#his penis is on sale!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sister-lucifer · 1 year

Text

Genre: Smut

Summary: Reader finds an antique Jack-In-The-Box at a yard sale, unaware that by purchasing it they would also be taking home an unwanted guest.

Content/Warnings: Dubcon elements, horror elements, LJ being a stalker creep (so some non con voyeurism), LJ is just fucking weird in this one, clown fucking shenanigans, big stripey clown dick and also long stripey clown tongue, comically large clown penis, LJ eats ass, LJ is massive so big size difference, tummy bulge, that dick should NOT be able to fit in you but it’s my story i can bend the laws of anatomy however i wish, LJ is very mean in this one and doesn’t really care if he hurts you, some degradation, unprotected sex, creampie, reader is kind of a slut boy (same), there’s a lot of build up but please it’s worth it i prommy (but also feel free to skip to the porn that’s totally fair)

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

A/N: Jack is british just fyi so if you’re like me and you read with accents there you go!

The antique jack-in-the-box was certainly an odd find at a garage sale, but there was no denying that it caught your eye the moment you saw it. It was incredibly ornate, clearly hand painted in all black and white and decorated with balloons and candy, not to mention it was preserved wonderfully for a piece that had, presumably, been stored in an attic for who knows how long. You could run your fingers over the edges and feel every detail of the tediously carved borders. You carefully turned the wooden box over in your hands, looking over the large, carefully painted words on the front:

“Laughing Jack In The Box!”, surrounded by all sorts of patterns and shapes.

Your face immediately lit up. Everything about this box screamed one of a kind. You could already see it sitting on your collectors shelf, safe behind the glass for you to keep and observe. You absolutely had to have it.

“Excuse me miss?” You called, looking around for the old woman who was running the garage sale. She got up from her lawn chair and made her way over about as fast as you’d expect from one as antique as some of the items currently being sold.

“Could you tell me about this jack-in-the-box?” You asked, trying to hide your elation.

“Oh, this old thing…” She began, looking at you over her comically oversized glasses. “It belonged to my great, great grandfather, Isaac, and was handmade by his father. It was given to me as a young girl, and I was keeping it in the hopes I could pass it on to my own children.”

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness at the comment, but it seems the woman had no qualms about selling it.

“Well, it may please you to know that I’m an antique collector,” You explained in an effort to reassure her. “This is a beautiful piece. If you’ll sell it to me, I can promise you it’ll be safe on my shelf.”

“Oh, I have no worries about that. No one would pick this old thing up unless they knew what they were buying. So, what’s your offer young man?”

You thought for a few moments, weighing the box in your hands. You didn’t want to completely rip her off, but a one of a kind antique like this could go for thousands in the right place, and you weren’t looking to break the bank for this thing. Besides, who else would possibly buy it if you didn’t?

You pulled your wallet out and flipped through it, debating with yourself.

“How about…a clean fifty?”

And with that, a deal was made. Before you knew it you were proudly walking back to your car with the box tucked under your arm. You placed it carefully in the front passenger seat where you could watch over it, glancing back one last time to the now empty place on the table where the box once sat before driving away.

Immediately upon getting home you rushed to your room and swung open your shelf, eyes scanning over every row as you tried to find the best place for your newest treasure. It took a bit of rearranging to keep the shelf organized to your liking, but eventually you were able to place the box neatly right in the middle. You carefully closed the glass door and took a few steps back to admire your work. It was absolute perfection, and you couldn’t stop yourself from happily clapping your hands together. You deserved to applaud yourself a bit, after all.

You flopped down on your bed and grabbed your phone, eager to share your find with anyone who would listen, giddy with excitement. You really couldn’t believe how lucky you were! No one else would ever lay hands on a jack-in-the-box like this one, and now it was all yours.

As the hours of the afternoon dissolved into the night, you found yourself peeking into your room just about every time you walked past. You smiled wide whenever you saw the pristine box sitting on your shelf. It was especially beautiful when the sun hit it just right and made it shine. Your chest was still swelling with pride even as you climbed into bed for the night, able to peacefully fall asleep knowing that you’d filled another spot on your shelf today.

Unbeknownst to you, you had just given up the privilege of peaceful sleep.

That night you had one of the worst, most vivid nightmares you could remember.

You were standing in your room late at night, and everything seemed deathly silent, as if all the birds and insects that would normally be chirping outside had up and died off. A shiver ran down your spine as you looked around in confusion. You tried to turn on your lamp, but it wouldn’t come on. Trying the light switch yielded the same distressing result. You moved to open the door, but the moment you reached out for the knob it disappeared as if it had never been there in the first place. When you turned back, your bedroom window was gone too. Both of your escape routes had dissolved into thin air without so much as a sound.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as your eyes slowly wandered to the jack-in-the-box. It was the only object left on your now open collectors shelf, but it seemed to take up so much more space than before. It had captured your gaze in an iron grip, and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t look away. A terrible feeling began to bubble in the pit of your stomach, becoming heavier and heavier until you felt as though you may collapse from the weight, but nothing was happening. Something about the box itself felt so…malicious, so threatening, but it was simply sitting dormant on your shelf.

What were you so scared of?

That was the question replaying in your mind when you woke with a start, nearly falling out of your bed in your disoriented state. You shot straight up as you fought to catch your breath, taking a look around just to make sure your window and door were still there. Fortunately, they were. It really was just a nightmare.

A wave of relief washed over you as you slowly laid back down. You took an extra minute to catch your breath, silently scolding yourself for being so easily scared. You turned your head to look out the window, now noticing the very first little shreds of the dawn coming up over the horizon.

However, you noticed something else as well. Something that set off just a bit of unease in you.

The glass door of your shelf was open.

Not wide open, or broken, just slightly cracked as if it hadn’t been closed all the way and was now just barely ajar. You could’ve sworn you shut it all the way, you could even remember hearing the little click.

But we all make mistakes, don’t we?

That seemed enough of an explanation to calm you as you slipped out of bed to close the shelf once more. This time you double checked, just to be sure. When you were satisfied you went back to bed, finding sleep rather easily and this time without incident.

When you awoke some hours later you couldn’t help but question which parts of the night were a dream and which were reality. The memories of when you had woken up the first time were hazy, not to mention you were still shaken up from the nightmare. You tried to push it out of your mind, though, when you found your shelf securely closed and seemingly untouched. That was really all that mattered.

It seems you had the green light to go about your day as usual.

First thing’s first: you need to change out of your nightclothes. The stained band tee and baggy sweats would not cut it for running errands. You decided on something that would be comfortable for the day, but still made you feel confident and happy with yourself.

As you undressed you couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate yourself in the mirror, standing there in just your boxer briefs. You ran a hand over your sides, turning around halfway as you admired your own figure. It was a silly habit to have, really, but what was it hurting? After all, you were one handsome man. You deserved to be seen.

You weren’t the only one who thought this, and you certainly weren’t the only one who enjoyed admiring you.

Completely hidden out of your view, just how he liked, two achromatic pinwheel eyes spun manically behind the shadows of the jack-in-the-box. He only had to lift the box just slightly, so little that you would never notice, and even if you did you would likely brush it off as your imagination. Jack was skilled like that, able to slowly lure his victims into madness in such a way that they wouldn’t notice until it was too late.

You, though, had caught his attention in a slightly different manner.

You had piqued his interest the moment you picked up his box, handling it with a curious yet careful manner. For generations he had been packed away in dusty attics and grimy basements and long forgotten storage units, completely disgraced by the family line that was supposed to cherish him. But you had plucked him from that miserable cycle, dusted him off, and placed him carefully on your shelf in a secure little spot where you could see each other every day.

This was certainly unusual behavior.

That ache of contempt that he felt for nearly everyone else somehow had yet to creep in. On some level, Jack was just as curious about you has you had been about him, and now he was safe behind the glass to keep and observe you as he saw fit. Human bodies in particular had always been an odd interest of his seeing as they looked so different from his own. Seeing you flaunt yours so proudly with no one else around was honestly a bit amusing.

He watched silently as you slipped on your day clothes, turning around a couple more times in the mirror and adjusting your outfit a bit before finally deciding you were happy. He didn’t slip back down into his box until he heard your car pulling out of the driveway.

He sat there with himself for some few hours while you were gone. He had lost any sense of time at this point, used to spending his days alone in his box. Although, this time, there was one reoccurring theme that all his thoughts seemed to circle back to:

You.

What made exactly you so interesting, hm? He could venture a vague guess, but something was just…different. His affinity for humans had long since waned to nothing nearly two centuries ago, and yet a small part of it was beginning to stir in him once more.

It seemed this would require further observation, which was certainly no issue to him.

You, on the other hand, were blissfully unaware that you were currently sharing your humble abode. There were a few times when the events of the earlier night managed to worm its way back into your mind, but you always managed to push it away. You were simply being silly, that was all. It was a random occurrence with absolutely no significance.

Yeah, sure, that made enough sense.

By the time you were unlocking your front door, you had been lucky enough to truly forget about your nightmare. It seemed that you had finally calmed yourself and managed to stay grounded.

At least you had until you stepped through the door.

The second you had both feet in the doorway, the nightmare came rushing back in vivid flashes. It felt like your grocery bags were filled with cement, your limbs suddenly going weak. Your entire body had gone stiff, paralyzed with an indescribable sense of anxiety, the feeling that something was terribly, deeply wrong in your home.

You swept through the whole house and found not a single thing out of place, though every time you turned a corner you were sure you’d see something you didn’t want to.

No smashed in windows, no kicked in doors, nothing taken or broken, no other sign of an intruder. Nothing that would indicate anything out of the ordinary.

Then why was your stomach churning with the same heavy dread you’d felt in the nightmare?

You wracked your brain as you tried to figure out what could possibly be making you feel so uneasy in your own home, but nothing came to mind. Even as you put away your groceries you were mumbling and muttering to yourself, attempting to fetch any semblance of an explanation.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Jack was more than happy to watch you spin yourself into a tizzy over his little tricks. He giggled to himself when you paced back and forth where he could see you outside the doorway of your room, proud to see he hadn’t lost his mischievous touch.

You felt absolutely exhausted by the time you were trudging your way to your room, the subtle thrum of an oncoming headache already threatening to floor you for the rest of the day. You were so drained, in fact, that you had to do a double take to realize that your collector’s shelf had been completely opened.

Not just creaked open like last time, completely opened. If it had been pushed any farther, the hinges would’ve snapped.

You stared in disbelief, mouth hanging half open. You couldn’t even will yourself to move. It felt someone had just lit a match to the pile of questions that had been accumulating in the back of your mind. As if on autopilot, you walked over numbly and shut the glass door of the shelf. This time, you triple checked that it was shut.

Of course, this time you weren’t satisfied with that.

The first thing you did once you had thrown on sweats and laid down was go to order a lock for the shelf online. You even paid extra to make sure it would be delivered the next day. After all, the last thing you needed was one of your prized possessions falling out and breaking.

Yes, that was the very normal, rational reason why you needed a lock.

You sighed with exhaustion as you struggled to get comfortable in your bed, figuring maybe a nap would help you recharge a bit. By some miracle you actually managed to fall asleep, and by another you slept peacefully for a full hour uninterrupted.

Damn, you needed that. You actually felt better when you woke up, stretching and cracking your back a few times before getting up.

Suddenly your fearful reaction earlier seemed so silly! Why were you so upset anyways? Because of a bad dream and a dingy old shelf? How stupid. Really, you were lucky you lived alone. If anyone had seen you like that they’d think you were crazy, irrational, completely out of your—

The shelf is open again.

The fucking shelf is open again, and the box has moved an entire shelf down on its own.

The box has moved on its own.

You were suddenly feeling light headed.

You sat back down on your bed, your head already beginning to ache once more. You were dizzy, confused, struggling to find your bearings in reality. You held your head in your hands as you tried to take a breather. Part of you hoped that if you simply looked away then back up, maybe the problem would fix itself.

No such luck.

You groaned with frustration, practically stomping over to your shelf. You moved the box back to its original place in a quick and jumpy manner, as if it was burning hot and it would hurt to hold onto it for too long. This time you quadruple checked that it had been closed properly, and even threw a blanket over the shelf to cover it.

It wasn’t a fix, but it could at least give you some semblance of security.

“Stupid broken thing…” You muttered to yourself, speed walking out of your room to head to the kitchen where hopefully a snack could distract you.

Jack was giddy with excitement, unable to stop himself from snickering with smug self-satisfaction. It had been so long since he had someone to play with, and you were so fun to scare it almost felt too easy.

He would have to play his next cards perfectly, though, if he wanted to keep this up.

He didn’t mess with you at all the rest of the day, even when he really, really wanted to. You peaked into your room every time you walked by, breathing a sigh of relief when you saw the shelf was exactly as you’d left it every time.

Maybe, you thought for the umpteenth time, you really were just being irrational. You didn’t even have another nightmare that night, and when you awoke the shelf was still closed with the blanket untouched on top of it.

When the lock came in that day you wondered for a bit if you really needed it, but ultimately decided it was better to be over-prepared than under. You could finally remove the blanket cover on the shelf, feeling much better now that you could properly shut and lock it. You stored the key away in the drawer of your nightstand where you knew it would be safe.

For you, it seemed like everything was finally back to normal again.

For Jack, this was the perfect opportunity to increase his antics tenfold. He was becoming more and more impatient, wanting to badly to properly greet you, and with each scare he only felt himself grow stronger. He was feeding on your anguish, allowing it to fuel him until eventually he would be ready to come out and play.

For the next few weeks, Jack made you sure you found absolutely no peace. He was relentless and cruel, even by his standards. He broke your stupid little lock, and the two others you ordered after that. He couldn’t count the amount of times he’d made you shut the glass door to the shelf again. Whenever you tried to cover him with the blanket, he let you know he was particularly upset with you by not only swinging the shelf door wide open, but moving his box right to your bedside table. That way, he got to see your terror up close when you jolted awake, nearly tripping over yourself to get away when you saw the box a mere couple of feet from your face. He made the house creak and jump every time you got a moment of quiet. Hell, he was petty enough to mess with the thermostat when you were out, meaning you got to return home to a freezing cold or blistering heat that was surely running up your bill. Speaking of running up your bills, it wasn’t unusual for Jack to leave the water running either.

The thing that got to you the most, though, was the incessant nightmares.

God, they never stopped.

They were almost all the same:

You’d be trapped somewhere familiar, like your room or a store you’d been at that day. You’d be completely alone and no lights would work, and when you tried to leave all the doors and windows would disappear. And every time, every goddamn time, that jack-in-the-box would be sitting there to greet you when you turned around. That was by far the worst part. Just looking at it would make you weak and nauseous, but you always woke up just before you’d collapse. Whenever you awoke from your nightmares you tried to take comfort in the sunrise beginning to slowly come up over the horizon, but deep down you knew the daylight could no longer save you.

Each day you woke up more exhausted than the last, too tired to go anywhere but not able to stand being in your house with whatever entity was making your life hell.

On the contrary, Jack was merely becoming more and more energetic every day. He hadn’t felt this eager in a long, long time. He was even feeling a bit bold, working up the courage once or twice to open the shelf while you were in the room. That scared you the most, making you jump with fear and scramble out of the room as fast as you could.

He knew you didn’t really have anywhere else to go. You could leave for the day, sure, but sooner or later you’d have to come back home. The stars must’ve aligned for him to find you, the perfect little plaything that could never really escape and gave him endless entertainment. You were certainly a funny one.

Although, there were times he enjoyed simply watching you just as much as tormenting you.

Countless times he’d find himself occupied with quietly observing you as if you were a completely foreign creature. He’d peak out of his box to watch you toss and turn at night, to watch you dress in the morning, and he even got to see you walk back from your showers a few times. You looked so soft, even from this far away, with so many places for him to grab and squeeze and wrap his massive claws around.

It was shameful, really. Or it should’ve been at least. Jack didn’t know the meaning of the word. All he knew was that the urge to reach out and grab you in his claws was growing stronger, and fast. His already minimal patience was beginning to thin, and he knew that soon it would run out completely. Watching you from afar wouldn’t be enough.

But that was okay.

He was finally ready to properly greet you, and he knew exactly how he’d do it.

That night you experienced one of the usual terrors, but this time you couldn’t recognize the room. It looked to be the bedroom of a victorian mansion with tall wooden walls decorated with dusty paintings that seemed to go up forever, closing you in on all sides. A child’s toys were scattered around the room, and the blankets on the bed had been tussled and pushed around. It was clear someone had been living here, but who? And why were you in a room you had never seen before?

And why, God—

Why was that jack-in-the-box still sitting on the shelf? And why was the crank turning on its own, playing the quiet, foreboding tune of “Pop Goes The Weasel?”

The feeling of dread that filled you was nothing new, but what you didn’t expect was to see the box slowly open as the crank continued to turn.

The movement wasn’t sudden, but it was absolutely shocking, so much so that you fell back onto your hands. You tried to scoot backwards, to somehow get away, but you couldn’t move. All you could do was watch as the lid of the box clicked into its open place, and a dark shape began to emerge.

It took a moment for you to figure out what you were looking at. The shape had sharp edges and moved slowly, in a controlled manner. It wrapped around the edge of the box and tapped against it.

It was a hand.

A massive hand with pitch black claws, each nearly as large as your palm, much too big to belong to something that should’ve been able to fit in that box.

A second clawed hand reached up, grabbing onto the opposite side of the box. They looked to be pulling up the rest of the body.

You watched, mouth agape in silent horror as the claws were followed by long striped sleeves, then a head and face covered by long black hair that fell past broad shoulders, until eventually the entire body had dragged itself out of the box. The creature sat there limply with its limbs bent unnaturally as if its own body was too heavy for it to move. There was one thing about it, though, that made your blood run cold:

Above a sharp toothed smile that was stretched impossibly wide were two achromatic pinwheel eyes, spinning manically behind a curtain of dark hair. They pierced your soul with their stare, almost seeming to glow in the dark.

There was a split second where you knew you were about to wake up, but the sight before you when you forced your eyes open was so similar to your nightmare that you weren’t sure it had worked.

That…thing from your dream was hovering over you.

Its visage was completely clear to you now, hair falling around its face and on either side of your head as it peered down at you. A single glance towards its body showed it was even bigger up close, easily twice your size. It resembled some sort of clown, in line with the theme of the jack-in-the-box, but nothing about it seemed comforting or humorous.

Your first instinct was to thrash, but you couldn’t move. The clown had pinned your arms down with its massive claws, not even flinching when you tried to fight it off. It took no effort to hold you down.

Its razor-toothed mouth began to crack open, and for a second you expected it to lunge forward and end it all with one fatal snap of its jaws.

But that didn’t happen.

No, instead…

It laughed.

The laugh itself didn’t even sound malicious or evil. In any other context it could easily be mistaken as an innocent giggle, a sound you might make when you saw something particularly cute.

That was what you were to Jack:

Cute.

But not in the way you’d think.

You were cute in the way a helpless, injured animal is cute.

Cute in the way that something you could hold in the palm of your hand is cute.

Cute in the way that something you knew you had complete control over is cute.

Cute in a pathetic, pitiful way that Jack loved.

He had waited so long to have his fun with you, he was trembling with excitement.

“Oooh, there you are!” Jack spoke in a lighthearted tone, drawing out his words in a playful manner. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to sound like, but it definitely wasn’t that. You couldn’t decide if his oddly happy demeanor and sing-song tone with the cartoonish lilt of his accent was more or less frightening than the classic demonic voice of a supernatural killer.

Suddenly something uncomfortably wet slid from your shoulder to your cheek, and it wasn’t until he pulled back that you realized it was his tongue.

It was impossibly long and had the same striped pattern as his sleeves, moving in a much too articulated manner, as if it was another limb. You watched with wide eyes at it slowly retracted back into his mouth with a sickening wet sound. You could imagine it coiled up in there like a snake; after all, that was the only feasible way it should’ve been able to fit back in his mouth.

“You taste even better than I imagined…” The clown continued, taking no notice of (or at least not caring about) your discomfort. “You’ve been teasing ol’ Jack, haven’t you?”

“J…Jack?” You echoed in a whisper. You could hardly hear your own meek voice.

He only chuckled in response, taking great delight in hearing you say his name.

One of his hands released your arm, though you didn’t dare move either way. It slowly slid its way under your oversized nightshirt, pushing it above your chest and exposing your entire midriff. Both of his hands ran along your sides slowly, two claw-tipped thumbs barely scraping over your skin. Just a bit more pressure could’ve drawn blood, and it wouldn’t even take much effort on Jack’s part.

You tried not to move, to not even breathe, terrified that one wrong move would get you torn to shreds. You could imagine one razor sharp talon digging into your chest and dragging to your stomach, slicing you open in a mess of gore and intestines and oh, God—

You winced when Jack’s tongue unfurled once more, this time running from your navel all the way to your chest. It left a cold trail of saliva that made you shiver. You had to turn your head away, unable to look at Jack any longer, only to yelp in pain when you felt the sharp sting of a bite.

When you looked down again you were greeted with Jack’s smug grin.

“Pay attention to me and I won’t have to do that again.” He ordered, unblinking stare piercing through you. The tone of the demand was almost whiny, like he would throw a tantrum if he didn’t get his way.

“Wh…What the hell do you want?” You choked out.

Jack didn’t answer. It would be more fun to watch you figure it out on your own.

He adjusted you in his hold, allowing him to sit up as he moved to grasp your thighs. It was then you realized you’d neglected to put on any actual pants before bed, your lower half clad only in your boxer briefs which were doing very little to keep you modest, especially as Jack lifted your clothed bulge closer to his eager mouth.

“W-Wait—!”

But your plea came a moment too late, and any other attempt at words died in your throat when you felt Jack’s tongue run over your cock through your boxers.

“Shit—! Jesus Christ…” You huffed, “What the fuck…are you doing…?”

You dug your teeth into your bottom lip and watched helplessly as Jack’s tongue ran over you once more, making you tense as you felt your cock twitch. Damn, that felt good…

You really shouldn’t have been enjoying this. Especially not this much. You expected to be much more disgusted, and yet you weren’t. In fact, there was a little voice in the back of your head that was eager to take much more.

But what choice did you have, really?

Jack certainly had no intention of stopping, and you certainly weren’t going anywhere. Besides, for all you knew you’d wake up tomorrow and realize this was all a shameful wet dream.

You tried to relax a bit in his grip, which proved difficult when he was staring at you like he wanted to eat you alive.

Before you could blink Jack had suddenly flipped you onto your stomach, making quick work of your boxers with one swipe of his claws. The sound of ripping fabric caught you off guard, and everything happened so fast you weren’t sure what had happened until you felt Jack’s tongue run over the bare back of your thighs.

“Oh my God—!” You cried out, barely managing to muffle yourself with a pillow. You held it tight against your face, and even had to bite down on it in an attempt to stop yourself from screaming when Jack slipped his tongue inside of you.

It felt even longer than it looked, squirming inside of you and leaving absolutely no spot untouched. Every time you thought he couldn’t possibly go any deeper, he somehow did, filling you with his tongue until you couldn’t fit anymore. A shame, really; he had lots more to offer, but he couldn’t expect much from such a little human.

His hands were easily large enough to grasp your waist and hold you against his mouth. You had no way of knowing, but Jack was more than aware of his own strength, even taking care to make sure he didn’t pierce you with his nails. You’d be much for fun alive, after all. Although, this didn’t mean he didn’t have a bit of fun scaring you, occasionally giving a rough squeeze just to feel you flinch. He was thoroughly invested in tasting every inch of you, but that didn’t mean he’d stop toying with you at every opportunity.

Despite his hold on you, you couldn’t stop yourself from writhing desperately in his hands. You weren’t trying to fight him, but the sensation of his tongue wriggling around so deep inside of you was certainly an odd one. Your cock was already throbbing between your legs and dripping precum onto your sheets. There was a nagging urge to reach down and give your needy member some much needed attention, but you couldn’t force yourself to release your painful grip on your blanket. It was the only thing providing you any sort of purchase.

Jack was making quite the show of eating you out as well, moaning and slurping in a rather dramatic manner. He certainly wasn’t afraid of being noisy, though he made sure to stay quiet enough to listen to your encouraging noises. You sounded so desperate and needy, he just couldn’t get enough. You became especially loud when he began to slowly move his tongue in and out. He could even feel you squeeze around it, and it made his cock ache as he imagined what it would feel like to finally be inside of you.

You shuddered when Jack finally retracted his tongue, his saliva completely soaking your hole and beginning to run down your legs, leaving you now feeling thoroughly stretched but unpleasantly empty. He only let you rest as long as it took for him to close and wipe his mouth before he was manhandling you once more, this time flipping you into your previous position on your back. It happened so fast that just the impact of your head on the pillow made you dizzy.

When you looked up again Jack had leaned back a bit, looking down at his hands as he unbuckled his suspenders and soon after his pants. You followed his gaze just in time to see his own massive length spring free from his trousers.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

It was bigger than anything you’d ever even imagined, and suddenly you felt embarrassingly inadequate. It too was striped, and shaped in such a way that you could easily tell it was a cock but definitely not a human one. He laid it over your stomach and you couldn’t help but gasp at the sheer size. It was thick and heavy too, throbbing eagerly against your skin.

“W-Woah, wait, no way—“ You stuttered, attempting to crawl backwards and away from Jack. “That’s fucking giant, holy shit…You can’t— T-That won’t—“

“Shhhhh!” Jack interrupted as he roughly pulled you back to him, “Calm down, you whiny little thing. You’ll be fine.”

You only whimpered in reply, watching with bated breath as he spread your legs wide to make room for his cock. He groaned with delight when his leaking tip brushed against your waiting hole.

“A-At least be careful…!” You pleaded in a last-ditch effort to earn yourself some mercy.

“I make no promises.” Jack replied shortly, as if he was annoyed with your request. Maybe it was a bit cruel to be so careless, but surely you were being dramatic. Humans were meant to stretch, right? Surely you weren’t that fragile.

The noise that struggled out of your mouth when he forced himself into you was downright inhuman, followed by a string of curses and other equally nasty exclamations of the sort that could’ve barred you from getting you into heaven all on their own. Not that you were going either way at this point.

When Jack had finally filled you as much as he could, only about two thirds of his cock had managed to disappear inside of you. That was still rather impressive, all things considered, and it’s not like he could complain. Your tight hole squeezed around him in all the right places.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” You repeated under your breath as you tried to adjust to Jack’s size, a borderline impossible task.

“Foul mouthed one, aren’t you?” He scolded, grabbing your chin roughly. “Behave, or I’ll have to wash your mouth out.”

He seemed to find that hilarious, laughing to himself as if he’d never heard a funnier joke in his life.

“You…fuckin’ freak…” You spat back at him half-heartedly. It was hard to sound angry when you were trying to catch your breath after being filled to your limit. Jack feigned a gasp of disbelief at your lackluster insult.

“Naughty, naughty thing you are! Someone simply must teach you to behave!”

He squeezed you in his grip, testing his hold one last time before he began to pull back. You thought he’d stop halfway or at least start slow, but you were left speechless as he pulled out nearly all the way, leaving just the tip still nestled inside of you. You grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to brace yourself for what was sure to be a brutal impact.

“Brutal” was an understatement.

Shit, it felt like he fucking impaled you. You choked on what would’ve been a shriek when he pushed into you again, nails digging into his shoulder so hard it would’ve drawn blood if he had any. You felt unbearably full as his cock bullied its way back inside of you until it was laying heavy in your stomach.

Jack let out a shuddering moan that dissolved into a breathy laugh as he watched you struggle to keep it together. Your mouth hanging open in a silent scream and eyes going wide with panic was exactly what he wanted to see.

“Aww, did that hurt?” He asked, and honestly the condescending tone stung a bit. You only glared in reply.

He pulled back again, slamming into you with even more force than the first time. You could feel the bed swaying beneath you from the sheer strength. You could only hope he didn’t wind up breaking it after he broke you.

Jack was never one to take things slow, and as soon as he had gotten the hang of his thrusts he set a brutal pace. Each movement made your head spin with the impact. You really weren’t built to take something so massive, you shouldn’t have been able to, but you were taking it despite your body’s protests. You didn’t want to look down, unable to even stand the thought of seeing his gigantic cock disappear inside of you.

Desperate, animalistic noises spilled through your gritted teeth and out of your mouth. Each thrust hit deeper than the last and there were times you swore he was literally rearranging your guts. Of course you would eventually adjust to Jack’s size and strength, but that didn’t shake the fear that this encounter could land you in the hospital. This fear would fade as he continued though, the overwhelming fullness and ache soon melting into a pleasure like you’d never felt before. You grasped at anything you could, whether it be your sheets or Jack’s sleeves or hair, hopelessly clawing at anything you could get your shaky hands on.

Jack’s tongue laid limp out of his mouth as he panted, shamelessly rutting into you like a toy. You were nothing but a rag doll in his clutches for him to hold and use to his black heart’s content, and then some. While you couldn’t bring yourself to look down, he was more than happy to watch his cock thrust in and out of you. The wet squelching sounds made by each little movement were like music to his ears.

He knew he must’ve been hitting deep when he noticed the bulge he was making in your stomach.

Oh, you simply had to see this!

He grabbed your hair roughly and forced you to look down.

“Ahah! Do you see that? Do you?” He asked eagerly. He took your choked noise as a ‘yes.’

“You’re so small, ahah…I wonder how deep I can go before you break in two!”

He tugged on your hair once more, this time pulling it back to expose your neck. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning as he dragged his tongue slowly up your neck before pulling you into a messy kiss. It only took one second of your surprise to allow him to slip his tongue into your mouth, and it quickly found its way down your throat. You were caught off guard and nearly choked, which only made Jack laugh against your lips. You could feel every little twitch or jerk it made as it explored your throat with no regard for your comfort.

Jack didn’t pull away until he could tell you were struggling for air, retracting his tongue incredibly quickly. You were coughing and heaving to catch your breath, which he apparently found very amusing. It seemed to send him into a giggling fit every time he scared you half to death.

Suddenly Jack came to an abrupt stop. You looked up at him in confusion, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was focused on something else. You felt yourself being jostled around as he shifted his position, sitting up on his knees and lifting you from the bed with one hand still around your waist and the other under your back. You were entirely supported by his hands now.

What the hell is he thinking?!

You felt him retracting once more, but this time he wasn’t moving his hips. He was moving you.

He showed no signs of struggle or even the slightest strain as he began to thrust into you again, your weight practically nothing to him. He was using you like a goddamn fleshlight, nothing more than a sleeve for his cock.

And honestly…It wasn’t so bad.

That seemed to be your breaking point, any sense of dignity you had before completely going out the window as you gave into him fully. If he was going to use you like a toy, you could at least put in the effort to be a good one.

“F-Fuck! Ah—! Jack, m-more…!” You begged, and for a moment a look of surprise flashed across his face. The last thing he was expecting was to hear you pleading for him so shamelessly, but it was a welcome surprise. His signature grin returned quickly, stretching from one pointed ear to the other.

“Oh, more he says?!” He replied, “More, more! What happened to ‘wait, Jack!’ and ‘you can’t, Jack!’, huh? Sudden change of heart?”

He was mocking your voice, degrading you so blatantly that he expected you to recoil at his nasty words, but instead you tightened around him.

Oh…you liked that.

He was more than happy to keep going.

“What is it then, hm? Or have you already gone too stupid to answer me? Aha, you really do love this!”

You nodded quickly in response, managing to push out a slurred reply that sounded vaguely like an agreement.

“Fine then,” he conceded, “I can give you more…”

And just when you thought he couldn’t possibly go any faster or shove in any deeper or make you cry out for him even more.

He fucked you like his current life and the next depended on it, each thrust slamming the headboard into the wall so hard it left a mark. Your legs trembled as you began to get lost in the pleasure. It all felt like a blur, a wonderful blur only broken up by the realization that you were much closer to your orgasm than you realized.

“Jack, J-Jack—! I’m close, I…I’m…” You couldn’t even choke out a single sentence of warning. Jack was more than aware of what you were trying to tell him, but he was content to let you pathetically struggle for words.

“Go on, why don’t you? If you need it so bad I won’t stop you.”

His attempt at an impartial tone was greatly hindered by his obvious excitement, a result of how close he was to his own peak and how much he desired to see you cum. He wanted so badly to see you make a mess for him, to feel you spasm around him and know that he was the one who brought you to that.

“Oh, please—!” You whined, “Please, please, please…”

You had no idea what you were begging for. You didn’t have to, though, because it seems like your pleas worked anyways. Every muscle in your body tensed on instinct, your back arching up into Jack and one last high pitched cry managing to leave your throat as you came. The force of your orgasm hit you like a truck, more intense and prolonged than any other you’d had, helpfully hastened by Jack’s increasingly erratic thrusts.

“Ahah, you squeezed so tight!” He gushed, “You feel so, so good…”

Faster, faster, faster, he had to go faster. He was so close, so close. He had to fill you, he had to. He had to see his cum dripping out of you and to know that he’d filled you with all he had and you had to be filled.

He went silent for a split second, and you knew what you were in for when his hips stuttered before going still, but you weren’t ready for the sheer amount of cum he pumped into you. He held you on his cock until he was completely done, continuing to make small ruts with his hips until he’d ridden out his orgasm to the end. There simply wasn’t room for it all inside of you, but even as it flowed out of you and down your legs and onto your sheets he continued to spill into you. You’d gone limp in his hands by the time he was done.

You barely processed the feeling of being laid back down on your bed, but you definitely winced when Jack pulled out of you. Damn, you were already sore. Not to mention your forehead was drenched with a thick layer of sweat and your thighs were soaked with a multitude of bodily fluids that you were trying not to think about right now.

You managed to crack an eye open when you heard Jack snickering.

“Tired already? A shame. I had fun.” He said casually, as if the both of you had just returned from an outing and he hadn’t practically jumped you in your own home. Your only answer was an exhausted sigh.

Jack cocked his head to the side as he stared down at you. Were you really so worn out already? He wasn’t tired at all! Then again, “tired” wasn’t really something he felt…

Humans are so strange.

He laid down beside you and draped an arm over you. When he leaned in you expected him to lick you again, but instead he brought you into a kiss. An actual kiss, the first real gesture of affection he’d given you, even if it was rather brief. He pulled away to nestle his face into the crook of your neck, and you could feel his laughter against your skin.

“You’re a funny one, do you know that? I hope I get to play with you a lot more…”

Oh, fuck.

He wasn’t leaving, was he?

mdni & reblog banners by cafekitsune

#creepypasta #creepypasta smut #creepypasta x reader #male reader #laughing jack #laughing jack x reader #laughing jack smut #clown fucker #creepypasta x male reader #laughing jack x male reader #laughing jack x you #creepypasta x reader smut #laughing jack x reader smut #tw dubcon #tw dubious consent

2K notes · View notes

letmesniffurdaddysfeet · 3 months

Text

Forbidden Desires - my boss - Part 1

My boss has always had a certain allure to him. He may not be a model, with his extra pounds and graying beard, but he exudes an aura of masculinity. I try my best to hide any hint of my fantasies, especially since our relationship has been strictly professional and even friendly since I started working here one year ago. He seems to appreciate my work, and I strive to be the model employee. But deep down, I can't help but imagine walking into his office for something other than just dropping off the weekly sales report... His 'daddy bear' demeanor in a suit is incredibly alluring. However, what was once just a fantasy has become slightly more complicated with this upcoming business trip. The news that I would be accompanying the big boss on our company's annual conference in Chicago has stirred up conflicting emotions within me.

As the day of departure approached, I found myself both nervous and excited about the trip. It was a rare opportunity to spend extended time with my boss outside of the office, and I couldn't deny the flutter of anticipation in my stomach. Packing my bags, I tried to push aside any inappropriate thoughts that crept into my mind. This was a business trip, after all.

Arriving at the airport, I spotted him waiting by our gate, looking as handsome and commanding as ever in his tailored suit. He greeted me with a warm smile, and we boarded the plane together. The hours in the air passed quickly with work-related discussions and polite small talk.

As we checked into our hotel in Chicago, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the prospect of spending the next few days in such close proximity to him. But as we entered our shared suite, I reminded myself to maintain professionalism at all times.

Little did I know that this business trip would test my resolve in ways … I never could have imagined. The first day of the conference went smoothly, with my boss leading meetings and networking with other professionals in our industry. As we returned to our hotel room that evening, I excused myself to take a quick shower before dinner.

As I stepped out of the bathroom, my body still damp from the shower and wrapped in only a towel, I was shocked to see my boss leaning against the window. He had his back to me as he changed into fresh clothes, but I couldn't help but steal glances at his muscular chest and strong arms.

Feeling my heart racing and heat rising to my cheeks, I quickly looked away, trying to compose myself. But the desire stirring within me was growing stronger by the second.

"Sorry, I thought I would have time to change before you finished your shower," my boss said with a casual smile as he turned to face me. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."

Suppressing a shaky smile, I desperately repeated the mantra "Don't get turned on, don't get turned on!" His intense gaze bore into me as he asked if I wanted anything from downstairs. My reply was a stammered mess, trying to mask my embarrassment and will my body not to betray me by getting hard. As he left the room, I exhaled a shaky breath of relief... only to realize my cock was fully erect and pulsating with arousal. Hurriedly grabbing some clean clothes from my suitcase, I caught sight of my boss's socks lying innocently on the corner of the bed. An irresistible impulse took over as I brought them up to my face, burying my nose in their musky scent without a second thought. The rush of pleasure was overwhelming as my penis leaked precum, revealing in the potent masculine aroma emanating from the fabric. I couldn't resist any longer and eagerly tasted the sweat-soaked socks with my tongue, savoring every drop of testosterone-laden essence.

In that moment, I was lost in an intoxicating frenzy of lust and desire. My fingers reached down to my pulsating erection, and I began to stroke myself slowly, relishing the silky texture of the socks against my skin. The sensation of my own arousal mixed with the scent of my boss's sweat filled my mind and body.

images flash through my mind, his smug face at his desk, feet propped up, barking orders for me to serve him.'' Take off my shoes and lick my feet !"

My hands tremble as I grab one of his dirty socks and wrap it around my throbbing cock. With a perverse hunger, I taste the other sock with my tongue, imagining it's his sweaty foot flesh. It all becomes too much and I explode in ecstasy, a guttural moan escaping my lips. But as reality crashes back in, I'm left holding the evidence of my taboo act, consumed by shame and the fear of being caught.

Out of breath and reeling from the intensity of my climax, I quickly wiped the remnants of my release with the damp towel. My heart was pounding, and adrenaline rushed through my veins. I realized that I had no idea what time it was or how long he had been gone. I couldn't shake the guilt or the thrill of the taboo act. The scent of my boss's socks still lingered in the air, a potent reminder of my sinful actions.

As I carefully disposed of the socks, a wave of paranoia washed over me. What if he came back early? Or caught a whiff of the forbidden aroma? My mind raced with hypothetical scenarios, and I knew that I had to find a solution. I couldn't let my feelings for him cloud my judgment or put my job in jeopardy. And yet, the thought of his commanding presence and the pleasure he had given me was too powerful to ignore. My mind was in a constant tug-of-war between my desire and my fear.

In a state of intense confusion, I decided to take a walk around the neighborhood, hoping to clear my head. As I stepped outside, I couldn't help but feel the lingering effects of the intimate encounter with my boss's socks. The air outside felt fresh and invigorating, but all I could think about was the taboo act I had committed.

I aimlessly wandered, trying to distract myself from the overwhelming thoughts. Eventually, I stopped at a coffee shop and returned to my room. And there he was, holding his dirty socks with my cum on them, waiting for me...

#socks #guys in socks #sock play #sock worship #black socks #dress socks #sheer socks #daddyfeet #malefeet #gayfeet

354 notes · View notes

gayestcowboy · 4 months

Note

fantasy dildo recs please? im trying to find one that isnt like $100 but is still good and reputable and wont fill my body with microplastics. ive been looking at neotori and they look great but;; the price;;; anyway yeah recs please?

hi! i have a lot of information for you.

first off, my specific recommendations of fantasy toy shops i’ve bought from or know to be reputable: uberrime, wandering bard, twilight meadow creations, strange bedfellas, pleasure forge, pp sculptors, batbites, xenocat artifacts. all of these shops have toys under 100 usd. uberrime especially has a huge selection including non-fantasy, realistic, and dual density. my top 3 fantasy toys right now are TMC’s ambrose (mini), wandering bard’s shadow demon (x small), and uberrime’s ardor dragon (small). highly recommend ambrose to transmascs with bottom growth. also it looks cool as fuck. mine is bright green and yellow.

second, this google doc is a masterpost of fantasy and fantasy-adjacent sex toy companies (created as a list of alternatives to bad dragon) and is organized quite well, and includes some shops to be wary of. it was last updated in 2022 so it’s outdated, but it’s massive and still quite useful. safe fantasy toys dot com also lists body safe toy companies, although you should still check reputability of the company before you buy (some of the companies listed on the site should still be avoided for various reasons— try cross checking with the google doc, browsing reddit, etc). all of the specific companies i recommend in this post use platinum silicone only, but if you go searching for other toys make sure to avoid jelly and other porous materials because they cannot be sanitized properly and will store bacteria. just like with piercing and body jewelry (another one of my special interests lol), it’s always better to pay more for safety when it’s something going inside your body. reputable stores will always list the material, and tend to have pages on their sites with even more specific information on their silicone. shipping also affects the price, especially international shipping.

also, when youre shopping for fantasy toys, make sure you check the sizing. smaller toys are frequently under 100 usd. many fantasy toys tend to be quite large anyways, especially knotted toys (many small knotted toys still have diameters of 2”+ which is too large for me personally. for reference i think the average human penis is somewhere around 1.5” diameter and my personal maximum for toys right now is ~1.75). there’s so much diversity in fantasy toys that you will probably be able to find toys that fit your desired length/girth and are still classified as small and therefore less expensive. if you’re new to fantasy toys or have trouble with insertion (or even just have an average sized vagina/rectum), small fantasy toys can be cost efficient and accessible and more fun than more standard toys. many stores will also sell b-grade toys at a discount for minor cosmetic flaws that don’t affect usage. also, there’s a pretty big market for secondhand toys/dong sales on twitter, reddit, etc so if you’re willing to buy secondhand, that can be more cost efficient. quality silicone toys can be properly sanitized by boiling and other methods. for more cheap options— good glass toys can frequently be under 50 usd, and are easy to sanitize. also, tantus isn’t quite a fantasy brand, but it’s very high quality and has some great toys on the cheaper side (i love the tantus magma). and if you want a really good cheap vibrator, the romp hype is amazing and only 35 usd.

i am by no means an expert, just incredibly autistic, but i hope this helps! i’m always happy to try answering questions about sex toys!

#inbox #anon #yeehaws #fantasy toys #this is so long i hope it’s helpful 😭 i’m a yapper for real

186 notes · View notes

sionisjaune · 7 months

Text

George/Alex sex shop meet cute, ft. George's questionable customer service skills and unquestionable knowledge of inventory:

Alex finds himself in the sex shop because he has decided, after great deliberation, to face up to the fact that he is a bisexual man, and his occasional hookups require more equipment than he has in his flat.

He tugs open the door which boasts a cheery little welcome sign that is quite possibly adorned with an anthropomorphized, ejaculating penis, and tries not to flinch when his eyes meet row upon row of phallic objects in glossy packaging. The bell on the door jingles as it swings shut, and Alex crams his hands in his pockets, surveying the aisles.

Choosing to get the job done quickly, Alex rocks up to the first aisle and strolls past the shelves decisively. He chooses a dildo at random and pulls the box off the rack to examine it. The packaging reads EXTRA LARGE HOG in graffiti letters with a grinning devil waving a pitchfork underneath the logo. The dildo itself is grossly fleshy in a shade that would imply that the phallus’s owner (if it had one) was suffering from jaundice.

Alex flings the dildo back on the rack, repulsed. God, maybe his own cock will have to do. He doesn’t know if he has the stomach to stay in the shop for long enough to make a purchase.

He’ll call Lily, he considers, backing away from the shelves. He’ll ask her where she bought her cute little rose thing and then order online with a hand covering his face, peeking through the cracks between his fingers. People have told him he’s good in bed, right? He wouldn’t get any less ass if his nightstand drawer remained empty of dildos and cock rings and butt plugs and whatever other horrifying—

While Alex spirals about the state of his sex life, someone down the aisle coughs.

Alex’s heart skips a beat, and he nearly springs backwards, his trainers squeaking on the floor while he regains his balance.

“You really shouldn’t buy that one,” says a pale, pinched, and actually rather fit employee standing two metres away from Alex. His hair is floppy and a rather ordinary brown, and his collared shirt is buttoned to the throat. His name tag reads George.

“Beg your pardon?” says Alex, and nearly chokes swallowing his own saliva.

“I said you really shouldn’t buy that one,” says George, sweeping a hand through his hair and frowning. “If you’re shopping for a missus, studies have shown that thermoplastic elastomers can disrupt reproductive health.”

“Missus,” says Alex, rolling the word over on his tongue. “Thermoplastic elastomer.”

George blinks owlishly. “Yes. And if you’re shopping for a mister, TPE is porous, so it’s very difficult to properly sanitize,” he explains.

Alex shakes his head. He glances at the wall of dildos in their gaudy packaging and then back at George. His lanyard seems to be patterned with the same little walking, grinning pensises that the welcome sign bore.

“What’s TPE?” says Alex, for lack of anything better to do with his mouth.

“Thermoplastic elastomers,” says George. “I just said.”

“And those are?” says Alex.

George runs a hand through his hair again and sucks in a breath. He steps towards Alex—which causes shivers to course down Alex’s spine, for some reason—and points towards the EXTRA LARGE HOG box.

“Look,” he says, pointing to the corner of the box which bears writing so small Alex can barely read it. “TPE. Not body-safe.”

“So,” says Alex, information whirling in his head. The fluorescent lighting is giving him a headache. The glare glancing off all the clear plastic packaging gives the sex shop a dream-like quality, like any second Alex will wake up erect and sweating through his covers. “So, why would it be on sale if it’s… not body-safe?”

“You see,” says George, his eyes lighting up. “Since sexual enhancers are classified as novelty items rather than therapeutic medical devices, manufacturers are able to exploit a gaping loophole and produce products for cheap using unsafe materials. For example, our top-selling Starbright Bangers—” George gestures to a display of pale, jellylike dildos of increasing length and girth. “—contain phthalates which have been shown in male animals to precipitate a greater risk of malformed penises, and—” George’s jaw snaps shut.

Alex inhales, his hands balled in his pockets, staring straight into George’s giant eyes. “You can keep going,” says Alex.

“No, I—” says George. “No. I’m done.”

“So,” says Alex. He pulls his fists from his pockets and forces his hands to hang limply at his sides. “So I’m looking for a dildo.”

“Ah,” says George, blinking again. “What kind of dildo?”

Alex swallows. “Any kind? I’m not exactly an… experienced buyer?”

“Okay,” says George, tilting his head back and forth. “Alright. Do you know what you like?”

“It’s not for me,” says Alex, quickly. “It’s just that I want to… spice things up, in the bedroom.”

“Ah,” says George, again. “So we’re looking for something versatile.” He spins to face the aisle, scanning the wall of dildos. He glances towards Alex, his dark brows furrowing. He really is rather pretty, Alex thinks. Pretty in that prim, poncy way that boarding school fantasies are supposed to be. Not that Alex has ever had any of those.

“You never did tell me whether you’re looking for a missus or mister,” says George.

“Either. Both,” says Alex, throat dry.

George hums, tapping his foot. He squats to the floor, tugging a box off the lowest shelf. “Try this,” he says, handing it up to Alex.

Alex turns the box around and squints at it meaningfully. The packaging is rather nondescript, offering a photo of the product (slim, blue, rechargeable) and the product name (SKINNY SATISFIER).

“Great,” says Alex, pinning it under his arm. “Perfect. I’ll get this. Thanks for your help.”

George unfolds from his squat, rising to a height that’s maybe just a millimetre shorter than Alex. “You don’t want anything else?” says George, making his big owl eyes again.

“I’ll just be on my way,” says Alex, stuffing his hands in his pockets again. “Thanks a bunch.”

George’s mouth opens and then closes, a bit like a fish. Then it opens again. “You should probably get an anal plug,” says George. “Very popular. And you can get them without rhinestones on the bottom, if you're worried. We have all sorts. Hold on a second.”

George dashes down the aisle while Alex remains frozen, dildo under his arm. When George returns, he’s carrying an armful of boxes. “Here,” he says. “Pick the one you like.”

Alex eyes the mountain of boxes and the product images he can see. Some of them are rather feminine. He supposes he could use them on a girl. Or on a boy of a particular persuasion.

“They’re all… body-safe?” says Alex.

George rolls his eyes. “Stainless steel. So, obviously.” He makes meaningful eyes at the heap of boxes in his arms.

“Great,” says Alex, plucking one at random off the top.

George lets out a breath and dumps the remainder on a shelf strewn with bottles of novelty lube. “I can ring you up over there, if you like.”

“Oookay,” says Alex, fisting his dildo in one hand and his butt plug in the other. He follows George up to the cash where a scary-looking girl with teased hair and a lip piercing is ringing up a complicated leather harness.

“Here you go,” says George, when he’s finished scanning Alex’s items and has presented Alex with a (thank God) plain paper shopping bag to carry them in. George plunges his hand into a jar beside the register, pulls out a handful of foil packets and drops them in Alex’s bag. “Every customer gets a free scoop of lemon sherbet flavoured prophylactics with a purchase of thirty pounds or more,” George explains.

“Brilliant,” says Alex, wondering when he’ll wake up.

George waves, his lanyard swinging against his shirt. “Shop again soon!”

#i wrote this #galex

170 notes · View notes

percy-puppy · 9 months

Text

Headcanon: Dick Piercings

About: CoD Men || Gaz, König, Keegan, Soap

A/N: Bestie and I talked about the CoD men and if any of them have a piercing in their special area. It ended with me researching for an hour and coming to these conclusions. @mothymunson caused it with this! ↓

TW: 18+ Blog/Post | MDNI, Piercings (duh.), DICK DIAGRAMS (plural), Me thirsting, talk about dicks/masochism/lil sex talk focused on vagina owners since I wrote this to self-indulge.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick

Ampallang Piercing.

✿ It's pretty subtle compared to the others, but still some bling (his piercing is made from gold), and I think it suits Gaz's personality, too. Also, it doesn't just feel good for you, cause many men report increased sexual pleasure with this piercing. He definitely got it for this reason.

Keegan P. Russ

Reverse Prince Albert.

✿ “Just the tip,” has such a nice drag with that piercing. He also has a tongue piercing. He isn't even half in, and he doesn't need to, tbh. That piercing is the g-spot magic wand.

König

Prince Albert. (classic)

✿ This had me drooling, and I didn't even know what got me so hard at first, but here is why: It's quite a thick ring and just gives bull vibes, which matches him wholeheartedly. He is a massive man and cannonically couldn't be a sniper because of it. He was later assigned as an insertion specialist and served as a battering ram. So, he is a breeding bull — breeding kink, size kink, mating press… It’s once again a piercing both sides get increased pleasure from.

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish

TOP: 3 Top Ladders. Dydoe/King’s Crown. (Pierced through the ridge vertically at the penis's head base.)

BOTTOM: 3 Bottom Ladders. Hafada/Scrotal. (He is pierced there 1x (ring piercing). It sits right in the middle. During doggy, it smacks your clit.)

✿ Listen… he likes some pain, he is a little nuts—the chaotic middle-child energy just manifested like that. He has multiple dick piercings. He enjoys the modification of his cock, and getting them was fun for him, too. He definitely makes jokes that sound like condom sale slogans, like, “✨Ribbed for her Pleasure✨”. He got them for your pleasure, but he gets off on getting you off, so it's a double-win.

#percy writes #percy headcanons #call of duty headcanons #call of duty hc #cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan hc #call of duty imagine #cod könig #könig hc #könig headcanons #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap x reader #könig x reader #keegan russ x reader #gaz x reader #gaz headcanons #soap headcanons

226 notes · View notes

rainylana · 4 months

Text

Random Eddie Headcanons

no warnings, just strictly fluff and some random things that i think are eddie coded! hope everyone is doing okay! just a reminder that my requests are closed, as i’m trying to give myself more of a break! love you all!

• i feel like his room would be like going into an antique shop. he’s got so much shit everywhere, half of it is trash and beer cans, but he’s got so many little trinkets and what he calls “treasures” that he just can’t seem to part with. he’s probably lowkey a hoarder.

• he likes going yard saling just for the sole excuse to rummage through peoples stuff. he likes to pick out a mug to give to wayne, or a random hat to hang up with his collection on the wall. it’s what he spends his pocket change on.

• still has his baby blanket that’s basically worn down to a rag. he’s too afraid to wash it, thinking maybe it’ll get torn to pieces in the washer. he tangles up with it every night and it winds up at his feet by morning.

• would definitely be the type of person to get a smiley face tattooed on the tip of his penis.

• likes old country music just because wayne does. he’s a big fan of john denver and america.

• hasn’t been to the doctor in years. he’s too afraid to go. wayne got him to go a few times when he was a kid for a regular checkup, but by 15 he refused to go so wayne stopped forcing him. he’s deathly afraid of getting shots or that wooden stick that presses on his tongue.

• there’s a trailer next door that has two little girls who like to have tea parties outside. it’s never real tea, just air in their cups that eddie made the mistake of pointing out, but they always ask him to join and he does, sticking up his pinky and making tea party conversation.

• he definitely wakes the trailer park up when he’s coming home in the middle of the night, whether it’s from band practice or a random hook up. his music is on full blast. wayne will burst out the door, cussing and carrying on about turning it down.

• loves the golden girls and gilligans island, definitely scooby doo. probably hates the brady bunch because of the cheesy family dynamic, but loves watching little house on the prairie reruns in the middle of the night.

• prob made his own tattoo gun and tried to tattoo his leg. he failed. and hurt himself in the process.

• he would love greenhouses i think, but he’s always really hot and burning up inside them. he likes to smell all the types of flowers and pluck the petals and rub them between the pads of his fingers.

• trades cassettes with his friends, but will never give up his metallica or black sabbath ones.

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson headcanons #random eddie headcanons #eddie munson fluff

138 notes · View notes

mintmatcha · 2 years

Text

A singular light is on. The apartment is dim with diffused shadows, cast across the entryway from doorway to the dining room. As you take off your shoes, you're aware of a slow drumming-- tap, tap, tap, tap: fingers against the hardwood of the table. As you wander in, dropping your coat on the couch next to your husband's, you see the man in question. He's sitting there, expression more dour than usual.

"Sit down." Aizawa jerks his chin to the chair opposing him. For once he's still in his work clothes, his all black garb dusted at the knees and elbows. The sweats he usually changed into at still draped over the back of his chair, waiting for him.

"What is this?" You gesture to the scene before you, "Are you interrogating me or something?"

"Sit," he repeats, face flat. He's still wearing his boots, prosthetic still on. You're going to make him vacuum later. "We have to talk."

You slide into your seat, brow raised. Aizawa stares at you for a long moment before he leans back and grabs something from the floor. He tosses the item onto the table and taps his finger against it.

"What is this?" he asks. You pause for a second, expecting something scandalous, but then you process it and realize:

"It's the pack of boxer briefs you asked me to buy," you laugh a bit and Aizawa scowls deeper. His eye twitches at your amusement, "What?"

"You know what's wrong with this."

You look at the package again. It's the right size, the right material, the right cut-- you genuinely don't know what the issue is.

"It's... underwear."

"Look at it. Look." Aizawa taps the package, as if the answer is obvious.

"Honey-"

"You bought me." His voice cracks with really annoyance. "All Might underwear."

You shrug with a shake of your head, the breath of a laugh in your voice. "So? It was on sale."

Aizawa leans forward, taking the package in both hands and pointing to the designs. Most are just boldly colored, with bright blues and yellows, but the front most pair of briefs are spotted with All Might's face and name. It's gaudy, sure, but you're the only one seeing his underwear, so why should it matter?

"So?" Aizawa repeats back, "I work with the man, I can't wear his face on my fucking penis."

You lean forward to match him, shoulders bouncing with a laugh you're trying to swallow. "How would he know?"

"It doesn't matter if he knows, I'd know." Over dramatically, he tosses the package to the side and to the floor, face still scrunched with annoyance, "You have to return them."

"Again. They were on sale. I can't return them." You reach across the table for his hand, but he doesn't react, still staring at you with a curled lip. "I'll just wear them instead."

Aizawa groans.

"Absolutely not." He puts his head in his hands, hair falling over his eyes, "How could I ever look him in the eyes ever again? His face on your body."

"I guess you're not going to like my Dynamite thong then."

"Please tell me you're joking." Aizawa rubs his palms into his eyes, eyepatch moving back and forth, "He is my student, that's not funny."

"He was your student ten years ago," you remind him, "He's a grown man with merch now."

"Tell me you're joking. Tell me."

You stand, hands on your button fly, "Why don't you go check for yourself?"

"No." Aizawa finally looks up at you, expression almost pained, "We might never have sex again actually."

1K notes · View notes

morbidology · 7 months

Text

Keith Dardeen and his wife, Elaine, lived in a mobile home just outside Ina, Illinois, with their 2-year-old son, Peter. At the time, Elaine was also pregnant with their second child, a daughter. Keith worked as a treatment plant operator while Elaine worked in an office supply store. In their free time, they played in the musical ensemble at a local Baptist church.

The area the young family lived in had been becoming increasingly violent and the couple wanted to move somewhere safer for their children. Keith was very protective of his family and only wanted what was best for them. On one occasion, he refused entry to the home to a young woman who asked to use their phone.

On the 18th of November, 1987, Keith didn’t show up to work for his shift nor had he called in sick, something which was very out of character for the reliable worker. When Keith's supervisor called his home, there was no answer. He decided to call up Keith's parents, but they too were unable to get a hold of him.

Keith's parents called police and arranged to meet them at Keith's home with the spare key. They slowly opened up the front door and were met by a scene that traumatized even the most seasoned detectives. Elaine, Peter and a newborn baby girl lay deceased on one of the beds. Elaine and Peter had been bound and gagged and then beaten to death with Peter's own baseball bat which had been a gift from his father. During the senseless attack, Elaine had given birth to a baby girl, but instead of giving her mercy, the killer beat her to death too.

Keith was nowhere to be seen, and detectives surmised that he had killed his family and then fled. They noticed that his car was missing from the driveway, only adding more to to heir suspicions. However, the following day, Keith’s body was discovered in a field approximately a mile from the trailer. Keith had been shot three times and his penis had been chopped off.

His car would later be found parked outside the local police station. The inside was spattered with blood, indicating that Keith had been killed or mutilated there. As news of the murders circulated around the area, residents were left even more fearful than they already had been. There was a rise in gun and security system sales as people sought to protect themselves.

Detectives were stumped to find a motivation. Nothing in the home had been stolen, and there were no extramarital affairs or enemies that could hint at a revenge motivated killing. The murders were so brutal that some detectives even theorized that the crime was the was work of a cult trying to appease the devil.

The most promising lead came when serial killer Tommy Lynn Sells claimed he had carried out the killings along with around 70 other unsolved murders. While he was linked to a number of these murders, detectives could never definitively link him to the Dardeen murders. He often gave statements which didn’t match with the evidence.

Sells claimed he met Keith at a gas station and was invited back to the home for a threesome with himself and Elaine, something which his family and friends completely refuted. They said that Keith was a family man, and rarely even opened the door to strangers never mind invite them inside.

To this date, nobody has ever been charged with the murders of the Dardeen family.

#true crime #unsolved #cold case #mystery

45 notes · View notes

sag-dab-sar · 2 years

Text

⚧️ The Gods & Gender ⚧️

Discussing Trans-Exclusive Radical Feminism and the views of the Gods is not "speaking for the Gods,"—it is looking at facts and information and drawing completely reasonable conclusions that squarely put the foundations of trans-exclusion in opposition to the Gods.

(definitely not audio proof read, sorry for the dyslexia)

🌿Aphrodite & Venus🌿

Aphroditos (or Aphroditus) is Aphrodite with male characteristics including a penis and/or beard.

A cult of Aphrodite included a bearded Aphrodite at Amathus, Cyprus on a high cliff temple. [Wikipedia citing Macrobius, Saturnalia III]

Her relationship with bisexuality (referring to being dual sex not sexual orientation in this paper), androgyny, and transvestism is also documented in Cyprus:

— Aphrodite in the Theogony by William Sale in Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association Vol. 92 X

(Sorry for the shitty screenshot JSTOR did not want to work with me)

This worship of Aphrodite with a penis was also seen as equal to Venus:

There's also a statue of Venus on Cyprus, that's bearded, shaped and dressed like a woman, with scepter and male genitals, and they conceive her as both male and female. Aristophanes calls her Aphroditus, and Laevius says: Worshiping, then, the nurturing god Venus, whether she is male or female, just as the Moon is a nurturing goddess. In his Atthis Philochorus, too, states that she is the Moon and that men sacrifice to her in women's dress, women in men's, because she is held to be both male and female." — Macrobius (c. 400s AD), Saturnalia 3.8.2

🌿Hermaphroditus🌿

There is also the "intersex child of Aphrodite & Hermes" named Hermaphroditus.

I have seen many use Hermaphtoditus as an excuse to wipe away the Goddess Aphrodite with a penis that the ancients worshipped. Which doesn't even make sense because I hate to break it to you— Hemaphroditus also opposes TERF ideology by its nature. A God existing as bisexed/dual-sex/bigender (however you'd like to word it) negates the idea that the Gods somehow support the ridged biological essentialism and gender binary that TERF ideology necessitates.

There are different accounts of Hermaphtoditus' creation but one, Ovids, tells of him merging with a nymph and then asking his parents to make the water transformative causing men to have thr effeminate bodies like women:

Her prayer found gods to hear; both bodies merged in one, both blended in one form and face. As when a gardener sets a graft and sees growth seal the join and both mature together, thus, when in the fast embrace their limbs were knit, they two were two no more, nor man, nor woman--one body then that neither seemed and both. So when he saw the waters of the pool, where he had dived a man, had rendered him half woman and his limbs now weak and soft, raising his hands, Hermaphroditus cried, his voice unmanned, ‘Dear father [Hermes] and dear mother [Aphrodite], both of whose names I bear, grant me, your child, that whoso in these waters bathes a man emerge half woman, weakened instantly.’ Both parents hears; both, moved to gratify their bi-sexed son, his purpose to ensure, drugged the bright water with that power impure." — Ovid, Metamorphoses 4. 28 ff (trans. Melville) (Roman epic C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.)

🌿More on Aphroditos vs Hermaphroditus read @theoi-crow's excellent post about them here.

Also some lovely statues:

Marble copy statue from a fresco at Herculaneum, Italy. X (left)

Statue from Pergamum, Turkey. X (center)

Statue from Nymph Sanctuary in Lacori, Italy X (right)

Statue from Pompeii, Italy X

🌿Inana & Ishtar🌿

From a hymn to Inana

To open up roads and paths, a place of peace for the journey, a companion for the weak, are yours, Inana. To keep paths and ways in good order, to shatter earth and to make it firm are yours, Inana. To destroy, to build up, to tear out and to settle are yours, Inana. To turn a man into a woman and a woman into a man are yours, Inana. Desirability and arousal, goods and property are yours, Inana. Gain, profit, great wealth and greater wealth are yours, Inana. Gaining wealth and having success in wealth, financial loss and reduced wealth are yours, Inana. Observation (1 ms. has instead: Everything), choice, offering, inspection and approval are yours, Inana. Assigning virility, dignity, guardian angels, protective deities and cult centres are yours, Inana. — A Hymn to Inana (Inana-C) ETCSL 4.07.3 in Lines 115-131.

This shows:

Inana has the power to change a person's gender/sex .... which means people can change gender/sex

This is listed among other normal things such as journeys, wealth, settlements so on. Suggesting that it wasn't super special, it was a part of Sumerian society that Inana was given power over.

This was written by Enheduanna High Priestess of Nanna, Ur's city God, and Inana. Inana was a popular Sumerian deity and Enhenduanna's father, Sargon of Akkad's, personal deity was Ištar. One of Enhenduanna's goals as a priestess was to conflate the popular Sumerian deity Inana with her father's Akkadian personal Goddess Ištar. Then raise Inana (and thus her father's personal Goddess Ištar) to an extremely high place in cosmology and explain just how much control she had in society— including over sex/gender.

Also from @sisterofiris's post on Inana's queer priests here.

🌿Nanaya🌿

In later times Inana/Ištar was equated with Nanaya but in earlier times they were worshipped side by side as separate deities. While Inana's hymn gives her rule of gender, a Nanaya hymn has her directly declaring she has breasts in Dadumu and a beard in Babylon. Leick also mentions here that Ištar was worshipped in both genders.

—Dictionary of Ancient Near Eastern Mythology by Gwendolyn Leick. Page 125.

🌿Asūšunamir with Ereškigal🌿

In Ištar's Descent (not Inana's) Ea's plan to distract Ereškigal and get her to bring Inana back to life is to make a beautiful being. Ea makes an incredibly beautifully brilliant being that's mere aesthetic presence will make Ereškigal happy and let her defenses down. And Asūšunamir's beauty works..... and he is an eunuch, an effeminate male, potentially queer from the ancient's eyes. And yet he is so beautiful he distracts a Goddess.

— The Ancient Near East and Anyhology of Texts and Pictures, edited by Pritchard. Ishtar Descent translation by E.A Speiser. Page 80.

🌿Eštan / Ištanu🌿

The Anatolians (Hittite in particular) loved to both mix deities and keep them entirely dependent like 8 solar deities and 50 storm Gods. But sometimes Hittite, Hurrian, Hattic, Indo-European, Mesopotamian all meld together making the identification of gender ambiguous or even interchangeable.

Eštan is one example (who has numerous equatings):

—A Handbook of Gods and Goddesses of The Ancient Near East by Frayne & Stuckey. Page 105

You can also learn more about the Ištanu and the Sun Goddess of Arinna and her gender from @sisterofiris in a post here.

I'm sure there are more! But this was my quick round up and sources I could put together. To all the trans & non-binary polytheists out there, you aren't abnormal and the Gods see you for who you truly are.

Edit: Want some more? Learn about the feminine qualities of Apollo

#polytheism #paganism #helpol #lgbtq #hellenic polytheism #mesopotamian #disc horse #lgbt+#queer #landof2rivers #ofthetheoi

464 notes · View notes

0junemeatcleaver0 · 4 months

Note

june you gifted us with meta on marius's virginity, can you also expound on ancient roman perceptions of penis size and what effects what he's packing would have on his Issues™ and perceptions of self?

I am SO glad you asked.

Between having my ass whooped by allergies and dealing with other household irl stuff, I can't dedicate the time to source gathering that I would typically like. And so my citations for this one are gonna have to look something like:

[1] trust me, bro [2] google will show you many fluff pieces like this so that you know this idea has been floating around in the ether for quite some time [3] i've seen even the people who hate my guts for being pretentious and too academic site this same idea so either we're both wrong or both right and they're just gonna have to try to live with that fact 🤷‍

Like most other things to do with sex and the human body, the Romans had some odd ideas about penis size. Specifically the idea that the size of one's member was a reflection of one's intellect and civility.

If a man was blessed with a small penis, he was thought to be intelligent and in control of himself and his desires. If, on the other hand, he was cursed with a large penis, he was thought to be slow-witted and barbaric.

In terms of Marius and his virginity and his sense of self re: his place in society, we have three options, really:

One: He has an average sized dick for the time and so he'd feel much the same as most men of his time. Two: He had a small dick and was quite proud of it. Three: He had a large dick and was ashamed of it.

Option One This option is beyond boring and we will now disregard it wholesale. This option is dead to me.

Option Two I think it would be a bittersweet tragedy for Marius if he had a small dick and it just did not matter. Just like his mother dying in childbirth before she could be freed (thus freeing him, too), or being born to a wealthy father while not being able to rise through the social ranks of Rome, or knowing, doing, and saying all the right things but never getting the same respect as a Full Roman Man™️...there is something so perfect about Marius having a tiny, perfect penis that no one will let him use on them because he's just such an off-putting weirdo.

Just imagine him strutting proudly through the bathhouse, head held high, ready and waiting for congratulations on his itty-bitty pretty cock and it just never comes because no one wants to bother with the guy who constantly corrects the historical record at dinner parties or spends most of his time at the function scribbling down what you and your buddies are doing and saying instead of getting drunk and joining in on the fun.

Who cares that it's the most glorious micropenis you've ever seen?? Complimenting it means you'd have to speak to it's owner and you'd rather eat ever terracotta chamber pot for sale in the market.

Option Three This is my favorite one. Because by modern values, it reads as an embarrassment of riches. The idea of the most 'rational' and 'controlled' of Anne's characters being seen in his own time as being a pea-brained moron incapable of subduing his carnal desires because he's forced to slang horse cock through the bathhouse is just fucking perfect to me.

Marius' family would have been wealthy enough to have their own bath at home, but going to the bathhouse was an important social event. This probably became a dilemma for a young Marius.

As outlined in my character study, I believe the text supports the idea that Marius was the youngest of the sons. It doesn't take much for me to be able to imagine his older brothers giving him shit for having such a large penis. I also imagine Marius at first being very wounded by this teasing. Then furious. Then being smart enough to know he can't afford to have an outburst and risk proving the rumors of those with his affliction correct. And then rationalizing it as his brothers are liars--they're giving him a hard time. They probably were blessed with tiny penises because they're all full blooded Roman men. And Marius, well. His penis is probably more on the average side. It would have been tiny like his brothers' if it weren't for the blood of his wild Keltoi mother, you see. And that's not ideal, obviously. He'd rather have a tiny cock--the tiniest!--but average isn't as bad as the alternative.

And then the potential mortification of going the the public bathhouse for the first time and realizing that his brothers were not exaggerating. And the men all having a good laugh about it because he's still young and growing. "My son Sextus had the feet of a Gígas when he was your age. Now, they look like the feet of any man. You shall grow into it." "Certainly. With my son, it was his hands." "And mine, his nose."

And so it went. Each year deeper into puberty, his body growing longer and leaner. Marius growing taller than the boys and indeed most of the men around him. And the whole time, his dick growing right along with the rest of him. Slowly, as the years go on, the reassurances dry up. No more talk of feet and hands and noses. No more laughter and friendly slaps on the shoulder. Just averted eyes and hushed whispers as soon as his back is turned.

Yet another reason he feels such a desperate need to constantly prove himself.

#talk hard #marius

20 notes · View notes

smolvenger · 2 years

Text

The Cure for Virginity

Robert Laing x fem! Reader Oneshot

Summary: Charlotte thinks you have been a virgin for too long. You should take advantage of a certain fellow tenant at the High-Rise, she says. The best amenity in the building- Doctor Robert Laing.

Word Count: 8K

Warnings: 18+, SMUT Y'ALL (First Time, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, Doctor kink, Virginity kink, dirty talk), Cursing, Mentions of drinking, and loss, Richard Wilder being a prick. But some moments of fluff and romance.

A/N: My first time (heh) ever writing for High-Rise! I hope you guys like it! Comments, Reblogs, Private Messages, and asks about my work are always appreciated!!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @villainousshakespeare(I hope y'all don't mind me tagging away)

"You should be adding on the vows of poverty and obedience!"

“I’m not a nun, Charlotte!” you shot back.

“At this point, you might be!”

You huffed as you kicked your feet in the water of the pool. It was packed with people that afternoon. It was one of the new joys of the place. Even the janitors glided by to clean the floors with mops on their shoes as if they were skates, smiling.

You were getting to know the residents one by one. So far, you had befriended some of the women. Like sweet, quiet Helen with her soft brown hair and a baby bump that was overdue. Helen sat on a chair. She read a magazine as her kids played Marco Polo in the pool. And Charlotte- tall, slender, with dark hair and always a laugh in her smile. But now, the laugh was at you as she waded through the waters.

“Please shut up, we’re in a public space! There are kids everywhere! Can we discuss the sale on baked goods they have in the grocery store here instead?” you begged.

“They might as well learn! Gave Toby the Talk when he was five!” Charlotte shot back.

“Uh-Uhm- anyone watch any good shows on the television lately?” you then changed desperately.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. She shook the water from her ears, her beautiful black hair covered by a white swimming cap. She went up to the pool’s edge and folded her arms over it, resting her chin on them.

“This place has everything for you, Y/N- A grocery store, a spa, a school, a gym, and even a sex life if you want…” she continued.

You splashed the water on her face, and she laughed as she held her arms up in defense.

“But the thing is…I know someone for you. Someone more than able to take care of it…” Charlotte began.

“I’m pretty sure any average penis can do the job! And why do you care so much? It’s a personal choice about my body- none of your beeswax!” you retorted.

She raised one of her eyebrows as she swam to you.

“Not even oral?” she asked.

She would not be silenced by a refusal. You leaned in.

“No!” you whispered.

She pulled herself to the edge. Water splashed as she emerged to sit on the edge next to you.

“Y/N, I have a tip for you- two words!” she said.

She held up a fist and uncurled two fingers with the first and last names.

“Robert Laing.”

“Oh my god, you’re setting me up?” you sighed.

She shrugged.

“Why not? His tongue reached places I never thought it could!” she recalled.

Your jaw dropped.

“Are you seriously setting me up with your boyfriend?!” you cried, leaning forward.

“No! He’s not…” she answered.

“So, he’s your ex…you’re setting me up with your ex!?” you questioned.

“It was a fling- long over now. We’ve moved on. But we’re on good terms! All the women love him for a reason- he’s incredible! You’re going to lose it once, Sister Y/N, it might as well be someone who knows how to do the job. Listen to me-“

She pointed up to the above floors.

“Men have the brothel. Women have Laing.”

She flipped her legs up and walked over to the chairs.

“What do you think, Helen?!” she prodded.

You looked over to see Helen as she reclined on the pool chair. She tipped her lovely face from her magazine.

“Of Robert Laing?” she asked.

“Yeah-in bed!” Charlotte asked.

“Incredible! Nothing like it!!” Helen agreed.

Are you kidding me? Oh god- this place has a gigolo! you thought.

You forced your jaw to shut. High-Rise life wasn’t like normal life. It was a culture shock for you. Here, any proper rules about what was good or bad were out the window. People lived as they wanted and did what they wanted. There was no consequence. Each night, in the middle of the Twentieth floor, you could hear giggles and laughter. You passed people groaning and screaming with sex from their rooms. If not in the halls. The loud music from the constant partying was everywhere the second it was dark. You even heard housewives discussing what drugs they inhaled as they carried brown grocery bags.

“He’s a Shy boy. At First. But if you're alone with him in a bedroom…well, it’s a different man. But it’s not so intense that your first time with him would be too much. Unless you want to try anal,” Charlotte informed you.

You shot a look at Charlotte. Kids ran around the pool and tried to cartwheel into the water by you.

But Helen nodded and smiled. She spoke with the cherubic cheerfulness of a Disney princess.

“Oh yes, even anal with Robert is fantastic!” ❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

Besides, you had more pressing matters. There was a party that Royal’s wife, Ann, invited you to. A full 18th-century style ball complete with costumes! And what luck that she had costumes in your size available to rent!

Your gown was a lighter color- a creamy white, right in a shade that flattered you. Every guest was dressed in white or cream in their Rococo attire, like you. Your stays loosened now that they adjusted to your body. There were peals and beading on the bodice. Your large skirt swished as you moved, enjoying a fresh glass of champagne in hand.

You went by to try and make small talk when you felt something hit your skirt and on the ground. It was a bottle of wine. Fallen to the floor. A baritone voice behind you muttered “shit!”

Your stays prevented you from slouching, you squatted down to get it. You saw a long, elegant hand also reach for it. You looked up to see a young man who was not in 18th-century wear but a modern suit. In the black jacket and pants. He stuck out like a sore thumb against all the white of the guests.

But Holy Crap he was gorgeous. Bright blue eyes, a soft crop of hair a color between blonde and red, and his suit held a tall, lean frame.

“Oh- I’m so sorry! Did I get your dress?” he asked.

You both got up. Your stomach flipping, you felt self-conscious. The cut of the gown and the stays were better than any push-up bra. It was bumping up your cleavage. You felt his eyes flutter down there and then jolt back up. Your hands clasped and you brought them up to your neck in both surprise and a surge of modesty.

“No, you didn’t at all!” you insisted.

You glanced at the bottle of Riesling he had- you liked that flavor. You enjoyed getting it from many an evening at the grocery store. Especially when your bank account was low. It was affordable, crisp, and delicious.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

You gave him your name. He reached his hand with a smile.

“I’m Laing. Doctor Robert Laing.”

Doctor Robert Laing? That Doctor Laing?! The gigolo!? That was who the ladies were discussing?! You thought.

You stared at him, adrenaline coursing through you.

“Oh! Doctor Laing! I heard of you,” you replied out loud.

You didn’t need to tell him the context though. You offered your hand and offered it for him to shake.

“Good things, I hope!” he added with a wink that made your heart stop.

He accepted your hand, his hands felt ice cold, but soft.

“And how do you know Royal? He wouldn’t invite you if you didn’t know him,” Robert asked.

“Not well. I do see his wife around. Got to chat with her. We wound up getting along. She invited me here. She insisted I go out and get to know the people here…moved in two weeks ago,” you explained.

“Guess I’m still new here too-Month and a half!” Robert chatted.

“What room?” you asked.

“2505,” he answered.

You got to about talking where you came from as he began to light a limp cigarette, puffing at it lightly. He was very polite. His eyes were on you, listening more than talking. You discussed what you thought of the High-Rise. If you have been to the spa yet. Who you met. You then discussed the music playing at the party. You told him the orchestra was playing ABBA. One of your favorite bands!

“Y/N, that glass is already empty- could I fetch you another drink?” he offered.

“Sure thing!”

Right as Robert turned to get your drink, a burly, bearded man in costume blocked him.

“Hey there, dickhead- this is a themed party!” he declared.

Robert Laing could hardly say a word before the brute half-picked him up, dragging him off. He held onto the Doctor’s collar like a cat carrying a kitten. Guests seeing him pass by snickered at Robert’s modern attire. But you followed.

“Hey! Put him down! He didn’t do anything!” you tried to protest.

You beat your fists at Jerkass’s arm, but he swiped you away. He ignored you as he grabbed the wine bottle from Robert’s hand. He tossed the handsome doctor into the elevator roughly. Then pushed the button for it to close.

The Doctor locked eyes with you as the doors slid shut and he vanished. His face looked sad and scared. Far from the swaggering sex maniac you heard of. “Cheap bastard” the Jerkass cursed at the bottle before tossing it on the white fur rug.

Royal’s dog, a white German Shepherd with a bow tie, approached the bottle to sniff it. You bent your knees and picked it up. Yes, it was a cheap brand. But it tasted good. And Robert was trying to be a good guest.

You hid the bottle behind your back until you snuck into the bedroom. The bed was piled with the coats and purses of the guests. You planted it in your large purse by the pillows amongst everyone’s things. Then you turned back to enjoy the party. After an hour, you left, saying you had work early tomorrow. You got your purse and punched the lift to the Twenty-Fifth Floor.

You went to room 2505 and knocked. Robert opened, bewildered. A strand of his hair had flown out and he lacked his jacket. Not that it detracted his looks, not at all.

“Here- your wine,” you offered.

You pulled the bottle from your purse and handed it to him.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he answered.

“Are you okay-You look like you’ve been in a fight!” you asked.

He let out a deep sigh, pressing a hand to his head.

“No- lift broke for a bit,” he explained.

“Oh, that’s miserable! As if being kicked out wasn’t bad enough!” you commented.

He looked down at the bottle. He turned to put it on a chair and then returned to you, leaning closer against the doorframe.

“You seemed to be happy there. I’m sorry I had to make you leave,” he apologized.

“It’s alright. I came to wear this costume. Nothing more.” you added, giving the skirt a swish with your hand.

He leaned a little closer.

“You do look beautiful in it,” he complimented.

Lightning struck you. The edges of your vision had stars and you tried to even process if what you heard was real. He took a step aside, gesturing to his flat.

“But that wine…it’s not as good to drink alone. How about…how about we split it?” he offered.

You froze where you were. Your breath stopped, becoming a lump in the middle of your throat. Your hands turned sweaty.

“I don’t have any food in my stomach for that much booze…” you answered.

His eyebrows lowered, yet there was an honesty in his eyes. Even innocence. No guile to have his way with you. Not like Helen’s husband, Wilder. Wilder would charge at you. Making offers of his bed or the nearest surface. Not caring when you said no. You’d slap him and flee before he could grab you.

The soft way Robert looked at you suddenly made you panic with regret. The words flew out of you like a burp.

“Serve it with dinner and I’ll call it a deal!” you blurted.

Shit, Shit, shit, what the fuck was I thinking? you thought.

Your pulse raced. That was too forward, too bold. But then he nodded.

“Alright. I’ll make it. You don’t have to provide a thing.”

Time stopped. You could hardly believe it.

“Then it’s settled. Are you free tomorrow?” you asked.

“Yes,” Robert confirmed.

“What time?” you asked.

“Let’s say Seven.”

“It’s done. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven.”

He smiled at you.

“I look forward to it,” he answered.

You said your goodbyes. The second you got back to your flat, you threw yourself onto the couch in a pile of white silk of your dress. You put a pillow to your face and screamed into it, kicking your legs in giddy joy. Your maturity level descending.

A date! A date! I have a date! I asked a hot guy out! And he said yes!!!! Oh my god, oh my god, how am I even going to sleep tonight??? ❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The next day, you were out of coffee and bread and headed down to the grocery store. But who should also be there, wheeling a cart, but Helen. She waved at you, gesturing to you to come near her.

“What’s up, Y/N- there’s a look on your face! Was Royal’s fun?” she asked.

“Helen-I met Laing last night,” you reported.

She gasped and then smiled.

“See- lovely fellow! And a looker too, isn’t he?” she teased.

You looked down at your hands on the grocery cart with a smile that confirmed- Yes, he was handsome. Helen kept giggling, a blush on her cheeks. Then you returned up at her, an idea making you frown.

“And are you sure he’s available? I don’t want to make some poor woman miserable, even by accident!” you asked.

“Yes- not committed to anybody…he’s been around. But no attachments. If there was, I’d know!” she confirmed.

Your carts paused in the cereal aisle. You took a deep breath.

“I’m having dinner with him tonight” you announced.

“What! That’s wonderful! You did the work for us!” she chirruped, clapping her hands together.

“What do you mean ‘work’?” you prodded.

“Charlotte and I had a chat, and we had a plan- we were going to set you up with him. I’d go to you and tell you everything about him. Charlotte would go to Robert’s and sing every bit of your praises. Then you’d both agree to meet up or exchange phone numbers!”

You gave a smile and shrugged.

“Thank you-I appreciate the thought! But I’m able to find my own men and set up my own dates of course!” you replied.

You pushed your carts to a corner to talk. You then explained how you met him and the party. Returning the wine bottle and everything.

“He’s even going to cook- isn’t that thoughtful?!” she commented.

“I’m just nervous about it. Dates make me nervous,” you confided.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Helen comforted.

A lady passed by with sunglasses over her eyes and a bold shade of lipstick. Passerby’s from the aisles asked for her autograph. She half-smiled and signed notepads with a flourish. The dog in her cart leaned his nose close at them to get a whiff, wagging his tail.

“Think of this- you’ll have a lovely dinner at minimum. And at maximum- you won’t be walking when I see you tomorrow,” she reasoned, raising a hand to rub her pregnant belly.

You felt your entire face get hot with embarrassment.

“I’m not the type to kiss on the first date, much less shag! It’s only a dinner-not a wedding night! But I’ll let you know how it goes. So don’t get your hopes up! And Helen, And that goes for Charlotte too! I know you’ll tell her!” you insisted.

Both of you wheeled your carts to get in the long line for the cashier.

“But I still have to…impress him,” you blubbered. Could you even live up to the other women here?

Helen rubbed your back, “If he didn’t like you, he’d say no. Y/N, you know he’s nice! Just wear your best dress-that should make you feel confident!”

You let out a deep exhale. Your carts moved forward in the line.

“Part of me is tempted to cancel. Save myself the embarrassment. Or the heartbreak,” you confessed.

Helen leaned into you.

“Charlotte says he sunbathes in the afternoons. Naked. Get to her place and look down if you want a peek at what to look forward to. That might convince you to go forward.” ❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

Holy shit, this can’t be real. I can’t be doing this, you thought.

Your heart was racing, your finger shaking as you pressed the button to go to the Twenty-Fifth floor. Up it went, up, up, up. You could chicken out and run away, but no- that was being a coward. Didn’t you want this in the first place? Hell, you were the one who flat-out asked him!

What if it all went wrong? What if then he hated you? What if you hated him? Yes, he was incredibly handsome but handsome men could be total pricks. Wilder was as handsome as they come. But the man was a slimy, creepy rat bastard you wanted to shove off the highest balcony. If only Helen would divorce his sorry ass by now. She didn’t deserve him. But what if Wilder was a sweet guy back then? What if when Helen began dating him, he wasn’t like that? People change. What if Robert seemed okay at first and then turned into an asshole who broke your heart or hurt you? What then?

But all that was for later. Now was now.

It’s a free dinner, at least you thought remembering Helen’s words.

Taking a deep breath, the elevator dinged, and you stepped out to the hall.

You checked a hand mirror in your pocket to make sure your makeup was right, and that there weren’t any noticeable stains in your teeth. Your dress was blush pink, showing your shoulders and snug on your body with a flared skirt. Pink, how ironic- that mix of innocent white and passionate red. You had jewelry and earrings complete with heels. The heating broke throughout for a few hours, and you wore a coat over your dress from the chill of the building.

There it was, checking the notepad you had in your pocket and then double-checking, it was the right room- 2505. You entered, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

You knocked on the door and saw him. Your body froze at the sight of him. If this was real. If he was real. He was in a white dress shirt with a grey jacket and black tie. So simple, but so becoming. His eyes were soft when they looked at you, like the gaze of a doe. This couldn’t be the wild sex maniac the women of the High-Rise gossiped about. The man they went to for sex as they went to the spa for massages. Or was he?

“Hello, Robert….” You greeted.

He opened it.

“Please…come in…can I take your coat?”

“Yes…”

You sucked in the air when you felt him behind you, his hands raised up. Taking your coat. They were gentle as they brushed against your shoulders. You felt his eyes drink you in from behind. Seeing your dress. Seeing the outline of your body. But you did not raise an arm or hand to cover yourself, you let him look. He walked over and put the coat over a hook on the wall.

“Welcome, Y/N. You look lovely again. Make yourself at home,” he greeted with a smile.

Your chest fluttered as you mumbled a “thank you.”

You noticed the room- one wall had a tiny square of grey paint on it. But the other walls were tall and brown with rectangular columns- sleek and modern. A few boxes were in the back. There was a photo pinned to one wall of him in a casual shirt smiling and hugging a young woman. You thought you glimpsed a bed in one corner and promptly turned your head away to ignore it. Near the dinner table was a sliding glass door to a balcony like every house as the sun had finally set and it darkened to nighttime. The room was lit a little low- not garishly bright. But not too dark.

You saw him in his lovely suit and his tie. You smiled at him.

“Thank you so much, Robert. The place looks wonderful,” you complimented.

He gallantly pulled out the chair at the table for you. You made a smile too big for your face and your stomach fluttered. Robert made his way to the other end. There was the Riesling along with a small salad bowl and a meal.

“Well, what brought you here?” you asked.

Robert’s hand froze, fork in mid-air.

“It was my…my sister,” he answered.

“She invited you?”

“No, she died…” he replied.

This man at the party held himself like a demigod, a touch of the divine within him. But at the mention of his sister, here you were with the mortal half.

“Oh, Robert…that’s awful…” you said.

He began to blink. He then reached into his pocket, lit a cigarette with shaking hands, and began to smoke. His hands were still shaking after a several puffs with the cigarette. You saw a tear in the duct of his eye. You got up, went to your coat pockets, retrieved tissues, and hurried over to give him one.

“Here…here…” you said.

You heard sniffs. You then handed him a glass of water from the kitchen, and he began to gulp it up. His eyes were puffy with quiet tears. He then glanced at the photo.

“We were close. And she was the nicest, most genuine person you could imagine. She had a full life…but not a long one…” he continued.

“Robert, that’s still a tragedy…and you should grieve how you want….” You comforted, leaning closer to him.

Looking down at your hands, you saw they fidgeted. Glancing around the room, you wondered if now the right time was to even have this dinner. You retreated two steps from him.

“Do you need some space? I can go back to-”

“No! No- please! Please stay…” Robert pleaded, leaning forward in his chair, a hand up to stop you.

“Alright, I will.”

You returned to the chair and sat down.

“Sometimes, I’m over her. I think I’ve stopped crying…then it hits me…I’m sorry, Y/N, you weren’t expecting a crying mess….” He confided.

“I’m pretty sure losing a beloved sibling would make any person into a crying mess…” you reasoned.

He then looked at the dinner…

“We should start. The food might get cold,” he reasoned.

You sat down and began with the rolls in a basket on the table.

“So, tell me…tell me more about your job! I know you’re a doctor,” you queried.

“Well, I’m a physiologist. And a professor…” he said.

As he dug into the salad, his shoulders began to lower. His lips curled to a small smile as he looked at you.

“Not just a medical doctor? That’s impressive. That requires lots of studying to get approved!” you praised, nodding your head.

“I teach physiology to medical students in training. How to do autopsies. One poor chap flat out fainted once in the middle last month.”

“Well, can’t blame him! I see too much gore in a horror movie, and I have to cover my eyes!” you commented.

“It’s the human body! It’s fascinating!” he said, gesticulating with his hands.

He grinned wider and set the cigarette on an ashtray on the table. The salad and main course and side dishes vanished. Time passed easily talking to him. One topic you discussed excitedly so much that you had to freeze your hands from knocking over the Riesling bottle placed next to you. He lit a new one, and began to absent-mindedly smoke, but kept his eyes on you. You sipped on your glass and realized he had finished this.

“Oh, the bottle…it’s on the other side,” he commented.

“Here, let me bring it over. Would you like me to pour it for you?” you offered.

“Yes…”

You went over and poured the glass. He picked up the cigarette, the smoke curling up to twist and melt into the air. Then he looked at you with reverence above him. It was a nice picture. Domestic even. Your gaze met his and you pulled up the wine bottle before you could overflow his glass by accident.

Feminism was leaving your mind like filtering sand each second you laid eyes on him. Could you see yourself as his wife already? Was it too soon?

You could see yourself waking up next to him. Fixing him coffee in the morning. Adjusting his tie before he went to work, asking for him to tell you every bit of it as you gave him a demure kiss on the cheek. When it came to the time, he would be back home, you’d dress up with lipstick, skirts, pearls, and perfume just like now. You would have dinner prepared on the table or a hot bath too for good measure. He would enter and greet you with one of the smiles that made you flutter and a deeper kiss than that in the morning. You would pour him a drink when he came in. He’d praise the dinner but then look at you. Saying he’d rather devour you. Then pick you up. Carry you to the kitchen countertop. Shove away the leftover ingredients. He’d make hickeys across your pearl-draped neck. Then he'd push you to lie down on it. He’d lift your skirt, drop his pants and fuck you senselessly on the countertop until….

The footsteps of people out in the hall snapped you back. You felt your entire body clench, arousal already soaking your panties. A pit in your stomach with the food. You made yourself swallow the fantasy out. That was for later. You had to be present. Your body felt hot like it had a fever. Returning to your seat, you poured yourself another sip of Riesling. Grateful that he chilled it. Robert turned his head to the outside balcony, gesturing to it.

“Ah- look outside! It’s beautiful tonight! Sometimes I can hear the crickets…or see the stars,” he suggested.

The two of you went out to the balcony and looked up and out. You saw some stars, whatever wasn’t blocked by the fog of London nearby. Crickets chirruped from below. Both of you admired it for a few minutes.

He turned to you, flicking his cigarette off the end. It was like a tiny, red star before blinking into nothing. As if it dissolved into the night air before hitting the pavement.

“Y/N, thank you for earlier…and for returning the bottle…” he said with a smile.

“You’re welcome. They were dicks to you. And it’s a good wine. And thanks for opening up about your sister-I think there are half-off roses at the store. I’ll send some to you in her honor, just tell me a color…” you offered.

“I should be the one getting you flowers. I had work and had to cook the food- ran out of time,” he explained.

“Well, I’m not the one who needs it!” you quipped.

He chuckled warmly. You realized he was leaning closer. And you could pick up his scent- cigarette smoke and cologne mixed up in the drink that was Doctor Robert Laing. His eyes hypnotized you. His face, smooth and handsome, transfixed you. You felt his hands on your waist. You felt him lifting you up, sitting you down on hard brick and mortar. But your gaze never left his. You looked down and he up.

“Robert, I…” you began.

But the words stopped. Your thoughts stopped.

His eyes went to your lips. Then he touched your cheek. That cold, soft hand. He began to lean forward.

Oh God, Oh god, oh god, ShitFuckShitFuck, it was about to happen! You thought in a thrilled panic.

Before you could close your eyes and seal the kiss, you felt a gust of cold wind on your back. You were so transfixed by him that you didn’t register where he put you. Blinking and then turning around, you saw he had set you to sit on the balcony. Right over the twenty-five floors below to the hard concrete. A push of his arms and you were a goner.

You let out a scream.

You wrapped your arms around him. You clung onto him like a koala and buried your face into his neck.

“Robert! Please!” you cried.

You could feel his smile, but he wrapped his arms around you. His hands were on your back, supporting you, keeping you safe.

“Okay- it’s okay, I got you,” he assured.

“Take me off- now!” you insisted.

He wrapped his arms around you, picking you up like you were as light as a toy doll and setting you down. He wiped his hands on his sides.

“I’m so sorry. Some of the women liked that. I should have asked,” he apologized.

“It’s okay-you got me off!” you assured him.

“Here, I know what’ll make you feel better. I brought my records with me…would you like to hear one?” he asked.

You nodded. He brought out a box. There was such a wide variety that he collected. He insisted on not sticking religiously to one genre. Good music was good music. He offered you your choice of albums. You selected one of the old-school crooners from the fifties. He set it on and began to play it. The album started as you both sat there, listening. The music melting your adrenaline from the balcony. You turned and felt him look at you. He then offered an open hand.

“Can we…can we dance?” he offered.

“Yes.”

You felt him pull you up. You felt him take one hand in your other and you felt him reach an arm around your waist to your back. You both moved. It wasn’t as much dancing as it was gentle swaying. But he was so graceful, so soothing you didn’t care.

“Robert, why did you say yes to dinner?” you asked.

“I’ve been lonely here, Y/N. I wanted company. And after that party, I wanted your company…you made this lonely man feel a little less lonely in this place here.” he explained.

The crooner’s voice went up to end the song and a new one began.

“Your hands…they’re cold. Doctor’s hands are always cold,” you commented.

“Then here,” he offered.

Robert put one hand to his face, letting out an exhale. on the palm. Then he rubbed it on his pants. The friction creating more heat. Then he grasped your hand again.

“No cold hands, no?” he asked.

“Much better,” you nodded.

“Y/N, would you like to learn something medical?” he asked, continuing to sway with you.

“Yes.”

“You can feel the pulse in various places in the body, yes, but that includes your stomach. And that’s for a certain kind of pulse- PMI. Point of Maximum Impulse,” he explained.

“Where is it on me?” you asked.

“Well, can I touch you with my cold doctor's hands?” he quipped.

“Yes,” you answered with a giggle.

He lowered his hand to press the flesh gently beneath your left breast, and between rib bones. You inhaled sharply at his touch.

“There. That’s the PMI- one of the strongest beats from your heart. You can guess certain heart diseases feeling it,” he taught.

“And what can you tell about my pulse, Doctor Laing?” you asked.

His cheeks became pink at the word.

“That it’s…it’s racing…very fast.”

“And why does the heartbeat race? You’re the expert,” you teased.

“Anxiety or danger… but also excitement…”

“What about yours? How is your pulse?” you asked.

“Here…why don’t you tell me yourself…” he offered, smiling back.

You lifted your hand from his and placed it on the left side of his chest, over his grey jacket. You could feel it starting to race.

“It’s going fast too…” he whispered.

“From anxiety, danger…or excitement…”

“Yes…”

Robert then leaned forward, his nose grazing yours. An inch before, almost seeking permission. You gazed at each other’s eyes and then lips.

And finally, they touched sealing into a kiss. You felt him press you tight- an embrace you would never want him to release from. He held onto you. The music swelled- it was now a romantic ballad. He let go.

“I had a good night tonight,” Robert told you.

“I did too…”

His hand dropped to touch the side of your face. He kissed more and more. He pushed his tongue in, and you made a noise at the feel. Only to kiss him more. You felt his hand on your lower back press you closer. Your hips were connecting. Arousal soaked you down below. But even more this time. This time it was real. The friction made you chilled, hypnotized. Nothing, no one else mattered- except him.

“I…I don’t want it to end now….” He confessed.

He kissed you, but then you realized he had guided you right into the column before the kitchen, and he was pawing at your clothes, looking for the zipper in your back. Your mind then went blank in surprise.

“Robert- wait! Please, wait!” you pleaded breathily, putting a hand on his chest to stop.

He paused. His arms fell. A strand of hair was loose and his lips were bright pink.

“Did the ladies tell you about me?” you asked.

“No,” he reported.

“I know you’re experienced but I never…never did this before, Robert…” you explained.

“Oh...alright…” he nodded.

No comments. No words of lack of surprise nor total surprise. No laughter and no judgment. No teasing. He only accepted it as a fact, like the earth was round.

“I’m sorry. I got carried away. I got excited. I like you, Y/N. I like you a lot- but I’ll stop,” He apologized.

He took a few steps back.

Yet the look of him made you light-headed with lust. All yours if only for this night. The raving reviews of the women taunted your mind. And the creeping, slivering desire you felt for Robert Laing overwhelmed you. You realized you didn’t want to call it a night and return home. It was the first step of a steep hike. The view from above would be worth each nerve-wracking step. And that he felt for you…

Your heart was racing out of control. Your head was clear despite the wine, the pooling in your body was urging at you, telling you. It's time. You're ready. And you know it. You want this. You want him.

“I told you to wait… not to stop. Not completely. I trust you. I want this. And I want it to be you…” you directed.

“Are you absolutely sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied, stepping forward.

You slide a hand behind his head, through his hair. He kissed you further, deeper. You moaned into it.

“The bed. If it’s the first time, you need the bed…” he whispered.

You would let him have you anywhere, but you still smiled. He led you over there to that bed. He laid you down.

“Look at you in that dress, it made me want to ruin you the minute you came in,” he growled.

He kissed you hard and passionately. You sighed into it. Some gentle pressure from his push and you laid down on the bed. He laid on top of you and you felt his weight. It wasn’t to crush you, but just enough that it was like an embrace. You felt a gasp from your lips as he undid his tie and tossed it to the side. His hands raised your skirt. He grinned seeing the nicest lace underwear you had selected. Already visibly stained by how wet you were.

“Here…I’ll make you ready even more, darling…” he said.

He crept a finger down the hem. He then looked up.

“Can I?” he asked.

“Yes, you can…” you nodded.

You let out a gasp feeling his finger inside you. He moved it around and you shuddered. A gasp that stopped in your throat as he stretched you out, felt your walls, getting deeper. He explored you and you had to get used to it- the newness, the intrusion. But you didn’t want him out yet. He licked his lips as he curled it up, eliciting a small moan from you. You felt him move up your folds and then finding your clit. As he began to circle it, you splayed a hand over his back and grabbed onto his jacket. A shuddering sound escaped you. The man was fully clothed but you were already a mess for him. You began to writhe as he circled it more, in response, a groan came out of you.

“There?” he asked.

“There!” you confirmed in a gasp.

“More, my dear-more?” he asked.

“Yes…then keep them- oh!” you cried, interrupted as he put in a second finger.

You felt your own legs open wider for space. He found the right spot, and you began whimpering. Neck arching and close your eyes to keep feeling it. Then he removed it, wiping the juices on your thigh. You felt cold, and empty without them in you. But that was only the first stage; preparation.

“Can’t believe I’m your first. First to touch you. First to ruin you. First to fuck you. I don’t want any man after to compare to me,” he boasted.

Your fingers began to grip the sheets to steady yourself. Both of you tossed away your shoes.

He unzipped the back of your dress. You pulled him forward, kissing him again, but moving to the lobe of his ear, his neck. He removed your dress. He took off your stockings, kissing your stomach as it glided over and letting it float down to the floor. You were in a bra and underwear. You raised a hand to cup his cheek. Despite the shakiness in your hands and your own brain racing through the fog of arousal, fear, and thrill. You pulled him in to kiss him again, not caring that your teeth clank. He wrapped an arm around you, and you felt the warmth right on your skin.

“We have some walls to test here. I want you to be screaming for the neighbors to complain,” he voiced, taking off his jacket to toss on the floor.

You half sat up and helped him to undo the buttons of his white dress shirt. With a smooth movement, he removed his pants. You saw the erect outline through his white underwear. You felt your eyes widen as you saw him. Tanned and ripped, clear muscles, strong biceps, and a wide chest and shoulders. He smiled proudly as you sat there ogling him.

“Like what you see?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said.

“That’s good. I like what I see too. There’s just one thing that could be better,” he said.

He went back to kiss you and felt one hand reach to your bra strap in the back. Both of you forgot about the enforced chill of the apartments. You had the fire of bare skin on bare skin. He paused and looked down at your exposed breasts with a smile. He raised his hand, grazing a thumb over your nipple. You shivered from it.

“This exquisite and uninvaded. Untouched. Looks like I’ll have to end that…” he mumbled.

He wrapped his arms around you to pull you back down, and you peppered kisses all over his jaw and his neck. You even found his earlobe and pecked it. You felt his own hardness press on you as well as his leg. A thin line of cloth on both of you. Nothing more, nothing less. Keeping your bodies from joining. Ache. Need. You felt him against you. Your hips rocked to his and Laing let out a groan. He teased his hardness against your clothed entrance.

“And you know the procedure, Doctor?” you teased with a heated giggle.

“I know it well if you want it,” he replied, his breath hot against you.

“Yes, please…I need you to fuck me,” you mewled, arching your shoulders back, tits splaying.

You never heard this tone in your voice. Wanton. Downright pornographic. But here it was.

You felt his own hips against yours and a shudder between you both. Then he crawled up, and you felt his hardness outline on your stomach. He looked at you.

“Then, keep laying supine…and keep calling me Doctor…” he requested.

He kissed one breast, eliciting a moan from you. He moved on to the other. Your arms reached down until your fingers traced his shoulders. You found his hair and combed all ten of your fingers through it. He moved down to kiss your hip bone. His own hands went up, tracing the side of your leg.

You felt his long fingers splaying over your hip bones and the hem. He was slow- as if enjoying feeling every inch of you. Curling around the hem, he pulled the panties down your thighs. He put them through your knees, through your calves, and off. As if this was a ceremony. Your heart drummed further, your head spinning as he looked down on you. He looked at you bare. His eyes kept between your legs, licking your lips at the sight of your sex.

He removed his underwear and kicked it away. He was already dripping small pearls. You swallowed a gasp. He was monstrous…not that you had any before to compare it to. He returned to hover over you. He pried your legs open with his hands, warm from his breath but also the touch of your skin. You felt your own hips arch forward for him.

You glanced over to the side, seeing the night. It was dark against the soft lights of the apartment. The sky was clear. Stars finally outshone the city smog. A beautiful, peaceful night indeed. A perfect night to lose your innocence to Laing.

He then tipped a finger beneath your chin, moving you to face him.

“I want to see you, I want to look in your eyes when I’m the first one to fuck you, the first to enter you. I want you to look at me,” he rasped.

“Yes, Doctor.”

Looking right into his eyes, you opened your shaking legs. He sank into you. Bit by bit. Inch by inch. Moans coming out of you. Then he moved his hips and let it all in.

You let out one little cry when he was fully inside. You felt his own heartbeat over you, his skin, and his moan right next to your ear. Your walls adjusted to him. You felt yourself clutch onto his back. He panted right next to you. He kept his eyes on you. Knowing how special this moment was. He finally claimed you. Nothing else would change that now in the future. Robert Laing was the first to enter you. The first to show you sinful bliss.

Then he pulled his hips back. You sighed at the feeling of the coldness from lack of him, and he brought it back with a sloppy thrust.

Your breath hitched when finally, he was inside. You felt his own heartbeat over you, his skin, and a moan right next to your ear. Your walls adjusted to him. You felt yourself clutch onto his back. Then he pulled his hips back. You sighed at the feeling of the coldness from lack of him, and he brought it back with a sloppy thrust.

“There…there’s a good girl…like that…” he rasped.

He thrust into you again, and again. A voice flew out of you, a voice you never knew you had. He began to pick up only slightly. You gasped- you liked this.

“Yes! Yes, yes! Doctor-fuck- yes!!” you hissed.

You tilted your head back, eyes closing to enjoy the sensation when he cupped your jaw and pulled it down. You opened your jaw as he traced a finger over your lips.

“Remember-eyes on me….” He panted.

You let his face meet yours. His lips grazed yours in an open kiss. He even took his forehead and pressed yours against it. You felt his breath hot against you.

“Angel, can you…can you take more?” he asked.

You nodded, your hands reaching to that strong back and digging your nails in. He responded by snapping his hips right into you, such a hard pull you felt the invasion arrange your insides.

“Doctor!” you cried out.

It was the sweetest invasion, the pinprick of pain that brought pleasure. He picked up the speed. His own groans from his pink lips serenade your whorish moans. Then more.

“Fuck, you’re-you’re tight. Shit-shit- taking me so well, there- there’s- fuck!-my good girl,” he whimpered as he picked up the pace.

You felt yourself get dizzy. Your hands around, reaching his hair and raking your nails deeper onto his back. He had found the right spot, your hips meeting his, but angling- deeper, with the speed increasing. You were sliding against the bed, yet you weren’t stopping him. He then took your lower thighs and lifted them, he reached the upper angle, near your clit. He was getting rougher.

“Doctor-Yes-oh, Jesus- Yes-yes!” you were yelling.

His thrusts were wilder. Faster. He grunted and groaned, eyes down on you. Here was the passionate man the women raved about. The desk next to the bed was shifting around with how deeply, quickly, and powerfully he was fucking you. And the bed itself was denting against the wall.

Something was bubbling inside you. Building up. He was cursing, then crying out your name. Something was building in you. Like you were going to break if you let it grow. Like you would die. But you wanted to. at the sound as he slammed you, hips slamming into yours as he kept up the fast rhythm. All as he looked you in the eye and you in his eyes. Then he put a finger in your slit and curled it on your nub.

The pleasure was rising. More moans came out of you. Not quiet ones. Bubbling up wilder as he stroked you there. About to spin out of control. You weren’t going to last.

“D-Doctor- I think I’m- I think I’m going to-“

“Cum-darling-cum, cum with me!” He was yelling as well, meeting your volume.

It built higher, higher, until-

You let out a last, loud cry.

The spinning pleasure snapped in you. You took in a slight gasp as the shockwaves of your peak. You felt him give a last shout of your name as he came too. He was pulsing inside you, and you felt yourself shake, an ache in your own pussy and legs. The record had stopped playing and there was only the white noise of the vents above you. The heat had come back on. Not that you or Robert needed it.

You fell together, feeling the eclipse of your shared high. You saw the ceiling spin above you. Slowly arriving back to. The apartment reeked of sex, of your bodies, of sweat, and the heat of passion. He pulled out of you; you could hear his own quick breaths. Trying to catch his own. Your entire body was heavy from your climax, craving sleep.

“Are you okay?” he asked, touching a hand to your shoulder.

“I’m…I’m tired…tired and wonderful,” you replied.

He smiled.

“I’m glad then…” he said.

You nestled close and wrapped an arm around him. Good night, you couldn’t have asked for a better hour.

“Robert, Thank you. I’m glad it was with you…” you complimented.

“So, I take that you liked it?” he quipped.

“I loved it- Doctor,” you answered with a giggle.

As you nestled closer to him, he laughed back with you. The laughter made his body under your arms jilt up and down. The sound rumbled and echoed through your skin. There was something pure about it. Sweet.

He let go. But it felt too soon. You wanted to hold him for longer. Cuddle him. Kiss him on the cheek and forehead. Call him every pet name under the sun. You leaned on your side and traced the outline of his cheek down to his shoulder. He blinked and watched your hands, unused to the intimacy. Then he shifted closer to lay on his side parallel to you. You wrapped your arms around each other.

“Can I stay?” you proposed.

His eyes went wide. His jaw went slack. Then he nodded.

“Yes- Y/n, please! I never had anyone stay over the night…” he confessed.

Your eyebrows shut up.

“You’re kidding!” you gasped.

Comparing you to his ex-lovers on a first date wasn’t a wise choice for a man. But there was a sadness in his voice. It made you halt. It made you listen.

“They’d take me. And then they’d leave. Not say a word when I passed them at the store. Like I was no different than their plumber…”

You traced a finger over his bare chest. Drawing figures as he beamed down at you.

“Then I’ll stay…but I might need my toothbrush tomorrow. My breath will stink if you kiss me in the morning,” you reminded him.

“I’ll brave it then,” he responded.

He leaned in to kiss you. Both of you settled in closer. Never letting go of the other. Discussing everything. Discussing nothing. Your exhaustion from your orgasm won over and you both melted into a peaceful sleep, there in room 2505.

367 notes · View notes

florianniss · 4 months

Text

Dungeons and Drag Queens

RatedE, Identityporn, drag queen AU.

“What’s her name?”

Steve is drunk, three towns away from his usual bar, sitting with an also-drunk, total stranger he’s pretty sure is hitting on him. He has to be awake and alert and ready to get on a plane for his next sales event in six hours, and he should be scraping himself out of his chair to pay the tab and climb into a taxi. But he finds himself completely and utterly mesmerized, unable even to blink in case he loses sight of the most stunning –

His table companion slides a program across the table, leans over and breathes hot, hoppy air right into his ear. “Nat Twen Tee.”

Steve looks down at the flyer and doesn't even try to mask the groan he makes.

Not only is this – individual – bewitchingly magnetic, drawing and keeping Steve’s full attention since she stepped into view, of course she has a name like that.

“As in –”

“Yup.” Drunk, Flirty Guy laughs, elbowing him aggressively. “Nerdy, isn’t it?”

Steve swallows back a second groan as he answers. “It sure is.”

They fall silent, as silent as a couple of guys pretending to be straight can be in the audience of an underground drag show where the likes of Nat Twen Tee can be found. They watch as she smiles and laughs, all business-like. She’s got a job to do, patrons to entertain, belting out the lyrics to Prince’s Kiss in a falsetto that makes the Purple One proud. She’s all dressed up, too, wearing a black sequined slink of a thing. And Steve recognizes he’s being sexist as he appreciates every seductive, curvy inch of her.

He does it anyway.

She’s got big brown eyes that crinkle all around the edges when she smiles, and her nose scrunches into the cutest little buttony thing. Her face is long and thin, just like the rest of her. Except when she turns around and Steve catches sight of the juicy swell of her ass beneath the tightness of her dress. She’s far enough away that he can’t tell exactly what her arm tattoos are, but one thing he can see is that she’s doing absolutely nothing to keep hold of her tuck.

Nat is well-hung indeed.

“Hey, man,” the Not-So-Stranger says, elbowing him hard enough to rattle Steve’s drink in his hand. “Wanna go upstairs?”

Steve just then notices Ms. Twen Tee is looking his way. He’s been so busy staring at her package that he forgot about those soul-searing eyes, and when he realizes he’s been caught ogling, he feels his face go ridiculously hot.

Still, he can’t look away.

Steve’s decided the Guy next to him talks a lot, and Steve isn’t really one for words when there is a show going on.

She’s not the only one there, of course. Five or six other girls twirl about the space, packed with as many tables as they could cram into the basement room. The audience is made up of all sorts, men and women and unitendifiables all. It’s the kind of place someone like him could disappear from reality for a while.

Flirty Drunk Guy grabs Steve’s elbow and gives it another shake. “C’mon. Let’s go upstairs.”

Steve tears his eyes away from the singer’s to meet a red face, all goofy smile and a sideways slide to his gaze.

“What’s upstairs?”

Suggestive eyes slow blink Steve like he’s trying to charm a cat. “Dude,” is all he says.

It’s a few moments before Steve looks down on the guy’s fingers stroking his arm, and he understands.

Oh.

“Oh. No, I’m not —“

Insistent Flirty Guy laughs again. It’s mocking this time. “Neither am I.”

He grins, and it’s suddenly clear what he means.

“No,” Steve tries to explain. “I’m not here for that.”

He’s terrified of ‘that,’ actually. Glory holes give him panic attacks. Sure, it’s supposed to be hot as fuck and fun for both parties. But sticking his dick into an unseen space gives him nightmares. How does he know he’s not about to be dismembered by a satan worshiper? Maybe someone has a vendetta against penis-wielders, or the kind of married guys who visit them and swear they’re wholly devoted to their wives. And then there’s the whole not knowing who has AIDS in broad daylight, let alone in a dark and sketchy sex room. He’s seen what happens to those men, wasting away while their loved ones disown them and leave them to die alone —

No. He’ll stick to his hand and a well-lubed toy, thanks.

Insistent Drunk Dude shrugs and lets go of Steve with some reluctance. That or his muscles are numb with alcohol, too.

“Fine. Maybe I’ll see you around.” He sounds hopeful. He looks hopeful.

Steve’s stomach churns uncomfortably. Answering seems like an admission. “Maybe.”

It’s not that the guy is unattractive, built like Steve likes them, with long lashes and pretty eyes. He’s just a little too — eager. Steve’s only just talked himself into visiting the bar, let alone doing — that — with a complete stranger.

Proposition Man backs away and ends up running right into Ms. Twen Tee, who holds up both hands to stop from being knocked over. Eager Guy spins and, upon realizing who he’s bumped into, grabs her bicep and tries to pull her in. He grins and his eyes slip down the length of her front. His hand moves to the place where his gaze has fallen to the bulging, slightly-curved shape of her cock. And it looks like —

Like he’s going to feel her up.

It happens quickly. Steve lunges forward and grabs Handsy Guy by his collar, yanking him backward so hard the stitches rip around his neck. He looks back at Steve with horror, and suddenly there are about three or four really big guys (like, twice as big as Steve) putting hands on both of them.

A scuffle ensues. Steve gets shoved around. The other man is jostled and then pushed none too gently onto his stomach. He makes a shocked sound as one of the bouncers shoves a knee between his shoulder blades, one arm bent back at a painful angle. He cries out, and no one listens. They just stand there watching him, flat on the floor.

It hits Steve a little late; they’re about to do the same thing to him.

The truth is, Steve is stressed. His boss is one of those Type A personalities, always pushing, pushing, pushing for his underlings to sell, sell, sell. Steve likes the clients he’s assigned to; they’re good people who love the motorcycle industry just like him. But no matter how much time he spends on the phone, no matter how many miles he puts under his belt, working bike shows and putting a face to the company name, he hates how he’s driven to do more, be better, faster, smarter than the competition.

In a word, he hates being pushed.

So, when two hulk-like men grab and arm each and start to force him to the ground, of course he puts up a fight.

It’s telling how drunk he really is, because he’s never head-butted anyone in his life. It doesn’t hurt all that much, at least, not at first, and his vision only blurs for what has to be a few seconds or so. It stuns one of his captors enough for Steve to wrench his arm free, to twist around and land a punch in the other’s solar plexus. And he would have hauled back for another one if the voice of Heaven didn't interrupt the whole thing.

“Hey! Let him go!”

It’s Nat Twen Tee. She’s stepped into the fray and is shouting at the top of her angelic lungs.

“He’s trying to help, guys! He saw the whole thing and stepped in first!”

One of Steve’s arms is wrenched behind his back, stretched much farther than it’s ever meant to be. Nat pushes through the chaos and shoves the guy Steve head-butted out of the way. Then she gets a hand on Steve’s shoulder and starts to pry him away from the other guy’s stronghold.

Her touch is like molten lava on his already heated skin.

The room has gotten much, much smaller. Patrons and staff have surrounded them, all intent on breaking up what they assume is a brawl. Steve’s allowed free, but he can’t go very far. He’s pushed chest to chest with Nat, and she’s running a soothing hand over his shoulder. And her big brown eyes are trying to ruin him in the middle of a throng of assorted onlookers. And she smells fucking amazing.

“You OK?” she asks, and it’s like music when she speaks. Up close, her ruby red lipstick is outlined in a perfectly applied dark red border. The rouge on her porcelain cheeks is painted high into her cheekbones. And the traditional, over-the-eyebrow shadow sparkles in the available light, silver and red, and it's stunning.

“Yeah,” Steve lies. His shoulder is on fire, and not because she’s kneading it with her long fingers. She’s being careful not to scratch him with her jewel-studded fingernails. That much is certain. And he thinks, as long as she keeps looking at him like that, maybe he won’t throw himself off a high bridge to escape the pressure of adult life.

It’s not what he expected, turning twenty-two. He thought by now he’d have a nice car, a Mustang GT, 5.0, V-8 with four on the floor. He thought he’d have his own swanky apartment in the city, not the penthouse, but at least on the tenth floor or higher. He thought he’d own a Rolex and Tom Ford and at least six motorcycles of various makes and models. And he thought he’d have a girlfriend whose parents think he’s the best thing that ever happened to her.

Instead?

Instead, he drives a 1973 Honda CB750, which isn’t a bad bike for a vintage cafe racer, although it leaks gas and burns oil, and he hasn’t found a good Wrench he trusts with her yet. Instead, he shares an apartment on the upper floor of a bakery with 17-year-old Dustin Henderson, who lives, eats, and breathes the Dungeon Master that he is. Instead, he wears a Swatch and Chinos and an old, beat-up K&N racing jacket that a client gave to him as a perk. And the closest thing he has to a girlfriend is a feisty lesbian who bosses him around like he’s her personal slave.

And to top it off, he's got these confusing feelings about both sexes that his strict religious father would have kicked him out of the house if not for -

Well.

When Ms. Twen Tee tugs him away from the aftermath of a physical take-down, pulls him through the crowd and up the back stairs, out into the dark alley and cold, fresh air, Steve follows like a puppy dog.

He marvels at how very strong she is.

She props him up against the wall, all caring and gentle-like, towers over him in her stiletto heels that she masters without tipping an ankle once. She looks down on him with something like fondness, and Steve practically melts in a puddle at her feet.

Ms. Twen Tee runs the back of her fingers over the splitting ache in his forehead. “You didn’t have to do that, Big Boy.”

And, oh, the way she says it makes him feel like a wanted man.

“Nah. You’re working. Nobody should bother women when they work.”

It’s stupid, masochist, and he regrets saying it the moment the words spill off the thickness of his tongue. But Ms. Twen Tee clicks her tongue and tilts her head to one side, fondness increasing ten-fold.

“That’s sweet of you. Do you always say such nice things to the girls you meet?”

Steve is paralyzed by her gaze, frozen in place as she continues to stroke his forehead, as if her touch could provide magical healing to everything that ails him.

“I’m a gentleman,” Steve croaks clumsily. His stomach is churning and his head is burning. “Mama raised me to respect and protect ladies.”

She smiles and smiles and smiles. “Your mama sounds like a saint.”

Steve nods vaguely. He’s feeling quite dizzy now. “My dad doesn’t treat her the greatest. She tries to keep the peace. I watched how he spoke to her, and told myself I was going to do better.”

Why is Steve spilling his guts like this? He hasn’t even told Robin about his verbally abusive father, and the reason he left home the second he turned eighteen.

“Aw. You’re breaking my heart, Sweetie.”

Oh, how Steve’s heart thumps against the constraints of his ribcage.

Ms. Twen Tee stops petting his head and reaches for his collar, straightening it with careful, confident fingers. Steve sways with it, until she flattens both palms against his collarbones and pushes him against the brick wall.

“Let me call you a cab, get you home in one piece.”

She steps back. She turns away. And Steve watches numbly as the love of his life disappears back inside, leaving him alone and feeling suddenly sick to his stomach.

He vomits, of course, all over the alley. It’s a miracle he hadn’t puked all over her pretty black dress. He stumbles out of the way, across the road to lean against the opposite building. He closes his eyes and wipes his mouth and waits and waits and waits. And when she returns, she’s got a friend with her. Another Queen, who wraps a solid, broad arm around his waist and practically carries him down the alley toward the street.

The two women talk in low, unintelligible voices. Steve tries to make out the words, but the pounding in his head drowns it out.

Streetside, a car awaits, but it’s not a taxi of any sort. Ms. Twen Tee opens the back door and her friend pours him inside. As Steve’s head hits the back of the fake leather seat, a warm body presses inside to join him.

“Honey,” she says, shifting his legs out of the way of the door and further into the car. “Here.”

A bag of ice is forced into his hand, lifted against the probable bump on his forehead. He leans into it with relief, leans into her to soak up her smell, mentally kicks himself for being such a romantic, chivalrous idiot.

She says exactly what he’s thinking. “I think he needs to see a doctor.”

The other Queen’s voice comes from the front seat and sides with Steve. “He’s an idiot.”

Ms. Twen Tee shushes her, pushes him again until he rests against the opposite door. The window is cool on his cheek. He switches hands on the ice bag so his elbow is propped against the armrest.

“I’ll be fine,” he argues. “Just. Just need to go home.”

A firm hand grasps his knee, and soft, firm lips press against his other cheek.

“My hero,” she whispers into his ear, and it’s so much better than Handsy, Forcibly Ejected Guy’s flirting from before.

“Nah. Anyone would have done the same.”

A deep chuckle vibrates the air. Fingernails pry open his available hand. Something like a business card is slipped into his palm.

“You come back someday and be my VIP guest. There’ll be a table up front with your name on it.”

Another kiss on his cheek, and she’s pulling away. She’s pulling away and slamming the door, and he’s left an embarrassed, concussed heap in a strange Queen’s car.

“Where are we going?” the friend asks, and her voice is rough and gravelly, not at all sweet and smooth like Hers.

Steve gives his address, cringes at the startled shock the driver gives because it’s so far away. But the vehicle starts, and the engine hums. And he’s being driven home, a knight bested and beaten, knowing full well he’s never, ever coming back.

On AO3.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

14 notes · View notes