#beards all across the board

[daydadahlias]

SHE’S A POET!!!!!!!!! I will be bringing this to my poetry class next time. Thank you so much Crystal I love you 💙🥺

[alchemistc]

He's at the kitchen sink rinsing dishes when the lock mechanism clicks in his front door. Something zings up his spine, that familiar little tingle that means he's about to be showered with affection and attention.

He doesn't turn, mostly because he's bound and determined to act normal just this fucking once (he's too in his head about the way money had exchanged hands the last time Tommy had met them all at the bar and he'd leapt from the table to greet him). The door sways open, almost silent except for the creak right at the end that no amount of WD40 seems to fix.

Buck rinses another dish.

Keys in the dish on the side board, the soft thump of Tommy's duffle on the bottom stair, the snick of the lock latching again, and the gentle pattern of work boots across the floor. Buck's a little surprised that Tommy doesn't say anything - he's nowhere near the same level of talkative as Buck but he's rarely solidly quiet.

Arms curl around his middle, thick wide hands shifting over the belly Buck's stopped worrying so much about keeping trim, since that two-week span he'd pinched a nerve and been told in no uncertain terms to take it fucking easy or risk mobility issues for the rest of his life and he'd decided to call them cheat weeks. Tommy's nose slides along his back, his lips shift over the knob of Buck's spine, two-day beard scratches at the exposed skin of Buck's neck and Tommy sighs, long and deep and tired.

"Hey," Buck says, a still damp hand curling over the bulk of Tommy's forearm, and Tommy hums against the back of his head.

Buck waits a beat while Tommy sort of slumps his weight into Buck's back.

And it's this - this bone deep calm that shivers over both of them at the end of a long day - this knowledge that they can finally unwind in each other's presence. That just like Tommy is happy to let Buck unload after a rough shift, Tommy is willing to take that same comfort from Buck. Buck never has to chase to figure out what he can do to help Tommy. He never has to guess at what Tommy needs to feel supported. Tommy will take - and when he's not sure, or it feels too much, he'll ask. No mixed signals, no needs unmet, no over the top gestures to overcompensate. Just.

"Hi," Tommy says, and presses a kiss to the dimple of Buck's skull. "Smells good in here."

There's a roast keeping warm in the oven, some simple thing Buck had asked Bobby's help in perfecting because Tommy "Meat and Potatoes" Kinard had finally admitted he hadn't had a good roast since his mother passed and he missed them. And Buck hadn't known Tommy'd had a shitty shift until well after he'd thrown the roast in but the terse, one word responses to Buck's texts and the lack of typical post-shower selfie had been a pretty good indication.

"Go sit. I'll grab you some wine. Dinner should be - ten-ish minutes?*

Tommy's arms tighten. One big hand presses into his stomach, just enough to tip Buck back into the cradle of Tommy's hips, just enough to make them flush from head to toe. "Gimme a minute, Buckley," Tommy murmurs, and Buck feels that buzz under his skin, can't help the shit eating grin that curls his lips. Tommy's nose digs into his curls. "Come home just for hugs and you tell me to sit down," he scoffs, and Buck doesn't waste any more time pretending to do dishes - he gets the faucet off and sways back into Tommy to make himself just enough room to spin, arms already coming up even as Tommy hooks a chin over his shoulder and digs into the meat of it.

Tommy's back is tense at Buck's first pass, but by the time he's rubbed up and down another two times he's sort of melted bonelessly into Buck's front, a few shuddering sighs drawing from somewhere deep inside his chest to make a home in Buck's collar bone.

He wants to stick Tommy in his pocket and take care of him, but barring any shrink ray technology he'll settle for being a safe place for Tommy to land.

"Love you," Buck murmurs into the hair curling over Tommy's ear - because he can, because the word had been so terrifyingly easy to say the first time and has only gotten better from there.

Tommy huffs against his cheek. "Trying to pepper me with words to get me off you? Not gonna work. Might just stay here all night now.*

*We'd get uncomfortable standing so long." Tommy hums. "We wouldn't be able to eat."

"Can't have that."

"I'll let you play footsie with me for dinner."

"I'm close to accepting your terms. You got a kicker?"

"There's cannoli in the fridge for after."

Tommy whistles, impressed and only a little mocking. "I get five spontaneous handholds, too," he negotiates, like Buck doesn't blush deep as a tomato every time Tommy snags his hand just to hold it.

"Are they still spontaneous if -."

"Yes."

"Shake on it?"

Tommy flicks his tongue against his teeth. Seems to contemplate it for a moment, and then licks a line up Buck's neck instead. "That binding enough for you?"

Buck doesn't bother to hide the way his dick twitches against the seam of his zipper. Tommy chuckles.

"That a yes?"

Buck only eyes up Tommy's neck for soot before he follows Tommy's example.

[foreingersgod]

hellooo! i loveddd ur cc country reader fic. do u think u could do one like that but with kate? hope ur doing okay!! <3

If She Ever Leaves Me . KM

pairing: country!kate martin x country wife!reader

synopsis: country kate <3

A/N: this is quite literally my favorite song of all time, lesbian country has a special place in my heart so i’m so excited for you guys to read this one!

word count: 6.2k

I see you watch her from across the room

Dancing her home in your mind

you were from another world, kate was convinced. dolled up in your red gingham sundress, the one lined with ivory lace and a sweet little bow that sat in between your breasts. your cowboy boots clunked rhythmically against the wooden boards on the old bars floor as you danced to the music. you had once had a drink in your hand, a fruity little cocktail because you couldn’t handle the strong stuff like kate did. but the glass was long forgotten when you left your girlfriends company to join in on the line dance.

kate remained seated on the leather bar stool, her own pair of boots propped up on the foot rest. her elbow was leaned up against the varnished bar as she swirled her drink mindlessly. her attention was no longer on the ice that slowly melted within the glass, but on you, in the midst of the friday night bustle. she had brought you to the bar just like she did every weekend, a small tradition you adopted when you first started dating. you had fallen in love with the small little town and the cozy bar within it and found yourself most happy in the musical chaos of it all.

while she loved seeing you out there in your element, she couldn’t help but wish you’d stay right there next to her. her heart turned to mush at the way you would smile, flash your pearly whites as you sung along to the music. she loved how your dress twirled around your calves as you spun around in circles, your voluminous hair bouncing behind you. but she hated how you were so far, wanting to see that charming smile and those gorgeous locks up close for herself. she couldn’t stand the thought of you being out there for all eyes to see. hated how any man or woman could claim you as theirs in their minds.

kate was aware of your immense beauty, knew how especially the men liked to gaze in your direction. you were a sight for sore eyes, not even having to lift a finger to attract the attention of everyone in town. and while kate did get jealous, seeing how the single folk in the bar constantly asked you to dance or buy you a drink, she knew you’d never cave. your love for kate was outstanding and hardly likely to dissipate over a few drinks offered by lonely cowboys. they could continue to stare at you, imagine dancing with you all they wanted. but she knew it was her, at the end of the night, that got to take you home and settle between your thighs.

Well, it takes more than whiskey to make that flower bloom

By the third drink you'll find out she's mine

“good evening, missy” a deep voice slurred from behind you “i saw ya over there dancin’ and was hopin’ i could buy ya a drink?”

you had just returned to your seat next to kate at the bar, almost winded from all the dancing. a small film of sweat lingered on your forehead as you plopped down, adjusting the skirt of your dress. kate’s hand found its way to the divot of your hip without a second thought. she ordered you a brand new drink once she noticed you reaching for hers, letting you finish off her whiskey was a recipe for disaster. the bartender poured your drink as kate leaned in to kiss your blushed cheek, listening to you rave about the excitement on the dance floor. it wasn’t until your drink was passed to you, pausing your conversation, that you were suddenly interrupted.

“oh,” you licked your lips, the salt from the rim of your glass sticking to your upper lip. you turned around to face the stranger to see it was a taller and quite older man. he was muscular and burly, a thick beard embellishing his face. not that it would sway your opinion, but he was no different than the rest of the men who thought they had a chance with you “no thank you”

the man seemed to be taken aback, nose scrunching in disgust. he shook his head and and rolled his eyes, large hands coming up to rub his jaw. he inched closer to you, broad shoulders on the brink of colliding with your back. kate immediately noticed this, tightening her grip on you as she shot a stern glare his way.

“no?” he scoffed “it’s just a drink, lady”

“look i’m just not interested alright?” you sneered, trying not to be too harsh and make a scene in the midst of the busy bar.

“and why’s that, huh? i’m a nice, good lookin guy. what’s your fuckin problem?” he spat at you, near slamming his fist on the bar. this triggered something in kate, causing her to leap from her seat in anger. but you placed your hand on her chest, sending her a look to tell her that you had it under control. she looked back at you, then back at the guy in conflict. kate was more than ready to put that guy in his place, to claim you as hers and teach him a lesson. but she also knew you took satisfaction in telling these men off, ultimately deciding to take a seat and observe.

“i’m happily taken, i’ll have you know” you motioned to kate “i appreciate the offer, but i would appreciate it even more if you apologized and left us alone”

kate smirked, seeing his expression fall. it was always so gratifying to see these people learn that you were in love with someone else, and a woman at that. she tipped the rim of her cowboy hat mockingly at him, her way of making her presence known. the man cleared his throat, now embarrassed as he took his hand away from the bar and took a step back.

“you-uh-you’re right, ma’am” he mumbled, digging his hands into his pockets “m’sorry ladies, have a nice night”

he shuffled away in humiliation, probably on his way to pester some other woman he thought he could seduce. you watched him bump into a few people before he disappeared into the ever growing crowds. you sighed in relief, taking another swig of your drink.

“he not your type?” kate snickered, smirking at you teasingly before finishing off her own drink.

“shut up,” you laughed as you smacked her shoulder lightly. you turned on the stool, rusty metal squeaking loudly as you came to face her. nimble fingers came up to move a strand of hair away from her face “you know i only have eyes for you”

“you’re somethin else, ya know that?” she groaned, noticing the way you bit your lower lip and batted your lashes at her.

“i do,” you leaned in to place a small kiss to her lips “but you love it”

I've loved her in secret

I've loved her out loud

“can we just stay like this forever?” you asked, resting your head against kate’s shoulder as you let your eyes close.

these were your favorites moments. sitting on the porch swing with kate as the sun went down, crisp summer air swooshing past you. the sky glowed pinks and oranges, reflecting onto the home you shared on this secluded farm. the chains of the swing creaked with each push, kate’s bare foot touching the floorboards just enough to rock you back and forth. crickets and other little critters sounded from the fields in front of you as the evening fell upon the town. the grasses and weeds of the crops whistled in the wind, adding to the noise. kate hummed an unknown tune-probably some song she heard on the radio weeks ago-as she draped an old knit blanket across your laps.

“mhm,” her hand wrapped around your shoulder, tugging you closer into her side to keep you warm. her fingers toyed with the fraying ends of your sleeve, an old country singer tee shirt that you stole from her drawer one day “then i’d get to keep ya all to m’self”

“you already got me to yourself, kate” you chuckled softly, nuzzling your nose into her neck.

“yea,” she continued “but here? it’s jus the two of us. no drunks at the bar, no assholes givin us a hard time in town…it’s just you, me, and the farm. everything i’ve ever wanted’s right here”

you smiled against her shoulder, feeling the rough material of her flannel shirt on your lips. kate was the biggest sweetheart, was always vocal on her appreciation for this life. it was true, everything she wanted was right here. she was never set on a busy life at all. as long as she had her woman, her animals, her crops, and most likely her guitar (because how else would she serenade you on quiet nights like these), then she’d never need anything else. you were her entire world, what made her the person she is. she’d do anything to keep this life with you.

“mmm,” you sighed, another breeze lulling you into sleep “i love you s’much, kate”

“i love you too, darlin” she confessed, sensing your drowsiness “more than you know”

The sky hasn't always been blue

It might last forever

Or it might not work out

her back ached, her feet hurt, and her head pounded with the memories of your conversation this morning. kate had never meant to say what she did, and now she beating herself up at the thought of hurting you.

she had woken up at the same time she always did, quietly padding out of bed and into the connected bathroom as to not wake you. you hated early mornings so kate normally let you sleep while she did her morning farm chores. in return, you’d clean the house, run errands, and you often helped kate with anything she was behind on. it was a fair trade off and the routine worked for you, so there were hardly any issues during the countless years you’ve been together.

but for some reason, everything seemed to have gone wrong this morning. kate’s alarm didn’t go off so she was late to milk the cows, causing her to go behind schedule by at least 45 minutes. the water heater apparently stopped working, she ran out of toothpaste, and her favorite work pants had a pretty gnarly hole. then, she accidentally woke you up by knocking down some of her toiletries because she was in a rush. you were shocked to wake up to such chaos, trying to ask her what was wrong and asking if there was anything you could do to help. but rather than answer or kiss you goodbye and tell you she was in a rush, she snapped at you angrily before running out the door.

“can you just leave me alone? fuck” she had said, trying to pull her boot over her left foot “christ, i don’t have time for this, i gotta go”

the comment left you dumbfounded, disgusted by her tone. sure, there were times that kate got a bit angry and said something she didn’t mean, but it was never like this. she never said anything that directly offended you. plus, she always apologized if she hurt your feelings. this time, on the other hand, felt like a personal dig at you.

you laid in bed for a while as you replayed the scenario over and over in your mind. it had made you incredibly upset, knowing that she was somehow mad at you for asking if you could just help. eventually, you decided to just get up and get some work done throughout the house to try and take your mind off of it. but no matter what you did during the day, you couldn’t shake how terribly she made you feel. her words stuck with you like glue as you went about your daily chores.

the dishes were done and the floors were scrubbed spotless by the time dinner rolled around. you made your self busy with prepping the food as you waited for kate’s arrival. she typically finished around 5:30, but with her being in such a hurry, she most likely wouldn’t be back to the house until 6:30. so you focused on cutting the vegetables and marinating the meat until she was home.

kate, meanwhile, was finishing rounding up the horses. she so desperately wanted to go home, eat the delicious dinner you had made, and curl up under the covers with you while you read your book aloud to her. but now, as her hands grasped around the brass door knob of the front door, she realized that that may be harder to achieve than she had thought.

she was instantly met with discomfort the second she set foot in the house. the air felt heavier and the atmosphere was merely dimmer than it should be. the radio would often be playing somewhere in the kitchen, you could never get anything done without your old school tunes. her heart twinged at the loss of your humming, the sweetness of your voice nowhere to be found as she kicked off her boots and set them aside.

her legs dragged her into the kitchen where she spotted you silently chopping away at some peppers (the ones you had insisted you grow yourself, giving yourself yet another thing to tend to). you were still and quiet, not even so much as swaying your hips. she knew that you were upset right away. and you had every right, she admitted internally, her behavior this morning was uncalled for and she didn’t blame you.

“hey, baby” she mumbled, testing the waters. she wandered through the kitchen, making her way to the cabinet to grab a cup for a glass of water.

“hey” you murmured back in response. now it was the tone of your voice that stung kate. you didn’t bother to look at her, keeping your focus on the task at hand. but kate couldn’t bring herself to look away from you, instead she took the time to study the expression on your face and the movement of your body. you seemed stiff, muscles tense with irritation. the features of your face were soft-they always were-but now they were soft with disappointment. you were a headstrong gal, kate knew all too well, and would rather go all night completely mute than pretend like this morning never happened. so she decided to shrug off her guilt and pride and own up to her mistakes.

“darlin’?” she set the glass down on the counter top, no longer worried about the water. she came up behind you as you slowed the movements of your knife.

“hm?”

“m’sorry” she divulged, chest pressing against your back. her arms came to wrap around your torso as she let her head fall. her chin now rested on your shoulder, her nose nudging at the angle of your jaw “for what i said today, that wasn’t fair to ya. you were jus tryin’ to help”

you said nothing, pushing her off your shoulder as you resumed your chopping. the small action made kate’s insides churn. she tried again, this time placing a hand on your lower back and attempting to apologize once more, but she was swiftly shot down.

“thought you wanted me to leave you alone?” you taunted bitterly. you moved over to the stove and slid the diced vegetables into an already simmering pot. she sighed, scratching at the back of her neck.

“baby, i didn’t mean it” she pleaded “i’d never want you t’leave me alone, i was just upset and i lashed out. it was wrong of me”

“yea,” you laughed in disbelief, still moving restlessly around the kitchen to display your anger “it was”

“can you just-” she halted to try and find the right words “can you just stop for a second? please”

you set-more like carelessly tossed-your cutting board and knife back onto the counter. your head whipped in her direction, shooting her a dissatisfied glare. your sun kissed cheeks were down a darkened red and your brows furrowed downwards, your nose scrunched up and your tongue ran along the insides of your cheeks out of annoyance.

“i’m sorry, im so so sorry” kate continued once she realized you were listening “what i did was incredibly shitty and you don’t deserve that. i’m so grateful to have someone who is so willin to help me out and i took that for granted. but i promise i didn’t mean it at all and it won’t happen again”

she pulled her sweet puppy dog eyes on you, beautiful blue irises staring back at you. it genuinely seemed that she felt horrible. you knew kate like the back of your hand, knew that she definitely didn’t mean to say something like that. although, it had cut you deep in the heat of the moment and made you feel awful all day. but seeing her so distraught over this, now practically on her knees to beg for your forgiveness, it had you rethinking the validity of your coldness. you could never stay mad at her for long.

“it’s just-” you groaned, fingers coming up to rub at your temples “it just made me feel so mad and you ran out without even apologizing”

“i know, i know. i shouldn’t have done that” she gulped, hoping that you would come around “but i really don’t think i can stand ya bein’ mad at me any longer, baby. you gotta forgive me”

you chuckled at her urgency. it was true, she always felt lost when you were cross with her. a smile worked its way onto your face as you stepped towards her, throwing your arms around her neck. her arms tugged you in closer as she let out a sigh of relief.

“alright, you’re forgiven” you tilted your head “but, it better not happen again, got it?”

“got it. never again, i swear it”

you got up on your tip toes, your house slippers about to fall off your feet, to kiss her. before you could pull away, though, she had grabbed both sides of your face to kiss you even deeper. you moaned with surprise when her fingers threaded through your hair, tongue slipping into your mouth as she caught you off guard. you indulged in the kiss until you had to pull away for air.

“ok, cowboy” you breathed against her lips “you gotta let me go, dinners gonna burn”

“oh, m’never lettin you go ever again”

If she ever leaves me, it won't be for you

she sat back in her seat, an old wooden rocking chair that matched the one you were in. it was an oddly hot night this june even though the sun had set hours ago and the cold air from the lake was creeping closer. the heat from the bonfire in front of you only added the warmth.

this was one of your favorite things to do, sit outside on the small concrete patio kate had made, roasting marshmallows and taking turns on the guitar as a toasty fire crackled against the humid air. you had the acoustic instrument rested on your knee, a hand woven strap around your shoulder as you lightly plucked the strings rhythmically. you sang quietly along to a song as you looked off across the field and into the mountains, you were in your own world. kate was merely listening, too distracted by your beauty to sing along. the way your lips moved with each lyric, how your nearly manicured nails strummed against the guitar so smoothly.

“what?” she snapped from her trance, eyes blinking when she noticed you. she hadn’t realized you’d stopped singing, fingers no longer on the guitar. kate cleared her throat as she chewed on the insides of her cheek.

“s’nothin” her hair swaying against her shoulders whilst she shook her head “you’re just pretty s’all”

“oh stop” you giggled, the most infectious thing kate had ever heard. when she died, your laugh would be the last thing she’d want to hear “that’s the liquor talkin’, babe”

“definitely not,” she hated how you never believed her compliments, always denying your own beauty. but that just meant she got to compliment you twice as much to get you to buy into it “i could be sober forever and still think you’re the most breathtaking woman to grace the earth”

you had now set the guitar down, propping up against the varnished table between the rocking chairs, pushing yourself back and forth by the heel of your boot. you reached your arm over, fingers outreached to kate. she took your hand without hesitation, giving your hand a loving squeeze. the whites of your teeth shined through the darkening sky as you let yourself smile. you’d never get tired of the affection kate showered you with.

“you’re my everything” she whispered to you, thumb mindlessly stroking the backside of your hand.

“and you’re mine” you replied as you thought your conjoined hands up to your face, kissing her knuckles “my universe”

She loves Wild Horses and Tumbling Dice

She don't have a single tattoo

kate remembers the exact moment she met you. when she wandered into the quaint house of a close friend from college, noticing you right away. her friend, caitlin, was having a fairly large get together for her birthday: poker, beer, and pizza. kate typically hated going out and socializing, but rarely ever was she able to say no to good food and a cold glass of cheap beer. she debated not going for the longest time and instead having caitlin over one night for dinner to make up for her absence, not really wanting to get dolled up and leave the comfort of her home. but she forced herself to go anyways, turning the key in the ignition of her truck and making her way down the road.

boy was she glad she did.

you were like a rainbow in the midst of a storm, a rose among thorns sitting there leaned against the back of your chair. the moment caitlin had let her in the house, guiding her into the kitchen to grab her a drink, her eyes were glued to you. your hair was let down down, a leather cowboy hat resting atop your head with a think pink band wrapping around the base. a flannel that was far too big for you swallowed your upper half, leaving kate to only imagine what laid beneath it. she noticed your muddy jeans, how your velvety skin ran across the stiff denim when you doubled over in laughter. you were absolutely radiant, kate didn’t need much also to fall head over heels for you.

for the most part, she avoided you all night. her nerves were getting to her, not even having to talk to you to become riddled with anxiety. something about you enchanted her, drew her in like a moth to a flame, but she couldn’t bring herself to make an introduction. rather she lingered on the outskirts of the room as she made pointless conversation with mutual friends, eyes wandering just to get a glimpse of you every so often.

then, as kate was talking to small group of people in the living room, caitlin summoned everyone into the kitchen for the poker game. her heart began to race, watching as you followed the crowd of people to the dining room table. kate was the last to funnel through, finding herself straining her neck to find an open seat. and much to her luck, like a sign from the universe, the last open seat was directly next to you. maybe this was meant to be, written in the stars that she’d sit next to you tonight.

“hey,” she swallowed hard when she tapped on your shoulder, choking back a cough of uncertainty “d’ya mind if i sit, ma’am?”

you looked back behind you, eyes wandering up kate’s tall figure. you grinned, pulling out the chair a little more so she could sit down.

“not at all!” she squeezed in between you and the person next to her, arm brushing against yours electrically as she tried to find a comfortable position “i -uh-i don’t think we’ve met?”

“oh! yea no” kate felt like she was about to faint, she barely made it past the initial question and now she was already being forced into an introduction? “i went to college with caitlin, we’re pretty close buds, but um…i don’t go out much so i’m not around”

“really? that’s crazy you’ve known her for so long!” you said. kate would be forever grateful that you disregarded her awkwardness “i met her a while back when i first moved to town, she helped me get settled in and everything”

kate exhaled, the words spewing from your lips hardly retained as she was concentrated on your immense beauty. you voice sounded like honey, everyone else’s words becoming jumbled in the background.

“sorry, i didn’t even tell you my name,” you internally scolded yourself “i’m YN”

“s’nice to meet you, YN” she nodded, offering a calloused hand out to you. you gladly took it, dainty hand fitting perfectly into her much larger one “m’kate”

and just like that, such a simple introduction seemed to entice a years worth of conversation. throughout the entire poker game the two of you couldn’t seem to stop talking. to be truthful, kate threw the entire game in the first hand just so she could get out as soon as possible to talk to you. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t do the same. this didn’t go unnoticed by caitlin (or any of the others for that matter), quickly catching on to how her best friend had stuck like glue to you. whilst the rest of them pushed around chips, threw down hards, and occasionally cussing over a bad hand, you and kate sneaked away to the backyard.

‘we’re just gettin’ some air, we’ll be back b’fore the games over’, she announced when caitlin asked why you both backed away from the table. caitlin nodded innocently, pretending she didn’t know your true intentions. she smiled smugly behind her cards as she watched kate open the back sliding door open for you, placing her hand on your hip to guide you in front of her. suddenly, caitlin felt like a matchmaker.

the air was still, crickets sounding loudly from deep under the trees and bushes of caitlin’s backyard. an owl cooed in the far distance, moonlight beating down onto the lush and green lawn. everything went silent when kate slid the door closed behind you. you were far too scared to say anything, opting to take a seat on the concrete steps and listen to the tranquil sounds of the south. kate plopped down next to you as she let her knee relax just enough to bump into yours. her lips parted, eyes locking with yours, elbows resting on her knees as she fiddled with her fingers in her lap. she wanted to know everything about you, hear every story you had to tell. she had the unexplainable urge for you to consume her every being, needing to know what it was like to love you. she didn’t care you had just met, or that you were merely just talking, something inside her told her this was love at first sight.

she had only muttered something along the lines of ‘i think i could sit here all night with you’ before you were high off chitchatting once again.

maybe an hour passed, maybe 2, you weren’t quite sure. time seemed to stop as you sat there talking to kate, the sky growing darker with the lights inside being your only source of light. your butt stung from the roughness of the concrete, but the discomfort didn’t seem to cross your mind once as you babbled to kate about everything and anything. from childhood stories, to worse first dates, there didn’t seem to be a single topic left out of discussion.

in such a short amount of time, she learned so much about you. how much you adored animals, that you wanted to be a veterinarian when you were little but ultimately not having the money for college. she learned that you loved to bake and that’s why you moved out to town, to take over your great grandmas bakery on the edge of the valley. you told her about how your favorite thing to make was carrot cake and that you’d love to make one for her sometime, really just an excuse to see her again. she learned that you hated needles, that you’d wanted to get a tattoo last year but ended up chickening out before they could even lay down the stencil. even the little details, like your parents divorce or your close relationship with your brother, she came to know it all. and loved every bit of it. she had never felt so connected to a single soul in her entire life.

“wait wait wait,” kate threw her head back, throat bobbing as she laughed “there’s no way you did that!”

“it’s true!” you cackled, hand coming to grasp at your chest as you chuckled “i swear to god it’s true!”

“so you mean to tell me…” she tried to get the story straight, tongue darting out slightly as she processed what you had said “that you got chased down? by a wild horse?”

“yes! my friend bet me 20 bucks to try and get a stupid selfie with it-cause let’s be honest we were 16 and fucking idiots-and i spooked it from behind, and well…it chased me all the way back to my truck!”

“well you’re a hell of a lot braver than me, i woulda been knocked out cold within a second!” you snickered, luring the most mesmerized grin from kate. she looked back out into the yard when she sensed the mingling was dying down, the air going quiet once again. “you know i-um…this has been really nice, sittin here talkin to ya”

“yea,” you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, still looking at kate even though she had turned “it has”

“could be kinda up front with ya?” kate blurted. she had been contemplating it all night, asking you out and overcoming her fears. but the whole night she couldn’t see herself doing it. that was until now, the moment she understood how badly she needed to see you again.

“of course, kate”

“do you think i could get your number?” she might faint on the spot, the sudden sour of confidence could send her into cardiac arrest “i mean you definitely don’t have to give it t’me at all, i don’t know i just thought that-”

“kate,” you laid a hand on her shoulder to get her to ease up, she held her breathe in fear of your possible rejection “i would love to give you my number”

and just like that, the rest was history. she’d remember this moment forever.

She'll drink all the liquor and leave you the ice

kate leaned against the cedar post that held the rickety porch together, weathered and old from so many years of love. her boots, a new pair that you had gotten her for her birthday, left muddy prints on the slats underneath her. she had her arms folded across her chest as her fingers came up to toy with the bolo tie that sat snuggly underneath her collar. it was baby pink, like the band of the hat you were wearing during the night you met. kate was never big on pink, but after meeting you, it became her favorite color.

she was watching you closely, not wanting to miss a single second of the moment. you were out in the front yard near the little flower garden you insisted on starting when you moved in with kate. it stretched along the fence that separated the yard and the plots of land reserved for the rest of the farm. endless species of wildflowers sprouted from the dirt and mulch, other plants you picked from the gardeners market sat freshly planted. you loved that damn garden with everything you had. sometimes kate wondered if you loved your flowers more than her.

dressed in a light green sundress, the one that sat untouched in the back of your closet most days, you stood radiant under the evening sun. there was a cotton apron draped around your waist, you had sewn several pockets into it by hand so that you could carry your supplies in the garden. there wasn’t a shoe, sock, nor sandal on your foot either. you claimed to prefer it that way, wanting to feel the earth and “be one with nature”. it made kate laugh, seeing your toes sink into the soil. you were on your hands and knees trying to pull the freshly grown weeds, hands wrapping around the base and tugging the roots from their clutch in the ground. kate could make out a line of dirt that spread from your temple to your cheek, most likely from wiping your hand across your sweaty skin. with a groan, you sat back on your knees, tossing the last few weeds into the basket next to you and throwing your head back. you sighed from the excessive heat and the gnawing pain in your forearms. but kate couldn’t help but stare at you in awe, whether you were dirty and tired it didn’t matter to her. she watched as the neckline of the dress dipped down, your chest heaving, causing the tops of your breasts spill just a tich. kate gulped deeply in astonishment. your pink lips, now red from the amount of times you’ve licked them, puckered out as you stretched your neck. it took everything in her to not march over to you, lay you out onto your back, and give the neighbors a show they certainly wouldn’t want to see.

“quit starin’ at me you creep!” you hollered across the yard, snapping kate from the trance you had her in. she chuckled under her breath, her arms falling to her sides.

“m’just appreciatin’ the view” she was so good at smooth talking you, always getting you rattled “can’t a woman just admire her gorgeous wife?”

“not when her woman’s knee deep in weeds and is too tired to make it back to the house!” you pouted, balled fists coming to rest on your hips. you were scolding her now?

she made her way down the cobblestone path, tripping on the stone that stuck out more than the rest. you had asked her to put “fixing that stupid fucking stone” on her to-do list earlier in the month, but she had never gotten to it. you’d probably pester her about it again eventually. your mood instantly changed when she stepped foot onto the grass, shaking her head at you jokingly.

“cant believe you’d leave me out here in this blistering heat, makin’ your so called ‘gorgeous wife’ sit out here helplessly” you nudged again, neck craning up see her clearly.

her face was covered in freckles, darkened from a days work on the farm. her hairy was tied into a braid, strangling hairs whisking around ever which way. you noticed the pink tie on her neck, always smiling when she wore it because you knew she bought it because of you.

“well i’m here aren’t i?” she held both of her hands out to you, offering to help you up “i’d be quite the fool to leave ya”

“such a sweetheart” you tutted, letting kate yank you from the ground, grunting from the force. with her bewildering strength, you stumbled into her. your arms gripped onto her biceps and hers found the way to your rear, giving you an inviting squeeze “thank you baby”

she tipped her head to the right, one hand coming up to tangle itself in your hair. her lips met yours momentarily, capturing you in a winded kiss. you squeaked in surprise at her actions, only to accept it immediately after and kissing her back.

“anytime” she smirked, nipping your bottom lip as she pulled away “although you looked like absolute perfection out here…on your knees…that pretty little dress ridin’ up your thighs. gettin’ me all hot and bothered, yet you’re the one doin’ the weeding”

“keep it in your pants, martin” you rolled your eyes, trying suppress the butterflies in your stomach. but you could never trick kate, she knew exactly the things she did to you. you hooked your fingers through her belt loops as you began walking backwards towards the house, taking her with you “now come and help me”

“help you with what? i thought you were done weedin-”

“not with the weeds silly” she looked at you confused. you pursed your lips as you pushed the front door open “with somethin’ else…this dress ain’t gonna take itself off”

she groaned, biting down on her tongue. images of what she’d do to you on a continuous loop in her mind “you tease”

“maybe,” you shrugged, already making your way down the hall and to the stairs, swaying your hips to egg her on. kate had halted at the bottom of the stairwell, unable to form a complete sentence it seemed “are you coming or not?”

“i’m comin’” she said, following you to the bedroom “just you wait, darlin”

…That's too much cologne, she likes perfume

[occamstfs]

Tenor Troubles

Masculinization spurred by a going from a Tenor to a Bass, bit of an odd one but hope you enjoy! -Occam

Max probably should have read his contract more closely. He knew that grad students across the board were getting shafted, but the agreement he has with the College of Fine Arts was some next level exploitation. He prided himself on his voice, being able to sing higher than even most of the Altos he has previously studied alongside. But his degree plan on the already signed contract suggests he is going to be enrolled as a Bass in the graduate program. Clearly there has been some misunderstanding that he’ll just need to work out with the department.

He knocks on the door of his advising professor and without waiting for a come in he bursts through the doors to see the man who is both his boss and professor staring at him less than pleased. Max’s face reddens in embarrassment and before he can even open his mouth to speak, Dr. Reyes addresses him.

“Maxwell is it. I trust you have a reason for barging into my office? I ask that you take more care towards decorum in the future.”

Max stumbles through an apology before getting to the matter at hand. “Y- yes of course I’m so sorry doctor it won't happen again, I swear.” He raises his eyes to his professor’s stern gaze, flinching back slightly as he goes on, “it’s just that, um, it looks like there was some kind of mix-up with my enrollment, I mean clearly you can tell I’m a Tenor right?” He raises his tone slightly and smiles awkwardly as he tries to make it clear to the man across from him that he certainly does not have the range.

Dr. Reyes rubs his beard, briefly covering his own mouth and wiping a smile from his face. “Well now Maxwell, there does seem to be a mismatch between your vocal training, and your preferred classes and yada yada,” waving his hands dismissively as Max’s face stains a deeper shade of scarlet by the second. Reyes goes on, “I'll see what I can do but all these changes take time If you must change your plan it’ll be at least a week. Until then if you could see to it that you fulfill the TA demands asked of you and attend your classes hm? You are under contract are you not?” The image of his signature at the bottom of contract feels burned into his retinas as he starts to reply, “well yes but-” An alarm goes off on the professor’s desk. “Very well Maxwell, if you would excuse me.”

Dr. Reyes makes his way to the next class smiling as he too thinks of the fine print of Maxwell's contract. ‘The student will become what the program asks of him.’ What a dunce one must be to sign that without an inquiry. Giving one last glance behind him to see the small student shaking with rage at the series of events, veins appearing to bulge out of his neck as he thinks about chasing after his professor, almost taking a step before grasping at his head. Max doubles over and grunts, after a painful second he rises once more and sees his advising professor enter a classroom. He exhales through his nose and walks to the concert hall with the undergraduate Bass students, the course he is, both legally and otherwise, compelled to assist with. 

The Next Week

Max is inches away from just dropping out. He was well-prepared to be constantly stressed from grad school but the wrench of working with students who don’t respect him and professors that are expecting him to sing alongside the rest of these professional bassists, it’s impossible! Dr. Reyes must be doing some sick joke on him, there is no reason it should be so difficult to fix this! He shouldn’t be graded for the university’s mistake. Beyond the looming threat of flunking these courses for his inaptitude he is also constantly hungry. His stomach rumbles and sends pangs through his body as he sits through each course on vocal instruction. He succumbs to stress-eating assuming one plate must fall and it may as well be his waistline.

Every time he indulges in his hunger he finds weight almost immediately piles on. Alongside his meticulously honed falsetto he has always enjoyed just how tight and small he kept his twinkish figure, though this begins to slip as he finds himself straining his tight pants and his stomach showing through his button ups.

The final issue lies precisely in his private vocal practice, in lieu of the training his program should guarantee. As he goes about practicing the arias and vocalizations that he typically uses as warmups he finds himself struggling to hit the highest notes. He works his way through them slowly and slips up, finding his range is peaking out much lower than it ever should. He grimaces and refuses to deign and see if his range has increased in the other direction. He goes note by note, taking his time to feel the stress and vibrations of his vocal chords. Reaching the pinnacle of the piece he strains to hit the high note and his voice promptly cracks. He feels a tear. He coughs and gasps for air concerned that he has truly injured himself. 

When no blood or further pain reveals itself Max finally clears his throat and drinks a glass of water. He tests his voice, “Uhhhh-” forcing his hand over his mouth before even getting a full syllable out. Eyes watering as he hears his voice is unmistakably deeper than it was not a minute ago. This spurs him to action as he storms to the college and bangs on the door of Dr. Reyes.

For his part Reyes is sitting at the desk finishing an email and grinning as he hears the banging grow only more fervent at his door. He finishes his email almost laughing at how effective he is at controlling the man at the door. Knock as he may he could not storm in if he wanted to, as he must desperately. Closing his laptop and reaching to grab a tea bag from within his desk he calls to allow Max entry, “Do come in Maxwell.”

Stomping into the room, unaccustomed to the new weight he carries, which Dr. Reyes is all too pleased to notice. He takes a deep breath as he prepares to shout at the professor, his chest growing as his already prodigious lungs expand. Before finishing though Reyes raises a finger and strikes him passive and mute. “Now Max, why don’t you have a seat.” He clenches his hands with a furor and sits, stewing in his mind while also rapt with attention. “How have you been liking your classes?” Max continues to sit silently watching as the prepare a pot of tea, beginning to forget his ire as he looks on in confusion at the man. Reyes turns once more and rolls his eyes, “Well go on.”

Shaking out of it Max finally starts clearing his throat a few times hoping the voice he has worked so hard to protect and train will return “I, ugh- Sorry it’s ugh!” Dr. Reyes leans against his desk and steeps the tea bag, eyebrows raised with a thin smile on his face. Failing to speak as he so wishes the rage returns to Max and he shouts out, “It’s my fucking voice! I came here to learn and all these classes are just a waste of my fucking time!”

Reyes pours the tea into a large mug and sets it in front of his student, “Now now, if you were having voice problems why didn’t you just say so Max. I am a professional after all! Have some of this and I’m sure it will set you right as rain.” The professor watches as Max grasps the mug and stares into it. He remembers that Reyes was already preparing it when he came in. But it’s not as if his advisor would do something truly untoward right? Sensing the hesitation Dr. Reyes’ eyes darken and he commands, “I did say to drink it did I not.”

Max quickly raises the glass and sips. His eyes remain dark and he continues, “what seems to be the problem with your voice young Maxwell?” Taking a break from drinking he starts to explain all of his troubles to the man who should be looking out for him. Gesturing to his clearly larger body, Reyes notices beyond the weight gain that the sitting man is adjusting himself as his pants begin to grow even tighter, his ankles growing exposed as if his legs were lengthening. 

He continues to stumble onward with his recollection, forgetting what exactly bothered him enough to storm in. Reyes half-listens and takes care to refill the tea cup as needed, taking in the physical changes to the man rambling and wondering just how far they will be able to go. Eventually Reyes speaks up, “you were having trouble with your voice, yes Maxwell?”

Max’s eyes glimmer with recognition and he almost jumps with a start, “Yes! That was it I couldn’t sing the part I auditioned with in Nessun Dorma and I was-” His professor interrupts as he takes a big swing at Max’s psyche, “Is that so? What were you doing singing that Maxwell, that’s for tenors.” As if a grenade went off in his mind Max struggles to reconcile and remember what his problem was, did he not audition as a Tenor? But he couldn’t sing high to save his life right? Or no. 

Reyes watches as Max’s brow grows sweaty in his inner struggle. He physically raises the cup to Max’s mouth helping him finish the entire pot of tea. Confident that the man before him is far enough gone to only latch on his words, Reyes offers him a bone, “which side of your range are you struggling with boy.” Feeling emasculated by the professor infantilizing him he feels an urge to test his lower range. Reyes sees the resolve in Max’s eyes and challenges him, “Go on, sing your lowest note, now.” Max takes a deep breath and produces a sonorous note sustaining it far better than he would have ever expected himself to. 

Reyes smiles and shoots to plant another seed, “Well now Maxwell, I’m not quite sure what the problem is then. Your range seems to be what any trained Baritone’s should be.” The word Baritone echoes through Max’s head as he once more grows paralyzed in his own mind. He ekes out a “B- Baritone?” his voice cracking even deeper as he freezes. Reyes watches as his eyebrows knit together in confusion, they seem to grow thicker as they near each other.

Vocal range and masculinity don’t inherently match one-to-one but the professor is more than happy to allow it, staring as the weight from Max’s stomach begins to slightly redistribute itself, it slides up his chest, straining the buttons near his collar. Reyes shifts to look at Max’s face, eyes lingering on the Adam's apple making itself unmissable on his neck. He sees peach fuzz growing on Max’s upper lip and sideburns. Thoroughly pleased with the acceleration he has achieved today an alarm once more goes off on his phone and he readies to send his protege off. 

“Maxwell dear, I thank you for your patience. Of course I know that you’d prefer to be with the other Baritone student’s though I am sure you are learning valuable information working outside your comfort zone hm? I’m sure we’ll have this snafu fixed by next week.” Max just stares in a stupor as he stares at his professor, the empty mug of tea still in his hand before he sets it down to scratch at his tighter shirt. Dr. Reyes offers him a kerchief to wipe the drool from his mouth as he leads him out of his office, “Why don’t you try your warm ups, I’m sure they’ll set you right as rain.” 

Just as he did last time he takes one last look at his growing student as he begins to wander down the hall, his pants swiftly turning from slacks to tight capris. He hears the echo of the man humming to himself as he walks down the hallway to his own office hours. He’ll need to be ready for whatever his Bass performance students need right? Can’t have them out showing him even if he’s still working outside his comfort zone. Just one more week of this and he’ll get to show off to the Baritones, once more with his choral cohort.

The Next Week

Dr. Reyes stays abreast of how his star pupil is doing this week. He visits during private lessons and checks into lectures on music theory and rehearsals. He hears the man force his voice to be stronger. After any challenge he hears the man force himself to be louder. When struggling with curriculum, surely impeded by the doctor’s manipulation, he clutches at his head as his body surges larger, tightening clothes that were already sizes too large when he started his education here.

He sees Max looking at his reflection in the mirror of a practice room. He checks his beard from every angle, tilting his head up to see his large Adam's apple and smirks watching it vibrate as he hums. He unbuttons yet another button of his shirt, allowing an even greater view of his pecs as thick chest hair spills outward. Reyes hears his voice power through the soundproofed room as he approaches. He has clearly decided to leave Baritone behind without any prodding as he endeavors to show off his talents despite ostensibly singing to himself. 

Dr. Reyes knocks on the door of the practice room and like an eager dog Max falls over himself to answer it. He now stands taller than his professor whose head now lies directly at the hairy pecs spilling from his opened shirt. Max’s eyes glimmer as he looks down to the smug face of the professor. He quickly sits down to lower himself below the doctor and eagerly awaits whatever is soon to spill from Reyes’ mouth.

“I must say Maxwell, you have truly outdone yourself. Truly you hold one of the most powerful Bass voices I have heard in my time.” Max sits quietly, his heart racing with excitement from such kind words. He struggles to stay silent, lest he speak out of turn, though he cannot hide the rumble in his chest as his deep breaths accelerate. The doctor struggles to keep it together as he sees a pulse in the unmistakable, currently growing, bulge in Max’s pants. He briefly wonders if he’s gone too far, before looking back to the man’s face, seeing his eyes still staring directly into him waiting.

Perhaps he can go farther. “Is it not a shame though, my dear Max, that you’re not a true Basso Profundo?” There is a loud tear in the room as Max’s body surges larger. He shoots up inches more in height revealing a hairy stomach and pubes that already spill beyond the bounds of his pants. Reyes hears a catch in his student’s breath and watches as his Adam's apple bulge even further from his throat. His cock bursts the zipper of his pants and Max moans loud and deep enough for the professor to feel it in his chest. Reyes can’t take his eyes from the hair covering his chest grows even darker, curling as each strand grows thicker.

Before losing control of himself and his desires Dr. Reyes forces one last statement through Max’s mind, “You know the department has always wanted a basso profundo coach. How would you feel about being an assistant professor, Max?” In response Max can only sit in awe as a look of what can only be described as pleasure stains his face, mouth lolling open as his eyes grow crossed. His hands clench the sides of his chair as he struggles to not lose control over himself and the professor. Thinking of staining the practice room only makes it more difficult to keep it together. 

Reyes feels a hunger within himself as he stares down at the massive man seconds away from cumming all over himself. In time he too will only know Max as the powerful man he is now. At this juncture however the doctor sneaks out of the practice room and heads to return to his office to prepare for office hours, what kind of a professor would he be if he wasn’t there for his pupils after all. 

Walking down the hallway he hears the man in the practice room lose control, his voice echoing down the hall before hearing him run out and to the nearest bathroom. He prioritizes increasing the soundproofing of the practice rooms before turning to see the new Assistant Professor sprint down the hallway towards the nearest restroom. Struggling to move swiftly or quietly in his far-too-strained clothing. Reyes returns to the desk and smiles once more to himself as he thinks of a future for himself, his program, and his new star Basso Profundo, before hearing yet another knock at the door. 

“Do come in.”

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Summer in the 305 || LS2

Pairing: Logan Sergeant x fem!reader Summary: Logan comes home to Miami (305) for the summer break and you surprise him by meeting him at the airport. Warnings: fluff, doggo parents, hints of sexual tension. WC: 1.7k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three

No one noticed you as you sat half asleep in an oversized hoodie on a bench, assuming you were just another weary traveler in Miami International Airport. The arrival lounge had been busy when you arrived hours earlier but it had grown quieter and quieter as the night grew so late it could have been considered morning. Logan was meant to have landed at 11pm and he would have expected you to be at home fast asleep but you had wanted to surprise him.

The surprise came fittingly at 3:05 when the frosted glass doors opened with the next disembarkation of passengers, led by Logan as he desperately tried to get home to you sooner. Your eyes were burning from forcing them to remain open for the extra four hours that his flight was delayed and you rubbed them as you rose from the bench. 

Caps and shirts were thrust in his path but he was too polite to decline a fan so he paused to sign his autograph and nearly jumped out of his skin when your fingers wrapped around the handle of his suitcase. The shout to call for security almost passed his lips, thinking he was being robbed, before his sleepy brain recognised you.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing here?” he asked as a grin chased away the exhaustion on his face and he bundled you into his arms.

You kept one hand on his luggage since there was a crowd starting to gather but the other curled around his back and your head tucked into the crook of his neck. “I wanted to surprise you. I missed you.”

Logan pressed his lips to your forehead until you tipped your head back and he captured your lips as cameras flashed. “I missed you too.”

Thankfully it wasn’t always like this and most of the time when he came home to Miami you were left in relative peace. It was a different story when you went with him to the races, those were full-on mobs of Williams fans that demanded almost all his attention. “Go on, babe, finish up signing those so we can go home.”

The pen flew across whatever passed in front of him before he caught you struggling to hide your yawn and made an apology as he handed a boarding pass back with his autograph before waving. “Thanks for the support everyone.”

There was a collective groan from those who had missed out but Logan was focusing on taking back his luggage with one hand and draping the other over your shoulders as you fell into step.

“Looks like the 305 missed you too,” you commented as his hand lifted every now and again to wave at the younger fans until you reached his Range Rover you borrowed for the night. “There’s a treat waiting for you at home.”

His hand found your thigh as he started the engine and sent you a smirk as it drifted higher. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Not that,” you giggled, turning down the music that had played loudly while you drove. Logan enjoyed a quieter atmosphere when he was at the wheel, one where he could hold a conversation. “I wasn’t sure if you had eaten so I picked up some Carbone’s. I will admit I had to name drop, but they wouldn’t make a takeaway order otherwise.”

His warm laugh filled the SUV. “Did they even know who I was?”

“Of course! Everyone knows the hometown hero.” You leaned across the console and kissed his cheek, feeling the short prickles of his blond beard on your lips. “Are you planning on giving me beard burn, Lo?”

“This is all the rage in Europe. You don’t like it?” he asked as he ran his fingers over the three day growth. You weren’t sure if he was playing with you or not before a grin split his face and you sighed with relief. “Don’t worry, honey, I just haven’t had a minute spare to shave it this week.”

By the time 4:00 am arrived you should have been dead on your feet, but having Logan home energised you almost as much as Sooty. The black labrador scarpered all over the polished wooden floor when he saw his daddy walk in the door, his paws struggling to find traction in his excitement.

“There’s my good boy, come to daddy,” Logan cooed as he dropped his suitcase and caught the bounding dog as he jumped up. “Have you been protecting, mommy? Yeah? Of course, you have, you’re such a good boy.”

“He never gives me that kind of welcome home,” you joked as you locked the door and wheeled the suitcase down the hall to the bedroom.

A pair of hands came to rest on your waist as you emptied the entire case into the laundry hamper, knowing he wouldn’t have had the time to do it himself. His lips brushed over your nape before finding their way to your jaw as he turned you in his arms. “But you don’t go missing for weeks at a time.”

Hooking your arms around his neck you nodded in agreement as Sooty padded into the room with his favourite toy, dropping it at Logan’s feet.

“Someone has to be the stay-at-home parent in this relationship,” you chuckled, releasing him so he could pick up the squeaky toy.

“Not tonight, Soot, we’ll play in the morning,” he said, giving you a quick kiss with the promise of more. “Let me put him to bed, leave everything else until morning, sweetheart.”

He disappeared down the hall to the living room where Sooty’s bed was set up, but whenever Logan was away you would let him sneak into bed with you. You always slept better when you could cuddle something warm, but you definitely preferred waking up to Logan’s morning kisses than Sooty’s slobbery ones when he wants to be fed.

“Lay down, buddy,” you heard Logan’s quiet words in the still of the night. “You can take a break from looking after mommy, you did such a good job for me, yes you did.” You heard a smooch followed by a soft whine as Logan turned off the lights, then the pitter patter of paws. “Back to bed, Soot. Good boy.”

You heard the bedroom door close before Logan stepped into the ensuite, leaning against the doorway while you filled the sink with warm water. You returned the smile you found in the mirror and patted the marble vanity top before searching the drawers for his cut throat razor.

“It doesn’t look that bad, does it?” he half joked as he jumped up onto the bench, parting his legs so you could step between them.

“You could have a 70’s porn ‘stache and I would still think you are handsome,” you promised, making him laugh.

He tipped his head back as you soaked a face cloth in the warm water and squeezed the excess out before placing it over his face. “This is my favourite part of coming home.”

“Out of everything we do when you’re home, this is your favourite?”

His laugh made the face cloth fall away but it had probably been there long enough to open his pores so you lathered up the shaving cream next and massaged it over his cheeks and down his neck, feeling the thick cords of muscles beneath your palms.

“Okay, third favourite,” he corrected as his hands shifted from where he leaned back down on them to curl around your waist and rest comfortably on the swell of your ass. “But it’s still up there.”

“You are a strange man, Lo. I don’t think most people enjoy having a blade to their throat,” you murmured as you opened the razor and tilted his head to the side. 

“I trust you.”

“Thank you. Now no more talking.”

He didn’t dare make a sound or even swallow as you angled the blade against his cheekbone and started to glide it carefully down to his jaw before rinsing it off in the sink. He kept perfectly still for you but you were hyper aware of his eyes scanning your face for any little changes he might have missed while he was away, re-committing it all to his memory for the next time he left. 

You closed the blade up after finishing his throat last and placed it on the side before grabbing the face cloth and wiping away the excess shaving cream. Running a palm over his jawline you nodded at the silky smooth skin and took a kiss as payment before handing him the bottle of aftershave. “All done, handsome.”

By the time you had turned down the bed, and changed into one of his shirts, the light leaking in around the edges of the curtains started to turn pink as dawn approached. Your eyelids were heavy but your heart was light as Logan climbed in his side and wrapped his body around your back, the weight of his arm reassuring on your waist and his leg wedged between yours. 

“Come with me,” he murmured sleepily. 

You could hardly coordinate a reply as your lips quivered with a suppressed yawn until it finally passed. “Where?”

“Everywhere: Zandvoort, Monza, Singapore, all of them.” You felt his small shrug before his arm tightened around you and he kissed your shoulder. “I hate being away from you.”

Your immediate reply was to admit how much you hated the distance too but that would only make him feel worse if you couldn’t join him. “What about Sooty?”

“Hamilton brings Roscoe to some races, or maybe Mom can look after him…you don’t have to give me an answer now, sweetheart. We have three weeks to think about it.”

“I want to,” you said as you laced your fingers with his and drew his hand up your body so it was tucked into the valley of your breasts where your heart beat steadily in your relaxed state, “but we can talk about more in the morning.”

He nodded and pressed another kiss to your skin, the touch smooth and soothing thanks to the close shave. “Sweet dreams, honey.”

“Hmm, you too,” you said as your muscles relaxed even further and your tongue barely moved. “Love you, Lo.”

His voice followed you into your dreams and you smiled as it took hold in a future you couldn’t wait to see come to life, “I love you too.”

Click here for part two.

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[contentloadinggg]

Game of Distraction - Hozier Drabble

The way I’d give him the creamiest, soul sucking, heaven sent, sloppy, wet, back arching, begging for mercy, praying for God to take him, soul enlightening, spiritual experience head the earth has ever seen. THAT SLUTTY SWEATER TOO. GOD.

Anyways, Drabble more or less inspired by this pic. I can’t tell if this is making me more or less sane.

Summary: Andrew can’t play chess with you in his sweater. (Genderneutral! Reader) (~400 words)

Warnings: Surprisingly none, just a bit of making out towards the end and suggestive talk. No beta reading, I wrote this in 20 minutes.

This is a work of fiction and not a reflection of who Hozier is

Fic under the cut🤎

“Checkmate.”

You declared, dramatically knocking over Andrew’s castle in this very heated game of chess. The man groans in response, dropping his head on to the table.

“This isn’t fair!”

He calls into the wood of the tabletop. He pushes his long curls away from his face when he decides to lift his head back up. Meeting your eyes and seeing your amusement, he scowls.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Why is it not fair, Andy?”

The man looks at you with exasperation.

“Like you don’t know.”

He replies, stiffly. You smile, learning forwards by placing your elbows on the table.

“No, I don’t. Tell me.”

Andrew sighs deeply. His eyes are getting distracted by your bare collarbones. Oh yes, he’s definitely thinking about why it’s not fair.

“Because, you’re cheating.”

His vagueness is purposeful. He doesn’t want to admit that the sight of you wearing his sweater has got him all hot beneath the collar. All oversized on you, dropping low on your shoulders. You’re gorgeous, of course. But since when is he the one to fold so easily?

“Cheating? How?”

It’s a goad. You know exactly why. Andrew stays quiet.

For one,

Two,

Three seconds.

And he’s up.

Out of his seat. Andrew is on you faster than you can replace the breath he knocks out of you. He’s practically biting rather than kissing you. Teeth scraping over your bottom lip.

You’re swift to return it. The tip of your tongue running over his bared teeth. One might call it violent. His beard gently scratches at your skin and his fingers gripping your legs. But if that’s true, It’s a crime of passion.

Andrew lifts you up onto the table. It rocks on its legs with your shared movements. The chess pieces scattering across the board and floor. The wooden pieces on the hard ground are loud, but not loud enough to make you even think about picking them up.

Bites trail down the length of your throat. Teeth pulling at your tendons, but careful not to break skin. Andrew’s only goal is to lift the blood to show a bright pink color against your skin.

Reaching the collar of the sweater. Andrew breathes out shakily. As if just recalling why this started in the first place. You tug lightly on his hair. Urging him to continue.

The man looks back up at you. A familiarly wild look in his eye.

“Let’s get this sweater off you, yeah?”

He asks, running his hands beneath it over your bare skin. Voice rough.

“What? Tired of me ‘cheating’?”

“Don’t push it.”

I revisited some old poems and that’s what inspired this lol. Just wanted to post something while I struggle with my Alex fic.

-Thad💚

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

my girl 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your brother's friend from work starts hanging out a lot more often. (short!reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

The curtains stir in the summer breeze, the smell of pollen wafting in and tickling your nose. You scrunch your face, resisting as sneeze and flip the page of the book, your eyes racing across the letters, devouring them. After another year of academia, you’re all too eager to spend your summer devouring your ‘to read’ list. 

The flick of pages marks the passage of time. You don’t sense how the sky sifts from a beaming yellow to a gentle blue. Not until the knock comes at the door and draws you from the world built of prose. You blink and lift your head, mark your page and leave it on your pillow. You push yourself across the low bed and yawn. Only as you don’t have words to read do you feel the fatigue in your eyes. 

“Peanut,” your mother calls you by the childhood nickname you can’t seem to shake, “gonna help with dinner?” 

You open the door to her and step out, “yeah, should do something.” 

“You should,” she chides playfully. “I already got the roast beef in, just need you to do sides.” 

“Great,” you shuffle down the hall behind her and rub your eyes. You don’t know if it’s allergies or reading that has you so dried out. 

Downstairs, you go into the kitchen and the aroma of the roast has your mouth watering already. In your delve into the land of fantasy, you may have forgotten to feed yourself. It’s not an uncommon occurrence; during the school year, you often studied until your head pounded and your stomach roared. The human body tends only to get in the way of the mind. 

You work at peeling potatoes as your mom takes out a medley of vegetables to put in a roasting pan. She seasons as you chop, the low murmur of her outdated music filling the hazy summer air. You can hear the children next door running around and the bristle of trees swaying in the wind. 

“Oh, make sure to throw in a few extra, pea,” she says as you go to curl over the top of the bag, “your brother’s bringing his friend.” 

“Friend? Johnny?” You wonder. 

“That man from his work, Syverson,” she corrects, “with the beard.” 

“Uh yeah, I remember.” 

You’ve met Syverson, or Sy as he prefers. Your brother, Isaac, started his apprenticeship last summer with the man down at the metal shop. There are vague instances in your mind when you recall the large bearded man sitting at the table across from you. He’s older than your brother, you too. Probably closer to your parent’s age. He doesn’t say much either but he’s polite. You think. 

You shrug and pull out some more potatoes to add to peel and cut. You do so quietly, your mind wandering back to your book even as the real world threatens to wipe it away. You’re so swept up in the fraught quest to reclaim a forgotten world that you can hardly focus on the blade. 

You blink as the knife hits the board, too close to your thumb. Pay attention. Often your mom comments that you look far away and just as often you are. Existing in this world can be so boring. Potatoes and roast beef. 

You rinse off the spuds and put them on to boil. You’ll mash them like you always do and add your mother’s ‘secret’ ingredient; herb and cheese sour cream. You’re pretty sure every mother on the block claims that as their little revolution. 

As the water starts to steam, you hear a car pull up and a louder engine behind it. Your mom checks the beef, letting out a gust of savoury air. You are starving. 

As you toss the peels in the bin, the front door opens. Isaac’s voice carries through the house as he chatters on about sparks and some work thing. Your mom’s head pops up as she waits eager for his appearance. 

He peeks into the kitchen as a pair of footsteps follow behind him. You mom greets him with a kiss, “hello, bubby, how was your day?” 

“Mom,” he scowls and wipes his cheek, “it was fine. Burnt myself pretty good.” 

He shows a bandage on his forearm and shrugs. Your mother gasp, “oh, honey!” 

“Told him to put his gauntlets on,” Syverson stands just beyond the doorway, his shadow looming like an evil orc in a cavern, waiting to pounce. You shake off the comparison as he comes into the light of the kitchen, a case of beer in hand. “Brought something for dinner,” he puts down the six-pack and shifts as you notice the red cap and label poking out from under his arm. He catches the bottle before it can slip and presents it to your mother, “and for the ladies.” 

“Oh, Syverson, you’re always so sweet.” 

“Mm, least I can do, y’all having me, feeding me,” he reaches to rub his neck. “Mind if I use the bathroom? Gotta wash my hands.” 

“Course, dear, you know where it is,” she preens. 

He leans on his back foot and his eyes glint in your direction. Despite his gruff exterior, his shaved head and thick beard, and his work-stained tee shirt, his eyes seem to sparkle, “evening,” he nods in your direction, as if he’s only just noticed you. 

“Hi,” you murmur and turn back to wash the starch from the cutting board. 

Having company is always awkward. You’re the only member of your family who isn’t very social. You have your classmates and a few friends you’ll hang out with on occasion but your parents and your brother always seem to have someone with them. If it isn’t one of your mom’s HOA accomplices, it’s one of your dad’s neighbourhood buddies arguing over the barbecue. 

You continue to tidy up as you wait for the food to be ready. You take out some plates and cutlery, wanting to distract yourself by setting the table. You stack the plates and the utensil slides around on top as you carry them into the hallway. You have to stop short as you nearly collide with Sy.  

“Sorry,” he apologises and backs up, “need help?” 

He points to your armful and you smile and shake your head, “all good.” 

“Don’t mind,” he says as he puts his large hands around the stack of plates. They’re pretty thick and heavy on their own but he takes them from you easily. 

“Um, right, then I’ll get... cups.” 

You turn back and flit into the kitchen. Your mom hums as she strains the potatoes. She doesn’t notice you counting glasses from the cupboard and balancing them all in your arms. You go down the hall, this time without obstacle, and into the dining room. You angle awkwardly to put down all the glasses at once.  

Sy lays out the plates and cutlery one at a time, certain to have each perfectly centered and straight. He focuses on the task intently. The sight of his earnest effort contrasted by his burly figure is almost silly. You plunk down the glasses at the corner of each plate, staying on the other side of the table from him. 

“Your back from school,” he says as he finishes, stepping back to cross his arms, making himself even larger. Most people are big compared to you. 

“Mhmm,” you nod with a rigid tight-lipped grin. 

“You graduate?” He asks. 

You try not to show your surprise. You’re not sure you’ve ever had a conversation with him. It’s just nods and grunts sent in your direction. Just acknowledgement. Just courtesy. 

“One more year,” you say, “erm, I’ll go help mom.” 

“Right,” he drops his arms and grips the back of the chair in front of him, “don’t let me keep ya.” 

You inch backwards and spin around, trying not to run away. It isn’t him. It’s you. It’s easier to read dialogue on a page and pretend it’s coming from your lips than it is to hold a conversation in real life. You would rather go back and finish your chapter then sit at the table and eat with your family, especially now that you’ve made it awkward. 

[spxllcxstxr]

Kiss the Cook • M.B

(Gif not mine)

Request: could you do a mikey berzatto x reader blurb?? maybe some with the pair cooking together with some flirty banter/playful teasing sort of vibe:)) — anon

Summary: Mikey proves to be a distraction in the kitchen

Warnings: no pronouns used, food and cooking, mentions of donna, honestly its all fluff lmao

Word Count: 934

A.N: first mikey blurb and first bear writing! I hope you guys all enjoy!

•

It's noon when you finally wake up, Mikey's light blankets tangled in your sprawled out limbs. The house is quiet--too quiet, you realize while shifting out of the bed. Donna must be out smoking or somewhere with Lee. With Mikey not opening The Beef today, that could only mean he was downstairs waiting for you to wake up.

Knickknacks tremble precariously and wood creaks under your feet as you climb down the stairs.

You creep through the house until you get to the kitchen where Mikey is staring at the open refrigerator, staring into its white light.

“Lookin’ for something honey?” You ask, leaning against the threshold, arms crossed at your chest. You watch him jump slightly with a smile on your face.

He looks a bit sheepish, cheeks pink while one hand runs through his hair.

“I was, uh, lookin’ for something to make. For you.” He smiles and your eyes run over his relaxed figure.

“Why don’t we make somethin’ together, chef?” You wink, ambling over to him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Alright baby,” He kisses you quickly before he begins to pull things out of the fridge. “come help the master…”

You and Mikey easily work together, he tells you what to do and you do it. Maybe you’re not as skilled as Mikey Fuckin’ Berzatto, but you get the job done.

The chaotic nature of Donna's kitchen is gone; there isn't a barrage of egg timers going off nor is there the overwhelming smell of burning wafting through the room. All there is the sound of knives against the cutting board mingling with whatever soft rock is playing from Mikey's phone. For once, you can actually take a deep, non-anxiety induced breath in the Berazatto family kitchen.

“Can I trust you to start boilin' the water, babe?” Mikey calls out, eyes still trained on the onions in front of him. His tongue peeks out from the corner of his mouth in concentration, dark brows slightly furrowed.

Despite this, he seems at peace. Mikey's hands aren't shaking nor is his jaw unnecessarily clenched.

You lightly scoff at your boyfriend's teasing, abandoning your own task at the counter across from him. "I'm not an idiot, Mikey."

He hums, dark brown eyes lifting up from the counter and watching your form grabbing a pot from a cabinet.

"I'm gonna blow your goddamn mind with how well I can boil water, chef," You point at him, faking your seriousness.

“Alright, alright…” Mikey shrugs, lips upturned. “Prove me wrong…”

Getting the water to boil was easy, though it took longer than expected. You start throwing in things Mikey tells you to, staring at the water, silently praying nothing goes wrong.

Suddenly Mikey’s behind you, slightly swaying while looking over your shoulder. You hum in satisfaction.

His chest presses into your back, warm and calloused hands sliding across your torso in order to hug you closer to him. You close your eyes, smiling to yourself while taking it all in.

Mikey smells faintly of his cologne with hints of onion and various other herbs and spices mingling around him. He smells of home and the comfort of a homemade meal after a long day. He smells like your Mikey.

His beard tickles the crook of your neck, nose brushing over your skin as he presses delicate kisses just above the collar of your shirt. You giggle softly, the tips of your ears burning at his affection.

"You're supposed to say behind, Mikey..." You tease, placing your own hands on top of his own. Lightly your fingertips trace patterns across his skin. "No wonder The Beef runs like shit."

He ignores you, lips reaching your jawline and trailing across to the spot underneath your ear.

"Michael..." You murmur, titling your head up drawing his lips to your cheek. "Michael, I love you..."

His head dips lower, nose brushing against your own. Taking a quick peek you see that his own eyes are closed as well, the two of you living in the moment in his mother's kitchen.

Right now there's no drama with Donna or bickering with Carmy or the slew of questions that come with Nat. Just you and Mikey alone cooking; doing what the two of you love.

"I love you too, baby." Mikey whispers, placing a kiss right above the bridge of your nose. He squeezes your body once before pulling back his lips just an inch. "Your water's boilin' over."

You jolt, eyes springing open and widening at his words. The sound of boiling water ripping through the kitchen and overpowering whatever song is playing on the other side of the room.

“Fuck!”

Scrambling, you grab an oven mitt, carefully rushing to take the pot off the heat. A string of curses following you to the sink. Mikey chuckles behind you, offering no help whatsoever. His laughter fills the small kitchen and it would melt your heart if you weren’t doing anything important at the moment.

“And you said you were gonna blow my mind…” Mikey smirks, leaning against the counter. The corner of his eyes crinkle with laughter.

You throw your head back, groaning. “You were fucking kissing me and being a fucking distraction!”

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Well excuse me, princess, didn’t know giving you love and affection was off limits!”

“It’s not!” You huff. “But when I’m doing anything involving boiling water, you can’t be anywhere near me!”

“Alright babe,” He passes you, placing a delicate kiss on your forehead as he goes back to the cutting board. “Now get back to work, chef.”

•

[milla-frenchy]

The detective

2k6 | Tim Rockford x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: being a suspect in a theft case, you get interrogated by a handsome and dominant personal investigator Warnings: 18+ mdni. dubcon. power imbalance, brat tamer, humiliation, degradation, sir kink, spitting, spanking, oral (m), cockwarming, piv, cum eating No age specified. Pic in mood board for mood only

a/n: this is a contribution to @iamasaddie writing challenge 3.0 💛🫶 prompt: humiliation/Tim Rockford Dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏 @aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta-ing and for being you 💕 🫶

“That’s all I have to say, detective,” you concluded with a not so subtle sigh.

You were sitting in front of a desk and the detective was facing you. Rubbing his beard with his thumb. He smiled when he heard you say "detective" in a condescending tone.

“You know ma’am, there is some inconsistency in your testimony.”

“Excuse me? You’re just a private detective. I don't think you have the qualifications to presume any of this.” You had a hard time hiding your annoyance at being there, summoned by that detective to that dingy, dust-covered office. When he asked you to go to that room, you pointedly rolled your eyes as you passed him.

“Well, sorry ma’am, but the information you’re giving me is clearly imprecise. Seems like you’re forgetting some important details.”

“I already told you I have nothing more to say, detective.” He smiled again, and you rolled your eyes even harder than when you had entered the room, then you stood up.

“Sit down.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘sit down’. I’m not finished.”

The tone in which he talked to you sent a deep shiver down your spine, and you sat back. 

He stood up and took off his black suit jacket, and hung it on the back of his chair. He was wearing a holster over his white shirt and for a moment your eyes lingered on his broad shoulders and neck, then his tie. He walked around the table, passing behind you.

“I need you to be a little more collaborative. I need to see that you are making every possible effort to help this investigation move forward.”

He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his tanned forearms with multiple veins, and your eyes lingered on his body again.

“I already—,” you paused when he took out a tape recorder and pressed ‘play’, leaning towards you from across the table. One palm resting on it. You frowned, annoyed by his behavior. When you heard the moans, the frown turned into shock, then embarrassment.

“Oh, fuck…fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Come on, soak my cock. Yeah, just like that.”

Only your moans were now audible. Then, the sound of skin slapping against skin.

“You like to be fucked like a whore, uh? Bent over a fucking table?”

“Yes, yes! Fuck me! Harder, please. Please…”

The detective pressed ‘stop’, and put the tape recorder on the table. 

“So, ma’am. I’m afraid I’m going to have to repeat myself. This recording was made the day before the jewelry robbery. In his apartment, where the jewelry was kept in the safe. No one else entered the apartment except you and him.”

“Detective, I... I don’t know what happened to the jewelry.” Hearing the recording had disoriented you, and your tone was much less confident and arrogant. You felt vulnerable. He felt the change in your voice immediately and his smile turned into a grin. He was clearly enjoying the situation more and more, and you, less and less. But his firm tone awakened something in you and you squirmed in your chair.

“Well… Where has your attitude gone, ma’am?” he asked, walking again, and then stood near your chair, arms crossed. Way too close to you.

“I don't allow you to talk to me like-” You started to say in an unsure voice, totally disoriented by the recording and by him, but you stopped again when you saw his bulge, and looked at him, eyes widened.

“Ok, that’s enough now”, you said as you stood up, trying to regain some control, but he grabbed your arm, bringing his face closer, his brown eyes fixed on yours.

“I have enough to call the police, you know. All your little games are gonna amuse them, for sure.”

“Shit”, you said, dropping your gaze to the ground.

“And the problem is that you wasted my time, right? With that tone of yours… how do you plan to fix this?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You came here with a very unpleasant attitude, for someone who doesn't understand things quite well”, he said, stepping back from you, before grabbing his chair and placing it against the opposite wall. He sat there, manspreading. 

“What do you want?”, you asked in a low voice.

“You're really not the smartest, are you? Pleasant to look at, for sure, but a bit dumb, poor thing… Come towards me”, he added. 

You took a step forward, hesitant.

“No”, he said abruptly. You looked at him with confusion, and he added "hands and knees. Like a whore."

The reminder of the recording, his firm voice, the way he was sitting, everything about him exuded dominance and confidence, and you felt your own self-assurance crumbling ever more.

And you don't know what happened in your brain, if his attitude made you short-circuit, but you sure felt the desire soaking your panties. You looked at him, eyes widened. Shocked by his order and by your arousal. By his smirk. As if he knew you wouldn't say no. Your cheeks heated up thinking that he surely had listened to the whole tape. Hearing you being submissive, ready to do anything to have more and more of the cock that ruined your throat and pussy that night. 

He was waiting calmly for you to process what was happening. And what would happen next. He saw you hesitating, and added “unless you want me to call the police? I'm sure they'd love to play “good cop/bad cop” with a brat like you. In your pretty little skirt. So short, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination, mmm?”

He paused, then added, “do as I said. Now.”

And that was it. You knelt down, in your tight skirt and heels, and advanced slowly towards him. Both humiliated and horny. Your back arched and your clit was twitching. Eyes fixed on him. Ashamed to bend so easily, but eager to learn what would happen next. How far he would go, as if you were not in charge anymore. 

When you reached his lap, you sat back on your heels. You looked down at your knees, covered in dust, then looked up at him. Waiting.

“Are you gonna be a good girl?” he asked in a husky voice. You swallowed loudly. It was like he knew exactly what you'd easily dive for.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes…sir?”

“I'm gonna accept it for now. But you will call me "sir" with no hesitation before I'm done with you.” Wetness ruined your panties a little more.

“Follow me. The same way.”

He got up and went to sit at the desk, gathering the entire file in front of him.

“Come here”, he repeated, pointing at his crotch with his chin to show you exactly where he wanted you. And you obeyed, slavishly, as he undid his leather belt and placed it on the table. You slipped under the desk, between his knees.

“Unzip.”

You opened his suit pants, and grabbed his cock. Half hard. Even now, his cock was big, and you tried not to moan. But it slipped from your lips nevertheless.

“In your mouth. Keep me warm while I check what to send to the police.”

A part of you still couldn't believe you were in this situation, in this dingy office, and that the detective was ordering you to act like that. And you couldn’t believe you were about to submit again. To be humiliated again. And that it was turning you on to the point that your pussy was dripping. You even wondered if you would have submitted, even without his threats to call the police. He was hot, way too hot, and everything in him exuded natural dominance. And you didn't really know how to resist all of it. In that office or elsewhere.

So you submitted, and took his warm, thick, heavy cock in your mouth, its weight pressing down on your tongue. You waited and didn’t move, feeling used and dripping for it.

You heard him sorting the papers, keeping some in hand longer. Sometimes you would hear the tip of his pen scratching the paper. You heard him rub his beard. You felt his cock twitch sometimes, but he had impressive self-control. He never got fully hard between your lips. 

Minutes passed and your jaw was getting sore. Your saliva was now running down your chin, as your wetness was flowing from your pussy. Your knees hurt as you were standing on the cement floor, and when you tried to change the position he put his hand on the back of your neck, and told you not to move. His warm skin on yours made you shiver and you didn't move. Letting your knees stiffen in the imposed position.

“Ok, that’s enough”, he said, pulling back after a time you couldn’t evaluate.

You heard a clicking sound when he told you to come out from under the desk, but to remain kneeling. You felt the handcuff bracelets on your wrists, behind your back, then the sound of metal being tightened. “Don’t want your dusty hands on my cock”, he added.

You were facing the table, and he leaned on it, his cock out of his pants. 

“You want that cock?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Suck it.”

Upright on your knees, he grabbed his cock and held it towards you. Unable to hold back a moan when you felt it again between your lips, before you started sucking him, applying yourself. You loved his taste and loved blowing him, to be on your knees for him, handcuffed, in that room.

“You’re being filmed, you know. And it’s a shame you’re so bad at sucking a dick.”

Petrified, you stopped for a few seconds. But there was no way he was going to make you doubt yourself. You pulled back and placed your tongue flat just above his balls, then licked his shaft towards his tip, twirling your tongue on it. You leaned down again, and licked his balls. They were big, resting heavy under his cock. You thought they must be full of cum, and you couldn't wait for him to fill you with it. Your tongue lapped at their barely hairy skin. He got hard immediately. You looked at him, a slight smirk on your face.

“Open”, he said. “Tongue out.” Then he leaned down slightly, before letting his saliva fall down your chin and into your mouth.

“Swallow. Like a good girl.”

You swallowed, then stuck your tongue out again to show him.

“Suck.”

You approached him and licked the precum that was beading on his tip. Then rounded your lips, trying to take as much of him in your mouth as possible, until your nose brushed against his hair.

“How do you feel, sucking a detective’s cock in his office?”

You looked at him, not daring to stop.

“I kinda like it, when a brat is on her knees for me. Mouth full of my cock.”

He thrust and hit the back of your throat, making you gasp and pull away, coughing.

“Damn. You’re so pathetic.” You stared at the trickle of saliva that linked you to him, the only link between you and his cock, which your mouth was already missing.

“Desperate, mmm? Say “I’m a whore and I just want to get filled by your dick, sir.”

“I’m a whore and I just want to get filled by your dick, sir.” He was right. No hesitation in your voice this time.

“Bend over the desk. Lemme see that cunt.”

You rested your chest against the wooden surface, your hands still bound by the handcuffs behind your back. He placed his hand on your ass, caressing its roundness. Gently, so gently that you closed your eyes for a moment and held your breath.

You didn't see the first spanking coming, and you let out a cry. Then the second, just before he unzipped your skirt. Sliding it slowly from the small of your back to the bottom of your buttocks. The third spanking made you moan, and ruined your panties a little more.

The mixture of sweetness and pain turned you on. Standing behind you, he pressed his cock against your ass. His manwood pressed against you, you only wished to feel his cock in your cunt, pushing your walls.

He grabbed the hem of your skirt and slid it down your hips, then your thighs, through your ankles. Your tights followed. He knelt down to remove these pieces of clothing from your feet. Your ass, covered by your panties, was at his eye level. When he slid them slowly down and your folds got exposed, he hissed softly.

“Alright. I hope you're better at taking a dick than at sucking it.”

He stood up and glided his cock along your soaked folds, making you moan.

“Your cunt is dripping for every man? Or you just like to be humiliated by a detective?”

He slipped his tip into your dripping hole, making you gasp, and stopped.

“Answer me.”

“I… I like to be humiliated and degraded.”

“Beg me to fuck you.”

“Fuck me, sir. Please, please… need your cock.”

“God, you’re so pitiful.”

He sank without stopping, bottoming out, and you whimpered. Full of his cock. He pulled back and thrust all the way in again, then started fucking  you hard and fast, making you moan with every thrust of his hips. Hands clinging to your hips, yours cuffed behind your back, you could only take his cock. Let him use you freely. The desk shook under his thrusts. Tears were beading in the corners of your eyes, as he was growling, spreading your pussy with his shaft.

“Yeah, make a show for the camera. Maybe you’ll have an Oscar for the best drama queen.”

He grabbed your shoulders for more leverage, and was fucking you deep and slow now. His cock was brushing your g spot at every move, and you quickly came on his cock, trembling.

“Such a slut, coming that fast on my cock, uh?”

You were unable to answer, and he sneered, adding “so cuckdumb”, pounding you faster and you were moaning continually, feeling your wetness trickling from your cunt.

He pulled back and looked at your soaking pussy before thrusting in again. “You're so wet, my cock and balls are covered in white, Jesus.”

He grabbed your hips and railed you, chasing his orgasm.

“Say “I’m a whore and I just want to be full of your cum, sir.”

“I’m a whore and I just want to be full of your cum, sir.”

He sneered again, as if you just said the most stupid thing in the world. “Your pussy isn’t good enough to make me cum, I’m gonna have to jerk off,” he spat, before pulling out of your pussy. He grabbed your elbow and made you kneel in front of him.

“Tongue out, open wide.”

You stuck out your tongue, eyes staring into his. He looked at you from his height, eyes frowning. His hand tight on his cock, he jerked off. Strong, slow jerks on his hard, thick cock. And you had already forgotten your pussy clenching over nothing. Now you wanted his cum. So you waited, tongue out. Until he groaned, and the white ropes of cum hit your tongue, your cheeks, your chin. Covering your face with his seed.

“Swallow.” Of course you obeyed.

“Say ”thank you sir.”

“Thank you sir.”

You were exhausted, a little part of you was ashamed. And another part missed feeling him in you already.

He rubbed his tip against your chin, your lips, your cheeks, then he tucked his cock into his clothes.

“So. About the jewelry. Let's start from the beginning. I might need more time to investigate and I'm afraid we’ll have to work closely together again”, he said, and your pussy clenched, begging for more.

***************

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[meowpupp]

tw// rough sex, bondage, not proof read, price is mean (shock horror ik)

i wasn’t gonna post this yet but i just couldn’t resist.

price tries so hard. He is an owner who firmly believes in positive re-enforcement, praising you when you're good, and ignoring you when you're bad. But even he has a limit.

For the past week, you've been a brat. You've broken into the treats twice, ignored his commands and you even tried to bite him. He tries everything he knows, spanking you, taking your toys away, even smacking you across the face, but nothing works.

That's when he decides enough is enough. You need a real mean punishment, something to remind you how nice he is. How well he treats you.

So, he visits the vet. He buys a cream that’s made to numb the skin. Its specially made for hybrids, to use as a form of punishment. It'll take away any physical feeling, leaving you understimulated, while still keeping that uncontrollable need for release.

Part of price feels bad, he shouldn't enjoy the thought of fucking you while you can't feel a thing as much as he does, but he really cant help it

He waits, like a predator stalking prey, watching for the smallest slip up. All it takes is for you to speak with the slightest hint of attitude, and then he pounces.

within seconds he has you on the bed, legs spread, cunt exposed to his sadistic gaze. One hand holds your thighs apart, the other reaching for the tube of numbing cream. Your eyes are wide as you watch, your body squirming. A mix of fear and curiosity courses through your veins and it only heightens when price slaps your thigh. “Stay still.”

Your clit twitches as he smears the cold, white cream over it. He grins, watching the way your thighs tense and your hips buck. Price revels in the slow realisation that spreads over your face, you cant feel a thing.

your thighs twitch, ears pressing flat against your head as your pout. “can’t- price! can’t feel anything!” your voice is high pitched, slightly panicked, your hands reach down to try to stimulate your clit.

price huffs, momentarily pausing his actions as he retrieves a pair of handcuffs, securing both your wrists to the head board.

your body stretches out, back forming a natural arch as you’re rendered helpless. you try to squirm but it’s fruitless. your body is completely exposed and vulnerable to him.

price grins, eyes devouring the image of you. his hands grope your tits, thumbs brushing across your nipples before he glides his hands further down. they follow the curve of your waist, his hands big enough to cover almost your entire stomach.

“so pretty, but such a brat,” it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself, eyes half lidded as they drift up and down your body. “maybe you learn to be a good girl if your cunt is numb.” he leans forward, kissing the hallow of your neck. his lips continue their trail, beard brushing your skin as he kisses down your chest, then stomach, until his face is level with your cunt.

he noses your clit, grinning when you don’t react. the cream is doing exactly what he wanted it to. “what’s wrong pup?” his breath is hot against you, beard itching your thighs, “doesn’t it feel good?” his eyes meet yours, lower half of his face buried between your legs.

they’re mean, filled with amusement at your inability to feel pleasure. his arms wrap around your thighs, burying himself fully in your cunt.

he laps at your clit, swirling his tongue around the nerves before sucking. all you can feel is the scratch of his beard, the way he holds you firm. your hands pull desperately against the cuffs, hips bucking into his face as you seek the pleasure you’ve become so accustomed to.

after a moment, once his face is covered in slick, he pulls back. his beard is slick, eyes sharp as he looks over your flushed form. he almost seems like a predator, enjoying your every twitch and whine. “i know, im so mean, aren’t i?” a hand comes to your tummy, rubbing over the soft pudge before moving to your cunt, “how bout i make you feel better, hm?”

you’re too busy babbling and squirming to notice how he coats two of his fingers in the numbing cream, right before he stuffs your cunt full with them.

the sensation of his fingers inside you only lasts a second, then it’s completely stripped away. it’s almost funny the way your cunt clenches around his fingers, seeking out an ounce of stimulation it can. price laughs under his breath, drinking in the scene. you’re panting, body tense and hot, the overwhelming need to cum burning in your gut. he tilts his head, a sick smirk spreading across his face.

“you look so pathetic,” he pulls his fingers out, wiping the slick on your thighs, “maybe i should take some photos, give them to my recruits,” he grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his, “would you like that? knowing men you don’t even know are cumming on photos of you?”

you can barely process his words, tears starting to stream down your face. little whimpers fill the room, a pretty pout on your face.

price just laughs, shaking your head side to side roughly before letting go. his hands slide down to your thighs, spreading your cunt wide as he lines himself up. “let’s see if this cunt’s still useful, even if you can’t feel a fucking thing.”

[syoddeye]

when he tires of your moping and brooding, vampire!price lets you go for some years. 

he watches you tear your way across another country, another age, bitter and angry. he used to worry, those first few ventures, that you’d pursue some silly notion of a cure or seek out your demise. that you’d waste your holiday and all his hard work. but, ever the paragon of patience, a being hardened by time and a devout observer of your habits—he knows you’re a coward. a spineless fledgling who can only dawdle for so long before you look for a hand to hold. despite his bite and all its benefits, it’s the one gift he never intends to bestow and a weakness he’ll never fortify.

historically, your separations end one of two ways.

the first and the more frequent outcome, begins with his rediscovery of an artifact or heirloom from your mortal life. (one of many he collected in those early days, before you knew the undead existed. before you knew he existed.) overcome with nostalgia, he tracks you down. you are never thorough enough to cover your tracks entirely or break your patterns. no matter where you go, he sniffs you out. communes. boarding houses. barracks. once, a convent.

he plucks you from your pitiful attempts at penance or enlightenment, drags you out by the collar, and forces your mouth to the nearest, weakest neck. rubs your nose in it like one would a dog. you put up a fuss and fight, but you drink. it’s instinct. stronger when closer to him. it goes down easier with his voice in your ear, anyway.

the second, rare and exquisite, are the times you crawl back to him. out from a dark pit of despair, caked in the soot and the shit of your own stirring. wounded, aching, and hungry. nothing tastes right without him. not enough necks in any part of the world to slake your thirst. can hardly savor a drop without him beside you to share. to hold your chin and wipe your lips.

so, after another world-ending argument, when you pack a bag and slaughter your human retainers, he simply lights a cigar and listens to the same grand overtures. you stamp your feet on the oushak, declare you won’t return, no matter what, and glare as he thumbs through a rolodex of names and faces. you don’t want an eternity of security and devotion? fine. hundreds more where you came from. 

(of course, your would-be replacements are pale imitations. dolls he dresses, trains, and plays with. breaks. things to pass the time with.)

months later, price jolts awake in the early dawn. he’s only just closed his eyes when he feels it, a vibration traveling down the web to knock him out of slumber. the last gasps of his dinner still wet his beard and stain his tongue, yet they sour with realization. turn his stomach. he knows at once that you, his creation, have found what you believe to be a safe harbor. and it is not some podunk village or bustling metropolis—it isn’t a place at all. but it’s not like your other fleeting romances or trysts. no. you’ve found someone bigger and meaner to sidle up next to. someone whose pedigree he doesn’t recognize.

the sum of his terrible lineage stirs. an antediluvian possession raises his hackles.

oh darl, just whom have you invited in?

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Fortnight✨

Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist Part 2

A/N: This one shot was inspired by Taylor Swift’s song “Fortnight” and is written for @morallyinept Jett’s Flora & Fauna Challenge. I had so much fun with this one and was feeling all the angst! Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for helping me make the mood board and for beta reading and for letting me talk your ear off about this one 🥰 Joel’s POV actually made me cry writing this 🥹

Summary: Moving on is hard, especially when the man you fell in love with moved in across the street from you with his new lover.

Word Count: 4.6k

Rating: 18+ Only

Tags: Lots of angst, feelings, pining, heartbreak, alcohol use, allusions to smut, tears, pov in both reader and Joel’s view, no use y/n

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The orange and yellow sunrise paints the sky bright colors as you stand in your little kitchen sipping a warm cup of black coffee. The bland taste mixes with your salty mood as your eyes lock on your neighbor across the street, Tess. 

   Every morning she’s out there bright and early, watering her white lilies with a metal watering can as she hums along with the chirping robins that sit along her fence line. It makes your fingers flex into tight fists, makes your brows furrow up, makes your mouth clench into a deep frown as you watch with heartache written all over your pathetic face. Sometimes you wish she was dead, just like your aching heart is. Cold, lost, broken. But you shouldn’t be mad, shouldn’t wish her dead. She’s nice, always smiling, something you wish you would do more often. 

   You don’t hate her, not exactly. You hate that she’s Joel’s. You hate the way he comes up behind her and hugs his broad arms around her waist as he kisses her neck, her cheek, her lips. You hate the way he dances with her in the dimly lit kitchen at night as you watch them through their open window while you stand frozen in place in your own empty kitchen. You hate the way he kisses her every single morning before she drives off to work in her flashy sports car. And you hate the way they’re engaged to be married in the fall, something that should’ve belonged to you. 

   You should be with Joel, you should be dancing in the moonlight of his kitchen, you should be the one watering flowers with him hanging around your waist and littering your skin with kisses, you should be the one walking down that aisle. But you’re not, and you never will. Joel was in the past. An old lover from years ago. You had broken up so long ago, so why did you still love him? You weren’t his anymore. Joel belongs to Tess now. The girl you would never be. 

   One month. It’s been exactly a month since they moved across the street, across from you. You remember it so clearly how it felt seeing him after all those years, like you were trapped in a glass bottle with nowhere to run. He was more built now, his biceps clinging to his flannels as his tan skin glistened in the sunlight. His hair was longer now with grey threading through his curly strands, and his beard was salt-and-pepper filled. He looked so… handsome. But then you saw her slipping out of the moving van as he laughed and helped her pull a large picture frame out of the back. You were frozen in place, the glass of milk spilling out of your hand and shattering on the floor as you stared in horror at your new neighbors. You spent the next few hours soaking in the tub with a glass of whiskey, the same brand that was Joel’s favorite. You love him, you still love him, and it’s ruining your life. 

   Now you just stand in the empty kitchen every morning with glossy eyes and watch them. The way they kiss, talk tenderly, and graze each other’s hands as they say their long goodbyes. It makes you so sick, especially after just finding out your long term boyfriend cheated on you with his secretary. So now you’re going through a messy breakup, one where he keeps showing up at the house randomly trying to get you to take him back. Just another lost love that wasn’t meant to be. Maybe you weren’t meant to be with anyone, destined to be lonely. At least that’s what it feels like while you stare in horror at the happy couple who yearns for one another.

   When you finish your black coffee and rinse out the tinted mug, you watch Joel grab the back of Tess’s head and pull her in for a long, gentle kiss. You watch the way he leans into it, smiling against her lips as she laughs and tells him she’s going to be late to work. He just brushes it off and waves her off, blowing her a kiss as he watches her drive off into the early sunrise. It makes you sick to death. 

   You turn and rush up the stairs, feeling a warm teardrop slip down your cheek as you get ready for the day. You really shouldn’t dwell on their relationship, but you can’t help it, and that makes you want to die.

   Before you head out, you walk down the paved driveway to go grab the mail from your brick mailbox, already dreading the day as rain clouds fill the sticky air. When you go to pull open the mailbox door, it doesn’t budge. You pull and pull, tugging with all your might until the door finally opens. You lose your balance and all your mail goes sprawling across the street as you fall hard on your hands and knees.

   “Shit,” you mutter under your breath as you feel hot tears prick the back of your eyes. Just when you’re  pushing yourself off the ground, you see someone out of the corner of your eye swoop down and pick up the mail that litters the ground. 

   “Oh, no. You don’t have to help me, I’m…” Your breath hitches when you stand up and see Joel holding out your mail to you, his eyes lathered with concern as you see brown doe eyes stare down at you calmly. 

   “You alright?” he asks carefully as his eyebrows knit together in a tight line. 

   “I’m… I’m fine,” you stutter out as you reach to grab the packaged letters. You jump back as his calloused fingers brush against yours, feeling the electricity fire through your veins as you see him react the same way. 

   “You sure?” One thick eyebrow cocks up as he stands tall before you, his body hovering too close as you smell the scent of fresh wood and pine needles. A scent you used to smell every single night while you were in his bed, cuddled up to him in the dead of night. Now, all you smell is regret and sadness mixed together in an empty bed with no one to hold you. 

   You clench your jaw and try to be brave as you feel a wet teardrop escape over your lash line and slide down your face. “Mhm, I’m fine,” you barely get out as you look blankly at the cracked concrete and scuff your heel into the hard ground. 

   “You don’t look fine. Is everythin’… do you wanna talk?” he asks as he slowly reaches a hand out, dropping it before he touches your skin as he realizes he shouldn’t do that. That’s too much, too risky, too sacred. 

   You look up at him behind your thick eyelashes as another shimmery tear rolls down your wide eyes. “Everything is not fine, but no. I don’t want to talk. I shouldn’t even be here. I’m sorry for bothering you, you didn’t need to help me,” you sniffle out. You start to turn away from him, but then you feel a large hand clamp down on your wrist, preventing you from moving away. 

   “Hey, look at me,” he murmurs as you slowly turn and blink up at him, your eyes glazing over as you see the hurt coat his beautiful face. “Why are you cryin’, is it… that guy that keeps droppin’ by your doorstep?” he asks cautiously as you flinch at the topic. You swear you hear a hint of jealousy when he says that guy. 

   You shake your head and pull out of his grip as his fingertips imprint your skin in hot, searing heat. “No, not necessarily…” you mumble as you cross your arms over your chest, trying to get out of this uncomfortable small talk. Why couldn’t he just ask you about the weather like a normal guy would? But Joel Miller was no normal guy. No. He was… special.

   “He hurt you?” His eyes are cold, narrowed like he actually cares what happens to you. You don’t know why. He shouldn’t even pay attention to you. You’re not Tess, you're not his to care about anymore. 

   “He… cheated on me. He won’t stop calling or coming over, even though I tell him to stop. He’s adamant I listen to him. Says it was an accident and that she put the first moves on him, and just a bunch of bullshit answers.”

   He’s quiet for a moment as he assesses you, careful with his words as he starts again. “Have you tried hearin’ him out? Maybe he…”

   “I don’t want HIM!” you scream as you feel your face burn hot as your eyes start to water. Your red stained lips quiver under the grey clouds that weigh you down to the ground, and you feel like you just said something you shouldn’t have to him.

   Joel takes a hesitant step back as his brown eyes grow wide, his fingers flexing against his dark jeans as you see pain reflecting in his eyes, a mere image of yourself that’s broken, bleeding, hollow, lonely. You’re so terribly alone, and you wish he could comfort you. You really do, but he can’t. He’s not yours. Even though you so badly wish he still was. 

   Your wide-eyed gaze threatens to take you under as you feel regret slipping from your tongue. Why did you make such a big commotion? Why did you say you didn’t want him in that way? Fuck. You start to back up and laugh to yourself. “Sorry, I need to go.”

   Just before you can make it your lawn, Joel calls your name quietly. His tone makes you turn on the spot and stare at him with the way his deep bravado voice carries through the nearly spring wind. His eyes are pensive, sad, wrecked. His jaw clenches as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets. He looks like he wants to say something, looks like he wants to spill years of held in thoughts as his jaw ticks back and forth. 

   “Look, I know I never got a chance to apologize about what happened.” He walks toward you, and you take a step back as you shake your head, knowing what he’s about to say. 

   “Joel, no. Stop, you…”

   “Jus’ hear me out a second. Please.” He looks at you with big, begging brown eyes, and he looks like a wounded puppy with the way he’s staring down at you all broken and hurting, mirroring exactly how you feel. You think he might be just as hurt about it as you still are. 

   “Okay,” you mumble out as you stand your ground. 

   “‘M sorry about how everythin’ went down. ‘M sorry for bein’ such an ass to you, about all the stupid fights we had, about everythin’ we ever went through. And I’m so fuckin’ sorry for runnin’ out on you that cold February night. I didn’t… I wasn’t thinkin’ and…”

   You hold out a hand and stop him right there as you shake your head. “Joel, we were young and dumb. I was the one that told you to leave. You didn’t really have to, but I never went after you, and you never came back. I thought it was over, that we were over. And clearly we were because neither of us fought to keep the other…”

   You feel tears lick the backs of your eyes as you bite your bottom lip and wipe your waterline of any tears that might be escaping. 

   “I… I would’ve. Trust me, there’s not a day… there wasn’t a day that I didn’t think about doin’ what I did differently. And maybe… maybe things would’ve been different. Ya know? Maybe we’d still be…” He rakes a hand slowly down his greying scruff and sighs as he shakes his head. “Fuck. This is… harder than I thought it was gonna be…”

   “Joel…” You place a hand slowly over his wrist and watch his brown eyes go from clear to a cloud of haze. “I know you’re marrying Tess. She told me the other day when I saw her watering her lilies. She sounded so excited, so in love,” you cringe as you drop his wrist and take a hesitant step back. 

   “Oh, she told you?” he asks sheepishly, a bit taken back in a sense. 

   “Yeah, she did.”

   “I see.”

   You both stand there staring at one another, eyes alight with sparks of sadness and regret, turmoil that bleeds all over the heated concrete as you face each other. Both standing on a battleground where no one even lifts a finger. It’s just pleading cries and vacant apologies left in the back of the mind. A hollow graveyard that once was a flowering rose garden. 

   You feel like you should go, should get in your little Toyota and drive away, but you’re so lost and you feel like the world has left you behind. There’s just one more thing that needs to be said, one more bottled up sentiment that you need to get off your chest. So you look him straight in the eyes and say it, taking your very last breath as you bleed out all over his front yard. 

   “Look, Joel. I’m so happy you’ve found someone that makes you smile, someone that you’re clearly so in love with. I see the way you look at her. You’re so happy. And I’m so… I’m so…” You choke on your last words as tears fill the brims of your eyes, and you wipe a falling tear away with the sleeve of your shirt.

   “I’m so… happy that you get to marry the love of your life. You deserve it, you deserve all the happiness in the world. And I…” 

   Joel grabs ahold of your forearms and squeezes, looking at you with deep chocolate eyes that swallow you whole as soon as you look up into those brown pits of warmth. You feel it then, the absolute wretched wave that crashes over your body as you feel his warm fingertips tattoo themselves onto your skin. You feel it, the memories washing over you as they swim freely in your head. You remember taking a trip to Florida in his new truck, remember laying in the sand while he grazed his calloused fingers down your sandy skin and told you he loved you for the first time, remember how it felt to be under his body as you writhed and moaned with every touch he stole from you, remember how deeply in love the two of you were, if only for a fortnight. It was the happiest you’ve ever been with someone, the happiest you’ve ever been. Even if it only lasted for a second. He was your favorite season, favorite breath, favorite fortnight. Your forever that you wish would’ve lasted longer. But it was over. This was over. 

   You start to break down then, pulling out of his heated grasp as his fingertips fall from your skin. It’s too much, this is too much. You shouldn’t be here. Not with him, alone. It hurts too much, like a bloody wound that’ll never mend itself back together. The tears start pouring, ruining your mascara as you feel the rain come down slowly over your crimson cheeks. 

   “I… need to go.” When you turn back toward your driveway, Joel calls your name softly, like he’s afraid to speak your name, like he’s being fragile with a dying flower. You stand there a minute before turning back around, your nails embedding marks into your scraped up palms as you clench your jaw and turn, feeling another warm splash drop against your skin. 

   He looks so sad, so conflicted as he stares at you with knit together eyebrows, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his denim jeans as you see him slide his tongue slowly over his bottom teeth. He looks likes he’s struggling as much as you, maybe holding things back just like you are. Like the way you still love him. But it’s too late. You’re too late. 

   “He didn’t deserve you, you know. You deserve someone… someone that’ll make you happy. You deserve the world. And I hope you find it. You’re, well… you’re special. And I hate to see ya cry. ‘M sorry if I was the one who did that to you. And if you ever… if you ever need… ahh fuck. Jus’… take care of yourself, will ya?”

   You watch his fingers flex in his pocket, like he wants to reach out, maybe pull you in his arms, tell you everything will be alright in the end, but it won’t, it never will. He’s getting married to Tess, not you. You need to move on, for your own good. 

   You bite your bottom lip and nod as another sniffle leaves your constricted throat. You feel another warm splash on your arm as you give him a tight smile and turn back to your empty house, a house full of bottled up pain and regret. “Thanks, Joel. B… bye,” you choke out as you walk shamefully back to your front porch, letting the door close with a bang as you slide down the back of the door and end in a muddled ball on the floor. 

   You let the tears flow, let them burn the backs of your eyes as you feel hot air blow through your mouth. You weren’t supposed to talk to him, weren’t even supposed to let him touch your skin, even if it was just your wrist, your arm, your heart. It’s not supposed to hurt this bad, losing him all over again, but here you are. A ruined mess curled up on the wooden floor. He was your fortnight, your favorite part of every day until he was gone. Just like now. A wilted rose petal that died years ago. 

   He watches you turn back toward your half wilted rose covered yard, feeling the sting of tears he holds onto as he clenches his jaw and rakes a hand slowly down his greying scruff. He hates seeing you cry, hates being the reason for it, and hates the way he wants to run across your yard and pull you into his waiting arms. He wants so badly to take away the pain, but he can’t, he shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. But nothing is quite right in his mind anymore. No. Not in the slightest.

   He still thinks about you, the way he used to tangle his fingers in your hair as you fell asleep in his lap so many times before. He thinks about the way your soft skin felt every time he grazed his calloused fingers down your arms, your thighs, your dripping center as he’d make endless love to you night after night. He remembers it all, the good and the bad. But mostly he remembers the way he told you how deeply he was in love with you that night in Florida, promising you forever as he pulled you in for a bittersweet kiss that would be the start of the end. 

   He remembers it all. The stupid fights that meant nothing, the way he was so careless with your feelings that night of the fight, the way he walked out in the pouring rain and never looked back, the way he left you brokenhearted, just like you are now as he watches you fade back into the house as you rub your tear soaked eyes. And it kills him, it kills him that a small part of him still loves you. He still loves you…

   How can a person love two people at the same time? He doesn’t know why or how, but he does. He still loves you.. and he hates it, he fucking hates it. 

   He still thinks about you, even when he’s holding Tess against his chest late at night in their bed, even when he brushes his lips against her creased forehead, even when she says quick I love you’s to him every morning before she heads off to work. He wonders what it’d be like to hear it from your lips, on your tongue. He thinks about it so fucking much that he dreams about you, night after night. And if that makes him a bad man then fuck it, he’s already a very bad man.

   He may seem happy on the outside, absolutely head over heels for Tess, which he is. But also, he isn’t because that other half of himself is devoted to you. But he’s marrying Tess, not you. So he drinks, downs the whiskey night after night as he suffers from his own stupid past mistakes. A functioning alcoholic that’s drunk off heartbreak and pining that can never be. He’s royally and thoroughly fucked beyond his wreckless decisions. 

   He watches you every day leaving your house, climbing into your small Toyota, alone, frowning, lonely. He sees how sad you look when you catch his eyes, sees the tears well in your glistening gaze. He knows you probably must be so miserable living across from him, he sees it in the way you carry your shoulders, all hunched and wilting as your beautiful eyes gloss over every single fucking time he looks at you. He knows because that’s how he feels every time he sees you through your kitchen window, staring in a blank daze as he caresses Tess’s cheek and leaves trails of kisses up her soft skin. He knows how you feel. Because believe it or not, he’s just as miserable as you are. 

   When he finally sees you stumble through the front door and shut firmly it behind you, he lets a single tear fall like rain against his cheek, releasing his pent up frustration and held back feelings like the drops of whiskey he suffocates on night after night. And like the slow rush of February, he lets his feelings flow in the wind, dwindling down the quiet street as your silent cries fade into black. You were only a fraction of a moment, a sweet speck of sunshine that lit up his life, and now it was just a memory blown away by the endless February breeze. 

   He tries everything in his power not to run across the dew covered grass and stumble up to your porch, bang his rough knuckles against your glass door till you open up and let him over the threshold. He wants so fucking badly to wrap you in his arms, tell you everything’s going to be okay, scrape his lips across your tear soaked eyes as he kisses away the tears that he caused. But he can’t. He just fucking can’t. 

   He knows you’re on the floor, knows you’re crying your eyes out because of him. He shouldn’t have even helped you with your fallen mail, shouldn’t have placed his calloused and tainted fingers on your delicate and innocent skin, because that just brought back vivid images of you and him together. Imagines that are burned inside his memory as he locks them tightly away. A part of his mind that’s completely blocked off from Tess because she doesn’t know he still loves you. But it’s too late. He can’t have both; he can only have one. 

   So when he walks down that aisle, he’ll fully devote himself to Tess. No more silhouettes of you in his imagination, at least not when she’s in the room. He still imagines the thought of you walking down that aisle, can already see how stunning you’d look in your long satin dress, envisions you throwing your arms around his neck as he says “I do” and kisses you endlessly for the rest of his godforsaken life.

   It was always you he thinks, but time was not on his side, and he couldn’t go back to the past. He’d have to choose between the two of you, and he couldn’t imagine the thought of breaking Tess’s heart. Can’t bear the thought of losing her, but then there’s you. The girl that was once the love of his life, that’s still the love of his life. But he can’t have two loves, that’s not how it works in this life. 

So he drowns in his tears, goes back inside as he pours a half glass of amber whiskey, drinks it down like it’ll be his saving grace. You were only a fortnight in his tragic life, but you were the best one. His favorite fortnight. So he’ll pine, burn through the ashes of all his mistakes. He loves you, and it’ll surely ruin his life in the end.

He chases the whiskey down as he feels it burn like hot lava down his throat, letting the alcohol drive his sins away as he stares at your empty kitchen window. You still haven’t left for the morning, haven’t driven off into the glowing sunrise even though it’s half past 8:00.

He hates that he knows your routine, knows it’s fucked that he watches you every single morning. It’s like clockwork the way he reaches for the whiskey bottle as soon as Tess leaves, while he stands in his empty kitchen watching you. He’s such a bad man, but he’s known this ever since he found out it was you that lived across the street from him. That’s when all the feelings came flooding back like a torrential downpour, and that’s why he picked up his awful drinking habit again. Now he takes a shot every single time he sees you, like that’ll help a damn thing, but it never does, it only makes the feelings worse.

After thirty minutes of silence from your window, he takes one last gulp of the toxic amber drink and slides the bottle away, feeling the taste of regret and remorse on the tip of his tongue. He knows you’re on that floor unable to get up, probably staining the hardwood from your tears. He clenches his jaw, embeds his calloused fingertips into the rustic counter and curses to himself under his breath. He needs to fix what he did, needs to put his racing thoughts to bed, so he moves like lightning towards the front door, dragging his sorrows and regrets with him as his boots scuff against the tiles of the front entryway.

He doesn’t have time to process it, doesn’t have a chance to think it through, he just moves quickly. He sprints across your yard, passing half dead rose bushes that he should’ve kept alive. Now they just look like he feels, dead and wilting, both things willing to crumble under his touch.

Now he’s standing on your front porch, the burn of alcohol edging him on as he raises his balled up fist over the silhouette of your door. He doesn’t have time to think, to act, he just has to do something, anything to get you out of his drowning mind. So he stands there burning in the flames of past mistakes and fortnights.

Before his hand can move an inch, he smells it. The morning breeze carrying a whiff of fragrant, lush lilies across his burning nostrils that cloud his foggy mind. The scent of Tess. But he also smells the fragrance of wilting red roses and dewy, clipped grass. The smell of you. Both scents swirl together as he grits his teeth and lets the pain of mixed scents numb his racing mind. He’s fucked, ruined now, but he can’t have both. He has to make a choice. It's either soft lilies or scented rose petals. And goddamn it, he wants both flowers. But he can’t pick both, he just can’t. He has to make a decision. One that’ll surely be the end of him. He loses either way he chooses.

Tagging some mutuals 🩵 @msjarvis @littlevenicebitch69 @sawymredfox @bbyanarchist @keylimebeag

@casa-boiardi @vivian-pascal @amyispxnk @laurrrra @rav3n-pascal22 @magpiepills

@604to647

[octuscle]

Browth Spurt

Martin, Michael and Christian were interns at promaxx, one of the fastest growing venture capitalists. promaxx specialized in biotech, and the board's dream was to find the first unicorn capable of bionically optimizing humans.

"If they were able to do that, they hadn't done a good job on themselves," Martin whispered to Michael. He had to stifle a laugh. There were indeed a couple of rather ridiculous-looking nerds in the "growth spurt" presentation. They were talking about a combination of pills and autogenic training, which was supposed to unleash undreamt-of powers in men. There was actually a pile of CDs and a few packets of pills on the table in front of them. Images of men screaming "Alpha" from every pore flickered across the projector.

The promaxx product manager had either heard Martin or read his mind. In any case, he asked why the young men didn't look like the ones whose images had just been projected onto the wall. One of the start-up nerds, who weighed a maximum of 70 kilograms at around 200 cm tall, began to stammer that they weren't quite sure yet what the side effects on the psyche would be and that their minds were, after all, the company's greatest asset. Christian, who has always been a bit cheeky, laughed and said that this might not be a good starting point for entering the market. The product manager gave him a high five and added that he was not interested in hearing more, he was sure that everyone present could do better with their time, the meeting was over.

The start-up entrepreneurs from "growth spurt" stood there with their mouths open. They had expected everything, but not such an early termination. The product manager left the room without saying goodbye. Martin and Christian followed in his footsteps. Only Michael stayed for a moment, tried some comforting small talk and then left. The nerds packed up their things in disappointment and left the meeting room.

"Why were you still talking to the losers? "Christian asked Michael. Christian opened his jacket and took out a pack of tablets and three CDs. "That's why," he said with a grin. "We'll see what this stuff is worth now. And if it can become a unicorn, we can say we've discovered it."

That evening, the three boys lay in their beds. The tablets with a glass of water on the bedside table. The CD inserted in a player. They had all had to search a little to find something that could play this ancient media. The three of them chatted on their chatroom.

Michael: Have you already Martin: Nope Christian: Nope Michael: I've put the CD in, but I can't hear a thing. Christian: Same here. Martin: I've swallowed the pill! Michael: Okay, me too now Christian All for one, one for all! …

Christian fell into a deep sleep relatively quickly. His boner built an impressive tent in his bed. At some point during the night, he had a wet dream and blew an incredible load. And then once again. And then once more. And then he woke up.

Christian: Shit, are you awake? Christian: Shit, shit, shit! Michael: Bro, it's 05:00. A bit early for the gym. Martin: You say, weakling! I've been up for half an hour doing push-ups and squats.

Christian sits up. He burped. Must be from the pills. Like the puddle he had slept in. And that body that had torn his pyjamas to shreds. Martin sent a photo of a monstrous bicep with the comment "Then I'll see how I can get it to burn." Something was different. But Christian didn't know what…

Christian: Bros, I must have overdone it a bit, I don't fit into my clothes anymore. Michael: Same here, bros, had to train naked. Shit, my cock rubs against the floor during the push-ups and doesn't get limp at all. Martin: I was just at my brother's. His clothes fit me reasonably well. I'll pick you up and bring you something.

Christian went into the shower. His three-day beard went perfectly with his dark complexion. No need to shave today. His parents were still closing up when Michael and Martin pulled up outside the house. Christian opened the door, naked as God had made him. "You're a fucking statue, bro," Martin said as he handed him a pile of clothes. Christian posed. The light from the hall lamp cast his shadow on the early morning street. The milkman gawked. And almost had an accident.

"So, bro! We think you should think again about the nerds from yesterday," Michael said to the promaxx product manager. He just looked at them. He didn't notice any change. The three junior managers looked impressive as always. The fact that they called him "bro" flattered him. "Sorry, big boys, but the rejection is already out."

Christian looked at his bros and asked, "Do you think what I think?" "Shit, when I see you, I always think the same thing, stud!" said Martin. He obviously wasn't wearing any underpants. And he was leaking plenty of precum. "Michael grabbed his crotch and said "Let's fuck the guys from "growth spurt". Christian grinned. "At least there's one here who hasn't fucked his brains out or swapped them for brawn."

The three of them had quite a problem getting into the Uber. The driver said that with three guys that big, he would definitely need a gas surcharge for being overweight. The three boys laughed uproariously as if it was a good joke. They liked it when people admired them. And they were indeed admirable. "Stop, Taxi-Bro," yelled Mike. They had just passed a store selling gym gear. "We need to get in there quickly," he added. "Dude, you're a lifesaver," said Chris and gave him a fist bump. Martin's brother's suits were just too tight. And you couldn't show them off. And the sun was shining. Sun's out, guns out. Their motto is college days. Hehehe, they didn't do much other than hang out in the sun on campus. They were living proof that you could build a career on good looks alone.

"Damn, don't you think you should at least cover your nipples?" asked the Uber driver. "And what the hell is so smelly here?" Martin let his pecs dance in the back seat. "Bro, don't talk, drive! In tank tops, my monster pecs are like prison!" And in the passenger seat, Mike crossed his arms behind his head in such a way that the driver almost fell into the bush in his armpit. "Stink? All I smell is man musk". Christian farted a huge protein fart. "Not only musk, bro." The three bros laughed. The driver stepped on the gas, hoping the tip would compensate for at least some of the pain this ride was causing him.

The CEO and CFO of "growth spurt" looked helplessly at the three men, who could barely get anything past their lips apart from "dude", "bro" and "sick big muscles". The guinea pigs they had experimented with so far had also developed a powerful sex drive and tyrannized all the other reference animals. But at least they hadn't been tattooed and had smelled like a gym locker. Mike, Chris and Martin would make great advertising characters after all. Maybe they'd be able to collect equity that way. And they would need it. At least now they had three extra mouths to feed with a massive appetite for cum and protein.

Pics made @ki-kink

[vivwritesfics]

No Need To Ask - CS55

Chapter Six - Family Dinner

The Norris' were a notorious crime family in the UK. One of many. With Norris, the head of the family, running operations with his son, Lando, they work to keep Y/N Norris, Norris' daughter protected. Life in a crime family wasn't something they wanted for her.

But with tension with one of the Spanish crime families rise, Norris and his now deceased wife come up with only one plan, offer their daughter to the Sainz's or risk an all out war.

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After their chess game, Y/N felt more comfortable roaming the house. Of course, she limited herself to four rooms. The room that had been given to her, the bathroom, the kitchen and the library. Y/N was still too nervous to take her own food in the kitchen in the unfamiliar house.

Y/N began spending a lot of time in the library. She sat on the plush chairs, reading the few books she could find in English. But her gaze would always be pulled towards the glass doors, distracted as she watched Carlos on his morning swim.

On this afternoon, Y/N had Oscar sitting opposite her as they played chess. “This set is far nicer than the one I have at home,” Y/N said. But a pang went through her chest. This was now the set at home. She didn’t let it show on her face as she stole Oscar’s rook.

Already Oscar had lost four games before Y/N started giving him pointers. Still, she was winning. “Why can I picture you hiding out in here on your wedding day?” He asked, unable to hide that smile of his.

“Osc, don’t,” Y/N muttered as he moved his piece. But she quickly changed where he placed it, stealing one of her own pieces and placing it in front of him. “I don’t want to think about that right now.”

Oscar let out a sigh as Y/N stole his knight. “C’mon. Talk to me about it.”

Y/N’s gaze moved to the doors that led out to the patio. Carlos was out there, sat around the fire pit that wasn’t lit, with his men around him. Y/N could see the gun sticking out of the waistband of his trousers, a shudder running through her. But then his eyes met hers and Y/N quickly looked away.

“I was so scared of Sainz when I was a child. Like, I saw him in my nightmares, pointing a gun at me. And then Lando came to me saying that before my mother died, she had arranged for me to marry Carlos. I accepted it. Like, it’s for the good of the family. How could I say no? And then we had that dinner at the house. Sainz was still so scary to me, and Carlos came across as such a sweet person.”

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat. “I thought I could do this. I was okay with marrying him. But then we got here. Carlos showed his power as soon as we got to the house and that scared me. But still, I could push through. For the good of the family. And then he attacked you.”

Oscar couldn’t stop himself from staring at her. If he could save her from this life, he would, but there was nothing he could do. He’d thought about it; ever since he first found out about the arrangement.

He looked down at the chess board. “I’m stumped here,” he said, and Y/N moved his piece for him, bringing him just a step closer to winning.

But that wasn’t enough. Y/N used her Queen to get to his king, winning the same. Again, her eyes met Carlos. He was still watching her, like he never stopped. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees and his arms clasped together. His gaze was so intense, Y/N had to look away.

***

As  always, Oscar was the one to pull open the door, coming face to face with the person on the other side. He expected to see Carlos, he was the only one who had come to do the door so far.

But not. Instead of Carlos was an incredibly large man. He had dark there and a lot of stubble, with not quite enough facial here to be a proper beard. He was tall, Oscar craning his neck to look up at him. “Can I help you?” Asked Oscar, keeping the door partially closed.

The man grunted. “She is to come down for dinner,” the man said with a thick Spanish accent.

“No, she isn’t.”

Suddenly Y/N was on her feet. She stood beside Oscar, just out of view of the man. Her eyes were wide as she watched him, trying to tell him to stop.

“The master of the house would like her to come down for dinner,” the man tried again.

Oscar let out a huff. “Well, you can tell the master of the house that she’s staying where she is and he can f-”

“Please tell Carlos that I’ll be down in just a moment,” Y/N said quickly as she pushed Oscar out of the way. Y/N gave the man what she hoped was a polite smile and shut the door. “Oscar,” she began, her voice full of warning.

“I know,” Oscar immediately replied, throwing himself into the chair by the vanity. “I know, but I don’t want him bossing you about and controlling you. I don’t like it,” he said as he stared at her.

Y/N’s eyes softened as she walked over to him. “Oh, Osc,” she said softly and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Stay here, okay? I’ll make sure they bring you something good for dinner.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Oscar nodded his head. “If anything happens, scream and I’ll come running,” he said.

Nodding her head, Y/N made her way out of her room. She gave Oscar one last look as she shut the door, meeting the big, gruff man outside of her door.

He grunted and began walking, leading her down the hall and down the stairs. “I’m sorry about him,” she said. The man didn’t reply. He was silent as he led her down the stairs and out through the back doors.

The Sainz family, the entire Sainz family, were sat around the table on the patio. Carlos sat beside his mother, with his father at the head of the table and his sisters opposite him. There was one seat left, presumably for Y/N.

The Spanish chatter stopped as the Sainz family looked at Y/N. She swallowed the lump in her throat and walked over on shaky legs.

Before Y/N could get to the table, Carlos stood up and pulled out the chair for her. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come down,” he said quietly and softly.

Again, Y/N saw that man from their dinner in England. The one who stuck up for her against his own father. She gave Carlos something of a smile as he sat in his own chair and offered her something to eat. Even though he was being sweet, there was still that edge to him.

“How are you enjoying our country?” Asked Sainz as he looked across the table at Y/N. When Y/N looked at him, she couldn’t help but be scared. He looked the same as he did all of those years ago, when he had a gun pointed at her.

Y/N picked up her throat. “It’s very beautiful,” she answered as she looked past him, at the golfing green. “And very warm.”

Sainz let out something of a laugh. “A stark contrast to your own country,” he said and Y/N let out a small and disingenuous laugh.

“Carlos tells me you enjoy chess,” he continued.

The women at the table hadn’t yet said anything. They looked towards the head of the table, at the imposing head of the family.

Even when Y/N answered him, their gaze stayed on Sainz. It was only Carlos who looked at her. “Yes,” she said, poking the chicken with her fork. Y/N had yet to eat anything, not when Sain was asking her so many questions. “I used to play with my mother, before we lost her.”

“Ah,” Sainz replied and nodded his head. Y/N took a moment to eat something. “Your mother and I were good friends before everything went to shit.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped towards him. she hadn’t expected that. She was too young to remember much before the feud started, but she hadn’t thought her mother was actually friends with Sainz. “We were very sorry to hear when she passed on,” Sainz finished.

“I miss her a lot,” Y/N muttered. Her eyes were watering, but she wasn’t going to cry, not in front of the Sainz family.

They noticed. They definitely did. Carlos’ sisters began muttering something Y/N couldn’t understand, something in Spanish.

Back in Y/N’s room, Oscar did exactly as he was told. He moved the chair away from the vanity and dragged it over to the window. There he sat, watching as Y/N ate dinner with the Sainz. He couldn’t see Carlos or his father, but could see his sisters as they chatted between themselves.

As Oscar watched, he lifted his phone to his ear. Y/N was hardly eating, he noted as the phone rang. When she was in her room she had no trouble eating, he thought somewhat bitterly.

The person he was calling picked up. “How is she?” Asked Lando.

He’d been home for five days, barely able to do any work with how much he was worrying about his sister. He’d wanted to call her, wanted so desperately to speak to her, but he couldn’t, not unless he wanted to upset Carlos and his father.

Oscar released a breath. “She’s… Okay,” he said, somewhat slowly. “Three days after you left Carlos took her downstairs to play chess. She’s taken me down there a few times.”

“You’ve got chess there?” Asked Lando. “She’ll be happy with that.”

Suddenly Oscar sucked in a deep breath. There were things he wanted to say, but it was going to take a lot of courage. But, if he didn’t say it, he’d never be able to forgive himself. “Lando, I want to save her from this.”

“Yeah, we all do, Oscar,” Lando replied, his voice short.

“No, I mean, I want to get her away from this. As soon as possible,” Oscar continued. “I could contact Mark and find out if he could help in any way.”

“And then what?”

Oscar hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I don’t know,” he said. “I was thinking we could get could her away from here, take her to Australia and then figure things out,” he said.

“No, Oscar. If we do that then we’re asking for all-out war,” Lando immediately said. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before. He had, every minute of every day since he left Spain. Lando had even been to speak to his father about it. But if he acted on it, he’d he putting so many people in danger.

Taglist (open): @multi-universe21 @formulas-bitch @gills-lounge @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @carlossainzwho @f1lov3r @samaib11 @charli123456789 @queenofmanydreams @ironmaiden1313 @vellicora @glitterf1 @80sloverry @lightdragonrayne @moonayu @bellsalabanccini @topguncultleader @handsupforamiracle @cmleitora

[toxicanonymity]

Happy Easter Hun, I was wondering if you could do dark! Joel miller x reader where Joel's the neighbor next door and creeps into your house at night and just fucks you some CNC? Thanks queen✨

Sleeping beauty

700 | dark!Joel x f!Reader | master list

A/N: mood board by @milla-frenchy 🖤. Sounds like night walks vibes, maybe a timeline divergence or a future where you've admitted to yourself and Joel that you like it when he takes you forcefully and anything in this fic is on the table. This includes ideas from @xdaddysprincessxx @dark-scape , and anon. Can read alone.

WARNINGS: 18+ NSFW CNC (r^pe kink/consensual non-con, he knows she wants a struggle), unsafe PIV, noncon somnophilia (in ur sleep), drugs (chloroform), restraints, gagging, forced orgasm, forced breeding, maybe more idk he's a menace.

--------------------

"Shhhhhhhh." A hand covers your mouth. Your eyes blink open, and as you adjust to the dark, there's a brief moment of panic when you see his head so close to yours. He's straddling you, pinning you to the bed while he tugs your panties down. Your shirt has already been pulled up over your tits. When your panties are down to your knees, his hand engulfs your dripping seam. "Dreamin' of me, pumpkin?"

Maybe you were.

His fingers slide up and down together, then circle your clit. You're already knotting with tension. He plunges two digits into you and your hips reflexively lift into his hand. You try to roll away from him, but you're no match for his strength. As your eyes adjust, you can see the silhouette of his messy hair in the moonlight and his arm muscles burst out of his tight, white t-shirt as he holds you down. You've never seen such bulky triceps.

"One word and I’ll put you out," he warns before slowly lifting his hand off your mouth.

He pulls down the waistband of his PJ pants and rests them under his balls. His thick, stiff cock stands menacingly at attention.

"Damn you looked hot dreamin' about this cock." His voice is low and gruff.

His knee pries your legs open. His hand guides the tip of his cock to your entrance, then he shoves himself into you with a grunt and you sigh.

"Sleepin' Beauty," he whispers as he retreats. He plunges into you full-force again and bottoms out with a muted groan. His neck veins bulge.

“Sure are filthy for a Disney princess.”

He lowers his head to your neck and sucks as he rams his stiff cock into you rhythmically.

"Takin' this cock real good," he whispers as he pounds you. Your core tightens with tension as he fills you up.

He drags his beard across your jaw, scratching you, then he latches onto your neck again, sucks harder, and marks you.

The word falls out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Don’t.”

He sighs. “What’d I tell ya princess?”

He reaches down by your bed where he stashed his bag, then covers your mouth and nose with a mysterious, damp rag.

-

When you wake up, he’s still inside you. Railing you. There’s a cloth gag in your mouth. Your knees are up, legs spread, with him in between. Your wrists are tied to your shins with shoelaces. He pauses, all the way inside you.

"Look what I found,” he says and turns on your vibrator. You were using it earlier tonight while he watched you from outside. He thought about interrupting you but spilled his cum in your grass instead and decided to come back later.

He brings the toy right to your clit and firmly presses it into you. He starts fucking you slowly again, his thick cock filling you up each time. He sets it there for a minute and moves the vibrator against you with his hips. He grunts and groans softly.

Your back arches as your insides tighten and release, and he groans "yeeeeah, yeah, c'mon baby."

He's not done with you yet. He goes harder. You gasp and squirm at the overstimulation and he holds you still with his arm.

"Attta girl, let it ride princess."

Your eyes prickle with tears and your body can hardly take it. He looks to be struggling too. Holding his breath and randomly releasing it.

Every few thrusts, he bottoms out and lingers deep inside, slowly rocking his hips into you, his tip grinding against your g-spot.

It isn't long before you come full force again. And thank God, when your tight cunt begins to choke him, he groans with a shudder then erupts inside you. He thrusts into you slower as he empties his balls with a loud sigh.

He ungags you, then collapses with his head between your legs. As his cum trickles out of you, he puts it back in with his fingers. He rests his head on your inner thigh. He looks up at you for a moment. You can only see half his face in the moonlight but he raises his eyebrows and his lips barely curl into a faint smile that says yeah, you like it. Then, he returns his attention between your legs. He gives your clit a kiss and whispers to your cunt, "sleep tight" before disappearing into the night.

-

Btw the restraints/position/was from @xdaddysprincessxx, vibrator & forced orgasm from @xdaddysprincessxx and Anon, resting his head and looking up at you from @dark-scape

-

NW: @tehweeana @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea. @evyiione

If you wanted to be tagged in night walks stuff please remind me 😫 can't find the list lmao

Also trying to figure out if I should even post every ask when there are multiple combined in an answer. There are some days where I'll get like, a lot, and often a couple are similar, which is cool. I just don't wanna spam people with notifs on so I might stop answering them all with a link, IF I can bear to delete them lol.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

At First Sight 4

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (Plus!short!reader) Please mind the warnings.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You sit back on your heels and tear off toilet paper from the roll. You quake as you wipe the vomit from your lips. The dull pang thrumming in your pelvis assures you of your greatest fear. 

You had sex with a stranger. Not only that, it was your first time. Forgotten in the bottom of a glass. God, you're so stupid. 

You drop the toilet paper in the water and stand. You put the seat down and flush, dizzily shifting on your feet. You catch yourself on the sink and whimper as you face the doorway. It's him. 

“You ran off, sugar,” he says, shameless and naked. 

His eyes flick down to your just as bare body and you shudder. You look around and grab the towel from the rack, covering yourself. He frowns and meets your gaze. 

“Why are you acting like this? You weren't so shy last night,” he accuses. 

You gulp, “I don't… I don't remember, I'm sorry.” 

He considers you, running his hand over his thick beard. He's a big man, thick and tall; the avatar of burly. His head is shaved close while the rest of him is trimmed in thick fur. 

You gulp and keep your eyes above board. He stands naked and shameless, blocking you in the bathroom, “don't remember?” 

Your lashes flick and you look away, “I… don't.” 

The confession is mortifying. You can't believe this happened to you. No, you did this. You got stupid drunk and made the worst decision ever. 

He nods, his blue eyes dulling, “that's too bad. I… I thought we had something special.” 

“I'm sorry,” you hug the towel across your front, “I…drank too much and…” 

He tilts his head and steps forward. You cower, hitting your hip against the sink as you back up. He catches your arm and tugs you towards him. He's so much bigger and older. Oh god.

“I could refresh your memory,” he growls as he brings you against him. “Mm, you wanna get washed up, sug.” 

“Please, uh,” you writhe, your arm stuck between your bodies, “I don't think that's… no, I should go.” 

He scoffs but doesn't relent. He turns you, penning you in against the sink, your back pressed to the porcelain. 

“So you're that kinda girl,” he huffs, “just gonna run off after you get what you want.” 

“No, no, I'm just… confused. Really, I don't remember what… happened,” you croak as you try to twist your wrist free of his large hand. 

“I was real nice, shug, you don't gotta run away,” he snarls and nuzzles your hair. 

“Really, I just need… some space.” 

“I know what it is,” he grabs your other wrist and pulls your arm from around you, unveiling your body as the towel falls from your grasp, “you never had a man who appreciated all this.” 

“Stop, please,” you squeal, “I need to breathe--t-to think!” 

“Ah you don't gotta play shy, you know I like all of you,” he insists, crushing his body against yours as he holds your wrists above you. 

You whine and wriggle, panic swelling into your chest. Your eyes tinge with tears and you try to yank your arms free. He's too strong. 

“Please,” you beg. 

“How about we get cleaned up. Together,” he winks, “you got dirty last night, girl.” 

“I can’t. Please let me go–” 

He releases your arms, only to grab your hips instead. He lifts you like you weigh nothing and places you on the sink’s edge. You whimper and slap his shoulders. 

“I got you, baby,” he squeezes your hips as he steps closer, “I don’t mind a little mess.” 

You squirm as he lurches you suddenly. You fall back and hit the mirror with your back, the faucet awkwardly pressing between your shoulder blades. You whine and wriggle, trying to bat him off with one arm as you hold yourself up with the other. 

“Come on, honeybee, let me have a taste,” he snarls and pulls your thighs apart, “mm, I like a bit of flavour.” 

“Stop!” You throw your arm out again. “Please, I don’t-- I don’t know you--” 

“Sure ya do, shug,” he grunts as he falls to his knees, “we got really close...” his voice grits out as he hooks your legs over his shoulders, “... last night.” 

He moves closer, his hot breath searing over your pelvis, and you writhe against the sink. Your precarious perch is painful and you fear slipping to one side or the other. If the fall doesn’t hurt you, you don’t know that he won’t. 

His strength presses through his fingertips into your thighs as he leans into you. You squeal as you feel the brush of his lips against your tuft of trimmed hair. You push on the front of his head but he easily ignores you as he dives into your cunt. You cry out and wiggle, your heels bouncing off his broad back. 

His tongue swipes up between your lips and he hums. The noise rumbles from his chest and through you. You let out another squeal and try to pull yourself back on the sink. Your arms shake as his coarse beard adds to the sensation. 

“Pl-e-ease,” you quake out breathily, “I can’t--” 

He purrs, lapping you up messily and he moves his head back and forth, burying his face deeper between your legs. You gasp as the tips of his nose hits your clit and presses into it relentlessly, his tongue poking at your entrance. You grip the porcelain and gape down at the top of his head, your other hand on the close buzzcut. 

Your toes tingle as he delves into you greedily. You want him to stop. You can’t think with him doing all that. You suck in air as your chest tightens and your muscles coil. His tongue dips into you as he rubs his nose against your bud, heat thrumming into your core. 

“I...” you puff and grit your teeth, your eyes rolling back. 

You babble as futility suffocates you. There’s a flash behind your eyelids. That feeling in familiar. That crushing desperation. You see your fuzzy reflection in a mirror and Sy behind you, the dull beat of the club music pulsing through the walls. 

You yipe as his fingers add to the prodding at your cunt. You hit his head and he tilts back slightly, dragging his tongue up to your clit, rolling it between his teeth as he pushes his thick fingers into you. You tug at his ear desperately and he reaches with his free hand to stop you, instead pressing your palm against his head to urge him closer. 

“Please...” you murmur, but he can’t hear you. He refuses to.