringing his bell in the middle of the night like the Devil’s on your heels. Brow pulled low, he steps out onto the porch, into the shadows with you, his gaze flashing back and forth between your eyes. He says your name, and you hate it. “Did somethin’ happen? Are you alright?” And you want to say no, that nothing is alright. That you know you shouldn’t be here, but you’re here anyways now, and so he needs to tell you what’s going to happen next because this is as far as you’d planned. The sound of his voice, the sight of him, that’s as far as you’d planned. The rest is up to him now, even if he doesn’t know it. Your eyes fall down the long, broad length of him. Rumpled jeans, hastily pulled on, and his bare feet, oddly erotic. They’re paler than the rest of him, sun deprived, and briefly, ridiculously, you wonder if he has that funny sock tan men get around their ankles. The skin stretched over strong tendon and bone, beautifully arched. You give a tiny shake of your head, something like a whimper slipping up your throat. And you think he must realize or understand because he sighs, long and drawn out, dragging his palm over his mouth as he watches you struggle. You think that’s his tell, that dragging hand; he does it when he’s thinking, confused, worried, upset which leads you to worry that maybe he’s upset you’re here now, but it’s done, you’ve come. There’s nothing either of you can do to undo it now. Your eyes move back up to his face, and he’s taking stock of you now also. The soft, loose jersey shorts, too big pullover almost covering them entirely, the sleeves twisted around your clenched fingers. “You gotta tell me what you’re doin’ here, sweetheart. You gotta say it out loud.” You let out a rough, frustrated sound through your clenched teeth, looking away from him for a second.

“We never talked about it,” you say instead because you want to hear him acknowledge it, you want that to be said out loud.

He understands immediately, “You never gave me a chance to.”

You look back at him, he’s taken a step closer, and you wrap your arms back behind the beam, trying to meld yourself to the wood, keep yourself away from him.

“What else was I supposed to do? If we talked about it, it would’ve happened again.”

“Well, then that’s why – that’s why we never talked about it.”

“But did you want to?” And your voice breaks a little at the end, “Did you want to talk about it?”

He sighs again, a muttered curse under his breath. He isn’t going to give you the easy way out. “Tell me why he left you,” and you flinch. He, his son. It’s the truth, no reason to cower. You were left. You have to look away again, unable to confess this when looking into the kinder version of eyes that never loved you.

“I think you know. I think you could tell from the very first moment you saw us together.” He hums his agreement, and the sound fucking hurts. “He never loved me. He never even really liked me, I don’t think. But that became okay after a while.” A tear falls, and you listen to the sound of him suck in a sharp breath; it makes you smile just a little, that small sound. You look back at his face, “I don’t want you to think I’m not okay with that now because I really am. It made me realize that he’d never been what I wanted or needed either. That he couldn’t ever give me what I wanted either.”

“And what’s that?” His voice sounds gentle, but you know that it’s put on. You know there isn’t going to be anything gentle about this.

You choose to ignore that, “You know he said once, that I’d lied to him about who I was. But I didn’t– I really didn’t, Joel,” and you say it with such panic, or fervor, or something that’s desperate to ensure that he doesn’t think the same of you. That he doesn’t take you for a liar also. “He just couldn’t understand that this is the only way I know how to be. Being scared all the time makes you a liar. It makes you what the moment needs you to be no matter what that is. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I know what you mean,” but he looks nervous, the truth of him too close to the surface, and it soothes you. The two of you are the same, you knew it.

You peek down at your twisted fingers, nails gnawed raw and bloody and disgusting. “I don’t think he ever loved me and that made me sad. But now, I don't think I ever loved him either, and that makes me sadder. It was all for nothing, I let him turn me into that thing for nothing, and I was always waiting for him to treat me better, different. But a person who can treat you badly once usually finds it quite easy to do it again.” You look back up at him, shocked for a moment at your sharp honesty. “I’m sorry. He’s your son. I shouldn’t say these things to you,” even thought it sounds like hypocrisy, for look at where you’re standing in the middle of the night.

“And you’re you.”

And the sober way he says it sobers you, recenters you. “Yes. I’ve always been only myself.” And it’s the truth, the most difficult one. That despite Sam’s claims that you’d made him believe you to be someone you weren’t, despite the sick desire for complacency, to please all those around you, you have always been only you. Even when they’d tried to force you to be something you weren’t, you were still always only yourself. You say it again, just to hear the sound of the words.

“You gotta tell me what you’re doing here then. You want to talk about that? About what happened that night? Is that it?”

“Yes.”

He sighs, that telling gesture over his stern mouth again. “If we do this, there’s no goin’ back, and I–”

“There already is no going back for me. I can’t forget. I can’t stop remembering.”

“It would be different– if we– if I take you, it’ll be different. You get me? I won’t be able to stop. I know myself well enough to know that. I won’t be able to stay away from you after.”

“I don’t care.”

“So that’s what you want?” But you can’t say the words out loud, you can’t, you can’t. You’re ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated by your own desire, small and slanted. Despite all your progress, and as much as you want it, you still know you shouldn’t. “I gotta fuckin’ hear it, sweetheart. Is that what you want?” You shake your head a little, another tear, wrapping your arms around yourself. You can see the fight in his eyes, trying to hold you off from the inside out. I don’t know, another tear. He makes a frustrated noise, turning to pace to the opposite end of the porch, hand fisted in his hair. When he turns back he seems to deflate, eyes going cool and steady and then, suddenly, like a ricochet, bright and light, a flash fire. Once more: “What do you want?” To be wanted. To be good. “You want me to kiss you? You want me to fuck you?”

And your eyes flutter closed in relief, there it is, finally, the hard part’s over. It’s been said out loud. “Yes, that’s what I want.” He’s on you in three ground eating strides, big hand wrapping around the contours of your jaw, the other fisting in the hair at the back of your head, pulling you up so that you’re balanced on the tips of your toes. Your eyes fall shut, mouth parting embarrassingly ready for him to kiss you, but he gives your head a little shake between his palms. “You’re supposed to belong to my son, goddamnit. I’m not supposed to want you like this. This is wrong.”

“I never belonged to him,” and then bitter truth, honesty laminated in humiliation, “And I don’t care if it’s wrong.” Followed by a thought, a wash of shyness, held in his hands as you are, large strong hands: there is a part of me that feels very innocent still, naive, experienced hands that will finally teach you how to be good. You watch the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the sun roughened skin of his throat, and when you look back up at his eyes, there is nothing like innocence, nothing like naivety in them, only the reflection of something complex, something more. He goes very still, almost vibrational with restraint, his fingers clench around you once, and then, with unbearable control, his hands flex open, releasing you.

“Get in the house,” he says very, very quietly. You cup your own palm around the space of your chin where he’d gripped you and turn on your toes, scampering inside, into the home of the man who would have remained your father-in-law for the rest of your life had his son ever decided to love you. The door slams shut behind him.

He steps into the dark restroom with a staying hand out and ready, as if approaching a wounded, rabid animal.

His son, his son is a cruel and small man. Joel is coming to realize this with something like horror running in currents beneath his skin. Quick to anger, quick to aggression. And you, his daughter-in-law, no one knows this better than you do. He’d naively thought, when his fully grown son had appeared at his door steps all those months ago, that the question Joel had carried on the tip of his tongue for half of his adult life had finally been answered. Alone but never necessarily lonely, something like a film of boredom and monotony over his life. He was content with the place he’d made for himself; he had his business and his brother and friends, and Joel was fine. But a child of his own, he’d never expected it, never even considered it a possibility. And what he’d come to discover: his son, who shouldn’t still be a child, but in many ways, was.

He licks at the groove of his molar as he watches the tremble of your back, trying to hide your weeping face in the shadows of the bathroom wall. A small, anxious thing that had been, out of everything, perhaps the biggest shock of all. To learn that he had a son, an entire life lost to time, and that there was someone in the world that his son should have loved enough to tie himself to – it was shocking. To discover that his son was married when Joel was not, disorienting.

He says your name softly and watches the jerk of your frame, that vein of anxiety he’d sensed in you from the get go that he was fairly certain Sam had a large part in sowing. You’d shown up with your hair picked up today, only the second time you’ve ever worn it so. Piled messy at the top of your head, a few strands laying against the nape of your neck, the vulnerable slope of your shoulder. He feels strangely afraid of you, afraid for you. Unsure of what to say, heart beating out of his chest, rebounding against his ribcage so hard he’s sure you can hear it. “I’m sorry. He didn’t mean it. He–”

“Please, don’t apologize for him.” A tiny sniffle. “Don’t apologize for him,” you say again, and there’s a hum of exhaustion in your voice, brokenness, it makes Joel go from afraid to entirely terrified, but then angry too… angry too. He takes a step forward, another, he’s an arms length away from you now. He could touch you if he was brave enough. If the intent behind it wasn’t as wrong as it is. Angry because he’s looking at that vulnerable nape, imagining the fit of his palm molded over the delicate column, and you’re something to be taken care of. Something like a gift. Even though he doesn’t know you well enough to say such a thing yet, even though he shouldn’t be thinking such a thing about his daughter-in-law. Even though you hold yourself with a hard rigidness most of the time, quiet dignity and cold vulnerability that seem almost impossible to get through. And yet he suspects that with enough care and patience you could become immediately soft, easily penetrated. He should see his son as a gift, and he does, he does, he does, he swears he does. If Joel repeats it enough times in his mind surely he’ll come to believe it with his whole heart, but what he sees more than the gift of a child that was kept from him, is nothing but a boy beating down a creature that was not taught to defend itself. And that makes him angry beyond belief.

Joel can be a hard man. He is a hard man. Perhaps, a large part of the reason why he’s still alone, why nothing more than a quick fuck ever seems to work out for him. Women like him, they enjoy his company, they come to bed with him easily. But Joel is hard and cold, and he’s never much minded his aloneness, a difficult thing to sell to a woman, the reality that he doesn’t really care to need anyone else. And so perhaps, this is his son’s inherited vice, that coldness, but despite Joel’s preference for solitude, for the fact that he doesn’t care about making a person stick around, he tries to never be cruel, and he is sure to never hurt those that are more easily hurt than himself. He doesn’t think there’s any worse sort of sin, and so he knows that this cruelty he’s witnessing didn’t come from him. But then he thinks that if it didn’t come from him, then it surely came as a consequence of him, of his absence, and so he is just as responsible for it. So he can’t help himself when, instead of more platitudes in favor of his gift of a son, he says: “You should leave him.” You let out a bitter sound of a laugh, something that pokes at that wound of fear of his.

“Should I? I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to say.”

“Isn’t it? It’s the truth. It’s what you need to hear right now,” The sweetheart he adds at the end has a tiny shiver moving down the length of your spine that his own vertebrae can’t help but imitate. You hang your head, bearing more of that lovely nape, head seemingly bowed in supplication for something gentler than what his son can offer you, and he can’t help himself again. He wants to sink his teeth into that soft expanse of skin. You’re too pretty, pretty in all the ways a perfect thing can be, and Joel is a hard man, not a weak one, but he feels weak now. He feels brought to his knees, heavy stone of guilt weighing in his gut as he lays his palm on the back of your bared neck. Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch, this doesn’t belong to you. He tightens his hand, grips the column, presses the calluses of his palm to the soft skin. “Look at me–” he gruffs, turns you by the pressure of his hand, a kitten gripped by the scruff and made to listen. “You deserve more than that shit.” That shit being his son, his blood. Joel is two feet tall and so ashamed he’s nauseous. But your eyes, they look up at him, tear filled and so lost, and he wants to show you how it should be. “You deserve more,” he says again. Later, he’ll tell himself he surely must have said the words out loud, asked for it with teeth and tongue. The blame can only be his, he provoked it, he soothed the wound, incited it, because you’re surging up and against him, fingers clawing at his shoulders and throat and pressing your mouth to his, clumsy and tear stained and open so that the first thing he tastes is your breath on his tongue, then your tongue on his tongue, and then absolution tinged with shame, gross desire like desperation. He groans like a dying man, clutching at you immediately, unthinking, pulling you into himself, soft, full tits against hard chest so that he feels like he’s burning and dying and coming back to life all with the taste of your spit and tears in his mouth. He holds you steady, hand still clamped to the back of your neck and thinks that if he’s going to commit a sin he might as well take his fill. He eats at you. Head held in place, knees bent and arm banded around your waist to bring you level with each other, he pulls your head back, mouth open and tries to swallow you whole. And Joel doesn’t think of his son, not for a single second, while he kisses his daughter-in-law.

His lips slide to your throat, hunting for your pulse, tasting the tiny flutter, going weak at the knees at the whimpered sound you make, cock harder than it’s been in years, a noise like begging, like more. He sucks hard at that thrum, but your noises shift to frightened, protesting, fingers digging into his shoulders to warn him. He can’t leave marks, he can’t leave marks on something that belongs to another. His erection is an iron band down the leg of his jeans, and he has to force himself not to thrust the aching cock into the soft apex of your thighs, feel your warmth there. He has to stop, he has to– to what? To let you go back to a boy that mistreats you? Even if that boy is his son, it’s wrong, it goes against everything Joel is as a man. He presses his face into the blistering heat of your throat, a muttered fuck under the ledge of your little chin. A rattling shiver has started up in you, teeth chattering with the force of it, and he bands his arms around you tightly, pressing the air out of your lungs, hand smoothing up to twist in the back of your hair and force you entirely still. “Don’t,” his voice is so deep he almost doesn’t recognize it coming out of his own mouth, “Don’t be afraid.” The sound of his popping knees as he unbends to his full height, your weight still in his arms. He lets you go in increments, slowly so as not to jar you further, hands holding tight until the last moment when he forces them to unclench, let you go. “Don’t be afraid,” he says again. “You did nothing wrong. This was all me.” Your eyes are huge, but you’re not crying anymore, and that feels like victory to Joel, despite the rest, the only thing that matters.

You run from him after that, because of course you do. What’s the other option? That he’d keep you there in that dark restroom, from his son and your marriage and the world, forever? He clutches at his chest and is swallowed whole by his shame and his guilt, the terrible fear that he isn’t the sort of parent that can blindly see past their child’s faults, love them despite everything else, not the type of man who can keep himself from wanting something he shouldn’t, he hadn’t felt so when he’d kissed you with that sick desperation on his tongue. And once he hears the sound of a slamming car door, and Sam’s truck peeling out of the drive and speeding away, he takes out his hard cock and fucks his fist until the heat of his semen is sliding over his skin, a handful of pathetic strokes and the sound of your name almost like a sob in the dark.

You listen to the sound of his bare feet padding across the wooden floor, and your head feels like it’s breaking water, seeing clearly for the first time in years. It’s a rich parquet, gleaming in the dim light of the street lamp glow. You wonder if he installed it himself, like the wallpaper, proof of the care and attention to detail in his home. You think you would like to be cared for as such also. There’s a soft green throw draped over the back of the chocolate leather couch, and you dig your fingers into it, twisting amidst the knitted weave as you turn to face him, and he has that look in his eyes again, the one from before. The one like too much, too much, the one like fear and want. Stopping just in front of you, the tips of his bare toes meet the front of your shoes, and he reaches to drag the pad of his thumb over the high slope of your cheekbone, the fine skin catching beneath his calluses. “You’re too beautiful,” he says, and you wish it sounded like an accusation, but it doesn't, and you want to tell him you don’t believe him, just to be difficult, just to be contrary, but you know he’s not the sort of man that lies. It only sounds like praise. His eyes are so dark in the shadow of the house, the green and brown and caramel striations gone away in the night, and he’s shifting his jaw, chewing on a thought before he spits it out. His other hand comes up to gently, so gently cup the other side of your face, and he holds you there, just so, angling you this way and that, appraising you, chewing, chewing slowly. “Too beautiful – I never even stood a chance,” he says more to himself than to you. This is a man that does things with intention. This is a man that sees you as a complexity, as something more. This is a man. “He told me something – last time we saw each other.” Your heart beats painfully in your chest, you can feel it in your eyes and ears and the backs of your knees.

“What’s that?”

“That the two of you were havin’ problems. In– in the bedroom. That–”

You try and jerk away, but he holds you trapped. “Stop. Please. Don’t–”

“Is that all this is? Older man – want me to teach you somethin’?”

Cradled as you are, you close your eyes, brow folding in a frown, unable to refute him with a shake for the way he’s captured you. You bring your own hand up to circle his thick wrist, fingers not meeting around it. He has hair here, your palm slides further down, hair here too. All man, man, man. No longer in the hands of a boy, and you’re touching him. Now you’re touching him too. “That very first time I met you– I wondered what you’d taste like. How heavy you’d be inside of me. If you’d be rough, leave marks, or gentle. You know I– I wanted– If he hadn’t been there, if–” Now he’s the one that begs you to stop.

His hands on you are tighter now, almost strangling, squeezing a moan out of you. “Are you going to tell him?” His grip goes loose again, caressing. “ If we do this– are you going to use this against him? It’s yours to do with as you will, I just want to know beforehand. It won't change the way I have you tonight.”

“Only tonight?” Your voice sounding strange, hungry.

His eyes move entirely around your face, taking you in, held as you are. His gaze is manic, fevered, but his words are slow, stacked one on top of the other for you. “No. No, I don’t think it’ll only be tonight.”

“I’m not going to use this against him.” For the first time in two years, what you’re doing, the decisions you’re making, have nothing to do with your ex-husband. This is only for you. Joel is only for you.

“Tell me what you want,” he asks for the last time.

“To be good,” you finally say, and the rough sound he makes, the flush you can faintly see crawling up the column of his throat, it has a painful knot of want tightening your cunt, the wet drip of slick pooling in your panties, all hot and bruised feeling on the inside.

He lets his hands slide slowly from your face to hang loosely by his sides, and you take it as your invitation to touch him as you like now. He’s so much taller than you, your neck craning back to look up at his face. You start there, the crest of his cheek, the strong, curved nose, plush mouth that looks specifically made for kissing a cunt until it cries. He makes your thoughts feel savage, he makes you feel like something you’ve never been before. “You’re just a little girl, aren’t you?” He says softly. Your hands move down to his thick neck, and you try and cage him there, hands too small to circle him entirely, the insinuation of a strangling. Too small, too small, too small. You shake your head, mesmerized by the contradiction of your small fragility trying to capture all that strength held inside of him. You look up at his eyes, holding him around the throat as you are, and shake your head. You’re not. “Then what are you?”

“I don’t know. I want you to show me.” And that does something to him. You see the change come over him in that very moment, something chimeral in the change your words provoke. He’s made of nothing but vibrational restraint, giving you your moment of peace to explore him as you need to before he takes you for himself. You’re almost certain you can hear the sound of him grinding his molars to dust inside his mouth. And you want him to show you, it’s the truth. As wrong or whatever it is that it may be, it’s your truth. You’d always felt like you’d done being a woman the wrong way, a grating way, an unappealing way, but you didn’t want to be unappealing or wrong. You only wanted to be yourself. And worst of all, you’d been made to feel like that, over and over again, by the man who should have done nothing but the opposite. And you know it might be bad now, to want to be shown or that there was no right way, but still, but still, you want it. You would still like for someone, for Joel, to teach you how to be better, how to be good. Was that really so bad?

Your hands slide down to the thick muscles of his chest, thumbs dipping into the dents of his collarbones, lower to the soft of his belly, the edge of his jeans. The both of you are trembling now, you in lust, desperation, him in restraint maybe. There are beads of sweat dampening the curls at his temples. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“Do you think so?”

He nods, but he’s cupping your elbows in his big hands anyway, pulling you towards him so that your breasts graze the top of his belly. “But we’re doin’ it anyway.” You go up on your tiptoes, hand cupping the sharp edge of his jaw to pull him down towards you, and he’s like a leashed wolf; heavy, hot breaths fanning across your face, and he slowly does as you bid, mint, mixed with something sharp like whiskey. He’s watching you so intently, watching to see what you’ll do with him, but your eyes are only on that soft wet mouth. You want his tongue inside of you, and that first press is so, so soft, barely there. A sound like dying, you can’t tell who it comes from, another soft brush, and you’re taking his top lip between both of yours, sucking on it lightly, hands snaking over his thick shoulders to bring yourself up closer so that he’s finally wrapping his arms around you, pressing you tightly to himself, belly to belly. He still hasn’t closed his eyes, he’s still watching you, and your heart is beating so fast and so hard and you want this so much that you’re sure he can feel it reverberating into his own chest cavity, spurring his own beating muscle on. You press another tiny kiss to his full, open mouth. “I’m scared,” you whisper onto his tongue, and he smoothes a staying hand down your spine, settling over the curve of your ass and squeezing there, holding you in his snare. He’s barely even touched you, and yet, you already know that no one else has ever been like this.

“That’s alright. Got nothin’ to be scared of – I’m gonna be so gentle with you, baby.”

“I’m not your baby,” hint of an obstinate, provoking whine in your voice.

“But that’s what you are.” He changes the angle of his descent, and now he’s the one moving in for another tiny kiss. “Just a little baby.”

“And I don’t want it gentle.”

“You’ll take it how I say. How ‘bout that?” Another kiss, and now the taste of his tongue. You’d never forgotten it, the slick, hot slide of it, from that other time. He licks into you, takes away your ability to talk. In a single blink of an eye, less than a second’s thought, he’s taken all control from you, made the game his own, and now you’ve finally gotten what you’d come here for. Now you can finally say it out loud. He wraps a massive fist around the length of your hair and eats at your mouth, makes it his more than it’s ever been yours. All tongue and teeth and wet spit, the sound of his pleasure for you vibrating in your ears, and there is it, the pressure of his hard cock as he slides his hand lower, between your legs to feel the heat and damp of the pussy that’s wet only for him, pulls you further into himself. The heft of the bulge has you whining and squirming in his hold, clawing at his shoulders and the skin of his neck to climb up the length of him, get closer, get more. You want that cock, you want it inside of you, filling you with its weight and its come. You’ve wanted it from the first time you’d met him as his daughter-in-law, standing beside his son in the place of his wife. You’d wanted his cock more than you’d ever wanted his sons, and you’re only ashamed that you’re not ashamed at all. And he tastes that desperation on you, nips at your lip with a gruff settle, a little yank of your hair to tug your head back and unlatch his mouth from yours, sliding in a wet trail to your neck, settle, settle. He bites at the line of your throat, hard. Sucks even harder, leaves a mark, leaves a claim he wasn’t able to last time. The deeply rumbled sound that comes from him attests to his intention and your answering, whimpered mewl is nothing but a cry for more; I know, baby, I know, he whispers into your ear. His mouth moves down your chest, pulling the already stretched neck of your pullover wider to nuzzle at the deep groove of your cleavage. You want to ask him if he’s worried, guilty, if he’s wanted you for as long as you wanted him, if he was hard when you kissed him that night in his little wallpapered restroom, but then the heat of his mouth is clamping around your nipple and sucking, wetting the fabric of your top with his tongue, biting down at your breast, the sharp of his teeth clamping down around your sensitive flesh, nothing but your soft sleep bra beneath to protect you. You yank hard at his messy curls, trying to pull his punishing teeth away and pull yourself closer, all at the same time. His eyes flash up to yours, mouth latched at your breast, cheeks hollowing as he takes a hard, wet pull and there’s laughter in his gaze, hot and bright and infectious. “I’ll be gentle, but I’m not gonna be nice, baby.” He nuzzles into the wet spot left behind, presses another kiss, soft and conciliatory now over your throbbing nipple. “You want me to be nice? Want me to be nice to this little pussy?” He rubs the flat of his fingers over that desperate place between your legs as he turns to walk the two of you back towards the front of the sofa. There’s no response to be given, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. He turns to sit, pulling you to remain standing between his spread thighs, hands wrapped around your hips. “Gotta use your words, pretty baby. I wanna hear what you want.”

“I want whatever you want. I want it however you want it,” you say through your flush and your shyness. You want to be honest, not a liar here in this moment with him.

He lets his head fall forward to rest against your lower belly, nuzzles there, and you hear his whispered, Jesus, fuck, before he pulls back to look up at you, drags his palms down the back of your legs all the way to your ankles, nudging your shoes and socks off, and then sliding all the way back up, scratchy calluses making you shiver until he reaches the edge of your shorts and tucks the tips of his fingers there. “Take your shirt off,” he says gently, and you only pause for a second of timidity before you’re pulling it over your head, left only in your soft pink sleep bra not intended for the eyes of ex-father-in-law’s you’ve come to seduce. Your shyness flushes higher, burning your face, sprouting beads of embarrassed sweat at the nape of your neck. He untucks his fingers from the waistband of your shorts, smoothing his palms up the slopes of your curves, thumbs dragging up the plane of your belly, dipping into the dent of your navel to reach up and squeeze your breasts tight in his big hands, then pulls the straps down over your shoulders, the bra down over the curves of your breasts to leave them bare and heavy. And his eyes never leave yours as he gets you naked for himself, fingers sliding down your sides now to pull your shorts and panties and the scrunched bra down, the flush in his face deepening, heightening even though he’s yet to look at you. Don’t be scared, he whispers again, shaking his head a little when you wrap your arms around your breasts, trying to hide yourself away from him. When he’s taken your shorts from you, gripping each ankle to help you step out of their circle, he finally looks at you, takes in the entire bare expanse of your naked body, gently prying your arms from your breasts. “Lemme see, lemme see, you’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby.” He runs his hands all over you, the slope of your belly, lifts the weights of your tits in his palms to let them fall and sway heavily, down the outsides of your thighs and back up and around to squeeze the lush of your ass. He pulls you further towards him with that clutch on you and presses his nose into the apex of your thighs, nuzzles at the soft thatch of curls there, brings his thumb up to pet at it and breathes deep. “I like this – so pretty,” he tells you again. If it was possible for a person to die of shyness you surely would in this moment, but this was what you’d come here for, this was what you hadn’t been able to say out loud. He presses his nose there again, takes another deep breath, and then starts to mouth wetly, pressing soft kisses and then the wet of his tongue, licking and parting at your slick seam. He groans so deep it sends you to shivering, hands coming up to cover your face, to hide away from that sound of lust, the feral look in his eyes when he looks up at you with the taste of your cunt in his mouth. He starts to lap at you in earnest, closing his eyes in sheer enjoyment as he pets at your clit with his tongue, shifting his angle this way and that to get at you more deeply. He pulls one of your feet up onto the edge of the sofa to open you, and you’re jostled forward, catching yourself on his broad shoulder as he spreads and eats you. His hand on your ass shifts lower, searching for your opening from behind and starts to pet at you there too so that he’s coming at you from the front and the back, and it’s too much, his sucking mouth and probing fingers. Your standing leg buckles, and he’s forced to pull his mouth from you, steady you. You let your knees give out slowly, coming to a folded kneel between his legs. He leans forward, mouth glossy with your slick and pulls your face to his, chin pinched between his fingers to kiss you, and the taste of you on his tongue sets something off within you.

Suddenly, your shy insecurity doesn't really matter as much with the flavor of your pussy on his tongue. You surge up on your knees, pressing closer to him, pulling him to you with your arms twisted around his neck, moaning into his mouth as you taste the sweet muskiness on his tongue. Like kindling catching fire in your veins you start to claw at him, pulling at his clothes, his hair, scratching at his skin. He half pulls you up and on top of him, your steaming hot form, entirely bare and naked on top of his clothed one. You can feel the heft of his cock against your belly, grinding there, trying to find whatever friction possible, and he makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat, pushing you back down onto the floor and pulling back to open his jeans. He’s panting and sweating, chest heaving and cheeks flushed a bright red. He wants you just as much as you want him. And it’s bad, it’s bad and wrong to compare, God knows, but when he finally pulls his cock out, he’s not wearing anything beneath his jeans, you know that this is a man unlike your husband ever was; long and thick, fucking big, swollen, flushed tip peaking out from soft surrounding skin, leaking a clear slick of drool. He takes it out and sits back, pushing his hips forward to settle into his seat and stretches his long legs on either side of you. You listen to the sound of the scooting coffee table as he shoves it back with his foot. His cock arches obscenely from his open jeans, and you reach up slowly, a little intimidated, to circle it with your fingers delicately. “You’re so hard,” you whisper.

He drags a gentle hand over the crown of your head, pulling the hair tie from your ponytail as he goes. “This is how much I want you. This is all you.” He circles his big hand around your much smaller one, squeezes his big cock tighter with both of your hands, and you flush with a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. You can make a man hard, the proof is right here in front of you.

He’s uncut, and that’s doubly intimidating. “I’ve never seen one like that,” he pulls your hand up slowly with his, squeezes and twists hard at the sticky wet tip.

“It’s okay, baby,” he croons, looking down at you with a maniacal sort of glint in his eyes. “Just open your mouth,” he wraps his other hand around your jaw, “You don’t need to see it if it’s inside you,” wedges his fingers between your molars over the skin of your cheeks, prying your mouth open. You bend your head forward, tongue hanging out, and he taps the heavy weight of his cock there, jostles the wet tip slightly from side to side, the wet sticky sound of it has your pussy clenching around terrible emptiness. He slides his hand up your cheek, twists his fingers through your hair and directs you how he wants you, slides his cock further back on your tongue, and you wrap your lips around him, give him your first real suck, tongue swirling gently around the fat head. Pulling back with a sharp hollowing of your cheeks, he squeezes his fist around yours almost painfully, and you press an open mouthed kiss at the spongey tip, gently tonguing the slit, lapping at it with the flat of your tongue like a little kitten. The sight of you licking his dick has him groaning, bearing the white line of his teeth at you.

“You taste so good,” you say up at him with big wet eyes, “Like I always imagined you would.”

“Fuck–” he snarls, “Killin’ me,” and he’s jerking you up off the floor roughly, pulling your knees apart to settle you in a straddle on his lap, pressing you close with a hand on your ass so that the wet heat of your cunt is meeting the heat of his cock. The both of you groan like it hurts, like you’ve been waiting for this for longer than is right, and he pulls your mouth back to his, wet and messy, sucking on your tongue, gripping your hair so tightly, your eyes smart and water. You claw at his shirt, pulling it up, trying to get at his skin, and he pulls back suddenly, frustratedly ripping it over his head, and then coming back to your mouth, single minded in his dedication to having the taste of you on his tongue. You try and grind down on him, but he hitches you up higher so your breasts are level with his face. “This’ll be over ‘fore it’s even begun if we’re not careful,” he laughs as he settles you, cunt leaking against his stomach and turning the hair there sticky sweet with your slick, and slots his hand between your thighs, gives you something to rub yourself against while he kisses you. “Oh, baby, you’ve got the wettest little cunt,” he says between kisses, lips sliding down to suck at your neck, lifting your breast to his mouth to lick and bite at your swollen nipple.

And past sense, past restraint, you beg: “I want your cock, please, I want it so badly.”

“Nuh uh,” he grunts, “Not yet. You’re not ready.”

You whine and beg that you are, you promise you are, but he only sucks at your tits harder, presses his hand harder between your thighs, and you can literally hear the wet squelch of your pussy as you ride his palm, your clit grinding against his belly on the forward slide as you work yourself up into a frenzy, wet whimpers and a pathetic little tear or two slipping out in your frustration to come. Need you nice and soft to take me, sweetheart, he murmurs into the tender skin beneath your chin, but he decides to be kind, crooking his finger just so that it brushes up against your clit, setting off a shivery little orgasm fluttering through your belly. He laughs softly, humoring the silly little thing wiggling around in his lap that’s so desperate to come, decides to be kinder halfway through your orgasm and starts to slowly press a single thick finger into your hungry, clenching hole. Shit, you hear his curse, while you moan and cry into his shoulder, mouthing and biting at the sun freckled golden skin there, gnawing on him like some rabid thing. And then he says, a little teasing: “Just from this, huh? Just from a little wiggling around on daddy’s lap?” sending a wash of agonized relief through you as he wedges a second one of those thick, thick fingers inside to stretch you further. It’s what you’d wanted to call him from the first moment. Just one more thing said out loud. You nod your head against his shoulder, a whine and a breath and daddy, daddy, daddy, as he stretches you; make that sound again, he begs and pets and coos at you, yes, yes, I could come from that sound alone, gives you all the patience you’d always needed. “Look at all this slick you’ve made to take my big cock in your little cunt, baby. What a good girl you are.” He twists his wrist, fucks space into you with his fingers, “You’re so fuckin’ tiny – how’re you gonna take me in this little thing, huh?” He bites down on your soft breast, encourages the sway of your hips with his fingers hooked inside of you. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” presses a kiss to your forehead, scratchy beard against the sensitive skin there, gently stroking you into another orgasm around his fingers, petting at something raw and bruised feeling inside of you, sending you to tears.

He pulls his fingers from you slowly once you’re done, leaving your body to tighten and gape around terrible emptiness, and you feel the wet smear of your come on your asscheek where he grips you, searches and pets your asshole to slick it with your wet. “You want daddy to fix you?” He says then, “Want me to make you all better? S’what you want, right?”

You nod slowly, sniffle, “Make me good,” you mumble into his neck.

“But you’re already good,” and he takes away all your choices, the ability to argue or refute, “You’re already so good. A perfect, gorgeous girl.” Kindling in your veins, madness, something more desperate than anything else you’ve ever felt in your entire life, true hunger. Worse than your desire for your father to understand you, to love you, to not be angry, your fight to keep a husband that would have never stayed. You reach for his cock, trying to impale yourself on it blindly, shifting to press the hot, blunt head at your wet opening. He moans like a dying man, “Wait– wait, lemme get a condom.” He sounds like he’s begging.

“No, please, now.”

“Fuck– fuck, you’re so eager to jump on my bare cock without a rubber or anything.” But it’s only because no one has ever touched you like this, and when he grips the thick root of his cock and notches it as your cunt, pushes inside slowly, you realize he’s doing it in a way that makes you understand the difference between the man and the boy.

“I need to feel your skin,” you sound like you’re begging now too. Sighing in relief when he starts to stretch you, when it starts to hurt. It’s slow going, fitting the largeness of his body into your much smaller one. But his hands are steady and soothing as he works you down another inch, another, let’s you fuck yourself on his cock. Murmured praises and all of his desire for you and yeah, just like that, take daddy’s cock, until he’s fully seated inside of you, holds you down, presses and grinds there, thick tip made fatter by his foreskin kissing your cervix. Finally, he pulls you back by the hair, and your father-in-law’s cock is inside of you. “Want you to look at me while I teach you how to fuck– how to take a cock,” because he knows, because he’s always known, had the gross ability to read you exactly as you are. He shifts his hips back, presses up, up, up, inside of you, and his eyes are so beautiful, and he teaches you how to take a cock, not a little girl now, only a woman. You wrap your arms around his neck, kiss his face, lick his tongue, nibble on his ears, feel him all over, he’s all over and everywhere, and it should maybe be humiliating, riding the cock that made the man that was your husband, it should feel wrong or something like a sin, but it only feels, instead, like it was made for you. Like this is where you should have been all along. Once you’ve adjusted, he grips your hips tight and harsh, makes your skin smart enough you know you’ll have bruises in the shapes of his fingers and pounds up into you, the slick slide of your cunt sucking him deeper, taking him as hard as he wants to give it to you, swollen and sensitive, squeezes your ass and grunts and moans and says, yeah, baby, bounce on this fat cock, like it’s the only thing you’d ever have to do for the rest of your life. You wish it was. And the sounds he makes, that’s what really makes you come again, what sets off your orgasm while you’re riding him – the desperate, rough sounds of a man fucking up into a tight, hot cunt that’s wet only for him. It coils in you so tight it hurts, it hurts, and then goes loose and fluttery, pussy flooding around his thrusting length. You can’t even moan, mouth hanging open, proably drooling a little, probably crying a little, nothing but hot air and wet and not a little girl anymore, only a woman, and he doesn’t gentle, fucks you harder, rougher, squeezes your ass and chases his own orgasm. His thrusts going sloppy and uneven, his moans turning to cracked whimpers.

“I’m not on birth control… but– but my period’s soon,” you whisper into his ear, and he makes a noise not wholly human, going still for a moment, throbbing inside you, thinking, thinking of the risk, decides he doesn’t give a fuck by the murmured, fuck it, I have to, and starts to move again, harder, hurting on every punch up against the mouth of your womb. I have to, is what he says, and that settles something inside of you. “Gonna come in this pretty, tight cunt. Gonna make it all mine.” You decide you don’t really give a fuck either. “Make daddy come. Squeeze down on daddy’s cock – yeah, just like that. You wanted to play at being the big girl? Now m’gonna treat you like one – gonna fuck you full, baby.” And you’re nothing but want and yes and please and thank you, daddy. And that first spurt, that hurts too, burns you, changes something inside of you that you know will never go back to the way it was before. You’ll want that hurt for the rest of your life, and you won’t ever be able to forget it, and it might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, but the heat of it spurs on another small orgasm of your own, jars you with the swell and throb of his cock, fills you till the come from your cunt is leaking down onto his slick balls and the leather beneath. And he holds you through the whole thing, stroking and squeezing and tasting, taking sips of your mouth, pressing his breath back into you, breathing life into you. No longer a ghoul in the night either. You feel him go soft and yet still heavy inside, a muted bruise against your womb, sighing frequently as you settle, little kittenish sounds that have his spent cock stirring lazily inside of you while you leak and leak and leak and go drowsy and then just on this side of fully asleep.

“Are you okay?” You remember to ask in a small voice while his fingers play gently in the wet where you’re connected.

He makes a soft sound, like he’s humoring you, like you’ve surprised him. “Course I’m okay,” presses a kiss to your forehead.

When he shifts you off of him to stand, a protesting whine at the back of your throat, he shucks his jeans off with a soft grunt, finally as naked as you’ve been the whole time, and his cock hangs heavy between his legs, shiny with your cunt as you stare up at him while he looks down at you. Afraid for a brief uncertain second before he’s lifting you in his arms, and when he carries you to his bed after, you feel terribly like a child. Again that naivety, that hope, but it isn't a bad thing, here and now with him. Not something to be used against you, not a bruise or a wound or a lost limb, and you haven’t failed at being good because he’s already made you so.

You’re pressed right up beneath his chin when he wakes up. Your soft, warm form all along his side, lush tits and the vulnerable slope of your belly against his skin, and it feels so intimate, entirely twined around him as you are. He brings his palm up to cup the small bowl of your skull, and in the hushed morning light, your mistake breathes life into the world. Joel has always been a hard man. Joel has always been a hard man, but never weak, and certainly, not good, per se, but never cruel. But there’s something like weakness, there’s something that should be like cruelty here, waking up with you bare, still leaking his spend in his bed, and Joel can’t tell if that weakness, that cruelty is his, born of him or of his own making, he only knows that it should be here, probably is here. It’s difficult to gauge the moral acumen of what he should or should not be feeling when he has you like this beside him. And most confusing of all, that it actually feels nothing like a mistake. Only like it was always meant to happen, and now it finally has.

He’d come inside of you, worst of all, sense gone away in the night, couldn’t claim exemption from weakness now, filled you until you’d leaked down his balls, the woman who’d been the wife of his son, and he should feel guilty, he should feel disgusted with himself. A betrayer of his own child. But all he feels is that he needs it again. That he needs you again. That if he could, he’d keep you.

Joel had never wanted children. The thought or desire had never really crossed his mind… and yet– You make a sweet little keening sound in your throat right before you open your eyes, and he feels the stretch and wiggle of your little toes against his shins, the flutter of your long lashes against the tip of his chin. “Good morning.” Soft hand coming up to cover his mouth, hold him in place while you wiggle and slither all over him.

“How do you feel?” He’d expected you to be shy, regretful, nervous waking up, and to find you entirely not, to get to wake up to you like this, soft and warm and lovely in his bed smelling of his come and his sweat, smiling that pretty little smile; it’s the mightiest sort of victory. You drape yourself on top of him, all soft limbs and softer tits, and the heat of your cunt pressed against his belly as you nuzzle into his chest hair. You’re different now, compared to before, that exhaustion he’d sensed is closer to the surface now, more easily visible, as if your body’s been collecting it, pulling it from the depths of you, getting ready to finally expel it. But there’s a clarity about you now too, you’re tired, but you’re also more yourself. Or on your way there. So lovely it hurts, vulnerable and fragile but entirely yourself. Afraid too, he can tell, because it’s your right to be afraid, because it’s normal, because we’re all afraid sometimes. “Sore?” Another nuzzle, and then, settling on your cheek to look up at him with those gorgeous eyes that’d damned him from the very first moment.

“Just a little.”

“You did so well last night,” he pets your hair slowly. “You took me so well. I’m so proud of you.” And oh, you like that. Blooming, the temperature in your body seeming to spike suddenly, suffusing all your limbs, radiating from your belly. Shifting and squirming on top of him. His half hard erection, trapped between the two of you, aching already, and you try and rub yourself all along its length, hitching a knee up by his hip to open yourself. He gives you a rough sound to settle, but you want something from him now, trying to rub your wet pussy all over him. If he was younger, a man of less control, he’d be fucking into you already and without thought. “It’s time for listening now, little girl.” He grips your hair tightly, tilting your face up to look at him, uncurls his fingers to cup the small bowl of your skull and hold you in place. “Sometimes people need time, sometimes they need us to be patient with them, wait for them. That’s what you needed, and there ain’t anything wrong with that. And you’re not gonna feel bad or less for getting there a little more slowly than others. Everything comes in its due time, and that’s okay.” You’re staring up at him, wide eyed, something like fear or panic, but you’re going to listen to him if it’s the last thing he does. He fists your hair again, gently forces your head into a nod. “Agree with me now. Say yes.”

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper very softly, pressing up to peck him lightly on the mouth. He catches you by the nape, a kitten picked up by the scruff, and holds you there, immediately turns the kiss wet and savage. You feel, so much, like you’re his, and this terrifies Joel. You aren’t his to keep, he knows this. He is not unaware of what’s happening here, of the consequences. He is not delusional about how this will end. But still, but still, you feel like his.

You’re back to you’re squirming now, whines and pleading moans as you try and rub yourself against his cock, and he reaches down to cup you, gently fingering at your folds, feeling the havoc he’d wrought on your pussy last night. “You’re so swollen, baby. Can’t fuck you again so soon.”

“Please, daddy, please, please. I can take it, I promise.”

“Not gonna hurt my soft little cunt.” The start of another whine, but he cuts you off, gives you a staying look, cranes his neck to lick into your mouth. “I’m not.”

“I want you so badly. I want you to make me come.” Tiny kisses and kitten licks to his jaw and throat. There’s fire in his belly, cock throbbing something fierce. He grips beneath your knee, opens your leg and pulls back to slot his cock between your thighs, up against your slick, swollen cunt, then presses your thighs closed back together tightly.

“Just like this – how ‘bout that?” He says as he starts to thrust up slowly against your pussy, trying to keep his movements gentle, careful not to hurt you. He runs his palms along the length of you, squeezes your tits and pinches and plucks at your swollen, sucked dark nipples. The signs of him are all over your body, and it makes him something like wild, infuses him with something like madness. Joel has never felt like this about any woman, ever. And to have it be you – to have this happen to him with you, there is something like weakness and like cruelty here. He needs to keep his head on straight. Remember what can and cannot be. He squeezes your ass tightly, digs his short-shorn fingernails into your soft cheeks, brings one hand up to get his fingertips spit slick, and then pulls your cheeks apart again to pet at your asshole. His gut goes tight and fire hot, he wants to fuck you here too. He wants all of you to be only his, his, fucking his. You hitch your hips in a desperate little arc as he presses gently on the tight ring of muscle, teasing you. “You like that?” He gruffs. “Want me to fill your little ass too, sweet girl?”

Yes, daddy, and he’s sure those must be the greatest words ever uttered to any man in all history.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he says while you sing and moan for him. “When I touch you like this,” he moves down to the wet mouth of your cunt, taps on it gently, “And like this,” further, a flutter at your clit while he fucks between your thighs, “And the way you cry when you come for me,” back up to press at your asshole again. “Will you do it for me again?” Christ, he’s going to end up taking you if he doesn’t stop, and he will not hurt you. With a rough sound of frustration, he flips the two of you over suddenly, laying you flat, kneeing your thighs open wide and spread for him. He shakes his head down at you, squeezes his eyes shut because the sight of your bare tits and messy hair and swollen lips, cock hungry blurry eyes, isn’t helping his restraint. “Gotta stop provokin’ me.”

“But it’s so fun, daddy,” you whine, arching to brush your breasts up against his chest. He lets his head fall, opens his mouth wide and takes the whole, heavy weight of your tit into his mouth, sucks hard, bites soft, switches to the other one, gives it the opposite. He pulls back then, going to his knees between your spread thighs and holds you open for inspection. Cunt all red and swollen and shiny with slick just for him. He’s sure if he pressed his fingers inside he’d be able to feel the slippery slide of his semen still. Another shake of his head, and he runs his palms down the soft of your thighs, cups the round of your knees in his palms. You jerk the right one back when he squeezes you there, and he fingers the sore spot, “What’s this from?” bends forward to press a soft kiss to the small hurt.

“I was in a rush last night,” you say shyly.

“Rush for what, silly girl? I was right here waitin’ for ya.” Your face does a little spasm at that, confused and vulnerable and then maybe even a little hurt, brow crumpling, and you squeeze your eyes shut. When they spring open again, they’re feverish, “Please, please, fuck me, Joel. Please, I don’t care if it hurts. I don’t–”

“Quit.” He pinches the inner slope of your thigh. “Not gonna convince me to hurt you.” You moan, frustrated and wanton, on the verge of tears, petulant and trying to twist away from him, but he traps you in place, stretches himself over you, propped up by one thick arm, and you drag your palms all down the length of his chest and belly. He squeezes your jaw with his other hand, pries you wide, “Open, lemme see.” He tilts your face this way and that, inspecting the wet gleam of your mouth, your little tongue and shiny, white teeth.

“Wha’re y’lookin’ for?” You mumble with your jaw wedged open, eyes comically large.

“Hmm, wonderin’ what it’d look like filled with my come,” he says with a laugh. He feels like a teenage boy, all the excitement of discovering sex with a woman for the first time. And it makes his stomach hurt a little bit, his heart pinch in fear. He sticks his fingers in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, widening the angle, “You think my cock’ll fit in that little throat?” And you moan, eyes fluttering shut, writhing beneath him, begging for it, a garbled groan that sounds something like please, let’s find out. “Dunno… should we?” He let’s go of your face, goes back to his kneeling position between your legs, and finally gives his aching cock the relief of his fist squeezing tightly around it. He could come just from the sight of you, he’s sure, is just there on the edge already. He squeezes hard, almost painful at the root, sliding up dry, scratchy calluses catching at the soft skin around his head to make it hurt and sting, strangling the heat he feels pooling at the base of his spine and in his balls. He smiles at the memory of your wide, comically shocked eyes when you’d realized he was uncircumcised. I’ve never seen one like that before, and all he’d stupidly wanted to say was that you’d never see any other ever again. Ridiculous.

He drags his thumb over the head of his cock, through the sticky drool of precum there, then reaches to pet through your slick soaked folds, parting you down the middle. You watch him with wide, wet eyes, as he pops his thumb into his mouth, humming around your combined tastes. “You wanna taste how good we are?” All you’re able to manage is an open mouthed nod. He leans forward and over you again, “Open,” he orders, and spits onto your waiting tongue, hand clamped around her jaw. “Close now – swallow. How’s that taste?” He asks when you obey so nicely. Your eyes flutter shut, jaw shifting from side to side as you savor the taste of your shared want for each other.

“S’good. Want more.” You look back up at him, mouth open, and nothing in his whole life has been scarier than this. Not even a twenty something year old son, who should have been a man, but was still nothing but a child in such desperate need of his father, showing up on his doorstep one day out of the blue. There should be guilt in that Sam-shaped spot inside his chest, he’s sure of it, and maybe there is, maybe there’s a bitter ribbon of guilt threaded all the way through him, but it’s also entirely overpowered, overshadowed by the desire he feels for the little girl splayed out beneath him. He pulls back again, tries to temper the rising heat in his core, takes hold of his cock again and starts to slowly jack himself. “Finger that little pussy, lemme see. Be gentle with her.” But he grips your hand right as your fingertips are about to make contact with your glossy folds and brings them to his mouth, spit slicking them, there you go, before giving them back. You play in your wet, watching mesmerized as he slowly jerks himself off to the sight of you, circling your swollen clit, thrumming at it gentle, gentle, be soft with her, petting at the leaking mouth, winking at him, begging to be filled. He shifts closer, squeezing and twisting at his tip, pulling the skin back to make the bulbous dark head bulge. He wants it to hurt, he deserves for it to hurt. You watch the rough handling of himself like you’ve never seen anything like it before, head tilted on your neck so your cheek is squished against your shoulder to get a clear view of what he’s doing to himself. “You want it so bad,” he teases, and you nod, looking back up at his eyes. He shifts forward a little closer so that the backs of his knuckles are brushing up against your sex now, wet and sticky, and you let your fingers trail up his wrist, his forearm, while he quickens his pace, moves against you, over himself. You spread yourself a little wider, bringing your knees up higher to your chest, opening yourself for him, and he pulls his hips back a little, you want to come, he can see it in your eyes, you’re almost there, presses the tip to your wet clit, slides down the to the hungry mouth, circles, circles there, presses just a tiny bit. You’re nodding your head up at him, goading him on, please, please, just do it, please. “Not gonna,” he gruffs. “Not gonna convince me.”

“You’re so mean,” you cry, arching your hips, writhing, trying to find firmer pressure.

“Didn’t I tell ya last night I wasn’t gonna be nice?” But he takes pity on you, presses the fat head just a little harder, gives you just the tip, grinding breathlessly against it, popping it in and out of your hot little cunt. “Better?” His whole body feels like one boiling vat of hot blood, sweaty and desperate, grunting, more animal than a man. “Gotta come just like this.” He quickens the jerk of his fist, bumping it into your clit on the slide forward, watches the stretch of your cunt taking just the first inch of him. He feels unhinged, thinks for one second of just fucking all the way in, hearing the sound of your cry as you take the hurt. He has to be able to do this all again, entirely, have you again the whole way “God, baby,” he groans, “You’re gonna let me fuck this tiny little pussy again, right? Tell me you’re going to let me fill it with my cock again?”

Please, please, daddy. Please. “Just do it now.” Joel doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything like the sound of you begging for his cock, anything as pretty, ever. “I– I need to–”

“I know what you need, baby. Just let daddy put his come in you, and then I’ll take care of you.” He’s just there, one last harsh squeeze and twist, and there’s warmth flooding his cock and balls as he starts to come for you, covering the entirety of your sex with his white milky spend, groaning like he’s dying. He pulls his hand from his spent cock, smearing his semen into your skin, little begging whimpers of his name and daddy, please from your mouth, and he spreads your legs and lowers his mouth to your swollen sex, eats his own come out of your cunt, pressing two fingers inside, slow and gentle as he can, to give you something to bear down on. He laps softly at your clit, soothing the ache, eats you until you’re going tight as a fist, cunt sucking his fingers as deep as it can and gushing all over his face, slick pooling in his palm where he laps and slurps at it when he’s unlatched his mouth from your pulsing clit.

“I don’t think I can stay away from you,” he tells you later, while he dresses you slowly, sits you on the bathroom counter and brushes your teeth for you with his own toothbrush and combs the knots and gnarls out of your hair. Holds your cheek cupped in the palm of his hand as he drags a warm washcloth over your sweaty face.

“Don’t want you to stay away,” you say in a small voice as you paw at his chest, twisting his t-shirt in little grabby fingers, pulling him into the cradle of your hips with sharp heels at the small of his back; needy, needy, needy thing. And worst of all, a sick part of him, something bitter sitting heavily on his tongue, wants to be the thing you need, the thing you’re desperate for, the thing you cry those pretty tears for. He’s weak now, he is. Joel finds in himself that he does have the capacity to be a weak man when the moment demands it of him. He shucks the washcloth into the sink, cups your face in his hands like something precious. He’d said once you were a gift, he’s sure of this now more than ever.

And he tells you, because he knows he must: “We can fuck, but we’re not allowed to fall in love,” and tells himself that he only imagines the glint of defiance in your eyes when he says it.

- That meeting in the dark had stayed with you, the sound of his voice telling you to leave his son, that you deserved better. The sound of his kindness, you’d stretched toward it like a flower seeking the light, the singular attention of a man like that. You’d gone over the memory of it over and over again in your mind, worn the edges of it until it was faded and worn. And when Sam had served you the divorce papers, and you’d all but gotten on your knees and begged him to please, please, stay, please, don’t leave me alone, that sound of kindness had been what you’d clung to through all the rest. That terrible clamor of failure and abandonment and not good enough, his kindness had remained, and you’re sure now, that it had brought you here too, to his home, to his bed, into his arms. This was where you’d always been meant to end up, perhaps, even from that first moment you’d met Sam all those years ago on the college green, in the arms of his father. Nothing could feel wrong after kismet like that, even if you weren’t allowed to fall in love.

Part III

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#pink fic #Joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #the last of us au #joel miller imagine

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machveil · 9 months ago

Note

Can you imagine König rescuing or foster a singleton kitten he found Mama cat is gone.

How tiny the baby kitten would be in his palm eyes not open yet.

CatDad!König propaganda

give this man a comically small creature, please

CatDad!König’s heart would squeeze so hard for a little, itty-bitty kitten. this man would wage wars to keep this tiny baby alive and well - it can barely walk straight and it’s his pride and joy, “Ja, this is my baby— ah, I have pictures, hold on.”

CatDad!König has his lock screen and home screen set to this kitty that’s, like, the size of his thumbs. he’s cooing and baby talking to it, able to cup the kitten securely in his palms. absolutely smitten with this critter

#speaking my truth #catdad!könig #konig #könig #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig headcanons #cod #cod thoughts #call of duty #hit post

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neopuppy · 1 year ago

Note

Jisung bday sex with older woman 🫣

a little more of this

warnings. voyeurism, throat fucking, unprotected sex, use of noona, degradation

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

The weight on your palm isn’t just big, it’s fucking huge. You should have known, Jaemin had you gasping the first time he stripped down in front of you, and Jeno had you near ready to pass out with just the tip of his thick girth. Why would their little brother be any different.

Jisung’s cock throbbed against your palm, eagerly awaiting your next move. “Don’t close your eyes.” He adds, nodding for you to continue. His two older brothers grin, silently acknowledging that maybe they doubted the younger too much. “If you take those pretty eyes off of me, I’ll have no choice but to cut off your breathing.”

“Should do it anyway.” Jaemin whispers.

“She likes that shit.” Jeno adds, lighting a fire under your cheeks as you lean forward to drag your tongue in a circle around the tip of his length. “She can take it Ji, don’t be gentle.”

The younger nods, feeling pressure from his siblings to really put on a show and prove how much of a man he’s become. “Hurry the fuck up, I know that slutty mouth can do better than this.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the next few inches that stretch past your lips, lifting his hips from the couch and reaching for the back of your skull to tangle long fingers through your hair. The glides easy past your spit slick tongue, rolling up a few more times until he feels obstruction and your eyes flicker rapidly to blink away a rush of moisture, gagging around the mouthful that pulses against your cavern. Hissing between clenched teeth, a small tweak lifts a corner of his mouth up to one side cockily, gripping the hair along the back of your head firmly. “That’s it noona, suck my dick just like that.”

A grunt passes through his plush lips, settling back down and shoving you in closer until your nose pushes against the trimmed hair lining above his length. It’s impossible to not roll your eyes shut as more heat and shame races from your chest to your throat, lurching around the size clogging your airway.

“Fuck, look at that.” Jeno hisses, leaning it to whack the bulge protruding from your throat until you’re coughing around Jisung’s cock, gurgling out enough spit to drop from your chin to your chest. Jaemin hums, bending in to smear the mess of drool down to your breast, pinching and flicking your nipples.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you noona?” Jisung says between puffs of breath, grinding his hips against your face. “I said keep your fucking eyes open.”

Blinking furiously, you gag again, spared for a moment as he pulls you off and laughs at the wad of spit that rivers out, cock wet and angrily pulsating as it bounces free. “Look at how fucking wet she is.” Jeno tuts, grabbing your arms to pull you up from the floor and manhandle you to sit on Jisung’s sturdy thigh. The thin barely there material of your sheer panties visibly soaked through and leaking as you plop down with a whimper, lips hung open still trying to catch your breath. “She loves being treated like a slut.”

“That’s obvious.” Jisung says, reaching to knead your hips, pulling you higher up his thigh abruptly. The harsh friction against your clit has your eyes rolling back immediately, choking on a gasp when your chest collides with his muscular one. “You’ve always liked an audience, teased me for years with your tiny shorts and non-existent skirts.” He scoffs, leaning in to whisper against your ear. “Isn’t that right noona? I’m all grown up now, gonna fuck you like I am too.”

The amount of unbridled confidence Jisung’s been whacking you across the face with feels similar to whiplash. The younger exuding a strong domineering energy you’d never have expected from him, slapping your ass repeatedly until it stings with each new land and has you whimpering into his shoulder. “Jisungie..” you sniffle, drawing him to lean back and glide his hands to your waist.

“How fucking cute.” He sneers, pinching your sides. “No shame, not an ounce of damn shame.”

Two sets of eyes burn down your sides, easily forgetting them as Jisung moves to cup your face and pull you in closer, grazing lips across yours. “D’ya want it? Wanna hear you say it. Ask for it.”

His bottom lip slots between yours, sucking on your swollen upper lip lightly as you sob and nod rapidly, rutting your hips down to slot your slit on top of his fat raging hard girth.

“Words. Use your words.” He says quietly, drowning out the fact that his brother’s watch and judge on. The only sounds his ears pick up come from your scratchy throat, the music playing, and your shallow breaths that mingle between.

“Please, Jisungie, please.. want you to fuck me.” The way you beg and fall into a whine shoots straight to his dick. Clutching your ass, he pecks you a few times, pushing off the couch with a strong hold around you to turn around and set you on your back, too excited to slow down any longer and really savor every inch of your flesh despite his desire to. He needs to be inside of you, now. Needs to feel your soft wet heat suck around his length, swallow him whole until he’s deep enough inside of you to carve a space out for himself much like his brothers already have. He’ll do it better, fuck you harder, make sure you never forget how good he made you feel, how much he made your legs shake.

Scrunching your drenched underwear to one side he curses, licking at his plump lips and swallowing at the sight of your glistening wet pussy. Fuck, it’s perfect just like the rest of you. So pretty and ready to be used, opening up practically shouting at him to fill you up until it hurts and you’re lying that you can’t take it anymore.

Shoving his jeans down past his ass, he slaps down against your core a few times, mumbling a canopy of fuckfuckfuck as sticky juices jump around his cock off your cunt.

“Please, please fuck me already baby.” You croak, salivating at the view above you. Jisung nods, leaning in as he probes at your entrance and thrusts a few inches deep without patience, having to control his twitching hips from jackhammering you into the couch until it breaks.

“Fuck her like the whore she is.” He can hear one of his brothers call out, distant to his clouded ears.

Jisung’s lips part above yours, struggling to breathe as he lowers and feels his balls slap against your ass. “Noona.. I’m inside of you—ah, fuck!”

Sharp nails claw at his broad shoulders, kicking your ankles at his backside as you wrap around him like a clinging vine. “T-too big, s-so big Jisungie.”

A sense of accomplishment rolls his eyes shut, storing the sound of your shattered moans for years to come before he draws out to the tip and slams into you again over and over again despite your loud cries, the fierce scratches up and down his back, or the rough bites on his biceps.

Best Birthday ever.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

#asks #nct hard hours #nct dream hard hours #park jisung smut

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daeniradraconis · 5 months ago

Text

The Game We Play - C5.

Hey Lovelies, Sorry for the delay! To be honest, I lost a bit of motivation with this story for a while. So, I stepped back, took some time to think, and came back to it with fresh ideas—and I think it worked! :) I hope you’ll love it as much as I do! For more fun: masterlist❤️

---

William Nylander stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt for the fifteenth time. His hair was styled, his cologne was on, and yet, he still felt like a mess.

“Dude, relax,” Auston Matthews called from the couch, bouncing baby Elias on his lap. The infant let out a delighted squeal, smacking Auston’s beard with his tiny hands. “It’s just Odette. You see her almost every day.”

“That’s different,” William muttered, turning to the side to check his profile. Did this shirt make him look like he was trying too hard? Was his hair too perfect? He tousled it, then immediately regretted it and tried to smooth it back down. “This is a date.”

Auston snorted. “You’re acting like you’re about to propose, man.” He lifted Elias into the air like a tiny airplane, making the baby squeal with laughter. “Your dad’s being dramatic, isn’t he, buddy?”

Elias tilted his blond head to the side, his chubby cheeks puffing up as a toothless grin spread across his face. “Dada!” he babbled, barely able to form the word, but to William, it was perfect. His heart melted every time his son said it. Every. Single. Time.

“Yeah, Eli, you’re a genius!” Auston declared, grinning wildly. At 6'3", packed with muscle, he looked absolutely ridiculous holding such a tiny human whose entire head was roughly the size of his palm. William just smiled, watching his friend completely in awe of his son.

Then Elias spotted the dogs. His blue eyes lit up as he pointed excitedly at Banksy and Pablo. “Matty! Wau-wau!”

Auston and William exchanged an amused glance. This kid was growing up way too fast. Just a few weeks ago, he’d barely mumbled anything, and now he had an entire vocabulary—well, three words, but still. "Dada," "wau-wau," and "Matty."

Auston, of course, was absolutely thrilled that Elias had learned his name before Odette’s. He never shut up about it. Every time he saw the Leafs’ photographer, he’d casually remind her.

“Hey, did I mention Elias knows my name?”

“Yes, Auston.”

“Before yours?”

“Yes, Auston.”

“Just checking.”

Naturally, Odette was salty about it and had taken to calling Elias a traitor at every opportunity.

But right now, Auston was basking in his victory, holding Elias up like Simba in The Lion King. “That’s right, kid. You know who the coolest uncle is.”

Elias giggled, clearly enjoying the moment, before spitting out a little drool in response.

William smirked. “Pretty sure that means he thinks you’re full of crap.”

“Eli, how could you betray me like this?”Auston gasped dramatically.

The baby just smiled at him, utterly unbothered.

William sighed, turning back to the hallway mirror and rubbing his temples. “What if I screw this up?”

“Mess what up?” Auston raised a brow. “She already likes you. She basically raised this kid with you.” He gestured to Elias, who had now decided Auston’s hoodie strings were the most fascinating thing in the world. “She’s seen you at your worst, man. That time you fell asleep holding a Elias’s bottle upside down and soaked yourself? She didn’t even laugh that hard.”

“She definitely laughed,” William grumbled, grabbing a lint roller and running it over his pants.

“Okay, yeah, she did.” Auston smirked. “But that’s because she likes you. Just don’t be weird and it’ll be fine.”

William groaned. “I am weird.”

“Oh, 100%.” Auston nodded solemnly. “But, like, in a hot Swedish guy way. So it works for you.”

William tossed the keys from the top of the hallway cabinet toward Auston. Auston dodged without breaking a smile, while Elias clapped his hands, loving the show.

There was a knock at the door, and William immediately straightened, eyes wide in panic. “That’s her!”

Auston whistled. “No backing out now, Willy Styles.”

William shot him a glare before taking a deep breath and walking over to the door. He hesitated, then glanced back. “I look okay, right?”

Auston gave him a slow, exaggerated once-over. “You look… exactly like a guy who is way too nervous about a date with the woman who already adores him.”

Elias let out a tiny babble that somehow sounded like agreement.

William rolled his eyes and opened the door. There stood Odette, effortlessly stunning in a black shirt that draped off her shoulders, paired with perfectly fitted jeans and high-heeled boots that added just the right amount of edge. Her winter coat hung loosely in her hands, and her golden curls framed her face in soft, wild waves, catching the light as she moved. She had that kind of natural elegance—the kind that didn’t need effort, just presence. A warm, knowing smile played on her lips, and with the way she carried herself, confident and carefree, it was impossible not to look twice.

“Hey,” she greeted. “Ready to go?”

William opened his mouth to say something smooth, something charming. Instead, what came out was: “I—uh—yeah. Hi. Shoes. Yes. Going.”

Auston choked on a laugh behind him. Odette’s lips twitched in amusement, but she reached out, gently touching his arm. “Take your time, Willy.”

William took a deep breath, nodded, and grabbed his shoes, slipping them on as quickly as possible before stepping out. As he did, he heard Auston behind him, whispering dramatically to Elias: “Your dad is soooo whipped.”

Elias giggled in agreement.

William groaned, again. This was going to be a long night.

—

The restaurant was warm, candlelit, and intimate—the kind of place that invited long conversations and lingering looks. Odette found herself sinking into the atmosphere, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses wrapping around her like a cozy blanket. Across from her, William had settled into his seat, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, his fingers idly tracing the stem of his wine glass.

“You know,” he said, swirling the deep red liquid. “I still can’t believe I’m someone’s dad.”

Odette arched a brow, tilting her head. “Does it feel real yet?”

William exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Some days, yeah. Like when I’m up at three in the morning, rocking him back to sleep, or when he calls me ‘Dada’ and my heart just—” He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest, eyes flickering with warmth. “Instant emotional damage. Every time.”

Odette chuckled, resting her chin in her palm. “You’re a good dad, Will.”

His gaze locked onto hers for a beat, something unreadable flashing across his face before he cleared his throat and smirked. “What about you? Tell me something I don’t know.”

She hesitated, then took a sip of her drink. “I love to dance.”

William’s brows shot up, intrigue sparking in his expression. “No way.”

“I’m terrible at it, though,” she admitted with a sheepish laugh. “Like, truly awful.”

His lips twitched. “I don’t believe you.”

“Oh, you should.” She pointed a warning finger at him. “I have zero rhythm. None. I look like one of those inflatable tube men outside of car dealerships.”

William let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, now I have to see this.”

Odette groaned. “Why did I tell you that?”

“Because deep down, you want me to see it,” he teased, leaning forward, his smirk widening. “You’re just hoping I’ll be too charmed to laugh.”

“Oh, you will laugh.”

“Damn right I will.” He raised his glass to her. “But I promise to be impressed, too.”

She rolled her eyes but clinked her glass against his anyway, their fingers brushing for just a second.

Then, feeling bolder, she admitted, “I, uh… never learned how to skate.”

William blinked, his face a mix of confusion and mock betrayal. “I’m sorry, what? But you’re Canadian. Every single one of you knows how to skate!”

Odette winced, swirling her drink in her hand. “Yeah… Well, my parents were always too busy, and they just… didn’t care about stuff like that. You know, most kids learn that stuff from their parents. We never really did any family things.” She hesitated, then exhaled softly. “Or, well… much of anything when it came to me.”

The teasing smirk vanished from William’s face, replaced by something softer—something that made her stomach flutter. He reached for her hand, his fingers warm as they wrapped gently around hers. The simple touch unraveled something in her, and she found herself gripping him back, just slightly.

“Odette…” His voice was quiet, but heavy with meaning.

She swallowed, forcing a small shrug, attempting to make light of it. “It’s not a big deal. I got used to it. Learned how to take care of myself.”

William didn’t look convinced. His baby-blue eyes locked onto hers, seeing right through the mask she was trying to put up. He shook his head, his thumb brushing idly over the back of her hand.

“Nah,” he murmured, leaning in just a little. “That’s a big deal.” His voice was low but firm, like he needed her to hear it—really hear it. “You deserved better.”

Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she couldn’t look away from him. The way he was looking at her, like she was something precious, something worth fighting for—it was a kind of warmth she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt before.

Desperate to lighten the moment before her heart burst, she forced a smile. “Well… at least I can cook. Had to teach myself, but I got pretty good at it.”

William’s grin returned instantly, easy and familiar, like he knew she needed the subject change. “That’s true! Elias thinks your pancakes are the best on planet Earth. HHe literally spits out mine and will only eat them if you make them.”

Odette laughed, finally exhaling the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “The boy has taste, that’s all I can say. But maybe one day, I’ll make something more complicated for you guys.”

William’s grip on her hand tightened slightly. “Careful,” he warned, his smirk tilting in that way that made her stomach flip. “I might show up at your door with a fork and dangerously high expectations.”

She shook her head, laughing as she ran her fingers softly over his palm, tracing absentminded circles. “Noted. No pressure or anything.”

“Oh, no pressure at all.” He leaned back, still holding her hand, his voice dropping to something lower, softer. “Just my entire happiness on the line.”

Odette rolled her eyes and threw her napkin at him, but her fingers lingered against his just a little longer than necessary.

—

Toronto’s night air had that perfect kind of crispness—the kind that made you instinctively tuck yourself closer to the person beside you. Not that Odette minded. Not when William had his strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, radiating warmth like a living, breathing heater. The streets were quiet, lined with twinkling lights that made everything feel a little softer, a little dreamier. Tonight just felt... easy.

It had been a long time since a conversation had flowed like this—effortless, like flipping through the pages of a favorite book. They’d talked about everything: childhood memories, family, the weird little quirks that made them who they were.

Odette glanced up at him, grinning. “It’s funny. I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

William smirked down at her. “That’s probably because I have an incredibly familiar face.”

She snorted, nudging him with her shoulder. “Oh, definitely. Has nothing to do with the fact that we just spent hours talking like we’ve been best friends for a decade.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re catching on.” His smirk softened as he gave her shoulder a squeeze. “It’s nice, though, isn’t it?”

She hummed in agreement, leaning into him. “Yeah… it really is.”

Somewhere along the way, the conversation wandered toward the future. William talked about hockey, about how badly he wanted to win the Stanley Cup—not just for himself, but for the Leafs, for the city. But more than that, he wanted balance. He wanted to be there for Elias, to be the kind of dad his son could always count on. He wanted a family. Stability.

“I want a family too,” Odette said, a wistful smile playing on her lips. “And kids—lots of them.”

William arched a brow, his lips twitching. “Lots?”

“Yeah, a lot,” she said matter-of-factly. “Like a whole pack. You know, like the Weasley family.”

William chuckled, a low, warm sound that sent something fizzy through her chest. “You really have a serious Harry Potter addiction.” His lips curled into a smirk. “But I love that.”

She blinked up at him, feigning offense. “What, the kids or my Harry Potter addiction?”

He grinned. “Both.”

Odette laughed, shaking her head. “Figures.”

She barely had a second to recover before he added, “But the idea of you with a whole bunch of little troublemakers running around? Yeah… that does things to me. And I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to feel this way after a first date.”

Odette rolled her eyes, but the way he was looking at her—like he actually liked picturing it—sent warmth blooming in her cheeks.

“Please,” she scoffed, grinning up at him. “We’ve been dancing around this for months. If anything, you’re way behind on feeling things.”

William’s smirk deepened. “Oh, am I?”

She tilted her head playfully. “Mhm. You better catch up, Nylander.”

He let out another chuckle, gaze dropping to her lips for just a second before he murmured, “Oh, trust me. I’m working on it.”

As they turned around the next corner, William suddenly stopped in his tracks, a spark of excitement lighting up his features. “I have an idea.”

Odette raised a brow. “Oh?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took her hand—without hesitation, without second-guessing—and gently tugged her toward the alley next to them. “Come on, trust me.”

And just like that, she let him lead the way.

They walked for a few minutes, weaving through quiet streets until they reached a large park Odette didn’t recognize. She had only been living in the city for a few months, and William had years of advantage when it came to finding hidden gems. But when she looked ahead, she felt her breath catch.

Under the soft glow of streetlights, an open skating rink stretched out before them, the ice smooth and glistening. A handful of people skated effortlessly under the stars, laughter echoing through the crisp night air. The whole scene looked like something out of a snow globe.

Odette turned to him, a sharp suspicion in her eyes. “William Andrew Michael Junior Nylander Altelius, did you just trick me into learning how to skate?”

His grin was wide and completely unapologetic. “Maybe.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but the mischievous warmth in his expression made it impossible to stay mad. Instead, she sighed and shook her head. “Look at you. I admit I can’t skate, and now you’re just having way too much fun with that, huh? You little rascal.”

“You’re about to become a real Canadian, darling.” He wiggled his eyebrows, teasing. “Seriously, you should be happy. You’re getting lessons from hockey royalty. Not everyone gets that opportunity.”

She groaned, already knowing she was defeated. “Okay, let’s do this. But if I fall, you’re coming down with me.”

“Deal.” He smirked, crouching to lace up his skates, his movements fluid and confident. When he straightened, he extended a hand to her, his blue eyes sparkling with playful encouragement.

Something inside her softened. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

—

Odette wobbled, taking one tentative step onto the ice. Her legs felt like jelly beneath her, but she forced herself to stand tall, gripping William’s hand tightly. She could feel his steady presence beside her, but his mischievous grin was enough to make her nervous.

“You’re not going to let me fall, right?” she asked, her voice a mix of teasing and genuine uncertainty.

William’s grin stretched wider. “If you fall, I’ll make sure it’s a graceful landing.”

“Graceful?” She shot him a look, skeptical but amused, her grip tightening around his hand as she took another unsteady step. “I have zero grace. I told you, I can’t even dance!”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “That’s a different story. This is survival mode.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she replied, sarcasm dripping from her words as she wobbled again. “If ‘survival mode’ for you means embarrassing me in public.”

William dramatically pouted, playing up the act. “Hey, I’m just here to help. Think of it as... a character-building experience.”

“Uh-huh. And I’m building character by clinging to you for dear life.”

They both burst out laughing, the sound mingling with the gentle glide of skates on ice around them. William pulled her closer, his arm sliding around her waist to keep her steady.

“You’re doing fine,” he said, voice soft. “You just gotta trust your balance.”

“I don’t trust my balance,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes as she took another step, this time a little more confidently. “I trust you more than I trust my own body right now.”

“Smart choice,” William teased, his eyes sparkling as he caught her gaze.

With a playful huff, Odette finally found her rhythm, skating a few shaky circles around him, then stopping short and nearly colliding with him. She leaned forward into him, her face dangerously close to his chest. “See?” she muttered into his jacket, laughing awkwardly. “I knew this was a terrible idea.”

He chuckled, warm breath brushing her hair. “You’re doing great, actually.”

She pulled back slightly to look up at him, her brow furrowed. “Really?”

He nodded, his hands still on her waist, steadying her. “Better than me when I first learned. You’re a natural.”

“Oh, stop it.” She swatted at his chest. “You’re just saying that because you’re trying to make me feel better.”

William’s expression softened as he lowered his voice. “No, I mean it. You’re already skating, and you haven’t fallen on your face yet. I’m impressed.”

“Well, I’m not going to thank you for that.” She stuck her tongue out playfully. “If I do fall, I’m going to hold you personally responsible.”

“Fair enough,” he grinned, and before she could react, he suddenly tugged her forward, sliding them both into a slow spin.

Odette yelped as she struggled to keep her balance. “William! What the hell—”

“You’re doing great!” he teased, his arms securely wrapped around her as they turned in a wide arc. “Just relax, and let me lead.”

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” she groaned, trying not to laugh.

He grinned, glancing down at her with a gleam in his eye. “I swear, you’re making this way harder than it needs to be. Just give in.”

“Give in? To what? I’m just trying not to end up flat on my face,” she quipped, leaning back to him.

He laughed, pulling her even closer. “I thought you said you wanted to learn. Can’t get all stubborn now.”

“Nope, this was your idea,” she countered, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. “I’m just going along with it. And if you keep pushing me to be a pro after five minutes of skating, I’m definitely going to take you down with me.”

He smirked, his eyes sparkling with playful intent. “I’m just trying to—”

Before he could finish, his foot caught on the ice, and he tilted toward her with a shout of surprise. In a desperate attempt to stay upright, he wrapped his arms around her, and they both stumbled. They crashed onto the ice, landing in a tangled heap of laughter.

For a moment, neither could breathe from laughing so hard. Odette was sprawled on top of him, her face flushed with embarrassment, but she couldn’t stop giggling. William’s hand brushed against her cheek as he caught his breath, his blue eyes warm with affection.

“Well... that wasn’t the plan,” William said, his voice still filled with amusement.

“You’re killing me, Mr.Hockey Royalty,” she gasped between laughs, awkwardly straddling him.

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. With a breathless chuckle, he shifted, pushing himself up onto his elbows before sitting up fully, bringing her with him. “You’re the one who distracted me,” he teased, but his tone softened, holding an unspoken sincerity.

“I’m pretty sure you were trying to distract me,” she teased back, her breath quickening.

His gaze dropped to her lips for just a moment before he grinned and pulled her closer. “Maybe I was.”

Odette’s heart skipped a beat, her breath hitching. Then, before either of them could second-guess it, William’s lips were on hers—soft, warm, and entirely right.

For a long moment, the world seemed to disappear, the only thing that mattered being the connection between them. His hands gently cupped her face, and she melted into him, their laughter from moments ago turning into a quiet, deep kiss, full of unspoken promise.

When they finally pulled back, breathless, Odette smirked, her fingers still lingering on his face. “Well, that wasn’t terrible,” she said, her lips still tingling from the kiss.

William smiled softly, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “I’d say it was a pretty good way to end your first skating lesson.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, but her heart was racing. “You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot who just kissed you on the ice,” he shot back, with a knowing grin.

She narrowed her eyes, but the warmth in her chest melted away any potential protest. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t expect me to fall for you again.”

“Noted,” he said, voice low and teasing, before pulling her into another quick, lingering kiss.

—

Odette and William stepped into the entrance of the apartment building, their laughter still echoing between them, a warm, easy rhythm that came from the evening they'd just shared. The world around them felt a little quieter, a little softer as they walked toward Odette’s door. Their steps slowed, the space between them shifting into something more intimate.

“I told you, Woll needs something different in a girl,” Odette teased, nudging him gently with her elbow, her laughter still bubbling.

William smiled, but his brows furrowed in confusion. “Odette, Anna was perfect for him.”

She shook her head, her blonde curls bouncing around her face. There was a lightness in her expression, but a firm conviction in the way she spoke. “Woll’s a sweet guy, but he’s like a golden retriever—too nice for this world. He needs a black cat girlfriend. Anna? She was another golden retriever. Too much of the same.”

William paused, trying to process what she was saying, but all he could focus on was the way she was looking at him—soft and playful, but with something deeper beneath the surface. She had him completely under her spell.

“A black cat girlfriend?” His voice was a little lower now, genuinely curious but also distracted by her.

Odette grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, Willy, you are so out of touch with social media trends. It’s cute.” She raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “I’ll show you sometime.”

William chuckled softly, his gaze locked onto hers. “You can show me tomorrow,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, laced with something deeper.

His hands found their way to her neck, fingers tracing lightly over her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. “Right now, I’m more interested in… other things.”

Without waiting for a response, he leaned in, and their lips met in a kiss that deepened instantly. It was as if the rest of the world fell away. The air between them grew thicker, warmer, the chemistry between them undeniable. They moved together, bodies pressing closer, hearts racing in sync.

The door to Odette’s apartment clicked shut behind them, but neither of them noticed. They were too caught up in each other to care about anything else.

Odette’s back hit the wall beside her door, and William pressed against her, hands roaming over her body with a quiet urgency. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away—she pulled him closer. They kissed harder now, the heat between them intensifying. They were both desperate for more—more of each other, more of this.

William’s lips moved to her jaw, his breath warm against her skin. Odette let out a soft gasp, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him back to her lips. They were tangled up in each other, their hearts beating fast, as if they couldn’t get close enough.

But just as the moment started to spiral out of control, a soft, deliberate cough broke through the air.

Startled, they pulled apart, both of them breathless, eyes wide in shock.

And there, sitting comfortably on Odette’s couch like he belonged there, was Quinn Hughes. He casually scratched behind Luc’s ears, completely unfazed by the tension crackling in the air.

He glanced between them, taking in their flushed faces and breathless expressions before breaking into an amused grin.

Quinn leaned back, stretching out like he had all the time in the world. “Don’t stop on my account.”

#william nylander fanfic #william nylander fic #william nylander imagine #william nylander #wn88 #maple leafs fanfic #quinn hughes #nhl #nhl fanfic #hockey fanfic #nhl fic #auston matthews #william nylander x oc

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trevorsturnioloappreciator · 8 months ago

Text

Vigilante

Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader

- a stranger helps a stranger from a stranger

cw: creep behavior (unwanted advances, crude comments, and two instances of non-consensual touch), violence (one punch), mentions of drinking/being drunk, smoking, reader blames herself for a minute, in the beginning of this Matt is referred to as “the stranger” and the creep is referred to as “the man”, no use of y/n

a/n: did my best to keep the creep guy fairly tame; i did not want to write something super triggering, also the romance after is very subdued because i think it would be sort of inappropriate to have reader and matt like making out after he helped her. also sorry if you don’t smoke, just pretend like you’re in the bubble blowing section.

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You stumble through the doors of the club, head just starting to pound from the reverberating bass of the speaker. The chilly night air hits you like a crashing wave, inhaling deeply as you slouch against the scratchy brick wall in the smoking section. Digging in your purse, you pull out your spliff and zippo, placing it between your glossed lips just as the cold air starts to bite at your bare skin, exposed by your tiny top and mini shorts.

The smoke calms your thumping head and just as you start to feel relaxed, you hear the screech of the heavy door next to you opening. “Oh, hey there… didn’t know anyone else would be out here…”, the voice is deep and the footsteps are heavy, this mixed with the size of the shadow nearing you clues you into the fact that this is a man.

You’re not trying to be abrasive but you’re really not in the mood to drag through three minutes of small talk before inevitably being invited to a random apartment with this random person. “Well, I am.”, your answer is curt as you turn to shoot him a tight smile, this is when you notice just how close he is.

The smoke from his cigarette is blowing directly in your face, making you shuffle over a step from where he’s leaning his shoulder on the wall, positioned to face you. “Don’t be a bitch, baby, I know about girls like you… you like the chase, right?” His smirk is making your stomach churn, something almost primal flipping on inside you.

Pushing yourself off the wall behind you, stubbing your smoke out on the bottom of your shoe and depositing the rest in a nearby ashtray, you walk to the wrought iron fence surrounding the patio of the club, looking out into the deserted, dark streets.

The anxiety you’re feeling does nothing to sober you up, you wipe the back of your hand against your damp forehead, sweating and shivering at the same time. “Are you cold, sexy? I can warm you up… let me get you out of here.”

His words are muffled by the blood rushing to your face, the feeling of a hot, heavy hand landing on the strip of skin above the waistband of your shorts, causing your back to straighten. Flipping around to shoot him an appalled look, it’s already too late when you notice the man is crowding against you, your butt pressed harshly against the cold metal behind you.

His breath is hot and smells like fireball, it’s making your head spin and your palms sweat. “G-get away. Please. I- have a boyfriend…”, not even you are convinced by your words as you speak them, his tall figure pushes you farther in the gate as you turned your head away from him, feeling his fingers come up to touch your face.

“Stop! Stop fucking touching me!” The words come out shrill, your throat squeezing and your heart beating like a rabbit’s. You look up and try pushing him away at the chest but the panic setting over you makes it impossible, the sinister smile on his face and the glazed over look in his eyes showing you that he’s only getting more enjoyment out of your trepidation.

“Yo!”

It’s a third voice, far to your right, joining your exchange. You whip your head so fast to the sound, feeling hopeful but also seeing images of this guys buddies coming to look for him. “What’s goin’ on over here, you alright, young lady?”, the man casually rocking up to the scene has his hands in his pockets, is a bit shorter than the offender- who by now is taking three steps back from you- and has locks of dark shiny hair hanging almost entirely over his eyes.

The breath you finally inhale burns from the cold and the tightness in your chest, tears prickling at your eyes, the thoughts in your head spinning, conjuring up all the things that could’ve happened, could still happen if this guy just goes on about his business, leaving you here.

“Hey, man, this is my girl, you know how females are. I’m gonna get her home.”, his performance is making you feel sick, you shoot a look to the stranger on the other side of the fence, trying to convey your terror as your breathing picks up, not allowing you to get a word out.

“Yeah, nah… I just saw you dude, she’s not your girlfriend.” The stranger comes closer, you can make out his sharp features, pale skin, and icy blue eyes. His words are still nonchalant as he smoothly swings a leg over the fence, crossing over the barrier to stand slightly in front of you.

Only now, with a human wall between you and the man, do you feel comfortable enough to suck in a shaky breath, practicing square breathing like your old school counselor taught you one time. “Bro, just get outta the way, stop being a simp and let me take her home, she wants it, don’t you, gorgeous.” The man now takes his chances trying to talk to you over the stranger’s shoulder.

You feel the strangers back slightly bump into you as the drunk man invades his space, still trying to get closer to you. Immediately the strangers fist flies square to the man’s jaw, in one quick punch he’s on the ground and the stranger is shaking his hand with a quiet hiss. “Was he bothering you?”, there’s a slight hint of comedy in his voice, all joking leaves him though as he sees just how shaken up you still are, his voice going lower as he moves to try and catch your eyes to his, “You okay?”

You shake the thoughts out of your head and feel your eyes start to focus again, they focus on the young guy in front of you. Swallowing thickly, you nod at him, “Wh-what’s your name…” you’re not even sure why you asked, maybe you just wanted to thank him properly. He turns his head to the club, then back to you, “I’ll tell you, let’s just, uh, get out of here before the bouncer comes out, they hate me here.”

He smiles playfully at you as he steps over the fence again, holding his hand out to help you over, it takes a touch more effort as you’re not quite as tall as him, you’re also realizing in this moment how drunk you still are. It surprises you, not unpleasantly, that he continues holding your hand as he leads you away from the bar to the end of the block, stopping and facing you under a streetlight.

The brunette drops your hand and holds out his opposite hand for you to shake, “Matt. That’s my name.” For a second you just look at the outstretched hand before you look back up at him, a small smile stretching over your face as you shake with him, whispering out your name. “Thank you, Matt.. I- I’m not sure what was gonna happen… that guy.. he was really drunk…”

“You don’t need to thank me, and hey, being drunk is not an excuse. That was really fucked… I’m just glad I was at the right place at the right time.” You look down at your shoes, his words making your eyes sting, the severity of the situation mixed with this kind stranger validating your emotions, your shoulders start to shake as hot tears roll down your cheeks.

“Oh- hey…”, Matt reaches out, stopping short of touching your shoulder, bending his knees to look at your face. “Hey, it’s okay now, you’re okay. D’you need a ride? You’re probably freezing out here…”, your tears don’t cease as you reach up to scrub the wetness from your cheeks, probably smearing your makeup, you don’t even care.

“Yes, p-please.. if-if you don’t mind…”, the words are slightly interrupted by your hiccuping breaths. When you look up at Matt’s face he’s looking down to you, fond expression and warm eyes are all you see as he reaches his hand back out, a question, not a demand.

You don’t hesitate placing your hand in his, Matt’s soft smile is what starts to calm your nerves as you walk slightly behind him, letting him lead you to his car. “So… why do they hate you at that club?” Your voice is lighter, you’re breathing evening out, you still feel the effects of the alcohol swimming in your head, but it feels nice now that you know you’re safe.

The laugh that bursts from Matt let’s you know he was not expecting you to remember that, “I- uh, my brother’s always dragging me out there, I hate it though, ‘s only old creeps and girls with no sense of boundaries.” He quickly turns back to look at you, “No offense, didn’t mean you.” When you meet his eye, you notice a slight blush bloom over his cheeks, it makes you smile and step forward to walk next to him.

“Anyway, I’ve been kicked out like…” he looks up to the sky, mentally counting, “a lot.” Matt chuckles, looking over at you as you stare up at him, listening intently.

The boys smile slightly drops as he now seems to be studying your face, blush still settled over his face, you do the same, taking in his smooth complexion, the slight stubble over his jaw. His eyes are what really transfix you, dark lashes, the way his eyes squinted slightly as he chuckled earlier, the ring of royal blue surrounding his shimmering irises.

“M-my car’s just up there.”, he points his other arm out in the direction of a black SUV, still never breaking eye contact. Nodding, you realize you’re already in front of his passenger side when he drops your hand and opens the door for you, “I- uhm, feel like all the drinks are hitting me now…”, you groan out, slumping down into the soft leather interior, curling slightly into yourself.

“‘S okay, lemme buckle you up, alright?” Matt grabs the seatbelt and leans over you, clicking it into place. The warmth in your belly could either be from the tequila you had been knocking back earlier, or maybe from the feeling of being taken care of, whatever it is, it makes you feel elated.

“You smell nice…”, you whisper the words, sporting a deep blush and a goofy smile, looking up at him as he straightens up from where he was adjusting your seat belt.

Matt chuckles and shakes his head, stepping back and putting his hand on the door, his opposite on the roof of the car above you, “Alright, little lady, whatever you say, just stay awake long enough to put in the address you’d like me to drop you off at, okay?”

You let out a playful scoff as he opens his door, “I am not even tired.”, you straighten up in your seat, almost like you’re trying to convince him with your posture. Matt smiles over at you incredulously, handing you his phone open to apple maps, for some reason, there’s a nagging part of you that doesn’t want this night to end.

Turning in your seat, you face Matt with a sheepish smile, aware of the drying mascara under your eyes and shockingly, feeling no embarrassment about it. “Could we… hang out for a little?”, Matt feels a tug of protectiveness toward this disheveled stranger, “Yeah, wanna get something to eat?” He watches with a smile as your face lights up either at his idea or his agreement.

˗ˋˏ♱ˎˊ˗

It’s about an hour since you and Matt met in the smoking section, you’re now both unbuckled, sideways in your seats to face each other, sitting in the taco bell parking lot. Getting to know Matt felt easier than anything you’ve ever done, it’s like you were meant to meet him. The events of tonight hang low in the air as the easy conversation lulls to an end.

You tilt your face just slightly away from Matt’s heavy gaze, rubbing at your eye.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” His words leave you a bit taken back. “I- yeah… I just feel kind of stupid, i guess…”, your voice is meek answering him, “It’s like, I know i should’ve been able to push him off me- I froze like an idiot…”

Matt’s face shifts from apologetic to serious. “Stop talking like that.”, his voice comes out stern and sharp, “You didn’t do anything wrong, you should’ve never even been in that situation.”, his hand comes up slowly, loosely capturing a strand of your hair in between his pointer and middle finger and tucking it behind your ear.

Something’s making it feel impossible to look up to Matt’s eyes. When you do, the sheer compassion written on his face causes your lip to quiver. Eyes welling, you turn more to hide your face in your hands before inhaling a shuddering breath, collecting yourself. Crying a second time tonight is something you’d much prefer doing under the hottest spray of water your shower can muster, not in front of the sweet (and drop-dead gorgeous) stranger who very well might’ve saved your life earlier.

A slight feeling of embarrassment bubbles up inside you, always priding yourself in being strong and independent and now you’re here, getting saved by a random guy, a random guy who is surprisingly compassionate.

You feel your heart rate slow, calming down just a little as his hand that was previously fixing your hair, comes to lay softly on the juncture between your shoulder and your neck. Matt’s gentle fingers are spread slightly on the nape of your neck while his thumb is vertical under your ear.

The warm pressure from his hand slowly easing the tension wrapping your head.

You tilt your face up from your hands to look into his eyes, he has a half smile playing on his face, a comforting expression matching his low lidded eyes. “Thank you… I’m serious, and I have to thank you, so don’t tell me not to.”, your sentence trails off into a wet chuckle, you blink slowly at him, the fuzzy feeling from the alcohol now tenfold when combined with how tired you are, it makes you feel pliant and open.

The rhythmic sensation of Matt’s thumb rubbing circles on the side of your neck almost makes your eyes roll back, it’s like he was massaging away a knot you didn’t even know was bothering you. “Alright, sleepyhead, why don’t i get you home, hm?”, you nod drearily, straightening out and turning again to face him. Matt’s hand stays steady on the nape of your neck, he squeezes lightly before letting go of you. “Tell me your address? I’ll get you home.” his eyes soften while he studies your drowsy expression, makeup smudged under your eyes, and your dark lashes clumped together by drying tears.

After telling Matt the address to your apartment he turns his key in the ignition before looking slightly over to you, watching you buckle yourself in, once your done he pulls out of the parking lot and follows the directions to your place.

By the time Matt turns into your spot outside your building, you’re sound asleep in the passenger seat, slumped sideways against the window, shoes kicked off and feet tucked up under you. Matt lays a hand on your shoulder, rubbing up and down your arm to try and rouse you from your sleep. He whispers out your name and raises his hand to gather the hair thats covering your face. “You’re home, c’mon, time to get up…”, his voice is soothing as it cuts through the silence in the car.

The sound of his voice travels into your sleep-addled mind, it sort of sounds like he’s underwater, but the almost sing-song inflections of it have you stirring from sleep with a smile. “Hm?”, you whisper out groggily, blinking your eyes open to watch Matt’s face. “You ready for bed, kid?”, you nod in response, rubbing at your eyes.

When you make no immediate move to reach for your door handle, Matt gets out and rounds the front of the car, opening your door for you, seeing that you’d unbuckled yourself, he reaches a hand to you. Stumbling slightly out of the car, you shiver in the night air. Matt takes notice and wraps your arm around his shoulder, he grabs your purse where it had been discarded on the seat behind you, as well as your shoes. “Do me a favor and get your keys for me?”, he speaks softly as your face is resting on Matt’s shoulder, inches away from his.

“Mhm… yeah..”, you don’t lift your head off of Matt while he holds you at the waist, handing you your open bag. Digging through messily you finally retrieve the keychain attached to your apartment keys. “Perfect, thank you.”, he speaks lowly, your whole body is now being supported by Matt, he walks the both of you to the entrance as you slur out which number you live in. “Okay, d’you think you can walk up all these stairs, hm?”, you know you probably could make it up the three flights to your door, but another part of you loves the feeling of being taken care of, Matt was sweeter than anyone you’ve ever met. Every other boyfriend you had would’ve never punched someone for you or carried you up three flights of stairs and certainly not without the promise of sex, and here was this perfect stranger, he felt like the first person to pay attention to you, actually see you.

If you weren’t so exhausted it would probably make you tear up again, but instead you just cuddled further into his chest, your left arm wrapping around his torso to lock hands with the arm you have circling his back. “Carry me?”, you speak shyly, letting yourself feel cared for, even if you’d never ask for it sober.

A part of you is surprised at how easily he complies with you request, his only response being a calm chuckle as he keeps his arm around your back to support you and swings the hand holding your shoes and keychain up under your knees. A small squeak leaves your mouth as he adjusts his hold on you, keeping your own arm locked around his neck, tilting your chin to look at the dazzling smile he’s aiming at you.

The journey to your door is comfortably silent apart from one or two quiet giggles that escaped you, the absurdity of the situation not lost on you. When you’re finally in front of your apartment, it feels nearly impossible to keep your eyes open, you know you’re not a heavy drinker but a part of you has to wonder if it was the panic you experienced earlier that has you so exhausted.

Skillfully without setting you down, Matt unlocks your front door and softly shuts it behind him, “Where’s your room, you look like you’re gonna melt, kid.”, the low tone of his voice and his sympathetic laugh makes you want to ask him to marry you, and even through the fog shrouding you, you know this thought is ridiculous.

After hiding your blushing face slightly in his chest you point him to your decorated bedroom door, it’s slightly cracked so Matt uses his shoulder to nudge it the rest of the way open, he deposits you on top of your fluffy comforter and you feel the heavy throw blanket at the foot of your bed being tucked in around you.

The last thing you hear is a gentle “Good night…”, and when you wake up the next morning, slightly disoriented with a scratchy throat and an unopened water bottle on your nightstand, you’re more than pleasantly surprised when you find a sticky note attached to the bottle;

(xxx) xxx xxxx ~ Matt :)

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part 2 part 3

tags:

@shadowthesim

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #trevorsturnioloappreciator

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galaxy-fleur · 8 months ago

Note

hii! so, i saw your post about leon smut headcanons and i kinda loved it! can you make one for chris too? thank you <3

I love a good opportunity to think about Chris... Wrote this with post re6 and onwards Chris in mind!

In my head, Chris' libido has always been a bit on the lower side, though I do think it gets significantly better once he works through his issues that were plaguing him during re6. He's obviously in a way better place mentally, and his sex life is a perfect reflection of that. He likes to have sex with his partner maybe once or twice a week, but it's usually a lengthy and intense fucking session. You could even crack a joke that he's just charging up his inner battery before going at it with you, though he won't be very amused (he totally will).

Every choice Chris takes, no matter how tiny, is weighed down by a great deal of obligations and expectations. He doesn't regret choosing this life for himself. It goes without saying, though, that carrying this great load of responsibility all the time is exhausting.

Sex is, in a sense, both his comfort and outlet. Nothing compares to returning home from a long, demanding day and losing himself in your shared touch and pleasure until his brain is blissfully empty. Maybe that's why he likes to do it methodically and slowly. He gives you everything he has, just like he does in his career. He is devoted and enthusiastic. Not to sound too sappy, but having sex with him always reminds you why you fell for this man in the first place.

In terms of his tastes, I believe he would be quite skilled at using his hands to satisfy his partner. And I mean every part of his hands. Biceps, palms, fingers - everything. There's just something about using these hands of his that are usually meant for holding weapons and inflicting damage for something else that makes you both feel good. It just... flips a certain switch in his brain.

Needless to say, he touches you constantly. Be it gentle caresses over the contours of your figure or fervent groping at any flesh his greedy fingers can reach. He needs to have his hands on you and feel the warmth of your body under his palms. Getting you off with one hand while keeping your back flush against his chest with the other, his mouth swallowing up all of your beautiful sounds, is probably one of his favorite things to do. There's nothing more satisfying to him than feeling you being totally ensnared by him.

If you're into that, and you are okay with it, I do see him finding a certain thrill in putting you in a headlock, too. It'd be painfully obvious that he's holding back on you, though. Almost funnily so, because at first, he'll barely put any pressure at all. He simply does not wish to cause you any harm, bless his heart. It's sweet of him to care. He won't complain, though, if you're all for being smothered by those biceps of his.

I do not see Chris as a rough sex-partner per se, but his size and strength sort of give off that impression once he gets real into it. However, before engaging in any actual fucking, he always makes sure you're nice and lubricated, whether it's by natural means, or with the help of some lubricant. He knows that he's big. He's honestly more embarrassed than proud of it. So be sure to give him lots of compliments! Having said that, I do believe he has a slight praise kink. On the receiving end. Even though Chris normally takes the lead, a few tender kisses and sincere compliments from you will quickly make his knees buckle and his breath hitch. So... that's something you can take advantage of whenever you feel like it.

I would say that his favorite positions are face-off and doggie, as well as good old missionary. After a difficult week or two, doggy is a terrific way to relieve stress and release all of his pent-up energy. But as you go at it, it usually becomes a pinned doggy. He just can't help but want to be close to you. Conversely, face-off is for more intimate, slower, and emotionally charged sex. Primarily when he needs some consolation. It's a bit unconventional, but I see a lot of meaningful conversations occurring during or after that type of sex with him.

He's louder than you might imagine when it comes to how vocal he is. He rarely full-on moans, but what he does a lot is groan. And he groans pretty loudly. It's a very hot thing to have him pant, huff, and rumble into your ear because his voice just naturally becomes deeper and raspier when lust clouds his head. He usually cums with a broken gasp, throwing his head back. An absolutely stunning sight to behold, and a terrific incentive for you to spoil him by sucking him off, but I'm getting off topic. He's also the type to talk during sex, oddly enough. Not even dirty talk, but actual conversation.

It's a weird quirk, and it sure can get annoying when he's actively thrusting in and out of you, and then starts talking to you about what happened at work earlier. With that, he's a bit of a weirdball. Still, off-topic discussions aside, he's big on communicating, so it's not all bad. He can and does say fitting things too! He's very prone to talking you through it, so speak.

You can expect him to say something like: 'I've been thinking about this all day... Coming home to you, having you like this.' 'Are you close? Yeah, I know, I got you. Just look at me, will you? Just like that. Perfect.'

Chris pays close attention to aftercare as well. Usually asks you a few questions to see if you're sore or uncomfortable anywhere, and takes care of you if needed. Before cleaning himself, he always makes sure to clean you off first. Huge on cuddles after sex. He loves it more than anything else. Simply to keep you close to his chest once your sexy time is over. The fact that he's like a big, cozy teddy bear for you to snuggle with is definitely a pleasant bonus. Always prepares your breakfast the next day, even when he has to leave. You need to get your strength back! Or so he claims. He really just does it as a thank-you.

#resident evil #chris redfield #chris redfield x reader #your honor i need him

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casuallyobssessed · 3 months ago

Text

Hand of God - Donnie Barksdale x Fem!Fae!Reader ❥ 3.8k Words

A/N: Huge shout out to /impossibly-moths for being the catalyst for this idea and helping me with all my Fae related questions. Divider by /kodaswrld

Warnings: Fairy/Fae Reader, non-con/dub-con, major character death, alcohol consumption, no beta, no use of y/n, size kink, size difference, dead-dove content

Archive of Our Own Link

How could you have been so careless?

The sun beats down through the trees, a sliver of light transfixed directly on you has your brow sweating and your brain getting scrambled. You're stuck hanging by your wings, caught in some kind of trap mechanism inside of a metal cage. Inches away from you is a smorgasbord of deliciously irresistible berries and sweet goodies. You knew it was too good to be true, but you just couldn't resist trying to sneak in and take your fill.

Loud, crunching footsteps snap you out of your one person pity party. You know it has to be a human from the way they're walking. You kick your legs back and forth to try and dislodge yourself, but it only puts more painful stress on your wings. Afraid of tearing them, you stop and hang there silently, hoping that this human would be kinder than the rest you've come across.

The person picks up the cage and rattles it, shaking you violently in the process. You scream and hold onto your wings, hoping they wouldn't take much more damage. The cage is raised higher and you see the familiar face of a man.

“Must be my lucky day,” The human laughs, “Seems to me I done caught my very own Tinkerbell.”

Terrified, you lock eyes with him, unable to look away. This is the same monster that’s been killing all of your favorite forest creatures recently and taking them away.

“You’re kinda cute for a bug, ain't ya?,” He says, sticking his finger through the bars and poking your tummy.

“I'm not a bug!” You cry out, shoving his finger away, but he doesn't seem to understand your words.

He cocks an eyebrow at you, “Did you say somethin’?”

“Let me out of here!” You say, louder this time.

“I don't know what you're tryna say, bug,” He shrugs and you let out a frustrated huff.

And with that, he’s moving again, carrying you and the trap back to his truck. He places you on the passenger seat and slams the door with enough force to rock the vehicle and send you swaying. He gets in on the driver's side and starts the truck.

“Look here, ol’ Donnie ain't gonna hurt ya. You promise to be good if I let you outta there?” He asks, leaning down towards you. His cross necklace shifts against his shirt, catching glints of the sun that temporarily blind you with each breath he takes.

You glare at him, but cross your arms and nod. Without hesitation, the man named Donnie unlocks the cage. He fiddles with the mechanism that is holding you hostage and loosens it. Your wings slip free and you fall directly into the palm of his enormous hand. Even if you stretched all the way out with your head at the tip of his middle finger, your feet would barely reach his wrist. If he wanted to, he could crush you like an actual bug, but you don't get that vibe. At least, not yet. He set you free, that has to count for something, doesn't it?

His skin is warm and inviting after being stuck by yourself for a while, tempting you to lay down and snuggle up to him. You almost feel safe before he wraps his big fingers around you and pulls you out.

“Let go of me!” You squirm in his hand.

“Stop wigglin’, I wanna get a good look at you.”

He uses his other hand to grab you by the wings and dangle you in front of his face, squinting at you and twisting you around to get a better view. You’ve never worn clothes like the humans do, but the way his sharp brown eyes stare hungrily at you makes you want to cover up.

“Damn shame you're so tiny. You'd be a fine piece of ass otherwise.”

You scowl at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What? You don’t like me tellin’ you the truth?”

“You don't have to be so crass about it, Human,” You bite back, making sure your displeasure is evident on your face.

“I'll take that as a no, then,” He cocks an eyebrow at you, “Say, are there more things like you floatin’ around my property?”

You take a second to decide if you want to answer him truthfully. With his track record, he doesn't seem to be the forest conservationist type. Ultimately, you come to the conclusion that there's no need for him to find out about the others. You shake your head and shrug your shoulders in response.

“I don't believe you, but I guess you don't trust me after all the huntin’ I've been doin’ out here. That's fair,” He gives you a small smile and your heart skips a beat.

Donnie sets you on the dashboard of his truck and releases your wings. Surprisingly, your first instinct isn't to immediately fly out of the slightly cracked passenger window. You instead swing your legs over the edge of the plastic-y, vinyl surface and lightly kick your feet. You stretch out your wings and watch as he feels around beneath his seat for something, making a quiet ‘aha!’ sound when he finds it. He pulls out a large jar, partially filled with a clear fluid. Donnie unscrews the lid before bringing it to his lips and downing most of the remaining liquid in one big gulp.

“Shit!” He hisses, “Forgot how strong this rotgut was. Jar’s been sittin’ in here for a minute.”

You look at him, nose scrunched and slightly concerned at whatever ‘rotgut” is.

“There's a drop or two left, you wanna try some? Don't go down like that Wild Turkey whiskey since it's been sittin’ so long, but it'll get the job done,” Donnie holds the jar up to you expectantly.

“Okay,” You nod at him and point to the alcohol.

Understanding you clearly, he carefully holds the glass up to your lips, slowly tilting it up until you get a big mouthful. You immediately regret it as soon as you swallow. It’s harsh. It burns going down and you splutter and cough, bringing tears to your eyes.

“Strong ain't it, Darlin’?” Donnie chuckles, his eyes shine and crinkle at the corners, “That's some real honest white lightning, sugar. Drinkin’ ‘shine like that'll put hair on your chest, believe that.”

You motion for him to bring it back to your mouth, and you take another sip. It's less alarming this time, but equally as bad going down.

It doesn't take very long for the ‘shine’ to start kicking in. Heat spreads from your groin down to your toes, out to your fingers and through to the tips of your wings. You can feel that warmth creeping up your neck to your face, tipping Donnie off to how you're feeling. You lean back, resting on your hands and lazily flitting your wings.

“Feelin’ relaxed now, sweetheart?” Donnie asks you with a smirk.

You simply look at him and smile followed by a giggle. You like that he calls you different pet names, it makes your tummy do flips. It doesn't make sense to you, but you don't have the mental focus to think about it too hard right now.

“You should have some more, it'll make things real interestin’ I bet,” He tries to force another sip on you, but you shove the jar away, not wanting to deal with the consequences of drinking any more.

Donnie frowns, but doesn't push it. He drinks the last few drops left in the jar and reaches to grab you again. Your reaction time is slow, so you couldn't even fly away if you had wanted to.

“Put me down!” You squeal.

He ignores you and shoves you into the jar, overpowering you when you catch the rim with your legs and try to push against him. Before you're able to crawl out, he slams the lid on and twists it shut. You scream, hyperventilating and slamming your hands against the glass.

“Ungrateful bitch,” He says under his breath while reaching for his knife.

You take this as your sign to stop screaming, and step back, bumping against the glass. You cower down, covering your head as he stabs the pocketknife into the lid of the jar, giving you a burst of fresh air. He tosses your jar into the passenger seat, knocking your head against the side in the process, and throws the truck into gear.

You're not sure how long the drive takes to get to his home considering you hit your head pretty hard, but when you come to, your jar has been placed on the mantle above his fireplace. You're overseeing his messy living room, watching him putter around. He's taken his shirt and tossed it on the floor, and now he's kicking his boots off beside the couch.

From your all-seeing spot on the mantle, you watch him drink himself stupid. It started with cheap beer and ended with whiskey after he poured the last of his beer can into your jar. You stand calf deep in foul smelling, warm beer that soaks your hair and your wings. The smell makes you gag, but you try your best to keep your composure. Freaking out wouldn't help. You barely had room to stand, let alone have a panic attack.

A few minutes go by and Donnie comes back to linger in front of you. He just stares at you, swaying back and forth. Suddenly his eyes light up and he's snatching you off the mantle and unscrewing the lid. The violent movement knocks you on your butt, leaving you soaked in alcohol.

Donnie plucks you out of the jar by your wings and tosses the jar onto the coffee table. He walks into the kitchen and holds you over to the sink. Turning on the faucet, not bothering to let the water warm up first, he holds your little body under the water. You're hit with a rush of icy cold water that makes you squeal.

“Cut that shit out!” He shouts.

It scares you bad enough that you jump and immediately stop fighting against him. In an odd twist of events, he leans down and starts to gently wash you in the stream of water. Well, he does as best he can while drunk and using one hand to hold you up by your wings.

Carefully, he glides his fingers across your breasts and then your stomach, slowly dragging them down to your hip. Putting your leg between his index finger and thumb, he squishes your thigh then moves on to massage your calf, washing the remnants of the beer off your skin. He does the same to your other leg, but his fingers trail up the back of your thigh, not stopping until they reach your ass.

You want to kick him or curse him out for feeling you up like this, but you have to admit to yourself, it feels kind of nice. He caresses the curve of your ass before slipping his calloused fingertip between your thighs, slowly parting your legs. Your cunt is positively dripping, your wetness coats his finger before getting washed away by the water. Something about this intrigues Donnie, so he continues sliding his finger back and forth between your thighs, creating sweet, sweet friction against your clit.

You bite your lip, stifling a moan as you grind your hips down against him. It feels heavenly. He lets go of your wings and turns the sink off, watching intently as you straddle him and rub your slick folds all over his finger.

“That must feel real good, huh?” He asks, his voice husky and low, “You're a desperate little thing.”

His words make your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but it's not enough to stop you. You lean forward, bracing yourself with your hands to get a better angle. The difference in position sends sparks of white hot lightning through your body, making your toes curl and your thighs tighten around his finger. Donnie groans, using his free hand to palm himself through his jeans.

Nearing your climax, your wings start to shake along with your legs. Panting moans tumble out of your mouth and your stomach muscles tighten. Inside your chest, your heart is racing, and that white hot pleasure starts turning into a sharper sensation, like pure honey on your clit. That feeling intensifies quickly. You're so close you can almost taste it. You look up at Donnie towering over you, and you're not sure what you're asking of him but the tears in your puppy dog eyes are begging him to do something.

“What do you need, Darlin’?” He looks at you with a dark expression, trying to decipher your pitiful whines.

He lets go of the bulge in his pants long enough to brush his fingers against your wings, softly rubbing them between his thumb and index. You cry out as an unexpected tingle travels through your sensitive wings and shocks you into your orgasm. You tremble around him with a full body spasm and a contented sigh. The blissful high doesn't last long before Donnie changes his tune and pinches your wings, tugging on them harshly. He laughs when you yelp and tumble backwards, nearly falling off of his hand.

“Stop it! That hurts.” You cry out and reach around to swat him away, but your arms are too short to reach.

“Relax, Tinkerbell, I just wanna see somethin’ real quick.”

He manhandles you onto your back, laying you flat on his palm with your wings tucked between his fingers. You're given no warning before he spreads your legs open wide, putting your cunt on display for him.

“So fuckin’ wet and pretty. I bet you taste sweet as molasses,” Without waiting for your permission, he leans in to lick you.

Ignoring the alcohol heavy on his breath when he opens his mouth, you're hit with a wave of pleasure the second his tongue touches your wet heat.

“Mmm, I was right,” He says, licking his lips.

“Will you do it again?” You ask quietly while canting your hips towards him, hoping he gets the message.

“You want more?” There's a hint of disbelief in his voice.

You nod.

With his tongue being wide enough to cover most of your body in one pass, he uses it to trace from between your legs, all the way up to your breasts. Goosebumps spread across your skin as his slick tongue goes in for another taste of your folds. He moans against you, sending the vibrations straight to your core and making you writhe in his hand. It continues like that for a few minutes; cycling between him absolutely devouring you and having to stop himself from moaning too loudly. To your dismay, he pulls away from you, leaving you sick with want.

“Please, please, please,” You beg, thrusting up against nothing but air, searching for contact. The words come out sounding more like a prayer begging for forgiveness than anything.

“Is all your kind this fun to play with? They all this needy, or is it just you?” You can hear the amusement in his voice as he watches you struggle, “I mean look at how wet you are for me.”

He uses his pinky to rub against your aching clit, sliding down to gather up your slick, and then presses against your entrance. You shake your head at him, scared that his finger would be too big for you.

“I think you can take it, sweetheart. Be a good girl and let me try, alright?” He leans in and kisses your stomach, trying to reassure you.

You shudder. He turns you on way more than he probably should. You nod and bite your lip, agreeing to let him try.

Miraculously, your small hole stretches around the tip of his pinky without too much of a struggle. The sensation is foreign to you but feels divine. You never imagined yourself getting finger-fucked by a human, and yet, here you are. You groan, holding yourself back.

“Keep on makin’ those sweet sounds for me, Honey. I wanna hear how good it feels,” Donnie whispers, his voice gravelly and only slightly slurred.

You obey, letting your moans and whimpers fill the space between you two. That familiar feeling starts building up in your stomach as he gently fucks you, filling you up as much as you can handle with his pinky finger. Right before you reach your peak again, he pulls out of you abruptly. You whine at the empty feeling, making grabby hands at him to come back.

“I got an idea,” He mumbles, carrying you back into the living room and plopping down on the couch.

With one hand, he unbuckles his belt, undoes his jeans, and shoves his boxers down far enough to pull out his hard cock. Your eyes widen, hoping he isn't thinking what you think he is.

“You think it'll fit?” He asks you with a devilish grin.

He holds you up next to his dick, marveling at the size comparison. You're only a few inches taller than it is and your head spins just thinking about trying to fit any amount of it inside of you.

It's impossible. There is no physical way for him to fit, but in his inebriated state, he doesn't care. He's determined to make it fit. While you flutter your wings violently trying to get away, Donnie spreads your legs with one hand and lowers you onto his leaking dick with the other. You let out a disgruntled whimper.

At first it doesn't hurt, there's enough pre cum mixing with your own juices that it simply feels like intense pressure. You focus on the silver cross resting on his chest, rising and falling with each of his deep breaths. Its rhythmic movement reminds you to take your own deep breaths so you don't panic. But, when Donnie reaches up and forcibly spreads your legs farther than they're meant to go, your hips start to ache and your muscles burn. You start panicking.

He pulls back for a moment, letting you believe that he's giving up with a sigh before ramming himself into you, effectively popping your hips out of place and shattering your pelvis. A blood curdling scream erupts from your throat and searing, unbearable pain pulses throughout your body as you feel his dick tearing through your body, nearly ripping you in half.

You beg and scream and cry as he forces himself deeper, an incredible tightness building up in your stomach and chest. To make room for Donnie, your organs are being squished up into your ribcage. You’re thankful you can't feel your legs anymore, but the rest of the pain still has your vision blurring. You can't see the cross anymore, just a shiny blur of silver against his skin.

Another thrust and you feel a mushy pop inside your ribs, preventing you from taking another full breath. You cough to clear your airway, but you only get a mouthful of blood. Your lungs are on fire, begging you for a fresh breath of air, but you're powerless to comply.

The last thing you feel is a terrible crack inside your chest, ribs splintering like twigs underneath your skin. You're blinded by the pain before it completely knocks you unconscious. Your body goes limp in Donnie's hands, making it infinitely easier for him to manipulate your limbs where he needs them.

Using you like his own personal fleshlight, he pumps himself in and out of you like a mad man, desperately chasing his release. He ignores the blood coating his dick and dripping from your slack jawed mouth, it really just makes this smoother for him. An inconvenient cleanup, sure, but that's a problem for sober Donnie.

As he nears his climax, his thrusts get sloppier and harder. Frantic chants of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ ending with a grunt marks the moment Donnie cums inside of you. His seed spills out around his cock and drips down your legs, mixing with the blood to turn a surprisingly pretty pink. Your broken little body is nothing but mush, barely contained within your skin when he's done playing with you.

Donnie takes a few deep breaths and slowly slides you off his softening dick, surveying the damage he's done. Your mangled corpse sags in his fingers as he inspects your crumpled wings. He pokes at your hand. Though it's still balled into a fist, it unfurls as he nudges your fingers, placing his fingertip against your palm. It's as if he's expecting you to grab onto him, give him some sign that he didn't go too far.

Maybe it's the alcohol dulling his senses, but he can't seem to find any feelings of remorse. Even looking at your glazed-over, empty eyes doesn't spark any emotion within him, except for mild disappointment that he broke his new toy. Without pulling his boxers or jeans back up, Donnie slumps over sideways on the couch, clutching you in one hand.

He dozes off for a few hours before lurching awake in a cold sweat. There's a moment of confusion while he looks at your now stiff body in his fist. He doesn’t remember what happened beyond a few blurry flashes of memory. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he groans and sits up, opening his fingers to look at you in the process.

Donnie probably can't tell you what possesses him to take hold of your tiny wings and rip them out of your back, but he does. He then shoves them in his pocket, and carelessly dumps your wingless body back into the jar still sitting on the coffee table. He shoves his dick back into his underwear and yanks his jeans back up. Rising from the couch, he picks up his shirt from the floor and shrugs it on, then snatches the jar from the table and puts the lid back on.

Carrying you with him, he opens the back door and stares out into the woods silently. He looks down at you and blinks. With a grunt, he winds his arm up and hurls the jar into the darkness, listening for the thud it should make when it hits the ground.

To his surprise, he doesn't hear anything. No thud, no glass shattering, nothing. He doesn't care enough to figure out why, so he shuts the door and goes back into the living room. Donnie mumbles something about getting another drink as he rubs his eyes. When he opens them again, he's taken back by what he finds.

On the coffee table sits the glass jar. Only now, it's empty.

#donnie barksdale x reader #donnie Barksdale x you #the gift 2000 #donnie Barksdale #keanuverse #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader

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