#typical forgetting curve

[microlearningplatform]

The Science of Forgetting: Why Trainers Must Rethink Learning Strategies

The Forgetting Curve and Its Relevance for Trainers: How to Ensure Long-Term Knowledge Retention

Introduction

Have you ever attended a training session, felt confident about what you learned, and then struggled to recall most of it just days later? This phenomenon is explained by the Forgetting Curve, a concept introduced by German psychologist Hermann Ebbinghaus in the late 19th century. His research showed that without reinforcement, people forget nearly 50% of newly learned information within an hour and up to 90% within a week.

For trainers, this presents a major challenge. No matter how well-designed a training program is, its effectiveness is limited if learners quickly forget the material. The good news? With the right strategies, trainers can combat the Forgetting Curve and ensure long-term knowledge retention.

This article explores the science behind the Forgetting Curve, its implications for trainers, and proven strategies to make learning stick.

Understanding the Forgetting Curve

What is the Forgetting Curve?

The Forgetting Curve describes how memory retention declines over time without reinforcement. Ebbinghaus conducted experiments where he memorized nonsense syllables and tested his recall over varying time intervals. His results formed a steep, downward-sloping curve, demonstrating rapid forgetting unless information is reviewed periodically.

Key Insights from the Forgetting Curve

Forgetting Happens Fast – Learners forget up to 70% of information within 24 hours of learning if there’s no reinforcement.

Repetition Strengthens Memory – Regular review interrupts forgetting and moves knowledge into long-term memory.

Meaningful Learning Improves Retention – Information that is relevant, contextual, and engaging is remembered better.

Active Recall is More Effective – Actively retrieving information (e.g., quizzes, teaching others) improves memory more than passive review.

These findings highlight the urgent need for trainers to implement strategies that reinforce learning over time.

Why the Forgetting Curve Matters for Trainers

For corporate trainers, L&D professionals, and educators, understanding the Forgetting Curve is critical. If trainees forget most of what they learn, then training programs are failing to create lasting impact.

Common Training Pitfalls That Lead to Forgetting

One-and-Done Training – Single-session workshops without follow-up lead to rapid information loss.

Overloading Learners – Dumping too much content at once overwhelms learners, making retention difficult.

Lack of Reinforcement – Without periodic reviews, knowledge fades quickly from memory.

Passive Learning Methods – Traditional lectures and static e-learning do not engage learners enough for deep retention.

The Cost of Forgetting in Organizations

Reduced Employee Performance – Employees forget essential skills, leading to mistakes and inefficiency.

Compliance Risks – Forgetting critical compliance regulations can result in legal consequences.

Wasted Training Investments – Organizations spend millions on training programs, but without reinforcement, much of that investment is lost to forgetting.

To overcome these challenges, trainers must design learning experiences that actively combat the Forgetting Curve.

How Trainers Can Overcome the Forgetting Curve

1. Use Spaced Repetition

Spaced repetition involves reviewing information at increasing intervals to strengthen memory. Instead of cramming, learners revisit key concepts multiple times over days, weeks, or months.

How to Implement Spaced Repetition

Microlearning Modules – Deliver bite-sized lessons with follow-up reinforcement.

Automated Learning Reminders – Use AI-powered learning platforms to schedule personalized review sessions.

Reinforcement Emails & Notifications – Send learners periodic reminders or quizzes.

Example: Instead of a one-time compliance training session, provide weekly microlearning refreshers on key policies.

2. Leverage Microlearning

Microlearning platform delivers small, focused lessons that are easier to digest and remember. Studies show that microlearning can increase retention by up to 50% compared to traditional training.

How Microlearning Helps Combat Forgetting

✅ Short & Focused – Learners absorb one concept at a time, improving retention. ✅ Flexible & On-Demand – Employees can access learning when they need it, reinforcing knowledge in real time. ✅ Engaging Formats – Videos, infographics, quizzes, and interactive lessons enhance engagement.

Example: Instead of a 3-hour training session, break it into 10-minute modules with real-world applications.

3. Implement Active Learning Techniques

Passive learning (reading, watching videos) leads to high forgetting rates. Active learning, which requires learners to engage, recall, and apply knowledge, significantly boosts retention.

Active Learning Strategies for Trainers

Quizzes & Retrieval Practice – Asking learners to recall information improves memory retention.

Scenario-Based Learning – Present real-world problems that require critical thinking and decision-making.

Peer Teaching – Encourage employees to teach concepts to others, reinforcing their understanding.

Gamification – Use leaderboards, challenges, and rewards to make learning engaging.

Example: After a training module on data security, give learners a real-world phishing attack scenario to solve.

4. Use AI-Powered Adaptive Learning

Artificial intelligence (AI) can personalize learning paths, ensuring that employees receive reinforcement exactly when they need it. AI analyzes learner performance and automatically adjusts training schedules to prevent forgetting.

How AI Helps Combat Forgetting

🚀 Personalized Reminders – AI identifies knowledge gaps and pushes targeted microlearning content. 🚀 Smart Adaptive Quizzes – AI-driven assessments help learners actively recall weak areas. 🚀 Just-in-Time Learning – Employees can access training at the moment of need for maximum retention.

Example: If an employee struggles with safety protocols, AI sends personalized refresher lessons.

5. Reinforce Learning with Real-World Application

Retention improves when learners apply knowledge in real-world scenarios. Trainers should create opportunities for hands-on practice and real-life implementation.

Ways to Reinforce Learning

On-the-Job Training Assignments – Give employees tasks that require applying new skills.

Role-Playing Exercises – Simulate real situations to deepen understanding.

Follow-Up Discussions & Coaching – Encourage knowledge sharing among peers.

Example: After a leadership training session, assign managers real coaching tasks to apply new skills.

Final Thoughts

The Forgetting Curve poses a significant challenge for trainers, but strategic learning reinforcement can dramatically improve retention. By incorporating spaced repetition, microlearning, active learning, AI-powered tools, and real-world application, trainers can ensure knowledge sticks—leading to more effective training programs and improved workforce performance.

🔹 Key Takeaways for Trainers: ✅ Combat forgetting with spaced learning & microlearning. ✅ Use active learning techniques like quizzes and real-world practice. ✅ Leverage AI-powered learning for personalized reinforcement. ✅ Reinforce learning with on-the-job application.

By shifting from one-time training events to continuous, reinforced learning, trainers can defeat the Forgetting Curve and maximize learning impact.

🚀 Want to improve your training programs? Explore how AI-powered microlearning solutions like MaxLearn can help!

[aliusfrater]

sometimes i forget that people genuinely perceive season four sam exorcising demons w his powers as genuinely horrible, or even scale his killing the nurse in 4.22 as the worst he's ever done. on the 4.04, "use the knife!" and [proceeds to use the demon blade and angel blade for seasons upon season afterward] and drains multiple people in 5.21 and 7.15 flashback scene show

[dollwrites]

ᴛʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅs ┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° sᴇᴘʜɪʀᴏᴛʜ

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｔｙｐｅ ┊ standalone

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ ┊ smut ( minors dni ), mentor/student, tummy bulge, orgasm denial, all characters featured are aged 18+

ｉｍｐｏｒｔａｎｔ ┊ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

“Faster,” the word is a husky, bubbling whisper from Sephiroth’s lips, one that you didn’t see him shape the syllables of, but one that still shook you to your core nonetheless. as his pleasure sounds always did. “Harder.” you wanted to do what he commanded, even as your thighs trembled, and your feet turned inwards— your balance on your tippy toes threatening to slip away and have you tumbling face first into the dirt beneath them, you attempted to plant yourself firmer, and buck backwards. your ass cheeks slap against the leather of his coat and trousers as he stood, his clothes half undone and hanging from his chiseled frame. your own uniform had been completely discarded in a flurry of black and silver, and now lay in a defeated puddle of fabric and metal at your feet. with each smack and squish of your flesh against his solid thighs, his taut abdomen, you feel the might of his cock as it barrels through your core, and you cry out in ecstasy.

your walls flutter, happy to receive such a heaping offering of cock, and you hear a low hum from behind you— emanating from the depths of your mentor’s chest, and realize that he’s sealed his couplet to keep the moan from surfacing. even without attempting to look over your bare shoulder at him, you knew the sound well, and the visage that typically accompanies it. a knitting of thin, grey brows, and the little wrinkle that forms between them when he feels you clamp down on him just right. a rolling back of his olive gaze, the vertical slits blown out with lust until the pupils nearly overtake the entire iris. a tightening of his jaw muscles, and a bulging of the vein on his neck, so easily shrouded by silver tresses.

“Still so far from orgasming, yet you tighten around my cock as if you’re already begging for cum.” you can practically hear the subtle curve of Sephiroth’s mouth as he teases you, yet doesn’t move an inch out of position. flat footed and relaxed, with his hands not clinging to your hips, but still and straight at his sides. “What’s the matter? Just can’t help yourself?”

“Nn-nn…” you answer, unashamed of your eager reply. it was impossible to deny it anyways, what with the way you milked him now.

“The second you get my cock inside you, you forget all about pleasing yourself, no? Only servicing me matters?”

you nod, but the tepid pace, only what you could muster whilst also struggling to balance, was also frustrating you. of course, taking him fully to the hilt was pleasurable— to feel your lower tummy bulging in the shape of his cock when your netherlips kiss his base— but this speed was not nearly enough to make you cum. what you really wanted; nay, what you really needed to find fulfillment was the harsh grip of Sephiroth’s hands on your hips, the strength and quickness with which he typically fucked you, and the dizzying sensation of being tossed about a raging storm of his desire.

he would give you none of that today.

“P-please, Sephiroth… fuck, I need—“ your breath is ragged, your words threatening to tie your tongue into knots as you struggle through the plea, “I need it!”

he knew already what you were asking for, but he doesn’t reach for your hips. he does, however, shift behind you, but only to cross his massive arms over his broad chest, and with a tilt of his head, he taunts you once more. “You lost, 2nd Class.” he mutters. perhaps Sephiroth, who was also enjoying the tightness of your warm cunt, wanted to give in to your request and plow you silly, but he was showing restraint. even as his hips twitched, begging to boost your rhythm by beating themselves against your ass, he remains stoic. “You know the rules.”

you did, much to your own loathing. sparring with Sephiroth in the training room had rules. one such rule being that the loser ( you, more often than not ) would get no reward for their poor form.

your interior flutters and spasms around his thick, veiny cock, and Sephiroth allows a sigh to slip through his tiers, a sound of approval. “I’m going to cum, you know.” his rumbling baritone drops to a whisper as he leans close, one hand freeing itself and careening around your lower belly. it plants itself there, fingertips barely flicking and rubbing at your engorged button to coax a helpless mewl from your lips, and encourage your innards to tighten around him still. your head droops forward, chin tucked to your breasts.

“F-fuck—“

that’s when Sephiroth lips caressed the shell of your ear, his voice low with dastardly intent, but the smile remains upon them. “I could easily strum your little cunt, and give you that pleasure, too…” his voice trails off, but his fingers do not mirror his words. they rub in torturously slow circles, until you’re begging under your breath. “But I won’t,” he asserts, finally. “I’ll play with you just enough to keep it tight and drooling, until I cum, and then I’ll pull out and leave you begging for a release that will not come this day, or any of those that follow. Until you can best me properly.”

[corpsypher]

Pierced through the heart, but never killed || Ghost x Fat!Reader ||

One shot (9.8k) MoodboardAo3 link. Simon pays the price of his recklessness in the field, but his reward may be worth the pain. CW: reader described as fat/plus-sized/curvier/chubby, Patient/PT dynamics, Perv!Simon, reader is a nervous talker, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of wounds + violence, rehab shit, military shit, protective!Simon, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, hand kink, praise kink, slight knife play (blink and you’ll miss it), unprotected piv, degradation, lots of cum, oral (fem!receiving), breeding kink, scar worship(?), body worship, clearly 18+ MDNI.

He really fucking didn’t want to be there.

There was no one else to blame for his current situation other than himself. Seating in the sterile waiting room of the health services unit of undisclosed location military base, with his fucked up hand wrapped and immobilized in a splint. Simon was bored out of his mind. 

He was waiting for the medical staff to finish their briefing, they were starting him on physical therapy for the foreseeable future. It turns out that all the ligaments and tissue surrounding the carpometacarpal and metacarpophalangeal joints were more complex to heal than one might think. If only he'd known that before using his hand as a shield against a machete.

At least he could take comfort in remembering said weapon buried in the skull of the big Austrian fucker that thought it was a good idea to wear a dirty rag for a mask and come at him with a blade in close quarters, the imbecile.

“Lieutenant. They’re ready for you.” Finally, He stands up and silently follows the nurse who’d accompanied him since they removed the stitches a couple of hours before. She was an older woman, with a stern face and of few words, who hadn’t tried to chat him up while you worked on him, and at first, he thought it was because of his mask, but after a while he noticed she was short with everyone else.

The facility itself had no natural light, only a bright fluorescent-lighted ceiling with sad white and beige painted walls, it was dull and depressing. As they approached the rehab unit, he noticed you, all warm and soft in contrast with the environment. 

A fat birdie in baby blue scrubs that accentuate all your attractive curves, with a beautiful welcoming smile adorning your round, pretty face. Like a sucker punch, It made his stomach clench, and other parts of him stir in interest. 

Like the nurse, you didn't seem to be phased by his typically intimidating looks; it wasn't that he was actively trying to scare you either, it was just how he came across, plus the black balaclava made him look like a double-edged sword, he was aware of it.

“This is your assigned Physio for the time being, she’ll be in charge of your care from now on… I'll leave you to it.” And with that, the nurse was gone.

You seemed too fucking sweet to be in this place (he’d been in military hospitals that were as hospitable as a Man U pub in East London), and that thought is confirmed the second you open your mouth. 

You welcome him like he’d just landed in a beachside resort, he'd never been to one, nor was he opposed to visiting. But now that he thought about it, he could perfectly picture you in a skimpy bikini, lying under the sun, with those tempting lips sipping on a straw from a coconut, that's suddenly turning into a phallic shape-

“Lieutenant, could you please follow me this way?” Your voice -strangely familiar- cuts off his naughty thoughts. Something itches in the back of his mind, like he knows you, maybe from another base, but surely he would remember. He could never forget a face like yours.

“Just Ghost.” He remarks and follows you. Oh boy, does he follow you, like a Malinois taking orders. The moment he gets a good look at your behind, he's sold; that ass and those thighs moving in front of him are his personal version of being hypnotized. Luring him, drawing him in. 

Perhaps being here won’t be so bad after all.

He’d done PT before, for his leg and lower back. Yet he’d grown accustomed to the constant ache. The shot of electricity that sometimes ran down his legs, the fatigue that bullied his lumbar spine after an adventurous mission with the 141. He certainly didn’t expect that a few sessions hooked to the TENS machine would magically heal all the shit he’d put his body through during his years in active duty. 

Yeah, he’d done PT before…

But it was nothing compared to this, never like this. 

Starting with the pretty thing massaging, rubbing, and pampering him. Talking his ears off about everything that had to do with his injury, what the treatment would consist of, what the next couple of weeks were going to be like, what stage of cicatrization he was on, etc. 

It felt like heaven, having a pretty lass all over him. Until you flexed his wrist and sharp pain shot like fire from his fingers to his elbow. 

You apologize, even though it's not your fault, and try to make light conversation in an attempt to distract him. His answers are short and not as friendly as yours, not because he doesn’t want to be, but because he’s concentrating on blocking out the pain, like he’d been trained to do, like he was used to.

Your breast constantly squeezing against the table the two of you were seating on certainly helped. 

The softness of your hands on his scarred one was fuel for his filthy imagination. Your sweet words of encouragement soothed him every time he grew frustrated, and the delicious scent of your perfume made his mouth water, tickling something nostalgic in his subconscious.

And then he started to forget about the pain.

Two weeks go by faster than Simon expected. He was getting better, it was less painful to close his fist, but his strength and fine motor skills were still fucked. He was no longer bored, though, he was using his free time as an excuse to become ambidextrous. 

The image of your soft, delicate hands holding him. The contrast of his scarred, calloused skin against yours, how you studied every uncovered inch with such attentiveness, it fed the thing inside him that wanted to sink its teeth on your neck and lock the fuck in.

Wanking off twice a day to thoughts of his PT was turning out to be quite the exercise. His brain had also decided it was a good time to let his breeding kink resurface -It hadn’t gone anywhere to begin with- because his muse had the perfect body for it. When he allowed his thoughts to wander down that path, he would come so fast it left him dizzy.

And you were so witty, and smart, and so goddamn sweet it satiated his sweet tooth, so attentive it filled his chest with a feeling he couldn’t name. Yet, you were a feisty little thing, a kitty with its claws sheathed. You would banter with him about football, throw bad jokes in reply to his, and scowl at him when he tried to cheat during his exercises. 

Yeah, he was feeling better than ever.

But then came Soap, giving him shit left and right about wanting to visit Simon at one of his sessions. 

Johnny had shown up -uninvited and unauthorized- just in time to see the plump birdie remove the hardened layers of paraffin wax from his hand and start stretching his strained tendons. The tender touch of your cool hands on his hot one and the sudden presence of the Sergeant in his peripheral view made him flinch slightly. It was a small movement, but enough for Johnny to take notice, the bastard smirked, amused, before locking eyes on you, then he lit up like a dog with a bone. 

The thing was, Johnny was also into bigger women. Johnny was into anything with a hole. They’d shared porn links of BBW getting pounded once or twice before (BBW getting pounded and bred to be more specific), so Simon knew exactly the kind of nasty shit lurking on the Scots mind. Chances were Simon had already thought of it.

The second Soap arrived, Simon knew he had to lay down limits. No looking, no touching. Easily communicated with a grunt and a subtle shake of his head. Turns out Johnny boy read that as an invitation, and not as the warning that it was.

Soap had then proceeded to grab a chair, and sat backward on it while facing them in the small table that had become yours since day one. And then the mutt-with-a-death-wish introduced himself and started to flirt with you. Right in front of Simon.

You were oblivious, laughed at Soap's usual shenanigans and threw cheeky comebacks here and there, keeping the conversation light and as professional as you possibly could while dealing with Johnny. 

“Poor Bonnie, ye probably exhausted after dealing with mean ol’ Lieutenant.”

“You’re wrong there, Sergeant. Ghost is one of the best patients I’ve ever had… You’d be surprised at how rude patients can be sometimes.” That last part was said quietly, and by the expression on your face, you immediately regretted saying it. Simon wanted to delve more into that, but Soap kept talking and changed the subject.

“Bet ya wish it was me in yer care, we’d have a fun time every time…”

When it was over, after the nurse kicked Soap out of the rehab unit for his boisterous behavior, Simon grabbed him by the scruff (with his good hand, he wasn’t going to fuck up your progress) and shoved him into a wall, he made it clear to Soap that he was not to do that again. “A’ight, no messin’ with yer doc, got it, now let off Lt.” He giggled in between forced breaths. Only then did Simon lift his forearm from his throat.

The next day, he decided to go in earlier to apologize for his squad mate's behavior. What he stumbled upon, was an example of your accidental confession. 

“I’ve said it a hundred times already, I can’t fucking do it! What’s the fucking point? I’m just wasting my time.” He heard the pitchy shouts before he saw them. A rookie soldier in crutches, towering over you, face red and nostrils flaring. While you were holding onto the handrail of the parallel bars like a lifeline. 

“Let's just give it a try, this is the last exercise for the day, alright?” Even dealing with the man's tantrum, you kept your polite demeanor. 

“I don’t fucking want to, I’m done.” The soldier started to maneuver his way around the bars, and you followed him, still unaware of Simon's presence. The nurse was arranging some papers on the other side of the room, watching everything unfold silently.

“Sir, we’re not done. I’m here to help you recover, there’s no need to be uncivil.” This time your words were stern, your face frowning in determination. Simon thought it was cute.

“There is no need to be a pain in the ass either, fat bitch!”

And that was enough of that, with a few long steps Simon was in the young man's space, looking down at him and sizing him up, ”Quiet.” One word was enough, the thin veil of anger that disguised the soldiers' fears vanished from his face. “Stop your whingin’. Apologise and sod off.”

“Apologies, ma’am.” the soldier said over his shoulder grudgingly. You acknowledged it with a single nod. 

“Not good enough, look at her and say it like you mean it, boy.” Simon ground his molars and clenched his fist to stop himself from doing the violent things he wanted to.

The soldier turned clumsily on his crutches and muttered another apology, slightly more sincere than the first. Simon took a step aside to let him go, he didn’t give a fuck about pulling rank over the lad, he just wanted him gone and away from you. He would deal with it more thoroughly later. He was sure Johnny would enjoy giving him a hand.

Once the shell shock case walked out, Simon approached you. Even though you didn't seem upset from the confrontation, he noticed that your chest was heaving as you took deep breaths to calm down. You were staring at the floor, eyes a little hazy, with a hand resting on your soft belly, working on controlling your breathing. 

“Y’alright?”  

“No, yeah-” You paused and tilted your head up at him. “Yes, yes. I’m fine.” Your cheeks seemed flushed. Simon assumed it was anger, yet he found you deliriously hot. 

Raising the hand he was jealous of from your navel, you comically looked at your naked wrist, “Well, look at the time, right on the dot,” He was not, it was still early. “I’ll just… grab a cup of tea, and then we’ll begin our session. I’ll be back in a moment.” You dashed away, leaving him with the nurse, who now looked at him with her arms folded, one brown raised and lips pursed, clearly not amused by the situation.

After that day, things were… different. Since you were usually the one to start most of the conversations, your frequent chats became strained. In fact, you hardly spoke to him anymore (well, not really, he just got used to your constant yapping), only to give him instructions. 

He found that he missed it, your sweet attention talks, what he normally detested in others, he found charming in you. Not having that made him feel uneasy. Not only that, but he desperately wanted to return the gesture. He knew that his usual nonchalant and sarcastic tone wasn’t gonna cut it this time.

You made every effort to avoid meeting his gaze, as it would only become more intense as it sought to meet yours constantly. Because if he couldn’t have your voice, he’d settle for your pretty eyes. He was aware that he was behaving a little insane -like a hunter stalking its prey- but he was unable and unwilling to control himself.

One day, you caught him by surprise and set a gun on the table. A Clock 17, unloaded and  with an empty mag, a cleaning kit laying beside it. You told him to get into it and put those fingers to work, then you pulled a .19 from the pocket of your thigh, sat beside him instead of your usual spot on the other side of the table, and started to disassemble it with an efficiency that rivaled Kyle’s. He wanted to fuck you right then and there.

He grunted while appreciating you with a warm smile hidden by his mask, but still evident in his eyes. You turned at the sound, finally meeting his gaze, you gifted him a bright smile that blinded him and made him feel a little hazy.

He blinked slowly, pulled himself together and started to go through the motions of a deep cleaning for a Clock. He could do it in his sleep, blindfolded, and hog tied. Only to find he was a sloppy mess that somehow could not even pull the slide from the frame without struggling with the catch levers.

“You got it, Lt. Slowly but surely.” You encourage him. He carried on, watching your soft hands handle the weapon felt like you somehow were touching an extension of him. Another thought to not share with his therapist.

As he got lost in his thoughts, Simon still had that nagging feeling in the back of his mind. You felt so familiar, there was just something nostalgic about the way he felt about you. Like he was longing for something he couldn’t quite remember, a word on the tip of his tongue. Or maybe he was getting too attached, too fast.

A few weeks after the incident with the rookie, he graduated from the rehab unit and was back at the gym (still with some limitations) and other duties, but still you insisted on going down to the shooting range with him. You wanted to monitor his improvement during work activities, which in his case meant shooting big guns, reloading them, and throwing sharp knives. He’d not been given the all-clear on hand-to-hand combat yet.

It was a mistake. Simon knew it the second you left the comfort of the indoors behind. You were out of your usual scrubs and instead were dressed up in a pair of cargo pants, tan army boots and a black compression shirt that stretched to sinful limits around your shape. It was torture. All the men watching you parade through the base made his hands itch to pull eyes out of sockets.

And then you were pampering him again, carefully massaging and moving his hand before he started shooting at a target. Standing close to him to better assess his hold on the guns, you called him out when he misplaced a shaky finger to avoid discomfort, reminding him that it was important to practice without any compensatory movements, so he didn’t develop bad habits.

You were all over him again, all your attention was on him, on the way he stood, on how he unloaded and reloaded, on how he shot round after round. Not even Price and Gaz introducing themselves diverted your focus. It was elating, he felt intoxicated.

By the time you were done for the day, Simon escorted you back to the barracks sporting a semi. Then he practically jogged to his room and proceeded to jerk off like a madman with the smell of gunpowder and your scent still on his nose. Fantasizing about coming inside you, filling you so full of him, claiming your little holes and-

He was hanging on to his self-control by the skin of his teeth, one little nudge away from losing it.

It should've been no surprise to him that in the end, it was knives that did it.

Oh, the irony.

You were alone, standing in the small warehouse next to the shooting range. It was poorly lit, equipped with big wooden circles with targets painted on them, a marksman table bolted to the floor and a utility wall full of all sorts of sharp paraphernalia. 

You were closer than the day before, again in your new uniform, looking hot and smelling as tempting as ever. Meanwhile, he was fucking up all his throws. 

You’d been at it for half an hour now, and he was getting more frustrated by the second.

“You are holding them too tightly, you have your full strength back now. The goal is to practice micro-dosing it when it requires gentle movements. Let me show you.” You said while studying his form.

You stand on your tiptoes to reach his injured hand that's been holding the KaBar knife over his shoulder in a throwing stance. Your soft front brushes against his side. Your fingertips lightly touch his tense fingers gripping the handle, and then your voice is right by his shoulder, whispering dirty-sounding words of encouragement.

“Relax a little bit, yes. Just like that.” Your breath caresses his skin, and he suppresses a shudder, “Yes, yes, perfect! Now, do it!” He throws the knife. 

Neither one of you sees it land with a thud in the center of the target. 

He’s on you before he can stop himself. 

With his hands wrapped around your throat, he pulls you impossibly closer to him, you gasp and instinctively grabs his wrists. His thumbs on your soft jaw tilt your head to make you look into his eyes. You moan, an involuntary noise that escapes your throat. The sound travels like high voltage through his blood to his groin. 

“Lieutenant…” you whisper, voice cracking with fear and a hesitated question.

Simon growls, slightly tilting his hips against your belly, wanting you to feel his hard cock, his need.

"Always on top of me, touching me, tempting me."  He turns slowly, keeping you in his grasp, and you move with him. "You have no idea how long I’ve been stopping myself from putting my hands on you," two steps forward, and he traps you against the old marksman table. Left speechless, your hands fall to his hard chest. Not punching him away, he notes.

His hands travel from your throat down to your hip, gentle but heavy petting your curves, He leans close and nudges your cheek with his clothed one. Your breathing becomes more labored by the second. "So sweet, yet so oblivious to the effect you have on me." He whispers next to your ear as he tightens his grip on you, his fingers digging on your softness, "But I can show you."

Simon picks you up, you shriek and throw your arms around his neck as he sits you on the table. He swipes one hand behind you, clearing the table of the clutter that falls loudly to the floor, purposely missing a small knife, he grabs it and brings it up to point at you with the sharp tip, “You’re gonna owe me a mask after this.” 

He lifts the bottom of his balaclava and cuts a piece off to reveal his mouth. Pink and plump lips split by a long scar all the way from his nose, down his cupid's bow, to just above his dimpled chin. 

He doesn’t give you time to appreciate the new exposed piece of him, because Simon leans down to claim your mouth in a passionate, claiming kiss. His eyes flutter close as you share the warmth of his body, and the truth of his confession. Your hands slid to his arms, gripping his biceps as you pulled him closer, your tongue tentatively meeting his in an unspoken invitation for more.

The kiss grows more urgent, his tongue diving into your mouth as he tasted the sweetness of your submission. His hands roaming your body, familiarizing themselves with every curve, fingers tracing circles underneath your breast and on the softness of your waist. Your own hands started to explore him, your nails digging into the skin of his exposed arms as you traced his muscles like you’re memorizing him.

Pulling away from your mouth, he nuzzled his masked nose against the apple of your chubby cheek, "If you don’t want this, now is the time to say so, before I lose myself." He was giving you a way out of his possessive grasp before it was too late, before he sunk his sharp teeth into your juicy peach and decided he was not going to let go.

“I want you!” Your voice was a desperate whimper at the mere notion of stopping. You want it, all he would give you, you’ll take it. Your hands grabbed his shirt and tugged, trying to take it off, you managed to untuck it from his pants before he grunted and grabbed both your wrists in each of his hands to stop you.

He kissed you once more and bit your lower lip, making you gasp, He took the opportunity and licked inside your mouth. “Tongue.” he barked, you obeyed and shyly stuck your tongue out. Simon licked, sucked, and bit again. It was utterly erotic. 

He pulled away from you and made quick work of undressing, took off his shirt, and then undid the button and zipper of his cargo pants. He was so big, all over. Packed with muscles and a layer of fat that made it seem like he was naturally bulletproof, even when you knew that wasn’t the case. The scars he wore were a crude and raw testament of the truth.

He moved close again, reached for your knees, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive flesh behind them, causing your legs to fall apart slightly. You watched, transfixed, as his hands moved closer and closer to the apex of your thighs. The teasing was agonizing, but you didn't want it any other way. Instead, you took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling with each stroke of his hand.

With a predatory grace, Simon leaned over you, his eyes never leaving yours as his hand traveled up your leg over the thick fabric that separated you from his touch. You felt the anticipation coil tighter in your stomach, a knot of excitement and fear that made your breath hitch. He paused just before he reached your center, his fingers tracing your sensitive inner thigh. You could feel the heat of his body, his scent mingling with sweat and arousal.

"You know," he said, his voice a low growl, "I’ve been dying to know what you taste like." His thumb hovered just above the fabric over your pussy, the pressure of it making you tremble. "Do you want to help me with that, baby?"

Your eyes widened, and you felt a rush of warmth spread through your body. You had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable while still being clothed. But there was something about the way he talked to you, the way he looked at you, that made it feel so sexy. "Yes, Ghost," you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I want that."

The Lieutenant's smile grew, his teeth a dangerous sight in contrast with the dark fabric of his mask. "Good," he said, his thumb finally sliding over the seam at your center.

With swift motions, he kneeled down to unbutton and yank your camo pants and panties off, making your hips rise and fall involuntarily, revealing your fuzzy, glistening wet pussy. The coolness of the air made you gasp, and you felt a thrill as his gaze locked on your most sensitive parts. Simon leaned in closer, his nose just inches from your sex. He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled your scent, his eyes closing in pleasure.

The sound of his deep inhale made your stomach flip. You felt a strange sense of power, knowing you could elicit such a reaction from him. His eyes snapped open, and you saw the hunger in them, the raw need that was no longer hidden behind the veil of indifference he usually donned. "Mm," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You smell so good, baby."

Without another word, Simon leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on your fat mons, his stubbled cheek brushing against the naked skin of your inner thigh. Your hips jerked upward at the contact, a gasp escaping your lips, the intimacy of the moment almost too much to handle. He kissed you again, this time a bit closer to your clit, the stubble grazing your skin again, sending sparks of pleasure through your core.

"Your pussy is so perfect," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "So soft and plump. Just like a ripe little peach." He placed a hand on your hip, holding you in place as he continued to shower you with wet kisses, each one closer to the center of your desire. It was so bewildering, the way he was rough and gentle with you at the same time.

Your breathing grew ragged, your body trembling with each tender touch. Then, without warning, you felt wetness on your clit as Simon leaned in and let a bead of saliva fall from his mouth onto your sensitive flesh. You gasped at the sensation, the coolness of his spit mixing with the warmth of your slick. His tongue followed the droplet, tracing a wet line up the center of your pussy, and you felt a bolt of electricity shoot through your core.

"Ghost," you whimpered, your hands clutching the edges of the table.

"Shh," Simon soothed, his eyes never leaving yours. "Just relax, sweetheart. I got you." He slid his middle finger along your slit, the tip of it teasing your swollen clit before delving into your wetness. Your back arched as he pushed the digit into you, his knuckles grazing your sensitive skin. "So tight," he murmured, his voice filled with fascination. "So perfect."

He began to pump his finger in and out, the motion sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. You felt so full, so overwhelmed, still you craved more. You could feel your body responding in ways you didn't know were possible, so out of control, it was like an outer body experience. He had barely touched you.

“This was all I could think about every time you were holding my hand,” Simon said as he watched, transfixed, at the way his finger moved. “Making me all better just so I could repay you like this.” Your pussy clenched around his finger, begging for more, and you couldn't help but rock your hips in time with his movements.

"Tell me how it feels," he murmured, his voice a firm command that made your body quiver. "Does this pussy like when I play with her?"

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn't lie. "It feels… amazing," you admitted, your voice shaking. "I've never felt like this before." You leaned back on your elbows and let your head drop back.

Simon's eyes lit up with excitement. "Good," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I want you to feel good, baby. I want you to know just how much I appreciate you." His thumb began to circle your clit as he continued to fuck you with his finger, the dual sensation making you moan even louder. "But we're just getting started. There's so much I want to do to you, so much more I want to do with you."

He stood up and with his free hand grabbed you by the nape of your neck to pull you upright, “Show me your tits sweetheart, take that fucking shirt off.” You hesitated for two heart beats and he amped the pace of his thrusts, “Take. It. All. Off.” 

You swallowed the nervous knot that formed in your throat and started to strip off your shirt. Once you were covered in only your sports bra, you took a deep inhale and straightened your back, reassuring yourself that there was nothing to be self-conscious about.

“You gonna make me repeat myself?” His tone dropped lower, his words a playful threat. You shook your head and off went your bra. As soon as you were bare before him, Simon ceased to move, his fingers still inside you, you even thought he stopped breathing for a moment. A nasty, insecure thought scurried across your mind, but it got squashed by the way Simon was looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

Then he snapped.

He leaned closer to you, his breath hot against your neck. You felt his hand move from your neck down to your chest, his calloused thumb grazing your nipple before he took it into his mouth. It was overwhelming, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as he began to suckle. The sensation of his mouth on you, combined with the new relentless rhythm of his finger inside your pussy, left you on the brink of a form of pleasure you had never experienced before.

With each second that passed, your breathing grew more erratic, your body moving in time with his. The sound of his mouth on your skin blended with your moans and the distant sound of the shooting range. The warm flush on your face was a stark contrast to the coolness of his saliva as it dripped down your chest. His free hand moved to your other breast, kneading and rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It was a symphony of sensations, each one building upon the last until you felt like a supernova.

"Do you like that, baby?" he murmured against your skin, his teeth scraping your nipple before capturing it between his teeth. "Do you like how I make you feel?"

Your breath hitched, and you nodded frantically. "Y-yes, Simon." you managed to gasp out, your voice tight with need.

Simon's smile grew wider when he finally heard you say his name, and he leaned closer, his face inches from your chest. He took your other nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the tight peak as he began to thrust his finger faster, your pussy clenching around his digits with each vicious stroke. He swapped back and forth, his mouth moving from one breast to the other, never letting the sensation ease.

As he sucked, he let out a low groan, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through your body. His hand moved to your other breast, giving it a playful slap that made you jump. You felt so aroused, so desired, the thought of someone walking in any moment made you forget about any insecurity, and you couldn't deny the thrill of it. It felt like he owned you, and you were his to do with as he pleased.

With a sudden, almost feral growl, Simon pulled away from your breasts, his eyes locking onto yours. He leaned back slightly, taking in the sight of your finger fucked pussy, his hand still working your clit. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned between your legs, his cheek brushing the tender skin of your inner thighs. You felt a strange mix of fear and excitement as you watched him, his massive frame casting a shadow over your most intimate parts.

"Fuck." he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. And then he lowered his mouth to your pussy again, his tongue sliding through your folds with the ease of a hot knife through butter. The sensation was overwhelming, the combined feeling of his rough stubble and the warmth of his mouth sending you spiraling into a whirlwind of pleasure. You felt the muscles in your stomach tighten, your legs trembling as you tried to hold herself still, and your throat tightened, trying to not let out a sound.

Surprising you with his strength, He lifted one of your legs and placed it over his broad shoulder, his hand wrapping around your thigh to keep you in place. The new angle made you feel even more exposed, your pussy open and vulnerable to his every whim. He took full advantage of the position, his tongue delving deeper, reaching places you didn't even know existed.

Your moans escaped you and grew louder, filling the closed space of the warehouse as the cool air caressed your heated skin. The fabric of his mask kissed your bare thighs as he moved between your legs, it tickled your sensitive flesh as he licked and sucked. You could feel his hot breath against your clit, the sensation making your hips buck involuntarily, nobody had eaten you out like this before, with such desperation.

The Lieutenant's tongue was playing your body like a fine instrument, he knew just how to touch you, just how to make you whimper and beg for more. Each flick of his tongue was a sweet torture, bringing you closer and closer to the edge, without pushing you over just yet. 

Your eyes squeezed shut, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you tried to hold back the scream building in your chest. You could feel the tension coil tighter and tighter, your body hanging on the precipice of something you had only ever read about in your stash of romance novels.

"Simon," you gasped, voice a needy whisper. "I'm… I'm going to… "

Your words dissolved into a whimper as you felt the heat inside you build. Simon's tongue had become relentless, swirling and flicking against your clit with a skill that seemed to defy his brusque exterior. 

His teeth grazed your sensitive flesh, the slight edge of pain mixed with pleasure, sent you spiraling higher and higher. You could feel your pussy tightening around his finger, the muscles in your soft stomach seizing up, your body shaking with the strain.

Your obscene sounds grew louder, filling the air with the sweet symphony of your impending orgasm. Simon's eyes remained locked on you, the intensity in them unwavering as he felt your body tense beneath his touch. He knew you were close, and the thought of making you come sent a jolt of excitement through his own body. 

"That's it," he murmured in between licks, his voice thick with lust. "Let go for me."

He moved one of his hands to spread your pussy lips apart even farther, using his thumb and forefinger, he kept the speed of his tongue while doing it. You could feel the orgasm growing, a rush of bliss that stole the breath from your lungs. His mouth was a brand of fire on your sensitive flesh, and you couldn't hold back any longer. You let out a keening cry, your body arching off the table as you came, your pussy convulsing around his fingers. The waves of ecstasy crashed over you, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath.

Simon didn't stop. He continued to lick and suck, your juices coating his lips and chin as he drank in your sweetness, dampening the fabric of his balaclava. The feeling of his tongue on your clit was exquisite torture, each stroke sending another wave of pleasure through you. You could feel the muscles in your pelvis spasm, your legs quivering as you rode out your climax.

When the last tremor of your release faded, Simon pulled back, a smug smile on his face. His cheeks and lips were wet with your cum, a glistening trail of saliva connecting his mouth to your pussy. He licked his lips, savoring the taste. "Mmm," he murmured, his dark eyes never leaving yours. "You taste so delicious, baby."|

You felt a flush of embarrassment as you looked away, your pussy still spasming slightly with aftershocks of pleasure. Reality started to creep in on your lust-addled mind. But the way he talked to you, the way he looked at you, it distracted, you felt beautiful, desirable. He was overwhelming. "Si…" you whispered, unsure of what to say.

Simon chuckled, a satisfied sound that resonated in your very bones. "Look at me, baby," he said, his voice a gentle command that you couldn't ignore. You lowered your eyes, meeting his gaze. "You're so beautiful when you cum," he murmured, his thumb still rubbing lazy circles around your clit. "Your whole body just lights up."

He bent over you, the weight of his massive frame pressing you into the table. You could feel the heat of his chest, the dampness of his skin against your own. His breath tingled your skin as he leaned in, his breath hot on your face. "You liked that, didn't you?" he whispered, his eyes searching for approval in yours, his hand still playing with your pussy.

You nodded, unable to find the words to describe the wave of emotions that surged through you. You could feel your heart racing, your chest heaving with each ragged breath you took. He pinched your clit, the sensation sending aftershocks of pleasure through your body, overstimulating you.

"Good," Simon murmured, his eyes darkening with satisfaction. "Now, give me that sweet mouth."

He shifted his weight, his powerful muscles flexing as he moved to lie on top of you. His body was like a blanket of warmth and security, his weight pressing you into the table. You felt your heart race even faster, your eyes never leaving his as he lowered his face to yours. The edges of his mask and his scruff brushed against your cheek, the scent of him -musky and manly- surrounding you.

His lips found yours in a kiss that was consuming and possessive. You felt his tongue slip into your mouth, tasting, exploring, as if he couldn't get enough of you. Your body responded instinctively, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer, your legs spreading to accommodate his thick thigh between them. The strokes of his tongue slowly became more forceful, and you could feel his hard cock pressing against your soft stomach.

The kiss grew sloppier, wetter, as you both succumbed to the overwhelming passion that had been building for a long time. His spit mingled with yours, the salty taste of flesh mixed with faint remnants of nicotine and the lingering sweetness of your juices. It was messy, raw, and utterly consuming. The stubble on his chin scraped against your skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

With one hand on your jaw and the other still buried between your legs, a sudden primal need took over Simon, he pulled back and spit into your mouth without warning. It was an act of dominance, a claim that left no doubt of his intentions. The saliva slipped over your tongue, warm and slightly bitter. Your eyes went wide with shock, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you swallowed, the gesture feeling almost like a declaration of acceptance.

"Mm, such a good girl," he murmured, his hand sliding up your body, over your curves, to rest on your hip. His thumb stroked your skin, his eyes never leaving yours, feeding all the eye contact you had starved him off. "You're so soft, so precious. Yet I could crush you with my bare hands if I wanted to."

You felt said massive hand grab your waist, his fingers spread wide and sinking into your love-handles as flesh spilled out from between them. He was so much larger than you, his body a testament of his strength and power. You felt like a mere slip of a thing in comparison, it sent a thrill of euphoria through you. 

"Nearly became a lefty, and not because of your little exercises, love. I had to jerk off every time I left you." Your eyes went wide, and you felt your cheeks flush. The feeling of being so fervently desired by him was electrifying.

"Do you want to see my cock?" he tilted his head slightly, it was almost comical, but his deep and gravelly voice rumbled over you.

You had seen a few before, nothing bad but nothing memorable either. The thought of seeing Simon Riley's cock was dizzying. "Y-yes," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a predatory grace that defied his size, Simon stood up, his towering form casting a shadow over you. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his cargos and boxers, and pulled them both down with a swift move, revealing his thick, muscular thighs and the massive cock that jutted out from between them. 

It was huge, the size of which you had only ever read about in books and seen in the most exaggerated of porn, but still so pretty. The sight of it made you gulp, your eyes widening with anticipation and excitement. You could study it and write prose about it if given the time.

"Look at it," he said, his voice filled with pride as he took his cock in his scarred hand and stroked it slowly. The skin was velvety and pink, the veins standing out in stark contrast against his pale flesh. "This is me, baby. This is your man."

You couldn't help but stare, your eyes drawn to the thick, pulsing length of him. His pubic hair was a wild blonde thicket, a stark contrast to the rest of his body, which was mostly hairless. His balls were massive, heavy, and full, hanging low with desire. He cupped them in his other hand, rolling them gently, the motion causing his cock to bob and sway. "See how big they are?" he asked, his voice a low purr. "These are just for you."

Your eyes flicked up to meet his for a second as you nodded, only to drop back down to his movement, feeling too overwhelmed to find words. He was so imposing, so commanding, and you were at his mercy. "They're huge," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper.

With a wicked smile, Simon leaned back over you, his cock still in hand. "You make me feel things I thought I never would," he said, his voice a low growl. "Can you believe that?" He began to stroke himself more vigorously, the sound of his hand moving up and down his shaft a wet, slick sound that echoed through the air. "Lust, for one. Possessive, for another. Just for you."

Your eyes remained glued to his cock as he spoke, the size of it making you feel intimidated and incredibly turned on. You had never seen anything so brutally masculine. You swallowed hard, your mouth feeling dry as you imagined what it would feel like inside it.

"Tell me, baby," Simon rumbled, his hand moving faster along his shaft. "Do you want to know how it feels to have me inside you?" he asked like he could read your thoughts.

You nodded frantically, the words trapped in your throat. Your pupils were blown wide with desire as you watched him stroke the pre-cum beading at the tip of his cock. You were craving the feeling of being filled by him.

"Good girl," Simon praised, one hand moving to squeeze the base of his shaft and the other grabbing your thigh once more, his cock hovering just above your pussy. "Now, let's put those pretty feet of yours over my shoulder," he said, his tone a gentle command.

You complied, your legs shaking with a mix of excitement and nerves as he lifted your hips off the table and moved you closer to the edge. He positioned you so that your ankles rested on his broad shoulders, your pussy at his mercy, your soft belly and breast offered like a banquet to indulge his appetite. The buzz of anticipation of what was to come making you squirm beneath him, it was almost unbearable.

With a wicked grin, Simon began to drag the tip of his massive cock over your slit, teasing your clit with every pass. It was exquisite, the slickness of his pre-cum combining with your own wetness created a deliciously slippery path. You watched as he worked himself over you, his muscles tensing and releasing with each stroke, his hand moving with the determination of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

Your breath caught in your throat as he guided the full length of his shaft over your core, the sheer size of him making you feel small and unbearably empty. It was so different from when he used his hands and mouth, so much more intimate, it had your entire body quivering. You could feel the head of his cock nudge against your opening, the bluntness of it hinting at the pleasure to come.

"Look at that," Simon murmured, his voice low and filled with fascination. "Look how eager you are for my cock." He leaned down, his mask brushing against your cheek as he whispered in your ear. "You're going to be so tight… So tight around me."

Your breath hitched, your eyes still glued to the sight before you. The tip of his cock was now perfectly aligned with your entrance, the head nudging gently against it. You could feel the warmth of him, the pulsing need that seemed to radiate from his very pores. "Simon," you breathed, your voice trembling.

He was going slow, almost agonizingly so. Simon watched the head of his cock finally breaching your slick folds, and he groaned. Your eyes went wide, your body stiffening as you felt the first inch enter you. It was glorious. He was so big, so thick, it felt as though you were being split in two, like there was a “you” before and after this.

"Look at that," he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction. "So tight, so wet for me." He began to move, inch by inch, filling you up with his massive girth. With every push, you felt yourself stretching, accommodating more of him, and you couldn't help the moans that slipped from your lips. "That's it," he encouraged, his eyes fixated on your pussy. "Take it all, baby. Take every last inch of your man's cock."

There was a faint pain despite being prepared to take him, it was laced with something pleasant. Each time he pushed forward, you felt yourself opening up to him, your body reshaping itself just for him, for his cock, every cell of your being responding to his steady thrusts. His breath tickled your neck, hot against your skin, as he whispered sweet taunts that sent shivers down your spine. "You're such a good little slut," he said, his voice a low growl. "Letting me fill you up like this."

Your cheeks flamed with both embarrassment and arousal. The words should have offended you, but instead, they made your pussy clench around his cock. You could feel yourself getting wetter, your arousal making it easier for him to slide deeper into you. His movements grew more deliberate, the slow, torturous pace driving you crazy with need.

"Look how much of me you can take," he said, his voice a sensual purr. "You're such a good little slut for me, aren't you?"

The words were like a brand, searing themselves into your soul and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You liked it, the way his words made you feel both dirty and desired. With a final, agonizingly slow push, he bottomed out, fully buried inside you, his balls resting against your ass. The sensation was indescribable, a mix of pain and pleasure that had you panting and writhing beneath him.

"Atta girl," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with hunger and lust. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips with the same demanding force as his cock had your pussy. The taste of him filled your mouth, mingling with your own sweetness.

As the kiss deepened, Simon began to move, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm that had your eyes rolling back in your head. He pushed in to the hilt, filling you completely, before pulling back almost all the way out. The sensation was maddening, the friction of his cock against your inner walls making your toes curl, and your nails dig into his skin.

With each thrust, he grew more aggressive, his grunts growing louder, filling the quiet warehouse with the sounds of your sexual consummation. Your moans grew in tandem, your breath hitching with every stroke. You felt like you were being claimed, owned, and the feeling was intoxicating. The pleasure built inside you, a heat that grew with each stroke of his cock.

Simon held your hip with a tight, possessive grip, his strong hands pinning you in place as he fucked you with a brutal efficiency that defied his gentle touch from before. The look in his eyes was like a storm, swirling with emotions that you couldn't quite decipher. Was it just desire? Lust? Or something else, something far more profound? You didn't know, and you didn't care. All you knew was that you needed more of him, you needed him deeper, harder.

Your eyes fluttered shut, unable to bare the weight of his stare, but he was relentless. Forcing you to meet his gaze, "Look at me," he growled, his voice thick with passion. "Look at me when I fuck you." your eyes snapped open, and you found yourself lost in his gaze once again, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he fucked you.

He went rougher, his balls slapping against your ass with every deep thrust, the sound echoing off the walls of the warehouse. It was a primal, carnally satisfying sound that seemed to resonate through your very core, driving you closer and closer to the edge. Each thrust sent a jolt of divine pleasure through you, mixing with the pain of his intrusion to create a cocktail of sensation that was more addictive than any drug.

He lowered his head to your neck and murmured, "I can feel your heartbeat around me. It's driving me fucking crazy, baby." His teeth nipping at your skin. "You make me feel strong when I'm inside you. Like I can conquer the word." More heat bloomed in your core, "You're going to swell up with my cum, love."

Your eyes widened, shock and arousal coursing through your veins, the thought sent a thrill through you. "You like that, don't you?" Simon asked, his voice a low rumble. "The thought of being filled with my cum, growing round and lush with my seed?" He leaned down to nip at your ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "You're going to be the best little breeding slut, aren't you?"

Your cheeks flushed at his words, but you couldn't deny the way your pussy clenched around him, the way your hips began to lift to meet his thrusts. He noticed the change in you immediately, the way you moaned louder, the way you arched your back and pushed your breasts up towards him, like a heavenly offer. "Oh, you do," he said with a smug smile, his strokes becoming more forceful. "You want my cum, don't you?"

"Yes," you whimpered, the word torn from you as he hit a spot deep inside you that sent waves of pleasure through your body. "I want it."

"That's what I thought," Simon said, his grin wicked as he leaned back and began to fuck you with a viciousness that left you gasping. Each thrust was a declaration, a claim, a promise of what was to come. "You're going to be so full of me, baby. So full of my cum." His words were sweet, almost tender, laced with a brutal certainty that had your pussy spasming around his cock.

He placed his scarred palm over your opened mouth like he was trying to suffocate you, his fingers were spread apart and roughly grabbed your face. ”Kiss it,” He demanded, “Lick it, baby.” He gripped you by the waist with the other hand, your soft flesh giving in to his ruthless hold. 

You did as he commanded, making out with the flesh you knew so well, licked and kissed the scar you healed. You got lost in the feeling of worshiping the creased skin of his hand. Worshiping him.

With a roar, Simon plunged two of his fingers into your mouth, thrusted in you one last time and you felt his entire body tensing as he reached his climax. You felt the hot, thick spurts of his cum fill you as you sucked on his fingers that still tasted like you. It was exhilarating. His hips jerked against you, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside you. 

The feeling of his seed spilling into you was unlike anything Simon had ever experienced before, a primal rush that resonated through his very soul.

Your own orgasm followed quickly, your body shaking with the force of it. Your scream muffled by his digits, your nails digging into the skin of his thighs, you held on as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Simon never took his eyes off of you, watching you fall apart beneath him with a ferocious and possessive stare. 

The sound of your combined release filled the air, a symphony of moans and grunts that echoed off the walls surrounding you. His cock swelled even larger, his spurts of cum painting your inner walls and claiming you as his, you could feel his cock jerk with each one, filling you to the brim, stretching you impossibly wider.

"Ten," he panted, his body finally stilling above you. "Ten spurts of my love, baby." He leaned down, kissing you softly, his tongue slipping into your mouth, sharing the taste of the moment with you.

You felt boneless, the scale of your climax leaving you trembling and overwhelmed. You could feel his cum inside you, a warm, thick presence that filled you completely. The reality of what they'd just done settled over you, a mix of shock and euphoria.

Simon's cock twitched one last time before sliding out of you with a wet pop, leaving your pussy gaping open and exposed. He watched you with smug satisfaction, his chest heaving with exertion. The head of his cock was still coated in your combined juices, a white foamy ring around the base showed how good the sex had been.

You lay there, your chest heaving, your legs trembling as you tried to come to terms with what had just happened. You felt… changed, somehow. Different. The intimate nature of the encounter only served to amplify your afterglow, leaving you feeling both sated and yet insatiably hungry for more.

Simon’s cum was slowly trickling out of you, the sticky warmth of it reminded you of the unhinged way you’d acted. You couldn't believe you had begged for it, begged to be filled with his seed. But you had, and now you felt both ashamed and strangely proud of yourself. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside you, awakening something you didn’t know was there.

Simon stood up, his massive cock still semi-hard and wet with your slick. He looked down at your pussy, a proud smile playing on his lips as he gently removed your legs from his shoulders. "You did so well, sweetheart," he said, his voice still gruff with desire. "Can’t wait to get you on my bed."

You felt a swell of hope at his words, he wanted more too. Despite the anxiety and confusion that fought within you, you had never felt so alive, so desired. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Still standing over you, he offered you a hand up. As you took it, you felt the tremble in his fingers, the residue of his own climax. He helped you to your feet, his gaze lingering on your naked form, committing every detail to memory.

"I could just bend you over right now and fuck that sweet, tempting ass," he said, his voice a gruff purr. "But I've got to get you cleaned up. Somebody is bound to show up, so we’ll leave that for later." He playfully slapped one ass cheek, making you jump and shriek. It stung, leaving a warm imprint off his palm, a clear gesture of ownership. "You stay here while I look for something to clean us up," he ordered, his tone gentle.

You watched as he strutted away, his muscular frame flexing with every step, the wetness on his cock glistening under the dim light. You couldn't help but admire him, the way his cock bobbed slightly with each movement. It was an erotic sight, one you could get used to.

As he looked around, and the afterglow cleared from your foggy brain, you pondered how to tell him the story; about a young soldier you met in the ICU years ago, when you were just an intern. A handsome young man who had a tube down his throat and a wound on his lower back from ricochet shrapnel. How you had been the one assigned to move all his joints and stretch all his muscles, two times a day, every day, while he was unconscious. How you would talk to him about anything and everything, even if he didn’t answer. How you were the one who took care of the man until your rotation ended, and you were sent elsewhere, never knowing what became of him. Never seeing the soldier again. 

Until Simon “Ghost” Riley decided to use his hand as a shield against a machete.

Taglist: @partygetsmewettexxx @staley83 @madokawrites, Happy Birthday! @blacksilks

[fawniswriting]

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: The story of a girl and her fallen flowers, as well as a boy who can't seem to forget either of them.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warning(s): 1940s!Bucky. 1940s!reader. winter-soldier!Bucky. TFATWS!Bucky. non-linear timeline (time-jumps). childhood friends to lovers. kissing. profanities. canon typical violence. bucky in the electric chair. brief mention of suicidal thoughts. fluff. kinda cheesy if you squint. mild angst. implied death (?). platonic sambucky. bittersweet ending I guess?? (you'll see what I mean)

Author's Note: okayyy so this didn't quite turn out the way I thought it would, but I loveeedd the concept as soon as I got it in my head and still wanted to share this story with you guys 🥺 idk why I seem to struggle translating my ideas properly lately 🫠 anywho, this is officially the shortest piece I've ever written, and I'm actually kind of challenging myself to start writing shorter pieces because I always end up blabbering non-stop in my fics (a side effect to being a yapper, I guess 😭). but despite all, I hope you'll still like this one and find it enjoyable! ❤️ and if you do, please don't forget: like, comment, and reblog 💞

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

“This is for you.”

Twelve-year-old Bucky Barnes looked up from the wriggling worm on the ground and squinted his eyes against the blinding sun. The sky of Brooklyn was the color of his eyes today, bright and vast as if someone had splashed a painter's brush across the horizon. Under the stretch of blue, his gaze landed on you—the new girl at school, the one his classmates had been whispering about since Mr. Morris decided to take everyone out to the park for today's PE lesson. 

Johnny Hurst told Bucky that you were the prettiest dame he had ever seen.

And boy, if the punk weren't telling the truth.

Bucky's eyes flitted over you from head to toe—taking in the slight tilt of your head, the subtle curve of your lips, and the worn blouse that clung to you at least half a size too big—before they finally landed on the hand outstretched towards him.

“What's this?” he asked.

“It's a flower.”

“I can see that.”

Abandoning the worm, Bucky rose to his feet and brushed the dust off his slacks. You observed his movements with fervor, your hand still curling around the yellow daffodil as if its petals held the cosmic tethers that kept the entire universe from falling apart.

You extended your palm further, positioning the flower directly under his nose until he could smell the fragrance caressing his cheeks.

“It's for you,” you repeated.

Bucky's eyes flicked twice between your face and the daffodil. “Is this a trick?”

“No.”

“Someone put you up to this?”

“No.”

“Where'd you get the flower?”

“From there.”

Bucky's eyes followed the direction of your finger, spotting the daffodil bushes located just a few paces ahead. Not in full bloom yet, but nearly. A golden oasis in the midst of a playground of gray and trampled grass.

You turned towards him again, your expression remaining unchanged as you told him, “I picked it up from the ground.”

Bucky stared at the daffodil in silence. “You're giving me a wilted flower?”

“It's not wilted.”

There was a shadow appearing in the center of your forehead. Your fingertips twitched where they hovered attentively around the yellow petals, as though the accusation had offended you, as though Bucky had spoken blasphemy against the flower by calling it wilted.

“It's been on the ground,” Bucky pointed out.

“So? It simply fell off. Doesn't mean it's wilted.”

“Ain't that the same thing?”

“No.” You pouted, your forehead creasing deeper as your hand cradled the daffodil closer to your chest. “A wilted flower is dead. It doesn't have any love remaining inside it. This flower is not like that.”

And then, like some kind of switch had been flipped, you angled your head towards him—entwining his eyes with your steadfast gaze, rendering his legs motionless with the sight of a brilliant grin stretching across your beautiful face.

“This flower still has a lot of love to give to the world,” you proclaimed.

Bucky's heart stuttered.

It must have been a premonition from the heavens when Bucky's arm began lifting of its own accord, receiving the daffodil from your hand and relishing in the elated hum that the gesture elicited. The petals were delicate against the skin of his palm, and Bucky suddenly feared the possibility of crushing them due to his overt carelessness.

“She's yours now.” You beamed, swaying slightly on your feet as your hands clapped in infectious joy. “She'll give you all of her love if you promise to take care of her.”

His lips quirked. “It's a she?”

“Of course,” you replied, the sun glinting radiantly in your pupils. “All the beautiful things in life are a she.”

Bucky couldn't find it in himself to argue.

He watched you leave with heart on his sleeve, bewitched by the ribbon of your laughter dancing in the wind. His fingers curled protectively around the yellow daffodil, his heart singing in tandem with the rhythm of your skipping feet echoing through the earth.

“Hey!” Bucky called out. You stopped halfway in your tracks, smiling at him from the distance like his wildest daydreams made into flesh. “Why me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why'd you decide to give the flower to me?”

The grin on your face widened, and Bucky—bless his heart—thought for a moment that his entire limbs might collapse.

A breeze rustled the surrounding trees, cavorting around until it floated across your cheeks. You stumbled back a step upon its intrusion, your eyes peering shyly under the harsh judgment of the sun. And yet, your smile prevailed—still soft as a wisp, still managing to make Bucky's chest alight with something more precarious than a raging flame.

“Cause you're handsome,” you answered at last, the sound of your giggles resonating throughout the air and straight into Bucky's soul. “Take good care of her, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Blue eyes trailed along as you disappeared around the hedge, remnants of your melodic voice still dithering in the sky, a gentle lull against the wild thumping of his heart. As the world settled into its insipid normal, Bucky Barnes knew that there were two things of which he was absolutely certain.

One: the flower in his hand had now become the most prized possession in his otherwise monotone life.

And two: he had actually never told you his name.

Somehow, Bucky found that he didn't quite mind both.

“Say, handsome. Any chance you could tell a girl where to find a good time around here?”

Bucky hadn't even turned when the smile broke across his lips. 

His soul meandered towards your voice, his heart leaping out of its cage as he took in your entire figure for the first time that night—flowy dress and red lipstick, platform heels and a pair of lips that looked like they held whispers of a secret he would spend a lifetime trying to unravel. Your own smile blinded him as you approached closer, the cadence of your steps a harmonious symmetry with the surrounding ruckus of the carnival. 

“I'd show you a good time, doll.” He smirked once you stood in front of him, your chin tilting up in a way that made Bucky want to drop to his knees and worship the ground you had walked on. “All you gotta do is ask.”

“Really? Just ask?” You hummed, fluttering your lashes and sending a whole swing band loose in Bucky’s gut. “Shame. Here I thought I'd bargain a smooch for your company. Guess I'll just have to give it to someone else, then.”

You didn't have a chance to turn before Bucky yanked you back towards him, firm fingers curling around your wrist like a ship finally mooring to land. He swallowed your surprised yelp with a kiss, devouring your gasps as if the two of you weren't standing under caramel-slicked air and a parade of balloons and shrieks.

“Quit jokin’ about kissing someone else, sweetheart,” he rasped against your lips, fingers resolute where they squeezed around your hip. “Lest you're lookin’ to see me die of a heart attack.”

Your smile bloomed. “Then why don't you kiss me some more, Buck?”

He was more than happy to oblige.

His lips found yours again, slower this time, savoring every second as if he were living on borrowed time. The world around you faded away into an abstract background, centering you in the moment, where everything you yearned and cared for was the hint of sugar you could taste on your boyfriend's lips.

When the two of you parted for the second time, Bucky studied your face as though memorizing a miracle right before his very eyes. It made something stir in the depth of your chest.

“Got you something,” Bucky admitted, excitement and joy spilling out of his skin.

You waited patiently as he reached into his pocket, pulling out an eyeglass case that made your eyebrows pinch in wonder—since when did he wear glasses? But before you could ask, Bucky was already opening the lid, and the view of its content managed to coax a gasp of awe from somewhere within your ribs.

“Bucky, this is amazing.”

You picked up the tiny arrangement between your pointer and middle fingers, admiring the way the flowers were bound together into a miniscule bouquet. They were tethered to one another by a string of stem and twine, a thread of nature and mankind, existing side by side in an eternal waltz that fate had bestowed upon them.

Your chest tapered, bringing the tiny bouquet closer to your heart as you captured the giddy blue of Bucky’s eyes. “You made this yourself?”

“I did.” Bucky nodded, his chest inflating in a pale delight. “Well, Becca helped. Who could've guessed that tying a yarn around flower stems required nimble fingers, huh?”

You laughed along, concealing the way your insides were melting into a puddle as if this weren't the nicest gesture anyone had ever done for you.

“Ma gave me an earful when she saw me in the garden, dirt on my hands and knees, lookin’ for fallen blossoms. Said I'd better get some proper flowers for my girl if I didn't want her runnin’ off with another fella.” Bucky chuckled. “But I told her this was more special. After all, these buds ain't wilted yet, which means—”

“They still got love to give,” you whispered, void of air and yet brimming with boisterous affection. You kissed his chin and rewarded him a grin. “You know who else got love to give, Buck?” 

Bucky laughed, that rare, beautiful sound that always seemed too big for the world to hold. He cupped your cheek like he was holding a precious porcelain, leaning closer until your foreheads rested against one another.

"Yeah, sweetheart." He breathed, nudging his nose to yours. "I sure as hell do.”

“Mission report,” a voice commanded.

In the center of the room, the Soldat sat on a throne made of metal and terror. A cushion designed not for rest, but for bearing witness to the drips of blood pooling beneath restraint-bound limbs. Other soldiers stood all around the room, their cowardice louder than their breathing, their backs refusing to peel from the walls as if it could absolve them of their complicity.

The quiet stretched.

Out of the shadows, the tall, fiendish man emerged, carrying the kind of cruelty that even hell would cower from. He examined the Soldat and raised his eyebrows, noting down the asset's lack of response—an observation for later, an error to repair as if the Soldat had been a mere machine instead of a living soul.

The man stepped closer, repeating himself with a bellowing voice that would beckon the dead from their graves, “Mission report, Soldat.”

Still no answer.

The tension sweltered.

“What's wrong with him?” another man chimed in.

The first one shook his head, his mind already gearing, going through the motions on how he could pick apart and assemble the Soldat into something new, something better. But before he could jot down the evil plan on his notepad, his gaze slid downward, spotting the defensive curl of the Soldat's flesh fist hidden partly by his right thigh.

“There is something in his hand.”

The second man sprung into action, approaching the chair and demanding the frozen man on it to unclench his fingers, now. But the Soldat didn't move, not even a single indication to acknowledge the receival of the command. Even when the smack thundered across his cheek, the Soldat continued to stand his ground, a show of defiance through the very last thing he could still afford.

“Soldat.” The first man attempted again, a cold edge coursing through his words. “Give us what's in your hand before we put you back in the cryo.”

The Soldat didn't say anything, but his fingers flexed—just a tiny bit—though it was enough to help the second man pry the mysterious object out of the Soldat's hand.

“What is it?” the first man asked, a hint of impatience leaking through his practiced image.

“It's, uh… It's…” the second man stammered. 

He turned his palm around, confusion palpable in his eyes as he showed his colleague the mysterious object that the Soldat had guarded with more ferocity than any weapon they’d ever placed in his hands.

A slightly crumpled yellow daffodil.

“It's a flower?” the first man nearly roared. “It was just a fucking wilted flower?”

“It's not wilted.”

The room fell into an instantaneous hush. Every pair of eyes inside ambled towards the center of the room, towards the assassin who had just decided to break his silence over the trivial matter of flowers.

The first man turned towards the Soldat with a menacing stare, his eyes a pair of blades as he stepped closer towards the seat of torture, studying the Soldat who was still sitting stiffly as if awaiting the next round of nightmares. But beneath the blue eyes, usually steely and cold, something else had clawed its way through—something fiery and reckless, something akin to humanity.

The first man sneered, turning to the entire room to bark his orders, “Wipe him. And put him in the ice until further notice.”

People moved in a flurry of limbs as soon as the instruction had settled. Amidst the havoc, everybody failed to notice the silent tick of the Soldat's jaw, the scintillating shift of his pupils as unsolicited hands forced him back against the chair, strapping his entire body with restraints that felt more like burning coals against an expanse of skin.

The Soldat kept his eyes trained on the drab surface of the ceiling, bracing himself for the pain to come, for the same searing agony that had muddled his brain far too many times to count. He wouldn't remember much afterwards—wouldn't remember how desperately he kept wishing for death in those horrifying moments—but he would certainly remember the fear. Thrumming under his skin like lightning against a drowning man's ribs.

At the first descent of the machine upon each side of his head, the Soldat suddenly heard it—the voice. 

The one who wasn't his own but sounded like a missing piece of his soul.

The one who always appeared in times when he needed an anchor and something to hold.

The one who had told him to pick up the daffodil while he was on the field.

“Take it,” the voice had adjured. “Take the flower. It's not wilted yet, it has simply just fallen.”

So he did.

And right now, the voice was returning once more, only this time, it didn't come alone.

It came with flashes—images.

An image of laughter and smiles, of promises and dreams. An image of two bodies tangled beneath the sheets, spent breaths and a humming pleasure rushing through bloodstreams.

It came with an image of you.

“It's gonna be alright,” you told him, so gentle and kind that he almost believed it. “Everything's gonna be alright, honey. I'm right here with you.”

The machine awakened with an ominous snarl, triggering a low whine inside his skull, rising gradually until it split the edges of his mind apart. He tried to hold onto something, anything, but there was nothing left inside him except for scraps of bones and a heart mangled beyond any devastation the world could ever imagine.

He was no one. 

No name. No face. No soul. 

Just a body, wired and broken, as mechanical as the chair he sat upon.

As good as wilted.

“You're not wilted.”

The Soldat blinked.

“You've merely fallen, honey,” you assured, smiling so sweetly he could almost taste it on his tongue. “Fallen things aren't wilted. And fallen things—oh, sweetheart—they still have so much more love to give.”

“You dropped one, Sarah.”

Bucky bent down to pick up the flower on the floor, the one that had fatedly fallen from the bouquet of fragrance and colors that Sam's sister was currently moving to a clear vase. The petals fluttered like silk on the skin of Bucky's palm, and his knees nearly gave out from underneath him when he finally took a proper look at the blossom in his grasp.

A yellow daffodil.

“Just throw it away, Buck,” Sarah said from her place in the kitchen. She crumpled the parchment wrapper of the bouquet before throwing it into the bin, the arrangement of flowers now sitting proudly on the kitchen counter. “It's been on the ground, anyway.”

“Just ‘cause it's fallen, doesn't mean it's wilted yet.” Bucky sauntered towards the kitchen, stopping to position the bud amidst the array of petals and stems. “They still got a whole lot of love left to give, you know?”

Sarah's eyebrows rose.

Before she could comment on Bucky's surprising sentiment, Sam came striding into the house, his dark eyes immediately zeroing on the two people standing by the kitchen counter.

“What's this?” Sam asked, suspicion dripping from his voice. “Yo, man, I told you to stop flirting with my sis.”

“Nobody's flirting, Sam. We were just talking,” Bucky clarified. Then, just to ruffle Sam’s feathers, the super soldier flicked his gaze towards Sarah, tilting his lips in the way he used to do when he wanted to coax something out of you. “Right, Sarah?”

The woman giggled, and Bucky could almost beam in satisfaction at the imaginary smoke coming out of Sam's ears.

“He was just helping me, Sam,” Sarah told him. “One of the flowers fell, so he returned it to me.”

“Nuh uh. I don't believe that's all there is. That must be him tryna make a move. That was you making a move, isn't it?” Sam demanded, his gaze jerking aggressively between his sister and a smug Bucky. “What'd he tell you? Whatever it was, don't listen to it. Don't believe him. It's just a bunch of bullshit.”

“God, Sam, he didn't say anything.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “He just told me something about flowers. About how they aren't wilted if they fell, and… what was it again, Buck?”

The man tensed.

Bucky regained his composure in the blink of an eye, keeping the other two oblivious to the surge of turmoil that the simple question had sent. Keeping them in the dark about the way Bucky's heart had stumbled at the mere memory of your smile flaring across his mind and straight into his soul.

“It was nothing,” Bucky said. “Just a silly saying.”

“Oh, right!” Sarah snapped her fingers. “Fallen flowers still have lots of love to give.” She smiled proudly, eyes flickering towards Bucky with conspicuous excitement. “Was I right?”

Bucky's jaw clenched.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Sam questioned, his forehead knitting, vexation melting into incredulity. “That your game, Buck? Sounds lousy as hell.”

Bucky sighed. “Sam…”

“Did that kinda thing really work in the forties? ‘Cause damn, I could've been a real ladies man back then. Would've been so easy if all it took was one lame shit about flowers, and—hey, where you goin’?”

“Getting the hell away from you!”

Bucky heard Sam's laughter echoing from behind him, mocking and unaware of the wound in the former's chest that was beginning to crack and bleed all over the floor. The sound of your voice lingered in Bucky's mind, a ghost only he could hear, a cursed rapture that broke him apart at the seams before stitching him together all at once.

Before Bucky could exit the house, Sam's voice erupted again, “Hey! At least tell us how you got the idea for such a cheesy saying!”

“I didn't.” Bucky's grip contracted around the front door's handle, a shaky smile stretching his lips before he caught Sam's gaze from the distance. “Someone taught it to me. A long time ago.”

[perries-things]

Pairings: Na baekjin x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Your boyfriend's late for your fourth monthsary, and you're mad—like, really mad. But Baekjin's determined to make things right with you.

Genre: smut (make-up sex)

Warnings: NSFW, language, praise kink, not using protection, marking/biting, oral (F!receiving) and overstimulation.

MDNI! This fanfic contains explicit sexual content, reader discretion is strongly advised. Read at your own risk. You've been warned.

W/C: 3,863 (lmao)

Photos are from pinterest.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

The apartment is quiet—too quiet.

You're sat on the edge of the couch, fingers running over the smooth fabric of your dress, his favourite dress—the one he once tugged at with rough fingers and half-lidded eyes, whispering things that made you weak.

You'd slipped it on with careful fingers, remembering how his eyes darkened the first time you wore it. How he pulled you in without a word and traced the zipper like it was something sacred.

His eyes lingered a little longer, his hand brushing the curve of your waist, "you're dangerous in that, you know?" He muttered, without looking directly at you, his hand coasted just low enough to make you shiver. "Don't wear that if you're planning to walk away from me."

You hadn't forgotten. Of course you hadn't. So when you started planning your fourth monthsary, this was the first thing you pulled from your closet. You had imagined this evening a hundred times. The way he'd walk through the door, take one look at you, and forget everything else.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you look around the apartment. You decorated the place yourself—low lights, candles, wine already poured and the table beautifully set. You'd stopped checking the time. Every glance only carved the dissapointment deeper.

He's late.

And you're mad. You have every right to be. Because you are here—beautiful and ready—and he couldn't even show up on time. You raise your glass of wine to your lips and took a sip, swallowing the bitterness that had nothing to do with the drink. If he walks in now, you wouldn't smile. You wouldn't melt. And will act like you hadn't just been watching the door like it owed you something.

You glance at your phone again. One unread message.

나백진 💬 Sorry. Something came up. I'm on my way.

That had been fourty five minutes ago.

Your jaw clenches. You don't want to be mad. Not tonight. Not on your fourth monthsary. You'd spent the whole day looking forward to tonight. You shook your head, standing up to check yourself in the mirror by the hallway. Your reflection stares back—lipstick slightly faded, curls still intact, and the expensive necklace he gave you resting at your collarbone. You adjust the necklace, then smoothed your hands down the sides of the dress.

This night was supposed to be great. Typical Baekjin.

You bite your lower lip. You looked perfect for him. You sit back down again and cross your legs, the fabric sliding up your skin. This is stupid. All of it. Your chest felt full—of what? You aren't sure. Anger? Embarassment? You sit in silence—pretty and patient.

Waiting........and waiting.

.

..

You don't move when a knock came, just kept staring at the door. The candles had already burned halfway and the wine had settled. Then another knock came from someone who had you waiting all night. Another beat. Then you move. You unlock the door slowly, deliberately. When it swings open, you find him standing there—Na Baekjin, with a bouquet of red roses in his hand, his other shoved in his jacket's pocket and shoulders tense like he expected a slap instead of a welcome kiss.

He holds out the bouquet. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. You roll your eyes with a sharp click of your tounge "Tch," as you turn on your heel and walk away without a word. No greeting. No warmth. He stares at the back of your dress as you moved—his throat tightens. He steps in silently, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. "You're more than late." You say, coldly, not bothering to hide the sting in your voice. "But hey, atleast you graced me with your presence eventually."

He doesn't defend himself; just takes slow steps toward you, bouquet still clutched in his hand like an offering you wouldn't accept. (Definitely) you don't look back. Wouldn't dare. Because if you did, you might cave. His eyes wander around the apartment, You had done this all for him. You look breathtaking, even now—especially now, actually.

He moves behind you slowly, each step careful. His hand finds your waist, your body going stiff. He turns you around gently and brings the bouquet up to your face, a crooked little grin tugging at his lips, one that makes you melt. "I'm sorry," he says again, in that low voice that makes your knees weak.

You raise a brow and scoff, pushing him gently with one hand on his chest. "I waited. Like—like a fool. You don't just show up with roses and expect everything to be fine. I—" your breath catches. Baekjin chuckles—soft and quiet—as he places the bouquet down on the table. "Worked on something." He says, his tone more solemn than before. "Nothing important now." His hand lifts, the back of it grazing your cheek—slow, careful.

You turn slightly but don't stop him. His eyes scan your face like he's trying to memorize it all over again—the faint mascara smudged beneath your lashes from tearing up a bit, and the way your jaw clenches from holding back emotion. Then comes a kiss—soft, apologetic—on your cheek. He lets the kiss linger a second longer before whispering near your ear, "i'll make it up to you," He says with a small smile. His other hand slips to your waist, joining the first.

You feel the firmness of his grip, the way it tethers you to the moment. "I promise, angel." He murmurs, nose almost brushing yours. You look up at him, your anger softened—but not forgotten.

Scoffing softly, you tear your eyes away from him. "Yeah, right." Baekjin lets out a quiet sigh, his fingers curling just slightly tighter on your waist as he pulls you in—closer, until there is no space left between your bodies.

He leans down, eyes trailing your every stubborn motion. "Look at me," he pleads, his voice low, coaxing. You don't. You keep your gaze to the side, jaw tight, lips pursed—but your body doesn't lie. You hate how your heart betrays you, stumbling over its own rhythm.

His hand slides up your back, smoothing up the curve of your spine before returning to settle at your waist again. He tilts his head, "i said i'll make it up to you, real good." He whispers, hand reaching up, gently turning your face towards him.

When you finally look at him, he was already gazing down at you with a look that made your stomach twist. And then he kisses you— his mouth meeting yours in a searing drag, slow enough to savor but hard enough to make you forget why you were mad in the first place. The kiss deepens, growing hungry fast.

His lips move with heat, coaxing you to give in, moving as if he wants to taste the time he missed. You melt, even if your pride screamed against it. Just him and you, the apology sealed with every stolen breath shared between your lips.

You barely notice when your fingers had curl into the collar of his jacket. The candles flicker, ignored. The food sits untouched. And Baekjin's kissing you like the world doesn't exist outside this moment. He breaks the kiss, only long enough to murmur into your lips, breath heavy. "You and that fucking dress.."

One hand stays firm on your waist while the other wanders upward, fingers ghosting along your back, trailing over the zipper of your dress, then sliding back down to the curve of your hips. You feel the heat of his touch, every movement drags a shiver out of you. "God, baby...i don't deserve you looking this good." He says, his voice rough and quiet. He places a kiss on your cheek, then another at the corner of your jaw.

You try to respond, but he kisses you again—deeper, needier. And while his mouth claims yours, his hands map every inch of your frame. When he pulls away, his gaze is dark with admiration. Your breath hitches, his lips curve into a knowing smile. "I'll spend all night making up to you," he says. "Just let me show you." Baekjin's hands slide lower, and with one confident pull, he lifts you up—your body weightless against his.

Your feet leave the ground so fast you gasp out his name, "Baekjin!—" your hands grabbing the back of his neck for support, legs wrapping around his waist. He smirks, his fingers locked around the back of your thighs, thumbs brushing softly along your skin beneath the hem of your dress, adjusting his hold.

You're breathless, eyes wide, and he just stares at you—devouring every inch of you in that dress. "Let me show you how good sorry can feel," he says, his voice low and threaded with something dangerous. Your heart's pounding, his eyes locked on yours.

You feel your face burning, lips parting in stunned silence. "Baekjin," you mutter, flustered. "Put me down." He laughs under his breath. "Should i?" his tone cocky but warm.

Then, quieter, closer to your ear, "i'm making it up to you, aren't i?" He starts walking, the hallway stretching before you, lit only by the soft golden hue of your decorative lights.

You cling to him as he carries you, turning to make his way toward the bedroom, each step deliberate and sure. "Still mad?" He asks, tilting his head to catch your eyes. You can't even answer. You are coming with him, whether you are ready or not.

He kicks the bedroom door with his foot, not even slowing down. He gently lays you down the bed, feeling the cool of the silk sheets beneath you. For a moment, he doesn't move. Just stood over you, eyes drinking you in with something that looks alot like disbelief—like seeing you in that dress knocks the breath out of him.

Baekjin hovers above you, one knee resting on the edge of the mattress. His hand reaches for the zipper at the back of your dress, fingers fiddling with it, but he doesn't pull yet.

"Tell me to stop." He murmurs, though his eyes plead for the opposite. You give a slow nod, lips parted slightly. "Don't." And with that, his lips curl into the faintest smirk. He unzips your dress, slowly—as if savoring every second the dress slips from your body, your skin greeting the air.

Baekjin lets out a soft exhale, eyes following every curve revealed, his breath catching as more of you goes unveiled. "Your body drives me insane," he says, voice low and strained. You gasp as he takes one breast in his hand, massaging it gently.

He leans in slowly, his mouth grazing your already hard nipple, then enveloping it with a soft, slow, suck. The sound that leaves your throat makes him twitch in his jeans. "Fuck..Y/N." He breathes against your chest, tongue flicking lazily on your nipple, his mouth sucking you delicately.

"You're unreal," Baekjin whispers, eyes locking on yours as he marks on your skin with his teeth. You arch into him, breath catching as he groans in response, the sound low and raw against your skin. He moves lower, whispering praises between every breath. He drags his mouth across your skin, each press of his lips seemed to carry a wordless apology.

Your fingers curl in the sheets as he guides your legs apart. He settles between your thighs, his eyes flick up to yours again, pupils blown wide as he laughs breathlessly. "Fuckin' perfect." His lips meet your skin again, giving warm, open-mouthed kisses across your inner thighs. Then, carefully, Baekjin hooks his fingers to the waistband of your panties, slowly easing it down your legs as if unwrapping something precious, exposing more of you to his eager gaze and lips.

His mouth quickly finds your pussy, making a soft gasp leave past your lips, your back arching as heat pools in your cunt. You bite your bottom lip to hold back a moan, your hands already in his hair, fingers tangling—silently begging him to never stop.

He nibbles on your clit slightly, making your body twitch and skin tingling. He eats you out slowly, savoring your taste. He alterns between licking and gently biting you, his low rumbling groan vibrating against your cunt, sending a rush of warmth pulsing through your body.

Your legs tremble, thighs tightening around his head. You're unable stop the moan that escapes past your lips, your hips bucking slightly. Every time you moan, every time your fingers thread through his hair and tug, he eats you out more intensely—like a man starved.

He slowly pulls away from your pussy, a string of saliva forming as he let out a low guttural groan. He locks eyes with you, gaze not faltering as he brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking them slowly. His eyes flick down to your throbbing cunt then returning to meet your eyes again. He grins, running his damp fingers along your inner thigh before slipping them past your folds, drawing a loud, surprised moan from your lips.

He doesn't tear his eyes away from your face, watching you with delight as his fingers move inside you, fast and deep enough to hit your g-spot, making your body tremble. His mouth finds your cunt once again, sucking on your clit as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. Your cunt makes that sweet, wet sound every time he curls his fingers just right. The obscene squelch only spurs him on.

Every motion sends your body to jolt, your hands having already left his hair, now gripping the sheets tightly. You let out a sharp, loud moan, voice trembling from how good it feels. Your breathing starts to go faster and uneven as waves of heat pulse through you. You tilt your head back, eyes squeezed shut, lost entirely in the dizzying pleasure.

His fingers continously pump inside you, now with a more relentless pace. A ragged moan slips from your throat, the sound cutting through the air. You cry out, loud and breathless, mixing with the sound of your sloppy cunt getting relentlessly abused. Your moans grow louder, your cunt clenching around his fingers, the pleasure nearly too much to bear.

His tongue glides through your folds, the soft, wet smacks and loud slurps of his mouth fills the room. His mouth hungrily works on you, dragging out every delicious, intimate noise until you're trembling beneath him.

You tremble violently, your breath hitching in ragged gasps. Your hands grip the sheets tightly, knuckles turning white, eyes rolling back, and legs quaking. The knot inside you breaks with a sudden snap, a loud breathy moan escaping your lips as your whole body convulses, back still arched. Baekjin let's out a soft, satisfied laugh.

"Fuck.." you let out, your body still tingling, your breath shaky. And just as you started to catch it, Baekjin's mouth dives back to your cunt without hesitation—his fingers finding their way inside you again. Every flick of his tongue and curl of his fingers is perfectly timed to drive you wild.

"Too much.." you gasp out, your body still trembling uncontrollably. Your hands reach up to push him off, but he doesn't falter. His eyes never leave your face, dark and focused. You cry out, your hands pushing weakly against his shoulders.

"Baekjin—" your voice breaks as the pleasure surges again, stronger this time. Hot tears spill down your cheeks, the pleasure already too much. "I want you to cum again f'me," he says against your cunt. And with that, your second orgasm crashes through you in full force, the release almost overwhelming. Your body twitches involuntarily—small spasms of pleasure that make you gasp. You can barely think, overwhelmed by the intense flood of sensation.

He slowly and carefully withdrew his fingers, making your pussy ache with sensitivity. He slips his fingers between his lips, his eyes locked on yours, tongue curling around them with a reverent hum. "I'm not done," he says, low and promising. You swallow hard when he hovers on top of you again, tilting your chin up with his finger. "Let me keep showing you.." he murmurs, leaning down, pressing a long kiss on your forehead. "How sorry i am." He grins, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

His hands slowly went to his belt, undoing it with steady fingers as he watches you beneath him, still trembling from the aftermath of your orgasm. The clink of the buckle echoes in the quiet as he unfastens it, his gaze never straying from yours. As he pulls it free, he lets it hang loose for a second, then drops it on the floor. His shoulders roll back as he tugs off his jacket, letting it slip down his arms and land beside the belt.

Baekjin's fingers move next to the button of his pants. One pop, then the soft slide of his zipper follows. He steps out of his pants, and brings both hands up to the hem of his polo neck. With a pull, he peels it over his head, ruffling his already tousled hair. Your eyes flicker downward, landing on his black boxer briefs. His cock is already hard, pressing firmly against the fabric.

He tugs down the waistband of his boxer briefs, freeing his cock, throbbing with need and raw desire, the tip flushed a deep pink— the sight of him still makes your breath hitch. He positions himself, lining up his eager tip with your slick, dripping cunt. He glides his tip teasingly along your folds.

"Baekjin." You warn, eyes narrowing. "C'mon." He grins, clearly enjoying the effect he's had on you. "Just taking my time," he murmurs. You grit your teeth, feeling the delicious torture of his teasing. "Baekjin.." voice trembling, frustrated. "Please, i need you." Baekjin's lips curl into a soft—low laugh, loving every second of your frustration. Then, he enters your needy cunt—inch by inch, filling you up completely. The sudden fullness makes you gasp, a mix of surprise and relief flooding through you.

His hands grip your hips firmly but gently, grounding you as he begins to move slowly, deliberately thrusting inside you. "So perfect, every inch of you," his voice in a low growl, filled with admiration, eyes watching your face intently. "You're incredible." He whispers, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, fingers lingering on your cheek before moving back to your hips.

His pace quickens, each thrust coming harder and faster. You moan, fingers digging onto his shoulders as pleasure builds inside you. "Fuck—don't stop," You mewl, voice thick with need, your hips bucking, chasing every thrust with a need you can't hide. "Please," you gasp, raw and desperate. Your legs wrap around his waist, trying to draw him even deeper, your whole body alive with a fire you can't control.

The sound of your moans is like music to him, groaning as you clench around him. "F-fuck, you're made for me." He rasps, jaw clenched as he pulls almost all the way out before sinking back in, "you take me so well, baby."

His mouth finds your shoulder, teeth sinking in the delicate skin— just hard enough to leave a bruising bite—then pressing a tender kiss over the mark. He glances down, watching how your tight slushy cunt squelches around his cock. "look at you," he murmurs, voice rough. "So damn good for me."

He soaks in every moan, every tremble, every gasp of his name as he slams into you with a rhythm that sends tremors through the bed. "You're squeezing me like you never want to let go." His thumb grazes your already swollen lip, watching it tremble. His palm slides down, fingers splayed across your stomach, pressing down gently—just enough for you to feel the full weight of him inside you.

"Feel that?" He murmurs, eyes fixed on your face. "Right here," his hand applies more pressure, just above your pelvis, "that's me." You whimper, pussy clenching around him again. He chuckles low, his voice dragging. "So good," he praises, his thumb stroking your skin soothingly. "So damn good."

His breathing grows heavier, lips parting just slightly. You can feel the way his body tightens, every muscle coiling like a spring about to snap. His jaw clenches, and a low, almost silent moan escapes him. His eyes flutter close, brows furrowing as he holds back his release.

He's right there, on the edge, but he's not giving in just yet. Your legs quiver uncontrollably, a loud moan escaping your lips. An orgasm washes over you in perfect sync with him.

Your eyes squeeze shut, lashes fluttering against your cheeks as your lips parted in a quiet, breathless moan. "Let go for me." The words send a shiver down your spine, grounding you in the moment as your body trembles with pleasure.

You let out a cry as your body arched, tightening around his cock as you came undone. Even as your body spasmed around him, his thrusts didn't waver.

After a few more measured thrusts, his movements slow down. Then with a low moan, he cums. His warmth inside you spreading gradually, filling you in completely. He slowly pulls out, his cum thick and sticky, oozing out of you. You shiver slightly as you feel his cum settle inside you, exhaling a soft, shaky sigh.

He collapses gently on top of you, his weight comforting rather than heavy. Your fingers move slowly, tracing lazy circles along his back, while a small contented smile tugs at your lips. He lets out a light chuckle, still catching his breath. He murmurs, "Happy fourth monthsary." His lips follow with a kiss pressed gently to your neck.

.

..

Maybe you forgive him.

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I wasn't sure if i finish this or not, but decided to go ahead. (this shi been sitting on my drafts for so sooooo long) This is an apology fic for still not having released part two of Unexpected👻

Masterlist + Taglist

[theonottsbxtch]

I KNOW LOVE | CS55

an: i know love when it hits when it hits yeah i know lovvvvvvveeeee. i want to be in love im sick and tired of being single. anyway enjoy this situationship turned relationship.

wc: 2.6k

summary: a university student and a carlos sainz fall into a no-strings-attached situationship that slowly, quietly turns into something real. between teasing banter, soft confessions, and tender moments, they navigate the blurred lines of love and timing. what begins as casual ends in a kiss on the graduation steps, proving that love doesn't always come loud. sometimes it arrives exactly when you're ready.

SHE HADN’T MEANT TO MEET ANYONE THAT NIGHT.

It was meant to be one of those throwaway evenings. Cheap drinks, too-loud music, and her best friends dragging her onto sticky dancefloors under pulsing neon lights. A Friday night reset before deadlines started piling up again. But then there he was.

Carlos.

All dark eyes and an easy smile, pressed against the bar like he wasn’t used to standing still for long. He looked vaguely familiar, like someone she’d scrolled past on Instagram once or twice, but she hadn’t connected the dots until later. After he’d offered her his jacket outside, after he’d walked her to her Uber and kissed her like he already knew what she tasted like.

That was six months ago.

They didn’t call it anything. No labels, no promises. He was a Formula One driver. 

A fucking Formula One driver.

Always bouncing between cities and time zones, giving her just enough to keep her coming back. And she was a full-time student, juggling seminars, flatmates, and a dissertation she barely understood. Still, between the chaos, they found time for stolen moments. Late-night calls, blurry selfies, hotel rooms that smelled like his cologne, and whispered words that felt dangerously close to confessions.

Now, she was sat in his Grove flat, legs draped over his lap, one of his race team hoodies drowning her frame. He was flipping through some post-race briefing on his iPad, lips moving as he read, brow furrowed. His accent was thick, words rolling off his tongue like slow honey, and every now and then he’d look up at her like she was the only thing in the room worth watching.

She wasn’t sure when it had changed. When casual had turned into something that lingered in the silence. When kisses stopped feeling like a game and started to taste like maybe.

Maybe she was already his. Maybe he was already hers.

“¿Qué?” he murmured, catching her watching him. “You look at me like that, I forget all my words.”

She smiled, heart tripping over itself.

“You should really learn to focus, Carlos.”

He leaned in, eyes dark and slow-burning, voice a low drawl. “Hard when you’re here.”

Carlos tossed the iPad onto the sofa with a sigh, stretching his arms behind his head like he hadn’t just stolen every ounce of her attention.

“You read that or just stared at the screen pretending to be clever?” she teased, nudging his knee with her toes.

He looked at her, deadpan. “I am clever. Just... very distracted.”

“Oh yeah? By what?”

He leaned closer, like he was going to whisper a secret, but all he said was, “You.”

She rolled her eyes, biting back a grin. “Smooth.”

“I am smooth.” His accent thickened around the vowels, “You say this like it’s not true. You know what they call me on track.”

“You flirt like it’s your job.”

He tilted his head, mock serious. “It’s not my job. I drive cars very fast. But this?” He gestured between them. “This, I do it for free.”

She laughed, curling her legs back under her. Carlos had a way of making her laugh without trying too hard. He didn’t come off like the typical athlete, didn’t need to peacock or throw stats in her face. He was easy, in a way that made him dangerous.

“Do you always flirt this much with girls you’re not dating?”

His mouth curved slightly. “We are not dating?”

Her breath caught. That was the thing with Carlos. Hhe could say something like that, loaded with implication, but his eyes would stay soft, almost shy, like he was trying it out on his tongue.

“I mean, we said no labels.”

He gave a little shrug, like labels were just stickers on a helmet. “Sometimes I think about... putting one on. Maybe. When you are not looking.”

She swatted his arm. “Cheeky.”

“You like it.”

She did. God, she really did.

Sometimes he brought her flowers, nothing fancy, usually from some street market in whatever city he’d landed in, always slightly crumpled from the travel, wrapped in paper that smelt like espresso and jet fuel. Once, he turned up outside her lecture hall in a hoodie and cap, waiting in a beat-up rental car, blasting music from the speakers. Another time, he’d cooked her dinner in his Monaco apartment, not well, but with so much heart it tasted like comfort anyway.

She learned early on that he liked to touch. Always brushing his fingers over her knuckles when she talked, or resting his palm against her thigh when he laughed. Acts of service came next, unasked for, casual, like carrying her shopping up three flights of stairs without blinking, or fixing the wobbly chair in her flat without mentioning it.

And when she was overwhelmed with uni stress and hadn’t replied to him all day, he’d sent a voice note. Just his voice, soft and sleepy and a little accented.

“Don’t worry, cariño. I wait. Always.”

She hadn’t even told him she liked being called that.

Now, she watched as he fumbled with the zip on her hoodie — his hoodie — and made a face like the whole thing was conspiring against him.

“Why do your zips always jam?” he grumbled.

“Because you insist on owning overpriced team merch that’s all show and no substance.”

“Hey,” he protested. “This is quality.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, then lunged suddenly, pulling her into his lap with a laugh. “Okay, no more insults. You stay here, and be quiet. It's better that way.”

She wriggled, pretending to fight him off. “So bossy!”

“Mmm,” he murmured against her hair. “Only with you.”

They settled, eventually, in a tangle of limbs and easy silence. The telly played quietly in the background, but neither of them paid attention. Her fingers traced the soft fabric of his sleeve, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath her cheek.

“Hey, Carlos?”

“Hmm?”

“If we keep doing... this,” she said, voice low, “are we ever going to talk about what it is?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just kissed the top of her head, slow and careful, like the question mattered more than anything else in the world.

“Maybe. But not tonight.”

And somehow, she was okay with that.

Because love. Real love didn't always arrive with fireworks. Sometimes it came like this.

Quiet. Familiar. And already here.

It was raining the next morning.

Not dramatic, cinematic rain, just that persistent England drizzle that made everything feel grey around the edges. The kind that clung to windows and turned pavements slick. She stirred awake to the smell of coffee and the faint hum of music from the kitchen, something mellow and Spanish that drifted through the flat like a memory.

Carlos had a habit of waking up before her. Not in a restless way, more like he just didn’t need much sleep. He always said racing taught him how to switch off and back on again like a light. Still, she never got used to finding the other side of the bed empty.

Pulling on a pair of his joggers, she padded barefoot into the kitchen. He stood by the stove, shirtless, hair messy, humming along to the song as he stirred something in a pan.

“You’re cooking?” she said, rubbing her eyes.

He turned, grinning. “Trying. No promises.”

“What is it?”

“Something my mama makes. Very simple. You’ll like it.”

She leaned against the counter, watching him move. The way he added things with a sort of confidence that didn’t entirely match the slight panic in his eyes. He was like that with everything, really. Confident, until he wasn’t. Charming, until it got too real.

He set two plates down and slid one in front of her with a flourish.

“Taste. And be kind.”

She took a bite. It was warm, garlicky, a little too salty. But perfect in a way that had nothing to do with flavour.

“It’s good,” she said softly.

He beamed, relief flickering across his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ve won me over with your terrible attempt at Spanish comfort food.”

“Terrible?” he gasped, placing a hand on his chest like she’d wounded him. “You wound me, mi vida.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You just love being dramatic.”

“You just love me.”

The words slipped out so casually, so easily, that for a moment she didn’t react. He was already reaching for the kettle like he hadn’t just cracked open something fragile between them.

Her breath caught.

“You said—”

“I know,” he said, not looking at her. “Was a joke.”

It wasn’t. She knew it. He knew she knew.

“Carlos.”

He finally looked at her. The humour was gone from his face, replaced by something quieter. Something that felt a lot like fear.

“I think about it sometimes,” he said, his voice lower now. “Saying it. For real. But I don’t want to scare you.”

She stared at him, heart thudding in her chest. Not because she was afraid, but because she wasn’t.

“I’m not scared.”

He smiled, small and unsure. “I am.”

She reached for his hand across the counter, fingers threading through his. His palm was warm, slightly calloused, trembling just the tiniest bit.

“Carlos,” she whispered. “Say it.”

He hesitated, eyes scanning her face like he was still trying to decide if this was safe. And then, just barely audible over the rain against the windows, he said it again, softer, and this time, real.

“I love you.”

No fireworks. No music swelling in the background. Just those three words, fragile and naked and hanging in the air between them.

He looked at her, dark eyes open and honest in a way that made her chest ache. “You don’t have to say it,” he murmured.

“I want to,” she said quietly.

He stilled.

“I love the way you always try to cook for me, even though you never measure anything properly,” she began, a soft smile playing on her lips. “I love the way you switch to Spanish without realising when you're tired. The way you fiddle with your necklace when you’re nervous. I love that you let me steal your hoodies even though you pretend to complain.”

His eyes softened, like each word was settling somewhere deep inside him.

“I love how you always remember to ask about my deadlines even when you’ve just come back from a race halfway across the world. I love the way you look at me like I’m the only person in the room. And I love—” she paused, voice barely a breath now, “—I love you, Carlos.”

His jaw tightened slightly, like he was trying not to fall apart. “Joder,” he whispered, standing up and pulling her into his arms, burying his face in her neck. “You say these things and now I don’t know what to do with myself.”

She laughed, muffled against his skin. “You don’t have to do anything.”

But he pulled back just enough to see her face. “No, no, I want to. I love... how you talk back to me, even when I’m trying to be charming. I love how you look in the morning when your hair’s a mess and you’re still half-asleep and grumpy. I love how you look at me like I’m not just the racing guy.”

“You’re not,” she whispered. “Not to me.”

“I love that you make me slow down,” he said, brushing a hand down her cheek. “You make everything quiet. Even the noise in my head.”

She didn’t give him time to say more. She just kissed him, not the kind of kiss that tried to prove anything, but the kind that simply was. The kind that told him she was staying. The kind that said, we’re in this now.

When they finally pulled apart, he was smiling, a real one, soft and boyish and slightly dazed.

“I can’t wait to show you off,” he said, thumb brushing her lower lip. “You have no idea.”

She raised a brow, amused. “Absolutely not.”

“What?” He looked offended.

“No paddock,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “Not until I graduate.”

He groaned, loud and dramatic, flopping backwards onto the nearest chair like she’d just cancelled Christmas, leaving his plate of food to go cold.

“You are cruel. Cruel,” he mumbled, arm flung over his eyes. “Do you know how long that is?”

“Five months.”

“Five months?!” He peeked at her. “That is forever. I’ll be grey.”

“You’ll survive,” she said, perching on his lap and poking his side.

“I’ll wither without you next to the garage.”

“Carlos,” she said dryly, “you’re literally on telly every other Sunday. You’ll manage.”

He sighed deeply, then wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in so their foreheads touched again.

“Fine,” he said, voice quieter now. “But the second you toss that cap in the air at graduation... I’m making you mine in front of everyone.”

Her heart gave the softest thump.

“You already have me.”

And he did.

He didn’t care about all the phones capturing the moment, or the look of shock on her classmates’ faces as he kissed her senseless on the steps of the graduation hall.

She’d barely turned around after tossing her cap when he found her, grinning, breathless, and already tearing across the crowd like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“Carlos—what are you—?”

“I told you,” he murmured, already wrapping his arms around her waist, lifting her clean off the ground. “No more waiting.”

And then he kissed her. Right there, in front of her entire class. In front of her professors, her friends, even her mum, who pretended to be scandalised but later whispered that she always had a soft spot for Spanish men with good teeth and bad timing.

It was ridiculous. It was loud. It was absolutely perfect.

After that, everything changed. Not all at once, more like dominoes falling gently, one by one.

She started travelling with him between her freelance work and post-grad plans. Not every race, just the ones that fit. Enough that his team started saving her a spare pass without asking. She kept her boundaries, her life. But somehow, they found a way to overlap without losing themselves.

He still brought her flowers from dodgy airport shops. Still sent voice notes when they were apart, his voice sleep-rough and full of words that didn't always come out in the right order, but always landed in exactly the right place.

He’d whisper “te quiero” into her hair when he thought she was asleep. She wasn’t. Not once.

They argued, sometimes, usually about stupid things, like how she always left wet towels on the floor, or how he kept eating her snacks and then replacing them with “better ones” from some Spanish brand she didn’t even like. But they always found their way back.

They became a thing, not in the public, polished way people expected, but in the quiet, private corners of the world they carved out for themselves. Late nights watching old race footage. Slow mornings tangled up in hotel sheets. Sundays when he wasn’t in the points and she said the right things without pretending to understand every detail.

She loved him for who he was, not what he did. And he adored her for all the things she didn’t realise she gave him.

The calm. The truth. The place to land.

And when they fell asleep, limbs tangled, voices low and sleepy and full of I love you’s in whichever language felt right there was no need to call it anything but theirs.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @n0vazsq @dying-inside-but-its-classy @carlossainzapologist @hzstry8 @oikarma @amyelevenn @obxstiles

[muntitled]

𝐀 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

Aegon Targaryen x Fem!reader

Summary: You were the only one who truly saw the tortured king. Not his mother, not his brother, and certainly not his wife.

Warning: Language, Infidelity, Humiliation, Toxicity, King Complex, Slight Angst, Smut (+18) Minors DNI, Canon typical Incest, Grinding, Forced orgasm, King Kink?, Dom/Sub Themes, Controlled Orgasm, Ownership Kink, Dub/Con, Groping, Humping, Pussy rubbing, Exhibition Kink

This isn't very good, I admit. I just needed to get it out of my head.

Despite your eye following the pathway of High Valyrian ink splashed on the weathered pages of your book, your brain takes forever to process the words.. It is a story you had enjoyed since the days of your wetnurse but now you are focused on the utter injustices occurring by the dinner table before you. You always found your nose nestled in a book throughout dinner, all save for this one.

The Queen mother is bent over her plate, forgetting her table manners in the vehemence of her passions, while Aemond assumes a hostile glare from his perch at the head of the table. Aegon sits slumped in between you and Helena, with his half lidded eyes so painfully tedious as he prods at his food, while these fake gods scold him from above.

"And to make matters impossibly worse, you failed to display even a shred of sympathy towards his condition-" Despite the nature of his mother's tone, it does not stop Aegon from rebutting where necessary, with a quick, sharpness on his tongue.

"This 'condition' you speak of, being the imprisonment of a wealthy merchant's stupid son." Aegon releases a short, winded chuckle, one that you share behind the concealment of your book. "Perhaps he shouldn't have gotten himself captured."

"He is apart of your battalion, Aegon- fighting your war-"

"I am not at war. As I sit here, I am not harbouring any ill feelings towards any party-"

Aemond interrupts, "All you think about is fucking and drinking-"

"Precisely brother!" Aegon proceeds to turn to his mother, with his hands splayed outwards he reiterates, "All I think about is fucking and drinking,"

A loud, unladylike snort escapes the confines of your throat which you attempt to sheath with a cough as you study the words in your book. Aemond rolls his eyes while Aegon throws a blatant smirk beside you- "See Mother! Now our dear cousin has fallen ill as a result of the animosity stirred by your incessant scolding!” Aegon’s voice is doused in sarcasm as he rubs his hand into your shoulder, “All because of your nagging, mother," Alicent’s eyes darken as her voice descends into caution "Aegon. Tomorrow you are to formally apologise to that Knight. He is a seasoned member of your Kingsguard-" The politics was becoming far too much on him. His grip has yet to leave your shoulder.

"Why the complete and utter fuck should I be pandering to my subjects?"

Aemond is the first to inject "Have you not a shred of Diplomacy, you fucking imbecile?" You eye Aemond from above your book, and you cannot begin to imagine the younger brother would ever inject himself into Aegon's business, no reason except perhaps, jealousy?

Aegon promptly ignores Aegon, and, with his eyes on Alicent, he leans over the table and whispers:

"If Rhaenyra wishes to have the crown, she may gladly take it-"

"AEGON!" The queen's thunderous voice settles over the table like a tempest, injecting all those present with a sharp, instinctive flinch, all except Aegon, who remains lax and unaffected by her outburst, only fueling the Queen's anger to first born tenfold.

"I cannot rely on you for anything, Aegon, NOTHING! For a mother to be so utterly embarrassed by her son- her eldest son," there is venom in her incredulity, one that has your brows curving as you send a sympathetic gaze at the Usurper. You lower your novel and lean slightly closer to the battlefield that has befallen the dinner table. Aegon’s hand drops from your shoulder, landing in your lap. You clasp his trembling hand in both of yours.

How a simple visit to see your cousins in King's Landing had turned into a public execution of Aegon's dignity, is utterly beyond you. You decide that you simply will not allow it, you cannot allow it, and solidarity is all you hope Aegon feels radiating from your clasped hands under the table.. You look up at him, thinking you might look up to find anguish in Aegon's eyes, but all you find there is a sly, almost secretive smirk dancing along his visage.

"You govern this country like a child-" Aemond begins but you're quick to snip back,

"Perhaps we should be mindful, cousin of the fact that Aegon still is a child. He is but 20 years in age!" You exclaim, with your own incredulity coating your laughter, "Aegon's destiny was pre-written when you were barely able to wipe your own shit, Cousin." Aegon fails to conceal his crass bought of laughter.

"I've no time for this," Alicent says, pushing herself out of her chair before rising in silent anger, "Helena, come," she commands before leading a slightly aloof Helena out the dining hall without another word. Helena mumbles something about broken unions in iron castings before disappearing.

The silence is deafening as Aemond's one eye studies the two of you - he is not able to see your hand underneath the table, you don’t think…

"Before you think about fucking our cousin, at least think about fucking your wife." Aemond announces, to an amused Aegon who keeps his amused gaze lowered to the table. It is then that Aegon squeezes your hand, still seated on your lap. His fingers encircle yours in what you initially deduce is acknowledgement of your solidarity, but what you quickly realise is something much more sinister.

"I cannot say I will heed your counsel, brother," It is then that Aegon grabs ahold of your hand, guiding you until your palm is cupping his hardened cock. "But you can trust that your council is solemnly heard."

Aemond watches you from above the rim of his chalice as he empties the final traces of his wine before placing his chalice back on the table. His exit is a slow one, one that has your anticipation expanding and Aegon's patience waning. In all honesty, hearing your valiant defence to preserve his dignity raised an intense feeling of desire in Aegon. Even though Aegon's only feeling ever, always seemed to be desire.

"Come here," He says once Aemond footsteps have echoed away, "I need your mouth," Despite his command, Aegon is already leaning in with his hand cupping the back of your skull. Soon, all you can smell is him. All you can feel is him. All you can taste is the drunken and sunken taste of him.

His tongue forces its way into your mouth, ripping a fresh groan from inside you as he twirls you into his lap. He has you arrested on him, his front to your back, with your arse pressed on his crotch. His hand on your face cranes your neck backwards and forces his mouth on yours, promising that even if you wanted to free yourself, you may never be able to.

"I love how you see me," He whispers, never breaking away too far, in fear of you disappearing, "How utterly pleased I am with the version of myself I see living in your eyes," His words spill out of him and slip inside your mouth bridged by your shared saliva.

"He is not useless. He is not pitiful," Aegon breaks away from the kiss, to lay a palm on your cheek.

As one hand lovingly strokes the side of your face, Aegon’s other hand is ravenous, as it palms your sensitive breasts through the bodice of your dress.

"Thank you for not judging me," He all but whimpers as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He breathes you in until his hips attempt to grind into you like a touch starved adolescent boy, while he ventures under your soft skirts.

"You don't have to thank me, Aegon." Your hands reach backwards to cradle his head into the crook of neck just as Aegon's fingers reach around to hook into the seat of your underwear. You aren't nearly as aroused as him, but somehow that fact has Aegon spiralling even further into arousal. His eyes are squeezed shut as he leans into you, smelling you, while his fingers drift over your pussy, searching desperately for a reaction.

"It is very rare that I find myself wanting to give any woman pleasure," Aegon's admits, with a low, dense drawl. His actions steal the breath from your very lungs as you feel the first sign of wetness begin to coat your underwear. He is in utter awe when he feels it. Quickly descending into a level of pleasure that he was not even sure existed, "I fucking love your cunt," He murmurs in his desperate drunken haze, "I wish to play with it and taste it and fuck it until you’re barely able to speak-"

"God's, Aegon!" Your voice is hoarse and your cries reach the highest rafter of the dining hall. Despite your degenerate wails, Aegon does little to stop them, in fact he encourages them, as his fingers push your underwear aside.

"When did you get so fucking wet?" The warmth of his breath fans against your cheeks, as he presses his front against your behind, "Did I get you this wet?" He asks, before getting the strongest surge of arousal as he whispers, "Did your King get you this wet?"

All you are able to accomplish is a nod as your mind explodes with vibrant visions of your near release. Soon, you're moving your hips in tandem with Aegon's fingers squeezing sloppily at your clit before rubbing with vicious surety.

"Please-"

"Call me by my title," He whispers, completely stripped from his sensibilities. "Tell your King to make you come," Aegon's brain is filled with what he suspects is determination. He is determined to see the most lecherous parts of you crack, and have it done by his design. He rubs your cunt with furious passion while he pushes up from underneath you, utterly destroyed by the idea of having a monopolised control over the workings of your body.

"Fuck- please my King!" The ache between your legs is as warm and erratic as Aegon's hands. "Please let me cum-"

"Tis only I, who can get My Lady this wet and needy," He murmurs, quite literally to himself, as he pushes his hips against your arse.

"Only you, My King." You decide to humour him, seeking the quickest way to your release, "Only you can make me cum," Throughout his tirade, Aegon's other, unoccupied hand has reached around and clasped itself against your throat. He is violent in his actions, squeezing deliriously until your throat is vacuumed of all its air. It's an utterly depraved situation you have both found yourselves in.

Anyone could decide to walk in at any moment and Aegon affirms as much. "You're such a pretty little whore, making a mess on my fingers like this. Fuck, The servants could decide to walk through at any moment," His grip on your throat relaxes, allowing you gasp hungrily for air while the first spots of your organs threaten to surge through you.

"P-Please, My King-"

"What would they think if they find you humping my hand like such a needy, little whore?" He is rubbing rough circles against your cunt until finally, you're unable to resist teetering on the edge much longer. As your orgasm washes over you, and your body shudders above him, Aegon's own orgasm is triggered as he forces your hips further onto the seat of his pants.

"My Lord," your voice is shallow but a restless tremor settles on your limbs, "Have you no shame," you're partially jesting, as you try to come back from your previous delirium.

"I've already been branded a devil," He says, "There is no Grace left to fall from."

<3

© to @mphountitled on tumblr; do not repost

[rafeyssugar]

starving for you

rafe couldn’t help it. he told himself to stop—over and over again—but his brain never listened. his eyes had a mind of their own, locked onto you like you were some sort of divine temptation sent just to ruin him.

it was a problem. a serious one.

because you weren’t his. you weren’t his girl, weren’t his anything except a friend—one who had absolutely no clue what you were doing to him

the pool party

it was just a regular summer afternoon, nothing crazy. a few friends, a pool, music, drinks—typical pogue vs. kook nonsense.

except nothing was typical when it came to you.

you had shown up in the tiniest bikini rafe had ever seen, all soft curves and sun-kissed skin, laughing like you weren’t absolutely wrecking his ability to think straight.

he was trying—god, he was trying—to look anywhere but at your tits, but you weren’t making it easy. especially when you leaned over the edge of the pool, dripping wet, arms pressing against the concrete, giving him a perfect view.

“rafe,” kelce said, smirking, “you’re staring, bro.”

“shut the fuck up,” rafe muttered, dragging a hand down his face, but he still didn’t look away.

the bonfire

it was cold, but you didn’t care. you were curled up in a hoodie—his hoodie, not that you noticed—knees pulled up to your chest, laughing at something jj said.

rafe wasn’t listening to the conversation. he was too busy watching the way the fabric of his hoodie stretched over your chest, the way you absentmindedly played with the strings, twisting them around your fingers, totally unaware of how badly he wanted to be the one tugging at them.

“yo, you good?” topper asked, raising an eyebrow.

rafe clenched his jaw. “fine.”

the sleepover

it wasn’t supposed to be anything weird. you’d crashed at his place before—plenty of times.

but this time? this time, you had decided to wear that shirt.

the tiny white one, the one that clung to you in all the right places, barely covering anything. and with no bra underneath? yeah, rafe was done for.

he had to physically restrain himself from staring at the way your nipples pressed against the thin fabric, obvious—taunting himself—like they were just begging for his attention.

then you stretched, arms lifting over your head, the movement making the already short hem ride up even higher, exposing more of your stomach, teasing the soft skin underneath.

“jesus christ,” rafe muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

you finally noticed.

“what’s wrong with you?” you asked, tilting your head, amused.

rafe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “nothing.”

but then you shifted, crossing your arms over your chest, pushing up the fabric just slightly—

and rafe lost it.

“nah,” he groaned, rubbing his face. “you need to put something else on. now.”

you blinked. “huh?”

“i—fuck,” he muttered, standing up so fast the chair nearly tipped over. “just… forget it.”

but you didn’t forget. not when you saw the way his hands clenched into fists, the way his breathing was uneven, the way his jaw tightened like he was holding back something dangerous.

and that’s when you realized—

this whole time, rafe hadn’t just been looking. he’d been starving.

a/n: gon bless yall w a part 2 later dwww❣️❣️

[authorhjk1]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C6pTqflplBO/?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==

Sana/Jennie museum threesome

The Roman Goddess (part III)

(Minatozaki Sana X Jennie X Male Reader)

"Stop playing hard to get, Mars."

Venus' mischievous smile makes you lose your mind.

You knew it was a bad idea, when you saw the invitation to this event lying on the bed in your hotel room. And her note next to it explained why she wanted you here.

"I don't think we should do this."

You take a step back, surprised by your own self control.

"Y-Your husband is right there."

You whisper and point to the next room of the museum.

"Oh, forget about him, baby. I'm just here for that dick of yours."

You watch her looking down on you, before she reaches out to cup your crotch.

You can't do anything. Nothing to resist. Venus has always been something you can't walk away from. Something that draws you in. And that purple dress she is wearing makes your head spin, everytime you look at her. It fits her body perfectly, hugging her curves tightly.

A satisfied smile plays around Venus' lips, when she sees you glancing at her cleavage.

"You see? We're meant for each other. My body is yours. And yours is mine."

She steps closer. You close your eyes, still feeling her hand on your clothed cock. She places her tongue on your cheekbone and gives your cheek a long lick upwards, until she reaches your ear. Her purpose is clear. Destroy your silent resistance. Let yourself go. Give in.

"Your cock. It belongs in my pussy. As deep as it can go."

You flinch when Venus bites your earlobe. She is way more aggressive than she used to be. But then again, she is used to getting what she wants.

"And I'm not leaving this museum, until you tear this dress off me and fuck me like you mean it."

Your eyes shoot open when you hear high heels click on the stone floor. Someone is walking towards the two of you. Venus takes two steps back and pretends to read the information plate of the glass case on your left. You quickly hide your erection with the brochure you've held onto until now.

When the woman finally rounds the corner, you almost roll your eyes. What in the world? What the fuck is going on?

Her blue dress is barely a dress. More like a tunic. A very revealing one. You can see most of her slender legs and her tummy. The former is decorated with some body jewelry, which catches your eye. You notice you're staring, when she speaks up.

"I didn't expect you to see here."

Venus turns around.

"Oh, hey you."

She gives the new woman a big smile, but you can tell it's not genuine. Venus hesitates for a moment, but decides to properly greet the other woman. The two of them meet in the middle of the room. You can sense the awkwardness in the air as they give each other a hug. It looks forced and delicate, almost as if both of them are afraid the other might shatter into pieces, if they squeeze too hard.

You take a deep breath, glad you aren't the center of Venus' attention at the moment. Turning around, you try to ignore the two women and regain your composure. The glass case behind you showcases a trident and a net. You read the small plate that is placed next to the case.

The Retiarius, one of the most iconic gladiators of ancient Rome, fought using a trident (tridens) and a net (rete). Unlike his heavily armored counterparts, the Retiarius relied on speed and agility.

"How is your husband doing? You always talk about how he is working all the time."

"He is doing just fine. If I remember correctly, you ended things with your boyfriend? Tell me all about that."

Equipped with minimal armor—typically a shoulder guard (galerus) for protection—he would attempt to ensnare his opponent with the net before striking with the trident. This lightweight approach contrasted sharply with the heavily armed Secutor, creating a dramatic spectacle of skill versus strength.

"You know how guys are. Lazy idiots, who only think about sex. Especially when they see a woman like me. Believe it or not, I had one of his best friends on my doorstep an hour after I ended things with him."

"I can only imagine. My husband is a loyal, loving man. He gives me the world. I hope you'll find someone like that someday as well."

The weapons displayed here are replicas of those used in the grand arenas of Capua, a renowned training center for gladiators.

You move onto the next exhibit, while you hear the two women talk in the background. It's obvious they don't like each other. They're just bragging about how everyone loves them and how beautiful they are. You do have to admit that they're both gorgeous, but their characters seem flawed, to say the least.

Now standing in front of a mosaic, you get a glimpse of what a fully filled arena must've looked like in its full glory.

This intricate mosaic from the arena in Capua illustrates the staged reenactment of the Battle of Zama, the decisive confrontation of the Second Punic War fought in 202 BCE. In this spectacle, captured Punic warriors were forced to relive their defeat, facing off against Roman-trained gladiators representing the legions of Scipio Africanus.

"By the way, I love that dress of yours. I don't think I'd dare to show off this much skin, but it really fits your style."

"Thanks. Oh, but I love yours as well. Did your husband buy it for you? His taste is really something."

The Punic fighters are depicted with their characteristic long spears (hasta), curved swords (falcata), and round shields (caetra), emulating the Carthaginian infantry. Some are shown as Numidian allies, wielding javelins (pilum) and riding light horses, mirroring the diverse forces of Hannibal’s army.

"You know, I'd love to catch up with you some more, but my husband already mentioned earlier that he would love me to accompany him to the arena. But I'm sure we will have a chance to resume this pleasant conversation."

"Of course, dear. You're a loving and loyal wife. You always put his needs over yours."

Their opponents, dressed in Roman-style armor, carry gladii (short swords) and rectangular scuta (shields), symbolizing the disciplined Roman formations that triumphed at Zama. Such events were designed not only as entertainment but as a display of Roman supremacy, reminding the spectators of Rome's victory over one of its greatest adversaries.

You let out a deep breath as you hear Venus exit the room. You already felt bad, because you slept with a married woman. And while your carnal desires have kept you under their control so far, you finally have the courage to stop. You don't want to do it here. Not with her husband in the next room. That's not just morally wrong, but also stupid and dangerous.

You decide to ignore the other woman. She's probably doing the same with you. You reach another, smaller glass case. A figure of Venus inside. You can't help but glance at your own personal Venus through the door in the other room. For a moment, your eyes are glued to her backside, which is tightly wrapped by her dress. But you quickly avert your eyes again, hoping no one caught you. You decide on studying the description of the small figure, waiting for the other woman to finally leave the room.

The goddess Venus, revered as the deity of love, beauty, and fertility, held a special connection with the gladiators of Capua. In Roman culture, Venus was also associated with victory and fortune, making her a significant figure for gladiators who sought her favor before entering the arena. It was believed that invoking Venus’ blessings could turn the tide of combat, granting strength, agility, and the favor of the audience.

"Interesting."

You mumble as you take out your pen. This could make for a great part of your book. The first one featured the Roman legions. The second one was centered around Roman naval warfare. And this third one was supposed to be more about politics, while highlighting the character of a cunning, but charming woman.

Thank to Venus, you've already made great progress. "The Roman goddess", your third book, is almost finished by now. And it seems like you just found the best way to start your fourth book. Very ambitious, since you haven't completed the third one yet. But you know that this could lead you to even more fame. And money. For a moment, you wonder if you could ever reach the same level as Venus' husband. Through writing? Not likely. But it's going well so far.

The idea alone already makes your fingers itchy. You want to go home and continue to write. And you know now, your fourth book will be about gladiators. As you take notes on the museum's brochure, you are already planning out the first ideas for a plot.

You loose yourself in your thoughts, whispering along as you keep on reading the description of the small figure.

In Capua, one of the most renowned gladiatorial training centers of the Roman world, shrines and offerings to Venus were common, especially among gladiators who wished to honor the goddess in the hope of survival and success. The connection between Freya and the gladiators-

"What the fuck happened here?"

You say out loud, starring at the small text.

"Are you okay?"

You jump. The woman who talked to Venus is standing right behind you.

"Yeah, sorry."

You turn back around.

"Is something wrong?"

"Kinda..."

You hesitate. She sounds kinda bored and you don't want to make it worse by letting your history addiction shine through. But what's the worst that can happen?

"Here."

You point at the description.

"For some reason someone switched the names of Venus and Freya."

"And who is that?"

"Well, Venus is this one."

You point at the statue and have to force yourself to not look into the next room.

"And Freya is basically her Nordic equivalent."

"Isn't this the goddess of love or something?"

"Yes, you're correct. She's also responsible for marriage and the spring."

"You seem to know what you're talking about."

The woman next to you crosses her arms in front of her chest as she looks down at the figure of Venus.

"A little. My specialty is Roman and Greek history, but I know a thing or two about other civilizations as well."

"Are you a history teacher or something?"

"An author."

It still feels odd to say that. But you're realizing that you aren't as nervous as you should be. This woman is gorgeous, stunning. And yet, you don't really think about that and just see her as a normal person. Maybe because you spent a lot of time with Venus?

"Are you famous?"

"I wouldn't say so. Not really."

"Too bad. It would've explained why she sleeps with you."

You almost have a heart attack.

"W-What?"

You cross your fingers that she isn't talking about Venus. Not possible. You've never seen her before, so how would she have seen you? And you are sure that Venus didn't say anything either. Right?

You feel your heart beating faster, while your body seems like it's frozen. You wait for her to keep talking.

"Did you never see her taking pictures of you or something?"

You slowly shake your head.

"No... Did she?"

"There's an mobile app for women like us."

She pauses for a moment.

"Rich, famous women. Who are either married or single."

"Ah...."

"The app is used to share our sexual adventures with each other. And recommend people, based on where you are. For example, you told her that you'd be in Italy for a while. How do I know that? I checked the app. She put a picture of you in there. What you're good at, that you're fine with keeping secrets and that you're currently in Italy. And your number as well."

"She gave everyone my number and a picture?"

"Yeah."

You feel a little used. Venus seemed to value privacy so much. So why did she just violate yours?

"I also know that the two of you are playing a little game. You call her Venus. And you're Mars, right?"

You slowly nod your head. It finally dawns on you in which direction this is gonna go.

"I want in."

"What?"

"I want to take what's hers. Make Venus jealous and show her that you like my pussy more than hers."

When she says Venus' name, it almost sounds like an insult.

"Do I have a choice?"

The woman in blue shakes her head, while giving you a mocking smile.

"You don't."

You look at her, then look back towards the room Venus went to, and then look back at her.

"Okay....What do you want to do? A hotel? Or-"

"Shut it."

You're surprised by her rudeness.

"We are going somewhere where she can see us. Got it?"

"S-Sure."

"Oh and we need a name for me too. I want one just as good as hers."

You instinctively glance at the description of the figure.

"Freya?"

You see a smile playing around her lips.

"Sounds good."

"I don't think we should be here. This isn't just against museum rules, but also inappropriate."

"Zip it. I do what I want."

You sigh as she leads you into the sunlight. It seems like someone really paid the museum a lot of money to host this event. Which makes sense, since everyone here seems to be rich. The museum staff has placed a purple sun blind over the imperial box. From here, you have great view of the whole arena.

Of course it isn't in its original state, but it looks fabulous nonetheless. Which makes sense, since it's the second largest amphitheater of the Roman Empire. In the middle, where the gladiators have fought thousands of years ago, the museum has set up tables and chairs, a large buffet and even a small dance floor.

You feel odd, overlooking this beautiful scenery. Not just because you have a gorgeous woman lean over the balustrade right in front of you, but also because it feels wrong. This was once a place of blood and death. People died down there and yet these rich people treat it as some fancy place for a party.

"There she is."

Freya nods towards Venus, who is standing near the buffet. You can spot her easily. She is the most beautiful woman down there. You can't keep your eyes off that beautiful body.

You know her husband has to be there somewhere, but you can't tell who it is. And you're not even sure if you want to know. After all-

"What are you waiting for?"

You look over the bent over woman in front of you. Venus has so much control over you, you almost forgot about Freya. But now, you can see how beautiful she is as well. How sexy, how gorgeous. Just as much a goddess as Venus is. Same but different.

"Kneel for me and make yourself useful."

You hesitate. Venus wasn't really this commanding. But in the end, you don't care. As long as it means you are able to have sex with a woman like her.

You feel the naked stone on your knees. Reaching forward, you slowly lift up Freya's dress. Her blue underwear matches the dress. You lean in and give the back of her thighs kisses. You taste her skin, making sure you take your time as you carefully make your way upwards. When you eventually meet her clothed core, you plant a kiss on the fabric.

Freya's legs open a little wider, but you change directions. You lick and kiss her cheeks, giving them an occasional bite or two.

"That feels good..."

You continue, until you feel like she is starting to get impatient. Pulling at her panties, you watch them slowly glide down her smooth legs.

Licking your lips, you stare at her exposed pussy. It's a little darker than Venus', but not less beautiful. You lean in. One slow lick from the bottom to the top. It makes her hum in appreciation. You reach for her cheeks to pull them apart a little further. Taking in Freya's scent, you begin to feast on her pussy, while the rich people feast on the buffet in the arena.

You quickly notice that Freya isn't as wet as Venus is. It takes you a while to finally have her dripping. But for some reason, that just makes it taste even better. You lick along her folds, part them with your tongue, dive in deep. And then you retreat, circle around her outer lips, dip down to let your tongue flick against her clit. And then you start from the beginning once more.

Throughout your delicious meal, Freya has stayed mostly quiet. An appreciative moan here and there, a slight gasp, whenever you try something new. You can really see how the two women differ from each other.

As you keep going, you notice how Freya likes it when you use your hands on her ass from time to time. Pull her cheeks apart a little, slightly dig your fingers into them, squeezing them. You feel how she slowly becomes hotter, how her body's temperature starts to rise. She starts to move back a little as more pleasure rushes through her system.

Making your final move, you take her clit into your mouth. You suck on it, making her squirm for a moment. And then, a deep moan leaves her body. She shakes in front of you, your hands on her ass and hers on the balustrade keep her standing. More of her juices leave her pussy, which you taste as you dive back in during her high.

When you finally move away from her, you take a look at her now glistening folds once more. But when you're about to stand up, you feel one of her hands pushing your head back down.

"What makes you think you're done?"

You're surprised she wants more. You would've loved to feel her lips, or her pussy on your cock. But you decide to follow her lead. Maybe you'll get even more out of this.

"That's a good boy."

You hear her sigh when you place your lips on hers once more. Closing your eyes, you enjoy her taste. The moment is short lived, when you hear your phone's ringtone.

"Answer it."

Freya's voice is laced with mischievous intent.

You quickly realize why. She must've seen how Venus took out her phone and is now calling you.

"Hello?"

"Are you hiding from me?"

"I'm-"

You get interrupted by Freya, who pulls your face toward her core.

"I'm not."

You resume your meal, while Venus talks on the other end of the line.

"Good. I'm really horny right now. And I need you."

"I'm not sure if we should do it here. Your husband-"

"Oh, don't worry. He won't catch us, I promise."

"I don't-"

"It's gonna be quick."

Freya lets out a sigh as your tongue swipes upwards a little too high, coming dangerously close to her other hole. You bite your lip for a second, hoping Venus didn't hear that.

"I'll reward you."

Seems like Venus took your silence as indecisiveness.

"I'm going to head to your hotel room after this event. My body will be yours tonight."

You almost let out a groan into Freya's pussy.

"Is there anything you would prefer me in?"

You feel the other woman's hand on the back of your head again, urging you on to keep eating her out.

"A specific dress? Lingerie? Nothing?"

You close your eyes, trying to stay strong. At the same time, you keep you face buried between Freya's legs.

"Yes, that feels good."

Her moan is way louder than all the other ones.

"Mars, what's going on?"

You realize that she did it on purpose.

Freya now reaches for your phone.

"Keep going."

She takes and places it on her ear.

"Hello, darling?"

You don't hear what Venus is saying. You let out a sigh, but resume your work. You kinda feel like you betrayed her. But the again, you aren't in a relationship. She is even married to someone else.

"Oh, I bet he's loving dessert right now."

You hear Freya's breath hitch as you let your tongue circle around her clit once more.

"Oh damn, you really weren't lying. He is gonna make me cum again."

You double your efforts at her words. The damage is done already. Might as well finish the job.

"Don't get all possessive, honey. I'm sure he won't mind sleeping with you tonight."

"Really? And what are you gonna do about it?"

You feel how Freya is getting closer again. This bantering with Venus is probably getting her off even more.

"What makes you think you're a better fuck than me?"

"Oh, I'm so up for that. I'm gonna show you how much better I am."

You suck on Freya's clit once more. And the climax of her conversation and you work suddenly make her cum again.

"Oh, fuck!"

Once she calms down, Freya speaks again.

"That was amazing. Where we are? Just look up."

You notice how a second later the call ends. Freya turns around and gives you your phone back.

"While we wait for Venus, why don't you show me what you got there?"

She reaches for your belt and starts to undress you. When your pants and boxers fall onto the stone floor, Freya wraps her fingers around your cock.

"It's always hard to tell someone's size without properly measuring it, but I feel like Venus underestimated you."

She stands in front of you, while she begins to stroke your length. You can't help but reach out to feel more of her body. You place your hand on her naked waist.

"You like me, don't you?"

It's probably for the best, if you don't answer. So you stay silent, your eyes slowly wandering from her waist to her clothed tits. And your hands soon follow.

"You probably thought she was a goddess when you first saw her, huh? That's why you play this little game. But trust me, she is no better than I am."

Her confident smirk makes you realize that she genuinely thinks she is better than Venus. She isn't just saying that to make you choose her.

"Maybe we should start without her."

You watch how Freya's hand leaves your cock. She sticks out her tongue and licks her own palm. Then, she places her wet hand around your length again.

"Come on. Make everyone watch."

She turns around again. And like before, Freya bends over the stone balustrade.

You hold your breath for a moment. You really must be lucky if you get to have sex with her. But, if Venus is about to join the two of you, this might turn into the best day of your life.

Stepping behind her, you align yourself with her pussy. Your tip grazes her lips. When you push inside, you hear her let out a sigh.

"No wonder she doesn't want to share you."

Your hands are on her waist. You feel that waist chain between your fingers. But that's by far not the best thing you're feeling right now. Her tight cunt is nicely wrapped around your cock, keeping you inside as you attempt to back up.

When you start to properly fuck her, you already hear the sounds of someone walking behind you. It's still a little further away, but it's growing closer. You decide that this the best moment to make use of Freya's pussy as much as possible. You don't know what might happen next.

"Fuck, right there."

She moans when you fuck her harder. Soon, you place one of your hands on her clothed tits, while the other stays on her waist. You take her from behind, enjoying her body to the fullest. As every thrust leads you deeper and deeper inside, you start to forget all about the world around you. Her tight grip on your cock is all that matters right now. Your thrusts become faster. And the sound of your hips meeting her ass becomes louder.

"The two of you started without me?"

You quickly turn your head. Venus is standing behind you, a pout on her lips. Your eyes immediately roam her body. Her beauty and Freya's pussy around your cock make your head spin.

"Why don't you join me? Venus?"

Freya says her name once more with an underlying emotion. But to your surprise, Venus walks closer. She captures your lips with hers, her hands on your chest. By now, you've stopped fucking Freya. Which she doesn't seem to like. The bent over woman moves her hips and you groan into Venus' mouth.

Venus breaks the kiss and whispers into your ear.

"Make sure your cum belongs to me."

She gives you a mischievous smile, before she backs away. Just like Freya, she bends over the balustrade. The two women are barely an arm's length apart from each other. But your view has suddenly improved immensely. Your eyes are glued to Venus' ass as you start to fuck Freya once more.

Your self control only lasts a second. You reach over to squeeze the cheek that is closest to you. Venus looks back at you, a satisfied grin on her face.

"Can't take your hands off me?"

You nod as you try to keep up the pace of your fucking. Freya has begun to moan again, this time a little louder. Her tight pussy is holding onto you as if she knew you're on the brink of jumping ship.

"Come on, Mars. It's not polite to leave a woman waiting."

You close your eyes. Count to three. When you reach three, you don't know if you should pull out or not. You count to three again. And again. And finally you feel yourself pulling out all the way. Freya's walls drag along your length and a long sigh leaves her lips.

Only now do you notice that she is breathing heavily. You decide you're kind enough to give her a break.

A moment later, you stand behind Venus. Your wet cock rests on the fabric of her dress as you squeeze her cheeks. She purrs like a cat in the sun, already getting wet by just your hands on her body.

As much as you love seeing her ass like that, you eventually realize the urge to bury yourself inside of her grows larger. You hike up her dress. No panties. If only her husband knew what a slutty wife he has. The already familiar sight of Venus' pussy doesn't give you time to hesitate. You quickly push inside. That familiar warmth closes down around your length immediately. Reaching forward, you take a hold of both of her naked shoulders. The way she is leaning over the balustrade probably enables everyone in the arena to look deep into her cleavage.

But she doesn't seem to care. Venus' moans are just as loud as Freya's as you start to fuck her as well. You can tell how much wetter she is. Her juices practically coating your cock.

"That's right. I promised you. You own my body tonight."

You groan in response. The urge to lean down and give her exposed back a bite is unusually strong. But you focus on fucking her harder. Her pussy basically asking for it. Her tight walls squeezing you, her juices making sure your thrusts are smooth.

Eventually, you make the mistake of looking to your left. Freya is still standing there, elbows on the balustrade, as she bites a nail while she watches. You can tell that she wants more. It takes you a while to muster enough self control, but then you manage to pull out of Venus. She gasps in surprise.

But before she can even turn her head, you already bury yourself inside Freya's tight and waiting cunt.

That's how you fuck them both for quite a while. You actually last way longer than you thought you would. The constant switching from one woman to the other gives you always a couple of seconds to breathe. After a while, the two of them learn how to live with it and sharing you becomes visibly easier.

You're fucking Venus right now, while Freya has moved a little closer, so you can finger her at the same time. You can't even count anymore how often you switched between them. But when you deliver one unusual deep thrust into Venus, you're suddenly very aware that you probably won't be able to switch again.

Your strength is starting to leave you as well. Freya seems to have noticed.

"You're gonna give us your cum now, right? Dump your load into our pussies, after you used them like you wanted to."

Her words don't slow your approaching orgasm down at all.

"Oh, yes. Fill me up."

Venus sighs as she feels your cock throbbing inside of her. You reach out to Freya, moving her closer. The two of them are now side by side, their asses touching. You try to count your thrusts, but it's in vein.

When you cum, you bite your lip in pleasure. Venus' pussy almost traps you inside of her as you shoot two streaks of cum inside. But after a short struggle, you finally manage to pull out. One long streak hits both their asses, before you're able to push into Freya one last time.

"Fuck, yes."

She sighs loudly as she feels your cum rush into her body.

The three of you are all out of breath and you almost collapse on top of Freya.

"You still haven't answered my question."

You look over to Venus. Her ass is covered in cum and you see how a long trail of it is already running down her right leg.

"How would you like me tonight?"

You think hard about this. You might never be able to see her again after tonight. Who knows where she is gonna be tomorrow.

"I want you to wear nothing, but two things."

She raises an eyebrow in question, a cheeky smile on her lips.

"Heels and a choker."

Freya lets out a chuckle.

Venus gets off the balustrade. You notice how her arms are a little red. She kisses you again, while you're still inside the other woman.

"I'll be there at 10."

[thechaoticcherub]

Eight Ball Corner Pocket

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x Plus Size!Reader

Summary: Reader goes on a really bad date, Joel steps in to help make her forget it.

Warnings: 18+ Please, large age gap, mentions of reader being plus size/fat, otherwise reader is not really described, reader is self conscious, fatphobia(not by Joel at all), internalized fatphobia, Reader is just really trying to learn to love herself, negative self talk, drinking, random boy is a fuckin' meany, eight ball, reader is excellent at pool, semi traumatic past(barely mentioned), oral sex(female receiving), pet names(SO MANY), vaginal sex, rough sex, dom/sub dynamics, pussy pronouns

Notes: My bff edited this for me and I went over it a little but its not perfect. I also worked for SO long on this. I cried a little while writing it because it healed some shit in me. I hope it helps my other plus size/fat readers. Joel would think you are sexy af.

Word Count: 7.7 K

Going to the Tipsy Bison with this guy you had known for years was supposed to be a date. Your friends had made it feel like a big deal that he had finally asked you out. You wore a dress. Futzed with your hair until it was just right and actually got kind of excited. This guy, Daniel, was someone you had known since you were young and new to Jackson, essentially grown up with him and he wasn’t exactly your type, or all that interesting but everyone made it seem like it was bound to happen, like you were destined to date and he finally asked you. So you wore the dress. Did the whole thing with the hair and walked to the Tipsy Bison with him.

Things were fine, albeit a little boring while you had drinks and talked. You felt a little self conscious both of the fact that everyone around you seemed aware that it was a date and that he kept looking at your body. It didn’t even seem appreciative, it seemed like he was appraising you. The way your arm jiggled as you lifted your glass, how round your cheeks were when you smiled, the curve of your tummy he could notice through your dress. You felt like you were meat on display and the buyer wasn’t that interested. 

Things got slightly better when you asked if he wanted to play pool and so you two went to the open pool table and set up to play standard 8-ball. 

You broke and the balls went scattering, the solid 2 went into a pocket and then to your delight so did the 3. Daniel wasn’t so lucky. You kicked his ass the first game. It took almost no time and it was fun, you found yourself flirting a little more, making sure you leaned over just right as you were lining up a shot so he could catch a glimpse of your cleavage. Or so your ample ass stuck out in a way that you thought would be appealing. Daniel joked about being not so good at pool but you could tell he was getting frustrated by the time you got the 8 ball into one of the center pockets. 

 Halfway through the second game, you had some onlookers. Some of the older Jackson residents that spent a lot more time at the Tipsy Bison than you watched and cheered you on as you cleaned the floor with your date. 

It was when you leaned low over the table, lining up a tricky shot, trying to get your 5 ball into the far corner pocket by glancing it off of the edge of the table when you noticed Joel Miller was watching from his typical spot at the bar. 

Joel was notoriously grouchy, typically drinking at the bar with his brother Tommy, and incredibly attractive. Everyone knew he rarely spent any of his freetime with women, and the lucky few he had taken back to his place were always cryptic about it when asked. He was also a good chunk older than you, at least old enough to be your father, and none of the women he had been seen with were more than 10 years his junior. But here he was, sitting next to Tommy, looking right at you. Tommy was watching too, but there was something about Joel that made you almost miss your shot. Almost. The 5 ball skittered for a moment but then bounced off the side right by the pocket and dropped in. You grinned and hopped to a standing position, your hair and breasts both  bouncing, your breasts bouncing in the dress you were wearing and giggled.

“Damn!” Tommy commented with a laugh, looking over at Joel, catching him staring at you and punching his flannel clad arm, “She’s good.” There was a smattering of some of the others making similar comments but Joel remained quiet. 

You proudly turned to Daniel who let out a long, low whistle,

“Shit,” He said. “If you were more my type I’d be taking you home with me,” Daniel laughed, looking at you standing proudly holding your pool cue. Your heart sank, dropping into your stomach. It was such an odd thing to say on a date that you were momentarily taken aback. 

“What do you mean,  ‘if I was more your type’?”  You questioned, putting a hand on your hip. Daniel looked a little sheepish but then he shrugged and half-heartedly gestured to your body,

“I mean…just…” Daniel shrugged again and something inside you shriveled. All the confidence you had gained from kicking his ass at pool, the way you had looked at yourself in the mirror pleased with how the dress sat against your round belly and accentuated your chubby thighs vanished in an instant and you were suddenly a teenager being picked on for having bigger boobs than the rest of the girls your age. It wasn’t even like you had wanted to go home with Daniel, he was scrawny and more importantly, boring but the way he had so blatantly said it, hurt a small part of you that you thought you had hidden away. 

“Ah,” You said, turning away from him. Worse than the fact that he was saying this was that you were sure that there were other people that could hear. Worse than that even was you were so taken aback that you couldn’t come up with a reply, you didn’t tell him to fuck off or get lost. 

“I mean, besides your body you’re really pretty!” Daniel said and if you had had it in you, you would have punched him in the fucking face but it was taking everything in you to not start crying. You looked at the pool table in front of you and realized you were about to beat him. You only had the eight ball left and you were pretty well set up to knock it into the corner pocket. 

“Yeah.” You said. “Good to know. Eight ball, corner pocket.” You pointed to the corner pocket you meant, the pocket that was opposite of the bar. You walked over to the side of the table closest to the bar and leaned over. You set up your pool cue, anger and embarrassment should have clouded your perception, should have made it more difficult but you needed to prove something to him, you wanted to humiliate him the best way you could. So when you took the shot there was a loud, satisfying crack of cue ball smacking into 8 ball and then the even more satisfying thwunk of the 8 ball falling into the pocket. 

You dropped your pool cue onto the table with a clatter  and turned your back to Daniel, wanting to just go to the bar and forget him. 

“Rematch?” Daniel asked, sounding oblivious to your hurt and irritation. You were about to whip around and tell him off when a low, husky voice spoke up from the bar. 

“I think you’ve been embarrassed enough, son.” Joel had stood up from his bar stool and gone over to Daniel. “I wanna play the winner,” Joel insisted as he sidled up to Daniel. Daniel looked almost like he wanted to argue but Joel put his hand on the pool cue he was still clutching and gave it a tug. You looked from Daniel to Joel and then refused to let your eyes move back to the boy you had let speak to you so horribly. You didn’t want to give him another ounce of attention, especially when Joel Miller wanted to play you in pool.

“W-well we’re kinda out together-” Daniel stuttered. Joel eased the pool cue all the way out of his grip and turned to the table, not sparing him another glance,

“Nah, you’re not.” Joel said, reaching into one of the pockets to take out some of the balls. “Wanna play someone who’ll actually give ya a run for your money, sweetheart?” Joel asked you as you watched him move. You pursed your lips, trying to conceal a little smile at the pet name. You tilted your head to the side as if you were considering it, you knew you’d rather get beat at pool by Joel Miller than kick Daniel’s ass any day. Plus, you were on a roll, maybe you could beat him and while Joel was gruff and attractive, and quiet, and really attractive and stern and holy fucking shit hot. He was also safe. Safely unavailable. Older than you. 

“Sure,” You said finally with a shrug, reaching out and picking up your pool cue again.

“Atta girl,” He said, nodding and grabbing the triangle to start putting balls in. You passed him the  balls and he got it set up properly while you watched and paid exactly zero attention to Daniel who might have been slinking away from the pool table anyway. 

“You wanna break?” Joel huffed looking up from where he had set up the triangle. 

“I’ll break if you really think you can beat me,” You teased, trying to fake that confidence you had felt earlier. Joel breathed out a little laugh, 

“Go ahead and break, darlin and I’ll try to go easy on you.” And then Joel Miller winked at you, your heart skipped, and you felt the need to beat him drive deeper. You lined up your shot and broke with a sharp snap of balls, they skittered all over the table, the 10 ball dropped into a pocket.

“Guess I’m stripes,” You said, taking your next shot and missing the 9 ball by a centimeter. Joel walked over, putting his hand on your waist as he squeezed past you to get to the cue ball. Your cheeks burned and you tugged at the skirt of your dress. 

“Maybe it means your luck is out,” Joel leaned over and you tried not to admire the way his jeans tightened over his ass. 

“Maybe…but I doubt it,” You said, flouncing around the table to take your next turn as he missed his shot and swore under his breath.  

It turned out, Joel was excellent at pool, it was sheer luck that made you able to take a few turns, sinking some balls in the pockets, hoping you at least had a chance at the eight ball. 

“I could give you a few pointers, darlin.” Joel said as he sunk his last ball into a side pocket and looked around the table for the eight ball. “If you’re worried about the quality of your game,” He teased, his eyes were alight and there was a smile playing on his lips. You could tell he was competitive, and beating you was stroking his ego.  You didn’t mind though, the entire time you had played he had called you pet names and you had playfully trash talked each other. Joel had gotten you a beer and only teased you a little bit when you almost knocked the glass off the edge of the pool table with your pool cue. Now, you were desperately hoping he’d miss this shot so you could sink a couple more balls and then take your own shot at the 8 ball. “8 ball corner pocket,” he pointed to the pocket he meant and glanced at you, smirking. 

“Nahh, cause I think you’re about to scratch on the 8 ball.” You told him, holding your pool cue propped up on the ground between your knees. 

“You wish, puddin’…you…” he lined up his shot, leaning over, “wish,” he finished as he shot. The 8 ball, followed immediately by the cue ball, sank into the pocket with a thwuthwunk. You burst out laughing and raised your fists in triumph. 

“You lose, old man!” You squealed excitedly. Joel was staring at the pocket that had lost him the game, shocked that what you had predicted actually happened. “I win!” You did a little dance, jiggling your hips. Joel’s eyes twinkled as he watched you but he was forcing a frown, making himself look disappointed. 

“You win by default not ‘cause you actually beat me, sugar.” He pointed his pool cue at you and you giggled.

“A win is a win!” You said. Your round cheeks were glowing with warmth and you couldn’t believe your luck, both in the game and in the fact that Joel Miller had single handedly saved your evening. Joel was downing the end of his beer and you glanced around the bar for any sign of Daniel, he was gone and you weren’t disappointed but you were a little irritated. “Looks like I drove my date off,” 

Joel cast his eyes around the bar too and then shrugged. “You’re better off,” He said, setting his beer glass down on the bar. “C’mon, let me walk ya home.” He grabbed his coat from where he had thrown it over the end of the bar and pulled it on. 

“Oh…don’t worry about it, Joel, I’m fine.” You said, looking towards the door, you didn’t want to put him out, he had already been so nice to you. You licked your lower lip and then sucked it into your mouth, “Thanks for playing me though, you kind of rescued me.” You told him. Joel chuckled, “Uh-uh, Puddin’. I ain’t lettin you walk home alone,” he said. He gestured towards the door and you led the way out into the cool evening air. You were just in your dress and cardigan and you shivered as soon as the wind blew across your chest and ruffled the hem of your dress. 

“You ain’t got a jacket?” Joel asked, looking down at you. You shrugged, 

“It was warmer earlier,” You mumbled. Before you could stop him Joel shrugged out of his jacket and put it over your shoulders. “Joel-I can’t take your coat-”

“Quit arguein’ with me,” His voice was gruff and commanding, “I ain’t going to put up with it much longer,” He was teasing you but you knew better than to try to fend off his kindness. You walked across mainstreet and tried not to feel self conscious about the way his jacket wasn’t as big on you as it might have been on another girl. Ever since Daniel’s comments you hadn’t been able to shake the stupid self conscious internal monologue. 

“How’d you learn how to play pool?” Joel asked as you walked.

“My dad spent a lot of time in the Tipsy Bison when I was younger and being there was the best way to spend time with him so…I kinda taught myself pool to keep myself entertained,” You explained. Joel knew your dad had been a drunk. In Jackson, everyone knew everything about everyone else and you didn’t want to get into it anymore than that. In the quiet that followed, Joel’s arm snaked around your waist, his hand pressing into his own jacket against your side. You felt yourself tense up, wondering why he was doing this. Why would he want to hold you close like this? 

Your heart had momentarily fluttered when he touched you but then it sunk again. He must have seen you staring at him and then heard the way Daniel spoke to you, and being such a good guy,  he wanted to boost your confidence by offering a little physical touch. You took a step away from him and looked up at him, 

“You don’t have to do this,” You said. You stopped walking, pushing his hand back as his grip tried to follow you. Joel looked at you, confused, his brow furrowed.

“Do what?” he asked. 

“Walk me home to try and make me feel better about my date ditching, give me your coat, touch me just to make me feel like I’m not…not disgusting or something,” You said, shifting your weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. Joel’s face twisted a little and you waited for him to agree to stop, to leave you standing in the middle of the street but he didn’t move away. In fact he reached out and put a steady hand on your waist again, but this time between his jacket and your dress. 

“Beg your pardon, sweetheart, but, what the fuck?” He laughed out the words and you felt anger spike through you. You shoved his large hand back, away from you. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear what Daniel said to me back there! Don’t pretend that you’re touching me because you actually want to. I get it that you feel bad for me that no…no boy would want me.” Your lower lip trembled and you bit it fiercely, not wanting him to notice you were near tears. Joel’s eyes were blazing and his jaw was clenched, he was angry and you were sure it was because you had called him on his bullshit. 

“That nasty little boy who you had the misfortune of goin’ on a date with ain’t got nothin’ to do with me wantin’ to touch you,” Joel growled.  You turned to face him now. It was your turn to look confused. Something stuck in your throat and you couldn’t reply to him even though you found yourself wanting to argue with him. “If he didn’t wanna take ya home, it’s ‘cause he’s a stupid little boy who aint got any idea what to do.” Your eyes searched his face, looking for a sign of dishonesty.

“But-” You managed to blurt out, your voice trembling as much as your lip was. 

“The whole reason I haven’t dragged you back to my place already is because I’m too old and worn out for someone so pretty and full of life.” He looked almost sad as he said it, large hands  splayed as he explained. You couldn’t believe it. Joel had to know how wanted he was by an almost endless amount of women in Jackson. What kind of sick joke was this? Was he trying to make you throw yourself at him just so he could reject you? You tried to find the lie in the creases on his face but he was steady and everything about him screamed honesty but none of that lined up with your own idea of yourself. 

“But you’re so hot, Joel.” You breathed, “Why would you want me?” You asked, still trying to discover the lie, or uncover his joke. Joel’s eyes darkened again as he looked at you like you were completely insane, “Quit it,” He said, “Don’t you think for a single second that you’re the one reachin’ here, i’m old enough to be your daddy and you’re…look at you.” You could see barely controlled lust in his eyes as they roamed over your body and the way he did it didn’t make you feel like he was appraising you to see if you were worth it. He was appreciating you. Appreciating the way your breasts stretched the fabric of your dress and the way you could see the curve of your belly, the way your thighs pressed together. You stared at him, trying to take in the truth of his statement, trying to remember how pretty you had found yourself that morning before you had been reminded of all the insecurities of your teenage years. 

“Aw, fuck it,” Joel breathed. His big hands found your waist on one side and your neck on the other, dragging you into him. He had to lean over a little to press his lips into yours but he did it in one swift motion, holding you to him. The hand at your waist was tucked into his jacket again, squeezing the flesh of your side. His lips were a little chilled from the night air and they tasted so good, like beer and a heady, warm taste. His skin and beard were rough against your lips and cheeks as he kissed you. You started to forget your worry as he held you into him. 

“Been wantin’ to do that ever since I watched you kick that idiot’s ass at pool,” Joel mumbled as he broke away from you. Your eyes were glassy as you looked up at him, he was so close you could see all the crinkles around his eyes. 

“Do it again then,” You challenged, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. Joel didn’t need telling twice, he caught your bottom lip between his and sucked it into his mouth, nibbling as the hand at your neck moved up to cup your face. 

“You shouldn’t come home with me, I’m too old for you, puddin’”  he breathed into your mouth, laying another lingering kiss against your lips and breaking away to speak into the skin of your cheek, “But I want you to,” he said. There wasn’t an ounce of you that doubted him now, and his hand on your waist was greedily running over the dips and rolls you usually hated. His other hand had dropped to your hip, holding you steady.

“I want to,” You said to him through a smile. 

“You shouldn’t,” he responded, “You should be a good girl and go home,”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” You giggled, leaning your body into him, he supported your weight with his broad chest and as you spoke his hand at your waist caught your flesh tight in his grip while the hand at your hip dipped lower, grabbing the seat of your ass and pulling you flush against him. 

“You’re goin’ to regret that, puddin’,” Joel muttered, looking down into your eyes. You smiled at him and watched as the way he looked down at you turned from sweet and  almost loving,  into something like a predator stalking prey. In a swift motion he pulled back from you and bent slightly, lifting you at the waist and hauling you over his shoulder. 

“Joel! You cant-you’re going to hurt yourself,” You nearly shrieked, mortified at how hard it must have been to lift you. Joel let out a grunt and then a snort of laughter, 

“Yeah right, darlin.” He said, he didn’t even sound strained and you felt yourself melt a little. That was until he reached up and smacked your ass, hard. “You wanna come home with me? Lets get you home then,” he turned and started the other direction up the street. You dangled over his shoulder, his jacket practically hanging off of your arms and his arm wrapped around your thighs was the only thing that kept your dress from falling above your head. 

Joel walked all the way to his house with you over his shoulder, and even managed to get the front door open and you over the threshold before he bent to set you onto your feet. You had barely recovered from hanging over his back when his hands were on you again, pressing you back against the wall of his entryway. He kissed your lips but only briefly before he started to work his lips down your cheek, your chin, your jaw. You could feel the strength of his hands as he tightened them against your hips, keeping you pressed into the wall. His lips and stubble pressed into you. kissing prickly heat into your neck. The heat from his lips burned down your throat and into your stomach, melting you. Joel’s fingers found the sleeves of your dress and started to take them down. 

“God, I gotta see all of your pretty body, darlin’” he said into your neck. With a tug the dress pulled down. You had worn your favorite bra, a simple unlined cream colored one. There wasn’t much for sexy lingerie in Jackson but this one was relatively new, clean and had scalloped edges. Joel’s pulled back to let his eyes wander down your chest, “As pretty as this is,” he started, his finger tracing the edge of your bra along the curve of your ample breast. “Its comin’ off,” he finished before reaching around and unhooking it with deft, skilled fingers. He tugged it off of your arms and exposed your jiggling, heavy breasts. 

“Fuck, puddin’, look at these.” Joel’s cupped your tits, palms pressing into your hardening nipples. His fingers dug in, dimpling the soft skin of your breasts. You sighed at the feeling of him touching you, his pointer fingers slipped down and stroked around your nipples. The skin puckered even more and you pressed your chest forward, letting out a shy sigh. “That’s a good girl,” he breathed. He replaced his finger on one of your nipples with his mouth, kissing your areola and letting his tongue flutter around the pebbled tip of your nipple. His hands dropped to the hem of your dress and he started to ruck it up your body. You let out a little whine, putting your hand over his to make him pause,

“You…you don’t have to take that off,” You mumbled, as if giving him permission to keep you partially covered. You didn’t think he’d want to see your whole body. You felt like it might ruin his excitement if he saw your round belly and the way it moved and wiggled as you adjusted or breathed heavily. 

Joel stared at you like you were completely insane, “Oh babygirl, it’s comin’ off unless you tell me otherwise in three…” He tugged it up farther, the dress sliding up past your thighs to where your sex was covered by your simple underwear. “Two…” He continued to gather it in his fists, revealing the curve of your belly. You couldn’t find words to stop him. You  were shy about your naked body but Joel made you feel like he wanted to see you so you let him. “One,” The hem of the dress met the spot where he had tugged the bodice down to reveal your breasts and Joel gathered the whole thing in one loop of fabric around your body and tugged it up and off of your heads o you were bare except for your underwear in front of him. You immediately crossed your arms in front of your belly, instinctively wanting to hide it from him, even though you had let him strip you while you were standing in his entryway. 

Joel leaned in towards your, his lips hovering above yours as he looked down at you; one of his hands trailed down your arm and collected first your right wrist and then your left one in his big hand. In a fluid motion you weren’t expecting he lifted your wrists above your head and pressed them into the wall. 

“Don’t do that to me, puddin’, don’t hide yourself from me.” He breathed, you felt the warmth of his breath wash over your lips and you craved his mouth on yours again. You were leaning into him, trying to get to his lips but he didn’t indulge you; he pulled back enough so that he could look down your body, his hand still holding both your wrists above your head. You swallowed as his gaze lit on every inch of your body that you were most ashamed of, but instead of making you feel judged or uncomfortable, it only drove your lust deeper. The way Joel looked at you was with such appreciation, and a feral need. Joel growled as he looked you over, pressing your hands harder against the wall, keeping you there as he pressed his clothed body against your naked one. You wanted to get him undressed, you wanted to touch him and look at him the way he was looking at you but there was also something so vulgar and sexy about being naked while he stood in front of you completely clothed, appreciating your nudity. 

“Are you goin’ to be good and keep your hands away from your body? I don’t want ya coverin’ up again,” He said, the tip of his nose ran along the side of your nose, his lips just out of reach from yours. You nodded,

“Yes.” your voice was weak and strained with need. 

“That’s my good, pretty girl.” Joel’s lips twitched towards a smile while he spoke to you. Your body reacted to the words in a way that surprised you, you shivered, your nipples hardening even more, there was a rushing feeling in your lower tummy, slipping into your cunt. Joel removed his hand from your wrists, your hands dropped but you didn’t try to cover yourself again; instead you reached out and took his waist, pulling him close to you. Your brow furrowed in need as you looked up into his eyes. Joel stroked your cheek with the back of his fingers, “Can you keep being a good girl even if I get ya completely naked, puddin’?” He asked, his brown eyes focused on yours. You swallowed, trying to drown your own anxieties and fears because being naked for him sounded so good. You nodded. 

“I wanna hear you say you’ll be good for me,” He chastised, his eyes sparkling, teasing.. Waxy warmth continued to pool in your tummy and drip lower, making you feel like your pussy was melting into your underwear. 

“I can be good,” You let the words fall out before you could think twice about them.

“Atta girl,” and with that he eased down onto his knees, letting out a short groan as his knees creaked. You hadn’t been expecting him to be level with your pussy so quickly and you gasped as his fingers hooked into the sides of your panties and ripped them down without any level of ceremony. You resisted the urge to cover yourself, you felt so sure he would be disgusted by your pussy you didn’t want to give him the chance to see it but you reminded yourself that he really, actually thought you were beautiful. He had not been lying. He hadn’t been joking and if Joel Miller thought you were beautiful, it was clearly true. You kept your hands way from him as you felt his gaze move to your pussy,. 

“Lord help me, I’m fuckin’ lucky. She’s so fuckin’ pretty.” Joel’s words sounded like a prayer, half under his breath, half through a growl in his chest. You watched as his eyes examined you, his hands running up and down your trembling thighs, trying to sooth you. You felt tense until his eyes moved from your pussy in front of him, up into your eyes. You melted a little when you recognized the intense need behind his eyes. 

“Spread your legs, I need to see her more…fuck i need to taste her, darlin’” He informed you.  You felt your cunt clench at the words. No one had ever eaten you out before and the thought of it sent shivers down your spine. You worried internally that he would find it disgusting but he was on his knees in front of you, saying he wanted to so you took him at his word and stepped your feet apart more, looking down at him. His eyes fell again to your pussy, and his fingers crawled up your thighs until he was at the apex of your thighs.  His hand cupped your whole plush pussy in his hand, his thumb running up and down your slick slit. Joel let out a purr of approval as he felt your wetness. 

“There’s my girl,” He whispered, his voice sounded horse and you felt the wetness between your legs seep out against the ministrations of his thumb. “You’re drippin’, honey,” He told you, eyes flicking back up to your face. You let out a whine, embarrassed by how needy you were. You reached up and covered your face with your hand,

“Joel, it’s…it’s embarrassing,” You whined, your words sounded like they were stuck in your throat. 

“I know, sugar, but it’s so pretty. Aint nothin’ to be embarrassed about,” He pulled his hand away, as his thumb disconnected with your slit you watched in vague humiliation as a string of your wetness connected his thumb to your pussy lips. When it broke, Joel brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked the bit of your juices off of it. 

He let out a low moan in his chest, it bubbled up and seemed to overtake him. He grabbed one of your thighs and lifted it so you had to lean back against the wall to maintain your balance. Joel’s hand fixed under your knee and hooked your leg over his shoulder. You felt your pussy open more for him, your lips parting as Joel’s eyes roamed over you,

“There she is…” he breathed, the fingers of his other hand found your waiting pussy lips and stroked up and down. You squeaked out your pleasure as the pads of  his fingers grazed along your wetness and brushed your clit. Before you had recovered from that,Joel leaned forward and licked a stripe up your pussy. You gasped and tensed so much that you stood up on the tiptoes of your foot that was planted on the ground. 

“Oh my god! Joel!” You gasped and he tilted his head back to look up at you,

“Aint you ever had someone lick this pretty pussy?” He asked.  You mutely shook your head and his eyes softened and then he let out a chuckle, “Oh honey,” he said. “Let’s take her apart, yeah?” You nodded and his mouth moved back to your pussy, lapping at your wetness. 

One hand stayed on the underside of the leg wrapped around his shoulder, keeping you open for him and his other hand roamed up your thigh, to your belly. His tongue lavished first along each inner lip, teasing up towards your clit but never touching it, then down towards the source of your wetness. Your cunt clenched each time his tongue neared your entrance. The hand on your tummy pressed in, squeezing the flesh there, dimpling your skin and pressing you back. The acknowledgment of the chubbiness of your belly would have usually made you self conscious but the way his thumb rubbed along your skin and the way he squeezed it so possessively made your pussy gush even more. Your hand fell to the silver curls on his head and you grabbed them, not pulling him in, not pushing him back, just having something to anchor yourself there. 

You felt him hum and growl into your pussy, and it sent vibrations skittering through you. Joel’s tongue was an expert at pleasuring you, the second you felt like you needed more, he would lick up to your clit, still barely grazing it. The second you felt like you might be overwhelmed with pleasure, he would back off and plant slow, wet, languid kisses closer to your hole. Nothing had ever felt like this before. Nothing had given you this intense need. 

You fisted your fingers into his hair and it only spurred him on, his tongue moved back up to your clit and started to work over it in a tight pattern of circles, sweeping over it, working you up, up, up. 

“Come on, puddin’, you gonna come on my face?” he asked into the folds of your soaked pussy. You whined, holding his hair tighter. His fingers squeezed on your belly and your thick thigh, “I know you’re close, babygirl, I can feel it.” He said before putting all his attention on your clit again, this time sucking it into his mouth. You felt like you were about to black out when he added small nibbles to the mix. You saw black around your vision as Joel took you over the edge. Your orgasm overtook you very suddenly, dropping you off the cliff and making you throw your head back, smacking it against the wall. It didn’t matter though, nothing hurt, the pleasure coursing through you made you stand up on your toes again, pressing more of your weight onto Joel’s shoulder. But he held you steady, licking your clit through your orgasm. When he finally let you go, you dropped your leg from around his shoulder, you were about to apologize but it was like he could tell because he shut you up with a kiss, his mouth pressed into yours. You could taste yourself on him, heady and warm. 

“I need ya, babygirl,” He said into your mouth. “Gotta feel my girl wrapped around my cock,” He mumbled as his hands cupped your cheeks and held you up against him, his lips centimeters from yours. You nodded. 

“Yes, Joel, yes I need your cock,” You breathed into him and you felt his lips twitch into a smile. His hands moved to your arms and he grabbed them, turning you around towards the entryway to his living room. Your tummy jiggled a little at the sudden movement and your breasts swayed. You were now very aware of how naked you were and how fully clothed he was. Still holding your upper arms he leaned down behind you to whisper into your ear, 

“Be a good girl and help an old man out, go bend over the arm of the couch. Show off that ass,” He spanked your ass once to get you moving and, trembling, you went through the doorway into the living room. The couch arm was high enough that you could easily bend at the waist over it, using it to support yourself. You arched your back, hoping you were providing a sexy view of yourself but you worried so much about the way your hips widened and how if your ass looked too big sticking out like that. 

You heard Joel behind you, the jingled of a belt buckle and then the slide of a zipper. He moved behind you and you could feel the heat of him against you, rough denim against your soft skin. 

“I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven, baby, look at you!” Joel huffed out as his hands slid over your ample hips and cupped the thickness of your ass. You felt him pull at your asscheek so it spread slightly, showing off your pussy to him. “You’re so soft and pretty for me,” His hand traveled up your back and then back down to your ass, “And that delicious pussy peaking out for me, sayin’ hello.” His fingers slipped lower and stroked over your still soaking lips, pressing at your entrance, teasing it. You let out a moan. 

“You…you really think I look pretty like this?” You asked nervously, you couldn’t help it, you were trying to force yourself to believe it.  You looked back over your shoulder nervously, still trying to search for the joke. 

Joel moved his hand from your pussy and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you back so your head was pulled back and he leaned over your body to speak into your ears

“Yes.” He said. “Do you not believe it? Do you need me to show you how fuckin’ sexy I think you are?” he asked. Joel rutted his hips up against yours, you could feel his hardness against you, the bulge against his boxers, pressing into you. You gasped and nodded. “Alrigh’ darlin’ i’ll show ya,” He let go of your hair with a little push and you instinctively arched your back, showing yourself off to him. Joel’s hands moved to his boxers, tugging his big cock out. It slapped against your ass cheek and you gasped again. 

“You feel him, puddin’?” he asked, his hand wrapping around himself and rubbing it along your slit. “Think you can take all of him in that tight little thing?” He asked, he notched the bulbous head of his cock at the entrance of your cunt and you already felt him stretching you a little. Suddenly you weren’t so sure you could but you wanted it, badly. You nodded vigorously and he started to press his cock head into your twitching pussy. You let out a moan and his hands gripped your hips, pulling you back into him. “There’s a good girl, that feel good?” He asked. You couldn’t speak, you felt like you were drunk, he was splitting you open for him, carving out a space for himself in your cunt. You nodded again and his hand came down sharply on your asscheek, “Words, puddin’, lemme hear you ask for more  o’him in that…Jesus Christ…tight pussy.” He moaned out through gritted teeth. 

“Oh…god, please put more in me, Joel! Fill me up.” You could barely get the words out because you were seeing stars. Joel pressed himself in deeper and deeper until he bottomed out inside of you. You could feel his eyes glued to the place where your bodies connected, watching the way you wrapped so tightly around his cock. 

“You’ve got a bit of a filthy mouth,” He laughed.  “I wanna hear more of that,” The laugh turned to a growl as he dragged his hips back, the walls of your pussy contracting, trying desperately to keep Joel’s big dick inside of you. Joel rocked himself back into you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix, hitting a spot inside of you that tingled all throughout your body. 

“Fuck!” you moaned, “Joel! Don’t…don’t stop fucking me, please, please, I need your cock in me.” You moaned. Joel gave you exactly what you needed, pumping his cock in and out of you over and over, filling you up, stretching you for him. You could feel another orgasm building and it shocked you, another orgasm so soon and one caused just by his cock inside of you was unheard of for you. Your breathing was ragged as you pressed yourself back into him and he clamped his hands on your hips, guiding you back. 

“You want to come again, dont you?” Joel asked. 

“Yes! Yes! Please!” You moaned. 

“Yeah, I can feel you clenching on me.” His voice was stained, working towards his own release. “First you come on my face and now you wanna come on my dick?” he asked. You nodded again, your heart was hammering and all you wanted was to feel his release inside of you while you came all over his cock but you doubted Joel would be willing to come inside of you, it was too risky. Joel groaned again, his hips thrusting more sloppily into you, you could tell he was close to his own orgasm, he was chasing it desperately. You were so close, your legs were shaking, but then Joel had pulled out of you, his hand pumped over his cock twice and you felt ropes of his hot spend fall against your back and down your ass cheeks. Your pussy clenched on nothing, desperate for more. “Oh good girl, good fuckin’ girl,” He moaned, watching his own come spread across your back and ass. 

Joel didn’t forget that you had been practically begging for it, even as he came down from his own release he wrapped his arm around you, reaching between your legs and finding your clit, starting to stroke it with deftness that bordered on expertise.

“I wanna watch you come, puddin’,” His voice seemed to float to youfrom far away. You let out a weak moan and arched your back, his fingers worked tight circles around your clit while the fingers of his other hand replaced his cock in your pussy, two thick fingers working you open. 

“You gotta tell me when you’re going to come,” He breathed. Joel watched as his fingers fucked into you and you pressed yourself back. You could feel his come slipping down between your asscheeks and you longed for it inside of you. The fingers at your clit brushed over it again and again, sending you into a dizzying frenzy, incoherent moaning and babbling slipped from your lips. This orgasm came over you in a a steady sort of pulse that worked from you clit as he toyed with it into your cunt as he curled his fingers up, stroking the walls of your pussy.

“I’m…I’m coming!” you gasped out and Joel tugged his fingers out of your pussy. You gasped at the loss but his fingers on your clit still teased you through it, “Fuck, Joel!” You moaned, clenching on nothing, feeling his eyes on your pussy, eating up the look of your empty cunt begging for more. 

“Oh christ, darlin’ your pulsing for it.” He breathed and his words spurred your orgasm further, making you gasp and collapse forward against the couch. Joel’s hand slowly eased away from you and rubbed up your spine, catching his breath. You were wrecked and you could feel his come still trickling down your back, your orgasm had been so good but you found yourself still desperate to be full of his cock again already. Probably because he hadn’t even finger fucked you through your orgasm. There was the quiet sound of movement behind you and then footsteps. You didn’t want to get up because of the mess all down your back but before you had time to do anything, Joel came back and used a towel to wipe down your back and your ass. Joel reached down and helped you stand up, his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled your ample body against his, smushing you against him.

“Let’s get you to the bed before you start begging for my cock again,” He smirked and you giggled and hid your face in his shoulder,

“I can’t believe you actually-“

“Nuh-uh…none of that. Get your sweet ass to bed,” He said into your ear, his hands gliding over your curvy hips and down to your ass. “I stared at your ass the whole time you played eight ball with that idiot,” He said. “And I finally got to feel it.” You pulled back to look up at him, eyes shining. He squeezed your plump ass, “I do think you owe me a rematch in pool though,” Joel said with a smirk. 

“Okay but only if you also let me come on your cock next time,” You said even though your face heated up and you had to look away in embarrassment. Joel took your chin and forced you to look back at him,

“If you beat me, you can come on my cock. If you don’t…well, we’ll see.” His eyes sparkled and your  heart squeezed.

“Deal.”

[microlearningplatform]

The Forgetting Curve in Action: Why Traditional Training Fails and How to Fix It

The Forgetting Curve and Its Relevance for Trainers: How to Maximize Knowledge Retention

Introduction

One of the biggest challenges trainers and learning professionals face is ensuring that employees retain and apply what they learn. The Forgetting Curve, a concept introduced by German psychologist Hermann Ebbinghaus, highlights a harsh reality: people forget nearly 50% of newly learned information within an hour and up to 90% within a week if the learning is not reinforced.

This article explores the impact of the Forgetting Curve on corporate training and presents science-backed strategies to help trainers design programs that enhance retention and performance.

Understanding the Forgetting Curve

The Forgetting Curve visually represents the decline of memory retention over time. The steep drop in recall occurs because the brain prioritizes information it deems useful and discards the rest.

Why Does the Forgetting Curve Happen?

🔹 Lack of reinforcement – Without reviewing or applying knowledge, learners forget it quickly. 🔹 Information overload – Employees often receive too much content in a short time, making it difficult to retain. 🔹 Passive learning methods – Traditional lecture-based training lacks engagement, leading to lower retention. 🔹 No real-world application – If employees don’t apply what they learn, the brain doesn’t encode it as important.

The Impact of the Forgetting Curve on Training Programs

For trainers and L&D teams, the Forgetting Curve has serious implications:

🚨 Wasted Training Investment – Organizations spend millions on training programs, but if learners forget most of the content, ROI plummets. 🚨 Decreased Employee Performance – When employees can’t retain critical information, errors increase, and productivity suffers. 🚨 Compliance & Safety Risks – Forgetting key policies and procedures can lead to regulatory violations and safety hazards.

So, How Can Trainers Combat the Forgetting Curve?

To ensure long-term knowledge retention, trainers need to rethink how they deliver learning. The key lies in reinforcement, engagement, and personalization.

5 Proven Strategies to Overcome the Forgetting Curve

1. Implement Microlearning for Continuous Reinforcement

Microlearning—delivering short, focused learning modules—perfectly aligns with how the brain retains information. Instead of overwhelming employees with long training sessions, microlearning delivers content in small, digestible chunks over time.

✅ Why it works: Spaced, bite-sized learning strengthens memory recall and helps employees retain knowledge better. ✅ How to implement:

Use AI-powered microlearning platforms like MaxLearn to break down training into 2-5 minute lessons.

Deliver content in multiple formats, such as short videos, interactive quizzes, and infographics.

Ensure learners revisit key concepts at spaced intervals to reinforce knowledge.

2. Use Spaced Repetition to Strengthen Retention

Spaced repetition is a scientifically proven technique that involves reviewing learning material at increasing intervals over time. This resets the Forgetting Curve, reinforcing memory before it declines.

✅ Why it works: Helps the brain move information from short-term to long-term memory. ✅ How to implement:

Schedule follow-up quizzes at 1 day, 7 days, and 30 days after the initial training.

Use AI-driven adaptive learning to personalize review schedules based on individual performance.

Send automated knowledge reinforcement nudges via mobile apps or email.

3. Make Learning Interactive & Engaging

Active learning significantly improves retention compared to passive learning. Gamification, interactive content, and real-world scenarios keep learners engaged and improve recall.

✅ Why it works: Active participation improves focus, motivation, and knowledge application. ✅ How to implement:

Use gamified learning platforms with quizzes, badges, and leaderboards.

Create scenario-based simulations where employees practice real-world situations.

Encourage peer learning and collaboration through discussion forums or group challenges.

4. Leverage AI-Powered Adaptive Learning

AI-driven learning platforms can analyze learner behavior and deliver personalized reinforcement based on knowledge gaps.

✅ Why it works: AI ensures learners receive targeted support exactly when they need it. ✅ How to implement:

Use an AI-powered LMS like MaxLearn to track learner progress and adjust content dynamically.

Deliver automated quizzes that adapt in difficulty based on the learner’s performance.

Provide AI-driven content recommendations to strengthen weak areas.

5. Integrate Learning into the Flow of Work

Employees learn best when training is embedded into their daily workflow rather than being a separate event.

✅ Why it works: Learning in context ensures immediate application, reinforcing memory. ✅ How to implement:

Provide on-demand microlearning resources accessible via mobile devices.

Integrate learning reminders into collaboration tools like Slack or Microsoft Teams.

Offer real-time performance support tools, such as chatbots and digital job aids.

Case Study: Beating the Forgetting Curve with MaxLearn

Companies using MaxLearn’s AI-powered microlearning platform have reported higher knowledge retention and training effectiveness. By leveraging spaced repetition, adaptive learning, and gamification, organizations have:

✔ Increased retention rates by up to 80% ✔ Reduced training time by 50% while improving results ✔ Boosted employee engagement and performance

Conclusion: Training That Sticks

The Forgetting Curve presents a significant challenge for trainers, but with the right strategies, it can be overcome. By implementing microlearning, spaced repetition, AI-driven personalization, and in-the-flow learning, trainers can ensure that knowledge sticks—leading to better performance, higher ROI, and long-term success.

Ready to Defeat the Forgetting Curve?

Explore MaxLearn’s AI-powered microlearning platform and transform your training today! 🚀

[hederasgarden]

Eternal Devotion (3/3)

Summary: Months after your husband's untimely death, his presence lingers, haunting you in ways you never expected.  Pairing: Vampire!Friedrich Harding x Wife!Reader   Word Count: 6.6K  Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Angst, period typical sexism, creepy things, vampirism, blood, and sexual content. Not all themes are tagged. A/N:  The reader has always been Friedrich’s wife, Anna does not exist in this AU. Big thanks to @ryebecca, @otaku-girl-ao3, @whatblogisthis216 , @eremeldanin and @bellrose for their help with this fic.   Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ♡ Aaron Taylor Johnson Character Masterlist

"When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it." - Caitlyn Siehl 

In the quiet of your bedroom, you find yourself suddenly shy as you watch Friedrich move through the space you once shared as if he never left at all. He shrugs off his coat, untying his cravat and tosses it carelessly across the chair along with his gloves. When he sees you lingering in the doorway, a sweet, amused smile plays at the corners of his lips.

"Come here, my love," he calls softly, his hand reaching out, waiting for yours.

You step into his embrace, and he inhales deeply.

“You are a vision in red,” he whispers, trailing the back of his hand down your bare arm, the cool touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “And your smell,” he groans, “I have missed it.”

You turn your head, lips gliding over his cheek before finding his mouth. His hands slide to your waist, but he stays still, letting you guide the kiss. You moan and the sound seems to awaken something within him, the pressure on your sides increasing until it forces the air from your lungs painfully. In response, you curl your fingers into the rich fabric of his shirt, pushing against his chest. He doesn’t respond to your distress, his mouth moving hungrily over yours, his tongue ravenous for a taste of you.

Blood roars in your ears, and you sway on your feet, dizzy and desperate for air. When his mouth finally leaves yours, you gasp, your body sagging in his arms. Yet even then Friedrich does not seem to notice. He grasps the back of your neck tightly, his lips trailing down the curve of your jaw to brush the soft underside of your throat.

You whimper his name, and the sound seems to shake him from his fervor. He pulls back, his blue eyes shadowed in the flickering candlelight. You expect to find him breathless, undone, but his chest hardly rises with effort. 

“You afflict me so,” he murmurs, staring back at you. 

You’ve known Friedrich for more than half your life, every look, every gesture of his as familiar as your own, yet the expression on his face now is one you cannot place. Tentatively you touch the center of his chest and he shudders, passing a shaky hand over his mouth. He looks so pale and drained, and in that moment you feel foolish for forgetting all he’s done to return to you.

“You must be exhausted,” you say, withdrawing from him. “You should rest.”

Haltingly, as though it pains him, he nods in agreement. 

Together you help each other get ready for bed, slipping into the easy, comforting routine like no time has passed. Friedrich unlaces your corset and the feel of his cool fingers tracing the length of your spine sends a shiver through you. Once you are both undressed you slip under the covers together, and for the first time in nearly ten months, you fall into a deep, quiet slumber, wrapped in your husband’s arms. 

–

You wake in the morning to find the bed cool and empty beside you. Terror seizes your chest and for one awful moment, you fear that last night was nothing but a dream, your mind's desperate attempt to fill the unbearable emptiness inside you. You scramble from the bed, hands trembling as you search the room for any sign of him.

It’s then that you hear it, the low rumble of masculine laughter, followed by a giggle and a sharp squeal of delight from down the hall. Hastily, you slip into your morning robe, tightening it around your waist. The floor creaks beneath your feet as you make your way to your daughters’ bedroom. There, Friedrich sits on the floor, surrounded by their scattered toys, your youngest in his lap, her laughter rising and falling with each flurry of kisses he presses to her face. Your oldest clings to his back, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her giggles mixing with her sister’s joy.

"I fear we have woken your mother," Friedrich mock-whispers to them playfully.

"It was a pleasing way to wake," you assure him, crossing the room to open the curtains and let in the bright morning light.

"No, Mama!" your youngest cries, her shriek of alarm halting you in your tracks. She tugs at your hand with both of hers.

"You mustn't let the light in," your oldest adds, breathless with urgency.

Perplexed, you glance at Friedrich, but he simply raises his brow. Seeing the serious look in your children's eyes, you realize whatever game they’re playing must be more important to them than you’d first thought.

“Alright, alright,” you relent, allowing your daughter to pull you away from the windows and towards Friedrich. 

He’s quick to pull you down to sit in his lap. One of his hands rests on your thigh, while the other rubs soothing circles on your hip. Together, you watch your children, their sweet faces so unburden and happy as they dart from one end of the room to the other. They are breathless with energy. 

“Mama, I am hungry,” your youngest announces. 

“Must we go downstairs to eat? I want Papa to stay here with us!” your eldest whines.

"Perhaps we should take our breakfast here then," you suggest with a mischievous smile, glancing behind you at Friedrich. "They seem quite intent on their game."

“My love,” he protests. “You would have us eat on the floor, like some…bohemians?” he asks, scandalized by the very thought. 

You bite your bottom lip, struggling to hold back the smile that threatens to break through. For a man so concerned with propriety and restraint, your husband showed remarkably little of either when it came to his desire for you. It’s almost amusing that breakfast in your rooms seems to be where he draws the line.

"Oh yes, please, Papa, can we?" your daughters beg, their eyes wide with excitement.

Friedrich looks between you and the children before letting out a short, incredulous laugh. "We are civilized people, not some…wandering artists!”

“It is just for today,” you promise him, hoping to sway him with the softness of your voice.

The tension in his face eases and before he speaks you know you’ve won. With a resigned sigh he says, “You know I cannot deny you anything.”

The children cheer, moving to arrange cushions and blankets around them, boundless in their joy. The rest of the day is spent lounging in their rooms and enjoying the assortment of food brought by the servants. You feel a deep sense of contentment and safety, your head resting on Friedrich’s shoulder as you watch your daughters spring across the room, performing a dizzying, convoluted play just for the two of you.

When dusk settles you withdraw from him reluctantly, all too aware the real world awaits you. 

“We should prepare for dinner,” you say. “My parents will arrive soon.”

“I sent word to them this morning to cancel.” He glances at you before returning his attention back to your children.

You look up at him, surprised. “I know you are…unhappy with my father,” you begin, but he cuts you off with a sharp look.

“That is a matter I will address with him myself,” he says, the abrupt shift in his tone making it clear the discussion is closed. When you draw away from him, surprised, his features soften into something more familiar and kind. He squeezes your waist reassuringly. “For now,” he continues, “I simply want to spend time with my wife and children, without distraction. They can come in a week's time. Perhaps two.”

"Of course," you agree, your heart lifting. 

You want nothing more than to hide away with your family, away from the prying eyes of the outside world. Friedrich sighs, tracing the line of your jaw with his thumb before urging you to share a sweet, lingering kiss with him.

–

The weeks that follow are some of the happiest of your life. 

Despite the very real demands of Friedrich’s work and the countless matters that require his attention to set right everything left undone during his absence, he gives you and the girls his full attention during the day. Every one of their whims is indulged with patience and tenderness. He is rarely far from you, his presence a steady comfort, except in the evenings when he retreats to his office to bury himself in his work. It feels like the best kind of dream, one you never want to wake from.

Yet, as the days pass, you can’t help but notice how your time apart has changed him. Most of them are small, almost unnoticeable oddities that you assume must be from all he’s endured to return to you. But then there are the other changes, the ones that loom larger and give you pause. The servants whisper about them in hushed tones, their concern barely concealed. Your parents notice it too when they come for dinner, nearly two weeks after their original visit was postponed. Their eyes linger on Friedrich, an unspoken disquiet in their gaze that they don’t quite manage to hide.

“It is rather...dim in here,” your mother remarks politely, her gaze shifting past you to the drawn curtains of the dining room. 

The heavy fabrics keep out the last remnants of daylight and candlelight illuminates the room, casting shadows on the walls. The servants keep them burning constantly, there’s no other choice with the sun so often shut out at your husband’s request.

"The sunlight hurts my eyes," Friedrich replies as he pushes a fork idly around his plate, the food barely touched. 

You glance at your father, whose attention is fixed on your husband, a quiet scrutiny in his gaze.

“He spent so long below deck in the ship's hold," you explain. “The doctors said it would take time to adjust.”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” your mother says, though there’s something in the way she says it that suggests she’s not quite as convinced. “And the children do not mind?”

Friedrich tenses, the hand resting on the table curling into a fist. You’re quick to cover it with your own. He exhales, the tension leaving his body in a slow release. Beneath your touch, his fist gradually unfurls, and he turns his hand palm up, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“No,” you tell your mother. 

Truthfully you had worried how the children would react to the near-perpetual dimness at first, but they seemed to adjust to it with surprising ease. Now, the shadowed corners of your home no longer faze them though you make a special effort to take them outside, letting them soak up the sunlight.

“That is good,” your mother replies earnestly before falling silent.

You’re thankful for your daughters, whose sweet voices fill the silence with excited chatter. It should be comforting to speak with your mother and children, but you’re all too aware of the quiet tension between your husband and father. Neither man seems at ease. In the past, your father and Friedrich were always polite to each other — respectful, but never truly friendly.

It’s almost a relief when the meal finally comes to an end and the servants begin clearing the dishes. You don’t comment on how little Friedrich has eaten. Each time you’ve brought it up in the past, he’s dismissed your concerns with a firm response that leaves no room for further discussion.

As you begin gathering the children and preparing them for bed, Friedrich invites your father to join him for a nightcap and a smoke in his office. You exchange a quick look with your mother, her concern clearly reflected in your own.

“We will not be long,” Friedrich promises, bringing your knuckles to his cool lips. “Go, take your mother.”

Getting the children settled turns out to be more difficult than you anticipate, and you find yourself half distracted through most of it, your mind lingering on what might be happening downstairs.  By the time you finally make your way back to the foyer, Friedrich’s office door is still firmly shut. You pause, straining to hear any sounds coming from inside, but all you’re met with is silence.

Your mother shifts beside you, fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve before clearing her throat.

“How are things since Friedrich’s return?” she inquires. “He seems…much changed.”

The question catches you off guard and for a moment, you're silent. You sense the weight behind her words, the quiet invitation to reveal your own fears, and you hesitate — afraid your worries will spill over into something you’re not ready to share. She already seems heavy with concern, and the last thing you want is to add to that.

"He is still our Friedrich," you reply. "He is merely adjusting after his illness.”

“Of course,” she concedes. She steps closer, her hands covering yours as her worried gaze meets your. “And how are you, my darling girl?”

"I am so happy he returned to us," you tell her with an honest smile. "I was lost without him...so scared, so alone. His absence —" You falter, the grief you thought had faded surging up again. Tears prick your eyes at the thought and you touch your chest, as if to stem the tide of emotions. "I-I could not survive losing him again.”

“You will not,” your mother assures you quickly. She squeezes your hands with a strength that grounds you. You nod, the truth of her words sinking in — Friedrich is here, and he will not leave you again.

She opens her mouth to say more, but the sound of a door creaking open has you both turning. Friedrich emerges first, a cigarette dangling loosely between the fingers that holds a glass of brandy. Smoke curls around him as he steps into the dim hallway, his expression unreadable in the low light. Your father slips past, giving him a wide berth. There’s something deeply off about his demeanor and you can see it in his eyes, a flicker of something uneasy, something wrong that he’s trying to hide.

“I believe we understand one another now,” Friedrich remarks.

“Yes,” your father says, his voice clipped and curt. He doesn't even look at you, his focus firmly on the door as he urges your mother to follow him. “We will bid you both a good night now.”

You take a step forward, but hesitate, confused by the abruptness of their departure. You turn to Friedrich and ask, "Did something happen?"

"It is nothing for you to worry over," he assures you, drawing you into his side. When his lips find yours the kiss is deeper than usual, the bitter edge of the smoke mixing with the warmth of the liquor. 

“Are the children asleep?” he asks once you part.

“Yes.”

“That is good,” he replies, brushing his knuckle over your cheek. His thumb lingers, stroking your skin as he watches you. You stare back at him in return, sensing a subtle shift in his mood. His gaze moves behind you, toward the door.

“Shall I fetch your coat?” you ask, wondering if he needs to take one of his solitary walks.

“You know me so well, my love,” he praises, his expression filled with affection as you gather his coat for him. 

You’ve grown accustomed to these late-night walks, the way he slips out after dusk when the pale glow of the gas lamps casts long shadows on the street. He’s never gone long, and when he comes back to you, he seems more settled. The color and life return to his face, though it fades again almost as quickly as it came. You wonder if it’s the quiet of the night that soothes him, that elusive solitude that's absent with the presence of you and the children. After so long spent in the depths of that ship, returning to a life so full of people and sound must be a struggle.

You’re not sure how long you stand in the foyer after he departs, lost in thought, the steady ticking of the grandfather clock the only sound breaking the silence. Eventually Kerstin appears. She pulls you back to reality with a tentative hand on your shoulder.

“Do you wish to retire for the evening?” she asks. 

“Yes. I suppose I should go,” you remark. 

Kerstin helps you undress in Friedrich’s absence, her quiet presence a small comfort as she tends to the fire in the hearth, stoking it until the flames crackle and cast a soft, yellow glow across the room. While she works your mind drifts to the unsettling events of dinner and your father’s odd behavior. It’s hard to feel settled without Friedrich beside you so you wait, lost in the silence of the room, for his return.  

The floor creaks outside the door and you turn instinctively. Friedrich enters, offering you a brief, fleeting smile. The tension in your chest abates, comforted by his presence. He sheds his clothes, layer by layer, until only his pants and a white shirt remain before climbing into bed beside you.

“Good night, my love,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your brow.

Disappointment settles like a stone in your heart when he turns on his side, curling his body protectively around yours and falls still. It has been the same every night since his return. A kiss and nothing more. Even on the evenings that turn passionate, he stops before his touch can dip into what you truly desire. You find yourself wondering what it is you've done wrong, what has changed. During the day, he seems happy, content even, and yet there’s a quiet weight that steals the joy you should feel. Friedrich has returned to you, and that should be enough, shouldn’t it? 

You try to remind yourself of that each time the insecurity surfaces. Tonight it’s harder to remember that, especially when your thoughts return to one of the last conversations you had with Friedrich before he left. You were lying in this very bed, your bodies intertwined, sweat cooling on your skin as you traded lazy kisses. Even now you can recall the warmth of his hands on your skin, the way your bodies had fit together so perfectly. 

“Perhaps when I return, you will be with child,” he had murmured softly against your lips.

The thought made your heart swell in your chest. “A son,” you had breathed, watching as the thought spread across his face, his eyes lighting up with something deeper than desire.

But that dream slipped away before you even knew you lost him. 

You let loose a pained sigh, your hand falling to your stomach to brush the soft fabric of your nightgown. Behind you the bed shifts and you feel Friedrich’s hand on your shoulder, firm but gentle, guiding you onto your back as he stares down at you.

“What ails you?” He questions, his face filled with concern.

“It is nothing,” you assure him, watching his expressive brows draw together and then smooth. 

“I—” you begin, faltering before forcing yourself to continue. “You have been so different lately. You do not touch me as you used to and I thought, perhaps, after you returned that you would want to try again for a child. A son.” 

Friedrich pulls back as if you’ve struck him, his lips parting in a sharp, quiet breath. The look of raw pain that crosses his face has you reaching for him, confused and alarmed, but he’s already on his feet, moving away from you with a speed that shocks you. He claws at the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric between bone white fingers.  

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head, as though your words have wounded him somehow, piercing something fragile within him.

“My love, please. What is it?” you ask, reaching for him again. 

He opens his mouth as though to speak, but the words seem to catch in his throat. Without another sound, he turns sharply, his movements jerky as he crosses the room. 

Your voice is a broken plea as you call his name, but he doesn’t turn back, doesn’t acknowledge you. His posture is rigid, his back tense, but there's a tremor in the hand that settles on the door. For a brief moment you think he might return to you until he steps through the door, closing it behind him. You remain frozen, your mind reeling in confusion at the fast turn of events. 

The urge to follow him is so strong that you nearly rise from the bed, your body already halfway to the floor before you force yourself to stay. Fights were a rare occurrence in your marriage but if you’ve upset Friedrich it would be wise to give him space. So you stay, lost in your thoughts until your eyelids grow heavy and the constant buzzing of your mind slows to a dull hum. The night slips away unnoticed, the world around you fading as you drift into a fitful slumber.

When you wake again, anxious and adrift, you find Friedrich has returned. You almost don’t see him at first. His figure is barely visible, sitting in the shadowed chair before the fireplace where only embers remain, their warmth lost long ago. 

"I shall never have a son," he says hoarsely, a quiet, unsettling stillness about him. “Nor a daughter."

Your legs slip from the bed, your bare feet barely touching the cold floor when he speaks again. 

“Come no closer,” he growls. The strength behind his words rattles your chest, echoing in your mind, pinning you in place.

“You are frightening me, Friedrich,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

"I have not even begun to frighten you, my love," he says softly, the sorrow in his tone settling like a shadow over you. “I thought if I kept pretending,” he begins as if speaking to himself, “things could be like they were before. That you could have me back as I was.”

Even though you don’t understand his words, they stir a quiet unease in you. You want to reach out to him, but the way he holds himself keeps you still.

“But you’re here now. With us,” you remind him softly. “Just as it should be.”

Friedrich doesn't respond, and the silence stretches out, your heart beating painfully in your chest. You wait, watching him, wondering if he’s even heard you. 

Then, finally, he speaks. 

"I died. Though not in the way you imagined,” he begins, his words low and strained. “When Ellen and I found Thomas...it was too late. For all of us.” His eyes flutter, and for the first time since he began speaking, he looks away from you. “When I woke, I was not the same.”

You wait for him to continue, to explain but he only stares at the floor with an empty expression. “You are still my Friedrich,” you assure him, taking a tentative step forward.

His eyes snap back to you, dark and unblinking and you see a rawness to him, a hunger in his gaze, as if something inside him is clawing to get free. Something that would consume him if he let it. He rises from the chair and the shadows cast by the faint light remaining in the room stretch behind him, making him seem almost monstrous. Slowly, hypnotically, he moves towards the bed, his steps soundless. 

“Ellen was not mad. What haunted her was real,” he says. “And now, he has made me like him.”

The memory of Ellen’s terror surges to the forefront of your mind. Her frantic muttering, the words tumbling out in a panic about the demon that pursued her. You think of Professor von Franz’s wild claims she was haunted by a vampyre. Those ridiculous accusations had been the catalyst that finally pushed Friedrich to agree to what Ellen had desperately begged him to do — return her to Thomas.

You shake your head to deny the absurdity of your husband’s confession. But deep down, a part of you already knows the truth. It’s been there all along, quietly accumulating like a slow, inevitable tide with each subtle shift and unspoken change you noticed and ignored since his return. There is a fundamental, irrevocable rupture in the essence of your husband, a hunger that has transformed him into something unrecognizable. 

A vampyre. 

The word lingers in your mind, its weight sinking deeper with each passing moment. You think of your children, your eyes instinctively drifting to the wall that separates your room from theirs, a barrier that suddenly feels so thin and fragile. Your pulse quickens, and the air grows heavier.

Friedrich seems to sense your thoughts before you can voice them.

"I could never harm them," he says so steadily and sincerely that it leaves no room for doubt.  

You stiffen when his fingertips brush over your jaw, the coldness so stark that you don’t understand how you never noticed it before. You want to retreat from his touch but you feel rooted to the floor, some force beyond your control anchoring you in place.

"It was always you I could not resist," he admits, his words thick with desire.

As his fingers trail down the side of your neck, the sensation sharpens a memory deep within you. Fragments of your dreams begin to slip into focus, flooding back with startling clarity, almost overwhelming in their intensity. The flash of sharp teeth beneath his mustache, the scent of blood in the air. The mix of pain and pleasure. 

"They were not dreams," you whisper.

“No,” he replies, his hand resting against the side of your throat, seeking out the ache that has never quite faded. 

His confession frightens you, your mind struggling to reconcile the man you love with the creature standing before you. Yet even as you turn from him, overwhelmed with terror, there’s another part of you — one that loves him so completely, so unconditionally — that pulls you back toward him. The longer his fingers linger at your throat, the harder it becomes to tell where love ends and fear begins.

"You must know, I never intended to remain," he admits. "I only wanted to see you...and the children, just once more. To smell their hair and kiss their sweet faces." His gaze falters, a deep sorrow flickering in the depths of his eyes. "They looked so innocent, so pure...but I knew they would be well. They had you."

He moves closer, his chest hovering just inches from yours, a space that would have been filled with breath if he were still capable of it. But instead, he remains unnervingly still.

"Then I found you here," he continues, his words soft and haunting, "in this bed, so lost in grief. You were dreaming, and you whispered my name. You called for me, and in that moment...I could not leave you. I could not bring myself to walk away." 

Tears shimmer in his eyes, his emotions raw and vulnerable. You never expected to see your own grief mirrored in his face. The sight twists like a knife through your chest, an unbearable ache.

“That is my greatest sin, my love,” he whispers, his voice breaking with the weight of his confession. "That I could not let you go.”

The desire to comfort him and ease his grief compels you to act, but you find yourself frozen — locked inside your body, unable to move, to speak, to do anything more than listen as he continues. 

“I thought I would be content to simply watch, but then your father…” His words twist, and that monstrous intent you had glimpsed before surges between you, fierce and ravenous, filling the space between you. “He intended to barter you off to those vile men. I could not — would not — let that happen.”

Your stomach heaves at the implications of his words. You want him to stop speaking, to unburden you of this awful knowledge but he presses forward, relentlessly even as the first of your tears begin to fall. 

“Do not weep for those loathsome creatures, my love,” he says, his gaze hardening. “They would have hurt you. Hurt our children.”

You shake your head as if that very motion might change the truth of his words. “You killed them,” you whisper, horrified. 

“Yes.” 

There is no shame in his voice, no regret in the familiar blue eyes that meet yours — only the overwhelming weight of his devotion, so thick it feels like it could crush you. You take a half step back, the solid wood of the bedpost halting your retreat. Friedrich moves forward, closing the distance between you with unsettling ease, trapping you with his body. Fear tightens in your stomach, squeezing the breath from your lungs. 

“It was but a simple thing to take their lives,” he whispers, his hands framing your hips. 

A shiver runs through him as he presses his cheek to yours. His touch is so familiar that your body reacts before your mind, instinctively leaning into him even as fear urges you to pull away. His lips trail from your cheek to somewhere lower and you flinch, gasping in short, panicked breaths. You can feel the wild flutter of your pulse that he seeks out. 

“Will you take my life too?” The question escapes before you can stop it, fear clinging to every syllable.

Friedrich recoils from you, the weight of his presence receding, and you inhale shakily, as if the space between you can finally fill with air again. His posture shifts, and the sharpness in his expression softens. You stare at him, and for a fleeting moment, he feels familiar again — your Friedrich once more. 

“No,” he replies anguished, the mere idea of what you’ve asked unfathomable to him. “You are my wife,” he says, as if that alone is all the answer you need.  

In the silence that follows he studies your face, searching for something — some sign that you know not how to give him. 

"I never meant for it to be like this,” he whispers. He takes a small step back, his gaze lowering, filled with a deep, agonizing regret. "I should have let you go.” His hands clench and unclench at his sides, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He hesitates, and then, almost too quietly, as if the admission is one he can hardly bear, he murmurs, “I must leave.”  

When he looks up again his expression is devoid of any emotion. “I shall ensure your well-being, and see to it the children are provided for.” He speaks as though he is very far away, his tone is calm, distant. “You will not need to remarry for the sake of security."

The thought of losing him again wrenches something from deep inside you. For all the darkness in him, for the monstrous thing that lives beneath his skin, you realize that the idea of life without him is a void you could not survive again. You can’t breathe, can’t think beyond the sudden, crushing terror. 

“No,” you sob, the mix of fear, desire, and love so tightly wound together that you can no longer distinguish one from the other. You move towards him, your steps unsteady, as though the very ground beneath you is crumbling. “You cannot leave me. Not again.”

“Do not," he pleads, stepping back just out of reach, his voice thick with desperation. "I have not the resolve to deny you."

"You are my husband," you remind him, tearfully. "You made a vow to me."

"Till death," he answers, his grip tightening around your hands, halting your frantic reach for him. "But I no longer live."

“I care not,” you tell him, the weight of your love for him, your need to have him here with you the only thing that matters. The thought of losing him again is unbearable. It twists you with desperation, a wild, consuming need, and in this moment of painful clarity, you finally understand why he stayed, why he endured the torment of his own nature – all for you and your daughters. 

“We can make a new vow,” you urge desperately, pushing aside the turmoil within. You should be repulsed by what he's become. But something deeper pulls at you, a love so fierce and unyielding it overrides every ounce of logic. You love him too much to let go.

Friedrich watches you then, his gaze full of hunger and pain, and you know that he’s fighting himself, fighting his love for you. The very same battle raging within you.

“You do not know me any longer,” he replies. "I know you,” you insist. “You are the man who has tended to our daughters with such devotion since his return. His love for them is as steadfast as the love he bears for me. A man who has always upheld his marriage vow, to protect and cherish me.”

He shakes his head but it is a halfhearted denial. 

“I love you, Friedrich,” you whisper. “Please.”

The words have hardly left you when his lips are on yours, his hands grasping desperately for you. He pushes you towards the bed, his body enveloping yours when he presses you into the mattress. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close. The relief you feel is a heavy, wondrous thing and you part your lips, allowing his tongue to sweep into your mouth. 

A whimper slips from you when he pulls away, but he’s quick to quiet you. He grips your nightgown with both hands and wrenches it apart to bare your body to his heated gaze. He kisses each breast, taking a nipple in his mouth, his tongue circling it until it grows hard and achy before paying the same attention to the other. 

His mouth trails lower, down your soft stomach, tenderly kissing each line and mark left from carrying his children. When he reaches the soft tufts of hair that hide one of his favorite parts of you he inhales deeply. He uses two fingers to spread you open, his tongue seeking out the delicate bundle of nerves. Your eyes close and you clutch a fistful of his curly hair, pulling it urgently, needing him even closer.

Friedrich knows your body intimately and as he worships between your thighs your voice grows louder, a hunger stirring low in your belly. Your hips rise and fall, meeting his mouth, crying in delight when he gently works a finger inside. 

“I shall never grow tired of the taste of you…your warmth,” he praises, slipping a second finger beside the first. 

He curls them, moving like a relentless wave upon the shore, steady and rhythmic. When his thumb circles your bud with tender attention you grasp the bedsheets and groan. You feel so close, every muscle in your body pulled tight in anticipation of release. The bed shifts and you feel Friedrich’s lips brush down your inner thigh as his fingers continue their steady work. 

“Come for me,” he commands, an unsettling current under his words that your body can’t help but obey. 

You peak with his name on your lips, louder and more wanton than you’ve ever been. As your orgasm washes through you, a faint pulse of pain threads beneath the euphoria, blending with the sensation in a tangled, confusing mix. You realize then Friedrich’s feeding from you, his teeth sinking into the tender skin of your inner thigh to draw more than pleasure from you. His fingers still work within you and you watch through half-lidded eyes as he drinks until your vision grows hazy and unfocused.

When you open your eyes again he’s shed his clothes, the coolness of his naked flesh sending a shiver through you. The two of you share a sweet, lingering kiss and he pulls back, staring down at you. Your eyes are drawn to the wound on his chest, a jagged mark left by the creature. Tentatively, you raise your hand, watching his face as you reach for it. He doesn’t stop you, but his chest rises and falls sharply, a long-forgotten reflex in anticipation of your touch. 

You brush your fingers over his torn skin and he shudders when your lips follow, offering him acceptance and benediction the only way you know how. He whispers your name and your thighs part in welcome. There’s no pain as he slips inside, just that familiar ache you’ve been craving. You gaze up at him in the dim light, watching his blue eyes shimmer with a flash of silver that fades and returns with each roll of his hips. 

His eyes close when you wrap a leg around his hip, urging him to reach deeper inside you. After all this time, you need more from him, all the passion and desire he’s trembling with the effort to hold back. Your heart has made its choice, binding itself to him in a way that transcends fear, desire, and everything else and you want him to know that.  

“It is okay, my love,” you urge, baring your throat to him. 

Your words cause his pace to falter and he stares at you with a deep crease in his brow. “No,” he says with a shake of his head. 

“I want you. All of you,” you assure him. 

Friedrich’s lips part, curling up to reveal teeth sharper than you remember. In a blink he lunges forward, his chest pressing into yours as his mouth seals over the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder. Your skin gives way under his teeth, and a deep growl resonates in his throat. His hips drive into you hard enough for the bed to creak dangerously and you wrap your arms around him, holding on until your limbs become too heavy.

There’s no fear in this moment, only immense, indescribable pleasure. You smile at him as he pulls away, the coolness of his breath still lingering on your skin. His tongue flicks over a stray drop of your blood at the corner of his mouth, the motion slow and deliberate, almost reverent, as though savoring every bit of you. The sight sends an unexpected jolt of desire through you, as intoxicating as it is unsettling.

You moan beneath him, digging your nails into his biceps when he pulls your knees to your chest. It hurts in the best way possible and you share a messy, coppery kiss as he groans into your mouth, the sounds of his desperate desire enough to herald your own end. Every part of your body hums with pleasure, except for the sharp sting in your neck. 

You touch the torn skin gingerly, the sluggish flow of your blood surely staining the sheets beneath you. Friedrich brings your fingers to his lips, cleaning them with his tongue. Then he brings his thumb to his mouth, puncturing the skin. Dark red blood wells up from the wound, and you watch breathlessly as he traces the bite mark on your throat. Your skin tingles and you look questioningly at him.

“There will be no mark,” he assures you.

Cautiously you touch your throat, finding only smooth, unblemished skin. You look up at him in amazement.

“I do not deserve such a look,” he says. “I am a monster.”

“You are my Friedrich,” you reply, echoing the words you spoke earlier, your hands gently cradling his face.

Your thumbs stroke his skin, taking in the familiar way his eyes crinkle as he smiles down at you, his gaze filled with adoration. He rests his forehead against yours, and you smile wider than before, the joy you feel almost too much to bear.

Even now, with everything that has come to light, your love for him remains unshaken. He is woven into the very fabric of your soul, as much a part of you as the blood that courses through your veins. No matter what comes next, your love for Friedrich will endure. The bond between you is eternal, transcending time and even the boundaries of life itself. 

♡

Thank you all so much for reading this series! I had a bit of a tough time with the ending, so I really hope you enjoyed it. Your thoughts and feedback mean everything to me, so feel free to leave a comment, reblog, or send an ask if you’d like!

[lay-z]

I wrote this at work. Yes, I might be a secretary and personal assistant. Unfortunately, I do not work for Captain Price or TF-141...*sobs quietly* It's a little filthy. Minors DNI.  – 18+ Only! I might write more. Pairing: civvie!f!reader x Captain John Price (for now)

Warnings/Info: Personal assistant/secretary reader; flirting; age gap; restraints; orgasm denial; fingering; semi-public sex (I guess?); boss/employee dynamic

Landing the job as Captain Price’s personal assistant and secretary came as a total surprise to you – personally. To Captain Price, it was a no-brainer.

Speaking multiple languages, being discreet and introverted by nature and yet experiencing the constant craving for more adventure, variety and independence in your life, made you the absolute perfect fit. Furthermore, you were more than willing to leave your civilian life behind and move to the military base in the UK, where the TF-141 HQ is located. More plus points, because your work ethic is based on tidiness, determination and a no-bullshit attitude.

Work is easy enough for you; you help with translations, organise meetings, briefings and debriefings, help the Captain with his appointments, and more – typical personal assistant and secretary work.

Your work relationship with Price is based on mutual respect and it’s comfortable enough; he is nice to you, always polite, and makes sure you always know how much he appreciates your work.

One late Friday evening, while you’re still engrossed in a particularly difficult and, more specifically, classified transcript, Captain Price approaches you at your desk in your own office space, and you don’t even notice him, until he clears his throat loudly.

“Working late again, lass?” He asks you with that gruff, deep voice of his, and you can practically hear the slightly accusatory undertone in his voice. Price never likes it when you work unnecessary extra hours.

“Yes, sir. I just want to finish translating this transcript for you, so you’ll have it for the briefing on Monday morning,” you reply with a sheepish smile, leaning back in your office chair to stretch your back. You do catch the way his deep blue eyes roam over your outstretched form, albeit briefly, and Price notices how the buttons of your olive green blouse nearly pop open as the soft fabric strains over your ample breasts and how your curves look in that position, covered and accentuated by that tight black pencil skirt you like to wear at work.

“Fine,” the Captain responses gruffly, caving in immediately, because he appreciates the effort you put in your work.

“But if yer boyfriend shows up at HQ one day, trying to murder me for keeping you away from home all the bloody time, I’m not responsible for what might happen to him.” He adds good-naturedly, shooting you one of those rare, cheeky smiles of his.

“Ach, don’t worry, Captain,” you retort with a mock scoff, waving him off in a playfully dismissive manner – one only you’re allowed to display, because after working closely with Price and the rest of the 141 for over half a year, you’ve developed a sort of light-hearted friendship with all of them.

“There’s no one waiting for me at home anyway.” You admit fleetingly and when Price doesn’t comment on that little insight you’ve just given him on your personal life, he does look rather contemplative. He lets out a small huff.

“Aye, then,” he eventually says with a curt nod after a few beats of oddly tense silence between you two. “Don’t forget to lock up again once ye’re done, lass.”

Then he turns on his heavy combat boots, shaking his head while muttering something unintelligible under his breath as he leaves your office again, and suddenly, you can’t shake the feeling that you might’ve just made a huge mistake.

By Monday, you’ve all but forgotten about that interaction between your boss and yourself.

However, it doesn’t take long for you to notice the subtle changes in the work dynamic you’d carefully established with Captain Price over the past six months.

After bringing him his morning coffee – something you’ve more or less insisted on doing once you started working for him, because you’re nice and you enjoy doing little gestures for people you genuinely like – the Captain stops you in your tracks, before you can leave his office again.

“Aye, lass?” He calls after you, not looking up from the report he is currently working on as he sits behind his large and cluttered mahogany desk.

“Yes, Captain?”

You can see him hesitate for the briefest moment as his jaw works and clenches beneath his thick sideburns.

“Just call me John, yes? No need for formalities when we’re alone.” He tells you, still not making eye contact with you as you practically gape at him for a few seconds, unsure how to process the sudden and new privilege. Your eyelashes flutter briefly as you finally nod, though he’s still not looking at you and thus not seeing the slight smile now plastered on your lips.

“Yes, Ca – uh, John.”

As you step outside his office eventually, closing the heavy door behind you as you leave, you miss the sly yet pleased smirk that suddenly plays on the Captain’s lips.

And suddenly, Captain Price – John – who’s previously always been very considerate of your time on and off work and the boundary between your work life and privacy, becomes more present in your life and demanding of your attention than any ex-boyfriend of yours has ever been.

It starts with needing your help – a lot – with tasks and chores he’d never needed nor asked for your help before, like sorting and filing reports inside his office, while he himself is present.

At first, you’re just working alongside each other, going about your tasks, but once you notice him silently sipping his coffee, watching you, while you’re organising some old files and reports, you start to become suspicious.

“You used to always do this yourself, John,” you remark bluntly at some point after feeling his intense eyes on you for minutes on end, categorizing a pile of reports by date and classification, while he’s leaning back in his office chair, chewing on a cigar.

“Didn’t want me to mess with your work routine at all.” You add with a soft huff.

“True that, but see,” Price retorts nonchalantly. “I’ve come to terms with the fact that ye’re better at it anyway. Plus, I like to have ye around, darling. Helps keeping me sane.” He tells you with a low, rumbling chuckle – one that makes a sudden tingle run down your spine at his blunt admission.

“Yeah…right.” You scoff in return, keeping your back turned towards him as a hot blush creeps up your neck, tinting your cheeks red.

After the lingering gazes and cheeky comments, come the pet names and then the random gifts and then...the touches, and soon you find yourself in a whole new dynamic at work.

Your lips are shut tightly with only the occasional shaky and shallow breath blurting past them – because more is not allowed when John is in a work call.

With your back pressed flush against his broad chest, wrists tied together behind your back with a shoelace of a combat boot and your thighs spread wide apart as you’re sitting on his lap with your pencil skirt bunched up around your hips, Captain Price has pushed aside the flimsy fabric of your thong a while ago and is currently rubbing lazy circles around your slicked up clit with the calloused pad of his right forefinger while his left arm is embracing your midriff loosely, his large warm hand occasionally palming and squeezing your breasts over your white blouse.

You don’t know what he’s talking about with his superiors. As usual, your mind has shut off some time ago, now completely focused on not making a sound as he has ordered you to. All you can feel rather than hear is the vibration of his gruff voice as it reverberates from his chest against your back, his breath fanning over the side of your neck whenever he shifts and leans in to you on his office chair, and his thick fingers toying with your pussy, almost absentmindedly.

“It keeps me grounded, luv. Keeps me sane during these bloody conference calls.”  – That’s what John tells you whenever he randomly calls you into his office and asks you to lock the door behind you. Sometimes it happens multiple times a day and you’ve stopped bringing spare underwear to work, because your laundry keeps piling up. At this point, John calling you into his office is enough to get you wet, like some trained dog – Pavlov’s bitch. Classical conditioning.

“Doing so good for me, darling,” he murmurs against your ear and his accent has become somewhat thicker, his beard scratching over your flushed skin as he speaks only adds to the  sensations, after muting himself briefly, like he does sometimes – whether it is for praise or to chide you to stay quiet.

There’s that familiar needy plea burning on the tip of your tongue again, but you know uttering it will only end up with him biting back a rough chuckle and muting the call again to mock you, before edging you even worse for insubordination – long after the work call has ended.

“I might let you cum once if you keep being such a good little assistant for me,” He mutters lowly though there is a hint of teasing in his low, rough voice and he unmutes himself again, before he speeds up his ministrations on your throbbing clit, his fingers rubbing and flicking the sensitive bud mercilessly.

Then your back arches, wrists straining painfully against the bindings behind your back and your head lolls back against his hard shoulder while you choke back a desperate whine, swallowing it down helplessly, clenching your teeth while the tension in your lower abdomen coils deliciously and the muscles in your thighs twitch relentlessly, chasing after the release that John keeps denying you.

But before you can take a sharp inhale through your nose to brace yourself for the inevitable, eyes already rolling back into the sockets as your body tenses and your hips buck into his touch, the Captain withdraws his hand before lightly patting his fingers over your slick, pulsating cunt condescendingly.

“I said…I might, luv.” John whispers against the side of your neck, nuzzling his nose against your fluttering pulse point as you writhe on his lap, not bothering to mute himself this time.

“Uh, what was that, Captain?”

[deen-djarin]

Soft Reins — Day One

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: Groundskeeper/Rancher! Joel Miller x City Girl! Reader

Summary: Her family made her want to leave, Joel made her want to stay.

Tags: Age Gap (50s/20s), No Outbreak, Familial Tension, Mentions of infidelity, Snobby and judgy family

Word count: 3.6k

a/n: HELLOOOO okay so this is my second fic heheh and i’m hoping i can stick with it and actually finish it because its definitely a huge learning curve for me lol. i’ve had this idea brewing in my head for months and i’ve gotten to the point where i just gotta write it. tysm for my beta readers ily all and also ty for reading this!

Summer 2025

You're behind the wheel, cruising down a winding road framed by towering pine trees—a striking contrast to the usual backdrop of glass and steel skyscrapers. Ahead of you, a line of sleek, high-end cars snakes along the road, unmistakably belonging to your wealthy, highbrow extended family.

Jackson Hole, Wyoming isn’t the kind of place you'd expect to find people like them—it’s a little too middle-of-nowhere America. And yet, that’s exactly what draws them in.

Nestled in the valley is a ranch—but not your typical one. This is a luxury dude ranch, “Silver Spur Ranch” where the wealthy come to sample the Western lifestyle. Well, sort of. The real West usually doesn’t come with spa treatments and gourmet meals. Still, there are horses, rustic cabins, and sweeping mountain views which are pretty close enough for them.

“Noah would love this,” your mother sighed, gazing out at the sweeping valley.

Your neck stiffened at the mention of his name.

“Can you not bring him up, please, Mom?” you murmured, eyes locked on the winding road ahead.

“I can’t help it, hun. He became the son I never had,” she replied, throwing up her hands in mock surrender.

“Well, he’s not. And we’re not together anymore,” you said, sharper now. “So I’d really appreciate it if you could just... let it go.”

She fell silent—not in compliance, but in calculation. You knew her too well to believe otherwise. She was building her next line, rehearsing it in her head like a lawyer preparing closing arguments.

“I just don’t get it,” she finally said, her voice soft but edged. “You were with him for what, five years?” A beat passed before she pushed forward again, “Have your father and I not set a good example for you? Even your grandparents—fifty years, happy as ever! And you gave that good man up just because—”

“Cheating is not a just because reason, Mom,” you snapped, gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles went white.

She waved her hand like she was swatting a fly. “Well, no, of course not. But Noah is a good man. He just made a... lapse in judgment.”

You laughed once, hollow and humorless. “A lapse in judgement? A lapse is forgetting an anniversary. Not sleeping with someone else. For months.”

Your mother looked away, lips pursed, like she couldn’t quite argue but still didn’t agree. The silence between you thickened, stretching across the cabin of the car and the valley beyond.

“I’m just saying, honey, a man like Noah—he’s hard to come by.”

You grimaced inwardly. Of course she’d say that. You still couldn’t quite wrap your head around your mother’s unwavering loyalty to him.

Sure, he was polished. He came from old money—more than your family ever had. He knew how to dress, how to charm your mother with just the right words at just the right moments. He wasn’t bad looking either. On paper, he was perfect.

But inside? He was hollow. And for the last stretch of your relationship, so were you.

The rot had been setting in for months, invisible at first, until it was all you could feel. Then came the final blow: you found out he had been cheating. Days before he proposed.

And still—he did it. With your entire family watching, he dropped to one knee, smiling like nothing was wrong. A last-ditch effort to lock you in before the truth could catch up to him.

But you said no.

And you walked away.

It hadn’t gone over well. There were whispers, long stares, your father refusing to speak to you for weeks. Your mother never stopped calling it a “mistake” you’d made in the heat of emotion.

But it wasn’t emotion. It was clarity. Maybe for the first time.

The trip was meant to celebrate your grandparents’ anniversary—fifty years together. A milestone that, given what you knew about how awful men could be, felt almost impossible to grasp.

The entire extended family would be there, and you could hardly wait to be cornered with questions about your recent breakup and failed engagement. For seven whole days. A real vacation.

To say the timing was less than ideal would be generous. You could’ve opted out—God knows you wanted to—but that would’ve only fueled the whispers. And despite everything, under different circumstances, you would have wanted to be there. You loved your grandparents. They were the rare ones in your family who didn’t judge, didn’t press. Maybe it was because, unlike their children and grandchildren, they hadn’t grown up with money. There was a softness to them that hadn’t been bred out by status or social games.

They were the reason you came. Not the charade. Just them.

The ranch finally came into view, peeking through the tall trees like something out of a movie. It had a rustic charm, but you could tell it had been carefully renovated—polished just enough to suit the tastes of its upscale clientele.

Your car slowed as you passed through the front gate and followed the long gravel driveway toward the main cabin. The second your tires came to a stop, you were already reaching for the door handle, eager to escape the tension that had been simmering in the car with your mother.

You stepped out and made a beeline for the trunk, popping it open and reaching for your suitcase. But just as your hand closed around the handle, another—larger—hand landed over it.

“I got this, sugar,” came a warm, slow drawl, thick with a Texas accent.

You froze.

He was close—close enough for you to catch the scent of sandalwood, sun, and flannel. You instinctively stepped back, your eyes scanning upward.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. The kind of man who looked like he actually belonged on a ranch. You caught a glimpse of his profile: strong nose, weathered skin, hair streaked with silver that matched the salt-and-pepper scruff along his jaw and mustache.

“Long drive?” his voice broke through your thoughts, low and easy.

“Huh? Oh—yeah. It’s, uh... pretty far from, well—everywhere,” you said with an awkward chuckle.

He didn’t laugh, but his eyes lingered on you for a beat—curious, unreadable. Then, without a word, he reached down and hoisted your bags, one in each hand like they weighed nothing.

“Welcome to Silver Spur,” he said with a small, polite smile.

And just like that, he turned and walked off, disappearing with your luggage before you could even think of a reply.

The main lounge buzzed with the energy of your entire family gathered together. The interior was stunning—tall ceilings draped in dark wood, a grand stone fireplace, and expansive floor-to-ceiling windows that framed a breathtaking view of the land. You stood by your cousin Amy, the one you were closest to growing up. You’d shared so many memories, but things had shifted a bit since she married and had a baby. You were still close, just not as much as before.

One of the staff passed around welcome drinks—icy cold lemonade. You accepted with a grateful smile.

“How are you holding up?” Amy asked, her voice full of concern. You sighed. “So far, so good. You?”

Amy leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “Lily wouldn’t stop fussing the entire way here, and Justin was no help,” she murmured, glancing over at her husband, who was bouncing their three-year-old daughter on his lap. “He somehow always appears to be there when she’s calm, though.” Amy chuckled softly, and you followed suit, shaking your head.

A sound of glass clinking drew everyone's attention to the man standing on the small stage by the piano. He looked strikingly similar to the guy who’d taken your luggage earlier—maybe a bit younger. Next to him stood a stunning woman with dark skin and a warm, radiant smile.

“Howdy, y’all! Welcome to Silver Spurs Ranch!” he called out, his voice smooth and welcoming. “I’m Tommy, and this is my wife, Maria,” he gestured to the woman beside him, who waved her hand in greeting. “We’ll be your ranch hosts during your stay.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the man from earlier walking toward the stage and standing right next to it on the corner. You couldn’t tear your eyes away once you realized he was there.

“You like him too, huh?” Amy whispered, leaning closer.

“What are you talking about?” you whispered back, your voice a mix of surprise and mock offense.

Amy giggled, eyes twinkling. “What? You’re free now!” She gestured to her family with a smirk. “I, on the other hand…” She trailed off, pointing to her husband and daughter.

“You’re being ridiculous. We just got here,” you scolded playfully, rolling your eyes.

“Hey, he’s hot, so…” Amy teased.

You cut her off, whispering, “Amy, shut up.”

She laughed quietly. “Alright, alright!” she relented.

After a brief pause, as everyone focused on the ranch hosts listing activities for the stay, Amy leaned in again. “I didn’t know Silver Spurs Ranch came with a silver fox cowboy,” she whispered.

You bit back a laugh. “I hate you,” you muttered under your breath.

“That one over there is my brother, Joel,” Tommy said, pointing to the man standing a little off to the side. Joel. The name felt just right for him. He offered a small wave before slipping his hands back into his pockets, his gaze scanning the room.

“You’ll be seeing a lot of him,” Tommy continued, a proud smile on his face. “He takes care of the land and will be leading some of your excursion activities.”

You couldn’t help but watch Joel for a moment longer. There was something about him—steady, grounded.

Amy leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. “I gotta admit, he’s got that ‘I work with my hands’ kind of charm.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. “You mean he’s got the ‘I wake up at 5 a.m. to ride horses and shovel dirt’ look?”

Amy grinned. “Exactly.” She looked back at Joel, her gaze lingering for a moment too long. “He’s definitely got that whole ‘silent, mysterious cowboy’ thing going on.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t deny that there was something magnetic about him. Not in a typical ‘movie star’ way, but in a way that made you want to know more. Maybe it was the confidence that seemed to radiate from him without ever needing to say much.

At that moment, Joel turned his head and caught your eye. His gaze flickered toward you briefly, almost like he was assessing you. It wasn’t a stare, just a quiet acknowledgment, but it still sent a little pulse of awareness through you.

Amy caught it too, her smirk widening. “Uh-huh. I see that look. He noticed you.”

“What look?” you asked, feigning innocence. You turned back toward the stage as Tommy and Maria continued talking, but your mind kept wandering back to Joel.

“Don’t act coy. He definitely noticed you,” Amy teased. “You’re going to have fun here, I can tell.”

You glared playfully at her. “Just because I glanced at him doesn’t mean I’m about to go on a horseback ride into the sunset with him.”

Amy let out a short laugh. “Not yet, anyway.”

Maria's voice cut through the conversation, bringing everyone's attention back to the front. "Alright, everyone, feel free to explore the ranch, or just take in the view. We know it's a long journey to get here so your rooms is ready, and dinner will be served in an hour."

As the crowd began to move in different directions, you felt a strange mix of anticipation and curiosity swirling inside you. You were supposed to be here to relax, but for some reason, everything—especially Joel—seemed to be pulling you in.

Amy nudged you with her elbow again. "So... what's the plan? You gonna go for it or just pretend you're not interested?"

You sighed, trying to hide your grin. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure, sure," Amy teased, "keep telling yourself that."

Dinner was set like something out of a magazine. A long, weathered farm table stretched down the center of the dining hall, dressed in ivory linens, wildflowers, and flickering candles that made the roasted dishes gleam like still life paintings. Your grandparents sat proudly at the head, fingers intertwined, laughing like they hadn’t seen fifty years go by. The rest of the family filled the table in loud, familiar clusters, the wine flowing too easily, the conversations layered over one another.

You were somewhere in the middle, boxed in by a distant cousin on one side and a sea of aunts and uncles on the other. You kept your head down, halfheartedly pushing food around your plate, bracing for the inevitable.

It didn’t take long.

“So… no Noah this year?” Aunt Debby asked, tilting her head with feigned casualness.

“Nope,” you replied, stabbing a perfectly innocent carrot.

“I figured we’d see him again. Didn’t you two usually take trips like this together?” someone else chimed in. A cousin’s wife, maybe—you didn’t bother to look.

“Not anymore,” you hummed, your hand curling into a fist beneath the table.

“That’s a shame. I really thought we’d be getting a wedding invite this year,” Aunt Debby said, swirling her wine with theatrical sadness.

“Well, there won’t be one anytime soon.”

Uncle Rick joined in without looking up. “Still can’t believe you let that one go. Good job, good family, good-looking.”

“Not good at staying faithful,” you muttered.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Aunt Debby asked, all syrup and fake concern.

You didn’t think before the following words that came from your mouth, you’re fed up by all the judgement coated with faux sugar coated concerns, You looked up. “I said, he cheated. For months. Before he proposed.”

The table fell quiet. Someone clinked their fork against a plate, a few chairs shifted.

Aunt Margaret recovered first. “Well... relationships are complicated. Everyone makes mistakes. Your mother and I both—”

“I know,” you cut in, turning your gaze to your mom. “You’ve made that very clear.”

The silence was heavier this time.

You folded your napkin, set it on your plate, and stood. The scrape of your chair on the wooden floor sounded louder than it should have.

“I’m gonna get some air,” you murmured.

“Oh honey, don’t be dramatic—” your mother sighed.

“I’m not. I just need air,” you said, sharper now, and without waiting for a response, walked out into the night.

The door swung shut behind you with a quiet thud.

You slipped off into the dark, wandering past the edge of the cabins until you found a quiet spot beside what looked like the horse stables. You needed to be somewhere out of sight—far from the dining hall, far from your family. Because after all that, you needed a smoke. And if anyone in your family ever found out, it’d be a full-blown intervention before sunrise.

From your pocket, you pulled out a small tin, flipping it open with muscle memory and placing a cigarette between your lips. You were just about to flick your lighter when—

“You know smokin’ ain’t allowed on this property.”

You jumped so hard the cigarette nearly fell from your mouth. “Jesus—fuck!”

You turned and saw him. Joel. Standing half in shadow, half lit by moonlight, looking more amused than stern.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, chuckling.

You let out a breath, your hand over your heart. “Yeah, well, you did.”

He nodded toward the cigarette. “You still gonna light that?”

You hesitated. “Can I?”

Without answering, Joel reached out and gently took hold of your arm, guiding you farther back into the shadows—near a thick row of bushes. Your heart stuttered a bit from the contact, the feel of his large calloused hand against your soft skin, and you were suddenly glad it was too dark for him to see the way your face flushed.

“Cameras,” he murmured. “You’re safe here. Go on.”

“Thanks,” you exhaled, grateful, and finally lit the cigarette. You took a long drag, the smoke easing something tight in your chest.

The night wrapped around you, quiet and still, save for the soft hum of cicadas and the slow rhythm of your breath. Joel didn’t move far—he stayed just a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching the horizon like he had nowhere else to be.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, gentle. “Saw you stompin’ out here like you were fixin’ to do some damage.”

You laughed under your breath. “Might’ve, if someone hadn’t stopped me.”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at you in that steady way that invited you to keep going.

You sighed, watching the smoke curl upward. “They think I ruined my perfect life. That I threw it all away because I said no to a proposal.”

Joel tilted his head slightly, listening.

“He cheated on me,” you murmured. “For months. And then had the nerve to propose like nothing happened.”

Joel let out a low whistle. “Sounds like a real catch.”

You barked a laugh. “Yeah. All sunshine and rainbows, that one.”

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a steadiness to him—like he knew how to be still in a way most people didn’t.

After a moment, he shifted. “Listen, uh… it ain’t really my business, but—sounds to me like you dodged a bullet.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think so too.”

Joel looked at you, earnest beneath all the roughness. “You did the right thing.”

You glanced over at him. “Thanks… Joel, right?” you asked as if his name hasn’t been echoing in your head eversince Tommy said them.

He smiled, soft and crooked. “Yeah.”

“And I’m—” you said your name, almost shyly.

He repeated it back to you, the sound of it low and unhurried as it rolled off his tongue.

You gaze up at the sky, the stars shining much clearer here than in the city. It’s mesmerizing—you can’t remember the last time you saw more than two tiny dots scattered above.

Slowly, you sit down on the grass, and Joel lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re gonna ruin that pretty dress,” he teases.

You smile up at him. “I don’t really give a damn.”

He grins at that, then joins you, sitting down beside you.

“You don’t have to stay here, you know,” you murmur.

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m actually obligated to keep an eye on troublesome guests.”

You turn to look at him. His serious face slowly breaks into a smirk, and you chuckle softly. “Asshole,” you murmur.

Taking another drag of your cigarette, you sigh. “Must be nice, living out here, huh?”

Joel nods, eyes still fixed on the stars. “Gets real quiet. Makes it easier to think.”

You glance down, voice soft. “I could use a little of that.”

He looks over at you, expression unreadable for a moment. Then, quietly: “Then stay a while.”

You smiled to yourself and kept your eyes on the stars. The silence between you and Joel was comfortable, but there was something simmering beneath it—something you weren’t sure you wanted to acknowledge just yet.

“The stars are beautiful out here,” you murmured.

Joel let out a quiet chuckle. “Bet you don’t see many of those back in the city, huh?”

You shook your head with a faint smile. “Kind of forgot how many there actually are.”

“They’ve always been there,” you said softly, more to yourself than him. “Just hard to see when the sky’s all polluted.”

Joel hummed low in his throat. “That sounds like a metaphor for a lotta things in life.”

You turned your head toward him, a light laugh escaping you. “You always been this wise?” He grinned, subtle and a little self-deprecating, eyes still on the sky. “Nah. Just old.”

That made you giggle, the sound easy and real, and something in Joel’s expression softened. Then, without a word, he pushes himself to his feet and holds out a hand.

“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s get you back before they send a search party.”

You hesitate, just for a second, then take his hand. His grip is solid and warm, and when he helps you up, he doesn’t let go right away.

You both stand there for a moment—closer than before, still caught in that soft, uncertain pull—before he clears his throat and lets his hand fall away.

“This way,” he murmurs, nodding toward the path.

You follow him into the quiet dark, heart beating a little louder than before.

Joel walked with you back toward the main cabin where the guest rooms were. You led him through the quiet hallways, the old wood creaking underfoot, until you stopped in front of your door.

“Well, uh… this is me,” you said, a little awkwardly, your hand hovering near the doorknob.

Joel nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Get some rest. Breakfast’s at seven,” he said, then added, almost hesitantly, “Me and Tommy are leading a horseback ride along the river tomorrow. If you feel like joining.” His eyes flicked from the floor up to yours, and for a moment, you swore he looked almost nervous.

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Alright then. See you tomorrow, city girl.” He started backing away, slow and casual, and you turned to open your door. “See you tomorrow,” you murmured.

Just as he turned the corner, you called out softly, “Joel?”

He stopped and looked back, quick like he’d been waiting for it.

“Thank you… for tonight,” you said, meaning it.

He nodded once, that same quiet smile still on his face. “Anytime, sugar.”

Then he disappeared down the hall, and you stood there for a moment longer, heart just a little too full.

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

a/n: thank you so much for reading guys <3 i know its a short one but i’m just laying out the vibes and tone of the series before we get to the good stuff on the upcoming chapters!! your feedback is greatly appreciated!! ily all

[ticifics]

BUNNY

Sirius Black x bunny!animagus!f!reader

Summary: in which Sirius loves to tease his bunny girl whenever he can

Warnings: suggestive, no use of y/n, est relationship

A/N: i thought the way it looked was strange, so i changed the appearance of the post.

Masterlist

Sirius Black had the infuriating habit of teasing you whenever you were in your animagus forms. Transformed into a tiny bunny, you were a stark contrast to the large, imposing dog he became. Whenever you found yourselves alone on the grounds of Hogwarts or tucked away in some hidden corner, Sirius just couldn’t resist. With a speed and precision that made you roll your eyes, he would gently grab you by the scruff of the neck with his teeth, as if you were a toy. Then came his signature look — that mischievous, satisfied glint, almost daring you to react. But the truth was, even when you protested, both of you knew your racing heart wasn’t out of fear.

Now, back in the castle, you were alone in a narrow corridor near the west tower. The earlier conversation — full of laughter, teasing, and that unmistakable intense energy — had evolved into what could only be described as a typical scene between the two of you.

“You really should stop doing that, Sirius,” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “One day your teeth are going to tear my neck. I’m a bunny, remember? Fragile skin and all.”

He, of course, gave you that crooked smile that made your stomach twist. His black, unruly hair fell over his bright gray eyes, and his relaxed posture only added to his dangerously charming aura.

“Oh, but you didn’t seem so worried last time,” he teased, taking a step closer. His eyes danced with mischief, but there was a tenderness there — something he reserved only for you.

“I’m serious, Black. Shameless dog,” you insisted, but your whining tone betrayed you.

Sirius narrowed his eyes, his smile widening. “Shameless, huh? Let’s see about that.”

Before you could react, he took another step, pinning you against the cold stone wall. The weight of his breath seemed to echo in the empty corridor, mingling with the silence that only heightened the tension between you. Sirius was too close, the heat of his body burning through the nonexistent space. His eyes, always so intense, now gleamed with something darker — possession, desire, and that blatant adoration he never hid from you.

The tip of his nose brushed against your neck, trailing slowly, as if he were sniffing out every erratic beat of your heart.

You barely had time to respond before he closed his teeth around the soft curve between your shoulder and neck, biting for real this time. Not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to be felt — enough to draw out a small gasp you couldn’t hold back. The pain was sharp, intense, and, somehow, almost too good. He held on for a few seconds, as if he wanted to mark you, imprint some part of himself onto your skin, your heart.

When he let go, the heat of the bite lingered, throbbing gently. Sirius pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, and the smile he gave was pure challenge and satisfaction, as if he knew exactly what he had just stirred in you.

“That hurt,” you whispered, though your voice was rougher than you intended.

“Did it?” he asked, his tone dangerously soft — both an invitation and a tease. He tilted his head, and before you could answer, his lips were back at the spot where his teeth had been moments before. Only this time, he used them to soothe the skin. Slow, gentle kisses, as if he wanted to erase the mark he’d just left — or maybe make it impossible to forget.

“You know,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and almost feline, “you didn’t seem to be complaining just now.”

Heat flushed your cheeks, but it was impossible to deny the shiver that ran down your spine. His hands were now on your waist, fingers firm, holding you there as if you might run — which, of course, was never an option.

“Sirius…” You tried to sound stern, but the word came out more like a sigh.

He lifted his head just enough to look at you again, the glint in his eyes almost predatory but somehow endearing in a way that was so, so Sirius. “You complain so much,” he said, leaning in until his lips were a breath away from yours, “but deep down, I think you like it.”