#Slap House Essentials

[the-woman-upstairs]

Me, now that Oppenheimer won all the awards I expected/wanted it to win and am free of the Academy Awards for another year:

[waytoomuchanalysis]

??? I come out of the bathroom and the laundry room door is just sitting wide open (we always keep it closed since there's chemicals and unattended plastic packaging in there) so I send a picture in the group chat and I'm like hey who left this door open? And my mom responds "shrug" and I come upstairs and my stepdad is saying "I left it open, my hands were full." Just staring at his phone, totally casual. My mom asks where the cat is and he says he doesn't know, still staring at his phone, and she gets up to go find the cat?? And sees me, coming around the corner into the room, and asks if I know where the cat is and if I closed the door or if she needs to go close it??

The cat was nearby anyway so that's fine but when I pressed stepdad about what the deal was he repeated that his hands were full, got immediately got pissed at me, and left the room. Like okay, your hands were full and then what happened in between whatever task you were doing and being upstairs glued to your phone and also not apologetic in the slightest about the door situation?? Just like casually letting your wife get up to go solve a problem you might've caused not even looking up from your phone and then getting mad when I'm confused about the whole thing? Dickhead.

[nanaslutt]

Pussy so good he broke the couch

ʚ ft. Perv Roomate Geto

ʚ cont: fem reader, rough sex, dirty talk, spit, unprotected sex, choking, praise, 1 face slap, spit, manhandling, teasing, sexual tension, consensual photography 

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

You and your roommate Geto had quite the routine down by now. The two of you would turn off all the lights in the house except for the small side table lamp next to the couch before you gathered the essentials, blankets, pillows, and snacks. Only the snacks often were forgotten about. Without fail about twenty minutes into the movie, Geto would spread his arm out on the back of the couch, scooting closer to you as he did so. That's how it always started.

Of course, when he made such an obvious move like that, you couldn't just ignore him, right? So you scooted closer to him as well, closing the gap between you as you lay your head down on his shoulder, his body heat seeping into your skin. Suguru would soon abandon grabbing the back of the couch and scoot his arm forward, placing his arm around your shoulders.

The entire time the two of you stayed silent, no one uttering so much as a work to the other as the tension in the room grew. Not even when Suguru removed his arm from the back of you and brought it around to grab onto your thigh, his large, warm hand massaging the skin. This is usually where you start to really feel it. Your mouth runs dry, your palms get sweaty, and you have to press your thighs together to relieve the ache.

"You okay?" Geto always asked, noticing how hot you were getting, and you always answered with a smile and a nod, both of you pretending you had no idea what was going on despite the way you looked at each other like you wanted to devour the other. Suguru would slide his hand higher and higher, teasing his pinky on the inside of your thigh, making your breathing pick up.

Now Geto was fully hard and aching in his pants, thank god for the blanket draped across the two of you. Not like you seeing how hard he was matters when he would be buried balls deep inside you in a couple of minutes. Even when Geto started rubbing his thick fingers against your clothed pussy, making your heart rate spike, your breath obviously louder and more stuttered now, he kept his eyes on the TV, pretending to watch the movie as if he wasn't touching your cunt.

Only when you grabbed his wrist and finally moaned out his name so sweetly, breaking the silence, did the two of you give up the innocent act and give in to your desire. This night was no different, and Suguru was currently caging you in with his strong arms, his cock threatening to poke your cervix, as he pounded you into the couch.

"That's all you f-fucking got? G-give it to me Suguru." You moaned, your words coming out broken and stuttered despite your challenging words and cocky smile to match. Suguru shook his head as he wet his lips with his tongue, his hips never letting up inside you. "You want it harder? Huh?" He groaned against your lips, breathing in your moans, making him dizzy.

You wrapped your arms harder around his neck, pulling him closer against you. Each time he thrust his hips inside you, his hard pelvis was rubbing perfectly against your swollen clit, making your toes curl. "Yeah, give it to me harder." You moaned, your words a teasing barely-there whisper against his lips, making him groan in response, his face already flushed from feeling how tight and wet you felt around him.

"You sure? You look like you can barely keep up with this pace." Geto teased, laughing as he raked his eyes across your face, keeping his hips moving. Suguru pulled his lip between his teeth when you squeezed hard around him, his cock throbbing at the feeling. "You s-sure you're the one who can't handle it?" You teased back, squeezing your legs around his hips, pressing his cock deeper inside you when he thrust in.

You opened your mouth a hairs length away from his lips, feigning a kiss which he tried to reciprocate; his own lips parted expectantly; before you whispered, "You seem like you're about to cum already, need to take a break?" Suguru felt the vein in his forehead pop out at your words. The smile on your face was quickly wiped off as your brows knit together when Suguru's hand constricted around your throat, shutting down any more teasing words from you.

"You're so fucking smart today huh? Let's see who cums first." Geto groaned, emphasizing his words by squeezing his hand harder around your throat. The action made stars arise in your vision, it felt so fucking good when he choke you, the feeling always went straight to your cock. He closed the distance between your lips at the same time he picked up his pace. If his hips weren't bullying you before, they sure as hell were now.

You tried to keep up with the pace of Geto's tongue and he forced it against yours, overpowering you with it just like he was doing with his body against yours. Geto was fucking you so hard, his cock filling you up entirely, leaving no part of your walls untouched as he buried himself balls deep over and over. Your moans were being forced out of your mouth and into Geto's by his ruthless hips, no matter how hard you tried to hold them back.

You moved your tongue weakly against his, your head starting to go dumb from the reduced air intake your lungs were getting thanks to his iron grip on your lungs. You were granted a little reprieve when he pulled away from your lips and sat back on his heels, your legs forced apart as they rested on his thighs. Geto pulled the fat of your upper thigh against him to make sure he was as close as possible before he started fucking into you again, somehow harder.

This new position was making him feel so much deeper. Your eyes repeatedly rolled back in your head as nothing but incoherent moans and whines left your lips, echoing throughout the room, the movie playing quietly in the backround still. You gripped Geto's wrist for support with both of your hands, the action only making him squeeze your throat tighter.

He shook his head watching your body squirm around against the cushions, he couldn't decide if you were trying to escape his cock or get more of it, it was cute. Suguru's face and chest were now the same color, beat red, as your pussy made him go dumb, his brain on autopilot telling him "harder, harder, harder, don't stop, make her cum." 

"Such a filthy girl." Suguru groaned, a pussydrunk smile on his face as he took in your tits jiggling in every direction from the force of his thrusts. "F-uck S-suguruuu-" You tried to cry, pressing your thighs together tightly around his waist. "'S that feel good? 'M I fucking you nice n deep how you like it?" He asked, his balls slapping against your ass making a loud, lewd sound emanate into the room.

You nodded your head furiously in his hold while you repeated, "Yesyesyes 's fucking deep-" Over and over. Geto couldn't believe how someone so fucked out could still manage to look so beautiful. Tears and sweat were sliding down your cheeks and mixing into one, your flyaways were sticking to your forehead and your body was shaking and trembling with every thrust.

Geto released his hand from around your throat before quickly stuffing two fingers into your open mouth. You were too fucked out to close your lips around them, just letting your tongue swirl around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin. "You're so fucking hot, takin' my cock so good pretty girl." He praised, shaking his head at how shameless you were.

The couch made a loud creaking sound with every thrust, challenging the volume of your own moans. It did that every time though, both of you learning over time to tune it out as the sound soon became backround noise just like the TV. Geto's cock leaked pre-cum into your cunt every time you squeezed around him, becoming nothing more than added wetness as he continued thrusting inside you.

He tipped his head back and let his eyes fall shut as he relished in how warm and tight you were, making his balls throb with the need for release but he could tell you were getting close. Suguru hooked his fingers on the inside of your cheek, stretching your mouth open before he leaned over you and gripped your jaw with the other. You were jolted back to reality when Geto spat right on your tongue, your mouth closing instinctively, his fingers still inside, as you swallowed what he gave you.

Suguru sat back up and grinned, his cock throbbing at how eagerly you swallowed for him. He pulled his fingers out from your wet mouth before he pulled his hand back and left a small smack on your face, the noise echoing through the room. You smiled at the feeling, your cheek stinging a bit from where he just hit you, but it was quickly replaced by a kiss as he was now on top of you again, his body caging you in.

"What are you smiling for, huhh? You like gettin' hit?" Suguru teased, squishing your cheeks together. You nodded dumbly at his words, trying to rock your hips back up into him as you kept your cloudy eyes on his. Suguru smiled while shaking his head at you, "so. fucking. dirty." He groaned, emphasizing his words with his hips.

You moaned against his lips when he crashed his face against yours, his hand moving from your jaw to down between your bodies as he found your clit with ease, rubbing against it using small, quick circles. Your moans increased in pitch as you whined against him, his mouth swallowing up your sounds. Your legs shook with oversensitivity. His cock was steadily beating against the most sensitive parts inside you, and now he was rubbing your clit just right? Fuck, it was making you go crazy.

With your arms now snugly around his shoulders, you tried tapping repeatedly against them, a small smacking sound being created from how needily you were hitting him. "Too much? Gonna cum?" Geto teased as he pulled away from your lips. Your back arched off the cushions, your head tipping back with it as you felt your orgasm build up steadily inside you. "F-fuck, fuck don't stop- d-don't fucking stop-" You begged, your eyebrows pinching together with pleasure. 

Suguru's insatiable lips found your neck when you tipped it back. His lips and tongue working together against your skin to suck hickeys and lick fat, hot stripes against you followed by kisses. Just when you were about to be pushed over the edge by Geto's fat cock that was fucking you so well, you heard a loud cracking sound followed by a crash. 

Geto's cock slipped out of you as the couch split in two, your body falling into the crevice, Geto's arms pinning around you. "Wha-" You mouthed, feeling a slight ache in your lower back from where you had hit the broken wood. Your orgasm had fizzled away the instant the couch broke, but you still felt that tight ball of need deep in your tummy.

While you were trying to put together what just happened using your fuzzy, fucked out brain, Geto's large hand manhandling you took you out of it as you were placed on the floor next to the now broken couch on all fours. "W-wait the-" Your words were cut off as Geto slid his cock back inside you all at once, a groan leaving your lips simultaneously.

Geto seemed to be in a trance as he picked up right where he left off, fucking into you hard and quick, his hand dipping under your body to rub against your clit. "S-suguruu-" You whined, reaching for his hand. You must've forgotten you needed your arms to hold yourself up because as you gripped his wrist between your legs from under you, the front half of your body fell forward against the floor. Thank god for the plush carpet under your face.

"Cum for me, I can feel how close you are, cmon give it to me, n-need to feel it." Geto groaned, his words rushed and voice deep as he spoke. All of his actions were full of lust, he was more fucked out than you now. His other hand grabbed the fat of your ass and used that grip to pull you back against him harder, making his cock ruthlessly pound against your g-spot.

Geto's pace was getting sloppier, and you could feel how often he was twitching inside you, he was about to cum. Your knees pressed together and your feet kicked up between Geto's legs, fluttering as you were worked up to your orgasm again. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as he kept rubbing your clit, sloppy, messy circles doing the job just right. "Ohhhmygod-" You moaned through your teeth, your eyes rolling back in your head as you felt your orgasm crash over you.

Geto's body fell on top of yours, his hand caging you in by your head as he finished with you, releasing rope after rope of hot cum deep in your walls as your cunt pulsed around him, milking the cum from his balls. The two of your moans mixed together so sweetly, his hot breath tickling by your ear as his body went limp, save for his hips that kept shallowly, weakly thrusting his cock inside you, making sure he filled you up nice and deep.

"Sugu..." You whined, turning your head toward him. Geto let you grab his cheek and pull him down towards you, his lips meeting your own in a sweeter kiss, still a little fast, but more controlled. You pulled away from his lips after a moment to catch your breath, your lips parting with mutual pants as you rested your head between your arms on the ground in front of you. 

Geto sat up and slowly pulled his hips back, both of you groaning at the oversensitivity. You could feel the strange and slightly uncomfortable feeling of Geto's cum chasing his cock as it dripped from your hole, sliding down your thigh. "mmmmmmm...." You groaned in disgust, your thighs pressing together to stop any more from coming out, to no avail of course.

You felt Geto's fingers pull your pussy lips apart as he oggled his masterpiece before you heard the camera click of your roommate taking a picture, your body getting illuminated by the light. Geto retracted his thumb from your cunt as he whistled, staring at his phone. You pushed yourself up on shaky arms and sat on your sore bottom, now facing him. "Did you just take a picture of my cunt?" You asked, looking at him incredulously.

You didn't care about him taking pictures. He'd done it before and you knew he was too weirdly possessive over you to show anyone else. "Yeah." He smiled, turning his phone around to face you. You were met with the apps on his home screen, only they were sitting on a unique backround, your dripping cunt. "Suguru you are NOT using my pussy as your homescreen you freak." You chastized, trying to snatch his phone out of his hand.

He retracted it out of your reach and placed it on the side table behind him before he faced you again. "It's hot, no one goes into my phone anyways." He shrugged, smiling at you, his face still red. You sighed and shook your head, not wanting to argue right now. You reached out and brushed his hair out of his face before you raked your hand down his scalp, practically making the dark-haired man purr. "Feels good." He said, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch.

"I bet it does." You responded, scratching the back of his head. "You know what's not gonna feel good though?" You asked, keeping a sweet and innocent smile on your face for him to see when he opened his eyes, looking at you quizzically. "Your bank account when you get done buying me a new couch." 

Suguru's face immediately fell into a frown, a bit of a dramatic one as he glanced over at the very broken couch before back to you. "It was an accident." He said pouting. "I knowww~" You cooed, smiling at him through the irritation, "A six thousand dollar accident!!" You finished, dropping your hand and patting him on the thigh. "Good luck!! I want a grey couch this time by the way." You smiled, rubbing his thigh.

[spurbleu]

johnny x reader. this is stupid. anyway

your heater breaks at the height of winter.

the inconvenience is unsurprising, given your luck. but your boyfriend is determined to make the best out of the worst.

johnny is essentially a running motor. hot to the touch, approaching feverish temperatures when lying next to you. it was concerning at first, but like his many other oddities, its grown on you.

you take advantage of it, cuddling close beneath stale sheets, following him around the house with cold heels, wearing his clothes- cotton cooked in his cologne and inhuman heat.

eventually you both developed a strange habit.

your hands are easily the most bullied by the winter cold, so you’ll your burry them in whatever crevice he can offer. his hands, stomach, under arms, lower back.

but then he put your hands between his legs.

squeezed his thighs together and your knuckles burned. stopped focusing on the movie you’d been watching because somehow this singular connection of heat ignited your entire body.

didn’t help that you could feel the outline of his cock plushing at your touch.

kept them there for a whole half hour before he moved your hands below his waist band. it wasn’t even motivated, given the calm of his face. sure, his sweatpants collected at a tent, but he made no indication he wanted you to do anything about it.

you wrap your hands around his thicket, the column of his cock and he says nothing. hums at a joke said in the movie. it’s almost disturbing how still he is, given you’re literally warming your hands on his half hard cock.

when the credits roll, he turns to you with a smile.

“hands warm ‘nough, hen?”

you nod. his smile grows wider. “good. been waitin till ‘e could warm yer cunt, tae.”

he can’t help himself. every time you blow warm air into your palms, he stretches his waist band out like an offering. usually, you take it.

unless you’re in public. then you slap his chest and he laughs, before pulling you off to the closest restroom.

[nemesyaaa]

american pie // frat!rafe cameron x milf!reader

summary ; you moved on with your son into a new house in front of tanneyhill after a divorce and ward offered you the help of rafe to unpack your affairs. and maybe young boys were not that bad...at least, that cocky frat boy at your service....

warnings ; so age gap. smut. +18. young boy x older woman trope. mentions of mommy's whore and milkers. p in v. forbbiden attraction. facesitting. slight of 69. mentions of belly bulge. pervertion &depravation. dirty secret. messy porn with a little plot. twisted behavior and sick attitude. momma's boy. minors DNI. be careful with the warnings.

author's note ; i thought the idea of milf!reader and frat!rafe was hot. this is not an american pie au. but enjoy 🫡‼️

“are you the kid that ward sent to help me unpack my things ?”

you had only just moved into the house across the street from tanneyhill,and now you had a new life waiting for you, it was essential for you to get along well with your neighbors. when Ward had suggested that his son come help you, you hadn't said no,especially since yours was completely lazy and already locked himself in his room to play video games. the divorce wasn’t easy for him to deal with and you respected that.

you were tired from your long journey here, so when you saw Rafe coming, you smiled directly at him. you were especially happy to see a guy with big muscles at your service for a task that you could have easily done yourself. but seeing a helpful young guy doing it for him made it even better.

he had crossed the street with his cap on backwards and his smirk kissing his teeth with his hands in the pockets.

you weren't supposed to look at him but he was charming. you waved hello to him, with a glossy and warm smile. definitely not an innocent one. you were too old to play the shy girl. and you were not into playing that game anymore.

if this gesture was friendly to you, you had awakened all of Rafe's hormones. when Ward forced him to come help you, he expected to see a horrible, bitter cougar but fuck, you were terribly far from the image he had made in his mind. you were the opposite of this idea. you were perfect, the kind of milf with divine mommy milkers who were top favorites on his private browser, the kind of woman he clearly wanted to call mama. he felt so tight in his frat pants, and he terribly regret not choosing to put on boxers because he could feel his cock hanging down through his shorts, and slapping against his naked thigh.

because damn, the flapping wasn't the sound of the wind.

he stucked his tongue in his mouth and moved closer.

“yes, ma’am. "

usually, you hated that nickname. but his thick southern accent made this much warmer. you squeezed his hand. his was sweaty.

it was terribly hot here, a tropical heat to die for. you wore a bikini top that barely hid your large breasts from spilling out of the fabric, and under your skirt protruded the string and triangle of a thong.

rafe cameron is dying to be in a scandalous POV porn video with you. and Jesus, if your tits didn't move so much every time you took a step, he wouldn't have these kinds of impure thoughts. you were too hot and he was burning.

“I hope you don’t mind. " you replied with an almost false tone.

“ pleased to be at your service, ma'am." he replied with a smile. “you know, you can call me whenever you want.”

“ward is lucky to have a son like you.”

for some reason you didn't know, your remark had unsettled him slightly. his face darkened as he followed you into the house. seeing that the atmosphere had become a little tense, you added. “I mean, you’re a good boy, rafe.”

you lost him when you called him a good boy. god, he really needed to go to the bathroom because he was behind you, and the string of your thong kept showing and teasing him. he wondered if god was testing him. he was tortured by his own perversion.

“this is my room. you can put all the things here.”

“do you want me to clean everything too?” he asked.

“it depends. you're looking for a reward, boy ?”

you looked each other straight in the eyes. the tension was suddenly electric. there was challenge in your eyes and excitement in rafe’s blue and glistening gaze. you were on the same wavelength.

"What kind of reward?" he asked.

you leaned over his ear before whispering. “tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“save those words, ma’am.”

“okay, boy.”

“oh, and those panties too.”

“About that, did you purposely not put anything under your pants?”

"You shouldn't look at me like that. ” he mocked in a playful tone while collecting your things. “ I could be your son, ma’am. ”

"That's true, but you're Ward's. So I can do whatever I want with you. And it turns out I want to play with fire."

"Come back later. I have work. But if you want us to work on something else now, I'm not against it. ”

“Are you the type to start something and not finish it?” The dig was light but it had the merit of making Rafe laugh.

“I’m more of the type to start something and finish it between your thighs. Want a ride, ma’am ? ”

“See you soon. Those big arms need to work out a little. ”

You smiled before quitting the room, leaving him with immense sexual frustration.

Of course, he was attracted to girls his age, but you gave off something terribly hot and forbidden. You looked so much like his living fantasy. He urgently needed to jerk off.

And the fact that he was holding your box of panties didn't help matters. He had gently closed the door, only ajar before rummaging through it. He could afford it after you turned him on during this whole conversation. And the fact that you hadn't told him no, that you had shown interest, was worse. He needed it now.

He was sweating without even touching himself yet. He was completely desperate even though he hadn't even touched you. He was pathetic. His hand was shaking before he even grabbed his hard cock. He had chosen a thong from the box, picking it with his fingers before starting to masturbate while he sniffed the fabric of the other. his nose was buried into the sweet scent of your lingerie. he thought of nothing but the way your pussy fitting in the panty, literally outlined it with his lips.

It was obscene and outrageous but he was needy. He had the vision of your huge, milk-filled breasts, but also this vision of you and your full belly, this vision of the completely attractive mother that he desperately wanted to fuck.

Beads of sweat ran down his forehead as he continued to jerk off, his clenching fist moving back and forth on his throbbing dick. he could feel the blood pumping through each of his veins, and the warmth of his balls. he was exploding. his hand was clumsy and trembling. his lips opened, and tongue hung out on weak moans, until pathetic crying flowing on his face.

he ended up wrapping your thong around his cock and speeding up the movement. the fabric slide so easily over his length, adjusting to his girth. he had spat on his dick, making it shine on the tip, before wetting it fully and fasted his movements. he was excited as a dog. you turned him into a mad freak.

his legs shivering as he continued to jerk himself up and down, each finger wrapped around his girth. he was on his knees, half-naked and perverted. he couldn't think, you were the only thing in his head. as he touched himself, his balls slapped heavily between his fat thighs.

all of his fingers worked around his cock, pressing against his blood-soaked flesh. the fabric went through his entire boner which became uncontainable. it was painful, the pain could be heard in his moans.

he even stuck one of your underwear in his mouth, and he actually bit into it to contain his noises while he fisted his entire cock.

as it had been more than half an hour and you no longer heard anything, you decided to leave the transat of your pool to go look up. the door to your room was ajar and you could hear muffled whispers and moaning complaints. you took off your heels to look through the door.

you wished you weren't horny, but you totally were. you were turned on by what you saw. you had a smile on your lips, and you opened the door.

you approached and when he saw you, his face changed. you crossed your arms over your chest, your breasts sticking out more. his eyes were bright, and his mouth was panting. you wanted to caress his cheek and call him babygirl but you held back. just because he was younger than you didn't mean he couldn't fuck you as well as your ex husband. you crouched in front of him, giving him a full view of your thong, but also the contours of your pussy through the fabric.

“I didn’t know you were such a pervert. I leave you alone with my things...and this is what you do with them..." you grabbed the used panties above his face.

he had ejaculated inside, his sperm had formed a wet white stain.

"what am I supposed to do with you? I could tell ward what his son is doing...Should I call your dad for being naughty, Rafe ? Or maybe, it's better to deal with me. " you played with him with some teasing.

you caught the fear in his eyes and chuckled. in reality, your threat was crueler than you thought. and you quickly understood that his father was a sensitive subject.

“apart from that, my things are put away so it’s true that I owe you something, kid.”

“Stop calling me kid.” he warned.

"Why? It's a kid's behavior to do things behind their parents' backs."

He smirked. You were obviously a mother to come up with this kind of thinking.

"Want to play the momma so bad? I can fix that. Let me breed that pussy and make you a little child to have a real reason to call him kid."

“You think you can breed me? When you were literally jerking off in my panties instead or facing me to admit how perverted you are?”

you took off his cap and collected the sperm on it.

“You think I’m too young to fuck you? ”

"No, I have no doubts about your sexual abilities. You seem in great shape."

Without taking off your panties, you began to rub yourself against the fabric of his cap. you could feel rafe's wet and still warm cum, plus the object sliding against your slit.

as you stroked yourself on his cap, you could hear him groan. It didn't take him long to regain his masturbation.

moans had started to come out of your mouth, while you humped the object knowing full well that he would put it back when he left your house with your scent still on it. you moved sensually, your hips bucking slowly so he could hear how wet you were. your body was submitted to his desires, your boobs had burst out of your bikini top.

as if in need of affection, he had wrapped his slobbering and desperate mouth around your breasts. he had sucked and licked your nipples and nibbling the piece of tender flesh between his teeth without hurting you. he had sank his mouth far enough to cause you sensations of pleasure and enjoyment. he continued, his tongue rolling from one of your tits giving slap to them with his muscle, while you held his head in your hands, caressing his neck with an affectionate gesture. he was such a good boy, your pretty boy.

he was playing with you. his mouth was toying with your tits. he loved pinching them, and let them bounce before putting his head on it. he was so horny, his dick tugging hard and painfully in his pants. he was sucking at your boobs, biting them to hear your whiny noises into his ears. his face was so cocky, so frat.

you continued to rub yourself, your pussy soaking all the fabric. sloppily kissing your huge tits, he trailed his kisses around your skin and neck. he dragged one of his hands around your throat, making you move your head slightly.

“sit on my face..."

It wasn't even an order but you complied. he clearly wanted you to fuck his mouth with your pussy. he had placed his hands on your thighs to steady you while you were on the bed. the next second his mouth was covered by your dripping slit and juices. his tongue was hot, and licked you so well that your legs compressed around his face. you could feel your clit twitching against his mouth. his hungry hands were tight against you, as he slurped the sweet taste of your cunt.

you were divine. his eager tongue was fucking you perfectly, as your weeped all your wetness into his lips. your arching clit was devoured and bullied by his horny mouth. his hands were on your waist and tummy flesh, caressing you softly as he was eating you all the way. you could feel his tongue sliding in and out, making you feel even more tight. his muscle brushing your slick, pushing deeper and deeper as the throb of your clit tickles his nose. you were in heaven. your body was tensed under his strong breath, hard spasms shivering your insides as the blow covering your juices.

your husband had never given you so much pleasure but here you were swimming in complete happiness. the way his hands gripped your body and his tongue licked you. you started driving on top of him, moving your hips as you held your breasts, and his mouth just followed the movement of your body. his tongue was fat, giving quick circles around your buds, while he held you.

you had also seen the big bulge in his pants. it was giant. all you wanted was to see his cock entirely. so you leaned over and undid his pants.

you already knew he wasn’t wearing boxers. you saw him earlier. even though you were impressed by the size, you were quick to put it in your mouth. it was like a toy. your lips were wrapped around his dick above your face. you had started to suck him. your glossy mouth was around his girth and moved up and down at the beginning slowly then faster. you kept him still with your mommy weight against his, your fat tits on top of his pelvis, and his thick cock inside your mouth. you sucked him deep in the throat.

you were thrusting in and out so fast and sloppy that you had quickly started to be a mess. your hair, your eyes, your nose, that whole mouth. you would release all your sexual frustration in this blowjob. you could feel his entire cock travel through your mouth to your throat and fill it. but you also had his tongue buried in your pussy but your moans were muffled by his dick. you were breathing hard but you were enjoying it so much.

you knew it was wrong and if ward found out you were fucking with his son, you were dead. but you couldn't resist a guy like rafe. and just because he wasn't your age didn't mean he couldn't fuck you.

you continued to pump him, then pulled his cock dripping with your own drool out of your mouth before slapping the glistening tip against your soaked cheeks. your noises were so obscene that Rafe gave you six little slaps against your pussy. you licked his tip without taking it back into your mouth. you had only teased him.

he pushed you to the side, and stood on top of you.

“you work hard.” you said, judging his big arms.

you had lurked about the size of his biceps which were quite impressive.

“ if I want to fuck pretty milfs like you, i need it. .”

“Speaking of this, what are you waiting for? Should i ask …”

“So eager to be fucked by a young boy ? got it. ”

he hadn’t waited a minute longer and he was already inside you. he could have start gently but you were so wet that it slipped so easily. you weren’t really as tight as the girls he was used to meeting but damn, he felt so good inside you.

he quickly picked up the pace, pounding into your pussy while holding your thighs. when your screams got louder, he covered your mouth with a smirk. “did you forget about the kid next door? want him to wake up because his mommy is a whore? ”

even though it was degrading, you were completely turned on by those words. mommy's whore? you could feel the fire in your pussy ignite as he fucked you roughly against your own mattress.

“r-rafe…” it was so pathetic to be bullied by a guy younger than you.

but he was incredibly good. he was buried in your walls, you could feel every inches of his cock in your canal pumping in and out. both of your bodies slammed against each other. and your pussy squeezed him like a vice which made him even more excited.

“ take it. i thought it was not a big deal for you ? can have a fucking baby inside your belly for 9months but can't take that fucking dick of mine inside you for few minutes ? stop acting, babe, because you're only making it worse for you. ”

the way your breasts moved as you took him, how your body bounced on the mattress, how your moans caressed his hand. you were perfect. and a fucking milf..he couldn't wait to brag about this to his frat friends.

your pussy was dripping at the entrance and soaking him completely. you were unable to think of anything. the way he fucked you made it hard for you to think, and the smacking sounds of your cunt against his dick werent helpful at all. aside from saying his name through his hand, your voice muffled, you weren't good for anything.

"look at that pussy and belly, taking my cock so well. i bet you wanted a second baby so bad."

his words were outrageous but the more dirty and unhealthy it was, the craziest slut it made you.

degradation was your thing so you had no desire to stop him in his way. he thrust in and out, driving all his large cock into your soaked walls, fucking you all the way to your tummy without mercy. his big cock hitting your insides repeatedly as he admired himself through his thrusts. “ do you like your belly with my cock inside it ? ”

he had crushed part of your face through the mattress before leaning over you as he continued to work you, his tip touching your spot. your legs were trembling, your eyes were watery and your mouth was panting. you were so fucking dirty.

“crying? throbbing? begging? that kid is fucking you too good, ma'am. “he mocked you nasty. “ and that sweet pussy fits my cock very well. can you feel that ? ”

“ r-rafe…! ”

“ sorry, i can't hear ya well, those mommy milkers are bouncing too loud. but it doesn't matter, i'm not in the mood to listen to you, you're just gonna take it until i’m tired. ”

when he started to speed up because he knew he was going to cum, you didn't know how many minutes he had been inside you and fucking you hard like a ragdoll. but it's been a long, long time. you had already reached orgasm three times. and it was like he was playing with you. he wanted to see you tired and on the verge of explosion. rafe wanted to see you completely worn out. he wanted to feel like he used you extremely well.

“the roles have changed. I'm the one giving the rewards now. " and he came, thicks white loads filling your sweet cunt as he spoke, letting a warm pressure inside your belly.

“ what if i'm pregnant ? ”

“ nobody will be surprised that you've got another baby. they would be more suprised about the daddy.”

“ rafe. i'm serious. imagine if ward knows…”

“ this is not his business. i can take care of my shit. “

you gave him a worried look. he had gathered his things and gotten dressed while you were still in bed.

he kissed you on the forehead. “you have my number..."

“i have more than your number now, rafe.” you joked gently.

in the evening, you connected to your Instagram. you wanted to stalk Rafe on social media. And he had posted something on Threads. Okay, you knew he wasn't the kind of disciplined and courteous guy but you expected better from him. The fact that he was telling everyone that he fucked you and calling you milf like you were a score on his scoreboard was really not cool.

The next day you got ready and went to knock at Tannyhill. Ward opened you with a huge smile. “Hello sweet, how are you?”

"Everything's great. Your son is very adorable."

Ward had brought you into the house, and you had seen the whole family at the table. “Oh am I disturbing?” you pretended to be concerned.

“No, of course not.”

"Actually, it'll be quick. I heard your daughter Wheezie was looking for a tutor. And I wanted to offer myself. It'll be my way to thank your son."

While saying that, your gaze was fixed on Rafe who also didn't take his eyes off you.

It didn't take long for Ward to introduce you to the family.

After the meal, Rafe had taken you upstairs to his room before pinning you against the wall.

“What’s your problem?!”

"No, what's your problem?! Tutoring Wheezie? Don't make me believe you have any degree? Girls like you don't seem to bother studying."

"Wow...you can be really mean when you want. I saw the offer online, and I volunteered, that's all. No need for a fuss. I need to work, rafe. It's called life. ”

"Don't make me think you don't have intentions behind it. Suddenly you want to help Wheezie?"

He had laughed, his tongue poking inside his cheek. “Well, okay.”

" What ? "

"I needed some new faces for my frat house. Your son will do it. Don't you mind that he joined my party? It will have plenty of choices, there is a lot of girls there. Hotter than his fucking brat mom. "

“I beg your pardon?”

“What? It’s the frat concept, we’re brothers. And i'm gonna help my new bro. ”

"You really want to play that? You know, tutoring is easy. But you know what's even easier for me Rafe? It's being a mother. Being a mother to Wheezie is..."

“You’re really crazy, don’t you?”

“I think I just found someone who matched my freak then.”

“I dare you to approach Wheezie.”

“See you soon, Rafe. Oh and I forgot to say. ”

“ What ? ”

“ Did your father always be friendly with ‘neighbors' or your stepmom is so boring that he wouldn't mind having an affair ? I'm joking. Call me when you have time. Oh and you should invite me to those frat parties.”

“ Why i will do that ? ”

“ Stop bragging about it, your bros want some shows, Rafe. And i'm willing to give them. Just for you. ”

[cryboutbueckers]

𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙘𝙚.

parings: toxic!paige x reader, cheater!paige x reader, sub!paige x dom!reader.

summary: in which you show paige you done playing with her.

warnings: cursing, smacking, nsfw content, a little bit of angst.

a/n: hey ya’ll i hope you guys like this, this is intended for black readers but anyone can read, lmk how i did!!

….

you were absolutely furious with paige, it’s currently 1 in the morning and she’s still not at home, you’ve checked her location and of course it was off. you’ve called, texted her multiple times only to be left on read, or delivered.

paige where u at?

read at 11:59pm.

so u jus gonna leave me on read???

read at 12:02am.

baby come home, please.

read at 12:20am.

paige, please.

read at 12:30am.

bet.

delivered.

you were in disbelief, you constantly begged this woman to do better, it was always a “im sorry baby, ur the only one i want and need.” and you always fell for if, fell for her tricks, and you’re sick of her bullshit. it’s currently 1:20am, your in a robe, a pink bonnet, and your cow slippers paige had bought you for christmas.

you walk downstairs, going to sit down on the couch deciding you were gonna wait for her to come in the house, so she could explain herself, hoping she really wasn’t doing what you think she’s doing, you love paige with all your heart, you two have been together for 2 years, did everything and anything with each other, your in love with paige, you cant help but fall for her silly tricks she plays on you, telling you everything you wanted to hear to get you right back where she wanted you to be.

an hour has passed by, as your on the couch damn near half asleep. you open your eyes looking next to you on the couch as you grab your phone tapping the screen twice so it could come on, it was 2am and she still wasn’t home. you sigh, throwing your phone across the couch in frustration as you sit there, overthinking filling your mind.

20 minutes pass by as your once again half asleep on the couch eyes opening up fully as you hear the front door open, it was her. your pissed, fuming actually, but she just looked so good it was almost hard to be mad at the woman. her dirty blonde hair was sleeked back into a low bun, as she had on a black essentials hoodie with baggy jeans, and jordan retro 5’s. her cologne filled the aroma, with a hint of perfume, your heart dropped.

“and so where the fuck you been at? i know you been seeing me blow your phone up dude.” you say sitting up from the couch, looking right directly at the tall blonde, only for her to walk past you completely ignoring you as she walks towards the stairs. you stomp your way over to her, aggressively turning her towards you. “you don’t hear me talkin to you?? you got some damn nerve coming home at 2am just to ignore me paige.”

the tall woman shrugs, “i been out with kk and the rest of the team, you know this y/n quit bitchin at me.” your heartbeat increases, eyes widening “bitchin? i been blowing your phone up for what 3 hours and get no response and then you have the audacity to walk in here and what ignore me?? u take me for a joke bueckers???”

the blonde tries to keep herself from laughing at the usage of her last name coming from your mouth as she speaks “listen baby ian say tha-“ you cut her off by raising your hand, landing a loud painful slap to her cheek. your so mad the stinging in your hand didn’t really bother you until you realized what you just did, you just put your hands on paige.

you look down at your hands, eyes widening as you look down at the woman who’s now sitting down on one of the steps on the stairs, looking up at you holding her cheek. you felt bad, really bad actually. but you needed to make your point. “you slapped me…” your heart beat increases even more as she finally spoke after what you just did.

“i did..” you look to the side slightly nervous, before looking back down at the blonde. “you can’t take that shit back y/n” she stands up, her figure towering over you, making you take a step back to avoid touching her.

paige was tall, not super tall but she was tall. standing at 6’0, all that tallness containing of pure muscle coming from her, meanwhile you only being 5’4, she definitely felt like she had some authority over you because of how bigger she was compared to you.

“and what makes you think i wanna take that shit back paige? you deserve that slap, for all the dumbass shit you’ve been me through these 2 years paige. TWO FUCKING YEARS PAIGE, you better listen to what the fuck i gotta say to your dumbass, that’s the least you could fucking do.” you shove her causing her to tumble a little back onto the stairs, sitting right back where she was before.

all she could do was stare at you, her face written with a shocked expression, sure you’ve yelled at her before but you never ever put your hands on her, you disrespected her. she couldn’t even fight back or anything but listen to you. “two fucking years paige, TWO LONG ASS YEARS WITH YOU.” your so close to her, spit was getting on her face from you yelling. “two fucking years, of you playing in my face, with the same bitch paige! the bitch not even cute.”

and again, all she could do was stare at you with those blue eyes of hers. your confidence you had made her wet, really wet. normally she was the one yelling at people, getting all in their faces, especially on the court. “are you even fucking hearing what im saying to you?” you look at her breathing hard as your breath hitches at what she says next.

“do somethin about it” what? is she playing? “w-what?” you lean back to take a full look at her. her eyes were signaling you something, she wanted something, you just couldn’t figure it out what it is. “you heard me, do somethin about it since you so mad” you raised your eyebrows as you grinned, all hell was about to break loose, and that’s how yall were here now.

you had her on the bed, her clothes long gone scattered around the room as she laid beneath you vulnerable. her legs were pressed up against her chest, fucking her with your (𝙝𝙚𝙧) purple strap. it had a good length to it, maybe almost to much for paige knowing its been a minute since she’s been like this, but you didn’t care, not at all right now.

her eyes were trying to stay present, threatening to roll back as you touched the most deepest parts in her, giving her no mercy as you pounded into her with every single thing you had left in you.

“p-please baby i cant no more” her hand pressing against your lower stomach trying to pull you out some, scoffing as you slap her hand away from you “you think i care about what u cant take paige? you didn’t care when you was out, ignoring me.” your words bringing back a familiar frustration within you.

all of a sudden, you put her legs on your shoulders thrusting back into her, she moans loudly at the new position, you getting impossibly deeper. she felt like she was about to explode. “m finna cum y/n~ p-please~” she looks up at you with her large blue eyes, her cheeks flushed red & her sleek back bun now messed up.

“you think you deserve to cum paige?, hm?” your hand slips down to rub fast circles on her clit sending her over the edge, toes curling over your shoulders. she lets out a scream/moan from the pleasure as her legs start to shake, you knew she was about to cum.

“and you better hold that shit” you remove the strap from her, replacing them with two of your fingers, curling them up to her special spot. your fingers moved hard against her walls you could hear them.

“ohhh fuckkk i cant i cant~ please ma” tears dropping down her face as she looks up at you, giving you desperate eyes. “you done playing with me?” you continue your brutal pace with your fingers, giving her direct eye contact. she’s to caught up with moaning, her eyes rolled back all the way back to her skull. “i said are you done playing paige” you use your other hand to slap her clit, immediately catching her attention as she twitches beneath you.

“yes m done playing i-i swear baby” she pants up at you. you grin looking down at her for a moment before finally letting her have a release.

“cum”, that was all she needed to hear before letting out a loud pornographic-like moan before squirting all over your fingers. “oh my fuck!”

“yea thats what i thought, dont ever play again.”

a/n: clearly im a beginner don’t judge to hard ya’ll🥲, i got sloppy at the end my bad for thattt, but i hope yall like it for the most part.

[slvthrs]

ALL THE THINGS WE COULDN'T SAY | v.hacker

— MINORS PLEASE FUCK OFF FOR UR OWN GOOD —

No matter what, seeing him all over again feels like the inch has given you, spans the entire seas.

OLD BSF!VINNIE X FEM!READER

WARNINGS: NSFW CONTENT MINORS DNI, some angst, some fluff, unprotected sex, alcohol ment, making out praise kink, degradation kink, cheating, possessiveness, angry sex, slapping, face pushing, begging, choking, mean vinnie!!

word count:  2.5k <3

a/n: lil apology for the disappearance mls :(

Ever since that fateful day, I haven’t spoken a word to Vinnie.

It���s not like we were best friends, chatting everyday- at least not best friends in LA. But having sex whilst he had a girlfriend proved too much for me.

I ignored every text, every call, every attempt to get in contact despite what I really wanted. However I knew that any form of interaction between us would end up the same way our last one ended.

And I was very right.

It had been 2 months, it was all going good. I was starting to forget the feeling of his lips on me. Starting to forget the way he made me laugh, held my body close whispering sweet nothings. 

I started spending more time at the gym, and spent more time with my friends. Went out clubbing, shopping, anything that would help me forget. 

But in the back of my mind, only one thing actually made me crumble in the middle of the night, only one thing I thought of when I fell asleep, the one thing I craved.

He had given me an inch and I imagined it to be a mile- the same mistake I kept on making.

So when I heard that Vinnie was throwing his birthday and I had received the coveted invitation- I imagined it to be the world.

Vinnie’s birthday was always something I looked forward to back home. Maria’s cooking, Nate on the grill, and Reggie playing silly board games with Vinnie and I.

***

“YOU FUCKING CHEATER” I yelled, jostling Poncho in my lap.

“Oh c’mon it’s not my fault you suck at Uno” Vinnie laughs moving to pet Poncho.

“Absolutely not! I had Uno, I was about to win!” I grumble, my head falling onto the coffee table table.

Reggie’s hand rubs my back, “Hey we all know Vinnie cheats don’t worry,” He teases sticking his tongue out at his big brother.

The two boys start bickering, laughing, and yelling curses as I cradle Poncho, “Shh baby ignore em their just two stinky men” I whisper

Their words quickly turn into playful rough housing until Maria breaks them up bringing out Vinnie’s cake.

His face is illuminated by the soft glow of the candles, as the cake is set in front of him. His big signature toothy grin covers his entire face as he watches us start to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him.

One of his hands wraps around my waist and my world just stops- at least for a moment before I’m jostled by him blowing out the candles in one big huff.

“What did you wish for Vin?” Nate asks, smiling at his newly adult son

His face turns to look at me giving me a smile before turning back to his dad, “Can’t say unless I don’t want it to come true.”

My world just died right there before starting all over again.

That was a day before he left for LA.

***

I had spent the night getting ready with my friends. I was adorned in pretty jewelry complimenting my hair. I was wearing a pretty white tie-in-the-front white cropped top with long sleeves and a low-rise white mini skirt. I had matching waist chains with some strappy white heels. 

Vinnie’s favourite perfume of mine sprayed on my skin in an involuntary action as I packed up my little purse with some needed essentials and some non-essentials.

I stared in the mirror, Was I really doing this?

“Babes Tyler is here!” My friend Kylie shoots in my direction.

Tyler- the only reason my friends thought I should go to this party was if I brought a guy, so Tyler had to do.

I guess I am.

My friends and I walk out to Tyler’s car, not before a shot for pure confidence, and slip into the passenger seat driving down the same way I went two months ago.

We arrive at the house around 10:30, right around when most people are trickling in. I fix my dress as we walk through the door and all of a sudden the wave of anxiousness washes over me and I want to run.

I don’t however run away, despite how much I want to, I still hold it together.

Kylie pulls me aside to check up on me and hands me a drink, telling me to ‘get some!’ Despite the fact that we both have very different people in mind. 

Jordan, one of Vinnie’s friends walks up to me engaging in mindless conversation that's so clearly an attempt to find out who Tyler is or if “I’m seeing anyone.”

Despite that fact we have a pleasant conversation whilst I feel a pair of very familiar eyes burning into the back of my skull as I hug Jordan goodbye as people get ready for midnight.

Two blonde dudes come in holding a large sheet cake with 22 candles placed ever so gently on top.

Vinnie’s hand is wrapped around Allison who stares at him as if he’s the sun and the stars and his eyes stay on me, causing me to sweat. He grins as the cake is placed in front of him, straightening out his stupid little suit as everyone begins to sing.

As the song finishes everyone bursts into cheers as he blows out his candle as Allison grips onto him, his eyes leave the cake finding his girlfriend’s as she asks, “What did you wish for baby?”

He smiles, not saying a word as he looks back at me, “It’s a secret.”

That’s too much for me.

I maneuver around the drunk crowd, sprinting up the nearest stairs and into the first room, walking out onto the balcony and sitting down on the ground.

My world feels like it's out of orbit, everything just stopped. My head tips back on the glass balcony as I try to recollect my thoughts.

Stray tears fall onto my face, if he can do it for her, why couldn’t he have done it for me, is the only thought that swirls in my mind.

“Hey are you okay?” No no no.

I shut my eyes praying he’ll just go away, but he doesn’t, he never could. He sits down next to me, his body heat slipping on to me.

His hand rests on my shoulder, “Open your eyes” Vinnie’s voice whispers and like a marionette, I obliged.

My bloodshot teary eyes meet his as I turn my head as I move to wipe away my tears.

“Yes?” My voice breaks.

“Why are you crying?” He whispers, his gaze soft and his words even softer.

“Don’t do this, Vinnie.” I whisper, desperation evident in my voice.

“What pretty girl?”

And I cry all over again. I take in staggered breaths as his arms wrap around me. His hands soothe my skin as I crumble into his dumb suit.

I melt into his touch. I want to die like this, in his arms.

“I can’t do this, I don’t know why I came” I whisper as tears fall on my face and into his shirt.

“It’s my birthday… didn’t you want to be here?” He asks, his voice breaking a little as he pulls my face away, lifting up my chin to look at him.

His gaze drops to my lips for a moment as I snap out of it, immediately rising to my feet stepping into the room.

“No no we can’t do this” I whisper-yell at him, my hands crossed over my chest

“We’re not doing anything?” He looks bewildered, his eyebrows knit together

“We can’t be friends.. I-I can’t be here alone with you, your girlfriends downstairs!” My voice rises a little

His expression is the picturesque definition of pain, “Why not?”

“Because I spent years loving you and you threw it all away!” I yell my hand pointing at him

“I didn’t throw it away!” He raises his voice, stepping closer to me

“Oh yes you fucking did, and I was doing so good! I was forgetting about you!” I cry out, I step closer to him.

“I don’t want you to forget about me” His voice is expressionless, as he steps closer as we’re practically chest to chest

“I want to! You have a girlfriend” I slam my fist on his chest as his grabs my wrist

“Jesus were you always this fucking bossy when we were kids?” His eyes narrow, eyeing me

I roll my eyes and scoff, “Fuck. You.” 

He has the audacity to laugh, “You can try and forget me, get with that idiot you got here with- But never, tell me I threw us away, I loved you! I love you.” 

His voice softens ever so slightly, “I will never not love you, tell me to break up with Allison, I will, tell me to kick everyone out right now, I will. Whatever you want, tell me. I’m yours”

“I hate you. Leave.” I huff

He shakes his head, “Anything but that.” 

“Leave me like you left me 3 years ago and 2 months ago” I whisper

“No.” His voice is harsh and commanding

“Vinnie…”

“No.” His grasp on my hand doesn't falter and in fact his other hand grasps my other wrist.

My eyes narrow, please whatever scraps of self respect I have please kick in.

His pushes me back against the wall, my hands pinned either side of me as he places a kiss on the birthmark on my neck, “I’m never leaving you”

I shut my eyes, tipping my head back, please kick in, I beg.

“Open your eyes.” His voice rough and ragged

My eyes flutter open, meeting his blown out brown eyes.

Oh no.

His lips meet mine in a desperate kiss, his hand moves to grasp my waist as mine tangles in his hair. 

“We can’t” I whisper despite still kissing him back

“Just shut the fuck up” He groans as he bites down on my bottom lip

“You’re my worst addiction” He mumbles moving to kiss my neck

I whine, nails digging into his curly brown locks, “I hate you”

“I know my love” I murmurs against my skin, kissing every spot of my neck he can find before dipping down to my tits.

“Vinnie-”

“Yes.” His voice cuts mine off, his head tipping up, looking up at my eyes.

I shut my eyes, “Need you”

“What? Where? Tell me” He begs

“Need you to fuck me, rough” I whisper

He stops his kisses, moving to cup my face, “Whatever you want doll”.

He meets my lips in a rough kiss guiding me to the edge of the bed, pushing me down to sit.

“God you're so pretty, it makes me wanna ruin you sometimes” He whispers out, his voice rough as he moves a strand of my hair away from my face as he looks down at me.

He moves me further up the bed as he leans over me, pulling the buttons of his waist coat down but as he’s mid way he gets frustrated he just rips it off along with his shirt as he kisses me again.

His lips move in tandem with mine as he pulls the knot of my shirt, causing it to fall down.

“Mine” He whispers into the kiss, “Say it princess”

“Yours” I whine as he shuffles my skirt and panties off and unclasped my bra

“My perfect girl” He mumbles as he flips me over, smushing my face into the pillows

I can hear his belt clinking open and he shuffles out of his constricting dress pants and boxers

“S gonna hurt darling girl, just be good for me” He whispers as he kisses my spine as he slowly stretches me out

His hand pushes my head down into the pillow as his other hand rubs circles on my clit.

My toes curl up and my eyes roll back as he starts to slowly rut into me, “There she fucking is”

His grunts echo in the room as my muffled moans coat the pillow, “Cmon, you can take it won't you? You're just so good for me.”

His words tease me as he speeds up his pace, he pushes down my head to thrust deeper into me as his muscles flex around me.

“So fucking tight, s’ like you were made for me” He grits as he pulls my hair up as a ragged moan leaves my mouth

“Such a whore, so good for me aren’t ya?” He chuckles

I whine nodding my head as my mind is too cloudy to form words.

He slaps my ass illciting another pitchy moan from me, “Asked you a fucking question” 

“Mhm all for you” I mumble biting down on my lip

“God you don’t even know what you fucking do to me darling” He groans as his hand speeds up around my clit

“M close, Vin m close” I ramble like an idiot shutting my eyes

He slaps my ass again causing me to yell, “Beg for it gorgeous girl” 

“Please Vinnie” I crumble whining

He laughs at my sad attempt, “My good girl can do better than that can’t she?” 

“Please please I need it so bad, need you so bad” I mewl under him

His pace speeds up, “Yeah? Take it baby”

I cum with a loud moan as my eyes screw shut. I can feel Vinnie kiss along my spine, caressing the sides of my body.

He flips me over so I’m looking at him, his flexed biceps on either side of my face and his dumb chain dangling over my face.

He sinks in again as I whimper, “Can’t Vin” 

“Yes you can, you're so good, aren’t you?” His voice teases

I succumb to his words mindlessly nodding my head.

“That's right, you can take it and you fucking will.” He punctuates with a sharper thrust

The headboard slams against the wall against Vinnie’s impossible strength rutts into me.

One of my hands wraps around his bicep and the other holds onto his wrist as I pull it on to my neck.

His eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.

“Please?” I whisper

He chuckles as he squeezes around my neck using the grip to pound deeper into me as my eyes roll back as my cunt clenched around him.

“M’ gonna cum, can’t hold out, you just feel too fucking good” He whispers

I whine at that cumming around him without warning as I clench around him he finishes inside me.

We take a second to catch our breaths just lying there for a second.

He pulls out maneuvering us on the bed as he kisses my neck, “Not too much my love?”

“Never” I hum

He nuzzles into my neck as my back meets his chest, “Want me to break up with Allison?”

I take a second to process his question.

“Yes… but I don’t want to date you right now” I whisper

“I'll stay alone forever if it’ll make you happy princess” He hums 

“Good” I giggle

“God should've known you were heartache from the moment I met you” He chuckles as he falls asleep in the crook of my neck.

An inch? A mile? As long as it's Vinnie, for you its enough.

[sillyteecup]

Licking The Bloodstains from your alter

Terry Richmond x black!o.c

Warnings:

18+

Obsessive behavior

Violence

Mentions of murder

Very questionable decision making

Exhibitionism if you squint

Smut

Word count: 6954🧍🏾

A.N: remember how I was supposed to have this up 4 days ago? Fucking hilarious business I tell you, like I'm even slapping my knee and stuff🧍🏾. Anyway, here's my first Aaron Pierre/Terry Richmond fic to keep yall busy while I work on the series I've been yapping about. Thanks for reading, I really hope you enjoy it❤️

~Tee❤️

"7 months?"

"Yes Indi."

"7 months since someone else gave you an ass clenching, toe curling orgasm, head spinning, heart stopping orgasm?"

"Yes Indi."

"And that bum hasn't called you yet?"

"Yes Indi."

Mila watched boredly as her best friend's hands searched frantically for something to grab while her jaw hung open in disgust and disbelief. They had come back from a night out with Indi asking Mila why she didn't take anyone home with her. Mila's answer left Indi essentially crashing out in the driver's seat of her Mini Cooper right outside of Mila's house.

Although she was over it now, the first month of being ghosted by Terrence James Richmond had left her equally flabbergasted. The mystery American man she had met at Sumo last year gave her one of the best nights of her life when she took him home. It was actually the first time she had experienced an orgasm that wasn't self induced, and it was an out of body experience.

Luckily for Mila, Terry became a gift that kept on giving. Sucking her into an all consuming vortex of stormy eyes, expensive dates, late night phone calls and mind-blowing sex, Mila grew addicted to the enigma. Mind always occupied by the memories of him turning her every which way, the heart always yearning for his presence. Every moment, even non-sexual, felt incredibly intimate with him.

Yes, there were many glaring red flags like the fact that she knew nothing about him aside from his (South African) phone number and the fact he was from Louisiana USA. But in the same breath, he knew virtually nothing about her aside from her name, phone number and address. It was a mutual agreement that they would remain mysteries for each other to uncover. There was also his possessive streak. Despite his naturally calm and stoic demeanor, he always made sure to his claim on her when he fucked her; hand prints, hickeys and literal bite marks all over her for the world around her to see. And God forbid another man even thought of breathing in her direction in public: let's just say that Terry had no qualms with gratuitous PDA.

Mila wouldn't say she loved him, no, scratch that she did love him, but she also loved what he brought with him. The excitement, the passion and obviously, the dick. Even while riddled with commitment issues, Terry had hypnotized her into envisioning a future with him in it. She actually liked him and being around him. Mila actually wanted to keep him around.

Until one night when his usual 10 pm call didn't come. Until he never called, or knocked on her door again. She didn't even know any of his friends or whoever it was he stayed with so she couldn't reach him. For 2 weeks she blew his phone up, worried that something may have happened to him. One day she even caved and googled him, hoping to find a social media account or anything to alert her of his whereabouts. The only thing she managed to find was the fact that he served as a Marine for about 6 years before being honorably discharged a year ago. Everything else was a dead end.

Distraught at the sudden loss of someone who had etched himself into the life of a woman who never made space for lovers, Mila eventually grew to accept his disappearance. If anything, he solidified her lack of trust in romantic partners, pushing her back into the realm of strictly causal sex. The only problem was that he had ruined her for the rest of the world. She shuffled through hook-up after hook-up, chasing the high he had fed her during their 2 months together, to no avail. She began to suspect his dick was laced with something because there was no way it was impossible to replicate that feeling. Either way, she would never hear from any of those hook-ups again.

I wonder what that's about.

Maybe I'm just looking in the wrong places, she told herself. But alas, she eventually gave up on that as well, swearing celibacy for the next 2 years. She thought of it as a reset of her mind, body and soul. Maybe after enough time, she would be free from the now blood boiling memories and sex would become fun.

This mini-debrief session was the first time that Mila had spoken to anyone about Terry outside of a throwaway line like, "Gotta go, godly dick is waiting on my doorstep," and "This fuck-ass nigga is ghosting me." No one in her life even knew his name until now.

"No Mila, we need to find this gent and jump him. There's no way-" Indi yelled, smacking her dashboard in frustration.

Mila shrugged nonchalantly. Sure, the topic still stung a little, but she was at a point where she didn't wanna think or care about it anymore. Terrence James Richmond was gone and probably never coming back.

"I'm not doing that; broer probably always has a gun on him," Mila replied coolly. The last thing she needed was having a gun in the hands of a military man in her face because she overestimated her odds.

"It's fine, you just get your father to find him, then I'll organize the firepower for me, you and Sandy," Indi said, suggesting Mila convince her dad who had connections in the US military and the marines from the time of his Marine service.

Mila's eyes went cold at the suggestion. The last thing she wanted was to involve her hot-tempered and trigger happy father in the affairs of her sex life.

"Absolutely not," she stated firmly.

"But Mila-"

"Indiphile I said no. Ebile, let's drop this topic before I get PTSD flashbacks," Mila interjected, knowing that Indi wasn't going to drop it unless she firmly put her foot down.

Indi held her hands up in surrender, acknowledging that there was no room for argument. "Let's go inside then, I'd like to eat something decent before I go back to that baren land I call my apartment," Indi suggested while adjusting her jacket and grabbing her purse.

"Why don't you just sleep over?" Mila asked. Her dad's insistence on getting her a house instead of an apartment was one that Mila never opposed. At least that way she had more space and got to stick the whole apartment hunting and saving for a house process.

The joys of a bald rich dad with a guilty conscience.

"Neh? It's late and I've got toiletries and enough clothes here," Indi said in agreement, never passing up an invite to spend the night with her best friend.

The friends gathered their stuff and exited the car. They reached the front door, Mila sticking her key in the keyhole to unlock it.

It was already unlocked.

Mila and Indi froze, blood running cold at the possibility of an intruder. The worst part was that if they were in the living room, they already heard them try to unlock the door. Quickly, Mila grabbed her phone from her jean pocket and logged onto the app connected to the security system and cameras in the house.

My dad's paranoia is finally doing something for me.

No notification indicating entry and nothing in today's footage. Although it seemed that no one was inside, Mila was her father's daughter, so she grabbed the gun from her purse, cocking it and making Indi gasp.

"I'm over here talking about pulling strings for glocks, kanti you already have one?" she hissed in disbelief.

Mila just rolled her eyes and shushed her. "I don't know why you're so surprised when you've literally known my dad for this long," she replied calmly, hand reaching to carefully open the door.

Indi shrugged, conceding to Mila's point before slowly following her into the house with a teaser in hand.

Mila stepped into the living room, taking slow and quiet steps with the hope that no one was in the living room. Gun aimed at nowhere, her eyes scanned the dark area finding nothing until-

A lighter flickered. Her head snapped in the direction of the sound, finger instinctively pulling the trigger. Mila frowned. She had expected a grunt or a thud, but all she got was a startled scream from Indi, and probably a hole in the wall.

Maybe I'm hearing thi-

Suddenly Mila felt a hand roughly grip her wrist, catching her off guard and effectively disarming her. She tried kicking at the assailant but it was no use, because they either dodged or flat out blocked all her attacks. Indi had huddled in a corner screaming having dropped the taser in the shock of the gunshot, while a now anxious Mila did her best to fight the assailant off in the dark.

The scuffle however, was put to an end when Mila found herself roughly pinned against the wall right next to the switch for the living room lights. Coupled with the hand holding hers above her head, was the cold metallic barrel of her own gun pushing her chin up launching her into a further panic.

"Whatever it is you want: money, jewelry, what-just please-" she had begun to plead before being shushed.

"Shhhh. I'm only here for you sweetheart."

Ain't no way.

Right as the assailant spoke, Mila's eyes finally adapted to the dark. Although his face was covered in a ski mask, those eyes were unmistakable. Factoring in the voice and his scent-oh that rich, woody, spicy saffron mixed with vanilla and cloves...

"Terrence?"

"Sorry!?" Indi yelled from her corner, Mila realizing that she pondered a little too loudly.

The corners of the man's eyes crinkled. If this was Terry, he was cockily smirking under the mask.

He removed the gun from her skin, causing her to release a breath she didn't know she was holding, and reached for the switch behind her. Once the lights were on, he used the same hand to take the mask off, revealing his identity.

And there's that fuck-ass smirk.

Terry leaned in, dipping his nose into the crook of her neck and deeply inhaling her vanilla-peach and cocoa scent.

"So fucking good, just like I remember," he whispered, lifting his head to meet her rather blank looking eyes.

Mila's mouth was slightly agape as she searched her brain for something to say and how to feel. Too many responses flooded her mind all at once, leaving her blank loss of words.

Indi on the other hand had made up her mind. "Rhaaa, isbindi onaso, kaka ndini yendoda! Hayi uyabenza ubunqundu shem. Kwaye ufluent kubo. Hayi-hayi shem ndiyakuvuma! Wena? Eyakho ibrand yobuBitch ass nigga, ndiyaqala ukuyibona. U-Innovative wena ngamasimba-" she ranted in disgust as she walked towards them. Mila was actually scared that Indi would snap and put her hands on Terry. And that was not something Mila felt like dealing with.

As if reading her mind, Terry slowly backed away from Mila with his hands up while she gathered herself. Her uncertainty of her feelings would have to wait as the situation needed to be de-escalated.

"Indi, I need you to please calm down and wait for me upstairs," Mila requested calmly. "Terry and I have a lot to talk about."

Indi frowned before nodding and stomping up the stairs to the guest room she usually slept in, leaving Mila and Terrence alone in the living room.

The latter's gaze was on Mila, longing, and terrifyingly primal. His lips were still stretched in a smirk as he walked over to her. "I never stopped thinking about you," he unconsciously reassured her.

She sucked her teeth in before saying, "Yet you never came back. You never even fucking called," she spat as she took a step back.

Bitter. Mila was bitter, and angry at this man's audacity to disappear for as long as he did, then break into her house and sing her hymns of sweet nothings.

"Sweetheart I never left," his tone was light and sweet, an unnerving contrast to his physical demeanor..

Mila's eyebrows furrowed, face scrunching up in confusion. "Yes you did. You ghosted me for 7 months while you were who-knows-where, ignoring all of my calls and texts," she argued as she pointed an accusatory finger at him.

"That doesn't mean I was gone," Terry insisted, gently placing his hands on her shoulders.

"What do you even mean by that?" Mila asked incredulously, getting progressively baffled and impatient.

He hooked a finger under her chin, raising it for her eyes to meet his.

"I mean exactly that. I've been here the whole time watching you, keeping you safe," he whispered. Although he sounded sincere, his irises twinkled with something sinister. Like there was a darker edge to his revelation.

"Well, except I did leave for about a week, but I was always gonna come back to you. Then my pops called about getting me a job down here, and I couldn't believe my luck when he told me who was offering and what it was," he explained, with a light chuckle.

Mila arched an eyebrow, "You gonna tell me or-" she was interrupted by Terry placing his index finger against her lips.

"So impatient. You really are daddy's little girl," he mused, confusing Mila even more. How the hell would Terry know that when she had never even spoken about him to her?

"But let me cut to the chase. Your pops basically hired me to be your...long distance bodyguard to put it simply," he shrugged. "So like I said, I've been here the whole time, watching you."

Something about the way he said "watching you," made Mila's blood run cold. She doubted he meant it as strictly professional.

"Watching me?" she choked out, terror seeping in at what he could mean.

"Yeah...watching you eat. Watching you sleep. Watching you shower. Watching you go about your routines and shit."

Then he leaned in, head dipping to plant kisses up her neck, and jaw until his lips softly grazed her earlobe. "Watching you let some random niggas touch what's mine," he said before planting more soft kisses on her jaw, eliciting a moan.

However, it didn't take long for her to register his words, and her body stiffened. "Terry..."

"Mmm?" he hummed against her skin.

"Don't tell me you-"

"Got rid of 'em? Tuh, each and every last one...gone!" he laughed menacingly before stepping back to look into her now teary eyes.

"N-no, no, no, NO! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Mila cried as she stared at him in horror.

"Nah, don't get it twisted sweetheart, this is all on you. I did it all for you!" Terry tried to grab a hold of her hand but she fought him off, disgusted by him using her as a scapegoat.

"You killing innocent people because you're a jealous, possessive, psychotic creep was for me? Try again Terrence," Mila spat venomously.

Terry ran a hand over his frustrated face, doing his best to quell his rising temper as a result of her tone. He desperately dug through the corners of his mind for a way to reason with her, not wanting things to come to a head. Even though they had only argued once before this, Terrence knows that with their combined tempers, a fiery explosion was afoot.

"They couldn't make you cum-"

"Wow-"

"They couldn't satisfy that precious little pussy the way I could. Never had your eyes rolled back, your toes curling, your legs shaking...nothing. And that shit tore you up from the inside out," he said, reminding her of the frustrating aftermath of her sexcapades.

"I watched you, every Saturday , crying and throwing shit around because you hated me for ruining you. You screamed and cried about being broken and that you hated them for not being able to fix you. You were spiraling-It wasn't just them," Terry rambled, making Mila's scowl even deeper.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait...Terry...who else did you kill?" Mila asked, prompting Terry to retrieve a backpack from underneath her coffee table. She watched as he took out a binder and placed it on the table and sat next to it, gesturing for her to come closer.

She complied, albeit hesitantly, taking small apprehensive steps towards the man she once felt safe around enough to be vulnerable with, taking a seat on the edge of the table. Terry opened the binder, the contents of its folders and pages eliciting a sharp gasp from her. Pictures by the dozen, of people Mila had not only slept with, but also had interactions that she vaguely remembered with. Negative interactions being the common theme.

Her ex coworker, Sean, whom she had reported to HR for harassment when he wouldn't stop threatening to tamper with her work if she didn't go out with him. Last she had heard, he had resigned before committing-

Terry.

Her creepy tutor, Simon who tried to solicit her into giving him head for a good word with her professor regarding her latest assignment. Apparently he had left the University 2 weeks before being found dead in Centurion.

Also Terry.

That one aggressive Jehova's witness lady that had tried to accuse her and Indi of shoplifting at Dischem after Indi cursed her out for following them around the store. Mila never really expected to see her again to be fair. In fact she had forgotten all about her.

But Terry had killed her too.

Tons of people, dead from what seemed like mysterious or natural causes. Their biggest sin was being a random stranger that had upset Mila, no matter how minute the situation. He had all their pictures, personal details and reasons for their deaths documented. Also in the binder, we're pictures of Mila herself. Sleeping, eating, showering, reading, talking to her friends, at work, at school, with her family-

And for some sick reason, all of this was endearing to her. What should have scared the ever living crap out of Mila, and had her running to the nearest police station, actually relieved her.

Terry loved her. He didn't even have to say it. This was all the proof she needed that he hadn't just discarded her after everything. He really had been around the entire time, watching over her and trying to keep her happy.

She glanced up at him, a small smile forming as gratitude coated her features.

"Terry you actually did this? For me?"

Terry scooted closer to her, moving the binder to the side and cupping her face. "All for you sweetheart. All for you. You're everything to me, and I'll be damned if anyone fucks with what's mine," he whispered, fingers gently tracing up her back before reaching the nape of her neck. Gentleness was then thrown out of the window when he snatched at the roots of her braids, eliciting a surprised yelp, to push her face closer to his. His eyes had gone from green to hazel, the flecks in his irises darkening as his eyes took her in like she were but his prey.

“But don't think any of this means I forgot that you let some bum-ass niggas touch my shit,” he said darkly, making Mila bite back a moan at the sharp sting in her scalp and the dark promise behind his words. Her thong had already begun to dampen.

Feeling brave, she smirked. “Yeah? And what exactly are you gonna do about it Terrence?” she taunted. If the defiant question wasn't enough, she was certain that using his government name would definitely trigger him.

Terry let out a menacing chuckle accompanied by a slow no. His reaction to Mila's dare had her rubbing her thighs together (something she naively prayed he wouldn't see). His piercing gaze had already been enough to get her wet; at this point she was damn near a dripping faucet.

“First,” he began, punctuating the word with another yank at her roots. “You're gonna tell your little friend to either put on some noise canceling headphones and bump something on full blast, or put in some earplugs, or whatever the fuck else, because tonight I plan to have you screaming at the top of your fucking lungs until your little slut throat gives out,” he explained eerily calmly.

“Then, you're gonna go to your room, and you're gonna wait for me on your bed, in nothing but that little red thong you put on tonight, on all fours like the pretty, smart, and above all…” he trailed off as his lips claimed hers in a soft, but also raw and hungry kiss that took her breath away all the while gnawing at his self-control.

It was like a dance. Terry was the lead and every step he took, Mila followed in line. His tongue glided across her teeth, her jaw made way for entry. He nipped at her bottom lip, she let out a needy moan and slid her tongue over his. Every movement was in sync. An outsider would say rehearsed.

But Terry's resolve was waning. If he didn't pull away when he did, he would have taken her on the coffee table like a rabid animal. He still had a point to prove, and he planned to draw it out for as long as he could. Mila’s eyes remained half closed in a love drunk state, prompting Terry to pat her cheek firmly

“Like the obedient little slut I know you can be.”

Mila had never done a single hard drug in her life. The only high she had experienced was Terry induced, and if she was being honest, solely from what she had heard and read, it was all the same.

Hands planted into the gray satin sheet to support her trembling knees, her skin vibrated in anticipation as he stared at her from the doorway. The awe in his hazel eyes was seasoned with unfiltered lust. His ability to remain restrained for this long surprised Mila. 7 months ago he would've had her against the dresser, holding her immobile body up while he fucked her into another consciousness by now. But that was 7 months ago. Since then he had watched 5 too many people fail her. He had watched from a distance while they left with her that knot he could untie with one touch.

A slight tinge of resentment returned, and from the way Terry's eyes darkened even more than before, Mila knew he had sniffed out. She also knew that the next plan of action would be to snuff it out. As much as she owed him a plate of penitence for letting those lesser beings even breathe near what he held so sacred, he had prepared it with his absence.

At least they had paid for their crimes. It didn't matter that they were unaware of them.

“Fucking beautiful,” Terry mused. He began to walk towards Mila, his piercing gaze, and slow, purposeful steps growing that little knot in her belly.

He squatted at the foot of the bed, meeting her at eye level. “You wanna know what my favorite thing about you is?” he asked gently, completely contrasting his foreboding demeanor.

Mila, breath caught in her throat, nodded eliciting a disappointed sigh from Terry. His hand shot up to grab at her jaw. “What happened to all that mouth from downstairs huh? You ain't have nann issues acting bold and calling me by my government name,” he said condescendingly as he shook her face roughly.

Mila mentally face-palmed at her past self. If that dumb bitch just knew how to shut up.

The shaking stopped when the pads of his fingers dug into her skin, holding her jaw in place. “You know what? I'll just tell you when I get tweaking off this dick,” he promised with a wild grin.

Mila watched Terry undress: each bracelet unclipped, watch discarded, rings slipped off the fingers that would be knuckle deep inside her and around her throat soon, shirt tossed to the side and pants, socks and shoes left in a pool on the ground. Only one thing remained on his (extremely well endowed) body, and that was the usual silver chain he wore. He always left it on during sex because Mila had told him that she lived for how it hung over her face while he dug her guts out during missionary.

Having waited for what felt like an eternity, Mila watched Terry move around and felt the bed dip behind her as he settled in. His calloused hands ran over her thighs, feeling them as he was making sure this was real. Her breath hitched when they planted themselves sharply on the sides of her ass. Her back arched instinctively when his fingers split her cheeks open for a clearer view of her his moist pussy. The tip of his nose grazing her opening with a ghost of a touch as he inhaled her scent elicited a moan. If she hadn't already been internally shaking impatiently, his thumb rubbing light-almost nonexistent circles on her clit definitely brought her to the brink of begging territory.

Like an addict feigning for a hit while somebody else sets a line of coke onto a counter.

But he had barely touched her, and like he said earlier, she still had a long night ahead of her. So she inhaled deeply and bit her tongue while his fingers played her like dough.

“You'll forgive me baby, but tonight I wanna take my sweet time with you and this sweet little pussy. Need to make sure you both know that you're mine, and that you're always gonna be mine by the time I'm done. And fortunately or unfortunately depending on how much you can take, that might take us all night,” he said softly from behind her. Suddenly his fingers plunged into her entrance, curling against her inner walls making her cry out. He tsked as he added another finger, “Unfortunately it is then,” he sighed.

His fingers continued to curl and scissor, putting pressure on her inner wall, causing her to let out choked moans. His other hand toyed with her clit pushing her towards the tides of an early orgasm. Her mind spun as he reminded her of how well he knew her body. It had been too long since a familiar face had shown itself around these parts and that was evident in the way her stomach and pussy had begun to clench. Her knees vibrated in a slight tremble, telling her that if she took any more she'd find herself flat on the bed in a muddy pile.

“Fuck, baby I knew you missed me but I ain't know it was this bad,” Terry chuckled having felt and read the warning signs of Mila’s pending crash.

“Yeah bab-fuck! Missed you so fucking much,” Mila moaned, the pleasure making her confident enough to speak again.

Before she could sputter out her need to cum, Terry beat her to the cut. “Give it to me sweetheart. Make a mess on my fingers for me,” he said, coaxing her into an orgasm with one last curl.

Mila’s knees parted slightly as she sat up. The hand that Terry had previously used to play with her clit, held her up by the small of her back while he readjusted his body and wrist. Comfortable, she began to ride her orgasm out on his fingers, head thrown back in delirium, albeit minimal at the moment. Terry left a trail of wet kisses from the back of her ear down to her shoulder blade as she finally came down.

“D’you like that,” he whispered in her ear.

“Mhmm,” she hummed with a slow head. Her eyes were lidded, head growing heavier from the intoxicating orgasm and growing arousal.

“Good, good. Because there is plenty more where that came from,” he promised as he slowly removed his fingers that were now coated in her essence. He brought them up to her lip, brushing his fingers against them as if asking for entry. Her lips parted, making way for him to drag his fingers across her tongue while she sucked the contents off nearly clean.

“My beautiful little princess,” he cooed as he felt her tongue clean his fingers off before removing them from her mouth.

Mila felt his body shift as he maneuvered his way off the bed, once again standing at its food. Through her eyelashes she could see him eyeing her, taking her body in while he fought the unholy thoughts that threatened to throw all his restraint away. Her dark skin remained iridescent under the dim lights, every curve and their sister line, stretching as she laid back completely and parted her legs for him to see his handy work.

A cunt seeping of pleasure and begging for more.

Terry licked his lips and shook his head in appreciation. “I don't think I'll ever stop gushing about how beautiful you are sweetheart,” he whispered as his hands roughly yanked her ankles and dragged her body closer to him. His hands then ran up and down her calves while he watched her face strain with excitement and wanton.

“My gorgeous, needy little slut. So needy that she just had to get her fix elsewhere. Pathetic, unworthy, bitch ass niggas coming in here and barely scratching the surface of what makes her snap and come undone. And thank God for audio cameras, because I could hear the fake moans too. That shit drove me over the edge, had me wanting to bust in and show them how it's really done. Have you creaming, shaking and drooling, high off the pure shit,” he said as he kissed up and down her inner thighs.

“Made me wanna end their shit right there and then so you knew what would happen if you kept letting these niggas fuck with you. Oh, I bet you'd have liked that huh? Watching me catch bodies for this shit? That shit alone probably would have made you cum, my crazy, beautiful little slut,” he chuckled, deep voice vibrating against the skin right next to her pussy making her moan.

While. Mila never cared to say it out loud, he was right. Terry's possessive streak was one of her favorite things about him. Especially coupled with the knowledge of the threat he posed to the general population. The idea that a man who was strong enough to snap someone's neck in a split second, was willing to go so above and beyond for her, cared for and coveted her, made her feel safer than any of her dad's extra security measures. And now with the information that he had gone as far as killing people for merely breathing wrong in her direction…the mere thought of it added to the arousal pooling between her legs.

Terry kneeled before her, his laser-focused eyes never once breaking away from her half-opened ones. The first press of his lips against her sent a shiver through her system. Her mind reeled at the light swipes of his tongue across her clit. It had been too long, and she was already on a trip so the increasing pressure coupled with his digits drawing her soul out of body with the traces on the backs of her thighs only sent her into a higher orbit. A light graze of his teeth against her bud drew a sharp gasp from her. Her hands flew to tug at his curls which had grown longer than the last time she had seen him.

“Fuck, Terry don't stop,” she begged, her voice ragged from her heavy breaths, her back arching slightly from the bed. Never one to turn down his precious Mila's wishes, Terry unrelented, feasting on her like a man possessed and employing his hands to keep her pinned to the bed.

Sinful pleas for more sprinkled with the occasional famished grunt filled the room. The air was thick with sex and Mila found herself chasing her breath and another hit all at once as Terry quelled any past doubts she'd had of his desire for her. The tremble in her legs had grown more violent at Terry's onslaught. It was like speeding up the highway to heaven, the way her mind fogged up with every swipe of his tongue. Her breaths grew shorter as her desperate mewls and pleas grew louder.

“Baby I-I need to…fuck, I'm about to-” she sputtered, struggling to form a coherent sentence over the mind numbing spell he had breathed into her pussy.

Refusing to separate from his meal, Terry simply nodded for her to let go and give in to the crashing wave of pleasure. Her body's fluent understanding of him registered the silent beckoning and with that she found herself light headed as she floated into her second orgasm of the night. Terry remained attached to her mound, lapping and sucking the fruits of his labour. He had yet to be satiated, his hunger driving her into another, and another, and yet another head splitting orgasm, despite her loud cries for mercy.

By the time Terry deemed himself fulfilled, Mila's mind had numbed. She felt separated from herself, like her soul had merged into the atoms around her. Nothing but dazed pleasure behind her usually cynical yet curious chocolate colored eyes. Terry's touch sent shocks through her has his climbed onto the bed over her. Although barely present, his hands on her now hypersensitive skin and that damn chain over her face grounded whatever was left of her. He pressed his lips onto hers, the kiss desperate and needing. On autopilot, her lips moved in sync to his, giving into his every whim. Her soft groans as he nipped and licked her lips spurred him on, sending him into what felt like a drunken haze; a sudden extra spike in his need for her.

The kisses traveled down her jaw, where he gently sucked at her skin before trailing down. His head buried into the crook of her neck, the pressure of his lips and tongue on her skin increasing as he left dark patches all over her for all to see.

Feeling like Mila's body was beginning to consume him, Terry raised his head to admire the absolute work of art that laid before him. The miniscule conscious part of her found herself drowning in Terry's lovingly hungry gaze. His features were focused as his index and middle fingers worked her sensitive nipples, kneading and twisting at them to melt Mila into a pile of nothing.

“Damn, my little slut’s already greened out huh? I ain't even give you the main yet and you're already full. Can't think, can't speak, nothing,” he commented with a light chuckle. “I can't lie, I almost feel bad. After all this is all my fault. But I'd actually be lying if I said I didn't like how you look right now. Completely and utterly undone, and I ain't even stick the tip in yet.” The lightness in his tone was deceptive. This man's intentions with her were anything but. Mila’s undone state aside there was still a point to be made. “Now I'm gonna you remind you of how it's supposed to feel to have someone take care of you,” he growled in her ear, his fingers tightening around her nipples, eliciting an incoherent curse from her.

He moved to line himself up at her entrance, gently tapping her with his thick tip. He gently pushed into her, the pressure pulling her body up in a light arch while it drew the unholiest cry to leave her lips. Terry inhaled deeply, the feel of her tight walls around him slightly intoxicating. Driving him to do something unusual for them: bottoming out. She had always said she felt he would be too big to have all of him inside of her, but tonight was different. Clearly he needed to remind her exactly who this pussy belonged to, and what better way than to go all the way and ruin her even further.

“Ah-fuck baby. Too much-” she managed to cry out.

But her words fell on uncaring ears as Terry flashed his signature, sinister grin before pulling out slightly and slamming right back into her, staying there for a moment. She erupted into what sounded like a moan blended with a tortured cry, back once again arching from the bed. Her hands desperately reached for his hips as if trying to push him away, only for him to grab them and pin them above her head and hover over her.

“Feel that baby?” he asked as his hips twisted against hers, drawing a choked groan. “Yeah, that's me digging you out. Tonight you're gonna be an exceptional little slut, and you're gonna take it all; I don't care if it's too much or if you feel it in your chest or whatever the fuck excuses you've got loading in that pretty little lump of mush you used to call a brain, I'm giving you all of me, and you're gonna take it,” he growled menacingly before he once again pulled out and snapped his hips against hers, driving himself fully into her.

As Terry continued his unforgiving pace, pressure, and tempo, Mila's cries grew louder and increasingly incoherent. Her previously slurred cries for mercy turned to a symphony of sweet nothing that was punctuated by the brutal force of his hips and low hung balls slapping against her body. His dick pounded in and out of her, arranging and rearranging her insides. Every sense of coherence had been fucked out of her with every brutal stroke.

“Whose fucking pussy is this?” he growled, gently kissing her jaw as he continued to fuck her like he hated her.

Mila, however, was too far gone to form a cohesive thought let alone a sentence. Unsatisfied with her incoherent babble, Terry his hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed hard enough to blur her vision. “I know you're too cock-drunk to think right now baby, but I need you to answer me when I ask you a question. I know my polite little princess is still in there somewhere,” he said softly as he purposefully constricted her breathing before letting go for an answer.

“It's-it's…yours, baby. All yours,” she choked out between gasps for her air and lustful moans to Terry's satisfaction. He rewarded her with an even more unforgiving stroke, which she swore drove her soul out from her body, before returning to his original pace.

Fists wrapped around the ruined satin sheets, Mila found herself nearing her third orgasm of the night. Her vision had begun to blur and her legs had begun to numb.

“Terry, I-”

“Go ahead sweetheart,” he grunted, not faltering even once.

Once again Mila found herself washed under an abyss of pleasure and nothingness. Her head spun as a sinful cry tore from her lips, her pussy clenching around Terry making him close his eyes and growl before regaining his composure.

Terry's pace slowed as she came down, allowing her a brief moment to stew in her third wind. Her erratic breathing grew calmer and calmer as her loud moans quietened into whimpers. Terry peppered a few more wet kisses across her chest, up her neck and to her ear.

“God I missed this shit. I missed fucking this pussy numb. I missed hearing you scream when I'm inside you. I missed the way you look when you're drunk on this dick. Kinda like right now, my sweet, beautiful, dick-dumb princess,” he said as he continued to kiss all over her, soft strokes lulling her into a false sense of security.

“...missed you too baby,” she muttered, barely above a whisper while she tried to collect herself.

Mila felt Terry pull out, assuming they had reached the aftercare segment of their little show. She hummed as he gently began to massage her left calf, relieving it of any tension while kissing it softly.

“You know, you've been such a good girl for me tonight; being obedient and taking me so well like the sweet little slut I know you are. Made me think about ending it here, running you a bath and making something nice for you and your friend before you fall asleep,” he said as he put her calf over his shoulder, repeating his actions with the right one.

“I mean just by looking into your eyes, I can tell there's nothing left in there. You look like you'd pass out if I gave you anymore,” he pointed out, making Mila nod in agreement. Honestly, she could use a hot bath and a good meal. As much as it was only the first round, it was also the third orgasm and it had been brutal. All of that for the first time in 7 months had taken her out pretty early.

“But then I thought, ‘nah, fuck that’.”

His words made her eyes snap open as he gently placed the next calf over his shoulder. He began to lean in, effectively folding her body in half. “We've both waited too damn long for this shit. You cried for this, I killed for it. And I don't know about you, but I feel it would be a waste if all of that was just for you to tap out after one round,” he said, his tone darkening with promise in the last sentence.

Without warning, he pushed into her, fully driving his huge dick back into the depths of her guts. The pained yet lustful cry that tore from her throat made him chuckle darkly.

“I did tell you this was gonna be a long fucking night for you.”

[lavenderdaisychain]

Calm before the storm

18+ readers beware

(Chat I’m gonna be honest I did not proofread this, my life has been insane so I cranked it out as soon as I could. Spoilers for episode 13 of you aren’t caught up on The Pitt)

Dr. Micheal “Robby” Robinavitchxf!Dr.reader

Tags: established relationship (married), age gap (bc ofc we love to sexualize old men here), violence, gore, death, gun violence, hurt/comfort, PTSD, ptsd related episodes, panic attacks, mentions of drug use

Wc:3.8k

~Normally you and Robby both take today off, but when he gets called in you decide to take Jake and Leah to Pitt Fest, only for it to take a turn for the worse~

“What are you doing?” You hummed into your husband's neck as he tried to crawl out from under you.

“Just gotta get up honey,”

“Bullshit it’s 5:30 and we agreed to stay in today. We’re taking the kids to Pitt fest remember?” You untangled your legs from his and sat up on his lap, wiping the sleep for your eyes.

“I have to work…I don’t want to but they’re down an attending and Gloria’s already up my ass I don’t need her to be up yours too if I don’t show.”

You frowned. Everyone knew what today was, especially Gloria.

“She’s a heartless bitch.” You pouted, crossing your arms defensively. Micheal couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, he kissed you, using the kiss as a distraction to get out of bed.

“Hey!” You shouted playfully, “no distraction kisses mister!” You got out of bed and threw on whatever tee shirt you could find before trailing behind Micheal to the bathroom. Your usual morning routine was quiet today, normally the two of you would make a game plan for the day. It was about this time you’d start calling him Robby, but not today. He needed to be Micheal Robinavitch for as long as possible before being ‘Dr. Robby’ for the rest of the day.

“Here’s some coffee, we’ll be by later to get the passes so you can see us off,” You smiled warmly, passing Micheal a to-go cup and his backpack.

“Wow, my wonderful wife already had my stuff ready for me! What would I do without you?” He questioned pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Well you’re an old man so you’d probably have a hard time on your own, that’s why I’m here,” you giggled as he rolled his eyes. With another kiss and a playful slap to your ass he was gone.

Robby’s headed your way, please keep an eye on him?

Already on it.

Thank god for Dana. You silently prayed that today would be an easy day. But who were you kidding, he was walking into The Pitt, and it didn’t have that name for no reason.

——

“I could’ve picked you up!” You kicked the door to your house shut as Jake walked in, waving off his uber.

“It’s no problem really! I needed the quiet drive to calm down.” You couldn’t help but smile at Jake’s apparent nervousness. He had friends who were girls but never an actual girlfriend. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of how he looked just like Robby when the two of you started to date.

“You look like Robby,” you laughed. “scared shitless, but don’t be! Leah is gonna have a great time and I get to be cheesy and third wheel!”

“Honestly I’m glad it’s just one of you and not you and Robby. You guys are so gross together!” Jake pretended to gag at the idea of you and Robby being romantic. You were just glad you could come in and be stepmom without disruption, Jake was just hitting puberty when the two of you got married but he accepted you almost immediately. He really had become not only a friend but your son.

When are you and Jake coming by? It's been a morning, Robby’s had 3 coffees before 11am.

Technically 4…..but you wouldn’t tell Dana that.

Jake just pulled up, let me change and we’ll head your way.

You changed out of your pjs into some more comfortable outdoor clothes and packed up festival essentials before heading to the hospital. You and Jake walked into what seemed to be a normal day in the Pitt, minus the obvious influx of student doctors it seemed like another day in fucked up paradise.

“Hey Jay!” Dana smiled brightly and pulled Jake into a hug, Jake always made everyone’s day brighter when he came in. You took a moment to scan the floor, your husband was nowhere to be found. You looked back to Dana to see everyone quizzing him on Leah, and giving him condoms.

“Hey! Did y’all forget his favorite step mom is third wheeling? We’re not gonna need those!” Jake’s face quickly turned red as he turned on his heel and booked it to Langdon. “So?” You questioned, walking up to Dana once she was alone.

“Well we’ve had a kid OD, a woman’s foot fully degloved after she got pushed onto train tracks, two adult children having to let their father go after putting him on a vent against his wishes, rats, the Kraken is awake and those are only the highlights.”

“And it’s only lunch!” You breathed out surprised.

“Well Mrs. Robinavitch, how nice of you to join us.”

“Not today Gloria you only get one Robinavitch!” You spun around with a tight smile plastered on your face. “I’m taking Jake to Pitt fest. My husband and I were supposed to go together but it looks like yall go busy.”

“Doctor-“ Gloria had that stern look on her face you couldn’t stand, but you spotted Robby just behind her and found your way out.

“Gloria I would love to chat about why you’re mad at me and bullshit like that but my husband needs help with a patient!” You swiftly walked past Gloria, locking your arm in with Robby’s and walking down the hall.

“Hi Honey,” Robby kissed your cheek softly, you could feel the tension in his body relax as you wrapped your arm around his waist.

“How are you?”

He let out a ragged sigh. “As fine as I can be. Myrna just hit on me again, so at least some things stay the same around here.”

You smiled softly at him before pulling him into a tight hug, having to stand on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck. He took a deep breath into your collarbone, inhaling the sweet perfume he loved.

“God I wish we were home curled up in bed.” He groaned.

“Your shift will be over before you know it.” You kissed him again.

“Gross!” Jake shrieked, interrupting your tender moment. Robby laughed, throwing his head back and kissed you again, harder. He gave your hips a tight squeeze before throwing his arm around Jake, leading him to the nurses station. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Even though Jake’s mom and Robby weren’t together, Jake was his son 100%.

“Mom wanted to know how you were doing,” Jake rubbed the back of his neck as you walked up to him in the middle of his conversation with Robby.

“Well that’s very sweet of her. Again, I really am sorry about missing Pitt Fest but you’ll have fun with the girls.” Robby smiled, putting 3 carded lanyards in Jake’s hand.

“You still free for Basketball Sunday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Robby pulled Jake into a tight hug. “Hey when am I gonna meet this girl? I’m kind of pissed your stepmom gets to meet her before I do.”

“Soon I promise! But hopefully not too soon, everyone’s been weirding me out giving me their advice….and condoms.”

“Wait.” Robby turned to fully face Jake “are you having sex?”

You ran up and kissed Robby’s cheek before grabbing Jake and leaving. “Bye we’ll send pics!”

—

You and Jake walked up to the security entrance for Pitt Fest, standing at the side of the entrance was a tall girl with long golden brown hair, she smiled when she saw Jake.

“Oh she’s cute!”

“Please don’t embarrass me.” Jake sighed, but smiled back at Leah, his cheeks warm.

“Hey Jake!” Leah hugged Jake tightly, she smiled at you shyly when she pulled away. “Hi Mrs. Robinavitch, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Call me Honey please, or Robin, everyone does.” You hugged her. “I’m glad to finally meet the person who’s been making Jake so happy!”

You decided to keep your distance and let the kids have their time as you walked around the festival, some of the artists were still setting up but there was plenty of food, art and shopping to enjoy. But your mind was other places. Specifically worrying about Robby. He looked worn out when you saw him. He had clearly been agitated and was covering it up, but you knew that eventually it would spill over.

The kids are having fun, Leah is a nice girl. I can’t wait for you to meet her! Miss you, love you, don’t forget to breathe.

You knew he wouldn’t see or reply to it immediately but it was there when he would need it.

Before you even realized it a few hours had past, you smiled listening to Leah and Jake rant and rave about their favorite artists, arguing over songs, albums and music theories. You had truly never seen him this happy around a girl and it made your heart swell.

Until the shots started.

You’d lived in the city, and been around guns enough growing up to know what gunfire sounded like.

“Jake, Leah, stay close.” You warned the giggling kids, trying to lead them away from the stage you were currently occupying.

“What’s going on?”

Before you could answer Jake chaos broke out. Masses of people screaming and crying, all headed your way. You grabbed Jake and Leah and ran with the crowd, trying to spot where the gunfire was coming from as people started to drop like flies.

You needed a place to hide. Or make it to the entrance as fast as possible. In the chaos a man knocked you down, separating you from the kids.

“Goddamnit!” You cursed, curling up in a ball to protect yourself from the herd of people running above. When you found your moment you pushed yourself up, scanning the lawn for Jake and Leah.

And then you saw them.

Jake was crouched over the top of Leah, the grass turning a shade of crimson underneath her.

“Jake!” You ran to them and collapsed next to him. “Are you hurt?” He shook his head, looking down at Leah. It didn’t look good.

“I-I - the bullets came out of nowhere” Jake choked out.

“Listen to me. Run to the entrance as fast as you can, don’t look back, don’t stop to help anyone,” you gripped Jake’s shoulders tightly to ground him to what you were saying. “Flag down any EMT you can find and tell them I’m coming with a female with a GSW to the chest. Can you do that?”

Jake nodded, you kissed his forehead and when the lawn was clear he bolted.

“Leah? Baby can you hear me?” You put a finger to her pulse, it was ragged, she was loosing a lot of blood. Jake had taken his jacket off and was using it to put pressure to the wound. You ripped your belt off and did the best you could to assemble a makeshift tourniquet. Leah mumbled something about how it hurt, her skin turning glossy. “It’s gonna hurt like hell but you’re gonna be okay.”

“W-where’s Jake?”

“Getting help, we’re going to meet him. Hold on tight.” You picked Leah up bridal style and bolted for the entrance. The screaming, crying and constant gunfire would’ve sent anyone into a frenzy, even you. But not today, today you had people who depended on you. Jake stood at the entrance with Logan, a paramedic you knew.

“Her name is Leah Fisher, one GSW to the chest. The bullet didn’t go all the way so there’s probable internal and external bleeding. She’s losing a lot of blood. I made a tourniquet with my belt but she needs blood now and blood when she gets to the hospital.” You turned from Logan to Jake. “Jake. Keep her awake. I love you.” You hugged him tightly.

“Where are you going?”

“To help. There’s people down that aren’t dead yet, we need to save as many people as we can.” And with that, you ran back into the chaos.

-The Pitt

The ER was chaos,different triage points were color coordinated in different parts of the ER to try and keep some form of control. The night shift had been called in early with the influx of bodies. Robby had tried to call you and Jake multiple times when he first heard about the shooting but neither of you had answered, your last text kept flashing in his mind.

The kids are having fun, Leah is a nice girl. Miss you, love you, don’t forget to breathe.

Don’t forget to breathe. The day was already wearing on him. He’d already lost too many people, but they were saving a lot of people too. He had to remember that. Robby would never admit to anyone that he almost broke when Jack Abbot walked in.

He stood in front of the ER staff, day and night shift and immediately went into action walking them through combat medicine. The entire ER would have to become one steady unit if they were going to make it through the night. Once Jack finished prepping everyone the bodies started rolling in.

Robby helped bounce from patient to patient. So far their survival rate was 1 in 3….wasn’t looking good. His armour was starting to crack, only Abbott, Langdon and Dana could see it. So they floated what they could.

Robby was about to throw Langdon out of the hospital from their previous conversation when Leah and Jake rolled in.

“Jake?!” Robby ran to Jake as one of the nurses assessed Leah. “Are you hurt?”

“Um. Ya my leg, but I think it went all the way through. Is Leah going to be okay? I put pressure on her chest the whole time, mom even made a tie with her belt.”

“Wait.” Robby looked up to see you weren’t with the kids. “Where is she? Your stepmom?”

“She went back.”

Robby cursed under his breath. Of course you were going to be selfless and go back in to help as soon as you knew your kids were in good hands. Robby passed Jake off to a nurse promising to do the best he could and went back to work on Leah.

It was bad. They all knew she wasn’t going to make it but Robby tried anyways. Intubate. Chest compressions. Push O-neg.

“Open another line for FFP and platelets!” Robby shouted.

“Are you sure?” Dana questioned. All Robby had to do was shoot her a look before she did exactly what he asked. Robby switched with the nurse to do chest compressions but every pulse check was the same. Nothing. But Robby refused to let her die.

He pushed as much blood as they could spare before Jack came up next to him.

“The bullet tore through her heart.”

“I know.”

“This isn’t part of our mass casualty plan brother. You might have to let her go.”

Robby could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t lose another patient. Not this patient. He continued another round of compressions, stopping when the final pulse check was still no Carotid and no femoral.

“Do you want me to go with you to talk with Jake?” Abbot asked, placing a hand on Robby’s shoulder.

“No, no I’ll do it.”

The conversation with Jake did not go well, Leah’s death was the final crack in Robby’s armour and Jake’s understandably upset reaction to her death sent Robby into a full blown breakdown. He curled up in the corner of the press room and let out everything that had been building up from the moment he clocked in. The sobs tore through him violently, all he could do was curl into himself hoping they would stop. Everything leading to this moment, every bad memory, every patient he couldn’t save, every person he let down, over looked, it was all coming to a head in this moment. He’d been holding this panic attack in since he clocked in and it steamrolled into a full on breakdown.

He clenched his shaking hands together as he tried to breathe, people needed him. His patients, his students, his son. You were out there somewhere helping people in the middle of the storm, he had to control it, but he didn’t want to. Robby didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, minutes? hours? A knock on the door snapped him out of it.

“Robby…” Dana’s voice was gentle but it held a sense of urgency.

“She’s here. It’s bad.”

—

“Female, 30’s, multiple GSWs, one to her hip, one to her lower left abdomen. She was conscious on the ride over but we lost her transferring from the gurney to the bed” An EMT shouted over your head, Jack was the one to receive you, a look of fear washed over him.

“Hey, honey can you hear me?” He rubbed your chest with his knuckles. “I need you to wake up.” His tone was clinical, he had to set his emotions aside. “Get a crash cart! Charge it to 200!”

Mateo ran over with a crash cart, setting the pads up, it only took one shock to bring you back. Your eyes shot open as you tried to sit up immediately.

“Sarah?! Sarah!!”

“Who’s sarah?” Jack asked, fighting to lay you back down despite your injuries.

“Jack Rabbit!! Sh-she’s a little girl, I had her with me. I was getting her back to her mom and dad-“ your heart rate spiked, you were distraught. “Sarah!”

“She’s fine,” Logan, the paramedic who brought you in, ran over to your bed. “As soon as we pulled up to PTMC her parents were waiting. She’s just fine.”

“Oh thank god.” You sobbed. Robby ran to you as Jack laid you down.

“Pupils are reactive to light, but it looks like she might have a head injury,” one of the nurses shouted over your head, causing you to wince. She lightly pressed your face looking for facial fractures but thankfully you’d covered it well enough from the stampede.

“Her pulse is thready, could be adrenaline, could be something else.” Jack spoke low to Robby. He nodded.

“Hey sweetheart, let’s get you checked out.” They stripped you down to get a look at both wounds. Robby grimaced at the bruises you were covered in, you had cracked at least 2 or 3 ribs when you’d been stomped.

The shot to your abdomen looked clean through and through with minimal bleeding, but there was no exit wound to your hip.

“Let’s see if we can stop the bleeding to her abdomen then we’ll worry about the hip I need gauze!” Nurses worked to stop the bleeding on both sides, Robby took a stethoscope and placed it on your stomach to listen to your breathing, it was getting clearer.

“Her abdomen isn’t distended, there’s only slight tenderness around the wound but nothing to suggest a peritonitis or a peritoneal hemorrhage. Let’s stitch her up and push O Neg.”

You were beginning to fall in and out of consciousness, only catching bits and pieces of what everyone was saying. You knew Jack and Robby were there, but eventually you succumbed to the darkness.

—

You woke up to the sound of the organized chaos you were used to hearing in the Pitt, a heart monitor beeped steadily above you and you became aware of the oxygen hose in your nose. Your whole body hurt. You began to remember why you were laying in a hospital bed, there was a shooter at Pitt Fest.

“Jake??” you tried to move suddenly but your body screamed in retaliation. You looked around the room, your eyes falling on Robby, curled up in an arm chair next to you. Even while sleeping he looked tired, the bags around his eyes darker than usual. His stress lines were set deep. This was not how today was supposed to go. He was still in his bloodied scrubs, once blue were now a shade of muddied purple. Jake was nowhere to be seen, making your heart rate spike.

“Hey honey, he’s with Leah’s family.” Jack leaned against the door frame, arms crossed tightly.

“Oh. Oh poor baby.” You sighed. Truth be told you knew when you ran with Leah to the paramedic she wasn’t going to make it. But you had to try.

“You had us all worried sick you know, coming in battered like that.”

“I had to do something. I left the kids in the best possible hands…that little girl would’ve died if I hadn’t gone back.”

Jack ran his hand over his face and pushed off from the door frame, taking a seat on your bed.

“You’re abdomen is going to be sore for a while, but the shot was clean. The bullet in your hip fractured, we were able to stabilize the bone but you’re going to have to keep the pins in it and do physical therapy. You’ll be able to come back to work, when you’re ready.”

You nodded slowly. “How’s it going out there?”

“We’re a little calmer now, it’s been a few hours….” He wanted to say something, you could see it in his eyes. “Robby broke. Just before you came in. Dana said he was curled up in the peds room when she went to find him she didn’t even recognize him. He disappeared after we got you stable and…I had to drag him off of the roof.”

Your eyes widened, the only thing you could do was let out a horrified gasp. You knew when you woke up this morning he should’ve stayed, you should’ve been here with him. No. No, the people you helped today needed you.

“Thank you Jack Rabbit. For holding him together when I couldn’t.” He smiled at the use of your nickname. You looked over at your husband “Robby?” Your voice was low, gentle, but enough to stir him from his sleep. His eyes widened at the sight of you and he moved to your bed immediately.

“Hey..” he whispered, scared to touch you. Jack squeezed your hand and left to get back to work.

“Hi, I’m okay.” You were firm. It wasn’t up for debate. You were here, you were alive. Robby’s eyes brimmed with tears, you held his face as wipes them as they fell. “Hey, hey I’m okay Robby I mean it.”

Robby held you as tightly as he could without bringing you any pain, your perfume was long gone but if he tried hard enough he could still smell it. You could feel tears land on your collarbone but you didn’t utter a word, instead you rubbed small circles into his back, humming softly to comfort him. You held him for a while until there was a soft knock at your door, your eyes shot up and met with Jake’s, red rimmed and glossy. You patted the other side of the bed and he practically ran to you, throwing his arms around you and Robby.

You comforted your boys as they cried together, silent tears falling from your eyes. The night was far from over, but for now you were alive, and together.

And that was all that mattered.

an: oh em gee. I have been The Pitt obsessed and Noah Wyle really blew me away last week I can’t wait for Thursday. This idea has been bouncing around in my head for a week and I finally got time to sit down and write!! Lmk if yall like this and I’ll see what other ideas I can crank out! Xoxo

@ebodebo @sceletaflores @yuenity

[pomegranatelifethis]

In the Hollow of Shadows

The rain stung your face as you stormed out of Wayne Manor, the heavy oak doors slamming shut behind you with a finality that echoed in your chest. Your backpack, slung over one shoulder, held the bare essentials—clothes, a phone with a dying battery, and the tattered remains of your pride. The argument still burned in your mind, a jagged wound that refused to close.

“You’re overreacting, Y/N,” Dick had said, his voice calm but dismissive, like you were a child throwing a tantrum. “You don’t need to be in the field with us. It’s safer this way.”

Safer. That word had been a slap. As if you hadn’t trained, hadn’t begged to prove yourself, hadn’t spent years watching your so-called family leap across Gotham’s rooftops while you were left behind, a forgotten shadow in a house full of heroes. Bruce’s silence had been the worst—his piercing blue eyes fixed on his computer screen, not even sparing you a glance. Jason had snorted, muttering something about “drama queens,” while Tim barely looked up from his coffee. Damian, predictably, had sneered, “If you can’t handle the cave, you’d be a liability.”

You’d screamed, you’d cried, you’d thrown every ounce of your hurt at them, and they’d just… stared. Like you were a ghost they could barely see. So you left. You didn’t expect them to chase after you. They never had before.

The streets of Gotham were merciless, the neon lights flickering like dying stars. You trudged through the rain, your sneakers soaking through, your heart a lead weight. You didn’t know where you were going—just away. Anywhere but that suffocating manor. You didn’t notice the van idling at the corner, its engine a low growl beneath the storm. You didn’t see the figures watching you, their eyes glinting with malice, until it was too late.

The rain had been your last taste of freedom, its cold bite a fleeting memory now buried under days—weeks?—of darkness. You didn’t know how long you’d been in this place, this concrete tomb that smelled of damp rot and despair. Time was a thief here, stealing hours and days until they blurred into a single, unending nightmare. The ropes that bound your wrists at the start had been replaced by chains, their cold links biting into your skin whenever you shifted on the thin mattress shoved against the wall. The room was small, its walls scarred with cracks and stains, the single flickering bulb overhead your only companion. It buzzed like a dying insect, casting shadows that danced mockingly across your bruised skin.

You didn’t cry anymore. Not after the first week, when your tears had run dry and your voice had cracked from screaming. No one had come then, and no one would come now. The men who held you—three of them, though you only knew one by name, Marcus—made sure you understood that. “Scream all you want, sweetheart,” Marcus had said, his crooked smile gleaming under the bulb’s sickly light. “Ain’t nobody out there listening.” His words were a blade, slicing through the fragile hope you’d clung to after they’d snatched you from Gotham’s streets. You’d been so consumed by your anger, your hurt, that you hadn’t seen the van, hadn’t heard the footsteps until rough hands yanked you into the dark.

～～⁠～⁠～

The First Days

The early days were a haze of pain and defiance. You fought at first, kicking, biting, spitting curses you’d heard Jason toss around in the Batcave. You’d thought of him then—his sharp tongue, his reckless fire—and tried to channel it, to be unbreakable. But defiance came at a cost. Marcus’s fists were heavy, his patience thin. A backhand to your cheek left your lip split, blood tangy on your tongue. Another man, stockier, with a scar across his brow, preferred his boots, aiming for your ribs when you refused to eat the stale bread they shoved at you. “Ungrateful,” he’d snarled, his voice a low growl. The third, quieter, never touched you, but his eyes—cold, calculating, lingering—were worse. He watched, always watched, his silence a promise of something you didn’t want to name.

They didn’t just hurt you. They stripped you bare, piece by piece. Marcus’s words were venom, dripping with mockery as he leaned too close, his breath hot against your ear. “No one’s coming for you, princess. You’re nothing. Nobody.” He’d laugh when you flinched, when you pulled away, your chains rattling. The harassment was constant—taunts about your body, your weakness, your abandonment. They knew enough to twist the knife, to make you question whether the Batfamily even noticed you were gone. “Bet they’re glad to be rid of you,” Scarface had said once, tossing a moldy sandwich at your feet. “One less mouth to feed.”

You tried to hold onto memories of Wayne Manor, to anchor yourself. Alfred’s warm tea, Dick’s rare smiles, even Damian’s cutting remarks—anything to remind you that you’d existed outside this room. But the memories slipped, fraying at the edges. Had they cared? Had they ever? The silence from the outside world was deafening, louder than Marcus’s shouts or the crack of fists against your skin. You’d been invisible in the manor, a shadow among heroes. Why would they look for you now?

～～⁠～⁠～

The Weeks That Followed

By the second week, survival became instinct. You learned their patterns. Marcus was impulsive, quick to anger but easily distracted. Scarface was methodical, his violence precise, calculated to break you without leaving you useless. The quiet one—Watcher, you called him in your head—was the enigma, his presence a constant weight. He brought you water sometimes, unprompted, but his eyes never met yours. You didn’t trust it. Kindness here was a trap.

The abuse wasn’t always physical. They starved you for days, then offered food laced with cruel choices—eat what they gave you, no matter how foul, or go hungry. You chose hunger once, your stomach clawing at itself until you couldn’t stand it. When you finally ate, Marcus’s laughter was a bitter reward. “See? You’re ours now.” The chains were another game, loosened just enough to let you hope for escape, only to be tightened when you reached for the door. They wanted you to try, to fail, to learn that resistance was pointless.

The harassment grew worse. Marcus’s hands lingered, brushing your arm, your hair, his touch a violation you couldn’t escape. “Pretty thing like you,” he’d murmur, “could be useful if you played nice.” You’d spit in his face once, earning a black eye and a week without food, but the fire in you hadn’t died yet. Not then. Watcher’s stares were different, clinical but invasive, like he was cataloging you for some purpose you didn’t understand. Scarface was blunt, his threats explicit—promises of what they’d do if you didn’t “learn your place.” You curled into yourself at night, your body a shield, your mind a fortress. You wouldn’t break. Not yet.

～～⁠～⁠～

One Month In

A month passed, or so you guessed from the faint scratches you’d carved into the wall with a rusted nail you’d found under the mattress. Thirty marks, thirty days of survival. Your body was a map of pain—bruises fading into new ones, cuts that scabbed over only to be reopened. Your ribs ached from Scarface’s last “lesson,” your wrists raw from the chains. But the physical pain was secondary now. The real battle was in your head.

You started talking to yourself, whispering memories to keep sane. You’d recite Alfred’s scone recipe, step by step, imagining the warmth of the kitchen. You’d replay Dick’s terrible puns, the ones that made you groan but secretly smile. You’d even conjure Jason’s voice, rough but steady, telling you to “tough it out.” But the memories were double-edged. They reminded you of what you’d lost, of the family that hadn’t come. Had they even looked? Or were they too busy saving Gotham, too busy being heroes, to notice the hole you’d left behind?

The loneliness was a living thing, wrapping around you like a second skin. You’d never felt so alone in the manor, not even when Bruce ignored you or Damian called you useless. There, at least, you’d had the illusion of belonging. Here, you had nothing but the bulb’s flicker and the men who saw you as less than human. You started to wonder if Marcus was right. Maybe you were nothing. Maybe you always had been.

～～⁠～⁠～

Two Months

By the second month, you were a ghost of yourself. Your body was thinner, your strength sapped by hunger and pain. The bruises had layered, old purples blending into fresh reds. Your voice was a rasp, unused except for the occasional plea or curse. The fire in you still flickered, but it was faint, buried under exhaustion and despair. You’d stopped scratching the wall. What was the point? No one was counting.

Marcus had grown bored, his visits less frequent but no less cruel. Scarface was relentless, his boots a familiar punishment. Watcher was the constant now, bringing you water, bread, sometimes a blanket. You hated him most. His small acts of mercy weren’t kindness—they were control, a reminder that your survival depended on them. He’d sit sometimes, just outside the door, silent but present, his gaze a weight you couldn’t shake. You stopped looking at him. You stopped looking at anything.

The abuse had become routine, a rhythm of pain and humiliation. Fists when you spoke out of turn, threats when you didn’t move fast enough, harassment that left you feeling dirty, hollow. They didn’t need to chain you anymore; the fear was enough. You’d flinch at footsteps, your heart racing before you even saw their faces. But somewhere, deep inside, a spark remained. You’d survived the Batfamily’s neglect. You’d survived two months of this. You could survive longer.

You started planning, not escape—not yet—but survival. You memorized their voices, their habits. Marcus drank too much, his temper worse when he was drunk. Scarface slept during the day, his snores echoing through the walls. Watcher was meticulous, always checking the locks, but he left the key on a ring at his belt. You watched, you waited, you endured. If no one was coming for you, you’d save yourself. Eventually.

～～⁠～⁠～

The Edge of Hope

One night, or what you thought was night, you heard something—a faint crash, far beyond the walls. Your heart leapt, a traitor that still hoped. You pressed your ear to the cold concrete, straining to hear. Voices, muffled, angry. Not Marcus, not Scarface, not Watcher. Someone else. You didn’t dare believe it was them, the Batfamily. You couldn’t afford to. But the spark in you flared, just a little.

The door didn’t open that night. No one came. The sounds faded, and the silence returned, heavier than before. You curled up on the mattress, your chains clinking softly, and whispered to yourself, a promise: “You’re still here. You’re still you.” It was all you had left.

The crash you heard that night lingers in your mind like a ghost, a faint echo you can’t shake. You tell yourself it was nothing—another trick of this concrete prison, another cruel game your captors play to keep you teetering on the edge of hope. But the spark inside you, that stubborn ember you’ve guarded through two months of hell, refuses to die. You don’t dare believe it’s them. The Batfamily doesn’t come for shadows like you. Still, you listen, ear pressed to the wall, heart pounding against ribs that ache with every breath. The silence that follows is worse than the pain. It’s proof you’re still alone.

Days pass, or maybe hours—time is a traitor here, slipping through your fingers like sand. Marcus hasn’t come since the crash, his absence a gnawing unease. Scarface’s boots haven’t echoed in the hall, and even Watcher, with his cold eyes and calculated mercy, has vanished. The bulb overhead flickers, its buzz weaker now, like it’s giving up too. You’re curled on the mattress, your body a map of bruises—yellowed patches on your arms, deep purples across your ribs, a fresh red welt on your cheek from Scarface’s last visit. The chains are gone, but their weight lingers, a phantom on your wrists. You don’t move much anymore. Moving hurts. Breathing hurts. Thinking hurts worst of all.

You’re whispering to yourself again, a lifeline to sanity. “You’re still here. You’re still you.” The words are a ritual, a shield against the void. You trace the scars on your knuckles, souvenirs from the early days when you fought back. You were fire then, all defiance and rage. Now you’re ash, but ash can still burn. You have to believe that.

～～⁠～⁠～

The door explodes inward, a deafening crack that rips you from your haze. You flinch, curling tighter into yourself, your bruised arms shielding your face. Footsteps—heavy, deliberate—flood the room, and voices overlap, sharp and urgent. You don’t look up. You can’t. Your heart is a drum, pounding too fast, too loud. It’s a trick, you think. Another game. Marcus, Scarface, Watcher—they’re back to break what’s left of you.

“Y/N!” The voice cuts through, familiar but distant, like a song you haven’t heard in years. Dick. You don’t move. You don’t trust it. Hands reach for you, gloved and steady, and you jerk back, a strangled gasp escaping your throat. The touch burns, not with pain but with memory—Marcus’s hands, Watcher’s stares, the violation of every unwanted brush. You press yourself against the wall, your breath shallow, your eyes squeezed shut.

“It’s me, Y/N. It’s Dick.” His voice is softer now, laced with something you can’t name—guilt, maybe, or pity. You hate it. You don’t want his pity. You don’t want anything from him, from any of them. You crack your eyes open, just enough to see him crouched in front of you, his blue eyes wide with horror. He’s in his Nightwing suit, the black and blue stark against the dim light. Behind him, shadows move—Jason’s red helmet glints, Tim’s cape brushes the floor, Damian’s scowl is a blade. Bruce is there too, a silent monolith in the doorway, his cowl hiding everything but the tight line of his mouth.

They’re here. After two months, they’re here. The spark in you should flare, should scream with relief, but it doesn’t. It gutters, smothered by the weight of everything you’ve endured. You don’t feel saved. You feel exposed, raw, like a wound they’ve come to prod.

“Don’t touch me,” you rasp, your voice a broken thing. Dick’s hands freeze, hovering inches from your arm. His face crumples, and you look away, your gaze falling on the bruises that bloom across your skin. You’re a canvas of pain, every mark a testament to your survival—and their absence. You pull your knees to your chest, making yourself small, untouchable. Contact is a threat now, a trigger that sends your mind spiraling back to Marcus’s leering grin, Scarface’s boots, Watcher’s silent promises.

“We’re getting you out of here,” Jason says, his voice rough but steady, like he’s trying to anchor you. He steps closer, and you flinch again, your body betraying you. His helmet tilts, and you can’t see his eyes, but you feel his hesitation, his anger—not at you, but at this place, at what it’s done to you. “They’re gone. The bastards who did this—they’re not walking away.”

You don’t care. You should, but you don’t. Justice, vengeance, whatever they’re offering—it’s too late. The damage is done, carved into your skin, your mind, your soul. You shake your head, a small, jerky motion. “Just… get me out.” Your voice cracks, and you hate how weak it sounds, how it betrays the fire you’ve fought to keep alive.

Tim steps forward, his tablet glowing as he scans the room, probably analyzing every detail—chains, bruises, the scratches on the wall. He’s clinical, detached, and it stings. “We need to move,” he says, glancing at Bruce. “This place is wired. Cameras, maybe explosives.”

Bruce nods, his voice low and controlled. “Y/N, can you walk?”

The question is a knife. Can you walk? As if you haven’t spent two months forcing yourself to stand, to endure, to survive. You want to scream at him, to demand why it took them so long, why they left you to rot. But the words won’t come. You’re too tired, too broken. You nod, pushing yourself up, your legs trembling under your weight. Pain lances through your ribs, your knees buckling, and Dick reaches out instinctively. You recoil, a sharp “No!” escaping before you can stop it. He steps back, hands raised, his face a mask of regret.

～～⁠～⁠～

The journey out is a blur. The Batfamily moves like a machine, precise and coordinated, clearing rooms, disarming traps. You trail behind, each step a battle against your body’s protests. Jason stays close, his presence a silent guard, while Tim murmurs updates into his comms. Damian is ahead, his katana drawn, his silence louder than any words. Bruce leads, his cape a dark shield, but he doesn’t look at you. Not once.

You’re hyper-aware of everything—their footsteps, their breathing, the way their shadows stretch across the walls. Every sound is a threat, every movement a potential attack. You keep your arms wrapped around yourself, your bruised skin hidden under the tattered remains of your shirt. You don’t want them to see, don’t want their pity or their guilt. You don’t want anything but to disappear.

The night air hits you like a slap when you finally emerge, the cold biting into your wounds. Gotham looms around you, its skyline a jagged reminder of the life you left behind. The Batmobile waits, sleek and silent, and you hesitate. It’s safety, it’s escape, but it’s also them—the family that forgot you. Dick notices, his voice gentle but urgent. “Y/N, we need to go. You’re safe now.”

Safe. That word again. It’s a lie, and you both know it. You’re not safe, not from the memories, not from the fear that coils in your gut at the thought of being touched, of being seen. But you nod, climbing into the back, your body rigid as you press yourself against the door, as far from them as you can get.

～～⁠～⁠～

Wayne Manor is unchanged, its gothic spires looming like sentinels as the Batmobile pulls into the cave. The familiar hum of computers, the faint scent of motor oil—it should feel like home. It doesn’t. It feels like a museum, a relic of a life you no longer fit into. Alfred is there, his face paling as he sees you, his hands trembling as he reaches out. You step back, your breath hitching, and his hands fall, his eyes glistening.

“Master Y/N,” he says, his voice thick. “I… I’m so sorry.”

You can’t meet his gaze. You can’t meet anyone’s. The cave is too bright, too loud, the weight of their stares crushing. You’re covered in bruises, your body a testament to your ordeal, but it’s the invisible scars—the fear, the isolation, the betrayal—that hurt most. You’re afraid of everything now, of the hands that might reach for you, of the voices that might promise things they can’t deliver. You’re afraid of them, your family, because they left you to this fate.

Bruce finally speaks, his voice low, controlled. “Y/N, we need to get you to the med bay. Leslie’s on her way.”

You shake your head, your voice a whisper. “No. I just… I need to be alone.” You don’t wait for permission. You turn, your steps unsteady, and head for the stairs. Their voices follow, a chorus of concern and confusion, but you don’t stop. You can’t. You climb, each step a reminder of the night you left, the night this all began. You reach your room, the door still ajar from when you stormed out two months ago. It’s untouched, a time capsule of a person who no longer exists.

You lock the door, your hands shaking, and slide to the floor, your back against the wood. The bruises throb, the memories scream, and the silence is deafening. They’re here now, the Batfamily, but it’s too late. You’re not the sibling they knew, not the shadow they ignored. You’re something else—fractured, haunted, alive but not whole.

You whisper to yourself, one last time: “You’re still here. You’re still you.” But the words feel hollow, a promise you’re not sure you can keep.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

exhibitionism

part I

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: While out on a Friday night with your friends, you're struggling to pay for your second drink of the night. You are about to send it back when a stranger steps in to pay for your beverage. And really, what's the price of a drink?

Warnings: 18+!, Ben once again being his own warning, age gap, language, misogyny, drug consumption, smut (kissing, biting, marking, slapping, dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, overstim, forced orgasms, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, p in v, cum on face, throttling, rough sex, semi-public sex), mind games, manipulation, degradation, power imbalance, I may have missed some. (There's a bunch in this one, agh!)

Word Count: 7,109

A/N: Part one is just setting the tone, besties. I needed to build the atmosphere slowly because the next few parts of this? Unhinged. Truly. You can probably tell from the title that this one? Gonna be a different breed to the other works I've done. Obviously it's an AU, Ben isn't Soldier Boy here, but some (exceptionally) wealthy prick. And—good god—he's about to be the most controlling I've ever written him. I'm so beyond excited for the next few instalments of this one. I hope y'all are too. <3 Feel free to give me feedback, tell me if you're looking forward to the next part, tell me what you think. My gross little heart loves it. And yes, this is part one... so you know the drill: if the warnings listed above aren't evident yet, they will be. All the love.

Without further ado: EXHIBITIONISM

Power is not taken. It is given.

A glance across the bar. A drink set down without a word. A hand at the small of your back, guiding you somewhere you don’t belong.

It starts small—a single indulgence, a breathless yes.

Then, suddenly, you are on display. Draped over his lap, diamonds at your throat, whiskey on your lips. A possession. A prize. A thing to be seen.

Because men like him do not love. They own.

New York made you tough fast. It had to.

You’d come here alone, chasing a future that didn’t come with a safety net. No trust fund. No monthly deposits from a parent who still called to check in. No handouts, no home-cooked meals waiting for you in a house you no longer belonged to. You’d left it all behind—the family who told you it was them or college, the life you could’ve had if you’d just been what they wanted.

But you chose yourself.

And now? You were paying for it.

Rent was due in five days. You had barely scraped together enough, and there were still textbooks to buy, bills to pay, groceries to figure out. Your job—some soul-sucking gig that barely covered the essentials—kept you too exhausted to focus on anything else. But tonight, for the first time in weeks, you’d let your friends drag you out, promising yourself you’d try to have fun.

They didn’t understand, not really.

They weren’t cruel, just privileged. All born into wealth, raised in big houses, given credit cards they never had to check the balance on. You liked them—loved them, even—but you’d stopped trying to make them understand what it felt like to have nothing.

So you smiled, let them buy overpriced cocktails, laughed at their meaningless complaints, and sipped your one, carefully nursed vodka soda.

The rooftop bar was packed, warm from the heat of too many bodies, the glow of the city stretching out behind it. Your friends were already tipsy, ordering another round while you debated whether or not you could justify one more drink.

You couldn’t.

But for one night, you wanted to feel normal.

You followed one of them to the bar. She ordered some expensive, ridiculous thing—probably something with elderflower and gold flakes.

"Just put it on your tab, babe."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’ll get my own. I’ll meet you back at the table."

She shrugged, flounced off, and you turned toward the bartender, already digging through your purse.

That was your first mistake.

The second was realising too late that you didn’t have enough.

Shit.

Your stomach sank as you counted out the crumpled bills, the few lonely coins at the bottom of your clutch. You pushed the drink back across the bar, heat prickling up your neck. Elbows on the counter, you pressed your face into your hands, forcing slow, steady breaths.

You could handle this. It wasn’t a big deal. You’d just… go back, tell them you weren’t drinking anymore.

And then—

"How much you need, sweetheart?"

The voice came from behind you.

Rough, low. Amused.

You froze. Shook your head, already mumbling, "No, it’s okay. Really, I—"

And then you looked up.

And fuck.

He was standing right there. Tall, broad, menacingly gorgeous.

A dress shirt stretched across his chest, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the flex of his forearms. Dark, expensive-looking pants. A thick watch on his wrist. Clean, manicured beard, hair swept back, and green eyes that looked like they could see straight through you.

He looked like a million fucking dollars.

And he was looking right at you.

"Tough night, sweetheart?"

His voice curled around you like smoke—low, deep, amused.

You barely had time to process it before he stepped forward, before he was in your space, before he was there like he'd been waiting for this moment all night.

You turned your head just as he slid into the empty spot beside you, just as the bartender reached for the drink you'd pushed away—ready to pour it down the drain.

And then he clicked his tongue. Just once. A sharp, quiet sound, and the bartender froze. Then nodded. Like that single fucking noise was enough to halt the whole goddamn world.

"Another," the man said, fingers tapping once against the polished wood of the bar, easy and sure. He had a voice like a slow drag of whiskey, rich and rough-edged, as he lifted his chin toward the bartender. "And get her extra lemon in both."

No hesitation. No questions. Just a quiet nod as the bartender went to work.

You swallowed, pulse kicking against your ribs, the air between you thick and electric.

Who the fuck was this guy?

"You didn’t have to do that," you said, voice steadier than you expected, even as heat burned up your throat. "I can’t afford to pay you back."

That got his attention.

Slowly, his gaze dragged back to you, head tilting slightly, like he was deciding whether or not your words deserved a response at all.

Then, finally—finally—he smirked.

"Wasn’t offerin' so you’d pay me back, sweetheart."

You exhaled sharply, something tight winding in your chest.

His eyes dropped for a fraction of a second—your mouth, your throat, the rise and fall of your breath—before flicking lazily toward the empty stool beside you. Then back to you.

He didn’t speak, just lifted an eyebrow. A question. An expectation.

You glanced at the seat, pulse hammering. Something told you that this—right here, right now—was the moment. The choice. The one that would set everything else in motion. Your fingers curled around the cool glass, and with a slow, careful nod, you gestured to the seat.

Permission.

His mouth curled at the corner, something smug, something victorious, and he sank onto the stool. And then he leaned in. Just enough to tilt his face toward you, just enough for his scent—woodsmoke, leather, something dark, something rich—to curl into your lungs.

"Ben," he said. Just that. A name, simple and short. A gift, or a warning. "And you are?"

You hesitated, lifting the drink to your lips, tongue flicking over the extra lemon wedge as you took a slow sip. His eyes followed the movement.

You told him your name.

He repeated it, like he was testing it, rolling it over his tongue just to see how it tasted. Then—

"So," he murmured, the word slow, deliberate. "What’s your story?"

A question with no right answer.

You exhaled softly. "Not much to tell. Just… out with my friends."

Ben made a quiet, thoughtful sound, lifting his glass to his lips—but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was looking at them.

Your friends, back at the table, ordering another round without even noticing you were gone. All glossy lips, designer bags, endless money, the kind of girls who would never, ever have to count crumpled bills and loose change just to afford a drink.

You felt the weight of his gaze shift back to you before you even turned your head. And when you finally looked up, he was already smirking.

"Yeah." His voice was slow, edged with something sharp. "See, I don’t think you are."

A pause.

"One of them."

The words cut straight through you, precise and exact, slipping beneath your skin like a blade between ribs.

Because fuck—he was right.

You let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh, shaking your head before taking another slow sip of your drink.

"Yeah," you admitted, rolling the condensation-slick glass between your fingers. "You’re right. I’m not one of them."

Ben didn’t look particularly surprised. He just hummed—low, deep, expectant. Waiting.

And for some reason, you gave him more.

"They’re comfortable," you murmured, staring down into your drink, watching the ice melt. "They don’t have to worry about money. College is just a fun, cute idea to them. Something to pass the time before they go off and do whatever rich girls do when they get bored." You swallowed, the truth suddenly sitting heavy on your tongue. "They’re all pretty. They dress nice. They never have to worry about whether or not they’ve got enough crumpled bills in their purse to pay for a measly vodka soda."

Silence stretched between you.

Then—a sharp tut. Ben clicked his tongue, shaking his head like you’d just said something ridiculous.

"They’re not that pretty."

Your brows furrowed. You glanced at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

But he didn’t answer. Not right away. No—first, he looked.

And fuck.

His gaze dragged over you in one slow, unapologetic pass, starting at your legs, bare where they crossed beneath the bar, lingering just a little too long at the hem of your dress. His expression didn’t change, but you felt it when his eyes darkened, when they lingered on the soft, subtle curves of your body, when his gaze flicked up, finally—finally—to your face.

And then he smirked.

"Yeah, they’re pretty," he admitted, his voice a lazy drawl, like he was indulging the thought just for the hell of it.

Then his eyes locked onto yours.

"But you?" He leaned in, forearms braced on the bar, and his next words were just for you—low, rough, dangerous. "You’re a fuckin' knockout,��sweetheart."

A flush crawled up your throat, warm and insidious, and you were so goddamn grateful for the dim lighting because what the fuck.

You weren’t used to this. Not the attention. Not like this. Not from a man.

Not from someone who looked like that—who looked like he had at least fifteen years on you, who carried himself like he had twice as much experience, who was looking at you like you were something worth his time, worth his attention, worth every second he was spending sitting here, watching you squirm.

Your breath caught. You took another sip of your drink, hoping like hell it would cool the heat spreading through your veins.

But his eyes? They told you—you weren’t getting off that easy.

Because Ben didn’t stop looking at you.

If anything, his attention sharpened. Every time you wet your lips, every slow sip of your drink, every flick of your tongue against the rim of the glass—he tracked it, eyes dark and unreadable.

He wasn’t subtle about it. Didn’t even fucking try to be. And worse? You could feel it.

Feel his gaze pressing into you, lingering on your mouth, dipping to your throat every time you swallowed, flicking back to your face just to catch the way heat bloomed beneath your skin.

He knew. He fucking knew. But when he spoke again, his voice was easy, casual—like he hadn’t just been devouring you with his eyes.

"What are you studyin'?"

You blinked, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

"Literature and Language," you answered, trying to sound normal, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped when his gaze lingered just a second longer than necessary before he nodded.

"Huh." A slow, thoughtful sound. "Why those?"

Your fingers curled around your drink, rolling it between your palms. "I love words."

That made him smirk, like you’d just said something that amused him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling almost shy under the weight of his gaze. "I want to write. I don’t really care what. Just… something."

Ben nodded, tapping his fingers idly against the bar.

"You on campus?" He asked. "Or you got your own place?"

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to answer. But because you weren’t sure why you felt so fucking compelled to tell him the truth.

His voice wasn’t demanding. He wasn’t prying. But something about him—about the way he looked at you, the way he asked, slow and expectant—made it impossible to brush him off.

You parted your lips to answer, but—

"Hey!"

Your name, bright and teasing, cut through the moment.

You turned to see one of your friends making her way over, heels clicking against the polished floor, eyes flicking between you and Ben with obvious curiosity.

He didn’t look at her. Not once. Even as she stopped beside you, even as she smirked and let her gaze drag over him, assessing, intrigued—Ben didn’t fucking blink.

His focus was still on you.

"We’re heading to another club," your friend announced, raising an eyebrow. Waiting. Watching. "You coming?"

And you—God help you—you were about to say no. You were about to say I want to stay. But before the words could even form—

"She’s good," Ben said smoothly.

Your friend blinked, startled, before her eyes snapped back to him.

"We’re having a nice conversation," he continued, voice easy, unreadable. Final. "Don’t worry about her. I’ll make sure she gets home safe."

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. But your friend? She just grinned, because of course she fucking did.

"See ya later, babe!" She sang, giving you a knowing look before turning back toward your table. Back toward the others, who were already watching. Already smirking, like hungry fucking wolves.

Then your friends were gone, and the bar felt quieter, smaller without them. But Ben? He was still here. Still right beside you, still watching. Still holding all of your attention hostage.

He tapped his glass against the wood once, slow and thoughtful. Then—

"You want somethin' different?"

You blinked, shifting slightly in your seat. "I’m okay."

Ben made a noise in the back of his throat, something between a hum and a scoff, before waving a hand, cutting you off before you could say anything else.

"Didn’t ask if you’re okay, sweetheart." His voice was smooth, lazy, but edged with something sharper. "Asked if you want somethin' different to drink."

Your lips parted, but you hesitated.

Ben didn’t.

"I’m gettin’ another whiskey," he said easily, before his gaze dragged over you again—slow, indulgent, knowing. His smirk deepened. "I can get you one of those fruity little drinks if you want."

You frowned, shaking your head. "I don’t choose those for a reason."

His eyebrows ticked up, but he didn’t interrupt.

"I like alcohol to taste like alcohol," you murmured, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

And that? That earned you something new. A slow, low whistle. Ben grinned, sharp and approving.

"Atta fuckin’ girl."

Your stomach flipped, heat curling somewhere low and slow.

"Here," he said suddenly, reaching for his drink. "Try mine. See if you want that."

You barely had time to react before he pressed the glass into your hands, fingers brushing against yours, firm and deliberate. You weren’t sure why, but your breath hitched.

Not because of the whiskey. Because of him. Because of the way his pupils visibly darkened as you hesitated, as you lifted the glass, as your tongue flicked against the rim of the glass—

The same place he’d been drinking from.

Your lips parted around the sip, slow and small, the liquid burning warm and smooth down your throat. You shut your eyes, exhaling softly.

"Fuck," you murmured, sighing just a little.

You didn’t even have to look. You already knew. But when your lashes fluttered open again, Ben was already watching you, one brow cocked, a knowing little challenge hanging in the air between you.

You swallowed, ignored the heat spreading across your skin, and shrugged.

"It’s nice," you said lightly, reaching to slide the glass back to him. "But I don’t want you to spend any more money on me."

Ben scoffed, like the idea of money was a joke.

"Chump change, sweetheart."

Then, without another word, he whistled for the bartender, tapped his glass against the counter, and lifted two fingers in the air.

A silent command.

Seconds later, two fresh glasses of whiskey slid across the bar toward you. Your throat felt tight. You exhaled, a small breath of laughter slipping free before you even realised it.

"You’re a little young to have such a refined palate."

You huffed, rolling your eyes, before saying, "I used to steal sips of my dad’s whiskey when I was little." You paused, eyes flicking down to your glass, swirling the amber liquid absently. "I’ve always liked the burn."

Ben went still.

Just for a second. But it was enough. Enough to notice the way his nostrils flared, the way his fingers tightened around his glass, the way his gaze dropped back to your mouth like he was suddenly thinking about something else.

And then—

"Come with me."

His voice was low, thick with something weighted, something hot.

You blinked. "Where?"

Ben tipped his glass toward the entrance, toward the doors leading outside to the private rooftop patio.

"Need a smoke." A pause. "You should come."

He didn’t ask. Not really.

It was a suggestion. A promise. A fucking test.

And you? You took your glass and followed.

Ben held the door open with his foot, one arm braced against the frame, the other pressing lightly against the small of your back as he guided you outside.

The touch—warm, firm, easy—made you shiver.

His hand didn’t move. Didn’t slide away, didn’t lift, didn’t hesitate as he steered you toward the back of the rooftop patio—away from the clusters of people near the entrance, away from the noise and the neon city glow.

He led you to a hidden corner, tucked behind hanging plants and low-lit lanterns, a secluded little alcove that smelled like whiskey and leather and cigarette smoke. A place that felt expensive. Exclusive. Like somewhere you didn’t belong.

Ben sat, sprawling out across an outdoor sofa, legs spread wide, exhaling slow as he placed his whiskey down on the table. Then he stretched, arms draped over the back of the couch, rolling his shoulders with a satisfied hum before tilting his chin up at you.

"You gonna stand there all night?" He drawled. "Or you gonna come sit down?"

Your breath hitched. You slid your drink down next to his, then hesitated. Ben smirked. Then he patted his thigh.

Patted. His. Thigh.

"C’mon, sweetheart." His voice was low, teasing, wicked as sin. "I don’t bite."

Something thick and molten curled in your stomach, pooling warm at the base of your spine. And you didn’t know why—why the hell you actually listened, why you obeyed like it was the most natural thing in the world—

But you did. You perched yourself in his lap, delicate and careful, settling neatly on his thigh, just like he told you to.

His hand smoothed over your back, slow and deliberate, before wrapping around your waist and pulling you in closer, settling you against him as he sank deeper into the couch.

His warmth seeped through you instantly.

You hadn’t realised how cold it had gotten—the sharp chill of the evening settling deep in your bones, biting at your skin, leaving you barely covered in the slinky black dress.

But now? Now you were wrapped in his heat.

He reached into his pocket, fishing out a pack of cigarettes, fingers working slow as he tapped one loose. You watched as he flicked open his lighter, gold flame illuminating his face, sharp and stunning in the low light.

He took a long drag, exhaling thick ribbons of smoke into the air before tilting his head back to look at you.

"You smoke?"

You hesitated. "Only sometimes."

Ben hummed. "Why only sometimes?"

You scoffed softly, lifting a brow. "Can’t really afford it."

That made him laugh—low and amused, smoke curling from his lips as he shook his head like you were something funny, something ridiculous.

Then—without warning—he plucked the cigarette from his mouth and held it to yours. The move was smooth, effortless, like it wasn’t even a question whether or not you’d take it.

Like he already knew you would.

Your lips parted before you could think, before you could stop yourself, and you let him press the cigarette between them.

Ben’s eyes darkened visibly as he watched you inhale. Watched the way your lips wrapped around the filter, the way your lashes fluttered as smoke filled your lungs.

And then—still watching—he took it back. Lifted it between two fingers, brought it back to his own mouth, inhaling slow and deep from the same spot your lips had just been.

Your stomach flipped. Your pulse pounded.

And in that moment, you understood. He was doing this on purpose. Every touch, every look, every slow, lazy movement. All of it.

Ben shifted slightly beneath you, his thigh flexing against you, his fingers tightening just a little against your hip. And you—God help you—you stayed perfectly still. Right where he put you.

Ben kept smoking, the cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers as he leaned back, the picture of easy, indulgent satisfaction. He didn’t move much—just enough to shift his thigh beneath you, just enough to flex against the softest parts of you when he adjusted his sprawl.

And you?

You didn’t move at all.

Not when he kept feeding you drags of his cigarette, the filter brushing against your lips in slow, deliberate offerings. Not when he exhaled thick ribbons of smoke past your shoulder, keeping you close, keeping you still.

"You didn’t answer me earlier."

You blinked, head tilting slightly, forcing yourself to keep your breath even.

"Sorry?"

"You live on campus?" His voice was lazy, deep, completely unbothered. "Or you got your own place?"

You hesitated for a beat, shifting your drink between your hands before answering.

"I have my own place."

Ben hummed, dragging another slow inhale from his cigarette, eyes steady on you. "That right?"

You nodded. "It’s nothing special, but I managed to get it all by myself. It’s not the worst neighbourhood, but it’s good."

He nodded, exhaling smoke in a slow, steady stream.

"You like it?"

You blinked, caught off guard. No one had ever asked you that before. You’d lived there for two, almost three years now. Since you’d started college. It wasn’t something you’d ever thought about, wasn’t something you’d ever stopped to consider.

It was just… a place. A roof. Somewhere to study, sleep, survive.

"I—" You hesitated, licking your lips. "I like the fire escape."

That made him laugh, short and sharp, the sound richer than the whiskey on his tongue.

"The fire escape?" He lifted a brow, smirking. "Why’s that?"

Your fingers traced absently along the rim of your glass. "I like sitting on it. Reading when it rains."

Ben made a low, thoughtful sound. A soft hum that rumbled somewhere deep in his chest. Like that was interesting. Like you were interesting.

His eyes flicked back to your face, pinning you in place, holding you there, trapping you without even touching you. Then, smoothly, effortlessly—

"You goin' home tonight?"

The question landed like a punch to the ribs. Your throat went dry.

"Or," Ben continued, flicking ash into a tray, his voice even, unbothered, "you wanna come home with me?"

You choked. Your lips parted, a rush of heat crawling up your throat, your skin prickling with something hot and tight and suffocating.

"I—"

Ben’s smirk deepened.

You forced a breath, shaking your head quickly. "I—no, I’m not—" You swallowed hard. "I’m not that type of girl."

That only made him grin wider.

"Yeah?" He exhaled slow, tilting his head as he took another drag, watching you through the smoke. "What kind of girl?"

You panicked. You could feel it, the clumsy mess of heat and nerves unraveling inside you, twisting your stomach into knots.

"I don’t—" You exhaled sharply, tripping over your own words. "I don’t just go home with guys and have sex after only knowing them for a few hours."

Ben let out a low, amused sound. And then—the kill shot.

"Didn’t say we were gonna fuck, sweetheart."

Your face burned. Your heart stopped.

And Ben just smirked. Smirked like he already knew exactly how you’d react. Like he’d known from the second he said it. Like he’d already fucking won.

Heat flushed up your throat, creeping high into your cheeks, and Ben noticed.

Of course he fucking noticed.

His smirk deepened, eyes flicking over your face before his knuckles brushed against your cheek, slow and deliberate, the drag of rough skin making your breath hitch.

"Fuckin’ cute," he muttered, almost to himself.

Your stomach flipped. You swallowed hard, ignoring the pulse hammering in your throat. "Then what did you mean?"

Ben tipped his head, watching you with lazy amusement.

"Hm?"

"If you weren’t inviting me to sleep with you," you clarified, voice softer now, breathier. "Then what did you mean?"

Ben exhaled slow, the cigarette burning amber-red between his fingers.

"It’s a Friday night, sweetheart," he murmured, stretching against the couch, his thighs shifting beneath you. "You could come back to mine."

He paused, tilting his glass to watch the whiskey swirl before flicking his gaze back to you.

"I could show you a good time."

Your stomach fluttered.

"More whiskey," he continued, tapping a lazy rhythm against the rim of his glass. "Better than this shit they’ve got here."

Your brows furrowed slightly.

Better?

The whiskey here was good. Expensive. You weren’t even sure how much better it could get—

"And," Ben added, eyes flicking lower, watching the way your legs pressed together, "I got some coke I’d love to blow up your ass."

You choked.

Ben laughed, rich and warm, whiskey-dark and indulgent, like he was savouring every second of this.

"That a no?" He teased, exhaling smoke.

You sputtered, shaking your head quickly. "I—what the fuck—"

Ben lifted a brow, eyes glinting. "You ever done coke, sweetheart?"

You hesitated. Too long. His smirk widened.

"Only once or twice," you admitted carefully, shifting slightly in his lap.

Ben hummed, something thoughtful, something knowing. Then—smooth as fucking silk—he leaned in just a little closer, fingers tightening against your waist, his breath warm and whiskey-sweet when he murmured.

"So come home with me."

Your pulse kicked.

"We don’t have to fuck," he added, smirking against the rim of his glass. "But if you feel like it after a few lines, I ain’t gonna chuck you out."

Your chest felt too tight. Your limbs felt too warm.

This was stupid. This was dangerous. This was the worst fucking idea you’d ever had.

And yet—

Yet his hand was still on you. Yet his voice was still in your ear. Yet he was still looking at you like he already knew you weren’t going to say no.

Because you weren’t. Because even if you had another choice, even if you had an escape, you’d still go willingly.

You nodded.

Ben’s grin flashed, wide and wicked, all sharp teeth and wolfish excitement.

"Yeah?"

The way he said it—rough, eager, eyes sparking like he’d just heard something delicious—made your stomach flip.

You nodded again. That was all he needed. Ben stood, all smooth, effortless power, knocking back the last of his whiskey in one swallow. Then he grabbed your glass, pressed it into your hands, and cocked a brow.

A challenge.

You understood. Your fingers curled around the cool glass. You lifted it to your lips, savouring the burn, letting it warm you from the inside out.

When you were finished, Ben was still watching you. And then? He grinned. And slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close like he’d already decided you belonged there.

"C’mon, sweetheart."

He led you through the bar, past bodies and noise and neon glow, steering you out the front doors and onto the street.

That was when you saw it. The car. Big. Black. Sleek and expensive as hell. A driver stood by the curb, leaning against the hood, one boot crossed over the other, hands in his coat pockets.

Ben steered you toward the back door, but before he opened it, the driver let out a low, rough chuckle as he climbed into the front seat.

"Leavin’ early tonight, are ya, mate?"

The accent caught you off guard. British. Cockney. A voice like gravel and burnt whiskey, rough and sharp-edged.

Ben pressed you into the back. You glanced up, catching the driver’s eyes flick toward you in the rearview mirror, a smirk pulling at his mouth.

Ben clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he slid into the spot beside you. "Made a friend, Butcher."

Your stomach tightened.

"Wanted to show her a good time."

You swallowed hard, suddenly so fucking aware of where this was going, of what you’d just agreed to. But then Ben pulled you further into the backseat, and the moment stretched thin, reality slipping away, replaced with the heavy warmth of him against you.

The door shut. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows. And you realised something. Ben had a fucking driver.

A chauffeur.

You felt a slow, sharp pulse of realisation.

Jesus Christ, this man had money.

And as the car glided through the streets, moving toward the nicest part of the city—where buildings stretched high and elegant, where penthouses gleamed from impossible heights—

You couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why the hell was he indulging you? Why had he picked you?

Ben just smirked, pulling you closer, thumb tracing a slow, lazy stroke against your shoulder. And you were nervous now, because you didn’t belong in his world, but you were already inside it.

The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of a sleek, modern high-rise—all clean steel and glass, standing tall against the city skyline like it owned the night itself.

It was the kind of building that made your stomach drop.

The kind of place where people with money, real money, lived—the kind of people who didn’t check their bank accounts before ordering drinks, who didn’t split rent five ways just to make ends meet, who didn’t pick up extra shifts just to afford their next meal.

This was a different world.

The engine idled low, a soft hum beneath your skin, and then—

"So, what’s the plan, mate?"

You blinked.

Butcher was looking at Ben now, one arm slung over the back of the passenger seat, all smirk and knowing eyes.

"You want me to keep the car warm?" He asked, voice edged with thick, cockney amusement. "Or you takin’ the girl back later?"

Your stomach flipped.

Ben exhaled through his nose, grinning like he already knew the answer.

"Clock off for the night."

Butcher let out a low, rasping chuckle, nodding once as he faced forward again, like he’d already seen this a hundred times before.

The door clicked open.

And then Ben was pulling you out of the car, his hand firm against your lower back, guiding you forward—into the lobby, past the marble floors and golden light, past the concierge who didn’t even lift his head.

Because of course he didn’t. Because this was Ben’s world.

And then—

Then he was leading you to a private elevator. Not a normal one. Not one that anyone else could use. No—this one was his. A sleek, polished cage of steel and shadowed mirrors, with only one fucking button.

Penthouse.

Your pulse pounded. You barely had time to process before Ben pressed the button, the doors sliding shut—sealing you inside.

And then?

Then his hands were on you. Not in a foul way. Not in a way that made you want to run. But possessive. Purposeful. Heavy. His fingers gripped your hips, your waist, sliding over the thin fabric of your dress, curling around you like he was memorising every inch.

Your breath hitched as he spun you, pressing you up against the wall with zero hesitation, his body all heat and weight, caging you in.

He wasn’t kissing you. He wasn’t even trying to. But he was everywhere.

One hand hiked your thigh up, draping it over his hip, holding you open against him. His palm slid over the bare skin, rough and warm, trailing fire in its wake. The other? Splayed over your ribs, fingers flexing, gripping, feeling.

You gasped softly, lightheaded, dazed, overwhelmed.

And Ben? Well, Ben just smirked.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, dragging his hand up, brushing his knuckles just beneath the swell of your breast, not quite touching—just teasing. "You’re soft as hell."

Your fingers clenched at your sides, your lips parting, but nothing came out.

"Fuckin’ sweet, too," he continued, voice low, thick with something weighted, something syrupy. His thumb dragged over your jaw, over your cheek, tracing slow, lazy circles against your heated skin.

"So goddamn good."

Your knees felt weak. Your body felt like it wasn’t even yours anymore.

"Fuckin’ glad I spotted you tonight, sweetheart."

The words sent a sharp, heavy pulse of heat straight through you. His breath was warm against your throat, but he still wasn’t kissing you.

Just feeling. Just touching. Just taking.

"So glad you ditched your little friends," he muttered, squeezing your thigh, his fingers pressing into soft flesh, into heat, into want. "Didn’t wanna have to come over and pull you away from 'em."

A pause. A dark little chuckle.

"Would’ve, though."

Your breath shuddered.

Ben tilted his head, watching your reaction, like he was waiting to see how deep he could sink his teeth. His grip tightened.

"Christ on a cross," he rasped, hungry, pleased. "You’re so fuckin’ pretty."

And fuck.

You felt like you were floating, like you weren’t even inside your own body anymore, like he had fully consumed you without even trying.

You hadn’t kissed. You hadn’t done anything.

But he was already all over you. And you were already his.

Ben didn’t take his hands off you.

Not once. Not in the elevator, where his grip stayed firm on your waist, fingers curling possessively over the thin fabric of your dress. Not as he led you down the hall, past artwork that looked like it belonged in a museum.

Not as he pressed a hand to your lower back, slow and steady, steering you toward a door at the very end.

And when he got there? When he reached for the handle, turning it effortlessly, he paused. He smirked. Then, with one push, the door swung open.

And fuckshitfuck.

You stepped inside—hesitantly, breath catching in your throat. Because it was beautiful. Not just rich. Not just expensive.

Money-money.

The kind of wealth that wasn’t loud or gaudy. The kind that settled deep into the bones of a place.

Everything was earth tones, dark woods, deep greens, warm browns. A massive, open-plan living room and kitchen stretched out before you—plush, oversized furniture, sleek coffee tables, a fireplace nestled into the far wall like an afterthought. One entire wall was just glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked New York in its entirety, glittering and endless. And it was pristine.

Except for the drugs.

Half-finished baggies of white powder littered the coffee table. A bag of weed crumpled in the corner. Whiskey bottles stood like monuments—some full, some empty, some abandoned halfway.

A pack of cigarettes lay open beside a vintage lighter that probably cost more than your monthly rent.

The room reeked of money, whiskey, power. Of Ben.

And you just stood there, gawping. Wide-eyed, breath shallow, taking it all in. You hadn’t realised how long you’d been standing there until you heard him chuckle.

"Somethin’ caught your eye, sweetheart?"

You turned, heat creeping up your neck—

And Ben was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with pure amusement. Like he already knew exactly how overwhelmed you were. Like he was enjoying this just a little too much.

And that smirk? The one that said you were exactly where he wanted you? Yeah. That wasn’t leaving his face anytime soon.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you choked out, breathless, eyes still dragging over the room, over the drugs, over the absolute excess of it all. "What do you do for a living?"

Ben laughed. Not just a chuckle, but a real, warm, whiskey-thick laugh, head tilting back slightly as if the question was fucking hilarious.

"Not important."

That was all he gave you. No explanation. No answer. Just a lazy smirk as he jerked his chin toward the couch.

"Go sit down."

You nodded—still dazed, still breathless, still trying to process where the hell you were—but instead of sitting, your feet carried you toward the window. The city stretched out before you, lights spilling across the night, thousands of tiny pinpricks glowing against the dark.

It was beautiful.

So much—so big—so vast and consuming.

You didn’t realise you were staring, didn’t realise how quiet the room had gotten, until you heard him moving behind you.

The low clink of glass against glass. The soft thud of a bottle against the counter. The sound of him fumbling through something, shifting around, pouring drinks.

Then he was closer. The air shifted, thickened, and then the drinks were being placed down on the table beside the couch, and then—

Heat.

Solid and warm and undeniable as Ben stepped up flush against your back. Large, rough hands slid over your waist, slow and deliberate, fingers flexing slightly against your hips, gripping, holding.

You exhaled sharply, but you didn’t move. Not even when his fingers brushed your hair over your shoulder, exposing the bare skin of your neck. Not even when you felt his breath—hot and steady, thick with whiskey and smoke—ghost over the sensitive skin there.

He inhaled. Breathed you in deep, slow, indulgent.

Your eyes fluttered. Your heart kicked.

"Ever seen it like this?" He murmured, voice low against your throat.

You swallowed, hard, struggling to find words. "Never," you whispered.

Then he dragged his beard down your neck. Slow. Rough. Teasing. A scrape of warmth and friction as he traced down to the junction of your shoulder, where he paused, fingers tightening just slightly against your waist.

"Pretty fuckin’ cool, huh?"

You just nodded. Couldn’t do anything else. Didn’t trust yourself to speak. And Ben chuckled—low, rich, satisfied—his breath a warm rush against your skin.

Then, before you could even process it, he spun you—quick, effortless, leaving you lightheaded and breathless—until you were facing him.

"So," he drawled, smirking as his fingers dragged down your arm, as his thumb brushed slow circles into your skin. "About that coke."

A pause. A challenge. An invitation to ruin.

Because you know exactly what he’s asking. And you already know what your answer’s gonna be.

Ben took your hand. The grip was firm, steady, assured—like he was leading you somewhere you’d never been before, somewhere you weren’t supposed to go.

And you let him. You let him pull you back toward the couch, let him sink onto the cushions before pulling you down with him.

His arm draped over the back of the sofa, legs spread wide, thighs brushing against yours as he reached for something on the coffee table. You watched as he picked up a small, round mirror—not a plate, not a tray, but a perfectly cut, polished mirror disk—and set it between you.

Then, he reached for the knife. Not a normal one. Something sleek, expensive, sharp as hell.

You swallowed, watching as he tapped a small bag against the mirror, tipping out soft white powder, letting it fall in neat, delicate little mounds. He worked slowly, unbothered, using the blade to spread it out, separate it, line it up into thin, precise rails of destruction.

One big.

Four small.

Then, without a word, he leaned down. Inhaled the big one like it was nothing, like it was routine, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. The rasp of his breath pulling it in sent a sharp pulse through you, made something tight coil low in your stomach.

Then he tapped the knife against the mirror. A soft, metallic clink. And then his eyes flicked to you.

"Your turn."

You swallowed. Nodded. Leaned down, hands pressed against your thighs, trying not to overthink it.

The powder burned, sharp and electric, snaking down the back of your throat and settling like pure fire in your bloodstream.

You sat back fast, licking your lips, pressing your tongue against your teeth—

Jesus Christ.

It was good. Better than anything you’d ever had before. And you knew. Knew that even that one line—that small amount you just did—probably cost more than everything you were wearing.

And the dress you had on? It was expensive. Because it wasn’t even yours.

It was borrowed.

Just like this moment. Just like this night. Just like the breath you were taking right now, sitting beside him, sinking deeper into something you weren’t sure you’d be able to climb out of.

And Ben was watching you. Watching the way your pupils dilated, watching the way your body relaxed, then tensed, then relaxed again.

And then—softer, darker, lazier—

"Yeah, sweetheart." A slow, amused hum, tapping the knife once more against the mirror, watching the way you were already chasing the high. "That’s the good shit."

Ben tapped the knife against the mirror again, sharp and expectant.

"Go on."

Not a question. A directive.

Your pulse skipped. But you didn’t hesitate. You leaned down again, dragging in another quick, clean inhale, feeling the burn, the sharp flood of heat and adrenaline surging through your system, blooming fast and bright beneath your skin.

Before you’d even sat back properly, Ben was already taking the last two lines, exhaling through his nose, jaw flexing as he set the mirror back onto the coffee table.

Then—without missing a beat—he passed you your drink. And pulled you straight into his lap. Rough. Thoughtless. Uninhibited. The coke had already stripped away the last of his patience, his hands heavier now, more possessive, more desperate to touch.

Your knees hit the couch cushions on either side of his thighs as you let him drag you over him, gasping softly as your weight settled onto his lap.

Your fingers curled instinctively around your whiskey glass, and then you spilled it. Just a little—just a splash, just enough to stain the stark white fabric stretched across his chest. Your eyes went wide.

"Oh my God—"

Ben just waved a hand.

"Don’t fuckin’ matter, doll."

Then, to prove his point, he grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled. Hard. The top few buttons popped clean off, pinging against the glass in your hand, the sharp little sound ringing out between you.

Your breath hitched, then you laughed. A real, bright, breathless laugh.

And Ben froze. Just for a second. Then—low, rasping, amused—

"Shit."

His hand slid up, fingertips pressing into the hinge of your jaw, rubbing slow circles, thumb brushing over your pulse.

"That’s a pretty fuckin’ sound."

You blinked, still breathless, still lightheaded from the coke and the earlier whiskey.

"What?"

Ben’s smirk curled slow, lazy, dark.

"Your laugh." His hand trailed lower, over your throat, over your collarbone. Over your legs, kneading into soft flesh, gripping. "Fuckin’ cute."

The word sent a sharp, electric pulse straight through you.

"You’re fuckin’ cute."

Your heart stuttered.

His hands moved restlessly, hungrily—up your thighs, over the thin fabric of your dress, rubbing slow circles into your hip.

"The fuck were you even doin’ out tonight in that bar, huh?" He muttered, voice rough, almost possessive.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Ben just smirked.

"Dumb fuckin’ luck."

His hand fisted into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath catch.

"Wasn’t even lookin’ for a girl tonight."

His thumb dragged over your jaw, his grip tightening.

"And somehow, I see a fuckin’ angel at the bar."

You swallowed, hard, pulse fluttering against his palm.

And Ben—Ben just kept looking at you like he already owned you. Like he’d already decided you were his.

Your fingers tightened around your glass. You took a sip, letting the whiskey burn through you, and immediately, your eyes went wide.

"Holy fuck—" You stared at the glass, shocked. "This is good."

Ben’s smirk widened, all smug, all knowing.

"Told you I had better shit."

You took another sip, let the whiskey melt against your tongue, burn down your throat, let your head tip back as you savoured it. And then his hand was on you again. Big, warm, rough—fingers curling around your throat, guiding your face back down, forcing your gaze to his.

Your breath caught.

Ben’s pupils were blown wide, pitch-black, swallowing up the green. Coke-dilated. Lust-drunk. And he laughed. Low and smug and so fucking amused.

"Shit, sweetheart." His fingers tightened just slightly, enough to make your head feel even lighter. "You're fucked."

You blinked, hazy, breathless, lost.

Ben’s eyes dragged over your face, watching. Studying. Memorising.

"No pretty colour left in those eyes anymore," he murmured, voice slow, heavy, lazy as sin. "Swallowed whole by your fuckin' pupils."

A pause. A smirk.

"Can you even see straight?"

And fuck. The way he said it. The mocking lilt. The condescension. You whimpered. Soft. Small. Instinctive.

And Ben saw it.

You watched the realisation dawn on him in real time—

The way his smirk flickered, darkened, deepened. The way his pupils somehow blown out further, his grip flexing slightly against your throat because he fucking knew now.

He knew exactly what you liked.

And now? Now, he wasn’t gonna let it go.

Ben sighed, like he had all the patience in the world. Then, without breaking eye contact, he plucked the whiskey glass from your hand and set it on the side table.

Then—with nothing else between you—he fixed you with his undivided attention.

"Now," he murmured, voice dipping low, dark, warm like syrup.

"You gonna let me stick my tongue down your throat?" A pause. A smirk. "Or you need a bit more coke first?"

You whimpered again. And that was it. That was all it took.

Ben let out a low, satisfied hum, then tightened his grip on your throat and pulled you in. His lips crashed against yours, deep and consuming, nothing soft, nothing hesitant. His tongue licked into your mouth immediately—wet and hot and insistent, tasting of whiskey and sin and the kind of ruin you’d never recover from.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

It was possession. A claim. And you let him take it.

@mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @itshellfire @nevercameraready @suckitands33 @kayleighwinchester <3

[writersblockiskillingme]

Red | The Salesman

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!reader

Summary: After a tiring day, you're just trying to go home, but while you're waiting on your train, a handsome man in a suit stumbles on you.

Warning/s: betting, money in exchange for a game, slapping (on the face, you nasty), salesman trying to recruit you for the games, smoking cigarettes, people on the station being kind of weirded out, maybe some cursing (idk), reader is in debt, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: So this is like the prequel to my story Russian Roulette, but it really doesn't matter whether you read that fic or this one first. You do you. I really love the request, btw. Hope you enjoy!

Request: hii can u make more stories in this story line between the reader n him? like i rlly wanna know what they were like tgthr before this situation since we r told they had smth tgthr at some point tyyyy

Part 2 here!!

The bench where I was sitting was quite cold, which, of course, wasn't surprising considering how cold it was tonight. My hand slightly shook as I wrapped my fingers around the lit up cigarette that I was smoking for who knows how long. My flimsy jacket that was wrapped around me did not bring exact comfort to me that I had hoped it would.

Shivering there, I sat as the announcer's voice rang around the train station, signaling that the train that I was waiting for to go home would be slightly delayed, forcing me to wait there for entire hour more than I should be waiting. It was already late and I was so done with today's day.

Trying to earn money was hard, especially when you're in a lot of debt. Being chased by the people who you owe money to, threatening to cut out your eyes, possibly even kill you in the end, wasn't fun either. You had to learn to sleep with one eye open. Constantly on edge, just like I was right now.

The job that I worked did not provide as much money as I needed it to. There was simply no way for me to earn enough money for food every day, to pay rent which I was already three months behind. My landlord was truly a fucking angel for letting me live in that house as long as I did, but I knew that that wouldn't last forever either. There was no way that I could afford to pay everything that was essential, let alone pay off my debts.

In frustration, letting out a deep, disappointed sigh, my hand slid into the pocket of my jacket, reaching for yet another cigarette and a lighter.

"Hello, miss."

I practically jumped from my seat, startled by a sudden voice next to me. I whipped my head around, finding the face that this voice belonged to.

Right next to me, smiling, was a very handsome man that looked like some kind of salesman. He was wearing a very expensive suit. His hair was as black as the night sky. His piercing eyes just as black. There was little to no facial hair, but that really suited him. He was very handsome and I quickly found myself surprised when I realized that he was actually talking to me.

"Can I talk to you?" He asked once he noticed how startled I was.

"I'm not a prostitute, sir." I said, sliding away on the bench further away from him.

"Don't worry, miss, it's not that." He chuckled gently, his eyes never leaving mine. "I just want to let you in on a great opportunity to win some money."

There was just silence for a while. I sad nothing all the while he kept looking at me.

"Um..." I looked at him and, for a while, just couldn't bring myself to speak up. "No, thank you."

"'No'?" He asked.

It seemed like I caught him by surprise, but after a little while I noticed something else in his eyes that I just couldn't seem to figure out. Some kind of amazement? Respect even? But there was definitely something that I couldn't label quite yet.

"There is definitely a catch." I smiled slightly. I would love to get some money, of course, but I know that it won't be that easy.

"Miss." The salesman smiled once again, his eyes surprisingly gently just like his voice as he spoke. "Would you like to play a game with me?

"Wha-What kind of g-game?" I found myself stuttering a bit. "Look, if this is some sort of sick perverted thing you're doing 'cause I swear if you try something, I am going to scream." I threatened, a newfound confidence overwhelming me.

He chuckled once more, "No, nothing like that, Miss."

All of a sudden, he quickly turned his face away from me as he reached to open his suitcase. I could swear that for a split second I saw him blush, but then I realized that I probably imagined it because there's no way. I mean, sure, he is very handsome, but the two of us are a whole world apart, too different from each other.

"I'm sure you've played ddakji before, right?" He spoke and I looked at the open suitcase that was resting between us.

There were a few piles of money on one side and two different colors of ddakji on the other side. Red and blue. I looked at him with surprise.

"You-You want me to play ddakji with you?" I asked, raising my eyebrow in question.

He nodded with a smile.

"For money?"

He nodded again, "Play a few rounds of ddakji with me and each time you win, I'll pay you a 100,000 won."

Damn.

I mean, sure, why not. I loved that game when I was a kid, and I didn't have a chance to play the game in what seemed like forever. Plus, if I win, I get money. It all seemed amazing, but then I realized what the problem with all of this could be.

"And what if I lose and you win." I asked, he continued to smile as he answered.

"Then you pay me 100,000 won."

"Sir, this is amazing and all, don't get me wrong." I gently said, "But I'm afraid that I don't have the money to pay you back."

"That is all right, miss." His smile unwavering. "We'll figure something else regarding that if it comes to it."

For a moment, I just sat there in silence, pondering the offer. But after a while I finally decided.

"Ah, sure," I sighed before matching his smile and meet his eyes, "Why not?"

"What color would you like to play as?" He asked me, taking both red and blue ddakji as I stood up. He followed me almost immediately.

"Red, please." I said and he smiled as he handed me the red ddakji.

As I reached for the red one that he was handing me out, our hands touched. For a moment we both froze, but then I quickly took the ddakji and moved away.

It was so strange. The feeling I got when I touched his hand. It was as if some sort of electricity went straight through me, forcing me to quickly move away due to the shock of it all.

He cleared his throat before extending his right hand, pointing to the floor, "You gotta first, Miss."

I nodded, and with that, he placed the blue ddakji on the ground, and I stood over it. I took a stronger hold of the red ddakji and stood up more straight as I glared at the blue ddakji. Goodness, I haven't done this in years, I thought to myself, letting out a shaky breath.

I took a deep breath.

I could feel his eyes on me.

I swang my arm behind my head before powerfully striking his blue ddakji. Apparently, I must have done something wrong because his blue ddakji moved but did not flip over. I let out a sigh, looking kind of defeated.

He stepped forward, grabbed his blue ddakji, and stood back up. I moved away, giving him more space, his eyes folowing my every move. Almost immediately, he swang his arm behind his head, slaming his blue ddakji on my red one, flipping it over with ease. I sighed as he turned to look at me, teasing smile making it's way on his face.

"So..." I spoke up, kind of unsure and slightly intimidated, "So what now? I lost."

"Don't worry about money." He spoke up, kind of surprising me with that one, "We'll discuss it at the end if that is okay with you, Miss?"

"Sure." I answered him, meeting his eyes.

His smile widened a little bit more as we, for a few moments, just stood there taking each other in. All of a sudden, he cleared his throat, snapping himself out of it.

"One more round?" He asked as he fixed his tie, I nodded, not saying a word.

Turns out, one round meant about five more. I lost every single round. It truly began to seem like luck wasn't on my side that day.

We got to the last round, the sixth one. I was getting annoyed, constantly losing. I took a deep breath. His blue ddakji stared at me, my red one locked in my hand. I flipped my ddakji over and decided that that was it. I swang my hand behind my head and delivered the most powerful swing yet. I stared at his blue ddakji and my red one as both of them flipped in the air before his blue ddakji landed on the cold floor. It flipped over... I won...

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped my lips as he gave me a little applause, smiling as I jokingly bowed.

"Wow," I chuckled, "I finally won the round."

"Well done, Miss." He chuckled lowly, but somehow so softly as he reopened his suitcase handing me 100,000 won. "As promised."

"Thank you," I said, taking the money, "but I lost like five times. Tell me, what can I possibly give you to make this even."

"How about you give me the pleasure of taking you out for dinner, Miss?" He spoke up almost shyly in a way that was so endearing, and even though it seemed like that look wouldn't fit him, it somehow did. "Only if you want to, of course."

"I..." I spoke up stuttering and blushing a bit, surprised by his offer, "I would love to."

After that interesting interaction, we went out to get dinner. I had a great time with him, and even though I hated to admit it, I started to like him. We talked on and on about random things. We were truly having fun and that made my day so much better.

Before separating, he gifted me a blood red rose, and he gave me a card that looked really strange. At the front of the brownish card was a circle, a triangle, and a square. I flipped the card over and saw what looked like a telephone number.

"Miss, there are other games like the one that we played where you can make even more money than you did. So much more." He started to explain, but his expression became different. His smile was gone and there was a sort of gloomy gaze in his eyes. That seemed to surprise him. "Think about it."

He stepped closer to me, looked me deep in the eyes before he started to slowly lean in. I found myself doing the same. Our lips met. We were just standing there, outside of the restaurant, rose in my hand, his hands on my face deepening the kiss.

As we parted ways, he told me that he hoped to see me again if I made it. Whatever that meant.

I took another look at the card that he gave me, staring at the number, not knowing that I will meet my childhood friend Gi-hun, not knowing what the games will do to both of us and to all the other people, not knowing the amount of money I was gonna win, not knowing that I will spend the next three years of my life chasing the man of my life, trying to haunt him down, not knowing how dangerous the last game that we'll play will be.

TAGLIST:

@shadow-tumbler

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

city of angels | s.r. x liaison!fem reader

a/n: of course there is a 1x18 blurb. essential for spencer fics. pt2

“enjoy your swim?” not able to hide the bite of sarcasm as you eyed the soaking spencer reid.

he looked embarrassed as he toweled off his hair, trying to soak up his clothing. “uh, it’s- it’s not what- she pulled me in.” rolling his lips into a straight line, eyes bouncing around.

you hummed and looked at the confiscated camera in your grasp, “so these pictures of you two kissing is, also nothing?” a harsh glare pointed at the doctor, tone dripping with judgment.

he stayed quiet, his mouth was opening and closing, not able to respond. you pursed your lips and nodded, “okay, well i hope it was worth it. putting both of your lives in danger for a little…taste.” walking off before more could be said from either of you.

you handed over the evidence to one of the cops saying that there was photos of lila and spencer in the pool, kissing. your stomach went nauseous at the word. you excused yourself from the actresses house to walk towards one of the black suvs and leaned your back against the hood.

crossed arms over your chest as your chin leaned to your collarbone, mouth twisting as your felt your eyes grow misty. a hiccuped cough escaped when you tried to suppress an impending whimper.

“you okay?” a male voice startled you. you jumped and saw hotch standing straight as his resting face stared at you.

you lightly rubbed at your left cheek and messed with your hair, “yeah. yeah i’m fine. just- just need some air for a minute.” fixing your clothing and stepping away from the car, “did- did the photographer mention anything?” trying to change the subject.

hotch watched you for moment then replied, “nothing yet. says he doesn’t want to give up his inside source.” a tilt of his head, “spencer’s asking for you.” his usual neutral tone with a hint of concern.

you licked your lips and looked off to the side, “not- not to be unprofessional, but i’m kinda upset with him right now.” sweeping a foot over the gravel of ms. archer’s driveway.

hotch hummed, “would this happen to pertain to some photos?” you didn’t responded, just looked up to see hotch stuff his hands into his suit pants pockets, he gave slight raise of his brows.

“…he could’ve gotten hurt. she could’ve gotten hurt. he’s lucky it was just the photographer and not some lunatic with a gun. i- i don’t want him hurt.” waving your hands around then slapping your palms to your outer thighs. one half of the truth.

hotch nodded, “he knows what he did was wrong and unprofessional, especially in this dire situation. but i think the two of you need to properly talk this out, we can’t have this affecting your work.” and then he returned to the house leaving you alone to think.

[seneon]

waiting for hours ──── seishiro nagi x fem! reader.

about. in which, nagi awaits your arrival at home for hours. pure fluff oneshot. wc of 1.2k.

notes. this is like, the highest rated chapter in my my oneshot book in wattpad. so im slapping this in tumblr too and happy belated bday to koala boy!! for @hyoismbbg ♡

𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐀𝐘 was the first time during this year that nagi was able to arrive home early from his football practice. and by early, earlier than the time his lover's work finishes.

he freshened himself up, ate some food in the fridge and waited. it was 8:42pm, almost an hour and a half for you to finish your work.

the football player, now playing for a professional team, was basically bored out of his mind. he could play games until you've returned, but the man had played every game in the universe.he could watch anime, movies or anything. but those would bore him instantly.

honestly, everything is boring to him nowadays. the only thing that would keep him entertained is football and you.

you were practically the same as him, a lazy person who somehow managed to be a successful writer and be in a relationship with another lazy athlete.

nagi waited and waited and waited. for what seemed like hours, he kept waiting for your presence to shine in his day. but every time he checked the clock, only a few minutes passed from the previous.

as tired as the white-haired male is, he decided to make you some simple yet cute supper, prepare your essentials for when you returned from work. nagi even set up your little table in your shared room by the window for when you read or do some planning for tomorrow.

he eventually lost track of time while trying to make everything in the house perfect so you didn't have to do anything else when you came home. an hour or so had passed, and nagi still didn't hear the door twist open.

you yawned, tired from the meeting you had at your publishing company. really, sometimes you wish you could boss around rude people and shut them up from their shitty opinions. but business is business. and rude people didn't really matter anyways.

you set everything the way it is, and stop in your tracks when you see the kitchen counter filled with a plate of delicious food.

the apartment looked pretty neat and clean too. when you looked around in suspicion and curiousity, some of the recognisable things belonging to your boyfriend were laying around freely.

that was when a smile crawled up your cheeks. your mind traveled to nagi who prepared the food and cleaned up the house— just as he walked out the room, an annoyed expression on his face.

"i thought you were never coming home, after i prepared everything for you," he pouted with a poker face, definitely disappointed at how late you arrived home.

"ah— my bad. thank you. you're home early," you shot him a lazy smile before he walked towards you and pulled you into a lazy hug, completely embracing you in his huge form.

"yeah, practice kinda got canceled because coach's wife got into trouble.”

since you were way tinier than him, you practically squished under his body, melting in the warmth of your lazy, sweet loving boyfriend.

he smelled like mint and fresh sugary frosting, from the body wash you gave to him as a present on his birthday. it was a scent that pulled you in so much it froze and destroyed all the negative comments that were written about your books.

as much as you didn't want to separate the hug, nagi gently plucked himself away from you, sternly looking into your eyes.

"eat, and go take a bath. then we can sleep together. practice might be cancelled tomorrow too if coach's wife's trouble is still ongoing.." he trailed off and shook his head. "ehh whatever just go. i made food for you without burning the kitchen and prepared stuff for you in the room."

you chuckled and nodded your head repeatedly, trying to keep in the laugh with his ridiculously sarcastic get funny words. pretty much whatever nagi said could be funny to you.

"i won't doubt your effort. thank you again," you tiptoed and gave him a quick peck on the lips, heading over to the kitchen counter to eat your supper.

the peck made nagi blush. it was the first kiss you gave him this week. it is monday night, the start of the week. and you kissed him yesterday. hah. humour. nagi keeps track of kisses he gets from you.

anyways, he wanted more kisses from you later so he watched you eat while conversing a little about both your writer job and athlete jobs.

then, he waited for you to take your bath, freshen up before you bailed out your little window corner and jumped into bed with nagi.

"thank you, sei," you thanked him again, as he buried his face into your hair, inhaling the fresh scent of your shampoo. "you've thanked me three times already. you're welcome though..."

your fingers moved to lace themselves in the soft fluffy hair of the male, moving around to ruffle and gently play with it.

nagi's hair was fairly soft, like cotton candy that would melt when it came in contact with liquid. it could even be on par with the clouds albeit you've never felt clouds before. but you just know it was more soft and fluffy than anything else.

you found it awfully cute that his love language is physical touch, so much that you often see him as a cat. and for a fact that nagi only needs and wants your attention, not from anyone else because you are everything to him.

the male hummed when your fingers played with his hair, an odd calmness filling over the mind and body of the athlete. you always managed to calm him down, physically and mentally. he loved that it was a good trait of you that he fell in love with.

"i love you," he said against your neck, his breath touching your skin as you couldn't help but smile at his words. he was random, sure, but you know when nagi was being genuine and sarcastic. now, he meant every word of it.

"i love you too," you replied softly, your fingers moving, trailing down to his cheeks to caress his chiseled jawline and softly stroke his cheeks.

such a work of art, you thought to yourself when you faced him and looked into his eyes.

how could a man be as angelic as your boyfriend?

you felt so blessed to have nagi in your life, never regretting that you made the first move for being friends and eventually he would later on give you a lazy confession that was conducted by his friend, reo.

"you're really beautiful, love," he felt himself smile when the both of you were staring into each other's eyes lovingly. "so beautiful.."

"and you're very handsome," you chuckled, going closer to his face. you kept the tiny distance for a moment, having a small time to admire nagi's grey eyes.

nagi then closed the distance between you both, his lips ever so softly closing in on yours to give you a lovely kiss.

it was filled with the purest intentions of showing how much he loves you, nothing else than an innocent kiss that was focused on appreciation and love.

you both pulled away at the same time, your arms wrapping around his neck as his own snaking around your waist to pull you close.

gosh, you love hugs when it comes to your lazy gigantic boyfriend. he always gives you the best ones.

"let's sleep now, okay?" he placed a soft kiss on your forehead, letting you reply with a nod before pulling the soft blanket over you two.

"i've been waiting for hours to cuddle you to sleep. good night, y/n.”

© SENEON 2024 ♰ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[visenyaism]

I’m SO glad you called Ned an “enabler”.

Ned gets so much praise (and hate ??) for warning Cersei before wanting to sell her out to her rapist but I disagree with that praise. No one looks at the patriarchal violence lurking beneath. You know exactly the nature of the man you’re dealing with, you saw him slapped Cersei so hard she fell to the floor and threatening to slap her again, and you think giving one flimsy warning will be enough ?? Ned is absolutely a misogynistic fool. When Robert comes back from his hunt he’ll tell Robert the truth and he thinks Cersei will have enough time to flee with her guard and children and retinue ??

“Wherever you go, Robert’s wrath will follow you”, Ned knows that sooner or later (in a few weeks, a few months), Cersei and her children will be slaughtered, he just postponed their deaths. Ned would have received a letter informing him that Robert eventually murdered Cersei and her children and think “how could this have happened ? At least, I wasn’t the one holding the knife so I don’t have their blood on my hands.”

@translannisters and @kristevanstark have much more coherent thoughts about this than me on their very fun deeply excellent asoiaf podcast but yeah in AGOT ned ends up taking this almost wife-like role (stay with me here) with robert where he’s trying to gently guide robert into doing the right thing without ever setting hard boundaries or really flat-out saying no. And ned resents cersei for not being as good at this with her abusive husband as he is. you can really see it in that conversation with cersei where he straight up says well anyone (like me) would’ve been happy to marry robert why couldn’t you have just been better because as a fellow robert baratheon dickrider he refuses to acknowledge that there IS no “doing better” at gently guiding this chaotic abusive man with absolute power into doing the right thing when he does not want to.

ned stark is a HUGE enabler of robert with a big case of “i refuse to see it” syndrome. him watching robert hit cersei and not intervene is like when stannis watched robert hit joffrey and didn’t intervene or all of the standing by as atrocities happened that people like Jaime Lannister and Arthur Dayne did. It’s absolutely an essential part of his character but i think it can be hard to see because we only see him through his wife and children and vassal house’s eyes who still very much see him as a perfect martyr figure.

[alchemistc]

kiss in the rain, don't let me get on that plane

an: it feels like this might be part of a series. every iteration of a fix-it my brain comes up with penned to paper, as it were.

The air is crisper up here, the sky more blue.

Air operations is a county-wide endeavor here, with five volunteer departments in the surrounding towns to drive the engines where they're needed, but the hangar in the valley below him houses six helicopters, two engines, and one functioning ambulance. The other one is, apparently, out of commission and the yearly budget won't be available for another three months.

His station doesn't work with Air Ops very often, but once a month they host a county-wide dinner and Buck had volunteered to cook the bulk of it, this time.

He's full - with food, with laughter, with a lot of light hearted teasing from the other captains about how he'd only gotten the call because he's essentially indestructible on the job (I've died twice doesn't seem to have much effect when he's standing across from them living and breathing)

He's been getting his lungs used to the elevation for a while now but he can't quite blame the thin air when his breath stops in his throat at the sight that meets him when he crests the hill towards his Jeep.

Buck feels his fist tighten around the shoulder of his duffle.

"Hey," Tommy says, and he looks -

Well he looks exactly like he'd looked three months ago at Buck's going away party.

Eddie had flown in with Chris for it, the smile reaching his eyes for the first time in a while, and Buck maybe just hadn't noticed the mischievous tilt to his grin when Eddie had pulled away from a back slapping hug, or maybe he just couldn't have clocked exactly why he looked quite like that.

He'd just been happy to see him after seven months without the comfort of a key to Eddie's place on his keyring, of knowing he'd get to see and talk to and be teased by his closest friend within a few days of the last time. He'd been ecstatic, actually, the grin refusing to leave his face while he hugged Christopher longer than necessary, while he listened to Eddie whine about his mother in a way Buck had never heard before, like he was actually a little amused by her rather than angry with her.

He'd been happy to be distracted by Bobby and Athena as they began their recollections of all the stupid shit he used to get up to, the calls he'd proved to be vital on, the ways he'd grown and changed in the near decade he'd been a firefighter.

"They're lucky to have you," Bobby had said when there were tears of laughter in everyone's eyes, and maybe he had or hadn't noticed Maddie clock-watching but he certainly noticed when front door opened and wide shoulders filled the frame - large hands curling around the handle, the downslope of a familiar nose hitting the open air before the rest of a familiar face. Thick arms framing a barrel chest and long legs in tight jeans.

It'd taken Buck another four hours and a series of hushed confessions whispered across a shared pillowcase for him to notice the slash of new silver along his temples.

He notices them now, again, as Tommy drops from the driver's side of his truck and tips his hip against the frame, sunlight catching in the lighter hairs. Tommy looks more wary than Buck's ever seen him. More hopeful, too.

"Did you mean it?" Tommy asks, and - Buck had said a lot of things, that night.

He can make an educated guess, but he's actually thinking he needs to make Tommy work for it, this time. It's startling to realize he's actually making moves to be a little selfish when his heart is pounding in his ears like this. He tips his chin. Drifts a yard and a half closer.

Tommy's gaze shifts. "Evan," and it's been three months since that night but they've talked, text threads that switch between bickering and serious and flirty and friendly, a few phone calls on hushed evenings when the cabin walls creak with wind around him. Buck hasn't heard Tommy say his name like that since it'd slipped out by mistake, three months ago, when Buck shifted his hips just enough to hit Tommy's prostate dead on. "I sold my house."

This is the big gesture, then. The one they'd talked about like it was a little bit silly, like it was still the kind of thing people did in movies that didn't really translate to a lived life.

"I literally talked to you yesterday," Buck says, and contemplates throwing something at him out of frustrated elation. A conversation from two days ago clicks. "Eddie knew, didn't he?"

Eddie with a smug tilt to his grin as he tipped the camera away from an unimpressed Christopher, Eddie pressing and pushing and wonderingly asking Buck if he'd thought about actually moving in to the house they'd offered up to him as part of the captaincy package. How Buck had scoffed, content to putz around his little bachelor cabin in the woods.

Tommy shrugs. "I shipped him all the mats from my garage when I was packing. Apparently I'm a shitty liar so he didn't quite believe me when I told him I was just upgrading."

He's beautiful, as he shifts his weight and drifts away from his truck, towards Buck, backlit by the gold-flecked, fluffy clouds hanging low over the jagged horizon line.

Buck checks his grip on his duffle.

"What happened to the car lift?"

It's - it's stupid, actually, but Buck feels like the next ten-twenty-fifty years of his life might hinge on the answer to it. Tommy steps closer - close enough for Buck to smell the aftershave on his very freshly shaved jaw. "I'm, uh. Thinking of having it shipped up from storage. If I find a place to stay."

He's got three more months he can't get out of on the cabin lease. The captains house is currently being occupied by his three most reckless probies and he won't just kick them out on a whim.

There's that ranch he sees tucked away in the valley, every time he drives into work, the one that's had a For Sale sign up since the first time he'd visited, four and a half months ago.

Buck drops the duffle and reaches forward to tug at the loops of Tommy's jeans.

The kiss is warm, soft, familiar. He shoves three and a half years worth of longing into it, in the way he hadn't, three drinks too deep with his ex after all his friends and family had wished him farewell. He'd spent six months after the breakup angry and hoping to make Tommy eat his fucking words; no one kisses like Tommy.

No one curls fingers so delicately around his ear before he lays his palm flat to Buck's scalp and tugs at Buck's hair, no one opens his mouth and licks in with a swirl and a groan like that, no one shifts their weight closer and breathes him in on a gasp.

"Tommy," Buck says, when they're both breathless and overwhelmed. He thinks of the text he'd sent, three weeks ago, after a phone call with Tommy about the kid who'd died in the air with him at the controls.

(Firsts and lasts are never guaranteed, and he hadn't meant it to sound petty, he'd really just meant to make a point about how a first high school dance and a last high school dance weren't so diametrically opposed.

Getting back a string of unpunctuated texts with misspelled words and no order or coherence had been enough to turn on his bedside lamp and call.

Tommy's voice had been tired, defeated, words slurred in a way Buck can't remember ever hearing before. It was a wall breaking down that he'd honestly never expected. Not after he'd thought he was chipping away at them only to realize Tommy had just been reinforcing them at the base.

"God, I fucking miss you," he'd said, while Buck stumbled through a speech about the survival mechanisms of the African beetle bug. Three and a half years, three semi-serious relationships between them and now over a thousand miles separated them as they'd been. A night of tipsy fucking before Buck kissed his sleeping forehead and hopped on a plane didn't change that.

But there in the quiet spaces between their breaths over the phone, he'd felt the weight of being missed by Tommy Kinard.)

"No one calls me Buck up here," Buck tells him, while they both press into each other, hands shifting over clothes, limbs stretching to meet, faces tucked in close. "You'll have to get used to Evan not being so special."

Tommy sighs. A finger draws a line from his temple to the curve of his jaw.

"Evan will always be special to me."

He's the first person since Buck began to ever call him that just because. There have been others, since then, no longer exclusive to the man who laughed as they soared through clouds and the one who'd brought him so fucking low he'd felt parts of himself fully fracture.

Buck is pretty fucking sure this means he wants to be the last. Still. He can tell his expression shutters by the way Tommy looks momentarily browbeaten, but his eyes clear, and he tugs Buck further into his chest, bundles his arms around him. "Ask me again," he says, and Buck stares into his eyes and tries to imagine what they'd look like against a skyline without smog, high up in the air, the ground falling away from them.

"That ranch I was telling you about is still for sale," Buck says, and tries desperately to keep his expression neutral as he continues. "Maybe in a couple years, you can help me with the mortgage payments."

Tommy nips at his nose, his laugh soft and quiet, warm. His eyes are a little misty.

"You're breaking my heart, Evan Buckley," and he has to clear his throat, corners of his eyes going wet. "Always knew you would."

Right now it's little more than a gesture and a promise. Buck's had three years to reflect, to understand that for all that Tommy had been the one who'd helped him reach this current update of Buck, they'd never actually dealt with too many of the hard parts. They'll have to fight for it. They'll have to talk through stupid shit, and miscommunications, and fear and regret and the love, too.

He thinks maybe Tommy's finally ready to fight.

---

Eddie looks smug as he catches sight of Tommy stumbling blearily down the stairs behind Buck on the video call.

Buck makes a face.

"Do you know how many times one of you thwarted my parent trap-esque plans for you two assholes? When you were both single six months ago I nearly hired some creep off Facebook marketplace to kidnap you both and lock you in a room."

Tommy ruffles Buck's hair, flips off the camera, navigates his way to the coffee pot, out of Eddie's view.

"And that's my cue to go," Eddie says, and Bucks gaze darts guiltily from Tommy's ass. "I better be the first one you guys invite to the housewarming." And he hangs up before either of them can argue that this is brand fucking new and they really haven't worked through the details.

He's right, though. He's right. Buck's got his teeth in the back of Tommy's neck twenty seconds later, and when Tommy leans back into it he holds up his phone and shows Buck the listing for the ranch he's been daydreaming about sharing with someone (this someone) since the first time he saw it.